I live in the Swiss alps, its a beautiful place to live, each and every night I get to look down my mountain and see these orange lights keeping the snow illuminated. The stars only seem to shine on the best of nights, and even then the sight of a clear star filled sky, was rare. Someones always having a party, wether its the old people down the street kicking everyone out at 10, or the new married couple who enjoy margaritas and adult sleepovers. Im for whatever events happen in the neighborhood but nothing really gravitated me like the new girls party, we all have a group chat for parties and functions so we can plan accordingly, and one day our community leader Krista adds a new number.. She says to the group chat *this is my friend Laila, she just moved into the carters new place and she will be joining us at Jordans house for games* I read the text then tossed the phone to my side not thinking much of it, and then I thought for a moment, im the only person in the neighborhood named Jordan, I never have functions at my house, she didn't specify a date either. My phone began dinging over and over as everyone greeted Laila and welcomed her, and then there was a knock at my door. I put my phone In my pocket and walked over to see Krista, her husband, and a small framed woman in a red coat with platinum blonde hair and a nose stud standing behind them. Krista handed me a bottle of wine and walked through my door, her husband right behind her patted my shoulder and headed for my kitchen presumably to find the beer I would buy in case he came over as I don't drink. I turned around for a moment to asses the situation as Krista began shuffling my papers and moving my various books and such to my upstairs loft, and then I noticed Laila had not walked in yet, I turned back towards her. *may I come in?* I smiled at her and stepped out of the way, gesturing for her to enter my home *of course you may, make yourself at home and thank you for asking.* I thought it was peculiar she asked but quite refreshing, I ran to the kitchen to open the wine and fiddled through my silverware drawer as Kristas husband Craig began talking about the IPA I had bought *this is a real solid choice Jordan, you must really be getting good at the beer knowledge, are you going to have one tonight?* I looked up from my project at hand as I finally found the cork screw *probably not Craig but Isla and her husband will be here later im sure and I know you love drinking with them.* I turned the screw into the cork at the top and began pulling it out, it came out with a satisfying POP! and I began pouring the wine into two glasses I had set on the counter. Craig stopped me before I could get to the second glass *Laila doesn't drink* I nodded and stowed the second glass, I grabbed the wine to bring it out to Krista but Craig stopped me before I could *you know I think you'll really like Laila, she seems your type.* I stopped trying to walk forward and hung back a moment, peering Around the corner to see Laila sitting still close to the front door having a conversation with Krista as she cleaned. *what do you mean Craig, how is she my type?* he laughed and smacked my back *she's weird buddy* I was taken aback for a moment until I began flipping through my memories with my neighborhood friends. Over the years id lived here they had seen me creating makeshift model rockets and shooting them down the mountain, putting chairs on skis and seeing if id survive the plummet, sledding with a table, building igloos to write inside of, covering my house in white paint for a winter to see if they'd have trouble finding me. Craig was right, I was weird *how weird is she Craig?* He laughed at me and then gripped my shoulder as he began telling me the tale of Laila In the red coat. *Laila comes from America just like you, she's fluent in over 7 languages, we helped her move boxes today and she had at least 6 large 2x2x2 cardboard boxes filled with books, some of which im sure are as old as your own judging by the glass cases she keeps them in. We came to get her on our way here and she was dancing with a chemistry skeleton like for a high school, she was pretty good too.* His accent annunciated the Two O's in too and Made me snicker as he finished the sentence, she sounded like a lovely girl but how do you start a conversation with someone like that? I nudged Craig *how do you start a conversation with someone like that?* he shrugs *how do I start a conversation with you?* I scratched my head *Craig you don't really start conversations with me you just grab a beer, mention a fact and then go from there.* He laughed at what I said then went digging in my fridge, he handed me 2 cans of Cola *same principal just with less hops.* I shook my head at him as I walked out of the kitchen with the wine and the cokes, I handed Krista the glass as I passed her and she thanked me before returning to browsing my board game collection in the closet. I walked over to Laila and handed her the cola *Craig tells me you don't drink and im right there with you, is that alright or would you like some water?* she smiled at me and took the cola *this is wonderful, I love the soda you guys have over here* as she spoke I couldn't help but stare at her shiny nose stud, as she spoke and caught my glance she covered it and began to take it out *sorry I wasn't sure if this looked good or not.* I gently outstretched my hand to indicate different *no no, its quite lovely, it accentuates your nose well.* she moved her hand back to her side and took a sip from her soda as she smiled. I laughed to myself and carried on the conversation, More and more people came and my house filled with guests, Krista ended up having us play charades and put me and Laila on a team. We went for many rounds, talking amongst ourselves or with the group and as the night got older and more and more people departed, it came down to just me, Craig, Krista and Laila. The score was 23 to 24 giving you a pretty good idea of how long it lasted. I had started a fire in my chimney earlier on in the night so the logs were crackling as the snow gently fell down our quiet mountain. Craig was in the middle of hopping on one leg and swinging his arm as if it held a long sword while I sat with Laila, she had since moved from one side of the couch to the other and was right next to me. As Craig finished up his turn we all laughed and Laila once again moved closer, their turn had ended without them scoring a point declaring me and Laila the winners. We all laughed as Craig told us a joke about Blackbeard and how they we were being elitist against his pirate ways, I was looking at Lailas eyes while we all laughed and noticed a peculiar spot on her left iris, a small white dot surrounded by emerald green. She turned to me as I was looking at her and laughed as we turned back towards the two, Craig stood up and looked at his watch *well Jordan I guess well have to leave you be for the night, but thank you for having us, Krista are you ready to go?* Krista nodded through a smile and stood up *oh Jordan ive had a lot tonight and so has Craig here so we called a car, its a bit of a straight shot though, would you mind bringing Laila back?* it was an odd request especially since the party was held at my house but it only took a few moments for it to dawn on me as Craig nodded his head with a smile. Laila began to protest *I don't want to be a burden you had us over and fed us I can just walk its no big deal.* I smiled at her *it would be my pleasure to bring you home, the drive over that way is beautiful anyway.* We all departed my house as Craig and Krista gave us hugs and kissed Laila on the cheek, I locked my door and followed Laila down the steps towards my car as Craig and Krista got into their Taxi laughing like maniacs. I turned the car on with my remote and walked to the other side to get her door she smiled at me as she stepped into the car *what a gentleman.* I had to bite my lips to hide my smirk as I went around the other side and opened my door, a gust of wind came down the mountain and hit me hard forcing my eyes shut, when I opened them I noticed that the sky was crystal clear showing me millions of beautiful stars amongst the pitch black sky. I stepped into the drivers seat and pulled out of the driveway, Laila turned towards me as we got out of the gravel and onto the pavement *thank you, im sorry Krista dumped me with you* I laughed for a moment *don't apologize for a second, im quite happy to get an extra moment or two with you.* she looked off but I saw in the reflection she was smiling *im pretty happy to get an extra moment too.* I pulled up to her house and got out, rushing around the side so I could open the door for her, almost missing the handle with my leather gloved hands and nearly falling on my face, as I got the door open and recovered from my stumble she stepped out and I closed the door behind her. *thank you for driving me home, I had a really nice night* I smiled and nodded *I did as well, thank you for coming.* she stood there for a moment as if she wanted me to hold her hand or hug her, I put my hand up and walked back to my drivers said *goodnight.* She smiled weakly and mumbled *goodnight.* I thought for a moment why id done what I just did and decided to try to reverse it, I stepped back around my car and before she could turn around I wrapped my arms around her, *thank you for coming tonight, would you like to get dinner with me tomorrow.* she wrapped her arms around my torso and pressed her cheek against my chest *yes please, can you pick me up at 7?* I nodded, grazing her head with my chin *absolutely.* I let go of her and she unwrapped her arms, turning to walk up towards her door *your eyes are beautiful* I said, getting the last word in for the night, she smiled and spoke softly *thank you* before walking into her house, I turned towards my car to enter but I felt compelled to turn back around before I did. her lights went on and she walked into the living room, I could see her silhouette begin To do a little dance, I smiled and stepped into my car to drive home. I rounded the corner towards my house and parked the car, turning it off and stepping out, before I went inside I stared up at the sky, it had gotten cloudy and dim, with only a few stars showing. I wasn't surprised the sky wasn't clear anymore, I knew that only on the best of nights, was the sky fully clear, and that those nights...were rare.


Something funny about time is how much people exaggerate it. We share pictures on social media of how we're having the best time with our friends at a bar, only to post two hours later about how we never want to see that group again for the rest of time. How much time you spent with a partner, only to throw it away in favor of a new beauty or beau that catches your eye in the moment. You sit and wonder and watch was time passes you by, and you watch your face grow old and your friends and family move on, that you never truly understand what it means to be out of time. Staring down the bullet that's a few seconds away from my face, time stops. They said that your life would flash before your eyes moments before you died. They weren't wrong. I saw my dad lifting me above his head when I was a child and telling me I was going to go big places. I remember my mother calling us inside for dinner while my father laughed and kissed her on the cheek as we walked inside. I saw my first kiss at prom, Stanley Micals, and his too-grabby hands trying to get under my dress. I remember shoving the heel of my shoe into his foot and walking away before he could get any luckier. I remember my first promotion at the firm. Signing on as an intern was great, sure, but you had to deal with all the big-shot men who wanted nothing more than to look at the pretty little intern who brought them donuts and coffee with a smile. It wasn't like I was allowed to work on the big cases, anyway. Pointing out how that one guy, someone who was another big shot whose hands would linger just a little too long on my back when I would grab files for another employee, was committing fraud by splitting a cute little "finder's fee" into his own bank statements was a coincidence. I remember turning him in to the CEO that night. Being watched carefully by dark eyes as I explained what all had happened, what I had seen and heard in my time as an intern. Bursting into tears from the stress of trying to earn my place in a world where I would be turned away just for being born. I remembered how he stood and handed me his handkerchief to wipe away the tears. How soft the silk felt on my snotty face and how profusely I apologized when I realized I had gotten dollar store mascara all over it. I remember how hard he had laughed. Ben was always so handsome when he laughed. I don't, however, remember when he went from Boss to Ben. When him offering me a job as his personal secretary turned to him offering me dinner at his place. When organizing his appointments turned into organizing dinner dates and movie nights. When watching him have meetings with the employees and taking notes turned into watching him get ready in the mirror and helping him tie his tie before pulling him in for a kiss. Ben was dangerous from the start, and every girl's fantasy- rich, handsome, and romantic. Ben wasn't without fault though. Ben resented the power. Resented having to be in charge all the time, I guess. When we got married, I think I knew that he would never look at me that way again. When I married him, I quit the job to stay home all day and do wifely chores. I cleaned the house, and managed groceries and finances, all so he could come home to a nice bath and a wife willing to do anything for him. Evenings were quiet, and I began to resent it too. Money is nice, and it can buy happiness, but only so much. After all, it's better to cry in a Bently than on a bicycle. I remember finding out about her. Taking care of the laundry and finding receipts for hotels in his pockets. Checking the bank accounts and seeing how many purchases he made at luxury stores and five-star hotels that he claimed were for business trips. Logging into his email was the final touch. I knew his phone password, but he had left his computer open once before running into the office. I saw everything. I wasn't dying yet, but I felt time stop at that moment. Pictures, recordings, and videos of them together. Talking about how stupid I was, how much he wished he could be done with me, and how much he loved her. How ugly my face had gotten to him since we had been married, and how much her beautiful blonde hair was so much nice to see than my boring browl curls. How the wrinkles on my face reminded him of the beautiful young girl he had waiting for him at work. Hearing the office door slam behind me and the cocking of a gun turned me to my senses. Here he was, my cheating S.O.B. husband, holding the m9 I had given him for his birthday, aimed directly at my head. Staring at the bullet, I realized... I'd lived a fine life. Rich, beautiful, successful. But sometimes, a fine life isn't a happy one, and my time had run out long before I could do anything about it. It simply wasn't fair. How I wished I could go back and fix it all. How I'd use the information I know about cases now to earn my way to the top. How I'd step on every man who dared to get in my way. How I'd make Ben fall in love with me all over again, only to never give him the gun and start going to the shooting range myself. How I would smile at the blood running under my heels, blended in with the iconic red soles. It's not fair. It isn't fair, it's not fair, it's not- Bang.


The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents. \ I tied the boat up to a small jetti, somewhat relieved Alessia couldn’t see the knot I hastily threw together, and pulled myself up onto the platform. Already I could feel a degree of exhaustion. The short row to the shore had already eaten away at the atrophied muscles in my arms. Still, the impatience in my brain had won out. It needed exercise more than my body needed rest. While I built up some reserves of energy, I took in my surroundings. I hoped to find an islander on a break, idly waiting by the sea, and who might want to talk about Vexids. But while the port didn’t seem busy, anyone I could see was engaged in a task. Porters carried textiles - mostly wool and cotton - off to waiting traders, sellers and buyers negotiated with the waiting boats down by the dock, but no one was stopped. Usually, beyond trade, ports were a place where you’d find those relaxing, finding peace in the coming and going of the waves. But here, there were none. “Can I help you?” I turned to see a woman in her mid-thirties bounding towards me with almost excessive enthusiasm. “Yes. I’m just visiting. I came on the large ship.” I tilted my head towards the Deer Drum boat, floating off the coast like an island of its own “Ah excellent. Another from Deer Drum. Welcome. Can I introduce you to our island? Maybe give you a tour?” She grinned wide, as though pulling her own cheeks back with hooks. The woman’s overt enthusiasm felt abrasive against my own lethargy. An ache ran across my back. “I would love to understand more.” The words felt stiff, my vocal chords still stretching into shape. “We may have to move slowly though, I’ve been recovering from an injury.” “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” the woman replied with the same tone and smile. “Well, if you want to learn more about the island, you’re in luck. My name is Endesha. My passion is sharing the island’s history with others, and I’m on my passion rotation right now. ” “Passion rotation?” “Yes. Are you familiar with our island at all?” She said, clasping her hands together by her stomach. “Honestly, nothing. I know a couple of the islanders have been here. One girl in particular, fifteen years old.” I held up my hand out about Mirai’s height. “I hear she’s visited a lot and likes the place. But no idea beyond that.” Endesha looked up, searching her memory. “Ah, yes. Mirai. Brilliant young woman. I’ve met her a few times. Fits right in here, a mind like that.” She said, pointing a finger. “Well, maybe we can walk to the town square, it’s only a short walk, and I’ll tell you a bit more about our history on our way.” I nodded in agreement, and Endesha held up an arm to guide the way. She led me up through the town past beige stone structures till we arrived at a long, thin building. Inside I could hear the thrum of machines, the thudding so loud it threatened to topple the aged and cracked walls. Endesha pointed to an engraving; old eroded numbers that read 7-7-10. “This is one of the oldest buildings in the work part of town. And it celebrates our most important rule.” Endesha looked at it with reverence. “When The Archipelago formed, those here felt that too many had died living wasteful lives, never doing what made them truly happy. And so beaame the law.” She began counting each point on her fingers. “Seven hours of work, our sacrifice to keeping the island running and ensuring we have food to eat. Seven hours to rest, eat and sleep.” She leaned in, her mouth grinning with delight. “And ten hours to chase our passions, and become the best people we can be.” “You only work for seven hours? The other seventeen are all yours?” “To be the best we can be.” She corrected me with a wagged finger. “The whole town is separated into three sectors. Here, near the harbour, is our industry, to the North we have the homes where people live and sleep, and to the east, is the true treasure of the island. The drive sector.” She turned and jolted with purpose, drawn eastwards by the sector’s mere mention. My legs strained to keep up, joints unsteady and unsure. “I’ve spent a fair amount of time pouring over the documents from the island’s founding and how they describe the old world. There are old descriptions of people watching moving pictures, or making men and women move with hand-held controllers just for fun. They use the term \*to kill time\*. Can you believe that? To kill time.” I thought of the many times on Alessia’s boat, on a relatively still day, when I would simply sit on the edge, watching peaceful waves roll by. “I… I think we might still do that?” “Not here.” Endesha said, her arms outstretched, allowing a broad chest to bellow the words out. “Tell me, Ferdinand. When are you happiest?” “What?” I said, my feet almost tripping on the words. “When do you feel happy?” I tried to go through a list. The drunken walk back to our property on Talin Barier with Alessia. Singing songs with the Deer Drum crew. When Alessia gave me my room on the boat. So many came back to Alessia. Too many. “I’m not sure,” I said, still dodging the truth even to a stranger. “People maybe?” “Even in the old world people spoke of having a calling. Something they wanted to do - not for glory or riches, but for the love of the task. Pursuing that is where happiness lies. Sure, you can be fine sitting about on a warm sunny day…” She waved an arm dismissively. “But real contentment lies in what drives us, what fascinates us. Don’t you agree?” A small smile flickered across my lips as I remembered my own calling. While the chase of the Citadel on Kadear had been intoxicating, travelling the Archipelago had been more than a want. Happiness that lifted your chest as well as your lips. “I’m beginning to.” Her already huge smile gained an extra lift at my agreement. “Then is it not the duty of this - or any island, to help you achieve those dreams? To push you to do what you are capable of.” She prodded my chest with a hard finger. “That is what those ten hours are for. To chase what drives you. To become what you are capable of. Not for the island, but for yourself.” The conversation paused as the road widened out into a large town square. In the middle was a wooden stage made of varnished pine. It was low enough that you could step up to it with a good leap, but wide enough to hold a good thirty or forty people if required. “We have a bit of a ritual that comes with those passions,” Endesha chuckled, staring at the platform. “I took a while to understand it, I had to go through pages and pages of correspondence among the island’s first council members. However, what they realised is that one of the most important parts of chasing your passions is to acknowledge them. To state your dreams aloud and not cower from them.” It made sense. So many times I had stared at that map in my home in Kadear. But other than brief conversations with Thomas my wishes of travelling were hidden. Only external events brought that desire out of the darkness. Endesha walked towards the stage. I could almost see the years of the residents who had taken to the stand in her eyes. “Between the ages of fifteen and sixteen, all residents come here to declare their passion in front of the island. I came here,” she pointed to each individual invisible attendee. “I told them I wanted to learn about the history of Vexids Receives and share it with visitors. And in attending, they told me that they would help me, push me in pursuit of that passion.” She turned to me, her smile reverential. “In a few weeks, the next group will take to that stage. And you can be certain I will be witness to their proclamations.” I thought about what I would’ve said on such a stage. How much easier would my travels have been if I had had to declare that drive to my fellow islanders, and they in turn were duty bound to help me pursue it? Endesha meanwhile was telling me about the history of the stage. The details of when it was first built and the repairs done to it over the years, and how it intertwined with the rest of the planned town. But the dates and minutia weren’t the reason for the smile on my face. It was the growing understanding of this place, and the freedom to give yourself not just to your island, or your own greed and vices, but to what called you. It seemed to shake off some of the lethargy in my bones, and when Endesha asked if I wanted to continue on to the see the passion sector, I obliged. We made our way east, as Endesha regaled me with the founders’ foresight in the layout. A series of workshops each in their own courtyard, their entrances facing inward. Each one had large wooden shutters at the back and front the entire width of the building save for a small doorway at the end. The lack of warmth in Winter was a price worth paying for the community the openness created. We turned and entered into one of the courtyards as I was met with the output of people’s hobbies: the sound of sandpaper grated across wood, the tune of an accordion pushing notes through its pipes. I could smell the aroma of old books, in between the wafts of fresh paint. The sights and sounds were a melody somehow borne of cacophony. No thread connected each space. Each room was home to a different activity. All the island did was give space for them to grow. And yet, the end result seemed harmonious. I watched a woman placing red hot metal into a great furnace, while next door another folded dough, flour pluming into the air each time the bread hit the table. Creaking metal snatched my attention. Atop one of the rooms to the left was a small windmill. Rusted iron blades oscillated with each rotation, but still it turned in the light breeze. From its base, a slew of cables ran down the roof disappearing through a hole near the edge. Looking into the shadowy room I could see two figures. A middle aged man, with curly balding hair, and a teenage girl. “Mirai!” I called out. Mirai looked up, two wires in one hand, and a tool in the other. “Ferdinand! You made it off the ship.” “Eir finally let me go.” Mirai put the wires down on a bench and pointed to the man behind her. “This is Charles. Charles, this is Ferdinand. He helped us move from Deer Drum.” The man took off a pair of thick, leather gloves and reached out to shake my hand. His face was blotched, and there were a few wrinkles across his brow. But his cheeks were taut and youthful. “Good to meet you. Welcome to my electrical shop.” “Charles does electrical engineering as his passion,” Mirai said, jumping in to add more information. “He’s built so many things. Small engines, toys… every workshop in this courtyard has electric lights now thanks to Charles.” She pointed to the bulb hanging from dangled wiring above. “I’m no genius. But I’ve got pretty good over the years.” Charles said, thumbs tucked into the straps of his overalls. Mirai continued. “He’s currently trying to get a windmill working. He could power the whole island off wind power alone.” “It used to be a common form of electrical power in the old world,” Endesha added, stepping between us. “I believe there may be the odd island in the Archipelago where it exists, but it would be a serious boon to have it here.” Charles grinned but bowed his head. “Charles has been letting me help out for the past few days. Soldering cables, testing currents, that kind of thing,” Mirai beamed. “She’s been a great help. Hard to try and fix the turbine on the roof and measure the currents down here at the same time,” Charles added with a chuckle. “It’s amazing. I’ve been sitting on that boat for months just watching the oceans roll by,” Mirai stretched out the words so they were as boring as a flat, windless sea. “I designed that one fish net, but other than that I haven’t got to do anything. But, Ferdinand, I love this stuff.” “I’m glad it’s going so well,” I smiled. Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “Here, let me show you something.” She turned, leaping between tables, before returning with a series of wires that connected a lightbulb to a small metal box with a wooden handle. “I made this. Turn the handle.” I looked at her hesitantly. “Go on.” It was only the width of my palm, but still, the small pole was hard to turn. Mirai laughed. “Harder. You’ll have to go faster.” My muscles were still wasted and weak from the Anmanion islands, and even this small chore was causing my arm to ache. However, for Mirai’s sake, I put in more effort, pushing past the resistance, until the wheel span faster and I saw a small flicker of light from the bulb. The spark invigorated me, and I cranked harder until a soft yellow glow from the bulb rose and dimmed with each shift of my arm. We all watched the light for a few seconds, until the stiffness in my wrist returned and I had to stop. “Mirai, that’s amazing.” I smiled, shaking off the aches. “I mean, it’s nothing compared to what Charles has done.” Mirai looked to the side, turning her cheeks. “But it’s a start.” “It’s an excellent start,” I nodded. The enthusiasm came back. “I just love this stuff so much. I wish I could do it forever.” “You could,” Endesha interrupted. All heads turned to her. “Anyone can join Vexids Receives over the age of fifteen. It was one of the rules created by the island’s founders. All you have to do is declare your passion during the ceremony.” I felt my teeth grit, watching this stranger so ignorant of Mirai and her world. Mirai’s face lit up. “When’s the next ceremony!?” “About three weeks’ time.” Endesha replied, ignoring my grimace. Mirai’s eyes glossed over, filled with an idyllic vision. “I can keep doing this? I can stay?” \ The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents.


See part 1 **3** “Clarence! Long time no talk! How are things?” “As good as they can be,” Clarence replied, sliding into a chair in the space elevator’s Earth-based control room and settling himself in front of the monitor that displayed Devon’s beaming face as he floated in the elevator’s zero-G environment. Nothing could dampen Devon’s enthusiasm, not even being stranded tens of thousands of miles above the planet’s surface with his space elevator’s inaugural voyage on the brink of turning into a veritable shit show with the entire world watching. It almost served as a kind of fuel, propelling Devon to new levels of intolerability. “How’s the view?” Clarence asked as he busied himself checking various readouts and displays, anything to avoid looking at Devon’s face. “See for yourself.” Clarence looked up as Devon directed his phone’s camera toward the crawler window at the planet below and then panned across the passengers inside, all of them enjoying the absence of gravity, doing somersaults and bouncing off the walls, playing like little kids. “Everybody say hello!” Devon said. The passengers all stopped to wave and smile at the camera, which eventually came to rest on her. “Hello, Clarence,” Darla said, giving him a small wave, her other hand clutching a plastic squeeze pouch labeled “Martini.” She paused to take a sip. “I take it you got my message.” Clarence lowered his eyes once again. “Indeed, I did.” “We can’t go into details here—for obvious reasons,” Devon said, turning the camera back on himself and lowering his voice as he pushed away from the others. Clarence nodded, still not looking up. “Of course.” “But Clarence . . .” Clarence knew Devon was waiting for him to make eye contact. He resisted for as long as possible. When he finally looked up, Devon’s grin was gone. “This is no joke.” Clarence stared at him for a moment and then nodded. “I understand.” In a flash, Devon’s smile returned. “Excellent! We’ll wait to hear from you, and then our voyage can continue.” He turned back to the other passengers. “What do you say, folks, who’s ready for another drink?” His question was met by a chorus of cheers. Then the screen went blank. Clarence stared at the monitor for a few moments until he heard the control room’s sliding glass doors whoosh open behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Terry Eng, Devon’s right-hand man. As serious as Devon was exuberant. “Clarence, good to see you.” Terry had a way of making it sound like it was anything but good to see him. “You too, Terry.” Terry clapped his hands and rubbed them briskly together. “So, any ideas?” Clarence sat back and looked at the various displays. “Not really. Everything appears to be in the green.” “Exactly,” Terry replied as he rolled a desk chair over toward Clarence and then sat down. The control room was normally manned by a three-person crew, but Terry had dismissed them all once Clarence arrived. “Everything was in the green when it stalled too. Which makes me wonder . . .” “Makes you wonder what?” Clarence asked, swiveling toward him. Terry looked around and then rolled his chair a bit closer, lowering his voice. “If we’ve been hacked.” Clarence raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Hacked? Now what kind of ungrateful psycho would do that to an asshole like Devon?” Terry grimaced as he held back a response. Normally, he didn’t tolerate anyone talking trash about his boss or even insinuating that Devon was anything other than the stellar specimen of humanity that the fawning media made him out to be. But these were special circumstances. Clarence smiled as he watched Terry struggle. “Has anyone claimed responsibility?” Terry shook his head. “Not yet. But that doesn’t mean anything.” Clarence turned back to the control panel. “Maybe we should try one more reboot. If that doesn’t work, I don’t think you have a choice. You’re going to have to send up the rescue crawler and tow them down. Thanks to the atomic battery, they’ll have enough oxygen for twenty years, but food is another matter. And there’s only so much recycled piss a person can drink.” “Clarence, I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here.” “What do you mean?” Terry glanced around again to ensure no one was listening—an instinct rather than a necessity, seeing it was clear they were the only people in the room. “Some of the deals Devon made to secure the land-based anchor points are . . .” “Shady?” “Tenuous. As you’re well aware, the places where these anchor points are located, they aren’t necessarily the most stable of countries.” Clarence nodded for Terry to continue. “And?” “If this voyage fails, well, some of those deals could be in jeopardy. The same goes for the lease agreements on the mobile platforms. Which means competitors could—” “Never mind the competition, Terry. If this voyage fails, some lives could be in jeopardy. Very important lives. Including Devon’s.” “I realize that.” Terry nodded at the control panel. “Can we just . . .” “Rebooting now,” Clarence said, turning his chair back to face the monitor.


Black Rose By Charlotte S “Max! Time for dinner!” called Max’s mother from downstairs. “Coming!” called Max from her position on her bed, her feet on the wall and her head hanging off the edge, books piled around her. She flopped off her bed to the side, a cascade of books following shortly after, scattering across the unattractive cow print rug that her mother had insisted on buying. Max gave a couple of them a halfhearted shove towards her bed, before picking herself up and heading towards the door.

When she got downstairs, the table was already set and in the center was a huge bowl, half full of spaghetti and pesto. The other half of the spaghetti was on her brother’s plate, and he was eagerly grating heaps of parmesan cheese on top of it. “Save some for the rest of us, Carson” Max’s mother laughed, as she sat down next to him at the table. Max giggled at him as she slid into her chair, and Carson retaliated by sticking his tongue out at her, before grabbing his fork and taking a monstrous bite of his spaghetti. “So,” said Max’s mother, swallowing her mouthful of spaghetti, “I was thinking maybe you two could go to the park tomorrow morning? I have a job interview at ten, and I need you out of the way.” “But Mom-” Max started to protest, but her mother cut her off. “I’ll give you money to get ice cream afterwards.” Max hesitated. “Fine.” She said reluctantly. “Yes!” Carson shrieked, jumping up from his seat and knocking his spaghetti plate over the edge of the table, causing it to crash to the floor and scatter spaghetti and ceramic chunks everywhere.

“I’ll get it” Max’s mother sighed, wiping her mouth with a napkin and getting up from her seat, careful not to step on the broken plate.

Carson surveyed the mess he created from up on his chair, where he’d jumped when the plate fell, and meekly asked if he could be excused. Their mother nodded, and he cautiously stepped down from the chair, sidestepping the heap of pasta on his way to his room, where he resumed building the lego spaceship he had been working on for weeks. The next morning was clear and sunny, with only a few soft clouds in the sky, and Max was wearing only her t-shirt and cargo shorts as she and her brother walked to the park. Carson was wearing only shorts, he had refused to put his shirt on when they left the house. Their mother had let him go topless, as long as he put his shirt on if they went inside any buildings.

Max carried her mini backpack with Carson’s shirt, the ice cream money, and several books, and Carson carried two of his action figures, the Hulk and Batman. As they turned the corner to the park, Max instinctively veered towards the sidewalk, to avoid the man that usually sat on the steps of the corner store and whistled at passing women, but he wasn’t there, so she turned and went the more direct way.

Once they arrived at the park, Carson immediately ran off towards the play structures, heading straight towards James, a friend from second grade that had played at their house several times over the summer. Max settled down by a big oak tree - her favorite spot - and took out one of her books. She opened it to the bookmarked page, and was immediately enthralled, the real world drifting away around her. It felt like only a couple of minutes when she heard a high pitched scream coming from the bushes across the playground. Max jumped up, tossing her book to the side, and ran towards the bushes from which the scream had been emitted. When she got there she found Carson and James, standing in a small clearing in the bushes, both of them crying and Carson violently shaking. In front of them was the bloodied body of the man from the corner. He looked exactly as Max remembered, grey-brown wisps of hair under a black beanie, grey stubble peppering his bony chin, and the same maroon zip up sweatshirt he had been wearing two days before. His body was laid out on its back, his arms crossed over his chest, and resting between his yellowing teeth was a single black rose. Max gasped, took a step back, and quickly looked around to see if anyone else had seen. The playground was bustling with children and parents, all laughing and playing, but it all seemed miles away now. Max looked back at Carson and James, still crying quietly, and gently pulled them away from the clearing back towards the playground. “He’s only playing”, she said, her voice shakier than she had planned. She steadied her voice and tried to calm her nerves a bit. “He’s getting ready for Halloween.” “But Halloween isn’t for two months,” Carson protested. “Maybe he just wants to practice so he can be really convincing.” “But-” “Come on, let's play over here.” Max led the boys over towards the monkey bars, trying not to sound worried. She left them there, and once they had reluctantly begun playing, she crept back to the bushes.

Once she got to the clearing, she bent down to look at the body. Without touching it, she looked closely at the black rose placed in the man’s mouth. It’s stem was a medium green, the same color as the leaves of the bushes Max was in, and it’s petals were a deep black, like the night sky without any stars. Unlike the rest of the man, the rose didn’t have a single drop of blood on it, it’s stem and petals remained so pristine that it could have been fake. Max noticed out of the corner of her eye a small movement to her right, and she looked over but didn’t see anything at first. On closer inspection, however, she found a small section of lined paper that might have been ripped out of a notepad, and on it something was written in blue ink. She scooted around it to see, and read “Ten oclock am. First of many. Ther’e there is no stopping it. The Black Rose will never be stopped.”

Ten oclock am. First of many. Ther’e there is no stopping it. The Black Rose will never be stopped. Max gasped, jumped up, and started running towards the playground as fast as she could. She grabbed Carson by the arm and dragged him with her to the big oak tree where she had left her backpack and books. She grabbed the backpack, stuffed the book that she had left on the ground inside of it, and slung it on her shoulder as she hurried out of the park. “Where are we going?” asked Carson, sounding panicked. “Back home,” replied Max, a bit out of breath. “We can’t go home, mom has an interview,” said Carson, sounding out of breath too. “Then we’ll go to Angela’s house.” Angela was Max’s best friend, and had been since kindergarten, and they did everything together. They were in a school play together in grade five, and again in grade six. They practically lived at one another’s house. Max could alway count on Angela if she needed help, or for a good time. Just as they arrived, out of breath, on Angela’s doorstep, Angela’s mother opened the door and stepped out onto the small porch, nearly bumping into Max and Carson.

“My goodness, are you alright?” she asked as she stepped back into the doorway. “Yes, Mrs. Michaels,” gasped Max, “but I need to talk to Angela. Is she here?” “Yes, of course, come right in” Answered Mrs. Michaels, moving aside so Max and her brother could step in.

Max ran into the house, leaving Carson with Angela’s mother, and raced up the stairs to find Angela. She skidded to a stop in front of Angela’s bedroom door, and stuck her head in to see if she was there. Angela was sitting on her bed, earbuds stuck in her ears, and a pile of yarn, beads, and other craft supplies scattered around her bed. Max hurried in, shut the door, and yanked Angela’s earbuds out of her ears. “Hey!” complained Angela. “What are you doing? Did my mom let you in?” “Yeah, and I really need to talk to you,” Max replied. “What is it? Are you okay?” asked Angela, sounding a bit concerned. Max leaned in close to Angela, so close she could almost hear her heartbeat, and whispered, “I found a dead body in the park.” “What?” exclaimed Angela, her voice considerably louder than Max’s. “Shhhh!” Max whispered. “I don’t know what to do. There was a note next to it that said something about a Black Rose. Please, you need to help me.” “Okay, I will! Calm down. Let's go to the park.” Max and Angela got up from the bed, and Max went to fetch Carson while Angela grabbed a backpack and stuffed some supplies into it. They met downstairs, and asked Angela’s mother if she could watch Carson for a little while. She agreed, and they hurried out the door and down the street towards the park. As they were walking, Max explained in detail what had happened, and Angela listened intently without interrupting once.

As they neared the park, Max began to hear sirens, and when they hurried around the last corner she and Angela abruptly stopped walking. The whole stretch of road in front of the park was flanked with police cars, and there were police officers everywhere. Some were talking to terrified looking parents and children, some were stringing up crime scene tape all around the park, and others were bent down near the bushes where the body was laying. Max could make out snippets of what they were saying, but she didn’t understand most of the words. She heard “ Homicide,” “rigor,” and several other words she couldn’t fully make out. A tall, skinny police officer noticed Max and Angela standing on the corner staring, and came over to speak to them. “Hello girls, I’m sorry but the park is closed.” Angela started to turn away, but Max pulled her back to face the officer. “I found the dead body.” “Did you,” the officer’s face went ashen as he spoke. “Then I suppose you’d better come with me. Where are your parents?” “My mom’s at home doing a job interview. My brother’s at Angela’s house.” Max motioned to Angela as she said her name, then asked, “Are we in trouble?” “No, of course not,” the officer assured them, before turning to call one of the other police officers over. “My name is officer Daniels, by the way.”

A chubby, squat officer with a belt that looked to be a bit too small for his waist came over. Officer Daniels explained the situation to him, and then turned back to Max and Angela, who had been intently watching the officers squatting near the body. “This is officer Mike. He’s going to bring you down to the station, and we’ll call your parents to come down, okay?” “Okay,” Max and Angela both agreed. Officer Mike led them to a police car, and Max and Angela got in the backseats, with officer Mike in the driver’s seat. When they got to the station, officer Mike led the girls to a room in the back, where Max’s mother was already waiting. She jumped up when she saw them, and rushed over to hug Max tightly, then Angela, a worried expression on her face. “Are you girls alright?” she asked frantically, as she looked them over for injuries. “They aren’t hurt, but we are going to need to conduct some interviews with both of them, once Angela’s mother arrives,” Said a police officer in the corner of the room, who Max and Angela had only just noticed. The next few days were a blur of interviews, police officers, and trips to the police station. Max missed the first day of seventh grade because she had to talk to an old, grizzled detective, and Angela - who had been allowed to leave after only a few interviews - had told Max about their classroom, classmates, and teacher, Miss Megan.

Eventually, there was a trial for a man named Leonard Stakes, who they had found in a parking lot covered in blood, holding a knife that matched the stab wounds found on the back of the dead body. Max and her mother had to be at the trial, but she wasn’t made to testify, as the police already had enough evidence. Leonard Stakes was convicted of the first degree murder of Joshua Catall, and sentenced to life in prison, with the possibility of parole. Thirteen years later, Max, still good friends with Angela, had a baby boy and named him Daniel, after the officer who they had met at the park the day of the murder. Two years after Daniel was born, Max became a forensic psychologist, working with children who were witnesses to crimes, just like herself. Max dedicated the rest of her life to helping child witnesses, and taking care of Daniel and his little sister, Alice.


December 10th, 2022 Imagine that you’re Barack Obama and you’ve just won your first presidential election. It’s election night, the results are in, and you’re buzzing. How long do you keep feeling that way? All night for sure. And I bet you wake up the next morning walking with a hell of a swagger. But within 72 hours he put the milk into the cabinet and cereal into the fridge, started washing his hair with body soap instead of shampoo, or realized he was out of toilet paper only after using the bathroom, and instantly felt like a doofus. Because for me I spent about four hours being the swash-buckling, space-pirate, hero then became the guy at a dorm-room party where he doesn’t know anyone else and smiles along to inside jokes and shorthand he doesn’t get. As a side note, I don’t know what a swash is, nor what buckling is - assuming it isn’t a reference to buckles? It’s kind of embarrassing to even admit that after 24 days of being totally alone I kind of miss the solitude. Big hero to socially awkward engineer in four hours. Breaking more records every day up here. It does make me wonder about the future of humanity though. Orion is spacious compared to the Apollo capsule, yet it still has as much privacy as that dorm-room party would. It could well take centuries before we get up to Star Trek level population densities on spaceships. So does that mean the only people going out and inhabiting strange new worlds are all going to be extroverts out of necessity? Could Mars end up being THE night club destination of the future and Earth just filled with people who wear headphones and type on their laptop whenever they go to Starbucks? In movies they always show really spacious ships going to Mars, but no one bothers thinking about the mass involved in so much structure for so few people. The reality is that every cubic inch of space has a cost in terms of structural mass which in turn means more mass in the structural elements that support it, which means bigger, heavier engines, and more fuel for all of that stuff, and then the extra fuel to lift that extra fuel. With spaceships: mass breeds mass. When we do go to Mars, every square inch of that spaceship is going to be necessary, and Alex Whelm getting some alone time isn’t NASA’s idea of necessary. Anyways, I’m not some masochist who just likes to tell people about his insecurities, flaws, and embarrassing personality quirks for fun. I’m only telling you about this because it is necessary context. You’ve got to understand that when Mark gets on the radio and tells me that Jess would like to talk with me, there are four sets of eyes that pivot around to look at me. Sarah gathers everyone together and pushes them to the bunks and just out of sight - but absolutely not out of earshot. I take the call with a live studio audience of god only knows how many. “Hey Alex. How are you doing?” It’s been months, but hearing her voice is like there’s a well trod path of neurons in my brain that lights up and it really could have been yesterday that we broke up. Or were dating. I tell her about my toes. She doesn’t know what to say back to that, so I make a joke about never liking thong sandals anyways. My brain chooses that moment to present me with a very vivid imagined image of her rolling her eyes in response. “Did you ever watch Love is Blind? It’s on Netflix,” she asked. “I’m aware it exists… But I haven’t seen it.” Why do I talk like that? I’m honestly trying to be helpful. What I meant to communicate was, ‘I’ve seen the icon and know the idea, but haven’t watched it.’ Instead, I went for brevity and technical accuracy and the words just come out like a challenge, or like I’m too good to watch something like that. How often do you think Barack Obama says something he feels like an idiot for a quarter second after he finishes saying it? That’s what they should ask Michelle about in interviews. “What’s something Barack did that he’s still embarrassed about?” “The producers gave me a call. They’d like to sit down with us when you get back, pitch an idea to us.” “I don’t think that’s really for me,” I say. There’s a long silence on the other end, a few minutes of even more awkward conversation, and Jess gets off the radio. This is probably worth saying because, given what you know about me and relationships, it might not be obvious, but I did understand she was asking me to give things another chance. At least, I think that’s what she was asking. She was right? You know what: doesn’t matter. In my head she asked me to get back together, and I said no. Why? Because Jess was right to break up with me. I’ve lived my whole life thinking that when you get dumped it’s because you did something wrong, or should have done something differently, or you’re just not good enough for the other person. But that isn’t it. People break up because they don’t like the other person. I’m a Hawaiian pizza, and not everyone likes Hawaiian pizza. I’m not going to pick off my chunks of pineapple and hope she doesn’t notice the little juicy divots left on me. I need someone who loves Hawaiian pizza. Yeah sure, there are easy-to-love lucky folks out there who are pepperoni pizzas, but I’m done regretting the fact that I’m not one of them. People like Hawaiian pizza too! “Whatcha writing?” Sarah asks. I jumped, and fumbled the pad that I’m writing this out on. If you think jumping on Earth is embarrassing, try doing it in zero-g. You just kind of… spasm in space. Despite my repeated objections, she reads the whole thing before giving the pad back. She doesn’t say anything, but she’s got this look on her face like she’s thinking about saying something and is close to laughing at her own joke. People suck. And are the best. Maybe Orion crashes tomorrow and I’ll never have to feel embarrassed again. \*\*\* I’m Nathan H. Green, a science-fiction writer with a degree in aerospace engineering, and I’m going to be doing daily semi-fictional stories tracking the Artemis I mission. You can follow along through my reddit (u/authornathanhgreen). *Artemis I Has A Stowaway* is a work of semi-fiction. All incidents, events, dialogue and sentiments (which are not part of the mission’s official history), are entirely fictional. Where real historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, sentiments, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events, personality, disposition, or attitudes of the real person, nor to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. Save the above, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. © 2022 Nathan H.


Damien looked up to the sky, praying to the stars that this would prove to be the answer to all his problems. The stars blinked and glittered, refusing to give him any hints of what was coming. Taking a deep breath, Damien walked into the building. Paint flaked from the walls, and not a single chair in the waiting room looked safe to sit in. The front desk was solid wood, and behind the desk sat a very blonde, very bored-looking girl around Damien’s age chewing gum. “Welcome to North Star, where dreams come true.” the girl said with a monotone voice. She glanced up and down Damien. “Whaddya want? To be a hero? To be great?” “Yes,” he said nervously. “I’m not sure how. I heard this was one of the best places to go.” “You rethinking your decision?” the girl asked, popping her gum. Damien couldn’t help nodding. The girl rolled her eyes knowingly, saying, “Is it the furniture?” “Umm…” The girls snorted. “Figured. The Dream Maker is always trying to drive freeloaders away. So are you staying or leaving?” “I’ll stay.” “Fill this out.” The girl handed him a stack of paperwork. “It shouldn’t take you more than five minutes. Ish.” “Can I borrow a pen?” Damien asked. The girl smirked but didn’t say anything. She didn’t hand him a pen either. Damien sighed and looked down at the paper, mentally filling the blanks. Full Name: Damien Alandro

Birthplace:  St. Louis,

MO Birthdate:  April 24th,

1999 Deathdate:  Unknown. Dream: Just that my family is happy. Damien looked through all the paperwork, then asked if he could go home, fill it out, then come back. The girl smirked again, and told him to look one more time at the paperwork. Damien did, and to his surprise, all the blanks were filled in. He looked back up at the girl. “How- what the... Um, here you go, I guess.” The girl flipped through his work, and nodded in satisfaction. “You’re still missing something though.” “What?” Damien was surprised. He had just done a ton of paperwork. What more could there be? “The Dream Maker is ready whenever you’ve figured it out.” The girl stood up. “I’ll go let The Dream Maker know you’re almost ready.” The girl walked away from Damien, and began to open a rickety door he assumed led to the dream maker’s office.

“Wait!” Damien called, realizing something. “You never told me your name.” The girl turned and smiled at him. “You never asked.” “Will you tell me?”

“I will. My name’s Henrika.” “Henrika.” Damien repeated her name. “It’s gorgeous.” “Thank you. The Dream Maker will see you now.” Damien stood up. He wasn’t about to question beautiful Henrika, who the more he looked at the more he was enthralled by her. She clearly wasn’t new here. He wondered at her relationship to the dream maker. How did she know all he needed was to ask her name? Henrika held the door for him, before leading him down a well lit hall. They entered a silver doorway, where she left him in an empty domed room. She ordered him to stay there until she returned when the appointment was over. “Well,” Damien said to himself. “That was a warm welcome.” After about fifteen minutes of waiting, waiting, waiting, a hunched-over, wrinkled woman walked in. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and a thin silver veil covered her hair and face. “I am the dream maker.” the woman said, her voice soft and familiar. “What is your dream? What have you wanted all your life?” “I-” Damien paused. He knew what he wanted. He wanted his family to be happy. But, something seemed off. “Do I know you?” The woman looked away. “Of course not. I haven’t left this building for more than a hundred years. Now, back to business. What is your dream?” Damien looked closer at the woman. Something was still wrong. Was his only dream to make his family happy? Did they really deserve this? Damien’s thoughts flew to his family, scrutinizing them one by one. His mother, a former drunk in a painful cycle of sobriety. His father, who wished to wander but stayed still for the sake of his family. His older sister, now a mean, spiteful woman. His younger brother, still a high school dropout. Of course they deserved this. They did, they did, they did. Damien opened his mouth to tell the woman this, but instead, he found himself asking about the secretary, Henrika. “Where did you find her?” “You could say she found me. Your dream?” The woman was still turned away, but Damien was growing more and more certain that there was something she wasn’t saying. He took a step forward.

“I want my family to be happy. That is my dream.” Damien said. The woman nodded and turned to face him.

“Yes, yes.” she said, approvingly. “Unselfish. Tell me your family’s names, and soon you will see them smile. It might not be immediate, because I am not a miracle worker.” Damien nodded. The woman took another minute to look him over before turning to leave. “Soon… soon your dream will be made.” Damien started to follow her, but the woman held her hand up. “No. You stay here.” Damien sighed as he watched the dream maker leave. What a confusing woman. And what a confusing meeting. Something tickled the back of his brain as wrong. Something was off, but for the moment, he was just going to wait for Henrika to come back. Again, after about fifteen minutes of waiting, Henrika returned. “So, how was it?” “Good, but something seemed off.” “Off how?” Henrika leaned forward.

“I think I knew her, but she said she hadn’t left the building for a hundred years. That means she would've been born here, but she seemed…” Damien trailed off. Where was he going with this? “She seemed what?” Henrika asked softly and almost threateningly.

“I don’t know. Maybe like she was hiding something.”  Henrika’s look darkened. She slammed Damien against the wall, and her voice was sharp as a knife. “Can you keep a secret?” “Ye- yes.” Damien’s eyes were wide and his breath came faster, and the thought passed through his mind that maybe she was crazy. Henrika’s grip on him slackened. “I’m sorry, Damien. I just, I haven’t --ugh, why is this so hard?” “It’s okay. Just

tell me what’s going on. Please. I want to help.” “I know. Come with me.” Henrika grabbed Damien’s hand and dragged him down the hallway. They passed at least fifty doorways, all grand and impressive, and often embellished with gems or gold. Finally, they stopped in front of a small door that seemed out of place from the rest of the hall.

“Through here.” Henrika said, dropping down to her knees. “Follow me.” Damien followed her. The door led to an equally small

tunnel, which the two had to crawl through. When the ceiling was finally tall enough for them to stand, Damien asked, “Why did we have to crawl?” “Are you doubting me?” Henrika asked, shooting him a look. Damien shook his head. Of course he wasn’t, he was just curious. Henrika relaxed. “Okay, come on. This is where I work.” She motioned towards the wall, then stepped forward and pushed on the wall. It swung around, pushing them into a new room.

This room was broad with a low ceiling. It was a sort of organized chaos. Computers lined one wall, and racks of clothes, wigs, and makeup covered two others. The wall that hid the entrance was half-lined by tables, all of which were covered with papers, office supplies, and other junk. Against the other side was a small bed, bookshelf, and mini appliances. “Is this where you live?” Damien asked, looking around in awe. Did she really live in one room? He decided that the beautiful Henrika really was crazy. The realization only made him fall for her harder. “Yes.” she replied, turned to face him. “And you need to keep it a secret. No one else has seen through my disguises before.” “Disguises? Wait, were you--” “The Dream Maker. Yes, she was me and I was her.” Henrika interrupted him. When he asked her why, her response was simple. “You would trust an old lady’s word better than you would trust a little girl’s, right?” Damien stared at her. Henrika was growing stranger by the minute. Damien turned away from her, pretending to be interested in all her disguises. “So, how many disguises do you have?” “A lot. I haven’t not worn a disguise in years.” “Why all the disguises?” “Jeez, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Damien blushed. Henrika sat on her bed and offered him a seat. “I’m not who you think I am.” Damien looked away, embarrassed.

Henrika continued “I’m not exactly sure how old I am. Probably

close to your age. Only I’m haunted.” “Really?” Damien asked. He wasn’t sure which he was more curious about: the fact that she was his age, or that she was haunted. “Yeah. My family hasn’t left this building for centuries, and their souls rest in me. I may be young, but I know hundreds of years. When I was younger, when my mother still bore the weight of the curse, I tried to sneak out. The sun was blinding, and the people were terrifying. Someone saw me, and called the police. The wailing sirens scared me so badly, I ran back inside. The police had seen me though, and followed me. That’s when…” Henrika broke off. Damien offered a hug, and Henrika leaned into him. “That’s when… That’s when I lost my mother. So I took over the family business, making dreams come true. And I fell in love with it. I could’ve left, but I didn’t because I was scared. And now I’m glad I didn’t.”

Damien held Henrika in his arms. She shivered, and Damien shifted so he could pull the blanket over her. Henrika continued talking, but she wasn’t talking to Damien anymore. Her eyes were spaced out, and she was reliving a time long gone by. “The police didn’t hurt her. My mother. She ran, wouldn’t let them help. They couldn’t find me, but my mother was gone. I was too scared to move. About a year later, I felt heaviness. Soul-crushing heaviness. The heaviness of souls. I knew my mother had died.” Damien rubbed her back. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He repeated the words over and over. Henrika eventually fell asleep, and he laid her down on the bed. He laid down next to her, being careful not to wake her up. “I’m here for you.” he whispered, before falling asleep beside her. When Damien woke up, Henrika was leaning over him. “Damien?” “I’m awake! I’m awake! Is something wrong?” “No, I just haven’t seen anyone sleeping before. I forgot you were here.” Henrika said, pulling away from Damien. “Did I wake you up? Go back to sleep.” “No, no, it’s okay. I promise.” Damien stood up. “Okay, let’s get to work. How can I help?” “Um, I don’t know. Have you seen me out of disguise yet?” “Aren’t you out of disguise now?” Henrika shook her head. “No. In reality, my skin’s paler, my hair’s darker, and I have gray eyes, not green or brown— what color did I put in yesterday?” “Um, somewhere in between. I think they’re hazel. Could I see you with no costume?” Damien asked. Henrika bit her lip. She pushed her hair back, and fidgeted.

“I don’t know…” Henrika looked away. Damien frowned. He didn’t understand. Didn’t Henrika trust him? At least a little?

“Henrika?” “Sorry. I can’t do that.” Henrika said. She slipped off the bed and ran. Damien followed, concerned. Henrika crawled through the tunnel, and scampered up and down stairs after winding through halls, with Damien on her tail.

“Henrika! Wait!” Damien called after her. “You don't have to!” They ran for several minutes, eventually looping back to Henrika’s bedroom. “Are you… -- huff-- Are you okay?” Damien took a step forward. Henrika skittered along the edges of the room, but didn’t take off again. “Please,” Damien asked. “I want to help.” “You keep saying that.” Henrika said.

“Really, I do. Don’t uncostume if you’d rather not.” “But… why? Why did you ask?” “Because I think you’re pretty. And I want to see you the way you are.” “I’ve never had someone else to trust before. I’ve read about it in books though.” Henrika pointed to her bookshelf. “Can I?” “You can trust me.” Henrika nodded. “Come with me, I’ll have to bathe to get the color out. The bathroom’s over here.” Damien blushed. “I’ll stay here. I don’t need to watch you wash. Really.” “But you need cleaning too. There’s room for both of us.” “I don’t have clothes.” “I have some clothes that would fit you.” “But…” “No buts. Come on.” Reluctantly, Damien followed Henrika to the bathroom. It was quite large, with marble walls and floors. There were two different sizes of bathtubs, a shower, a swimming pool, and an armoire. Henrika dug through the drawers, looking for clothes that would fit Damien. Eventually she held out two outfits. One was casual, with jeans and a striped t-shirt, while the other was dressier. “Which one? I like casual, but a polo and tie is always classy.” “The casual one.” Damien replied. She did the same for her clothes, settling on a periwinkle tunic and leggings. Henrika walked over to the larger bathtub. She turned on the water and started to get undressed. Damien’s eyes widened as her clothes fell to the ground and she slipped into the steaming water.

Seeing Damien’s expression, Henrika asked what was wrong. “Are you good? You can join me, there’s plenty of room.” “Um, well, outside this building, people don’t,

I mean, I shouldn’t get naked by you.” “Why not?” “It’s, um, hard to explain.” Damien said. Why didn’t she know this stuff? Didn’t her mom explain it? Maybe she was still too young when her mother died…

“If you don’t want to share a bathtub, you can fill up the other one.”

Damien sighed in relief. He turned on the water, asking, “Who pays the water bill?” “Whoever owns the building.” “Which is?” “Mm, I'm pretty sure it’s my dad. He took off a while ago, but still tries to check on me. Sometimes he brings me a new book. Always asking about boys.” Damien nodded and undressed, trying to keep himself mostly covered, since Henrika was looking at him intently. “Tell me about yourself,” she asked. “I like to swim. I’m pretty sure I have a pair of swimming trunks somewhere, if you’d like to swim after we’re cleaned up.” “Um, I used to swim. I kinda fell out of practice after one of my bosses fired me.” Damien said, trying to distract himself. Henrika was standing up, washing with a sort of pink foam. As she washed, color drained from her skin and hair, leaving her with vampire-pale skin and silky brown hair. Henrika popped the hazel contacts out, leaving her with cool grey eyes. She poured water over herself, rinsing away the foam. Henrika stepped out of the bathtub, squeezed out her hair, and walked over to the armoire. She bent over, looking for swimming trunks for Damien. She groaned when she couldn’t find anything. “I’m sorry, Damien, I couldn’t find anything. I could make you pair.” “No, no, it’s okay. I have a better idea. To warm you up to going outside.” Damien said, taking the chance to wash up while Henrika was distracted. Henrika turned to face him. “What?”

“The stars.” he said. “Can you put on clothes?” “Oh. Yeah. I forgot you don’t like being naked.” Henrika said, passing him his clothes. She put on her clothes, then watched as Damien put on his. “Can we go see the stars now? I’ve never seen them.” “Really?” Damien asked.

“They’re absolutely beautiful, like a million tiny diamonds. Is there a way to get to the roof?” “Oh, sure.” Henrika grabbed his hand and dashed out of the bathroom and up stairs, dragging Damien behind her. As they reached the top of the stairs, Damien tripped and they fell

through the door to the roof in a heap. Damien’s face burned red. Why, oh why, did he have to fall on her? Henrika recovered first, stood up, and helped Damien up. “Thank you,” Damien said. He brushed himself off. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” When Henrika didn’t answer, Damien took a good, long look at her. She was staring straight up. Her eyes sparkled, and her face was stretched into a smile. Actually, Henrika was radiant, like she was absorbing the starlight. Her hand groped at the sky, trying to grab a star. “Do you like them?” Henrika sighed happily. “I never knew anything more beautiful.” She leaned over to give him a hug. “Thank you.” “It was nothing. The stars are always there.” “Always?” “Always.” “And you’ll be there for me?” “Always.” “And I’ll always be there for you.” “Always?” Damien asked. “Always,” Henrika replied, a different sort of smile spreading across her face. "Always."


Manor, manor here I come.

I repeat the phrase in my head, preparing myself for what was ahead.

The line seemed to be something taken out of a children’s rhymes book, I thought with a chuckle. I struggled my luggage out of the adorable yellow auto with an “oomph,” and placed my suitcase on the path.

I opened my mouth to bid the driver farewell, but the young man didn’t seem to care much for formalities.

Having enough of my tardiness, he pulled the reins and trotted past me on his horse. The next thing I know, there are muddy splatters all over my mint green button-up tailcoat. And my tie!

I gasped,

it’s ruined.

The once multi-colored tie is now coated with a layer of brown.

The horror! It a futile attempt to avenge my clothes, I turned around and swung one of my hands up “Hey!” I called out. “Watch where you’re riding mister!” The auto just sped on, showing no signs of having heard my words. I stomped my foot in frustration, which didn’t do me any good.

The mud puddles - formed due to yesterday’s heavy shower – were most definitely keen on following Newton’s Laws of Motion. The fluid sprung up leaving me with messy, wet socks and a pout on my lips.

So much for ‘it’s a new day!’

Finding the urge to look a lest bit presentable before arriving at my destination, I dug both of my hand into my pockets. Nope. No convenient handkerchiefs there.

I took a step forward huffing, with my hands still in my pockets - hoping for a cloth to miraculously appear.

It was a miracle that I wished for, but what I got

was nothing short of a disaster. The movement of my legs caused a shift in the puddles. The slush of the mud threw my suitcase up.

I watched sullenly as all my belongings slid down the hill and into the bushes.

I peered at the freakishly large towers beside me - gray, dusty towers that guarded the doors. I considered telling them that I’m retiring for the day.

Wait… no.

Glancing at the horizon, you could see the various shades of sunrise. More like: I’m retiring for the

dawn

rather than

day . I

could  claim to be tired from the nights long travel. I frowned at the obvious lie.

In reality, I had arrived at the nearest hotel yesterday by midday. Waking up early and hauling a auto for a ten-minute drive was all I had done. Begrudgingly, I strutted down the hill to look for my luggage… for the next few hours. It will all be worth it. *** Knock, knock.

Normally, I wouldn’t prefer to show up in such an attire. Any sane person could tell at first glance that the building was far too intimidating to brave unless you are a notch up from your very best. I - who looked like I had been driven over by a truck and dragged into various bushes - was not even close to adequate, much less at my best! The twig tangled into my hair stood as proof. But I could not give up now. Definitely not! After all that money and time I spent on my travels, I’d be a fool to let it all go down the drain! You can do this , I motivated myself.

It will all be worth it.

I rehearsed my plan in a quiet whisper. “You just have to get in there, introduce yourself, and ask permission to be allowed to take a photo. Finally, roam around the place - which is not creepy,  at all

- for a good measure .”

Unintentionally, I let my eyes stray across the hefty doors. Just

looking  at those bulky wooden blocks is enough to make me shudder. A cold breeze whooshed past me. The howling of the wind which then played in the background,

now

became louder. “A-an-and then…” I trailed off. A chill rose up my back causing me to shudder again. Darn it.

This place is getting to me.

There is nothing orthodox about this manor, Nothing!

I reminded the small part of myself - which dared to feel ‘fear’!

I was about to continue when a creak sounded. It came from the entrance, one of its doors was pushed slightly ajar.

When no one opened it further I knocked it again.

All

that  did was widen the gap further. I took a deep breath. It’s time to execute my plan. Step one: go inside.

Check . Step two: introduce yourself.

“Hello? My name is Gale. I am so glad to meet you. I-” I stopped talking; letting my mouth hang open. Seriously?! Was I just talking to thin air? Who opened the door? I looked around for any sign of living organisms. There; I could spot a - sorry,

many -

spiders spinning their respective webs. But humans? Not a single hint of those rebellious creatures. Darn it. There you go, insulting yourself.

But who says that I am not rebellious myself?

But all in all? I seemed to be the only human insight. I realized that I should be outside; like a polite guest - waiting for someone to greet me. Even as the sour thought patiently waited for me to consider it, I blandly ignored it. I decided that the Lord of the manor is at fault in this circumstance, he should have been there to welcome me into his humble abode. I heard from terrorized gossipers that this manor is most certainly haunted and its Lord is very much jobless.

And this very statement is the reason for my presence. As a journalist, I took it as my job to prove that this plot is occupied by a pleasant man who lives in a nice, dandy ‘house’ - cough, cough - I mean

manor . Finally! With the abolition of censorship, I now have the rights to publish whatever I want! I squinted my eye, straining to capture my vision. And my very first attempt will be on this place. Oh, and I will will not rest until it is quite remarkable. “Hello?” I called out. “Anybody here?” The sound resonated through the dark hollow hall.

The sight of homely decor would have given me comfort and something to write about. Emphasis on

would . But this is certainly not the case. For the most part, the walls were lacking ornamentation. And as for the decorations that were present - they couldn’t possibly be described as… homely. “Lord Eugene?” If my memory served me right, that would be the name of the Lord of the manor; I heard that he had a title too. My reply came in form of an echo given by the emptiness. A gust of gale blew;

how fitting,  I snickered. It lifted a wisp of hair towards the direction of the harsh wind. Oddly, it felt like a warning. A slight panic rose up form inside me, but I dismissed it.

It will all be worth it. With all the rumors following this building, my article would top the trending. It would give me immense pride to show that there is nothing to be afraid of. Why! I might even get promoted!

Now that the Declaration of Rights of Men and Citizen proclaimed freedom of speech and expression to be a natural right, journalists like myself are now finally free to write what ever they wanted. All I need is a picture as proof. Luckily, I didn’t lose my camera with my luggage. All this time it was slung across my shoulder.

There seems to be no one here. But that is no reason to waste time!

I assembled my camera and set a timer. I clicked the button at the top and ran to stand in position – which was right in front of the lens. I smiled as the camera flashed, symbolizing the photo being taken. After the notable click, I rushed to look at my work. As I gawked at the photo, I was a little less enthusiastic. My emotions rather fell into the horrified category. There, in the black and white photo, sat a boy right beside me. He looks malnourished, his clothes had fairly large holes in them. The Cheshire grin on his face promised trouble. I couldn't stomach the fact that... He was missing an eye. Which was frankly gruesome to look at. I blinked. There was another thing I couldn't digest.  Who…?

The last I checked I was alone. When I looked at the camera to double-check, the photo disappeared – as if it were never there. I was probably a figment of my imagination. And I left it at that, nothing more nothing less. After all, ghosts weren’t real, were they? Perhaps I hadn’t taken the photo at all. To mend that, I posed for another photo. When I checked this time, the boy was surely present.

There he was: in this photo, he stood with his frail hand squeezing my shoulder in a somewhat uncomfortable way. That grin, that grin…

Oof.

My chest squeezed. Ghosts aren’t real. It will all be worth it. It will all be worth it. Within a moment the captured scene disappeared, just like the previous one. I smacked my head. Am I becoming delusional? I repeated the procedure, only to get the same results yet again. Are my comprehension skills deficient? Mad . I am going

mad.

In utter disbelief, I imitated my actions – again and again. It will all be worth it.

Somehow, I don’t believe that anymore.

An evil crackle reached my ears. Ghosts aren’t real.

Is it?

It will all be worth it.

Will it? Then suddenly: “You may turn around,” said a grainy voice from behind me. One which I could imagine would belong to the boy. “I am here, may you not feel any alarm.”

I felt funny.

“Oh, ” I exclaimed with a slight slur in my words. “I may, may I?” Enthralled and in a daze, I put an effort to turn around. Because

it will all be worth it.

«THE END» [A/N: thank you so much for reading! It had been a pleasure. I really appreciate this platform _Love, from Serious Sri]


The Last Blind Date Evan walked into the restaurant and sat down, Jonie and Steve, his life long friends, had pushed him into a blind date. They said Elizabeth was a wonderful girl and they knew he would just love her. All he could think of was a college football game that he would rather be watching. Maybe she wouldn’t show, he thought, then he could take the monkey suit off and relax for the rest of the evening in his recliner sipping an IPA. Elizabeth got to the restaurant about fifteen minutes late. She wasn't trying to be late but she never could seem to be on time. Work was different, she had that routine down, but anywhere else she was guaranteed to be running behind. One time her dad invited her to church for Mother's Day to surprise her mother. He said when she walked in, I knew you would be here, I knew you would be late but I knew you would be here.

The hostess knew when she walked in who was expecting her and ushered her to Evan's table.

"Evan", Elizabeth said. "Yes", Evan said as he stood up to greet her. He was pleasantly surprised that she was attractive and had a very pretty smile.

Elizabeth looked at Evan and thought he seems alright and hoped he wasn't a pompous jerk like the last guy that she was fixed up with. Elizabeth hated blind dates with a passion. Everyone automatically thought because she wasn't dating anyone that they had the perfect match for her. It never turned out right and she wished people could understand that she enjoyed spending time alone.

Evan also hated blind dates, people assumed that they could pick the perfect woman that he would fall madly in love with. The truth was he was really pretty shallow. He just wanted a good looking chick that put out.

Elizabeth and Evan sat in the restaurant making small talk trying their best to find some topic that would interest both of them. So far they had covered sports, talked about sports cars, where they went to high school, their jobs and what appetizer to start with.

This was really going well, Elizabeth thought, as she tried hard not to roll her eyes. Evan wasn't enjoying himself anymore than she was and hoped they could make the date end quickly. Shortly after the appetizer arrived, Evan and Elizabeth heard a loud noise coming from the front entrance.

Five men in heavy military camouflage came running in pointing AK 47's at everyone in the restaurant. It was a Saturday night so the restaurant was full capacity with people also waiting in the bar to be seated. One of the militia aimed the rifle at the ceiling and sent off a round to get everyone in the restaurants attention. People started screaming as the men blocked all of the exits.

The men who had taken over the facility had heavily accented voices and told the patrons to lay face down on the floor except for the hostess. One of the soldiers instructed her to get the restaurant phone. He told her he wanted her to dial the president. The hostess looked at him confused. She realized that they were in Washington DC but not everyone was part of a political party. Her hands and voice were shaking as she tried to explain to the men that she didn't know how to get a hold of the president but could call 911.

The terrorist was not amused by the hostess lack of connections and told her to do it. She dialed 911 and the operator answered and ask her what was her emergency and she handed the phone to him. He told the operator his name was Abdul Bajwa and they had his brother, Muhammad. He explained he was in a military prison in Washington DC. Abdul then demanded his release or he would start shooting everyone in the Le Diplomate Restaurant.

The 911 operator told the terrorist that if this was a joke that he could be imprisoned for fraudulent emergency calls. He guaranteed her it was not and fired a shot into the crowd killing an elderly gentleman.

Elizabeth and Evan laid on the floor face down trying to grasp the seriousness of the situation. Evan took his hand and placed it gently on Elizabeth's back. Even though she had only known him for a very short time his gesture helped to calm her down.

The five men of the Foreign Militia continuously scanned the room watching for any sudden movements from anyone in the crowd. The leader continued to talk to the 911 operator and ask her if she believed it was a joke now. He told her to put him through to the President. The operator told him that she did not have a direct line to the president and that she would dispatch him through to her supervisor.

Thoroughly irritated by the presumed incompetence of the Americans, the Terrorist Leader sent another shot through the crowd and hit a young woman in her mid 20's. The Hostess begged him to stop and tried to explain that people in our country don't have access to the president and she was sure that they would get to the right person if he would just give them a little more time.

The 911 dispatch supervisor came on the line and ask what the emergency was if he hadn't had any communication with the other operator. The man repeated his demands and told him that he had better get someone on the line that had access to the President. The supervisor called the FBI to take over the conversation and hung up the phone.

The terrorist again stated his demands and his need to speak with the President. The FBI told him that they could handle the situation from there. A FBI negotiator had been called in as soon as they were made aware of the hostage situation.

The Lead Terrorist decided that the prisoners would be easier to control if they were put in one room. The banquet room was smaller but would hold all of the people. Elizabeth and Evan followed as they were lead there and he continued to touch Elizabeth’s shoulder. The dire situation that the two had found themselves in was frightening. Before the invasion the only thing they had been worried about was finding a way to get out of the date early not being faced with dying at the hands of terrorists.

The FBI negotiator started talking to the terrorist in charge and continued to ask him his demands and he told them again that he wanted his brother released. The negotiator told him that his brother Muhammad was on the FBI's most wanted list and would be difficult to release, was there anything else they could do for him. Abdul started shouting and told them he was going to start killing more people and they had better stop playing games. The negotiator told him that he was afraid the policy of the United States was not to negotiate with Terrorists.

Abdul picked another victim to execute, a middle aged man. The FBI told him they would talk to the President and call him back. Elizabeth was a paralegal and had worked for a local law firm for ten years. She told Evan that she knew that the US government refused to negotiate with terrorists regardless of the circumstances. She told him they were going to be on their own. Evan looked at her experiencing the total impact of her words. Elizabeth and Evan sat quietly not wanting to bring any attention to themselves when one of the hostages started moaning. Evan was a paramedic so he went to his side. After questioning the man on his symptoms, Evan realized the man was having a heart attack. He asked for assistance from the captures and told them that he needed medical attention. The terrorist who was in charge of the hostages just shrugged his shoulders to demonstrate he didn't care.

Evan, with his medical training realized that if they didn't offer him assistance, Frank Bissette, the Le Diplomate's restaurant owner would die. Mr. Bissette talked very low in a strain voice and told Evan to listen closely. He said that he didn't think he was going to make it because the chest pain was so strong, but him and his girlfriend still had a chance. Mr. Bissette told him that in the bar under the rubber mat that the bartenders stood on was a trap door which led to a cellar. He said that the alcohol the bar and restaurant served was stored there. He was afraid there weren’t any exits but they may be able to stay safe until this hostage situation was over.

Evan thanked Mr. Bissette and stayed there comforting him until he passed. He then returned to Elizabeth to share the news that Mr. Bissette had told him.

The banquet room was in close proximity to the bar but they couldn't just walk in there and head down to the cellar. Evan assured Elizabeth that eventually they would have to let everyone take a bathroom break and that would be their opportunity. Evan laid out a plan for the restroom. He told her to stand in line near the end and then to stay in the stall with her feet elevated. After the others were returned to the banquet room and it was safe to come out he would meet her behind the bar.

The FBI negotiator called the Lead Terrorist back and told him that his organization was frantically working on the problem if they could just be patient a little longer. The FBI took the opportunity to ask if there were any other demands.

After several hours of being ignored by the extremist group, an older lady begged for restroom privileges. That was the break that Evan and Elizabeth had been waiting for. The hostages were all escorted to the restroom and the terrorist stood outside and waited for all to finish their business before they were taken back to the banquet room.

Elizabeth hid in the stall as Evan instructed and waited until she was sure it was safe before exiting the restroom. It didn't take long for Evan to find the rubber mat and trap door that Mr. Bissette had told him about. The two quickly descended the stairs into the cellar making sure the rubber mat on top looked undisturbed. Although the cellar was dark and cold, it was a perfect place to hide as well as age bottles of Brandy, Whisky and Chardonnay. Hopefully the the guard wouldn't notice their absence.

The FBI continued to check in with the terrorist trying to stall them for time until they could organize a SWAT team to try to rescue as many people as possible. Phillip Broden, the lead negotiator was saddened by the realization that so many innocent victims would be lost from the no negotiation clause but couldn't open up borders for terrorism.

Evan and Elizabeth investigated the cellar trying to map out the safest place in a worst case scenario. They knew from the terrorists demonstration they shot first without asking questions. As Evan and Elizabeth prepared for the worst, they looked everywhere in the cellar for anything to use as a weapon. Evan came around the corner with a corkscrew with a twisted blade and a small knife. Elizabeth showed Evan her pepper spray at the end of her key chain that was in her pocket. Evan gave out a small laugh and asked if she had planned on using it on him if he turned out to be a bad date. Elizabeth laughed too and told him a girl never knows. After they had scoured all of the cellar they realized the only weapons they had was booze, a corkscrew and pepper spray. They agreed it was better than nothing. The phone rang again with the FBI agent still trying to pacify the terrorist while the SWAT team got in position. The terrorist leader was getting angrier every time they called and gave them one hour to meet his demands or hostages would be shot every half hour. Elizabeth and Evan, in their refuge found the wine cellar comfortable. They found it didn't only store liquor but also the restaurant's aged cheese. It had been several hours since the two had been taken hostage and they had barely started the appetizer before they were taken. Feeling a little more secure, Evan found an old tablecloth and shook the dust off and grabbed a bottle of Cabermet Sauvignon to go with the aged cheddar. He had read the wine list while he was waiting for her to join him for dinner. Elizabeth was impressed with his choice and knew it was an excellent wine from her wine tasting at the Castello Di Amorosa in Napa Valley. Elizabeth and Evan drank wine and chatted like old friends. He asked her questions about her family, the schools she attended, her favorite foods, and her favorite flowers. Elizabeth, with the wine starting to take effect asked him also about his also, along with some very personal questions. The conversation flowed easily between them without either of them knowing if they would have an opportunity to go on a second date or even make it out alive. They took advantage of the questions they always wanted to ask the opposite sex. With a loud noise from upstairs, their conversation came to an abrupt halt as another gunshot rang out . The bartender from the restaurant was also trying to make it to the cellar.  The cellar door opened slowly and the terrorist descended the steps, Evan and Elizabeth hid in the shadows. The man shined a flashlight throughout the room until it stopped on Evan's eyes . Elizabeth quickly pulled out her pepper spray and sprayed it in his eyes. He shouted and grabbed his eyes and Evan grabbed his gun. Elizabeth took a bottle of Brandy and broke it over his head rendering him unconscious. Evan whacked him with the butt of the assault rifle to make sure he was totally unconscious. With the corkscrew pocket knife Evan cut pieces of his A shirt and tied them tightly around the terrorist hands and ankles. He took the rest of the undershirt and stuffed it in his mouth and tied a gag around his neck.

With their location discovered, they knew it was only a matter of time before the other terrorists came looking for their partner so they needed a plan. Elizabeth asked Evan if he knew how to use a AK 47 and he assured her he did. They had covered multiple stories in their hideout except hunting.

Evan asked Elizabeth what she wanted to do, he said they could continue to hide in the cellar and try to stay safe or they could go out shooting like Rambo and take as many of the terrorist as possible. Elizabeth sat quietly contemplating her response when she said that if she didn't try to help those poor innocent people upstairs in the banquet room she wouldn't be able to sleep at night. Evan smiled and said he couldn't agree more.

With the FBI still stalling on sending in their SWAT Team, the terrorist were getting more agitated, the hour was almost up and they were realizing that the US Government was not cooperating. The Team Leader of the Terrorist group signaled all his men to a conference area to implement his plan B. Just as all of the men had come into close proximity, Evan and Elizabeth emerged from their shelter firing the AK 47. They used the bar for a barrier and Evan continued to fire. All the terrorist started running toward them and the other hostages realizing that they could help with the resistance started fighting and tackling the terrorists. Evan and Elizabeth continued to fight with the AK 47 and throwing lit bottles of Bourbon with fire rags stuck in the top of them.

The fighting finally came to a screeching halt when the SWAT Team hearing all of the commotion decided to join the party.

A few injuries in the crowd were sustained but none life threatening. Evan and Elizabeth's heroic bravery had saved the day. As they came out of the restaurant and into the sunlight, Elizabeth saw Evan was bleeding. With all of adrenaline he had felt while fighting the terrorist, he hadn't realized that he had been shot in the shoulder. His mother and father ran up to him and put their arms around him and after seeing the blood, they ushered him to the nearest ambulance. Elizabeth parents were also there and were hugging their daughter, thanking God that she was safe. She looked over her mother’s shoulder trying to spot Evan and caught a glimpse of the ambulance pulling away.

Evan looked up from the gurney and told his parents that was (The Last Blind Date) he was ever going on. His dad laughed and said “yeah son, I know this was extremely tough, but I'm sure you will change your mind someday". Evan said no dad, "You don't understand I'm never going on another blind date because I have met the girl I'm going to marry."


I was cleaning out some old boxes today and found my notebook from jr. high English class. This short story was the best thing in it. Please note, original jr. high errors have been faithfully transcribed. It also looks like I was going through a comma stage: There once lived a mean king named Cygnon. All the towns people were his slaves. He forced them to work on his plantation for almost nothing. What little they got was taxed. Every day people thought of ways to overthrow him. His castle was virtually indestructible. No battering ram could smash its walls, and no one could tunnel under the moat, which was filled with deadly serpents. There was however, one thing that no one could protect you from. Outside the town lived a huge green Firebreathing dragon. Every time the huge beast walked, the earth trembled. How could they lure the dragon to the castle? Theres only one way, they thought, and that's to find out what it eats. So, one night, as the dragon slept, they went to the valley where it slept, and right away, it was evident that this dragon was very fond of young pine trees and people. It was a good thing the dragon didn't wake up. The townspeople filled their pockets with pine cones. Later they got out the seeds and planted pines all over the town, especially around the castle. One man, who experimented with alchemy in his spare time, came up with something that made them grow very quickly. Then, one day, it happened. The earth trembled, the castle shook. The king, halving never seen a dragon came out to look, not knowing better. With one mighty step, the dragon flattened the castle and the king. It ate the pine trees. The people knew well enough to get out of the way. When they came back, they rebuilt their houses out of oak and lived happily ever after. edit -- one letter.