NOTE: this is my first short story, so please leave any criticism or thoughts for improvement so I can grow as a writer. Thanks! Often in life, the most idle and mundane of situations can quickly become an instance of strangeness, mystery, or absurdity. Dinner is typically an uneventful affair: feel hungry, eat, feel full, repeat *ad infinitum*. But this ordinary cycle was recently broken for me in an unusual way, that left my life feeling somewhat misaligned. All due a short conversation with a ten year old boy. Albeit a particularly odd ten year old boy, but still, a young child nonetheless. I was travelling around Asia, and had stopped for dinner in a small vegetarian restaurant. I’m not a vegetarian, but whilst travelling I was frequently forced to eat in restaurants of questionable hygiene, and vegetarian restaurants feel like the safer option for keeping illness and resulting anxiety at bay. I’d had difficulty finding the restaurant because my phone’s battery ran out. So, after several conversations in broken English with locals, I eventually arrived at my destination disheveled, sweaty, and hungry. For all intents and purposes, it was a perfectly normal looking Asian vegetarian restaurant. Large murals of buddhist deities adorned the walls, meditative music was playing, and small incense were burning by a shrine at the entrance. Rightly, I felt at ease. I sat down in a chair in the corner benefited with a gentle breeze from a ceiling fan, and situated in the shadow of a terrifying depiction of Makahala. He looked benevolent and malevolent. Wrathful and peaceful. Friend and foe. The table was slightly greasy, and the floor was dusty. A trail of ants dutifully carried small scraps of food off to their colony. Not the cleanest place I’d visited, but also not the dirtiest. I considered crushing the ants to send them into a collective frenzied panic. Makahala’s eyes put me off the notion. A large clock in the center of the wall was no longer working, it’s hands resting at 11:59. The restaurant was largely empty, save for a small family in the opposite corner, and a young couple two tables across from me. The aroma of their meals reached me, so I quickly picked up the stained menu, which was fortunately in English. Deciding what to eat was easy enough. Seeing my favourite dish at the top of the first page was clearly destiny. After some awkward pointing at the menu, the waiter understood what I wanted, and scuttled off to fulfil my order. Now I had only to wait. My phone was flat so my primary source of entertainment was lost. I only had my own thoughts for amusement, which quickly became boring. Did you ever try sitting and doing nothing? No phone, book, or TV. Only your imagination. In childhood we have a brilliant capacity for this mental distraction, spending hours in our own vibrant fantasies. Of course this is the bane of school teachers everywhere, and they quickly try to discipline it from us before our teens. But more than that, as we age something changes inside us and we lose the skill forever. It cannot be regained, or retrained. The world inevitably becomes grey and diffuse. My restless mind tried to tune in to the distant alien languages echoing around the room, in an attempt to hear a familiar word or phrase. Nothing. Although, the unique cadence and vocalisation of the language did provide a brief glimmer of stimulation. It made me wonder how many languages there had ever been and what they all sounded like. How many were forgotten? Language feels so permanent but historically it can be swept away and vanish so easily. I was suddenly snapped out of my brooding, by a polite ‘hello’ pronounced in a misplaced, faux-American accent. I looked up to see a short boy, with scruffy hair, wearing an obviously counterfeit FC Barcelona shirt spattered with food stains. His posture was somewhat awkward as he stood staring at me. At first glance he appeared perfectly normal though; a copy of thousands of identical children seen around the world, that like to eat chocolate, watch cartoons, and run around outside. But after initially registering his appearance I noticed something deeper was maligned about him. The air around him was strange. His deeply contrasted eyes were weary, and seemed wise. The ants at their floor banquet had mysteriously fled. To use the coloquial: this kid had some bad juju. Of course I did not say this to him out of politeness, but I felt uncomfortable around him, and not just for the intrusion. His appearance had startled me and after a small moment I enacted a delayed greeting to him. ‘Hi.’ I responded, with a forced smile fading across my face. ‘May I sit with you?’ he enquired. ‘My family are boring.’ he pointed in their general direction, where his mother was frantically gesturing him to comeback. Or was she warning me not to talk to him? Who knows? ‘My family are very boring too, so don’t worry I understand. Please sit down.’ I motioned my arm to the empty seat across the table from me, and he struggled on to the chair leaving his legs dangling and swinging freely off the floor. ‘What is your name?’ I asked with an overemphasis on my pronunciation. ‘Jake.’ he said curtly. This name was a somewhat jarring to me, but it was not uncommon among the anglophiles I’d met in Asia to adopt an English pseudonym. ‘And how old are you, Jake?’ ‘I’m ten, but I’ll be nine soon.’ he replied confidently. ‘Do you mean you’ll be *eleven* soon?’ ‘No.’ he blinked with each eye independently. I thought he was either an idiot or was messing with me. ‘So...how long have you studied English for?’ I asked after a short, tense pause. ‘I have to study it at school, which has been for five years, but I also study at home, because I like to watch a lot of videos on youtube in English.’ ‘That’s good! I wished I’d studied more when I was younger, but I’ve always been lazy,’ I laughed, ‘So do you enjoy going to school?’ ‘No, not really. I don’t like the other kids at my school. They’re mean to me now and sometimes they throw rocks at me and laugh with each other. Last week, they threw water on me while I was in the bathroom. None of them will talk to me anymore. I don’t understand them.’ he said, with his head bowed. I felt sorrow as I looked at him, remembering the similar misfit feelings I had at his age, but also a flash of guilt as I found myself mildly repulsed by this peculiar child. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. When people get older they usually get nicer. They’re probably mean to you because you’re smarter than them, and that makes them feel stupid.’ I comforted him. ‘Do you have any friends at school you can talk to?’ ‘No, not anymore. Only my dog is my friend.’ he said, looking back up at me while executing another of his offputting, goldfish-like blinks. ‘Oh, did your friend move schools?’ ‘No, he died.’ he stated as a matter of fact. By this point of the conversation I had become a little tense, but social convention and morbid curiosity implored me to continue talking. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, what happened to him?’ ‘He just died, the doctors didn’t know why, but I do.’ he said calmly. ‘He just died?’ ‘Yeah. Tell me a sad thing that’s happened to you.’ I was a little taken aback by the path of the conversation so far, but managed to collect myself. ‘I don’t know...I guess the saddest thing that's happened to me was when my cousin died in a car accident two years ago. He was only eighteen, and all my family were obviously very upset. We played together a lot when we were young, but by age nine he’d moved to another city, and I never really saw him again. He was an important part of my childhood, and I have a lot of nice memories of him, but he died and I didn’t really *feel* anything. That was the saddest thing for me - realising that someone so close to me became so distant.’ I said. A crisp red-brown leaf strolled past me in a light breeze. I glanced up to its parent tree in the courtyard of the restaurant, its tangle of auburn hair lightly shedding. ‘It was a joke by the way.’ ‘Huh?’ ‘When I said I was ten. I’m actually nine.’ ‘Oh right, okay. Very funny.’ I paused, taken aback by his dismissal of my story. ‘It was a joke,’ he repeated ‘Or should I say a “yolk”?’ he grinned maniacally and laughed to himself. This would have been funny if he had held up an egg or had some egg related thing with him. He did not. I have thought about this moment repeatedly, and still can not make sense of his attempted comedy here. Humour doesn’t always translate well linguistically or culturally though. ‘Another sad thing that happened to me is that my grandma died a few months ago. She wasn’t sick, she just died in her sleep. But I knew it was going to happen.’ ‘What do you mean you knew it was going to happen?’ ‘It always happens around me. I’ll have a dream about a person or animal, and then something bad happens to them, but there’s nothing I can do about it to help them.’ he said, eyebrows obliqued. His belief in his supernatural powers was entirely contrary to my disbelief in the supernatural, so I said ‘I’m sure the dreams are just a coincidence, aren't they. No one can see the future, it’s not possible. How do you know they’re related?’ ‘Because it’s always the same dream. I’m in a room with the person or animal talking or playing with them, and then the room gets bigger and darker. The walls get further and further apart, and the person I’m dreaming about slowly moves into the dark until I can’t see them anymore, and I’m alone in the empty space.’ ‘And then something...bad happens to them?’ ‘Yes, sometimes they die, sometimes they just get sick, or sometimes it happens to someone they know. I’ve tried to warn people but it doesn’t help.’ ‘Did you dream about your friend before he died?’ I asked, still skeptical of his claims. ‘Yes, I tried to help him. I told everyone in class something would happen to him and be careful. No one believed me, and then he died and they said it was me that killed him,’ he clenched his fists. ‘But I didn’t I tried to help him, and grandma. And now I’m trying to help you.’ ‘Excuse me?’ I didn’t believe this child’s stories at this point, but the statement certainly shocked me, and regardless of my beliefs a slither of fear ran through my mind. The unshakable “what if” got lodged in my thoughts, like a vinyl record skipping over, and over. ‘We’ve never met before. I don’t...’ ‘I dreamed about you so that means something bad will happen to you. That's why I came to talk to you. To warn you, John.’ he interjected, his eyes wide and unblinking. The room became static. The pleasant sounds and smells disappeared. My chair seemed small and weak underneath me, like it would shatter and the earth below it would swallow me. ‘I never told you my name’ I stammered. ‘I know,’ he smiled benignly ‘Sorry I have to go now, goodbye’ he said, as his mother whisked him away, saying what I assume was an apology to me. When my food finally arrived I struggled to eat more than a few mouthfuls. My mind was racing and my anxiety piqued. The rational and irrational parts of my mind were at war, and struggling to reconcile what had just happened. I paid for my meal having eaten less than half of it, and left the restaurant with dark clouds looming overhead. I’d always prided myself on being a person of pure logic, but this illusion was suddenly broken. The walk back to my hostel felt like a minefield. Every crack in the pavement, pair of ladders, and mirror was now threatening. Crossing the chaotic roads I had a heightened sense of things, where I was normally oblivious. When I got back, I had a restless night of sleep, in a cold sweat. The walls were watching me. This mood lasted longer than I care to admit. A week or so after meeting Jake my mum told me my pet rabbit had died. However, this didn’t feel tragic enough to fit the “warning” I had been given. I didn’t like my rabbit anyway, so I felt a perverse sense of relief knowing he’d died, and my distress continued for a long time. Ironically, nothing bad ever did happen and my worry was arguably misplaced. My anxiety eventually ramped down, but since that day I can’t get past the feeling that something is around the corner waiting. A shadow lies over me. Not because I now believe in magic, fate, supernatural forces, or whatever you want to call it. But because that day I realised how much closer loss is to all of us. How dangerous the world is, and how fragile we are. I’m not more scared of dying, I’m more scared of losing the people I love from around me, because that is a fate worse than death. Watching everything and everyone that you love in the world disappear and fade away into the dark, knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it.


It started with a revelation: Nobody asked to be here.  People lost their minds, companies collapsed, civilizations fell.  Nobody asked to be here.  We knew it all along, but couldn't put it into words. A self proclaimed Russian genius by the name of Enrico Chavez had to do it for us. He stumbled out of his office at the University of Chicago, late one night, and proclaimed to the darkness, “Nobody asked to be here!”  Professor Chavez's philosophical genius went unnoticed for many years, primarily due to his name. Enrico Chavez is not a typical name for a Russian. His peers found this too confusing to comprehend. “Why is this man not a Mexican?”, they would utter to each other during his presentations. The distraction provided by his name gave his fellow philosophers a reason to avoid him and belittle his ideas, given they listened to them in the first place.   Several years ago Enrico Chavez found the solution to his name problem. He tanned his skin and started calling himself a Mexican.   “Nobody asked to be here!”, Professor Chavez shouted into the darkness. He was elated! Years of research had finally led to something substantial!  “Nobody asked to be here!” He chanted again and again, sprinting out his door and running through the nearby park.  A voice yelled back from the darkness, “Nobody asked you!”   Once Professor Chavez started tanning his white skin and lying about his nationality, it didn't take long for others to listen to him. He rose through the ranks like a balloon, and was promptly given a position at the University of Chicago. A few weeks after his promotion he made his now infamous/famous proclamation.   The day after proclaiming into the night, Professor Chavez wrote a brief twenty page academic article about his findings. This was when the world took notice.  Professor Chavez's groundbreaking discovery created a shock wave that started on a personal level. It began with people realizing that they did not, in fact, ask to be here. Many of them decided they would rather be anywhere than here, so they left! These folks were called “The Depressed”. Others demanded money as retribution since they were brought here against their will. These folks were called “The Greedy”. Others still asked not for money, but for changes to take place so they wouldn't mind being here. These folks were called “The Outcasts”. The largest group was known as “The Content”. They acknowledged that “Nobody asked to be here”, but that it didn't really matter.   Once the people took notice, this devastated the economy. The Depressed were no longer here (they were There), so they couldn't even participate. The Outcasts were demanding reform on a global scale and began spending their money in a “responsible” way. The Content didn't really care either way, and continued to spend money in a similar way to how they usually had.   As for me, I was one of the Content. I guess I had known all along that “Nobody asked to be here”, but figured that since we were here, we might as well do what people here do. And boy, do they do a lot! Hiking, biking, writing, reading, drawing, singing, climbing, driving, creating, destroying, spending, killing... Lots of ing-ing! I partook in this ing-ing, primarily working, sleeping, eating, driving, and buying. By the time I was thirty, I had a wife, three kids, a three thousand square foot house to hold my family and things needed for ing-ing, including two beautiful cars and all the knick knacks to go with my upper-middle class lifestyle. I was living a content life. Guess the label fit!   Which group did Professor Chavez belong to? Who can say? He was murdered shortly after publishing his work. Some say he would have been Depressed. Others think he was Content. Others still think he was an Outcast. How popular!   Companies began collapsing a few months after Professor Chavez sang into the night.  The Depressed and Outcasts, although a minority compared to The Content, had enough of a financial impact to cripple multiple banks and businesses. This in turn caused the housing market to go belly up. Once the housing market went, everything else followed. People who can't afford their home aren't likely to buy anything else! Of course, a few companies flourished in this new economy. Many Outcasts supported local companies, and many Contents supported PayDay Loans Inc. Eventually, as local companies became more successful, they would become global and fail!   Long live PayDay Loans!    **II**  This next paragraph is being written as I sit in my armchair, drunk as a skunk. I am moving across the country next week to begin another career. Maybe if I make enough money I can become an Outcast! In my experience, Outcasts are resoundingly rich. This is why they are not Greedy, and can claim they are not Content. Most poor folks are Greedy, at least those who weren't Depressed. Us Contents are just trying to get by. I've got a family to support! What am I to do, quit my job and protest? And why? I have a beautiful life!   Professor Chavez's article changed the world instantly. People starting leaving Here, companies collapsed, and widespread panic overtook the general population. I can only assume that's what led to his murder.  Hard work pays off!  Before he was thrown to the wolves, Professor Chavez tried to explain that his finding (dubbed The Discovery) was miraculously uplifting news. He told the people that because we didn't ask to be here, we should think of ourselves as free to do as we wish, as long as our actions did not hurt anyone else. This speech came to be known as The Amendment.  To some, that was a Godsend. Folks across all groups (The Depressed excluded) began living with renewed vigor, and they found their lives better off than before the discovery, even as the world was changing around them.  To others, it was too baffling a concept to grasp. Perhaps being told that they didn't ask to be here had shook them too deeply, or they were too entrenched in their current stance of Outcast, Content, or Greedy to shake their belief system yet again. These folks gained nothing from Professor Chavez's Amendment.  There was a small group of people that was so moved by this discovery, however, that they became known as The Free. These were folks that asked nothing of society, but stayed here and lived a new lifestyle. In a way they were Content, however they shunned their old lifestyle of ing-ing, and focused on living in the here and now. They were primarily people who had little responsibility in the old world, such as parents with no children, young professionals, and the homeless. This ragtag group of The Free, although leading disparate lives not more than a month before, all lived by the same credo in the new world: Stay Carefree. Be Happy.   **III** The night Professor Chavez screamed into the darkness, I was fast asleep, even though I was at work. It was late! That morning, as it was for most people, started out like every other day. We continued on with our lives as if we had asked to be here and moved forward with futile purpose. At that point, only two people knew of Professor Chavez's discovery: Professor Chavez and a homeless man in Drake Park.  The homeless man would go on to become a leader of The Free, but as for now he was taking a “dump” behind a juniper tree. He enjoyed the fresh Christmas smell given off by these plants and how it perfectly masked the smell of his “dump”. Say what you will, but that's resourceful!   The homeless man's name was Jack Roan. Jack was previously a mechanic, gas station attendant, convenience store manager, day trader, and then briefly incarcerated. His colorful past is due to his high level of intelligence and terrible attention span. Jack's interests come in violent waves, and leave like a calm tide receding into the ocean. Within weeks he has mastered a new trade, and within months the passion fades. Today, he is homeless. Tomorrow? Who knows!   My career at the time of The Discovery was Head of Security for Public Resources. It was a boring, yet well paying career. I choose to work at nights, that way I could be home to take my children to school, sleep while they were out, wake up, bring the kids home from school, then head in to work. It ravaged my body and I felt out-of-sorts everyday, but it was best for my family.  Head of Security is an overly prestigious title for an unglamorous job. It comprised solely of staring at computer monitors all night long that showed live feeds of all the parks in town. I was in charge of keeping the parks safe, and if some unsavory event began to transpire, I had to dispatch our Security Executives to deal with the issue.  That night, if I hadn't nodded off, I would have been one of the first people to hear Professor Chavez make his grand announcement! I also would have dispatched a Security Executive to get homeless Jack Roan out of the park for loitering.   Some days I wonder what would have become of Jack if I had kicked him out of the park that night.   That inconsequential morning finally became consequential for me when I reviewed the tapes from the night before, from when I was fast asleep. That is when I learned about Professor Chavez and heard Jack Roan shout back, “Nobody asked you!”   Jack pulled his pants up after his dump, stretched his arms to the sky, and yawned. He must have been planning out his day, wondering what to do next. He wore a perplexed look on his face, and proceeded to do something I had never seen him do before, in all my years monitoring the parks.  He walked down toward Cherry Creek, dropped to his knees, and washed his hands.   Later that day, Professor Chavez published his finding through the University of Chicago Newspaper. Usually, an academic article of this caliber should be published in some fancy journal, however Professor Chavez rightly assumed it would have a larger impact if published in a newspaper that was widely circulated. Given his position in the university, the newspaper would accept anything he asked them to, and the article was published that afternoon.   Here is Chavez's summary of his Discovery:  Through a rigorous literature review of past and present philosophies, it has been discovered that nobody, throughout the history of recorded time, has ever asked to be here. People may hold an opinion on whether or not they are happy to be here, but the fact remains that they were brought here without any say in the matter. Further study hopes to determine who was responsible for bringing us here, and why we were not given a choice.  Incredible!   Once Jack had finished washing his hands, he tied back his long black hair, laced up his boots, and walked towards the University of Chicago. He walked with purpose, another first for him, as he made his way up the steps to Professor Chavez' office. He threw open the wooden door in a fury.  “What are you thinking?! Do you know what that news would do to people?”  Professor Chavez whirled around from behind his desk and stared directly at his intruder with a look of fear on his face.  “Nothing good! Nothing good at all!” Jack was shouting at Chavez, who just sat there bewildered.  Chavez cleared his throat. “I'm sorry, who are you?”  Jack replied that it didn't matter who he was, but he knew what Chavez was up to.  “You can't just drop this bomb into the masses, it'll wreak havoc on 'em! They've been taught to live a very specific way, and you are gonna mess with their heads! Nothing subtle about this at all!”  “Sir, just because you cannot handle the truth, doesn't mean the same of others. I think you'll find that most folks out there want to know the truth, even if it may be hard to believe at first. If you would...”  Chavez was cut off by a sharp slap to the face.  “Are you fucking stupid?” Jack was livid. “Nobody wants that! They want confirmation that the way they are living is the right way! This discovery will just cause people to lose their minds!”  The argument continued, going in circles, for just short of an hour. In the end, Jack simply got bored of trying to persuade Professor Chavez.  “Listen, I'm telling you. This is a terrible idea. I promise if you go through with this, everything will change.” Jack turned and walked out the door.  Chavez shouted after him, “Don't underestimate the public, young man! You'll find they are more capable than you imagine!”  Capable, indeed.  Still in a tizzy from this argument, Professor Chavez began writing his world-changing article.   Jack knew the article was published later that day when he saw a man walk into oncoming traffic, holding a newspaper in his hand.  What an easy way to leave Here!  This preliminary chaos ensued for a week. As Professor Chavez had said, the public was very capable. The things they happened to be capable at however, where the things that most easily brought chaos into the world. If they weren't leaving Here themselves, they found ways to make others go There. They looted, pilfered, pillaged, went haywire.  It was a terrible week.   Once the initial shock from the announcement wore off , the four distinct groups arose. The Depressed, Outcast, Greedy, and Content. The Greedy and Outcasts began petitioning for their respective philosophies. The Depressed had already left. The Content returned to life as normal, at least as normal as it could be.  As Head of Security, my job became even more difficult. Daily protests were held in the park from all groups, usually in the vain of, “We are right, the other groups are wrong.”. Every day I sent out Security Executives. Spying on people has never been more active!   The week following all the chaos, Professor Chavez went to work on his Amendment. It wasn't a formal written article, just a colloquial two minute speech. He spoke very slow, the speech itself should have lasted no more than thirty seconds. Here it is in its entirety.  My friends, it has become aware that my Discovery was not received how I intended it to be. The Discovery is a wonderful thing! It means are free to do as we wish, as long as we are not harming anyone else in the process! Please, rejoice in knowing that you did not ask to be here, have no path forward set in stone, and can choose your destiny!  I mentioned that he spoke slowly, yes?   So Jack went on to become a leader of The Free, Professor Chavez went on to be murdered by Jack, and I went on observing it all. I never came forward with this information, and deleted the tapes instantly. However, I believe that the truth must come out. I always wondered why Jack, a man who lived Free all along would care that the Discovery was made public.  Perhaps he was just abiding by the rules laid out in the Amendment.


The Palace of Luna was, in a word, enormous. However, if one were to assign a second descriptor to it, they might choose eclectic. For it borrowed from a seemingly endless array of architectural schools that seemed to result in pure chaos, but that was only when you looked upon it from afar. Upon closer inspection, the various styles and schools created a sort of interlocking pattern that morphed and changed even as you examined it. The strangely beautiful result of this seemingly random mixing of architectural styles had ended up being widely hailed as the pinnacle of human aestheticism. Its interior was no different, the wildly varying styles bled into each other, and one could become lost in the rapturous beauty of the maze-like corridors of the castle. In fact, more than one individual had done just that, though regular patrols from the devout guardsmen of the Palace kept anyone from becoming permanently lost. In the throne room of the Palace, the Queen was currently receiving petitioners. The dizzyingly high columns supported a ceiling that arched far above the court. Dozens of humans milled on the sidelines, some required to attend, bound by their duties. Others merely sought to entertain themselves and viewed the petitioning as a distraction from the daily grind of their various obligations. They tittered amongst themselves from behind their stone and metal masks as the next petitioner kneeled and began to speak. “Your majesty, I greet you oh most luminous Queen of Luna. I come before you today to prey upon your generosity. My people, the Cathrundi are currently suffering at the hand of the Letraxin, they have invaded our worlds. I fear that we will not be able to repel them with our own meager power and so I have been sent to beseech your aid. That you have deigned to hear my request at all honors not only myself, but my kin as well.” The man who spoke wasn’t really a man, at least not a human man. His species shared humanity’s sexual dimorphism, and it even manifested similarly. However, beyond that they weren’t terribly similar. His species was far larger than humans and bore their children in a way more similar to marsupials than humans. They also found the extremely high oxygen levels that humanity preferred somewhat toxic. They could survive for a few days in such an environment, but after that they would begin to suffer severe side effects. This aversion to human atmosphere excused the exo-suit he wore as he presented himself to the Queen. Though for his speech, he had removed his helmet in a show of respect for the Queen as he bowed deeply on the first four of his six legs. His head, like the rest of his body, was scaly, lending him a reptilian look, though the shape of his head, as well as the unmistakable beak, was more birdlike than anything. He remained in that pose for long seconds after he delivered his request for aid. He knew he was lucky to even receive an audience with the Queen of Luna. She was extremely busy, and the sheer quantity of sapient beings seeking to petition her far outweighed the amount she could ever possibly receive. He’d had no choice but to try his luck as all other official attempts to gather allies to aid in his people’s fight against the Letraxin had failed miserably. This was his people’s last hope for salvation. If the Queen did not grant them succor, then they would be trampled by the endless legions of the Letraxin, and those who survived the invasion would be taken as slaves to serve their new masters. “You have been heard, Decqual, descendant of Norperien and representative of the Cathrundi. You may rise.” The Queen of Luna spoke in a clear, measured tone. Her voice was like the sound of distant church bells echoing across a dewy meadow. Just hearing her voice was pure delight for the vast majority of sapient species, and Decqual was no exception. He was just barely able to maintain a somber facial expression as he rose to face the Queen, though it was an immense struggle as his heart lit with joy upon hearing her speak. He faced her, she was small, even for a human. Her skin was slightly transparent, proudly displaying her slight musculature and the gently pulsing veins that ran along her arms. Her face was hidden by a heavily stylized silver mask that covered even her eyes, though he knew that she could quite clearly see him in spite of it. Her pale blue dress nearly rose to meet the mask, leaving on the barest amount of her neck exposed as it flowed like water to pool at her feet, the silvery-white accents serving to make it seem as if she was actually garbed in water. Decal stood and faced her, maintaining eye contact with the mask as was traditional in the Queen’s Court when she asked that you rise. “Your people are new to the galaxy I believe. I remember when we first heard of your kind establishing a colony some four centuries ago. We foresaw then that you might become easy targets and warned you to prepare for the coming storm, and yet that was not enough. Why have you failed to prepare to protect yourselves? Why are you so *weak*?” The Queen’s words were scathing, and Decqual could not help but flinch as she questioned his people’s inadequacies. “Your majesty,” he began selecting his words carefully. “Your words did not go unheeded, and we did prepare for others to encroach upon what we claimed. However our people are not so long-lived as yours and as generations passed so did our vigilance. Our philosophers called for a more peaceful reign claiming that by clinging to violence we only lowered ourselves and that true enlightenment could only be achieved through pacifism. The shifting tides of culture through the flow of time has weakened us and now we pay the price for it most dearly. I can provide no good excuse for our failures as a species only this explanation of our folly and shortsightedness. I humbly beg your forgiveness in spite of that.” Decqual’s answer drew chuckles from the surrounding courtiers. Their faces were hidden behind a variety of masks that varied not only in style but material composition. However, very few were of silver, for only those of royal blood were allowed to wear silver masks, and successors to the throne rarely lived very long. He noted that not a single laugh left the throat of those with silver masks that he was able to notice. He wondered at that and its potential significance, but his thoughts were interrupted when the Queen delicately cleared her throat, silencing the laughter echoing in the courtroom. “Such failures are difficult for me to overlook. However, I can understand why a species so young and short-lived might be equally short-sighted. These were traits that even we humans once held in ages long past. Though we have grown beyond our original constraints, it is wise to remember we were not always gods striding above the mortals with whom we share this galaxy.” Her speech seemed to be an admonishment to those who had laughed at Decqual, and he felt a mote of relief. If nothing else, she was understanding, though it was unclear if that would translate to her bequeathing aid to his cause. The Queen paused for several long moments, and the courtroom and its occupants waited silently for her next words. “That being said, to cast aside your ability and will to commit violence is akin to casting aside your right to live. Tell me, why should I assist a species that has willingly thrown itself off a cliff? Why should I help those who seek to help themselves to their deaths?” Decal considered her question. She was right of course, that they had brought this upon themselves. By casting aside violence, they had brought death upon themselves. He could not and would not deny anything she had stated. How to answer her then? What reason could he possibly give to the Queen of Luna that would satisfy her? He himself had called for the re-establishment of his people’s military in these past years, and yet he and others like him had gone ignored up until now when it was already too late. It was truly hard to see how his species deserved redemption when cast under the judging light of Luna. But perhaps he could use that light to his advantage, for that light was currently cast upon him, and it was *his* words and actions that bore weight here in this courtroom. And he was one of the few Cathrundi who was proud to carry on the ancient ways of war, if only in mimicry. He straightened his back and placed his helmet upon his head, the seal clicking shut. “I have no words that might prove that my people deserve to be saved. I shall instead show you through action that we yet deserve to live.” The guards by the throne tensed as his words, but he had already begun to move by the time they realized his intent. The Queen gazed upon him unmoving even as he lunged towards her, her mask as impassive as ever as blades unfolded from the arms of his exo-suit. He had surrendered his pulse cannon upon entering the Palace. It was a relic passed down through his family line but still a good weapon. He missed it sorely now as the blades of his exo-suit came down upon the shield of one of the guards. The other guard used the opportunity to lunge forward with his spear, but Decqual was too quick and jumped backward, just barely avoiding the blow. His suit was armored, but human material sciences were millennia beyond anything his people knew, and he did not trust his suit’s armor to hold up against human weaponry. He was glad that the guards had yet to reach for the pistols upon their hips, for if they did, the fight would be over in no time at all. He lunged forward again, both of the guards held up their shields, spears poking forth from behind them. He bounced to the side as he edged towards the spears using the light gravity to launch himself into a spiral. The guard closest to him must have realized what he was doing and, in a quick motion swung his shield, throwing it into Decquals path. A quick burst of his suit’s thrusters corrected his course away from both the shield and the Queen. At this point, many of the courtiers had fled to the corners of the room farthest from her majesty, which suited Decqual just fine as it gave him more room to maneuver. He decided that to truly prove his point, he would have to stop dancing about, and as he landed, he launched himself forward straight at the guards. One of them launched just as he did and was caught by surprise. Decquals left blade struck him squarely in his chest and sent him flying upwards. Decal slowed on the impact, unfortunately allowing the other guard to score a blow on him tearing through his armor just as easily as Decqual had previously feared. The Queen’s voice rang out as the guard’s spear withdrew and prepared for a second blow, “Enough, you have proven your point representative of the Cathrundi.” With that proclamation Decqual’s blades retreated and the guards resumed their postings at either side of the throne, though their expressions betrayed a continued wariness of Decqual. “I beg your forgiveness your majesty. I could think of no other way to prove that we Cathrundi are not beyond redemption. The desire to fight, to live, it still burns bright in us. I do not come here to beg that we be saved, only that we be given the chance to fight back.” Decal hoped that this last impassioned plea would work. He was rewarded with laughter from the Queen as she bent over in her throne, clutching her stomach. Her normally gentle and restrained voice had been overcome by a raucous belly laugh that disconcerted everyone in the room. The Queen regained her composure after a few moments and stood up from her throne, “Your answer is filled with vigor and passion, I find your desire to rail against the cultural constraints of your people, and the universe that seeks to destroy you…amusing. I shall grant you your desire. You shall be granted weaponry commesnsurate with your people’s technological prowess. It will, however, be up to your people to use those weapons to save themselves. Do not waste this gift, for if you do I will ensure your extinction in return for wasting my goodwill.” “Your generosity knows no bounds Queen of Luna, with this proclamation I shall leave your presence and return to my people with the material you have so graciously bequeathed unto us. We will not forget this kindness in the long years to come.” Decqual gave a final bow to The Queen and was escorted from the hall. From there, everything became a blur as he was presented with a veritable river of documentation to sign. He signed it all without bothering to read the documents. It didn’t matter either way if any of the legalese in the documents was not in his people’s favor. Without this aid they would die regardless. So he signed everything that was put in front of him, eventually plowing through it all. After that particular ordeal, he was guided back to his ship. The captain of his ship had already docked inside the hangar of a truly massive human cargo vessel. The ship was still being loaded when he approached. Crates upon crates of weapons and armor for infantry were being loaded alongside long-range fighter craft and other vehicles of war. The vessel was larger than even his people’s largest space stations, and it was being filled to the brim with weaponry. His heart flowed over with joy at the sight. Many would fight and die so that they might survive, but for the first time since the invasion had started, there was hope that they might survive the coming days.


A traves de la historia muchos Imperios se han alzado, desde simples ideas politicas inyectandose en las mentes de las personas a filosofias que terminan dando lugar a completas nuevas religiones. Por ejemplo, el imperio romano: nacio como una idea politica, una manera de dar orden a la constante barbarie en la que estaba sumido el mundo antiguo, intentaron canalizar nuestra innata violencia en juegos y entretenimiento, crearon los coliseos, las luchas de gladiadores, entre animales, los circos. Esta violencia se mantenia, la barbarie se mantenia, camuflada entre las letras del entretenimiento, dando a sus ciudadanos la constante ilusion de progreso. A pesar de todo, este progreso si era en parte real, pero siempre tuvo un desarrollo basado en premisas que no se pueden considerar si no anti-humanas, en contra de la mismisima esencia del ser humano. La tendencia al caos, la tendencia a la fragmentacion, la descomposicion y la espontaneidad, los visibles principios de nuestro impredecible universo. Estas peligrosas y confusas ideas fueron desarrolladas y desarrolladas, sin nunca pararse el hombre a analizar la base de las mismas, dando por hecho su verdad, dando por hecho la necesidad de Orden y estructura en nuestra sociedad, sin entender que el caos puede ser tambien encaminado, que la espontaneidad no representa peligro si no sorpresa. Con este acercamiento filosofico nos encontramos una y otra vez, con la manera del hombre de recuperar el tiempo perdido en acciones extremas que engloban todo aquello que se negaron a si mismos a hacer durante su estado de auto limitacion en pos del orden y la estructuración. Estas acciones, estas formas de actuar, la manera en que Roma ardio y cayo en una fracción de lo que tardó en ser construida deja claros los peligros de la limitacion, de la ley y del orden. Pues mientras mas se hale la cuerda a un extremo, mas fuerte y mas lejos se ira cuando sea soltada. Cada dia lo vemos, con abrir los ojos lo notamos. Los edificios no pintados se deterioran, las frutas dejadas en el suelo se disuelven, desaparece su forma original, las personas pierden el sentido y desvarian. Y es ahi, cuando el hombre se asusta, cuando pierde su norte y no encuentra su motivo, cuando los conceptos de orden y civilización empiezan a disolverse como acuarelas y perder el ferreo sentido con el que los conocemos. No debemos tener miedo, la espontaneidad es la madre de la ciencia y del arte, es la manera sutil de un niño de analizar y correlacionar conceptos que en nuestra etapa adulta no somos ya capaces de ver, pues intentamos mantener una manera de ver y pensar lineal, que no nos asuste con sorpresas e improvistos. Desvariemos, perdamos el miedo. Como seria una sociedad desestructurada pero con reglas basicas? como seria un mundo sin limites mas alla de no herir al projimo, un mundo donde el desarrollo cientifico no sea limitado por sus riesgos y sus costes, donde el conocimiento no fuese clasificado en nombres que nos despierten o no el interés, un mundo donde el tabu no exista y la locura rija nuestras decisiones. No tendriamos razones para juzgarnos, no habria estandares y disfraces en los que calzarnos. Somos dios, somos la mano de la creacion y el fuego del final.


The following story is a true story. It probably will be rejected as non-complaint because it is reversing the #5 proposal. I wrote about what I said to a person as a child, which was too little; and then what I am always thinking I should have said now that I am an adult of nearly 78 years.  Still, it is cathartic for me to express this if only one person reads it. What I Wish I Had Said When my mother was pregnant, expecting me, it was the height of the Second World War. My father had been drafted into the Army during and was shipping out from New York to North Africa on November 28, 1943, the day I was born. When his wife, my mother, died six months later, he was too far away to come back for the funeral. His tour of duty took him from North Africa to Italy and, eventually, to Austria before finally being returned home several months after the war in Europe had ended.

All this time, I was being cared for by my grandmother. He came straight down to the little town of Mt. Pleasant, Tennessee where she lived to meet his son as quickly as he could, and we finally came face to face. Finally, I got to  hug my daddy for real when I was two years old instead of hugging and kissing his portrait. He took me to Nashville for a visit with all his brothers and sisters, my aunts and uncles who had been so kind to visit me and bring presents such as clothes, toys, and a tiny, child-sized rocking chair which I just recently passed down to one of my grandchildren. But, the visit was, of necessity, brief because he had to get a job and go back to work in the post-war recovery period. In those days, there were very few daycare centers for toddlers or preschoolers.  Here he was . . . a widower who needed a job and had no way to look after his son when he was on a job. He did the thing that was best for me. He gave me back into the care of my grandmother who was “Mama” to me . . . the only mother I had really ever known.

I stayed with my grandmother until I was 8, almost 9, years old. My father would come down from Nashville to visit and play with me and take me back for brief visits to the big city. But, it wasn’t until I had just completed third grade in Mt. Pleasant when my father finally remarried and came to get me for good. It’s about that day that I want to tell you, dear reader. In retrospect, I imagine both he and his new bride were anxious about my reactions to the adjustment of moving from the only caregiver (the grandmother I called Mama), the only home, the only school, the hometown I loved so well. My mother’s sister, my aunt Joan, was there, too, and she had been like a second mother to me.  I recently asked Aunt Joan what was I like as I anticipated the big change. She said I was not apprehensive, but rather looked forward to living with my father.

At last they arrived. Daddy introduced me to his new wife. It was the first time we had ever met . . . the day he came to get me. I don’t know how long they had been married, a week perhaps, maybe a month. They had rented a house in a nice area of Nashville. It was a very modest house, in fact, it was like a guest house behind a larger one. Even its address was humble, 3205 ½ Acklen Avenue.

They told me about it as we drove back up to it. I was to have my own bedroom! I was excited about that! I had never had that before. There was only one bedroom in my grandmother’s upstairs apartment and only one bed, an old double bed that my grandmother shared with me. Remember, I was still only 8 years old. I can’t remember much of the conversation as we rode the approximately two-hour trip. I suppose they told me about the school I would be attending. My father probably set some ground rules about addressing my elders, including them of course, with Sir and Ma’am as was the custom in those days among many southern families, though my grandmother had not taught me such formalities. Finally, the conversation turned to the thing that had probably caused the most anxiety both with them and with me. What was I going to call my new stepmother?

I was at least as inhibited as the average eight-year-old and probably more so. I think I would rather have just been told what to call her, but they could not have known this. It is to their credit that they left that decision up to me. It is to my now aging dismay that I said, “Is it OK if I call her Betty ?” After all, that was her name. Not the one I wish now I had chosen, but the one a reserved, loyal-to-Mama, not-yet-fourth grader, chose. They were both gracious and gave no indication that this was anything but a perfectly acceptable answer.

Now, with the wisdom of an additional almost 70 years added to the eight I had accumulated at that time, I can tell you what I wish I had said. I will say it now, not as an eight-year-old would say it because an eight-year-old would never have the maturity or language skills to say it, but as a 78-year-old would say it if he could somehow be transported back in time to that moment and yet retain the old man’s knowledge and experience. To the question, “What do you want to call her?” I would direct my attention to her and answer: Well, I’ve been thinking about that. I know I don’t want to call you “Stepmother.” Ever since Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, that name has been too sinister! “Mrs. Ward” is too formal and awkward for the relationship. To call you by your first name, “Betty” seems too informal for a little kid like me, in fact, it seems almost rude to address any adult by their first name unless some title like Aunt or Uncle or something is included. I guess “Miss Betty” would be respectful, but still sort of strange sounding under the circumstances.

No. I want to call you something that reflects what I hope our relationship will be. I realize that you married my father and I was just part of the deal. You must love him a great deal to take on a young child having no idea what he’s like. You had to know that marrying a man with extra baggage would mean there would be less money, less time, less privacy for each other. And yet, you committed to this with no trial period or anything.

And what am I hoping for in you? I’m just a kid. I need someone to sew my buttons back on, take me to ball practice, see that I have clean clothes to wear, see that I’m dressed properly for the occasion, take me to a doctor’s appointment, meet my teacher, help me with homework I don’t understand, cook for me, make me take a bath when I should, or go to bed when I should. I need someone that I can talk to when it’s sympathy I seek. I need someone who has that natural instinct to wrap their arms around me when I’m scared or scolded, and say, “Everything’s going to be OK.” In short, I want you to do all the things a person does for her child. And, if I am going to ask so much of you, then you deserve to be called by the name that defines those qualities, the sweetest name in the world . . . Mother!

That is what I wish I had said. That is what I wish I had done even if I could not have expressed it in such terms. Instead, I called her Betty , and though she did those things, I was ignorantly oblivious. Three and a half years later, my father and Betty divorced. Only recently, in the last year or two, did I come to the conclusion that I could have made the difference. I am so sorry I was too shy or self-conscious to open up to her and treat her like the mother I think she was trying and wanted to be. Had that relationship developed, I believe the relationship between her and my father would have had more of a chance.

About four years after their divorce, Betty died of cancer, like my mother. I regret that I was as oblivious to her suffering as the infant I had been was to the one that gave me life. I did not know of Betty’s sickness and death until some time later. I can only hope that someday, Heaven will give me the opportunity to say to her what I wish I had said .


Carletta was a sophomore at the all-girls school, and it was the last day of school before the summer holidays. She was excited to go on vacation with her family and friends, and was looking forward to the break from the stresses of school. Her best friend Cristy was sitting next to her, talking about their plans for the summer. Cristy had twin sisters, Cristyanna, who was also in her class. Suddenly, their teacher, Mrs. Anderson, clapped her hands and said, “Okay class! Pop quiz!” The class groaned, and Carletta and Cristy exchanged glances. They had studied hard for the final exams, but they hadn’t expected a surprise quiz on the last day of school. Mrs. Anderson handed out the quiz papers and instructed the class to begin. Carletta and Cristy worked diligently on the quiz, but they were soon distracted by the antics of some of the other students in the class. Cristopher, Camila, Clara, Caroline (nicknamed Caro), Claire (Clara’s twin),were all writing songs and arguing about the answers to the quiz. Cinderella, Cindy (Cinderella’s triplet), Celestia (Cinderella and Cindy’s triplet), Cora, Chelsea (Celsea’s twin), Celsea (Chelsea’s twin), Chayse, and Calli were all trying to escape the classroom and go outside. Mrs. Anderson was getting increasingly frustrated with the disruption, and she threatened to call the principal if no one settled down. Carletta and Cristy, who had managed to stay focused on their quiz, were relieved when Mrs. Anderson finally announced that the pop quiz was over. The rest of the day passed without incident, and Carletta was relieved when the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the school year. The students all said their goodbyes and went their separate ways, but Carletta and Cristy stayed behind and hugged each other tightly. They were so excited to start their summer holidays, and couldn’t wait to make the most of it. The two friends set off to explore the world, and they had the most amazing summer of their lives. As Carletta and Cristy walked out of the classroom and into the bright sunshine, they chatted excitedly about all the fun things they were planning to do over the summer holidays. They both loved the ocean and had made plans to spend some time at the beach with their families. As they walked towards the school gate, they saw Cristyanna and her family waiting for her. They waved goodbye to each other and promised to keep in touch over the break. Carletta and her family had planned a road trip across the country, and she couldn't wait to see all the different sights and landmarks. She had always been fascinated by history and was looking forward to visiting museums and historical sites. Meanwhile, Cristy had enrolled in a summer camp that focused on outdoor activities like hiking, kayaking, and rock climbing. She was an adventurous person and loved the thrill of trying new things. As they said goodbye, Carletta and Cristy promised to write letters to each other and share all their summer adventures. They hugged each other one last time before heading off to start their summer holidays. As they walked away, Carletta couldn't help but feel grateful for her wonderful friend and the memories they had made together over the school year. She was excited to see what the future held for them both and couldn't wait to share all the exciting things in store for her when they returned to school in the fall. Carletta and Cristy made the most of their summer break and created unforgettable memories. Carletta's family trip across the country was filled with adventures and new discoveries. They visited landmarks like the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone National Park, and Mount Rushmore. Carletta was fascinated by the history behind each landmark and enjoyed learning about the different cultures and traditions in each state they visited. On the other hand, Cristy's summer camp experience was nothing short of thrilling. She tried new outdoor activities like white-water rafting, bungee jumping, and zip-lining. Cristy had always been an adrenaline junkie, and the camp was the perfect place for her to explore her adventurous side. As the summer break came to an end, Carletta and Cristy kept their promise of staying in touch. They exchanged letters and pictures of their summer adventures and couldn't wait to catch up on each other's experiences. When school resumed in the fall, Carletta and Cristy were excited to see each other again. They eagerly shared stories of their summer break and caught up on all the gossip. They were grateful for their friendship and looked forward to making more memories together throughout the school year. During the first week of school, Carletta and Cristy were thrilled to discover that they had both taken up new hobbies over the summer. Carletta had joined the school's debate team and was excited to participate in her first debate competition. Meanwhile, Cristy had started a photography club and was eager to share her newfound passion with her friends. As the school year progressed, Carletta and Cristy continued to support each other in their hobbies and shared many new experiences together. They attended each other's events and competitions, and even collaborated on a few projects. Despite the occasional stress of schoolwork and exams, Carletta and Cristy's friendship remained strong. They continued to make memories and have adventures together, always looking for new ways to explore their interests and passions. As they approached their senior year, Carletta and Cristy reflected on their journey together and felt grateful for their strong bond. They knew that no matter what the future held, they would always be there for each other. During their senior year, Carletta and Cristy became even closer as they navigated the challenges of college applications and preparing for their future. They spent countless hours studying together and supporting each other through the stress of exams and deadlines. As graduation approached, Carletta and Cristy reminisced about their journey together and all the memories they had created over the years. They were nervous about the future but excited to see where life would take them. On graduation day, Carletta and Cristy walked across the stage together, proud of all they had accomplished. They hugged each other tightly, knowing that this was only the beginning of their journey. After graduation, Carletta and Cristy went their separate ways to different colleges, but they remained in touch and continued to support each other. They visited each other on breaks and shared stories of their college experiences. Years went by, and Carletta and Cristy both graduated from college and started their careers. They continued to stay in touch and remained best friends, even as they started families of their own. As they looked back on their journey together, Carletta and Cristy realized that their friendship had been the one constant in their lives through all the ups and downs. They were grateful for each other and the memories they had created, and they knew that their friendship would last a lifetime.


Jennifer sat bewildered by what she was looking at; there was a golden orb laying neatly on the brown and yellow leaves that covered the wet forest floor. She hardly noticed that her running pants were soaking through and she'd completely forgotten about the sharp pain in her ankle that brought her to her seat. It looked, magical. Well, not magical, obviously. She wasn't one to believe in all that mystic nonsense. Still, there was something very peculiar, alluring, even magnetic about this... thing. "You alright?" a man asked from behind but, Jennifer barely moved. "Take a look at this, Mark." she said. "Alright, what are we looking at?" Mark asked as he sat down next to his wife. Jennifer motioned to the orb. Mark looked at her and smiled "The leaves, babe? They're beautiful but, are they worth soaking pants?" She turned her head and looked at him in disbelief. "No. The orb, right-" As Jennifer turned back to look at the orb it was gone. "I swear..." she faded off. "You OK?" Mark asked. "Yeah, sorry. It must have been the light or something." Jennifer stood and winced, remembering why she'd fallen to the ground in the first place. "I'd like to amend my previous statement, I think I sprained it again." Jennifer let out a groan. "You want front seat or back seat?" Mark smiled at his wife. Jennifer jumped onto her husbands back and kissed his head before lightly tapping her heel into his thigh "Giddy up, good steed!" she playfully commanded. "Hey, this bronco will buck you right off" Mark said in his best serious voice. "Less talky, more walky" Jennifer leaned her head down and whispered "please..." and off they went. By the time they reached the trail parking lot, Jennifer's ankle had began to resemble a grapefruit. Mark helped her into the backseat. "Walk-in or wait?" He asked as he grabbed her a blanket from the trunk. Jennifer let out a sigh "Wait. They'll just tell me to R.I.C.E it. Besides, I'm exhausted. I just want to go home." "You're exhausted? Well ain't that a bitch." Mark joked. Jennifer smiled. "I know. At least you'll get the radio to yourself." she offered. Mark smiled back. "Sounds good, babe. Get some rest." Mark began the drive home as Jennifer drifted off to sleep. She suddenly found herself in a vast emptiness. There was blackness as far as the eye could see except this small, rapidly growing golden light. Jennifer began to panic as the golden speck quickly grew into the golden orb and then into something much larger. She tried to scream but nothing came out. She tried to run but her body was stuck in place. The orb came to a stop mere inches from her face. It was now hundreds if not thousands of feet in diameter and had a heat emanating from its surface that nearly burned her skin. "Babe. Come on. I need a little help." Mark said as he shook her awake. Jennifer opened her eyes to see they were home. "I had the craziest dream" she mumbled and climbed out of the car, into her husband's arms. "It was about that orb from the forest" she continued, half asleep. "I have no idea what you're saying, love." He carried her inside and laid her down in bed. He grabbed a few pillows to elevate her foot. "You really are tired, huh?" he asked with genuine surprise. Jennifer raised her arm and motioned him over. "Thank you for carrying me, my stallion." and gave him a kiss before collapsing back onto the pillow. Mark smiled and went to the kitchen to make some food. As soon as she fell asleep, she was back in front of the orb. It felt like and eternity as the orb slowly closed the gap between itself and her face then, it touched her. Jennifer shot out of bed and jumped right onto her feet before promptly collapsing onto the floor in a squeal of pain. Mark jumped out of bed. "Are you OK? What are you doing?" he asked, hurrying over to his wife. "I... what time is it?" she was panting and out of breath as her eyes searched for the clock. "Uh, it's two in the morning, babe." Mark could see the panic in his wife's face and held her for a moment. "It's ok. You're here. We're here. Just breathe." Jennifer took a deep breath and suddenly felt exhausted. "Yeah. Sorry. I had a bad dream and must've forgotten about my ankle. Consider me reminded." she turned and kissed her husband. "Thank you. Will you help me..." Mark picked her up and put her back in bed. Before he'd walked over to his side she'd fallen back to sleep. There was no longer a void in front of her, there was only the golden orb. It covered her eyes, she could feel its heat over the whole of her body. She tried to move and could but, it was everywhere. She couldn't escape the gold nor its heat. "Babe. Babe." she opened her eyes to see her husbands smiling face. "If you don't get up, you're going to be late for work." he said. "I made you breakfast." Jennifer rolled over and looked at the clock. "No!" she nearly yelled. She'd overslept by almost an hour. She sat up before collapsing back down. "I am... sick day" she barely managed before dropping back into sleep. She could feel the orb coursing through her veins. Suddenly, a booming voice echoed in her mind. There were no words but she understood the meaning. "Jennifer! Are you ok? Hellooooo? Jennifer?" she shook her head and was saw her manager staring back at her from the laptop screen. "Uh, sorry. What was the question?" Jennifer stuttered. She was trying to make sense of how she'd gotten to her desk and why she was on a call with work. "Your project. The board wants a presentation Friday. I'm sure they'll have lots of questions but, my only one is are you excited? I guess your speechlessness is evidence enough." "Yes. Yes! Thank you, Marge. Uh. I am thrilled. But, do you think you could email me the specifics of the meeting? I just have to run." Jennifer said, still a little shaken. "Of course. Congrats again and let me know if you want to do a dry run or two." Marge offered. "Thank you so much. I will. Bye." Jennifer shut the laptop and tried to recall the last fifteen minutes but drew a blank. "Want a sandwich?" "Jesus!" Jennifer shouted, startled by Mark's presence. Mark chuckled. "Congrats! Seriously. I knew your hard work would pay off." he walked behind her and gave her a long embrace. "You're going to kill it. Want to celebrate now or after?" Jennifer was still trying to get her bearings "Um. Sandwich would be lovely. And a glass of ice-water, please. And always after. You know this. There is too much to do between now and then." She closed her eyes for a moment to think. ... tbc edit: tbc if you all like it. I don't write much but love a good story. Seeing if I can make one so, feedback appreciated.


You could have knocked Bill down with the proverbial feather. A small and inconsequential feather would have done, something from the hind quarters of a robin would have been just the ticket. You could have blown Bill down with a mere whisp of breath. Barely touched him with a fingertip and uttered “timber!” In this frozen moment, he stood there in this most precarious of positions and without a clue as to what had happened to render him so. “Pardon,” he said after the shock had reached its half-life. It wasn’t a question. It was a word he said because he knew he had to say something. The word itself didn’t matter. He needed to kickstart himself and saying a word seemed like all he could do right now. This word of Bill’s was a reminder that he was alive, if not at all well. “No alcohol,” said John the Barlord with a finality that would have made Bill’s eyes water if there was liquid to spare within the parched man swaying at the bar like a punch drunk boxer. Right now, boxing was the only way Bill was going to get drunk, but he was half-heartedly raising a guard of denial up in the hope that he could secure a pint of the amber stuff, even if his footwork had gone to pot.

Surely this was a joke? A stitch up that everyone was in on. Bill certainly felt all eyes on him, and no wonder. This was not normal, nor was it run of the mill. This was a travesty of the highest order, and confusion mercilessly rained down upon him as though monsoon season had come early, to entirely the wrong country, and in having got it so wrong was now drowning its sorrows in this pub, in a halo of ghastly moisture that swept downwards, surrounding and smothering the hapless Bill. “The Milford IPA,” Bill said uncertainly. John’s eyes narrowed, “not today, Bill.” “Then when?” asked Bill, doing his best not to allow desperation to creep into his voice. He failed in his attempt at setting this boundary as the insolent desperation was partying everywhere else and insistent that it should contaminate his voice too. “February,” John told him with a crushing finality that was a bit over the top as far as Bill was concerned. When had the meeting taken place where this terrible eventuality was decided, and why had he not been invited to said meeting? It was Bill’s eyes narrowing now, he was trying to read John. Reading John was all he had, because he knew better than to ask him why. Asking why would open floodgates he wanted left closed. He felt wet enough as it was. Asking why had the greatest of potentials to be utterly humiliating.

Besides, he could hazard a hazardous and quite toxic guess why. New Year’s Eve. A contributory factor to this disastrous tragedy of titanic proportions was that Bill wasn’t as young as he had once been. This was an obvious truth that he was in firm denial over. This denial of the matter of his years presented him few problems, but one of those problems was festering and reaching out with grim tendrils. Now one of those tendrils was here and was making a nuisance of itself. Booze was a strange and wonderful substance. It worked magic and some of that magic was of the darkest sort. There was also a price to be paid for that magic. Hangovers got worse as a person got older. That was just how it was. And so the price paid increased over time. The sordid reality of inflation insinuated itself into all drinkers’ lives and any that told you they were immune to the dreaded hangover were out and out liars and that was all there was to it.

The good magic of the alcohol was the social side of things. Alcohol as a social lubricant was interesting, because everyone knew that it also lowered inhibitions and therefore increased the risk of someone saying or doing something that they really should not. There was something in that upped ante that created a frisson and it was that enchanting frisson that drove conversation on a magical mystery tour that never disappointed. The magic of the beer was where Bill was currently doing the majority of his speculating. The reason for his having to speculate was another of booze’s powers; memory loss. Memory loss was yet another tithe that a seasoned boozer had to pay to the god of all things merrily alcohol imbued. For most, memory loss didn’t really kick in until beyond their thirtieth year of aging. Before then, there were other odd side effects that followed an evening’s pleasant quaffing. In the early years of drinking, as the tipsy soul retired to bed, their bed would rise a half inch in the air and then it would spin. For those in the know, a leg dropped out from the bed covers, and a foot placed on the floor, would create an effective tether that prevented any further spinning and afforded the occupant of the bed a state of unconsciousness, sleep being something that only sober people indulged in. Then there was the wayward bladder. Mostly, this was a minor inconvenience as the bladder made itself known in the early hours of the morning and continued to be a nuisance until it was taken on an impromptu visit to the toilet.

A large glass of water by the bedside was a very good idea, as in tandem with a full bladder, the drinker would in all likelihood experience dehydration. This dehydration, if left unattended, would escalate to the headache from hell, and that hellish headache would pay a visit first thing in the morning and stick around despite all the polite requests for it to do one. The most unwelcome of visitors hanging around with the one objective of ruining the day.

Bill had family members who emulated hangovers. They haunted him despite his best black sheep act, and this was why he had never bought a property, preferring to move around between rented accommodations, in sufficiently short time frames, so that even when he did share his address it quickly went out of date. Still the blighters found him. There was no escaping hangovers in whatever form they chose to take. For all his faults and foibles, Bill was a dedicated professional in his chosen field. Drinking was a complicated venture and certainly not for the faint hearted. It was a journey which lacked any certainty when it came to its destination. A person donned their drinking boots, strode out into the world for that opener, and the intent to follow it with a snortorino, and then add a snifter to the proceedings, and around that point, the back of the wardrobe would fall away to reveal a fantasy land that promised much, and delivered on that promise for just as long as the drink flowed. Bill had been on many a journey and had a grim determination to journey further, but the grimness of Barlord John’s determination outstripped his own. With a sigh of contrition, but not defeat, Bill ordered a diet coke drink. The sort that sprays from a hose pipe with a natty multi-buttoned nozzle and is made from gloopy syrup.

John nodded, “ice?” “Do I look like a polar bear?” Bill asked him. “More like a dishevelled penguin,” said John before doing the honours. Bill took the jibe and filed it away. It was half decent and well worth recycling. John placed the drink before Bill, “put it on my tab,” Bill instructed him. “There is no such thing,” John said as he raised his hand in the international gesture of beggary. Bill eyed the hand and sighed defiance at the capitalist dog before him. He did not push his luck though. Bill knew to pick his battles. Instead, he raised his own hand and placed a fiver in the palm of the Barlord. John turned his back on Bill and retrieved shrapnel from the till. Usually, Bill would pocket said shrapnel without a word, nor with any real acknowledgement of this part of the transaction, but the weight and frequency of the scraps of metal was lacking, and so he looked down at the sparsity of coinage, “twenty p?” he questioned. John did not flinch, “twenty p,” he echoed. “But surely there has been some sort of mistake?” wailed Bill. “There has been no mistake on my part, and please refrain from calling me Shirley,” John was not smiling at this pilfered quip of his. Bill’s face crumpled. The crumpling of Bill’s face was due to a two pronged attack from reality. One was that coke was more expensive than beer and so

not drinking

was going to be more expensive than drinking. The second was that John wasn’t half as funny when Bill was sober. The prospect of a mirthless John was like a spear wound to the side. It hurt and it made life that bit more difficult. Retreating to a corner table, Bill took a seat that afforded a view of the entirety of the bar. He placed his very expensive soft drink before him. Then he ignored it for the best part of five minutes. Then he spent a further five minutes staring at it balefully. “Attempting to emulate our goodly Lord?” said a familiar voice. Bill looked up at Tom, “what’s that?” “Water into wine,” Tom told him. Bill shook his head morosely, “tis the only way I’ll get a proper drink in this establishment, until the name of the month is changed to February.” Tom nodded sagely, “you should count yourself extremely lucky,” he told his friend. Bill opened his mouth to ask why that could be, but Tom was already making his way to the bar for a pint of his usual, a strange tasting traditional ale called Swanky Swan. The strange taste was due to the secondary fermentation the cask ale experienced in the barrel, and the reason for that second go at fermenting was that John the Barlord bought older stock and was not aversed to allowing it to age far more than your average cellar keeper would think was sensible. John’s philosophy in this matter was not restricted to the business of running a public house, in addition he held with a simple maxim;

since when did sensible apply to booze?  Bill had never envied Tom his too-strong beer. He did not agree with Tom’s own economic strategy in this matter. But now, he would relinquish his moral higher ground for just one of those pints of Tom’s, for, as far as Bill knew, Tom was the only one who drank Swanky Swan and not often did he exceed four pints in one sitting. Others had tried to go beyond two, but had lost the use of important motor skills before they ever got to the end of their second pint. Bill leaned in towards Tom as his friend took a seat opposite him, “you couldn’t…” he began. “I couldn’t,” agreed Tom, narrowing his eyes just as Barlord John had done, “I see you’ve not been counting yourself extremely lucky, despite the benevolence of our fine and upstanding Barlord,” Tom observed. Bill glanced towards the bar and the man that Tom was referencing. The Barlord was polishing a glass in about as aggressive fashion as was possible. Bill swiftly averted his gaze, feigning nonchalance. “It’s hardly…” he began. “You could have been barred for life,” hissed Tom uncharacteristically, “and maimed into the bargain.” Bill scowled at the hissing goose before him. “Don’t you take that tone with me, young man!” exclaimed Tom, “February is not all that far off. You got off with a light sentence this time.” “This time?” asked Bill not pausing adequately to add a protest to his voice. “We both know you’ll blot your copy book again,” Tom assured him. Bill didn’t nod agreement, but neither did he refute his friend’s words. He was in a cognitive no-man’s land thanks to any absence of recollection of the actions that had brought about this parlous state of affairs. What he did know was that without any idea of his transgression, he could not estimate the probability of further occurrences of the misdeed, and so discretion was the better part of valour at this time.

At long last, he plucked his lukewarm glass from the table before him. Tom took the opportunity to raise his own, half-drunk pint of beer, “cheers” he said, tapping his gloriously proper drink against the expensive imposter. Bill harrumphed and then poured some of the warm and pricey liquid into his gob. It fizzed, and in its fizzing, it imparted undue sweetness upon his unsuspecting taste buds. For the second time that evening, Bill scrunched up his face. Tom laughed. “It’s not funny,” Bill grimaced, “this ridiculous drink cost me four pounds eighty!” “Daylight robbery!” gasped Tom in sudden, shared aggrievance. “I’ve been mugged!” agreed Bill. Tom shrugged and drank more of his pint. A pint that cost less than four of the king’s pounds. Bill watched him and felt an odd sort of loneliness. Their Brotherhood of Beer was lost to him, for at least the next four weeks. Four long and desolate weeks. “Will you continue to frequent these premises during your barren spell?” enquired Tom. The lads had an affinity that approached the rarefied heights of mind reading. Some uncharitable souls would say it was more that they were creatures of habit treading well worn paths. Simple creatures who were oblivious to the fact that they were as they did, and were therefore booze-soaked simpletons. Not one to break the habit of a lifetime, Bill did not pause for thought, “yes I will.” “Good man!” said Tom, tipping his glass at Bill, and in so doing, rubbing his enforced drink diet in by pouring more of his own beer into his mouth, “will you be driving?” Bill growled in the next instant, “don’t you dare!” “Whatever has brought this foul mood on?” enquired Tom, leaning away from his friend’s ire. “Your attempted manipulation of my fragile and exposed state!” protested Bill. “That is a malicious slight!” said Tom in an equal approximation of protest. “I will not be your chauffeur for the next month!” hissed Bill. Tom shrugged, “it would be the honourable thing to do.” Bill spat the initial bar of a laugh across the table, “you really take the biscuit sometimes!” Neither of the lads went as far as to explore the practicalities of Bill driving. This was a far-fetched eventuality due to the absence of a car to drive as well as Bill’s inability to actually drive. The nature of this interaction exemplified Pub Discourse, Pub Discourse being the grandfather of Fuzzy Logic. Not that Fuzzy Logic was aware of this part of its family tree. Pub Discourse put it about quite a bit and had fathered a great many concepts and ideas, but never took much interest in or responsibility for them, what with being ridiculously fond of its local locale and what is universally known as

the craic. Tom shrugged again, “talking of biscuits…” “You’re not?!” gasped Bill. “I like them,” he said as he eyed the jar of large dog biscuits on the bar, biscuits that came in all sizes and colours, “especially the red ones.” He also liked them because they were free. Free for the punter’s dogs. Tom focused on the free aspect of the biscuits. Barlord John took another, dimmer view. This was a source of some conflict. Bill thought he had the hint of a glimpse of the New Year’s Eve proceedings and felt something tug upon him. There wasn’t enough to go on, but he had the seed of a suspicion and from that seed a sprout of blame reached forth and pointed at Tom. Bill drank more of his fizzy brown drink, “do you think people actually enjoy this?” he asked Tom as he waved his glass around between them. “They know no different,” Tom told him. But Bill thought he knew different. And he intended to keep pulling on the fine thread he’d now spotted. He’d come back here to this pub, a pub he considered to be as much his as anyone else’s, and he would come here just as regularly as he once had. Returning to the scene of his illusory crime until he pieced together what it was that he was supposed to have done.

He smiled to himself as he drank some more of his exorbitantly expensive coke. If his quest for the truth of his unfair and unjust demise failed, he’d celebrate his enforced dry spell at the Desert Inn with a big session to make up for his time away from one of the loves of his life; beer.

His smile remained as he thought of one of the other side effects of drinking; flashbacks from previous boozy journeys. The truth. His truth. It was only a matter of a few pints away. Tom was getting up to buy another beer, “another?” he asked his friend. Bill looked at his glass and realised he’d absently necked the majority of it as he made his plans, “yeah, why not?” he replied. Tom leant in and winked conspiratorially, then he whispered, “John the Barlord’s wife. Never knew you had it in you, you old dog!” Suddenly, Bill was as white as a freshly laundered sheet. He watched his bestest friend, and partner in beer-crime, depart for the far shores of the pub’s bar. He became whiter still as his eyes inadvertently locked with the glaring and vengeful orbs sunk in the depths of John the Barlord’s skull. January was going to be a very long month, if that was, he managed to see the month through to its bitter and barren end.


All my life as a virgin, I wished that any man who would marry me should never have tasted the best of a woman. As a working-class lady, I gave my whole life on work as if without it I cannot live. Many of my friends were so jealous of my commitment to work. “Bissi, why are you always at the top of everyone in this company. I wonder what your fate will be if at the end you are fired from service,” Dorothy asked her during lunch break. Bissi love having fun after lunch and her co-workers draw to her because she's eloquent and elegant looking. After her years of services, she’s now in the upper echelons of directorship and this charmed the whole men who were working with her. The food is not yet ready. Hold on about 30 minutes you will not believe your eyes what happened. “Even if I cannot have you as a wife, kindly give me a chance to take you out for a weekend,” Joss requested. “That wouldn’t be a problem but as you can see I have a lot on my desk now. Can we talk about this later in the day?” Bissi still soliloquizing, “What could be going on in Joss mind to ask for such a thing? Whatever, he will find his level. I have no time entertaining such stories. I think what I need now is to focus on my schedules. Juddy, she shouted, do not allow anyone into my office again.” “Yes madam.” Months later, Kenneth succeeded in buying Bissi's heart with a token of a golden wristwatch. This has always been Bissi's plan since college but all fingers were not equal. Bissi came from a peasant background that hardly eats 2 square meals in a day. The parents laboured day and night to educate their only daughter to university level. Her background made her so ambitious that her studiousness at the university accorded her a lot of awards. After graduation, she got her first job. It was a fast job with a fat payment. She couldn’t wait for her first salary to wet the lips of her parents. On that evening she came back home with a whole lot of goodies for both parents. Her job changed the face of the earth. The mother’s ugly nature caused by hardship returned to her youthful strength. “Mama, I never know you are so beautiful like this.” “My daughter, I am happy that you made it at last. I gave you the beauty you have today and I appreciate all you have done to keep me and your father in a healthy and happy state after long years of struggles. I thank the gods for your success.” “It’s all right mama. I will certainly do what I can to keep you and papa in the best position you deserve. I am tired let me go in and rest.” “Okay, my daughter but remember, a woman’s joy is complete when she finds her true bone. Kindly do faster about that I want to carry my grandchildren before I join my ancestors.” “Okay, good night my lovely mother.” “Sleep tight, my daughter.” They ended their conversation and exited to their bedrooms. The following morning, she woke up with the bell of her mother’s words ringing in her mind. “What does this woman meant that the joy of a woman is complete when she finds her true bone.” These words tormented her the whole day at work but she couldn’t tell anyone. In her confusion, Kenneth came in and they exchanged pleasantries. “What is going on with my learned, magnificent, spotless, one and only lady in my life? Looking at you in this state of quagmire invokes a lot of issues not going on well with you. Kindly let me into this world I can be chilling water to soothe your bones and I can carry you to the resting palace where we can relax this tension. Please, Babe, smile a little; your face looks terrible at glance and it's not befitting your status.” “Ken I am glad you truly understand how I feel. I have watched you speak and in truth, I am not in my right mind. Maybe I’m sick. If there is anything that can be done to ease this stress, kindly do it.” “It’s all right my lady. I am here for you. If you don't mind, I would like us to go somewhere out of the city. It’s a very nice and aesthetically adorned environment. The beauty of this place is that immediately you behold the paradise, you will long to be there forever.” She consented and they went. Everything was as he described and she fell in love with the arena that it became the place of unending visit for the two. On the 4 th of September, 2016, Kenneth openly declared his interest. She accepted to marry him on one condition that he has to introduce himself to her parents and organise for the wedding in the following month. As expected of a man who has found a treasure, he went home happy. He couldn’t wait for the cock to crow the next morning; he made haste to work and found that Bissi was still at home. He saw it as an opportunity to visit her at home. He did and both parents were at home. Though he was afraid of what may become of him; he was welcomed by the parents. “Oh my God, your mother is indeed an angel. She must be the reason your father never looked elsewhere and immediately fall for her. Even at this age, she’s younger than her age.” “I see, forget my mother you are here to see me not her.” “Common my love! It’s true. She is beautiful.” “For that reason, you should start going. I will join you later.” A few weeks later, the marriage ceremony has been planned. A bar of chocolate to keep your eyes awake; you are about to see the real dance of love. What will you do, twenty minutes before you are about to get married, you find your mother and your fiancé kissing passionately. Just hold your answers until the end of the story and see how it ended with Ken and Bissi.

It was the wedding ceremony. Bissi’s mother came to greet the son-in-law to be in his set apart room. He said to her, “mum you are a true definition of beauty. The last time I checked my dictionary, it proclaims that you are still young.” “Oh my darling, stop flattering me.” Ken went closer and held her hands. “Wow, I have never felt this way for years now. Come closer, immediately they signed the contract of kisses and at that Bissi came in and found both of them and closed the door. She never uttered a word but left to her chambers set for the wedding ceremony.” It’s time to tie the knot. “My daughter is he the one that you have sold your heart to?” “He is still the one. Come what may, I still love him and nothing more.” They hugged each other and the honeymoon commenced.


Toasted     “Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who don’t me, I’m Peter, Rob’s best man. I was there from the beginning, when Rob and Cindy first met. Rob tells people that he and Cindy met while hiking. This is technically true, but it’s not the whole story. Rob’s a modest guy and doesn’t like to brag, so now I’m going to completely embarrass him by telling you what really happened.     “Rob and I were up at the lake, on the mountain trail, when we heard a scream. We ran toward the sound and found a lovely young woman crying and pacing, distraught and alone on the trail. Cindy here had been hiking with her German Shepherd, Muffin, and her then-boyfriend. We’ll call him Richard, or Dick, for short. They’d seen a large black bear on the trail and Muffin decided to summon his inner canine warrior and chase the bear. So, Muffin takes off into the woods, chasing the bear. Dick, apparently after several moments of hesitation, so I’m told, reluctantly takes off after Muffin.  Upon hearing Cindy tell this story, Rob takes off running in the direction of the dog and I follow him, after making sure Cindy was okay by herself.     “So, I’m following Rob, who’s moving through the woods faster than I thought humanly possible, jumping over tree limbs and bursting through bushes like a stunt man in a movie, until we finally see the dog in the distance. The dog’s still running deeper into the woods. No sign of Dick, in case you were wondering.   “We begin to hear water, which, if you’ve been to the mountain trail, you know is the river where the little waterfall feeds into the lake. We get closer and we see Muffin, trying to swim in the river. The bear, being a better swimmer than Muffin, is long gone. We caught a glimpse of him way on the other side of the river, heading further into the woods. We did not, at any point, catch a glimpse of Dick.     “But now here’s Muffin, being tossed about by the rapids in the river and beginning to head downstream. Toward. The. Waterfall.     “So, here’s the part where Rob, predictably, being the good guy he is, jumps into the river to save Muffin. Luckily for Muffin, Rob is a pretty good swimmer. He manages to catch up with Muffin before the poor dog goes over the waterfall. Rob grabs him by the collar and starts swimming toward the bank. I’m standing around like a dumb ass, because this is all happening so fast. I even forgot to whip out my phone and shoot a video. That would have been epic. Anyway, Rob gets to the bank of the river and checks Muffin for injuries. No animals were hurt in the making of this story, by the way. And still, no sign of Dick.    “We didn’t have a leash and couldn’t risk Muffin running off again, so Rob picks up Muffin, who, you’ll remember is a German Shepherd, not a small dog, and fireman-carries him back toward the trail.  Poor Muffin was too tired to fuss about that, at this point. It took nearly a half hour to get back to the trail carrying this gigantic dog. And still, you guessed it, no sign of Dick.     “We finally make it back to the trail, where poor Cindy is crying with worry, maybe more for the dog than the boyfriend. She sees us coming and her face lights up. She runs toward us, fastens Muffin to a leash, and gives us both hugs. We traded information and stood around talking for a while, waiting for Dick to arrive. Forty minutes later, he finally shows, covered in scrapes and dead leaves, and looking very annoyed that the dog was already safe and that he had nothing to do with it.     “That, my friends, should have been the end of the story. But no. The next morning, while watching the local news, I see Dick being interviewed on camera for a story about bear sightings in the area. Apparently, other hikers spotted the bear, and a news crew had arrived after we left.

   “Anyway, here’s Dick, talking about how he was hiking with his girlfriend and how her dog ran after the bear, and how he had to run after the bear to save the dog. He added some colorful details about how he had to jump into the rapids to save the dog from going down the waterfall and how he’d gotten badly scraped up in the process. I thought about Rob’s bravery and his humility, and just shook my head.    “And that should have been the end of the story. But again, no.     “Two weeks later, I’m reading the local news online and I see this story. There’s Dick again, accepting an award from an animal rescue group, for saving his girlfriend’s German Shepherd from a tremendous bear.  He’s giving a speech about the importance of animals in our lives. I’d almost believe it if I hadn’t seen his face when he finally got back to the trail that day.  By this time, I’m kicking myself for not having shot a video of Rob rescuing Muffin.     “And that would have been the end of the story, if not for Cindy. Cindy appreciates a good man, and Dick wasn’t making the cut. Another week or so went by and Rob’s phone rings. Cindy had jettisoned Dick from her life. This is where the real story begins, the one that led us to be gathered here today.     “’Muffin and I would like to thank you for saving his life’ she said. They got together for coffee and the rest is history. The moral of the story is this. Nice guys don’t finish last. Sometimes, it just takes a little while to get there.     “A lot of times, at weddings, people like to talk about how fate brought the happy couple together. That’s nice. But let’s look a little deeper. We have some other entities to thank for bringing us together today. We have a wild bear, a dog named Muffin, and a self-promoting Dick. So, thank you bear, thank you Muffin, and ironically, thank you Dick.     “Raise your glasses everyone. To Rob and Cindy and Muffin. May you have boring hikes for the rest of your lives.”