It was September 1989. I was drowning in my huge new school uniform. I know a lot of parents buy a few sizes up to save money but is a sack appropriate for a first day at school? I exaggerate slightly. I was wearing my XL Navy Blazer with the school crest ‘Veritas’ embroidered on top of my non-existent right breast. My Navy V-neck jumper hung past my waist and my ridiculously long navy skirt was a tripping hazard. I remember standing for assembly in the main hall next to a girl called Denise. She had latched on to me right away, but she seemed nice enough. We looked at each other as if to say, 'What were our parents thinking sending us here?'

‘Good morning, ladies’ began Mr. Murphy, the ruddy-faced headmaster. When I filed into the hall, I heard a brief snippet of conversation between two of the older girls. ‘Have you been in his study? There is a cabinet FULL of whiskey.’ ‘No, I haven’t been in his study Jemima. You have because you keep talking over the teacher in class.’ 'Bitch.' 'Cow.' Mr. Murphy continued. ‘I do hope everyone has had a good weekend. I’m going to start by telling you all a story about a fellow who finds himself in a desperate situation and in need of help. The story is called ‘The drowning man’. I think I heard the Jemima girl say ‘sounds like a laugh’ to which a few of her classmates giggled.

A look from Mr. Murphy silenced the sniggering and he began.

‘A fellow was stuck on his rooftop in a flood. He was praying to God for help. Soon a man in a rowboat came by and the fellow shouted to the man on the roof, “Jump in, I can save you.” The stranded fellow shouted back, “No, it’s OK, I’m praying to God, and he is going to save me.” So, the rowboat went on. Then a motorboat came by. “The fellow in the motorboat shouted, “Jump in, I can save you.” To this the stranded man said, “No thanks, I’m praying to God, and he is going to save me. I have faith.” So, the motorboat went on. Then a helicopter came by, and the pilot shouted down, “Grab this rope and I will lift you to safety.” To this the stranded man again replied, “No thanks, I’m praying to God, and he is going to save me. I have faith.” So, the helicopter reluctantly flew away. Soon the water rose above the rooftop and the man drowned. He went to Heaven. He finally got his chance to discuss this whole situation with God, at which point he exclaimed, “I had faith in you, but you didn’t save me, you let me drown. I don’t understand why!” To this God replied, “I sent you a rowboat and a motorboat and a helicopter, what more did you expect?”

A few of the teachers smiled and Mr. Murphy continued. ‘a truly valuable story girls about accepting help. I’m sure we can all learn to accept help from time to time. My wife, Mrs. Murphy is always telling me to let go and accept help. It’s sometimes the hardest thing to do. I would like to welcome everyone who has joined us this school year and please don’t be afraid to ask for help from your friends, fellow classmates, and teachers. We are all here to support one another.’

After assembly, we filed into our classroom and focused on our studies. But that was all I had to think about back then: Acing my exams and staying in the top five in my year in each subject so my parents could brag to their friends about it and feel that all the money they had spent on my private school education had been worth it.

******

Every day during our lunch break my husband John and I walk down the road to the beach that runs along the rugged North Cornish coast. How I love this stretch of coast. Full of wonderful memories of running up and down the beach with our young son, throwing or kicking a ball back and forth. A stretch of coast that has so much hope associated with it. ‘One day when we have a dog, we can run up and down with our doggy and train him/her to fetch the ball.’ or ‘ooh mummy can we come back in the summer months and swim in the rock pools.’ ‘Of course, darling, that sounds wonderful.’

But it is now winter and on exceptionally windy days, we feel the force of nature pushing us back, telling us ‘You don’t want to come too close today’ but we always push past it and find a sheltered cove to explore and enjoy being battered by the wind. However, in recent weeks, I haven’t felt so strong. What would happen if I just let go. Would I end up being blown about and spat back on to the beach like the bits of debris I find after a rough storm?

Sunday night mood: Calm (rippled), Wind: Light air

It is Sunday night and as I must get up early to travel the long journey from North Cornwall to London the next morning I say to my husband ‘I’ll sleep in the spare room, so I don’t disturb you my darling’. My alarm is due to go off at 5am. I have an engrained anxiety about Sunday nights which I know a lot of people have. I forever feel that ‘back to school’ ache where I feel overwhelmed at what the week has in store for me. What others have in store for me. I read my book, Joan Collins latest autobiography for a bit of humour and sensible reason but find myself unable to switch off. I turn off my bedside lamp and then think I can hear my son coughing. Oh no, I hope he’s not coming down with the latest bug from school. I then fall asleep but then roll over and check my phone and I’ve only been in bed for an hour. I go back to sleep and then what feels like only an hour later, I hear movement in Ben’s room. He runs into our room and when he doesn’t find me there, comes bolting into the spare room. ‘Are you ok Benji?’

‘Yes, mummy but my throat hurts.’

‘Ok you go back to bed. I’ll get you some milk, water and calpol’ and then I head downstairs, notice by the kitchen clock it’s 3am, look out at the garden thinking have I even slept? And then head up to Ben. ‘You go back to sleep now darling. Mummy needs to get up soon, so I need to sleep.’ ‘Ok mummy will you get me a toy in London?’ ‘Yes, darling I’ll get you anything if you go to sleep now.’ I then head back to the spare room and attempt to sleep, conscious that the remaining hours are passing at the speed of sound and my 5am alarm is about to go off any moment. ‘Brrrriiiinnnngggg’ Oh, there we go. I have this down to a fine art. I throw on my underwear, my navy jumpsuit and pashmina, check I’ve packed my toothbrush and have phone, debit card and train tickets. I make a quick cup of tea and grab a fruit scone and as quietly as I can lock up the house when I leave and walk the 10 minutes to the bus stop feeling slightly concerned that I didn’t call a cab or take that offer of a lift from my husband and dad when it’s pitch dark and I’m a woman on my own. I feel slight relief when I arrive at the bus stop and see several people waiting, mostly young people who look like students heading to college in the next town. Once the bus arrives, I get out my book and read a bit in between dozing. Once at the train station, I check there are no delays and then settle down for a Starbucks cappuccino and a bacon roll. Before I jump on the train to London, I grab another cappuccino as the coffee on the train in the trolley service is usually rank. Once on the train I can settle in and do a few things. Read/ write. It is my time but I do spend a lot of the time wishing I was at home so I could take Benj to school and I hope his cold is ok.

I arrive at London Paddington station on time and have done this journey often enough that I know to get my head down, head to the Hammersmith and city line and jump on the tube for 20 minutes to King’s Cross. There is something exciting about being surrounded by so many people and I usually forget where I am and start chatting to total strangers on the tube. My husband who grew up in London always says, ‘don’t make eye contact with anyone on the tube and definitely don’t speak to anyone’. He worries. I guess that’s normal. He’s always telling me that ‘me and Benj are everything’.

When I arrive at my premier inn hotel next to my office, I pay for an early check in. Once in my room, I ring John: ‘Hey darling how are you?’ ‘Hello. How was your journey?’ ‘It was fine. I’m going to have a quick shower and then head to the office. I’ll call later.’ ‘Ok speak later.’ I then have a quick wash, apply more foundation than I normally would, eye liner and a subtle lipstick, oh and brush my hair. There is something about heading into the office that makes me feel young and nice to have an occasion to look smart. At the same time, I feel as if I’m about to put on a show, so I practice my work voice as I walk up the three flights of stairs to my colleagues.

‘Helen, hey!’ ‘Hey there Richard, how are you?’ Best to start with the Head of the department. Richard is a lovely guy. He is Australian and looks like he’s enjoyed a fight in his rugby club many years ago. He has that slightly battered look but still has a twinkle in his eye. He enjoys telling me how his children are doing now they’ve flown the nest. ‘The thing is Helen I feel as if my wife and I are having a second life. Our kids have flown and we’re now able to go out for dinner and see plays. It’s great.’ ‘That’s wonderful’ ‘And how are you? How’s the family?’ ‘Oh yes you know all fine. Husband and son always have a breakdown when I’m not there but all fine.’ ‘Oh good. Now I was going to speak to you about work if ok?’ ‘Oh yes of course.’ ‘I’m conscious you do a lot.’ ‘Yes, it keeps me out of mischief.’ ‘Ha. Well, I wanted to say thank you so much for doing the department newsletter and helping with training sessions on top of your regular work. I would like to reorganize our intranet and I’m keen to bring everyone together. If I set up a chat with the other department heads, would you be keen to get involved with that?’ ‘Yes definitely’ ‘Great. Well, it’s great to see you. I’ll let you get on.’ As I returned to my desk, I could hear my husband’s voice ‘they do know you’re part- time don’t they? Just refuse to do all this extra stuff. They’re not compensating you for it and you want to do other things with your time like writing.’ I sat down at my desk trying not to feel disgruntled. I phoned my manager in New York who is an absolute peach and looks like she walked off the set of 90210. ‘We can tweak it Helen so you’re not doing more while Richard needs you. I don’t want you working more than your contractual hours.’ ‘Thanks Samantha.’ And with that I wade through the treacle-like pile on my to do list.

Wednesday afternoon mood: Slight to moderate, Moderate breeze

I’m back in the car driving the 18 miles to Ben’s school. When we moved over the borders from Devon to Cornwall a couple of years ago, he was so settled at school that we didn’t want to move him and as I am only ‘part- time’ I pick up most of the runs. I call my mum on the drive over. ‘Hello, its only me’ ‘Oh, hello darling. How are you?’ ‘Oh yes fine thanks’ trying to hide the creeping veil of tiredness that wants to take over. ‘How’s our gorgeous boy.’ ‘John’s fine thanks.’ ‘Ha, the other gorgeous boy.’ 'Oh, you mean Ben. Ha! He’s fine. I’m just driving over to watch him thrash Kingsley school. I wasn’t sure if I’d make it but decided to run away from work.’ ‘Is there anything we can do to help? Do you need to work? You know your sister would always help with the school runs.’ ‘No, I’m fine thanks. I don’t need to work but I enjoy it and yes, it’s a bit manic now, but I just need to pace myself.’ ‘Well, I won’t keep you. Hope hockey goes well and Benji bunny enjoys.’ ‘Thanks, I’m sure he will. He loves anything with a ball.’ I was so pleased to have escaped from work and watching Ben do well on the sidelines was so invigorating. This is the stuff he’ll remember. ‘I didn’t think you’d make it’ said one of the mums. You know, Rob said to me the other day, we’ll happily take Ben to school. He gets on so well with our Ella and he’s such a poppet.’ ‘Oh, that’s so kind thank you. I don’t mind. Gets me out of the house.’ Although Helen thought to herself that a lie in occasionally would be amazing or a bit more time back.

Wednesday night mood: Violent Storm/Hurricane

After putting Benj to bed, I thought I better log on to my emails to check nothing had come up. Big mistake. Meeting requests to discuss new project. Check in on where current department newsletter was. Clients applying red exclamations left/right and centre to emails. The word 'disappointing' in a couple of emails. Urgh. So, I text my friend Zoe. I had met Zoe at prenatal classes when I had Benj and we had formed a strong bond. She saw a bullshitter a mile off. She had also had every single job under the sun which fascinated me: make-up artist/candle maker/ singer/PA/ marketing professional and despite running her entire household/managing her husband's tailoring business, she had also secured herself a book deal for a Children’s Picture book. I sent her a WhatsApp: ‘Hey gorgeous, how are you?’ ‘Hey lovely, how are you? All fine here, just trying to shirk my day job so I can write my next book.’ ‘Amazing, you are an inspiration.’ ‘Aww thanks, you are too. What's up?’ ‘I feel completely snowed under.’ ‘oh, I’m sorry. Do you know what though?’ ‘What?’ ‘Now is the time. Carpe diem.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You and I have been talking about this for yonks. Carve out more YOU TIME. Prioritise YOU. Start tapping again.’ ‘you’re right. I feel completely lost as to where to start.’ ‘a friend of mine recommended said she started using daily writing prompts to get her in the mood for her poems. She sets her alarm 15 mins early to have a go. Do it!’ ‘Ok I will. Speak soon. Thank you, lots of love.’ ‘Lots of love. Just remember the laundry will always be there but it doesn’t have to be your soul purpose.’ ‘you’re so right. Thanks again.’

With that I typed in writing prompts…what is this? Reedsy writing prompts…


This is a real story. The community doorbell rang, I beeped her through the automatic gates and went to the mirror. Sprinkled a little bit of cologne. The hair was in order. The computer was shut down. I didn’t queue to play that next game. I knew she was close and I wanted to be ready. I didn’t want to look like a nerd. It was close to 8 am. I could hear my heartbeat pounding. There was a knock at my apartment door. I placed my hand on the knob, and I turned it. \ She had been one of my first crushes from when I was a kid, she had grown to be a beautiful woman 8 years after I first fell in love with that long black hair of hers. All the way back to elementary I was already a loser for brunettes, raven hair and petites. She happened to fall under all of those categories. I don’t think I’ve ever been that unconditionally in love. She and I have a complicated story. She was cruel. She still is, for all that I know. I only see that after all the mess, before, I thought all girls were like that. She pulled off some pretty shady stuff when we were in the first year of high school. The best example of this: She asked my best friend out. She knew how I felt about her, I hardly ever try to hide my feelings about women. When he said no, she immediately afterwards asked me. I didn’t find out until I told him the good news. I was 11 and I remember how much it hurt. I remember how angry and confused I was. It seems so silly because now, in my mid-twenties, it’s easier for me to rationalise things. Back then it felt like someone was ripping my guts from the inside, pulling them out. She apologised later. I quickly tried to look past that experience. I wanted to forget about that afternoon, and how much I cried. As I said, I thought it was a normal thing. “Teenagers”, both boys and girls can come up with some silly shite. I left the country in the second year of high school, few months after that incident. Nothing ever happened between us two. We left it off as friends. We kept in touch, and we kept our friendship, up until the point that I came back to study my university degree. But more on that later. In the summers between my 13th and 17th birthdays, I would come back home, to see family and friends. We would hang out. It was a joy to see my friends. People that spoke my language and understood my culture. Sometimes, she and I met alone. One of the times we met kind of set the mood for our entire relationship. I had a Jacuzzi at home. People in my school thought that was funny and posh. I grew up in that apartment, for 13 years I saw nothing else, so I thought it was normal. She liked that Jacuzzi. She said it a few times over the two decades that we’ve known each other for. When I was 16, she asked me if she could take a bath there. I was a flirt and I told her that she could, of course, but that I would find it a great privilege if I could join her. It wasn’t a very big Jacuzzi. We both could barely fit it at the same time. She was fully aware of that. She looked at me with those huge dark eyes of her, framed by that pale skin… She laughed and said that she wouldn’t have it any other way. We set a date. I was hosting more people at my place then, I wasn’t just going to say. “Well chaps, we’re off to the Jacuzzi, don’t make too much noise! Would ya?” \ My heavy door swung open, she was there, on her own, gorgeous as ever. It was summer and she was light in clothing. We said hi, hugged, and I invited her in. She liked my perfume. We changed into our swimming suits. I got in the Jacuzzi first, made sure that the water wasn’t too hot. I gave her some space so that she could lay back on the other side of the Jacuzzi. She didn’t. She sat right between my legs. At this point, you might think that I was in some sort of personal heaven. That wasn’t quite the case, believe me. I have a sharp tongue and I make witty, dangerously funny comments. I take pride in starting interesting conversations. I can now confidently say, that part of me evaporates as soon as there is a woman I care about, light in clothing, sitting in between my legs. So… it ended up being rather awkward. We played with the bubbles and talked a bit. There were some uncomfortable silences. I hate those. I decided that I would take a chance. I was going to try to kiss her. I made a move, pretending that I was going for the tap: “Let me try to get some cold water into the tub. It’s getting quite hot in here.” “Yea, it is, and you better keep you cool, Loud.” Ouch. If there’s something my mother and father have taught me well, is to respect women. I would be horribly ashamed to do something to a girl that she wouldn’t want me to do to her. I took this as a clear sign to back off. I didn’t want to risk it at all. Better be boring than pushy. I did pour some cold water into that bath, and I did cool down. Nothing happened, and in all honesty, it puzzled me, but it didn’t bother me. I’ve only wanted as much from a woman as she was willing to give me. Not one caress more. We dressed, hugged goodbye and agreed to do this more often. Funny that. Later, when I was alone in that house. What bothered me was the question. The question that you might be having right now. Why would she join me in a Jacuzzi, with very little clothing if she wasn’t remotely interested in anything else? Maybe she was, and when she got in the Jacuzzi with me she changed her mind. She had her right to. The fact that she got into that Jacuzzi with me didn’t mean that I suddenly had rights to do whatever I wanted. I know that. I just wouldn’t get into a compromised position like that with another woman if I don’t have clear intentions. The question ate at me. It wasn’t like the hand gripping at my guts. It was worse because I didn’t know what to make of it. Did she like me? Did she not? Was she just playing me? That ate at me for a few more years. In the meantime, nothing happened between us. At 18, I moved back home. Started my IT degree. Made more friends. Organised more parties while my parents were out. Had some decent fun. Met more women. Some were good to me, some weren’t. She would come to some of these parties. At one point, she stopped broke up with the bloke she was dating, and we started flirting again. Bad idea Loud. At my 19th summer, she wanted to come over again. She was going to go to this big party and didn’t want to sleep home because her parents would freak out. She said we could meet up and have some fun. It had been too long, she said. It shames me to say that I invited her over again. To me, it made sense, as I was hosting a LAN party that very night. Some of my best friends would be playing all night, having pizza and not sleeping at all. I organised everything so that they would be out before she was there. We would grab breakfast, maybe watch some stand-up comedy and then sleep a bit. That was the plan. \ My heavy door opened, my heart was still pounding. I could still hear it in my ears. The door swung open. There she was. Gorgeous as ever. Accompanied by a dude. She hugged me. Didn’t mention my perfume this time. She said his name. I tried not to look as confused as I was. I was a good host. I let them both in. Told them I was only expecting her. She said that he went with her to the party. He also needed a place to sleep. So, my house was some sort of hotel for her, it seemed. I told the guy he could sleep in my sister’s room, and that she could take the large bedroom in mine. “It’s okay Loud. We’ll share the room.” They went into my room. They closed the door behind. I must have stared at that door, the door to my room, for something like 10 minutes. It was the hand in the guts and the question all over again. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to play some video games to take my mind off the surge of thoughts that it was currently undergoing. I felt alone. Hunter was one of my close friends. He had been at the LAN party that night. He was probably home, trying to get some sleep. He is one loyal man. He and I have gotten into arguments before, and I don’t agree with some of his life choices, but he is one loyal lad and a good friend. I called him. He picked up the phone immediately, even though we both hadn’t slept at all because of all the games we had played. He asked me what I was doing on the phone, I should be with her. I explained to him what happened. He was freaking out. I told him that I didn’t want to be alone. He was at my place 10 minutes later. We gamed until 11 am, which was when my bedroom door opened. They both came out looking okay. Dressed. My room didn’t smell like sex. At least I didn’t think it did. They drank my coffee, they ate my bread. He was interested in the game Hunter and I were playing. I didn’t even bother looking at them. They thanked me and left. Hunter and I kept playing until lunch. I thanked Hunter for coming. Gave him a hug. He left. I immediately went to my room, picked my sheets off the bed, placed them in a bag. A few moments later, I was placing that bag in the donation box. \ She tried to meet up after that. We even had a conversation about that night. Not worth including here I’m afraid. I never hung out with her after that, on a friendly context or otherwise. We ran into each other from time to time, said hi, and then said bye. I will never forget that moment. Not how she played me for the last time, nor how a brother came to me in one of the worst times I’ve ever had. \ If you've reached this far, thank you for taking the time to have a read. I really appreciate any feedback. English isn't my first language, so if I've gotten anything wrong. Do let me know. Once again, thanks.


It was about last May when I first suspected my mother was pregnant. I had just woken up, listening to a coughing sound I had barely heard before. It was a few moments later when I realized that it wasn't coughing, it was the sound of someone throwing up. The sound of sickness. I got up out of bed and cautiously peeked into my parents' bathroom, and there my mother was, kneeling over the toilet. My dad was also there, holding my mom's hair back. I left the room before either of them saw me, heading to the kitchen with a sinking feeling in my stomach, knowing my life would never be the same. A couple of weeks later, Mom announced that she was going to have a baby. I tried to act all excited and happy, but I really just wanted to curl up into a little ball and cry. I was an only child. And I liked it- my parents were always there for me, and had plenty of time to spend with me. Birthdays were great- and don't even get me started about Christmas! Occasionally, I did feel lonely. I wanted to hang out with someone other than my parents. The thought of having a sister or brother never occurred to me, because I could simply ask my parents if I could hang out with a friend. But now everything was baby, baby, baby, and no one ever gave me a second glance. When my mom got her gender reveal, I found out that I was getting a baby sister. _Great. Pink._ The one color I hated more than any other. One night, my mother's water broke. We were at the dinner table, struggling to pick up our California sushi rolls up with our chopsticks, when she lurched out of her chair, holding her large stomach, her legs dripping wet. I thought she had peed when I realized: _Oh no. Her water broke._ We rushed her to the hospital. I almost cried, thinking about losing everything I had. You see, this wasn't all about my parents. I was a teenager. At one point in their lives, everyone feels... lost. Alone. Scared. That was how I felt. I needed my parents now more than ever, but now that they were busy with the baby, I felt more lost than ever. And, there was one more reason why I didn't want to get attached to the baby. A few years ago, my mom was pregnant with her second child. She was going to have a baby girl, and name her Lisa. I was so excited, so happy, I couldn't wait for a cute little baby who I could hold and feed and play with. In the hospital, my mother delivered baby Lisa, almost 5 months early. The worst thing imaginable happened to her, and to us. We lost baby Lisa. We lost her. She was... _gone._ My heart broke into a million pieces in that moment. It broke even further after the funeral service, where we let hundreds of pink balloons go in her honor, for the life Lisa never got to live. My parents let go of their strings reluctantly, slow, soft tears streaming down their faces. But I? I wouldn't let go. I _couldn't._ No one could wrench the string out of my stubby fingers. I screamed and cried and threw a fit, until finally my fingers loosened their grip on the life I had to let go, and the balloon flew up into the air, traveling farther and farther, faster and faster, until it was a tiny pink speck, then disappeared. The one life that should have been lived. The one life that should have lived, but didn't get to. I didn't want to get close to the new baby, because, well, I was _afraid._ Afraid to lose her, too. After 8 hours of labor, a new baby was born. This one was... _here._ Happy. Healthy. My mom named her Elizabeth Jade, almost like the Lisa we lost. Almost, but not quite. Because a part of us inside still didn't want to let go of that pink balloon; to watch it disappear into the sky where the stars chose our fate, where the path to love was not easily taken. Not without pain or hard trials or days where we lost the things closest to our hearts. To the long moments of peaceful hurt and the even longer years trailing back into forever. My mother asked me if I wanted to hold her. I nodded and gingerly picked her up. I smiled at her tentatively... and she laughed. _She laughed._ I gave her one of my fingers. Her tiny hands closed over it, and I suddenly felt the warmth of a new life. The miracle of a newborn child who had been through everything to get to me. My heart, heavily guarded, like a fortress of ice and despair, melted. I began to cry, holding my baby sister, real and alive, and I knew I was found. I wasn't lost anymore. I was going to hold onto baby Elizabeth Jade tightly. Never let her go. I would never lose her. I knew we were going to fight eventually, like all sisters do. But I didn't care, because the gift of a new life was worth more than any amount of hurt or hate chained to my chest. I loved baby Elizabeth Jade, the one who gave me hope when all hope was lost. My light. My joy. My heart. My sister. _Forever.


I see you. I see how you stare at me in awe. You all have the same porcelain face, plastered onto your heads, as your mouth is left to hang open like you are all trout, swimming in an ocean of air. Why do you look at me like this? There is an obvious difference in our physical composition, but from what I’ve seen, you all have far more problems out there, than I do in here. I live for survival, and reproduction. Those things are still provided for me here. You bring me everything I could ever imagine. Yet still, you all just sit here gazing into the abyss that is my confinement. If I could leave this place, to come out there and shoo you all away, I would. Go home. Go solve your problems. Your world is exploding. It is obvious that we do not belong to the same species, yet I have food when many of you do not. I have shelter when many of you do not. It is obvious that you have compassion, otherwise I would be the thing being fed to your hungry masses. So again I ask you, why look to me? Do you believe I have some beauty not found otherwise in your world? Do I make you feel content? I derive my contentment from survival. Is survival too little for you? Maybe it’s the same pulse that forces you to provide for me before your own kind. I believe that you feel there is something beyond reality. You are bored with what is real, and so you have created rules. I was not always in this cage you know? I once was free to claim the night sky as my own. I grasped much more than you could ever imagine. I saw your colossal towers that rise up throughout the stratosphere, the bustling tires that caress the roads, the dazzling lights on each and every corner. It truly is impressive how much land you have claimed, and the innovation you have displayed. There were beings before you, and there will be beings after you, but your race will not go unnoticed. You have changed the path of this planet. Most of your kind search for an answer. Well truthfully, you search for many answers. You ask “Are we good or evil?”. Let me answer your question with a different question; what temperature is ‘warm’? This may be hard for you to believe, but all of life is one big grey area. There is no answer to a question such as that. Why is it acceptable for my kind to spend our entire lives killing anything we can get our talons on, and yet you all have determined that not even your own kind can kill another being? You have created weapons of destruction, and yet you tell yourselves they cannot be used. Do you not see that every ‘rule’ you live by, was created by man himself? You have far more empathy than any other being in this galaxy or the next. If I had the ability to wipe the world clean of everything non-essential to my survival, I am informing you that I would. So I sit here, perched on my ledge, and I continue to ruminate over why you look at me. You’re seeking answers I tell myself. I can’t help you. We don’t speak in the same form, and even if we did, I know that you wouldn’t listen. I go back. You’re yearning for a sense of beauty and majesty in your life, I tell myself. This can’t be. Just beyond these walls are miles and miles of forest. The same forest I used to roam. If you had left me there, you could have appreciated me as well as my surroundings. Now you stare at me through slats. I don’t mind it here as I stated before, it makes everything easier for me. Food, water, shelter, all within my reach. I have decided that I am tired of your company. I spread my vast, ghostly white pinions, and they beat through a gust of wind that approaches from the South. I let out an eldritch hoot. Stop gawking at me you fools. You wait a breathless second in reverence, and then you simply begin to clap. You seek my approval? Or worse yet, you assume that I desire your approval? The answer is no. Save your applause for when you discover how to sustain yourselves. At this rate, my kind will live on for billions of years beyond your time, and we cannot even hold a weapon. You have been so sympathetic to our kind, allowing us to live, providing for us; but you had better pray that we never develop hands. You had better kneel down and worship every God you know the name of, and beg of them, “Oh dear God. Please let us remain as the only being with weapons”. Otherwise, we will seek destruction. Do you believe in some self-righteous way, that your good-nature allows your society to exist? Do you believe that my utopia could never exist because it is one based on survival? These are all myths that you tell yourself in order to keep good faith in your misshapen ideals. My Shangri-La functions off of the idea that a cage such as the one I’m in, is pointless. There are two options of existence in my world; survival and death. If you’re not worth being kept alive, you’re not going to be. You all cry for more life. You all plead to your Gods, “Please, just a few more years. I’ve been such a good boy.”, and then you spend half of your lives staring at me. This has not been an attack on your way of life, this has been a call to action. Stop looking at me, and start looking at yourselves. The only reason that you are still alive is because you beat the rest of us into submission. If you go any further down your current path however, you’ll have beaten yourselves into submission. Before you know it, we’ll be back at the top of the food chain, and you’ll only have yourselves to blame. When you look at your reflection, what do you see? I see you all as snivelling shells of the animals you used to be, ready to be ground up into the sidewalk. When you look at your shelter, what do you say? I say, this place is death. You own the entire world, and yet you all force yourselves to squeeze into tiny boxes so that, “the cute little animals can have some room too”. Is this morally abhorrent? No. These are the rules of survival. Your so-called morals are the reason you won’t survive another thousand years. You have entire institutions whose sole purpose is to free me from this cage, but as far as I see it, you are the ones who are trapped. You see me. That’s all you do. I am ‘just an animal’, and yet I comprehend an infinity compared to you. If you stopped looking at me, and turned around once in a while, maybe you would see the storm heading your way. Believe what you will, but as you drown in your own nuclear waste, just know that all of us will look on in laughter.


I felt chills on my spine. I was sweating so bad I thought I might pass out. I couldn’t make out the figure that was approaching me slowly; I was panicking, why had I agreed to this? I wanted to run so bad but I knew I’d have to pay the price either way. I tried to hide behind a dusty cupboard but my insides flipped out as I felt a cold hand grab my shoulder and cover my mouth before I could shriek for help. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ryder “Hey Ryder, wait up,” I stopped short in my tracks as soon as I heard Caden; my best friend, call out to me. I flashed him a smile as I waited for him to catch up. “Whatcha doing?” He asked me, catching his breath as he slowed his pace to match mine. “Nothing much, just regular activities ya know.” I took out my bag which contained my library books I intended to return to the library today. “Wanna do something fun?” He requested. “What do you mean ‘fun’?” I gave him a suspicious look. Caden can be an innocent, sweet boy in front of adults but I knew how he truly was. I would always give him the benefit of doubt before proceeding with anything he tells me. I’m not that gullible, unlike some people I knew who would fall for his gimmicks so easily. “Oh, you know… the usual stuff, I was thinking about playing a bet game,” He made sure to say the ending in his sweet tone, the tone I absolutely despised. “Ahah, what’s the catch?” I knew something was fishy, he always does have a catch. No doubt. “No, there’s no catch, I just got my birthday money so… I was thinking about how to spend it,” As if I asked for proof he pulled out a hundred dollars out of his pocket and waved it in the air. “So?” I shrugged, big deal… he got money, show-off. “So?, So? don’t ya get it?” He mocked me. “No.” I told him, straight-forward. “I will give you a bet, if you win… you get the money.” He brought the money closer to my face; I began to feel overwhelmed and uncomfortable as I stepped back.

“If I lose?” I didn’t want to hear it but Caden will just keep bugging me to do something else instead. “Since you’re my friend I’ll have the consequence easy for you, just give me your new Jordan’s… the white one,” I narrowed my eyes at him thinking how much I wanted to punch this guy. I knew he had an eye on my priceless Jordan my dad got me before he died last year. I swore never to be separated from it… ever. I’d never even worn it… too priceless to be damaged. “Dammit.” I swore; I gotta win this challenge, no matter what the consequences turn out to be. “Come on Ry, I know you got this… just imagine what you can do with this.” He was provoking me, I knew it… I could say ‘no’ but what if I were to win? I would lose this big opportunity. Mom was already suffering with paying loans and taxes, Jen; my older sister was searching for a chance to pay up her student loans for college. But I won’t be able to do much with just a hundred. Caden knew me so well as he saw my reason to delay. “Fine, I’ll offer you a thousand then.” My eyes opened up in astonishment, I knew Caden was from a wealthy family but still… I had an easy way to earn so much cash. I knew at that point, I had to bet my Jordans. “Deal.” We shook on it. “What's the task?” I completely forgot to ask what I had to do to earn a thousand dollars.

“Don’t fret, it’s super simple… just go to house number 42 and bring my football from their yard, my brother accidentally kicked it there.”

“That’s it… wait did you say… number 42?” I bit my lips nervously, this was not going the way I’d expected it to go. “Yes, any problems?” Caden casually asked, of course he didn’t have to worry about anything, it was me who was going in after all. “Nope,” I knew Caden's strategy, he purposely gave me this bet thinking I’d lose either way. You might be wondering what is so scary about that particular house. No one really knows. People say a witch lived there, she was said to be young or at least disguised as one. Everyone talks about her, she used to be a part of our lovely neighborhood too until people saw that her boyfriend was dead. The last place they had seen her boyfriend was with her, in house… number 42. Everyone thought she’d killed him, she was house-arrested for that since there was no proof of her committing a crime but the police wanted to assure everyone was safe. I have never seen the owner of the house. I never dared to go investigate myself to see if the rumors were true. I was scared… I guess. I never wished to admit the truth about me being a scaredy-cat. “But…” I started. “You’re not going to back out, are you?” I paused, was it worth the danger… for a measly thousand dollars? Would I put my own life on the line if this ended bad… but if this ended well. Then what? Nobody had seen this mysterious woman for years so maybe… she’s not there?

“No, I’ll do it.” I hoped nothing was waiting for me inside ready to pounce when given the opportunity. I wished God would hear of my dilemma and help me out. Lindsey “Ugh, just leave me alone Cookie.” I shooed my cat away. Cookie yawned as he ran off to the kitchen where there was nothing for him to eat but spoiled milk and dust bunnies.

“I HATE my existence,” I yelled to myself, “Why do I have to suffer for a crime I never would have imagined attempting,” I complained.

I precisely remembered what had caused this whole misinterpretation. I was just leading my own life, visiting Art Museums, celebrating my nieces birthdays… now, I’m accused of murder… of my own boyfriend. Why in the world would I have something against the one I’d loved so much? He had always been there for me, now he’s not.

I was what?… only 18 when the incident happened. Why would a teen be responsible for killing someone she deeply cared about and would give her life in exchange for her loved one? I remembered the blood I’d seen oozing from Ben; my boyfriend. I knew in my own heart I never meant any harm to anyone. I don’t even harm flies, why would I kill him? I didn’t know who dispatched him. One second he was alive, his golden eyes attached to my blue eyes as he told me how much he’d love me, the next second he laid on the ground; dead. I cried so hard as I darted after his murder but neither was I able to catch him or recognize who it was. The neighbors heard my screams as they came over to investigate, thinking I’d killed him they called the cops. I tried to tell them the truth but they never budged, never asked my side of the story. They assumed I was guilty but with a lack of evidence they had me in house-arrest. I was only allowed to go in public once a month for food.

They said this might last for years to come until I was able to give more, ‘appropriate evidence.’ Are these people so blinded? Were they always punishing the innocent just to punish someone? To prove their capabilities that they can catch criminals; criminals that are actually guilt-free. People who had their whole lives taken from them, families were separated in this brutal process. Aren’t they taught kindness always goes a long way?

Cookie meowed snapping me back to reality. I smiled at the furry creature that had taken a liking with me, my only friend in this wretched world who understands my pain and sufferings. “I know you’re hungry, we’ll go shopping tomorrow,” I assured him as he hurried off to chase a rat for his lunch since I’m incapable of feeding him whenever he feels hungry. I settled down next to a good book; my only book. It was already dusk, I felt as if I’m stuck in a time loop, everyday doing the same things and wishing I could just… die. I’ll be free from being questioned all the time, portrayed as someone I’m not, being looked at as if I’m a monster… I wanted all this to end. I smiled as I flipped through the chapters, rereading parts I didn’t understand the forty-fifth time I’d read it. Just when I was going to read the best part I heard a mellow sound coming from the kitchen. It sounded like… footprints? I placed my book down-side and quietly tiptoed to inspect that I’m not starting to hear things. I was scared out of my mind, what if it was someone with ill intentions… someone who meant harm to me. I carried a spatula I’d found in one of my living room drawers as I approached the noise. I kept low and discreetive as I searched for the culprit. I saw a movements in front of the cupboard. The figure didn’t seem like a serial killer to me, more like a scaredy-cat sort type.

If I could just keep my uninvited guest quiet then I’ll be able to make them spill out the facts without any uninvited attention. Without thinking twice I leaped forward and grabbed whoever it was and covered the mouth before it would get me in trouble… again. Ryder I looked at the house, it seemed ordinary to me. Maybe people just made it up to scare kids because it really worked. “You gonna back out?” Caden ridiculed me.

“No,” I shouted at him, if anything happened to me, it was gonna be his fault. “Geez, fine.” He waved at me, not wanting to wait for me to enter the house, I regret being so close to. I saw him take his bike and leave me; alone… with a major obstacle that could be the reason I die soon. ‘Well here goes nothing’ I thought to myself. I needed some mental pep talks before approaching my death. ‘I can do this, mom’ll be so happy if I win… if I lose...’ I slapped my forehead. Pep talks are making this harder.

‘God, help me’ was my last thought before approaching the house. Caden had told me where there was an opening I could use to get in. I noticed the crack behind one of the bushes. It seemed big enough for a big dog, I’ll easily be able to fit in.

I got on all fours and weakly pulled myself inside, I checked myself again. All in one piece. Good. I searched frantically around the new atmosphere, boy was it freezing inside. I hoped that meant no one was home… unless some witch... ‘Focus Ryder’ I reminded myself uselessly, since I’ll better step up my A game if I wanna make it out alive. I had almost forgotten my whole mission, just blabbering to myself wasn’t helping my situation. I finally spotted the door to the backyard, if only I could be sure. Just then I felt goosebumps on my skin, I looked at my surroundings, searching for the reason for my sudden uneasiness. Suddenly, I realized, I wasn’t alone. I felt the shuffle movements around me. I didn’t have a clue who or what was in this house with me. I had to get that ball and get the heck out of this place… fast. The presence of someone got closer, I had to hide before whatever was out there got to me. I noticed a cupboard, the backside had enough room for me to cram in and be camouflaged… at least until that thing goes away. I felt my heart had stopped beating when someone grabbed my shoulder and covered my mouth before I had time to recollect what had happened. I wanted so bad to scream out of the top of my lungs but I’d lost my voice for a second. I tried to use force against my capturer, it seemed that I was stronger than it as I removed the hand from my mouth and grabbed its hands before facing it with bravery. “Let me go,” I was surprised by the voice, I had expected a monster… some kind of witch or something but all I saw was a girl. She seemed my age; about 20ish with the beautifulest blue eyes, it reminded me of the beach, the peaceful waters with fish flying up splashing me with water, I remembered dad had taken me fishing, it was our last fishing trip together before he left me. Her eyes reminded me of such a good memory. Her blond hair was tied in a tight ponytail, her face seemed flushed with embarrassment. “Hello, can you let me go?” Her voice was like the tinkling of bells on Christmas morning, I had been afraid for nothing. Maybe the rumors were false. She didn’t seem like a murder to me. “Hello?” This time she actually proved she wasn’t some pretty girl but a fighter as she kicked my shin with her leg with as much force as possible for her. “Ow, what’s that for?” I knew the answer but I wanted to hear her calming voice again. “One, you’re trespassing in my property, two… you’re in my house without my permission and three, you dared to touch me?” The last came out like a question but I didn’t mind.

“Look I’m sorry, I know this feels like I’m a bad guy but I mean no harm to you … or your family?” I looked around expecting to see others come in but nobody came. “Are you alone?” I wondered as I looked at her face change from angry to worried and nervousness. Lindsey I was sick of people misusing me some toy they used and threw. Some random guy in my house, questioning me? I rubbed my hands where he held me so tightly, I was afraid it would break. He seemed like a good guy, but is he? I noticed his brown hair for the first time, it sure was messy. I figured it might have been a huge misunderstanding that invited him here. “Are you alone?” he whispered softly, not wanting to provoke me to kick him again I guess. What do I say? I am alone, so what? “Excuse me, why are you in my house?” I totally forgot the whole reason for my outburst; a stranger, in my house? He dreamily looked in my direction, I nervously stepped back which snapped him back to the real world. “I- I needed to get something, my friend’s football is in your yard,” He tried to explain to me. I wasn’t buying it. What a liar, there is no football in my yard. “There is no football here, now leave,” I ordered him in my sternist voice. “Wait, mind if I take a look?” I glazed over his brown eyes, it reminded me of Ben’s. His eyes reminded me of all those good times I’d had before all this mess. “Hello?” He shook me.

“Yes, you can look.” I blurted out as I nodded at him. He hesitated to leave my side, I realized it was dark in the kitchen so I turned on the lights. He smiled weakly and left for the yard. I followed him, just be careful not to trust him so easily by judging his dreamy eyes. “What's your name? He asked, looking behind an oak tree. “Lindsay, what’s yours?”

“Ryder.” There was a long pause, none of us wanted to speak up. I decided to… like always. “So, how old are you?” He seems around my age, I guessed around 19ish. “I’m turning 21 this month, you?” “I just turned 20,” Dang, I thought he was younger than me. Guess looks mislead me. “Sweet.” He smiled for real this time. “You’re right, there is no ball here, looks like a misunderstanding,” I heard him cuss under his breath as his expression stated that he was extremely mad at someone. I hoped it wasn't me. “I better go, sorry to disturb you,” he kept his distance from me, giving me the benefit of doubt, I assumed. “It’s ok,” I dryly replied. He wavered for a bit, not knowing what to say. “Yes?”

“I was just curious, did you really…?” He broke off in the end. “Kill your boyfriend?” He finished, unevenly. “Not you too, why does everyone think I’m guilty?” I wailed, putting my hands on my forehead in annoyance. “No, I didn’t say you’re guilty, I just asked… out of curiosity,” He seemed to be speaking the truth. Should I tell him my side of the story, would he believe me… or think I’m making it all up, like the authorities thought. “Sit down, I’ll tell you everything,” I told him shyly as he sat on the step stool outside, I sat down on the bench. He smiled, walked up to me and sat next to me on the bench, crossing his legs. His eyes twinkling with pleasure that could have made my heart miss a beat. “Go ahead, I believe you,” He took my hand, the hand that could have killed someone… that can kill him and clasped it his own. I didn’t know where to begin, his face illuminated my darkest fears. I felt free for once, I knew hope will always find its way to me.

He was my hope. My wish had finally come true...


When I was young, I lived with my family in an old farmhouse. It passed through generations, families adding onto it to suit their needs. My father hadn’t needed to add anything, as our family was rather smaller than those that preceded us. We weren’t poor, but we didn’t have much and as a result, I found that I was working on our farm almost all the time. Or it seemed that way to me. But some days, I would be free to go wandering the property unfettered by chores or my siblings. I would take only the family dog, a scruffy mutt named Scout, and we would have adventures of our own. On one such day, we wandered near the edge of the cornfield, where the wood began. I was searching for blackberry bushes when I realized there was a small, hidden path among the shrubs. Naturally, I called Scout over and we set out at once down the path. I had never heard anything from my family about a path on the property, and I was interested to find out where it led. I noticed that it was only just wide enough to walk side by side with the dog. Not that he stayed by my side of course - he wandered about the path, sniffing everything he could fine. The path was strangely clear, considering that it was blocked off, and I’d never heard anyone mention it before. No grass or weeds grew in the packed soil, all the foliage lined the trail neatly to either side. I followed along the path for a few minutes, when the birdsong seemed to grow quieter. Scout’s ears seemed to perk up, and he slowed to a standstill. His nose twitched in the air, sniffing for something. I paused as well, watching to see what Scout had found. He whined very quietly, and his hackles rose. Nervous now, I looked in the direction he was staring. The path continued in a very steady direction, and I could see a long way forward. At the very spot where perspective dims to just a speck, there seemed to be… something. It was impossible to make out what it was, if something was even there at all. My eyes seemed to be playing tricks on me. Scout whined once more, and started to back away. I began to feel unsettled, concerned that Scout had smelled something dangerous, maybe a bear or mountain lion. Although I’d never seen either so close to the house. I looked to the dog, then back down the path. It was clear now that there was something down the trail, I could only just make out something moving. And a distant sound, like a bird call or whistle… but unlike any bird I’d ever heard before. The figure didn’t seem to be moving very fast, or in any particular direction I could determine. Either way, I didn’t want to stay on this path any longer. Whatever the figure was, no good could come of waiting for it to approach. I turned to follow Scout, and the dog seemed eager to leave, no longer sniffing around. I kept looking over my shoulder, watching for the distant shape. It became harder to make out, and I couldn’t tell if it was following or merely staying in place. The path curved ahead of me, and I picked up my pace, beginning to feel frightened in earnest now. Scout seemed to sense my disquiet, and matched my speed, although he continued to whine. Despite knowing that whatever was behind us was no longer in sight, I continued to throw frantic glances over my shoulder. There remained no sign of the thing. As we hurried forward, I began to search for the mouth of the path - and the opening back into the cornfield. But minutes passed and there was no sign of it. I couldn't have been walking this long on the way into the path. I was far too afraid to backtrack, so continuing forward was the only option. I again increased my pace, rushing now, still glancing behind me. The birds had not resumed their song. I kept rushing forward, searching for the entrance. Then, behind me and from a distance, I heard what sounded like my mother calling. I froze, certain that her voice was coming from the wrong direction of the ancient farmhouse. Could it have been someone else, who sounded like my mother? I was certain no one lived within miles of our property. I dithered on the spot, uncertain what to do. I was convinced I’d heard someone calling behind me, was that what the figure was all along - just a woman on a hike? I took a few tentative steps back, treading quietly. Only a few steps brought me to a curve in the trail, as I rounded the bend, I found myself back at the same place I was when I’d first seen the figure. It was still there, but seemed closer now. As I looked, it drew ever closer still. Its edges seemed blurred, its colour uncertain. I watched a moment, trying to decide who it could be, if it was a man or woman.. or a person at all. As it advanced, I became more and more hesitant to classify it. Whatever it was, it called out again. It called out to me. It no longer sounded like my mother. Or anyone’s mother. It sounded grating, and echoed through the woods. It was closer now, seeming to suddenly rush across the distance without moving at all. It was still difficult to focus on, its nature defied comprehension. I had a sense of many long limbs, blurred and twitching, Its long face seemed pale one moment and dark the next. I caught a glimpse of pure, black eyes. The only thing about this creature that was steady were its eyes. The body jerked along the path, but its eyes remained fixed upon me. Beside me, Scout began barking fanatically, attempting to scare off this apparition. It proceeded forward, unphased, in its stuttering manor. The sound of my dog broke me out of my trance, I whistled to Scout, turned and ran. The thing was far enough away that we had a strong head start. But as we ran, we seemed to get no nearer to finding the opening in the foliage. I could hear the thing calling out behind me, and I now recognized the chilling perversion of my mother’s voice in it. It was as if my mother’s voice was being mimicked by something with only the barest comprehension of speech. Now that I’d seen it closer, it had abandoned all attempts at fooling me. I rushed onward, desperately searching for the exit. I could now hear it scrabbling along the dirt behind me. I threw another terrified glance behind me. The pursuer had grown impossibly tall, and its face was stretched long. Its mouth was wide, and opened wider still, seeming to almost split its head in half on a hinge. Its mouth was full of rows and rows of needle-shaped teeth, lining its maw in spirals down its throat and out of sight. A sickly sweet stench seemed to blast toward me, hot and fetid. Its greyish skin was cover in pustules, rotted and weeping. It reached a long arm toward me, tipped with three vicious claws. At that moment, I crashed through the brush and found myself on my back in the bright sunlight outside the wood. I was surrounded by the corn. Scout had leapt out in front of me, and whirled to confront our attacker. But there was nothing there. I blinked and got to my feet, peering through the undergrowth. There was no sign of a creature or a path. My heart was still pounding as I started back towards the house. I knew I hadn’t imagined the encounter. But I could find no evidence of the thing without going back into the wood. I would never venture into that forest again. Scout and I headed back toward home. I continued to peek over my shoulder, but nothing followed, and there was no sign of anything moving between the trees. That night, as I lay awake in bed, I couldn’t sleep for fear of the return of the spectre from the path. It didn’t help matters that in the darkest hours of the night, I heard a repeated soft whistling sound directly outside my window.


I’ve found that if I go up to the roof and stand on tiptoes to look over the battlements, I can see the reflection of my uncle’s castle in the water below. It makes a big dark shape like there’s a monster lurking down in the loch and for a moment I can just about believe it's what's keeping us trapped inside. ‘Careful there, Miss Muirenn,’ one of the guards calls out to me. They always do that and I hate it. I was only looking, and I wasn’t about to fall, but I step back anyway. There are always guards along the battlements, even though there’s nothing to see. There’s only the endless stretch of the loch all around us and maybe a few other boats in the distance, but those usually have other guards in them, too. Most of the time the castle guards aren’t actually on the lookout, though. They’re just working on building the new wooden lever machines they have up there or stacking up big piles of stone balls about the place. I’ve asked what they’re for but they tell me it’s none of my concern and to go and play somewhere else. I should; it’s boring up there, anyway. If I go down to the castle harbour, then maybe they’ll let me ride in one of the boats this time. They never do, though. Last time, they said my uncle Eoin said I wasn’t allowed, which is unfair because I'm a very good rower. I don’t even make it to the second floor before I hear the crying. It’s louder than all the noise of hammering and clattering and people rushing up and down that usually fills the castle. I don’t even have to see to know what is making such an awful noise. It’s Colban again, probably wanting to see Father or go paddling in the bay something else he can’t have. He’s such a baby. He’s hardly stopped crying since we got here. He’s always following me around, too, trying to grab at me with his sticky little hands. He whines even more when I pull myself free, so I have to let him pull at my skirts or else he won’t be quiet. He’s lying on the floor of his chambers, rolling around and aiming clumsy kicks at nothing as he screams. Cousin Torcuil is there with him, but he’s just sitting to the side, watching Colban work himself into a pointless fury. ‘What is it now?’ I ask, shouting so that he can hear me over his own wailing. ‘I… I… want to… go… *HOME*,’ he yells, his face red and smeared with tears. ‘Will you stop that,’ I say, kneeling down and grabbing his flailing fists. The shock of it stops his crying, at least. ‘I’ve told you, we can’t go home. We’ve got to stay here for now.’ It’s not even been two weeks since we left home and already I must have told him this a hundred times. I wish he’d just listen rather than getting angry about it every time like it’s my fault. ‘Do you know why you have to stay here?’ Torcuil asks, his voice calm and soothing. Colban shakes his head, sending a spray of hot tears flying across the room. ‘Remember?’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm. ‘Because of the flux. People living across our loch were getting poorly and Father said we had to go and stay here for a while in case we got sick, too.’ There’s a look of surprise on Torcuil’s face at this. I hope he doesn’t think we brought the flux with us, because there are no other children here, and I don’t want to be stuck with only my crybaby brother for company. ‘It won’t be long. You’ll be able to go home soon,’ Torcuil says and pokes Colban in the tummy which makes him smile. ‘Hey, come on. Let’s go adventuring again. You liked that yesterday, didn’t you? Let’s go and see what we can find.’ Colban nods, gulping down the last of his sobs. Trust Torcuil to come up with such a clever distraction. Even small things are grand adventures when you’re so small. The castle is still unfamiliar enough for Colban that it’ll be enough to keep him happy for the next few hours. Until he remembers where he is and starts crying again. ‘Will we find dragons?’ ‘Oh, perhaps!’ ‘And daddy?’ ‘We’ll see.’ I hold my breath until I’m sure they’ve gone because I can feel the prickling in my eyes and my face going hot. I don’t want them to see me cry. Father said we wouldn’t have to stay here for very long, but I don’t know how long that is. I want to go home.  **II** I make it as far as the Glancing Loch before they catch up to me, the swinging light of their lanterns leaving long trails on the water like the glowing eyes of a hungry beast. There’s nowhere to hide out on the black expanse of the loch, and one girl in a small boat is no match for a ten-man barge. It’s over. ‘Muirenn! Get in the boat!’ My uncle leans out over the bulwark, hand extended like I need rescuing, expecting me to take it. I only set my jaw and lean harder into my oars. I’d rather throw myself overboard than give them the satisfaction of seeing me give up. When I don’t reply, he scoffs and pulls me into the boat himself, his grip tight and rough around my arm. ‘Ow! Get off me! That hurts!’ I shriek, though it’s not that bad. He does let go, though, and had the decency to look ashamed for manhandling me, though not enough to quell the ferocity of his mood. ‘What were you thinking? Out here on the water at night. Do you think you’re invincible? Anything could have happened to you.’ I roll my eyes. I swear he thinks I’m incapable of doing anything. ‘So you actually noticed I'd left, had you? That’s novel; you’re more than happy to ignore me the rest of the time. Since when did you care what I do?’ I’m willing to bet he hadn’t noticed at all. It’s more likely Colban who gave me up, getting me back for not taking him with me. Little shit. His life won’t be worth living when I get back. Around us, the oarsmen begin to turn the boat around, sending smooth lamplit ripples out and away into the darkness. My uncle rubs his eyes as though he’s tired, though he’s probably the only one who’s not had to row. ‘So that it? This is just some mindless rebellion to get my attention, is it? Well, congratulations. You’ve got it. Where were you even going?’ *Bastard.* ‘This hasn’t got anything to do with you, you idiot!’ I scream with frustration. ‘And do you really have to ask where I was going? Are you that stupid? I was going *home*!’ Home. At last. To the warm wooden hall sitting at the foot of the hill where the river splits. To the gleaming silver waters of the Bounding Loch ringed with blue-grey smudges of distant mountains. Where my parents lie in their cold earthen tomb. My uncle clenches and unclenches his fists, clearly struggling to control his temper. ‘Your father told me to look after you, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m sorry if you don’t like it—’ ‘What do you want from me? You won’t let me do anything! You won’t let me speak to anyone, you won’t let me in a boat, I’m forbidden from going home... Do you really expect me to spend my life sitting around being pretty while your guards ogle my tits?’ Even in the dark, I can see my uncle flush red at this. It’s crass, but it’s true. Fuckers. ‘Gods, what did Aunt Beitris die of? Boredom?’ I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. My uncle’s face whitens in rage, and he jumps to his feet. He steps forward to grab me or slap me, I don’t know, but the boat rocks wildly beneath him and he stops to steady himself. Then, there’s a shout from behind me and a splash as a man falls overboard. The whole boat falls silent. No one shouts after him or attempts to go in after him. Instead, there’s almost a sigh of resignation. It’s like their comrade had fallen up into the sky and away forever. Like nothing could be done. But then he comes spluttering to the surface in an explosion of churned water and flailing arms, clawing frantically up at the hands now reaching out to pull him to safety. The whole incident must have lasted a matter of seconds, but it felt like hours. It doesn’t take long before everything’s back in order and the awkward silence is broken only by the soothing rhythm of the creak of the rowlocks. I can only watch all my progress skimming away beneath me. ‘She drowned’ my uncle murmurs eventually, not looking at me. ‘Your aunt drowned.’ I only nod but hold this information tight in my heart all the way back to the castle, twisting it every which way I can. The network of rivers and lochs are our life. I can’t remember not being able to swim. I’ve never known anyone who couldn’t. One drowning is unusual, but two is more than unfortunate. How could both she and my mother have drowned? It didn’t make sense.  **III** The moon is high by the time I finally get the girls to settle. Jonet and Elspaith have both greeted the arrival of Sorcha with a wave of inconsolable fury, and every sliver of my further divided attention is more precious to them than sleep. It’s as I’m scraping together the energy to return to my own room that I see it. The faint shudder of a lamplit shadow on the wall; shapes leering and stretching with their movements. Like a sinuous creature cut from the night itself. No one should be out at this hour. From the window, I can just make out five figures down in the harbour. There is only one lantern among them, the wick trimmed low, and the half-darkness swallows up their identities. But then there is a fleeting moment when an arm is raised and a head turned and for a second, two of the faces become clear as day. Torcuil and his wife Ciorsdan. I watch until the glow of their lantern is only a distant fluttering ember. I can only make out the hint of their movements in the pale moonlight; the shuffling of seats, a person standing. Then there is the fishbelly-white gasp of a splash against the black water as though something large and heavy was thrown overboard. I’m in my bed before the boat returns but I cannot sleep. The thoughts slip and curl through my mind like eels in a barrel. Torcuil’s empty smile after his son was born. Colban’s stoic distance. My husband’s silent displeasure at siring three daughters. My uncle’s insistence that my father told him to look after me, an unspoken ‘*until*’ hanging in the air like a noose. And among them, all the women I have known who have died suddenly and strangely. I collect them together like bright beads on a necklace and hold them close to my heart. \*\*\* The next day, Ciorsdan is missing. Half the harbour is sent out in search of her, but I know what they’ll find. A lone boat drifting at the far side of the loch with no sign of its occupant. Another tragic accident, they’ll call it. There have been so many. My husband spends the day with the girls, watching the seals sunning themselves on the quay. His attempt to distract them is clumsy but the girls are delighted by this rare fragment of attention from their father. I’m not about to complain. It’s a relief to have a minute to myself without them clinging to my skirts. Who knows if I’ll have such an opportunity again. As I’d hoped, the map room is deserted. Papers and ledgers litter every surface; if what I’m looking for exists, it is surely here. But my search is over before it even begins. A book has been left out on the table, lying open at the correct page. Someone was consulting the text recently, it seems. Time slows to a trickle as I read, drinking in everything I was never supposed to know. ‘What are you doing?’ Torcuil stands at the door, his eyes dulled more with exhaustion than concern. I hold the book up, pages splayed open at one illustration in particular. ‘I thought better of you,’ I say, my voice barely above a breath. His throat works, trying to find the words, a blotchy redness creeping over his face. ‘I—’ ‘And Ciorsdan? Was your own wife not except from this? She survived two days in labour with your son only to be thrown away to satisfy some—’ He steps forward and pulls the book from my hands, his face thunderous. ‘I’m the laird now. It’s my responsibility to keep everything in order. I’ll not take any chances. This has been the way of things for centuries. Some sacrifices have to be made for our safety. If some don’t die, then we all do.’ ‘Funny how it’s always women! Have you ever even seen this thing? How do you know what it wants?’ Is it any wonder it came to this? A kingdom built by generation upon generation of motherless men. All repeating their father’s actions because that’s all there’s ever been. No one knows what they’re doing or why they’re doing it. How do I end this? How long do I have? Time passes faster now, slipping away like water through my fingers. How long until my girls marry and bear sons and are thrown to the loch when the men decide their purpose has been fulfilled? ‘I didn't want to,’ Torcuil says, voice breaking. ‘But I had to. For all our sakes.’ What would I do to save my daughters? The blade slips from my sleeve to my hand and he has the decency to not cry out and cower as I fly at him.  **IV** The last of the arrivals clambered aboard from their teetering coracles and row barges and hurried inside. Muirenn ignored them, feeling too keenly the slow creak of her joints as she crouched lower to the water. Then, with a quick snap of her arm, she sent a pebble skipping out across the water, leaving a bright string of silver ripples in its wake. Not bad, but she used to be better. ‘There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere. What *are* you doing?’ Colban said from the doorway, a hint of anger in his voice. ‘Join me?’ Muirenn said, holding up another stone. ‘When did you become such a boring old man? You seem to have forgotten that growing old is mandatory but growing up is optional.’ Colban huffed. ‘Come on. It’s about to begin.’ Muirenn sighed and threw the last stone into the water with a soft *plop*. Despite her legacy, her standing, she was still expected to attend these gatherings. Then again, it wouldn’t be happening if not for her. The flotilla had been her idea all those years ago. The idea that would unite them all, would protect them when the raging floods came in retribution after the sacrifices stopped. Not that the floods ever did come. Moving the laird’s seat to this ship had been her doing, too. Anything to be away from that solid lump of a castle and its ghosts. They christened it after the great beast that had supposedly haunted the depths of the lochs, that so many had lost their lives to appease. Now *The Darkwater Serpent* was something beautiful and honourable, the largest boat ever built, rather than a phantom to be feared. The hall was hot and airless and bubbled with a noise that only increased when Muirenn entered. Such a fuss. Up on the dais, Iagan caught her eye and flashed her a reassuring smile before getting to his feet and addressing the crowd. ‘My friends! I’m so glad you could all be with me today!’ he said, grinning as he was greeted with a tumult of clapping and cheers. There was so much of Torcuil in him, she thought. It seemed fair that she would never be able to forget the things she’d done. But if Iagan knew of the events surrounding the loss of his parents, he’d never mentioned it. ‘Tonight is the last night! The end before the new beginning. These lands have been good to us. The rivers are as much a part of us as the blood in our veins. But there is more out there!’ Muirenn tuned out his words and looked across the hall, finding the bright, round faces of her daughters and grandchildren amongst the throng. The sight of each of them only increased the ache in her chest that had been growing over the last few weeks. What wonderful lives they would live. ‘Tomorrow, we climb upon the shoulders of giants. Tomorrow we set sail. Tomorrow we trace a new path out along the rivers and to the sea and whatever lies beyond.’ The hall was alive with the shouting and the stomping of the crowd, a steady, beating heart. ‘To the flotilla, to the sea, to the future!’ Iagan cried. *To the future!* The hall roared back. \*\*\* The night was deep and the ships dark when Muirenn slipped from her cabin and untied one of the skiffs. There was no one to see her leave. No one to stop her. They would love their new life on the sea, she was sure, but she was much too old for new beginnings. The oars slipped soundlessly through the water, pulling her onwards along the route etched into her mind. As a girl, she used to spend hours studying the maps of the rivers and lochs that hung in her uncle’s castle, tracing the way with her finger. Kings Loch to the Stone River to The Race to the Glancing Loch to the Swordsman’s River and on and on and on. The possibility of this journey had pulled like a weight in her chest all her life. But between children and the boats and ruling in Iagan’s stead until he came of age, there never seemed to be the time. But there was time now. It was evening by the time she pulled her boat ashore at the foot of the hill where the river split. The fire-coloured clouds overhead painted the gleaming waters of the Bounding Loch orange and gold, and the blue-grey smudges of distant mountains were touched with the warm glow of the coming sunset. Just as she’d remembered. The warm wooden hall was still there, worried and worn by wind and weather, but still recognisable. She’d know it anywhere. Muirenn breathed it all in. ‘Welcome home,’ she whispered.


The golden rays of sun touches my face as it risen. I am currently drinking my coffee here in my room's balcony while watching the sun rise. I close my eyes and heave a sigh as I felt the warm breeze. The sunrise symbolizes a new day. A new day for me to start all over again. My dream is to become a model in a magazine since I was five years old. I don't know but I really love fame and everyone's attention. I love having everyone's attention, but sadly my family deprived it to me. It was like I am not existing in their life. That they don't care that I am breathing. They always ignore me and never did ask me if I'm ok. For years, I learned to be ok with that. All I want in my life now is to be the most famous model in the whole world. And maybe this is my time to shine.

I smiled when I received a message from the owner of the B Magazine, the most popular magazine business in the world. It says that I am accepted to their company and I need to be there today.

I Immediately fix myself with a wide smile on my face. I tied my long straight black hair into a high ponytail. I wore a stylish pastel pink sweet-heart top off-shoulder dress that perfectly shaped my curves and exposing my neck and collar bone. When I got satisfied at my look, I spray my purfume all over my body.

It took me a few minutes to arrive at my destination. The moment I took a step on their tiled floor I can't stop but to smile so wide because of so much happiness. I will finally reach my dreams.

The secretary guided me to the CEO's office. When I enter the room, Miss Bella, the CEO welcomed me with a tight hug.

"Welcome to my company Venus." she formally said.

"Thank you for accepting me in your company madame." I answered politely.

"Oh silly! A beautiful and sexy girl like you is what I need in my company. Now, let's go to the studio, you should meet the other models." she said and guided me to the studio.

My eyes sparkled when I saw the whole studio room. This is my dream! To be one of the models and to pose in front of the camera while everyone's admiring and praising me.

"Venus, this is Faye and Sam. I want you three to be comfortable at each other. I chose the three of you to be partners." Miss bella said. I smile and offer my hand to faye and sam to shakehands.

Both of them were beautiful too. Faye has a childish attitude but she's friendly and I got more comfortable with her. While sam, she's serious and not so talkative unlike faye. As I observed, sam was the sexiest among us.

The team took a few photos of us together. There's a sports theme, business attire, long gown, casual attire and a swimwear. I have a great day with them.

A few days past and Miss Bella conducted an audition for the three of us. It says that whoever wins the audition, she will be having a solo shoot in a magazine. I got a little nervous about that because I really wanted to win that audition. Having a solo shoot is a big deal. You will be much more popular than having a partner in a magazine.

I work so hard for it. I woke up early every morning to exercise and took a balance diet. I always took my skincare every night and sleep early to avoid having a dark circles.

The audition came and every one of us, even the team and miss bella were busy. The audition is like a beauty pageant but there's no question and answer or talent shows. We only need to walk in a stage a few times with a different clothes and the one who wears it and pose beautifuly and elegantly will be the chosen one.

I walk sexily to the stage wearing a black bikini. I raised my chin while smiling and confidently turned around and pose in front of the camera.

I exhale so loud when I finished. The next one will be sam. I can't help but to admire her perfectly shaped body wearing a red bikini which made her white skin lighter. She pose and pose confidently in front of everyone. I don't know but I felt sad seeing her be praised by everyone instead of me.

The audition is finally over. My heart broke into pieces when the judges chose sam as the winner. I can't stop my tears from falling so I decided to go in the backstage where no one is there.

I cried and cried until I felt a warm hand slowly tapping my back. I raise my head to see who is it and I saw faye, smiling at me.

"It's ok venus. There's more to come for us to shine." she said which make me felt relieved.

Months have passed and sam is the talk of the town. No, talk of the world. She became the most popular model in the world. While me, some know me but most of them doesn't.

Faye became my partner for a months now. But because of her personality, she's better known than me. I took a deep breath as I watch sam having another photoshoot. I sadly walk to the dressing room and sit infront of my bureau.

"If only she's not here." I unconsciously said while facing the mirror. My heart skips a beat when I saw faye looking at me. She then sat beside me while adding some make up on her face.

"Are you ok?" she ask.

I nodded and averted my eyes from her. Did she hear what I said? Gosh! What would she think of me?! Will she think that I can kill sam for me to have the honor? The fame?!

"I'm leaving now. Bye!" faye said and finally left me here. I sigh and rest my back in my chair.

I lazily look at the door when I saw sam enter the room. She sat infront of her bureau and fix her make up. I sigh again and closed my eyes.

I immediately opened my eyes when I smell a smoke. I stand up and saw a smoke all over the room. I saw sam trying to open the door but it was locked.

"Where does the smoke came from?" I asked while coughing. I tried to walk but I felt so weak and sleepy.

"I don't know!" sam answered while coughing. A few seconds have past, she suddenly fell to the floor.

I tried to approach her but my knees got weak which made me kneel. I was trying to cover my nose but then I finally fell to the floor and everything went black.

I woke up with my head spinning and in pain. I touch my head but I felt a liquid there so I immediately looked at my hand. My body frozed when I saw a blood there. I looked at my other hand and I saw a knife full of blood.

My eyes got bigger when I saw sam covered by her own blood. I cried seeing a stabs in her chest down to her tummy. I tried to touch her but stopped when a police took me and tied my hand.

Miss Bella slap me so hard which made me cry. I know I'm not the one who killed sam but they accused me for killing her. Even I wished for her to disappear I know I can't do that! "Are you so obsessed to be on a top that you're able to kill someone?!" miss bella shout at me while crying.

I want to defend myself. I want to say that I didn't do that. But I can't open my mouth. And I don't think they will believe me.

The police push me which made me walk. My tears won't stop and my knees are shaking in fear. I didn't kill her! But... Who will? As we step outside the building, the crowd were shouting so loud to curse me. Some are trying to throw a stone to me. The police open the car's door for me to enter but before I enter, I saw a woman in the crowd.

My body frozed when I saw faye creepily smiling at me. I cried when I saw her secretly wipes her hand full of blood. Is it her?! Did she killed sam?!

I saw her took her phone and type something. My phone rang so I immediately took it from my pocket. It was an unknown number but I'm sure it's from faye.

"Be careful what you wished for." It was her. She killed sam! She heard what I said in our room. But why? Why did she do that?!

The crowd is still cursing at me and throwing a stone even when I am inside the car now. My phone beep again and I saw a message from faye.

"Now I will be on a top. Thank you my dear friend."

I was trying to save her phone number so I can used this as an evidence but then a virus came in my phone which made my phone died. It was hacked! She hacked my phone!

What should I do now?! How can I defend myself if I don't have an evidence?! I didn't wished for this to happen.

Even when I'm in jail, the crowd was still cursing me and some wants to kill me. The news spread so fast and I became the talk of the world.

I did not know that this way I could achieve my dream. Now, I have everyone's attention.

I became famous for something I never actually did.


TW: Death Mention, Brief Mentions of Implied Gambling/Debt Accrual --- Lady Ophelia was regarded as a prim woman, dressed in modest attire, and her hair pulled neatly into a bun at the base of her neck. Gold spectacles rested on a hawk-like nose while her lips remained in a disapproving sneer like she smelled a rotting corpse throughout each day. The town’s children played daring games, challenging one another to see who could get closest to the Lady’s gated mansion. Iron-wrought fence lined the exterior, extending some twenty feet in the air, while a gate remained shut regardless if she was home. There was no question the Lady despised children and all things related, so when the townsfolk spotted the old woman heading to the train station, cane in hand to retrieve a child, the news spread like wildfire. The Lady stopped in the middle of the station and peered through the crowd of people, searching and scrutinizing, before spotting a pair standing by a massive stone pillar.

“Mister Stein, I presume.” She stopped before the tall man. Her voice carried and held presence, reveling in her authority and established reputation. Mister Stein nodded to the woman and removed his hat, folded his arm over his chest, and bowed deeply from the hips. “Cecil,” he returned, “A pleasure-” “Oh, pish-posh. Is this the child?” Mister Stein halted, his words cut off sharply. Politely, he cleared his throat and stood straight. The child standing beside him was young, hardly more than ten, a grubby leather suitcase settled by their feet. The child peered at Lady Ophelia with wide eyes, shiny and glistening with unfallen tears, before wiping a hand across their nose. The Lady grimaced in distaste. “Yes, this is her. I am sorry for your loss.” “Yes, well, death comes to us all. We don’t get to decide when.” The Lady sniffed. “Is this it then? Only one suitcase?” “Aye, ma’am, just the one,” Mr. Stein confirmed. “Puh, of course. Well, I suppose we will have to make to the shops. That tiny thing couldn’t possibly carry enough clothing to cover the next month.”

Mister Stein gently pushed the child’s back, nudging them forward. The child stumbled with surprise, catching themselves quickly before turning and grabbing their suitcase, stepping over to the Lady. “What is your name, child?” “Eleanor, ma’am. They call me Nellie.” “Who’s they,” the Lady questioned. Nellie faltered and looked back at Mister Stein.

“Um, everyone, ma’am.” Lady Ophelia looked at Cecil with an irritated face.

“Of course. Well, come along then. Say your farewells; we’ve much to do.”

Nellie did not offer much in a farewell to the man. A quick glance between both adults was all she needed, as Nellie raised their hand in a wave before following after the Lady. As they walked, townsfolk parted like the sea while Ophelia led the way through the bustling streets, watching and staring incredulously at a child trailing after such a formidable woman. Children gawked as she stumbled past, trying her best to keep pace with the Lady. “Um, ma’am-” Nellie started. “No dawdling! Pick it up now, we are almost there.” Endless questions died on Nellie’s tongue as she ran after the Lady, lugging the suitcase. The pair stopped in front of a massive shop decorated with ornate woodworking and painted an ostentatious shade of canary yellow. The roof was blue and the shutters were white. A sign hung from the house, “The Rose Petal Tailor” painted on its front, with a rose flower carved into the wood and painted red and green. The red was already chipping away.

Following Ophelia into the shop, Nellie’s eyes widened into saucers. Clothes of every possible fashion were hung along the walls with stands in the center of the space, filled with delicately placed mannequins adorned in sparkling dresses and freshly ironed suits. Men and women flitted about, perusing the racks and shelves of clothing, investigating all the shop offered its clientele. A bell tinkled above them when the door opened and closed. Beneath their feet were thin, worn rugs, muffling the clonk of high-heeled shoes against the aged hardwood floor. From around the corner, a well-endowed woman with a rouged face emerged, dresses thrown over one arm and her hair in a frazzled state of disarray. “My Lady Ophelia, darling, what a pleasure! I did not expect you for another two weeks! Your order isn’t quite ready yet, I’m afraid.” “Yes, nice to see you, as well, Catelyn. I’m not here for the order. I’m here for the girl.” Catelyn peered around Ophelia to see Nellie standing nervously. The woman’s face brightened in delight and quickly tossed the clothes into the arms of another worker running throughout the store. “What a darling she is! She can’t possibly be yours; you’ve always hated children!” Ophelia stiffened as Catelyn approached and leaned for a better view of Nellie. The older woman glanced at the girl briefly before clearing her throat, averting her gaze. Stepping to the side, Ophelia granted the shop owner a better view of the young girl and took to looking over a nearby display of fabrics and embellishments. “What’s your name, dear,” Catelyn asked. “Eleanor, ma’am, but everyone calls me Nellie.” The woman squealed with delight.

“What an adorable name! Ophelia, dear, you must let me dress her! These rags cannot possibly be the only things she has to wear.” “That is why we are here, Catelyn. The suitcase is all the child brought. Dress her in whatever you like. Put the amount on my tab as usual.” Dropping her suitcase, Nellie was plucked away from Ophelia’s side and hauled off to a nearby dressing room. Pulling the curtain back, Catelyn ushered the girl inside and demanded she strip. With the curtain shifted back quickly, Nellie was left alone in the room with naught but her thoughts and feelings. Shivering in the cool air of the shop, she slowly opened the curtain and peeked out through the hole she made. Catelyn was nowhere in sight, but within view was the Lady. Nellie’s eyes widened when she saw the suitcase in her hands.

“Oh no…” She must’ve dropped it when pulled away by the shopkeep. Catelyn re-emerged and in her arms were bundles of blouses, skirts, dresses, jumpers, and all manner of socially appropriate outfits for a ten-year-old child to wear. Her view was blocked as Nellie stepped away to grant Catelyn room in the changing area, she could only hope Ophelia wouldn’t rifle through her belongings. She couldn’t possibly, right? Across the store, Ophelia rested the suitcase on a nearby table. It was locked shut with some stiff metal snaps and was surprisingly lighter than she’d thought. Carefully, she pushed the snaps up with small ‘thunks’ as the lid of the case opened. Inside was a single shirt and a single skirt. Anger flooded through the older woman at the lack of clothing the child brought with her, finding it disgraceful for such a young thing to be without any proper attire. The shirt and skirt were torn and grimy, with the edges fraying from wear. How old were these? Puh! She lifted the cloth with distaste, blinking in surprise at what was hidden beneath the clothing.

A small book was there, without a cover, bound in leather and worn along the edges. The pages were yellowed with time. Ophelia lifted the book out of the case and opened it. “To my Dear Eleanor, a light among the darkness of this family. Keep this book and all things it carries close. Never let your parents find it.” Handwriting so familiar, Ophelia brushed the tips of her wrinkled fingers over the words before turning the page. With each flip, the woman was reminded of endless memories. Black and white pictures were plastered to the inside, while dried flowers decorated the pages. Calligraphy wrote small notes and captions as the same ink crafted swirling designs along the borders of each page to fill empty space. Some of the pictures were of a young man in suits and a woman in modest dresses, both with kind faces, as Eleanor remained cradled in the woman’s arms. Ophelia paused at these pictures briefly, drinking in remnants of a family she once knew and now, no longer had. With each moment of remembrance, Ophelia flipped through quicker, avoiding any pages with the woman plastered inside. Other pictures of Eleanor as a babe, both alone, and with an old man settled in his lap, were also throughout many of the pages. They wore flower crowns woven from dandelions and wildflowers, leaves dusting their clothes. The man wore suspenders and leather brown shoes, a cap on his head, his face aged, and hair scattered with salt and pepper. Many years had passed since Ophelia last saw her brother’s face, stolen from the world over an unpaid debt. How simple the solution was if only his pride didn’t prevent him from asking for help. The Lady sniffed quietly as she perused the book, flipping through the pages carefully and taking in the images of each picture, of each recorded memory, rereading the little notes written beside them.

“Ophelia, darling, we’re ready with the first arrangement!” “Send her out, then, Catelyn!” The old woman turned to face the closed curtain before it was drawn back and the seamstress led Eleanor out into the room. She was dressed in a simple floral skirt long enough to meet her knees, a plain white shirt, and a mauve-colored flat which matched the flower print. Ophelia’s brows lifted approvingly and gestured with a finger for the girl to spin. Obediently, Nellie turned in a full circle, peering at the Lady once a turn had been completed, seeking out any semblance of validation. “Good. She’ll wear the outfit out. Pack whatever else you have brought out and have Jorge deliver it when he returns. Anything unwanted after we try it at home, we shall return as usual.” “Of course, ma’am! Go on, dear, I’ll get the rest of your clothes packed up.” Nellie thanked Catelyn and stepped over to Lady Ophelia. Her fingers kneaded together, clasping and unclasping with nervous energy. The girl peered towards her suitcase before meeting Ophelia’s eye. “You opened it,” she murmured. “Yes. I did not anticipate finding this in your belongings.” Ophelia held the photo album out to Nellie with a pointed expression. “I did not realize you were so close to my late brother.” The girl looked away, fingers now gripping her skirt. She shuffled, anxious, reaching out to take the book from the old woman. It was heavy and familiar in her hands, worn at the edges from the many times she’d opened it and peered at the memories. Ophelia was in some of the pictures, with barely a smile on her face, but the man was always smiling. She remembered her Grandfather with love and adoration, but Ophelia… Her great-aunt was a faded memory with little to hold onto. She was an abrasive woman, hard to be close to, and made her intimidating nature well known.

“I miss him,” she whispered, “I miss Ma and Da, too.” A long pause stretched between the pair before a hand came to rest on top of her head. Nellie froze, flinching at the sudden touch.

“I do too.” The hand vanished, leaving a strange emptiness, as Ophelia turned and stepped away from Eleanor. Blinking, Nellie carefully put the photo album back into her suitcase and snapped it shut, hauling it off the table and bringing it with her to where Ophelia waited at the front of the store.

“Come, Eleanor,” the Lady cast her a look, “Let us return home.” Nellie paused and glanced at Catelyn who beamed brightly at her. Quickly, she scrambled after the woman, the bell tinkling as the door opened.

Home, Nellie smiled to herself, the suitcase lighter than when she first stepped off the train in this new town.