(Author's Note: Reader discretion is advised! The following piece contains mentions of suicide and mental illness. Please note that this is all fiction! If you are an individual struggling with any of the aforementioned, please know that there are resources! You are not alone!) Lawrence Bradford sat silently with his hands neatly folded across his lap, moccasins locked parallel to each other and pulled inward, like the unassuming character he was. Dressed in a frayed cashmere coat and long trousers, Lawrence shifted in his plush cushion to peer at the figure before him. It was only the fire that crackled beside him and the howling, white wind outside that broke the stillness of the October evening. The weather is quite dismal out there. It would be difficult to see anything!  Lawrence mused to himself.

Lawrence scanned the room with his gray eyes. His arched nose and furrowed brows gave him a more pronounced look of concern than usual. It had been three months since he had frequented this office, due to Mrs. Bradford’s continuous prompts.

“Dr. Lenning is the most esteemed physician in all of Emsworth. Vivian’s god brother had some ghastly visions, but after seeing the doctor, he was back to his normal self in no time. Oh, do pay him a visit! He’s right up the street!” Mrs. Bradford had urged. It turned out Dr. Lenning’s office was right around the corner, three doors down from St. Mary’s Cathedral on Howden Street, a short distance from the Bradfords’ flat. Lawrence was to meet him weekly, at a quarter till seven, just after he had left the school he taught at. Being a school teacher was far from the career he had dreamed of – instead, Lawrence had always wanted to be an architect. Drafting tall scrapers and bizarre structures in his schoolwork as a young boy, this fanciful imagination was what caused most of his beratement as a child. But because of a fatal accident of the late Mr. Bradford when Lawrence was still a schoolboy, he had settled on a more easily-accessible occupation. After the passing, the other students often taunted him, “Oh, look! Lawrence is still drawing houses!” and “You’ll never be able to become an architect, you guttersnipe! All you are thinking of is your imagination!” “Mr. Bradford, I understand that your slumber has not improved?” Dr. Lenning inquired, snapping Lawrence back into the present. The doctor was young – a product of years of shaping in an aristocratic, old family from the States. In the eyes of Lawrence, everything about him was blatant – there was nothing to hide and nothing to lose. There was no meaning behind those cold, blue eyes and Lawrence found himself curiously loathing every meeting with him, though he had no prior animose encounters with the young American.

“Er, y-yes. That’s true,” replied Lawrence. “And why would that be? Last week you mentioned that the terrors were getting more severe. Is there anything in your life that is requiring much strain?” “Er…” Conversations with Dr. Lenning were never easy. It seemed almost impossible to describe his nightly visions to someone that barely seemed interested. And for the past three months, there was nothing but stagnant conversation and the same axiomatic advice from Dr. Lenning. “Tomorrow is a new day. Rid yourself of the thoughts.” But, Lawrence was hounded by the same dream continuously, night after night, terrifying him and forcefully engraving it into his memory.

Every dream started with Lawrence walking down Howden Street. He would gaze longfully at the intricate patterns on the buildings that he had sketched as a child. The Greek Corinthian columns, each splendidly ornate with furnishings and surrounded with uniform fenestrations like squares in a lattice. Each brick in the wall was meaningful and inserted with care. The steps to each entrance were carefully designed to welcome the occupant, with a feeling of benevolence, warmth, and connection. A bridge into a new world under the arch of a doorframe.

And alas – the cathedral!

St. Mary’s Cathedral was hallowed, in his eyes. An air of importance and gravity emanated from the Trinity that was laid embellished on the heavy doorframe. The glass-stained windows several stories high were what captivated Lawrence the most. He imagined what he would see once he peered out of the multicolored facets. Perhaps he would see a new perspective on his life or even better, see another chance for him to start again. The austere beauty of such delicate fragments shrouded the entirety of the establishment with an air of mystique. A haven for worshippers, a solace for wanderers, and a resting place for the vagabonds. A home to all.

The large bell from the cathedral would toll seven times, an indication for Lawrence to hurry along home. Alerted, he would turn the corner as the bell rang, heel-and-toeing along the backside of the cathedral, his heartbeat matching the drums of his footsteps. DONG Looking up, he would see movement in the Cathedral. How curious! He would think. DONG As he scampered along, he would see it was a window opening. The image of cherubs and seraphs trumpeting would catch the light of the setting sun. DONG Lawrence would halt once he realized that someone was climbing out of it looking possessed and transfixed by a spirit. DONG The man up above, several stories in the air would look left then right, as Lawrence would stand frozen in place watching this strange ritual. DONG Lawrence would cry up at the man, who would now be looking to the heavens as if to pray for one last reconciliation, to prevent him from doing anything unspeakable, especially in a place so sacred. DONG Like a worn handkerchief, the man would fall down weightlessly to the cobblestone road, producing a horrible squelching noise from the impact. Lawrence would rush over to the man, now spooling in a pool of his own blood. Adrenaline rushing and with outstretched hands, he would reach out to see if there was any life in the person laid before him to salvage. But there would be an object looming closer to Lawrence. Rolling on the stones. A bloody mess, Leaving a trail like a rolling, open bottle of red wine gurgling its contents onto a white carpet. A head. DONG A head that reflected the same expression as the spectator that stood before it. Both entities had the same gray eyes, arched noses, and furrowed brows. And from ground to sky, there was a resemblance that could not go unnoticed. The resemblance was, in fact, uncanny. Lawrence had just witnessed his own suicide.

And he had to relive the whole thing every night. “Mr. Bradford, are you listening to me?” the crisp voice of Dr. Lenning penetrated Lawrence’s thoughts. “Oh, y-yes yes… Oh, I mean n-no I didn’t hear what you said,” Lawrence replied, hurriedly. “I was saying, Mr. Bradford,” the doctor cleared his throat, “If you want to continue these meetings, I’m going to need you to, per se, open up a bit more. I want to find the root of this… “vision” you have.” This angered Lawrence. He had put himself to great lengths to even confide in this stranger, and yet he still wanted more from his weak heart. The toll of living the same scene over and over again without a break was already draining, but to have to describe the experience out loud was destructive to his fragile mentality. He had to watch his own soul drain out from the whites of his eyes in his sleep, for Heaven’s sake. “Mr. Bradford, I know I can assist you. I just need to know a bit more about you and we, as a team, will head in the right direction. However, at the moment, you are being… uncooperative which brings challenges for both of us. I realize that talking about you seeing your own death may be… frightening, but I need you to think like an adult . All you are thinking of is your imagination,” the doctor chuckled. Lawrence had snapped.

The storm outside had settled with only a light drizzle of rain remaining. The clouds were clearing up and the setting sun loomed in the horizon. The sky was blessed with a rainbow that stretched across the office’s trio of glass windows.

DONG The bells of St. Mary’s Cathedral had rung, signaling for the schoolchildren at the park to race home for supper. DONG Lawrence, inside Dr. Lenning’s office, stood up, wordlessly. His eyes were glazed over and were fixated on the beam outside the window. DONG “Mr. Bradford! Are you listening to me?” the doctor yelled.

DONG “You know, all my life, I wanted to be somebody. I had dreams too, you know,” Lawrence whispered, creeping closer to the window, sunshine scintillating off of his transfixed, gray-hued eyes. DONG “But one day, God decided to snatch it all away from me. And look what I’m left with?” Lawrence let out a chuckle, which grew into a full-bellied howl. He was uncontrollable. Insane. “Mr. Bradford, I don’t understand–,” the doctor started as he cautiously stood. “Mr. Bradford was my father’s name! I’m Lawrence. And I’m going to be someone one day!” “Erm- Lawrence, why don’t you sit back down and we can talk–” “NIGHTMARES!” Lawrence spat back at the doctor, which caused him to fall back into his seat.

DONG

“My dreams have all died! I’m left with only NIGHTMARES!” “My, my, doctor! What splendid windows you have! You can see everything from this height! And look– a rainbow! I remember seeing rainbow windows somewhere…” Lawrence inched forward and stared out the window. And then everything happened so quickly. He threw open the windows and climbed out of the window frame.

“Mr. Bradford! Lawrence! NO!” the doctor scrambled out of his seat to pull him back… DONG But it was too late.

Lawrence Bradford had stared at the rainbow outside of the window, waiting to see if he could see a new perspective on his life. But instead, he saw a glimpse of his own reflection. In his eyes, he was not a schoolteacher, a husband, a son. He was a nobody in the world.

So he threw open the windows to see if he could have just one more chance at something great. He looked to the left, then right, then finally, up. But there was nothing outside those windows.

So he jumped.


How many different ways do you want me to say the same damn thing? You've listened to me, you've recorded me in a video, you had me speak with a psychiatrist, you even recorded me on tape for Christ's sake! I can't tell you the truth any clearer than I already have. But fine. I'll humor you. If I play along with your stupid games, will you please help me? Look, I know I'm not the best person. I know I've made mistakes. I realize that it doesn't make me look any better for me to tell you that I've been sleeping with his wife, but I need you to understand that I'm not lying to you. He doesn't know it's been me. We've been really careful so he doesn't find out. And it's not like I made the first move. *She* came on to *me*. I can't be held responsible for that! It's his fault he spends all his time at the office. Look, it's better if it's me rather than some stranger, right? She has *needs,* and it's not my fault that he can't meet those needs! I shouldn't be punished for that! I know how this sounds, okay? I really have been a good friend to him for the most part. I convinced Jeremy to go to that "exhibition" thing at Progenitor Labs so he would be out of the house for a few hours. He enjoys that science shit. I was thinking of *him*. I was his best man at his wedding! I'm the reason he even met her. I listen to his bullshit problems all the time, and maybe I deserve something for that, right? Whatever. This stormtrooper you left in here with me seems upset that I'm taking so long to write it down. I'll humor you one more time. Then I need you to protect me. I need you to put him in a cell or put me in a cell or get a goddamn SWAT team to get me out of here or put me in witness protection or something. You have to help me. It's your *job,* right? I know what my taxes go toward. I took Katy to the hospital to see him after Progenitor's meltdown three weeks ago. Jeremy seemed *fine*. A little beat up around the edges, but he *seemed* fine. He just looked happy to see her. He was there for two weeks. I visited him with her every single day. Jeremy got out of the hospital after those two weeks, and I knew right away that something was wrong. He's my best friend; it would be hard to miss if something wasn't right with him. He kept talking about how Katy had been distant for a long time. I asked him to elaborate, and he said he could tell that she was pulling away from him and he was going to find out why. I knew how upset he would be if he found out it was me, so I offered to help him. I could steer him away from any evidence of it being me. I was confident... but with hindsight... maybe I was a little too confident. His little "investigation" lasted for a week. I had told Katy that he thought something was up, and we were taking extra steps to be sure he wouldn't know. He tried every trick in the book, and I "helped" him because I'm his *best* friend. I know I am. We hired the private investigator, that skeevy guy on Blake and West if you know him. We did the stakeout. We tried checking who she was calling in their phone records. Obviously, none of that turned up anything. I'm not stupid. I know you want me to tell you why you found me standing over that... that mess. I'm getting to that. Fine. You want to know something I haven't told you yet? She went to that suburb to buy drugs. We like to smoke a little something before we "do the deed". It gives the climax this extra boost that I just can't explain. I know that admitting to a crime like this would seem like a bad idea, but that's how serious I am. It's not like weed is illegal in our state anymore. I know that it's illegal to buy on the street, but it's cheaper, and the lines are awful and... Look... it doesn't matter anymore. He was desperate for proof. He had been following her around town for a while, and I just didn't know. I realize that's stalking, but that should show you that *he's* the problem, not me. She called me... told me she saw his car behind her. She was *scared*, okay? Not the "I'm gonna be caught" scared, but the "I'm going to die" scared. I had to stop him from making a mistake he would regret. I knew where she was going. Our dealer was always, *always* on Pine when we met him. I left home, I got in my car, and I floored it. I kept her on the phone. I tried to keep her calm. She told me she lost him. She told me that she had turned without signaling, and she lost him. I knew we couldn't head straight back to her house or my place, but she was scared. I had to do something. I did the wrong thing, though. I thought it would help. A familiar face, a place she'd seen a few times, decent lighting? I told her to meet me at the gas station near where our dealer was. I was going to be there soon. I could make it. I could meet her there. I stopped in the park across the street, where you found my car. I got out and walked just that little bit farther to get to her. I should have just driven to the gas station. If I just did that, I might not be sitting here. I thought I was being smart. I'd been so careful up until then. But it just takes one goddamn mistake to ruin it all. I thought I'd built a fortress with my lies. I'd just built a house of cards. She'd seen someone with the same red jacket I wear, and she went up and hugged him from behind. That poor bastard. I was across the street when Jeremy pulled into the gas station. I swear I don't know what he said. I don't know what they were screaming at each other. I tried to listen, I really did. They just weren't loud enough. She looked horrified when she saw that the guy she had hugged wasn't me, and she started crying when Jeremy started walking toward her. Look, I've been in fights. I know what it looks like when someone is walking toward someone with intent to hit them. I couldn't let him hit her. He might have been angry, but he would have felt awful afterward. I tried to run across the street. I tried to make it, okay? I tried to do the right thing! But when I got close enough to see... I couldn't move my legs anymore. Jeremy's skin was *melting*, dripping from his body like *jelly*. His arms stretched too far. His face sagged down his body. His bones bent through his skin and *bent* like they had no structure. His eyes... I don't want to remember his eyes. His clothing slipped through his body as he turned into a brackish black. The sound that came from his throat was an unnatural, shrieking, gurgling noise. He grew larger. I... I know I had to convince myself that his bones still existed... but I couldn't see any of them. His body bent and twisted until that *thing* looked like something from a nightmare. I couldn't feel anything. My body wouldn't move. I tried to move. I tried to scream. I tried to run. I couldn't do it. I couldn't get out of there. I could only watch while his gelatinous form enveloped that poor man. I hope I forget the sound of his screams as his body dissolved. I will *never* forget the sound of that sick, muffled *pop.* Katy screamed. It was the last noise I'd ever hear her make. That thing that used to be Jeremy moved toward her. It forced what I think used to be his arm into her mouth and nose. His whole translucent form flowed down her throat. Do you know what it looks like when someone's stomach, chest, throat, and head expand like they're elastic? Have you ever seen a person *burst* like a balloon? I see it every time I close my eyes. His body compressed. His color returned to normal. He dressed himself and just walked back toward his car. He stopped when he saw me and just... *smiled*. I'm still trying to convince myself that the thing sticking out of his face wasn't Katy's jawbone. I don't think I moved until your officers arrived. Look... I get it. I saw what happened in the hospital after Progenitor's meltdown. I know what you assholes are trying to cover up. All that freaky shit that you tried to pretend didn't happen? I saw *all* of it. I saw the wings. I saw that... that *thing* in that writhing mass of "flesh". I saw that woman that lit her room on fire when she screamed. I know that Jeremy had to be one of those *things*. He's still out there. I don't know where he is. I can't help you with that. Please, though... you have to believe me. I'm on your side. I want those things exterminated. I didn't kill Katy or that guy. How would it be possible for me to do that in broad daylight? The gas station has to have CCTV. There has to be a recording of what happened. You can prove that I'm innocent! Look, I haven't told anyone, if that's what you're worried about. Put me in a polygraph, I'll prove I'm not lying about that. That's how you know I'm on your side in this. The world isn't ready for the shit that happened in that hospital. I know it started with Progenitor... that's the only thing that makes sense. That's where all of this unexplained shit started. I'm getting off-track, I know, but I just need you to know that I trust you to do the right thing. I've never heard of a police force having a "Special Operations Unit". Your uniforms don't look very official, especially not with the Progenitor logo, but I guess it would make sense for them to sponsor your efforts to clean up their mess. I would like to see a badge at some point, though. Other people have to be seeing all the weird shit that's been going on, right? I can't be the only one. I won't tell anyone. Just take me where you've taken everyone else that's come forward. It's just a matter of time before that thing that used to be Jeremy learns that I was the one sleeping with his wife. That *thing* is going to be coming for me. You have an obligation to protect me. It's your job! What have you done for the others who have come forward? It's been three weeks since your building exploded on that crowd of people. There *have* to be others. The idiot you left in here with me is checking his watch for the umpteenth time. He's working on loading his gun. I hope you have weapons that will actually work on a giant gelatinous monster. I wonder where you'll take me to be safe. What place is safe for me? I thought I saw other people telling you people about this stuff in rooms off the hallway.


I wrote this on a whim, but after rereading a few days later I genuinely enjoyed it, so I thought I'd share, enjoy (hopefully)  \*Ulp\* As my tongue retracted I'm sure the insect was already dead, at least mentally. Being a lizard is pretty great, I climb things, I eat things, I sleep on things, a little rinse here, a little rinse there, and time and time again each step is repeated. What some would call a never-ending cycle, I call my life. My current humble abode, also known as my nest, is currently made in the small opening of a rock just over yonder. Although I'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, I tend to collect shiny things without even noticing, which has resulted in *quite* the stash in my nest. Not that I mind though, I'm actually quite fond of shiny things, which I guess is why I've been collecting them without thinking about it. If another of my kind saw the glittering pile where I sleep, I wonder what they'd say? Would they be disturbed? Would they want some of it? All of it? Ha! Like I'd part with my treasures! Anyway, today I've managed to eat two big fluffy bugs, seven small thin ones, Oh! And I found a big gray bug taking a drink too! It was so juicy I thought I was gonna melt! mmmmm.... Now that I've eaten enough for today though, I plan to head back to my nest, sleep for a bit, maybe practice my hobby for a bit, and then inevitably head back out to look for more food, as one does when living through their life cycle. A roaring sound above, which upon looking up I could see a flock of four-legged feathery friends, their white feathers annoyingly reflecting the sun's light into my eyes. With each flying in the direction of my nest, I could feel myself start salivating at happy thoughts...mmmmm...I bet they'd taste good, hopefully, they land soon and I can get them on my way back. I wish I had wings. I've seen plenty of other creatures with wings, I've eaten plenty too. If I had wings, not only would the amount of time I spend hunting be reduced, but I'd also be able to hunt other creatures of the air! Oh so exciting! Just imagining the wind on my scales cooling off my whole body as I munch on the delicious meat of one of my four-legged feathery friends above, oh how fantastic a thought! If only...but alas, I am stuck on the ground, the creatures above forever taunting my inability to reach them, sometimes it's very infuriating, but today the feeling of anger was mild at best. Step step step step. Soon I'd be back at the nest, sadly I hadn't seen the feathery creatures from before, no tasty treats for me, how sad. On the horizon, the sun floated just above, sure to sink into it at any moment, but taking it's time to freefall as it pleased, it was a lovely sight, painting the surrounding rocks and boulders in a nice warm orange. What's this? Some insects are in my nest! How exi-! ...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................... They're...they're taking my treasures...the two-legged ones are loading up my shinies into their trinkets and taking them away! They think that just because they've tamed those silly hairy long four-legged bugs that they're strong enough to take my precious collection?! UNACCEPTABLE. Opening my mouth wide, I took in a large gulp of air, letting it churn in my stomach, all the while my mouth released a loud hissing noise, alerting the tiny insects of my presence, but it didn't matter, even as they panicked, ran, or took cover, I would let NONE of these foul micro-creatures leave unpunished! Air fully churned, I regurgitated it back out in a hail of poisonous gas that covered most of the rock my nest was made into, no doubt filling my nest as well, none of the bugs would survive, good. As I waited for the gas a clear I watched for any signs of life, even well after it had fully dissipated. Nothing had survived. Great, now some of my treasures would be warped by the acidic nature of my gas! Waaaaah, woe is me! Not to mention that now I have to go gather what those vermin scattered about, as well as eat their corpses, which although don't taste very good after blasting them, it would be an insult to nature to not eat what's still edible. So yeah, being a lizard is pretty great, but sometimes it can be a bit of a hassle.


Trastevere, Rome, bustled with life as another day gave way to another night. The lights on the Ponte Sisto Bridge reflected in the Tiber River below, bringing to mind romance and vitality. For Cassidy, it had all been intoxicating upon arrival, but now it was all as bland and familiar as home. She was spending a year teaching English as a second language, and had happily settled in Rome. As she was weaving her way home from dinner one evening, she saw him: Paul, her brother, who had gone missing fifteen years ago. She brushed it off, noting how, in the months and years following his disappearance, she often imagined she saw him on every street corner, saw his smile or his eyes on every stranger’s face, heard his laugh in the corridors of every building. They locked eyes, and he maintained contact just a beat too long before looking away and vanishing into the throng of tourists. Early the next morning, after espresso and cornetti, Cassidy sat by the fountain in the Piazza di Santa Maria, enjoying the early-morning streets, still asleep, the empty cobbles echoing with the solemn church bells ringing out hour by hour through the centuries. That’s when he emerged again. He caught her eye and paused.            “Buongiorno,” Cassidy called out. He said nothing. “Do you speak English? Lei parla l’inglese?”            “Si. Parlo l’inglese.”            “Okay. So let’s,”            “Perche? Why should we, if you speak Italian?”            “Are you Paul Carson?” Cassidy said. The man started. He laughed to himself, then sat on the edge of a step on the fountain. Clasping his hands together between his knees, he observed the edifice of the old church, and said,            “How did you find me?”            “I wasn’t looking for you. I stopped years ago. Everyone thinks you died, you know,” Cassidy said.            “That was the game plan. It’s strange, speaking English. I haven’t in a long time. It’s like trying to fit into an old pair of trousers. You should be able to, and you recognize it as your own, and yet…it’s not quite right.”            “I can’t speak Italian well enough to grill you like I need to,” Cassidy said.            “I know, I know,” Paul held up his hands.            “So, what the hell, Paul? What happened?”            “First, my name isn’t Paul. Okay? Paul Carson is dead.”            “I refuse to call you Paolo.”            “It’s Giovanni. Giovanni Giancarlo.”            “Good Lord, that’s pretentious,” Cassidy muttered. “You know who I am, don’t you?”            “Of course I do. Cass. I’d recognize you anywhere,” Paul said, with a tenderness that would have made Cassidy want to hug him if the urge to slap him wasn’t so strong.            “I don’t even know what to say to you right now. I mean—do you know how heartbroken we all were?”            “In your case, I’m surprised,” Paul chuckled. “I thought you hated me.”            “Yeah, sure, in the usual way a girl hates her older brother. It’s nothing real . I wanted you to stop being such a lazy, cocky asshole, that’s all. I didn’t want you to get hurt —and I certainly never wanted you to die .” Paul was in college when he disappeared. He was an active member of the Georgetown scene, then one spring break he disappeared. Hide nor hair was ever found of him, and friends, family, and strangers took sides among those who thought he was out there somewhere and those who thought, if he was ever found again, it would be as a corpse. His mother refused to relinquish hope, while his father preferred to face what he called “cold, hard facts.” The problem was, very few cold, hard facts existed in Paul’s case. Everything was hazy, uncertain. His friends last saw him down by the Potomac waterfront, drunkenly serenading people at the Key Bridge Boathouse. They left him there for some reason, and never saw him again. People walking by the boathouse said he tried to climb into a kayak, but they restrained him and put him in a taxi. Allegedly he gave an address that turned out to be his ex-boyfriend’s. Later, certain of Paul’s possessions were found at the ex’s apartment: the tie he was last seen wearing; a few textbooks; and, damningly, a blood-stained shirt, which DNA tests confirmed belonged to Paul.            Cassie joined her father and many people in assigning blame to Freddy, the ex, who maintained his innocence, insisting the bloody t-shirt was a result of chafed nipples.            “He’s a marathon runner! Half his shirts are bloody. You should see the state of his socks.”            Freddy was not convicted, with much of the community citing his wealth and his family’s political connections as the reason for this, rather than the reasonable doubt standard.            “It’s hard for family members of a murder victim to see reason,” someone said, trying to be helpful. Maybe so, Cassie thought, but how could someone be put away for murder when no body was ever found? Circumstantial evidence couldn’t—and shouldn’t—land someone in the electric chair.            Several years later, Freddy sat for the Virginia Bar and was denied admission for failing to disclose this brush with the law. Law students across the country rolled their eyes, scoffing at how he thought he could get away with that.            “If I have to report a damned speeding ticket, you have to report a murder charge,” one Maryland Bar candidate commented. Freddy later took his life, and people stopped talking about him. As a result, people stopped talking about Paul, too. Years passed, Cassidy grew up, attended college in California, then took a teach abroad opportunity in Italy. The apparent death of her brother caused an irreparable rift in her parents’ relationship, and their marriage ended. Away from the ghosts that lurked throughout DC, in their home, on the metro, and all across the National Mall, Cassidy came to terms with the past and moved on with her life.

           Then, suddenly, Paul appeared on the ancient cobbled streets of Rome.            “You know people think Freddy killed you,” Cassidy said.            “Freddy helped me escape. He’s a good friend.”            “He killed himself.” Paul paled, but recovered quickly, a smile returning to his face. “No, he didn’t.”            “He swallowed a bullet in his parents’ basement.”            “That’s what he wants you to think.”            “Jesus, Paul. They found his body, okay? They buried him. He didn’t vanish. You ruined a lot of lives, you know that? And for what? A clean break? What, you were too chicken to live the life you wanted and be judged for it?”            “Keep your voice down, will ya?” Paul snapped. The siblings sat quietly for a moment, each fuming with private thoughts as they watched pigeons scour the cobbles for snacks. “It isn’t what you think,” Paul said. “I didn’t just get bored one day and leave.”            “In Freddy’s testimony, he said you were always whining about how you wanted to disappear.”            “I didn’t know you were such a big fan of Freddy’s.”            “I’m not. I spent the last fifteen years thinking he murdered you. I was horrible to him whenever we ran into one another, and then I see you here, healthy as can be, and I think of the fact that people hounded that poor guy for no reason, apparently, and now he’s six feet under and still tarnished for a crime he, evidently, did not commit.”            “Right, Cass, now if you would just step down from your soapbox and let me speak, you would see I didn’t have a choice.”            “How’s that?” A beggar holding a child appeared at their side, out of nowhere as they always seemed to do, and smiled at them, hand outstretched, waiting for money. Cassidy had learned to ignore them in the last year, though she still felt badly when a small child was involved; Paul, however, who had clearly had much more experience, snapped at her, “ Basta, ehi? Vada via, adesso! ” The woman wandered away, and Paul turned back to his sister, shaking his head and muttering, “ porca puttana. ” Cassidy raised her eyebrows at his foul language. She crossed one leg over the other and cocked her head, waiting for Paul’s explanation. He cleared his throat and looked down at his weather-worn leather shoes as he scratched the palm of his hand, a nervous gesture Cassidy recognized from long-ago. "I was stupid back then, okay?” “Only back then?” Cassidy said. “Hey, come on.” “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. Carry on.” “I thought I was smart and all,” Paul laughed mirthlessly, glancing over his shoulder as if afraid they were being watched. “The summer after junior year, I interned on the Hill. I never had any political ambitions myself, but I wanted to work behind the scenes. I dunno, something like chief of staff, you know? So, anyway, that summer I made friends with some sketchy characters.” “I’d say most characters on Capitol Hill are sketchy,” Cassidy interjected. “Can you save the snark, please?” “The more uncomfortable I am, the snarkier I become. It can’t be helped.” “Suffice it to say, I got in over my head. I thought I was doing something, I dunno, something impressive . Something exciting. I lead this secret life, and I made some money. That’s when I started going out with Freddy,” Paul paused on the name of his ex. “Was Freddy one of these sketchy characters?” “No, no, of course not. Freddy’s an angel, he would never—” Paul shook his head. 	He glanced over his shoulder again, biting his lip, scratching at his palm. “My relationship with Freddy was the light. My side-job with the fellas on the Hill was the darkness. I did end up telling Freddy about it, after a few months. It was around Thanksgiving when I finally told him what all I was involved in.” “What, exactly, were you involved in?” Cassidy asked. “Drug trafficking, to put it simply,” Paul said. “Before I knew it, I was caught up in a web of organized crime. The kind of shit that’s meant to be glamorous on TV and in John Grisham novels. I finally got scared and realized what I mess I was making of my life. I stopped cooperating with the guys, hoping it would all just go away. But, see, that’s just further proof that I was a naïve idiot. That stuff doesn’t just go away . You can’t ghost organized crime factions.” “I would imagine not,” Cassidy muttered, trying to wrap her mind around the insanity spewing from her brother’s mouth. Part of her wondered if he had just taken too many drugs himself and imagined this whole thing, but his demeanor was genuine. His confidence had vanished, his eyes were far away with remembrances of his past. Guilt, remorse, and a bit of fear came through in his voice. Paul continued, “They started threatening me, but I wasn’t having it. I’d never dealt with people like that before. Of course, I guess normal people would be frightened into compliance—it’s people who are used to those dealings who would call a bluff. But, you know what I was like. King of the world. Spoiled and unprepared,” Paul cleared his throat. He took a deep breath, waiting for a group of people to pass by before he continued, “So, they started threatening to harm Freddy. They found where he lived, sent me pictures indicating as much. Well, I couldn’t let them do that, but I didn’t want anything to do with them anymore, either. I was trapped. So the only option was to do what I should have done before I got involved with them anyway.” “Vanish into thin air?” “No, are you really that stupid?” Paul snapped. “I went to the feds. Told ‘em all about it. Haven’t you heard of the Witness Protection Program?” Cassidy nodded slowly, considering this revelation as a pigeon landed on the step between her brother and herself. The Witness Protection Program. Of course. “And Freddy? I mean, you said you told him. Did he know you were going to turn yourself in? Did he know you were going to disappear?” “Yes and yes. He and I broke up around Christmas. I could tell it was eating him alive, knowing what I was involved with, and I hated it. I promised I would get out of it, but he didn’t see how that was possible. We stayed friends, and I confided in him about everything. We would meet up at his apartment and talk about it. That was dumb, too. I put him right in the path of danger—” “There was nothing suspect about his death,” Cassidy said, surprised at the warmth in her voice. “Maybe not. But he still wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t put him through all that,” Paul said, laughing bitterly. Cassidy couldn’t think of anything to say. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and moved her hair from one shoulder to the other, trying to combat the brutal Italian sun. “So, that’s it,” Paul said. “Spirited away under the cover of night. New life, new identity. I always thought I’d go back one day, after enough time had passed. But, I don’t know. Maybe it would be too painful.” “Are you allowed to go back?” Cassidy asked. “You’re not breaking the law right now, are you? Telling me all this stuff?” “No. I don’t work for the CIA. It’s not like that. I can go back to my old life whenever I want,” Paul shrugged. “Sounds so easy, doesn’t it?” “Do you ever miss it?” “A little. I’ve missed you, and mom and dad. How are they?” “Divorced,” Cassidy said. “But okay, individually.” Paul nodded, his brow knit together as he considered this news. “What happened with Freddy?” Paul asked, his voice childlike in its sadness. “How much do you know?” Cassidy stammered. “Nothing,” Paul said. “I was told not to look anything up. No internet presence, no reading the papers regarding my supposed demise, nothing. I haven’t—seeing you is the first time I’ve had any contact with my old life since I left.” “Well,” Cassidy sighed. She cleared her throat and shifted her seat. “As I said, everyone assumed you were dead. Foul play seemed likely, and they found stuff at Freddy’s apartment.” “What kind of stuff?” “Oh, just some things. Textbooks, the tie you were wearing the night you vanished, a bloody t-shirt…that’s what got him in trouble, that t-shirt.”

“Bloody t-shirt?” “He said it was from chafed nipples.” “He was right,” Paul said. “I guess no one believed him.” “I don’t know if no one believed him. But I didn’t. Dad didn’t. Mom never gave up thinking you were still alive somewhere.” “See, never doubt a mother,” Paul shook his finger. “Mothers always know, somehow. It’s like they’re endowed with magic powers when their children are born.”            “Anyway, he wasn’t convicted. Looking back with a cooler head, of course he wasn’t. It was sort of absurd that he was ever arrested anyway, considering they never actually found a body.”            “Good old American justice system,” Paul said. “When did he—you know.”            “Oh, three, four years after you disappeared?” Cassidy said. She explained the Virginia Bar’s refusal of Freddy’s application on the grounds of withheld information. That, in addition to years of speculation around the city, had ruined him.            Paul hung his head. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh and said, “I don’t know what I’m getting so upset for. We were only together for a few months.”            “You don’t have to apologize for being upset. The whole situation’s a mess.”            “That’s true. Poor Freddy. How anyone could think that man would be capable of murder is—he was a lovely man. I wish you could have gotten to know him. I wish he’d never gotten tangled up in my mess. Or, really, I guess I wish I’d never been so stupid in the first place.”            “No use regretting, I guess,” Cassidy said. She patted her brother’s back. It was odd, how natural it felt to comfort him, when for all intents and purposes he was a stranger. “Do you think you’ll ever come home?”            “I am home,” Paul said, a sad, resigned smile on his lips as he glanced around the Piazza di Santa Maria, coming to life now as the church bells struck 10:00. “There are worse places to hide away, I suppose.”            “ Certo ,” Cassidy said, offering her brother a friendly smile, which he returned.            “How long are you here?” Paul asked.            “Until Christmas,” Cassidy said.            “I’d like to see you again. If that’d be okay,” Paul said.            “Yeah. I think I’d like that, too,” Cassidy said. She wondered about Paul’s life here in Italy, whether he ever had a boyfriend, or any friends at all. Perhaps it was easier to live out his life in solitude, so as not to draw anyone into his complicated situation, or perhaps he simply never spoke about his past. Maybe, to him, Paul Carson really was a different person, and he was someone else. From his expression, she assumed he had never quite gotten the events of fifteen years prior off of his chest before. There was something of serenity and relief in his face, but also pain.  “I won’t tell anyone,” Cassidy said, leaning in and holding her brother’s gaze so he knew she was serious. He was safe, until he chose to come home. He smiled and nodded his thanks.            Cassidy rose to her feet, noting the time and the fact that she had yet to create lesson plans for the week. Paul rose as well.            “Good to meet you, Giovanni,” Cassidy held out her hand.            “ Piacere ,” Paul shook it. The siblings smiled at each other, letting the secrets of the past marinate between them. Cassidy gave Paul her phone number and address and walked away from him, following the cobbles back to the top of Via Garibaldi, to face another day in this strange, foreign world.


I cast my line into the endless ocean on a boiling June day. Within seconds I felt a giant pull, and I hauled harder than I ever had. I thought my line would snap--but then the water parted, and out of its deep blue curtain came the most beautiful man I had ever seen, dangling and bleeding from my hook through his lip. I dragged him onto the plywood dock, extracted the hook from him, and wiped away the blood. He stared at me with the eyes of a child, such innocence and grace and beauty, and gave me the faintest smile. He had dark hair and black eyes and soft cheeks. His translucently-pale skin bulged from his perfect musculature, and he looked at me in a way that no one ever had. I tried to ask him what his name was, where he had come from, how he hadn’t drowned, where his family was--he had no answer. All he could do was smile and look at me. I told him my name was John, although I wasn’t sure he understood, and after a few minutes I decided that I had to take care of him until he was healed from whatever had happened to him under the ocean’s surface. I took him to my tiny apartment, tucked him into my bed, and made him a bowl of soup from the only food I had in the fridge. I sat down gently with the soup and tried to give it to him, but he seemed to not know what to do with it. I would have to feed him--I dipped the spoon into the steaming soup. He opened his mouth as I brought the spoon to it, but instead of accepting it, he spoke one word, and one word only, in a raspy voice like cat’s claws on sandpaper: “Puke.” Then he closed his mouth tight, and would accept no food or drink, or say anything but the word puke, again and again, until the word started to turn my stomach and I asked him to stop. In response, the man from the depths reached out and held my arm, firmly, with a tenderness that changed the temperature of my entire body, and he looked me in my eyes with a stare that communicated all things. He took me in his arms and kissed me so deeply that I thought I was going to go insane. I was annoyed that I was so easy to win over and upset that a man could make me melt without speaking a single word to me aside from one I hated. It had just been so *long*. I made love for the first time in four years, and then I asked the undersea man what his name was as we lay tangled together in the billowing clouds of my ivory sheets. He turned to me, smiling that innocent, soft smile, and said to me, “Puke, John.” I asked him, trying to be playful, if Puke was his name, but he shook his head forcefully and pointed to me. Before I knew it he gently slipped his fingers into my mouth and down my throat. I don’t know why I did, but I did what he asked all over my ivory sheets, and in the middle of the contents of my stomach sat a lump of pure, polished gold, glistening in the afternoon sun that streamed in through my window. He picked it up, handed it to me, and smiled again. My eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and I stared at the fortune I had just coughed up, and without even thinking I kissed him again. I couldn’t help myself. There was no explaining it. He had just known. He had known everything I needed and everything I wanted without me saying anything. He was sent by God. I went to the bathroom to clean myself up and to cry a little bit, happily, over my life *finally* improving. I looked at myself in the mirror, at my blonde hair, my olive skin, my green eyes-- and for the first time in a long time I told myself that I was beautiful and meant it. When I came back all of my vomit was gone from the sheets. I thanked him for cleaning up, and he smiled at me from the bed and beckoned me to come to him. The next few days were nothing but happiness in my one-bedroom, 500 square foot apartment. The underwater man and I made love every chance we could get, and he helped me vomit up so much gold that it filled my tiny apartment with glimmering piles of wealth. I felt like a king. He always cleaned up while I went to the bathroom to wipe my mouth, so thoroughly that everything was spotless. We slept together in my single bed every night and he held me like a treasure. He still never ate, but I took this as some sort of sea-sickness that would go away in time. I asked him his name hundreds of times and never received a response, but as the days went on he became more and more lively and strong-looking, and he began speaking to me--first in singular words, then in full sentences. His voice was low and smooth and it rolled from him like thunder across the plains. He spoke of things he loved--sunsets, and houses, and children’s laughter. He thanked me for rescuing him from the sea. He told me he didn’t remember how he got there, under the water that it was gone from his mind. All it took was one look from his eyes that I now noticed were a bit green in the right light, and I believed him. I felt like my mind was becoming a little bit slower--but I guess that’s how you feel when you’re in love. One night as we laid together in the freshly-cleaned bed, he rolled over to me and looked at me and said-- “I love you.” I’m embarrassed to say that I began crying immediately. I said it back after my emotional outburst was over in my small, silly-sounding voice, and the next day I sold our gold and the dingy old apartment that had housed me for eight unhappy years. The undersea man and I bought a beautiful home across from the ocean together, and we moved in in the span of a day. It’s not like either of us had many possessions to relocate. He turned to me as we slept together in our new four-poster bed that night, and I turned to him, and he said again to me-- “Puke.” Even though I didn’t want to ruin the new bed, I knew better than to disregard his council on this particular matter. I opened my mouth, and into my throat went his fingers, and I let my stomach turn inside out for him. When I was finished and gasping I looked in the middle of my bile. There sat the most beautiful baby boy I had ever seen, with the undersea man’s eyes and his cheeks, and my smile and my tiny pointed ears. “Is he... ours?” “Yes.” “Did you put him there like the gold?” “No, John. He was there all along, just like the gold. He was always yours, and he was always mine.” I couldn’t respond, or question further how this had happened, or do anything but scoop up the baby and cradle him close and kiss his soft little forehead. It didn’t matter that I was a man, didn’t matter that this was impossible. My child was in my arms and my lover was at my side and the only thing in my mind, the only thing in my heart, was love. I was so overcome with love--for him, for my home, for this new baby, that coherent thoughts couldn’t penetrate the warmth and the affection that I felt for everything around me. I spent my next days in a haze, and when he asked me to puke again I did and I gained a beautiful baby girl. It had been two weeks since I pulled the undersea man from the ocean and now I spent my days in such a euphoria that I felt I could barely think. No matter the time of day, I was either making love, tending to my beautiful children, or looking out at my view of the ocean--I was never thinking. Only loving. One day I told him we were running out of money, and without another word he induced me to vomit up another massive chunk of gold. I looked at him, my face flushed, my mind struggling to express itself with words, and just told him, “You are my everything.” “No, John. You are.” He smiled, this time a little differently than normal--I couldn’t figure out why. Even just that four-word sentence had been mentally draining, so clouded was my mind with love and admiration for the man from the waves. I cleaned up quick, wanting to return to him as soon as I could. When I returned from the bathroom I saw him, bent over, his bumpy spine stretching the skin of his back. He made a sound like algae being fed through broken glass. I crept closer. His face was pressed deep into the sheets, and he sucked up my vomit with his mouth with frightening speed and desire. His eyes were animal and predatory, glassy and unthinking. His veins bulged through his olive skin as he fed, and I could see thousands of branching networks of deep-green, pumping and flowing and filling almost audibly, like the inner workings of a giant mosquito. He looked up at me, wiped his mouth, and smiled. I ran from him, went to the bathroom, locked the door, and looked at myself in the mirror for the first time in weeks. My blonde hair had turned black, my olive skin to a translucent white that every vein peeked through. My eyes were black and soulless and I realized that my brain was not sluggish because of love. I was being drained. Before I could blink the door flew open and he was behind me, and then his hand was down my throat, and he grabbed both my hands with one of his and held them behind my back with inhuman strength. He bent me over the bathtub with his fingers in my mouth, and then he pushed them all the way down and drained everything from me, vomit and children and gold and music and color, what I realized now was everything my body could or would ever make in my lifetime. I tried to resist at first, but I had so little fight. I was so far gone already. When it was all over I stared blankly at the squirming bathtub beneath me, filled with everything of value my body would have ever produced, squeezed from me like a wet sponge being twisted. I was nothing but a husk, my thoughts an impenetrable mist. Then his strong arms picked me up, still holding my hands behind my back. He carried me out the front door of the beautiful house we had once shared, across the wind-swept beach, and walked until the sea gently lapped his bare feet. I looked up at him. His hair was a beautiful burnished blonde now, and his eyes green as a cat’s. His once-translucent skin had become a beautiful olive. I had to admit he was beautiful, even more so than I had once been. He gave me that same little smile that I had loved so much, and for a second I thought he might apologize, or save me, or reverse everything he had taken. Instead he rocked me in his arms like a newborn, and at the peak of the third rock he released his grip and threw me. I flew high in the air, hung at the top of the arc for a fragile moment, and then plunged into the cold and salty water. The ocean inhaled me, and I knew I was home. I watched from underneath as he walked away, tanned and strong and beautiful, without any feeling at all. I searched my mind for thoughts, feelings, cares--there was nothing there, my mind a dark and empty ocean to mirror the one I had been thrown into. All I was was gone now, drained into the bathtub. I turned from the shore and swam away into the icy surf, my beady black eyes scanning the dark blue depths, forgetting everything I once was and ever could have been.


The Portendorfers packed the car with their clothes, a dog bed, a giant bag of dog food, a baby stroller, grandma’s wheelchair, beach toys for the other two children, a big beach umbrella, and matching beach chairs. As expected, the whole paraphernalia didn’t fit in the trunk, so Mr. Portendorfer tied some of it to the roof of the car. The family, including the dog, squeezed into the vehicle and left their suburban home for the beach. Well into the trip, one of the chairs became loose and fell off the car. That was when the Portendorfers were all singing together, so they didn’t hear a thing. Lucky for the chair, the impact made it roll all the way to the side of the road before getting hit by any car. It stayed there for a while, folded as it had been packed. Its aluminum frame had suffered a few dents and the nylon seat was torn. But it was all in one piece. When the dust settled, the chair stretched its four legs and started walking in the direction the car had gone. Its frame was so badly bent, the only way it could move forward was by limping sideways like a crab. While passing by a small village at the foot of a mountain, the walking beach chair was mostly ignored, except for an old man who started shooting at it with a rifle. The chair continued its journey; the bullet holes actually made it easier to move against the wind. Night fell, but it was still bright with the moon, and the headlights. Later, black clouds covered the moon, and the rain fell hard on the forest, drowning the sounds of crickets and cicadas. Sometimes the chair stumbled on a rock or a ditch, but it was important to keep its balance: flipping on its back meant never being able to stand up again. The Portendorfers arrived at the beach house. While unloading the car, Mrs. Portendorfer noticed that one of the beach chairs was missing, and asked her husband to drive back and try to find it. But Mr. Portendorfer didn’t think that a cheap old beach chair was worth his trouble, especially at this time of night, and with all the rain. As the Portendorfers slept, the chair dragged itself through the storm. A river that ran parallel to the road began to overflow, so the chair let itself be pushed by the waters for the last stretch of the trip. When it arrived at the beach house, the sun was shining and the Portendorfers were eating breakfast. When the family came out, they found the missing chair on the grass, all twisted and crooked, covered with mud and weeds. The other chairs had gathered around it, to hear its story. Grandma's wheelchair moved on its own to join the group. I wish I could say that the family was ecstatic to see their loyal beach chair back, that the children jumped with happiness, that their parents had tears in their eyes, that they all got together and washed it, fixed it, and took it to the beach with them. Yes, I wish I could say that.


System note: The following is translated into a language the reader is familiar with. The choice of words may sometimes sound unusual or simple. This results from the fact that some of the original languages of these texts haven't been spoken for millions of your solar circumnavigations. Most of the species don't exist anymore. The records are still preserved to document historical events. # Krex loves her bar. It is a small building, rarely visited, not much money to get, but the visitors are usually happy to find a shelter this far outside the inhabited systems. Most visitors are miners, traveling through the asteroid belts, the cargo bays full of ores, who want to relax one or two days before returning to the core. Of course, usually she's serving lizards here, mostly her own kind of Agamas, often geckos too. Once an iguana visited this place, but their planets are on the other side of the galaxy, so they rarely travel to this part of space. But recently, this new species visits her bar, too. They joined the galactic civilization just recently, causing trouble wherever they show up. Their furry bodies are like an insult to Krex’s eyes, but they are ambitious and bring good money. At least most of the time. Sometimes they enjoy to cause as much damage as possible, and sometimes Krex doesn't even know what they're doing, like today. Three of them are already there, laughing and drinking when suddenly, the door bursts open. "Careful there", Krex shouts, but freezes the next moment. A fourth just enters, the pupils narrow, the whiskers twitching. The laser weapon on her hip is mandatory, they all carry one. But Krex has never seen one of them actually use these weapons, they usually prefer close combat. One of the others shouts, "Hensutu!" Was it a word in their language, or a name, maybe? The newcomer puts her ears on, pushes out her claws and hisses while turning towards the one who shouted. The other one pushes her claws out, too, digs them into table and floor - probably to enhance her grip - and jumps out of her chair and across the table, approaching the newcomer quickly. Everything looks like a fight is about to start, until she puts her hands on the newcomer's shoulders and lowers her head. Only now does Krex notice that the new one's ears have risen again and are opened towards the other one. "Sister. It's been a while", the newcomer says, lowering her head too, pushing their foreheads together with a growl. "May I introduce you to my sons? We're celebrating their adulthood! Please, join us!" The newcomer nods, then pushes the other one - her sister? - aside to step towards the bar, towards Krex who observes them nervously. "Do you serve some kind of milk?" "I… Yes, sure. Do you want plain milk or something special?" "Rum and milk, 50/50 in that order." Krex thinks for a moment, then she puts a Glass on the bar. "Are you kidding me?" Before Krex really understands what's going on, the glass is thrown aside, falling towards the ground and breaking into a thousand pieces. "What are we going to do with a single glass? We're four!" "Oh… Of course. I'm sorry." She puts a large jug on the counter and reaches for the milk, just to be grabbed on her wrist by the guest. Nervously, she looks at the twitching tail of her guest, knowing that this can be a terrible sign. "When you're trying to anger me, you're doing a good job. What did I say about the order?" Krex freezes, thinking for a moment. Then she nods and nervously reaches for the rum, watching her customer carefully, prepared to stop in case something else is wrong. "50/50 you said?" The fur-covered head nods slowly, and so Krex starts to pour the rum into the jug. Next she fills it up with milk, relaxing when she notices the satisfied nodding of her customer. "See? You aren't as stupid as you look. This probably won't be the last one, you know where we are." With these words, the furry hand grabs the jug and the strange woman turns around. Events like this, demonstrating how aggressive this species can seem, frequently happen around the galaxy, wherever these creatures show up. And somewhere already sits a council of scaled participants and discusses how to deal with them. # "What, you want to be captain? All right, come here if you dare!" Hensutu just returned from her trip to the bar. One of her nephews chose to join her crew, but during their very first meeting with their captain, he challenged him. Sauksez is used to it. A kitten, just grown up, who wants to prove themselves, usually starts at the head of the pack. And so, he fought off almost every new crew member on the first day. He actually likes it because this way he can prove regularly that he isn't captain for nothing. And this one, too, will soon have figured out his place. The fight doesn't last long. They rarely do, and over the last few years the result has always been the same: Sauksez stays the ship's captain and the new one submits to him. He'll search and challenge other crew members soon, until, in a few days, his position aboard the ship is settled. Sauksez turns towards Hensutu. "Why exactly did you bring this one here?" "He’s from my sister, the one from the same litter as me. She asked me for it when I met her in a bar." "I was afraid you picked up a stray. Not that I would have refused him then, he's a strong fighter. But you’ve proven yourself, so a relative of yours is particularly welcome." "Thank you", Hensutu replies while bowing down to her captain. He dislikes to compliment, so this was worth a lot for her. Or did he only acknowledge the litter they had together? Whatever it is, Hensutu just feels more valuable because of it. Then she turns around to go to the cantina. Her nephew would find his way alone from here, and she had an appointment. As usual, when both are aboard, she eats lunch with her daughter Zeanah. But today isn't usual. Of course, they meet and sit down for lunch, but as they sit, talk and eat, they are interrupted again and again by young men who try to flirt with Zeanah and show off in front of her. At some point - the fourth or fifth just left - Hensutu stands up and shouts: "The next one trying to mate with my daughter while we eat will have to collect his teeth from the floor!" A young man stops a few steps away, indecisive, looking back and forth between the two. Hensutus growl tells him that she's serious, so he turns around and leaves. She sighs. "First day?" "The third, actually", Zeanah responds shyly. "So there are only seven days left. But overall, the first time as far as I know?" Her daughter nods. "You really should try to set some boundaries. Otherwise, they will never leave you alone." "I'll try." "And next time, please warn me in time. It’s annoying enough when I’m in heat myself, but if I ever have to watch them behave like that to you again, I’m probably gonna kill someone." # "We really need to do something", an iguana demands. "They're terrorizing our people wherever we meet them!" "What's the problem?" One of the eel-people asks. Most fishes haven't even seen a cat yet, their habitats are just too different, and they rarely have a reason to contact each other. "The problem is their attitude. They're proud, arrogant and selfish. They act as if everything's their property, and what they don't like they damage. It's a wonder that so few people died yet." "Are their claws poisonous or something? I've heard stories about a scratch from them developing into a deadly disease in multiple cases." "Although they are very clean, they usually do not care about cleaning their claws. These cases you’ve heard of were probably infections with unknown bacteria." "Clean, you say? They *smell* terribly", a serpent comments. "Would you please stop bothering us with your opinion? We're talking about facts, and they *do* spend a lot of time cleaning their fur." "I'd suggest sending them an offer. If they calm down around other species, following common rules of politeness, they're free to go. If they continue to treat other races like shit, then we must restrict their access to our facilities. Anyone against it?" Nobody reacts. "Then it's settled. I’ll contact their diplomats. Any other topics?" # Hensutu doesn't like the idea of visiting her daughter. It's the seventh day of her being in heat, she most likely is with a man right now. But she is the best diplomat they have, and the situation demands her attention. When reaching for the door, she hears something. Yes, Zeanah is with a man right now, so Hensutu waits patiently for their noises to stop. And then a little longer. Finally, she pushes the button. Usually, a bell would announce her request to enter, but the system was set to make an exception for her, the door opens right away. She steps in, surprising both, Zeanah and her partner. "Mom!" "Hey. I see, you met your cousin." "My what?" "Not now. You're required on the bridge, it's urgent." With these words, Hensutu turns around and leaves the room again. "My cousin…?" Zeanah asks the man she was cuddling with moments ago, who looks just as surprised as she felt. He hesitates a moment, but then nods slowly. She shakes her head, jumps out of the bed and gets dressed. "You'll find your way out, I assume." That wasn't a question, she rushes out without waiting for a response. "What's up?" she asks as soon as she closed up to her mother. "Your skills are required. The scaled ones gave us an ultimatum, and we need your help to negotiate the terms." "An ultimatum? But why?" "Seems like our habits aren't very popular among them." Zeanah nods while trying to keep up with her mother. "Did you at least get your heat under control?" "Yes, but… My cousin! And you're requesting a heads-up from *me*?" "Don't worry, it's not as rare for our people as you might think. And you're far enough away so that there are no problems." "Did you, you know…?" "No, but a few of my siblings. It's really no big deal." Around the next corner, Zenah finally finds herself on the bridge. At first, she stops, looking around where to go next, but the captain clearly shows her to come closer. She follows his order and steps in front of a giant screen. From there, the diplomat of the scaled ones watches her attentively. "Greetings. I am Zeanah, this ship's diplomat. How can we help you?" "Simple. Your people need to behave better." "What are you talking about?" "I am Grat, from the Gecko Conglomerate", the lizard starts to speak. "And I'm contacting you with an urgent matter. We're receiving reports from all over the galaxy about cats being rude, destroying other peoples properties, fighting with each and everyone about nothing. Thus far we had two dozen deaths among the lizards, and at least one fish-ship reported a torpedo fired at them. We want to solve this peacefully, but each of our previous attempts has been ignored or ridiculed. If your people can’t offer a solution, we have to come up with a punishment for your kind." "That sounds reasonable", Zeanah responds. "I hope you do understand that I can't speak for my entire species in this case. We'll need to contact our council to establish a ruleset that will stop these unpleasant incidents. Something that's enforceable against every cat out there." "Of course we do. Please keep us informed about every step towards progress. I'm delivering a frequency for direct communication, and I'll permit you personally to contact us without any obstacles. Zeanah was your name?" "Correct, Zeanah from the silverfur-tribe. Thank you." As soon as the connection is closed, she turns towards the captain. "I’m sorry, but this matter concerns our entire race, we must return to Nekkai immediately!" "You're sorry? It’s a diplomatic incident of interstellar magnitude. You're in charge of the ship!" Sauksez responds, steps aside and gestures towards the captain's seat. "Are you serious?" "Do I look like I'm joking?" Zeanah looks across the room to her mother in search for help, but Hensutu nods, smiling. "The rules are unmistakable. In case of a diplomatic incident, the highest diplomat aboard temporarily replaces the captain. Congratulations, you’re the commanding officer." Zeanah puffs out her chest and tightens her shoulders, steps forward and sits down on the captain’s chair. All eyes are focused on her. "Set a course to Nekkai. And send them a summary of the situation", she commands. A strange sense of satisfaction fills her when everyone around her immediately begins to work to follow her instructions. # Zeanah had already seen the negotiations threatened when she had to interrupt them shortly before conclusion. But the negotiating partners agreed that the birth of her Children was more important, even in this situation. The next day she was already back to continue the negotiations, and after a total of seven months, they are finally concluded. Now she's sitting there beside the bed - some would probably call it a box, but for some reason, kitten have always preferred this design against every other option - and watches her children sleeping in peace. Lost in thought, she reaches into the box and caresses the head of one of her children. Of course, this idyll could not last forever. Annoyed by the sound, she grabs her personal communicator and looks at the display. Grat. She immediately accepts the connection. "Hey, Grat. How can I…" the connection is interrupted right away. One of her ears goes flat. What did just happen? She tries to establish a new connection to her scaled friend, but the device doesn't reach him. She shakes her head, twitches with her shoulders and put's the device aside. Then she turns back towards her kitten. One of them just woke up from the sounds. She carefully grabs it, lifts it out of the box and cuddles it gently. # "Are you kidding me?" the communication system asks. The geckos just received a chat request from a cat's ship and responded right away. They were in peace after all. "Beg you pardon?" The lizard at the comms asks confused. "You're trying to dictate us how to behave?" the cat on the other end asks. "Who do you think we are?" "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about." "We just got the order. Stay calm, don't do anything that could provoke, play along? Who do you think you are?" The lizard looks back at his captain - the diplomat Grat, who just finished the negotiations with the cat's diplomat. "What should I do?" "Try to calm them down. They’re obviously upset, probably a misunderstanding." He nods, turning comms back online. "I am sorry for this, but it's probably not as you thought. We negotiated…" "Not as we thought? Are you calling us stupid? You're trying to command us around!" "Commander", another lizard interrupts. "They're charging something." "Something?" "The instruments can't make sense of it. It's just energy building up." "Shields are up?" "Of course." "Give them a warning shot. We're not fooling around, they need to understand that." "Done." The com system lights up again. "Are you stupid? Can't you even aim straight?" "Boost the shields. Whatever they're doing, we'll just defend and try to calm them down!" "I can't." "What?" "Shields already are at 115%. That's 5 percent above boost level. 120%. 125%! And raising!" "Contact Zeanah! Maybe she can stop this and explain what's going on." "Contacting." "Commander! I don't know how, but… 175%!" The communication system establishes a connection. "Hey, Grat. How can I…" Then, every system shuts down, all lights turn off while the shrill whir of an overloaded generator is heard. The next moment, light around Grat seems to shine while the system continues to overload, and with the silence of deep space, his ship explodes - every life on board is wiped out. # "Captains log. Tamesis, captain of the lantern's fleet. It's been three months since the war started. Whenever the lizards tried to contact them, they were blown up in a matter of seconds. Millions died. We still didn't figure out how they're doing that, but our ships are seemingly not affected. It took us some time to figure out that they don't use shield technology. It seems like a miracle that they managed to conquer space without it. Today we're approaching planet Nekkai, the fifth planet of their home system. We'll finally end this disaster. Log end." "Captain?" Tamesis flaps his fins to turn towards the speaking officer. "Yes?" "We're ready." "Well, then fire, please. Make it end." The officer pushes a button. On their screen, a view of the planet is shown. After a moment, a tiny, harmless looking, shiny ball reaches its atmosphere. As soon as it touches it, a destructive wave of fire runs around the globe, but the tiny light continues its way. A bright light is visible at the location it hit the surface. Red lines start to cover the planet, fractures in the ground, lava raising, and after a while, not more than a minute, a silent explosion rips the planet apart. "Captain? There are still ships of them around." "Let them be. We just destroyed their home world. If they want to fight, we'll destroy them. If they choose to die in peace, who are we to refuse it?" — A few days later, the lizards establish a connection. "What do you want?" Tamesis asks uninterested. "A huge fragment of Nekkai is heading towards the third planet of their system!" "And?" "There are lizards on that planet!" "Are they intelligent? Do they have some signs of culture or civilization?" "Not yet, they're wild animals. But…" "We can't interfere to protect any amphibian across the universe. We have to defeat the remaining cats!" "But these are different!" "They're huge and stupid, aren't they? I just checked our scanners. Calm down, the universe will survive losing one of your variations." # Hensutu hugged her daughter tight, trying to calm her down, to stop the tears flowing. "It's alright. We're still here." "But so many have died! Millions!" Zeanah replies sobbing. "I know. Let's never forget them. We'll hide. We'll rebuild somewhere else." "What about my children?" "I'm sure we'll find a sun for them to enjoy. A small system at the border of the galaxy to settle down. They'll be fine, I promise." # And so, the third planet of the system got hit by an asteroid. The lizards living there were eradicated, the fish didn't care and, after time passed, the planet developed a new species that would become intelligent enough to join the galactic alliance. Nobody noticed the millions of fragments, carrying genetic samples of this horrible species, spreading it across the system, the entire galaxy. By the time the third planet had recovered from the impact, dozens of planets had already been discovered on which four-legged beasts had developed, with velvet paws and deadly claws and teeth. Where the remaining ships of the cats have disappeared, however, could never be found out.


“Can I get you anything?” the interviewer asked, putting on a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. “Something to drink, perhaps?” “No, thank you. I’m fine.” John answered.

“Alright, shall we begin then?”

John nodded, pulled the blanket draped over his back tighter around his body. “So when did you first notice the fire?” “Uh, it was around 2:30 in the morning.” “And you were in the house at the time?” “Yes.”

“As was your wife, correct?” “Yes,” John answered, shifting in his seat. “Do you know when I’ll be able to see her?” “Tell me,” the interviewer continued, “Where were you when you noticed the fire?” John glanced around the hospital room. He watched as doctors walked past, clipboards in hand. He wanted to see his wife but knew that he needed to finish answering the questions first. “Um, I was downstairs. I was watching the stock market news for the next morning. I don’t sleep well. I usually leave the bed if I start tossing and turning too much; so that I don’t wake Scarlett.” “Right,” the interviewer wrote something on a notepad. “And your wife?” John stared blankly at the interviewer. Did he not just hear him?  “She was in bed.” “On the second floor?” “Yes.” “And the fire, where did it start?” “I first saw smoke coming from the garage,” John answered, thinking back to the incident that felt almost like a distant memory at this point. “It filled the kitchen and by the time I had entered to refill my cup of coffee it was so thick you couldn’t see your hands in front of your face.” “Is this when you called 911?” The interviewer gazed into John’s eyes. Determined to see what laid behind those windows.

“No.” “Why not?”

“I wanted to make sure Scar was safe.” John held back emotions. He felt tested by this man for some reason. As if he didn’t believe him. “Where’s my wife? I’d like to see her now.” John moved to get up out of his seat.

“Please,” the interviewer said, holding a hand out towards John. “I have only a few more questions.” “And then I can see my wife?” The interviewer didn’t answer. Rather, he tilted his head and made a stronger gesture towards the chair, insisting that John take a seat. John did and the interview continued.

“What happened next?” the interviewer asked.

“Well, once I saw the smoke filling the kitchen everything else happened pretty quickly.” John thought back through the foggy haze that cluttered his mind. Why was it so hard to remember what happened only hours before? “When did you first see the fire?” “When I went up the stairs to the bedroom.” John squeezed his body with the blanket. “It had eaten through the floor of the guest room. It’s right above the garage.” “Where did you go next?” “I’m sorry,” John interrupted. “Am I in trouble or something? Cause—” “Of course not, Mr. Harper. We just want to understand what happened that night.” “Last night.” “Right,” The interviewer flashed John a forgive-me smile. “Please, continue. Where did you go next?” “I,” John paused, thought hard. “I went into the bedroom to wake Scarlett.” “Who was still asleep?” “Yes.” “You’re sure?” “Yes. Why would I not be sure?” John asked a fire sparked in his words.

“Just doing my due diligence, Mr. Harper. After you entered the bedroom, you woke your wife?” “Yes.” “And was there any fire in the room at that point?” “No.” “Are you positive?” John thought. He pictured the room. Him standing over Scarlett, shaking her from her slumber. The room was dark. No sign of fire. “Positive. I woke her and pulled her out of bed. Then we ran out of the house. That’s it. Now can I see—” “When you came down the stairs, did you notice whether the fire had spread?” John eyed the interviewer. What was he getting at? “No.” “Think,” the interviewer prodded. “You must have noticed that by the time you came to the stairs that the entire stairwell was engulfed. That the first floor had almost entirely been consumed in the flames. Where did you go next?” “I just told you,” John said, nervous to give so much confidence behind his own words. “We ran down the stairs and out the front door. Ask Scarlett. She’d tell you the same thing.” “Do you remember get—” “Did you ask her yet?” John interrupted. “Where is she now? I’d like to see her.” “Mr. Harper, please—” “ Now!” John’s patience had been tried. He rose from his seat, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders, and moved to the door.

“Mr. Harper, please,” the interviewer called from behind.

John ignored him.

“Donovan,” the interviewer said and a man appeared in the doorway. He was a big, muscular man wearing scrubs like the rest of the hospital staff.

“What’s this all about?” John asked, his feet frozen in place. “We just need to ask a few more questions if you don’t mind Mr. Harper.”

“Do I have a choice?” John asked, eyes darting back and forth between Donavan and the interviewer.

“Of course you do,” the interviewer answered. “We have but a few more questions to go over.” John paused for a moment. Then turned around and sat back down in the chair, leaving the blanket on the floor.

“Thank you, Mr. Harper.” the interviewer said and continued. “You said you came down the stairs with your wife and fled through the front door, correct?” “That is correct.” “Then you called the police?” “No.” “Why not?” “The neighbor across the street was already out. She met with us and said she had already called.” “Mrs.,” he paused and flipped through a few pages on his notepad, “Jeannet Walker.” “Yes.” “It appears we have some testimony from her as well,” the interviewer said, keeping his eyes glued to the pages of his notebook. “Says here, that she didn’t see you and Scarlett come through the front door. In fact, said nothing about seeing Scarlett at all. With or without you.” John became mute. He didn’t know how to respond to the interviewer. He felt the conversation increasingly grow more and more hostile. He didn’t know what to do. What to say. How to feel. Where to go. He felt trapped, cornered. But why? He had just gone through the most traumatic event of his life and here he was being questioned as if he was some sort of criminal suspect.

Then John found the words he knew he needed right now but didn’t want to say, “I’d like to speak with my lawyer.” “No need for that,” the interviewer brushed his request aside. “Listen, Mr. Harper, I’m sorry that you went through this, I really am. But you need to—” Just at that moment John shot up from his seat and bolted for the door, hoping that he could slip past Donavan before he could stop him. He couldn’t. Like a brick wall standing in front of John, his run was stopped hard in its place. Donavan wrapped John with his beefy arms and pulled him back towards the chair setting him down with a thud. He pressed firmly down letting John know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Listen, John, “the interviewer became loose. “we don’t have any time left. You either have to work with me or this is over.” John squirmed in Donavan’s strong arms, said “Where’s my wife? I want to see her now ! You don’t get another word from me until then.” The interviewer took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and said, “your wife,” he let out a sigh, “she didn’t make it, John.” The words stabbed John.

“You’re lying,” John said in protest. “That’s not true. I—I saved her.” “No John, you didn’t,” the interviewer slipped his glasses back on. He looked John in the eyes, “You only think you did. You’ve had a psychotic breakdown. You believe you saved her, but in reality, you didn’t.” “No,” John said, fighting against the words, fighting against Donavan’s hold, fighting against the building emotions threatening to tear him apart. “That’s not true, I did save her! She's fine. She's gonna be fine.” John spun towards the door, “ Scar! Scarlett, honey can you hear me? Please, please tell them you’re okay.” The interviewer lifted from his seat, came over, and cradled John’s head in his hands, “You weren’t able to save her, and it’s okay. You can accept that.” “I can’t, I—” “You must,” the interviewer said, John’s tears flowing over his hands.

“No. No, it’s not true. Last night—” “John,” the interviewer's grip tightened, aligned John’s head to his gaze. “It happened two years ago. You tried to save her. You did. You have to come to terms and accept that it is a reality. Please, John, accept it.” John sobbed, Donavan, released his grip allowing John to fall into the surprising embrace of the interviewer.

“I can’t,” John cried into the interviewer's coat. “I can’t live without her. She can’t be gone. She just can’t...” “I know,” the interviewer said, rubbing John’s back. He turned his head to the door, and said, “End simulation four-three-oh-two.”

The walls vanished around John replaced by white walls and white furniture. The man that held John wore all white and his skin was painted all white. The man that stood behind him also wore all white and had his skin painted completely white.

The interviewer released John from his embrace, stood swatting at his pant legs, and said, “Don’t worry, John. We’ll get her out of your head sooner or later, even if it’s the last thing I do. Just hang in there.“


“So, what's the catch?” Asked Gertrude, hunching over her 2004 Gateway computer, on the phone her grandson bought her around the same time. “Ma’am, that's the best part! There’s absolutely no catch at all.” Said the friendly voice on the other end of the line. “All we need is the first four digits of your social security number, and we can get you started.” “Wow!” Gertrude thought. With Albert's birthday coming up, this was the luck she needed. Finally, a break. Finally, a time to-

“Wait... The first four?” She asked. “Yes, ma’am. Just the first four digits, and we can proceed.” The voice on the other end of the line answered. “Hmm, I think you mean the last four.” For a moment, all Gertrude heard was silence. Then, the sound of papers shuffling. “Uh, the first four work also!” The voice finally responded. Gertrude tried to think but was interrupted by the sounds of a garage door opening, followed by a car’s engine. Albert must be home.

“Well, okay! It’s 929-4.” “Excellent! Just give me a moment while we verify your account… ok, looks like we are good to go.” “And this will give me NFL Pass for, you know,” she whispered. “for Albie.”

“Yes, ma’am! We at DirecTV are just trying to give you the best package available for gameday for your husband.” Responded the friendly voice. “That’s wonderful. So wonderful.” “All we need you to do now is open your computer email.’ “Oh, Ok I-” A Door opened.

“Hi, Gertie!” Albert peaked his head from the doorway of the room both of them aptly called, The Computer Room. “Oh, Hi, Albie! I’m just in my emails.” Albert walked to Gertrude and kissed her on the head.  “Love you, Gertie!” he said, as he dawdled back out of the room.

“ Ma’am…” The voice interrupted. Sounding Anxious. “Oh I’m so sorry Albie just-”

“Have you seen the email, from DirecTV?” “Oh yes, sorry, I see it right here. Do you want me to click on it?” “Yes, Ma’am, Click on it.” “Okay!” Click! “What does it do?” “Ma’am, it should take you to your account page. Tell me what you see?” “Oh just a moment… I see the DirecTV logo and a…” Gertrude had to think quickly. She didn’t really know computer “lingo,” and felt it to be embarrassing. “... And uh… the home button and, Oh yes, I’m seeing my account page right here.” “Ok, great!” Said the voice on the other end of the line. It then became serious. “If you see the page, it, unfortunately, looks like you still owe us from last month's cable bill.”

“Oh, dear!” Gertrude cried. “Yes, ma’am. You see that number on the screen.” “Negative a thousand?” she asked. “Yes, ma’am, it looks like you owe us $1,000 for your last month’s cable bill.” “Oh my, that's terrible. Albie usually takes care of the-”

“Yes ma’am. We can still get you your exclusive deal for NFL Pass up and running real quick, but first, we will need that bill sent to us.

“Oh okay I-” The serious voice continued, “And now I am terribly sorry, but it seems like our server is down, so we need to use alternative methods for payment, like gift cards.” “I’m sorry, what?” She asked. “Yes, Ma’am. Gift cards. Do you currently live near Target or Walmart, maybe?” The voice responded. All of this sounded so new to Gertrude, so different from how things worked when she was younger, but Albert’s birthday was coming up, and an “NFL Pass” did sound like something he would like. ___________________________ “Ok, So what's the catch?” Mark shook his head. “Sir, for the last time, this is the bargain bin. Everything in here is and will always be five dollars. That is the point.” “So you are saying this DVD copy of I am Legend, AND this DVD copy of The Money Pit-” “Yes, are both five dollars.” “So what’s the catch?” “I don’t know, maybe you need a DVD player? Are you gonna buy something, sir, or just ask questions?” The man humpfed and scurried off. This was Mark's last day, or maybe his last week, last month, for sure. He had just enough savings to start something new. Maybe go back to school and become a vet, maybe! Mark liked animals. He was going to talk to his boss, and soon, right after he dealt with this kid coming in hot from Aisle 9. “Hey! I saw you take that Fast & Furious BluRay off the wall and put it in the bargain bin, you can't just take it out now, and have it be magically five dollars. It doesn't work like that!” The kid stared blankly at Mark.  “Get outta here!” Mark scolded, and without a word, the kid took off. “Ok then.” Mark thought. Now is the time he’d go up to Angela and tell her he was quitting. If not today, definitely tomorrow. He started his B-line to Angela's office, then froze. It was only Tuesday. Someone told him Fridays are the best days to quit a job once.

“Ok then.” He thought. New plan of attack: He’ll coast the rest of the week and definitely quit Friday. But wait. Damnit, hold on. Friday was his day off. He was supposed to go fishing with his Dad.

“Ok then.” He thought. He’ll first check on a calendar what weeks work and fully plan the best time to pull the trigger. Yeah, better to be prepared for something this serious. In that case, nothing can go wrong. In that case, he’ll be mentally prepared. In that case, he- “Excuse me, young man, where can I find a thousand dollars worth of Google play cards?” It took Mark a second to snap back to reality. Once he did, he noticed an elderly woman in a yellow floral house dress and slippers standing right in front of him. She had an old flip phone to her ear, seemingly having two conversations at once. “Excuse me?” Mark questioned. “I said, I’m asking him now!” The woman yelled into her phone. She then looked up to Mark, with eyes as wide as owls’ in her reading glasses. “I need one thousand dollars of Giggle play car-” she paused to listen to the voice on her phone. “Oh, sorry, one thousand dollars of Google play cards for the NFL pass for Albie.” She blinked. “Sorry, I’m not sure I follo-” “iTunes Cards work also.” The woman interjected, phone hovering from her ear. “Who are you on the phone with?” Mark asked. “Oh, this is DirecTV. They need a thousand dollars of Google play cards so Albie can get NFL Pass.” Owl eyes staring Blankly. “Albie?” He responded. “Oh yes, it’s his birthday coming up!” The woman put the phone back to her head. “Oh, they really want to know the status of the Google play cards…” Mark thought for a moment.“Would you mind if I talked to them?” “Oh of cours-” She paused. Mark could hear yelling from the other end of the line. “Oh wait, no, you can’t” “Why can’t I?” Mark asked the woman. “Why can’t he?” The woman asked the phone. After a short pause, the woman dictates, “Because you are not a ‘verified user,’ they said. They said they can only speak to verified users to, you know, protect from scammers.” “Ok, give me the phone, please,” Mark said as directly as he could, and with little delay, the old woman did just that. “Hello?” said Mark to whoever was on the other end of the phone, “Who is this? For a moment, all Mark heard was silence. Then, the sound of papers shuffling.

“Uh, this is DirecTV.” A voice finally responds. The voice sounded young and anxious, and the sound of papers made it seem like he was reading from a script. Without hesitation, Mark hung up the phone and returned it to the woman.

“Oh no! Why did you hang up?” She cried. “I’m sorry, but here’s the thing. That wasn’t DirecTV.” “It wasn’t?” She asked, absolutely puzzled. “No, those people were trying to scam you.” Sternly replied Mark. “Me?” She asked. “Yes.” He answered. “But why?” “I don’t know, they probably figured you didn’t understand technology or whatever, and you wouldn’t question all the weird stuff they asked for you.” “But what about NFL Pass for Albie?” Her owl eye’s bigger than before. Mark paused. He tried to sound as sympathetic as he could, “I’m sorry, there was never going to be NFL Pass for, is that your kid?” “Oh no, my husband, Albie. We’ve been married for over 60 years. His birthday is coming up, and I really wanted to surprise him with the NFL Pass or whatsitcalled.” The woman lit up, “Wait is that something you can help me with.” “I’m sorry. It’s not.” The woman looked down in defeat.

As a last-ditch effort, Mark grabbed a DVD from the Bargain Bin, “But I do have Remember the Titans.” He added. The old woman’s face lit up more than before. Her entire pupil filled the frame of her owlish reading glasses. “Did you say Remember the Titans?” “Yes! I mean, there are tons of DVDs here. There’s gotta be one tha-” “Albie loves Remember the Titans! Oh, we saw this the night of our 42nd anniversary. That Denzel Washington is a real knockout, even Albie thinks so! And don’t get me started on that Hayden Panettiere! Yes, yes, this will be fantastic! How much?” “Please, just take it, on me! Help yourself if you find anything else here. I’ll charge it to my name. It’s the least I can do with what you’ve been through.” “No, No, this is more than enough. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Cheered the woman. “Well, please let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with today!” Smiled Mark. “That will be all! Have a wonderful rest of your day.” The woman then turned toward the exit, took a few steps, and stopped. “You know,” She added, “there was a time when I wasn’t such an easy target for people like that, you know.” “I hear you.” Replied Mark. “I used to understand people and the world and how it all worked. How it ebbed and flowed. You understand?” “I understand.” Replied Mark. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, life is short, and sometimes I get so caught up with my own little problems that I forget to notice an entire world is changing around me.” The woman paused. Her face turned somber and then, in an instant, happy again. “Oh well,” she smiled, “Toodaloo!” Mark tried to think of a reply, but before he could, the old woman was gone. Mark made a B-line to Angela's office.

___________________________ *RIING* *RIING* Gertrude was just about to close her emails when she noticed a number she hadn’t seen before pop up on her screen. Promptly, she picked up the phone. “ Hello! We’re here with Chase Bank to inform you that you’ve had a serious breach of security on your account today! We’re here to help provide service to get your money back!” The voice was strict but friendly. “Oh, dear!” Gertrude responded, “It was these terrible, terrible scam artists. They made me drive all the way to Walmart for gift cards it was awful!” “So sorry to hear, ma’am! Thankfully we are here to help. All we would need to do first is verify your account. Can you please provide us with the last five digits of your social security?” “Wow!” Gertrude thought. After a day like hers, this was the luck she needed. Finally, a break. Finally, a time to-

“Wait... The last five ?” “Yes, ma’am. Just the last five digits, and we can proceed.” “Hmm, I think you mean the last four.” For a moment, all Gertrude heard was silence. Then, the sound of papers shuffling.