Levi had been preparing for this date for the past two hours. He fixed his tie one last time, checked himself in the mirror, combed his hair, and took a deep breath. It was time. He had been dreaming about this moment since he saw Sonattha for the first time. “What a unique and beautiful name” he thought. “Like music”. She was a dorky and quirky one too, just like himself. She asked to meet at that make-your-own-pie shop down the road exactly at 8:11PM. “I better not blow it!” Levi whispered while looking at his watch. That shop was 9 minutes away, and he wanted to leave at the exact right time. After Levi left his apartment he started walking on the sidewalk. He kept checking his watch. His heart was racing. He was excited for the night. He was thinking about what else to do that night after they ate each other’s probably awful pies. Oh, Sonattha. “I am such a lucky man” was the last thought Levi had before carelessly stepping in a road, missing the red light. With the loud screeching noise he turned his head but did not even have time to see what hit him. After a loud crash and bang, Levi’s body was flipping 10 feet in the air before hitting the ground. The car ended up crashing into a light pole, and its horn got stuck. Everything went dark. Levi got off the ground. He could hardly see. Everything was faded. He turned towards the car that hit him. Car’s driver rushed to ask him “Oh my god! Are you OK?” Levi paused. How could the driver get out of that wreckage so fast without a scratch? He then saw the same surprised face on the driver who was checking Levi up and down in disbelief. “Umm, I cannot see well, but other than that…” said Levi. “Huh. Everything else is faded, but I can see you fine” replied the driver. They looked around. There was no one else. “My date!” exclaimed Levi, checking his watch. It was showing 8:08. This was the time he saw just before got hit. The driver looked around. He was vexed by the fact that there was nobody around the accident. “Someone would have called 911 by now” the driver murmured. He went back to get his phone from his car slowly as it was hard to see in that darkness. He noticed no airbags went off. Then he noticed his faded body strapped on the seat. He immediately stepped back “What the-!” He ran back to Levi. He looked down. “Is this you?” asked the driver while pointing down to a faded body laying on the ground. “I think we are both dead, my friend”, the driver said. “My name is Gabe” said the driver, introducing himself. “I wasn’t sure about the afterlife, but it looks like we're in it. Looks like I killed you and myself at the same time. I should have taken the car to the dealership about that air bag recall” said Gabe casually. Levi was still in shock. This must have been a nightmare. He checked his watch again. It was still showing 8:08. “Hello!” he screamed. “Anybody? I need help! I got hit by a car”. “Do you have to emphasize the car part? I mean we are on the same boat” said Gabe. “It shouldn’t matter whose fault this is. Beside, I am pretty sure you walked in the red light” “I cannot believe you think of your insurance premium in the afterlife” said Levi with both hands swinging in anger. “So you do accept that this is the afterlife” said Gabe. While they were arguing a white bearded man appeared: “Hello there!” “Ah! This must be the angel welcoming us to Heaven” said Gabe in relief. “Why is everything faded, and why am I seeing just you two?” asked the bearded man. “What was the last thing you remember?” asked Gabe. “Well, I was done with a photo shoot in my studio here on the second floor. While packing up my big battery I heard a loud bang that startled me, and I shocked myself. It must have damaged my eyes or something because I cannot see much. Everything is dark. Faded.” said the bearded man. “Well, I have good news and bad news.” said Gabe. “Good news is that I don’t think your eyes are damaged. Bad news is that we are all dead.” “Is this the afterlife only for people killed by you, Gabe?” asked Levi sarcastically. “Name is Gabe” he extended his hand to the bearded man, ignoring Levi’s snarky comment. “Paul”, replied the bearded man. “Levi”, said Levi quietly putting his head between his hands. “So are we like ghosts? You know, the world is faded for us but we can see each other.” asked Gabe. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” said Paul. “All those ghost photos are fake. I can easily produce one” he added. “I assume you are here because of an.. Accident?” he asked. “I was on my way to my date. Sonattha! Argh! We were going to have so much fun!” said Levi. He was about to cry. “Well, love can make you do crazy things. Like marriage or ignoring traffic lights” said Gabe. Paul knew Gabe’s comment could start another argument so he immediately started his own theories. “I laid in my studio for a few minutes until I decided to come here, and the time on the wall was still showing 8:08. I think we are stuck at this moment. The moment we all died. This is like a photo with a very fast shutter speed like 1/2000 second. Dark and faded.” Gabe was excited “Oh, maybe we are living our very last moments. In real life this could be a few seconds, but here it will be days or even years! Maybe we have unfinished business.” “Like taking your car to the dealership?” said Levi. “I think I am already in Hell” he added. Another figure appeared from a distance. “Hi Levi!” shouted a female voice. “So.. Sonattha?” came out of Levi’s mouth. “You died too?” “Oh, no. I was just doing a routine. It was time to pick three of you up. Sorry for the triple booking. I thought it would be more efficient. Thank you for leaving home right on time by the way.” said Sonattha in a big smile, then turned to others. “Hi, I am Sonattha, they also call me Thanatos.


Cassidy throws her bills down on her side table in frustration and sits head In hands trying to not cry. She looks back the paper and relises the bills are smoking and shocked she taps on them until the smoke clears. Her door bell rings and she takes a deep breath as she rubs the tears off her eyes and slowly walks to the door. Cassidy opens the door to see her ex, Melanie standing in front of her, she rolls her eyes and goes to push the door closed before Melanie‘s hand holds the edge of the frame. ”please let me in“ Melanie looks away and asks ”not a chance“ Cassidy states harshly pushing air out of her lungs “I have something I need to tell you, it’s important“ she looks up with a hopeful slight smile. Cassidy rolls her eyes and opens the door as she walks back inside her studio. “hurry up” Melanie follows behind after carefully closing the door, making sure to make Cassidy not feel anymore uneasy. Cassidy sits on a chair just at edge of her bed, leaving Melanie only able to sit on the Bed so she just stands and takes a deep breath. “you should sit sit?” Cassidy suggests. “ah right“ she says as she awkwardly sits, barley being able to face Cassidy. “so are you here to tell me more about how I’m not attractive enough to stay with?” She angrily asks. ”no, ah well sort of“ Melanie awkwardly says as she’s trying to figure out her words. ”I” ”get out!” She says sharply as a flicker of tiny lightning appears at the corner of her eye. ”NO I need to say this, I need you to know The truth I don’t want you to stay here feeling hurt because of me” Melanie yells quickly turned into a whisper. “I’ve barley been thinking of you I have more problems to deal with“ she states harshly. ”im sorry“ she says still whipering. ”is that it?! Seriously? YOU CALLED ME DISGUSTING!” she shouts as she starts tearing up and more sparks fly around her body. “you don’t understand I needed to but I think now that I should just trust you” she says looking right in Cassidys eyes. ”trust me? the hell? I should need to be able to trust you! I THOUGHT I LOVED YOU, I THOUGHT WE WERE GONNA CLIMB OUT OF THIS SHITTY CASUM OF OF BEING LESSER FOR NATURAL ABILITY’S! WE WERE GONNA ESCAPE TOGETHER!” She shouts barley noticing that Melanie was trying to say something. “I CANT BE WITH YOU BECAUSE IM HUMAN!“ she finally shouts feeling a it of relief. “what? Impossible, how would you even leave the sanctum? she asks glaring at Melanie with disbelief. “I’ve never been in the sanctum I lived underground up until a few years ago“ she says quietly. ”prove it, if your really human you can prove it “ she states sharply. “alright“ Melanie gets up and walks to the kitchen she opens a draw and pulls out a knife. ”what are you doing?” she says with partial annoyance. Melanie raises her her arm on the bench and places the sharp of edge of the knife on the back of her arm, she takes a deep breath and swiftly moves the blade down following with a beads of blood. ”yeah my bloods red too” still sounding annoyed she walks over to retrieve a paper towels from a bread hamper. Melanie avoids the paper towels and raises her arm to show the cut right to Cassidys face. ”look, I’m still bleeding” she states in monotone. “what from something like that of corse it isin-“ Cassidy confusingly looks at Melanie‘s arm and delicately brings it to better view. ”it’s not healing, your really human” shocked she has quieted down. “I’m sorry I said some horrible things to you but we had to brake up before we did anything with eachother“ she’s a lot calmer and relived. ”yeah I understand we would have poisoned eachother” shes still staring at Melanie’s arm Cassidy looks up at Melanie and holding her arm close her side as she wraps a paper towel around the wound she guides Melanie to her bed and they sit down. ”Cassidy are you ok?” She says concerned. “I’m fine your the one that won’t stop bleeding“ she says smiling. “yeah do you have any bandaids?” she asks. “whats a bandaid?” Cassidy asks slowly and inquisitively. ”right never mind.... soo what should we do now?” she’s feeling awkward. ”uh well we can’t have sex that’s for sure“ she says jokingly. ”yeah of corse unless ya wanna do a double suicide, ha“ she’s feeling very awkward “how would we even go about now?” she says quietly. ”um” she dosnt know what to say. ”your in hiding right? why even come up in the first place? Humans are pretty valuable right“ Cassidy says with an almost blank expression as she fixates of Melanie‘s arm. ”yeah just call me a million bux!” She says with a weak smile as she raises her free arm to show a thumbs up. ”even their blood“ Cassidy whispers very quietly. ”what? I don’t think I heard you Cas” she says with a faint laugh. Cassidy tightens her grip around Melanie’s arm as she glances at her side table holding her singed bills. “you know your apology do‘sn‘t make up for much, you really hurt me before“ she says with a bit of anger as she looks up at Melanie’s eyes. ”please understand I thought I needed to” she pleas. “yeah I understand that it took you devastating me to be able to trust me!” she speaks harshly. ”I’m sorry, ok if you hate me I can just go” she says each word slower and more pained as she moves to get up. “no I love you” Cassidy says desperately “Really? I love you too” she says in relief as she moves closer to Cassidy. ”you could really hurt someone you loved though?” she asks. “I“ Melanie tries to speak again before shes interrupted by Cassidy. “You should prove it“ she says with a demanding tone. ”like what? ill do anything!” She states in mess of desperation and relief. “help me pay my debts“ Cassidy says calmly “ah Ca, I don’t have any money“ she says with a bit of concern now pained from the awkward position she’s been made to sit in due to Cassidy not letting go of her arm. ”what do you mean? Your practically rich! your full of liquid gold!” She states cheerfully as she stands up dragging Melanie by the arm with her. “what?“ Melanie says with fear and confusion. ”you’ll let me take me some won’t you? It‘ll just take a few, eh, several harvests to be able to pay everything off but then we can live happily in love!” Cassidy has a big wide smile as she says all this with a cheerful tone. “No I’ll die!” she says in fear trying to pull herself out of Cassidys grip. ”oh no silly what’s education like for the underground? you’ll be fine it‘ll just be like a few pinches every few days you won’t die” she says patronisingly. ”NO!” She yells. Melanie finally yanks her arm free from Cassidys grasp and starts to run for the door, as Cassidy giggles a bit as whisps of electricity spiral around her arm and she leaps forward and hits Melanie‘a back. Melanie blacks out as she falls to the ground and Cassidy kneels down beside her and with a partially sad smile says “I’ll take good care of you” THEEND


This was the day that George Elliot dies. He is a survivor in many ways. He was in Special Forces in the military. He did undercover work for the FBI. He was now a freelance real estate agent and part time investigator for the local police. The investigator bit gave him access to locations and information, while the real estate job was more of the bill payer. But all this training would not help him avoid his fate. Instead, it would help him reach it. It took George three hours of nonstop driving to reach the cabin. It was a little purchase he made for himself as a place to get away from everything. And now he needed to get away more than ever. He hadn’t had time to fix it the way he wanted. In fact, the cabin was mostly bare. It had a few things that George felt were most important; a cot, a change of clothes, a towel, and a few firearms. What it did not have was electricity or and connection to the outside world. These both were choices to help distance himself from the hustle and bustle of the world. Now, in the midst of Winter, George was happy to make it to the cabin. He turned off the truck and waited for a few minutes. He took time to look around, through the windows and through the mirrors. He wanted to make sure there was nothing outside to surprise him. The last minute, George cracked the window, closed his eyes, and took a few slow breaths. As the bitter cold crept through the opening, George slowed his body and became one with the arctic conditions. As the frigid air filled his lungs, he slowly opened his eyes and exited the truck. George only had a couple hours of daylight left and there were things that he had to accomplish before night fell. He slung on the coat he was carrying and grabbed the bag off the passenger seat. Once at the door of the cabin, George dropped the bag and walked to the back of the cabin. Behind the cabin was a stack of quartered logs that were there before he bought the place. He grabbed several logs and took them to the front door and dropped them by the bag before going back for another armful. He finished grabbing enough wood to get him through the night and went inside the cabin. The cabin was small and had only three separate rooms. One room was a toilet. One room was a bedroom, and the main room was a living area and kitchen combination. In the corner of the large room closest to the bedroom was a large stone fireplace which had a brick oven above it and opened into the bedroom as well. George went over to the hearth and placed a few pieces of the wood in the opening. With a large knife which he produced from under his jacket, George shaved away some fibers from one log and stuffed the fibers into some of the holes in between the logs. He took a lighter to the fibers and within a minute, a nice blaze warmed the cabin. George watched the fire for another minute before continuing his preparations. The windows were already boarded on both the outside and inside of the cabin, but George needed to secure the front door. In order to do so, he had to remove the bathroom door and attach it to the front door. He removed some tools from his bag and within five minutes, he had secured the second door to the front door. Nothing was getting into the cabin, and George wasn’t getting out. George went back into the bathroom and reached around the toilet as if giving it a hug. With a little twist, George moved toilet to the side and set it down gently. Behind the toilet where the tank rested, was a panel which George began to pull at. He tugged it loose and set it to the side. He reached into the bottom of the hole in the wall. His hand came out with a thick rope in it and tension continuing down in the wall. His hands started alternating and pulling at the rope until a large flat box appeared at the top of the hole. George finished pulling the box out and he set it on the floor with a thud. After replacing the panel and toilet, he took the box to the main room and looked at his watch. He had a few hours and decided it was best to take a little nap. As he slept, George dreamt about the day’s events. He began his day in his house in the city. As he left his house, George looked around the sidewalks and watched as two dozen people or more were being swallowed by dark shadows. He ran to his office building and when he pulled open the door, there was nothing inside except shadows and tiny stars. He jumped onto the top of the building and watched the street below. The people George saw get attacked by shadows were back on the streets, but each person that they passed were in turn attacked and torn apart by the shadow people. From the rooftop inside his dream, George watched as more and more people were killed by the shadow people. When the last person was attacked, all the shadow people turned and looked at the rooftop and directly into George’s eyes. This was when he woke up. George threw a few more logs on the fire before giving his attention to the box. A great smile spread across his face as he opened the box which contained an assortment of guns and a couple rifles. The remainder of the space in the box was used to stockpile ammunition for the weapons. He took each weapon out and inspected, loaded, and cocked it. After, he placed each one strategically throughout the main room. From his bag, George took a belt which held ten grenades and draped it over his shoulder. Throughout the cabin, George had prepared for situations like the one that he would soon face. On each wall and in each room, he had cut an opening near the ceiling. Afterwards, George had gone back through and placed a carved wooded plug to fill the hole. Each one appeared to be a decorative piece of the cabin. It was at each of these areas that George had placed one of the firearms. A total of eight places where he could access views of the outside. Under each one was a niche that he could use to lift himself to sight level with the holes. His final part of the plan was to lock the truck and set the alarm. He reached into his pocket and with a squeeze, a chirp could be heard from outside of the cabin. George sat motionless with his back on the center of the front wall. He was now ready. It was the middle of the night before the alarm of the truck started to go off. Immediately, George reached into his pocket and squeezed a button. Instantly, there was an explosion that came from outside. Although there was a sealed wall between him and the outside, George still felt the impact of the explosion as dust fell from the ceiling. Without a second hesitation, George made his way to the first niche and pulled the plug from the wall to get a glimpse of the outside. The moon reflected enough light to make the snow on ground glow. He saw a human shape attached to the driver side of the flaming truck. In the brush to the passenger side was another figure charred and motionless. Phase one of his plan was a success. George picked up the rifle and placed it through the hole. Through the scope, he could see some motion a football field away. It was the distressed motions of the shadow people. They moved fast and sporadic. He targeted one up as it moved towards the cabin and gently pulled the trigger. The first shot hit at the shoulder and the arm dropped limply to the side. Quickly, George chambered another round and shot again. This time, he hit the woman in the left eye, and a pink mist shot into the air and the body of the woman dropped to the ground. George looked at the body through the scope and watched as it twitched a couple times and then stopped all motion. He looked around and saw another shape running towards him. He targeted the head and hit the man in a business suit in the side of the neck. Blood immediately squirted into the air in pulses. He pulled the hammer back again, putting a round in the chamber. As the form increased in size, he let another bullet fly and this one tore threw the man’s nose and dropped him to the snow. George looked around again but saw nothing. He knew there were many more shadow people, but he only destroyed four of them. It was only a few seconds of silence before he heard a loud scratching coming from outside the bedroom. George plugged the hole and went to the back room and stood climbed up to the hole in there. He removed the wooden plug and looked out. As he did, a blood-shot eye popped up from below and made George fall back hard to the floor. He tried to get up as quickly as he could, but he found it hard to move when the air gets knocked out of the lungs. He struggled and managed to get to his feet. He grabbed the pistol from the ground and stretched his arm up to the hole and pointed the gun through the hole. When he fired the pistol, the force caused the gun to fly out of his hand and tumble to the ground. From outside, he heard a howl of terror as the bullet hit a target. George grabbed the gun and wedged himself into the niche. When he looked outside, he saw several forms on the outskirts of his vision. There were two directly in front of him, one of which laid motionless on the ground. George quickly took the pistol and aimed it at the other that was closing in on the hole George was peering out of, He squeezed off two rounds of the semi-automatic into the woman’s skull. She flew backwards as both bullets popped her head. One eyeball dangled by a cord like the ball at the end of a paddleball. It was then that he noticed the group that was mounting an assault on the boards protecting the window of the bedroom. There were at least six figures slithering in unison at the boards. A few seconds later, George heard the glass breaking behind the boards on the inside. The beasts were making their way through the outside boards. George took a leap from his post and aimed at the boards protecting the window from the inside. He shot a random shot and it knocked a board in half. He reached onto his belt and pulled two grenades from the belt, releasing the pins as he yanked them off. With careful aim, George tossed the grenades one at a time into the hole of the shielded window. He quickly ran towards the front door and a second later, an explosion rang through the air causing his ears to give off a streaming squeal of their own. He looked back toward the room. His vision was blurred. He saw smoke pouring off the ceiling into the main room. There were signs of motion in the form of shadows that danced from the flames of the burning wood of the window covering. There was a sharp pain in his back. He reached to where the pain was and brought back his hand covered in blood. George grabbed another grenade and tried to throw it towards the opening of the room. It hit the ground and rolled inside the room before creating another blast. George crawled to the farthest wall that he could and grabbed two pistols off the ground. He held one in each hand and aimed them both at the area that was the bedroom. After a few minutes, his hearing began to clear and his vision along with it. George remained sitting in that same position for the next twenty minutes before giving way to darkness. When he came through, he was lying face-down in the back of an ambulance. There was no medic in the back with him. Instead, there was a man wearing a nicely fitted suit. The man handed him a card. The card had the words, “Scott Francis, Relocation Specialist” printed on it. “You, my friend, have created quite an issue.” The man spoke with a strange kindness in his words. “There are twenty, to twenty-five bodies scattered across your land. Most of them were officers. They believe you were drugged.” “Wait, what?” His voice was harsh and pained but George was confused. “I have received your information, and someone believes you need a second chance at life.” A smile spread across the man’s face. “George Elliott is dead, along with several other people. Inside this envelope is the information that you will need to get a fresh start.” “What do you mean?” George softly croaked. “You will have everything you need to start a new life, Frank . We will be in touch.” And with that, the man exited the back of the moving ambulance.


The fire dances to the wind this November night, the moon a full circle of light shining above it. I am covered in a blanket surrounded by my friends Kai, Diana, Emi, Theus, and Dmitry. Echoes of “Happy Birthday Effie!” sing beside me. “Thank you, guys!” I smile, “I’m not getting up because the fire feels nice and I’m freezing to death!” What’s your birthday wish?” asked Kai… “Uhm, probably for my loved ones to be healthy,” I said, “I don’t think I want to face any more deaths this year.” Six months ago, I lost my grandfather to cancer and went through the worst heartbreak the week before. “Yeah Effie, you went through a lot of shit this year,” said Diana, “you need a break and some wine!” I didn't want the party to get depressing, so I think of something witty. “Well, since there is a full moon tonight,” I stand up, holding a glass of wine, “I wish none of you turn into a werewolf.” I take a sip of wine and feel a hand pulling my arm. Let’s DANCE!” said Emi. We drank wine to keep ourselves warm and danced around the fire. “Effie, Effie! Your phone is ringing!” I walk towards Kai and grab the phone. “Who is it?” I ask. “I don’t know, but they're from the area,” he says. “Hello?” I answer. “Hey, happy birthday.” I recognized the voice and stay silent. “It’s Rio hahaha.” “Oh hey,” I answer quietly, “uhh thanks.” What are you up to tonight?” he asks, “sorry if it’s weird to call, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” Rio broke my heart twice. I couldn't grieve my grandfather because I was grieving him, and the second time he texts out of the blue, hoping to rekindle the relationship, and once I lure him back, I find out he was dating someone else. Rio was a narcissist, a manipulator denying his errors and not holding himself accountable. The wise thing to do was tell him to go to hell, but I thought, maybe this time, he finally acknowledged everything he did. After all, the transformation was part of a full moon. “I’ve been doing well,” I said, “I’m actually celebrating at the beach right now.” How nice, he softly answers, “I moved back to the city.” It surprised me mostly because he tried moving out of it since we first dated. “Why’s that?” I ask, “I thought you hated the city.” “Nah,” he said, “you were right about how lonely the east side was.” Before luring him back for the third time, I reminded him of the crap he put me through in July. That’s over,” he said, “You probably have every right not to believe me but, I do want to apologize in person sometime, I know I hurt you a lot.” I did miss Rio, despite the 2 heartbreaks I went through, I missed his presence and warmth. The third time’s a charm I guess. “Well, we’re at the beach right now,” I suggest, “you can join if you want.” “Of course,” he says, “I’ll be there soon.” My friends were all sitting by the fire covered in blankets. I sit next to Theus who’s singing along to his favorite song. “Who was it?” asked Emi, cuddled next to Dmitry. I awkwardly smile. “Oh no, don’t tell me,” answers Diana. Dmitry turns to look at me. “What did he want?” he asks. “Nothing, just wishing me a happy birthday.” Theus puts me on the spot. “You were on the phone for like 10 mins!” He slaps me on the shoulder, “Tell me, girl!” I look at the fire for a second then answer. “It was Rio, the guy I was dating earlier in the year." Theus wasn’t around much after he moved out of the house and I was too busy to update him on anything. “Ugh, you should have called me!” he responds. “Well, he texts me out of the blue in June and wants to hang out,” I explained, “and in July, Diana showed me a picture he posted on Instagram and I find out he’s two-timing me, or her I don’t know." “He also denied it,” Emi said. I look towards her. “Yeah, typically narcissist,” I turn to Theus and jokingly add “Oh and he’s an Aquarius like you!" “I mean yes, Aquarius can be narcissistic, but did he make it official again?” Theus asks. "No," I answer softly. Theus continues asking questions. “So, he denied the other girl he was seeing, even after you showed him the picture?” he asks. I pour myself more wine and avoided Theus’s interrogation. “Anyway, he apologized,” I take a sip and say, “but 3 strikes, he’s out, FOR SURE." “Did you invite him tonight?” Dmitry asked in a stern voice. “Mmmaybe,” I slowly answer, “he’s back in the city too.” The whole circle grows quiet. I couldn’t see Emi’s face buried in Dmitry’s chest, but I felt her concern. Emi and Dmitry were my closest friends, so I understood why they thought I was dumb, but they never judged, they worried. “Yeah, just be careful,” Emi said, “this is the third time friend.” My phone rings, the same number as before. “Hey, I’m here, you’re the ones sitting by the fire right?” I get up and see the tall silhouette standing by the parking lot. “Y-yeah,” I say, remembering the shadow I saw earlier, he wasn’t wearing the fisherman hat though. “come on down.” “So who’s going to call him out?!” laughs Theus. “Shut up!” I say, punching him in the arm. “Hello.” Everyone turns around and sees Rio walking towards us. He immediately sits next to me. “I brought wine.” “Whooo!” cheers Diana and Theus. “Thank you!” I say. Rio turns to me, “Of course, happy birthday,” and kisses me on the cheek. Theus pokes his head towards Rio. “Hey, I don’t think we’ve met before,” he puts me on the spot again, “SOMEONE here never introduced me!” Rio laughs, the same laugh that gave me goosebumps. “You did hear each other through the phone though,” I remind them, “that one time Theus, when we asked you to come over, but you said he lived too far.” “Well, he DID.” Theus pointed out. Rio caresses my blanket. “It’s so soft, I like it.” He gets closer, pulling me in his arms. I place my head on his chest, feeling a lot warmer. Across me was Kai sleeping soundly by the fire. “How long has Kai been sleeping?!” laughs Diana. “He just came here to start the fire guys don’t worry,” Dmitry says. We all laugh together. I suddenly feel something sharp poking my leg. “Oww!” I look over at Rio, “is there a knife in your pocket?!” “Oh yes,” he says, pulling out a gray object shaped like an arrow. He opens it in an L-shaped form. “It’s a wine opener.” Kai wakes up looking confused. “How long was I out for?” “About an hour,” I say, “but you looked so peaceful we didn’t want to wake you up.” He sees Rio and waves hello. “Have we met?” he asks. “No, I don’t think so,” Rio says, “would you like some wine?” Kai disregards the question when he sees the sharp object in Rio’s hand and asks, “Omg is that a wine opener?!” “Yeah, do you want to look at it?” Kai grabs the arrow-shaped object. “Careful it’s sharp!” I point out. Rio pulls me closer to him, kissing me on the cheek again. “You okay?” he asks. “Yeah,” I respond, “just being dramatic.” We danced for another hour and sat by the fire. I look at the time. It was barely 9 pm. “What are you guys doing after?” asks Rio. “Probably just take an Uber home,” answers Dmitry. “What about you Theus?” I ask. “Well, some friends invited me to a club, but I don’t know if I want to go home and change,” he says. Everyone gets up and starts picking up their belongings. “Want to come over?” Rio asks quietly. For the first time, I hesitated, but mostly because I didn’t bring anything with me to shower or sleep in. “…Sure,” I said. An SUV pulls up to the parking lot. “Uber’s here!” says Kai. He hands Rio back his wine opener. “Before I forget!” “I call SHOTGUN!” Theus says. “You going to be okay?” Dmitry asks. “Yeah,” I nod, “just text me when you get home.” The SUV drives away and it’s just Rio and I alone at the beach. The fire continues to dance by the sea breeze under the full moon. “Did you drive here?” I ask. ‘” No, I actually went back to the place I was at before,” Rio says standing behind me, “it’s a 15-minute walk from here.”

I’m snuggled in my blanket and think about the walk. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll keep you warm the whole way.” I turn around and see Rio standing by the fire. An orange hue casted on his face, hair receding from his head, and a much rounder shape than I remembered. He sees my eyes wandering at his entire shape. “I know, I look a little different,” he answers, softly laughing, “you don’t mind right?” I nod my head. “No,” I say, “we should start walking, I’m really cold.” As we walked back to shire, I recalled the night he spoke about his weight, how his fatphobic aunt refused to look at him and didn’t want him near her. I met Rio slender, tall, with a lot more hair. I didn’t really recognize the man walking with me. “You’re quiet,” he points out, “are you sure the weight doesn’t bother you?” “No, sorry I’m just really tired,” I tell him.  “Was it stress again?” I ask, “You told me how you lost a lot of hair because of stress.” “Yes,” he said, “that happened 5 months ago too.” Five months ago, was around the time he contacted me. From what he told me in the past, relationships, his ex-wife, and now, most likely the girl he was holding from the back, looking like a high school prom photo. “Did she break up with you?” I asked, expecting an excuse, “Is that WHY you’re here with me right now?” “No, no,” he quickly answered, looking as if he was making a political speech “I broke up with HER.” Rio continues his speech, trying to sound correct. “I gained weight and lost my hair, and she didn’t like that.” I didn’t need to ask him for the truth or for him to admit the girl in the picture from July was in fact a partner, not his “friend” which he switched to “stylist” in the same sentence. “Hopefully you find a new stylist,” I say. Rio sighs in frustration. The full moon’s light made it easier to walk up the parking lot. My heart felt heavy again, triggered by patterns of lies and excuses.  I grab my phone and cancel Rio's request back to his house. “Hey,” I say, “I’m just going to call an Uber home no worries.” His eyes widen. “Is something wrong?” he asks. “No, I’m just too tired to walk.” “Okay, why don’t you call it at my house, you’ll be a lot warmer.” I stay quiet, trying not to shiver so much from the cold, hoping a driver is 5 minutes away. Rio walks closer to me, grabs my phone, cancels the request, and pulls my arm, wrapping my body inside his arms. I scream and pull away from him. I wasn't thinking clearly and ran back to the beach. “GO AWAY!” I scream. I keep running, feeling the cold wind numbing my face. “What did you say?” he responds. There was no distance between us, and I knew, as I heard his voice next to me that he caught up. Once again, I am wrapped around his arms, my body falling on top of his next to the ocean waves. “Stay calm,” he whispers in my ear. I am too cold to say anything. “I knew you were just like them; you hate how I look, and never trust me.” I stay quiet. “You’re too paranoid,” he says breathing heavily, “I hate when people doubt my good intentions.” As the waves crash onto us, I can no longer feel my body. He pulls us farther from the waves. The only thing on my mind was death, and facing it once again, on my birthday. Rio, the narcissist won the battle against me. This day was never about me; it was about a man’s ego I destroyed. A man, once a boy, blamed women for his insecurities, failed marriage, weight gain, and hair loss. How does a narcissist prepare for battle? First, he’ll be alone, he’ll start running every day, lifting weights, using products for hair growth, and wearing nice clothes. He will look in the mirror and won’t recognize the insecure boy anymore. He is ready for the next prey, the one who met him as the gentleman with a slender figure who doesn’t know about the insecure boy underneath. The prey figured him out by her intuitive powers the 1st time, the 2nd, but was too late the 3rd time. I’m the one that has to pay the price. How does a narcissist kill? Strangling? Asphyxiation? My watering eyes capture the constellations in the sky right before death. “Cupid’s Arrow,” I say to myself. As my eyes cleared out, Cupid’s Arrow was a gray sharp object in front of me. Death by wine opener. I close my eyes and face Death. "Ahhh!!" I’m woken up, no longer feeling Rio’s weight behind me, no blood falling out my throat. I’m still at the beach, or maybe in purgatory. But there he was, in pain, looking up at me and struggling to speak. “E-Effie,” he says, “I’m burning!” I stare in shock. “C-Call for help!” No, I couldn’t trust him at all, especially now. I escaped Death and only had one chance. I stretch my arm out as a test. “You have my phone,” I remind him, “hand it over.” “L-left p-pocket,” he says, struggling to speak. The arrow-shaped opener was still on his hand so I tell him to throw it as far as he could. Before doing so, his whole body shakes until he stops moving. “Rio?” I ask, puzzled. No response. His fingers curled up near his shoulders, eyes, and mouth open, looking up at the sky, the full moon lighting a blue shade to the narcissist’s fate. My heart stops aching. Seeing death in front of me made me feel…liberated. I walk closer to him to grab my phone from his pocket until I notice something crawling up his stomach. It moves closer to the moonlight and I realize the large black venomous insect on top of him…. I quickly jump back. A SCORPION?! AT THE BEACH?” … “Death by venom,” I say to myself. The scorpion looked calm, trusting, and I didn't feel threatened. But there was no strength left in me anymore. I wouldn’t make it out of this beach alive. My body, slowly losing blood circulation, numbing everything inside, I lay on top of the sand, facing death for the 2nd time. I look up at the full moon shining above me until a shadow stands in front. My eyes grow and I scream quickly getting up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” said the shadow. It was an old man holding a flashlight. “I’m looking for Artie, my pet.” How much shit would I go through tonight? I thought. But the old man looked harmless. “Umm, I haven’t seen an animal sorry,” I said. He saw me shaking and handed me my blanket and…right, I forgot about my tote bag with extra clothes in it. “I found it near the steps before walking down here,” he says handing me the bag. “Thank you so much!” I said, “Let me change really quick if I feel warmer, I can help you find your pet.” “You should probably go home,” he smiled, “I got it from here.” I smile back, “if you call Artie’s name loud enough, it can probably hear you.” I suggested. I hide near a boulder and feel the warmth of my clothes in my body. I grab my blanket and walk over to see the old man near the dead narcissist. “There you are!” the old man cheers, grabbing the large black insect. I am in shock. Artie was the scorpion that killed Rio! My eyes were probably the size of the moon. The old man looks towards me and smiles. “Don’t worry,” he says, “he’s not going to hurt you or anyone anymore.” Before I said anything, my phone rang. I sigh in relief, thankful it was still working. Emi was on the other line. “Hey,” I said, “what’s up?” “Effie are you okay?” she sounds concerned. “Yeah, I’m still at the beach, I was going to call an Uber home.” “It’s ok, we came back!” I hear Dmitry in the background. “Yeah, we got home, and your location stopped moving so, we got worried,” Emi said. “Are you at the same spot?” I cried from happiness; thankful I had friends that looked out for me. I tried not to sound mopey over the phone, so I swallow tears before answering. “Yeah, I’ll meet you here,” I said. Before walking up, I had to thank the old man, but as I turn around, he was gone. Rio’s body is also gone. I take a second to see the night’s beauty, shining under the full moon. All I see are the waves in front of me, pulling the narcissist to his grave of water, taking every trace of the night back into the ocean. "Thank you," I say.


My Dearest Bethany,

  I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you walk into the malt shop, I know we still are very young and my parents say that we should wait until we finish high school before we make any lasting commitment. The waiting is torturing me, I love you with every fibre of my being and know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I have a plan for us to be married before I go off to war, I know that I am too young to enlist but I have a plan for that as well, I know how you feel about me leaving for such a long time but it is the best way I know to make a life for us and our child. If you except my hand in marriage please met me outside the malt shop at 7:00pm tonight, I have a friend that can marry us immediately.                                                             All my love                                                                    Roger

“You and grandpa were married at fifteen, I am not even aloud to date yet.” I handed the letter back to my grandma. For the longest time she sat in silence with a smile on her face as if she was lost in a memory. She finally put down her coffee cup and looked up, my grandfather sat down beside her and held her hand.

“You see Candice things were much different back then, we were pregnant with your mother and you grandmother and I knew times would be difficult, marriage was the best thing for both of us. Don’t get me wrong I planned on marrying you grandmother anyway just not until we had both finished high school.” He got up and poured us another cup of coffee, my grandmother still had the letter in her hand holding it close to her heart.

“Your grandfather is right, it was a very different time but it didn’t change the fact that my parents where very disappointed when Roger and broke the news to them that night. My father was the preacher of our church and my mother was just as equally evolved and for months afterwards his sermons consisted of the dangers of premarital sex. So you see dear, they is a very good reason your parents won’t let you date at fifteen years old.” She handed her cup to my grandfather who just sat back down at the table. He just shook his head and and got back up, he told me that it would probably be a good idea not to mention the fact that my grandparents let me have coffee.

“So what happened next?” I took another sip of my coffee, I didn’t like the taste but it made me feel grown up.

“Well, that night I snuck out and met you grandfather at the malt shop and we went off to met up with the man that was going to marry us. I was a little apprehensive of being married by a stranger behind a malt shop but the marriage was legal, well you know what happened that night. My parents discovered that I wasn’t in my room and caught us trying to sneak into the basement window, I thought my father was going to murder your grandfather after we told him that we were married and with child, instead we were the subject of his sermons but you knew that already. Your grandfather stayed, my parents as well as his would not allow him to run off to war and leave his pregnant wife. Eight months later your mother was born, just weeks after my sixteenth birthday. We moved into a one bedroom apartment and I worked nights while Roger took care of your mother. And it was like that until your mother got older and was able to stay home alone on her own. There was plenty of arguments over money, because you grandfather and I didn’t finish high school we were not very many jobs open to two uneducated teenagers, we were lucky that great-grandfather gave Roger a job right after we were married.” “Where did you work grandma? You mentioned that you worked nights so that grandpa could take care of my mom while you worked.” “I cleaned office buildings for a $1.50 an hour, there were times we didn’t eat just so that baby could. Your grandfather and worked very hard for everything we had but we did it together, we may have not been able to give your mother every thing she has ever wanted but she certainly gave her everything she needed. Candice I know that it’s hard understand where your mother is coming from I used to have the same fights with her about boys and dating, even though I love your grandfather very much I wish that we would have waited before we let our relationship go any farther then just holding hands if you get my drift. Now go collect your things your mother will be here any moment now.” I just rolled my eyes and pushed my chair back from the table, I know my grandparents weren’t tell me the whole story, there had to be more to it then that. My grandmother never mentioned her other children at all, maybe it was because she was much older when she had them. There is a sixteen year difference between my mother and her older brother Mark, which is strange because my grandmother is only sixteen years older then my mother. The other two, the twins  died at child birth I think it was because my grandmother became pregnant with them within months of my mother being born. I only know this because I here my mother talk about them sometimes to my uncle Mark, I thought about asking my grandmother but I knew it was a sensitive subject. I heard my mother talking to my grandparents while I was packing my overnight bag. My mother sound very relieved that they had been able to get through to me the tough lessons that she herself was trying to teach me but failed in doing so. I sheepishly walked into the kitchen and wrapped my arms tightly around my mother. I cried as I apologized for causing her so much pain and that I should have listened more when she told me about the hard times her parents went through trying to raise a child when they where children themselves. My mother wiped away my tears and she told me that she loved me, she always apologized for being so hard on me and that just because I showed an interest in boys that didn’t mean I would make the same mistakes her and her parents did, that just like my grandparents she loved my father very much but wished she was older and wiser before she decided to bring a child into the world.

My grandparents love for each other was stronger then any obstacle they had to face, I still have found memories of the times we spend drinking coffee and listening to the tales of their youth. Even though my grandparents have been gone for many years now, the lessons they taught me about love will stay with me forever, it is one that I passed on to my children and hopefully they pass on to theirs.


Woofred proudly sat beside his royal blue turd and waited for his master to return from work. The turd, or specifically its colour, was a bad omen in their house. His master, however, was a patient man and understood its colour and position in the middle of the lounge were beyond the dog’s control.            He sat a while on the sofa observing the now routine hubris of his dog and let out a sigh and reached for the phone. ‘They must have come through again’ he said without introduction. There was a pause as a rustled okay I’ll be right over ended the call.

‘What you have to realise’ said the owner of the rustled voice as he offered the man a piece of chewing gum, ‘is these doorways, passageways, whatever you wanna call them’ he sucked down a shot of saliva, ‘I can close them up, but eventually cracks form and things seep through again’. The man looked unconvinced. ‘You see’ he continued, talking through a second wave of spit, ‘it is in essence a portal… if we ripped the whole cover off, which we probably couldn’t do, mind, then whatever is on the other side would be able to come through unobstructed’ ‘Yes, I understand that’ said the man a little taken aback by the obviousness of his visitor’s comments. ‘but the doorway, was blocked by you, not 3 weeks ago… is he going to be okay?’ he said signally towards the dog. ‘I mean will this cause any long term damage? I mean, I don’t understand how something that large can fit through the doorway… it looks sealed.’            As if on cue, a giant blue fly landed on the table between them. The pair fell silent to watch the ungainly insect shuffle about the table. Ungainly it may have been, but its wings were not. They were of a perfectly woven golden lace and sat between them was what appeared to be the most enormous blue sapphire.            The light dancing off its back jolted a clumsy but delicate cobalt beam about the room. ‘What you have to realise’ said the visitor, bending down to the same level as the fly, ‘is this fly is just reacting to the change in environment, maybe searching for an ideal physical form? It didn’t enter this world or side , what have you, as a fly, but just became a fly once through the…’ But before he could say the word the reluctant owner of the portal brought the back of frying pan down hard onto the magnificent fly.  ‘What you have to realise’ said the man, ‘is when my dog eats these flies he shits blue for a week. He has no control, just goes anywhere and it’s getting worse... When I bought the place, they mentioned this portal but said it had been adequately blocked and shouldn’t cause me any issues and now you’re here for the third time in 6 weeks and the dog…’ ‘Sod your dog!’ shouted the visitor who quickly regained his composure. ‘I’m sorry… but from what I can tell this is a passageway to a category 2 spiritual realm… meaning that everything on that side of the portal is without matter… meaning anyone trying to come from that side to ours would by definition be able to fit through the smallest cracks in even the most professional seal.’ ‘So, you can’t seal the passageway completely?’ The visitor sighed and went to take a chair but reconsidered on seeing the large globule of sapphire goo running down its back. ‘Nothing of this kind can be done perfectly and it’ll always need repair... the issue is not whether they continue coming, it’s you and your dog massacring them the moment they cross over! We, or rather YOU, have no way of knowing who that fly was! That is why you have been asked now by the estate agent, the council and me to kindly put anything that comes through into a breathable container and drop it off at the local police station. Then it’s out of your hands, they will sort out who it is and where it needs to go back to…’

The man continued rinsing the back of his saucepan, poking the hard bits of blue shell-like sinew with a knife. ‘Look, I really don’t have time to…’ ‘Shhh’ The well patched small metal door in the corner of the kitchen began to vibrate. After 30 seconds or so the vibrations grew into a long protracted moan. The visitor, the man and his dog came together behind the safety of the kitchen table. Then from out of the seemingly well-sealed doorway, popped a tiny blue fly that promptly began to swell, and within moments, was something like the former size of clumsy creature still glued to the base of the pan. ‘Get a hold of that dog, we can’t lose another!’ But Woofred had already abandoned the safety of the table and was playfully swiping and yapping at the unsuspecting blue fly. ‘Stop him!’            But as the man made to take control of his dog, four more flies popped out of the sealed passageway and then shortly after another 6.‘This is what I meant… You don’t know who has come through! The flies on the underside of your pan and blended into your dog’s turd could have been anyone! Important spirits maybe! With other entities that would care when they go missing!’

It remained, for now, hard to tell what calibre of spirits were making their way across the threshold, but a steady stream of bugs had been coming through for a minute or so. Some of the bulbous insects were exploring the new world, but in equal measure many were desperately trying to get back through the portal, flying mindlessly into the sealed metal door. The rest were being savagely mauled by Woofred and a growing patch of blue mucus was beginning to pool about the feet of the men.

‘Stop the dog!’ bellowed the visitor. Turning to implore its owner for help. But the man was not ready to listen, himself saucepan in hand hammering the sapphire flies.


The final entry in the notebook that I found him with: —————— “Write everything down,” it says, a part-filled notebook of weathered yellow paper. Brittle like Autumn leaves. I open the pages. A diary? No. Just events, mundane moments of a day. Every two or three pages: “Write everything down.” Does this belong to me? I take the notebook and extract the pen that is clipped to the ring binder. I do as it says. I write all this down. A bedroom, dust-covered. I walk around and try to find something familiar. Is this my room? A wardrobe stands tall and fading. Words are scratched into the mahogany: “Wear something from here.” I open the wardrobe. It’s empty. A pile of clothes lie on the floor and I get dressed into them. Flannel shirt. Jeans. They smell of wet earth. Outside the bedroom. Hallway. I shout, “Hello?” No one answers. This is my house. Maybe? Off the hallway, a bathroom. Mouldy and unclean. Rusty appliances. On the sink lies a toothbrush and an empty tube of toothpaste. I lick my teeth and taste my breath. Must buy toothpaste. On the wall above the sink, words in this handwriting, with an arrow crudely drawn pointing to a cracked mirror, reads: “This is your face.” My face. Grey beard, grey hair, grey eyes. Grey skin. I look unwell. And old. Lines criss-cross from the corners of my eyes and run in deep channels on my forehead. I must be in my eighties. I want to cry. I do not remember yesterday. Downstairs, by the front door. A note reads: “Do not let them in. If you see them, hide.” In the living room, empty cups stand like soldiers on surfaces, on the floor. Fruit flies gather in the air like cloudburst. On the coffee table, a framed photo. One half covered by a note nailed to the brown wooden frame. The uncovered half shows a face. My face? Yes, from the mirror, but younger, happier. The note says: “This is Jean. You love her.” I bend the note back. In the photo, stood next to me, a woman. Blonde hair, eyes blue and inviting, a scar on her lip. She is beautiful. “Jean! Hello? Jean are you here?” I ask the house. The house does not reply. Next to the photo, a passport. I leaf through the pages. My face again. Stony and staring. My name there: “Andrew.” Or Andy? Andrew and Jean. Andy and Jean. I do not know. I like Andy. The word feels right in my mouth. My stomach rumbles. The next room, the kitchen. Empty cans and packets pile high. I cannot see the floor. I wade through rubbish like a swamp. Mouldy food gathers on mouldy worktops. I open the cupboards. All empty. Through the kitchen window, the garden. Overgrown. A note on the back door: “Be careful, they could be anywhere.” When did I last eat? I turn to the living room but it catches my eye. There, through the kitchen window, caught in the briars, a note. It is tied by string to a red balloon that hangs low and listless. A dull red dirigible covered in the dirt of a long road travelled. The balloon seems shrivelled, a belly half-full of helium. The note flaps in the breeze as though waving to me. I open the back door, slowly, remembering the warning. Was there another warning about outside? Long grass tickles my hands. Hidden in the grass I see the body of a cat. It has been there a while, wet decaying skin lathered over dark grey bone like a liquid blanket. I grab the balloon-tied note and run inside. The note says: “There are survivors of The Wipe and we remember everything. We have food and shelter.” And then a map. Directions. I do not know to where. The Wipe? They have food. I feel my ribs. Bone, like the cat. I tie the balloon to my wrist. Kitchen to living room to hallway, I walk. Where am I? A note on the front door: “Do not let them in. If you see them, hide.” See who? How did I get here? They must be crazy. I do not know where I am. I do not know who might be upstairs. I must write everything down. To remember. I leave the house. Close the door with a soft click and run into the street. Hide behind a car, looking back. No one follows. A red balloon with a note is tied to my wrist. I read it. That’s right, food, shelter, that’s where I’m going. The directions give street signs, markers. I see none of them here. The roads are empty. I can hear my heartbeat. Cars are parked, some neat and orderly, some left abandoned. I peer into one. A person, man or woman I do not know, slumped on the steering wheel. Skin rotting, maggots stream from eyes and mouth. I vomit, acid on tongue. I run. Run run run. I see a street sign: “Warburton Street.” I know that name but from where? And then more bodies. More bodies, lying in the street. Decaying flesh and exposed bone and the smell makes me sick. I go down Warburton Street. Leafy suburb peels into farmland. In the fields, more bodies still. Horses with bloated bellies. A sound? I leap a fence and hide behind the corpse of a once-was mare. I look. In the street from whence I came runs a man. He wears only his underwear. His arms and legs are thin and knotted like rope. His belly distended. His eyes wild and his mouth foaming. “Where am I? Where am I?” he screams, hoarse and desperate I cower. Where am I? This notebook. It says to write everything down. I must write everything down. The man is over the fence. He has seen me. The balloon! Why is this tied to me? He saw it! My arm is bleeding. The man caught me and screamed at me and bit my arm. He said he was hungry. Said he would eat me. I kicked him down and ran and turning back saw him licking the open rot of the dead mare. I am glad he is behind me, but I pity him. I find a road, hedges tall and emerald all about me. A balloon is tied to my arm with a note. A note with directions. I read it. Food, shelter. I am hungry. I am on a road. I hold a book that tells me to write. I have read horrible things and desperately want to go home. I do not know how long I have been walking now. I think I have been following the balloon tethered to me. I do not trust it now. I think I was happier at home. I untie it and it struggles to fly. It slowly drops to the ground. Red against grey asphalt. I keep walking, maybe I will find help. My feet hurt. I pass through a small hamlet, four or five sandstone houses, squat and hidden among hedgerows. There is a red pillar box. There are dead bodies. In the street, there, someone breathing? A woman, skeletal, holds a bundle of cloth to her breast. I do not want to know what it contains. “What happened here? Can you stand? Can you talk?” I ask. “I don’t know. Who are you? Please, please help me,” she pleads. I do not know how, and so I ask her. “Just kill me,” she says. I cannot. I apologise and she only nods. She looks so tired, her eyes vacant. I must find help, must remember. I should write everything down. Fields now, lined with tall hedges. In the hedges, balloons. Red balloons. One or two, then more and more. Some full, some sagging, some popped and strewn like confetti. I follow the hedges round and there, a farmhouse. Smoke billows from a chimney. I walk there. Large and angular, red brick and grey slate roof, cars parked in the driveway. The door is white, paint peeling. A sign on the door reads: “Garstang House”. I know that name. Is this my home? I knock. A woman answers. She is short, with white hair, eyes blue and inviting, a scar on her lip. She is beautiful. She watches me write but says nothing. She wears a name badge. It says: “Andi.” A man brushes her aside, with a calm hand upon her shoulder. He looks at me, disbelieving. He asks me my name, watches me write. My name? “Gene,” I say, although I do not know why. He asks me how I got here, if I found a balloon. I tell him no. I do not know how I got here. He looks at me curiously now. Can I trust him? I will apologise and leave. This is not my home. He stopped me. Said I must come in, that I will be safe now. That they have food. I am so hungry. He said he was surprised that there are others. Others? That woman, Andi? Yes Andi, she is in the hall and is smiling. Other people appear from doorways, on the landing. Some wear name badges. Do they all live here? The man asks me for this book. I tell him no, that I must write everything down here. He says I do not need to anymore, that I’m safe now. That I’m home. Home? This is my home? And Andi, is she? Gene and Andi. I want to cry. I do not remember yesterday. I will give him the book. I am home now. Goodbye.


Never in my life had I experienced the sublime tranquillity of the Earth as I did then. Standing there felt like standing on the edge of the world; the precipice into which all things, dead and disintegrated, eventually drift. The fell was beneath me. I had climbed to the top of a rock to survey that untamed land. Stars stretched to the bounds of my vision; the night was not an unpleasant one. It was certainly cold and as desolate as the end of time, but the light was fair, and the winds were calm. The grasses danced at the wind’s breath, the shadows of trees reclined across the fell’s multitudinous undulations, the lake glistened with its pastiche starlight; like a looking glass to the heavens, and though my heart was heavy and bleak, the world before me embraced my approach. Within, I knew this search a vain exercise. She had been missing for two weeks, none of the search parties who had gone by day had found her body. The discovery of yellow boots was enough though; enough for them to decide that she was dead, and if she were not, she would be by the time they found her. Though I could not help but agree, I embarked upon one final search. My sister wept until sleep overcame her anguish, and in sleep she was plagued by those nightmares a mother should never suffer. It was for Helena that I was here, hoping to discover Alexandra’s body, though I knew it would be ravaged by nature, and a sight more saddening and terrible than I could endure. The children in the schoolhouse swear she heard him, out in the church above the bog. That Plutonian sound that emanates from a, once glorious, but now battered and rusted organ, was a staple in the spoken stories of the fell-folk. Generations of little boys and girls had heard the tale of The Organist of The Mire; the demon who played the repertoire of Rhadamanthus. A warped and wicked monster who, sat before the ancient instrument, upon an accursed stool, and bound by immortal curses, summoned forth Satan’s songs. Each note that gushed from those profane pipes was said to have a curious effect on the mortal soul. An inexplicable curiosity befell individuals who experienced the songs of the organist licking at their ears. And unless stopped by outside intervention, the listener would walk, unimpeded by sensibilities and fear, deep into the heart of the church’s surrounding mire, where they would be swallowed and lost — that is what was believed. I cannot say that I was here without fear. Indeed, those stories scared me as a girl. I can recall the countless nights I lay awake with my fingers shoved deep into my ears, fearing that I should be lured from my home towards subsequent death. But I am a woman now. At 35 years old it is not a demon that crawls in the darkest shadows of my imagination. There you will find worse things than pointy-eared gremlins, and fictious beasts — there you will find Man. It was for that reason that I had come armed. Fear of mad and desperate people, not for slaying creatures of the night. A sickle was the best weapon I could furnish myself with. I had hoped with every fibre that I would not have to use it, but its presence settled me. Descending from the rock I came at once into the expanse of uncultivated earth. The waxing gibbous, like a tired eye blinking into waking, provided me with ample light that I could see far across the sprawling fell when I had been upon the rock. But now I was off it, the eye suddenly fluttered shut. Those trees once tinged with silver, now took on the aspect of spidery voids, slowly extending towards the sky. And only once my eyes had adjusted and had drawn out all the light from all the stars, could I proceed further. ‘Alex!’ I called repeatedly into the night. My shouts drained me of all vitality. With every call, my determination and fortitude seemed sucked from me by an external force. An unwelcome visitor happened along. A dense fog lifted from the distant mire and came rushing on the wind’s back straight upon my path. The light from my gas lantern was sapped and thrown all about like some horrid, opaque, milky vapor. The nuisance to my vision was the lesser of the evils brought along with this haze. For, though it could have been the whistling of wind, I fancied there was an insidious note playing in the distance. The curious sound entrapped me. I hearkened to it with an intensity ill befitting the severity of my situation. Panic had begun to set in, and I had been rushing blindly onward. Any moment now I could have stepped into the mire and drowned with no lack of suffering, but the thought did not distract me from that single, mellifluous note. Was it the recollection of those infernal stories that subconsciously enlightened my superstitions and stole my senses? Or was it indeed demoniac sorcery? Regardless, the thought of Alex’s corpse stewing in this unhallowed soup tore me from this mesmerist’s spell. ‘ALEX!’ I called again. My voice did not penetrate the dense, uncanny fog, instead dropping like lead at my feet; heavy and inane. Sightlessly I continued, the firmness of the ground the only indicator of my imminent insecurity. I knew that if nature impeded me with such intent, I would lose what little chance of success I had in this grave mission. The ground softened suddenly. My right foot plunged into the viscous mire. The temperate beating of my heart surged into a fearsome tattoo, and I thought my life would soon be gone from me. With desperate hands, I groped at the earth, simultaneously screaming, and crying for aid, as I felt the mire’s foul grip tightening around my legs. I had dropped the sickle in my tumult, instinctively flinging it away as I felt myself dropping into the esurient sludge. With every twist and contortion of my body, with the flailing of my legs beneath the surface, I was swallowed further. Had it not been for a stick which lay close by, I would have joined the halls of the dead which the mire had claimed. The stick was long enough that I could use it to gain purchase on the sickle, pull it towards myself, take it in hand, and plunge it into the firmer ground. With strength I had never known, I wrenched myself up from the mire’s grasp. That moment of all engulfing terror had shaken me free of every ounce of courage hidden within. I sat, weeping against a rock. The dam, holding back the feelings I had trammelled inside, burst. I had lost both my boots to the earth, and I was saturated up to my waist. My grief and fear entwined in a rhapsodic lamentation; the tears that fell freely on the earth were the beatings of a rising drumbeat, the omen of a coming requiem. There was no doubt that now the sound coming to me on the wind was not of natural birth. I ceased my crying. Looking up through the fog, I saw nothing new. But fresh sounds were certainly discernible in the distance. Recalling all those stories of the Demon Organist did not dissuade me from listening intently to the oncoming song. In the arrogance and pedestrian nature of maturity, I listened, confident that I was in control of the moment. Confident that what I heard was a sound from a distant village, diffusing into the air in the serenity of this winter night. I soon found myself rising from the ground and walking confidently forward. Through the mire I experienced no obstruction; discovering, inexplicably, an invisible path of solid earth which led me directly through. All the while the music was growing. The first notes were mournful and prolonged; sublimely deep and filled with sorrow, and with every yard I progressed forward, so did the organist’s music. The following notes climbed, reaching higher pitches, and encapsulating more emotions. I was willingly entrapped. I knew that it was not by some mystic force that I had become ensnared, it was by beauty that I had become so irresistibly besotted. The church climbed up before me sooner than it should. I longed to be within the instrument, to feel its power and its energy pulsing through me, for it to cast its thunder upon my soul and wrench the extent of my emotions from the deepest pits of my being. Placing a tremulous hand on the heavy wooden door, it came open with infinite ease. When my foot stepped onto the stone floors of that unhallowed church, the music halted. I froze. Elevated high on the console, above the sullied alter, someone stood. I looked up at the figure, who looked down at me. I say they looked but, there were no eyes. And just as there were no eyes, there was no nose. And just as there was no nose, there was no mouth. No hair fell below the tall pipe hat the creature wore upon its pallid, blue-veined head, and a haggard and clawed hand tapped at the console’s rail. I beheld the musician, free of the terror you would expect me to have felt, for I knew nothing which could play such music should be feared. Here was a creature of pure unfettered sorrow. One of those long and bestial fingers was soon extended to point towards a pew in the middle of the church. I took up the unspoken command and sat. The organist nodded in thanks, brushed the cobwebs from his tailcoat, and once again took up his seat at the organ. I regarded the instrument. Torn and rusted; it should not have been able to produce the music it did; the music of heaven. But all doubts were washed away at the very instant The Organist produced the first note of its second song. Now within the bounds of the church, I experienced this music at its most magnificent. The ancient walls were flooded with the euphonious ambrosia of the organist’s music, it lapped at the windows and shuddered the pews with its devastating potency. As one note rose from the deepest depths of hell, the other rattled the firmament, calling up to the angels to sing entwine. This music was nothing like I had ever heard. It extended itself to me and plucked at every chord of rapturous elation, and spun yarns of the most abject grief. There were moments of playfulness, and moments of severity. Divine fire lit up within my breast as The Organist struck his notes, I could not believe him a demon, not for the pure and profound emotions he inspired in me. In the enjoyment of this music, I felt myself renewed, as if imbued with secret knowledge of the celestial forces that govern our world, I sensed that the masochistic onslaught of time lost its effect on me, I felt younger by taking in this aural magic. Here was the Balm of Gilead, more sublime and revivifying than ever thought. Following countless hours of selfish, impuissant listening, I eventually noticed that, beneath the plethora of emotions this organist sang through the vast and formidable instrument, something flowed quieter than the rest. A stream of desperation trickled as the river of sadness roared. Where joy swelled in waves, pleading rippled with serenity. This was not music that said: Fear me. Hate me. This was music that said: Pity me… Kill me. And now I realised it — as if through some psychic connection — the music stopped. The organist rose from that accursed stool and turned to me. The hand which had bidden me to the right of the church now bade me look left. There, sat upon the parallel pew, was Alexandra. All around her were the bones of those who had sat before her. She had listened, as they had, until life departed her. I rushed over to my niece. Her aspect was not the tortured and fearful one I had expected to see. The song Alex had heard had been one solely composed of jollity and playful contentment, and that was clear upon her cherubim face. Had she heard what I had heard she would not have succumbed to the inescapable hand of Death, but that would never have been. Her childlike sensibilities had seen only happiness, had been innocent of the emotions of torment and pain which I had sensed, and I was glad of it, for she would never have been able to do what I was now to do. Turning from Alexandra, I looked up at the organist. It looked not at me, but at the pew I had departed. There, lay the sickle, looking keener and more redoubtable than ever it had been seen. I took it up in hands trembling with anger and contempt. And then, with it clasped like a warrior, I ascended the wooden staircase which led to the console. That once emotionless face was now filled with sentiment, not from physical expression, but transposed from the wraith's music. I saw the sadness I had heard; I saw the pleading; I saw the fatigue. These stories had been in this country for centuries, and so had this thing; this unageing, tortured revenant, cursed to play this music until it was understood. It bowed its wretched head in thanks once more. And, without further thought, I swung the sickle hard. As if empowered by divine forces, the tool cleaved the creature’s head from its shoulders. Its body crumpled and sprawled out across the console, sounding the final beautiful note that instrument would ever play. And that infernal, featureless head went rolling down the aisle, coming to a halt where Alexandra sat. Through the beautiful stained-glass windows, the dawn came flowing in, casting colour and light all about that dingy and forgotten place. I had waited for it, fearing to walk out into the mire without The Organist’s spell over me. But once day finally sprung up, and in the fullest brilliance I had ever seen, I took Alexandra’s body in my arms, and returned her home.


“Once upon a time, there was a girl named Miranda,” my mother told my younger brother. “She was a beautiful girl—” “Was she prettier than Snow White?” My little brother asked. I had always stood in the doorway while my mother told my little brother, Hero, stories. I had been waiting for her to tell Hero this story. “Yes, she was prettier than Snow White. Miranda, while beautiful, was very curious, and curiosity always kills the cat.”

I wanted to cut in and say that “Curiosity killed the cat,” wasn’t the full phrase. The full phrase was “Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back.” “She lived in this very village, that’s right, the one we live in now. Her mother had raised her right, at least that’s what the mother thought. She had taught Miranda three things, do all your chores, be polite, and never go in the woods. Miranda didn’t listen to her mother. Although I don’t want to scare you, Hero, I must tell you what happened to the poor girl, and what will happen to you if you don’t listen to me.” “What will happen?” Hero questioned “At night, Miranda snuck out of her cottage and went into the woods. In the woods, she met many fearsome beast. She fought the beasts all night and in the morning she wasn’t back in her bed as she had planned, instead, her mother didn’t find her and told the police. The police found her dead in the woods, it was a bloody mess. She had many claw marks across her chest. And guess what, Hero? Miranda, she haunts those woods. The woods in our village,” Mom had never told me this part. “Hero, this is Miranda’s house,” I saw Hero halfway under the covers, and I ran, I ran outside I didn’t shut the door behind me and I didn’t look back. Mom never told me that last part. Was it true? I heard my mom calling me. “Tethys! Where are you?” she called “I-I-I, uh, I’m getting some fresh air, I’ll be inside in a minute,” I lied through my teeth. I had to go see Basker. Basker was my best friend, he always stayed up late with his nose in a book and his parents owned the local museum and wrote books on the past of our village. He lived three blocks away, and I ran that three blocks to his house. And knocked on the door violently.

Basker answered the door. “Tethys? What are you doing here? It’s almost nine!” “It’s urgent, let me in,” I said, then let myself in, “What’s up?” he asked as I sat down at his kitchen table.

“So you know the story about Miranda that every parent tells their child?” He nodded. “When I was younger, my mom told me that Miranda got lost in the woods,”

“Because according to the story, that’s what happened. What are you getting at here?” “My mom told Hero that she snuck out in the middle of the night, went into the woods and when her mother came to check on her, she wasn’t there, so as any sensible parent would do, she alerted the authorities. The authorities found her the next day brutally murdered. Basker, Hero is eight ,” Basker looked wide-eyed at me. His brown mop of hair fell in front of his face, he didn’t bother to fix it. “Then he said that my house was Miranda’s house and that she haunts the woods and sometimes our house.” I continued. “I think my parents are still up, one second,” Basker said and started running down the hall. He came back a minute later with his parents. I retold the story.

“That happened, what your mother told Hero, about where you live, but ghosts aren’t real, the woods are perfectly safe.” Basker’s mom told me. All was quiet for a few minutes. “I’m going into the woods, Basker, meet me at my house in fifteen minutes.” I ran out that door.

I ran the three blocks to my house and into my room so pack a backpack with a flashlight, food, and two water bottles. I packed some clothes and a book just in case. As promised, Basker showed up in jeans, a t-shirt, and a small backpack.

“Time to go,” I said and started running out the door. Basker ran after me.

“Tethys! You’re running head-first into danger! Stop, you’re going to get hurt!” He yelled after me “Come on! You’re so slow,” I smiled and continued running into the woods.

For a while, we kept running, running until you couldn’t see because the forest was so dense, even if it was day. I started hearing growls, and it sounded like the trees were talking.

Stop it. Everything is fine, the trees aren’t talking-- they’re trees! “Tethys, I think we should go ba--” I Basker screamed “Tethys! Tethys! Help!”

I ran towards Basker, there was a girl there, about the same height as me,

she was biting and clawing at Basker. I threw my backpack off and ran at the woman. I hurdled at her and knocked her off of Basker, I found a sharp stick and stabbed it into her chest. She looked down and showed no sign of pain. She ran to me, baring her teeth, she had jet black hair and looked like she was in a nightgown. Miranda? I hesitated and that was almost my downfall. I came to my senses and she cut three gashes in my chest with the stick I had stabbed her with. I fell backward and my vision faded in and out and the last thing I saw was Basker getting up and running at the girl.

“Don’t hurt her!” He yelled Then, I blacked out; I became lost to the dense wilderness that had trapped Miranda in. I would forever be in the endless void that the small population of my former village called the "Haunted Woods”.

Soon, I would bring them all down. Miranda and I would rule them all.


\*Includes self-harm, suicide, sex, and drug use  First time writing in a while.  The dusty light filtering in through the window played lazily across Alex's skin as he fell back heavily onto the bed. His body spasmed in the last waves of an orgasm. His fingers gently traced the goosebumps on the curve of her waist as he murmured half-intelligible post-coital thanks. It had been the third morning she had spent in his bed. Without looking over, she grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter off the low table next to the bed. The lighter sparked several times before it begrudgingly sputtered forth a low flame with which she lit her cigarette. She took a long, slow drag as she let the hot metal of the lighter burn into the fleshy pad of her thumb, and relaxed into the familiar feeling of self-inflicted pain. The popcorn pattern of the ceiling pulsed above her as the alcohol from the the night before still swirled around in her system. Alex grunted beside her and she wordlessly handed over the cigarettes and lighter. He sparked one to life and exhaled, watching as the smoke played with the motes of dust in the sunlight. She sat up cumbrously, the room tilting and trailing comically around her. Bending over the coffee table, she searched for what she called "normalcy". Finding her prize, she picked up the small ziploc and clumsily fished out two round, white pills from the mass congregated in the corner of the baggie. She knocked them back and quickly washed them down with swig from the open bottle of whiskey on the table. She flopped back on the bed and waited for the warmth of the painkillers to start creeping in at the edge of her senses. "You've been hitting those pretty hard lately, El..." Alex said, his moderate concern stemming from both genuine care for her, and his increasing awareness that she had little to no desire at present to share with him. Elliot shrugged despondently, annoyance starting to pulse in her temples as she continued to wait. She took another long drag of her cigarette and swore as it somehow managed to burn down to her fingers. Throwing the butt in the overflowing ashtray she sighed quietly, as she felt the first small, ecstatic wave of the percocet wash over her consciousness. The pain in her fingers slowly faded into static in the back of her mind. For the first time that morning, Elliot felt somewhat all right.  Elliot sat on the back porch, cigarette hanging on her lip as she carefully cut open a cigarillo. She dumped the tobacco unceremoniously on the ground, and picked up a dark bottle at her feet. She took a pull of the aubergine syrup and grimaced as the abrasive flavor coated her mouth. Dripping some into the cigarillo wrapper, she quickly filled it with weed, and rolled it neatly. She extinguished her cigarette in the dirt and lit the blunt. "Hey." Alex said as he walked out and sat next to her. Elliot nodded towards the bottle of lean at her feet. He grabbed it and raised it above his head in a mocking salute, before taking two grimacing swigs of the cough syrup. Elliot hit the blunt, coughing out a cloud of smoke. Already, the periphery of her vision was softening as she offered the blunt to Alex. "So why are you here this time?" Alex finally asked. He was used to Elliot dropping in occasionally, but she had never been this remote before. He could hardly coax a full sentence out of her for the last three days. Not to mention she had been making a concerted effort to be sober as little as possible. "Don't think I didn't notice the cuts on your ribs, El." He took another hit off the blunt and handed it back to her. Elliot looked at it for a moment before taking a long hit, and holding it until her face started to turn red. She exhaled sharply, and looked up at the perfect blue of the cloudless summer sky. "I put my dad's cocked and loaded gun to my head the other day," she said finally. Alex looked at her for a minute, then sat back in his chair, pulling out a cigarette. He lit it, and took a thoughtful drag. He knew she had been in a bad place, but he didn't know she had gone that far. "I tried so hard to pull the trigger. I sat there in my dad's fucking closet with his gun to my goddamn head trying so hard to think of a fucking reason not to paint the goddamn walls, but I still couldn't do it!" Elliot's voice tightened as the empty pain inside her gripped her throat and chest. She struggled to shove it down before it welled up and over her eyes. She took another long hit from the blunt, hands shaking, praying that the codeine would soften the edges of her emotion. Standing up, Elliot desperately snatched the bottle of codeine from him and drank until Alex considered taking it away from her. She finished the blunt and collapsed back into her chair, her limbs beginning to become difficult to maneuver. "I told my dad about it..." She said quietly. The world around her was starting to swim and the sunlight turned into a warm yellow blanket covering her. "He said," she paused, the pain, though dull and achy, now taking up a firm residence in her chest. "He said that he didn't love me anymore and that I needed to find somewhere else to live..." Her head was suddenly heavy, and she let it sink back against the chair. She couldn't tell if tears were falling down her cheeks, or if she was just lost in the depths of the opiates.  Alex's footsteps beat rhythmically upstairs. He heavily thumped a plate of steaming breakfast hash on the table beside the bed. Elliot woke groggily, her eyes shut tight against the light streaming in though the window. The nausea of beginning withdrawal made her stomach flip and fingers tingle. She pulled the sheet around her naked body as she sat up slowly and put her head between her knees. It felt like she had a mouth full of sand. She tried in vain to coax forth even the tiniest amount of saliva, until resentfully giving up. She lifted her head, and the room trailed and swayed violently. Suddenly, her body convulsed and Alex managed to get a trash can underneath her as she spewed forth yellow, viscous bile. Elliot wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and feebly grabbed the bottle of alcohol on the table, completely passing over the hot breakfast Alex had made her. She took a long drink, and distractedly looked for the bag of percocet. Alex looked on with mild, disapproving amusement, but said nothing. He had been in the same spot a few times before, and wasn't going to judge. It was the fourth morning of her bender, and he wondered how much longer it would take her to crash. Elliot found the ziploc and quickly swallowed down two of the pills. Her head sank into her hands as she let out a low, pained groan. "I made you breakfast," Alex said, trying to get some sort of reaction out of her. His voice dropped concernedly. "You should really eat, Elliot." In the eighteen years she had known him, he had never called her by her full name. She peeked a bloodshot eye up at him, curiously. Alex returned her gaze with a pointed look at the quickly cooling breakfast before her. Sighing, she grabbed the plate of food and picked over it disinterestedly, eating a forkful just to placate him. "It's good." She said, her voice cracking with the strain of the two syllables. Her stomach was in revolt, and she lit a cigarette and took a deep drag to try and calm the upheaval raging in her gut. Alex sat on the bed next to her, putting an arm around her waist. "Listen," Alex started quietly. He took the bottle and took a drink himself. "I know what your dad said was shitty." Elliot's looked away, her eyes darkened, and eyebrows knit together in pain. Alex apologetically offered her the bottle. She snatched it from him and drank in quick, angry gulps. Alex let her finish before continuing. "What he said was unbelievably shitty, and he was probably just in shock." He paused. He didn't know what to say next without sounding stilted and cliche. "A lot of people would really miss you if you killed yourself." He finished lamely. "I don't really care if people would miss me." Elliot replied bitterly. "Do you think I hurt myself for attention? Do you think I would deep throat the barrel of a .45 just because people *'don't like me'?"* She upended the bottle of alcohol and finished the last remaining drops before tossing it across the room. Her anger faded into depressed defeat. "I wanted to off myself because *I* hate *myself*..." Elliot felt he alcohol start to work it's way into her system, warming the space behind her eyes and evening out the pitch and yaw of the room. Alex looked away, the smoke from her cigarette weaving lazily around them. Alex lit his own cigarette and they smoked in silence, the tension slowly easing between them. Elliot finished her square and cracked a small, lascivious smile. Straddling him, she pushed him back onto the bed. The sheet fell down around her, and Alex's hands wandered Elliot's now exposed skin.  Some infomercial ad droned on like white noise in the living room. Elliot and Alex were splayed about the couch at odd angles, trying to stay as cool as possible in the summer heat. Alex lifted his head to the ceiling and slowly exhaled a plume of smoke, suppressing the coughs wracking through him. He handed the bong to Elliot. She filled the pipe until the walls turned a solid milky white, then inhaled the heady smoke into her lungs. Elliot could feel herself coming down from the percocet. She had taken eight the day before, and eight the day before that. Now she only had two pills left, and not even any lean to hold her over. She knew she was facing a terrible comedown tomorrow, but she pushed the thought out of her mind. Alex had said that he had talked to a friend about getting some molly. It would only worsen the impending crash, but Elliot didn't care, so neither did Alex. She took another hit from the bong, cashing it. There was a knock at the door as she was repacking the bowl with fresh weed. Alex waved at her, and she tucked the bong away behind the couch as he went to answer the door. He quickly glanced out the window and broke into a smile. He opened the door, "Micah, man, what are you doing back in town?" He asked, shaking the dreadlocked man's hand in the doorway. "Hey come in, my friend here and I were just packing a fresh one." Alex motioned to Elliot and she fished the bong out from its hiding spot. She finished packing it and handed it to Micah. Micah took the pipe and took a long hit, saying as he exhaled, "Dude, you won't believe what I have." Alex looked at him and his eyes widened slightly as Micah produced a small baggie filled with white powder. "China fucking White," he said excitedly. Alex looked quickly over at Elliot, hoping she hadn't heard, but he saw her look over sharply in recognition. It was the most focused he had seen her been in days. It had been years since Alex had gotten off heroin, and it was something he didn't really want around Elliot in her current state. He didn't want to be responsible for getting her hooked. At the same time, if she was going to do it, he rathered her first time be with someone experienced. "It could be just like old times, man." Said Micah, snapping Alex out of his reverie. Micah gestured towards Elliot, "Your friend can, too, if she partakes." "Do you have clean shit?" Alex said quietly. Micah lowered his voice, "Of course, man. Not often that a chance like this comes around. I got everything fresh." He looked over at Elliot. "What do you say, pretty lady?" Alex turned towards her, already knowing what she was going to say. Elliot shrugged. "Sure." The three of them were on the couch. Micah was already laid out, his glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling. Alex watched as Elliot tied her arm off and she waited for her vein to pop out of her arm. She tensed and relaxed her hand, driving the blood vessels to the surface of her skin. Her hands shook as she tried to line up the tip of the needle with the thin, blue line of her vein. Alex sighed softly through his nose, and took the syringe from her. Quickly, he pressed the needle into her vein and depressed the plunger. Elliot's face screwed up. She hadn't expected it to burn. Alex took off the tourniquet and warmth immediately flooded up her arm and into her chest. Elliot's breath staggered in the beginning ecstasy. It was so much more than the usual embrace of the painkillers she was used to. It was like she had fallen into the arms of a long-lost lover. She had never felt so happy and for a moment it was like her life had purpose. Collapsing back on the cushions of the couch, she felt her body relax more than it ever had. Her joints were made of silly putty. Her limbs were overcooked noodles. For the first time in days, Elliot felt whole. She had never felt bliss like this.  Elliot's senses slowly blinked to life, like an old neon sign being turned on after years of disuse. She became aware of the sheets rubbing against her skin, and she felt a chill run through her body, goosebumps breaking out all over her. Sweat stuck her hair to her back and forehead. Everything ached. It hurt to breathe, the constant expansion and compression of her rib cage sending rhythmic waves of dull pain through her. Her mouth tasted like pennies. Suddenly her stomach heaved, and she retched onto the floor. Her breath came out in ragged gasps. The door opened and she heard someone talk at her, but the words didn't register. Elliot pushed herself onto all fours before vomiting again over the side of the bed. The muscles in her arms and legs twitched, before finally giving out on her. She opened one eye, squinting, expecting the sun to blind her. Looking out the window, she saw it was pitch black. A figure appeared over her and Alex's face wobbled in and out of focus. "Are you done puking on my floor?" Alex asked flatly, wrinkling his nose. Elliot closed her eyes and laid there, her hearing coming in waves. She didn't know how to reply to that. Elliot tried to talk, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. A sharp pain had taken up residence in her stomach, like she had swallowed glass. She managed to maneuver herself into a sitting position. Her feet immediately landed in the puddle of her sick on the floor. Alex grimaced. "Do you want a shower?" He asked softly. Elliot nodded slowly without opening her eyes. "Can you walk there?" Elliot paused, then shook her head. Alex threw her arm over his shoulder and picked Elliot up. She was definitely running a fever. Alex waited outside the bathroom door while she showered. He could hear her retching and he remembered what it was like when he first came down after being hooked hard on opiates. The water turned off in the shower and he let himself in. Elliot's face was sunken and pale. He wrapped her up in a towel. When she was dry, she dressed herself, and they walked out to the back porch. The night air was cool and fireflies blinked here and there. Elliot sat heavily in one of the chairs, closing her eyes as the wind played with her hair. Alex pulled up a chair nest to her and lit a cigarette, handing it to her. She looked at it thoughtfully before taking a drag. She breathed out the sweet smoke, and realized dully that she wished she had pulled the trigger.