A Letter from a Long Dead Human Nobody knows how it started, it was as if the omnipotent button to begin the apocalypse had been smashed down by whatever omnipotent being up there was craving a little chaos. I had been lucky I was driving down through time square when it happened, almost as if they were in sync the subway systems burst out from the earth, creating pot holes the size of semi trucks, my ears began to ring as I noticed that large dust clouds were gathering at the bases of buildings and each of them climbed higher than their buildings, leaving nothing but ruble when the dust subsided. Some drivers began to accelerate however most were met to a fatal end as new pot holes emerged and devoured their vehicles. I had been lucky enough to be so shaken yet still that I dodged the death that awaited the others, and that is the sole reason you are reading my words, I haven’t been able to find many others in a state where they could tell their story. This leaves me and whoever else is out there with all but nothing as to what happened to humanity. We were able to not only survive, but dominate our environment for century upon century. Nobody could have predicted it would all be eradicated in such a short time. From what I’ve gathered every city big enough to have a news channel has been experiencing something similar to what I have, some even worse, almost the state of Delaware was engulfed in flood after flood, anybody who would have survived those floods would have run out of food weeks ago, the only remains of humans to be found is whatever could float. Rumors went around that those who survived Delaware were left with no choice but to result to cannibalism, so even if we did check out Delaware it’s likely we wouldn’t like what we found. Like I said I was in New York when it all went down which was already dense in population, cities like Tokyo where there were tens of millions more people were left with far less after those days. When I’m reading over this it looks like those six days were the only truly apocalyptic days, but I’m afraid that that was just the start, its a whole new world these days and sometimes I wish I wasn’t the ones so lucky to be here to see it, but that’s why I’m writing this in the case that one day the humans will bounce back and everything will be ok. I don’t think I’ll be there when that happens, but that doesn’t mean it won’t. I guess in the end that’s all I can hope for, and it ain’t so bad now I’ve gotten used to the doom and gloom surrounding me, I’m just sorry for any poor child born into this mess. I don’t know how much time I’ve got left in me, if you’re reading this that means that somebody’s found my body and hopefully I am the last victim to ever come out of this mess, I wish I could tell you more about what happened but I don’t know any more, I don’t think anybody does. And that might be more haunting then whatever the hell actually happened.


"I hate this," Lucy groaned, scrunching up her face. "It's so gross." "I know," sighed Grimm patiently. "I know it's not what you signed up for with this apprenticeship, and I know you still find it creepy, but it's what sells right now and if we don't adapt then we'll be left behind and you won't have an apprenticeship at all." Grimm picked up a child's skull and passed it gently to her. "Now attach the jacks just like I showed you. The holes are already drilled, you just have to fit them and wire them to the psionic recievers." Lucy gingerly took the skull. She knew it was just bone, but something about touching it felt *wrong*. She overcame the desire to wash her hands and started to rummage around the desk for her tools. Grimm's were already out, but they weren't *hers*. She slid the metal jack into the drill hole wincing as it scraped dryly at the brittle edges. It was so unfair for this to happen to her now, only a year into what should have been a normal mech apprenticeship. Working on robotics, tweaking code, taking apart engines, *that* was what she'd signed up for. Admittedly she'd spent most of her first year cleaning out pipes and organising scrap, but she knew that she'd *eventually* be allowed to do the exciting stuff. And she had; for a month. Grimm had finally relented to her begging, and grudgingly allowed her to do the routine upgrade of a service droid. And she was good at it. Unbeknownst to Grimm, she'd been up late most nights trawling the Weave for courses and tutorials on exactly that kind of thing, hoping to impress him enough to let her do some real work. It'd paid off too. For a whole month Grimm had been letting her help out with his commissions; until the bones were discovered. Lucy toyed with a few fragments of wire, waiting for the sealant holding a jack in place to dry. It'd only take a few minutes, then she could solder the recievers into place. That's where it'd started of course, the psionic recievers. The news spread like wildfire when alloys that reacted to the presence of thought were discovered. Did that mean there was some kind of ether thoughts could move through? Were psychics actually real? Could it prove the existence of a soul? In an effort to prove the latter, a med student had stolen a skull from his lecturer and hooked it up to some of the new psionic material and a neural cap. The student ended up in a psyche ward, broken by the backlash. He raved about memories that couldn't have been his, and the press ate it up. The idea captured the public imagination, and within a week the practice of bone reading was established. Bones, skulls especially, hold memories. They seep into the matter over a lifetime and for a while after death they persist. Not a soul, but more like a footprint in the sand. If you had the right tech and were skilled enough you could pull memories, experiences, even talents from a skull. The market for bones and recievers *exploded* overnight. Eventually the government had to clamp down on the use of bones, establishing a legal trade to stem the sudden rise in graverobbing, and pouring serious research into bone reading to establish a safe way to do it. Reading with no safeties was causing a flood of new and severely unstable mental patients, and as even dead people could tell state secrets now, bone reading represented a whole new branch of espionage. Buffers, jacks, breakers and dampeners were all quickly developed and released, though it was only legal for certain licenced mech shops to fit a skull. And lucky for her, Grimm had jumped right on it. She sighed and reached for the little skull, absently rolling it between her hands. Why would anyone want to use one of them? She understood police wanting access to a victim's memories, or a government wanting some spy's intel, but normal people like her? The thought made her shiver. The cold jack bit into her palm as she toyed with the skull. It wasn't hard to use, you just plugged in a special headset in like it was a macabre music player. The tech did the rest, and you got a whole new set of memories, maybe even lost some old ones... She hastily put the skull back down and jumped up, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. "Grimm!" She yelled, "I'm going out for a bit, for um... for wire." "Sure," he called faintly back, clearly distracted by some other project in the shop. "Don't be back too late, Martha is sending round pizza as payment for that last bot repair." Lucy bit her lip guiltily at the lie, but pulled on her boots as fast as she could and dashed out the back entrance. She stuffed her hands deep in her hoodie pockets and walked quickly down the crowded street. From every side neon signs and holgoraphic posters screamed with rainbows of garish colour, boasting the wares of a hundred shops and stalls crammed into the narrow lane. All around her merchants yelled, calling customers to their stall, mocking their competitiors, telling outright lies about the quality of their wares. "Miss, miss! You look so thin! Come and look at my stall, every kind of candy to put some meat on those bones!" Called a cheerfully plump merchant, waving at lines of sweets gittering like glass in the neon light. "Neutral implants! Cerebral serums! Intelli chips! Discount operations! Totally risk free! Outthink any AI!" "Fruit! Get your fruit! Apples, pears, mangos! All perfectly unnatural, get your genetically modified fruit here!" A woman shouted brusquely, gesturing entusiastically at a collection of oranges larger than Lucy's head. Lucy grinned and shook her head. This was exactly what she needed, a sea of voices to drown out that one whisper in her head. The lights, the crowd, it felt almost like it did before the bone craze. And it wasn't like she hated her job. She loved it here, she'd always wanted to be part of this mad, wonderful, technicolour city and now she was. Maybe things would die down again and she could go back to tinkering in the shop with Grimm like before. "Bones! bones! Fresh bones, filled with memories! Stuffed with secrets! All of the highest quality! I have musicians, artists, scientists, lovers! Got 'em all here!" Lucy's head snapped round to stare hungrily at the stall of dirty, yellowed skulls. An emaciated woman leered at passersby, waving them over with grubby hands. "You! Little girl! How would you like to be a dancer? A poet? A pilot? Got 'em all here, fresh as you like!" Lucy gazed fixedly at a small skull, scarcely larger than her fist. There was still some grave dirt smeared around the eyesockets. Biting back tears, she pushed her way back into the crowd and hurried back towards the shop. Maybe if she tried it just once she could let it go and things would go back to normal, maybe she could just *forget*.


An international spy with a reputation for debauchery, a martini always on his breath, and a closet full of tuxedos, Rex Flint possessed all of the suave and slick characteristics that made him the envy of everyone. Men wanted to be him, and women wanted to be with him. He was famous for his quick wit, charming personality, and ability to stay one step ahead of his adversaries at all times. However, even Rex had some vulnerabilities, and his sworn enemy, Vladimir the Vicious, was well aware of how to exploit such vulnerabilities. Vladimir had gathered an army of Rex's ex-girlfriends, all of whom had a reason to want him dead and had the inside knowledge to get it done. First, there was Karen, the girlfriend who used to send food back to restaurants and, when dating, drove Rex crazy with her lousy attitude toward service workers. Karen held a black belt in karate, but Rex was just as skilled, and they fought to a draw after an epic battle. The conflict continued at various locations, including a hotel, a grocery store, and a restaurant. Karen was able to tap into her true inner strength at each site by employing her mastery of the art of complaining. When she kicked Rex in the face at the restaurant, she said, "This steak is undercooked; if I wanted it this raw, I'd go to a farm and milk a cow." "This hotel room is too cold; I don't remember ordering the refrigerator suite!" Karen said as she hoisted Rex over her shoulder at the hotel. "The sign posted says 20% off, but the register rang it in as 15% off; I want to see a manager!" Karen said as she punched Rex into an end cap at the supermarket. It all came down to a showdown at the deli when Karen had him cornered, and he came dangerously close to surrendering. Rex, however, saw something out of the corner of his eye that would defeat Karen for good; her true kryptonite: dry chicken. "I believe you ordered this thinly sliced," Rex said to her as he pummeled her with slice after slice of dry chicken. "No, No, no! It's so dry, and there's no one to complain to!" Karen said as she spontaneously combusted. Next, there was Rebecca, the girlfriend who was a bad driver but refused to admit it. When dating, she scratched Rex's Aston Martin and then denied it was her fault for the next 48 hours, claiming that the curb had "come out of nowhere." One night, Rebecca broke into Rex's compound to steal his beloved Aston Martin, the car she claimed he loved more than her. She had driven it for three minutes before she made an accidental collision with a fence, which resulted in it catching fire. After causing him significant pain, Rex was utterly beside himself. This attack led to the two of them engaging in combat. Rebecca was a weapons expert and again had Rex in a stalemate. "Admit it, you're a horrible driver," Rex said. "Never," Rebecca replied, "you're just obsessed with cars to make up for inadequacies in other areas of your life," as she grazed him in the arm with a gun that was hidden in her dress. The conflict continued to escalate, with both sides taking turns firing their weapons at one another. At long last, Rex had a solution that would put an end to this matter once and for all. He tricked her into a high-speed chase on the 405 freeway. On the eight-lane highway, they were weaving in and out of traffic while traveling at fast speeds. To Rex's surprise, she was handling herself reasonably well, and he started to think he was wrong. When Rex was on the verge of losing, he made a last-ditch effort to save the situation by calling Rebecca on her cell phone. Rebecca couldn't resist picking up the call, and after she did, she drove her car directly off a cliff. Finally, Vladimir sent Marta, the one that got away. Marta was the only one who knew the truth about Rex's true self, which was that his middle name was Philomena. She was also aware that Rex was picked on by the other spies because of his passion for The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and the fact that he spent his free time creating Tick-Tok dance videos. Marta was quite knowledgeable in the field of psychological warfare. After only ten minutes of conversation, she was able to reduce Rex to childlike crying and seeing a shrink five days a week. Rex had been defeated. With the help of his therapist, Doctor Weintraub, Rex could confront Marta and admit that he still had feelings for her. To his surprise, Marta realized that she also had feelings for him. Rex apologized for his past mistakes, and Vladimir the Vicious was defeated by, of all things, the power of love. Foiled again, Vladimir retreated to fight another day, vowing that next time, he would go nuclear... send Rex's mother.


"Do you know who these belong to? I think these are Joey's. That's definitely Sunrise Films logo on all of this stuff." Amanda said as she looked through the camera equipment scattered throughout the storage unit. "What does it matter? Can you sell them on Facebook Marketplace for me or not?" Sam said, starting to feel like his sister was going to let him down yet again. This always happened and it infuriated him. He thought this would be an easy slam dunk, and give them a chance to bond, while at the same time putting some much needed dough in his pockets and giving his sister a little financial aid too. But, he should have known better. With Amanda, it literally was always something. "This gear definitely belongs to Joey from Sunrise Film Productions. I worked as a PA for him on a few commercials a few years ago, and he let some of us assistants use his gear to film a few weddings to make extra cash during the down times. He was a really nice guy...I wonder how all of his gear ended up in this storage unit...maybe I should just give him a call...I don't think he went out of business...Do you think someone robbed Joey and stored the stuff here while they tried to sell it online "Amanda, look...this is turning out to be a lot more complicated than I wanted it to be. I thought this would be something that you would want to do, to help me and to make a few quick bucks. I asked you, because I know you have experience working with this kind of gear...you have friends in the industry who would be interested in getting some of this stuff for cheap, and you're always getting rid of spare and random stuff on Marketplace...but now it’s like...I should have known better...of course you would put Joey over me." "Sam, I'm not putting Joey over you, just let me give him a call, if his company folded and he couldn't pay the storage fee, then it’s all good. But if somebody jacked this stuff from one of Joeys trucks, which is kind of what this looks like...then I can't do that. Joey's a good guy." "Forget it Amanda, just forget it." "Sam you don't have to be that way. It's not like I'm making this up. And, hey, I know you're a little strapped for cash right now...but you're not a thief, you're not a crook. If somebody found your DJ gear in a storage unit...and someone had stolen it from your car...you'd want to know right?" "Of Course. But Amanda...it's just I do really need the money. The pandemic has basically wiped me out. I thought I could make it. I thought, you know, I can live off my savings for three months, even six months...but this thing has gone on for almost a year, and I'm wiped out. I put my last little chunk into this unit...I can't afford to not sell this stuff." "Well, Sam. I got to call Joey and let him know, to at least ask him. I mean maybe his film company folded and this gear is up for grabs fair and square...then we can sell it and have a clean conscience." "Amanda, you don't have to help me. Forget I asked you, come on let's go. But you can't call Joey either. I have to sell this stuff, even if it's just to get what I paid for the unit back...I don't think you get it. I'm really in a tight spot right now." The two got into Sam's van and started driving back to Amanda's apartment, when Amanda's conscience took the reins. "What are you doing...Amanda...give me your phone." "I can't...Sam... you’re better than this...trust me...just let me reach out to Joey...you know he's a great guy, he'll probably give you some reward money...plus it's just good karma...I mean..." "Amanda...give me the phone..." Sam said between gritted teeth as he reached across the space between the velour covered captain's chairs and snatched the phone out of Amanda's hand, tossing it nonchalantly into the boulevard. "Saaaaaaaaaaam!!!! Stop the car." "Amanda...you weren't listening...all you had to do was be cool." "Stop the car Sam." "I should have never asked you to help me. You never come through. You never ever do anything to help me. And after all I do for you and continue to do for you." "Stop the car before I start screaming Sam. Let me out." "Oh, I'll stop the car." Sam said as he pulled the van over onto the side of the road. As soon as the van slowed to a stop, Amanda flung the door open and jumped onto the grassy shoulder. "I hate you Sam. You're such a selfish pig. You've always been a pig." "Me? Selfish?" "Are you kidding me...I do so much for you and not only do you

never do

anything to help me or Debbie or Ty...but you don't even appreciate everything I do for you." "We're done Sam. As far as I'm concerned I don't have a brother." "Yeah well...if you ask me I've never had a sister!" Sam said as he pulled away glancing back angrily in the rear view mirror as Amanda started walking up the road trying to find what remained of her phone. Sam stormed into the house where, as luck would have it, his wife was just Facetiming him. She had quarantined with her family in Atlanta and got stuck there when the lock down hit and decided to just wait it out because she didn't want to risk bringing any sort of virus back to Sam or their 7-year-old son Ty who was in the other room studying the different trees for his science class. "Hey Honey." Sam said sitting down to answer the call on his IPad. "Hey Baby! Oh...What's wrong Sammy?" "Nah... it’s nothing." "Baby come on, you're fuming what happened? Is everything ok...where's Ty? "It's all good it's just Amanda..." "What did she do now shug?" "It's the same old thing...she just...she just has different priorities, and it's just so frustrating! You know I do so much for her...when she got married two years ago I DJ'ed her wedding...got all of the equipment set it all up, did all of the formalities, broke it all down everything. I found her a videographer and a photographer and covered it all! I mean that was a lot of work...and it wasn't cheap." "You're a good brother Baby..." "I'm done though!" "You don't mean that." "Yes I do! This was it. "This was a chance for Amanda to make things right, not only for her to pay me back, eve just a little bit for the wedding but for all of us to get a little bit ahead and ...man...I just thought it was a no brainer...but of course not. "Baby...what happened?" "Don't worry about it Debbie. I don't want to talk about it right now. It's all good, I'll figure it out. But I'm done with Amanda. This was it, this was her chance and she blew it. She's out. She's done. She's cut off. I don't want anything to do with her... or her husband or their life. "Sammy, you're just mad...I know it can be really frustrating...whenever somebody feels like..." "They're giving more than the other person...with no reciprocity and no gratitude." Sam interjected. "Exactly, and you are a very good brother, but and this is tricky. You can't expect Amanda to be as good of a sibling as you are. You are an incredible brother and an incredible son and you are constantly putting your family first, and Amanda just has...a different way of seeing things." "Screw her." "I know you're mad...Hey why don't you take Ty and go for a hike in the Nature Preserve...let this go and just enjoy spending some quality time with your son...then get a nice dinner at that Mexican place you boys love...what's it called...Three Amigos!" "That's a good idea D... thank you...I love you." "I love you too...tell Ty his mama loves him and I'll be home soon...I can't wait to be with my boys." "Us Neither. We miss you something terrible. Bye Deb." "Bye sugar! Love you!" Sam got up from the blank screen and called for his son..."Hey Ty?!" 'Yeah Dad?!?" "You wanna go for a hike in the Nature Preserve?" "Yeaaaaaaaah!" "Get those fancy new boots on then and let's go. How many birds do you think we can spot this afternoon?" "How many trees do you think I can name?" "Let's find out buddy boy!" "Oooh! I wanna see what the biggest tree in the Nature Preserve is ... Dad, what do you think it is?" "Hmmm...I bet it's a Sweet Gum!" "Sweet Gum? Come on man you know that there are some massive Tulip Poplars in that forest that are like Legacy Trees...I bet it's gonna be a Tulip Poplar." "Well let's go see...loser buys dinner...Three Amigos?" "Oh yeah! You're on Old Man!"


I poured Whiskey into a glass, watching it fill with the dark brown color of my favorite drink. Taking the glass from the kitchen to my living room, I placed it on a table next to my couch. I went a little to harsh so the sound made me think it broke for a second. I turned on the radio like everyday. “ Good evening ladies and gentleman, the weather tomorrow will be quite shivering with an astonishing - 7 degrees celsius, rain also to be expected with a chance of 68 percent”. I took my first sip from the glass, remembering how I used to make a face while swallowing. “ What's more interesting, scientists found a way to make you experience death. A young Swedish team in the field of neuroscience made a groundbreaking discovery, when testing the brain activity of a freshly killed sheep.” I sat up and got closer to the radio. “ They initially wanted to figure out how long the brain would remain intact before shutting down, when it did they accidentally brought it back to breathing. Brian Adams, one of the teams members, wanted it to be tested on him. He experience death and reported to have seen and felt nothing. Of course believing that would be naive, they knew that too. So after further testing they published stations for everyone. Soon after they got built into trucks, now driving around almost every city. WIth the glass in my hand I walked to the window, there it actually was. A truck on the corner of my street. Action never happened in this part of town, should I check this out? Believing in an afterlife was never for me, joining God in heaven sounded absurd. This was my chance to prove it to myself, but this has to be a trick. How could this be? Experiencing death, I always knew this happened someday, but me, getting to see this day I could've never dreamed of. Rushing to the door I left after taking my keys. My building never had an elevator, so I had to take the stairs. There are people out there who have already died by now, I am about to be one of them. What if it had a malfunction, they said publishing was only possible after further testing. But still there had to be a small chance of me actually dying.But I needed to know if I was right, “ seen and felt nothing” they said on the radio. Would it be the same for me? I opened the exit door, outside a huge line built in front of this truck. I wish to be able to see inside of it but even the truck is hard to see with all these people gathering around. After walking all the way to the back of the line, not even a minute passed before another five stood behind me. The woman in front of me wore nothing but a blanket. Trying to cover her private parts she moved it a lot. The constant scratching of her arms made me uneasy. This got worse when blood stains appeared on the blanket. Avoiding the sight of her as much as possible I paid more attention to the other people around me. Until no one was in front of me anymore. “ Next one “ a woman's voice screamed from inside the truck. When entering it, only a mattress layed on the ground with three masked people surrounding it. “ Lay down, it won't hurt, “ they told me. The mattress itched the skin my clothes didn't cover, as one of them made me inhale something….. “ Was that it “? I asked them. “ Yes, are you enlightened now? “ One of them said mockingly. They pushed me outside before I heard the lady scream for the next one to come in. I never feared death but after this even less. I couldn't describe “nothingness” . I just placed myself on the mattress then got up again, Closest thing to it was sleeping without a dream. I had nights in which I slept so little falling asleep and waking up I perceived it as the same moment. If what I experienced now was actually death it felt a little like those nights but still slightly different in ways I couldn't bring to words. At Least the weather is cold, I might as well get some fresh air while I'm out here. “ It's all fake, it's all fake”! A drunk screamed, running at me. I barely dodged to the side before he would have run me over. Idiotic drunks, always in the same part of town as me. You get to see them all the time, today a bit more than usual though. I walked into a flower shop, and a bell rang over my head while entering. “ Hello” I screamed, there has to be someone here, I read “open” on the door before entering. After screaming again a guy opened the “staff only” room door, “ You're not one of those are you”? he said. “ One of those “?

“ The crazy people, a lot of them around today, are you one of those “? he asked again. “ I'm not, just here for some flowers sir “ I assured him. “ Flowers huh,... which ones do you want”? “ yellow ones, my daughter's favorite “. The bell on the door rang again. When I turned around, three guys ran into the store. Are those the people he talked about? They looked at me and the employee before destroying one after another vase with flowers in them. One of them walked up to me, raising his arm while getting closer. “ Wait “ I stopped him. “ I'm one of you, “ I added. “ One of us “? the man asked. “ I was just about to rob this man, then you guys came in”. “ Go right ahead, dont let us distract you.” He answered before joining his friends again. I turned around to the cashier “ G..give me your money “! I said. We met eyes before he quickly put his hands in the cashbox and gave some out to me. The guys still broke all things they could find so I ran out the door. “ Hey there, not so quick someone grabbed my shoulder from behind. “ Youre one of us “ he said. handing me a baseball bat. “ We have something planned for later, why not join us “?. If I said no, he'd definitely punch me. “ Sure, “ I answered. He lifted his hand off my shoulder before taking the lead with his friends following. They walked down the street until they all turned around to look at me. Hands still in their jackets. I started walking towards them, when I reached the small group they proceeded to walk with me in the middle of them. There will me a moment eventually, where they wouldn't pay attention to me, I couldn't leave now. Its weird, they seem like the guys I meet at work all the time. I imagined violent people to be old heavyweight guys, crazy alcoholics. But speaking to these guys I could never have guessed. “ We are almost here, “ their leader said, turning to me. “ See that bridge over there? always drunks underneath, there like punching bags, never met someone defending himself.” He proudly announced. Do they expect me to join? I have never hit someone, well maybe in kindergarten. My father broke his hand in his first fight, that won't happen to me though. One of the guys went in for a fast uncalled punch, the drunk he hit fell to the ground. Followed up by a kick, the drunk held his hand in front of his mouth before throwing up. “ Come on Frank it's your turn now “ he said, turning away from the drunk. I got a push from behind now standing half an arm length away from the homeless looking drunk guy. I kicked him in his stomach, he let out a scream, “ please stop “ he begged. I bent down, his stench filled my nose. Punching him in the face hurt less than I expected. My hand is not broken either. I turned away from him, the other guys were watching me, all with a smile on their face. awful people. 3 weeks later I rolled down the car's window. The wind threw itself against my face making my cheeks sting. “ I never asked why you do this “ I turned to James. “ You've been to a station right “? "Yes, of course, “ I answered. “ Before this we all believed in god, in an afterlife you know, hell and heaven. But after experiencing it for ourselves we realized how our actions while living don't have any consequences. Everyone here used to be religious, not doing what they wanted for the sake of god. There isn't one after all, so we formed this group, living everyday, filling it only with things we enjoy.” James said. “ So you always wanted to do these things “? I asked him. “ I have, what about you, why are you here “?

“ Well I never believed in any god or an afterlife, so the stations just proved my opinion. But I guess if there was something stopping people from committing crimes and sins, I guess I would call that a god.” “ You with your philosophies, “ James said, and we both started laughing. Though I don't think he understood what I meant with that. The car stopped in a small alley, and Phillip, our driver, got out. The back of the ally had a drunk guy sitting in it. Phillip beat him up mercilessly. These guys beat up people daily. I got used to watching it. But right now Phillip took it a little far. The guy, already being unconscious, reacted to none of his punches in any way. I opened the car door “ Phillip that's enough, you'll kill him”! I screamed. Him not reacting at all I stepped out and ran at him pushing him away from the nearly dead guy after reaching him. Blood all over his face, basic features like his nose not even visible anymore from all the swellings. “ Are you crazy? “ I asked Phillip. He stood there glaring at me. “ Since when do you give orders, kid “ he said.

“ I don't, but we shouldn't kill anyone, they clearly told us multiple times “ ! He took another step closer to me. “ They didn't, “ he said, raising his arm. He threw me to the ground, the asphalt hitting both my elbows. I could instantly feel them bleed. James screamed at him from inside the car. But Phillip hit me again…. I woke up laying in the same alley. My blood next to me on the ground had spilled out of my mouth. I must have lost consciousness sometime while receiving his punches. Getting up I saw the guy Phillip beat still there on the ground. No one else was around, not even James. Searching for them was meaningless, they committed so many crimes not being found is like breathing to them. Probably for the best. Would they come search for me? Usually I'm the guy beating up others, feeling it yourself was different from what I imagined. I had now felt what they did. I looked once again at the guy on the ground, before walking home.

Back in my apartment I poured myself some whiskey into a glass. Sitting down on my couch I put my feet next to me on the table. Drinking the whole glass in one sip, I realized I couldn't hear my radio. Why bother? Lifting my shirt up bruises were all over my chest and stomach I felt some on my back too. Did my punches leave the same marks? Hopefully they wouldn't come knock on my door expecting me to come do those things again. In that moment I wished to have never known what's after death, I wished for the chance of a god, for the chance of hell.


For centuries, the Moon watched from her unerring perch. She spun carefully around the Earth that was the center of her universe, gazing with curiosity at the blue and green orb that drifted along with her. She understood her role and carried it out with the utmost sincerity. Sure, she lost her temper a few times. Well, more than a few times. And, yes, there was that one little incident where she kinda sorta let water cover the entirety of the planet she was responsible for. But, couldn’t every woman understand how tenuous hormones were at certain times of the month? She loved Earth, and she felt special. She was the one and only Moon. Unlike the moons of Jupiter or Saturn, she was the lone planetary body caught up in the orbit of Earth. And for years upon years upon years, she meandered along in a month-long ellipse. For Earth’s part, he just resolutely sat. Moon wondered what he had going on down there. He seemed lush and refreshing. The verdant greens and deep blues certainly seemed to suggest a complexity that she could see even from miles away. Yet, after millennia of being within arm’s reach of each other, Moon never heard a peep from him. She was waning. Making herself smaller and less noticeable. She did this every month. Sometimes she was flashier. Sometimes she shrank. Sometimes she shone so brightly she knew the Earth was simply ignoring her ebullience. Regardless, on this particular day, she was waning when all at once a small disturbance caught her attention. A small burst of light and motion seemed to be shooting forth from the surface of Earth. Not only that but it was coming right toward her. This was it. Earth was finally acknowledging her! The little object continued to move in her direction. Then, all at once, it seemed to fall wretchedly short. Instead of continuing its linear path, the object started circling Earth. Moon couldn’t believe her eyes. This had to be the biggest tease that the galaxy had ever seen. In a matter of minutes, the object disappeared. Her disappointment matched her phase and made drifting into invisibility that much sweeter. Still, she carried on. Days and days went by. Earth sent multiple objects into its own orbit. They never made it to Moon, and she was seriously starting to wonder about Earth. How could one planet be this self-absorbed? She rolled her eyes. This was getting out of hand. Determinedly, she decided not to spare another thought to Earth besides the duties she was compelled to uphold. She had plenty to look at from her place in this galaxy, thank you very much. Earth thought he was the center of the universe, hmm? Well, she’d show him. Maybe Sun would even team up with her, and they could show Earth who *really* ran this show. Her plan to ignore him was coming along swimmingly. She spent her days in the company of Mars and Venus. And, if she felt like calling long-distance Saturn was always available. She was always trying to spill some gossip about Uranus. And, the meteoroids were always flying by with little snippets. For instance, Pluto was apparently going through his emo phase. He said he might not even want to be a planet anymore? Without a doubt she had plenty to occupy her days. Earth didn’t even cross her mind. (Except those late nights that she stayed up too late thinking about his curves and the way he tilted on his axis.) Everything was fine. Until yet again, she saw an object blasting through Earth’s atmosphere. She sighed. Not this again. She did her best to look the other way. No reason to give Earth the attention he so obviously needed. She was mostly succeeding until the object was suddenly closer than any had ever ventured before, and it showed no sign of slowing down. Oh, God. She hadn’t had any advanced warning! If she had known she would have made herself more presentable. Filled in her craters a little better or something. Too late. The object was imminent now. She almost couldn’t contain her excitement. She hoped Earth didn’t mind a little high tide. She barely even noticed when the object landed with bony legs that jutted into her body. For long moments, the object just rested against her. Then, all at once, a flurry of movement. She was surprised to see the forms that spilled out. Puffy and rotund, stepping carefully across her dusty surface. They looked nothing like the life forms Saturn had gone on about. These three...things were calculating. Gentle. Carefully cataloging what they saw. What they felt. She had never been under so much scrutiny. The attention was a little off-putting but after eons of waiting, she couldn’t complain too much, she supposed. All at once, one of the figures attached something to her person. The most colorful little pendant, standing proudly. Red, white, and blue. A gift from Earth? She couldn’t believe it. At last. He loved her. He really loved her.


I watch the beach and try to think of happy thoughts, but like the waves, they come and go. My cheeks are sun kissed, and my lips taste of salt water, and days like these slip away like rainstorms.  In my foggy memories you are mine. You sit next to me on this beach on my blanket in my daydreams. How did I lose something that was never mine?  I like to pretend I’m in a movie sometimes. I imagine that someone would want to photograph me. I crave it. I think I'd look nice in a photo here. With my pink blanket with woven diamonds on it, my brown basket, and my black and white striped swimsuit. I think the reason I crave a photo is so I can double check that I'm real, double check that I'm here. Days like this feel like rainstorms that don't feel real. I wonder if the inside of my body still works the same when I'm in a place I love, a place I try to love at least.  I should be happy, just like the waves should keep coming up until they touch the edge of my blanket; but they never do. Gravity just pulls the white caps back. I close my eyes and try to be content with the darkness, but the darkness never comes because the sun is so bright it peaks through my closed eyelids. I grab a towel out my basket and put it over my face and lay down. I wish I could make time stand still, appreciate this moment, and be content with the day, but my body fights against the current and pushes me to sit back up and take the towel off my face. I sit up in the sunlight again before I find my body standing up and walking to the water.  I stand where the sand first meets the lips of the ocean. Anytime I'm here I always count how long my footprint can leave a clean imprint until the wave washes it away. One, two, three, and gone. The waves go away, but they always come back, just like my thoughts of you, which were gone for so long this time. I walk further from my blanket and basket, and I swim underneath the ocean's tongue. When I stand up I am only knee deep, but when I get on my knees my head goes all the way underwater. It feels so good to let my hair get wet, to feel my crown get washed off and go back to wild.  I wish I was one of those people who could open their eyes underwater, but alas, I cannot stand the burning sensation. I wonder what the ocean looks like while you swim in it. I wonder if looking at the water is like looking through a mirror that your reflection isn't in. I wonder how different it is from looking at a pool underwater. I bet the difference is like my brain without the thought of you, like a warm, sunny day that I could actually appreciate.


Alfred was alone. This was nothing new to him, but he did feel more alone than usual. He called out into the endless white plain for what must have been the eighth time, “Hello? Anyone know how I can get out of here?” No response came. Alfred scratched his head while he stared straight ahead with a look of deep contemplation. He felt absolutely perplexed, which was his least favorite way to feel due to his deeply held self-esteem issues. The cogs in his brain had been turning ceaselessly since his arrival into the empty realm of white, and his legs were exhausted from near constant wandering, and a sever lack of chairs. “I don't suppose there is a complaint department nearby,” he said sarcastically as he massaged his aching thighs. He'd tried to take a rest now and again by simply sitting on the pure white floor, but he found that his butt would become uncomfortable after a short while as the floor was rather hard, and no amount of awkward shifting could fix his discomfort. He'd been standing nonstop for three days now; but there was no way of which he could have realized this because, unbeknownst to Alfred, he has wound himself up in limbo. It was five days ago in earthen time that Alfred had met his end. He was in the midst of his morning ritual which consisted of waking, showering, dressing, and turning on the television, all while munching on two pieces of toast. The pieces of toast, I should add, were completely void of any condiments; no butter, no jam, no peanut butter and honey, just plain old boring toast. His fixation with this substandard form of toast eating remains a mystery to all, including himself. Once Alfred had reached the dressing phase of his bizarre ritual he had but one slice of toast left. He had usually attempted the long game (i.e. taking only small nibbles so that he'd have one-and-a-half pieces of toast left instead of just one by the time he reached the television), but he was feeling somewhat adventurous that morning. He'd been taking substantially larger bites than usual, and felt a sort of sinking feeling when he'd realized that all he had left was the company of a single piece of toast, and he had yet to even put on his trousers. He wanted to savor the piece as much as possible so that he would have something to eat whilst watching the morning news. Alfred pulled out his clothes for the day (a white, stained t-shirt and dark blue jeans) and then slipped the corner of the last piece of toast into his mouth, where he left it so that he could salivate over the tempting taste of room temperature toast on his lips. The toast wobbled limply between Alfred's lips as he hobbled to get his legs through their designated slots in the blue jeans. He began to feel the corner piece split off from the larger portion of the toast, and with a gasp of alarm, he sucked the now separated corner piece down into the depths of his windpipe in his rush to save the falling remainder of toast. After two minutes of struggling for air on his bedroom floor he passed on, leaving behind his corpse with his pants half down, no shirt on (revealing his somewhat flabby and pale body), three-quarters of a piece of toast beside him, and a corner piece of toast in his windpipe. The whole thing was rather depressing to witness, but luckily no one was around to see his comical last moments. Alfred was the luckiest of all as he has no idea of how he died, or even that he died at all, so he doesn't have to spend eternity thinking about how dreadful a finale he'd performed. Alfred's body would not be found until ten days later by his landlord who, in his usual state of rage, would come pounding on his door for the months rent, only to not receive any answer. This would lead him to kick the door down (despite having a maser key in his pocket) and find Alfred's dead body after a short search for any hidden cash. The landlord gave a moments pity, then cleaned out Alfred's wallet which sat on his nightstand, and called an ambulance to clean up the mess. The funeral proceedings were attended by the landlord, Alfred's mother in law who had screwed him out of his father's inheritance, and a weeping old man who had molested Alfred during his first semester of community college at the age of twenty-seven; no one was ever told about the incident. Alfred is now left to wander the endless plain of white for all of eternity; never again to be greeted by another. Never again to be embraced. Never again to eat his morning toast. Never again to attempt to find out what love means. Never again to speak with a telemarketer about politics. Never to make love. Never again to hear the morning news casters droll on about the weather or something equally unimportant. Never again to try and spark a relationship with Tina in the cubicle beside his. Never again to hear another voice, but his own. Alfred was alone.


Chapter 3 A unexpended discovery I opened the door let out a sigh of defeat, dropped my backpack carelessly on the floor and fell onto my bed, and screamed into my pillow at the annoying mystery I had in front of me. How could I have detected magic for an instant from one of the two children then discover neither had even a hint of magical talent coursing through there veins? I was trained properly in the detection of magic even before I gained any of my abilities in my homeworld so even if for some reason this new body of mine never was blessed with the gift of magic I should still be able to identify it. I squeezed my pillow in frustration hard enough that my hands began to ache causing me to direct my anger at my weak body. “Gods damn this body for being so fucking weak!” I screamed no longer having my face buried in my pillow and slapped my face as hard as I could causing an intense burning sensation on the right side of my face. I stared at the blurry floor as tears welled up in my eyes and streamed down my face as I wept softly rubbing at my eyes. Gods, please let me get my magic back, I thought while trying not to be too loud with my sniffling not wanting anyone to witness my weak moment. I heard my door begin to creek open and quickly got off the bed and faced away from the door holding back my tears trying not to make another noise. “Son, are you alright?” I heard my new Father whisper gently like he was speaking to a feral animal trying not to spook it. I shook my head up and down slightly not wanting to say a word in fear my voice would crack. “Son, look at me.” I shook my head no, not wanting him to see the shameful act of my crying and he closed the distance between us without me realizing it and turned me around gently with his giant hands. His face was level with mine and when I looked into his eyes I did not see the shame on his face I saw empathy something I had only seen a handful of times from others that were never directed towards me. Anger boiled in my veins knowing that his empathy must be fake and I balled up my fists ready to strike him in the face, but before I could do so he did something I would have never expected from anyone even from this man. He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a soft gentle hug and patted my back. I wept into his shoulder no longer caring if he saw my weakness and let the sorrow flow out of my eyes until I had no more tears to shed. Crying for an extended period tends to drain the energy of one’s body. That is why I wasn’t too surprised to find that I had passed out in the middle of my crying session and had woke up on the couch next to my Father that was watching TV. I looked out the window nearest to me and saw the sun was close to setting meaning I had been asleep for the better part of two or three hours. My eyes turned towards the TV and watched a man in a white outfit with glasses talk about things called particles and how they make up the new world I was in. I watched him list the things that made up the world like electrons, neutrons, and protons made me have an insane theory. What if magic did not start in the bodies of creatures in this world, but rather the opposite was true and the magic began in the air, the water, the earth, and all other sorts of places? I sat up slowly contemplating that possibility and my Dad rested his hand on my shoulder. My Dad? When did I start to think of him as my real Father? I looked up to the man that I began to consider as my real Father and not as my new Father and saw him giving me a warm smile. He pressed something on the remote causing the world on the TV to freeze. “Son is someone bullying you at school?” He said with a serious note to his voice. “You can tell me and I will speak to your teachers about it.” “No, no one is bullying me,” I said with sincerity in my voice. “Then how did you get that red mark on your face?” He said in a not so convinced voice. “O.” I said touching my still tender cheek. “I did this to myself.” He gave a look that said I don’t believe you and he pressed another button on the remote making the world on the TV move again right where it had left off. Later in the night after my parents got done tucking me into bed, which still embarrasses me and weirds me out a little, I waited until I could no longer hear them talking in the other room and then got out of bed and sat on my bedroom floor and closed my eyes and felt with my senses. This was a whole new territory for me considering I was use to feeling out specific objects or creatures for magic. Now I was trying to expand my senses to detect magic anywhere around me. For several moments I felt nothing and slowly I felt my hope draining again, but suddenly I felt the slightest flicker of energy. I concentrated harder, clearing my mind, ignoring the sounds of the wind and the settling house, and began to feel more tiny sparks of energy throughout the air. The sparks were so tiny that even losing a fraction my concentration made the sparks invisible to my senses. I felt a smile creep onto my face when I realized there were not just a couple of these small sparks of magic there was an ocean of it waiting to be harnessed all around me. My eye’s opened slowly and my grin became a smile so large that it hurt my soar cheek. I found magic.


I met a peculiar man today. A man, a tall man, broad shoulders, thick hair, a man much like the rest. A crooked smile here, a calloused hand there, just like any other man. But this man seemed particularly peculiar in my mind. Maybe it was because he decided to talk to me. I was sitting on my bench, as I always do when I can get around to it. Pigeons pecked around my feet as breadcrumbs fell from my fingertips. It was routine, hell, it was practically ritual, that I come down here, drop bread crumbs for the birds, and stare off into the dark green and brown made up by the cool grass and the tall trees. I have done it for quite some time now. Some days it's harder to make it down to my bench than others. But it's really all that I have, my bench, the birds, the trees, the moments there in time. And it was on this day, just like any other day when I am at my bench, that this man walked past. He walked past so swiftly, head down, direct, like most that walk past me. But after he had made it a few steps past me and my bench, he stopped, and spun on his heel, like someone was using him as a top, a child perhaps. He was tall, at least six feet, with a dark grey hat that made him seem even taller. He matched it with a grey suit, and carried a newspaper under his arm. He smiled at me, in a way so vulnerable that this man no longer seemed so large. I smiled back, wondering why the man had stopped so suddenly. He finally opened his mouth, with his hat in his hands; "Excuse me, Ma'am, but would you happen to have the time?" It took me a moment to react before I found the words to answer him, as he stood smiling sheepishly, like a boy who had forgotten his school assignment. "Oh yes," I answered, "let me check my watch." I reached into my bag and pulled out of all the clutter a pocket watch, the one I always carry. I opened it, and saw what I easily knew was an incorrect time. I held it up to my ear, and heard not a sound from inside the watch, nothing echoing between its many gears. "Oh lord, this thing never works, I'm afraid it's not kept the time sir, I'm sorry." "Oh it's alright Ma'am, thank you for looking," he said with a smile. "I must say, it is a fine looking pocket watch Ma'am, reminds me of one that belongs to my father." "Well I'm sure his probably kept time, unlike this junk I've been carrying around," I say as I chuckle to myself. The man chuckles a bit too. "May I ask then why you keep it on your person, Ma'am? Seems like a broken watch serves no good to anyone, especially not to a nice lady such as yourself." I look at the man and smile. "It's my husband’s actually, and I don't think he'd take kindly to me getting rid of his favorite watch!" Both me and the man laughed aloud, and I motion for him to sit on the bench with me, and he obliges. He put his hand forth, and shakes my outstretched hand. "I'm Howard," he says with a grin; "I'm Alice," I replied. "Well I am pleased to meet you Alice." I handed him a chunk of bread, and we silently fed the curious pigeons their meals, us both content to just sit and enjoy the company of each other and the birds for a bit. I looked over at this strange man who had decided to sit with me, an old lady who feeds the birds. Not a very glamorous way to spend the afternoon for a man such as this at his age. "Were you going anywhere important just now?" I inquired. I seemed to rouse him from deep thought. "Hmm? Oh no, not very. Just some errands to run is all, but I can't seem to get the wherewithal to concentrate on them," he replied and his head turned back down towards the birds, a certain light gone from the once innocent looking man. "Is there something on your mind young man?" I pressed. He exhales deeply, his eyes focused on his feet. "If I’m being honest, I'm gonna be called off for the war soon," he answered. "I just got the notice this morning. Making sure to pick up milk on my way home for the wife seems a little more insignificant with that perspective." He leaned back against the bench, brought a hand to his perspiring head. He sees me looking at him through his hand, and tries to compose himself; "Not that I'm scared or nothing!" he stated with a bravado that only rung half-true. "Just a bit nervous is all." "That's nothing to be ashamed of young man. War is a place filled with frightful things. Why, my husband was not much different from you when he was called to fight. He was nervous as all heck, but he knew it was the right thing to do, so he fought." I look down at my cool, calloused hands in the morning light. "He seems like a good man," the young man replies with a small smile. A smile breaks across my face, one I cannot hold back as I think about days long forgotten, and I even let out a laugh remembering back on our time together. "He was a good man," I replied. The smile starts to fade as I look up towards the sky, and then back down at my hands. "Oh god, how I loved that man,” I said in a soft whisper. Howard put a comforting hand on my shoulder, and it was warm and I felt safe like I haven't felt in so very long. "If you don't mind me asking," the man asked quietly, "is your husband passed? Did he die in the war?" I can't bear to look up at the moment, only staring down at the bench and the newspaper the man had put down from under his arm. "No, he came back from the war. But," I had trouble getting the words out, "my husband did not come back the same. He was plagued by nightmares, terrors of the horrible things he had seen while fighting. It drove him to drink, it drove him mad, and it drove him to forget about…" I start to stammer as my fingers run over a dark scar hidden under my sleeve. "He forgot about how we used to be. The combination of it all proved too much for both him and me. My husband is now passed away, to answer your question." And the true answer, I screamed in my head, is yes! Yes, yes, my husband died in that awful war, for the man who came back was not my husband, only an empty shell of a man for which there was only room for sadness and sorrow. My husband went to war, and never returned. The man next to me, Howard, sat silent for a bit. I could tell that he didn't know how to respond, but whether it was because he didn't know how to react to such a story, or if he feared that a similar fate would befall him and his situation, I did not know. After what seemed like over a minute, the man spoke up. "I'm sorry to hear what happened to your husband, ma'am." "Thank you, it means quite a lot," I said, as I looked up at Howard and saw what seemed to be a familiar kindness in his eyes, something I haven't been privileged to in years. I grab a hold of the hand he was resting on the bench. I fight back tears as I arrange the words I want to say. "You have no need to worry though Howard. You will make it through that war, I know it. You will make it home to see your family." "I appreciate you saying that, Alice" he replied, his voice softer than before. He checked his wrist for the watch that wasn't there, and we both laughed, breaking some of the tension. Howard stood up, and donned the grey hat he had taken off. "Well, I better get going; I still have to pick up that milk before heading home." He stood there awkwardly, as we didn't know what to say. "Thanks for the talk Alice; it means a lot, even to a guy like me." He cracked that crooked smile of his. I smiled back at him, "Your welcome, Howard, I'm glad I could help." He smiled again, nodded, and turned to walk away. He walked maybe a total of seven steps until I called out "Howard!" He spun around again, in top-like fashion. "What is it, Alice?" I had trouble getting the words out. "Please, come home this time." He looked down for a moment, and then looked back up, his eyes showing a pain that hadn't been there, even moments before. "I will, Alice. I will." And off he walked, into forever, as a dropped newspaper with a long past, but never forgotten date blew past my bench, and became nothingness.


For fifty years the road stood unchanged. The road upon which an old man appeared. It was a cold day, gray as the man himself, who stood fixed upon the near ancient gravel glowering at the brownish cottage with white trim standing upon his right hand. His eyes turned away but his step failed to advance. He simply stood immobile, as if lost in thought, his weathered face and narrowed eyes reflective of a man struggling with a memory, a pattern of thought that would not form.

The old man stood thus for several long minutes. Repeatedly he seemed verged upon continuing, only to pause and glance rearward the way he had come, as if fearing perhaps someone or something stalked his steps until, at last, hesitation abandoned, he turned fully to the house and approached. He moved uncommonly quiet, his worn loafers barely scuffing dust, his outdated seaman’s coat and worn trousers emphasizing the contractions of his presence. Though not visible, the weakness of his step and hunched shoulders betrayed frail limbs and tired bones. From beneath a faded ski cap, a few strands of unruly white hair showed upon a brow creased with wear. His face and hands exhibited the color of old mud, the mark of a man used to many days spent toiling under the sun. In his right hand dangled a length of chain to which he clung with exaggerated earnest.

He now stood facing the front door. It was a simple cottage of no remarkable qualities. A few low bushes, tended flowers, white painted shutters. Yet the man gazed upon it as if before a church. His eyes distant and dreamy. Was it a memory he recalled or was his mind so lost he knew neither the where nor the why of moment.

And then the door opened. It opened to a young man of full black hair, solid of mind and bone. A man and third the age of his unexpected caller. In contrast to the benign equanimity of the elder man, the eyes of this younger soul fairly burned in emotion. His clean, clear eyes scanned the path before him but he saw nothing.

Something in the old man yearned the young man would see him. A distant hope he could define nor dissect. Why was it the young man did not espy him when he stood so plainly before his door?

But he did not see him and if he did, he did not recognize him and so the young man turned away and reentered his home. There came a touch of grief to the old man’s heart. A pain whose full thrust had come long ago but still ached his gut, haunted his sleep. He longed so to enter that house himself, a longing always in his thoughts, in his dreams. But all his dreams were distant as yesterday’s dawn. The old man turned away. He scuffled along the path to the road, his bloodshot eyes revealing a tired, tired soul. But then, at once, he seemed to have acquired a purpose. He walked with a steady if hindered stride. The road became wider and paved. Ahead rose a  farmhouse that had not been there a scant few breaths afore. When he reached the point where the road curled inward, the old man followed it, fondling his chain, beginning to mumble to himself.

He came boldly to the house and knocked upon the door. The minutes dragged along.  A rooster crowed. A few birds came and lit upon the eaves above the door. The door did not answer. A gust of wind blew down from the north. It licked his face and placed tears in his eyes. He raised a hand as if he would knock again, then withdrew it and himself from the farm. He knew no one would come forth. They never did. Not yesterday, today, or tomorrow. He simply could not knock loud enough that any could hear. Again, the old man returned to the road only now it was path meandering through a forest lain with leaf mold and twigs. A forest of tangled depths, of trees that crowded and cramped. The sun only a mottled intruder playing among the bent and sagging boughs. The old man slogged on, grim and determined, hearing the wind, feeling cold in the breeze chilled air. The journey felt endless but he knew better. All journeys end. So it was he reached the end of the forest and saw before him a sprawling village. A scene lifted from a Dicken’s tale. Homes and shops and busy streets, children playing and birds singing. But it was a village as old as he, older still, the village he recognized of his father so many, many years passed before him.

It drew him as few things ever had.

There again he saw that particular house and the young man. He saw too the farmhouse only now there stood framed in the doorway. She was very young, and beautiful, but with eyes holding a sadness far beyond her suggested years. The old man wanted to talk with her, oh, how he wanted to talk to her. He raced forward swift as his ancient legs could carry him but with every foot gained the road grew longer, the faces and places retreating. Bu going where? Where was there for it all to go? Soon the old man lost all breath and was no longer equal to the chase. The village raced away, swam as in a haze leaving him feeling dizzy and weak. At last, he turned away. His eyes closed. When he found the fortitude to open them again, there stretched before him a new trail that wound upward upon a sloping mountain to a broad, beckoning ledge near the summit. “A place to lie,” he spoke aloud. “Yes. I have slept there many times. Every night within my memory and God only knows how far backward or even forward that memory spans. Only that each and every night I must return there if I am to sleep. If I am to dream again.” And so he climbed the spiraling hillock. As he went, he found himself growing incredibly tired. Fatigue such as no man should ever know. And sounds came to him. Unnatural, uncomfortable. First there were screams, as if tortured souls flew upon the wind wrapped in the devil’s embrace. Then bodies materialized, sweating and swearing, climbing with him. They did not see him, they simply surrounded him, pacing him under a black sky and booming thunder born without rain. There was fire too. The heat ravaged his eyes, causing pain and an inability to see the rocky trail ahead. Still he went on, now moving on instinct, realizing it was like this every night.  Every journey to his place on the ledge an ordeal beyond comprehension. His legs ached, his chest heaved, he nearly fell to his face but staggered on. And never did he lose hold of the chain now wrapped tight about his fist.

Only a few more feet. Only a few more painful steps. Then he was there. The ledge where he could rest, the precipice to which he so desperately yearned. But he was not alone. No, before the old man stood that young man again. What was he doing here? And beside him stood that young woman of the farm, calm and beautiful. Yes, it was she who would not answer his knock. And now the old man saw that she had the eyes of the young man, eyes filled with tears and it gave him pain to see it.  And behind the woman and the boy miraculously crowded the entire town of his father. To the man, woman, child and dog they were there and they too cried and called to him.

Into this bizarre image walked the old man and he was invisible. He expected it for he knew this was not new occurrence. It was an oft repeated nightmare. Resolved, he found his spot and lay town. And though all about him peppered him with question after question, he did not answer. He had so much to tell them, so much about the fifty years passed. So much pain, anguish and suffering that it tore at his soul and robbed him of his peace.

None would ever know his trauma, his travails, his constant journey to and from the place of his sleep. Once more, the old man stepped across the threshold of infinity. Once more his body curled in sleep while his spirit fought on for his life, rebelling against the unkind, unforgiving fate he shared which all those who had raced up the hill shared with him. A thousand men, a thousand dog tags never returned. Such is the eternity of the old man. Fifty years passed missing in action.


We are called the children of the Dark for today is a dark day, darker than most. I look down at Grandpa Grav’s sleeping peaceful face. At any moment I expect him to rise from his coffin and ask for his wheelchair. Grandpa Gravesone or Grav as I called him, had been Wheelchair bound since the second great war when a piece of shrapnel snapped his spine. Grandpa died peacefully in the middle of the night. My twin brother Griff grabs my hand for support and comfort. I can see the sadness of my heart reflected in my brother’s eyes. Grandpa was always there for us, Showering us with love and affection. Praising us when we did good and encouraging us to try again when we failed. Grandpa was always the loving one, while Grandma Rose was cold and cruel the exact opposite of grandpa. Everything we did seemed to irritate her, or should I say everything I did. Griff seemed to be her favorite, He never got into any trouble even though he caused a lot of mischief. She was quick to reprimand me or punish me for any slight or assumed slight she saw. And today was no exception.

“Aeron!” she whispered to me, “People are watching. Stop blubbering, you are not a girl. You need to be strong!” I saw the sharp anger in her eyes as she dug her nails into my hand. I guess that mom and great-auntie Vera seeing the rage in Grandma’s eyes or the pained look in mine decided to come over to save me from her wrath. “Ari,” as my Auntie Vera lovingly called me “Do me a favor. Can you please find Jake for me and ask him to come here for a second, please!” “Sure, Auntie, we will go find him and bring him over right away.” “We?” my aunt says as she looks curiously at my mom as Griff and I leave. Auntie Vera turned to speak to Grandma Rose” He is 10 years old now and he should know the truth. Plus, it’s hard for all of us to keep your secret especially on days like this.” “Shhh….” Grandma says looking in my direction, “He’ll hear you! I don’t think He’s ready yet.” Aunt Vera looking angrily at Grandma “You mean, YOU’RE not ready.” After a few minutes of searching for Jake in the dark, crowded funeral parlor, I turn to Griff. "There are too many of Grandpa’s friends and family around who keep stopping us. This place is too big, we will never find Jake this way. Let’s split up and look for Jake. I will go left, and you go right. It’ll be easier and faster.” Griff nodded as he headed right to the lounge and I walked left towards the offices. Not seeing Jake, I head towards the restrooms. The dark wooden shadowy doors offering a few minutes of escape from the stifling sadness of the place. As soon as I walked in, I see Jake’s lanky reflection of the bathroom mirror sadly washing his hands. “Hey, Jake! Your mom asked me to come get you. She needs to talk to you about something.” A little irritated he asks, “Did she tell you what it was about?” “No. She just asked us to go find you,” I respond.

“Us,” he responds, “I only see you.” "Oh yeah, Griff is still looking for you as well." Just as we leave the bathroom, Griff spots us and walks behind us. Mom, Aunt Vera, and Grandma were sitting together talking. Mom seemed grim, and Aunt Vera and Grandma seemed angry. I wonder what happened while I was gone. I know that it has nothing to do with grandpa. “Hey, Mom what’s going on? Why did you send Ari to hunt me down?” asked Jake. “Son, you know that after the burial we are staying at Rosie’s for a few days. So, I just wanted you to spend some time with Ari and not to go far.” said Aunt Vera. “Ok Mom.” said Jake. The funeral and burial were quick and somber. Everyone was ready to leave the cemetery except Grandma Rose. She placed a bouquet of white roses on the grave next to grandpa’s. Whose was it? Tears came down her face as she said a prayer over the mysterious grave. As I was about to walk over to grandma mom grabbed my hand, “Let’s go Ari,” she said “Let your grandma pray alone.” A deep feeling of sadness set upon us all as we left the cemetery, Mom and Auntie Vera tried to counsel Grandma Rosie as Jake, and I just sat in the back of the car in silence. Tears running down our faces, Griff just sat there looking out the car window crying as he twirled a lone white rose in his hands. When we got out of the car, I went to Grandma and gave her a loving hug. Grandma recoiled from my touch as Griff gave her the white rose. Grandma broke down crying.

“How dare you take the rose from the grave,” she yelled at me. “Go!” pushing me away. “Leave me alone!” “Grandma, I didn’t take it, Griff did. He gave it to you to cheer you up. I did not steal it from the grave, I mean it.” “Don’t lie to me!”, she yelled raising her hand to hit me. “Rosie, Stop!” Auntie Vera screamed. “He didn’t take it, we stopped him from going to you at the cemetery. You must have left one fall in the car.” Mom then said, ”Ari, you and Jake are going to sleep in the basement in Dad’s old office. There should be some blankets and sleeping bags in the storage room downstairs. Aunt Vera will be sleeping in your room.” “Mom, What about Griff? Where is he staying?” I asked. Everyone looked at me. “Ari, just go downstairs!” Mom yelled. When grandpa was alive, part of the basement had been converted into an office and the rest was storage. Ari, finding a couple of sleeping bags in among the boxes started to set up a small sleeping area in grandpa Grav’s office. While Griff and Jake rummaged around some boxes for blankets and games. “Ari, who is Griff?” Jake asks, pulling out some blankets from a box. “What do you mean Jake? He is standing next to you. He is my twin brother?” "Ummm, Ari, there is no one here, just you and me…I thought your brother had died in a shooting accident when you were young.” "What do you mean? No, he is right there. Look, he has a book in his hands. Griff, bring that book over here." Jake sees the book floating over to Ari. “Hey, this is Grandma’s old diary” says Ari. Jake lets out a little chuckle  “That is a good trick. I almost believed that the book was levitating by itself. Where are the trick wires, huh?” Ari angrily “I am not lying! Griff is standing right next to you. Stop being silly. Better yet ask him for something and watch him bring it to over to you." “Ok, bring me that flashlight over there.” No sooner had Jake asked for it, the flashlight begins to fly over to Jake’s hand. Jake feels around it and finds no strings attached to it. “Ok, how did you do it? I saw it fly in the air and come to me but I do not see anyone.” “I am not joking with you.” says Ari, “Griff gave it to you." “Ari, stop trying to scare me. Your twin died a long time ago. Next thing you are going to tell me is that grandpa’s ghost is here.” Ari grabs the journal, and angrily sits down in the corner leaning against the back wall. Rummaging through the diary he decides to read the last couple of pages. "Maybe if I read her diary, I can figure out why grandma Rosie hates me so. Plus, it might also calm me down. Hmm these entries are dated 5 years ago." Nov 13 Ari and Griff are in the basement playing Cops and Robbers again. Grav is downstairs in his office. I hope that the kids don’t disturb him as he is working…. Nov 24 I….I can’t believe Griff is dead…. Ari killed him. He killed him. It was accidental, I know. He found Grav’s gun in one of the boxes and was playing cops and robbers with Griff when he pulled the trigger and shot him. The bullet went through his head and through the wooden door in Grav’s office, hitting Grav in the back. Doctors say that he will never walk again. The bullet severed his spinal column. Nov 25 I can’t believe that he is dead. Why God? Why? Why did Griff have to die…. Nov 26 My eldest daughter Trisha has volunteered to take Ari for a couple of days till I can come to grips with this. That is the last entry in the diary. “I can’t believe this" he says looking in shock at Griff laying down next to Jake’s sleeping form. As a couple of letters fall out of the book, Ari opens them and begins to read them. Dec 18th Dear Mom, I still think that this is a bad idea. Ari is your son. You sent him to St Joseph’s psychiatric clinic for a couple of days cause he is in a catatonic state. He still has not responded to any treatment so far. You and the rest of the family pass me off as his mother because you can’t deal with the tragic event. I think you should also go see a shrink to help you deal with this issue. Dec 20th Dear Mom, Ari has come out of his catatonic state. He doesn’t remember anything regarding the accident. He has assumed and believes that I am his mother. The therapist and I have convinced him that he had fallen out of a tree and hit his head. He has been in the hospital all this time healing from the fall. The therapist believes that Ari should not be told until he is old enough to deal with the consequences of his action. Dec 24 Dear Mom, even though it doesn’t make sense to me as to why you want to do this, I will go ahead with your decision for me to adopt Ari, and as discussed I will give up my apartment and move in with you on January 2 to help you take care of Dad. We will tell Ari that I am your daughter and that he is my son - your grandson - instead of me being his sister. I have spoken to the other family members and they have agreed to keep the lie going as long as you want. Please fill out the attached adoption forms. Ari begins to cry as he looks on at the sleeping forms of both Griff and Jake. “This can’t be true…this can’t be true.” In the semi-darkness he notices a dark metallic padlocked door in the back of the basement that he had not seen before. Making sure that he does not wake up Griff and Jake, he quietly grabs a set of old keys that are hanging on a hook in the basement he walks over to the door. Trying each key in succession, he tries to open the door. "Maybe I can find some more info regarding the accident in that room. It has to be locked for a reason." When he opens the door he find himself staring into his own eyes. He finds a record of his birth certificate, Griff's, and his other brother Nathanial who died when he was younger. He comes to realize that he was not a twin, but a triplet. Ari looks at Nathan’s darkened image and hugs his brother. Grandma had left him locked in the room with a slit in the bottom to feed him by just like she had done to him when he was younger. She made it seem as if Nathan had never existed. Waking up Griff, Ari and Nathan go upstairs to pay grandma a visit. She has to answer for what she has done. Jake wakes up as he sees the shadowy image of Ari walking upstairs with two old knives floating behind him.


The doctor was staring at the meatball sitting in front of him. His flesh was loose, the belly was perfectly round and squishy, but it definitely had a little elasticity to give an extra level of pleasure to the person who would tap on it. The doctor didn't touch him, but his long experience told him all that. He knew his patient was an overweight guy who didn't even seem to care about it. He came here for acute knee pain. Who would say to him that his obesity is the root of his problems? But the fluffy man was not at all ashamed of his bad habits of eating a whole ocean at a time. " Do you know it's not at all good to be that fat?" "Hey, it's not my fault. I have become like that, because of this world." " Eh! Stop lying. Look, I'm a doctor and I know you eat too much and don't exercise. So..." "You don't believe me!" "Try to understand, you have to reduce your BMI if you want to live healthily" " I didn't think I'll share this information with anyone. But, guess I don't have any choice now. Do you want to know Why I'm fat? Well, let me tell you a story first." "Don't waste my time." " I'll only tell the necessary parts. This is a story of three people. Not very long ago the world wasn't like this---------- "Not very long ago people used to live a happy normal life. But suddenly everything changed. Science fiction writers have predicted and described many kinds of apocalypse in their fiction. Starting from omnipotent A.I. taking over the world to the self-destruction of the sun. Nuclear holocaust and zombies had been used as morning walk! But these nonsense bunch of fictional stories are useless and nothing compared to the problem what people are facing now. This kind of apocalypse was never ever imagined. As a result of this destructive apocalypse, people are now unable to use lifts. They can't walk properly, eat properly, sit properly. This ultimate phenomenon destroyed our lifestyle. And the main problem we're facing is....." "Cut it out, Steve. We all know what this is. In fact, look at me!" Steve looked at the poor potato lying on the couch, scratching his head. No, wait! It wasn't a potato! It was his friend Paul! His body is completely round. His head was completely sunk inside his tremendous belly. Hands and legs were kinda like big sized cucumbers and his fingers were comparable with big round and juicy grapes. He had been transformed into a huge potato. "Umm, sorry about that Paul.", he said softly. It all started almost a year ago. The government of 'Ekta' ordered and forced all the farmers to cultivate a special genotype of potato. It should have been an over-productive type, in fact, it was. But, after people started to eat those potatoes, soon they also started to turn into potato-like species themselves! A group of young scientists started working in order to find out a way to cope with it. "Steve, what should we do know? All of our co-workers have been turned into potatoes. Even me! Soon I even won't be able to ta....." "Oh no, Paul!" "We're doomed, now it's only you and me.", Stated Nick, pro gamer, the fattest person in that room. Of course, his belly was nothing big in front of Paul's. But once Paul used to be the thinnest member of their group. TAN. TAN. TAN. TAN.! They were startled by the sudden sound. It was their Auto Surveillance System's Alarm. That meant it had found something. They rushed to the control room. "Marvelous! We finally found one of the parliament members" "Let's go and talk. It's highly likely the government was involved in this crisis" They at once rushed to the detected spot. Even Paul was going rolling his body. But they didn't get what they expected. The parliament member was also turned out to be a potato himself! "So, the government wasn't involved?" "How can we know that Steve?" They searched the empty house only to waste time. "Hey Nick, look what I found!", He had a file in his hand. "It reads: the government received the formula of hybrid potato from a legendary creature called 'the Jamba'. " "What do you mean by 'the Jamba'!? So, wasn't it scientific warfare?" "I don't know, but, if we want to stop it, we have to touch all the bases." "So, where can we find that so called Jamba?" "No data. But I'm sure we can find more information in the library." They headed to the library. In the meantime, Paul totally lost his sanity and started to try to slam Nick and Steve. It is also needed to be mentioned that, the strange syndrome not only turned people in potatoes but also affected the thinking process. The person who's effected used to get an instinct of killing people by slamming them. "Whoa, Paul!" "Hey, Nick, let's hide in that house, with that fat body, there's no way he will be able to enter." They entered an abandoned house breaking the front door with a heavy kick. But they were wrong. Paul was fat but also quite elastic. He managed to enter and kept following them. "He is coming, Steve! He is coming! " Steve had eyes. He also saw that creature coming. ''Head to the stairs!" They ran upstairs at a furious speed. This time it was successful. Paul could not climb the stairs because of his excessive weight. "That was close.", sighed Nick. "We're safe, but we need to get out of here." Steve started to look around the house. "I think, there is a private library here." "That's good luck, but it's highly unlikely that we'll find out anything about the Jamba here." "Found it!" "Impossible!", Nick didn't believe what he just heard. "It's possible that the house owner was a fan of legends." "You mean apex legends?" "It's not a funny idiot! The world is at stake and you're talking about games!" "My bad." Reading the book they found, they found out the place where the Jamba used to live. "Steve, listen to me, we need to run faster than super Mario and even sonic if we want to reach the mount Takara today." "Stop talking about games. Lemme think a bit." During the first few months of the apocalypse, all the vehicles had been destroyed. So that was out of the question. But remaining out of the base wasn't at all safe. They already knew higher places were least likely to be attacked. "I have an idea, Steve." "If it's about games then no thanks." "Trust me, you'll like it." Soon the pair were heading towards mount Takara. How? Well, they were running on Paul's round body causing him to roll. They were running backward in order to progress forward. The idea was perfect. They soon reached mount, Takara. The mountain had a big dark cave. Nothing could be seen inside. "Jamba! We're here to talk with you. We have a little business to settle." A bright light started to come out of the cave. They could see a humongous shadow on the farthest wall of the cave. It was almost 20 meters long. It looked like a fat dragon with relatively small wings. The shadow looked creepy. They were trembling with fear. And, when the monster came out, they were shocked to discover, the great Jamba, was, actually, a chicken! It was indeed a regular-sized chicken, but the shadow was tremendous because of the angle from which they were watching it. "Greetings my friends. What do you want from me?" "You turned all the people into potatoes. We request you to make everything normal again, or.." "We'll fry and eat you!" "Shut up Nick! .... I'm begging, do forgive my fellow friend for his rudeness." "Nah don't worry, I'm not at all angry. Actually, the government of Ekta asked me to solve the malnutrition problem. And that's why I decided to solve the problem once and for all by making them overweight" "I see. But, our government didn't mean anything like this. I beg you please make everything normal again." "That's not possible." "If you don't do what we say, we're sure having a grilled chicken with soya sauce today..." Steve shoots a killing look at Nick's eyes making him quiet once again. "Isn't there any way?" " I'm afraid there's a way but you can't do that." "Just tell us." "If I have to undo the formula, I'll need to do the chicken dance. But I can't do that unless someone defeats me in the Competition." "What kind of competition?" "You'll gonna have to defeat me in eating competition." Both friends burst into laughter. Steve sure was a master class scientist. But he also was well known for his massive eating habits. And as the competitor was just a 1 feet tall chicken, it wasn't even a competition! "You don't need to be worried. Let's do this." "Okay, don't say I didn't warn ya!" Soon two 1000 litter boxes filled with noodles were visible before them. "I don't think we'll need that much." "Oh!, I don't think so!", The small chicken started to evolve and turned into a big fat elephant with a relatively small nose! "H-hey!, That's cheating!" "I warned you before!" Nick was afraid and didn't know what to do. But he saw a grin on Steve's face. "Noodles are my favorite! I always wanted to eat as much as I want. But never could because of a shortage of money. I finally got my chance!", He said to himself, "if I don't win I'll still be able to enjoy the noodles!" "Hey! Why are you laughing!?" "Don't worry, Nick. I've got this!" Soon the competition began. Both the contestants were eating like they hadn't eaten for years. 2 bowls, 3 bowls...21 bowls, 22 bowls....67 bowls...none of them showed any sign of withdrawal. 346 bowl, Steve was getting fatter and fluffier with every bowl he devoured. 543 bowl, Steve started to get difficulties. But he continued nevertheless.657 bowl, the elephant was already 6 bowls ahead. But the competition was far from over. "You can do it, Steve, the fate of humanity depends on you!" 768 bowl, the elephant also having trouble now; though he is already 21 bowls ahead. Steve had become a giant football by then. With every bowl, it was getting harder and harder. "Do it, Steve!" The competition turned insane. Both of them were running out of energy. They were having trouble continuing. Steve had eliminated the difference between them. Both of them were eating 974 number bowl. But suddenly the elephant burst, scattering millions of ultra-fat chickens everywhere. That watermelon like chickens had ridiculously small wings and almost no neck. Looking like fluffy watermelons. "I can't believe I'm lost!", Stated Jamba. "Oh well, I'll keep my promise." The Jamba or Jambas started to do the chicken dance in order to reverse everything. ---------------------- Jamba kept his promise. Thus once again, everything became normal. He also altered the memory of the people so that no one remembers the facts.." "And what's the connection of it with your obesity?" "I'm Steve." " Stop joking. You think I'm going to buy this ridiculous story?" " I'm serious!" " What do you think, I'm a clown?! This story has to be a lie. It has so many plot holes. it's impossible for a person to eat that much. And people turning into potatoes; what it has to do with vehicles?! You don't even know how to lie properly." " I'm not lying. It's true. Believe me!" "Yeah, I'm sorry. I was wrong. Obesity isn't the biggest problem you have. Don't worry. I'm recommending you a good psychologist. " "Okay. You won't trust me. I think I don't have any choice left. Here you go. Eat it.", He picked up a boiled potato from a tiffin box he was carrying. The doctor received it and started to devour it without hesitation. "Don't think I believe you. I'm just hungry that is why I accepted the treat. In fact, your ridiculous story made me hungry!." As soon as he swallowed the potato. He turned into a huge fluffy potato himself! Moral: Never eat potatoes from strangers! ***. ***. ***


The last time I danced was in February. Not this year’s February, but last year’s. It’s too many months with no contact. Now I’m walking into a hotel for one of my favorite pre-pandemic pastimes. I’m greeted by a bright welcoming face behind the check in desk. I can see her smile and she can see mine. There’s still a wall of plexiglass between us from when it was needed for protection, but seeing another human this close without masks hiding half of our faces feels incredibly intimate. I accept my room keys and head to the elevator. My finger hovers over the button, pausing in mental preparation to notice I’m about to touch a public surface and I need to have sanitizer ready to scour my skins as soon as I get to my hotel room. I let out a full exhale and remind myself that while I’ll likely still sanitize frequently, it’s no longer a mandatory survival habit.

The room is small, and I think about how there will soon be five of us here. Two in each bed and one on the floor; breathing the same recycled air for all of the hours we aren’t in the ballroom downstairs. Dancers have done this for years; cramming too many people into each room to save money since the festival tickets, private lessons, and travel costs are expensive. But this time is different. Most of us haven’t shared a room with someone outside of our household for a long time, and we’ll need to readjust to this closeness, trying to get back to how things used to be. How things were in the dance world before being in a close embrace with a stranger could be deadly. Before we feared our own friends and family members getting near us.

My roommates won’t be here for another hour or two, but I can’t wait for them. I’m too excited to get downstairs and catch the first workshop. Brazilian Zouk: Back to the Basics starts at 8pm and my stomach flutters with a mix of anticipation and doubt. Before the pandemic I had been dancing and training in Zouk for five years. I wouldn’t have been as interested in a Basics workshop back then, but after this long of not being able to enjoy this partner dance, I’m worried I’ll forget everything I knew before. The countless hours and dollars spent on technique training, practice, and teams. Can muscle memory last this long? As I get closer to the ballroom I see the display tables lining the hallway. Vibrant festival banners, flyers and tee shirts, leggings and body suits, and glittering shoes are a sight for sore eyes. Then I see my friend that I met years ago at another festival. “Ah - hi!” we both squeal and run toward each other. There’s a brief pause before we close in on less than six feet of separation, but then we break through it and lunge at each other in excitement. “Oh it’s been so long!” She says as we rock in a joyful embrace.

“Yes, I’m nervous I won’t be able to do this anymore; that I’ve forgotten everything,” I say, stepping back with a furrowed brow and pouting mouth. “Same! I was so sad I didn’t know if we’d ever have these festivals again. It’s been torture to be without the dance fam for this long.” “I know, it’s been so awful and also devastating who we’ve lost,” I look down, thinking of the two instructors and a few other Zouk community members who didn’t make it through the pandemic.

My friend brings me into a comforting hug, and I notice how it feels so foreign after the time apart from others, but it’s also a welcome home, this closeness. “They’re here in spirit with us,” she wipes a tear from her eye. She had taken lessons with one of the instructors who passed and the memory of the wisdom and energy that person brought to the scene is heartbreaking in this moment of recognizing their absence.

“Are you catching this basics workshop?” I nod toward the ballroom, just as we hear warmup music starting and a mic check from the instructor.

“Yes, let’s do this,” she links her arm in mine and we head to the end of the hall.

We find a set of empty chairs along the wall and settle in to change our shoes, pulling our Taygras out of their bags. She’s wearing a magenta leopard print bodysuit and I’m wearing galaxy-patterned leggings with a tee shirt from a 2018 festival. We jump onto the dance floor and join the crowd in the warm up movements. I see a few other friends, including one of my roommates on the other side of the dance floor. We wave excitedly then refocus on the instructor leading us through slow head movement to warm up our necks and prevent injury.

After the workshop a group of us heads to a restaurant down the block for a late dinner. For most of us, this is the first time we’ve eaten indoors with friends in a long time, and it’s almost magical. Our voices fill the otherwise-empty restaurant with exclamations about how good it feels to dance again, but also how nervous we are for the social. What if we’ve forgotten how to lead or follow, all the technique we had practiced for years? What if we get hurt? Is it really safe to get as close as Zouk dancing requires? That last question hangs in the air in a moment of stillness. The medical experts throughout the country (and world) have declared that it is safe, the virus has been contained and we can feel free to live lives that involve normal contact, as long as someone isn’t showing symptoms of illness. But after nearly two years of fear of being near other people, it’s a hard concept to fully accept.

We clear the table and head back to the hotel. My roommate and I grab extra keys for the others staying in our room and head up to our floor. We each grab a side of one of the beds and lie back for a moment, taking in the reality of where we are and how long we’ve missed this.

“Well,” I turn to her, “do you know what you’re wearing tonight?” “No, I definitely need your help with that!” She jumps up and unzips her suitcase. “I brought six different outfits for the socials since I just couldn’t decide. Also, what if styles have changed or something since the last festival I went to and we’re supposed to wear something different now?” Her shoulders tense toward her ears in worry.

“I’m pretty sure the Zouk scene didn’t become extra fancy or different while we were all isolating. That would be pretty unfair. I think we should go for what makes us feel good right now, so we can focus more on the dance than what we’re wearing.” “True,” she starts pulling outfits out and holding them up in the mirror. “How do you like this one?” She has a purple and white zebra-striped romper held up to her.

“Love it! What shoes would you wear with that one?” “Maybe these?” She pulls out a pair of nude three-inch heel ballroom shoes covered in rhinestones.

“Hot, but don’t forget this is Zouk and you’re rusty… would those be dangerous?” “Ugh, you’re so right. I should find something shorter for this first night so I don’t fall on my ass doing turns or rotisserie.” “Ha, yep, I think I’ll be going more casual tonight and sticking with flats to avoid just that.” By 11pm the rest of the roommates have arrived and we’ve been catching up, getting ready, and sharing our mix of excitement and nervousness about the social. We talk about the workshops happening the following day and how it’s been so long since we’ve been on dancers’ schedules. We’re not sure we can make it to the end of the social at 4am, and then especially to the 11am combre workshop after that.

“I feel like I’ve learned to sleep a lot more during the pandemic, so if y’all find me snoozing on the side of the dance floor please pick me up and bring me back here,” one roommate asked with a wink.

“Yes, me too! I feel like making it to 2am is ambitious enough for me for this first night. I’m guessing we’ll also be super sore tomorrow too. Watch those necks, ladies!” The roommates nod in agreement and one touches her neck just thinking about circular head movement and how rusty we all are with it.

At midnight we make our way down to the ballroom and are met with the distant familiarity of dance social humidity. The mix of sweat and joy in the room creates a thick air being sliced through with the beats and lights from the DJ booth. We take it all in and start looking for partners.

“Oh I love this song, let’s go!” One of the ladies from our room is a lead, so she pulls another roommate onto the floor.

I scan the room and then find a friend from our apprentice team years ago. We briefly catch up on how we’ve been holding up and then rush to the middle of the dance floor to start out the night’s dances. The right side of my face touches the left side of his as our torsos and hips connect. Our arms and hands find their positions and we start with a shared inhale in the embrace. Our heartbeats find each other, then connect with the song. Our collective weight shifts one way, then the other, then into the basic step. The music guides us as our movements grow and we create shapes in time with the beat and lyrics. This is what has been missing. The distance between me and other people for so long made me unsure I could get back to Zouk, but I’m here, with the other dancers and we’re reconnecting. We’re finding our way back to each other and I never want to lose this again.