CARO: 'Dad? Dad, hi, it's me.'

DAD: 'Oh, hi there, I'll just get your mum, she's in the loft.'

CARO: 'No, wait! It's you I wanted to talk to.'

DAD: 'Oh, right then. I'm fine, how are you?'

CARO: 'Yeah. Alright. Um, except, I got... Mum's in the loft, you say?'

DAD: 'Yep, she's putting the Christmas decorations away. I was just weatherproofing the gate, just popped in to get some more newspapers, don't want to again the paving, you see, so if you want to call back later when your mum's downstairs...’ CARO: 'No, Dad, it's you I wanted to talk to. Okay, I've been working my way up to it all day, and I've got a break between meetings, so I wanted to ask you something. Did you have a girlfriend before mum? ' DAD: 'Me? Well. I suppose. There was a girl from my college, we went for drinks a few times, but nothing came of it. Why would you ask that?

CARO: 'Well, okay from the beginning, I did one of those genetic find your ancestry tests, y'know, since you were adopted. Mum never knew her dad, you can get tests done off the Internet it tells you things like if you've got a vitamin deficiency or a propensity to get diabetes and things too, someone gave me a voucher as a present, so I did it, y'know for a bit of fun...’ DAD: 'Oh. Like a doctor's test? Are you poorly?

CARO: 'No, I'm fine. It's like a doctor's test only it also tells you if there's anyone else in the database who you're related to and I didn't think there would be since you and mum don't have any brothers or sisters, but then there was a match.'

DAD: 'Oh, right, so you've found a relative? So it must be one of mine, like a brother or sister or cousin or something? I tried to track down my birth mother, but it came to naught.’

CARO: 'I remember.'

DAD: 'So who have you found? Did they give you a name? Is there a picture? Oh well done, love. After all these years, I could have some family still living!’

CARO: 'Well, yes, this person wanted to be notified if they got a match, and well, this is why I wanted to talk to you, not mum.' DAD: 'Well, let me call your mother, and she can pick up the other line, that way you can tell us both at once, this is news indeed!’

CARO: 'No, dad. This is for your ears only, just hold your horses.’ DAD: 'Oh, have they passed away? ‘ CARO: No. They got in touch with me, we've been emailing, and they added me on Facebook.’

 'Dad, I've got an older brother.'

DAD: 'No, you haven't.’ CARO: I think I have. He's called Toby. He looks like me, everyone thinks so. I haven't met him, he's living in New Zealand.’

DAD: 'Well, that's what you get for buying things off the Internet, love. I'm sorry, but I think you've got carried away. I mean, a brother in New Zealand… bit far-fetched, isn't it?

CARO: 'How long were you and mum together for before you had me?

DAD: 'You should know this. It was two years we were married after the first year then you came along a year later.

CARO: 'He's 5 years older than me.’

DAD: 'If you're saying what I think you're saying then... Well. I don't know what.'

'Goodness me, Caroline, we don't hear from you for months then you ring me up telling me I've got a girl into trouble!' CARO: 'Shh, Mum'll hear you.'

'Well, she so she should. I'll be telling her about all of this right away.'

CARO: 'I'm not saying you did it deliberately dad, but the woman you dated before mum, do you know what happened to her?' DAD: 'Well, we both got jobs at the same company and decided it'd be unprofessional for us to date. I think she found me a bit dull, to be honest, she wanted to go out partying all the time, and well, you know me, I like to potter about by myself. We were in different departments then I got offered the transfer to Bristol where I met your mam.

CARO: 'Right. So, and don't have a fit, but it's possible, possible, she could have been pregnant when you left?’

DAD: 'Caroline, this is not a discussion I want to have.’

CARO: 'Well, I didn't want to have it either dad, but I have a brother that I want to meet someday, and I'd better figure out what to tell him about you. Refusing to acknowledge that he exists isn't a good start. At least admit there's a possibility...’ DAD: 'There isn't! ' CARO: 'How do you know, though?' DAD: '...your mother.’ CARO: 'What? I didn't hear that.' DAD: 'I said, your mother was my first.'

CARO: Really? Cos you were what, twenty-something when you met mum, come on, dad.

DAD: 'Yes. Really. I was shy, and things were different in those days. I didn't want to cause exactly the kind of trouble that you're accusing me of.’

CARO: ‘Okay, okay.’

DAD: 'Can we put this whole silly business to bed? It's probably some kind of scammer, you need to be careful!'

CARO: 'Dad, I was the one who told you about Phishing emails, remember? I work in cybersecurity, don't you think I'd know an Internet scam if I saw one, I'm literally the expert.'

DAD: 'Well, you can't be the expert in everything.'

CARO: ‘I'm the expert at this.’

DAD: 'Lynn! Your daughter's on the line, here, you talk to her. I'm going to paint the fence.'

CARO: 'Wax on, wax off, Daniel-san.'

DAD: 'Oh, yes, I see what you did there. Yes, well, goodbye for now Caroline, I'm putting your mother on.'

MUM: 'Hello you!'

CARO: 'Hey, mum.' MUM: 'What did you say to dad, he's got a face like a slapped bum?' CARO: 'Is he still there?' MUM: 'No, he's out again painting the fence while there's a gap in the rain. I've just put the Christmas decorations away for another year. We still put your star on top.'

CARO: 'Oh, mum! That's trash I made when I was like five! Please throw that away!

MUM: 'No, it's special

because  you made it. It's been on that tree for thirty years, and it'll be there for thirty more, God willing.' CARO: 'Alright, I'll tell you what I was saying to dad because he'll tell you, but he'll get all the details wrong because it involves the Internet and he's a troglodyte.

'Ha, oh, alright, then. But don't expect me to understand any of this Internet talk either.'

CARO: 'No, it's not work stuff. Alright, basically I did one of these genetic tests that tells you if you're at risk of any diseases and stuff, and it also matches you to any genetic matches that have done the same test, like anyone you're related to, and obviously, I didn't think there'd would be any matches or maybe we might find some of dad's family or whatever, but well, there was a match, okay this sounds weird, and now talking to dad I think it was probably a mistake, but it matched me to someone, and I thought he might be a brother, I've seen pictures of him, and I thought we looked alike, but I've probably just imagined it. We've both got red hair, but millions of people do, right?' 'So anyway that's what dad was cross about.'

'Mum?' 'Hello? Mum? Can you hear me? Oh, I think my signal's gone if you can hear me hang up and I'll call back.'

MUM: 'I'm here.'

CARO: 'Oh, oh okay, I can hear you now. The signal must have cut out for a second.’ 'Anyway, are all the Christmas decorations back in the loft now? When are you gonna throw away that tatty old plastic tree, I bet it's just bare wire now, isn't it?'

MUM: 'His name was Toby.

CARO: 'Yeah. Wait. Did I tell you that? Wait. How do you know his name? Mum! Mum, what's going on?

MUM: 'My parents sent me to a convent to have him. The nuns were awful to us, I at least got to meet his new parents, they lived in London, they had good jobs, and they were nice people. They said I could see him if I wanted, but everyone said I should put it behind me and I was young and scared and I did.

'Have you seen him? Is he alright?' CARO: 'Well, that's the thing we were emailing each other.

MUM: 'You've talked to him? What's he like?'

CARO: 'He was nice, friendly. We look alike. Curious about me as much as I was about him. He knew he was adopted, that's why he did the test, to see if any relatives came up, I just did it cos I got a voucher as a birthday present from my friend.’ 'Are you going to tell dad? I take it he doesn't know.'

MUM: 'Yes, I suppose I should now. I was waiting for the right time, but it never seemed to be the right time, and I thought maybe he'd rather not know, and you can't take it back once you've said it out loud, and then I thought it'd gone on too long, the secret and that just makes it bigger, y'know. He'll say why didn't you tell me 40 years ago, and I can only say that it's because I'm a liar. He might never look at me the same. We know everything about each other, except for Toby.'

'Are you angry with me?'

CARO: 'No. I don't think so. It's just a lot to take in.’

DAD: 'Are you two still on the phone!'

MUM: 'Yes, just a minute! Caro, I need to go talk to your dad. Can you call me back tomorrow?' CARO: 'Sure. Oh before you go, I've got some pictures of him on Facebook, shall I email them over to you? ' MUM: 'Oh, you can send me his pictures? Yes. I want to see them. I have to go now. I'll make dinner for your dad and... Actually no, I think I'll have a glass of port. There's a bottle left from New year's eve. When do you think you'll be able to send the pictures?'

CARO: 'Give me 10 minutes.’ MUM: 'Oh, that soon? Okay, I'll take the iPad upstairs and... Okay, love.’ CARO: 'It's okay, mum, you don't have to tell dad anything if you don't want to. Just have a drink and settle yourself, okay? Call you tomorrow.’ MUM: 'Yes.’


Muted honks of car horns, brakes applied at the last moment, mild shouting, and a dead grey light act as my alarm clock these days. As I struggle to get out of bed, I feel blindly for my rose-colored glasses on the nightstand only to remember, once again, that I haven’t taken them off from the day before. These are my rose-colored glasses that I can’t take off. As I unplug my phone and begin my dreary morning routine, I look through my rose-colored glasses, and am reminded of a time when even a good night’s rest was an unfortunate barrier separating one bright day from the next. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. A time when I still believed in Santa Claus, and the boot print in ash on the hearth—a boot print whose similarity to your own went unnoticed year after year—was proof that I could still believe in the incredible. Forgoing a morning shower, I dress quickly and rush out the door making it to the bus stop just in time to be shuttled off to work on yet another Monday. As I stare blankly at the dingy floor of the bus through my rose-colored glasses, I remember when even waiting for the bus was an adventure. Gameboys would be passed around, and parents would turn a blind eye while bus drivers played along as we lined up various lunch items on the road to be smashed by the bus tire as it came to a stop. *I wish I would have called in sick today*, I think to myself as images of us catching falling maple leaves in the middle of a windy October day fill the lenses of my rose-colored glasses. You distracted me from my cold by promising me a Dove Bar for every leaf I could pluck out of the air that day. I caught 7, and we both laughed as you tried to explain why 7 Dove Bars was, “Really, if you think about it, way too many.” During my lunch break, I pull up 1215 Pilchuck Drive on Google Maps, only to be painfully reminded of the clear-cutting they did after we moved that erased so many of my favorite places as a kid. In those woods, we braved 50ft tree-gobbling monsters to build forts and make maps of a jungle that seemed to never end. Why does it all look so small now reflected in my rose-colored glasses? The rest of the workday passes like a slow moving train that seems to take its time when all you want to do is cross the tracks… Staring out the bus window through my rose-colored glasses, I see minivans packed full of moms and kids on their way to an array of different practices. Gymnastics, kung fu, baseball, or soccer, I’d do all 4 at once, just to sit in the passenger seat next to you again. Almost a decade of car rides that seemed so mundane, so why do I wish had paid more attention? With the satisfying *thunk* of my apartment door closing behind me, I begin my evening ritual of peeling off my shell of adulthood. I hang my keys on the hook by the door, sling my bag over the back of a kitchen chair, and loosen the tie that has spent all day assuring me that breathing comfortably is, in the end, completely overrated. Settling into my chair for a few brief hours reprieve before the necessity of mentally accepting the reality of Tuesday, I reach up to make my nightly attempt at taking off my glasses. As I grip the frames and begin to pull, I encounter a resistance made familiar by years of other failed attempts to remove the rose-colored glasses that I can’t take off. There I sit, alone in my chair as I try to pass the evening immersed in a book, doing my best to ignore the images I see through my rose-colored glasses.


My finger hovered over the download button. I hesitated for a moment. This app, it promises to reveal one secret about any person who's name you type in. Simple as that. Type their name, get one secret Just clickbait, Right? It couldn't be real. No, no way. I swallowed down the fear that I hadn't even realised was there, then, closing my eyes tightly, I pressed download. Loading. Loading. Loading. The app opened. It buffered for a second, before revealing a black, Google-style, search bar across the top of the screen. Just a gimmick, thats all this app couldn't possibly know the things it claimed to, could it. Could it...? I shook my head, I was just being dumb. Forcing these stupid thoughts out of my head, I pressed the search bar. I pressed my lips together, wondering who's name to type in first. I decided on my little brother. My thumbs skimmed over the letters, Yeah, I type fast, I use my phone a lot, don't judge. The screen turned white. Words appeared on the screen again, Finding records on ***Joshua Jones, please stand by......*** they read. ***Extracting one secret about Joshua Jones.....*** another pause, the a small, spinning, loading wheel. Then, finally the product of my wait. ***When Joshua Jones was ten years old, he spilt Ribena on his mother's white carpet, and blamed it on his sister.*** I smiled. Josh had always gotten me into trouble when we were kids. Then I froze. My blood ran cold. How could it possibly know that? Perhaps this App wasn't as much of a joke as it seemed. Intrigued, I typed the name of my best friend. A pause. The same loading screen as before. **Extracting one secret about Nicole Geralds...** The loading wheel again. ***Nicole Geralds is romantically attracted to Terry Smith*** How could an app on a smartphone know this much about people. More specifically, the truth about the people that I cared about most. I was the only one in the whole world who knew about Nicole's little crush on Terry from football. Most people at this point would be scared, terrified even. Most people would delete the app, or, I don't know.... What I did know was that I wasn't most people. I found myself drawn in by this strange promise of power. Curious now, I typed in the name of my boyfriend. The result soon appeared on the screen ***Adam Roper is planning on dumping his girlfriend, Rose Jones, by text in 3 seconds.*** My brows narrowed in confusion. The number changed to 2. He wasn't, Adam wasn't gonna dump me. The 2 was replaced with a 1. This had to be some dumb joke. My phone vibrated in my hands. A text had just come through. From Adam. *I'm sorry, Rose, things just aren't working out for us.* For the second time in just a few minutes, my blood seemed to freeze. No way. Okay, I was beginning to get curious. What would happen if I typed in my own name. Rose Jones, I typed slowly. My fingers hovered over the search button. There was nothing about myself that I didn't know though. Right..? Perhaps against my better judgment, I pressed search. ***Extracting one secret about Rose Jones....*** The screen flashed white. Then, ***Rose Jones is currently admitted at Fetchfield mental hospital. She suffers from delusions. Rose, please wake up.*** The world flashed before me. I felt the cold air on my skin. I was lying down. On a uncomfortable bed in a room with white-washed walls. A lady with long fake nails, a spray tan and cheap blonde hair leant over me. Mascara stained tears ran down her cheeks. "Oh, Rose, you're awake" She said in a high falsetto "Mumsy missed her lovely daughter" I didn't know this woman, I'd never seen her before in my life, in fact. "Wh-what about the app" I croaked out "Mumsy doesn't know what you're talking about sweetie-cakes" "What about Adam. What about Josh and Nicole?" "Oh pumpkin-pie, there never was an Adam, or whoever else. You're In here for delusions, don't you remember that?" I shook my head "Don't you remember me, your own mother!" The woman's voice reached a pitch that I would've thought impossible. "I brought you in here when you first started having these delusions, but now, I've decided to bring you back home. I employed a carer to take great care of you honey" Did this mean that my whole life was lie? That my friends and my family were never real. It had certainly seemed real. Now I thought about, something about this place, this woman, seemed familiar, like something I'd only seen in my dreams, or perhaps my nightmares.... 'Mumsy', the woman with the spray tan and fake nails ginned to herself. Another successful transfer. It pained her to go to such lengths, but some things must just be done. No-one could be allowed to discover the secrets. No-one could be allowed to discover **The App.


“No, no, dad! Just keep it straight up! Now you point it to the target like you’re holding a pistol. Just hold it straight up, yeah, like that. Now look at the screen, look at the screen. Ok. Can you see the target? Make sure it’s somewhere in the middle of the screen. Now press the power and volume buttons together. On the right-hand side. The two top buttons. Right. Are you pressing them both?” The old man sighed, despair in his eyes. “I’ll never get the hang of this,” he said. “That’s because you moved your phone, don’t move it. Here.” His son impatiently took the phone from his hand. “Here you go, target in the middle, press buttons, piece of cake!” The targeted plastic cup shot from the table like an arrow and landed on the windowsill. “Now you,” the son said, and placed the cup back on the table. * The old man had been a wizard all his life. And quite successful too. With his cloak, staff, wand, and spells he had saved the world from peril more than once. Then one day, a parcel was delivered to his door. He even had to sign for it. When he unwrapped the sturdy carboard box, it contained a shiny cell phone together with a brightly coloured folder with screaming letters: HERE IT IS, YOUR OWN BRANDNEW PHONE! There was also a letter, and he recognized the letterhead of UWA , the United Wizard Association. Ah, now he remembered, the last UWA meeting, almost a year ago. There, the Board announced that every member of UWA would receive a cell phone. He thought they had just forgotten about it. The letter read: As announced during the meeting of 14 th March, we are sending you your personal cell phone. To make your phone operable for wizardly work, you must download the special WIZZ-app from the app-store. This app will be upgraded regularly, so that eventually the device will function as a full replacement of staffs, wands, and spells. Private use of the phone is permitted if this will not interfere with work. Having no clue what it all meant, he placed the box with the phone on the table. * “Cool! Wow, cool!” His son rushed to the table without even taking his coat off. He carefully took the phone from the box as if it were a breakable artifact. “This year’s model, wow!” “It’s for work,” the old man said despondently. “It needs an app with double p so I have to find an app-store somewhere.” * Unlike most wizards, Geodefrith had not remained single. His wife Mildred ( Millie as everyone called her) passed a few years earlier, and he loved their son Fernando as the living memory of her. And for himself, of course, although he could be a pain sometimes; but a friendly pain. * With the aid of Fernando, the new phone was in working order within an hour. Geodefrith’s head was still spinning and buzzing with terms like SIM-codes, fingerprint-recognition, downloads, upgrades, data . Before he knew it the app (with double p ) had been installed, and Fernando told him his profile was complete. “You see, dad, it’s hardly brain surgery. Now all you’ve left to do is enter your spells.” Geodefrith started. “My spells? But those are secret, private. They’re all in here!” he said, tapping his forehead. “But they’re required if you want the app to work,” Fernando answered, “just sit down and enter your spells, I won’t look, ok?” It had taken Geodefrith years and years to memorize all the spells he needed. He sat down on the couch with the phone on his lap. His fingers slowly and unstably typed in the first spell. After a minute, he threw the phone aside and sighed: “This is not working. Forget it!” Fernando looked up from his own cell phone, laughing. “What’s not working, dad? How many spells have you put in?” Geodefrith raised his arms in despair. “None! I keep getting invalid input, make sure the spelling is correct; remember, some spells may be case sensitive. ” “I don’t know how you spell all those spells exactly. They’re in my head. When I need them, I just cast them.” Fernando said: “But there must be a way to know the spelling of your spells, right?” “Of course, they’re all in the Secret Book,” Geodefrith exclaimed, “haven’t needed it for years. It’s going to take me weeks to enter them all.” To make a long story short, defying all rules of secrecy and privacy, it took Fernando a little over forty-five minutes to copy all Geodefrith’s spells from the Secret Book into the phone. In awe, Geodefrith watched his son’s fingers race over the shiny screen. * “Now you,” Fernando said. Geodefrith held the phone as straight as possible, and his shaking fingers fumbled to find the two buttons on the right. When he pressed them, the plastic cup shot against the living room window. “I got it!” he cheered, “incredible! I still can’t get over it that the phone knows exactly what spell to use!” Fernando smiled. “That’s why they call it a smart phone, dad.” * Spells came in variations, of different magnitudes. There were spells that were hardly more than a simple magical trick, such as moving objects, or making things disappear. Or, a bit harder, spells that could move a wizard from one place to another in a flash, sometimes miles away. Then there were those to fend off danger, such as a sudden thunderstorm, a flood, or an avalanche. Some spells could be used to protect against de spells of others, especially members of the Dark Order of Wizards ( DOW ), a group with a questionable reputation that split off from the UWA centuries ago. Regularly, there were encounters between members of both groups, sometimes leading to serious clashes. Never, however, could these spells be used to kill or destroy. Even in the fiercest fights between opponents, spells were to be used only to defend, to annoy or fatigue the other. Both sides adhered to this unwritten rule; wizards died, naturally, but never by the hand of another wizard. The deepest spells did have the power to destroy or kill. In rare cases, where imminent peril was extremely profound and potentially lethal, a wizard might use such a special spell. From the beginnings of wizardry, any wizard qualified as such, had every spell at his disposal. But during the leadership of Frankfrith the Glorious, who acted as chairman of the UWA for more than six centuries, the Rule of Limitations was introduced. Seemingly randomly, wizards might lose their “licence to kill”, or any other spell, for that matter. * By a small margin, Frankfrith had been elected as the 19 th Chairman of the United Wizard Association. But he soon managed to extend his power by placing his most avid supporters on key positions in the organization. He appointed Glowfrith as treasurer, and Pensefrith as Scribe, a kind of personal secretary. Ilbreth, nicknamed the weasel became Deputy Scribe, taking care of “daily matters”. Frankfrith’s rule was characterized by modernization , which, as most wizards agreed, was in fact Pensefrith’s idea. The old communication system between the board of UWA and individual wizards, by using heralds to deliver messages in person, was abandoned and replaced by periodical letters signed by Frankfrith. * Nine decades after Frankfrith was elected, at the annual UWA meeting, he was surprisingly flanked by two large figures, who were introduced as Ironfrith the Unwavering and Bullfrith the Wielder, both members of DOW . Frankfrith had hired them as private security agents, to protect him from an “increasing number of serious threats by certain groups.” It was from that time on that the periodical letters from the Board were signed Frankfrith the Great, and later even Frankfrith the Glorious . * A few weeks after Geodefrith had received his new phone, there was the annual UWA meeting. All members gathered in a large hall. Beverages were served before the meeting, and Geodefrith sensed a lot of tension, mostly having to do with the new phones. After Frankfrith had opened the meeting and hammered away the approval of last year’s minutes, Donfrith the meak , the gentlest person that ever roamed the earth, raised his hand. “Ah, a question,” Frankfrith said, “please, go!”  Donfrith’s crackling voice sounded through the hall. “About these phones, Frankfrith, are they really necessary?” Frankfrith looked down with a kind smile. “I am afraid they are, Donfrith. There’s just no other way.” Then Donfrith said: “But what was wrong with staffs and wands and spells? They always worked well, didn’t they?” “Yeah, what’s wrong with staffs?” someone shouted from the other end of the hall. The figure of Bosefrith had risen, and he spoke with a booming voice: “It’s all about control! He uses those phones to track us everywhere!” Soon almost everybody was screaming and shouting, until all voices joined together in a chant: No phones, no phones, no phones! Then there was a tremendous bang that stopped the turmoil immediately. Bullfrith’s fist had landed on the table with such great force that it almost split in two. His huge shadow loomed over the hall. Geodefrith was sure he saw flames and smoke coming from Bullfrith’s maw when his thundering voice echoed: “Enough!!” * This is to inform you that the introduction of cell phones has been a great success. The latest upgrade of the WIZZ-app makes the next step possible. The Board is proud to announce that from May 1 st , all staffs and wands will be deactivated, and spoken spells will be rendered ineffective. Representatives of the Board will be collecting your staffs and wands. During the coming months you will receive notification of the exact date of collection. Your collaboration is appreciated. On behalf of the Board Frankfrith the Glorious Geodefrith put the letter aside. Although, with the help and support of Fernando, he had mastered most of the features of his phone, he still liked to wander about occasionally with staff and wand, leaving his phone at home. Casting spells the old-fashioned way felt great! That was all going to end soon. “A good thing,” Fernando said. * It had been an easy day. The world seemed to be in a pleasant Spring mood. Geodefrith’s horse was trotting home and the old wizard smiled broadly. He was looking forward to a quiet dinner, a fine wine, and a good read. He sighed, complacently, until he spotted a silhouette on top of a hill. Oh, bother, he thought, there goes a quiet evening! He had immediately recognized Wellfrith the Gloomy, who came galloping down, waving and shouting: “Heya there, Geodefrith the Silly, old stoop!” True enough, of all the dark wizards one could encounter, Wellfrith was probably one of the least bothersome, but he was such a show-off. “Good eve, Wellfrith,” Geodefrith said, “wishing you a good journey!” “Not so fast,” Wellfrith replied, “let’s not forget our good manners, you ancient creap!” “Oh, come on, Wellfrith, let’s forget it,” Geodefrith pleaded, “I just want to go home.” Wellfrith looked at him with scorn. “You lamentable fossil! You know what the code says: we have to exchange some spells.” Geodefrith sighed. “Ah, well, you can have it your way!” He took his phone out of his pocket, waiting for Wellfrith to produce a wand or staff but, much to his surprise, Wellfrith held up a phone as well. “Take this!” the dark wizard yelled. Wellfrith pushed his phone in Geodefrith’s direction, but nothing happened. Then Geodefrith aimed his phone, target in the middle , nervously pressing the buttons on the side. Wellfrith was thrown off his balance and landed on one knee. “Well, I never!” he grunted as he got up. “You treacherous old fart!” He aimed his phone at Geodefrith, but suddenly raised his hand. “Hold on,” he called, “gotta take this!” He put his phone at his ear and started talking, turning his back on Geodefrith. After a minute or two, Geodefrith heard Wellfrith say: “Ok, let’s talk again later, I’m in the middle of something now!” But before they could exchange any further spells, another call came in. After the third, and twenty minutes later, Geodefrith sighed and said: “Come on, Wellfrith, may I go home now?” Wellfrith looked at him and shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, why not,” he said, “stupid phones!” Geodefrith smiled and said: “I couldn’t agree more.” Wellfrith replied: “I’d give my right arm for a good old-fashioned sturdy staff!” * “It’s all Ironfrith’s doing,” Wellfrith said as the two old wizards joined part of their journey. “Ever since he’s associated himself with your Frankfrith.” Geodefrith answered: “It’s Pensefrith, really. He’s behind it all. It ought to be stopped!” Wellwrith stroked his beard. “You know, there might be a way,” he said. “We could call for a popular vote. I know a big majority of DOW members want staffs and wands back. All we have to do is to send a message to all DOW and UWA group members; it's the only thing these phones are good for!” And so, it happened. Text messages were sent to all the group members. * There was a rather heavy knock on the door. Geodefrith got up to open and was surprised to see Bullfrith on his doorstep. “You are requested to come,” he growled. “Sorry, got other plans,” Geodefrith answered lightheartedly. “You are requested to come!” Bullfrith repeated, a bit louder. “And I still have other plans!” Geodefrith replied. With his big paw, Bullfrith grabbed him by the shoulder and forcefully pulled him away from the door. “Hey, take it easy,” Geodefrith squeaked. Bullfrith dragged him along for some fifty yards, where Frankfrith sat waiting in a four-wheeled cart. Geodefrith was pushed into it. “What’s going on, Frankfrith,” he said while getting up. The cart rattled along the cobblestone path. Frankfrith looked at him affably. “Now that was not a very smart thing to do, was it?” he said. “What wasn’t?” Geodefrith asked, annoyed, brushing the dust from his cloak. “Well, my dear Geodefrith, if you are to commit high treason, it’s not smart to do it all out in the open.” “What do you mean, high treason, what are you talking about?” Frankfrith calmly stroked his beard. “You must understand, my dear old friend, that the Board cannot overlook individual, disgruntled wizards who undermine board decisions taken unanimously.” “Not undermining; I was just asking the others to vote for or against using cell phones, that’s all.” Frankfrith answered: “We’ll see,” and kept quiet the rest of the way. * Geodefrith was escorted into a room where Pensefrith, Glowfrith, Ironfrith and Ilbreth were seated at elevated tables. On the floor below, a single chair was standing. Bullfrith pushed Geodefrith in the chair, and he and Frankfrith joined the others. Frankfrith mildly looked down on him, and said: “It is the Board’s decision, Geodefrith, that it would be in your best interest to, erm, enjoy a few weeks, months of rest. All expenses paid, of course!”  Geodefrith looked up angrily. “So you’re sending me away!” “Believe me, we only want what’s best for you,” Frankfrith answered. * The resort was comfortable, but he never felt at home. There were no other wizards, as far as he could see. Most of the guests were older people, shuffling about with or without a walker. He spent most of his time in his room. He had his cell phone, but after the Limitation Rule had been applied, only very basic spells were available to him. Sometimes, some of the guests had visitors: families, children, grandchildren. No visitors ever came for Geodefrith; it was decided that would be too stressful for him. He sent messages to Fernando, complaining about his situation, but only received encouraging text messages back, wishing him speedy recovery. He thought he was being censored. * Once a week, a nurse came by, a sweet young lady, who would sit with him, asking about his wellbeing. She gained his trust and he felt comfortable enough to pour out his heart to her. How he was kept there against his will and wished to go home to his son. She promised to find out more, and she became an ally in his quest for rehabilitation. He looked forward to her visits, the both of them plotting to find a way to reveal the truth. Then one day, she was not there, but instead two male nurses grabbed him and put a needle in his arm. * When he woke up, two older men, dressed in white, stood at his bed. The first one said cheerfully: “Welcome, sir! Welcome to the world!” The other man added: “You have been asleep for quite a while, but the operation went very well!” With shiny eyes, Geodefrith said: “Thank you, doctors!” The first doctor said: “You will be going home to the resort in about two weeks. You’ll be happy there!” “There are absolutely no signs of rejection,” the other added. “The chip is nicely embedded.” Geodefrith smiled at them. “Thank you, doctors,” he said again. * Geodefrith sat comfortably in a chair in the recreation room of the resort. There was the liveliness of children running about. A lady came in holding hands with a little boy who held a toy car in his other hand. “There’s the gentleman,” she said, “there’s the gentleman who can move things. Ask him if he can do it.” Geodefrith smiled at the boy. “Just put your toy on the table,” he said. Then he took out his phone, aimed it at the toy, and simultaneously pressed two buttons on the side. The toy moved. The boy screeched and jumped up and down. “One more time!” he screamed, excited. Geodefrith laughed. He was a happy man.


When I get home, Kayla is sitting on the couch biting her fingernails and staring out into space. I pause at the doorway and watch her. I have only seen her bite her nails twice since I’ve known her. Once when her mother died. The second time was when her father died. I walk into the living room and she turns her head towards me. “Hi,” I say. “Hey,” she responds. She’s looking at me with narrowed eyes. I decide to give her time to tell me what she wants to say and go to the kitchen to start putting the groceries I've bought in the fridge. “You want to go to a party tonight?” she asks. I pause with a carton of eggs in my hand and turn toward her. We were supposed to stay in tonight and watch a movie. It was her idea. She’d had a really rough couple of weeks at work and said all she wanted was to relax. Now, she’s looking at the ground. “Whose party?” I ask. “Melissa,” she says. “Who’s Melissa?” I ask. “A friend,” she says, now looking at the wall behind me. In the ten years we’ve been together, Kayla has never mentioned a Melissa. “How’d you meet?” I ask. “Do you want to go or not?” Kayla snaps. She immediately blushes, “Sorry, I…it’s just…another bad day.” “Oh,” I say. Kayla still isn’t looking at me. She’s biting her nails again. I want to question her and ask her what she’s upset about, but something tells me to just let it go. To just give her what she wants and ask questions later. “Sure,” I say, “Let’s go.” She looks at me and smiles a bit. “Ok,” she says, “…thanks.” An hour later, we’re in an uber, on our way to some party in the Hollywood Hills. I still don’t know who Melissa is and Kayla was very insistent that I ‘dress sexy.’ My clothing usually consists of jeans and t-shirts. That’s it. So now, I’m wearing a strapless dress I haven’t worn in over a decade and heels I’m probably going to take off when we get to this party. I’ve tried engaging Kayla in conversation, but she won’t give me much. Just stares out the window. I watch her, trying to read her mind. She catches me staring and smiles. I smile back and reach for her hand, but she pulls away and looks back at the window. I can feel a tightness forming in the pit of my stomach. I want to ask her why we’re going to this party. I want to ask her why she won’t look at me, why she was biting her nails, why she won’t tell me anything at all. Instead, I turn toward my own window and try to accept the silence. After thirty minutes of winding roads and feeling like we’re making our way to the top of Los Angeles, we pull up in front of a large metal gate. Kayla and I get out of the car. I stumble in my ridiculous heels.  I watch Kayla go to the call box at the side of the gate and press a button. We hear a phone ring. “Hello?” someone answers. In the background I can hear laughter and loud music. “Hi, this is Kayla?” Kayla says, her voice high and squeaky. I look at her with bewilderment on my face. Her voice is unusually pitchy. She avoids my eyes. “Who?” the voice asks. “Kayla?” she repeats, her tone a question, as if she doesn’t know her own name. She is fidgeting with her dress and her hair and her earrings. She is a constant flutter, and I don’t recognize her. We can hear muttering in the background. The voice on the box is passing along Kayla’s name. She continues to fidget, her gaze going from the call box to the gate to the sky. Everywhere but me. “Kayla?” comes a different voice from the box. This voice is deep and sultry and undeniably sexy. Kayla turns beet red and says, “Melissa?” “Kayla! Oh, come in, come in,” says Melissa. The gate opens and we come upon another windy path made of cobblestones with roses and posies lining the side. The house at the end of the path is a mansion made to look like a cottage. Vines are growing along the side, and there are wide windows where we can see the party goers dancing and drinking. I keep stumbling in my heels and Kayla keeps glancing at me and sighing in exasperation. The tightness in my stomach is spreading to my chest, to my shoulders. “Did you bring extra shoes?” Kayla asks the ground. “No,” I say, “I figured I could just take them off at some point.” She stops and looks at me. She looks as if I just told her that we should barbecue some puppies. “What?” I ask. “Take them off?” she says, “We’re not at some hick party, you know. If you can’t tell, this is a nice place. This is a real party. So why don’t you try walking like a normal person. Ok?” She glares at me for another moment and then keeps walking. I stare at her. I want to scream at her. I want to grab her by her shoulders and shake her until her head pops off. I want to attack this body snatcher and ask her what she’s done with Kayla. Instead, I follow behind, clenching my feet and trying not to trip on the hellish cobblestones. We get to the giant, red, front door, and it opens before we can knock. Standing in the doorway is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Tall, curvy, luscious brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes. And she is looking at Kayla like she wants to swallow her whole. And Kayla is glowing, the redness in her cheeks spreading to her neck, to her exposed shoulders. “Hi Melissa,” Kayla whispers. I watch as Melissa embraces Kayla. I watch as Melissa kisses Kayla’s cheek. “It’s been so long,” Melissa says against Kayla’s neck. I can feel my hands ball themselves into fists. I can feel the right side of my head pulsing, pounding. I clear my throat to announce my presence and they both look at me as if I’m a fly that needs to be swatted. “Hello,” Melissa says, “I’m Melissa. And you are?” I start to speak, to introduce myself but Kayla cuts me off. “This is Ingrid,” she says, “A friend.” I stare at her. Friend? Melissa shakes my hand, but my gaze stays on Kayla. “Come in,” Melissa says, “Please come in.” She takes Kayla’s hand and pulls her in. Kayla doesn’t look at me. She only looks at Melissa. It’s as if I’m not there. I want to leave. I know I should leave. I know I don’t deserve to be treated this way. I hesitate at the doorway. I start to back out, following my good instincts. But then Kayla turns. She sees my face. She says something to Melissa and then hurries back to me. “What are you doing?” she asks, her eyes wide. “I…I’m thinking I should just go,” I say. I want to say more. I want to ask her why she’s acting like this. I want to ask her who Melissa is. But I stay quiet, my eyes searching her face for answers instead. “Don’t go,” she croaks, her hand gripping my arm, “Please? Just stay a little longer.” Her grip on my arm is so tight and maybe it’s because I’ve never seen her this way, maybe it’s because of the strangeness of it all, maybe at the end of it, it’s my morbid curiosity. “Ok,” I say. She sighs in relief. We walk down a long hallway and enter a large living room. People who look like movie stars fill the space. They are drinking, dancing, kissing in corners. The music is loud, and I have to fight the urge to cover my ears. Melissa offers us martinis and I shake my head. “Are you sure?” Melissa asks me, “They’re absolutely delicious.” “No, thanks,” I yell, “Just a beer for me.” Kayla scoffs at me as if I’m so low class and says that she’ll have a martini. As Melissa goes to get our drinks, I lean over to Kayla and say, “A martini? Really?” She says nothing. She pretends she can’t hear me, even though I know she can. She hates martinis. Or so she’s told me. Melissa returns with the beverages. “How long has it been?” Melissa asks Kayla. “14 years,” Kayla says. “Wow,” Melissa says, “Well, it’s so nice to see you.” They look deeply into each other’s eyes. “How did you two meet?” I ask. Kayla snaps her eyes my way, and I can almost feel the fire shooting out of them. “College,” Melissa says shortly, “How did you two meet?” she asks with a snide smile. “Oh,” Kayla says quickly, “We met at a mutual friend’s birthday party. So, what have you been doing with yourself? And is this your house? It’s gorgeous!” Melissa catches us up on all her activities for the past 14 years. It’s clear she doesn’t mind monopolizing the conversation. She’s a world traveler, food connoisseur, social media influencer, and clearly independently wealthy. Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game starts to play and it’s like everything slows down. I watch Melissa take Kayla’s hands and pull her into the middle of the floor. I watch Kayla let herself be led, not throwing a single glance my way. I watch as they move together, arms wrapped around each other and again I wonder what the hell I’m doing here. Someone bumps into me, and I spill beer all over the front of my dress. I decide it’s a sign that I should finally leave. I go back to the hallway and decide to look for a bathroom before I go. I walk further into the house and spot one on my right. There’s a woman in there crying over the sink. I can’t decide if I should ask her if she’s ok or turn around and pretend like I haven’t seen her. She sees me in the mirror before I can make a decision. “Oh, shit,” she says, wiping away her tears, “Sorry.” “It’s ok,” I tell her, “Please. Take your time.” She smiles at me and mumbles, “Thanks.” She grabs some toilet paper and starts to clean her eye make-up. “Everything, ok?” I ask. She laughs, “You caught me crying in a bathroom. What do you think?” “Right,” I say, “Sorry.” “Relationship drama,” she says. I nod sympathetically. “How do you know Melissa?” she asks. “I don’t,” I say, “My girlfriend does. How do you know Melissa?” “I’m her girlfriend,” she says with a smirk, “Well, more like her flavor of the week. Melissa doesn’t have girlfriends. And right now, she seems to be quite taken up with her ex.” “Her ex?” I ask. “Kayla,” she says, “The one that got away, apparently.” “The one that got away,” I repeat. My body suddenly feels heavy. My feet are screaming. My head is pounding. “Yea,” she says, “They had this on and off thing throughout college. Melissa cheated on her a bunch of times until Kayla finally said screw it and stopped going back. Until now, anyway.” “And Melissa has told you all this?” I ask. “Yea,” she says, “She talks about Kayla all the time.” My throat is dry and I’m finding it hard to swallow. The woman stares at me and understanding comes over her face. “Oh,” she says, “…I’m so sorry.” I shake my head but no words come out. What is there to say? I turn away from her and start to walk back down the hallway. “Didn’t you need to use the restroom?” I hear her ask. I don’t respond. I just keep walking. I go back to the living room. Melissa is dancing with someone else. Another woman who looks like she’s at least a decade younger. Kayla isn’t in sight. “There you are." I turn. “I’ve been looking for you,” Kayla says, “Where’d you go?” “Someone spilled beer on me,” I say. “Oh,” she says, “Well, did you want to go?” I stare at her. “I’m kinda over this party,” she says, “The music is way too loud.” I watch her look behind me toward the living room. I know she’s watching Melissa dance with that young woman. “Well,” she says, finally looking at me, “Do you want to go?” The woman from the bathroom is walking toward us. She sees me and smiles. I smile back automatically. Politely. Kayla follows my gaze and narrows her eyes. “Who’s that?” she asks, her tone tight and sharp and accusatory. The tightness in my body expands, it widens, it overwhelms. My hands start to shake. Kayla must notice the change in me because she quickly says, “Let’s just go, ok? Let’s just go home. Please?” Her eyes are wide and pleading and she’s gripping my arms and I want to ask her a million questions, I want to tell her that the only reason she’s standing with me is because Melissa saw that she could still manipulate her and then dumped her for a younger model. I want to say that in the ten years we’ve been together, I never thought she’d be so careless with me, so dismissive, so ugly. I want to say that she’s ruined my opinion of her. My trust in her. But instead I just nod. “Ok,” I say, “Let’s go home.” Relief floods her face. She leans in and kisses me. “Thank you,” she says. I don’t respond. I just walk back toward the front door. Once outside, I take off my heels. I hear Kayla laugh behind me. “You never should have worn those things,” she says. “You wanted me to,” I say without looking at her, “You wanted me to ‘dress sexy,’ remember?” Silence. I walk barefoot along the cobblestone path. I get to the end, push open the metal gate and pull out my phone to call the uber. I can feel Kayla standing right behind me. “Ingrid?” she asks. “What?” I say, still not looking at her, my gaze laser-focused on my phone. Silence. “Nothing,” she says quietly.


Damn. Now I really didn't see this happening. Of all the things to happen at this bland school and this is the shit that happens. Wow. I guess I'm getting a bit carried, let me start from the beginning. My school, Jefferson Middle School, is rather boring, nothing really exciting happens here except the occasional girl drama that usally goes like, "Brian likes me! Not you, skany hoe!" And ends in a matter of three days. I'm usually quiet, if you were to call me "popular girl," you would be wrong but calling me a "nerd" wouldn't be right either. I was just sort of there. I had my friends and that's all I needed. That's where this story starts. With my friend, Daniel. Daniel was a pretty intresting boy. All acceralted classes, loved video games and comics, and wasn't bad looking at all. Over the first year of middle school, Daniel and I became pretty close. Hanging out after school and learning about eachother. It was pretty nice. Daniel loved life and he wasn't afraid to show it. If he had something to say, oh would he say it, but he was never disrespectful about it. He was always being a gentlemen. People always said shit about him. "Oh! Did you hear about Daniel? I heard he was sucking cock in the bathroom!" "Daniel the fag!" "Daniel should go burn in fucking hell with all the other fags that enjoy buttsex!" Get the trend here? They kept on saying he was gay, over and over. Through messages on Facebook, notes, or even writing on bathroom walls, which is very cliche. There have been times where I have asked if he was gay and I would get the same answer every time. "Do you think I am?" Over and over, he never changed it. Daniel was really proud and he felt as if he shouldn't state if he were gay or not and I really admire that about him. 8th grade started and I assumed that the gay jokes would have gotten old by now, but they didn't. They actual got worse. More people started calling him a "fag, dick-sucker," and spreading rumors that I don't even wanna remember. I noticed a change in Daniel, he wasn't as outgoing, didn't speak his mind, became less quite, less proud. I tried helping him, I really did but it never worked. He seemed to just become more depressed. Those kids never noticed either, they just attacked him more and more, getting more ruthless with each insult. This drama was lasting way more than three days and I wasn't sure what would happen. Shit even got worsed. That's when I heard the intercom come on one day during class. "Students, I am sad to announce that our student, Daniel Rigsbee, has died yesterday." They didn't tell us how he died, but we all knew. He killed himself. The voice of the principal announcing his death was so fucking emotionless, it made it seem as if Daniel was some character in a movie that died. Everyone was silent. I was filled with anger. Those ruthless bastards did this. They didn't know when to stop. The minute the bell rang, I sprinted to his house asking if it was true was they said today. His father simply nodded and beckoned me in. He said that there was a note left in his room directed to me and "bitches." I walked to his room, feeling as if I was going to puke. I found the note, all directed in rainbows, colors, and smiley faces. It made me sick. I opened the note with nervoness and read. "Dear Juno and the son of bitches at school. Let me make this clear. I am not fucking gay. I am as straight as the pole your mom dances on. I should not have to tell people this, it's my life and you shouldn't be butting in. Pun intended. You caused this and I hope you feel great. You did it! You've killed me! I'm not gonna say that this wasn't your guys' fault because fuck that. It totally was. I hope you live with that burden that you killed me for your whole life. Juno, I hope you live a great life and don't cry over me, you didn't cause this. You are amazing and don't let people do what they did to me to you. I would punch their neck. (: Bye, Daniel-Not fucking gay-Rigsbee What the fuck? That wasn't sad at all. This was the Daniel that I knew. He killed himself because he was done of the shit. I don't think he felt sorry or anything. I don't even know. As I turned to leave, I found something else. It was another note reading, "I hope this was exciting enough for you, Juno. I am a coward. I wasn't gonna deal with this anymore. They didn't win, remerber that. I won. They get to deal with my death. -Daniel" Fucking. Daniel.


I challenge every person who reads this story to sum up his or her life in just a few words. There are a variety of life lessons that probably took decades to learn and any person who TRULY examines themselves and what they have knowledge of knows that we are not done learning until we are cold in the grave. If you have ever heard a well-told story before you know that it is not simply heard, it is experienced, it is felt, and it is lived. These are a series of stories I have experienced that have taught me so much putting me well beyond my years, and yet, I must admit that I still know nothing. I feel that I am close though. This scares me in a sense. For my belief is that when we know what is necessary it is our time to leave. May be that is another lesson I’ve yet to learn, why not to fear death. I honestly don’t know. My brief story begins this series. I am the main character; the end all be all. All the other stories revolve around me. So please, keep that fact in mind as I go along. They are stories that have personally been told to me and therefore witnessed. I will explain more as I go along, I promise. I was the first to see what others around me couldn’t. It sickens me to see the simple, pathetic, self-destructive path I chose to get to where I am. My life was in ruin. In my late twenties all I did was drink hard liquor and gamble every penny I earned. Every other thought was how I could make more money, faster money, with little effort, almost as if I was entitled to it. The “big win,” would pick me up out of my depression. I would be able to drive that car I dreamed about since I was a boy or buy that house that my now, ex-wife used to want. This illogical sense of vengeance was always first and foremost on my mind. Not to sound conceded but I was an intelligent man in some ways. I was wise enough to have the self-awareness that my day-to-day activities were self-destructive. I knew that no matter what excuse I imagined, me, myself, and nobody else was ultimately the one who put me in the position I was in. I chose to marry the woman who took my children and married another man. I chose to marry a woman who drained me of every penny before she literally threw me to the curb. I also chose to foolishly drink and gamble my money away instead of taking the logical steps necessary to pick up the pieces of my life after she decided to leave everyone, even her kids. Immediately after the divorce my ex-wife would move from apartment to apartment, and I would pay the expenses in order for her to do so. I would stay at a friend’s house and give her almost every penny I made at my meager factory job. I was patient and tolerant of her decisions to this point. When she left our kids though, I put an end to it. From now on the money, I made would be mine. I would spend it how I deemed necessary and take care of our kids myself. Until this “big win” I would try to sustain life by getting an odd job every other month that didn’t require any sort of skill, or test for alcohol. I would do this until I was fired, or my co-workers would run me off. Most of my nights were spent in abandoned buildings. My meals were gotten at whatever cheap burger place was closest, or the cleanest food I could find in the garbage. That was just a short description of me of what kind of characteristics I used to possess. You will get to know me better as we go along. We can say a bunch of adjectives to describe a person but until we see how they lived their life we will never truly understand. (For example, I can be a loving and caring guy, but I can either love sex care about no one but myself and be a male, or, I can love mankind, care for those who need, and be a man. We must carefully observe in order to try to understand. Miscommunication is one of the greatest causes of turmoil.) I was spending my time at the Lake of the Ozarks and found some condominiums that needed a maintenance worker. I applied and got the job. It was easy enough to get hired on if you smudge a resume. The work wasn’t too complicated. Mowing grass, trimming hedges, and cleaning the docks was what I did the majority of the time. I kept the same sort of company no matter where I was employed. The sort that enabled me to continue down my self-destructive path. The last week out of the two I had worked at the condominiums I spent every night playing five-card stud with three of my “fellow” employees. This specific night was Friday night, payday, and this meant everybody would be playing with more money. I was going to clean them out. After that, I was going to go to the casino and break them. After that, I would have enough to show all of those who doubted me that I could come out on top. Almost like I had access to an entity that nobody else did. The sun began to sink behind the wood-line and the spring peepers were almost deafening. The traffic at the lake was slow but it was welcomed. The past week owners of the condominiums swarmed the lake. On top of a bluff, not far from the lake four men sat around a worn poker table in a little shack drinking and laughing. That was except for me. I sat concentrating and determined to win. There was no laughing, no joking or getting familiar with my “fellow” employees. This game could completely change my life. I kept the best poker face I could muster but my heart was racing. “So, Aaron, you come here every night and we have no idea who the fuck you are. Why don’t you talk?” Larry asked. Larry was a large, bearded man. He almost always wore a white tank top that complimented his arms but wasn’t near as flattering for his popped belly. “I’m just trying to focus on my hand Larry.” I said solemnly. Larry replied, “That doesn’t seem to help your game dipshit.” The other two men joined him in laughter. In my head what Larry said was probably to affect my game. It hit a nerve, but I didn’t react. I merely reached for my bottle of cheap whisky and took another large swig. I drank as randomly as I could, that way I didn’t develop any tells. “You know Derek here says he doesn’t like you.” I looked to his left where Derek was sitting. I figure he was in his early twenties with the libido of a jackrabbit and something to prove to every swinging dick that existed. (Except the dick that he stroked to make friends so to speak.) I honestly wasn’t interested in a fight though. More time fighting meant less time gambling. “That’s ok. I don’t really like myself that much most of the time.” I forced a grin as if my honesty was a joke. “Derek also says to need to take a FUCKING shower, you smell like shit.” Larry laid down his cards. It was a royal flush. I looked at my hand. All I had were three tens. That was the rest of my money. How could someone so vain have such good luck? Now I would go hungry the rest of the week unless I dug through the trash. Frustrated and without thought I retorted. “Then Derek needs to learn to speak for himself instead of having a retarted, cousin-fucking redneck speak for him.” Larry didn’t give me a chance to even blink. I barely got a grin in when I felt his fist hit me from across the little table, knocking me out of my seat. It was all a haze for me from there. The only thing I was certain of was that all three men were kicking and stepping on me at once. There was at least minute of this until I was rolled out of the door. I struggled to get up. I had never been knocked down and not gotten back up. I crawled a few feet until I was finally able to pull myself together and pick myself up. I wobbled, dizzy and disoriented trying to make my way to anywhere but the little shack. I had lost this fight. To go back would be suicide. “Hey bitch, you forgot something.” It was Larry yelling at me. I turned around and put my hands up to fight. Just as I did, I felt my fifth of whisky hit me in the side of the head knocking me down once again. I lay there for a moment… Hoping he had killed me. Tears began to well up in my eyes as I heard the three men laugh and make their way back inside. I fought the tears back in case they decided to come back and ridicule me some more. My mind raced with what I should do. Not only did I lose my money but also, I lost my pride. It didn’t take long though for me to come to the conclusion there was nothing more I could do that night unless I took my money from the three men, the three men that just beat me half to death. There was no winning this fight. I would just have to chalk it up to a loss, a three-hundred-dollar loss. When I was sure my co-workers were back inside the building jerking each other off I lifted myself up, picked up my whisky bottle and headed towards the docks. Staggering and drinking the entire way I figured this would be as good as place as any to sleep. At least I would have a roof over my head. I crossed the walkway and stepped onto the dock. I could feel the dock gently sway in the water. As I laid down this was comforting at first until it started to make me feel nauseous. I wasn’t about to throw up, so I stood up and started pacing. As I paced, I started to scheme on how I would make my money next time. Poker, lottery, or maybe next time I would go straight to the casino. I could put bigger bets down on the roulette table with the three to one odds, or put down moderate bets on thirty five to one odds and end up making more money… potentially. Suddenly the schemes stopped. I reached the end of the dock. The sun had completely disappeared for the day and the moon had come out. I admired the way it danced on the water. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring… Inviting. I wanted a closer look, so I walked to the very edge of the dock. I stood there and stared. As I stared with bottle in hand, I had an epiphany. I thought of my past and the path I had taken. May be if I had been a little different, said the right things, broken instead of bend when it came to my ex-wife things would be different. I would still be able to tuck my babies in at night, tell them stories and wake them up every morning with a smile and a hug like I used to.               I would wake her up in the morning with a kiss. First, I’d kiss her gently on the cheek, then on the lips. She was always so self-conscious about her breath, but I never cared. There was nothing about that woman that could detour me. This put a metaphorical blade in the middle of my stomach that felt literal. “No.” I told myself. A man who breaks isn’t a man at all. I decided there was nothing else I could have done. I decided there was nothing else I could do. I was destined to feel this pain for the rest of my life. I inched my way closer to the edge of the dock. The toes of my shoes were now hanging over… The decision was quick. I inhaled, took one final swig out of my fifth and exhaled as I jumped into the water. I sank quickly. I knew by the time I hit the bottom it would be too late to make it out alive. I would need to inhale before I made it back to the surface. The water was a good six feet above my head. I felt the mud and rocks on the lake floor as my feet hit the bottom. For whatever reason, it came to my mind to open my eyes. I guess I wanted to know what the last thing I would see was before I died. When I opened them I saw nothing. Utter and complete darkness. I panicked. This wasn’t right. What was I doing? Suicide was not the way to end things. There are other ways to deal with this. This cannot be the end. Why did I make such a rash decision? Since I had no more breath, I cried to God to help me, to pick me up from the water. I began to swim to the surface. I rose even faster than I sank. I was able to reach my hand above the water and feel the cool night air on my fingertips. I was going to make it! I thanked God profusely… This was until I felt hands grab me around my ankles and begin to drag me down. I began to sink deeper and deeper and the further I dropped the more hands began to grasp onto my body. This was certain death for me. So, I accepted. I was drug down with my back flat against the bottom of the lake. There was a moment of pause while all I did was notice hands gripped over every part of my body giving me no chance of ascension. Suddenly I could feel my body pulled through the bottom of the lake. The water was so cold at that point it felt like shards of ice grazing over my skin. A haze of images flickered before my eyes. I saw a dark forest, the earth on fire, fear and anguish began to take physical form until I was thrown onto my knees in a black room in front of a window that seemed to connect to what had to be another dimension. I stood up and walked slowly towards the window to peer inside. I saw a trial taking place. I saw a well-dressed man pacing in front of the judge. The whole court room nodded their heads like they were part of a congregation at a church. I then saw a security guard pull out his gun and point it at the judge. I ran to the window to stop him but as I got to the window a mighty force took me by the shoulders and told me to sit. I watched and I wept because I knew there was no way of communicating to this man. Soon though, the tears stopped, and all five senses engaged as the whole world unraveled right in front of me. A thousand voices harmonizing as one whispered to me. “This is the world you left them in.” My eyes and ears were opened like they had never been before. I could feel what other people felt, see what other people saw, in a world I left behind.


“Excuse me Joshua but I seem to be stuck on this wall,” a voice says behind me. I look at my manuscript, now over five hundred pages long, and put down my pen. How long has it been since I’ve had a visitor? The wood floor creaks underneath me as I place two hands on my desk and push myself up. As I turn around, nobody is at my door. Am I imagining things? “Not there. Up here!” I swivel my head to the right and see that a woman’s face is, indeed, on my wall. She seems to be trapped behind glass. Is she real? I shuffle over and analyze her green eyes, which hold my eye contact. With modern technology, it’s becoming harder and harder to tell what is man made and what is real. “How do you know my name?” I spit out. “You don’t remember me?” she asks. Her eyes drop from mine and her lips contort into a frown. “No. Who are you?” “My name is Anna. Anna Patronella.” Pain shoots through my ankles and I retreat to my bed covered in grey sheets. Anna Patronella. Why does that name sound so familiar? But I would never have forgotten a name like that. In fact, I would never forget anyone. Especially not their face. ------ “Joshua, come say hello to your auntie!” my Mama yelled from a distance. I abandoned my red bike on the rough rocks and raced through the backdoor of my childhood home. The powerful stench of baking apricots roared through my nostrils as I ran through the kitchen — there were two minutes left on the oven. As I entered the living room, my mama sat with a woman who smiled at me with a golden tooth. “Oh, hi Auntie Esmerelda! How are you?” I said. My Auntie’s face twisted. “How do you know my name?” “I remember it from when you visited us!” My Mama and Auntie looked at each other, sharing a look of confusion yet fascination. “But Joshua,” my Mama stammered, “you only met your auntie at your birth”. A soft oven alarm rang through the house, but no one else seemed to notice. “Well, I don’t know what to say. I never forget a face.” Silence swallowed the room for a minute. “Joshua. Do you know who else was at your birth?” “Of course! There was Mama, Papa, Auntie Esmerelda and Sasha, Uncle Hendrik, and the nurse named Marie!”. Once again, the alarm rang in the background but now accompanied by the smell of burning. “Damn it! The apricot jam cookies are burning!” my Mama sighed as she ran to the kitchen. ------- I had the sharpest brain back then. My Mama used to say I was smarter than a jackal, more cunning than a leopard. I feel my lips rise into a smile. There is no way I could have forgotten someone—- even at this old age. “Hello? Joshua? Can you hear me?” Anna sings out. My head rises and I look at her again. “I’ve been calling your name for the past ten minutes. Are you ok?” “Yes. Perfectly fine,” I say. “Anna, where are you from?” “I’m from Bakersville, of course… just like you.” Hmmm. That is where I’m from. I guess there’s a chance she knew me from a distance and I didn’t know her. Maybe I’ll ask my son to search her up if he ever visits me. I stand up from my bed and make my way back over to my desk. Anyone from my hometown is a welcome guest in my room. “Would you like a biscuit? Some tea?” I pry open my desk drawer, where I put all the snacks visitors bring me. I reach in and find that it’s empty. How is this possible? It was full just this morning. I open every drawer in my desk and find nothing. What the hell? A dark sensation builds up in my heart until it blossoms into deep anger. Damn this nursing home. Everyone steals everything from anyone, no matter where you hide it. Eve stole it. It HAD to have been Eve. --------- Eve fixed her eyes on the TV screen in the common room. She was watching 7 De Laan, my mama’s favorite show before she passed. On her lap was an intricate tea cup with gold edges and angels holding the handle. As I sat down in the spot next to her, she shot me a glance that screamed for me to leave. “Hey, Eve! What are you drinking?” The dark liquid in the cup sloshed around. It looked like tea. She sighed and turned off the TV. Carefully, she studied me. “I’ve just realized that we haven’t really talked since you moved in here a few days ago,” she said. At least she was kind of being receptive. It was lonely in the house. Most of the residents spent each day in their rooms, and even when they left for meals, they didn’t talk. Some couldn’t anymore, some simply didn’t remember how to. “How do you deal with it? How do you not go crazy here?” I asked her. “I’ll tell you. But you have to promise you will tell no one else.” “I promise.” Eve carefully looked around the room and leaned her mouth to my ear. “You don’t. You lie to yourself that you’re fine. Never complain, and especially not to your family. The more you do, the less they visit.” She went silent before continuing, “and alcohol. Tons of it.” I pulled back from Eve. Surely it couldn’t be that bad here. She was probably lying to me. Trying to scare the newcomer. My eyes wandered back to her delicate teacup, and I took a second glance at what was inside. Looking closer, I realized that the liquid was not steaming. It was not tea. “Can I have some?” I asked. “No. I barely have enough as is.” “Come on, don’t be greedy!” “I said NO!” she yelled. I lunged toward her teacup, trying to steal it from her. She flung herself backward, holding on tight. My fingers flew over the cup and started wresting it from her. Out of nowhere, the cup flew out of both of our hands and smashed into the floor. “You DICK. That was a gift from my dead husband.” ------ “EVE YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I tear all the sheets off my bed, start stomping as loud as I can, and try to rip out the drawers in my desk. “Joshua stop! What are you doing? I don’t even want a biscuit! It’s fine I promise!” “Shut up, Anna, you don’t even know me!” “Stop saying that, Joshua. I DO know you!” I walk from my desk to where Anna stares at me from behind the glass. She’s going to understand soon that not only do I not know her, but that glass is fragile. “APRICOT COOKIES!” she screams, raising her voice. “Don’t you remember? When you brought me those burned apricot cookies all those years ago? Watching 7 De Laan with your mother and me? When I helped you with your temper tantrums? Did it mean nothing to you?” My head spins, and I crumble onto the floor. What’s happening to me? Who is this woman? How does she know I have an anger problem? “Who are you to me?” I plead. “I don’t know,” she replies. “But I know there is something connecting us. It’s like there’s a chord tied from my heart to yours, bringing together two different worlds.” I raise my eyes and look at Anna. “I’m going to break you out”. I search my room with my eyes for something to break the glass, but find nothing. By pushing against the floor, I stand up. There’s only one option. I raise my fist behind me and throw it with all the strength I can muster. It bounces against the glass but doesn’t leave a single mark. “Anna, you’re going to need to trust me.” “Always.” I push my head against the glass separating me from Anna. I look at her and swear I can feel her breath on my face. Her lips and eyes beckon me, filled with kindness. She’s breathtaking. I let my head fall behind me, and in one quick motion, slam it against the glass. Pain spreads through me, and I feel my warm blood on my hands. As my mind goes black, Anna’s in my arms. I feel safe. ---------- Voices flood into my ears. “Your grandfather has been going crazy over the past few months. We can no longer take care of him here.” “What did he do?” “He’s been extremely hostile to one of our residents, Eve, and broke one of her teacups. She says he’s been greedy with everything in the house, even if it doesn’t belong to him.” “That doesn’t surprise me. He refuses to share anything with anyone except family. Is that all?” “No. For a week, he’s been talking about a ‘woman trapped behind the glass’ on his walls. Yesterday we found him with his room destroyed, on the ground, with a broken portrait of a woman in his arms.” Both of the voices go silent until one continues, “The only portrait in there is of my grandmother, Anna Patronella, his wife. After she died a year ago, he’s been in shock. I feel guilty. I haven’t visited him since I put him here after her death.” I shift my attention away from the voices and silently roll Anna’s name on my tongue. Anna. Anna. Anna. My wife. It feels comfortable. Perfect. I sit up in my bed and look at my bedside table. It’s my manuscript. I flip through the pages, each one blank, until I get to the last one. On the bottom of the page, it reads in neat cursive: Death did not do us part. Never stop enjoying your biscuits and cookies. Love, Anna.


It does not seem that long ago, but it has been almost 70 years since I first met the “Bowl”. The Bowl. Every boy at Sacred Heart, our Catholic grammar school, had a nickname. Michael Bowles was his given name, and it took several weeks in our fifth-grade year before I learned about his secret.   I remember it was in the middle of a typical Indian Summer when I first met Michael. The familiar warm breeze gently moved over the valley as if my mom had just covered me with a soft blanket on a cool evening. The smell of stewing tomatoes from the cannery down the street added an additional comfort level at this time of year. It was the first week of school. My parents thought I had mixed emotions about my expectations. Not really! All I was concerned about was how I fared with my buddies. There was one new boy in class. He was a small, scrawny boy whose desk was across from mine. Whenever I looked over at him, he smiled like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland . His eyes looked huge behind those thick glasses he wore making the rest of his body seem so diminutive. I considered him to be a novelty, finding myself looking at him periodically throughout the school day. And each time I looked at him, there was that same broad smile.   I never formally introduced myself to the “Bowl”. Ten-year-old boys never do. It is usually just a flick of the head acknowledging the other kid. Maybe you mutter your name after that, maybe not. But Michael was different. When the recess bell rang, he got up quickly and was at my desk instantaneously.   “Hi, I’m Michael,” his broad smile trying to outdistance the enlarged eyes behind the glasses.   “Hi, Michael, I’m Ron,” feeling slightly defensive. “They call me ‘the Count’.   He seemed disinterested in my nickname, but more concerned about what we could play at recess. I suggested we could join the other boys and play football.   “Nah, I can’t play football.”   I had questioned why he could not play football, but he would not tell me. He seemed very shaken as if his pet canary had just died. That huge smile left his face as he turned from me and slowly walked out the classroom door. The rest of the school day had been strained for me, having decided not to look over at Michael at all.   I did not see Michael the rest of that week, or the next few weeks. I agonized because I felt bad for not agreeing to play with him that one recess. But more importantly, where had Michael been? Each morning at class I would look over at his empty desk, wondering what had happened to him.   It was the middle of October before the “Bowl” showed up at school. He didn’t walk in like the rest of us at the beginning of the school day. Rather he was accompanied by his mom right before recess. Mrs. Bowles was quietly chatting with our teacher, Sister Rosario, as Michael took his seat. I glanced over at him and there was that all to familiar smile of his. Feeling relieved, I grinned back at him. After a few words were exchanged between the two women, Michael’s mom headed to the door. She seemed to be sniffling into her handkerchief as she left. Michael seemed unconcerned about his mom, but rather happy just to be back in class.   The bell rang for recess. My classmates and I had a big football game planned. I remember hustling out the classroom door and into the playground with a football in hand. Some of the boys passed me as I tossed the ball in the air.   “Wait for me, Ron!” a distant voice called out behind me.   It was Michael trying to catch up to me. In his outstretched hands he had a Basketball.   “Let’s shoot some baskets,” Michael yelled out.   “Bowl, it’s not basketball season. It’s October! Time to play football. The guys are waiting, it’s a big game.   One of the boys screamed out to me to hurry up. I looked at the boys then turned to look at Michael. His eyes are transfixed on me with that big smile of his.   “Ah geeze,” I mumbled, tossing the football to the boys eagerly waiting. “Go on and play without me.”   I glanced back at Michael who had an even bigger smile. He tossed the basketball to me. I felt uptight about the situation, but I knew it was something I needed to do.   Michael attempted to make a basket with the ball, but his throw barely reached the bottom of the net. He tried even harder the second time, but the shot wasn’t much better. He then seemed to be tired.   “Watch me, Bowl. See how I use my arms to push the ball?” I made the basket.   Michael is still trying to catch his breath. The smile has long left his face.   “Let’s sit down for a short while,” I suggested.   Without hesitation, Michael walked to the bench alongside the basketball court and sat down. I joined him, bur glanced over at the boys playing football.   “Where have you been the last few weeks,” I asked still looking over at the boys playing football.   “I have been sick and quite tired. That’s the secret I haven’t told you about,” Michael replied as he looked down at his shoes. He raised his head slowly to look back at me. “I have cancer. It’s in my lungs.”   I was stunned. I knew a few things about cancer. My grandma died from it. I had an uncle with a cancer where they had to remove part of his jaw.   “Does it hurt?” I queried. “Are you going to die?”   “Yeah, it hurts a lot sometimes. Other times I have a hard time breathing. Not sure about dying. No one said anything about that. I can’t play football because of my lung problem.

  I was lost for words. I became nervous, looking away trying to figure out what to say or do.   Michael intervened again, “I had two surgeries. I may have to have another soon.”   There was silence. I couldn’t even hear any of the kids yelling in the school yard.   “Hey, you want to feel the bandages from my last surgery?”   “Wow, can I?” I responded. I looked around to be sure no one was watching me as I was about to touch Michael.   “Run your hand up and down my back.”   I did so. “Damn, Bowl, that’s a lot of bandages!”   Michael lunged forward slightly from feeling the pressure of my fingers. I apologized for hurting him.   He glanced over at me and said,” Why did you decide to play with me instead of your friends?”   “Waddaya mean? We are friends too, Bowl!   Michael’s smile returned. He then asked me an unusual question: “You got a girlfriend?”   We both giggled.   “Me, a girlfriend? Nah, I just wanna play sports and catch pollywogs down at the creek. What about you?”   Michael let out a funny laugh, something more of how a chipmunk would sound. “Not me! I live by the words of Hopalong Cassidy: I am a straight shooter”….In unison, Michael and I scream out”…because we don’t drink, swear, or kiss girls!” We both laughed. I then coaxed Michael to take one more shot before the end of recess.   I handed him the ball, “Okay, Straight Shooter , let’s see you make this one.”   In one motion, Michael took the ball, shot it and made the basket. Both of us jumped up and down, laughing and yelling, until he became short of breath once again. I rushed to him, but he assured me he was ok.   The bell rang, so we began our walk in silence back to our classroom. Michael clutched the basketball as if it was a prized possession, still smiling about the basket he just made.   He turned his head to look up at me and whispered, “You are my best friend.”   “Friends forever,” I whispered back.   The comforting Santa Ana wind gave way to the cold, dark winter chill. I never did see Michael after our shared moment on the basketball court. Two days after shooting baskets he was rushed to the hospital for an emergency third surgery. Michael did not survive the surgery.   I never forgot about Michael especially when I later played on the school’s basketball team in the seventh and eighth grades. It felt right for me to dedicate each game to him.


"What a pretty room I possess! My Dream Room." Lis said it inside her mind already three times this morning. Maybe she has started noticing her room way too much after staying at home for a whole year. But really, pretty or not, this is her dream room. A small but cozy one with a dark type white color! A study table on the right side of the door, a small closet, a bathroom on the corner and a cute bed on the other corner with a large window. Pretty tidy room, well except for the 'large window'. Its glass is at a breaking stage, hanging from the rods of the window. So anyone who notices her room from the inside sees the 'almost' broken window before her tidy room. And those who see it from the outside, they see nothing but that annoying window. Lis sometimes feels sad, because that is her favourite place in her room. That window is why it's her dream room. A rainy dark night with cool breezes coming inside and a cup of coffee while spreading her legs on the bed- ahh! Relaxing chills starts flowing through her body. She thinks of doing the exact same thing now. She does exactly the same. Well, maybe except for the rain and coffee and spreading legs like that hurts. Also it is not night, it is an unusually bright morning. "Maybe next time a cozy weather" and she starts her usual, staring outside from the window. Sometimes the window glass starts creaking so she has to become careful to open and close it. What does she stare at? Her lawn, the empty neighbour house on the corner, the river behind that, the trees behind that, the sun staring back at her with terrible bright light, the people, the road in between and pretty much everything. She doesn't like to study anymore. It's not like she ever liked it. She loves to eat. But she is not allowed to eat many things.

Time past and it was past 11 in the morning. It was the same as usual. That's what she thought. What she didn't expect is the arrival of the new neighbour in her town. She watched the private car as a old couple came out and started some work with the truck. They were moving in, to the empty house. Suddenly her eyes went to person who came out of the truck's front seat. It was a boy. A boy?!!! She watched him closely, but not to much cause she must hold her respect she built for herself in her mind. A bit pale skin, normal sized mesomorph body, looking much taller than her and a baby face. He looked like he was 19. Lis was always good at guessing age and she was sure of it. "A boy my age?!!" She controlled herself. She kept her hands in a cool way and looked the other side so that he notices her. That'swhat normally any girl wants. She will sit normally and the boy will notice her and she will notice him too but pretend not to. And then he will want to be closer to her and she will act like she doesn't know. Right? Simple. But not for her. Maybe she never noticed the boy noticing her. She never had a male friend either. She was trying pretty hard to be noticed. Smiling a bit, brushing hair to the side of the ear etc. But the window was constantly disturbing. She felt angry at the window glass. She told her mother to change that but it'll take a long time. She didn't tell her mother anything after that though. Managing their life alone is a great deal. And she also doesnt seem to come of any help. Anyway, noticing that the boy didn't even see her, she laid down on bed. And the day went on usual. At night she gave herself a goal, the goal of being noticed by the boy? At least. Her goal was to make the boy talk to her and be friends with him and secret crush of the boy on her. But that is impossible in five days. Five days? Yes. This was the goal set by her. If five days are over, she will take this marvelous chance away for him. And give it to

another one? Maybe or maybe not. Because there are no boys the same age in this town. This was her chance. This was day 1 which is over. She must take action quickly. Useless but fun! On the second day, she wakes up early as usual. She loves waking up early in the morning, you can see the sunrise from the start. What about the darkness before it? Well, she isn't scared anymore. Darkness seems to be scary, but if you find the real peace in it, you won't feel scared anymore. Or if you can let your fear be defeated by the fact that darkness is nothing but the absence of photons. Anyway, she carefully opens the window. It creaks a little bit. She gets scared. Well that's one point for the window. Then she waits for the sun to wake up. The scenery is so pleasant that you can look at it all day and night. Except the sun is not seen at night. When the sun rises she, guess what? Stares through the window until she gets bored or the window gives her a sign. There are a lot of snacks beside her bed because getting out of bed is hard for her. Maybe it's laziness, or not.

She waits for him to show up but he doesn't. Maybe they are busy with moving in. So she doesn't bother. In the night after dinner she sees him on the road with a bag of groceries. She becomes excited but controls herself. It is not good for a lady to get all excited and happy over a lad! It makes you attract less male towards you and you seem like a self respectless easy target. Suddenly he looks up and she instantly moves her eyes away. She thought he was seeing her. Haha, when she looked back again, he was gone. She felt embarrassed but didn't give it too much of a thought. She thought of dropping him out of anger. She knew she was being too sarcastic so she calmed herself down. "Oh Shoot!" She panicked again when she realized that Day 2 is already over! These days are really magical. In her nineteen years of life, Lis has never woken up at exactly 5 AM in the morning. Hah, Truly miraculous! Today she saw the sunrise and slept again because she stayed up late yesterday. A chit chat in the living room woke her up at around 11 AM. She knew there was guests in her house. Maybe her mother's friends, although their days have been going all alone since her father, never mind. She didn't bother knowing who came. She doesn't go to any other room in the house, it tires her out. Anyway she started her usual, reading a book for a while. "The while" ended in 10 minutes. She doesn't have a habit for books, maybe that's why. She easily feels bored doing anything at a stretch, well maybe staring through the window is very interesting. The irritating window has given her patience, she believes that. Once out of rage she tried to break, that's when the never ending creaking started. Then one day she tried to fix it, and the rest is History. She looks at the river and the boredom goes away. Impressive part is that she can even hear the sounds of the waves too. Advantages of a less populated small town!

The volume from the living room slows down. That means the guests are leaving. She looks through the window to see who came. Yes, the entrance to their house can be seen by her room. She stares through the window as she sees the 'boy' and his mother coming out of their house. "They were here all along?!!!" She felt guilty for not trying to know who came. Suddenly they both look at her. She couldn't handle such a sudden challenge so without knowing what to do she laid down suddenly. Later she cursed herself for the fact that how awkward and embarrassing a person can be at that point. She even started feeling second hand embarrassment for herself! "I bet they saw me. Bye bye world"

"Stop the drama!" She listened to herself and tried to pretend that nothing happened. Then she thought, why didn't she hear his voice a single time? A shy one. "Aha! I knew it! I'm so smart these days." She stopped brainstorming over these things. A sudden thought came over her mind. Why am I giving so much importance to him? Because I am bored? No. At least not for it. For some useless experience? Maybe or maybe not. Maybe there is something deep that she isn't understanding. "What's there to understand? He doesn't even know my name. And there's even no point!" Whatever! Day 3 ends with those irrelevant or true questions. "Why am I the one sitting with the driver? I am bad at talking. Mom could replace me too. God! So uneasy." "Don't worry, young man. I know the address." Aiden just startled with the sudden talk of the driver. "Oh… okay" He said with an unnatural forced smile. To cool it down he looked through the window. Hills, trees, birds, flowers, sky; these can easily ease a person's mind, especially if he is moving into this amazing place. He was neutral about 'moving into the' plan for his mother's work transfer. His father is a freelancer. And he is a 19 year old stuck in the late teenage life with nothing to be overwhelmed by. "This is it. A few houses ahead is your new home". ''Beside the river?" The driver didn't respond because he didn't even hear what he said. He felt embarrassed but quickly cut it off with the truck window. Suddenly he saw someone on the window of a house on a little height. "Oh my God! Is that a girl?!!!" "We are here." "Oh right." He got down and was too shy to look at her again. When he got inside his house he took a sneak peak but she was gone. He felt sad. But thinking that a pretty girl's house is beside his just made his mind blow off.

At night he looked through his window and saw her face. Wow! OH MY GOD! SHE'S SO… He tried to calm down. But he notices that her window was broken. Well a part of the glass was hanging with the broken rod. It is not broken but it is. He tried to observe her. "Oh my God! She's 19. Thank God!" He was always good at guessing age. It developed because of practice since he always needed to know who to talk to, who to respect and who to do whatever you wanted to. Why the 'thank god' Well, very unusual but he was 7never interested in older or younger girls. So he used to use his ability to identify same aged girls to date with. But he is like that polite type male one in a billion who doesn't think of anything else other than love. So he used to like girls but never thought of dating because he is always looking for his soulmate. It seems like he doesn't date girls but in the case of every male and for Aiden too, girls don't date him. And for that girl too, he is thinking of becoming friends, not more.

He couldn't sleep at night at all. Looks like he couldn't adjust to the new environment. It was morning but it was dark. He went to his window to clear his mind. He got scared when he saw someone through the window. He got in a fighting stance out of fright, but soon found out that it was her, the girl. What is she doing so late at night? He was confused when he saw she was doing nothing but just staring through her window. "A mysterious one. I like it" He tried to observe what she was doing. Was it stalking? He forced his eyes to look down. But he couldn't resist. Why was he so much obsessed with a girl who he doesn't even know? It's not beauty, maybe it's something else. He didn't know why he wanted to talk to her, to know her name. UHe wanted to know her name. He was devastated to see her face to face. He had never obsessed over a girl like that before. He wanted to know her. But his mother might suspect him of doing those things. They are not that close, Aiden and his parents. But he wanted to overcome all that and just meet her in person. "Why am I doing this? Who is she? Isn't it going too fast? If this is going like then is she… is she my… No! It can't be. Huh! Stop that. You do that with every girl you meet. Whatever!" But he just wants to meet her. 5 days! He will overcome his obstacles of shyness and parents to meet her. Why did he give himself 5 days? Maybe just like that. Maybe Destiny. Who knows? What he knows is that day 1 was over. The next day was really busy for him. Moving in and all. He didn't go out of the house at all. Only at night did he go to get some groceries. It was not that hard to find shops since the town is really small. He was heading home and suddenly saw her at the window. She quickly looked away so he was embarrassed. "Why did I look straight up at her? Now she will be disgusted with him for life." Out of embarrassment he ran home. Only before sleeping he realized day 2 is over and things just got worse! "Wake up… wake up Aiden" "What happened mom?" She wanted him to buy some gifts as they were going to visit the neighbours. NEIGHBOURS! That means he'll get the chance to visit her!

Anyway, there weren't that many houses in this area. Actually not one except the one in front of them. His mother and Aiden went there. Her mother opened. They greeted each other. Aiden was always an unsocial type, in a bad way. So he did nothing but sit like a statue throughout the whole time. Also it was her house. Oh Crap! IT WAS HER HOUSE. "What if she comes out? I can't show my face. I can talk to her though. What am I thinking? Both of the mothers won't let me do so, I think."

"Who do you live with?" " Only my daughter and I" Aiden noticed a psychic change in her mother's voice. He somehow knew she didn't want to talk about it. "And your husband?" "He left us for another woman" "Oh" Complete silence. He was feeling uneasy. But his mother seemed to enjoy it. "I am sorry." " No, it's not your fault" "Where is your daughter? Won't she come to meet us?" His heart started pounding. "No, she can't. My daughter is unable to move her legs. She is paralyzed." His mind just went numb. He didn't know what to feel. He never fell into any circumstances like this before. "Oh, sorry. What actually ha…" Aiden pushed his mother with his elbows. This was too much. His mother was crossing the line and it made him super angry. "My daughter's maybe resting now. And at thus time of pandemic, it's better for her to stay at her room." "Oh right. We'll take a leave. Here are some gifts. We need to organize everything in our house." They greeted each other and started leaving. When they reached the yard door, Lis's mother told them that they could have a look over the window. Her daughter

is usually there. They both turned to see. She WAS there but suddenly moved away from there. He thought it was for him. "Haha, I saw her. A shy one I see. Just like my son. What's her name?" "Alisa, Alisa J. Morphy." "Name starts with A? Wow! What a pretty name!"

He went home and just thought about her. "Stop it, man. You're cringy."But why was he doing that? Isn't it a bit awkward? Is there something deep that he doesn't understand? What is there to understand. She doesn't even know his name." Whatever! Day 3 just ended with those questions. Day 4. Lis's mood is pissed off since her mother started talking about some boys stuff or something. Was it because of him? She hates that kind talk. Well, the useful thing she found out was that his name is Aiden J. Mcarthy. Name starts with A. Wow! Tomorrow's the day. I don't wanna listen to my mother. Just because father left doesn't mean every boy's bad." A strong wind blew through the room and she saw the window swinging. She carefully closed the window. "Whatever,I WILL MEET HIM." "I WILL MEET HER." Maybe he became more determined because his mother came to indirectly tell him not to fall for an impared girl. Both of their Day 4 ends. He woke up at the dawn of the 5th day. He knows She wakes up around that time. He fled through his window and secretly went to her house. Nothing will stop him now. He quietly forwarded to her window. He was finally about to do what he has never done in his life. But he saw no one in the room. What he was left with was nothing but the broken glass pieces

of that 'large' window on the grass bed.