Two kids sitting in a brick wall, smoking, laughing, and listening to music. Coffee nights and slumber parties. Movies and drinks after an awful week. That’s what Joe meant to me. I still remember how terribly sad I was when we first met and how terribly alone he felt. I’m not sure I can ever forget him, even though the face of my once best friend is blurry in my mind. I remember the black hair, the pale skin that reddened with too much sun or without on the cold days. I remember how tall he was and how we could talk about nothing and everything. Joe died three weeks ago, but for me, he had been dead for years. We had been mad at each other for a few months, almost a year. I thought it would eventually go away and we would go back to the happy best friends we had always been. That we’d find some common ground. He didn’t like that I belittled my efforts to get out of the city, and I didn’t like that he always chose to stay in it, even when he could go away. Our city was a horrible place, but it was all Joe knew. For a couple of years, I guess we both could see the end coming, but we looked the other way. Right after I moved countries and left our two-bedroom apartment, that’s when it started. Whenever I came to visit, I stayed in my old room, now re-baptized as the “guest room”. On a specially warm December when I came to visit my parents, I also paid a visit to my old friend. ‘Look at it’ Joe said revealing a tiny orb of onyx with words inscribed in it ‘isn’t it beautiful?’ I looked at the sphere but didn’t touch it. It looked beautiful indeed, but there was something else, something evil about it, or rather untrustworthy. ‘Where did you find it?’ ‘Oh, we have been excavating this site for a while and they said I could have it’ ‘I’m not sure the museum would be okay with that’ I suggested ‘you want another beer?’ I said on my way to the fridge. The apartment was weird now. Joe had made a couple of changes to the room, there was a new couch, my old room was now the TV room and outside the window a big blue and white screen shone upon us, advertising toothpaste and junk food. ‘Okay, they don’t know it exists, but hey, I deserve nice stuff too’ he said ‘no thanks’ he answered as I took a beer. ‘How are things with Ali?’ I asked to change the conversation. He sighed ‘Not good then?’ ‘She’s fine…’ his voice trembled ‘she won’t do it again, she promised this time would be…’ ‘What?!’ I snapped ‘come man you can’t keep…’ ‘I don’t care really, we all make mistakes, right?’ he said trying to sound happy, but his face was far from it. ‘Not for the third time’ I whispered. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?!!’ Joe snapped. I stopped listening for a second, drawn in concern. ‘Don’t give me that look’ he said. ‘What look?’ ‘Like I’m crazy’ ‘Hey, what do you think about this beer I bought? It’s good isn’t it?’ I tried to change the conversation. ‘I love her,’ Joe admitted ‘she’s not that bad’ ‘Fine’ I said. ‘I just want you to be happy’ It would take a while before we met again, he knew how much I disliked Ali and her occasional cheating. She was not a bad person, but I couldn’t say they were good for each other. He would become depressed or angry when this happened and she said she would never do it again, then after everything was fine, Joe would avoid her and ignore her for weeks. He always hated listening to my opinion, so I tried not to give it. A year passed by and I returned for another warm December at my parents’ house. On my last night, we had a big fight, one of those you can only have with someone who you have known for a very long time. It’s funny, the worst fights are the ones that never seem to make sense, I swear I don’t remember why we fought, only fragments of it, all I knew is that he had started it and that he was going to finish it! But he never contacted me, so we never talked again. I never heard from him, he was, as good as dead. I must have received a thousand calls from my boss on the day he died for real. So when I was just returning home to my puppy, a Labrador retriever, and I was finally free of all the madness on the telephone, I decided not to answer it anymore. My cellphone must have rung about a dozen times before someone decided to leave a voicemail. It struck me as something important then, so I listened to it. It was Laura, Joe’s mother. She couldn’t speak properly, her voice trembled and broke at uneven times, and you even could hear the tears coming out of her words. ‘It’s Joseph,’ she finally managed, ‘he’s dead’ My heart sank. Dead? No, of course not, he couldn’t be, dead. I fell to the floor and started crying, the baby Labrador, Leo, came running to my side. He, he couldn’t be dead. That was the worst night I’d ever had. I didn’t fully believe it until I saw him in the casket. He wore his usual combed black hair, a long beard, and his brown leather jacket. It was him without a doubt, he was dead and there was nothing I could do. When they heard about Joe’s demise, the museum he used to work on send their condolences, alongside a request to his mother about a missing artifact. Laura wouldn’t dare to visit his old apartment again. Not since she found him lying dead on his bed, with blood all over the carpet. She asked me to go instead, I could take anything I wanted and if I was lucky, look for the damn sphere. I walked down the dim-lit corridors of the city streets the next afternoon until I reached the huge apartment complex where he used to live. The automatic door was locked so I had to press a button to call for the guard to come to open up. He took a few minutes to arrive, and every damn second he did my discomfort grew bigger and louder, like an express hot pot. What was I doing there? Joseph… we hadn’t talked in years… and now his mother wanted me to collect his stuff? To look for that damn piece of onyx? This didn’t feel okay, but there was I, diving into the mud one last time for Joe. Just like I used to when we were teens. The outside facade of the building unnerved me. It was a wreck, the paint was old and stained, peeling down. The automatic glass doors wore scratches, like scars, and the lights were out. It used to be a yellow building, with lots of light and nice glass doors. I wondered where all that had gone. The guard opened up and guided me to the tiny apartment. He opened the door and left, running like a mouse being hunted by a cat. As soon as I stepped in I understood why the guard had left in such a hurry, the place smelled like rotting food and decay, like a stagnant feeling of the putrid coming for you. There was no light but I tiny ray of dying sunshine that filtered through the curtains. I went into the dark, blindfolded, naked. I tried to reach for the lights but the power was out. So I opened the curtains, and the window and let the fresh air rush in along with the sound of traffic. The place was no better on the inside, if anything, it looked messier. There was food on the walls and broken, dirty dishes on the ground. Clothes were left behind all over the place and a briefcase was vomiting books and socks. I knelt over the things, it seemed to me, like someone was in a rush to leave. A loud noise made me jump, and my heart beat fast. The door closed at the same time cold air filtered through the window. ‘A ghost’ I thought for a second, but of course, it was a stupid thing to think. I looked around the living room. A rush of laughter came to my memory. Old pop songs and indie music, the smell of beer and smokes. I looked at the table where Joe and I used to sit down, drinking and smoking the night away. Talking about nothing, yet talking about everything. It had been a long time since I left that tiny apartment, but somehow I felt like looking at a broken home, a place that used to feel safe and soothing, now torn apart by time and lost love. I used to know the exact time of the evening when the bus stopped outside the building complex and people would get out and cars would start shouting that they couldn’t get out in that part of the street, I used to know how to do the coffee in Joe’s old french press so that it wouldn’t stick or get bitter. I even got used to the blue light of that screen outside! But now everything looked different, strange… unfamiliar. The cars made no noise and the giant screen now projected a flashy annoying red light. My favorite part was the guest room, aka the TV room aka my old room. That’s where I used to stay whenever I didn’t want or couldn’t return to my parents’ house, way before I even moved in. ‘Stay, that way I can pay you all of what you’ve done for me’ Joe would say ‘you don’t have to pay me back. You’re my brother,’ I’d say. I still wonder, where did all the kindness we had of each other go to?’ I carefully reviewed the living room, the kitchen and the guest room. I made a list of everything in every room. I even took photos with my phone and all. I felt like an intruder, checking on the drawers, the book stands, and shelves. I was looking for stolen property, looking for memories, photographs, or something that reminded me of my lost friend, but all I ever found were the thousands of books I had gifted him. Most of them remained unopened and that made me sad, for he had lost the opportunity to live through other eyes, through visiting other worlds. I saved his bedroom for the last. I didn’t want in, every time I looked at the door I felt a chill running down my spine. His mother found him half dead unable to do anything to save him, blood spilling out of his left arm that had stained the white carpet as if it were a canvas. I was sure the red oils would still be there and that I would be able to make up his silhouette. I’d have to get inside eventually, but I avoided it for as long as I could. It was a long night, after all, everything I was at the moment was a robber trying to find something valuable, but not wanting inside the obvious place it would be in. I half slept on the couch in the TV room. Voices kept coming to me, happy ones, reproaching ones, songs, and white noise. At two am I heard a noise, coming in from the main room. At first, it startled me and gave me goosebumps, it even filled my heart with unnatural pain. I wanted to run, but it was time. I approached the door and opened it wide. An empty bedroom greeted me. There was a closet, an old tiny TV and books spilled all over. The bed had its white sheets spread around the room, still stained with blood. ‘Shit, Joe!’ I shouted ‘why would you…’ It took me a while to make up my mind, I wanted to leave, never to return. I couldn’t though, not if this was to be the last thing I did for Joe, or his mother anyway. I looked in the closet and the drawers of the TV room. Nothing, not even in the toilet’s water tank. The sun was coming up when something hit my left foot. It was the onyx sphere sliding itself through the room. ‘What are you?’ I asked closing in on it. I reached my hand to take it and leave. But the tiny ball was more untrustworthy than ever. I reached for a napkin and a cloth and I grabbed them. The thing violently moved and tried to escape my hands, it tossed me to the sides until I realized it. ‘Fine’ I said ‘I don’t know what the hell you are, but you leave me alone’ I felt as if a bucket of ice pierced me. The sphere or that thing, whatever it was, started shaking from the other side of the room. It stopped looking at me and looked at something behind me. I swear I could see a lonely gruesome eye on it. I turned around to see what grabbed its attention. A white, translucent figure appeared before me. Combed hair and a long beard. Dressing in old clothes but wearing a distinctive leather jacket above them. He looked sadly at me and to the floor. ‘I’m sorry’ we both spoke at the same time. I laughed and shed some tears ‘I should have called’ I said ‘And I should have been less on an asshole’ Joe answered. ‘You alright? Wherever you are?’ I wanted to know. ‘I’ve been better and I’ve been worse’ he raised a white spectral finger and touched my forehead. And I saw it. I saw the forests and the deserts. I saw my grandmother and the times when she was a kid. I heard the noise of the downstairs avenue and then I saw two lost kids in the middle of a strange city, two brothers, but one was gone. ‘That thing, it did this to you?’ Joe nodded. ‘I’m gonna miss you too’ his ghost answered. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t let it take you too’ his voice changed, it turned cold and lifeless. At the sound of these spectral words, a thousand ghosts filled the room, all wearing clothes from other time periods, some talking, some looking as if they just woke up. They all had cuts on their wrists, just like Joe’s. ‘So you didn’t?’ I asked. ‘I don’t think I did’ Joe answered ‘you must go’ I walked to the door ‘Take this,’ Joe said, handing me his journal, some old photographs and his favorite pen. ‘This might help,’ I said and gave him the ankh around my neck. I never took it off. ‘Goodbye, Joe’ I said as I opened the door. ‘Goodbye, Em,’ he said with a smile. The door closed behind me and I left the building. A long time passed before I dared talk about that night or before I understood what happened, what it all meant. At least I got to see my friend for the last time.


Something like a chirp from a cybernetic pigeon awoke Ethan The All-Knowing from his midday slumber. The corners of his mouth were crowded with Cheezo dust and drool, leaving a damp neon orange trail down his cheek and onto the open pages of a densely inscribed tome beneath him. Damn he hoped that wouldn’t stain. He checked his phone, huh, his last customer left a review. He opened the Yodel app and was aghast to see a single star hovering over a single word. 'Scam'

Incensed, Ethan let loose a series of guttural utterances, something more than words but less than a whole sentence. The air around him sizzled with primal energy, heat poured from his body in waves until the page he was studying began to smolder. ‘For all the saints in hell!’ he muttered. His wordless fury took form, hanging like a poorly dressed deer, visceral chunks of pulsing energy dripping into a shape resembling human, provided you had only heard about humans from a madman. Ghastly proportions stretched the small figure to a hitherto unthinkable shape. Its left half was massive and muscled like an auroch, its right side pitifully weak, leg too short to be of any use. The figure lacked any definition beyond the muscle tone, just a grayish blob glowing softly with an inner light. It listed to the left its sinister arm knuckle walking toward Ethan. Its head was oddly shaped, constantly in flux shifting from one geometric absurdity to the next. It glared at him, fractals breaking as it spoke. ‘Your request.’ It buzzed with what Ethan knew to be disdain but he needn’t the creature like him, merely obey.

Ethan absentmindedly checked the ring on his right pinky finger, the gem's touch was familiar as he assured himself of its presence. “I seek justice! A Mage of my caliber cannot bear these outrageous slings and arrows.’ (The polydjinn deftly avoided the spittle produced by a high caliber mage.) ‘My very livelihood has been made the butt of society’s joke for the last time. To the Battle Cruiser, Gycillius!”

The creature Ethan incorrectly named was older than could be accounted for by mundane measures, its best estimate had it well into middle age by the Big Bang and in given all that time it would not refer to a 2003 Dodge Neon as a battle anything. Though the polydjinn would admit it bore a striking resemblance to the Engines of the Beyond but only because it was plastered with ‘enchantments’ of dubious quality. The bulk of it seemed to be aluminum foil with puffy paint spread into a parody of runic script along the slowly rusting chassis. The result was garish and reflected an unforgiving sun to everyone within the visible spectrum.

 ‘And who shall bear the brunt of your misanthropic tantrum this time?’ It asked as Ethan poured his prodigious bulk into the compact. ‘The deli wench who according to you has been shorting your egg salad order for weeks?’ Ethan huffed, partially from disgust but mostly from exertion as he settled into the seat. ‘Are you suggesting a Mage of my caliber cannot properly ascertain the volume and mass of 16 oz of egg salad? With mine own eye do I see her grubby paw weighing the scale. I say nothing as courtesy until her downfall is advantageous to me.’ The car sputtered like a beast tired of the specter of death as the engine struggled to come to life. Ethan muttered and looked expectantly at the polydjinn. With a perfect simulacrum of a human sigh the creature of infinite wisdom and unassailable power hot wired a Dodge Neon. The polydjinn pushed aside the empty take out containers and distressing number of socks to sit on the cracked pleather seat. ‘Is it the valet at the hotel who laughed at your bumper stickers?’

‘If you mean Chet, who snickered at the wards of protection I entwined with the resonant frequency of my Arcane Battle Cruiser, no. He shall be dealt with at a later date. But know the Dagger of Isosceles hangs above his neck! Now get me Gregory!’

The polydjinn’s head shifted several planes beyond Planck’s constant and brought up the shape of a rotary phone. ‘Dialing’ it said, ringing softly.

The young man in a plaid jumper answered exactly the way someone wearing a headset would, with polite indifference. ‘I.T. this is Greg, what is your emergency?’ ‘Gregory my boy,’ Ethan shouted. The polydjinn had told him he didn’t need to shout but Ethan did things loudly or not at all. ‘A crime has been committed but the fool was sloppy and signed his work. Your skills are needed! Find me DongSlayer420xxXxx from Yodel!’

Greg sighed, he didn’t know how this maniac kept finding him. ‘What do you want Ethan? My brother wants his GameBox back by the way.’

‘Don’t live in the past Gregory, the GameBox was essential to my traversal of the higher realms! Now do the thing!’ While traveling at a speed that could only be described as inadvisable at best, Ethan had taken this time to open a bag of chocolate covered pretzels and with great care and no small amount of skill he waggled his hand in a complex arc. The pretzels danced their way into his mouth with grim choreography.

Greg knew if he didn’t his dog would start speaking sideways Klingon again. ‘Is that a capital D in DongSlayer?’ With a new heading the Dodge Battle Cruiser made a surprisingly elegant U-turn at the nearest intersection, effectively blinding any pedestrians facing East. ‘Huzzah, my friend, you will be welcomed in the great halls with mead and women!’ The polydjinn did not tell its master it had ended the call after they had gotten the address.

Being older than most of the cosmos, the creature ignorantly called Gycillius had a unique perception of time, weeks passed in seconds, days lasted years. When Ethan spoke it fondly remembered the infinite void and cursed every second of forced consciousness it suffered.

Their final destination was a small house with a small porch and a small dog next to a large man. ‘Of course, the fog of realization lifts, this poor boy had a viscous discharge of unknown origin oozing from his chakras. Of course being of the unenlightened caste he would not perceive such danger. In his arrogance he besmirched my name and denied my vast and vexing abilities but no longer! No one scoffs at my unguents! Go Gycillius, be my wrath.’ The immortal polydjinn waited with limited patience for the child locks to disengage. It shambled its lopsided gait to the porch. ‘Show no mercy!’ Ethan said, stretching to close the passenger door.  The dog began yapping a tattoo onto the air as the man on the porch recognized the pair, you don’t forget a 400lb wizard and his misshapen minion. ‘Gary, your friend is here!’ He called as the small dog sniffed industriously at the polydjinn eventually deciding it was good enough to urinate on.

‘He’s not my friend dad! He’s my nemesis!’ A pale figure in black shouted from the upper window. ‘Your invisibility cream didn’t work and my socks won’t shut up. I want my money back!’ The boy popped out the window again holding aloft a large crystal, it hummed softly in his hand. A peal of thunder erupted through the calm skies. The polydjinn’s head formed an intricate mandala as it matched the harmonics of the crystal before it, once attached to the proper wavelength the creature easily crossed the distance between himself and the boy, solid walls be damned. Gary was frightened as the half heavily muscled creature was creeping towards him until it closed its sinister hand cleanly on the boy's face for merely a moment. The boy slumped immediately as he received the full weight of existence for a fraction of a second. The acne-scarred face of Ethan appeared before him in all its patchy-bearded glory. Words big as mountains crushed his psyche as he was left hollow, knowing only he must update his Yodel reviews. The creature that was not called Gycillius returned to the Neon and to Ethan nervously rubbing his pinky ring ‘With all of Hell’s might I banish thee back from whence thou came!’ The creature began to fade into blissful nonexistence, ‘Unless you want to hang out and watch me do karate?’ The polydjinn sighed cosmically.


For as long as Sheila could remember, there has always been just a coffee shop in her little town. It was lone, isolated like it was in a world of its own. Other shops had developed over the years, most had modern interiors, decorations and Wi-Fi but the only thing that ever changed at the shop from her memory was when Mrs Huffleberry changed the windows after some boys broke it by accident. Mrs Huffleberry owned the shop. She once told Sheila it was an heirloom passed down in the Huffleberry generations.

As small as it was in the middle of the town, the coffee shop had an immense significance them. Everyone has once drank a cup or two of coffee there; that also included the delicious buns that came with it. To everyone, Mrs Huffleberry made the damnest sweet buns ever, for an old woman her age. Sheila first visited the shop when she was six. It was on a Saturday and like always, the day when the women of the town met at the shop and had a gossip session. There were rounds of coffee, buns, cakes and even sausage rolls. She was surprised when she saw that virtually every mother and wife was present. The butcher's wife, the doctor's wife, the baker's wife, the grocery's women and even the pastor's wife who lived on the other side of the town. As a child, she hadn't seen that many women in a place at the same time, not even in church. "Mama, has the men gone to heaven?" She turned to her mother and asked. "No, Sheila. It is a party for women only." **** Just as the women had theirs on Saturdays, the men had Sunday mornings to themselves. They took delight in reading news about the world miles from their town while sipping hot chocolate coffee and buns. They also chatted about latest news and happenings too and unlike the women, children were never allowed in. However, Sheila was fond of sneaking into the book section where they kept many children books because she has always loved to read. Which was how she learnt of the latest gossips in town.

From Saturdays, she found out the baker's wife was fighting with the baker. The butcher's wife was no longer sleeping in the same room as the butcher. Even the grocery's women were thinking of splitting.

Sheila hated the latter. No one ever left the town. And if the women were to split, then how would she get her favorite chocolate?

From Sundays with the men, she heard about xenophobia, racial segregation and riots. Lots and lots of riots. They were big words she didn't even know their meaning. She just loved being in the shop. Like the other inhabitants of the town. They were happy because it gave them a purpose. Moreover, Mrs Huffleberry was the nicest person ever. Everyone loved her. **** Mrs Huffleberry lived only few houses away from Sheila's home. She was an old woman who didn't look her age and had a beautiful face that forever held a smile for everyone she ran into. Sheila's mom had told her once that Mrs Huffleberry had lived in the town all her life. She grew up in the cottage she lived in but took over the coffee business when her mother died.

"Well dear, a fresh cup of coffee is what truly you need." She would always say. The coffee shop opened at six in the morning, way before other shops did and closed by eight; Sheila knew this because she worked there. Her job was to clean the floors, set up the furniture, dust the books and newspapers in the racks and restock them with new ones when they came. But since Mrs Huffleberry usually started her day by five so she did most of the tasks herself. In the mornings, she usually walked the small metres from her cottage to the shop and on her way, said a nice hello to the morning joggers, mail man and milk boys.

“Good morning, Henry." She would say when she ran into the butcher going for his morning beef. “Pray say Linda, what a nice weather we have today. Why don't you come in for a nice cup of coffee?" She would call out to Ms. Linda, the new music teacher in the town's elementary school, on her way to school.

“Morning, Mrs Huffleberry. Thank you for the offer. Maybe later." She would always reply but she never came in.

Ms. Linda was new in town but Sheila's mother who knew everything had told her that she was also from their town. She had three kids with her and worked part time at the grocery shop after school. Sheila had heard from the women that her husband had divorced her for cheating but from the men, she had heard the opposite. No one knew exactly why the single mother of three had returned to her childhood home from the city; there were just made up stories. Only Mrs Huffleberry was nice to her but that didn't count because she was nice to everyone. Even a criminal would seem a saint to her. *** Making coffee is easy. However, making an amazing cup of fresh hot coffee is a gift only bestowed upon rare angels like Mrs Huffleberry and her ancestors. To her, making just a cup of coffee whether it was Latte, café lemoni or a simple espresso was like lovemaking. One had to treat the beans with delicateness and finesse.

Sheila however didn't understand a thing about that so she never let her. In the past, Mrs Huffleberry used to make her coffee with her hands but by pure luck, Sheila was able to convince her to buy a coffee grinder for pulverizing the beans and a maker for making espresso. It took more nerves and energy to finally convince her to buy a steaming machine for the milk.

She said every step of the process meant something to her.

When making coffee, Mrs Huffleberry ensured the dosing of the powder was accurate and the packing into the porter filter was precise. For the leveling, she used her finger to smoothen the powder with such finesse it sometimes looked like she was either parting the red sea or soothing a baby to sleep. Tamping needed body weight and strength but she made it look so easy and flawless to Sheila.

After inserting the porter filter into the brew head, she would wait and watch the brownish liquid flow through the tap like a mother watching her child dance ballet. Finally, she would add in the steamed milk and sometimes drew heart shapes.

A latte with her sweet buns and cakes were enough to melt even the coldest heart. As all good heroes do, Mrs Huffleberry made her coffee especially for each customer. His taste or her mood determined what type of coffee she offered them. If she saw the Baker in a foul mood, she would offer him a Rosy Latte. If the town's only lawyer barged in late, looking sad and melancholic because he had an hectic day, she would serve him a cup of creamy latte and buns. She always knew what each person really desired and needed. Then one day, it happened. *** The pandemic shook the world and made life boring. The town became dull like its soul had been stolen. No one met on the streets again. Just simple hellos and waves. Everyone had to stay indoors and obeyed the social distance. They heard the death tolls increase on the news and knew people were dying off in matters of hours. Mrs Huffleberry had three children: Jane, Cherry and Sam. Jane, the oldest daughter lived in Washington with her family, Cherry lived in Oregon while Sam the youngest lived in Florida. They rarely came home. One day, she received a call that Jane had died due to health complications. Poor Mrs Huffleberry suffered a heart attack and never recovered. The day she was buried, the clouds poured for hours, it was as if the heavens were bitter at her death and weeping too. The town grieved over her for it was a tragedy no one could have foreseen. **** Sam came home for the funeral but Cherry didn't; she couldn't make it due to the restrictions. He took care of the cottage for a while but he was no Mrs Huffleberry. No one could ever be. The town lost its colours and without the coffee shop, they had no reason to jog past it at seven, stop in for a coffee break or meet up for weekly gossips. It was like a part of them had died with her. The shop that had once being filled with laughter, happiness, colour and immense joy became cloudy, lifeless and inanimate. And as if that wasn't enough, Sam decided to sell the shop to the new developers from the city. He wanted to return to the city because he felt unwelcome and lost in the town. **** "Good morning, Sheila." A lively voice called out and she stopped. She was passing by the coffee shop on her way home from the clinic where she now worked when she heard the voice. The voice sounded a lot like Mrs Huffleberry's, whenever she was in a good mood. Was it Mrs Huffleberry? She asked herself. Then chided herself the next minute. It definitely couldn't be her; she had been dead for weeks now. "Sheila! What're you thinking about?" It asked, in a scolding tone. I'm either just imaging this or I must have really suffered a great shock like Dr. Mark said, she mumbled.

Without thinking, she moved closer to the shop when she saw movement and her eyes nearly popped out in shock. She couldn't believe what she was staring at was real. It was impossible. What magic had happened to the shop overnight, she managed to ask her in head and the 'magic' turned the door knob; opening the door and offering her a chance to come in. "Sam...I thought you were leaving?" She asked, after getting off the nostalgic feeling of being back in her favourite place. "Yeah. But...I changed my mind," he replied. “Does that mean you're keeping the shop then?" “Yes." The glint in his eyes and sparkle convinced Sheila a miracle must have happened. He looked different and happy unlike when he had arrived weeks ago. For some reason she didn't know, Sheila felt elated at the news.

Both news actually.

The fact he was reopening the coffee shop and he wasn't leaving. She couldn't decide of the two, which one gladdened her more. “But why? You told me you were leaving on Sunday. You said you couldn't live in a small town like this. What changed?" "Mom. I saw her in my dreams last night, Sheila. I was lost in a cold mountain and was blue to death. Then she appeared with her smile and warmth. She told me a cup of coffee was what I needed then made me a cup. It felt so good, it reminded me of my childhood. Of the days, I spent playing in the shop and watching her. She told me she wanted me to return the same warmth to the town." “Oh, Mrs Huffleberry must be an angel! She care so much about us all," Sheila exclaimed at first. "But, can you run the shop on your own?" "I would need your help. She said that... not me." He teased lightly. “I will most certainly be glad to. Anything for Mrs Huffleberry." She sounded excited and full of life. She hated her job at the hospital anyways. As much as she wanted to do it for Mrs Huffleberry, Sheila also wanted to do it for herself. Her life had no meaning without the shop in it. “What coffee do you think will be just right for a reopening free sample, cappuccino and say, sweet cakes and buns?" “Definitely not. It's autumn and it's kind of cold. Let's make sometime to warm their hearts with. A reminder of the feeling of love, coziness and magic." She laughed for a while then replied. “Great! I have an idea. Thank you Sheila, you're an angel." At that moment, they shared a silent look that held ten thousand silent words that were never said out but they understood regardless. While Sam made the coffee and snacks in the kitchen just as his mother used to do, she returned to her usual job of cleaning. When he was through, he called her over. The buns looked so good she couldn't resist them. She took a bite and her eyes watered with tears. She was instantly flooded with memories of her childhood. She took a sip of the strange coffee next, rolled it in her mouth and felt the smoothness and taste of it. The aftertaste made her felt warm and loved. “What type of coffee is this? I haven't tasted anything like it before." She quickly asked. “Autume fire. It's a secret recipe. Just for the Huffleberrys alone." He said and winked at her. Sheila smiled.

She could almost imagine her friends, family and everyone back in the warm walls of the shop. She could picture the women back in their chairs around the table, smiling, laughing and gossiping while eating cakes. The men reading the papers while debating on the latest trade news with cups of coffees in front of them. The children at the books section listening to her read them stories of the world far and beyond. She had been apprehensive about the change in season and faded colours of fallen leaves but now she was positive, that autumn would bring in warmth and happiness.

Sheila and Sam shared a smile at the doors. Together, they opened the doors to the shop then flipped the closed sign.

The coffee shop was finally open for business. The news would go around the town and everyone would know about the new coffee called Autumn fire.

They would flood the shop in crowds because their favorite coffee shop had returned to them.


"Rica, you've been cocooned in luxury your entire life, blind to anything beyond your own gilded existence!” The enigmatic woman had the gall to sneer at me with chilling familiarity. Indeed, my existence had been steeped in material opulence. My lineage traced back to the illustrious founders of Syphon – visionaries who had transformed a wild expanse of trees into a bustling town of prosperity, complete with well-kept homes, sleek vehicles, and a skyline punctuated by lofty buildings. My family’s wealth and influence were interwoven into the town's fabric, cementing our status as revered benefactors. I, like many of my privileged peers, was content to luxuriate in this bliss. Thus, no one outside of my home ever dared to utter a harsh word in my presence, let alone direct one at me. That is, until the day she arrived in a whirlwind of defiance and mystery and shattered my illusions with her single, scathing remark. .............................. It was a warm, lazy afternoon when I decided to slip from the grandiose gates of the estate to meet my girlfriend away from the prying eyes of my family. I slipped into the nearby woods and stopped along a familiar stream, the cool water a welcome relief from the afternoon heat. Cash was there, leaning against a tree, her grin lighting up her face when she saw me. "Hey," I said, forcing a smile as I brushed her off playfully to avoid wrinkling my new chemise. As we reclined on the lush grass, Cash’s eyes sparkled. “Picture this, Rica: just the two of us, far from all this,” she said, sweeping her hand towards the towering trees. “No more hiding in the woods—just freedom.” I laughed incredulously. “And what would we do out there? We have everything we need right here.” Cash’s expression grew sombre. “Do we, or do we just have everything without appreciating the toil or skill it requires to produce? Do we really know about the world?” Her words struck a nerve, but I brushed it off, unwilling to dwell on the topic. “What’s wrong with enjoying what we have and why should we bother to learn to make it? Isn’t that what the people from Battered are for?” Cash picked at her grey nail polish, looking away. “I just feel like we can’t stay sheltered forever. There is an entire world out there we never consider exploring.” As the sun began to set, I made my way back home. Cash’s remarks lingered in my mind, irritating me with her lack of appreciation for everything we had. She spoke of escape, of breaking free from expectations, as if our lives of privilege were burdens rather than blessings. Indeed, we were meticulously groomed to uphold a legacy of impeccability and routine. From birth, we were steered through a carefully curated education system, predefined career paths, and a steady stream of social events that reinforced our place within the grand tapestry of our society. Every aspect of our lives was dictated by a supreme social order designed by my family's founders to maintain the delicate balance of power and prestige that we all enjoyed to this day. This was precisely why I had to clandestinely nurture my relationship with Cash. While she was undoubtedly wealthy, she was not the suitable match my family had predetermined for me. When I was born, my future was sealed with a union to my cousin. It mattered not that I harboured no affection for him. My parents’ marriage was a fitting example—an immaculate alliance, yet strangers within their home. As I approached the grand gates of the Lucre estate, I noticed her dressed in the distinctive uniform worn by the Battered when they were in Syphon. Although none of them had ever ventured so close to the estate before, she appeared to be quite familiar with the surroundings and confident where she stood. “Rica, did you hear me!?” Her words struck me like lightning. My mind raced, trying to comprehend the implications. I knew my birth mother ran away to Battered when I was three years old. Hence, I never expected to lay eyes on her again. But there was no denying this was her. Though emaciated, she seemed to tower over me, her silhouette sharp and imposing against the fading light. Despite her gaunt frame, there was an undeniable resemblance between us with the high cheekbones, full lips, and the same piercing eyes. It was like looking into a shadowed, aged mirror, a haunting vision of how I might appear if I too were from Battered. I shuddered at the thought. This was an apt name for a town and people worn down by time and hardship. Her name was Penury, and she spoke of Battered with a mixture of sorrow and admiration. I had always known about Battered’s plight—how its once lush fields and bountiful mines had been ravaged into a wasteland. I had accepted the impositions enforced by the Lucre family as necessary measures for progress for that town that had been under our purview for some time. Just as tough love is meant to bring order and compliance, I knew my family's rules added stability to what I believed was otherwise a chaotic and mismanaged place. Those same rules would have been rendered moot in a utopia like Syphon, where civilisation was at its zenith. But Penury’s words turned my understanding on its head. Her account painted a picture of relentless exploitation at the hands of Syphon. She claimed that what I had been told was a necessary management of resources was, in reality, unyielding oppression. Anyone who resisted the status quo from either town were ruthlessly crushed and dissent was swiftly silenced. She asserted that she too was part of our family, a Lucre who had fled to Battered and changed her given name after uncovering the grim reality behind the policies we had always justified. She revealed that, although the family permitted her to escape, they had ruthlessly barred her from taking me there as well. "Good!" I sighed to myself. The idea of being raised in Battered, amidst desolation and suffering, was unbearable to me. Yet her perspective stripped away the veneer of benevolence that had always shrouded our actions—especially in my eyes. As Penury’s revelations sank in, I was forcibly reminded of Cash’s unsettling questions. Her words had felt provocative at the time, but now, in light of Penury’s truth, they held new gravity. "Do we truly have everything, or do we just have it all without appreciating the toil and skill required to produce it?" "Why now?" I asked her, my voice trembling. "Why are you here telling me this now?" Tears welled up in Penury's eyes. "Your younger sister, Penny, is very sick. She has a rare blood disorder and needs a bone marrow transplant. You might be her only hope. But you need to understand why this is important, why you of all people must help her." The enormity of her words sank in slowly. I had always wanted a sister. Now I had one who was a Battered, and suffering while I lived in comfort. And yet, as Penury spoke of the abject poverty in Battered at the apparent hands of my family and town, a part of me resisted. I had been happy here. Why should I sacrifice my happiness for a sister I had never known and a "mother" who had abandoned me to live frivolously in the slums of Battered? So what if she even ushered me here—did that oblige me to concern myself with her choices or the fallout of her ill-thought out actions? A bone marrow transplant would have been an easy procedure if she had stayed in Syphon; we would merely locate a compatible donor from Battered and proceed with the process. The irony of this, however, finally hit me with full force. "I don't know what to do," I admitted, overwhelmed by the revelations. My voice was barely above the whisper of the evening's wind. "You have a choice to make," Penury said gently. "And a real family waiting for you in Battered. I know what it means to be a Lucre—the pretense, the crushing expectations, loneliness in abundance." She spoke with a trace of bitterness. I gazed at her, feeling the heavy weight of her words mirrored in her tired eyes. If she genuinely intended the best for her child, why conceive in a place like Battered in the first place? Surely she must have anticipated that such an endeavour would come with its own share of suffering. What further responsibility was expected of me, beyond the charitable gestures my town extended to Battered, especially on our designated days of giving to the desolate? My mind raced with conflicting thoughts as I wrestled with the moral imperative to help Penury and Penny. "I can't help you," I said finally. "You shouldn't have left this life behind." Her expression crumpled, hope fading into despair. "Rica, please listen—" But I shook my head, meeting her gaze with resolve. "You shouldn’t have left me," I stated flatly, before turning away.


Waking up in a coma is hard for Mariya- a 23 years old woman who has a fair skin, she has mesmerizing forest eyes that everyone liked, a pointed nose, thin lips, and her hair dyes with this description are perfect for gray coverage. Has yellow and blue pigments to cover gray. She is now in a park watching the children play, and waiting for her best friend Vera. They're planning to bond- watch movie, play in arcade, go to her favorite fast food, and lastly picnic- she and Vera loved to go on picnic. "BEST FRIEND!!!" the lady shout. When she looked at her back, she saw her best friend Vera running to her. She immediately smiled and hugged her as she approached her seat. "I missed you Vera." she said. "I missed you too..how are you? are you okay now don't you hurt or what?" Mariya was blessed there's some who care's about her. "I'm fine now... don't worry" she replied. "Tell me when you feel something wrong? Understood?" She nodded as a replied. Vera Martinez that's her best friend name. They knew each other since they were in high school. Mariya invited her best friend to begin their journey. They take a cab- she does not own a car, her friends Vera as well. As of now Mariya can't afford to buy a car even those things she wanted- she's broke. That's why she's planning to get a job. And if your asking where her parents is.. she didn't know either. Maybe she would ask her best friend. Minutes after when the cab driver parked the car outside the fast food chain. McDonald. "Here we go... After so many many many minutes." Vera joked. Mariya smiled at her best friend."Why so very impatient now, Vera?" she asked. "Because of you!.. your so long to wake up from coma.. you stunning lady!!" her best friend shriek. Mariya been in 2 years under of coma. They never talked about the accident that led to her in coma. She can't remember every single things before her accident-even the accident she was in. But when she woke up all she want to do is looked at the beautiful sky above her oozed and billowed across the awakening sun, casting the meadow into a shadowy darkness.          She believed that when she was in the accident the sky was watching him. Just waching. “Hey… are you okay? Is there something wrong?” Vera say to her. Is she okay? Even she herself did not know if she was okay. Maybe yes or maybe no- physically yes but emotionally? She’s not. “Ahh yeah I’m fine don’t worry.” She said and smiled. Mariya doesn't want to worry her best friend. Vera frowned at her, “You are becoming more secretive to me… I’m your best friend right, tell me if you have a problem.. and if something's bothering you.” Tears willed in her face… “Mariya …” Vera approach her- a warm hug coming for her best friend is the best. “You… you don’t need to pretend that you’re okay when you’re with me.” She caressed her hair and gently removed the tears in her cheeks. “Just breath.” “Why I can’t remember every single things when I accident.” She cried. “Even my parents.. where are they Vera.” She looked at her best friend. All she can see in its face is sadness. “Ahh… Ahh.. lets eat I know your hungry too.” Vera avoiding her question. She sighed and wipe her tears, “Vera, I know you knew something… I have the right to know the truth..” Vera hold her hand and call a taxi. she already had an idea of where they were going. They enter the cab. “Good day! Where do you wanna go, ma’am?” The taxi driver asked. “St. Alers Cemetery” Vera answered. She look at the lady next to her-can't look at her. Mariya held the hand of her best friend. “I’m sorry.. I didn’t tell you the truth when you woke up.” Her best friend says sadly. It hurts. After all this time, it still hurt her. And yet she did not feel the slightest anger toward to her best friend. She understand it. She truly loves her best friend. “I understand.. Don’t worry I’m not angry.” She replied. Opening the passenger side door, she held it to open. Her gaze lingered on the place, she looked up and she the signage “St. Alers Cemetery”. She took a deep breath- here she goes. “Are you ready?” Vera asked, she just nod as answered to its question. “Lets go someone is waiting for you.” Mariya looked at his best friend who leading the way. Someone? Who? She looked confused. “Wait someone who?” she asked. Vera just gave a half-smile. She scanned the cemetery. There someone here too visiting their loved ones. She… she don’t have any idea who’d she visit. “Were here.” Mariya looked at the small tomb infront of her. She read the word on tombstone. “Gone to be an angel….” She looked at her best friend- confused. “Vera what is the meaning of this?” Slowly… she started to cry on what she heard. “Your baby can’t make it.. I’m sorry” She cried out. How?? She felt that someone hug her tight and patting her back to clam herself. But she cant. “H-how?” she asked. Vera cried along with her. “Y-your pa-pare-nts” when she heard that she start to shout to release her anger. Mariya heard her best friend sob. “When you told them that your pregnant and the father is Niall, they are angry at you” Vera sob again, “they asked you to abort the child you… you disagree to their idea. You plan to go along with Niall that's where their plan began.” She let to go to her and approach her child’s grave. Why her parents do that? All of the people, why them? but she was not satisfied on what her best friend said. Mariya told to herself that she will find the truth whatever it takes. And that Niall, whoever he is? Mariya looked at the sky, “I know this not the end… I’ll come to all of you… I’ll make you pay.” And she start to cry again and again while looking to the sky, tears by tears.


The man himself is coming to tell us—Vice President Numb Nuts. He's such a spineless wimp. How did he ever become a vice president? I'll tell you how. It's because Boeing is not what it used to be. That's it. Its current level of incompetence is staggering. I used to be proud to be part of this company, but those days have long vanished. And sitting over there is another reason I've lost confidence: Clark Suck-face Truman. Look at him all smug and confident. I can see what he's thinking. He's such an open book. He's thinking of his thank you speech for choosing him as the team lead. And who am I kidding? Numb Nuts is probably going to do just that. He wouldn't know talent if it bit him on his overworked posterior.

I'm the only one who knows my value. I would make a great lead, but they will never give me the opportunity. They are a bunch of idiots—the whole company is full of them. "Thank you all for coming," Vice President Chumley Lutz said. "I'm here to choose a team for the Quad Rotor Aerial Vehicle project. I'm very excited about this. I hope everyone here is as excited." We clapped. Although, I don't know why. We looked like a flock of muppets. "I'm appointing Clark Truman as the team lead." Of course, he did. I don't know why I let myself get all worked up. Why do I allow myself to hope? The twit babbled on and on until he stopped and made eye contact with me. "Now for the backbone of the team – Bob Sparks. Come on up, Bob." I gazed at him. He thinks I don't know, but I know what he's doing—parading me in front of everyone like an old tiger at a circus. I capitulated, stood beside our illustrious potentate, and smiled. I know how to act. I put on my gracious face and shook Numb Nuts' hand. After my award-winning performance, the meeting ended, and I returned to my office. A memo on my desk told me to see the company shrink immediately. What the heck? Why would Bug Eyes need to see me? "Hello, Bob. Come in and have a seat," Dorothy Flingmyer said. I sat and tried not to stare at her enormous eyeglasses. They had to be an inch thick. "Bob, do you know why I asked you here?" "No, I don't. You see, I'm not a shrink, so I don't have all the answers." She ignored me. "I asked you here to discuss your recent behavior with Trent Holfax. Do you recall the incident?" "Are you referring to the incident when I informed Mr. Trident…excuse me, Trent…that his calculations would turn our plane into a submarine? Or when I told him McDonald's was hiring, and he could use me as a reference? Or the incident when I suggested his degree must have come from a state college because it was the only explanation for his ignorance of aeronautical engineering? Or…” "That's enough, Mr. Sparks. It's obvious you recall." She lowered her glasses and looked at me. "You understand this type of behavior is unacceptable?" "You mean telling the truth is unacceptable?" "You know what I mean. You tend to see only the negatives in people, and your belittling manner is appalling." "Did you say appealing?" "Mr. Sparks, you need to take this meeting seriously. Your position here is on the line. If I don't see significant change, Boeing will release you." She adjusted her glasses. "I believe we are going to be able to work this out. I think some simple exercises can tame your cynical attitude." "Push-ups? Sit ups? Squats?" "Please don't interrupt, Mr. Sparks," she straightened. "I want you to keep a gratitude journal for several weeks. We will meet again next month and go over it together. If I see progress, then all is good. Understand?" "So, I tell you about my crushes, my favorite teacher, and how my mom doesn't understand me?" "You have a problem, Mr. Sparks. I expect thirty entries on how grateful you are on various subjects." Well, I did what she said. It's an entire month of mushy stuff and puffy praise. I wonder if this was some disciplinary tactic. Who has ever heard of a gratitude journal? "I see you used a five-year diary. Pink. With a lock," Dorothy Flingmyer said with a look of disdain mixed with unbelief. "Only the best for this assignment." She cleared her throat, "Well, let's begin." She flipped through a few pages, counting the entries. "I see you have thirty. Very good." "Actually, I have thirty-one entries. You must have missed one." She counted again, "Ah, yes. There are thirty-one." She opened the first page and read: May, 9th, 2024 I'm grateful it's Thursday. Although, Friday would be better. May 10th, 2024 I'm grateful it's no longer Thursday because Friday is undeniably better. May 11th, 2024 I'm grateful it's Saturday because, unlike Friday, I won't have to see Trident or Suck-face. She huffed, "Are there any entries not evolving Friday?" "Um," I combed through my mind. "Yes, skip to May 18th." May 18th, 2024 I'm grateful our team wasn't given an important project since it mainly comprised of baboons. My 19th, 2024 I'm grateful that Boeing's new policy of hiring nincompoops makes me look better. May 20th, 2024 I'm glad Suck-face didn't call me champ today. "She put down the diary in frustration, "Who is Suck-face?" "Clark Truman." I gave her an innocent look. "I'm sorry, I thought it was obvious." "From now on, I want you to refer to him by his real name." I mentally searched, "I did. See May 30th." May 30th, 2024 I'm grateful I almost forgot Suck-face's real name is Clark Truman. "Mr. Sparks, I'm afraid I won't be able to recommend you remain at Boeing. Did you even try?" "I understand, but if you could read the last entries, you might change your mind." June 6th, 2024 I'm grateful for Mrs. Flingmyer's suggestion to write this journal. After reading my earlier entries, I see how negative I've become, and seeing the problem is half the battle. June 7th, 2024 I'm grateful for renewed interest. After ten years, I dusted off my old fiddle and was surprised at how much I remembered. Letting go of my negative attitude has rekindled my joy of fiddling. June 8th, 2024 I'm grateful for our follow-up meeting on Monday. I have so much to share. "I'm impressed, Mr. Sparks. It seems our little exercise has benefited you immensely. I knew if you could see the truth, you would come around. I will recommend you stay with us, provided you continue journaling." "You couldn't stop me if you tried." We ended the meeting with a friendly hug. I walked out thinking about how to thwart Suck-face's proposal to allow our Quad to run on multiple fuels. He's such an ignoramus. Oh, and I can't wait to get Trident in a corner. He's almost too easy, but I will enjoy destroying him anyway. His elementary ideas deserve it. I'm grateful I found my fiddle. It reminded me it wasn't the only thing I could play like a fiddle.


FALL The fall had arrived. There stood in one of the corners of Greentwig, Clementine ready to bid adieu to her once green and corpulent children. Her wailing wafted through the forest just as gently as Jerry who collapsed all brown and baked the other night enmeshed with the brown soil. The wailing reached the ever excited being of the jungle tiny Eve. She ran to her mother who was bathing in the sun, trunk sucking and curling upwards to pour water on her old, battered Asiatic elephant skin. Eve leaped with a thud on the puddle nearby “Mother do you hear someone crying, because I do, it’s one aching sound”. Lily looked at her naïve, one year old daughter with eyes soaked with fear, “ yes I do it’s Clementine, she must have lost one of her many kids” she said looking about with wide eyes, “ hers is the saddest life any being could be subjected to on this planet of ours; raising hundred many kids every year only to see them die ,dead and baked during fall” , sighed Lily while climbing up to the land. Eve thought while being clueless about the concept and the reason behind losing a loved one. She couldn’t imagine being detached from her dear parents and her brother George. “What’s fall?” enquired Eve. Lily pretended to have unheard the words wrapped in inquisition and moved on and asked Eve to follow on. Back at home Eve met her father trying to teach George about “them” who come all geared up in khaki mostly, sometimes colorful apparels never missing out the shade of blood while leaving, “now listen George I want you to grow up all brave and astute, ever ready to escape while also protecting your little sister once you grow up like me, for I won’t always be around to ensure a safety net over you guys”. Eve listened intently and asked “papa who are these people you are talking about and what do they have against us?” John looked at her all flushed by the innocence she emanated and said “ they are these beings who walk on two legs and talk a different language than ours, they venture into Greentwig once or twice every year to snatch away kids like you from their mother”. Eve at once knew it’s the fall he is talking about but didn’t question further for she had already framed the next plan of action in her head. She slipped away when her parents were busy talking about Mrs Whiskers, the beaver best known for her cakes in every corner of Greentwig. Eve was the kind of explorer who wouldn’t let things as trivial as her birthday take up space in her head which was tomorrow. Presently she had her goal right before her, chasing the wailing in the air to reach Clementine. She wanted to meet her and talk to her about fall for she cared for her family and knew George to be a laggard who wouldn’t move an inch to save them from their enemy. She ran as fast as she could, giving no fig to the panting and the mud slinging at her due to her tiny yet heavy footfalls. She could feel the wailing getting closer and closer to her and finally she stood before the source of the heavy, sadness drenched crying. A huge tree touching the amiable azure, with a wide network of branches, left with a few dried up leaves clung to her, all on the verge of giving in. Eve raised her head with sheer difficulty for her tiny structure stood way below Clementine’s tear stained face. She finally shouted out “Hello Miss Clementine, I am sorry for your loss, could you please take out some minutes from your mourning for my inquisitions?”. This was followed by a sudden silence; air relieved for some time from soaking gigantic tears, the birds could be heard chirping at last. Though the silence had a weird harrowing effect around the area; the grass below, the birds around, the insects around were all completely immersed in a sea of wailing since many days, the sudden dryness felt to be something out of the daily routine. Clementine bowed her head, squinted for a while and finally saw tiny Eve below. Eve continued “I am here to know about fall and how is one supposed to tackle it, I see you have clearly lost the battle against it but it would still be great to know how it looks like and what sort of weapons it wields to take away your kids. I love my family and would do anything to save them”, a leaf fell from one of Clementine’s branches as she was speaking, now the tree left with just two. It took poor Clementine some time to wrap her head around all the happenings – a baby elephant scared of fall, fall wielding weapons, fall being a threat to an elephant family and finally tony her last third kid leaving her. She then sighed and told Eve “fall is no foe for you mobile beings, it is us the immovable, branched beings that it comes for every year, you clearly are mistaken kid”. Eve then told what her father had talked about in the morning hearing which Clementine broke into a fit of laughter; her laughter was as earth jolting as her crying. She laughed and laughed till her trunk started to pain. Eve stood baffled just like the air processing Clementine’s mood swings as she lost her last second leaf. Clementine at last spoke “listen kiddo the fall you and your family needs to be scared of is far more ferocious and heartless than the fall I am subjected to every year. They are called humans, they walk on two legs and wield weapons of all sorts, axe for us trees and a blasting stick like thing for you animals, the stick blasts with a bolt and sends the animals into immobility, all blood clad. Humans are the fall you are in search of” and suddenly they heard two gunshots in the air, “that’s the kind of bolting sound you need to be scared of”. She stood erect and heighted as she was, peered through the forest to see Eve’s parents dead, her father without his tusks and her mother lying in a blood of pool as little George ran into the forest away from the fall of animal world. She looked upon a clueless Eve and said if only I could swap places with your mother to sacrifice my existence for my dear children, tears rolling down her face as she said this. Her last leaf wafted down gently in front of Eve, kissing the ground all dried up.


Buoyed by the principles plus precepts learnt from watching a few YouTube videos on skiing well and without fear as a novice, I set off down the snowy slope with a significant sense of déjà vu! This euphoric feeling was as indescribable as it was enjoyable. This wind at my back turned to temporal dysphoria as I crashed into someone while seeking to employ a wedge stop technique practiced a few times after watching the how-tos. A more experienced skier auspiciously came to the rescue of my "victim" as I steadily moved to a safe spot. Basking in the euphoria of fully skiing for the very first time made me forgetful about avoiding an accident... The person I crashed into and the rescuer continued down the hill after slowing down to confirm I was okay. I muttered a rapid prayer of Thanksgiving to God for safety. With this done, I was back in high spirits ready to continue with increased care and competence. I sure wasn't ready to give up! The more daunting the task, the more daring I can be. This disposition describes me since attempting to date a dancer I met while on duty in a departmental store where I briefly worked. Her velvety voice saying "Excuse me sir, do you work here by any chance?" as she sought out a particular product principally "pulled" me to her as I thought "this lady must be 'mine' if she's not already hooked up with anyone!" Her svelte silhouette surely sealed my stance as I blurted out "are you married or in any serious relationship with any man?" Flabbergasted and flushed, she fumbled for words to say without being overly brutish or brutalizing my ego... ... flustered but not feeling foolish, I found the courage to correct course by saying "Yes, I work here but I'm very honoured to have been blessed with the chance of meeting you. Would you please forgive my being rash even though I'm truly interested in  knowing you?" The fury on her face faded into a smile that made me further think "this woman and I sure need to become close friends". She then responded by saying "it's okay as I see that you are not the highly insensitive and incongruous individual I initially thought you were...; but I must say you're intrepid!" "intre..what?" I replied. "You're interestingly fearless and forthrightly bold", she said as we both burst out laughing. Then I introduced myself and she reciprocated.

She was in search of silver coloured swimsuits she could adapt as costume for the next dance presentation of her troupe. On showing her the pertinent section of the store, I proposed two complementary colours - light purple and light blue - to her. She accepted my propositions and profusely thanked me as I escorted her to the till area. As she joined the queue, I excused myself muttering "I'll be back in a jiffy." I dashed to pick up my stuff as my shift for the day was now over. But my section manager requested help to reset his computer and thus an unexpected quarter of an hour! On returning to the till, she was nowhere in sight but the cashier handed me a note tucked inside an envelope from her. Excited and curious but unwilling to show my disappointment mixed with anticipation, I calmly put the envelope in my knapsack and headed home, a few blocks away. On getting into my studio apartment, I quickly opened the envelope hoping to therein find her phone number and request to be called, but alas, it was not so. The little note in one of the loveliest handwriting ever sighted simply read: "Good things come to those who wait for and merit them. Sorry I could no longer wait as I have a plane to catch and billed to be back in six weeks after a tour with my team. I hope to answer your two-in-one question on my return if the wait turns out to be worthwhile for us both. Meeting you was a memorable encounter. Thank you once again and take care. - Your 'yet-to-be' friend." "Six weeks!? I'm scheduled to also leave town in two weeks as my sojourn at the departmental store comes to an end in a week!" I thought to myself. That was six months ago. Now in Switzerland for a sixteen-week writing project, I came in three days ago, a week before the expected commencement of this plum job. This is in order to take advantage of a stay offered to me in a resort owned by the parents of a Swiss friend I met three years ago at a writing conference. It also affords me the opportunity to enjoy a dream activity - skiing. The following morning, on the way to a breakfast of rösti, raclette and lamb in one of the restaurants, the chit-chat of a motley crew could be heard behind me... Suddenly, a particular voice stopped me in my tracks as my heart skipped a beat and I trembled with unbelief. "Was I finally going to see her again? Is that not the velvety voice I've been longing to hear for the past half-year?" Turning back, her instant recognition of me was a welcome validation. "Oh my goodness, we finally meet again!", she said, as she rushed towards me and beaming, I instinctively threw my hands wide open for her to crash into. We struggled to outdo each other in playing catch up. It seemed so serene and sensible to be together. With breakfast and others around us immediately put on hold, hand in hand, we gravitated towards a nearby face to face bench and settled in. She looked so beautiful I wished I could watch her all day that day and every other day! All anxieties about what to say if we ever met again had disappeared into thin air. She regaled me with stories of how, on her return from the tour, she had gone back to the departmental store many times every week for six weeks to look for me (or get information that could reconnect her with me) before giving up. For an inexplicable reason, I had brought her note with me on this trip. More curious was the fact that I read it just before leaving my room and ended up putting it in my shirt pocket. Reaching therefore into my pocket, I brought it out and I could see her liven up even more as she gasped in surprise. "Oh là là, you still have the note with you. When I couldn't find you, I wished I had left my contact details in it", she said. On flipping open the note and putting it sideways for it to be readable, we chorused the first sentence: "Good things come to those who wait for and merit them."


He trudged up the hill with his head down, exhausted after the hike. It was twilight, in day and his country. Smoke plumed above the town at the foot of the hill, and if he paused, he could hear their cries of terror on the wind. So similar to his own village, Arrau thought. Namor was collectively dying, violently gasping for stability in its last throes. There were rumors that in the capital, city officials prayed for death in their sleep. Arrau was intimately familiar with that specific prayer, and wondered if the bureaucrats remembered to leave offerings to the gods. As he drew nearer to the top, the underfoot thickened with blood-red and golden leaves. The two packs on his back left him sweating in the summer heat. Having to carry his master's belongings fed a burning anger on his march up the hill - an indignity he felt more keenly than anything related to seeing his homeland torn apart. Arrau was a Namorian, after all. The accumulation of leaves was greatest at the top. And, now, there was also a crackling sound coming from the sky in the distance. He saw his master in a small clearing, casually sitting on a log beside a small fire. Readying a rebuke, which would be as concise as it was intense, for his forced manual labor, Arrau paused. His anger dissipated upon seeing the view. A few miles past the hill and into the valley, a wall of leaves cascaded down, raining down as if to flood the valley in a crimson and gold seascape. He looked from side to side and could see no end to the wall’s expanse. No sky could even be seen above where the leaves fell. The world itself stopped at this great storm. In the gap between the hill and wall, some leaves swirled around in the wind casting strange, dancing shadows in the day’s dying light. By tomorrow, he would be knee deep in that chaos, if he wasn't already dead upon entry. The thought called to mind one of his father's jokes: never underestimate a Namorian man's ability to make things worse for himself. Arrau tried not look too deeply into the torrent. The nearby villages claimed you could lose your sight or even your soul by trying to see into the forest. Others vehemently claimed that was untrue, and instead said you would actually see your loved ones calling for you, and snare you forever in the leaves. There was universal agreement, however, that you would not see the one tree responsible for this everlasting fall season. Somewhere in the dense foliage stood the most magnificent and terrible of trees, towering into the sky itself. A few men had tried mapping the forest size by walking around the edge of the wall. Of those who did succeed, not one person agreed on how long it took. Most did not succeed, or even return for that matter. "Come, sit down, before you tumble down!" his master called. The man plodded over and immediately caught a rancid smell in the air, which was unsurprising. After weeks of travelling together, he knew two things to be true of Farrah. The first was that she had many friends. For an old, Bestoc woman, she travelled through Namor’s treacheries fairly easily. From the day that she asked him join her venture, their path across the various towns and villages had been no less than comfortable. Room and board were always open to Farrah where ever she went; bizarre in a country notorious for its distaste for foreigners. The second was that she had an immense fondness for smoking the most god-awful smelling tobacco. "Put my pack there. Take out the food and cooking gear, though, so we can eat. I will start while you unpack". Her glasses glinted in the fire light. Ah, yes, one last truth. She was not one for pleasantries. When she had first asked him to join her, she was still standing on his door step having barely just mentioned being one his father’s old friends, hinting not too subtly there was more to that relationship. Hinting was probably too light a term, as Arrau recalled having to divert the conversation to her stated reason: to hunt for treasure. He was not Karrah’s first pick: most of her old compatriots were dead or uninterested. Arrau’s father was last on her list, but hearing that he was in the dead category, she was initially resolved to go alone. And he knew all of this because Karrah told him. On his doorstep. In Namor, there was a specific word for her – Volkjins or plunderers of the land. It was a title his father would spend the rest of his life fending off. But, one Arrau chased after when hearing his father’s tales. Karrah reluctantly accepted his offer to join after Arrau pled incessantly, and then only on the condition of apprenticeship. And she warned him, in her direct way, that she was not a kind master. "My country burns, we sit literally on precipice of oblivion, and you would like to tell stories? Sure, I’m totally fine with you starting." He tossed the gear out, and then the food. "Arrau, I’ve explained this thrice over. I will start, and we will exchange tales into daybreak, before we begin into the forest. It is a Bestoc tradition. A tradition of our heroes before a great undertaking. We will share and bond over stories important to us and to our journey. And since our path leads us into the forest, perhaps you can learn from my first tale.” She clasped her hands sincerely, just as she did every time she explained. “We are not heroes. We are opportunistic explorers at best, and grave robbing thieves at worst…” Her hazel eyes hardened. Karrah rarely had lost her temper no matter what he said. But this time, he had struck a nerve. “You may think yourself as whatever you want, in however manner you please. But never tell me what I am, Arrau. I have fought tooth and nail to find survive, starting well before you were even born into your father’s lap of luxury. Which, I might add, I was partly responsible for providing. Your country burns, and you choose to be here. Remember that, you prideful little shit.” Her body was ridged, tersely pulling on her braided brown and grey hair. A small vein bulged in her forehead. She took a deep breath. “Now, did you know the forest's origin is told differently in Namor, Bestoc, and Asheed?” she said easing back in her regular, calmer lilt. Silence. "Did you know that what is common between all three stories is the Sorcerer, the Socerer's child, and the Knight?" Arrau sighed. "You forgot the Knight's lover." "No. The Asheed have no such person in their telling." "Then how..." "Hush. I will begin, and we continue through the night. And just so you know, I also look forward to your stories." She winked at him, knowing he hated this. “In all three stories, the Sorcerer planted a seed and poured into it a magic the world had yet not seen. Only within a few months, a fantastically giant tree stood, bearing fruit for all of Namor. In the years that followed, a Bestoc Knight came to Namor, and the Sorcerer would be killed. The Sorcerer’s only child would honor their dead parent’s last wish: to be buried in the trunk of the tree. Once the deed was done, the tree would forever more stop changing with the seasons and only weep leaves.” “But, Arrau, there is so much more richness between these three stories. Their differences are as important, even more so, than their commonalities. Listen, please, for your truth is just one of many.” She paused to give him a sly grin. “And I think, in these stories, I found the secret to find the tree…and the Sorcerer’s body”.


It began as a child, barely able to walk and we were already pitted against one another. Games, meant for entertainment became as essential as the air I breathe. I don’t know if that’s when the fire was lit or if it was always smouldering in the background. I think it was always there, waiting for me. That urge that need to beat them, the need to win. At the start I lost, I always lost. I could not win; I could not contain my rage, my fire. I broke rackets, I broke windows, I broke controllers, I yelled, I cried, and yet the option of quitting did not even enter my subconscious. I became ravenous in my pursuit of winning. It wasn’t about the game, it was about the person, I needed to crush them. I wanted to laugh at them, I wanted to put them beneath my shoe where they belonged. I taught myself how to focus on weaknesses, how to exploit your opponent physically but also mentally. I learned how to rip my opponents to shreds, the angrier they got the more confident I was. How could they possibly compete with me; who lies awake every night thinking how to destroy them. They are imposters, trying to mimic what I am, but they fail, they always fail. I learned how to win, and I learned how to hurt. Always angry, always arrogant in my own abilities. When logic showed me superior opponents, it was my anger that surfaced that allowed me to dismantle them. They were playing the game the way it was meant to be played, perfect technique, ritualistic, and cool headed. I played the player, getting in their heads, disrupting their calm, getting in their face. I was the nightmare they hoped not to meet. Playing fair is not part of the agreement, I play to win and will do anything necessary to see myself victorious. Challenging them as they’d never been challenged before. Ferocity and confidence oozing out of my face, never backing down. I was the perfect competitor. Ready to tear into anyone, rage never dwindling. It was with me always, seeing people’s weakness, dissecting them into their primal fears, able to strike at a moments notice. My weapon and strength which brought me so much success turned inwards as I realized there was no off switch. I was brought up to learn how to break people not care for them, not love them. Sowing discord and fear were my talents, my god-given specialty. Seeing weaknesses in loved ones, seeing weaknesses in friends, constantly eating away at you to strike. I was a predator, I am a predator, constantly waiting to strike, waiting for a challenge, waiting to break someone knew. Silence and control were all that allowed me to fit in regular society. But how can you control all that rage, all the time? You don’t, you slip up and you lose friends, you lose loved ones because to be the perfect competitor is to be broken.


As I lay motionless in my own pool of blood I finally understood what I am. I am no Hero. Just another fool who got used by the people. When I transmigrated I thought my life would not be that boring after all. But after defeating countless Demons only to find I just killed an entire tribe in their own home. killed the Tyrant King only to realize he was the beloved King that sacrificed his life so that his people may live. After a long and hard battle, I defeated the Demon King. Only to find out she was never my enemy, to begin with. I wish I could've known the truth sooner but I was too wrapped up in my fantasy of being a hero. So when I was betrayed by the same person whom once I called a friend, I understood the fragility of my fantasy. When I was stabbed by the woman to whom once I promised my heart, I felt the reality catching up to me. When the Demon King whom I always considered my enemy show me pity and kindness, I tried desperately to deny such reality. She tried to show me the light, tried to remove the blindfold that kept me in my fantasy. Only to be brutally slain in the name of justice. Only to die in my arm with a smile and sadness. It was then my reality finally hit me. I am not a Hero. My vision was getting darker. Maybe it was my fate after I left my original world. From the corner of my eyes, I could still see the lifeless body of The Demon King. A ruler who was doing her best for her people only to be framed and killed for Human kinds greed. A woman who tried so hard to save a fool only to be slain for that fool's own mistake. As I closed my eyes full of regret I hear a voice. "It seems he is finally abandoned. Hehehe took longer than I thought. Maggots got the short end of the stick. Just like in the past. Poor thing. Such is fate. He trusted others too much. Dying with regret." An erratic voice. It echoed in the empty throne room. I opened my eyes to see. A dark erratic smoke in the shape of a human. "Oh! You're not dead yet. Hehehe truly pathetic. Waiting for death like an insect. At least you're alive. Your will is astonishing. He possesses a greater will than us. Maybe you can change it." It continued to speak in many voices. Until something suddenly held me by the throat. "Wait be gentle. Hehehe not a chance. Maggot get the hell up. Why are you not saying anything? You can do it. He shouldn't have the strength to fight back. Don't die." I was thrown at the wall at the back. ' The dark smoke was not intangible. It grabbed me by the hair and kneed me in the stomach. I have nothing to live for. Suddenly felt my entire body burning and I felt a bit of strength coming back to me. I opened my eyes only to see a rusted blade coming at me. I instinctively dodged it. My entire body was screaming as the muscles burned and bones clashed against each other. I clenched my teeth to bear the pain. "Please bear the pain. Hehehe Good. The little maggot has a bit of fight left in him. Your posture is wrong. I believe in you. Focus or you will lose that strength. Sense it." It launched at me as it stopped talking. It looked like a cloud of black smoke that was welding a rusted sword. I tried to dodge but my body refused to listen. With the last bit of strength, I summon the sword that was lying on the ground. It took three swings at me. I managed to block all three of them. But I can feel the pain course through my body. It attacked me relentlessly. I parried some, blocked some, and some skipped my guard and hit me. But I could never counter or attack. Soon I was in a sword fight with the black smoke. After some time the smoke stopped attacking. I wanted to attack but before I could lunge at it, it spoke again, "Did you notice? Hehehe blind idiot. Maggot do I need to point it to you? Calm your breathing. Give him a break. Try and counter. You're not sensing it." I was confused. Its speech patterns were erratic. The voice was distorted but felt like several people speaking one after another. But suddenly all of them shouted in unison. "Feel and sense it. You can do it." It was then I noticed. My wounds were healing. My fatigue is gone. Although my clothes were tattered I was fine otherwise. Before I could speak it attacked me once again and said in the same unified voice, "Learn, improve and adapt. Never hesitate." I didn't understand. The attack kept getting fiercer and fiercer. Until I finally realised. Each time I cross the blade my moves were becoming sharper and more efficient. The sword technique that I learnt from them was invented by the first hero and used by all the next successors. But it was incomplete. Like it was missing a piece. Yet now I can feel the piece slowly filling up. By the time we crossed blades more than thousands of times, I was already attacking and countering. I also realized that the more we fought the more the back smoke dissipated. By the time it fully dissipates we crossed the sword more than ten thousand times. The sun on the horizon set a long ago. The night was filled with the sound of battle. The sky slowly brighten up as the black figure slowly came into the view. It was then I finally realize what was beneath the smoke. His face was familiar. It was the first hero. He looked at me with a gentle smile for a second I could see his face overlapped with the Second hero. Her hair bit looked like the third. Then it dawned on me I was looking at all of the seven heroes at the same time. "So you have finally noticed." All eight voices came at the same time. They all were my predecessors. They spoke again unified. "Betrayal was the only reward we got after we got to the end of our journey. All we ever wanted was peace, adventure, to go back, to become a hero, to find love, to create a better world, to belong. Yet in the end, we were denied of it by them." I felt a tinge of pain in my chest. They gaze over to the horizon. "We are the heroes of the past, just a mere echo of their existence. We are the malice of the departed. We are their wish, their hope and their regret. We are the proof of their journey, their pain and their suffering." They looked at me with warmth and love and said, "But today we will take that malice including yours, we will take that regret including yours and fade away for eternity. But we will grant you our hope our wishes and our last proof of existence." They extended their hand to reach my face, "So please, avenge us, fulfil our wishes, live your life to the fullest." I watch as the hand crumble before reaching me. The last echo of the heroes of the past fades away with a bright smile full of hope and contentment. A small light was cast on my soul that made the world look a bit brighter. I stare at the rising sun that was bringing a warmth I have never felt. Like waking up from a nightmare, the world looked brighter and much more vibrant. Yet I can feel the loneliness as the silent breeze touched my face. I slowly walked back to the Demon King and gently lifted her body. I found a place that no one should disturb to bury her. I looked at the mangled body with red hair and two small horns came out from the side. I gently moved the hairs from her face. She shouldn't have paid for my mistake. I gently lowered her body down to the grave. I saw a few drops of water fall on her face. I look around but there was no rain. Yet the droplets felt non-stop. She was a foolish woman. She could've killed me when she had the chance. She could have saved herself. Yet she tried to save this worthless fool of a hero. Holding her lifeless body all the memories came rushing in. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..." I have made a mistake. I weakly left her body in the grave and buried her. I put a gravestone and wrote, "Even if no one ever remembers your name, I shall never forget. I cannot forget. You're the woman who tried to show me the light. The one who until the very end stood by my side. Even if the stars die out I shall never forget your name, Anaesthesia." I looked at the sky. I heard that Miracles exist in this world that are caused by the Universe itself. Not even the Divine itself was powerless against it. So if the Miracles truly exist I wouldn't mind seeing you once again Anaesthesia. Unbeknownst to anyone a change occurred. The scattered light of a soul condensed by itself. It was a miracle that was bought by the wishes of the blessed one. The soul that was dead reformed once again in the world. ... After the Defeat of the 73rd Demon King, The Daughter of King Modus Princess Neila married the Magus Hero Kyrus. After the killing of the Fallen Hero along with the Demon king peace once again regained over the human land. But it only lasted three years. Civil unrest and rebellion caused the Largest Human kingdom to break off. Countless misdeeds of the King, Dukes and Nobel started to surface. Soon it was revealed the history of betrayal of the Royal Family. How they betrayed every hero. How they used Demons for their gain. Rumours of the sightings of the Fallen Hero spread throughout the continent but in the end, none were confirmed. Princess Neila and Magus Kyrus were stripped of their power and exiled. Soon they vanished from the public view and were never to be seen again. In just seven years humankind went from being one of the largest dominating species to one of the most fragile species. Their Kingdoms were either broken from within rebellion or conquered by other races. The battle was bloodless as almost all the novels mysteriously surrendered to the invading forces. What was more surprising was that the Elves or Orcs no matter who conquered, chose peace over bloodshed. The rumour of a man draped in cloaks manipulating everything surfaced many times but everyone scoffed at it. After a few more years, Gods have stopped responding to the prayers. It is revealed that The Statue of the Human God of Light and Justice one day crumbled mid-prayer and the priest lost their power. The summoning circle was obliterated. Fortunately, none was killed. Elves, Orcs and other races have stopped any kind of war. It is rumoured that their God has sent divine intervention to tell them to stop all war. In the end, humans have turned into nomadic species. As the world entered into a new era. An era of peace. ... "Mom tells me a story please." "Yes yes, a Story." A boy and a girl said in unison. Their mother smiled a little and asked, "Which story would you like you to hear?" The boy and girl smiled cheerfully and said, "The story of the 'Hero and the Demon King'." "Haven't you heard it like a hundred times now?" The mother said with a little sigh. "We want to hear it again." Seeing how they were very persistent she decided to tell the story again. The Story of how a human was summoned and became a hero. The kids became excited when Hero beat someone. Sad when Hero was defeated. By the time Demon king came into the story, the kids fell asleep. She smiled a little and tucked them nicely. "Honey I'm home." A sound rang out. Her smile got wider. She almost ran to him and hugged him tightly. The man ran a hand through her red hair and hugged back her tightly. She felt his embrace and snuggled a little in his arm. "We have enough food. You don't need to go out to hunt every single day." She said with a pout. He gently kissed her forehead and said, "I won't go tomorrow then." She hugged him even tighter. She then spoke, "Thank you." Then man shook his head and said in a shaky voice, "It is I who should say that to you. You sacrificed everything for me yet all I did was..." She quickly put her finger on his lips and said, "It's not your fault. Besides am I not with you now at this moment?" The man looked at her. He can never forgive himself for what he did but she forgave him that easily. She wasn't even angry, to begin with. This is why he was more heartbroken. He didn't deserve such kindness. She hugged him tightly. She knew her husband blamed himself for what happened to her. But she wanted him to forgive himself. So she said what she wanted to tell him for a long time in a gentle voice, "I never lived for myself. When I was crowned I was stripped of my free will. I always did what benefitted my race. But you showed me a different world, a different life. You taught me how to laugh. You taught me how to love. You taught me that I have a choice to decide who I want to be." She rested her head on his chest and felt his heartbeat and said in a tender tone, "You saved me. So no matter what I will never leave your side. I will always love you forever and ever. After all..." She rested her head on his chest. "...you're my hero." She can hear his heart beating faster, she could feel his body shivering and his rough breathing. He uttered nothing more than three words. But all his feelings were contained in that one sentence. "Thank you, Anaesthesia." ...


Kaia had no idea where or how far away from home she was. At seven years old she wasn’t much for directions or telling time. She only knew that the sun was going down and if she didn’t find her way out of these trees she'd miss dinner and tonight it was lasagna, special for Aunt Janice's birthday. Her favourite. The whole family was gathered for the celebration, including grandma and her world-famous baked goodies. Her cousins were over, too. Sara and Ivan. Jerks. Kaia wished she could hang out with the adults. They were gathered in the kitchen, which was enourmous. Kaia figured her parents were rich, probably gazillionaires. They always threw these big fancy parties where all the food was bite sized and everyone drank out of long fancy glasses. That’s how it started. Everyone was celebrating, her mom fussing in the kitchen, the children being too loud. "Why don’t you kids go outside and play until dinner,” her Dad suggested. Off they went. With a backyard that consisted mainly of a small garden plot and trees, the obvious place to play was in the trees. Kaia and her cousins would do things like build forts with tree branches and climb the enormous trees, but their go-to was hide and seek. Sara hid first, but her efforts were futile. She was not a tiny girl and she wore a pink, fluffy sweatshirt. It may as well have been a beacon for the seeker. Sara was nabbed in a minute's time. Ivan was a little more creative. That bummed Kaia out, she didn't feel like searching for him anyway,. Kaia didn’t really enjoy playing with her cousins that much because they were bullies. Picked on her her for being skinny, mocked her long curly red hair that sometimes got knotted up and fluffy-fuzzy. “Your hair looks like a toilet brush,” Sara would say. Ivan would laugh hysterically over the unfunny joke every time. Kaia wanted to outsmart them on her turn to hide. She ran quickly through the brush. She could feel the burdocks grabbing at her purple sweater as she ran, but she didn’t care. “The longer it takes for them to find me the more peace I get,” she thought. She found a tree, hustled up as high as she could, and scrunched herself into a little ball. Trying to make herself invisible. She heard her cousins yelling in the distance. In the distance. How far had she run She waited and waited for her cousins to come find her but their cries just got more distant and further away. A feeling of panic washed over Kaia; She descended the tree, not that graciously though, scraping her leg and leaving an open bleeding gash on her right calf. She cried out. Sitting on the ground at the foot of that tree Kaia cried until snot came out of her nose, which she angrily wiped on her purple sweater. “Ok, enough crying,” she told herself. “I gotta get home or I’m going to be stuck out here in the woods all alone all night.” The very thought prompted more tears. She gathered herself and decided to find home. She had been running, dodging trees and bushes, for what felt like an hour. She finally accepted the fact that she was lost and alone. She collapsed on the ground, exhausted.</p> When Kaia opened her eyes, the sky had grown much darker. The woods were beginning to make their night-time noises. The peepers were out, a few frog noises, an owl. The noise of rustling brushes. That scared Kaia enough to dart out of the thicket. “I didn’t know this was here,” she said out loud as she came upon a pond. She bent over and cupped her hands to take a drink of water. The moonlight lit an eerie glow over the pond. Kaia could see her reflection and the forest behind her as though she was looking into a mirror. She saw a tattered- looking girl with dirty clothes. Her mom would be pretty mad that she put a hole in her pants from that tree. The blood was clotted and dried in a perfect circle of red on her kitty-cat leggings. She could see her stupid face, freckles and that mess of curly hair, matted with sweat and sticking up everywhere. Out of frustration she smacked the water with her hand. Her reflection changed. It was still her but her reflection was smiling and Kaia wasn’t smiling. Quite the opposite. Just then, the reflection winked at her. *************************************** She had hoped that her terrified ear-splitting wails would draw her family near. To come save her. No one came. She was still alone, the image from the pond seared into her memory. An eerie, pensive calm washed over her. "What if the face in the pond can talk?" she thought. "What if it can help me find my way home?" She approached the shining pond slowly, cautiously. She closed in on it, until she could see her reflection again. “Who are you?” she asked. ‘"Why, I’m you silly! Can’t you tell?!”, The Reflection responded with a giggle. “Reflections don’t talk,” Kaia retorted. A shiny object in Kaia in The Reflection’s hand grabbed her attention. Something...gold? The thing twirled around and around The Reflection’s finger. “You can have this locket, it will help you get home," The Reflection began softly . "It has a compass inside and it will point where you need to go.” The locket. Still twirling around that one finger. It caught the moonlight, the reflection dancing across the pond's surface. Hypnotizing. Kaia motioned for the locket, but it was just out of her reach. The Reflection swam out a little further. Kaia chased the treasure into the water. This was her locket. This was her compass. Her ticket home. Kaia was shoulder deep. “Follow me Kaia, reach for my pendant,” The Reflection encouraged in a whisper. “Stay with me.” Kaia found herself kicking, struggling to stay afloat. She was not a strong swimmer. She wouldn’t even put her face under water, causing her to lose out on her swim badge in Brownies. Dipping under. Swallowing acrid, metal-tasting water, the grit of sand in her teeth. More kicks. In one swift motion she breached the surface, gasped for air, and dipped under. Kaia was gone. Only a few bubbles remained floating at the surface. ******************************* Bill Powell walked alongside Sheriff Ruiz. “Used to be an old mill and pond around these parts back in the 1960s,” Powell noted. The entire community was two days into an intense search for the missing seven year old. If you needed a town history lesson, Powell was your man. “Yessir, back in, I wanna say '67, '68, a young girl named Eloise Harris went missing," he continued. "The whole town went looking for that little girl. Sweet little girl, red curly hair, freckles," he described. "Decade later, all they ended up finding were bones," Powell said. He turned to face the Sheriff. "That mill shut down after some accusations that one of the workers had done something to that little girl, and that pond all but dried up over the years," Powell continued, explaining how Eloise Harris was found. "That’s when they found her....well what was left. Just a skeleton clutching a locket. I think it had a compass in it if memory serves me.” “I seem to remember coming across that case in my files when I took over here in 99’, they never actually pinned anyone for that did they?” Ruiz asked. “Nope. But these woods are full of secrets, there are probably trees here older than man itself. Some say she accidentally drowned, some say she was dumped here, some say the ground just seemed to open up and swallow her whole, spittin’ out her bones, but… no way of proving nothin’,” Bill said in a grunt. His hips were killing him. The search party found their way to the clearing on an unseasonably warm Saturday afternoon. Right where the old mill and pond used to be, right where Powell said it would be. Sheriff Ruiz saw something in the distance. He walked toward this patch of colour, kicking up dust and sediment as he strode across the dried out pond. A girl’s sweater. Purple. Kaia’s mother identified the sweater as hers. There were no remains to be found. Tucked up into the sleeve was a gold locket. Ruiz popped the locket open, revealing a compass with a shattered screen. On the back, the initials E.H. were neatly inscribed.