Word count: 1,275 This was for an english assessment about time travel. Opinions? (I submitted the assessment a while ago, just wondering what others think of it) The piercing screech of train wheels grinding against metal rails jarred me awake violently and I lifted my head from its resting place in the crook of my shoulder. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone to check the time. The screen was black. I tapped it repeatedly in frustration but it refused to exhibit even a flicker of life so I slipped it back into my jeans, assuming it must have died while I was sleeping. The inside of the carriage was abnormally absent of human noise, the usual hum of chatter and shuffling erased completely. My commute to work was generally packed full of people, shoulder to shoulder with total strangers but as I looked around I came to realise that I was entirely alone. Perhaps everyone had got off at the last stop? I racked my brain for other possible scenarios but none came to mind. My train of thought was hindered when a muffled automated voice sounded over the speakers, "This is the last stop. Please remember to take all personal belongings with you as you exit the vehicle." The announcement was perfectly normal, aside from the static noise that enveloped the words and made them significantly quieter. The double doors in front of me hissed like a viper about to attack as they slid open to reveal a bright white light that beamed into the carriage and directly into my eyes. I instinctively shaded my vision and squinted, trying to make out anything besides the blinding glare. A slight smell of burning crept up my nostrils and I searched around with my eyes, looking for the source of the smell. It seemed to be coming from the door. I stood myself up hesitantly and grabbed my backpack which was sprawled out on the seat next to me. I threw it over my shoulder, the loose items inside jumbling around and crashing into each other noisily. My whole body was shaking and my heart was thumping like a caged animal, a feeling of impending doom washing over me. I stepped towards the searing glow and a feeling of warmth surrounded me, like someone had opened an oven directly in front of me. A surge of adrenaline shot through my veins and before I could stop myself, I advanced out of the doors and into the world outside. As I left the carriage, it was like I stepped through a thin veil of heat but as soon as I was out the temperature cooled down immediately. The bright light seemed to have burnt little stars onto my vision and I rubbed my eyes roughly to try and get rid of them. Before I could look back, the hissing sound returned, the doors closed and the train hurtled off creating a sudden gust of cold wind that whipped my hair to the side, pricked at my skin and made my eyes water slightly. The platform I was standing on was entirely empty of people, eerily silent. The walls were white painted brick and the sharp tang of antibacterial spray attacked my senses. Aside from a tall set of stairs ascending out of the underground, the room was sparse and plain. There were no marks or blemishes on the walls, no signs or indications of my whereabouts; the whole place was pristine and untouched as if I was the first human to ever discover it. Wherever I was, it was not my intended destination. I decided to venture further and initiated the climb up the ivory stairs that lay in my eye line. One step at a time, I clambered up, the sound of life getting louder and louder as I got closer to the surface. The air started to smell of pollution, an intense scent that gave me no choice but to cough and splutter in response. The stairway ended at a rectangular opening in the ground and I began to obtain an obscure view of the world that waited beyond me. The sky was a swirling light grey colour, like liquid marble and the Sun that had shone so brightly just this morning had disappeared entirely behind the thick blanket of ash. As I escalated further, the atmosphere began to reveal more of itself and soon I was stood in the open air. Everything was different. Everything was bigger. Magnificent elongated skyscrapers towered above me, their architecture bold and unusual. They were all unique to one another, carefully designed down to the trimmings of their windows. Freshly groomed greenery decorated the landscape, neat rows of exotic plants lining the towers edges. I had never seen plants like the ones I was seeing now. One flower was a vibrant shade of indigo with strange yellow feathers below its petals, another a soft baby pink with tiny buds sprouting from the stem and huge spiked leaves that stuck out at odd angles. The thick polluted air that I was still not used to felt as though it would not support plant life as succulent and prismatic as this and yet they were healthier and more luscious than any I had ever encountered. I took a step backwards, expecting my foot to land on the staircase I had just emerged from but to my surprise it was gone. There was no trace of it ever having been there, the ground was flat and perfectly blended with the rest of the concrete. I picked and pinched at the skin on my arm and tried to convince myself that this was all some bizarre dream, that any second now I would wake up. But I didn't. It was just then that I noticed the people that were scattered around me and I couldn't help but gasp in shock. Just like the buildings, they were ridiculously tall with legs that came close to matching my entire body height. They must have been at least eight feet in total and I found myself gazing up at them in awe. They walked with elegance and pride that I could only dream of; as if an imaginary string was attached to the crown of their head, pulling at them lightly and creating their graceful posture. They all had brightly coloured hair in various shades of violet, fuchsia, crimson, sapphire and emerald; styled into crazy patterns and shapes, resembling the colourful plants I had seen before. They looked like Gods. I caught a glimpse of one of their faces and had to do a double take. Slanted feline eyes stared back at me, their pupils changing shape as they took me in and tried to work out who or what I was. The colour that surrounded was a startling mix of green and yellow, like a lime that had yet to ripen. Their features were sharp and high, with stunning, pronounced cheekbones and their hair was an aggressive shade of amber and gold, tied up in a grand style that resembled a halo. They tilted their head in confusion at the sight of me and narrowed their eyes. They began speaking vehemently in a language that was completely alien to me. Their words were abrupt and abrasive, spitting violently at me like I had caused them deep offence. Suddenly, everybody's heads had twisted around to stare into my soul, like hungry lions about to pounce. Hundreds of intense glares were being directed straight at me. Multiple of the people began speaking at once; unknown and confusing words were being tossed around in accusatory tones. Their voices all blurred into one and I realised they had all formed a circle around me, caging me in so I could not escape.


On the verge of technological revolution in his small and isolated backwoods village, a young and ambitious aspiring mechanic begins to put the finishing touches on the robot that will get him into the "Androdox Personal Robotics" program. Only a few bits remain to finish his masterpiece, the outer plating to protect the internal components and wiring, and the personality matrix that would bring the bot to life. Seeing as the boy's town wasn't even old enough to be charted on most official maps, the closest of those parts available to him would still require possibly a week's worth of travel. Nothing will stand in the way of his magnum opus, however, so bags are packed, the trustiest available steed is chosen, and the robot is given a name to commemorate the occasion. Dot, is what the droid is to be called. Dot is flipped on for the time being, just to record its surroundings and to keep its joints in motion, wouldn't want Dot to rust up in the creators absence. Dot quickly finds a habit of patrolling the town, in one uniform route that Dot had calculated to be the most efficient. Were it not for the help of a few kind residents, Dot’s still new navigation systems would have had him wander off into the woods several times over by now, but it was no trouble to the citizens, who had become fond of Dot and his parrot like audio replays of their own voices. In the following days, Dot noticed changes in his residents behavior. The organics had been altering their regular routine, far fewer of them coming out of their domiciles as often. Dot began to take count of who he saw in certain areas, 4 guards on the perimeter, 3 elderly running the market stands, 12 that come and go from town each morning and afternoon, etc. 4 days after the engineer left to collect Dot’s finishing touches, Dot had counted 2 fewer guardsmen, and the complete absence of the daily caravan. Dot, not having the program to do anything about the situation, kept on his daily routine. The following morning, Dot clocks in a sudden spike of lifeforms, not in the town, but a short distance up and away from it, on the cliffs and mountains that hid his home for so long. Dot took minor detours in his route that day, as the readings from the outsiders was much different than the townies that Dot was all but used to. The foreign signals moved in patterns similar to Dot himself, efficient, calculated, and minimal to no sidetracking. That very night, the outside lifeforms vanished from Dot’s radar, along with 5 additional that were not accounted for on Dot’s next patrol. By this point, not even Dot’s parroting could do a thing to return the residents to their normal state of being. This had never failed before, but how was Dot to observe this fact, he was but an unfinished robot. Dot obliviously carries on his route, cataloging no change in population, only in routine. Dot had lost track of nearly every resident of his, before finding the majority of them gathered in the large town hall that rested at the far end of the two street city. The occasional guardsmen leaves the town hall, to return with containers of supplies, presumably to sustain the shelter. The population remained as such for several unbroken days, causing Dot to change his patrol path. Dot now only wandered the perimeter of the town hall, occasionally poking his head through a window to get a count of the remaining citizens. Dot noticed occasional returns in the outsiders' life signatures, coming in from the same mountains and hills at first, and slowly encroaching on the perimeter of the town itself. The signals themselves never stayed but for a fleeting moment, but they always returned for seemingly scheduled check-ins. Night fell, exactly two weeks after his creator's departure. The surrounding lifeforms re-appear all at once, bringing with them the residents that Dot had previously lost track of, very considerate! A large gathering of Dot’s regular residents converged with the new visitors, remaining gathered and intermingling amongst themselves for exactly 1 hour and 47 minutes. The visitors departed no later than they arrived, leaving behind the old missing citizens. With everything back in place Dot was able to finally return to his original route, and count the original amount of people in their original places. Not all returned to normalcy as Dot had initially calculated. The cycle of behavior that Dot had observed and cataloged had been halted, The citizens no longer moved on their daily paths, simply standing in their one designated place, day after night, unbothered by storm or snow. The once traveling caravaneers had awkwardly been parked in the center of the city, the animals dragging the carts eventually wandering off on their own. Months passed, Dot remained faithful to his route, and his once lively city of organics and their shenanigans had become still. Dot’s sensors eventually stopped reading his former residents as lifeforms, something of flesh and blood couldn't possibly be so static for so long, it was simply in-computable. Dot eventually came across an obstruction in his pathing, causing his nav systems to flip him around and mistakenly wander down the path out of town, and into whatever the world had in store for Dot. Without contingency protocol to instruct him, Dot simply kept wandering.


“Keep scanning your fucking sector. We need to be cautious out here.”  “Shit,” I grumbled. “Sorry.” James had caught me staring down at my feet. We had been patrolling for hours, and I had zoned out to the left-right-left of my well-worn boots. I looked out into the pine trees up to the right. We were lucky to have him in our “squad” and couldn’t have made it this far without him. “This far,” I thought. We had come a long way, but we were going towards something before. Salvation, the Promised Land, Elysium. When everything had gone to shit he had told us it was stupid. That we were wrong and it wouldn’t be any better out here, but he came with us anyways. I hoped when we made it this far we would finally be safe. That I could tell him, “I told you so.” I tried to convince myself things had at least improved, “At least the ants out here are still small.” The truth was bleak. All we had found here was more of the same we found along the way.  We had been friends since high school, the four of us. James had joined the military after graduation, and had been in combat. We had heard rumors that he was in some secret, special unit, but every time we asked he just chuckled the same old chuckle and said, “Nah.” He became the leader of our squad, mainly because the rest of us didn’t have a fucking clue what we were doing back then. He had taught us about patrols, ambushes, and everything else that had kept us alive on our journey. Tim and Nate followed behind me on our current patrol, their boots crunching on the gravel. They were brothers, best friends, and worst enemies. They went from high school, to college, to law school, cheating off of each other all along the way. They had talked about opening their own law firm one day, but those plans had obviously changed. No need for lawyers when there’s no law around.  The ground had changed from gravel to sand. I watched as my feet sank in with every step. We had crossed the country, going from Nevada to North Carolina. We had seen the worst of humanity, the most desperate of souls along the way. The Event had effects around the globe and now nowhere was safe. “The only safety is the one on our rifles now,” James always said. He taught us to be cautious. “Cautious…cautious,” I thought. Why was that word making me feel weird? “Not again,” I finally realized, still staring at the ground. “Keep scanning your fucking sector.” The words from earlier now stung worse. Luckily he hadn’t realized my second slip-up, and I looked up and out again.  Trees. More trees. I spotted a tree with a weird, cancerous growth. I guess it had reached further out here now. As I stared at it, I felt a knot form in my stomach. Something about that growth made me feel nervous. I never saw the tree root in front of my foot. With all my gear and never being terribly athletic in the first place, it wasn’t the first time I had fallen on patrol. My weight lurched forward, and my rucksack did its best to pile drive my face into the ground. A single gunshot rang out as I fell.  I knew it couldn’t have been me, but I checked my weapon anyways. It was still on safe. I opened my mouth, “Who’s shoo-“ *Crack! Crack!* I heard the bullets sizzle as they passed over my head, and heard two more reports of a rifle being fired close by. “Within 200 meters,” I guessed and shouted, based on hearing the rifle shots so close to the passing bullets. It was something James had been teaching us, and I must have done right since I didn’t hear him correct me. I looked back towards Tim and Nate and saw them taking cover. Finally, I remembered the growth on the tree.  I crawled a few meters to my right, behind the berm that had saved my life along with the tree root that had taken me down, and flipped my thumb down on my rifle’s safety. I worked up the courage and then popped up, firing shots at where I remembered seeing it. Finally, it seemed my luck had turned as I could see the growth, now recognized by my brain as a sniper. I ducked back behind cover and turned to tell Tim and Nate to flank him. They were already gone, and I felt a little bit of relief. We were finally working well as a unit.  I crawled a little further to change my position, and popped back up. “He’s still there,” I realized as I fired, suppressive shots at first but trying to aim better with each pull of the trigger. I felt the changed recoil as the bolt locked back on my final shot. “Fuck!” I yelled to myself. I crawled back down to reload, breathing like I had just finished back-to-back marathons. I fumbled around with the magazine, and slowly came to the realization that it was quiet. No one shooting. No one talking. If I wouldn’t have heard my own breathing through my electronic ear protection, I would have thought they were broken. My heart raced as fast as my mind.  “James!” Silence. “Tim! Nate!” Silence.  “Oh fuck he’s flanking me,” I panicked. I popped my head back up in the same spot it was before. The growth was there, but had slumped down and wasn’t moving anymore. I fired four more rounds, watching the dirt kick up around my target. I slowed down and repeated the fundamentals of shooting that James had taught me in my head, and was positive I hit on the fifth and sixth. It still didn’t move.  “James!” I called again. The reply was the same. I laid there for a few minutes, waiting for someone, anyone. I slowly rose to my feet and looked around. James was laying in the same spot he had been standing in when I tripped. He was face down, with a pool of blood collecting in the dirt around his head. I could tell from the hole in the side facing me that there was nothing I could do. I fell to my knees, then to the ground.


It was a cold snowy day in the middle of January. My dad and I went hiking in the forest at the fabled Algonquin park. The snow was falling with such grace it made the forest look like a scene from a classic Christmas movie. We decided to go hiking to get our minds off of our dog Meeko, who had passed away a week before. As we continued our hike through the forest, we saw something breathtaking. Although I have seen this creature before, I have never been within arms reach of it. The creature had yellowish-brown fur similar to my beige hiking boots. When it saw us it got startled. Its antlers toward over us. Instead of dashing off into the snowy horizon, it just looked at us. It was about the same height as me. As I reached out to touch its seemingly soft fur it sprinted into the distance. As the creature sprinted away we decided to follow it. Although we knew that since the sun was setting we would be surrounded by darkness, we continued anyway. We both knew that we would not get lost as we have been on this path before. While we continued along the path my dad kept on talking about the creature. He said the encounter we had today reminded him of how he would take Meeko on hikes in the forest. It was evident that this encounter with the creature evoked a feeling of warmth and calmness within him that he had not felt since the passing of our old canine friend. As my dad and I continued hiking, we talked more about our encounter with the creature. We talked about why we pursued the creature after it bolted into the dense snow-covered forest. Was it because we wanted to see more of it? Or was it because it reminded us of another furry animal that we cherished? We both came to the conclusion that the creature evoked a feeling in both of us that we had not felt for a while. We wanted to follow the creature because it reminded us of when we would chase Meeko in the same forest. We felt like we were walking with him in the forest. Our hike came to an end when we saw the creature lying down next to some trees. We were both flabbergasted when we saw this because of how much it resembled Meeko. We walked closer to it hoping that it would not sprint off again. It let us touch its soft fur. As I was touching its soft fur all I could think of was Meeko. The creature’s fur felt the same, its fur was the same colour, and its eyes were the same ultramarine colour. We stayed for about ten minutes then hiked our way back to the car. Once in the car, I began to recall the encounter we just had. The encounter brought me joy and happiness. However, this slowly faded away as it only reminded me of what we had lost.


In the quaint town of my youth, there was one of everything. There was one general store, whose name was shared with its owner, one bar, whose name was shared with the owner’s ex-wife, and one nursing home, whose name is meant to invoke some whimsical sense, that being the Dogwood Heights Home for the Elderly. I am not sure how I came upon working at the home, as I never had much appreciation for the older folks in society. It was not as much a feeling of disrespect, more as a subject of ignorance. All of my grandparents were deceased apart from one, and he lived so far away and was so nasty to my parents that we rarely visited him. In retrospect, I most likely took the position because either the pay was good or because of some school friend. However, the true reason for me coming to work there has been lost, all I can remember for sure is that my first few months of my employment were profoundly tedious. Normally, my days would consist of medication handouts, cleanups, and keeping the guests company. The latter was my least favorite moment of the day. So much of my day was spent trying to keep conversation with the barely conscious while they looked onward slack jawed. It was either that or they would break into dogmatic rants about any number of topics, which would end in me being the barely conscious one. This was until I made conversation with a gentleman whom I’ve never met quite like hence. Our discussion opened up a chasm of the human spirit that had never before been considered. It occurred about two hours into my shift. I was doing my average morning check ins to see the condition of the elderly and whether or not they had any complaints. He was one of the last doors in the hall. The nametag on his door read Mr. Kelly - Fortamet 1 daily evening. His door swung open with a soft creak; a noise I had gotten quite used to going from door to door. I found him sitting in his armchair that faced a window, his usual morning spot. He did not turn when I entered the room. “Hey Mr. Kelly, anything to report.” I said, moving over to his night stand to refill his glass with a pitcher of water. “Not today, Aaron,” he said, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. His long, bushy eyebrows obscuring his dark eyes. I began to trace my steps back to the door, wanting to continue my prior activities. However, as I turned to face Mr. Kelly, our eyes met, and some force within them compelled me to stay. Some deep emotion that was barely noticeable beyond the veil of his face. “Are you sure sir?” His face changed to look of embarrassment, as if I, catching that short glance slighted the armor of his manfulness, but at the same time, it was of udder relief. “Well, there has been a few small things on my mind, however, its no use troubling you with the ramblings of an old bore such as myself. Besides, its best for you to return to your work.” “I’m fine to stay, after all, this is a time to check-up on our patients, so anything you have to say would be greatly appreciated.” “Well in that case, pull up a chair alongside me, the view out this window is quite spectacular in the mornings.” I did as he instructed. Pulling up a desk chair from the opposite side of the room, I joined him at his side and gazed out beyond the panes of glass. The view was of a small creek along the outside of the home. Flanking the creek was a number of white flowered trees, the source of the rest home’s name. The sun was up behind the building, casting a brilliant light directly onto the creek and making the dogwoods almost appear to be glowing. He was right, it was quite spectacular. The old man let out a long-tired sigh. “So, do you have any grandparents to take care of outside of this place?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the creek. “Just one, but we don’t visit him very often, as he lives a distance in Portland.” “You should, it's nice for us older folks to see what we are leaving behind, an aptly reminder of our successes, and sometimes failures. I have a son; you look a little like him save for the fact that his hair is brown. He hasn’t visited me for ages for a similar reason you gave for why you don’t visit your own. He lives in one of those cities in California, I can’t remember which one. He’s got some fancy job working with computers. He loves those things, sometimes I think more than me. I’m not exactly sure what he does with them. He has tried to explain to me a number of times but it’s like he’s speaking gibberish. I barely understand a word. As a kid, he would always be on them, doing who knows what. It was around the time when they were first coming out. He would always try to tell me how they were the future, I never bought it. Well, I guess he was right.” He then sat quietly for a while, now staring at his palms. The look of embarrassment had completely worn off, now it was shame. A kind of shame only found in mistakes long past. He finally decided to continue. “But I miss him still. While he had his computers, I had the guitar.” He gestured over to a beaten up six string that leaned against the wall. Its body showed years of wear. “Yeah, I learned how to play that as a youngin’, got pretty good too. I always wanted to be some big musician, like Chet Atkins or Scotty Moore, boy, was I mistaken. Looking back now, I can see that it was nothing more than a pipe dream, and I wish that I had concentrated on more important things like getting an education.” He then let out a small laugh, although there was no humor to be found. “Tried to teach him a few times but he never acted too keen. He was more concentrated on his own aspirations than chasing the will of his old man’s passions. Still though, I wish he would have heard me out, at least once out of pity. Now, looking back upon my life at the finish line, its sad to consider the fact that my life’s goal, that being the guitar, will never be passed down to any future generations. As I remember so fondly the times that I would play him a soft song to help him go to sleep, or strum a tune around the campfire with him, I wish that those moments would be shared with his future children, to at least pass on a small spark of memory from his paw. And whenever his kids ask ‘daddy, how did you come to play like that’ he would respond with ‘well, my daddy taught me.’ But alas, he his own person, and my memory will die when I die.” His voice trembled, like he was finally realizing something that he had always known, it just never had grasped his attention before. His eyes were like a well of emotions, and his words were like a bucket brought to the surface. My mind raced, looking for some condolences that would defuse the situation. I knew that a simple ‘I’m sorry’ would not do anything to help. It would simply place a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. Finally, my brain came to a conclusion that I considered proper. “Well, you could teach me.” His eyes finally met mine. “No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head slowly, “you have way too many things for you to do already. I would hate to occupy your time playing pity on some old man you just met.” “Actually, I have more than enough time. I get off around four, and school doesn’t start for another month, you have plenty of time to teach me the basics.” “Well in that case, how about we start today.” There was no shame left on the old man’s face, only contentment. That began my favorite summer to date. After my shift everyday I would return to Mr. Kelly’s room where he would teach me cords, strumming patterns, and every number of things to become a novice. Even after school began, I would try to make time to get in a weekly lesson. My lessons ended on the day he died three years later in 2014. If I could say one thing to him now, it would explain how much that one summer affected me, because I owe him both my passion and my career.


“So, you’re definitely getting extra credit for this, right?” I said, avoiding a particularly stubborn weed whose sole life desire appeared to be mating with my shoe. Dozens of them sprouted from the improvised path we trekked; the front gate would have been an easier obstacle, but Wren wasn’t willing to risk getting caught. “Not just a measly ten points or something–we’re talking getting a full grade bump, yeah?” “That’s what Mr. Wright said.” “But doesn’t he want some sort of proof? Sure you can snap a picture, but that only proves you showed up, not that you stayed.” Wren shot me a nasty look; were that the subject of her class, she’d have no trouble breezing through. “Look, you didn’t have to tag along.” “Just making sure you get your due credit,” I said and shrugged. There was little in life I regretted; going with the flow was more than fine when it came to just about anything. Especially when it came to Wren, because she hated spontaneity, and that made it all the more entertaining. “Besides–seems a bit sketchy to be spending the night alone. I mean, it’s sketchy in the first place, but even more when it’s solo.” “Shut up.” I huffed. “No need to be rude about it.” “No, I mean it,” she said in a low tone and tugged me down by my hood. “And turn off the flashlight.” I did so with a click and pocketed it. It was one of those weak, four inch things–a five-buck Boy Scouts prize for being the quickest to set up a fire–but it was our best bet on short notice. Wren kept her fingers tangled in my hoodie until she was satisfied we were alone again. “Was probably just the birds,” I said, leaning in; “chirp, chirp–maybe a Wren?” “That stopped being funny before your first joke about it,” she said and jabbed my ribs with her elbow. “I’m sure if I asked Ronnie he’d say otherwise.” “Well, Ronnie’s words mean jack shit to me as it is. No need to have me lower my opinion of him further. Here, this way.” “You lead and I will follow,” I said magnanimously. We wound up near the eastern portion of the cemetery where an admirable cluster of trees provided a semblance of cover. Dropping her backpack to the dirt, Wren quickly set up a blanket and settled her back against the nearest tree. “Ants’ll crawl down your neck.” “And they still wouldn’t be as annoying as you.” I took her picture like that, while she had her eyes closed and she looked half-asleep. The flash went off–necessary because it was nearing eleven at night–and Wren opened her eyes to glare at me again. “Hour one,” I said and slipped my phone away before she could confiscate it. “So, what’s on the agenda? Scary stories? Party games? Crime confessions?” “I’ll admit it; when I was seven I stole Jessica’s purple hippo eraser and wrote a ransom note knowing full well the victim was already buried deep in the playground tanbark.” “That sounds like you,” I said and she beamed. “What was on the note? What kind of sick demands did you make?” “Petty ones. I wanted her juice boxes for the rest of the year–and it was already May.” “Did you get them?” “I couldn’t without revealing I was the one who wrote the note in the first place,” Wren said and shrugged. “Not the most well thought out plan.” “Well, as exhilarating as that story was, I’m still interested in the one behind Mr. Wright’s extra credit being to spend a night in a cemetery. I’m pretty sure that’s not even legal? Or advisable, at the very least.” “You’re just worming your way out of telling me your childhood crimes,” said Wren, but she turned quiet and thoughtful. “He didn’t assign that as extra credit; he won’t even know what I picked until after–which is what makes it safe for now. He’s got shitty eyesight, you know, and he gets so sick of reading essays. And since the class deals with the definition of irrationality, he decided our extra credit would be for us to face a fear of our choice. It has to be a major one, but not our biggest one, of course; I’m sure plenty of people are most afraid of death, but he’s not about to go around condoning suicide or murder.” “Not that it’d matter,” I said. “He has tenure, doesn’t he?” “I did ask him what kind of proof he wanted, and he said visual would be fine if I wanted the memory, but that it didn’t matter.” “What? So he’s just giving free points to everyone?” Wren shrugged. “He said he’d know the next time we’d come to class. That he’d just know.” “Huh,” I said, rethinking my assessment of Mr. Wright’s mental stability. Of course, my initial assessment of him overall was built from the fact that he looked like Mr. Dolittle and I liked that. “So cemeteries. Uh, you want me to hold your hand, then?” Surprisingly, Wren’s face softened. “It’s not like that. It’s an old fear, not based on things coming alive or out of the graves. It’s derived from sadness.” “Does it count as a fear, then?” I sprawled out on my back, staring up at the darkened sky. Most of the stars were hidden, or maybe just not there at all. Against the blackness, though, the moon stood out in its half arc. “Definitely a fear,” she said firmly. “And yourself? What’s your skeleton in the closet? Devil in the dark?” “Nah, I’m not afraid of anything.” Wren sputtered an incredulous laugh. “Excuse me? That’s bull, Josh, and we both know it.” “Think about it as you will,” I said mildly and nudged her foot with mine. “Say, any beers in that pack of yours?” “Because breaking into a cemetery isn’t enough for you? You really want to add public intoxication, too?” “Just a suggestion. So, you’re really planning to stay here all night?” “That’s the plan. You bored already?” “Not bored–just wondering how we’re going to fill the time for hours if we have no drinks, no games, no anything.” “So you’re bored.” Wren sighed. She looked pretty exhausted already, but it may have just been as a result of dealing with me. “You’re welcome to leave at any point.” “Do you think Marella’s would deliver here?” Wren leveled me with a dull expression. “Josh. Go home.” “I can’t! It’s only eleven-fifteen. What kind of friend would I be if I abandoned you in this cemetery?” “Fine, stay; but don’t complain!” We lapsed into quiet for some time, which neither of us minded much. I had a tendency to talk Wren’s head off on occasion, but it seemed neither the time nor place for that. Instead, I watched the sky for any indication of acknowledgement, whether that was the evincing of stars, movement of the moon, or even a UFO for all I cared. Little entertainment came, though, and eventually I turned to ask Wren some nonsensical question–only to find her head resting against her shoulder and her eyes shut. How could she possibly feel comfortable enough to fall asleep in a cemetery when it was one of her biggest fears? Maybe she was overworked, though; it was part of the reason she even opted for this extra credit from what I could tell. Normally, she was a straight A/A- student, and her C+ in Mr. Wright’s class had devastated her. Apparently it wasn’t uncommon; his teaching style was rather absurd and out-of-touch, but the class was mandatory for her major; thus, she suffered. It was painfully tempting to scare her awake, but I like to think I’m not that much of a jackass. Plus I had to piss pretty badly; at the same time, it seemed cruel to leave Wren while she was sleeping. And a little sacrilegious to take a leak potentially on someone’s grave. I contemplated my options–which was more than I usually did–and decided her seeing me struggling with piss-soaked pants was enough of a deterrent to holding it. Shuffling to my knees, I spared her one last glance and headed for the way we arrived. As expected, my flashlight was pretty useless. Still, I managed to make my way out of the cemetery and started toward a nearby bush. As I pocketed the flashlight again, the wind whistled against my ears, drawing a shiver. My hoodie wasn’t exactly Winter material, but it was the comfiest I had. I waited for the wind to pass, but it only strengthened. “Josh.” I jumped, then turned with a scowl. “Ha ha, Wren. So kind of you to sneak up on a guy with his pants half down.” Leaves rustled on the ground where no one stood. Stiffening, I turned back around to see only the bush. With a nervous titter, I cleared my throat and called, “Wren?” Nothing. Okay, so maybe I was going insane. That happened sometimes to people, right? No better time than in a cemetery at night, right? In haste, I finished relieving myself and made my way through the cemetery. Once I got back to Wren, I could wake her, relay the story, and laugh about it. She could even make fun of me, and I wouldn’t mind. The flashlight trembled in my hand and I scoffed at myself, embarrassed by how cowardly I looked. Returning seemed to take twice as long, and when I finally arrived at the familiar, crochet blanket, it sat alone. Wren’s backpack was still there, keeping it grounded against the heavy wind. Had it been her calling me at the edges of the cemetery? Maybe she’d just been pretending to sleep and planned her own scare. That didn’t seem like Wren, though. After checking behind the tree where she had once sat against, I was at a loss. There was no way I was staying here myself, though, so I pulled out my phone to text her. 01:22 where are u?? I waited for a good three minutes, desperate for so much as a ‘ read ’ indication. 01:26 wren seriously this isnt funny Shoving the phone back in my jeans’ pocket, I resolved to make another sweep of the area. I just hoped the groundskeeper hadn’t shown up for some reason and caught her; surely he would have let her take her backpack and blanket with her, though. Maybe she had left it as some sort of warning to me? Christ, I was being paranoid. There was just something… wrong about being in such a desolate, well, dead place. It made you feel too much–too alive, too disconnected, too everything. You became the outsider in your own humanity. A few branches crunched. Spinning around, I flashed the dim light at the area. “ Hey– ” The voice was in my ear. Turning in a stagger, I shot out wildly and punched. “Jesus!” Wren stumbled and clasped her hands over her face. “Josh, what the Hell!” “Shit, Wren,” I gasped, trying to ignore the throb of my left hand; I’d punched with my non-dominant hand, which meant it had been poor form. Hopefully I hadn’t broken anything–either of my own or of Wren. Dropping the flashlight into my hoodie pocket, I guided her back to the blanket. “Here, sit. Are you okay? What happened?” “I was looking for you , asshole!” As I leveled the flashlight on her face, I saw a sickly trail of blood making its way down her chin and through her shaking fingers. Her eyes were wet and pained. “I…I woke up and you were just gone . I…” At this she turned, ashamed, before uttering, “I was scared.” My own voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry. I had to take a piss.” Her laugh stung. “Right. Stupid me.” “Wren, we oughta take you to the hospital,” I said. Her whole body was trembling now, from cold or shock or both. “What if I broke your nose?” “My extra credit,” she said miserably. She did sound a little nasally. “Screw that! Mr. Wright won’t know if you stayed the whole time– trust me, Wren. You were here hours, anyway. And he’d want you to take care of your health first. Look, just–stand up. I’ll pack up the blanket. Can you hold the flashlight with one hand? It’s fine if blood gets on it.” “Josh, I can’t; I’m a shit liar, you know that. He’ll know.” “And he’ll see you have a broken nose or a black eye!” I didn’t usually get this frustrated, but the weight of fear was beginning to cling to me. At that point, you couldn’t have paid me to stay the rest of the night there. “At least let’s go back to your apartment so we can take a look in proper lighting and clean you up.” Finally relenting, Wren moved off the blanket so I could fold it up and shove it in the backpack, which I slipped over my shoulders. She handed the flashlight back to me, now slippery with the evidence of my panic. “This bites,” she said through a sigh as we walked along our path to freedom. “All this over an irrational fear, and I couldn’t even make it through the night.” “Are you kidding me? I was only here a few hours, and I’m telling you it’s definitely not irrational. In fact, I’ve decided it’s irrational not to be afraid of this place. Here, give me your hand.” “Should I be concerned at how nonchalant you are about getting my blood all over you?” “It’s–it’s for both of us,” I stuttered and clasped her hand in mine. Her fingertips were cool and her palm was warm with blood. Still, it felt a bit grounding. “Hey, Josh?” “Mm?” “Why didn’t you reply?” I spared a glance at her. “Huh? To what?” “When I asked where you were. I thought you’d left, but then a minute later you punched me in the face,” said Wren. “Wait, hold on,” I said. “When was this?” “When you shook me awake and said my name.” Once her words registered, I said, slowly, “Wren, when I say ‘now’, we’re going to run.” “What? Josh–” “Just trust me, please,” I said and she gave a tentative nod. “Now!” We ran, and she screamed.


"Guys we have to get a photo!” Kiara shrieked, the pitch of her voice betraying the effects of her third vodka-soda.

I rolled my eyes at Alexis but obliged, turning my back to the stage and putting my arms around Alexis to my right and Kiara to my left as Kiara reached her arm out to snap a selfie of the three of us. Having known me as long as she had, she knew better than to let me look at it and beg her to delete it. I hated the way my smile made my eyes scrunch asymmetrically, and it didn’t help that Kiara and Alexis always looked like models.

My distaste for photos aside, it was a good moment to capture. The New Orleans brass band concert was the first time the three of us had been together for months, and I hadn’t realized just how much I missed live music and my oldest girlfriends. I had been struggling with the emotional load of my first year of a master’s degree in social work, Alexis was deep in accounting busy season had recently broken up with her boyfriend of five years, and Kiara was on the verge of quitting her consulting job for something with less travel and reasonable hours. The concert gave us a few hours of dancing and forgetting about the rest of our lives on a Friday night, and Alexis even managed to chat with a handsome man in front of us despite being out of practice with flirting. *** The Tuesday after the concert, I was nodding off on my couch while trying to read a dry legal document for my Social Welfare Policy class when my phone pinged with a text message. Happy for the distraction, I picked it up to see a “Fearsome Threesome” group text alert from Kiara. “Do you guys recognize this guy? I feel like I do but can’t figure out why…” the message said, with a link to an online news article.

I clicked the link: Partner arrested and charged with first-degree murder of Mariel Wright Jonathon Preston, 26, of Springfield, was arrested this morning in connection with the murder of Mariel Wright, 23, at her home on the 1800 block of Fairview Ave. on the night of Friday, March 18 th . Preston and Wright had been in a relationship for two years, but had been having issues recently according to the victim’s sister. Doorbell camera footage from a neighbor shows Preston leaving Wright’s row house at 7:56pm dressed in gray pants and a fleece jacket. At 9:19pm, a man the same size as Preston dressed in black jeans, a black hoodie, and a black mask is seen approaching Wright’s front door and gaining access to her house by punching through a front window and reaching through to unlock the door. At 9:43pm, the same man is seen leaving through the front door. At 10:58pm, Wright’s roommate, Michelle Starling, is seen entering the house. Wright was found deceased in the living room, reportedly from blunt force trauma to the head and chest. 911 records show a call made by Starling at 10:59pm. After 16 hours of questioning, police have arrested Preston and charged him with murder in the first degree. He is being held awaiting bail hearing but has stated through an attorney that he plans to plead innocent. Anyone with additional information regarding this case is encouraged to call the Springfield police department with an option to remain anonymous. Zooming in on the small mugshot, I saw an attractive man with swollen, red-rimmed eyes and an expression of profound despair. There was no trace of guilt or defiance, only deep sorrow. He did look oddly familiar though. I had begun to catalogue to overlaps in Kiara and my social circles – couldn’t be a work colleague of hers if I recognized him, couldn’t be a grad school classmate of mine if she recognized him – when a text from Alexis popped up: “Holy shit that’s the guy I was talking to at the concert. He introduced himself as Jon.” Kiara responded immediately, “Are you sure?” I certainly wasn’t sure.   Alexis held her liquor better than Kiara but had not been close to sober. I thought the guy she was talking to had a slimmer face, and curlier hair.

Alexis replied, “I really think it’s him. That’s so crazy - he wasn’t creepy at all! He even told me he had a girlfriend but they had gotten in a fight and that’s why he came to the concert alone.” “Whoa,” I replied, not knowing what else to say, as Kiara said “Girl I said find a new man, not a murderer, damn.” I tried to shake off the whole strange coincidence and got up to refill my coffee mug. I had to stop texting and finish the reading so I could write my summary.

As I settled back onto the couch and tried to focus, a discomfort nagged at me like an itchy shirt tag. Exasperated with myself, I put the article down and picked up my phone again, tapping and scrolling to the photo of the three of us Kiara had posted on Instagram without even sending it out for approval. Sure enough, in the background between Alexis and me there was the profile of a man. I zoomed in on the small screen, and almost dropped my phone when I realized the man in the photo was the same man as the mugshot. Alexis was right, she had talked to him at the concert. I took a screenshot, zoomed in, and cropped it before sending it to them with the caption “It WAS him!” Within thirty seconds, my phone rang with a call from Alexis. She hated talking on the phone so it must be serious, or maybe she was just freaked out, which was understandable. “Hey,” I answered. Alexis didn’t even say hello before blurting “He’s not a murderer.” “What do you mean? He just got arrested for murder,” I replied. “Rach, it was Friday night. The concert was Friday night. It can’t be him.” A cog clicked into place, stopping my spinning thoughts. “Wait, you’re right. The show started at 9, and we were there until 11.” Alexis jumped in, “Yeah exactly. I ran into him by the front door as we were walking to the Uber and gave him my card in case,” she paused sheepishly, “you know in case things didn’t work out with his girlfriend. That was like 11:15, I remember from the Uber confirmation. And he was standing in front of us when Rebirth came on, which had to be around 9, they never start shows late. He was right there with us the whole time.” She was right. I had noticed him too when we first walked in, because it was a little odd to be at a concert alone. He had gone to the bathroom at least once, but he hadn’t left for more than a few minutes. There was no way he could have changed clothes, killed his girlfriend across town, changed clothes again, and come back to the show. The Pit didn’t even allow re-entry. We called Kiara and listened to her have the same lightbulb reaction when we explained the timing. “Hold on,” she said, coming back with “I took the photo at 9:32pm.” Alexis must have had the news article pulled up too and exclaimed “That’s exactly when the man was in the house. It couldn’t have been him.” I thought about the venue, which surely had security. “Why wouldn’t they have checked the cameras at The Pit? “ Kiara cut in, “Why would they? He probably said he was at the show but no one could verify it. Just having a ticket doesn’t mean he actually went. He had a motive to kill her, and it looks good for the cops to solve a murder. They don’t want to have to actually do work.” She was right. The boyfriend was always an obvious suspect.

“I have a client meeting downtown in an hour,” Alexis said excitedly, “I’ll stop by the police station afterwards. Kiara text me the photo.” *** Evidence leads to release of suspect in Mariel Wright murder case, new suspect named With the emergence of new eyewitness testimony and review of additional photographic and video evidence Jonathon Preston, 26, of Springfield, has been released and all charges against him have been dropped. Mr. Preston was in a romantic relationship with the victim at the time of her death however it has been confirmed that he could not have been present at her residence at the time of the murder.

A coworker, Curtis Smith, 35, of Springfield has now been named as a suspect. Smith was recently fired from Elevation due to allegations of sexual harassment. Wright worked in human resources for Elevation and may have been involved with his termination. Smith has not been seen in the week since her murder, and a car registered to his name was found abandoned on a Forest Service road outside of Midvale earlier today. Anyone with knowledge of Smith’s current whereabouts is urged to call the Springfield police department. *** Alexis had taken her glasses off to rub her eyes, vision blurred from the previous eight hours of staring at spreadsheets, when the courier delivered the flowers to her closed office door with a terse knock. Curious, she opened the door to find the colorful bouquet and picked up the card, completely baffled.

The card read: “Nothing I can say will ever be enough but thank you for giving me my life back. Jon Preston.”


I don’t know what it is about this stupid blade but every time I touch it, I can’t stop the images that cloud my vision. My whole world turns shades of white and grey while the images play out what I can only guess to be some part of a past life. It never makes any sense to me, but one thing that never fails to take my breath away are the piercing bright green eyes that shine through the dull images drawing me in and pulling me this way or that until I come back to reality completely unaware of where I am or how I got there. I’ve been lucky thus far, my conscious self-coming back in places where the trees provide a dense protection of wise shade, water lazily flows in thin veining streams, and the animals are the only eyes to be seen for miles. My mother had said this blade was the key to my future, but as I stand here staring at the shiny, sharp, object latched to the belt around my waist all I feel is apprehension and resentment that she didn’t say more. Although I look back on my time with my mother fondly, she often frustrated me with her way of making everything into some form of a riddle. I always felt there was more she wanted to say, but I guess she never felt comfortable speaking her truths aloud. She was more affectionate than most others in our village were towards me, but I don't think that says much because she really didn't have the relationship with me that I saw other women in the village having with their mothers. Truthfully, I always felt quite out of place here. Like I never really made sense in their world, and never would. That's why I always lost myself in these woods, feeling more at home on my own in the elements than where all of my family and friends resided. As I pace back and forth lost in my thoughts about life and how I ended up with this magical, yet incredibly frustrating blade, the hairs on the back of neck begin to rise, a telltale sign in this forest that something is coming and whatever it is, it’s not good. Before I can start the trek to find my way back to the village, the sky grows dark and unnerving. I arch my neck to peer up at what could cause the sudden disturbance, sure enough, there it is. A vast and endless array of the most terrifyingly beautiful black scales. An endless night sky. Ehecatl. That’s when the screaming begins. I had heard the stories of nearby villages facing the wrath of such a demon but didn’t think our time to face such a creature would come so soon. Just as it had begun, it had ended. What lay before me, what was once my home was now a pile of ash and bone. From what I could tell there wasn't a single person that had made it out. Before my mind can catch up to what my body decided to do, I was off. Wherever this creature was going, I would follow. Until my feet were bleeding and my lungs were gasping for air, I would follow. This thing, this Ehecatl, stole my life away from me in a matter of minutes and I would chase it down until I could return that very favor. By the time it had finally landed the night stars shone bright in the sky. I continued to move forward solely relying on my intuition. I let my feet lead the way up, up, up. As I made my way the path I was following on the mountain continued to narrow, I now found myself shimmying along with my back pressed up against one side and my toes still dangling over the ledge while tiny bits of rocks from the very edge plummeted down, down, down. I can’t stop. Even as rain rolls in and starts to tickle my face with tiny drops that I knew would soon be consumed by thunderous booms and striking blasts of light, I can’t stop. I hear the rumbling begin just as I start to lose my footing, I slip just over the edge and the free fall commences, I turn around as quickly as I can and reach for my blade that is strapped to my waist hoping to plunge it into the rock, but as soon as the cold metallic blade bites my fingertips, the world begins to fade as shades of grey and white begin to form and the world as I knew it begins to fade once again into nothing but a pair of piercing green eyes. I could feel whatever was coming before it had physically touched me. It was like an electric current that found it’s way to my very core. I was sure I had been struck by lightening until I felt something catch me. My vision was still clouded with images of white and grey making it impossible to tell reality from whatever visions danced before my eyes. I had to be dreaming as I was gently lowered into the soft, wet ground. Whatever had saved me had dropped me in an open field filled with nothing but overgrown grass and what appeared to be a small log cabin. As I quickly gathered my bearings the storm started to pick up so before I could think I started to run as fast as my legs would carry me to that log cabin standing on the opposite end of the clearing. Without so much as a knock I opened the door, hoping whatever I found inside would be less confusing, less intriguing than whatever had just happened to me outside. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was empty, and whilst it was small it felt incredibly inviting, as if I already knew where everything was I made my way over to the only window that this cabin had to try and figure out what had saved me, when I saw it. It wasn’t the sheer size of the beast that disturbed me. It wasn’t the way his wings looked like they could take down an entire army in one small swoop. No, it was the all too familiar, piercing green eyes that stared directly at me through the rain. As if what I was seeing wasn’t unsettling enough, I continued to watch as those piercing green eyes shrunk, and changed into a mess of lean muscle, and curly black hair as dark as the night sky. I couldn’t stop myself from walking towards the door and opening it to get a better look at whatever this was that I was seeing, but when I saw the large gash in his side spanning from his hip all the way up to the bottom of his rib cage. Without so much as a second thought I rushed out to him just as he started to fall to the ground. With his head in my hands, I ripped a piece of my cloak to apply pressure to the wound and helped him slowly sit, then stand and hopefully make it back to the cabin and out of the relentless rain. Time seemed to both fly by and stand still as I worked to try and repair the skin that had somehow gotten mangled by the elements as this man that I have been seeing for the past several months in flashes of my imagination faded in and out of consciousness. After what felt like a lifetime the bleeding began to subside and curiosity got the best of me while I studied the unconscious face of the monster in front of me. How could something so beautiful be so destructive? Why had I been seeing him in visions? What was his tie to this very blade that my mother gave me before she passed away? As I started to get lost in the thoughts that were running through my mind at an unnerving speed, I was suddenly rooted to my spot and pulled back into the moment at hand as his eyes flew open. I don’t know what drew me to him, but I leaned in slightly as I took in the sharp curves of his chin and cheek bones waiting for his lips to open and say something, anything really to explain what was happening. I knew that this man in front of me was the very creature that I was hunting down to slaughter mere hours ago, the irony of the fact that I just saved the life of the thing that killed everything I held dear to my heart does not escape me. Yet, as I looked in his eyes, I knew there was more to whatever he was, and whatever he was doing that I couldn’t help but feel pity for the lonely gleam that shone through. A small gasp escaped me as the words “You have my blade.” Rang clear as day through the silence. I jumped back not because I was scared but because the deep, raspy voice that came from him felt like something I had heard a million times before. As if reading my thought, and not having the patience to wait for me to work through whatever ideas were working their way through my brain, he slowly stood and walked his way over to me, I was sure it would be my end, but for some unknown reason I wasn’t scared. I closed my eyes and waited as I felt his fingers brush against my waist, shooting another jolt of that electric current I had felt earlier, grabbing the blade my mother had given me. I don't know why I had the sudden rush of relief flooding my body as the blade left the strap on my waist, instead finding it's home in this man's hand, but it felt like the blade had been crying out to me for so long and it had now finally found where it had been dying to go. In that moment, I knew I could not be the one to take his life. Within a matter of minutes and a few words from that unnerving voice, I had gone from hatred and anger to awe and confusion. I could not explain what compelled me to to do what I did next, but I knew it was meant to come to fruition. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his without hesitation, before he could do anything to stop me. What happened next took my breath away as all I could see was a different version of those very same images that would play in shades of white and grey only this time they weren’t. As if some veil had dropped, I could see everything in vivid color, I could hear the voices of the images ringing loud and clear in my mind.

It was no past life. Those images they were memories from a time before I lived in the village that I had called home, thinking that was where I was born and raised. I was wrong. This was wrong, but it was the truth. That place was no home to me, I had only been there a measly year and a half. The truth was beautiful and cruel. These memories, they revealed my world to me like a storybook. I didn't fit in, I didn't belong in that village because it was never truly my home. I watched and listened as my childhood, happy as can be, and my young adulthood made their way back to me and the lies those people embedded in my brain using their ancient magic were unraveled. It was like that blade and these lips that I kissed were piercing my very soul and opening it up to what my reality was and how much I truly missed it. My heart ached as I saw my life before I was taken, before I was changed, play out and dance in wonderful color. My family, my life, and him. He was no monster. He was my other half. He was the better part of myself. He wasn’t destroying the lives of the people I loved he was burning down every village of ancient witches who had stolen my life. He was searching for me. In that moment when I took a step back to peer into those endless green eyes my heart cracked a little more and I knew, I had found my way back home.


“It’s inside the distributor, there.” Leaning under the hood, De’Veon used a long brown finger to point at the back of the air filter housing. All his fingers were long and brown, dark on the tops and a kind of coffee brown on the undersides with darker lines at the creases. They extended out from giant palms on the ends of his long arms, yet everything about the man was in proportion. He was just very tall, and lean with it. I remember when we brought the ‘bird home this time last year, the week before Christmas. From the passenger seat I watched De’Veon’s right hand cover the shift knob as he moved deftly between gears. His left hand held the thin-rimmed wheel, gently I noticed, as if too firm of a grip might crush it. “Your Grandpa knew what he was doing when he bought this,” De’Veon said over the bass rumble of the V8. “Pontiac built some great cars, but this ’71 Firebird is one of their finest.” I grunted and looked out to my right. I wondered what Grandpa would have said about a black man driving his precious car. Or living with his daughter. Nana had said that with Grandpa gone now the car was just going to rust away, unless I took it. Of course, I wasn’t going to say no, but it was a stick shift and that was something I’d had no experience with. De’Veon had grinned at me across the kitchen table as Nana said this. It was like he understood what I was worried about without me having to say it out loud. “Never fear Ed,” he said, “I’ll teach you to drive it.” “And look after it I hope,” Nana chipped in. “Your Grandpa was always out in the garage working on it so I guess it’s not too reliable.” “Staying out of her way,” De’Veon mouthed at me. I snorted into my coffee even though everything the man did rubbed me up the wrong way. I didn’t know him very well back then. Mom had brought him home on July 4 th . That got us off on the wrong foot because grilling had been my job since Dad passed and there he was flipping burgers and buns like he owned the red-domed Weber. I was in my room on the Playstation when Mom came in. “Your food’s ready Teddy.” My eyes stayed glued on the screen. “I’m not hungry Mom.” I expected her to leave but she sat down on the bed. “Is this because I asked De’Veon to grill?” “No.” My eyes were filling up and I couldn’t see the screen clearly but I kept working the controller in my hand. “Teddy, I like him and he likes to cook. I want him to feel welcome but I don’t want you to feel pushed out. Anyway, I wanted to see if he’s as good a cook as he says he is.” “A test huh?” Yeah, in way it is. I’m sorry, I should have warned you first.” Neither of us spoke. After a while Mom got up from my bed. “Well there’s food down there when you’re ready.” He moved in just after Halloween, and now here he was helping Nana out with some jobs around her tidy little ranch. The Firebird sat outside the garage all through January, and the keys lay on my desk. I was desperate to get in, fire it up and hear the beast rumble, but there was that third pedal to deal with. Early in February De’Veon stopped in my bedroom doorway while I was doing my homework. “You’re looking puzzled Ed,” he said. “Calculus,” I grunted. “I could help with that if you like. I am an engineer y’know.” “I know. Thanks.” De’Veon turned to leave, and then turned back. He rubbed his chin between finger and thumb. “Y’know, I hate to see that Firebird just sittin’ out there not being driven. You’d be doin’ me a real favor if you let me show you how to drive a stick.” Well I wasn’t eager to spend time with the man, but I really wanted to drive the ‘bird to school so I didn’t have much choice. We started out at the High School parking lot on Sunday afternoon. There was a lot of kangaroo hopping at first but I will say De’Veon was a patient teacher. After a couple of sessions he let me take her out on the road. It was jerky at first but I got better every time I drove it. Just before Easter I demonstrated my ability to start off on a hill without rolling back. “Man, you are trained and we are done!” De’Veon exclaimed. That was it, now I could drive the ‘bird to school. A few weeks later, as we were finishing dinner, De’Veon hit me with a question. “When you goin’ to change the oil in that car?” “I um, I don’t know,” I mumbled back. “Have you ever done an oil change?” “Well no,” I admitted, “But I don’t think it’s that hard is it?” “How about tire rotation? Ever done that?” I had to admit that I hadn’t. So Saturday morning there we were doing an inventory of my Dad’s tools in the garage. Once we knew what we had, De’Veon had me jump in his truck with him and we ran over to the auto parts store to buy oil and a filter. After lunch and a little instruction I dressed in my oldest, scruffiest jeans and sweatshirt and went out to do my first oil change. It was going okay I thought, until I couldn’t get the filter off. I was lying on my back under the ‘bird and there wasn’t a lot of room, but no matter how hard I gripped and twisted the metal canister wouldn’t budge. I should have just gone into the house and asked De’Veon for help, but that would have meant admitting it was harder than it looked. So instead I lay on the concrete with the cold seeping up into my bones and wrestled and wrestled with it. My hands kept slipping and more than once I scraped my knuckles against the oil pan. Then I heard footsteps. I looked down past my feet to see De’Veons giant white Nikes. “Everything going okay there Ed?” I wriggled out and found myself looking up at him silhouetted against a bright blue sky. “I, I can’t get the filter off,” I admitted. De’Veon nodded. “I think we saw a strap wrench in your Dad’s garage. Like me to get it for you?” I nodded and he ambled off, returning a few minutes later with an unfamiliar tool in his hand. It looked like a screwdriver with a short belt attached to one end. He bent down and handed it to me. “You know how to use it?” I admitted that I didn’t. “Uh huh. Well, let me get down there with you and I’ll show you.” With that he lay down next to me and wriggled on his back under the car. We were so close I could see the pores on his nose. I watched as he slid the strap wrench into position and showed me how to use it. From there he stayed with me all afternoon, watching and talking me the job. A couple of weeks later it was tire rotation. Again, he watched and talked me through what I had to do, patiently, step-by-step. After that each weekend passed in much the same way. Over lunch on Saturday De’Veon would ask how I was doing with my homework and if I said it was all done we’d spend the afternoon outside on the Firebird. One of the first things he taught me was about protecting the paint. We found some old towels and placed them over the fenders for that purpose. We changed spark plugs, we swapped out the air filter. Each weekend a different project but De’Veon’s style was always the same. He wasn’t one to lecture; he’d stand back and watch, just keeping himself available if, or rather when, I got stuck. This week just gone I had a problem with the ‘bird I couldn’t figure out. It would start and idle just fine, but give it any gas and the engine would die. I took a few steps back from the open hood to think about it some more. De’Veon must have seen me because he came ambling across the yard. “Problem there Ed?” I moved around to one side of car and started to explain. He stood across from me and listened, all the while looking at the engine. “So I’m pretty sure it’s the carburetor,” I finished. He stroked his chin and nodded. “Well it could be, but I think it’s more likely to be electrical.” I looked up at him. “Why do you say that?” He kept stroking. “We’ll get to that, but there’s something I want to say first Ed.” This sounded ominous. I turned my eyes down to look at the engine. “You don’t like your Mom callin’ you Teddy, do you?” “Um, no,” I mumbled. “Well don’t you think it’s time to tell her?” “S’pose.” “Well if you don’t she’s going to be callin’ you Teddy when you bring some cute girl home to meet her, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want that.” “No.” I realized one of the spark plug wires was unclipped so I reached in to put it back in place. “So ask her to call you Ed. Pick your moment, but be sure to do it. And sooner rather than later. If you don’t she’s gonna be babyin’ you for the rest of her life.” I said I would. Then De’Veon explained how electrical problems were more common than carburetor faults, and a whole lot easier to fix. Then he suggest I start with the condenser on the distributor. That was when he reached out his long brown arm to point it out. About an hour later and after a trip to parts store we had the new condenser fitted. I climbed into the driver’s seat and slid the key home. That’s when I noticed De’Veon slipping into the passenger seat. I turned to look at him and he nodded. I pumped the gas with my right foot, turned the key, and the V8 roared into life. I let it settle into a steady burble before pushing down on the pedal. The revs built, the engine noise grew louder. It didn’t die the way it had been doing. I turned it off and twisted to face De’Veon. He had one of those big brown hands raised up. “High five Ed! You fixed it!” Our hands met, and so did our eyes. “Ed,” De’Veon said. He suddenly looked serious. “There’s something else I want to ask you.” I raised my eyebrows slightly, an involuntary reaction. “Go on.” “This is big Ed, but hear me out please.” He took a breath. “I want to ask your Mom to marry me. Would you let me do that?” “God!” I grasped the wheel with both hands and looked out through the windshield. “I mean, wow!” “What do you think Ed? It’s up to you man.” A million thoughts rushed through my brain before one stuck. “You gotta look after her De’Veon. After all she’s been through. And you gotta look after yourself. She can’t go through losing someone again, she really can’t.” “Of course man, absolutely. You have my word.” “Then um, I guess. Yeah.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw De’Veon stretch his big arms out wide. I turned to face him and he was grinning the biggest, broadest grin a man could grin. He leaned towards me, his long arms came around me and he hugged me hard. My arms went around him the same way. A thought struck me and I pulled back slightly. We were still very close. “So you’ll be my Dad.” De’Veon moved his big hands onto my shoulders. “No man, I’ll never be your Dad. But I am excited about getting to be your Step-Dad.” I nodded, “Me too De’Veon, me too.”


The line in the water began making subtle jerking motions before Corey whipped it tight in an upward motion as he attempted to set his hook. No luck. It was just a nibble and he had let excitement get the best of him. As he reeled his line in he only felt mild disappointment. It was early in the evening after all and he was no professional fisherman. It wasn’t the first or last time he would let a fish get away. All he could do is try to wait until the perfect time next time he felt a curious fish taking jabs at his power bait.

By the time the hook and sinker reached Corey the bait had either fallen off on the journey or made a delicious dinner for a lucky rainbow trout. With any luck, it would be the trout that was for dinner by the end of the night but first the hook would need re-baiting. Was it time to switch to a lure now that the fish were possibly familiar with his current ruse or would the best tactic be to stick with what got their attention in the first place? He switched to a lure as he contemplated how inane this thought process was. Was there even a right answer? This action and current conundrum reminded him of fishing with his sister Amanda. Corey was constantly switching tactics, depths, reel speeds, lures and it seemed to no avail. No matter what he did his sister seemed to catch more fish with a simple baiting setup. Last summer when they had fished this very lake together she had more than doubled his bounty for the day. The worst part was she clearly didn’t know as much as he did about fishing. This was evident when she spent the first five minutes with a lure sitting at the bottom of the lake.

“You reckon those fish will sniff out your hunk of metal in the bottom of all that lake mud?” Corey jeered after he noticed the lack of reeling from his fishing partner.

“Oh. Is that how it should work? This is the only way I’ve seen people fish.” Amanda retorted.

“I put a lure on yours. That means you have to reel it in so the fish think something shiny is moving through the water. Then you gotta recast.” he explained.

“Hmm. I think I want to switch to bait then. That’s how grandpa always did it.” she noted.

“Reel it in then and I’ll help you switch. I had no idea you actually paid attention when grandpa fished” “Only when I wasn’t feeding the ducks”

Corey figured that was his grandpa's fault for using marshmallows as bait.

“Woah!! I think I got a bite!” Amanda said excitedly, only seconds after beginning to reel.

“Think?” Corey said while examining the bent pole. “Either that or you hooked onto the back of that F150 that’s driving out” Corey netted the impressive rainbow trout while glancing back at his own pole to make sure it wasn’t getting any tugs. He had staked it between two rocks and it had felt fairly secure, not that it seemed to matter.

“We’re eating good tonight!” Corey exclaimed as he held the large trout in his hand.

“No thanks to you!” Amanda teased as a wry grin spread across her face.

“Oh you just wait. I’m pulling a state record out of these waters tonight, I can sense it.” As it turns out, Corey must have never been bitten by a radioactive bass because the biggest of the two fish he caught that night was average at best. One he caught with a lure and the other with bait in an attempt to copy his sister’s setup. She caught three fish just in the time he spent playing copy cat. How could she do so much better when their baits were identical? Regardless, at the end of the day Amanda had caught five trout to his two. He let both of his fish swim free. Five would make a hearty fish fry for the two of them and there was no point in killing more fish than necessary.

Besides the stories, banter, and nostalgia of fishing with an old childhood friend; Corey especially liked fishing with Amanda because she enjoyed eating them as much as he did. Part of the enjoyment for him was savoring his fresh catch with his fishing buddy and continuing the banter, stories, and nostalgia. He knew plenty of people who liked fishing but didn’t have the taste buds for such a distinguished piece of meat. His friend Blake, who he had originally invited, was one of these sorts of people. So when Corey had called Amanda instead, he knew he wouldn’t be eating fish alone tonight.

Although, as he reminisced, he admitted to himself he remembered not being so sure that Amanda would be interested in driving down from the city for an afternoon fishing trip. She enjoyed being active in her free time and was usually up for whatever adventure Corey may suggest, but it went without saying that she was no avid fisher woman. In fact, it didn’t quite seem to matter if Corey had called to go skydiving, fishing, or play checkers in the park. She seemed to just be happy enjoying his company and being out in nature.

‘Afterall, isn’t that what it’s all about?’ Corey thought as he finally wet his line once again. Being with family and friends, enjoying nature and each other’s company. The things that would be remembered for Corey were the fishing methods used, the silly stories like feeding marshmallows to ducks, and just the fact that he spent time with his sister and they both enjoyed it. Didn’t they both spend time thinking about the memories their grandpa had taken time to create with them? And wasn’t he spending time currently thinking about the time he enjoyed on the lake with Amanda?  The only question left was why did Amanda agree to go fishing with him? As Corey pondered this he could only come up with so many answers. Either she felt bad that his buddy Blake had bailed on him, she really did just want to spend time with him and the activity didn’t matter, or she just wanted to see how long it would take for a fish to find a lure that was stuck in the mud. Wailing and screaming came from the back seat in protest as Amanda slowed her minivan to a stop a few feet before reaching the stop sign. After a peaceful highway journey to her sleepy hometown the squealing of her freshly awakened six month old boy signaled that the trip was almost over. “Just a few more blocks. I know, it’s so sad I had to wake you up” she said in a gentle but sarcastic tone. “No more stop signs until grandma’s house okay?” It was after dark so she wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy the drive through her old neighborhood where she and Corey had played when they were younger. She turned her thoughts to him and wondered if he would be home from fishing yet. Certainly he wouldn’t be fishing in the dark but he might still be driving home from one of his nearby fishing holes. He had invited her to come along but she needed to wait for her husband Jaden to get home from work. With her watching the baby, and him always at work or on business trips it was hard to find much free time at all. Amanda did remember being able to go fishing with Corey before she had given birth.

Jaden was on a business trip at that time too. Starting new local offices for his insurance company led to a lot of business trips at that point in time. She remembered how she felt that day. Stressed. Scared. Alone. She had just gotten back from the doctor’s office and was trying to find the courage to call Jaden. He had told her to call him after the appointment and let him know how it went. They had just barely started trying to get pregnant and there was a lot of excitement and nerves about such a fragile idea. Failed test after failed test had made it feel like the universe didn’t want them to have kids. That is, until one holy grail of pregnancy test finally gave them a shimmer of hope and a doctor’s visit was immediately scheduled.

Now the results of that doctor’s visit had left Amanda in tears. For an hour or more she sat on the stairs, crumpled in a ball of distress, trying to find the strength to get up. Finally, after who knows how long, she pushed the matted clump of wispy light brown hair out of her face and wiped the tears from her equally light brown eyes.

After a phone call to Jaden explaining the situation and a few more minutes of deep breathing she would be together again. As together as she would ever be after that doctor’s visit. Jaden would be on the next flight home but still wouldn’t be home until the following evening due to lay overs.

The next day was just as bad. She felt lonely, discouraged, and overall just frustrated. Why couldn’t she have a baby? Why would the universe hold something like that back from her? What had she done? She wished more than anything that Jaden could be home. The phone call to him earlier wasn’t easy. His soothing, patient voice did help to calm her down but she knew it would be just as hard for him and almost felt as if she had let him down somehow. Just then her phone began to ring. She picked it up quickly, expecting Jaden to be on the caller ID but instead it was Corey. Wow, she began to think. How many times has he even seen me cry? It couldn’t be more than a handful if any. She was his older sibling and had made it a point to not cry in front of him. Not only him though. Really it was the entire world. It wasn’t her style. Would she be able to keep it together now though or just fall apart as soon as she heard his voice? “Hello” she said after accepting the call. “What’s up?!” Corey’s voice bursted through the other end of the line. His gleeful tone was refreshing and relaxed her a little bit.

“Just sitting at home” “Great!” he said “because I’m on my way over now. Blake totally bailed on me so I guess you’re stuck being my fishing partner.” “Oh I see. So I’m just your back up plan?” “No no no. I would’ve invited you either way. The difference is now that Blake bailed you gotta come. It changes it from an invitation to more of a kidnapping if you get my drift” She knew it was true that he would have invited her and that it would’ve been on this short notice had Blake not bailed last minute.

“Oh my, you’re too much sometimes” “Well I figure Jaden is out of town so you got plenty of time anyhow. I’m just leaving so it would take me about an hour. Think you can be ready by then?” “Uhmmmm. Yeah. Yeah that should be fine.” She said hesitantly.

“Alright sounds good!” Amanda was very hesitant, not because she didn’t like fishing or hanging out with Corey but because she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be around anyone at all right then. This was a difficult time but ultimately a distraction away from home could be a good thing. Amanda would remember how she felt on that fishing trip for a long time.

She would remember the sound of the gentle waves crashing against the shore and the birds in the trees on the lake side chirping a melancholy afternoon tune. The feeling of the sun rays hitting her back or the tug on the rod when a fish finally decided to take the bait. When she was really fighting mr. trout on the other end of the line or busy tormenting her little brother it was hard to think about anything else. She thought back on that day and the joy she was able to feel. Sure her problems weren’t solved and they were still in the back of her mind but it is still hard to think of the universe as such an awful place when you’re enjoying nature or a freshly grilled lake trout. Amanda was in a good mood as she pulled into the driveway of her childhood home. She kissed Jaden on the cheek and smiled back at her little cry baby in the back seat. That day fishing with her brother gave her a spark of hope that may have indirectly led to the bundle of joy that was now the center of her life. Sure, she probably would’ve kept trying for a baby with Jaden but that day still got her through a hard time and she had her brother who took the time to think of his sister to thank for it. A simple and ambitionless afternoon on the lakeside made all the difference and after all, isn’t that what it’s all about?


Nicholas stood there in complete shock as he faced his brother Andrew for the first time in an entire year. “Andrew? Is that you?” Andrew then turned around and dropped his knapsack at the sight of his brother standing at the railroad station. “Holy shit Nicholas?” The train station platform was crowded with soldiers going to and from the front and among them was Nicholas who just so happened to encounter his brother getting off the same train he was on. The two brothers then hugged each other tightly and Andrew spoke directly. “My God. What are you doing here? I thought you’d be sitting in a trench in the West right now?” Nicholas shook his head “I’m on furlough.. What are you doing here? You’ve got nowhere to go, if I remember correctly you’ve only just turned eighteen”. Andrew then looked around and took up his knapsack “Yeah I’ve got a long story to tell you.. come on let’s get out of here”. Nicholas nodded in agreement and the two men got off the platform and into a local tavern. They found a booth somewhere in the back away from watchful eyes and sat down. “Why didn’t you write that you were coming back?” Andrew asked. Nicholas nodded “I wanted to surprise you for your birthday.. Sorry for being late. Getting away from the front was no easy task.” You didn’t answer my question by the way”. Nicholas then asked in turn. Andrew began to fidget with his hands. An uncomfortable habit that he picked up from childhood. He then spoke, “I was at the train station because Ive volunteered. I’m going to go off to the war Nicholas”. Nicholas then scratched his red beard, an uncomfortable habit he picked up since joining the army. “What?” He finally asked. “You heard me,” Andrew said confidently. “I’ve decided to join the army like you did and serve our country.” Nicholas leaned back against his chair. “Why would you do that? You stupid fucking idiot” he said as his voice turned into anger. Andrew then seemed hurt “What do you mean? You’re the idiot wearing the uniform. What a hypocrite you are”. Nicholas spoke back “Look around you. You’re in a room full of soldiers coming back from the front? Look at their faces, Andrew. These men have seen nonstop shelling, hair-pulling stupidity and the horrors of watching their friends die next to them and not being able to do a thing about it. What kind of idiot would you be to enlist at a time like this!” Andrew then stood up “War is not supposed to be a fairytale.. I thought you’d be happy for me I’m going to go serve my country like my brave older brother did. Why can’t you be happy for me.” Andrew then grabbed his knapsack to leave but Nicholas stopped him “no wait.. just please sit down”. Andrew then obeyed his brother and then did so and Nicholas scratched his head. “Andrew I have to be honest with you.. I’m not on furlough. I went AWOL.” Andrew then became angry “Now who’s the stupid idiot? Why would you do something so stupid?” Nicholas then sighed “It’s not what they say it is in the papers Andrew. There’s nothing honorable about shooting at men you’ve never even met before and get shot in return while drowning in mud. It’s a Hell I want to save you from. I’ve made a mistake and I don’t want you to make the same”. Andrew then rubbed his face in dismay “I wish you didn’t say that.. I really wish you were wrong. But I know you’d never lie to me about something like that. But I still have to leave for the war.” Nicholas then found his anger again “did you not hear a word I just said? I got lucky by escaping from the Army. You won’t be afforded the same option.” Andrew shook his head “it’s not like that.. I’ve lied to you too actually”. Nicholas then raised his eyebrow “What?” Andrew then reached into his knapsack and pulled out his notice “Because I’m not enlisting. I’ve been drafted”.


It was Tuesday, again.  Tuesdays were always especially anodyne for Mark. It was mainly the regularity of the whole thing. Wake up. Linger over a coffee, considering whether accountancy was really in God's plan for him. Drive to work. Team meeting. Coffee break. Lunch. Try to do some actual work in the 30 minute gap before the next meeting. Look at tables and graphs with some people he felt ambivalent about, and if he was lucky potentially witness an argument that was far too passionate to be about accountancy. Nod and say important sounding things at the right point. Try to blend in. Try to get by. Hopefully the work day would eventually end, at which point he'd be so tired of doing nothing that he'd go home emotionally distressed. Rinse and repeat.  The beige aura of Tuesday permeating Mark's commute was so plain it was offensive as he gazed out of his car window. The sky was too bored to rain, preferring to stay grey and threaten the world with some interest. As a man in a large car (he assumed it was a man, despite the tinted widows preventing any vision of the driver) cut aggressively into the fast lane, a cacophany of horns rudely interrupted his daze. He wondered about everyone involved in the car incident. Where were they going at 8:33 on a Tuesday that was so important? Where did the big-carred man/woman (although it was probably a man) have to be so urgently? Did horning make his offfended peers feel better? The questions danced across his mind briefly as the morning radio droned in his ear.  Mark wasn't particularly fond of the kind of people who present morning radio shows. As his car edged ever closer to the building where he would spend his day, he listened to the happy morning people discussing happy morning things and playing songs that were designed to make you believe that it might be alright in the end. Somehow they sat together every day and talked for hours at a time. \_Every\_ day. They must have been the only set of work colleagues that didn't discuss work more than 50% of the time. Mark couldn't avoid discussing fiscal matters in important tones with his own colleagues for more than 5 minutes at a time. He felt slightly jealous, but still sang along to the songs. Maybe it would, in fact, be a lovely day.  As he pulled into the car park, he noticed a small toothpaste stain on his tie. His mother appeared on the dashboard, wagging her finger and lecturing him about putting his tie on after he'd eaten breakfast and brushed his teeth. He sighed, licked his thumb and rubbed at the stain after he parked in his usual space, reaching into the back seat for his jacket while simultaneously trying to brush his imaginary miniature mother from the dashboard. He got out of the car, sighed once more for luck, and walked into work.  Joel was unfortunately coming into work at the same time. This was a problem because Joel was a prick. This impression of Joel hadn't been formed with a lot of data if Mark was being truthful, but he disliked being near him. Joel was aggressively happy, laughed too loudly at jokes that weren't funny ("...and then I said 'That's not a P60, that's P45!'"), enjoyed wearing non-standard shirt colours, rarely did any work and would talk at length about his diet and fitness regime when given the slightest opportunity. These were all problems.  "Morning Joel!" Mark said, smiling with false positivity.  "Hey man!" Joel replied, beaming. Mark assumed it was genuine. Prick.  "How's your ongoing existence treating you?"  Joel laughed. Mark had not been joking. "It's pretty great, man! I was actually just in Amsterdam at the weekend there with my girlfriend. Took a bit of a long weekend, know what I mean?"  There was no ambiguity. Everyone knew what he meant. Mark laughed in a friendly way. "Oh yeah? I hear it's lovely, loads of bikes and all."  "Mate, you've no idea. It's actually just like they say; look up, look down, look side to side, check your pockets, look into the next dimension and still get hit by a bike. Still beautiful when you're not dodging through them. The weed isn't bad either."  "Aye mate, when in Rome in all."  "You know it, boss. Can't go see the place and not partake a bit, know what I'm saying?"  "Aye, definitely. See much else?"  "Yeah mate just did all the tourist bits. Anne Frank's house was packed out like, queue down the street to get into a bloody attic. The missus wanted to see it though, and I traded her that for the Red Light District."  "Aye I hear it's cool to see."  They'd badged through the first door. This would be over soon. Mark's desk was close, and if all else failed he could stop at the coffee machine. He didn't like coffee.  "You've no idea mate, it's class though. Bit weird like but still cool to see."  "What'd your girlfriend think?"  "What?" Joel replied, confused by the question.  "What'd she think?"  "I don't really know." Mark got the impression that Joel had monologued the whole way through the Red Light District. He briefly wished Joel's Red Light soliloquy had been recorded for his entertainment.  "Fair enough. Sure I'll catch you later on, have a nice day" he said, stopping at the coffee machine.  "See you later mate!" Joel replied cheerfully. Prick.  Mark didn't particularly want a coffee, but still lifted a cup and made himself one to ensure his cover wouldn't be blown. The aged coffee machine rasped and spluttered as it was asked to do it's job, making sure everyone nearby knew it was working hard. Coffee trickled out and into the cup. He sipped it, since he'd gone to the effort of making it. It was incredibly average.