By Chris Doerksen **Thursday August 9th** The printer whirred to life and began to spit paper. Jamie Kerr waited for the pages to finish printing. Scooping up the warm documents into his hands, he placed them in a Manila folder and brought them up to the top floor of the office building. While he could have looked at them, he knew it was best not to, as their information could be confidential. Jamie had been the intern for Dr. Hugh Carols, top researcher and head astronomer for NASA over the past six months. Throughout this time Jamie had met and began to work under Dr. Carols, though he found very little of that time was spent together. Jamie found that the word ‘intern’ had different meanings to the two of them. While he was very excited to be working for one of the nation’s most brilliant minds, never did he dream of that work being nothing more than a glorified secretary. Fetching copious amounts of coffee, filing paperwork, and being asked to leave most meetings due to “*classified information*”, was what the brunt of the (unpaid) job had included so far. With only six months left Jamie had wondered when he was going to be able to participate in some of Dr. Carols’ research. *Was this really where ten years of schooling had gotten him?* The master’s degree hanging in his apartment made each *2-cream-and-1-sugar* more belittling, and Jamie had slowly been working up the courage to ask Dr. Carols to let him take on something more, and to prove to him that he was there for a reason. Jamie’s growing frustration had only been accelerated by Dr. Carols’ increasing distance from him. The past month had seen Hugh buried in his work, often staying late into the evening, which Jamie found annoying since he wouldn’t dare leave before Dr. Carols, even if it was considered beyond the usual hours of working. What finally forced Jamie’s hand, however, was what happened on Thursday: As per the usual schedule, Dr. Carols received a weekly update from the team at Hubble, located in Baltimore. The updates included various information, such as recent diagnostics, prospects for new projects, and very occasionally new images taken by the actual telescope, which seemed ironic. Jamie brought in the briefing folder and handed it to the doctor, who began passively thumbing through the documents. Suddenly he stopped. Jamie could sense the change. Hugh began slowly reading the content of the folder, stopping every now and then to mumble something, as if needing to reaffirm what he was reading. As if something didn’t make sense. “*Is something wrong, Hugh?*” Jamie asked. Dr. Carols continued reading, not paying any attention to him. “*Hugh, if something is wrong I-”* Jamie started to say but was interrupted. “*No! No, it’s fine.”* Though it appeared to be completely the opposite. A few moments went by with neither of them saying anything. Dr. Carols continued to slowly examine the documents, until coming upon what seemed to be a set of images. He gasped, which made Jamie jump. Hugh then spoke in a low, soft voice: “*I’m sorry Jamie but I need you to leave the room for a while, I have to make a call.”* he nearly whispered, “*Perhaps you can join in on next week’s meeting.”* Jamie, who had never been heard Dr. Carols sound this way, was confused. “*Why?”* He asked. “*This is too important… too big. I-I’m sorry Jamie, but not this time. I need you to leave. Now.”* Jamie had no idea what had possessed Hugh but it seemed like it was serious, so he left without saying anything more. He returned to his desk which was across the hall from Hugh. The initial surprise from his removal wore off and Jamie began to become frustrated. *Wasn’t his internship supposed to include all the challenges involved with the job? What could be so alarming or important that Jamie couldn’t be let in on it, after having worked with Dr. Carols for the past 6 months?* This incident, along with the general dissatisfaction that had plagued Jamie since his first day there, was what pushed Jamie to decide it was finally time to say something to Hugh. Despite his gratefulness for the position, Jamie knew he was not being used to his full potential. He decided that once his call was done, Jamie was going to go back and speak his mind. The rest of the day passed and Jamie heard nothing from Hugh’s office. He went up several times and knocked on the door but heard nothing in return. The 5pm clock-out time came and went as Jamie continued to wait and speak with him. As the clock approached 10 Jamie realized that at this rate, he was going to need to sleep at his desk in order to catch Dr. Carols leaving, and that this conversation would have to wait. He packed up his things and headed home, picturing what he would say to him the following day. He didn’t sleep well that night, kept up by bad dreams. **Friday, August 10th** Arriving 15 minutes early as usual, Jamie had noticed that Dr. Carols’ car was already parked in its spot. He found this odd: Jamie usually got there a good while before him and began working on the day’s menial tasks. Thinking it was probably just another meeting he had not been invited to, Jamie sighed and hurried into work, hoping that Dr Carols had not expected himself to arrive early as well. Jamie had hurried up to the top floor to find that the door to Dr. Carols’ office was shut. Normally the cleaning staff left all the building’s door open overnight to air out the rooms, so the closed door labelled *HEAD OF OPERATIONS - DR. HUGH CAROLS* stuck out. Jamie approached the door to see that the light was on inside, but when he tried the handle found it to be locked. Jamie knocked and called for Hugh: “*Hello? Hugh? It’s Jamie. Are you there?*” Nothing. Jamie called Dr. Carols cell phone, seeing if perhaps he had stopped by later last night to pick something up and had left the door locked. He had just barely put the phone to his ear when he heard ringing on the other side of the wall. Whether or not Dr. Carols was in there, it seemed that his phone was. The phone continued to ring until eventually transferring Jamie to the voicemail. *Dr. Carols never missed a phone call*. This had been the case ever since Jamie had met him, and many a time did Jamie get interrupted when the phone would ring and he would suddenly be abandoned while his boss went into the other room for a twenty-minute exchange. For Jamie, this was the first thing to truly make him worry. Knocking harder this time, Jamie called out more loudly. Surely Dr. Carols could be asleep on the office couch, or perhaps using his desk telephone. Jamie continued trying to think of reasons that there would be no response at all to his knocking and calling, but this only caused his stomach to tie into tighter knots. After waiting for security to arrive, Jamie asked if they could let him into the office, explaining his ever-growing worry for the doctor. Accompanied with two officers he returned to the locked door and had them try knocking as well. After no response, the guards explained that the door was going to be forcibly opened, in case someone was hiding on the other side of the wall. Surely the threat of violent entry would be enough to force Dr. Carols to open door, to avoid causing a scene and even more forms to fill out and documents to sign, Jamie thought. Still nothing. Finally, the door was kicked in, and Jamie found Dr. Carols inside. Apart from the man hanging by a noose in the centre of the room, what Jamie noticed next was the mess. Dr. Carols had been an impeccable neat-freak, and it had not taken long before Jamie was used to being reminded about where to place certain papers, how they were to be folded, and that when leaving his office things must be left in the same place they were when he came in. What Jamie saw before him now was the den of an animal; folders scattered from corner to corner, papers ripped and thrown about like confetti for the mad, and all three chairs tipped over and left strewn in random spots. The blinds covering the windows were partially down and partially ripped off their tracks, causing a slanted sunrise to cascade itself along the corpse before them. As for Dr. Carols there was not much different aside from the rope keeping him from ever touching the ground alive. His hair was a bit messy, as though he’d run his fingers through it a few too many times, and his glasses were mildly askew. He almost appeared at peace, taking with him all the secrets of what had led him to his seemingly apparent suicide. The desk on the left-hand side of the room appeared to be the only things nearly untouched; the nameplate and lamp remained upright and in their usual position, and there seemed to be no clutter or mess on top of it. All Jamie could see was four pieces of paper, all of which were laid face down, their importance and contents unknown to anyone. The tidiness of it scared him, but not enough for him to want to see what was on the other side of those pages. These observations all flew through Jamie’s head before time felt like it sped up at an alarming rate. Suddenly he was in the hallway again, answering the same questions over and over to various police officers. He felt like each time he explained what happened the reality of the situation was getting further and further from him. His boss, who at the start of yesterday was completely sound and utterly unremarkable in so many ways apart from his mind, was now dead not ten feet from him. Now he was being walked out of the building by the police, being told that he may be contacted again, but that overall it seemed to be a cut-and-dry suicide. By the time he finally began to come back to himself he was home and in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to untangle his thoughts and go through them one by one: *What made him kill himself?* *Did he go into work planning on it? Why didn’t I notice any signs if he was?* However, one thought kept coming back to him, which he felt guilty about but his curiosity couldn’t help but come out on top: *What was on those four papers?* Again, he did not sleep well, kept up by nightmares. **Saturday, August 11th** The sky seemed to grow darker overnight, and when Jamie found himself tossing and turning at 5am he was surprised to see that the sky appeared blacker than it had been when he went to bed. Perhaps it was just because he was up earlier than usual, but still he found it odd. Finally succumbing to the approaching morning, Jamie grabbed his phone and was about to begin scrolling through various apps when he noticed a new email from one of Dr. Carols’ associates who worked in Baltimore with the Hubble team. The email had been sent at nearly 2 in the morning, so Jamie had missed it, but it seemed that the message was rather urgent: *To Jamie,* *I’m terribly sorry to be reaching out to you so soon following Hugh’s death, but there is a favor we need from you. We believe that on Thursday he received a report from one of our scopes with some highly classified information. From the forensic file we received from the police, it appears that the contents of the report are in that office. We need that information to be sent back to us as soon as possible, as they are time sensitive. Could you go into the office at some point today and collect the documents? There should be four pages, and please try your best not to look at them as they are above your level of clearance. We have someone who will be at the RRNA at 1800 who can meet you and bring the documents back to us.* *Forgive me again for the late email, but we can’t afford to have such sensitive information out in the open. Please let me know if you can do this, as I’ll be contacting other members at the DC branch if I don’t hear from you by noon hour today. I’ve made sure a key to Hugh’s office is available for you, just ask for it at reception, they were told you may be stopping by today.* *Thank you,* *Paul Geraghty* Jamie spent a few minutes reading and rereading the email, a pit forming in his stomach. *What information could be so valuable to require a personal courier and need immediate delivery? Why did it need to be done so soon, and why was Jamie supposed to avoid looking at them?* Despite his reservations, Jamie knew that this would look good for him in future career aspirations, as well as allow him some closure on the last twenty-four hours. He replied immediately that he would pick up the files and proceeded to shower and get ready. He left just after 7AM without eating, not feeling hungry in the slightest. Though only a few minutes by car, Jamie found that between leaving his apartment and arriving at the office, his shirt had begun to stick with sweat, and walking outside felt more akin to swimming with the humidity. Luckily for him the building had good air conditioning, and the thought of his damp clothes was soon forgotten about. July heat in Washington was a killer, and this morning was no exception. Still, today *did* seem different. The clouds appeared more than dark grey but instead black in the sky, looking more like wisps of smoke than average nimbostrati. There was little wind to be felt, and everything seemed to be moving slowly, as though the entire world was in the midst of taking one giant breath. Jamie kept thinking he heard thunder but looking upward he couldn’t make out any lightning. *Weird*, he thought. *It wasn’t supposed to storm today*. Due to it being a Saturday, the place seemed a little less cramped. Normally the hallways were bustling at this time: people going in between meetings, breaks being taken just a little too long, and the seemingly endless line of interns and students trying to get their feet into doors. Jamie smirked at this thought, being an intern himself. The smile quickly faded as he thought about why he was here on a weekend. Stopping by the front desk, Jamie asked about a package under his name, and the receptionist reached behind their desk and pulled out two items: one being the key to Hugh’s office, and the other was an empty folder. “*The man who spoke to me on the phone said that you’d know what to do with these.”* Taking the elevator, Jamie collected himself as he rode up alone. *Remember, all I’m here for is the papers, I should be in and out.* He knew that as difficult as it would be not to inspect the office or search the drawers for signs of Hugh’s sudden demise, he could get in a lot of trouble for not doing exactly as he was being asked. All he had to do was grab the papers, head back outside and proceed to the airport. Simple. After what felt like an hour, Jamie finally emerged onto the top floor, walking swiftly down the dimly lit hallway towards where his and Hugh’s offices stood. Perhaps it was the recent suicide in the building, but something about the place seemed ominous now. Though far from flickering lights and cobwebs, the beige paint and pale fluorescent bulbs made Jamie feel slightly paranoid, claustrophobic even. He picked up his pace and finally arrived back where he had been nearly twenty-four hours ago, though it felt like years. Jamie took out the key, and unlocked Hugh’s office. Never in his life had a lock felt more mechanical; a slow and heavy deadbolt that held behind it the place where a man Jamie had admired all his life had taken their own. Looking down at the key, Jamie thought for a moment he saw his hands tremble. Taking a breath and steadying himself, he pushed open the door. Following the police and paramedics, the office had been returned to a state of normalcy. Cluttered papers and office supplies had been placed back in their piles and in their respective holders, chairs once upturned were not back in their rightful state, even the overturned shelves had been placed back against the wall, with books mostly put in their original spots. Had Jamie somehow missed the events of Friday and Paul’s email, he would have returned to work on Monday and thought nothing had happened. Any trace of the uniformed officers’ visits, nor even the man who hung mere feet from where Jamie now stood, could be seen. Jamie stepped further inside, taking a moment to gaze around the room, looking for any sort of difference. Suddenly he realized that the four pages were still face down on the desk, perfectly placed and aligned, as though no one had seen them the day before. Hairs stood up on the back of his neck as he made his way over to the desk. Though he knew there was other people in the building, Jamie felt alone as his footsteps resonated on the cold hardwood floor. The windows looking out over the parking lot showed the dark sky looming over the city. For a second Jamie thought he heard thunder outside. Opening up the larger envelope, Jamie began to grab the papers, but before he could go through with it, he paused: *Is* *this what drove Hugh to kill himself? These four pieces of paper?* Jamie’s morbid curiosity began to get the better of him: *How would anyone even know I looked at these?* Jamie knew that the pages in his hands would eat away at him for the rest of his life if he didn’t turn them over. No matter how far he distanced himself from this event, the knowledge that he could have seen what possibly traumatized Dr. Carols would be in the back of his mind. He knew that he shouldn’t even risk it, but- The first page had already turned over subconsciously in his hands, and Jamie realized that he was staring at a letter addressed to Dr. Carols. The letter contained very little text: *Dr Carols,* *We received some very disturbing images from Hubble Telescope. We took three separate pictures and realized something is very wrong. We need your input on this, and we fear that our time is limited. Please respond as soon as you can.* *N: Currently at 30.31AU as of Sunday, August 5th.* *S: Currently at 10.12 AU as of Tuesday, August 7th.* *M: Currently at 1.4 AU as of Thursday, August 9th.* *Attached Photos taken Thursday, August 9th.* Trying to make sense of what these could mean. He knew that the AU numbers stood for astronomical units, referring to an object’s distance from the sun compared to the earth, but the dates and letters *N*, *S*, *M*, rang no bells. Jamie turned over the second page, where he saw a mostly black image, with a few fine specks of blue, scattered across the landscape. In the bottom left hand corner, the line of text from the letter was printed: *N: Currently at 30.31AU as of Monday, October 5th.* Jamie realized that this was a photograph from the many he had seen all throughout his childhood and into his schooling. This was a Hubble Telescope image. As he continued to study it, the numbers on the left seemed familiar to him, and suddenly he realized what they were: the location of the planet Neptune. This made no sense to Jamie, as his eyes began to dart between the blue specks that dotted the page: *This has to be a mistake, where is Neptune if this photograph is claiming this is the location? And why are these blue specks on here? Is this some sort of issue with the telescope?* He knew that the telescope could be finicky and there had been problems with the machinery every now and then, but this felt too authentic and urgent to all have been some kind of technical error. Jamie noticed that his hands had begun trembling again. Deciding to move on, Jamie turned over the second page and saw a second image, this one containing “*S: Currently at 10.12 AU as of Tuesday, August 7th.*” in the bottom-left corner. This time the image was much more obvious of what it was supposed to be: Saturn. However there seemed to be something very, very wrong with this picture. Inexplicably, only half of Saturn was visible, as though the entire gas giant had been cut in half. From the view of the telescope it seemed like the core was now split down the middle, a million jawbreakers worth of coloured layers all the way down to a dull silver centre. Long and stringy wisps of various chemicals and frozen rocks were coming off of the flattened edge, leaving behind a trail of haze and specks. Even the rings around the planet were strewn about, half circles which ended in frayed ends and slowly dipping into the endless depths of space. The axis clearly off kilter, the semi-sphere looked as though it were falling on its bottom, like an acrobat tumbling from a well-balanced trick. “*Tuesday, August 7th.”* Jamie dropped the second picture in his hands, trembling so bad he couldn’t hold it any longer. *There’s no way this isn’t some kind of joke. Some convincing doctoring of a photo, or maybe it just printed out completely wrong. This can’t be real.* Suddenly Jamie was very aware that there was still one photograph left on the desk, and that *M* could only mean one thing. He slowly picked up the final page, and turned it over, knowing what he would likely see. “*M: Currently at 1.4 AU as of Wednesday, August 9th.”* was unnecessary as Jamie instantly recognized what had been photographed: Mars was in the midst of what looked like an explosion. The only comparison Jamie could think of was the time he had seen footage of a bullet being shot through a watermelon, the entire thing splitting apart and spraying across someone’s lawn. This, however, was a lot larger than a fruit. Gigantic chunks were flying in every direction, as hundreds of smaller rocks trailed behind like a tail behind a continent sized comet. Maroon streaks of iron and nickel expanded beyond the borders of the page, and Jamie knew that if enough time were to pass, earth would see meteors the likes of which hadn’t been witness since the dinosaurs. Though a still image, he could almost see it moving if he looked close enough, breaking apart and becoming less and less recognizable as the red planet. Jamie’s vision blurred with tears as he continued to stare at the page, which trembled unapologetically now. The horror of what he was seeing made the room spin before him, and he nearly fell over just trying to make sense of it all. He noticed there was something different about this image. Looking at the torn apart sphere, Jamie could see that across the top right crust, the colour of the planet looked… darker. The one aspect still intact of what he knew of Mars was the red hue of its surface, except now a portion of the planet appeared almost black. Jamie suddenly realized that these three images were taken yesterday. He also realized that whatever was happening to these planets, it was closer to earth each time. Jamie looked at his hands and tried to stop them from shaking. He clasped them together before gasping: *It was the room that was shaking, not him.* It had begun just a few minutes ago; A tremor so faint at first Jamie thought it was merely his trembling appendages growing more out of control, but now the whole room was vibrating. Books falling off shelves, a lamp falling and its bulb smashing against the floor, Jamie could barely tell what was happening as he looked out the office windows to see the sky had gone from a darkened grey to a completely black backdrop, against which lighting flashes were erupting nearly every second. Thick clouds of what almost looked like smoke swirled and twisted as the office suddenly felt very small against the dark ocean above. Jamie saw people running out from the front of the building, trying to make it to their cars and drive off. Jamie suddenly was forced to jump back as the rumbling increased and windows began to shatter in Dr. Carols’ office, littering both the floor and parking lot below with shards of glass. Knowing that it was no longer safe to be on the top floor, Jamie grabbed the papers and ran. The long hallway back to the elevator suddenly seemed a million times longer, as though the camera tricks he remembered seeing in Hitchcock movies had come to life. Deciding that the elevator was unlikely to last the ride down, Jamie flew down the stairs as the rattling and cracking of thunder continued to grow and swell, even in the muffled stairwell. Finally escaping into the main lobby, Jamie sprinted for the front door and was able to exit into the parking lot just as he thought the entire thing would come crashing down. Suddenly the shaking stopped, and there was complete silence. The thunder ceased, and there was a sort of still calmness present that made Jamie’s hair stand up on end. He looked back at the office building to see it still standing; nearly windowless and a parking lot completely covered in glass but standing. Looking up towards the sky, Jamie saw that, remarkably, lightning was still emerging from the great black sky above him, twisting and curving through the air, but the thunder was no longer sounding. It looked as though some giant switch was being silently flicked on and off. Jamie noticed that in fact, he heard nothing. No light breeze, no birds chirping, not even the sound of traffic. For a moment, Jamie thought that he was the only man alive, alone in the parking lot. Looking down, Jamie saw that the pages from the office were still in his hand, haphazardly bent and folded from the way they had been handled on the way out. His eyes drawn to the last image once more, what was likely to be the last picture of Mars, he could not help but notice that darkened area. He finally realized that it was a shadow. Suddenly, a sound emerged from the overwhelming silence; he nearly felt the sound before he heard it, a frequency so deep in nature that it rattled Jamie’s bones. It came from all directions, both earth and sky, a deafening pitch that nearly caused Jamie to fall to the ground and cover his ears. It was inhuman in nature, but for a second Jamie thought it sounded like a low roar. The ground began to shake again as the clouds rapidly dissipated, as though being swept away by something. The smokey haze gave away not to the blue sky as Jamie expected, but somehow the blackness of space itself, complete with twinkling stars and glow of the pale moon. However, Jamie realized something *was* moving away the clouds, and that his view of space was being interrupted by the waving of hundreds of shapes of some sort, blocking the darkness beyond. A bolt of lightning, long and jagged pierced the empty plane above, and Jamie finally saw what he knew had caused those planets’ destruction. The flash of light illuminated a creature, far beyond the comprehension of what Jamie could fathom. An amorphous being of pure black, which shone against the light as though it was wet with some sort of perspiration or other ungodly fluid. Eyes formed and unformed across its mass, blinking and darting back and forth before being swallowed back into the being. The forms Jamie had seen waving were tentacle-like limbs, flailing about slowly and in rhythm with one another, as though each movement was purposeful. Though Jamie could see the front of it, his eyes struggled to see the end of it as its body contorted and twisted through the sky like some sort of massive snake of unimaginable length. At the very front laid a mouth-like orifice, with a concave appearance and jagged teeth lining the entire circumference, row upon row until they disappeared beyond the line of sight. The lightning faded and Jamie realized that he was likely one of the only people to see what was up there; of the only people to *ever* see it. Another lightning bolt further away cast a dimmer view, but Jamie could see that it was already closer than it had been moments ago. The ground began to tremble as the deafening sound of whatever this was descended upon him. This was it. Jamie knew that everyone and everything was about to be scattered across the stars, forgotten in time and space, cold and dead throughout the cosmos. He now understood why Dr. Carols had killed himself, for he did not want to live as one of the only people to know what was about to happen.


What the hell? Where am I? I was laying in a strange bed, I feel my head it is throbbing. I feel my mouth is dry and my throat is sore. My vision was blurred and everything seemed to be out of focus. I was in a dark room very old looking. As my vision tried to normalise I saw the old-timey paisley wallpaper on the wall and the air smelt a sickly and overpowering shade of lily, there was also the smell of something medicinal or clinical, I could not make it out. I saw a woman in the silhouette she was sitting in a chair. I cast a glance around again and thought the room looked like a funeral parlour or what I suspect a brothel would look like. I sat up straight and instantly regretted it. 'Um, can I get some water please?' 'Of course, how are you feeling?' 'Well, I don't know. Did we...?' By her tone, she was slightly embarrassed. 'I was up for it but...' she paused '...well you got really drunk and passed out. Can't you remember?' 'Hmmm, no last night was a blank. I did not make a fool of myself did I?' 'Don't worry Matthew, You did not, but you are a great kisser though.' By this time she had come into the light and she was gorgeous, she was the type of woman I could only dream of hooking up with. Her hair was straight and a shade of auburn. Her eyes were the deepest blue and she had the body of a goddess. She had a sparkle about her that got me tongue-tied 'Ah, um...' my mind was screaming out to at least try to make some sort of coherent sentence. All I could think of saying was 'Hello' She laughed 'Hello to you Matt, I'm Davina' and she handed me the water. I took a blessed sip, the water was fresh but I felt all wobbly again. my vision blurred but I snapped out of it hearing 'Matt, are you ok?' # I was plagued by really weird trippy dreams one minute I was at the Ivy getting some drinks A glass of Rose wine and a bottle of Amstel. I looked around and everyone seemed to have a cartoon head, I looked at my hands and they were like two balloons. I knew I was staggering, from my college years this felt like it was a really bad trip. I looked around and I saw Davina she was there in a zebra print two-piece which enhanced her assets. The next thing I dreamed, I was laying face first in some sort of rug, a really fluffy rug. With a welcoming roar of a fire which turned into a growling cacophony of noise. I seemed to come back around in my dream and I felt my hands clutch my ears. I vaguely opened my eyes and did not see anything just blurs of shapes and the noise was deafening. I felt two people hold my arms and almost drag me out. I dreamed I lost one of my shoes which I found hilarious. I thought I woke up with another start but I could not open my eyes, I am sure I heard a male and female talking, I tried to come fully around but I was caught in the state between sleeping and waking. 'Davina, you have done well' 'Just this one Aston and I am out' 'Davina Darling, you are out when we say you are out' 'But, but you promised.' I did not catch the rest of the conversation as I fell back unconscious. # In my unconsciousness, I went back to the Ivy. I had decided to go for a quick beer after my last ever delivery. I was slightly miffed that I had been made redundant, some guy with a Rolls-Royce came into the depot and stuck a formal looking note in the canteen. Kwik Movers now closed with immediate effect it was signed by some guy call Aston Easterfield of LDC Solicitors. We were told we had to finalise our deliveries and hand in our keys. I was lucky as I owned my own motorbike. So I could move to another courier. So after giving the company six years I felt it justified to have a drink on their time. I saw a stunner sitting at the bar on her own, she had a zebra two-piece I thought her stunning and she kept shyly looking at me. Feeling impetuous I strode over to her and came out with the corniest one-liner ever 'Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?' She laughed and I saw her eyes sparkle 'Wish two, to get drunk and wish three to have the best nights sex ever' she replied all of my false bravado seemed to disappear. 'But I will settle for a drink. I'm Davina' She proffered her hand which I took and kissed it. 'I am the great genie Matthew, but you can call me Matt.' This garnered another chuckle. 'Get some more drinks and I will be over there' She pointed to an alcove on the other side of the bar and took my beer. 'Your wish is my command' I bowed I got some drinks and I turned to walk after her and I saw some residue on the bar, it was not brown like my beer it was white like talcum powder. I thought 'way hey, a side of Charlie with my beer' and rushed to her. # I came round with somebodies hands over my mouth it was Davina. 'Shhh, Matt, I think he knows you are here' her worried look brought me right round, In that instant, I felt like we had to get out of here. I had so many questions 'Can we get out of here?' I asked Davina's eyes welled up and she shook her head. She sniffed 'I do not know' I got out of bed and steadied myself. My head swam a little and I am sure I lost focus. 'God, Davina, that was some great Charlie we had last night.' 'What... charlie?' I abhor drugs.' This stopped me in my tracks. Something did not make sense. 'I saw you with some blow on the bar. I am sure we had some at the table' 'No, we did not, I was soberish and I am straight. We did not do drugs!' her finality made me stop questioning. Maybe I did imagine it. My fuzziness seemed to disagree. 'But..' She cut me off 'I lost my Jamie to drugs. And since that point, this body has been a temple.' I went over to the door and tried it, it was locked, or it seemed locked. I pulled it again it did give slightly. Davina came over to me and tried to hold me back 'Matt, stop they will hear you.' At this point, I did not care I wanted to go home. One more wrench and the door gave way to a loud creak. I pushed the door up slightly but there was no sound of running or shouting which was unsettling yet welcoming, to say the least. I grabbed Davina's hand and pulled her. 'C'mon let's get out of here We found ourselves in a dimly lit corridor. It had a couple of heavy wooded doors and the air smelt almost medicinal. I could not place the smell. I looked at each way and the dreary paisley wallpaper continued, but an even darker tone than the bedrooms. I picked the way left and Davina held me back. She refused to go. I looked back at her and she was clearly frightened, she had the deer in headlights look. I smiled and gently coaxed her, she begrudgingly came with me. We both edged slowly to the oncoming darkness then we heard a creak and we edged against the wall, hoping the darkness camouflaged us. There was nothing, no other sounds, except the sound of our ragged breaths. My senses were in overdrive. We carried on creeping toward the end of the corridor, in the gloom I could make out some stairs, but there was an opened door between us and the stairs. I let go of Davina's hand and edged even closer to the door. There was an audible gasp and I peeked around the door frame. In that instance, I wished I didn't. # That medicinal smell was overpowering here, it smelt like a hospital, but not as clean as a hospital. What on God's green earth was that smell? What shocked me, even more, was shelves and shelves of jars with various body parts in. There was a shelf of what looked like some organ's in, and a shelf full of eyes I had to put my hand to my mouth or else throw up. This macabre scene was overshadowed by a jar of what looked like Testicles in it. I walked into the room and in the twilight, I knew the room was empty of living occupants. I looked directly opposite as was overjoyed I saw a set of double doors and through the window, on the door, I saw the last or early remnants of daylight. Losing my watch in all of this madness only compounded my sense of lack of time. I crept back toward where Davina was rooted to the spot and whispered to her. 'It's ok I found the exit.' She would not come. ' Remember, your last wish' She stood there motionless. I was not sure if it was the body parts or fear that affected her. 'Come on, Davina, let's go, the exit is right here I pointed to the door. She grabbed a black extinguisher, 'Great idea' let's arm ourselves just in case they are outside. I turned away to survey the room, I saw nothing else. Then there was a metal pole near the exit. I went to grab it and I felt a large clunk across the back of my head. I saw stars and I turned and saw Davina in full swing. I must have turned around too quick because I fell over again and then with pain in my head I saw darkness # I found myself coming back around and I was back in the room. I quickly checked around and I saw I was alone. I do not know if that was a blessing or a curse. I tried to move but found I was bound by my wrists and ankles. I called out for Davina, I wanted to make sure she was safe I felt a duty to protect her. She came sauntering in, with the look that first attracted me to her at the Ivy. 'Great, you are safe, untie me and we can leave. Did they hurt you? 'No, no I am fine she caressed my face almost lovingly then the next seven words she whispered in my ear froze my blood. 'Don't worry it will be over soon' she kissed me gently on the cheek. I looked deep into her eyes and saw something, a malice deep-rooted there. 'The body parts... That was you?' The realisation hit me like an avalanche 'you killed all those people.' 'Ta-dah, you got me. You are going to join them very soon' She whispered, words like honey. I was seething, I had been betrayed and to actually think I had considered taking us further, and, with some ungodly strength, I head-butted her, right in her pretty nose. She reeled back and slipped over something and let out a slight scream as she hit the floor with a thump. I am sure I heard some sort of crunch. I looked to where she fell and she was there seemingly motionless. I wrestled with the bindings which burned my wrists. I managed to untie the knot on the bedpost. I quickly untied the rest and gingerly got off the bed. I crept to where Davina was laying, when I got there all I saw was a patch of blood. I looked around and saw nothing, I heard nothing. I kicked something, it was soft. I reached down and saw it was my trousers, with my belt. I loosened the belt, I had to arm myself with something, anything. I stopped dead in my tracks, I felt like I was not alone. I let the belt hang buckle first. I avidly looked round in the darkness but nothing. Finally, I had made my mind up I was going to leave and nothing was going to stop me. I headed toward the door. # I walked down the corridor belt held like a morning star. I hoped that if I did face anyone I could cause some damage. Well maybe. If not I would go down fighting. I sneaked toward the body room but was caught out by a loud scream, it was female. I instantly thought that Davina was hurt. Then I heard a laugh, again it was female, full of malevolence. 'Hmmm the meat is sweetest when the giver is in fear' it sounded like I was all around me. I carried on regardless I heard a saw starting up I thought shit I am a goner she has a saw. I was determined to go down fighting and as I turned the corner I was greeted by Davina's five foot seven frame she was standing directly opposite me, armed with a bone saw. The growl of the saw grated on me. I could see the blood congealing around her nose, which gave her a demonic appearance. 'Give up, and I will make it quick and painless' 'Come and get me.' Davina came at me with the saw it looked like it was fixed to her arm. I managed to get around the central table and my foot hit something I glanced down it was a large bottle of formaldehyde. So that is what the smell was. It all makes sense. 'Why, Davina, if that is your name' I had to try to distract her. She kept trying to get at me. I lifted the bottle up and the saw cut into it and I pushed it at her and there she screamed. I saw she dropped the saw and was clutching at her eyes and coughing. Part of me wanted to help her the part wanted me to kill her. I settled for neither I wanted to get out of there. I went toward the door then I heard a choking sound and Davina fell like a sack of potatoes. I went over to her god know why I did, part of me wanted to see if she was dead, the other part felt pity. I looked at her vacant expression. There was no brightness in her eyes. She was dead I was sure. I decided to leave by the front door and heard a cough. 'Matt, help me.' I looked back and saw her spluttering 'Why should I?' 'They have my son.' 'What sick game is this?' 'No.... Cough... game' She convulsed and that was it she was gone. I closed her eyes as some sort of final goodbye. I kissed her head. What was I meant to do with the carrot she dangled. I felt a pang of guilt I had to help her. Regardless of what she has done. I went out of the front door and I saw I was in the middle of nowhere and to cap it off it was raining. I had no idea where I was and I did not have a phone.


I have been seeing different people to hold my mind and body together while my boyfriend in LA finishes the first round of funding for his start-up. Sometimes I will see one of my lovers the same day he arrives. He is too aloof to know, care, or even be curious about my life. My lovers are ponds, deep and shallow, that I dip my toes into and see the wobbly edges of myself. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I let all my energy be sucked into their orbits. I am a flexible human, and I could be great at many things, so it’s tempting to squish myself into new molds. One lover is a doctor. He is kind, and good with his hands. Sometimes he is bumbling, but always in a good-hearted way. We were not meant to be partners, but we were born to be lovers. We inadvertently cultivated a very healthy romantic relationship, and I dream of worlds where we live together and have a family. He doesn’t want children and neither do I. The childrens’ names would be August and Iroh. We sit on his deck and drink coffee in the morning waiting for the birds to come down and beg for walnuts. It smells like summer, and I push thoughts of work and stress out of my head. He knows though. He knows everything. He knows what it is like to do what I am doing and can give some degree of advice that I trust. He is a comfort. I’m afraid to spend too much time with him and shatter the delicate joy. There is a world where We Try. But the stakes are so high. But I am so young. But I don’t want to lose him to another version of ourselves. One lover is an inventor. His apartment is full of all kinds of things, and he knows how most of them work, kind of. He has a motorcycle I helped drive back to his house because he didn’t have a permit. He has an orange tree that I have drank the juice from so many times on hot summer afternoons. He and I exist outside of time. Sitting on his couch. Creeping closer together until he grabs my face in his hands and kisses me, our lips still dry from talking for hours about things that might be interesting or might just be a way for our brains to have sex while our bodies question if this is a dream or reality. One lover is a boy. He had long hair once, and plays in a band. He is up to no good a lot of the time, but loves the people close to him. He might be a sociopath, or we might be compatible. If I were a little girl and I met him, I think we would be divorced by now. He has fiercely strong emotions, and so do I. We both need a little tempering. We are not meant to be partners. But what if we were.


**Warning, child abuse** Don’t talk unless spoken to.

Madam says my voice is disgusting. Kevin calls her mother, but when I tried she slapped me. She said she wasn’t the mother of a bastard. That I was a mistake, that she was forced against her will. I don’t understand. Kevin calls Sir, father. I wanted to see how that word felt, but he pulled out his belt and hit me. I taught myself language one day. Sir and Madam were furious. They tied me up and hit me with what looked like a long rope. A whip, yes, that’s what they called it. They hit me over and over, and explained that it was only education. Education is good, whips are good, pain is good. Don’t hesitate when answering a question. I hesitated when Sir asked me if I had spoken to Kevin one day. I didn’t know what to say. He slapped me, and asked again. I said yes, and he told me to never do it again. He tied me up and whipped me till the sun went up and then down again. It was five suns until Madam gave me food again. It hurts, but hurt is good. I never hesitated again. Don’t lie. Kevin snuck down to the basement again the day after the first incident. He finds me interesting, he calls me his half brother. I tell him to go back up to the light. He says no, and talks to me for a while. Sir asked me if Kevin came down again. I said no, and he slapped me. He told me to never lie, he will know if I do. This time he does not tie me up. He pulls out a knife, and slashes down my face with it. It hurts. There’s a lot of blood. Don’t make noise. I accidentally toppled over a pile of books once. Both Madam and Sir are furious. They tell me I interrupted something called a dinner party. I almost exposed my existence, they say. They bind me up and gag me. Then they return to the dinner party. But I am confused. What is a dinner and what is a party? Is it that important? They return when it is pitch dark. There are still little lights outside my tiny window, I envy those lights. They tie me up and whip me again. Madam doesn’t give me meals for many suns again. After that day, my movements have become quieter than a ghost. Don’t cry. The first time Madam slapped me, I cried. Madam was even more infuriated by my tears and slapped me even harder. Crying equals pain. I learned my lesson. I refuse to cry again. It makes Madam angry. I don’t like it when she’s angry. It would be nicer if she smiled. I read of smiling in a book. Apparently it can make a person glow. I tried to smile. My face couldn’t do it. But I think it would look nice on Madam. Perhaps she smiles when she leaves this dark place. Don’t touch anything. The first time I met Sir, his hair looked so bright and beautiful, even in this darkness. I reached for his hand, but before I touched it he kicked me away and called me vermin. He angrily wipes his hand, and pulls on a pair of black gloves. He pulls me by my hair, and tells me I’m a bastard, trash, that I shouldn’t even exist. I didn’t understand back then. All I learned was to keep my hands to myself. Don’t ask for anything. I asked Madam for more books to read once. She told me that I should be grateful that I was even allowed to read the old books stored in the basement. I ask her what a basement is, and she tells me that it is where I reside. Basement probably means the dark in that case. From under the door, I see that the outside world that Sir, Madam, and Kevin live in is always bright. I wish I lived in a world like that. Even the world outside the tiny window would do. It is sometimes bright and sometimes dark, but it is better than eternal darkness at least. Don’t do anything Sir and Madam have not told me I can do. I tried climbing up to the window a long time ago. I wished to see what lays beyond that square of light. When Madam saw what I was doing she called Sir to come. They were furious, they kicked me and whipped me and denied me food. I promised to never do anything they haven’t told me I can do ever again. Don’t leave the basement. Once a long time ago, I tried to open the door. Sir saw me peek out, and yelled at me. He told me that I am never allowed to leave the basement, the darkness. He told me that the basement is the only place I belong, for I am a bastard. I am not human. I have no rights. I did not understand, but I knew not to try to leave the darkness again. Don’t show your face.

Kevin, my older brother, tells me I look too much like my father. I don’t understand. Sir has platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes, while I have raven black hair and slate grey eyes. In my opinion, Kevin is the splitting image of him. Madam has golden blonde shoulder length locks, and bright green eyes. Madam gave me a mask, it is a Japanese fox mask. She told me to never take it off. She gave me one of Kevin’s old hoodies. She tells me to never take it off, and to always keep the hood up. I am happy. These are the first gifts she has ever given me. Don’t go outside. One day, I had asked Madam if I could go into the world outside the window. She told me that is a ridiculous idea, and that it can never happen. I was saddened, but I knew better than to ask why. Nonetheless, Sir came down that night and whipped me again. ~~~ I met a goddess today. She had beautiful chocolate brown hair that went to her waist, and soft honey brown eyes. She opened the window to the basement and peeked in. When she saw me, she gasped. She asked me why I wore the mask and hood, I told her that I am not allowed to take them off. She asked me if I lived in the basement, and I replied yes. She asked me how old I was. I tell the girl that I am sixteen. She says that she is the same age and smiles. It is a beautiful smile, and it truly lit up her face. She asks me for my name. I hesitate for the first time in years. Slowly, I tell her that it is bastard. She looks confused and asks again. I tell her, bastard. She looks shocked and tells me that is not a name. I cock my head, and she tells me her name is Angelita. She tells me that she must leave, but she’ll be back again. I tell her that I will be here waiting, no matter how long it takes.

She is back three suns later. She talks to me for a while, but then she asks me why I do not ask her questions. I tell her my first rule, to never speak unless spoken to. She freezes, and tells me that it is a bad rule. I tell her I don’t understand what she means. 	She tells me that I can say whatever I want to her, whenever I want. I ask her if she will be angry if I do so. She looks at me oddly, and tells me that she would be delighted if I spoke to her casually. I ponder this for a moment, and for the first time, I say something before someone speaks to me. I tell her that she is beautiful. She stutters and tells me that she must go, but she will be back.

Ten suns later, I saw her again. She smiles when she sees me, and we talk of little things that have passed these few suns. She tells me that from the middle of the night, that is the dark, and then all the way back to the night again is one day. She teaches me about time and dates. She asks me when my birthday is, I tell her September tenth. She tells me that hers is December twenty-ninth. I count the days, and realize it is only fifteen suns, sorry, I mean days away. I point this out, and she asks me if I will give her a present. I tell her that I will do my best.

We talk some more, and she asks me why I answer her so swiftly and truthfully. I tell her about rules two and three. She shakes her head, and tells me if I feel like hesitating then I should hesitate, and explains to me how some lies are good. I don’t understand the concept of white lies, and she takes the time to explain it to me. 	Suddenly the basement door opens, and Angelita quickly closes the window and steps out of sight. Sir walks in. I ask him why he has come. He slaps me hard. I realized I had broken rule one. I try to apologize, but he ties me up and whips me till the sun goes down. I peek at the window, and I notice that Angelita is looking in. Luckily I am still wearing my mask, no one likes it when I take it off. It is because I am disgusting and ugly. Madam told me. Finally, he turns me around to face him. He asks me if I have spoken to anyone recently. I say no. He slaps me. I have broken rule three, but I don’t care. I wish to protect Angelita. He keeps hurting me, but it does not change my answer. When the sun starts to rise, he finally accepts my answer, and leaves. I lie on the ground, bruised, bloody, but not broken. I look to the window, and I see Angelita. She asks me if I am okay. I tell her that this is normal, that this is just education and she should not worry. She explains to me that this is not real education. I don’t understand, but I do my best. She is my light, my savior, the first to make me feel such warmth. I will trust her. Two days later she came again. She tells me that she will save me, and bring me outside. I tell her to not bother, and that her visits are all I need. Her face becomes red, and I ask her if she is sick. She says no, and that it is just cold out. She throws me a yellow crescent and tells me that it is a banana. She also passes me a few crinkly rectangles that she calls granola bars. She tells me that every time she visits she’ll bring something for me. She asks me how I move so silently, and how I did not cry when Sir had hurt me. I tell her about rules four and five. She gasps, and tells me that if I want to cry, then I should cry. I tell her that if I cry then the pain will increase. She sighs, and tells me again that someday she will save me. I hear a beep, and she pulls out a rectangular box. She looks at it, and tells me that she must go in ten minutes. I ask her what the box is. She quickly tells me that it is a phone, and promises to tell me more the next time she visits.

I see her again in four days. She gives me more granola bars, as she slowly explains to me the concept of technology, and I am amazed. She then goes on to teach me about science and math. I understand the information easily, and she tells me that I am smart. I feel I tug at my mouth, but I do not understand the urge. She teaches me more, and asks me if I want to see her phone. I tell her no, and she asks why. I tell her about rule six, to never touch anything. She looks at me seriously, and once again tells me that it is a stupid rule. She tells me that I am allowed to touch most things. I do not understand, so I ask her to clarify. She tells me all about ethics and human rights, and how no matter what anyone does, those rights apply to me as well. I remain skeptical, but I absorb her teachings relatively well. The next time she visits, it is on her birthday. I have folded a paper crane for her. When I present it to her, it brings her to tears, and I worry that she doesn't like it. She shakes her head, and tells me she loves it. I ask her why she is crying, and she tells me it is because I have almost nothing, and yet I still gave her such a sweet gift. Then she looks down, and tells me that it may be a long time until I see her again. Her family has business overseas, and if it works out, she might never come back. But she promises that once she becomes eighteen and gains her own true freedom, she will come back for me. She then throws me a red ball. She tells me that it is an apple and that it is good for me. She then throws me several bags of what she calls dried apple chips and some granola bars, and tells me to hide them. She tells me to eat them slowly, as I quickly hide them away under some books. I hesitate to ask her something, and she asks me what I want. I tell her that rule seven tells me that I should not ask for anything. She frowns, and tells me that I can ask anything of her. I steel my courage, and ask her to bring me a present from her travels. She smiles and agrees. She turns, about to leave, when she looks back at me one more time and throws me her barrette. I catch it, and she tells me that the little designs on it are angel wings. She then runs off, as I clutch her barrette close to my chest. ~~~ It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen my angel. Today should be my seventeenth birthday. Ever since my Kevin started university, he always tried to sneak nutritious food to me whenever he can. We’ve gotten caught a few times these past years, but you can tell that I’ve finally started to gain some muscle and flesh on my bones. He is too kindhearted to have been raised by Sir and Madam, but I’m not complaining. I sit with my back to the wall. Closing my eyes, I dream once again of the short moments I shared with Angelita and I recall her kindness, and the firmness with which she broke down my rules. Although they still stand, a part of my character, there is more leeway with my rules. She showed me a new world, new possibilities.

Suddenly I hear yelling coming from the rest of the house. I slowly stalk my way towards the door. It flies open, and I come face to face with a man in some sort of uniform. Angelita peeks out from behind him and smiles. She tells me that it didn’t really work out overseas. I ask her who the men are, and she tells me that she has come to save me. She explains that they are police officers and have arrested Sir and Madam. She pulls my arm, trying to lead me out of the basement. But I tell her no. Rule number eight and nine, and how I can’t, that this darkness is where I belong. She tells me no, and that I can leave. The police officer agrees, and slowly, they convince me to take my first step out of the basement. It is bright in the rest of the house, and I blink a few times, unaccustomed to the light. Angelita tells me that I should take off my mask and hood. That I should start my new life, showing my face to the world. I hesitate and tell her rule ten. She glares at me, and tells me that it isn’t right to hide who I am. Hesitantly, I take off the mask and the hood. She gasps, and I ask her if I’m too ugly. I try to put the mask back on, but she stops me. She takes a mirror out of her purse, and makes me look at my own face. 	Startled, I realize my face isn’t actually that uncomfortable to look at. Looking at me, she smiles. She tells me that it would be nice for my name to be Andrew. I ask her what it means, and she tells me that in Greek it means strong and manly. I agree, and she calls me by my new name. I feel my face start burning, and she laughs. She tugs on my sleeve, telling me to go outside. Hesitantly I step out the front door. I notice a line that seems to separate shadow from light. Angelita bounds over the line swiftly and easily. Looking at her smile, I know that no matter what happens I want to be by her side. Confidently, I step over the line, and into the sunlight with Angelita.


“It doesn’t matter now.” Foci leaned forward, xyr pink glasses slipping a millimeter down xyr nose. “Your past is in the past.” The client sighed and smiled downward, shaking his head slightly. “Just like that? A new life?” “All yours,” xe smiled and slid the document toward him. He glanced once more at xem before tracing his finger along the dotted line. *** “Two cases done already?” Eglin, xyr manager, said when xe dropped the signed paper at eir desk. “That last one was a breeze.” Xe opened xyr hand for xyr next assignment. Eglin examined the new signature and eir eyes widened. “He just took his own life—you convinced him to start a new one in less than an hour?” Foci opened and closed xyr hand. “I can get a third in this morning if you have another you think I can handle.” “Wow,” e slipped eir fingers over a stack of papers and lifted the first from the pile as if e had been waiting for xem to ask. “But you have to be careful about this one; two counselors from other branches have already failed them. They might need a few days, so don’t chug through your usual routine, okay?” Foci clamped xyr hand on the document and walked toward xyr office, granting em a brief wave in place of a thanks. Though Foci had no doubts in xyr mind, xe remembered how difficult xyr first time in the counseling firm had been. Xe had passed on too soon in what people from xyr last life’s hometown referred to as a tragedy. Foci shook off the memory; it was years ago, and all stories eventually fade from a soul’s reality. After the two weeks Foci spent bouncing off six counselors, xe finally hit a wall and cracked open to expose a runny yolk of trauma. Xe took an offer to train as a counselor instead of claiming a new life. In these glass walls that looked into ocean, xe took on every difficult case until xe was known for handling tough souls, talking off their rough edges, and easing them into their next lives. Foci heard xyr office door click shut as xe sat down and gazed into the blue water around xem. Their next client would arrive at any moment. How tough could they be? Xe glanced at the document and read the name: Perigee (they/them/their). The door shut suddenly, and Foci adjusted xyr glasses and looked up at the soul who was draped in black smoke that billowed from seven feet off the floor. “Draped” was the wrong word; they were smoke. Since a soul could choose their visual manifestation in liminal spaces like the counseling firm, many of Foci’s clients appeared as some reflection of how they saw themselves. One client who had issues feeling out-of-place presented as an elephant who barely fit in the room. This new client’s smoky appearance was creative, and Foci wondered if Perigee had only recently accomplished the effect; they had been at the firm for at least two days already. “Welcome, Perigee, please take a seat.” The smoke column made no move. “If you prefer to stand, I should tell you that this meeting might be long, so if at any point you feel inclined to sit, you are welcome to the chair across from me.” Still no movement except for their perpetual smoke curls. “I’m told you’re different.” Xe folded xyr hands on the desk. “I want to make clear that I have dealt with hundreds of so-called difficult cases, so have no fear in confiding in me; there’s nothing I haven’t seen.” At these last words, Foci thought xe saw the top of the smoke column—where a head might be—tilt upward. The next three hours passed with no words nor gestures from Perigee and only two prompts from Foci who was quickly learning how tired xe could become of xyr own voice. The prompts were vague and open-ended; Perigee had probably heard enough pointed questions from other counselors. By the end of the workday, xe resolved to be patient with this client. After all, they had infinite time. Xe shook xyr head when Eglin asked if xe wanted to pass Perigee on to a different counselor, answering none of eir questions about them. The second day passed with no words from Perigee, and though Foci had never spent more than a day on any client, xe was certain xe could convince this one to pass into their next life. On the third day, Foci decided to transition away from long silences. “So far it appears you are uninterested in speaking, so how about I tell you a story? This way you won’t need to speak much. I only need you to tell me what sort of story you want me to tell.” Xe leaned forward only with xyr head, wanting to maintain an appearance of leisure. The column of smoke scoffed, releasing a puff of black, which Foci viewed as progress. Perigee was silent after, and Foci waited in that silence for xyr next idea. Xe turned toward the see-through wall, the corners of xyr lips falling. A minute of silence passed before Foci was startled to hear Perigee’s soft but unimpressed voice for the first time: “The other counselors tried the story thing too.” Foci kept xyr eyes on the ocean, afraid xyr gaze might send Perigee back into silence. “You weren’t interested in stories?” “I had already heard them ramble on for hours by the time they offered.” Foci tried to keep the eagerness out of xyr tone, “So, what would you like to hear about?” “It’s a technique, right? A tactic to make me think or feel some way?” “More or less,” xe turned to face them. “But since you’re talking now, why don’t you tell me a story instead? Or tell me anything you like.” The smoke column had shrunken a foot, and the billowing had ceased, so now the smoke hung like thick mist. “Are these real windows? Are we really in the middle of the ocean, underwater?” “No,” xe spoke slowly but without the intention to sift details. “We’re in a space that doesn’t exist in the same space as earth, so these blue waters aren’t part of any ocean you knew in your last life.” “But they’re not really there at all, right?” They didn’t wait for xyr answer. “I know because I punched through a wall on my first day here, and the glass shattered, but no water came through.” Foci smiled. “It’s a sort of mirage—a moving picture meant to be calming.” On this last word, xe raised an eyebrow briefly. The two of them talked for the last hour about the false space, whale sightings, and why most souls feel compelled to move on from this liminal counseling firm. The next day, Perigee was the first to speak, no prompt necessary: “If we are in a space that is not a space but just a transition, then how is today not yesterday? What’s the point of time in an invented place?” “Same reason there’s an ocean around us: it feels right. You probably heard on earth that the body needs rest, well, so does the soul, so there’s a time here for rest.” “What about you? Why haven’t you moved on from this ‘liminal space’?” Foci laughed once, “Such a personal question.” “Right! as if your whole purpose isn’t to learn all the most personal details about my life and use them to shove me into some other life.” Perigee’s smoke pushed out of their column formation into what could have been two arms if they weren’t comprised of black vapor. “I stayed here because I had a hard time with many counselors, and I wanted other souls to have an easier time.” Perigee was silent for a moment, and then Foci watched as they lowered into the seat across from xem. Xe was surprised at how normal a seated mist looked, as if clouds were commonly seen sitting. Realizing xe was staring, xe tried to think of something else to say but instead felt the silence was more comfortable than polite but meaningless words. “Could I stay here too?” Perigee asked. “You could, but you have to open up first, to face whatever you’re holding on to from your past.” “Hm,” they sunk an inch in their chair. At the end of the day, Eglin stopped xem in the hall before xe left. E whispered hurriedly to xem, “Foci, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but my supervisor says that Perigee is going to change counselors at the end of the week if they don’t sign something before then.” “The end of the week? That’s in three days.” Xe titled xyr head. “They never change a client’s counselor without the current counselor initiating the change.” “I don’t know what, but something is different this time.” E glanced around even though there was no one in the hall. “Don’t tell anyone I told you; rule changes like this one are usually for everyone’s benefit.” Xe nodded but left work with gears turning over how to make Perigee move forward in the following days. Pushing the process would likely cause them to close themself to Foci, but xe wasn’t ready to give up on this client and wouldn’t be ready by the end of the week. Xe had never failed a client before, had never asked to have someone assigned to a different counselor. What was different about Perigee?  The next day Perigee arrived looking nearly human in shape, each finger made of mist. “Perigee,” Foci began. “Tell me what plagues you about your past life.” Perigee didn’t flinch or stand from their chair. They exhaled softly and began their story, selecting each word slowly: “Where I grew up, no one expected me to live very long. I was raised in bad conditions. My parents—” Perigee froze and let the silence lengthen. Foci could see in their misty face that they weren’t ready to speak of those details. “You don’t have to put it into words,” xe assured. Perigee shook their head. “ I want you to know. I—” They stopped again, and xe let the silence distance them from their words. “When I was twelve, I ran away after my father killed my older brother. He was never found guilty, and when I left, no one bothered to look for me. One night in August I froze to death.” Foci remained quiet for a moment out of respect. “So that’s how you died, but that’s not what’s keeping you here.” Perigee’s head moved suddenly upward to face xem. “How do you know? Wouldn’t it make sense that my brother’s death kept me here?” Foci knew xe was risking them completely shutting down the conversation, but xe moved forward anyway, sensing they couldn’t lie now that they had begun to open up, “Do you want to see him again?” “No,” Perigee responded so quickly that they looked startled. “Do you want revenge?” “No.” “Do you feel responsible for your brother’s death?” “No.” Astonishment swept over their foggy features. “That’s all as I suspected.” Xe resisted the temptation to explain xyr guesses. “Well, don’t you just know everything.” Foci almost fell quiet, almost let Perigee’s sarcasm be the last word. When xe began again, xyr voice was gentler, “Tell me about your nightmares. What do you think about when you can’t avoid your feelings?” Perigee looked down at their hands in their lap. “When I was much younger, I punched down when things were really bad at home.” Suddenly Foci and Perigee were no longer sitting in the office surrounded by blue water. They were on a gravel road with yellow stalks on either side. Though Foci could hear the tones of Perigee’s voice, xe couldn't discern clear words. In place of their narration were two children—maybe seven or eight years old—speaking in semi-shouts. One of them wore plastic glasses, and the other was slightly taller. The taller one pushed the one with glasses into the ditch between the road and the field. They lost their balance and fell hard on their head. The taller child laughed, but after a moment they stopped and developed a look of concern that devolved into terror when the small body remained still. Without warning, they were back in the office, sitting as before as if nothing had happened, Perigee still speaking. “I ran for help and said xe had fallen, so naturally no one suspected it was my fault.” They looked up suddenly, their eyes narrowing slightly. “Why did I say ‘xe’ right there? Xe wouldn’t have gone by xe at that time.” Foci stood abruptly. “Excuse me.” Xe scrambled out of the office, leaving Perigee to ponder pronouns: “In fact, I don’t know why I would think xe uses xe now , wherever xe is…” Foci half-sprinted to Eglin’s desk. “I know why they’re only giving me until the end of the week with Perigee—actually, they shouldn’t have assigned them to me at all.” “Whoa, slow down.” E put down the document e was scanning when xe began pacing in front of em. “What do you mean?” Foci stopped moving long enough to look Eglin in the eye. “We knew each other in life.” “Oh no,” eir eyes widened. Xe resumed pacing. “You know that whole memory teleportation thing that only happens when two souls share a memory?” “Foci, this is bad—” “I know, but I can convince them to sign a contract now that I know what’s keeping them here.” “No, listen to me, I’m your manager ; it’s my responsibility to report this sort of thing. As soon as my supervisor knows, your client will be moved.” “Right, right, but why did management assign them to me at all?” Eglin looked at the ceiling for a second and bit eir lip before saying, “Foci, there’s something I haven’t told you.” Xe stopped pacing again and looked into eir face. “I mean, I’m not supposed to tell you, but now it seems relevant that you know.” E met xyr eyes. “Management has noticed how well you’ve been doing, and they have an order to their ranking system that keeps newer counselors from climbing the ranks too quickly, so they’ve been assigning you some of their most difficult cases to slow your growth and keep the order predictable.” Foci’s back straightened. “If I succeed with this assignment, their gamble will have backfired.” “Yes,” Eglin said. “And they set you up to fail by assigning you a soul you cannot help.” “Can’t help?” Xe grinned. “Just watch.” “You don’t even have until the end of the day,” e called as xe walked toward xyr office. “I have to report this!” “I don’t need until the end of the day!” xe called back. Foci sat down loudly, palms on xyr desk, shoulders jutting up, “Perigee,” and in xyr excitement, xe forgot to face the difficulty of the same past that had once kept xem talking to counselors for weeks. Xyr face fell, and xe froze, xyr eyes sinking into dimness. “We must have known all along.” Perigee was becoming a darker and thicker vapor again. “Some part of us separate from thoughts recognized each other.” “Yes,” Foci regained a relaxed posture. “It’s not unheard of for the soul to know something before the mind.” “You must hate me.” Perigee shook the top of their seated smoke column. “But somehow I know you don’t.” “I can’t hold hate for you the way you might expect me to.” Xe looked toward the ocean. “Even when I first arrived here, I only despised myself, thinking I deserved no life.” “No, no.” They darkened into a swarm of black. “I would never want you to—can’t you see it’s my fault? It’s all my fault.” “No, Perigee,” Foci suddenly shook off xyr own memories and grasped determination. “You have repented enough for your mistake.” Perigee lifted slightly, but Foci was afraid xyr words weren’t enough to convince them they deserved life. “You have endured some of the worst parts of life at no fault of your own, and you have emerged and faced your worst fears.” Foci gestured to xemself. “You are stronger than any soul I have counseled, and you would do yourself a disservice to not claim your next life.” As Perigee’s smoke parted, xyr eyes widened to see a face unrecognizable from the child xe once knew, and yet they were familiar. “How do you know my next life won’t be as painful as the last?” “There are no guarantees.” By habit, Foci slid Perigee their document. As they reached for it, the door opened and banged against the wall, startling both counselor and client. Two figures entered and one shouted, “This client is to be reassigned immediately.” The other figure shuffled to one side. “Sorry for the sudden entrance, but this particular case must be handled now.” Behind them, Eglin mouthed, “Sorry.” “Wait,” Perigee stood up and faced their palms outward. “There’s no time for protest,” the first figure shouted. “Follow me.” Perigee snatched their document from the desk and traced their finger over the dotted line. The figures stopped, stunned, and watched as Perigee glowed for a moment and disappeared. Before they were gone, they turned to Foci, and xe was certain xe saw them mouth, “Thank you.” The signed document fluttered to the floor. “Well,” the second figure mumbled and then cleared their throat. “Great job, you’re clearly a top counselor. I suppose there is no need for the reassignment now.” As they lowered their heads and turned to leave, Foci stopped them. “Actually, could you find me a contract?” “Of course. Whose?” “Mine,” xe removed xyr glasses and exhaled. “It’s time I moved on to my next life.”


The Tea regulation Charity fumbled trying to put the key in her apartment door lock. The dark hallway, her gloved hands as well as the folders and books in her arms made it more difficult than usual. As soon as she was able to slip the key in track, she opened the door and quickly slipped inside. With a deep sigh, she relocked it and dumped the armful on the table. She hurried into the small kitchen and turned the stove burner on high beneath the water kettle.  Retracing her steps, she unbuttoned her coat and flung it over the back of the chair at the table, and hurried again into the kitchen to set up the tray. Teapot, one packet of tea spices, a sugar bowl, a can of cream, and a large mug. She placed the tray on the table and sat down, waiting for the kettle to boil. She was beginning to relax as the tablespace had a faint aroma of the spices: nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, and fennel. She closed her eyes as the aroma carried her back to her childhood days, Mama’s smile as she carried the tray from the kitchen, and her brothers and sisters vying for a place in front of the biggest mugs around the table. All became quiet with the sound of her father’s footsteps. Papa was coming from the family shop next door for tea time. She smiled remembering each precious face. Being the youngest of eight children, she watched them disappear from the morning tea time to their life activities. There came a day when she was the only one at the table with her parents for the morning tea time. Those were precious times, which would never be possible again. Her home had changed completely two years ago. When Papa died, leaving Mama alone. her eldest brother, Baba with his wife Makosa and their two small children, moved back into the family house with Mama. Baba was now running the family shop and Makosa was the one preparing the tea tray. Last week, during their weekly telephone call, Mama had teased Charity that Makosa makes a great tea and is an expert at serving. Charity wondered if Baba’s children were also becoming quiet when they heard Baba’s steps in the hallway connecting the shop. The kettle’s piercing whistle brought Charity’s mind back to the moment. Once the hot water was poured and while the tea steeped in the pot, she sat back down. What was it about tea time that brought structure to society and diverse cultures? The English had introduced the practice that had found a hollowed place around the world and observed religiously. The tea leaves were not originally from England, but once embraced, they became irretrievably ingrained.  It was treated as a precious well-guarded transplant, which was grafted into the trunk of each society the British culture touched. No matter if it was in a jungle or a desert, what the altitude, stifling heat, or cold weather in the middle of a war or an island holiday, the rattling of teacups on a tray could be heard mid-morning and afternoon like clockwork. It made the day predictable and, in a sense, a token of reassurance that all would be well. If there was anything life offered little of it was the comfort of a predictable day. These two columns of support in the structure of one day at a time in life, for some reason, made the day doable. How simple could the price of comfort be? Hot water and dried leaves were a cheap price to pay for comfort, with or without milk or spice or lemon or sugar. Maybe that was it, tea was the token for security. It was the anchor of the comfort emotion and adaptable to any situation. It wasn’t like the bells tolling from the church tower, the muezzin singing from the mosque minaret, or the bells or drums from a temple, evoking a cultural response. It transcended all of these to be international. Tea time was recognized everywhere she had traveled except in America where the mid-morning break was called coffee time. She had wondered why she was so unnerved and distracted after she first arrived. She discovered the secret one morning when she was sitting in her apartment feeling at the end of her rope. She knew she needed to get to class, but had no energy or desire to go. Looking at her watch she saw it was 9:45. The thought came to her that it was tea time and tea was not yet prepared. She jumped up and went straight to the kitchen to find the kettle and the ingredients stashed in the back of the cabinets.  She was humming by the time she sat down over the steaming savory cup. It was shortly afterward she felt energized. It was such a grounding experience she had resumed a daily tea time in the afternoons and when at home in the mornings. A change in her state of mind and sense of well-being had ensued. She had happily mentioned this to Mama during a weekly call. Mama had said she had packed the tea sachets knowing she would need them. She was surprised that Charity had not been using them all along.

“Taking time for tea is important! It is the one thing you can take anywhere with you and at the same time, it helps you to stand. It is like your bones helping keep your shape and helping you to stand. Everything positive or happy time memories flood your heart when you take tea at tea time. This helps you keep your emotional shape and stand up again if life is trying to knock you down.” “My friend said I should ask you if there was some medicinal effect from the spices used in addition to the caffeine from the tea leaves. Do you know anything about that?” “Don’t waste your time looking into that. Just take your tea and focus on what you are supposed to be doing. Do a good job and finish your schooling so you can come back home, get a good job, and get married.” “I guess that is the one thing that has not changed, Mama.” “What are you talking about?” “Your goal is to get every conversation and all my efforts focused on me getting married.” “Of course, where else would you be focused? I will know my job is finished when you have trained your daughter to serve a tray of well make tea. I have to help keep you on the right path. So, tell me did you locate a shop where you can buy the spices?” “Mom things are different here. You can go to the corner supermarket and buy s bottles of each kindꟷ” “Bottles? What are you talking about? You need fresh spices! You find a shop where all the spices and flour are for your bread. You need to find the right place for the quality you need. This is very important. You can also ask other questions about possible community connections. Maybe he has a son or a friend of the son who is looking for someone to marry.” “Oh, Mama!” “What? At the least, you will have the proper tea for your health. You never know.” After a deep sigh, Charity agreed, “I will look for a shop with fresh spices.” When Mama asked about the spice shop, Charity assured her that she had a large supply remaining, but would look when her stock started getting low. This excuse would not last forever but for the present, it was working. The aroma of the spices released by the warm water in the teapot was gently filling the room wiping every worry and negative thought away. A heavier wave of scents rose from the golden liquid as she poured tea into the cup in front of her. She usually closed her eyes at this point and allowed herself to be transported to the table with all of her family gathered around it. Even Papa was there smiling and Baba’s round cheerful face looked over at her. Sipping the warm liquid, all was right with the world. With a sigh she opened her eyes to the real world where she was far from home, Papa was forever gone and Baba’s face was narrow and bearded. His son was the spitting image of his younger self and others were preparing the tea in place of Mama. There was homework to complete, dinner to prepare and she would have to get up earlier than usual to put air in the bicycle tire. She did a visual check to make sure she had set the locks after she had closed the front door behind her earlier. She added the milk and sugar and after stirring to perfection, she took a sip. “ Yes,” she whispered to herself with her eyes wide open, “all is right with the world.”


I am having a hard time writing as I sit here at the kitchen table. I am not in a writing mood. Sometimes, here at the kitchen table, I have been in a spectacular writing mood. I sat here with my Dell computer on middle school summer vacations and seventh-grade half-days, typing away as I ran my hands over the rhinestoned computer back, tapped my fingers on the tabletop. I stayed up until the house was dark and still and my eyes were sore and dry, immersed in the swings and roundabouts of imagination. I was going to write a famous book that surpassed even Harry Potter . It was going to be so epic, and my mother would be so proud, and of course then I wouldn’t have to go to college. Other times, I have not at all been in a writing mood, here at this round glass table. I have stared at the fingerprint-smudged glass, not seeing it as anxiety roiled through my chest, a beast, twisting my heart with its acid claws. I have sat here all alone after shouting matches with my parents over college applications, after feeling as though, if only computers didn’t cost so much, I would smash the stupid keyboard with my mug of tea. I have sat here empty after pulling down the blinds around the kitchen table so that I didn’t have to see how darkly the night was pressing in. Most times, here at the kitchen table, I shift about in the mildly uncomfortable leather chairs, and I do not think about writing at all. I have often sat here and studied into the wee hours of the morning, a strange, thick pressure in my chest and a hand clutching at my frowning forehead. I have scrawled frustratedly through monstrous calculus homeworks, picked diligently through redundant chemistry puzzles, broken down over English essays I wrote and yet didn’t understand myself, as sometimes happens with English essays. I have cried at five in the morning at this table as I finished a calculus review sheet. My head felt as if it would split in two. I have drunk more cups of steaming ginger tea than I can count here at the kitchen table. Cups of ginger tea leave a round, foggy mark on the glass surface when my mother sets them down, the shape of a full moon late in the night. The ginger tea is dark, so that you can’t see the bottom of the cup. I have squeezed more honey bottles than I can count dry at this kitchen table, because my mother never stirs in enough honey. She says it is bad for me. I have eaten so many dinners at this table. I know a rotating list of foods that my mother conjures in her scrubs: soy sauce-sautéed vegetables with rice; steaming tofu soup; orange fried rice, sometimes with spam; Korean barbecue with lettuce and spicy red bean paste; pesto pasta salad. I can’t pinpoint what we talked about when we ate all those times, just that we talked, and that we teased each other, and that my dad always finished first because he ate so fast. And that my mother scolded my sisters and dad when they forgot to thank her for the food. I have shifted my leather chair at this table so that my mother could crouch and gather the crumbs and dirt from underneath it. I have sat down at this table and felt bad that my mother crouches down to gather up the crumbs and dirt from underneath my leather chair. I have sat here and typed out a Google Sheet designating chores to everyone in the family but her, so that she wouldn’t have to sweep the floors and wipe the fingerprints off the table and whip dinner out of thin air in her scrubs. I’m leaving fingerprints on the table as I write—I will wipe them later. I have chugged hot ginger tea at this table late in the night, my other hand sprawled over a precalculus textbook. The tea scalds my throat with ginger spice and boiling heat, but I drain it, teary-eyed, as my mother sets down a hot snack by my elbow and asks, in her polka-dot nightgown and night glasses, how much longer I will be up. My sister has sat in the seat next to mine, here at this round glass table, in the night with the blinds drawn down. Her eyes have dried out over math study guides, she has picked through the mud of biology textbooks till dawn just barely kissed the windows. She has fallen asleep here at the kitchen table, the cup of steaming ginger tea our mother placed by her head cooling through the night.

Our youngest sister will, too, sit here at the kitchen table, maybe in that leather seat across from mine, or in the one I sit in and type in now. She will take out her pens and pencils, and when she sets them down our mother will set down a mug of piping hot ginger tea next to them, and tell her not to stay up too long. Then she, too, will lift her feet off the ground as our mother crouches down in her scrubs to gather up her crumbs. Just as her mother, our grandmother, did in their little house in New Jersey, reaching with a cloth beneath the thin wooden table and telling our mother to lift her feet a bit more, shift her hard chair back an inch or two. Just as her mother did, crouching down six decades ago to clean the dust by our grandmother’s feet beneath the low, glinting wooden soban at their house in Korea, telling our grandmother to drink up—ginger tea is good for your stomach . And when I close my eyes, I imagine that one day, perhaps it will be me. Me, crouching here as I weave through my daughter’s ankles, gathering up the dirt and glancing up to study her tired, determined face through the smudged glass of a table, the blinds drawn closed around us.

I hope that she will not stay up too long.