The cluster of skyscrapers that define the city’s skyline loom impassively across the river, sparkling glass teeth sprouting from concrete gums under the red tongue of a late autumn sunset. Sometimes I marvel at the fullness of this city life—opportunities always available in the unknown, absolute freedom in every unfamiliar face, space to pursue passion without personal persecution. Other times I despair at its emptiness—anonymity dismissing family legacy, unpredictability abolishing comfort, novelty closing the door on community. I sit on a memorial bench placarded with a stranger’s name overlooking the valley and trace an absent finger over the peak of my burgeoning belly while I ponder to which life to condemn you. I tossed my tasseled cap into a bright summer sky nearly ten years ago with 22 other graduates. We started as a tiny flock of tots thrown together on the first day of Kindergarten by parents who had raised hell together in the very same parking lots and school hallways we later grew to frequent. Generation-old friendships and genetically-inherited feuds set the hierarchical stage for our relationships before we were even capable of reciting the alphabet. If we go home, I’ll be dialed into the babbling parental party line that has eyes and ears in every square foot of the county. You won’t be able to lie about your late night trips to the trestle bridge, the underage drinking that you’ll do there, or the boyfriends (or girlfriends) that you’ll probably settle on at some point. You’ll be watched over; you’ll be safe—even when you’re trying to be sneaky.

We were so proud of our coy capabilities. I’ll be at Angela’s tonight, just the girls, her parents will be home. We later learned exactly how much our parents did know. E verything. We met Angela’s parents for wings every Friday until Frank passed. You won’t get to reinvent yourself after middle school; you’ll have to make do with the people who know you all too well at your awkward adolescent worst. It’ll make dating dreadfully difficult, which is not exclusive to rural romance, but it is uniquely perplexing. When we got to the tenth grade, Paul Parsons, who was a scrawny, semi-mean nose-picker, suddenly grew three feet and became disarmingly charming. Our moms were close and desperate for us to fall in love, so naturally we resisted. In the eleventh grade, my first boyfriend Jake Johnson broke up with me because he was in love with Angela. She turned him down out of loyalty. Then the three of us carpooled to Minnie Hansen’s bush party that weekend as if we weren’t all reeling from being freshly heart-stomped. In the twelfth grade, prom was a tangled web that rivalled even the wildest television soaps. I ended up on Beau Parker’s arm to avoid Paul’s, even though Beau really wanted to go with Minnie, who was matching ties Jake, who ended up spending the summer sleeping with Angela, who later ended up marrying Beau. I still can’t decide if that was tragically hick or small-town special. In the end, graduation was an extraordinary high. After years of navigating debilitating teenage turmoil, we finally stood at the top in collective we-run-this-town triumph. Braces removed, acne under control, immaturity surely behind us—these were my people; the world was ours for the taking. I was a natural product of my age, brimming with the optimistic philosophy of eternal friendship that is required of all high school seniors in June. I hope you will be too. That summer, my mom stopped me on the way out the door for a weekend at the lake, and I braced myself for an embarrassing lecture on the new boyfriend waiting in the truck (who was, disappointingly for mom, not Paul). But all she said, with a note of nostalgia, was, “Enjoy it. This time. These people. This is it.” I thought it was a weird thing for her to say—these were my people after all. They were all I’d ever known. Sure enough, she was right, and the high faded. Some managed to maintain steadfast friendships whether across town or time zones. Some floated for a while on a breeze of good intentions before drifting into separate spheres of adulthood. I packed up to pursue higher education in the city, equal parts eager to grow my horizons and determined to remain rooted. Time and distance had other plans. Removed and free, surrounded by novelty, diversity, and independence, my homesick ache quickly devolved into active disdain for the limitations that had collared me and condescension for the people who still allowed themselves to be leashed. Growing into new friends and hobbies, my contempt then dulled into passive surveillance of the small town life that I actively avoided. Finally, caught up in career-building and flights of first dates, my aloof monitoring faded to a peaceful ignorance only occasionally disrupted by unsolicited online bulletins.

These days they’re no more than an online network of profiles labelled as friends (or ‘People You May Know’). Their names appear alongside small, predictable bursts of updates that I may or may not deign to double tap—Minnie in Bali, Beau coaching basketball, swollen Angela welling up over the glittering pink shower of a burst balloon, Paul on his knee offering a decent diamond that could have been mine to Jake’s little sister. They’re the people that I chased in the schoolyard and sat next to in church and drank my first beer with. They’re the people whose parents patched up my scraped knees and drove me to soccer games and gave me my first job. They’re the people I hugged and hurt, crossed and kissed, loved and left. I miss them. I want you to know them. I want them to love you like their parents loved me. I want to be sitting on Frank’s memorial bench. It is truly a privilege to hold a place in a small town lineage, to be a core member of a community where people know your name, your parent’s names, and your grandparent’s names. I hope you’ll forgive me for giving up this life to give you that one.


Stephen wakes up to the smell of smoke. His mother runs into the room and takes him into her arms. Smoke fills the hallway and his lungs. A towel is draped over his head with little precision to try to protect him from the smoke. The floor rushes under his mother's feet; he watches it change from carpet to tile to concrete. When his mother reaches the car, she puts him in a car seat, and his father starts to drive. The city is burning right before his eyes. Fear and terror are in the faces of every person who is running outside. A few people jump in front of the car in the hopes of an escape from the inferno. His father refuses to stop for them and keeps moving. They all retreat, and their fear turns into rage. Bricks and stone pelt the back of the windshield. His mother looks back periodically to ensure her son is alright. A large piece of cinder falls from the sky. Stephen wakes up lying in the back seat of a car. Marla and Tim are having an argument in the front seat over something miniscule. The two of them would argue even if they both were in agreement. He pushes off of the seat to straighten himself. His back and arms are sore from the seat, and he does tiny stretches in the back of the car. "Hey, the man is up. Did you have pleasant dreams?" Tim asks. Marla hits his arm. "Tim," she says. Stephen looks up at them. "Sorry was I making noises?" he asks. "Not too much noises, don't worry," Marla says. Tim shakes his head slightly. "I am sorry. It is the first time that I have been to my hometown since I was an infant," Stephen says. "Don't worry. We understand," Marla replies. "If only you were a few years older, we could have had a tour guide," Tim says. "Yeah, well, I am sure the city has changed a lot since then," Stephen says. The collapsed city ruins come into view. All of the skyscrapers were destroyed during the Mierans surprise attack. The Mierans did not attack military bases in a tactical error. Every nation realized this mistake quickly and unite to create a coordinated defense. The war only lasted a few years as the Mierans realized they underestimated their opponent and retreated. The time after the war was chaotic. The nations of the world tried to continue this global unity in case of a return. Without a certain threat, the leaders of the world found themselves deadlocked once again. Citizens had to adapt to a post-war life. Infrastructure was destroyed, and the scare resources were being directed to the military and research on Mierans. Civilians unaffiliated with both adopted a nomadic lifestyle like Stephen's parents. Stephen's family traveled with a small band of survivors that traveled all over the continent. The size of the group was constantly in flux with constant disaster like the flood that killed his parents. Survival groups would frequently merge to supplement dwindling numbers. His group joined with Tim and Marla's when he was sixteen. After a recent rockslide killed most of their group, they had decided to travel to the city. Cities were considered dead zones for the during the war and were ignored as such. There were whispers that the survivors who remained in the city were able to form societies and thrive. There were also whispers that they were mutated and turned into monsters. The three of them are desperate enough to explore the ruins in the hopes of the former. As Stephen looks at the empty streets, he can't help but feel disappointed that mutant theory is also false. A mutant attack would at least be interesting Empty streets are all that is left of the world. All that differentiates this city is more rubble which blocks off certain paths. Tim and Marla are fighting constantly over which way to turn and keep reaching dead-ends. Tim honks the horn a few times against Marla's protests to try to draw out survivors. Out of the corner of his eye, Stephen sees something that sparks a memory. "STOP!" he yells. Tim jams his foot onto the breaks. Stephen gets out of the car and runs up to the collapse building. "What is it do you see something?" Marla asks. There is nothing that separates this building from the others except for a feeling. Tim walks up to the ruin and starts climbing. "Come on, man. What are you doing?" Tim yells. Stephen starts burying through the rubble. He knows something is here. After a few minutes of digging, he finds a picture frame. He runs back to the car with tears in his eyes and shows it to Tim and Marla. "I give up. Who is this?" Tim asks. "It is my family," he points at the happy young couple holding a baby. "Oh my god, I cannot believe it survived," Marla says. "Whatever get back in the car," Tim says clearly stifling tears. The three of them drive out of the city. Stephen clutches the picture frame to his chest as thinks about the life he had before the war, and the life he could've had.


I messed up. I messed up badly. I sat across the table from my ex-wife and watched as she evaluated the cup of coffee that the waiter just placed on the table. Meeting at her local food joint seemed like a better option than her driving two hours to see a man that requested for them to meet. Plus, Elena never liked to waste her time, so I ensured that every moment that she spent with me would not go to waste. After two years, she looked much younger than when I last saw her. Her forty-ninth birthday

was coming up in July and she didn’t look a day older than thirty. She wore light purple and red eyeshadow and a dark purple lipstick that almost looked black. The only grays in her hair were the random ones that popped out during moments of high stress. The dress she wore was, ironically, one of the dresses that I loved to see her wear – though I never told her: a form fitting, long sleeved red dress with a low V neckline, a slit down the left side and see-through sleeves. Adorning her neck was a fat ruby necklace and amber earrings, probably given to her by her new boyfriend. Leave it to me to show up in a baggy T with jeans and tennis shoes. This meetup wasn’t anything “special”, I suppose, though Elena always showed up at her best and she did it so flawlessly that I always felt… I readjusted myself in the chair and gave the best smile that I could. “You, uh, look good.” Elena’s gorgeous blue eyes, now covered in pretty red contacts, stared right into my eyes. The combination of colors made her eyes a dazzling purple, adding more dimension to her gorgeous features and her outfit. Damn, I messed up. “Thank you, Xavier.” Gently, ever so elegantly, Elena grabbed a small cup of coffee creamer and poured it into her coffee. Her nails were red, too. “How have you been? You look well.” She took a sip after slowly applying some sugar. Then, those beautiful eyes, once so soft and loving, pierced my spirit more than the Great Lord could. “You didn’t drive all the way from Dallas just to ask me how I’m doing. What happened?” My teeth rubbed against my bottom lip. I figured that we could have a good chat while lunch arrived. Apparently not. “In truth, it’s been a while and I wanted to see you. I…had a dream about you a few nights ago.” “Mhmm?” She sipped, completely eyeing me the entire time. There were many nights where I dreamed about her, and those dreams will never pass my lips. This one, however, I needed to share. “You and I were sitting at a table just like this one and we were talking about everything that ever bothered us. When I woke up, I was crying, and I knew that I needed to talk with you.” She lowered her cup. “Funny. Didn’t your wife help you with that?” I exhaled then leaned back. I knitted my fingers together and placed them on my lap. “Elena, she’s the one that encouraged our meeting.” “Mhmm.” She sipped again. There was a heavy energy in the air when the waiter returned to take our orders. I hadn’t looked at the menu once, but I ordered my usual. Elena did the same. When the waiter left, Elena leaned back on her chair as well and kept her attention away from me. The lost look on her face told me exactly what she was doing. “Let me be frank, I didn’t come here to become friends with you. I asked to have this exact conversation with you a few months ago and you refused.” “I wasn’t ready to talk back then.” She huffed at me. Normally, I’d call her childish. In truth, I deserved her reactions. I hadn’t been the greatest man to her. I treated her very poorly after our breakup and I was too far into my own head to fully express how sorry I was. Elena was always a talker. She loved working through her issues through words. Even though I didn’t solve my issues that way, and she knew that when we got together, she still tried to work with me so that we could both communicate. Unfortunately, my mind was occupied elsewhere. My wife, Anna, and I recently got into polyamory. We saw our friends open up their monogamous relationships and the Reddit stories online showed us that relationships like that could work. Anna was my first everything: first kiss, first marriage, first love making, everything. So when she expressed that she felt my fire dying inside and that she couldn’t revive it, I was stunned to hear her confession, but I accepted the reality that I didn’t feel the same passion that I had before, though that didn’t mean that I loved her any less. One day, Anna and I attended my company BBQ, an event that I usually didn’t attend, but that year, I felt compelled to go. Anna, also a prone talker, nearly became friends with everyone. She brought over one woman who was a Tech Writer just like her, sweet Elena. My heart instantly skipped a beat and the fascination on my face was something Anna noticed immediately.

That night, Anna asked me if I was interested in Elena. I confessed that I was. It didn’t take long for Anna and Elena to have a chat about a possible relationship. Anna was always a straight woman, so mainly, Elena and I would be sharing each other while Anna enjoyed our relationship from the side. At first, everything fit very well. We spent months in bliss. Elena and I even decided to take our relationship to the next level. We got married in the Winter of 2018. Instead of moving into our home, Elena decided to have her own home, to which Anna and I disapproved of…thankfully, she kept her place. Six months after getting married, Elena and I had our first fight. It was a major one. Elena had issues opening up to romantic partners. She told me that when we first started dating. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how or why she wouldn’t open up to me. I wasn't like those guys from her past. I wouldn’t hurt her the same way they did. So, I didn’t understand why she didn’t see me as different from those other partners. Ultimately, I ended up telling her how wrong she was to feel this way and Anna intervened. She waved her finger at me, telling me to behave, and so I apologized to Elena. That was one of the many fights we had about her inability to open up Our fights became more frequent, ranging from her opening up to her being upset that I wasn’t spending much time with her. I do have to admit that I was not very good at communicating. I people pleased. The more time I spent with Elena, the more that Anna became upset and needy. I made a promise to one woman and ended up disappointing the other. I told one woman one thing while acting like a completely different person to the other. Elena called me out on a lot of behaviors of mine, to which I told her that I understand my actions and promised to never do it again. I broke that promise many times. In the end, Elena called off the relationship. I lost it. I ended up yelling at her, saying things like, “You don’t even care how I feel, do you?” and “You’re just going to end it? Just like that?” A heart that was once so beautiful and open turned colder than stone. I told Anna about everything and she consoled me. Her and Elena spoke many times throughout that process, until they started getting into arguments as well. Their arguments consisted of one not understanding the other. Elena wanted me and Anna to take responsibility for our actions, or lack thereof, because Anna’s refusal in acknowledging my changes in personality and blatant lying enabled me to continue to emotionally break everyone. Anna wanted Elena to forgive me for not knowing better and to not be so cold towards “a man that is trying his best.” After losing her patience, and a part of her soul, Elena left, unfriended, blocked, and got rid of us entirely. She moved 2 hours away from Dallas and I hadn’t heard from her for several years. The only way I was able to contact her was through a friend of a friend at the company. Thankfully, I was able to contact her before she submitted her two week resignation. After a few weeks, Elena agreed to meet at her local restaurant. It took all this time to present myself to her and even as I sat in front of her, witnessing the burning fury in her eyes, I still wasn’t ready. There was no better time than the present and holding myself back from her anymore seemed to be futile. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, Elena.” “You’ve apologized many times and those times meant very little. Why does your apology matter so much now ?” It didn’t. My apology honestly meant nothing…to her. “I’ve grown from my experiences and I realize that I was too immature, upset, and lost in my own head to truly be what the man you needed.” Elena continued to stare at me. Her cheeks were heated. “I’m sorry that the promises I made to you were not up to your expectations. I dreamed about you and reached out to you. So…there.” If anything else happened, I knew that I did my best. If she didn’t accept my apology then at the very least, I could return home with some solace. Elena’s heated face started to settle. Her shoulders jutted as a humorless laugh passed her lips. She shook her head and rubbed her temples with her thumb and pinky fingers. “You don’t get it…” When she brought her head up, she smirked with watery eyes. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” "Why else? “For not being the man you needed to be?” Now, she laughed. “No.” She kept her voice low, but loud enough for me to hear. “Your broken promises and personality changes were not what made me angry. They upset me, but my hatred of you comes from the sheer fact that you and Anna refuse to grow up and actually accept the truths of your own individualities. You both claimed to be adults that knew how to have a poly relationship, that you knew how to cultivate healthy relationships and neither of you have expressed this or proven this. Both of you are immature children parading yourselves as adults. ‘Adulting’ does not make you an adult.” Elena rose, threw her hand into her purse, and threw a $20 bill on the table. “Thank you for the confirmation that I needed to move on. I hope you and Anna find peace.” The waitress arrived with our food ten minutes later. There was hardly anyone around us, yet I felt so suffocated. I thanked the waitress for the food then began eating. “Did your friend leave?” “Yeah,” I replied, “she did.” Elena’s meal, steak with mashed potatoes with a side of steamed broccoli, sat in sadness. As I looked at her plate, it presented itself in front of me, sad and abandoned, just like me, even though the knowledge that all is well coursed through me. There was nothing else I could do, nothing else I could apologize for. Anna and I needed to grow as a couple, yes, and that was that. I knew that Elena's eyes would never hold love for me again, not the love that I so desired before. Maybe, in the midst of my mistakes, both her and I could make amends for our own misdeeds.


I woke up in my bed. What a miracle, I don’t remember getting home… I went over the checklist; “I am not in jail and I seem to have all my limbs”. My heart was racing and a feeling of anxiety and panic overtook me. Could it be withdrawals? “NO, only alcoholics have those”. I tried to plunge for the bottle of water but the newly discovered pain in my arm managed to deviate the trajectory of my hand. I watched as the bottle fell in slow motion and awakened my 120 kilos roommate sleeping in a bed across the meter wide room. He promptly asked, “Are you okay? You came home late last night”. I tried to respond but the apparent lack of moisture in my mouth made speech impossible for me. I managed to grunt, “EUUEUUEUH”. In this state of existence called HUMAN GARBAGE, basic functions cannot be performed simultaneously. They follow a strict hierarchy of prioritization determined by what remains of the human brain. It is a natural defense mechanism that allows basic reflection and memory recollection to be postponed to a more suitable time. The meager effort required for this display of life was too much for me and I promptly closed my eyes, only to open them instants later realizing that I would not make it another second without hydration. I tried to counteract my blurred vision by widening my eyes, but achieved the opposite effect as a fucking sunray that had navigated itself between the curtains managed to cross my path. I was now mute and blind. By scanning my hands in the general area of the last recorded position of the bottle I managed to make contact with an unidentified cold surface. I enthusiastically picked up the object only to find its weight deceptively small. “Its ok, I just need a mouthful”. NIGHTMARE. The bottle is empty and the nearest source of water will require a range of motion that is currently unavailable to me. I pivoted as to allow my feet to make contact with the ground. It is only when I managed to stand up that I realized to what extent I had made abstraction of the nausea. I braced myself for my long and perilous travel. I had the target in sight, not literally as my vision was severely impaired, but I hade spend enough time in that hellhole of a room to find my way to the sink.


I really hope shes comes back today. This marks day 4 this week of trying to work up the courage to finally drag my feet over there and ask her for her name. The first time I saw her, she was just sitting there, blissfully unaware of her radiating beauty. Sitting alone in a bustling library, both airpods in, tapping away on her macbook in what looked like a studying trance. Seemingly unaware of the world around her. The soft steady beeping of the library patrons checking out their books and the humming of the overhead florescent lights drowning out near silence. I had been in this library to escape a rain shower on my morning walk to work. I pass it everyday and look at it in awe. Nestled in a little park stood this elegant library. Weathered stone bricks lead up to emerald green oak doors that looked to weight hundreds of pounds and seemed to stretch all the way to the roof. It had large stained glass windows, with a magnificent array of colors and inspiring designs. Around the windows there was swamp green ivy crawling up the walls along with bright pink flowers in bloom every 6 inches or so, creating a coat of leafy floral armor. The library is at the very beginning of my walk, so it wasnt the easiest or most fun getting here everyday, but I needed to talk to this girl. I feel like a creep watching her, but I cant take my eyes off her soft beauty. Her dark brown hair spirals off her head, falling into full beautiful curls, resting about her shoulders. Gold-framed, circle glasses, big enough to catch the sunlight that comes in from the great windows to blind me every so often, reminding me that ive been staring for far too long. I wonder if shes even noticed me. Everyday shes brought her Mac Book protected by an avocado green case, her baby blue back pack, and what looks like a iced latte from starbucks. What could I say to such a striking woman to even get her attention? Should I even try to interrupt her studying? What if she hates that? I guess I could just introduce myself, but what about after that? what if she has a boyfriend? she must, shes too gorgeous to be single, but what do I know? I wont do anything anyways, and she will just walk away, again. At least so I thought. Today stop in was like any other. Sounds of steady beeping of the book scanners and the now familiar smell of old paper and freshly brewed blonde roast from the nearby Starbucks filled the air. She was getting ready to leave. Packing away her laptop and books into her oversized backpack. Takes the last few sips of her coffee, and gracefully walks out of the building, capturing all the sunlight as she leaves, leaving the room noticeably dimmer. Everything was the same, except this time she accidentally left her pencil case on the table. Immediately my body moved on its own. I walked over to the study desk and picked it up without even thinking, and chased after the woman ive been too afraid to talk to. “Excuse me! I think you left this.” She turned around, finally allowing me to be able to take in all her beauty up close. Her eyes, striking and deep brown, like luminous burning coals on a cool fall evening. Peachy desirable lips sat on her face underneath soft and delicate cheeks. She had that true kind of beauty, not the kind you would find flipping through a popular fashion magazine. Only the kind that can be found on the face of someone you never could forget, no matter how hard you tried. “So you’re finally going to talk to me?” she replied in a playful tone. I looked at her puzzled, trying to hide the embarrassment and guilt of getting caught. “What do you mean?” “Oh, so im not supposed to notice the guy who isnt reading any books and keeps looking at me?” Damn, she really got me. “Ooooh” I said with a laugh. “You noticed that?” She chuckled “Well you didnt make it very hard. You came in for three of the last four days, and have picked up one book since youve been here?” she replied. I can feel my cheeks burning red with guilt. I guess I wasnt very good at hiding my slack jaw gaze. “Haha, well, I guess that wasnt the smartest idea, to be honest I just couldnt take my eyes off you. From the first day I saw you I wanted to introduce myself, but I was just too afraid to walk over.” “What? Why were you too afraid to walk over?” “Well, I have a hard time talking to beautiful women.” I replied. “Wow, did you really think that cheesy line was going to work?” she said in a mocking but playful tone. Shes really giving it to me. “Yes…..okay no. But its not just a cheesy line. I am bad at talking to pretty girls, and you are beautiful.” Now I can see her cheeks starting to flush. “Ok…so you have known ive been looking at you this whole time?” I asked. “Yes.” “And you obviously didnt think it was creepy or that I was weird cause you didnt have a worker to ask me to stop or leave.” “Wellll, I wouldnt say that.” she said with a smartass smile. “So wait, did you leave the pencil case on purpose?” I asked “Now you’re starting to catch on.” she replied in a sarcastic tone. “You kept looking at me and coming back in but didnt say anything so I decided to do something myself.” Oh wow, so she might like me too if she was willing to do that, but shes got me in her hand like putty and she knows it, I can see it in her sweet but intense eyes. “You havent even told me your name yet” she said flatly. Shit, how could I forget to introduce myself. I got so wrapped up in being embarrassed, I forgot how to be normal. “Oh yeah, duh. My name. Im Matt, its nice to talk to you finally” “Its nice to meet you Matt” she replied with a smile, “Im Natalie, but everyone calls me Nat.” “Well Nat, now that I have your name, can I have your number so we can go out some time?” “I dont know, are you going to stop coming into the library to stare at me?” she asked playfully. I slyly laugh it off, “of course, I will stop being a creeper from this day forward.” “Ok Matt, well here is my number.” She hands me over a piece of ripped loose leaf paper she took out of her pocket. “I had written that down earlier waiting for you to finally come over today but I had to leave my pencil case to get you in gear” “Ah, yes. Well im glad I was able to grab it finally. Ill go ahead and give you a text, I really gotta get to work.” I handed back her pencil case and we said our goodbyes. I watched as she walked away down the busy city street disappearing into the school of people in their way to whatever destination they had in mind. How am I supposed to go back to work after that? It was like the fourth of july and christmas morning all at the same time! I just cant believe she gave me her number. The feeling of anxiety of wanting to talk to her and dread for not talking to her leaving my body like all the gas being released from a pressurized can. I let out a relaxing exhale. That long walk back to the office just didnt seem so long that day.


I attempt to open one eye, the mucus build up makes it near impossible to bring anything into focus. Crusted particles consume my eyelashes and each waking blink is almost too much to take. My head is throbbing, and not the "I drank too much last night" throbbing, but more along the lines of "Someone pummeled the fuck out of my head" throbbing. The floor beneath me is cold and firm, the walls bare, bleak and colorless. I finally start to regain my senses when suddenly I begin to question "Where the fuck am I?". After a few minutes of systematically blinking, trying to break away from the previous night's debauchery, I am finally able bring my almost limp body into an upright position. I immediately notice that my nose passage is blocked as I attempt to bring fresh oxygen into my lungs. I bring my fingers to my nostrils and too my dismay, I come to the realization that my nose isn't working because of all the coagulated blood up in there. I just continue to sit there, same spot, no movement. "What went wrong?" I think that same question to myself everyday, always in the morning, always when my mind is fresh, when my thoughts aren't clouded by the ensuing bittersweet reality of Heroin.


When I was a child I had an imaginary friend, and every night while I was falling asleep she would stand outside my doorway and watch me, imparting a deep feeling of calm over me and in a way lulling me to sleep. I had named her the Mother of Spiders, a rather fitting name in my opinion. Although my parents, who lovingly tolerated the strange and yet inexplicably common aspect of a child's mental development, considered the name to be more than a bit unnerving. My attempts to explain why the title was a deserved one, describing her tall, thin figure, her leatherlike skin, her lanky quadra-jointed limbs, all ending in four hyper flexible digits and her oblong and insect like head, perched upon a long, strained neck. Although this description only seemed to worsen their anxieties. As I began to grow older and the age when imaginary friends were considered acceptable was behind me my parents began to consider the ongoing presence of the Mother of Spiders to be a problem. Although, personally, I considered her presence to be a reassurance, a sort of constant throughout the ever changing landscape that was adolescence. I had my first appointment with a psychiatrist when I was in 4th grade, and after my parents explained my symptoms to the doctor for me I was finally given diagnoses, a scientific explanation for what my parents considered to be a strange ailment. It was a strange form of pre-sleep sleep paralysis. Rare, but not unheard of, and learning this my parents finally seemed satisfied. It took the better part of a decade before my nightly visits from the Mother of Spiders began to mutate and change. I was unmedicated for the better part of that time, and I slept well under the entity's caring gaze. It was in the middle of highschool, late 10th grade, when my parents decided enough is enough, and although my pre-sleep paralysis had remained unchanged for over five years at that time I was placed on imipramine, a medication designed to put a stop to the episodes. The mutation almost seemed like a response to my medicated status. Not only did they fail to stop my sleep paralysis, but the visions began to slip, bleeding out of their nightly allotted slots and into my waking days in the form of hallucinations. Not only this but as the medication failed to have any of its intended effects I was faced with the worst of its negative side effects, and for some time I was plagued with fits of dizziness and blurry vision along with frequent headaches and I gained and lost weight with an uncontrollable ease. I spent a month like this, blighted by the side effects of a useless medication while I went day to day fearing the possible appearance of the Mother of Spiders. I went on like this for a few months before finally confessing to my parents, I switched from imipramine and too olanzapine, an antipsychotic, and while the negative side effects went away, my hallucinations remained. She would appear to me in the least expected of places, on busy sidewalks where I'm reasonably sure trees were meant to be, down the vacant side streets when I would take walks down my hometown of Littlebrook’s sleepy mainstreet and within the empty aisles of department stores. In these moments I could finally fully observe and appreciate her. And while she still exuded a calming aura of motherhood I found her to be physically terrifying. She must have been 8-9ft tall, with skin like mummy yet oddly flexible, a beaklike mouth and eyes that rippled and shimmered like an oil slick. I found her beautiful in a horrifying sort of way. While she continued to visit me before I fell asleep, and while those nightly visits were more than welcome I began to grow hopeless on the topic of ever ridding myself of her in the hallucination form. Surprisingly this didn't effect me, at least not as much as I assumed it would, if I had grown used to the sleep paralysis I could grow used to this, I told myself, and within a few months my life was seemly normal again, not because anything had changed but because I had gotten used to it. I stopped taking my olanzapine soon after and found my life to be unchanged. For a year I managed to live a mostly normal life, I graduated high school and went through my summer content and normal, ignoring the once unnerving sight of the Mother of Spiders exposed in daylight. Over familiarization maybe. Life was good, at least for a while. I write this from my cubelike room, cell, whatever, in the Pine County Psych Hospital. I've been here roughly a month now, and in addition to that it's been nearly a month since I last saw her. It's so unnerving not having her accompany me, being abandoned by my one and only constant companion throughout life. I feel so dreadfully alone. It started two weeks before my internment when my family discovered I hadn't been taking my olanzapine It appears that refusing to take your medication while still claiming to see a titanic spider woman and openly describing it as an hallucination was seemingly a good enough reason to be checked in to a psych ward, no matter how lucid I claimed to be. In all honesty I don't mind most of my treatment here, the constant therapy sessions, both group and one on one, and I can understand why my off hours are spent locked in my room, I don't even mind taking my medication, I thought it was working, for a while at least, but not anymore, because last night she finally returned. I'm writing this for a reason, not just to recount my mildly interesting life story but because last night my entire world changed. After a near month of absence she finally returned, and as I drifted off into the uneasy slumbers I had grown used to without her, I heard a deep low noise from the hallway, from just outside my door. Slowly she pushed open my door and I saw her through my hazy eyes, and gazing at me as I drifted into my first peaceful slumber in what felt like a lifetime. I woke up early in the morning, content and well rested, although those feelings changed in mere moments when I noticed the irregularity across from my bed and I felt my heart skip a beat , across the room I saw my door, the one I knew to be locked when I fell asleep, hanging open and ajar within the morning sunlight with the metal lock torn, twisted and sitting on the floor.


He screamed and he screamed, and he wouldn’t stop. The angry beast in the closet – Vakum, destroyer of dust, rearranger of furniture and perforator of eardrums – had roused himself from his long slumber, and he was mightily displeased. His tone rose to a high whine, then shifted to a muffled squeal. Oh no, he’d devoured one of the plastic bags, his nemesis. He did hate getting tangled with those. At the first sign of his displeasure, I took myself to my usual hiding place, the far corner of the bedroom, and concealed myself there. This always worked – if I got out of the way, the appeasement ritual, of Kli Ning, would go more smoothly. I couldn’t perform the ritual myself. That was a human thing, a sacred dance done on two feet, approximately every seventh day in the afternoon. Objects would be dragged around the room to appease the creature named Vakum, who was then ushered into the empty floor spaces to eat from them. These floors were festooned with debris that he so liked to devour into his ravenous, flat mouth. He’d be wheeled to his dinner like the Lord of the house he was, and he’d eat and eat until his belly was full. Or so I assumed. I’d never witnessed more than ten seconds of this performance they called Kli Ning, because it was so horrifying. I knew, when the humans raised their voices and shouted, “Company’s coming!” at each other, or, “Your mother’s arriving at five?! or, “You didn’t tell me your friend was stopping over! For God’s sake, you need to tell me these things! It’s a disaster in here!” The ritual would be especially panicked and even more fervent than usual. But the humans were not at home, and so Vakum was not appeased. He shrieked away in his closet and no one came to release him. I cowered in the far corner of the bedroom for twenty minutes, digging my claws into the bedspread to ease my fears, yowling intermittently, hoping that if he heard my cries, Vakum would be merciful towards me. I fluffed my fur into a fearsome spiky arrangement I used to warn off enemies. I arched my back and raised my tail. But Vakum could not see me, and so this was not useful – and, after all, what could I do against this angry beast, who was so much more powerful than I was? Vacuum was relentless in his wails. Gods, he must be angry. But why? I began to understand the reason. My humans had not appeared in about seven days, which I had not minded, but apparently, Vakum had decided that he minded greatly. They’d left me food, and water, and had someone check in on me a few times, but I didn’t like her, so I hid from her. Seven days, I mused. The humans had performed Kli Ning before they left. So that was it, then: he was angered because he had not been fed according to schedule. If the humans did not perform Kli Ning, one of them usually started shouting about it before they brought out Vakum and gave him a quick turn around the apartment. Then the shouting human would say to the other human, "I'm sorry! I just get stressed out when it's dirty in here!" And the other human would say, "I know. Come here and give me a kiss." The important thing, the thing that seemed to cause stress upon both of them, was that they had not fed Vakum in a timely manner. I had previously thought Vakum was something like a more powerful cat, who didn't even need to move on his own, but who had somehow enslaved the humans to do his bidding and roll him around the house so he didn't need to exert himself whatsoever. If I hadn't enjoyed running, jumping, and playing so much, I might have attempted to do the same, to simply yowl at the humans until they did what I wanted without lifting a paw to help myself. But now I understood. Vakum was no animal, but truly a god: he was more powerful, even, than an indoor cat. He needed a sacrifice of crumbs, and dust, and to know that the furniture had been moved around the floors. He would be especially hungry after his long imprisonment, and if I wanted to stop him from killing us all in his anger, Vakum’s wrath must be appeased. I knew what I had to do. I was not human, but I could move things around – off windowsills, at least. I’d been practicing my vertical jumping for years, and now it was time to put it to use. I streaked into the living room, my fur in a riot of fear, and leapt as high as I could towards the ledge. I couldn’t usually make it up here, as the radiator was too slippery for my paws to gain purchase, but desperate times call for heroic measures. I landed on the radiator, and then, scrabbling frantically, managed to wedge all four paws against it surface. I leapt to the windowsill, knocking into one of the large green leafy things in my way. It fell to the floor with a smash. There were so many of these tall green growing things on this ledge – why did the humans prize them? They did nothing, and the humans wouldn’t even let me chew on them, which at least would have made them useful to somebody. So they might as well be sacrificed to the angry god before he killed us all in his fury. I batted down another of the green things, which shuddered, then bobbled against the windowsill and finally tipped over, scattering black earth all over the soft rug below. Good: the floor was covered in debris. Vakum would be pleased about that. For good measure, I sacrificed the third green thing to the floor as well, feeling a sense of relief as its container smashed into fragments and the greenery blended with the dirt in which it had been planted. One never could be too generous when appeasing an angry god. It was very important, I knew, to move heavy objects around the room for Vakum. I could not move chairs or other furniture. But, perhaps Vakum would be so hungry, the humans would have to feed him on the tabletop as well as the floor. And I could cover the table with food for him. There was a clear glassy thing on the table which always sat there. Sometimes the humans put sprigs of dying greenery into this thing – another sort of offering which was replaced every so often, given to other invisible god in propitiant ritual. Unfortunately, the glassy thing was empty now, meaning there were no additional objects to scatter over the tabletop. I brushed my side against its surface, knocking it over. As it rolled along the table, I whacked it with my tail for good measure. It smashed to the floor with a piercing crack. Excellent – there were many shards of glass for him to eat, now. I hoped Vakum liked glass. Best to find more things to offer, though, because he was still shrieking away in his closet like a beast cruelly chained. I couldn’t stand it another minute. Ah, yes, there should be dust – Vakum needed dust. That was something I knew he liked to eat. In utter desperation, I ran to the thing the humans called “get away from there!” and dug my claws into its thick fabric. I shredded it wildly. Its fibers flew from my paws and hovered in the air before gently falling to the ground in a satisfying pile. There – I’d made dust, and a lot of it. What more could I do? But no, Vakum was still howling, his guts belching, his voice hoarse. Oh no. Oh no. Was the roof going to fall on my head? I ran to the far corner of the bedroom, and in my desperation, I peed there. I didn’t know if he’d like that or not. I can’t even pretend it was something I decided to do consciously. I’d just about lost my mind with fear. And then, in answer to my fervent prayers, there was a scraping sound at the front door. Two voices, voices I knew well, were talking to each other, yelling above Vakum’s roar. “What is that sound?” “Is that the Vacuum? Why on earth is the vacuum running right now?” “Did the cat somehow –“ The front door creaked open. I tore, wildly, towards its freedom. “Hey, Petey!” greeted the human as I streaked past him. “What’s going on, buddy?” I don’t know what those words were supposed to indicate, except that the humans were untroubled by the promise that Vakum was going to imminently destroy everything around him. I hissed and yowled and ran into the shrubbery. “Petey! *Come back here*!” And then, from inside the apartment, came an even more highly-pitched scream than the one Vakum was making. “PETEY!!” shrieked the human. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” \\\*\\\*\\\* It was all right, in the end. Just as I’d thought, the humans released Vakum and treated him to an absolute feast, like none he’d ever eaten before. He roared around the rooms of the house for an entire hour, belching in his satisfaction. I hid in the bedroom as the humans yelled many things at each other about what I’d done to save us all. “The vacuum must’ve scared the cat, when it turned on in the closet somehow, and he went crazy.” “Well, no kidding, he did. He turned into a little tornado. He must have been totally freaked out. How many plants did he knock over?” “All three of ‘em. Darn it, now I’ll have to repot them. Most of the stems of my violet are broken and he trashed my peace lily. I hope they’ll live. And he broke my nice vase, and he – oh no. Oh, come look what he did to the couch… “Oh my God.” “*Petey*.” “Petey.” I heard my own name and licked my paws in satisfaction. They must be thanking me that I’d saved them from their god’s wrath; that I’d prepared such a great feast for him, to spare them the trouble of scattering their own crumbs on the ground and festooning the floor with dust when they arrived home. They would have been tired, and would have only prepared a meager meal for him, instead of this lavish spread I'd arranged. “He hasn’t done anything crazy in the bedroom, has he?” “Doubt it. He usually just hides there quietly.” “Should I go check him, or –“ “Nah, leave him alone until we’re done. He should be fine there.” I sniffed at the spot where I’d peed. I wondered if they’d take Vakum there to eat that, too. I couldn’t wait for all the head-pats I’d get in reward. I wondered if they’d open their special cans of nice food for me. It seemed only justified, after all my efforts.


I wrote this because my in-law's dog is getting older and I was feeling a little sad about it. Let me know what you all think.    I am new. My eyes will not open. It feels warm as mama covers me. Her fur feels like a warm Blanket. That’s how I’ll remember it when I learn what a Blanket is. I *think* I am a good boy. My brothers and sisters are packed in tight around me. They smell like home. They feel a lot like mama. They are making noises. Its loud. I soon realize that I’m making the same noises. Something in me aches. It ends up being my tummy. Oh, I was hungry. Thanks mama. Time passes. I struggle and struggle. Eventually, my eyes *do* open. What a remarkable world! Mama is the most beautiful thing in it. I meet Blanket for the first time. It’s warm, just like mama. One day, a tall and beautiful creature enters. It towers over even mama! It doesn’t have fur all over its body. Instead, it just has fur on its head. Its head fur is really long. It stands on two legs instead of laying or sitting on all four. It’s silly. The tall and beautiful creature comes to me. It speaks in words that I cannot understand. I am taken from mama. I’m sad. Blanket comes with me though, so I know I’ll be okay. I say goodbye to my brothers and sisters as we leave the only room I’ve ever been in. I find out that the tall creature is my new mama. She’s pretty, but different from mama. She rubs my ears and though I do not understand her words, I know she is telling me that I am a good boy. I like this. I meet my new mama’s children. They are adorable. They’re bigger than me, but they somehow feel smaller. Instinctively, I know that I will protect them. They are my new brothers and sisters. As time passes, I grow quickly. Before too long, new mama must hold me with two hands. It still feels good when she strokes my nose. My new brothers and sisters haven’t quite figured out how to pet me like mama does. I am a good boy. New mama and my new brothers and sisters put down hard blankets. For some reason, they become angry when I need to relieve myself even though they do it all the time in the house. They even have this big magic water drinking bowl. No sharing with me though. They call me “Jake.” That must be my name. I am a good boy. New mama slowly becomes just mama. I still have Blanket. Old mama is still the most beautiful thing in the world, but I don’t remember exactly what she looked like. Sometimes, when I smell Blanket, I remember a little bit better. I find out about ALL the wonderful things in the world like “treat,” “fetch,” and “walk.” I love them. I also figure out that mama and my siblings won’t be as mad if I relieve myself outside. I want them to be happy. When I need to go, I just give them a shout. They don’t understand my words because they still don’t speak my language. They’re silly. It seems that they get the point, because they start to let me out when I ask. Time passes again. I’m fully grown and so energetic. I thought I would be a lot bigger, but mama can still pick me up. She takes me to another place where I get stuck with needles. It’s awful. She makes me go back sometimes for some reason. I can never tell if we are about to go on an adventure or go back to the needle man. I get more and more walks. Lots of petting too. I love my home. I lay quietly in my snug little bed next to Blanket. A new adversary has appeared. She is white and fluffy. Looks like a treat to me. When I start to treat the new adversary like a treat, mama scolds me. She spanks me for the first time. I didn’t even do anything. I guess I have to be nice to fluffball. The adversary and I vie for mama’s attentions. It turns out that mama has enough attention for both of us. The adversary grows larger. I find out that her name is Princess. We become friends of necessity. She tries to sit on Blanket. We are not friends that day. She never quite reaches my size, but her place in my heart continues to grow. I’m not so young anymore. I still get excited to go on a walk, but it doesn’t excite me like it once did. My siblings are so big now, almost as large as mama. They are my home. Some of them are nearly as good at fetch as mama. The youngest boy is always a good begging target. All it takes a single whine and he drops at least something. It is a beautiful summer day. I can tell that its summer because it feels nice and warm. I get to go outside without having to ask twice. Summer is my favorite time of year. Sometimes it does get a little warm though. My siblings occasionally give me the honor of laying in their laps. It’s harder to keep up with mama than it used to be. My siblings begin to leave. Over time they return, sometimes with partners. I have never had a partner. Sometimes, this makes me sad, but mostly, I am happy. I’ve had mama. She’s never changed. The years have passed, but mama is the same. She is my fondest protector and the one who I also protect. I don’t move so well anymore. My days of fetch are behind me. Still, I have my companions, Blanket and Princess. At times, it’s like they’ve always been with me. On occasion, I walk into a wall. Mama always has a concerned expression on her face when this happens. We visit the needle man more often now, but curiously, he has almost become a companion in his own right. An especially beautiful and sunny day comes and goes. Today was not such a good day. I re-live days as a pup when I did not know what to say to get to go outside. It means that sometimes, I must relieve myself inside the house. Shame. Mama never scolds me for this anymore. I remember when I could not open my eyes. Now, the other side of aging closes them. I look into mama’s beautiful face one final time. Old mama is a faint memory now. I sit, cuddled with Blanket. Princess nudges me, letting out a purr. I wish my siblings were here, but all is well. As I let out my final breath, I know one thing for sure: I was a good boy.


Titled: Brain Powered Victorian Age Android Submitted By: Agent 819, Catherine Wolsky Types: Sentient, Mechanical, Human, Technology Date Submitted: 1/7/[REDACTED] Status: Safe/4 The original Android concept was created by Professor Charles Babbage (12/26/1791 - 10/18/1871) in collaboration with an unnamed doctor. The two created the blueprints for this contraption in 1851, though Pro. Babbage dropped the project after the clear insanity of his unnamed doctor accomplice. Pro. Babbage decided to pick up the project once more in 1871, but died shortly thereafter. A French inventor by the name of [REDACTED] in 1998 decided to try to follow the blueprints he had found for the contraption, and succeeded in the creation of a sentient robot. The contraption was retrieved by P.O.L.A in the year [REDACTED] and placed under the authority of Professor [DATA REMOVED] Browns, the world's leading robotics researcher. The Android is a roughly humanoid shaped robot connected to the generator by many sprawling wires and tubes. The wires and tubes are 18 feet long, and attached to a large pod roughly the size of a refrigerator laying on it's back and contains a man inside with wires and tubes sticking out of each of his orifices. (noted, the pod seems to be designed after the iron lung.) The container is attached to a larger machine that constantly has the hissing of hydraulics and the pounding of pistons as it pumps the fluids, and powers the Android. (noted, that the machine weighs 2 metric tons, Professor Browns was amazed at how much machinery was required for it to produce the required computing power for the Android.) The man is floating inside of some type of fluid, and has yellowing of the skin, balding and extreme wrinkling as his body has begun decomposing. (noted, that the fluid appears to be embryonic fluid, farther testing required.) The man inside the pod appears be in his late 30's, though it's difficult to tell due to his decomposition state. The pod which the man resides in must always be kept between 74 and 126 degrees, and his pressure inside the pod cannot exceed 200 pounds. Professor Browns has discovered that the man is used simply for his brain, as a computer for the Android, and that if the man became damaged in any way, the Android would most likely be rendered useless. The Android is slightly taller than an average man at 6' 9'', and it's weight is roughly 550 pounds. The Android is capable of basic motor skills, but not fine tuned motor skills. the Android does not have a voice box, but rather a buzzer that whenever the Android tries to speak, the buzzes come out in morse code. The Android is mostly docile, but can be agitated whenever told that it isn't a human, but an Android. Though it is much to slow to harm any personnel, it should still be handled with minimum caution. The Android seems to only grow in intelligence as time goes on, though. To have access to the Android, you must be an Agent with a pass, regardless of level.


Dr. Renault couldn’t help feeling the excitation of discovery in this moment. The most monumental discovery of the Coronal Satellite-station was this, the thing which it seems will inevitably destroy the multi quadrillion dollar project. It wasn’t the craft’s remarkable system of salvaging energy from the star it orbited so close to. As it passed through the corona, the heat was far too intense to try to harvest energy from, as such it drew induction from the star’s turbulent magnetic fields themselves. The material science and advanced plasma shielding used had takes decades to develop. The device shot through the solar system on an elliptical orbit, only briefly passing through the corona close enough to take its measurements. Those measurements themselves were an amazing feat. The most advanced array of electromagnetic fluctuation detectors ever built, with the intention of mapping solar plasma flows so accurately that they could form predictive models. Models Dr. Renault begrudgingly knew were being used for all sorts of other tech. Science has always had a dependent relationship with warfare, but in recent centuries the pattern of scientists only being able to find funding for their research if it has a weapons application had reached a cliché. To get grants for her advanced predictive solar modeling project, she’d needed to tack on a bit in the presentation about how hypothetically, if a nuclear weapon of sufficient size were detonated on the surface of a star it could stimulate a solar flair that could be aimed by an advanced enough model. This could be used as an area denial weapon in interplanetary naval combat or even cause significant infrastructure damage or a communications disruption on a targeted planet. It was, of course a pipe dream, but pipe dreams get funding if they can kill something. That was the kicker, but the real grease on the funding wheels had been the physical hull and plasma shield. The military had been researching those technologies for a long time before her little pet project gave them a convenient excuse to shift some of the cost into the civilian science budget. Directed plasma weapons were the latest battlefield fad, and a civilian need to overcome intense plasma was a convenient excuse to develob the weapons and the shielding to protect weapons from them. In the end, it wasn’t military tech that would be her life’s legacy. It would be in the field of exo-biology. Something she knew almost nothing about. She’d found life on another world, if you could call it a world. Life so bizarre and unexpected word of its possibility would rack the brains of physicists, chemists and biologists for centuries, perhaps millennia. The station powered its elliptical close shots by the sun with a long and weak burn of a Bussard Ramjet during its approach into the star’s corona. The ramjet was modified to harvest some of the solar plasma and store it as fuel for starting the next burn when the device was still too-far away from the sun to harvest enough solar wind to be viable. The readings from this plasma storage tank were strange to say the least. The plasma clumped. The mechanism of this plasmal-bonding as she had dubbed it was unclear. It almost seemed as though it were a feature of the gravitoelectromangetic field produced by nuclei at very high energies. The clumps plasma moved in ways that human made plasma did not, at least on the microscopic scale. Tiny clumps of plasma would absorb other plasmas, seem to run from other plasmas, and divide themselves into similar plasmas. Some were amorphous blobs, come rigid and seeming covered in stands. These microscopic little clumps to her, and the projects AI, Halcomp, behaved very similar to bacteria. They seemed to use radioactive isotopes as fuel sources in some bizarre metabolic analogue. These plasmal-bacteria moved and propelled themselves in way the typical non-living plasma fluid did not, and as such, were slowly eroding at the containment chamber. If Halcomp could not find a new way of modeling and containing them, the craft would be destroyed in a few weeks. A lifetime of work would explode internally, then drift aimlessly and crash into the sun. Halcomp wasn’t confident that he would find a solution. It’s models of their behavior suggested a containment chamber with much more fine-tuned abilities than the one in their vessel, which had been designed for dead plasmas. An action to contain one region of the chamber would allow a release in another. All the shipboard computer could do was slow the inevitable, and gather more and more data in the process. General Titus, the military liaison for the project had laughed with excitement when she told him of the impending destruction of the craft and the reason why. “Life on the sun? You gotta be kidding me!” “I know it’s ridiculous but the data can only be explained by…” “… By a new craft, with far more efficient shielding, potentially able to penetrate deeper into the corona, with an enhanced plasma storage tank, capable of directing and contains plasma more efficiently.” “Yes sir.” “I think we can scrounge some money for that, after all, life on the sun might be the greatest discovery in the last century of humanitarian science!” Dr. Renault didn’t particularly care that her life’s work was in an inevitable death spiral. Another one would be built, eventually. The quest for a more advanced predictive model of the sun’s magnetic field would be a pursuit of mankind’s for at least another century or two. Finding life on the sun though, nobody had ever thought to try for that. “Freak accidents are the real moments science is revolutionized.” The doctor thought to herself. She was already moving, acquiring security clearance for a couple old friends from her days as a post-doc. An Exo-biologist, and quantum-physicist. They’d all have their hands full writing the first paper on this. Dr. Renault thought back to when she was a child at a science themed summer camp. The instructor, an eccentric former nuclear physicist named Dr. Shawn had taken an approach that her normal schooling teachers did not. In class when an experiment didn’t go as planned, they got a failing grade. In Dr. Shawn’s class, they were sent on a quest to design new experiments to explain why they got the strange result. “Science isn’t made when things happen exactly how we think they will. That’s engineering,” he said. “All the greatest moments in science happened when someone looked at their data and said, huh, that’s weird.” After that, she’d been on a quest to find something unexpected, and this was it.


“This is stupid.” I said in a flat tone to my sister as I stood across from her with a fake sword in her hand. I had one too and she had somehow convinced me this was one of my favorite things to do. “I promise once you try it you’ll start to enjoy it” She said excitedly. I was in an accident a while ago. And the resulting car crash and coma that I’d been stuck in had left me with a serious case of amnesia. I’m still piecing together a lot of my life. I still didnt recognize my family when they came to see me. So the doc said they should try getting me involved with some of my old favorite activities. That’s where my sister came up with this brilliant gem of an idea to hopefully jog my memory. I looked up at her skeptically and grunted “Fine, let's just get this over with.” I told her and put my sword up like she taught me how to. Pointy end at my opponent, arm extended but bent and the sword at an angle to keep as much space between me and her as possible. She nodded while smiling widely. She smacked the end of my sword lightly with hers to signify the fight was on. Then she charged me. I only have a vague idea of how to sword fight. And by that I mean I only know what I’ve seen in movies. My sister had actual practice. She came at me with a ferocity they don't portray very well on TV. She started raining down blows on me. I did my best to block with my sword but I was mostly just flailing at the oncoming assault. I managed to block her first two strikes but the third one landed solidly on my side just under my ribcage. “Jesus!” I shouted as I reeled from the blow clutching my side. My sister can hit hard and I was liking this activity less and less. “This is for your own sick amusement isn’t it?” I asked her as she was giggling uncontrollably. “No-its-not-I-swear” she managed to gasp out between laughs. I huffed out an annoyed breath letting go of my side. I wasn’t annoyed by this sport anymore. Now I was getting a little angry. And distantly I felt the desire to win. I readied myself and got into my stance. My sister eventually fought off her giggles and readied herself as well. I dug my feet into the ground a little more than last time. I don't know why, it just felt natural. We smacked swords again and then she came at me. I knew it was coming this time so I took a small step back to be just outside of her range. She swung at me and missed me by millimeters. I saw the slight look of surprise on her face as I did. She took another step forward and I stepped back again and to the side not even trying to block with my sword. She missed again but only barely. I was getting excited now. It almost felt familiar. So I tried to step forward just after her swing and tried to swing at her myself. My movement felt lazy and a little awkward. She saw and took full advantage of my stumbling. My blow glanced off of her sword and harmlessly away as she took that momentum and struck me right in the middle of the stomach a lot harder than she hit me last time. I curled over from the pain. This definitely hurt more than i expected. But the pain brought back a flash of something. Hot summer days and cold fall evenings spent swinging swords around with people that seemed familiar but whose names I couldn't remember. I gasped partly at the pain and partly at the flash of memories. I remembered the excitement I felt when fighting and I felt it surge through me again. It blocked out the pain and I felt a small smile start on the corner of my mouth. I stood up straight and looked at my sister. “Are you okay?” she asked, not giggling this time. A slight look of concern on her face. I responded by readying my sword again waiting for her to hit the end of it and get back into it. In return she readied herself as a fierce smile spread across her face “It almost seemed like you knew what you were doing that last time.” She told me. I just nodded at her. She tapped my sword and didnt immediately charge me this time. She sidestepped cautiously and I matched her. We made about a half circle doing this before we both charged in at the same time. It was like the opening steps to a dance I’ve been doing forever. I couldn’t tell you how, but it was like my body just knew how to move. I don’t remember any specific movements or anything but I matched every blow with my sister, sidestepped a few and returned a few blows of my own. After the few opening seconds of the fight she realized that this wasn’t gonna be the same. The smile vanished from her face which was now set in deep concentration. I started pushing her back with a reign of quick blows. I knew where to hit, when to pull back, and in the midst of all of this I felt that surge of excitement from earlier doubled. I was loving this. I remembered how to fight. I let out an excited little shout and stabbed at her stomach, it was feint and as soon as I had done it her sword came to swing a little wildly to push mine out of the way. I spun my sword out of the stab and used the momentum to bring it full circle and down on her shoulder. A kill shot. It landed solidly and she reeled back. She looked up at me bewildered and smiled. The fight had memories flooding back into me. For the first time since I woke up from my coma I didn't feel lost. The grip on the sword suddenly felt familiar and comforting rather than awkward and unusual. “It looks like you remembered something there.” She said “Does this mean I have my brother back finally?” In answer I flicked my sword nimbly in a quick series of movements. Something I used to do to show off. And then leveled the sword at her. “Yeah I am.” I said smiling. I realized something and frowned a bit before lowering the sword. “But first gimme back my sword” I said as I realized that she had been using my favorite sword this entire time while she had given me the shorter one with a more uncomfortable grip to practice with. She threw her head back and started laughing again and it felt good to not only hear it but to recognize it as my sister’s laugh which I had heard so many times before. It was good to be back.


Her fingers fluttered along the edges of the blanket. She tried to process the words he spoke but she couldn't make sense of them. She closed her eyes and thought of a beach, the waves crashing against the shore, the screech of a lone seagull as the salty air howled and whipped across her face. "Are you even listening to me?" The boy inquired. "Yes." She kept her eyes fixated on the edges of the blanket, focusing on her fingers dancing in a rhythymic pattern along it, one step, two step, one - "No, no you're not. I don't know why you shut down when were talking but I've had enough. Let me know if you ever want to talk, actually talk, not just sit in silence." He slammed the door. It rattled the key hook on the wall beside it, and then... Silence. The thing she had craved for so long, and now it was here at her doorstep, and she was afraid. The silence entered the room and began to expand rapidly, distorting itself in shape and size, filling the air before her. She saw it as a large dense cloud ready to overtake he she did not know if she was ready to be consumed by it, but there was no escaping it now. The cloud hovered in front of her face, sending out tendrils to tauntingly caress her cheek. Fear began to grip her, making itself a tight fist in her chest. Her body felt heavy and tense. Her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for an escape. They rested on the faded blue blanket that now rested in her motionless hands. The memory of the pair standing in the home goods aisle of their local superstore spring to her mind. Suddenly, words began to produce themselves from her memory. "We don't need that blanket, we have enough already." He smiled disapprovingly as she stroked the blanket, then folded nearly on the shelf. "Yeah, but we don't have any as soft as this. Just imagine curling up to watch a movie under this. Our place won't be home without it." She had already taken it from the shelf and placed it in the cart. " I take it we're not leaving here without it?" "Nope." "Oh, alright..." The words from her memory began to overtake the cloud of silence, pushing it farther from her and reducing it's size. She began to realize she could get rid of the silence by living in the past of the room, letting the memories of the objects around her fill the air. The bookcase alone contained many stories of the past, ones that could squander the cloud of silence, that could protect her from it's grasp. What am I doing? She thought as she closed her eyes again. She did not want to live in the words of the past, nor the present, nor the future. For the longest time she had craved the pure simplicity of the quiet, she had dreamed of being engulfed in it, and now the opportunity awaited her. As she sank into the couch she thought again of the beach, the waves still and noiseless this time, the sky cold and grey and unwilling to permit any noise to escape. The dense cloud surrounded her once again, and as she began to open herself up to it, it submerged her into her new reality, one that was filled with silence.


Nothing burns like the cold; not summer night bonfires, or muggy spring afternoons, or even the calefaction of autumn― no nothing burns quite like the kiss of winter . A fowl wind gnawed at the sentinels stationed at the alabaster walls of the Winter Court, and despite the fire crackling in the stone hearth of the drawing-room, the space felt cold. From the satin and silk pillows embroidered with tiny stars to the carved writing desk in the corner, Tsaritsa Roksana’s private salon was lined with treasures from across the globe. Tucking a stray silver lock behind her elegantly pointed ears, an ancient Fae queen penned a letter to her son, Tsesarevich Dima, the crowned prince, informing him of his coronation. In the distance, mourning bells rang, and if she listened closely, she could hear the people weeping. Weeping for Tsar Kazimir, their protector, a son of the Mirabella, and above all else― her husband. A knock sounded at the door, followed by a small voice. “Babushka?" “Come in,” Roksana said, slipping the letter into a desk drawer. Emine’s white-blonde curls and round cheeks popped out from behind the door. “Babushka, I can’t sleep. Will you tell me a story?” Emine asked, tears in her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered at that last word, stories . Roksana felt a twinge in her heart at that. Kazimir loved stories, loved to read them, tell them, watch them at the Royal Theater with her. Taking a handkerchief out of her dress pocket, wiping away the girl's tears with the soft cotton square. “Of course, sweet rabbit.” Roksana brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her granddaughter’s ear. Standing the two stood, and walked hand in hand, down the hallway, towards her granddaughter’s bed chambers, Slipping off her lapis fur-lined slippers, Roksana sat in a plush velvet chair next to the bed, “So what story would you like tonight? The Golden Slipper , or The Firebird and Princess Vasilisa , or―or The Armless Maiden ?” “No, no, no.” Emine protested, “Dedushka’s stories are always about princesses, ladies of the court, and queens. It has to have one of those!” “What about dragons? Did he ever tell you about the Palace of Heaven and Sky?” Emine shook her head, “Does it have any princesses?” "Well, of course, and a handsome King. Would you like to hear it?” “Yes, please.” Pulling her sapphire robe around her, Roksana twirled the diamond ring around her finger. The stones sparkled like fresh chips of ice in the firelight, and without thinking, Roksana told Emine about Winter’s Promise. *** Once upon a time, there lived a Tsarevna named Sigrid, who lived in a castle built over a boiling lake. She was the sixth daughter of the Tzar. She spent most days sitting in her mother’s private salons alongside noblewomen and ladies of the court, learning about foreign dignitaries and protocols. Still, after all, her studies on distant lands, nothing had prepared her for the day she received a letter from Empress Gao. An invitation to stay at the Palace of Heaven and Sky and learn ikebana, the art of flower arrangement. Overjoyed, Sigrid couldn’t pack fast enough. Travelling to the place of eternal summer, to a land so far away that it was only known as East, was no small feat, but when the sweeping curved rooftops of the city came into view, she couldn’t deny its splendour. For the Palace of Heaven and Sky was gilded in gold accents, crimson walls, and ivory shingled rooftops, the light rippling off of them like light on water. When Sigrid arrived, Empress Gao, Daughter of Heaven, waited for Tsarevna Sigrid on the steps of the Jade Palace. Although she was mortal and would have only a few decades on this Earth, the Empress wore her bejewelled fengguan with all the immortal grace and haughty air that any Fae queen would. Touring the garden, the two women walked arm in arm sunlight flooded the garden, a wide winding river filled with glittering koi fish, blushing louts’ flowers cut through the lush grass. Sigrid made polite chatter with the Empress, noting the tiny lion sculptures and bridges that crisscrossed over sections of the river. People milled about in idle conversion. Sigrid had never seen anything like it. That night, after dinner with the Empress and her family, Sigrid decided to take a walk through the garden. Moonlit and filled with the sound of crickets, she ran a lazy finger over the liquored bannister of the bridge, leaving a trail of frost in her wake. Her magic had always favoured the ice, the bitter kiss of winter, but in the balmy night air, she felt different. Thunder roared across the sky, and something sizzled behind her. Rough hands found their way around her waist, and before she could cry out for a guard, she felt the splash of water against her skin. Her assailant must have vaulted them over the side of the bridge because she was now in the river. "Sorry about that," a low voice said, "The dragons got out and―well, one of them was about to eat you. They're not used to the smell of Fae." Sigrid had to squint to see, but sure enough, when she looked upwards, seven wingless serpents with feathers lined bellies flew among the clouds. Six of them were miles above, but one was circling the rooftops of the Jade Palace. Hunting . Oh, gods, it had been hunting for its dinner, and it had nearly snatched her up. “Thank you,” she spluttered, “my name’s Sigrid.” "I know," replied, "We just had dinner together. Here give me your hand." Sigrid allowed herself to be pulled to the riverbank. The man jumped up onto the riverbank first, and Sigrid almost drowned herself in the river because it wasn't just any son of the Empress, but King Zhao, the eldest and most handsome of them all, he wasn’t too much older than her. "Your majesty, I―I didn't see you there." Pulling herself onto the riverbank, she took a few steps away from him, keeping an eye on the dragons above. "How?" “My sister, Queen Liao, summoned them, but she forgot that they had an appetite for Fae magic. So I came as soon as I heard.” “Just in time.” Soaked through the skin, she was thankful she had worn the emerald green dress instead of the ice blue one her maid had laid out for her. "Your shaking. Should I take you to a healer?" "Oh no, that won't be necessary. I'll go back to my rooms and take a bath." “I could join you.” A blush slowly began to creep across her face. “Oh.” “What I meant to say,” the King corrected, “is that I can walk you to your rooms.” "Well, in that case," she said, wringing out her dress, "lead the way." Later, after waving the young King goodbye and washing the river out of her hair, she penned a letter to her father. First, informing him that the journey had gone well and that her reception had been warm. Then, pressing a kiss to the letter, she sent it to the Winter Palace, knowing that she would probably get a response in a week or so. The next few days in the Jade Palace were the highlight of Sigrid’s life. Everything was so new and delicious that she could hardly sleep. Nevertheless, every morning she arose with a smile on her face, laughed unabashedly with the members of the Jade Palace. Her ikebana lessons started at noon and went well past sunset, and after that, she danced well into the night; King Zhou at her side. The two of them on teetering on the cusp of something more. Stealing kisses and long looks from across the room, the two indulged in each other's company shamelessly. His presence was almost as sweet as the flowers, and although no word had come back from her family, she knew one would be coming soon. Happy beyond reason, Sigrid had fallen in love with the city of eternal summer and was considering extending her month-long stay for a couple of months. Surely, she wouldn't be missed too badly if she stayed a little longer. During those days, Sigrid could have sworn she had swallowed the sun.

On the night before Summer Solstice, Sigrid lay in her bed staring at the moon. Drenched in sweat and starlight, she had been tossing and turning for hours. Her heart in her throat, she fought the urge to be sick. Pressing her hand to her ribs, fire lanced across her skin. Was she dying? Breathless, she panted; the waves of pain radiated through her every few minutes. Until it stopped, the world holding its breath as power slammed into her. Ancient magic so old and terrible her vision went white for a moment, and then ice exploded from her fingertips, frost covered the room, and the worst part wasn't the fire in her blood, but the fact that she knew what this meant. Had heard the stories of it as a child because her family, like all other ancient Fae bloodlines, found its might in blood. Passed down through the generations, the transferal of power from one ruler to another only happened from Tsar to Tsar, whether they died or yielded the power themselves, but for it to have come to her could only mean one thing ―her family was dead. Weeping, Sigrid vomited into a nearby pot. Each of them would’ve had to have been murdered if the ancient power had found its way to her; a sixth daughter, the twelfth and last child of Tzar Waldheri. The details of her family's murder would come later, but first, she had to get home. At daybreak, she went straight to the Empress to thank her for her generous hospitality and apologize for her hasty departure. Her eyes were glassy when Sigrid told her the news, but even in her grief, she instead that she leave the following day, after Summer Solstice. Relenting, she obliged, ordering her handmaidens to start packing up for tomorrow’s journey. They would leave at dawn. Children giggles and people danced in the golden sun of the Summer Solstice festival. The wind carried the sweet floral scent of the gardens, mixed with spices and cooking meat, but Sigrid didn’t feel any of their warmth or joy. Tossing a nearby stone into the water, she jumped when King Zhou’s breath was hot against the shell of her ear. She had to catch herself before she fell into the river. “Sigrid.” “Zhou.” “My mother told me about your family. My condolences” “Thank you.” The silence hung heavy between them, Sigrid refusing to look at him, but he held her hand anyway. His skin honeyed and warm to the touch, a stark contrast to her pale pink skin that burned easily. “Would you like to dance with me?” he asked. Smiling, she brushed her raven hair away from her red-rimmed eyes, “I would love to dance with you.” Twirling under the golden sun in the crisp summer breeze, the two royals danced to the beat of booming drums. In her young life, Sigrid had never met any Grand Duke or nobleman that could keep up with her on the dance floor; but sure enough, King Zhou was as light on his feet as she was. His lively eyes were the colour of black tea in the sun, and for those few moments, she lost herself in the music― her last taste of freedom . In the small hours before dawn, Sigrid left her rooms to take one last look at the gardens. It had rained a few hours ago, and the air still smelt of rain and freshly cut grass. Walking along the gravel path, she memorized every petal and leaf, the feel of the rising sun against her face, and the sound of birds chirping; the world coming alive. A branch snapped behind her. “Were you planning on saying goodbye?” Zhou asked. Eyes to the ground, she kept walking. The sound of gravel crunching behind her followed. “I left you a letter on my nightstand.” "You left me and all nine of my siblings a letter. So forgive me if I don't feel special." “They all say different things,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. She spun around to face him. Still dressed in his nightclothes, his hair was mussed, almost as if he had come running― maybe he did . “You’re going to be Queen soon,” he breathed, closing the distance between them. He held her shaking hands. Overnight an empire had fallen into her lap, and since then, her hands hadn't stopped shaking. It was an effort to keep the ice at bay. “Tsaritsa,” she corrected, “My title will be Tsaritsa.” “Tsaritsa then…and why exactly does that bother you?” "Because where I am from, women don't rule. They support their husbands, bare heirs, and take care of the people and the land.” A sob escaped her lips. “I don’t see how that’s different from ruling?” "Well, in our laws, a woman cannot be Tsaritsa without a Tzar, which means my wedding to a Grand Duke will be held the day after I get back. Our coronation the week after.” Confusion creased Zhou’s brow, “But a man can be a Tzar without a Tsaritsa?” “Yes.” "Well, that's absurd." Then, it hit her how different the Fae Kingdoms were from the Kunlun Mountains, where the line of succession was passed down through the women. Empresses that married Kings and chose their successor rather than leaving it to birth order chance. "Well, that's just how it is." Sigrid brushed her hand over a budding peony, swallowing her tears. "Then change it. Rewrite the laws." Tempting, very tempting . "Yes, but then the High Lords would stage a coup, and that would help no one.” Six bells sounded in the distance. Time to go. Sigrid bowed slightly. "It was a please to make your acquaintance, your majesty." “Sigrid, wait. I’m not an immortal Fae like you, but even after I am gone, you and your descendants will still be welcome to visit.” Zhou snapped the stem off bright, blush pink peony and gently slid it behind her ear. “There will always be a place for you here.” She leaned into them. “Even if I had eternity with you, that wouldn't be enough, perhaps… perhaps it is best that we part ways now.” Staring into his dark eyes, she knew they need not exchange dangerous words like I love you . Grabbing his forearm, she pushed herself up on her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Ignoring the burning in her throat, her eyes, her lips. "Don't come looking for me… please," she whispered, pulling back to wipe away the stain of frost she had left on his face. The bits of ice falling softly to the ground, “I won’t return―but I will remember you, for an eternity and then some. The ice does not forgive or forget.” Because winter’s promise is not to love but to endure. Sigrid took one last look at the Kunlun Mountains from her seat by the carriage window, the Tower of Heaven looming high above the Jade Palace. A bejewelled city decked out in finery and flowers; its people kinder, warmer and more lovely than any summer sun. Staring out the window, she watched the sparkling city until it was nothing more than a golden bead against the horizon until night fell and the stars winked to life above. The end. *** “Babushka, what happened to Tsarevna Sigrid when she went home.” “She married a Grand Duke, who became Tzar, and together they had several round-faced children, who looked just like you.” Roksana reached out to grab her granddaughter’s nose, earning a giggle from the small child. “Do you think she ever saw the King again?” “No. He was a mortal man remember? He would have died in a blink of her immortal life.” "Yes, but Babushka, love is supposed to win. Shouldn’t she have gone back to marry him instead? He could have lived with her in the castle over the boiling lake.” Emine pouted, pulling the covers up under her chin. "No. He couldn’t. She had a duty to her Kingdom and her family to uphold. As you will do when you get older. Descents of the crown must always put the crown first. Doing otherwise would be a mistake.” Roksana didn't have the heart to tell Emine that the girl from the story never travelled to the East again; she never went back, to see the King or the gardens; or that dangerous, terrible things happened to Princesses who lost themselves in love― blinded themselves with it . “I think her true love was the King,” Emine whined, a yawn swallowing the end of her sentence, sleep pulling at her eyes. “Goodnight, sweet rabbit," kissing her granddaughter goodnight. Standing in front of the fireplace, she reached for the jewellery box on the mantle. Cracking it open, she pulled out a blush pink peony, as bright and fragment as the day it had been picked, all those centuries ago. Enchanted with preservation spells, it did not wilt in the frost-bitten land or wither under her icy touch. She had never told anyone about the flower and rarely spoke about that summer; she had forbidden herself to reminisce, but tonight felt different. For the first time in a long while, she was alone― free . She had severed―endured―her sentence, and now she was free. Winter’s promise is not to love but to endure, to yield to no one and nothing―and neither did she. Pressing a kiss to the flower, flecks of ice bloomed across the petals. Swallowing hard, her throat burned with unshed tears as she put the flower pack into its box. The memories of that summer solstice clung to the velvet of her bones.


I was thirteen when I came here, shipped away from my home so I wouldn’t ‘damage the family name’. It’s all about appearances you see. If I had stayed there my father would never have been elected; ‘the Prime Minister can’t have a son like you’. That’s what my mother told me while she was pushing me into the back of the Rolls. Six years have passed since then; for all this time these red and white tents have been my home and today is no exception. Welcome to the Freak Show. Sure, the ground changes every few months but it’s reassuring to know that wherever we are in the world this little haven will always be the same. I think we’re somewhere outside Leeds, nobody tells me these things anymore. Regardless the ground was frigid beneath my large, stomping feet. The sun shone with a cool severity, it was for show mostly and did nothing to warm us. Alexandra (the Bombastic Bamboozling Bearded Lady!) handed me a warm cup of something or other. Dan the Strongman ranted on about how he could taste the cinnamon hints in it, it just tasted like grass in hot water to me. The drink scolded my tongue slightly and I exiled myself to the facilities. I stared into my drooping eyes through the mirror, my greying, bulbous face filled up all the space on the wall. With a heavy head I inspected my tongue and washed every nook and cranny of what my dear sister used to call ‘the North Face of the Eiger’. Until I was five years old my life was comfortable, my parents told me I was a late developer but at the very least I could still sleep in a bed at night. That’s what I miss most about that life – well it would be if I could remember any of it. Since then I’ve had to sleep sitting upright or my leaden skull might snap my neck; that’s what happened to the last guy anyway. You know who I mean. You probably saw the film, or the play; the world has never grown tired of putting us on display like animals, exploiting our condition. The doctor thought I might have a combination of some neurofibbywibby disorder and Proteus syndrome. Proteus syndrome, what a laugh. Did you know it’s named after an old and forgotten Greek sea-god who can change his shape? Whichever sick physician thought that up has a lot of guts, I can tell you every last one of us would change our damn shape the minute we got the chance. Alexandra helped my get my gnarled trunk through my sleeve while my other arm lay withered by my side. It was going to be quite a busy day today; we had three shows lined up. The sound of children’s laughter began to cross the horizon and the sweet and roasted scent of fresh peanut brittle wafted over the park. I poked a large, solitary eye through a tent-flap. Tickets were being stamped, small bodies were spiralling down the Helter Skelter and miscellaneous faces began to light up like as yellow sponges and pink tigers were won from the stalls around us. MC stuck his long neck into the dressing room, ‘Positions people!’ he cried, ‘We have an audience to astonish!’ Alexandra asked me if I’d seen the grooming kit, it was on her chair and she led me to the ring. Hundreds of eager little faces filled the tent, nibbling away at popcorn and slurping Tongue Gulp! by the gallon. MC waltzed in front of the lights, singing a little song and dancing a merry jig to keep the audience entertained. This episode lingered for a few minutes while James Brown, our clown, searched desperately for his comedy hand buzzer. Alexandra grabbed my hand with a giggle and I felt a little jolt travelling through my body. James snatched it off her while we lost ourselves to laughter. His snarl twisted into a grin as soon as the spotlights hit his face and MC sauntered off with sweat running down his nose. After a while it was Alexandra’s turn to perform. I watched her for a little while, the spotlights glinting off every facet of her silver sequined dress. She’d been going on and on about getting this new outfit for months and I smiled as she span around in front of the ecstatic crowd. She joined me back in the shadows breathing heavily and holding both her thumbs up. ‘You’re going to kill it!’ she whispered excitedly. My gross feet dragged across the sand and my eyes shrivelled away from the lights. I searched every gleeful face in the tent looking for them. I would do it every time I walked the ring but I knew they would never be here, the darling family of Britain. Looks can be deceiving. There was an uncomfortable silence interrupted by a child’s cough. MC’s voice crackled through the loud speakers and I felt every eye in the room scouring over my sunken body.