She was known as a Goddess, one always in a hot spring in her temple. It was small compared to the other gods, but she was visited more often than the others. People travel from miles to see her, and to ask her to grant them a wish. And she does, as long as they offer her something just as valuable. But doesn't take it as far as others have. Never shorten someone's life, never has some trick up her sleeve to deceive anyone. From her generosity she has became a well known name, and also a big target for some. Many have tried ways to kidnap her, trap her, or threaten her to obey to them. And only grant them wishes. All have failed, and as punishment by her. They were publicly humiliated for trying. And usually I would have never thought of trying to take her, she was a goddess, minor or not she could easily have done worst. But when my father started getting ill, we needed the money to survive. After many jobs, late nights, and exhaustion from still never making enough. Soon a group of thugs came to offer more money to do some of their dirty work.

If my family wasn't in such a bad spot I would've said no. I would've kept working, not caring if I was breaking my body to get us by. But even with my mother's and I effort we could hardly make it. I usually went to bed hungry weeks at a time. Making sure bills were paid, and the rest of my family had something to eat. They paid decently enough, and most of what they had me do was scout out a location for them. Be a look out guard, or deliver things for them. I told them I never wish to know what it was I was dropping off, it keeps my soul at ease to just be ignorant of what I was helping with. But this new task, was different. They told me that I was going to see the Goddess, and ask her to be my wife. They said she would yes, they had a reliable source that said it is the only way to capture her without her punishing you. I was reluctant, but the amount they offered was enough to sway me. It could get my family to a stable place, so we won't be fighting an endless battle trying to get ahead. And I could still ask her for a wish, then I could make sure my family never has to struggle again. So I agreed, and spent a week trying to work the nerve to go there. Her temple was just at the outskirt of the town. There were always people there, all waiting to see her. Many came with offerings, she had a few beings made of boulders as her guardsmen to keep the peace. As some were inpatient to see her, and tried to push through. I finally worked the courage to go to her temple, it was later in the night. Fewer people around, and the the cool autumn air easily showed the steam coming from her temple. Leaving a light fog around her temple. I didn't wait long to see her, an hour at most. And when it was my time, I heard my blood rushing in my ears. I concentrated hard to just breathe, nervous to put the plan in motion. A water nymph escorted me to her, the room was heavy with steam, but yet it wasn't suffocating as it would be in a enclosed space. In the middle of the room was the spring, the Goddess floating inside. The room was lit from candles surrounding the springs, illuminating the Goddess.

Dark hair floating elegantly in the water, eyes closed as I approached. As I got closer I realized she was floating on her back, and steam surrounded her body to hide what she didn't want to be seen. Only her arms, legs, shoulders and head were visible. Golden brown skin had an unearthly glow to it, memorizing. She soon opened her eyes and looked right at me. I felt a blush creep in my face as I realized I'd been staring. Looking away to regain my composure she spoke.

"Hello human, what is it that you wish for?" She ask, voice so calming and soft. I looked back at her when she stood up. The water reaching her midriff, steam still covering her chest. I had to remind myself as to why I was here, to stop getting distracted. I'd heard of her beauty, as most Goddess are inhumanly beautiful, but to be in front of an attractive woman was harder then I thought it to be.

I cleared my throat to get myself prepared to accomplish my task. "I do not come for a wish, I-" She looked at me confused but said nothing, curiosity filled her dark eyes. "I would be honored if you would marry me." I said, my voice shaking. Even with the thugs assurance she wouldn't punish me, the memory of seeing all those she had filled my mind. She no longer spoke with a soft calming voice, it was filled with anger. "Marry you? I-" She was cut off, having submerged in the spring. I stood frozen as I saw her figure thrash under the water. After a moment she emerged, coughing violently as if she was trying to catch her breath from drowning. Her face hidden from my view by her hair. Which no longer held it's previous elegance. It cling to her body as she continued to catch her breath.

She spoke again, voice hoarse from the coughing. "How dare you?" She moved her hair from her face. Her skin lost it's unearthly glow, she sneered at me. My heart tried to leave my body as my head raced with all ways she could hurt me, she might even kill me for this. "How dare you!? You selfish man! You have taken me away from my child because you wanted a bride!!?" She yelled, voice echoing off the walls, her words pierced my body. A child? "I could've granted you money, power, status to gain a bride! You fool! You've taken my power!" While glaring at me tears began to fall from her eyes.

"I-What? I-I didn't know. I'm sorry I-" I stopped when she got out of the spring, her body fully exposed but fear over took any interest to look. She began charging at me, I knew I should move but I couldn't. My feet were frozen to the spot, and a small part of my brain told me whatever was to come was deserved. Just as she was about to slap me, I saw her body twitch and she moved at the last moment. Swinging at nothing, and her momentum flung her body to the ground. Hearing her hit the ground, I snapped out of my fear and tried to help her up, when she screamed. "Don't touch m-AH!" She screamed again and curled into a ball. Holding her left hand out, I watched in disbelief as a ring formed on her finger, the ring was glowing as if hot. The skin around turned red, being burned by the ring. It soon dimmed and looked like a simple silver band on her finger. The skin still red as she sat up and looked at me.

Tears continued to fall. "I hope you're happy. You have taken the power of a Goddess, taken me from my child. My lifespan less than half of theirs. They'll be alone, because of you. Nymph!" She yelled out, one quickly ran in and looked shocked at her. "A robe." Was all she said as she sat in a fetal position. I remembered she was still undress, and looked to the nymph leave the room. The nymph quickly came with a robe and helped her put it on.

"I am now your bride, an unwilling one. And while the ring won't let me hurt you, I will still make our lives together torture." She said as she stood up, her eyes red from the tears. But she still looked at me with hatred. My stomach seemed to jump to my throat, this wasn't what was supposed to happen. What am I supposed to do now, I didn't think I'd actually have a bride. How could I handle taking care of someone else now? I started breathing rapidly as she spoke to the nymph. "Call my sister and have her bring my daughter."

Daughter. She had a child, one that aged slower than humans do. I took her away from her daughter. I took away her powers, all because of money. The guilt began to eat at my insides as a bright light filled the room. Next to the former Goddess was another that looked similar to her, which makes sense if she calls them her sister. Golden brown skin, dark hair, in regal clothes. And holding a small bundle that began to coo as soon as the Former Goddess reached them.

"My sister! What happen? What-" The other Goddess looked at her in shock, lightly touching her cheek. "The curse?" She barely whispered, receiving a nod. The Former Goddess took the little girl from her sisters arm and held them close, whispering to the child. The sister looked at me and glared. "You did this to her." She raised a hand and lifted the water out from the spring, and was aiming at me. Just as the water almost hit me, the Former Goddess left hand shot out and pushed her sisters arm. Making the water miss me, hitting the wall with a lot of force. That the building shook on impact. "What?" The Goddess looked to her sister in confusion. "Ugh, stupid ring. Forcing me to protect him. Gah." The Former Goddess said, see looked at me and it was easy to tell she wished she let her sister hit me. "Don't waste your effort sister, it has already been done. I am now mortal, and wed to him." She looked back at her sister with sad eyes. "Please watch over her, let her know of me. Even after I've passed." They stared at each other, speaking in a silent language. The little girl between them, unaware of the misfortune I've placed on her and her mother. "Wait, I'm sorry. This wasn't my intention. Is there a way for me to reverse what I've done?" I said, their heads snapped in my direction. While my blood ran cold, I didn't stop talking. "I wasn't told of what asking you to marry me would cause to you. I'm sorry, I know me just saying so doesn't mean much to you. But please, is there a way to reverse what's been done? Whatever it is, I'll do it." "Would you die to fix your mistake?" Asked the Goddess in a cold tone. My mouth went dry, die? What about my family?

"Wait sister." Spoke the Former Goddess, she still held to the child tightly, but looked at me with more curiosity than hate. "What do you mean you weren't told of what would happen? Were you sent here?" "I-I was sent by a band of local thugs. I was only told to come here and return for a reward that is supposed to get my family to a more financially stable place. So we won't struggle, had I'd been told that asking you would do this to you. I would've said no, and I know you have no reason to believe me. But what I say is the truth, so is there something I can do to fix what I've done?" I pleaded, the Former Goddess looked at her sister who just stared at me. As if looking into my soul to see if I spoke the truth.

"He isn't lying, but even so. We don't know how to break the curse. It was place upon her by our

loving

mother." The Goddess spoke, venom on her lips. The Former Goddess looked hurt for a moment, before concealing her thoughts. "And we haven't spoken to her in centuries, not as if she'd tell us if we asked. Our... our mother is a wicked one. It's best to just make due with what she has thrusted upon me, instead of trying to stop her." She said, guilt ripped through my being again when she looked to her daughter, a small tuff of dark hair was visible from the bundles of blankets. The baby girl still cooed at her mother, small chubby arms wormed their way out of the blankets and reached for her mothers face. "Oh my darling. What I'd do to stay with you." She brought the baby up to her and gave a kiss, tears welling up in her eyes. "I will do all I can to see if there is something that we can do." Her sister said, placing an arm around her in a side hug. Looking at the baby girl, "Even if she isn't yours by blood, she's taken after you." She spoke softly, I shifted weight from foot to foot. not knowing what to do in this intimate moment. "It's better than not trying." "True, but my hopes aren't high sister." "Then I'll keep my hope high for the both of us." She turned to me again, anger still in her eyes. "And you, since she is now your wife I expect her to be well taken care of. She may be a former Goddess, now mortal. But she must be taken care of rightfully. That

work , you do for the thugs will not be suitable to take care of her." "I-But-" My mind was racing, now thinking of how I was going to go home with a bride. Someone else to care for, not as I could ask her to do work to help my family along.

"Sister, enough badgering. I may have been a Goddess but don't forget who I was before becoming well known." They shared a knowing look. "I can handle myself, and it seems you forget he was send here to get me for payment to take care of his family. I can still live here-" "No, that is not proper, this marriage wasn't proper, let's not dwell from tradition so much." They continued to talk as if I wasn't here. "And if he needs money so much your dowry should be enough." "Oh no, don't tell me you kept that? Dowries haven't been used in years sister." "And? Wasn't it good that I saved it? Look now, married to someone who isn't worthy. Let alone someone who can't take care of you. At least with this I can sleep well knowing you'll be okay." Her words struck me, and filled me with more guilt. "You, since you truly regret what you've done to my sister I will spare your life. As long as you take care of her while I find more out about the curse. I will visit her often, and if I hear just ONE thing that you've done. Like hurt her, or deprive her of anything she is worthy of. You will suffer the consequences."

"Sister enough, you know I am more than capable of handling my own issues." The Former Goddess stepped in, looking at her sister with a look I understood since I've seen my younger sister give me. ' I can handle myself, I'm no longer a child .' "Which I would usually agree, but with the ring now stopping you from harming him. Then it will be up to me to punish him." She took the baby girl back, rocking her back and forth. "Mortal I will be back in a days time with her dowry, you will live together and be a couple. I won't let my sisters imagine be tainted. Understood? So you will tell no one, and I mean not a soul of the curse or this plight." My throat felt tight, so I could only nod to let her know I understand. She soon left, in a blinding light just as she came.

"I love her, but she can be so old fashion." The Former Goddess said, looking at me expressionless. "As for her, request. It would be best no one else knows of what is going on, it could cause more issues. So ground rules, if ever in public we are a happily married couple. Though beware of your hand at all time. We will live here, I don't want to join your family and risk being found out. And lastly, don't EVER expect me to fulfill ANY wifely duties in private. Or so help me I will find a way to hurt you. Am I clear?" "Yes ma'am." I choked out, reality fully hitting me full force. Married, to a former Goddess because asking for her hand took her powers. How am I going to explain this to the thugs. It will cause a lot of issues with them, I though biting my lip. "Good. Nymph!" The same nymph from earlier runs in. "Close my temple, without my powers I can no longer grant wishes. Say I've decided to simply be worshipped through prays and offerings. Anyone who tries to come in without permission, have the guards punish them. Severely." She said in a hard tone, she looked over to me briefly. "And I guess since he's my husband now, that he is to be tended to. But as only a guest. His own room, far from mine. He can only give simple orders, anything higher must come from me. Now go and get another guard to go with him to gather his personal things." The nymph looked at me suspiciously but nodded and left us alone.


  It all of a sudden started to rain. The weather called for thunderstorms all week but the downpour was so unexpected. By day 3 it seemed as if a month of rain had already fallen. Very bizarre for a July. But we weren’t worried. It kept the 2 of us inside. We were already working from home for the last year since the pandemic started but this time it was something about the storm that kept us in concentration mode. We’d spend most of our days in front of  our computers aligned with our huge bay window that overlooked the trees and beautiful forest in our backyard... miles away from the busy city life that we left behind when we got married 10 years ago.   In front of the window we sat at our table across from each other, coffee, snacks and laptops being a divider and when our work day was finished we’d have a meal, alternating who would prep and cook, then clean. That’s how we’ve been for year's. We’ve become accustomed to being in The same room in silence.  We’d Then use the evening to convene and talk about our day as if we weren’t together for most of it.   It wasn’t until day 4 of the heavy rain that we became privy to what was actually going on beyond the walls of our home.

  The city around us was beginning to flood. If it wasn’t for her randomly taking a break that Thursday afternoon and turning on the news that we discovered that in fact it was almost 2 months of rain that had fallen in three and a half days and most of the city was becoming submerged under water. The media stated it as a “possible human extinction event” but we brushed it off slightly. Not that we were non believers, just more skeptics of the news. Something we rarely watched for factual information, but more of an outlet for entertainment. But then on Friday something happened. The rain suddenly stopped and it was Unusually hot. We cranked the AC but to no avail. It seemed as if the ground outside looked like it was almost melting. That an egg had no chance and would turn to char almost instantaneously.

 I had to check it out for myself. I went to step outside cautiously but was met with the singe of the sun burning the hair on my knuckles as I stuck my arm out to test. I quickly shut the door and surveyed the damage. My hand was almost burnt. I could see the hair on my arms almost scorched off and a blister began to form on my hand. I ran into the kitchen for some aloe and met her looking at me with tears in her eyes. She was standing watching the tv in our kitchen with her hands over her mouth. The news reporter looked just as frantic. I held her close, ignoring my pain and listened intently as they explained that there had been a major heat wave around the world. The earths core was heating up by the day that it was almost melting within itself. According to scientists, the world was imploding and we only had days to go. With No chances of survival, we as humans would just merely dissolve in the heat. That’s if we did not die from the floods, the hurricanes  and the earthquake that would happen sometime before or after. The sky had opened up in major cities and turned a vibrant red. We ran to the bay window over looking our work station and gasped. It was as if the sun had turned into hot lava. A big molten rock about to fall from the sky. I looked over at her and at that moment we knew; this was the end. Perhaps now we were glad we never had children. How would we explain it to them? The news said days but we were surrounded by trees and shrubbery, if they became ignited that would be it for us. But there would be no where to go.

 As night fell it seemed to give relief. The sun went down in a fiery ball as we watched it from our window.

 The moon, however, gave us a kind of peace. Some comfort that things may be ok. We finally opened the door and sat on the porch to watch the stars for what may be the last time. It was still extremely hot so we stripped down to our bare and tolerated the heat.

 Saturday morning everything came to a head. The sun was now expelling huge pellets that it was actually raining fire. The cable seemed to have been burnt out. Phone lines down. There was no one we wanted to call anyway. Both our parents were deceased for years. That was a good thing.

 We watched from the window and saw billows of smoke arising beyond the trees, people were out there being obliterated. Not being able to run for cover. The terror and chaos must be dire on the other side of the trees. I felt a sense of guilt, though I knew what was coming, I found solace in the reality that id die a happy man, in our quaint, almost cottage like home, with her.   We sat in front of the window all day and watched the crimson and bright yellow sparks fly like little bugs around our house.  We didn’t panic. We were never the type to.  Why we were so calm was beyond me, maybe because we've always been people to welcome the inevitable, or we were both consoled by the fact that we've always just had each other. Being only children and moving away to a house so secluded that you had to drive 20 minutes from the main road will do that to anyone. Not to mention, the isolation, because you know, pandemic. We've already felt like we've been the only two people on earth for over a year.

 That evening I sat with my back against the window and watched her intensely. She seemed no more worried than me. I hugged her tightly as we danced to the sweet serenade of Coltrane playing from my phone. I smelled her hair. And kissed her slowly. She embraced me and smiled. We made love for the last time. We got up before sunrise Sunday morning and the smoke was so heavy that it enveloped the sky and earth around us. I watched from the window with my arms behind my back and sighed. “Babe breakfast is ready!” I turned to our table where she had a whole set up. We sat across from each other and ate quietly, eggs, bacon toast pancakes, almost everything in our pantry,  prepared on the gas stove. At that moment I was glad I decided to not argue on the gas or electric. She was In charge of all decor of our place. We smiled and laughed at each other between bite full, eating happily in front of our bay window as the world around us literally burned, loving each other’s company as always, something that would never change, not even during the end of the world.


It was just before dawn when I woke to the alien invasion. It began with the thumpings on the roof. One followed by two, then three, then four, then just a dull roar of heavy objects hitting the roof. I ran to the window and looked out to find the sky filled with small kittens in parachutes plummeting to the Earth like cotton candy. "My time is now." I said to myself. I had known this was coming. It was in the lore of the world handed down throughout history and only the right person, with the right mind could read between the lines. Like the line in the bible about Jesus and that one dude and that other dude - it all spelled kitten invasion. If you think I'm joking, open a dictionary sometime and under the letter K, you will find kittens. Luckily, I was ready. I had been storing milk for years in my fridge. It all went bad, but that's not how I was ready. How I was ready was I had also stored guns and ammo. Lots of it. I ran to the closet where I kept my guns and ammo and opened the door to find more expired milk. I realized two things in that moment - why my house smelled and why there were so many guns and ammo in my fridge. Back to the fridge, I grabbed a gun and some ammo and loaded up what looked like a shotgun and ran to the door. The kittens were still floating to the ground, but many had landed and were helplessly clawing at their parachutes or tangling themselves up in them in some sort of attempt at comfort. It dawned on me that the kittens may not have any ill will towards humans and were simply just kittens that parachuted in great numbers on to the Earth on one given day in the entire history of kittendom. But that was too easy. I opened the door and opened fire. For five minutes I pulled the trigger again and again and not one kitten was harmed. I had either extremely bad aim, as their were thousands of them, or I was holding a chili dog in my hand. It turned out to be the latter. Once again, I had failed to study guns and ammo and what they were and realized a hot dog was not a gun and chili was no sort of ammo. I resigned myself to the notion that I would be of no use in the rebellion against the kittens and sat down and had a big bowl of ammo. The TV was reporting that there was no cause for alarm as the kittens posed no danger, but still there was no explanation as to why they had parachuted in great numbers to the Earth. I looked back out the window. Most of the kittens had removed their parachutes and lo and behold - they were now pulling revolvers out of their fur and moving towards the homes in my neighborhood. I quickly Googled revolver and realized that this time - yes! This time! I knew what I was talking about. They were revolvers. But before I could congratulate myself there was the sound of gunshots at my door. The kind of gunshots that don't come from chilidogs. No, these were real gunshots. I crouched behind my couch and noticed that the TV had gone to static. The first ploy of the kittens had worked - they had been trusted to not have revolvers hidden in their fur. "You won this round." I muttered to myself. Then the door broke down and a kitten standing on two feet with a kazoo in it's mouth entered the house. "Put down your weapons and surrender!" The kitten ordered. I threw the chilidog at him and yelled "I surrender!" There was silence. I rose from behind the couch and there on the ground was a dead kitten. The childog had bore straight through it's abdomen and killed it. 2. I surveyed the scene. Dead kitten? Check. Chili dog that had bored a hole through the kitten? Check. Somehow, the kittens had some vulnerability to chili dogs. I barely threw the sausage and yet it had burned through the kitten like a chili dog burning through....a....kit - you get it. I looked outside and found that the kittens in the immediate vicinity were again acting cute and pretending to be caught up in their parachutes, while mere yards away other kittens were thumping every last human with their revolvers. Yes, it was clear that the kittens at my front door had seen the carnage created by the chili dog and were playing cute. I ran to the fridge and grabbed more chili dogs. I had a box I kept full of them just in case. In case of what? Well, that's my business, buddy. I walked out of the house and began lobbing them at the kittens. Huge explosions roared from the Earth, as the chili dogs were now acting as incendiaries and lighting the landscape up in burning kitten meat. "Don't tread on me!" I yelled, lobbing chili dogs at each and every kitten I saw. But then, from over a hill, I turned to see nemesis: the kittens had an armored chili dog that they were driving towards me. I yelled "I am not vulnerable to chili dogs, you brutes!" The kitten at the helm, a general of sorts for he wore a beret with medals, smiled at me and meowed loudly. The front of the great armored chili dog exploded and a volley of kittens erupted out and at me. The kittens clawed at every fiber of my being and brought me down. I knew this was a death stroke. I had, like many men before me, put my faith in a deli food and found that it had not been quite what I expected. Well, twice. Because at first I didn't think chili dogs would kill kittens, and then later (see above) when I realized I could no longer huck chili dogs at kittens in the hope that they would die because there were like 30 kittens clawing me to the ground. This isn't to say that chili dogs are not useful - they are. They are a delicious source of protein...and OH YEAH, I know they are full of nitrates and fat people eat them, but every once in awhile I think it's...OK. Well, I did have a whole box of them and I understand what that implies but I woke from my slumber and found myself hanging from a tree, wrapped in yarn. The kittens had cocooned me and I was awaiting whatever terrible meal I would become. There was then meowing. Followed by more meowing. Then silence. Then there was a boatload of meowing. Like mass meowing. You know like millions of kittens. Point is - it was deafening. Because it was deafening, I was able to kind of block it out as white noise and I grabbed my phone and looked at some sport scores. Then I felt myself being lowered to the ground. I made an attempt at escaping, but the yarn was too tightly wound and I was only able to flop around on the ground. I could see through the yarn and the General kitten was approaching. "Meow. Meow. Meow-meow." "I don't..." "MEOW. MEOW. MEOW-MEOW!" "I don't speak kitten. I'm a simple man. I don't understand what you want of me. I have a Safeway club card and feel uncomfortable peeing in public!" "MEOW!" There was some shuffling, and then a smaller kitten in a lesser suit (it wasn't really a suit, it was like some kitty parachute pants and a tie ridiculously hung around it's neck) approached with a kazoo. The General took the kazoo and put it in it's mouth. "We demand antioxidants!" The General shouted through the kazoo. It seemed the kazoo acted as a translator. "I still don't understand." The General looked at the kazoo and then fiddled with it with his General kitty kitten paws. It was really cute. The General then put the kazoo back in it's mouth. "We want milk." "Ah, that makes sense. There's plenty of milk. There is no need to kill anyone. Our two races can live together in harmony." I said, with a tear running down my face and into the yarn. "Remove the yarn from his face! I cannot hear him. He is all muffled and the author just realized that I need kazoos in my ears as well. A simple mouth apparatus cannot translate language coming in. It's simple logic. The General retrieved two smaller kazoos from the kitten in the bad suit and put them in his ears. Then another kitten removed the yarn from my face. "I said we can live in peace. Plenty of milk. Don't have to shoot everyone. I pee freely in public and am quite proud of it." "Ah." The General said. "Where's the milk?" "It's like, everywhere. In every house. Just ask nicely or purr at a doorstep." The General looked around at the throng of kittens and then came in close and whispered "A bit much? The revolvers? We just didn't really know. Typically, on other planets, they are stingy with the milk. That guy with the parachute pants totally thought it was a good idea. He saw some movies you people made and it made sense. In retrospect, they were really stupid movies. But he was wearing parachute pants. That's like hardcore ironic, so I figured he knew his shit. So, you guys are like cool with us just...drinking your milk?" I whimpered "Yes. Yes. We'll be cool." The General looked around, threw the kazoos down and then meowed as loud as a kitten could possibly meow. The kittens ran back to the giant armored chili dog and I made out kitty whisper. They were planning a response. Little did they know, I was also planning a response. I had another chili dog up my sleeve, so to speak...


(Content warning for animal birth) When my husband left me, I felt like I was going to die. My heart ached so fiercely that I swore it would simply shatter into a million pieces within my chest.

The only small consolation I could take from my husband abandoning me was that he hadn’t left me for another person. He just left because he didn’t love me anymore and he didn’t like the life we had created. “I hate this place!” he had shouted at me over breakfast. He gestured aggressively out the open window to the rolling plains and sloping hills as far as the eye could see. I didn’t understand at that moment how he could hate a place so beautiful, so full of promise. “This place takes and takes and takes and we don’t get anything out of it, Rebecca! It’s a prison!” I stood up and pointed to the cows grazing peacefully in the pastures, and the birds chirping in the little apple tree in our front yard. “How can you say that?” I had asked him. “We have so much here.” Exasperated, he stormed out of the room before turning around to say one last thing. “That answer is exactly why I think I made a mistake in marrying you. You can’t see it! You don’t understand me,” he had said before slamming the door shut behind him. His words floored me. I crumpled into a chair, shocked and wounded. Never before that fight had he said our marriage was a mistake. I loved him with every part of my soul and every fiber of my being. How could it have been a mistake? How could he not love me the way I loved him? That fight was our last fight. After that, when he returned home, he refused to even speak to me. I begged and pleaded for him to just explain to me in a way that I could understand. But all he did was shake his head and pack his bags. He left the next morning and I fell to the floor and held myself together to keep from breaking apart.

I wanted to scream and cry. I wanted to smash things and tear my eyes out. The hurt was so big I wanted to jump into the void to forget it. My dad’s words crept into my head, whispering in my brain as I contemplated giving up. “You’re a rancher’s daughter. You come from a long line of ranchers who have worked to the bone to live this life. You don’t give up, you don’t cry. Wipe your tears and quit wasting your water.” The memory hurt, bringing back all the years as a child when I had to hide my tears from my dad. He wanted me to be strong and thick against the hurts of the world. Well, my chance had come. What better time to show how strong I was than when I’ve been betrayed by the one person I truly loved. I wouldn’t cry. I might die inside, but I wouldn’t cry. “Wipe your tears and quit wasting your water…”  my father’s voice echoed in my head. I spent the rest of the day curled on the floor in a miserable heap, but I didn’t let myself cry. I locked the tears away, somewhere deep inside me. When it came time for my husband and me to go to court, I wore my best clothes and rallied together the last of my strength. I did my hair, put on makeup, and met him in the mediation room. As I walked into the room and saw my husband sitting beside his lawyer I almost ran away. How was I supposed to face him? How could I look that man in his eyes and discuss the fact that I would never have him again? I would never kiss him, never hug him, never share quiet evenings together. We would never again work side by side as we sorted cattle or stayed up long hours of the night to help a cow give birth. That life was gone. “My client wants full access to the savings account and the new truck. That’s it. He is willing to be amicable as long as this process isn’t drawn out. He says Rebecca can keep the ranch and the old Chevy, as well as the SUV, and the checking account,” my husband’s lawyer announced. My lawyer looked over at me carefully. “No!” I gasped, grabbing my lawyer’s arm for support. “He can’t take the savings account! That’s got all the ranch money in it! How am I supposed to feed and doctor the cattle without that money?” “My client says that money was contributed by his own income and—” the lawyer began. “Bullshit!” I interrupted. “That money was built up by my father and his father before him! My

ex -husband is just the one who convinced me to put it in the same bank as

his

account and put his name on it! It’s not his!” My ex’s lawyer cleared his throat in annoyance. The man who once loved me stared at me, no emotion in his eyes. I hardly even recognized him. “He can take the SUV, the new truck, and half the checking account,” I offered desperately. “Rebecca…” my lawyer warned me. “No, I don’t care,” I insisted. “Take most of what we’ve got. I just want the ranch, the Chevy, and the ranch account. I need that money to keep the ranch afloat,” I begged. “I’m sorry, my client is very firm on what he wants,” my ex’s lawyer said. “How could you?” I snapped at my ex-husband. “ How could you ?” My lawyer fought on my behalf for what felt likes days, though it was only a matter of hours. But despite how hard we fought, we lost in the end. When it was presented before the judge a few weeks later, my ex won the account. Once again, I wanted to cry. It was so unfair. But I held it together somehow, pushing the tears and the sorrow down, down, down. Each day it became easier to not feel the pain. But for some reason, each day the world became a little bleaker. It was as if the color was slowly leaching from the world. Once vibrant sunrises now seemed thin and pale. The birdsong I had loved so much sounded off-tune and annoying. Food lost its flavor, and I stopped cooking for myself. When I worked cattle, I only referred to them as numbers, rather than the loving nicknames I used to give them. I had pushed that pain and sorrow down so far, but as it was drowning, it pulled my happiness and joy down with it. Time ticked by in a monotonous cycle of work and sleep. Each day melted together into one blurry haze. Without the ranch account, money was tight. There was a nagging voice in the back of my mind reminding me that I was one hardship away from losing the ranch. This ranch that my family had worked so hard for, that we had poured our blood into. Any second it could be taken from me. Spring came around and I looked forward to the rains. It hadn’t rained all winter, since my husband left me. But with the spring here, I was optimistic that the land would get the water it needed. Rain was the life-giver on a ranch. Rain made the grass grow and filled tanks for watering animals. Rain nourished the fields of hay that would feed the cattle all winter. We needed rain. March came and went. So did April. May rolled around and the skies were as clear and dry as my heart had become. The rain did not fall. Tentative shoots of grass that had begun to grow in the warmer weather soon withered and died. The cattle lowed in protest as I shoveled them hay to feed them. They too had been looking forward to lush grass pastures. My tanks began to dry up, the water levels dropping inch by inch every day. Panic soon choked my throat at night as I lay in bed, wondering how long I could afford to keep up like this if we didn’t get rain soon. June came, blowing hot dry air over the rolling hills. July was worse, with a scorching sun that cracked the earth. August came and went. Still no rain. Every day my account grew smaller. Every day I burned through the reserves of water and hay to keep my animals alive. Every day I pushed my emotions further and further down. Inside, I felt like a dried-up husk, just like the ghostly remains of grass that crackled underfoot when I walked outside. September came and it was finally time to bring a load of calves to auction. The check I got for them would help to cover some of the costs of feed that I was accruing. At the auction, the cattle were a little thinner than I liked, and the prices were a little lower. Small-time farmers were unloading their steers as fast as they could, trying to stay ahead of any long-term drought. The influx of cattle kept market prices lower. Worry began to twist my stomach.

With my measly check, I returned home to pay the vet bills and load up on more hay. I groaned when each bale of hay came out to an extra twenty dollars each. My last, tenacious bit of hope reminded me that we still could have rain before winter came and froze the land. We still had time… Winter came. It came hard and fast and early. The pastures frosted over, and the cattle devoured the hay to stay warm. I was almost completely out of money.

The ranch I had loved so much was slipping away from me. I had nothing to sell to make up for the lost savings account. My old Chevy was on its last foot and I had sold the SUV to pay for my lawyer’s fees.

I wandered the barns, walking amongst the cows and patting them each one by one. “It’s ok girls,” I whispered to them. “We will make it through this.” “ You don’t cry,”  my father’s voice reminded me. So, I pushed it down again. I didn’t know how deep the reserve of my soul went, but it seemed endless. More color leached from the world as I thought about what I would have to do next. The next week I rounded up ten of my breeding cows and took them to auction. A year ago, I would have never done that. A year ago, I would have sobbed as I said goodbye to each cow. They were the backbone of my entire life, and here I was, selling them off. When I returned home with an empty trailer it seemed fitting to me somehow. Everything had become so empty. The winter months dragged on. Christmas passed by as a forgotten holiday. There was no cheer this time, no flickering lights and fragrant trees.

My herd grew smaller every week. I couldn’t stand to see the cows thinning out so miserably. The fat dissolved off their haunches from the lack of nutritious food. To try to combat it, to give myself just a little bit more time, I sold off a couple of cows every week. The money was less each time. There were too many farmers in the same situation as me, too many skinny cows coming through the auctions. I wasn’t making much money back, and the cost of feed just kept getting higher and higher. Soon enough it was calving season. What had once been my favorite time of year had become something I dreaded. I used to get such joy from the sounds of baby calves mooing for the first time. My heart used to burst with joy at the sight of wobbly legs as the calves learned to stand. Each calf got a name, and I poured all my love into them. This year all I could think was that I was going to have a hundred more hungry mouths to fill, and nursing mothers that needed extra supplements and nutrition. This year all I could think about was the muddy water that barely covered the bottom of my tanks and ponds. About a week into calving season, my favorite cow began to show signs of labor. She had separated herself from the other cattle and was restlessly alternating between standing and laying down. Dolly had been my first breech calf that I had pulled with my own hands, all by myself. Because of her traumatic birth, she required extra care and love. As she grew stronger, our bond strengthened as well. Out of all the cows, Dolly was the one who came when I called for her, who laid her head against my shoulder, and who comforted me when I needed it. She was my last friend. I knew Dolly very well, and because of that, I knew that something was wrong. Her births were normally very fast and easy. This one wasn’t the same. I got Dolly situated in one of the barns and I sat with her all night. By morning, she was finally beginning to push. Still, no matter how hard she labored, she wasn’t making any progress. Fighting back my panic, I made the decision to intervene. When I felt around, I realized the calf was too big, and its legs were folded back, causing it to be stuck behind Dolly’s pelvis. The situation had become an emergency. If I didn’t act fast to fix the problem, the calf, and Dolly, would die. Dolly watched me with her baleful brown eyes, trusting me to help her. Gritting my teeth, I tried to move the calf’s legs to the proper position, but it was too stuck. Dolly grew weaker with each contraction. Panic made bile rise in my throat. I couldn’t lose Dolly. I couldn’t bear to lose her too, after all the losses we had survived this last year. With every ounce of strength that I possessed in my body, I worked to save Dolly and her calf.

“Come on Dolly! You can do this!” I urged her desperately. She bellowed in response, exhausted and in pain. “We can do this together Dolly, I promise you! I won’t give up on you. I won’t give up on us!”

At one point Dolly went down and refused to get back up. Her eyes rolled back, and she panted shallowly. Pulling on her halter I tugged her face towards mine. “Don’t give up girl, please,” I begged. “Don’t give up just yet. I love you too much to lose you,” I whispered. Dolly bellowed in pain but lurched to her feet one final time. “That’s it! Cry it out, Dolly! Cry it all out! Cry that pain out of your body and let me do the rest of the work for you,” I didn’t know if I was going to manage to do it, but somehow, I did. With one final tug, the calf’s legs pulled forward into position. With a big push, and with me pulling on the legs, Dolly finally labored the calf out onto the straw of the barn. As if she had just been given a big shot of pain killers and energy, Dolly turned around to care for her calf. She began to lick it clean, softly mumbling to it with gentle sounds of love. But the calf did not move. Its chest didn’t rise and fall with breath. “No,” I cried. The labor had been too long for the little calf. “No!” I repeated. Grabbing a towel, I roughly rubbed the calf, hoping to stimulate it. When that didn’t work, I cleared out its nostrils with a suction. Desperation kicked in. I had never done CPR on a calf before, but I started it then. I blew into its nostrils and pressed its chest, trying to force life into the body. Dolly watched me, patiently trusting me to save her calf. “Come on little baby,” I urged as I blew into its nostrils. “Please don’t die. Please don’t die.” Something warm and wet filled my eyes. My chest heaved with sobs. Before I could stop myself, I realized I had tears flowing down my cheeks. All the pain of the last year bubbled out of me. Deep racking sobs broke free, and I cuddled the calf to me as I cried into its fur. I don’t know how long I cried but it was as if a dam had broken and released a river. Small movements shook me from my daze of tears. I lifted my head to see a dark eye blinking at me. The calf snorted, weakly looking around. Dolly nudged it, urging it to stand. “Thank you,” I sobbed. I was crying so hard that I could barely see as I stumbled out of the barn into the fresh air. I felt mildly confused as to why my tears were splattering so hard against my boots until I looked up. Rain hit my face, gently at first, and then harder as the clouds opened overhead. It was raining. Laughter soon took the place of my tears as I spun around under the thunderstorm, dancing wildly in the rain. Raindrops soak into the parched earth. Cattle bellowed joyfully in the pasture, licking water droplets from their damp noses.

The drought lasted a year, and for a year I was a dry husk of a person. Bitter and broken, I did not let myself feel, for fear of breaking down completely. As the raindrops and my tears soothed the thirsty earth beneath my dancing feet, the color came slowly back into the world, as vibrant and wonderous as it had ever been. We would be ok.


Down the long driveway we went and there it was; a house. A house, what? Did we go to the wrong address? No, it was the right one and there was a sign. "Courtney, it is a house! What if this is a snake dancing church, I will die!" She laughed so hard she was about to pee on herself. "Well she is our friend and we spent a long time in college with her". We had been praying for her husband all those years, and he finally gave his heart to the Lord. Going back to the week before; my friend Maraleigh called and asked me to come to their church anniversary service. She knew I would not come to her church because she was Muslim. She said it was her husband's church and they were Baptist. I didn't really like that idea either but at least we worshipped the same God. So there it was; a church in a basement. It looked like a normal sanctuary inside. Now I remember my friend Barry had talked about remodeling this basement for a church. But I noticed that he was not going here. I wonder why because he gave his life to the Lord. Oh, this was not a good sign. But everyone here is so friendly and kind. I noticed it was all Asian women married to American men. They must have met in the military or I wondered if any were mailorder brides. Wow, this could be an exciting adventure learning of others' way of life. The little man behind the pulpit called for the singers to come forward and they sang traditional hymns. No one ever sings these good old hymns anymore. There were only about twenty people there and they all knew each other. There was prayer and announcements next. Then the preacher got up and asked everyone to meet and greet. Oh, this was a hugging bunch. I just quenched my shoulders and went along.  I thought if my sister were here she would die. She was Miss untouchable. I liked that it was a friendly church. Maybe I would have a home now because I had become an introvert. The preacher had a descent sermon and then closed with prayer. He told everyone to go to the garage to sit down and have a meal and to fellowship. It was nice to be fellowshipping once again. Down the drive came a truck and a man got out and greeted the pastor. He went to get something out back and he puts it on the table. I am about to shriek. It is a cooked pig with its head still on. They said they had cooked it for about 24 hours. I thought back to the time I was in Mexico and my friend told me not to offend anyone by not eating. Just take the food, eat a couple of bites and then swirl it around the plate. Pretend to like their food. Now here comes another shock; a plate with a long fish on it with fixings around it. As you guessed, the head was still on the fish. How will I ever get through this dinner? Lord, please help me get through this with no offensives. After putting the food on my plate, there were trying to give me chicken soup with whole eggs in it. They told me it was duck eggs. I just took a little in the bowl. Looked like egg drop soup to me. There was a dish that did catch my eye. It was sweet potato souffle'. Now you are talking my language. We have this every Thanksgiving. This I can relate to. There were some ribs and chicken wings that caught my eyes. Those ribs look like they would melt in your mouth. The chicken wings were Teriyaki. One thing I noticed; that it was all meat. Where were the veggies? No bread? It would have been great to have a salad and green beans with this meal. I finally got sat down and I ate the things I dreaded first. Two bites each and then I ate the things I liked. They were all talking in a language I never heard before but I couldn't understand their English either. They were all laughing and having a good time. I guess Courtney and I looked isolated when a woman came over and started talking to us.  I found out that she was Japanese and she was a mail-order bride. She said she did not mind because he took good care of her and she got to hang out with her friends and come to church. She was so happy and bubbly. I really liked her. After I got through dinner, we ate celebration cake. I got to talk to the pastor for a while and then I knew I wanted to come back. It had been so long since I had been to church. Most were so dead and dry and the women were always in cliques. But this one; I felt as though I might fit in. Now it was time to leave and I already couldn't wait to come back. The next Sunday, I came alone because Courtney already had a church. I decided to come to Sunday School. This was the best because they didn't go by anyone's programs. He let the Holy Spirit teach him and guide him. He knew all the things I had been studying for the past eleven years since I left the church. So we went through the service and we were going to have dinner. It was someone's birthday this week They said they celebrated everyone's birthday. I was looking at the food to see what I really wanted to eat. There was this cabbage, noodle, and pork dish. This would be my all-time favorite. One day, maybe I would get to go somewhere exciting. All my children moved to Florida. Time for a new adventure. One day, maybe I can travel to Europe and Asia. Maybe we could all take a trip together. It's only twenty people. I just know I love being here and I finally found a home.


This year, I’m going to change my own bedsheets. Waking up in the morning is easy enough. I open my eyes, shrug the crick out of my shoulders, and wait silently in bed until my blinds darken enough for the night light in my room to flicker on. It’s a bit embarrassing to still be using a night light at eighteen years old; the last person to mention that to me was my mom. I haven’t seen her in a year–which explains why my bedsheets are so dirty. She’ll laugh if it’s not clean by the time she gets back home for dinner. I guess I should take out the dirty laundry, then. The aged wooden floor creaks precariously as I slowly pad my way through the house to the kitchen. There’s an anthill in the sink that’s been there since last summer; I softly greet the wiggling mound of insects and edge around their steady line to the pantry. The doorknob to the small storeroom is coated in rust, bits of copper plating flaking onto my hand as I turn the handle, and a plume of dust greets me as the door swings open. Coughs instinctively rip through my chest and I harshly bat a hand through the air, reaching with the other for the light switch on the far wall. A warm yellow light flickers on. Through the dust, my eyes settle on the rows of merchandise neatly arranged on the shelves before me: dresses. A stunning rainbow array, albeit slightly faded, ranging from youthful summer maxis to elegantly effortless pinafores and beyond. I already know what I’m looking for, though; a bit of rummaging around the top shelves reveals a still-stunning bright blue bardot dress. I remember my mom mentioning something about wearing it to her senior prom, but the specifics are lost on me. An experimental shake sends a volley of ants spraying into the air–the dress has gained their approval. Right then and there in the pantry, I strip down to my boxers and shrug on the dress. It’s a bit of an awkward fit, the waist pinching into my sides and the skirt scraping high against my calves, but the warm feeling that washes over me entirely overshadows the faults. It’s perfect–or maybe that warm feeling is just from the ants. A giggle slips from my mouth as I whirl around in a dramatic arc, my dress spinning in an obnoxious circle in turn. Rifling through the kitchen cupboards, I thumb past the shoes spinning by their laces on coat hangers. My hands settle over a pair of worn denim combat boots–a gift from my mom, from a random yacht party years ago–and I instinctively snatch the shoes from the hanger, bearing my weight against the doorframe as I toe them on. They’re a bit too big and something soft and small briefly wriggles against my right foot before stilling. I hope Henry got a good day of rest. The ants stream beside me like a river as I stomp my way back over the bathroom for a final lookover. I grab the countertop so hard that I feel the marble splinter underneath my fingers. A wide smile spreads across my face, toothless gaps visible in the bathroom mirror’s reflection. The hem of my dress is frayed and rotted and the ensemble almost reeks worse than my bedsheets, but I cherish this outfit all the same. I wonder what my mother looked like in it. It’s time to go to the laundromat. Slipping back into my room, I strip the sheets from my bed. They’re molded and practically falling apart in my hands; I clutch them against my chest like they’re made of gold. There’s a mountain of other dirty laundry for me to attend to, but I don’t bother with them. With sheets in tow, I stroll my way back through the kitchen and kick open the front door. Quite literally–the frame crumbles as I step into the threshold. I wander out into the night, walking aimlessly along the sidewalk until I spot a homeless man crouched with his back against a wall. There’s a flicker of orange light washing across his face; he’s sitting by a small fire. I approach the man wordlessly, stopping right in front of his line of vision. He squints up in my direction, pale eyes seeming to stare right through me. His gaze darts between the sheets in my arms and the small campfire that crackles at the edge of his site and then realization flickers into his eyes. I yelp as he grabs my wrist and yanks me towards the fire. He stops just short of throwing me in. Then, with his slightly smiling face illuminated by the flames, he waits. With a resigned sigh, I dump the bedsheets into the fire. The flame gobbles up the bizarre kindling and then hisses before growing to twice its previous size; the man’s smile grows all the same. Before I can even get a word in, he thanks me profusely before whirling around and tipping face-first into the campfire. I watch on with a blank expression as the man lets himself sink into the heat, curling onto his back as flames lick at his pruning skin. A weird sound bubbles up into the air; a laugh, my brain eventually recognizes, and it’s coming from the charring mass of man that lays in front of me. He laughs, and coughs, and laughs some more, all the while roasting in a hellish blaze. His sharp, canine teeth glow like embers in his smiling mouth; beads of spittle hiss against the heat as he chokes on manic laughter. I linger beside the commotion, hastily stamping out the tiny flame that edges onto the hem of my dress. I wait there for a minute. It starts to rain. The fire only seems to grow under the downpour. Finally, after ages , the laughing ceases. The man’s giggles slope down to humored gasps before he sobers completely. Then he jerks abruptly and his eyes flicker over to me, almost as if he’d forgotten that I was waiting next to him. In the midst of the still roaring fire, a hand jerks into his coat pocket and I step forward to hold my own hand out as the man turns back towards me. Into my outstretched palm, he pours two gold coins. I curl my fingers around and pull my hand away sharply as the fire suddenly blazes anew. The man mutters his thanks again before stilling completely, letting himself be swallowed under the inferno until he’s lost from view under the flames. Satisfied, I set out for the bus stop. It begins to pour in earnest as the bus stop comes into view. Cold rain begins to seep into my shoes, but I can’t bring myself to run without fear of scruffing the boots. Instead, I let myself get drenched as I walk the final few meters. The bus is posted along the sidewalk with its hazard lights on, as if it’s been waiting for a while. It’s as if it’s waiting for me. I finally manage to clamber aboard amidst a gust of wind and rain. The bus driver wordlessly fixes me with an owlish look, blocking my path with an outstretched arm. I wait there silently for what seems like ages before it finally hits me: my fare. I unclasp rain-slicked fingers to reveal the two coins impressed into my palm. I’ve barely begun to hold out my hand when the coins are snatched with terrifying agility and then the bus is thrust into motion. I scramble to brace myself, dragging my body into one of the nearest seats before I can fall. I take a moment to catch my breath while eyeing the only two other passengers; it’s a baby and his mother in the seat across the aisle. The mother doesn’t even look up, eyes lost in the rolling nothingness outside the window, but the baby is fixated on me. I smile kindly towards him, but he never breaks eye contact. Innocent, baby blue eyes slowly cool to a deep navy as he stares back, as if he’s slowly figuring something out as he stares. His mother remains completely unfazed, her tired gaze lost in the view through the window. In my peripheral, I see the bus driver’s eyes flicker up in the rearview mirror before returning to the road. My smile drops. The rest of the bus ride is notably quiet. Some time later, the bus screeches to a halt; I, at this moment, decide that this is my stop. The woman sighs softly at the pause in movement. The baby’s head turns slightly as he follows my movements. Though the bus has stilled, the bus driver’s eyes are fixed on the road. There’s something hanging in the air, but no one decides to mention it. I get up wordlessly and mutter a thank you before stomping down the steps at the front. The sliding door snaps shut behind me, the bus taking off down the road towards the toll bridge. I absentmindedly wave at the retreating tail lights of the vehicle before turning in the opposite direction and continuing the final stretch towards the laundromat. After a minute or two, I faintly hear the sound of car horns and a considerably large splash some distance behind me. Something in the back of my head tells me it’s better not to question it. I follow my own advice and keep walking. I’m not quite sure where I’m going, but it just feels like the right direction. A few more steps and the rain picks up. This time, I take my chances running and sprint down the sidewalk towards the only lit-up building on the block. When I manage to slosh inside from the rain, the scent of fabric softener hits me like a truck. I’ve made it to the laundromat. There’s a desk with a receptionist in the front. She spots me at the door and immediately fixes me with an uncanny smile, bright white and sharp like a shark. There’s something oddly familiar about her; without half of her face turned to look out a window, I can now fully see where the bus baby got his unusual demeanor from. I don’t question her sudden reappearance as the lady leads me through the facility. She holds her arm out as a means of displaying the walls of washing machines before us, but I shake my head no. I just need to get some bedsheets. The lady pauses for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. Then the smile is back and she’s leading me through a door that’s marked for employees only. It’s cold in here. The room is littered with tables, arranged in oddly perfect rows with crisp white sheets spread out atop them. There’s something off, though; I can sense that there is more to this room. The lady smiles that strange smile and motions towards a random table on the opposite wall. I pull the sheet off the table and stare at what’s underneath. He’s staring at me. I’m awake. I’m laying on my bare mattress, the bed stripping of its sheets. There’s soft sunlight trailing through the curtains. None of it makes any sense, but nothing has for a while now. My mom is standing in the corner of the room, quietly stuffing laundry into a hamper. Words begin tumbling out of my mouth before I know any better: “You… You never came back.” She turns at the sound of my voice and smiles sadly. I try again, more firmly: “It’s been a year, and I never learned how to change my sheets.” Something in the look she gives me tells me that I never really woke up, either.


Like Emeralds There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Asher loved his wife, Evelyn. The way he looked at her made it abundantly clear to any passerby that this was surely a match made in Heaven. Asher had been his small town’s prime bachelor for a long time, thanks to his gentlemanly qualities, sharp looks, and ample fortune left to him by some relative (of whom nobody was entirely sure). He was known for his seemingly random acts of philanthropy, and constant willingness to be of service. Asher always had a smile on his face, and carried an air of optimism everywhere he went. When Asher had reached thirty years of age the townsfolk started to suspect that perhaps their favorite bachelor may have succumbed to a life of singleness. After all, it was not uncommon for people who live on their own for too long to decide that marriage may not be everything it’s chalked up to be. It was to the town’s both dismay and delight when Asher married a woman from a few towns over. “Rumor has it they met at one of those spring dances,” the townsfolk would say, “I hear after their eyes locked they already decided to marry one another.” “What was wrong with the bachelorettes here?” others would say, “Ought to give them a fighting chance hasn’t he?” argued the mothers of said bachelorettes. Regardless of how they met or how the townsfolk felt, no one could argue that the couple’s life appeared idyllic. Asher had both the undying respect and envy of his town. He had wealth, status, and a beautiful wife. Evelyn had also garnered a fair deal of envy for herself, having acquired the security of a rich, warm, and loving husband. It was typically at this stage in a man's life when he started to relax and bask in the blissful years to come. Men who appeared to possess all the treasures one could attain in this life often slowed down and did nothing more than enjoy themselves. Unfortunately, the same could not have been said for Asher. As the months continued to trek forward, he began to appear increasingly more disheveled. Dark circles imprinted themselves on Asher’s eyes, and that air of optimism soon began to disappear as though it had been blown away by some malevolent force. No one was entirely sure what the root of this seemingly spontaneous depression was, and in such a small community it was common to make somebody else's personal business your own. People would stop him on the street every chance they got to ask him how everything was going, in a futile attempt to gain any semblance of an answer to their mystery. “I’m right as rain!” he would say with a smile, “and why wouldn’t I be?”

Asher did indeed love his wife dearly, and treated her as though she was entitled to every good thing on Earth. Despite this, there was just one, singular, minute problem that Asher could never seem to get over no matter how hard he tried. It was her eyes. If you were to ask any outsider, they would describe Evelyn’s eyes as nothing more than a beautiful shade of green, like that of an emerald. While this was indeed true, there was something missing that any keen observer would notice. Even Asher, with his acute observation skills, was blinded by everything else about Evelyn to notice her eyes during their hasty engagement. Evelyn’s face was fully capable of displaying anger, fear, joy, but no matter her facial expression her eyes remained akin to that of a corpse. Asher loved her, but he felt that at times they were too much to bear. Her cold, loveless, stale eyes penetrated his every thought and action, and caused him to lose sleep at night. There was something deep in Evelyn that appeared to be missing, some essential inexplicable something that made someone human. While everything else from her actions to her voice appeared human, her eyes were the critical tell that this was nothing more than an act. Asher did everything he could to overlook this. He began to pour himself into project after project, looking for work in every place he could find in an effort to avoid being home. Even though Asher had enough money to live the rest of his life comfortably, he still found himself working nine hours a day in the fields or in town. Evelyn seemed ignorant to this change in behavior and continued to live her life as though Asher had not come under some sickness in the head. Asher dreaded when the workday came to an end and had to head home. Unlike most working men, Asher counted down the hours until he was able to go to be in the fields again. Every second that he did not have to look into his wife’s soulless eyes was a relief to him. Life fell into dreary equilibrium for the couple, where Asher would go out and work in some neighbor’s field, while Evelyn would go into town to visit friends and run errands. Asher was by no means happy, but he felt that he was able to make do with the situation. Then something changed. When Asher arrived home one evening there was a very subtle change in Evelyn. So subtle that not even the most scrupulous of individuals would have been able to notice it. Her eyes would appear to blink just ever so slightly less frequently, and her stare seemed to penetrate just a little bit more. This was more than Asher could take, and that ever-so-fragile equilibrium was now beyond repair. After having endured months of paranoia and insomnia, Asher snapped, and he began to scream incomprehensible accusations at Evelyn. Something along the lines of her “being the devil” and that she was “inhuman”. Evelyn’s emotionless face and eyes remained on Asher until he lost all semblance of reason. He started to claw at the walls, topple furniture, and destroy any poor innocent décor that happened to be in the madman’s path. “Asher” Evelyn said with a tone of one trying to replicate sympathy, “Is something the matter?“ Asher turned to look at his wife and what he saw was not his wife. It was as though an unholy creature was wearing the skin of the woman he thought he loved. Not being able to contain the growing fear and apprehension, Asher evacuated the hell he called home. The destitute Asher remained missing for forty-eight hours, and the following morning Evelyn decided to take action. She notified the local sheriff, and search parties were arranged to help find her missing husband. The sheriff couldn’t help but remark on how calm she appeared, given that she was reporting on the seemingly random disappearance of her husband. Regardless, they found him unconscious in a field and had a doctor examine him for any physical ailments. Appearing perfectly healthy, the doctor dismissed it as nothing more than some stress-induced panic that caused him to act irrationally. Asher was sent home, and when the townsfolk were told to recount their side of the subsequent events, seeing him leave the hospital was the last time anyone could remember seeing Asher again. It had been a little over a month before anyone had seen Asher leave the hospital. No one had seen anyone leave or enter his residence in a suspiciously long time, so a neighbor of Asher’s took it upon himself to be a good Samaritan and check up on the couple. He knocked, waited, knocked again, waited a little longer, and knocked harder. When he realized this was a fruitless endeavor he decided to go to the sheriff. The neighbor asked him to go and make sure everything was okay, and with an air of tired reluctance at the affairs of the nosy townsfolk, the sheriff fulfilled his request. The sheriff knocked and waited. He continued to knock for the better half of ten minutes, and when he realized this wouldn’t work he resorted to busting down the door. With only a couple strong kicks the door surrendered and collapsed to the floor, and lying before him in the center of the home was Asher’s lifeless body. The sheriff pulled out his gun and entered the premises cautiously. He inspected Asher’s corpse, and saw a kitchen knife residing in his abdomen. The blood surrounding the wound was a dark crimson, indicating that this wound was not fresh. The sheriff looked around the home and saw no indication of domestic unrest, or any sign of Evelyn either. The sheriff had no idea what to make of the situation.

Occasionally, maybe every couple of years, reports would float around of a newly married young man found dead in his home, with no sign of his newly widowed wife.


Aria Dauntair had been waiting for this night for five years now. She had been fifteen when she had found the solar maps in the back of the town library.

Her eyes had been drawn to a table with a chess set, the pieces stopped mid game across the black and white board. She had walked to the table to examine the game when she had noticed scrolls stacked beneath it.

They smelled of ink and old paper and felt rough against her callused brown fingers. They contained the most beautiful maps and calendars ever, for they depicted the night sky.

Pouring over the scrolls all night she had come upon the alignment of the calendar that portrayed a complete lunar eclipse in five years' time. A full lunar eclipse meant the moon would become drenched in blood and turn an ominous red. And as a painter it was her deepest desire to capture that catastrophic color.

So on the day of the eclipse Aria packed up all of her best paints, brushes, papers, and canvases into her brown satchel. Then with her easel beneath her arm she walked into the fields that separated the town from the Crass palace. In the East of these fields there lay old castle ruins from a time long forgotten. And what better place to use as a landscape? The ruins of royalty and the death of the sky; it would be a most poetic painting.

Her dress was yellow and her breathing heavy as she carried her supplies to the ruins. She set them down to take a rest and pulled her springy black hair into a twist at the back of her head. Noticing a sunflower, she picked it and wove it into the twist of her hair.

It was early April and the air was still cold despite the emergence of flowers. For this reason the exercise felt exhilarating, the chilly air pressed onto her hot skin to create an enchanting contrast. Aria glanced at the Crass palace momentarily before continuing to the ruins. The palace stood taller than a mountain, with buttresses like shooting stars and balconies like jutting cliffs. It was both white and black like a game board and it frightened her.

The Crass’s were the royal family that ruled her town, and the town past that, and many towns beyond. In her mind, they ruled the world. They felt like gods compared to her, an orphan raised by a prophetess, taught to paint and live simply.

The ruins were raised slightly upon a hill and she trudged up it, only stumbling on her skirt twice. When she reached the top she dropped her things and sat down on a piece of concrete rubble, once a great pillar, now a stone surrounded by grass.

She heard a laugh and fell backwards off the stone. She stood up hastily and turned to find the source of the laugh. A girl was laying across an old dining table, her lips open with mirth.

“Why are you laughing?” Aria asked. The girl stopped laughing to level Aria with a piercing stare. Aria shifted her feet uncomfortably.

“What’s funny?” she demanded.

The girl shrugged her bony bare shoulders. “Only that you are here. I did not expect anyone to come up here.”

Aria looked the girl up and down, hoping to puzzle her out. She had unnaturally pale skin, the opposite color to Aria’s warm dark complexion. Her hair was black, straight, and long like a curtain. She was wearing a deep red dress that fell around her in petticoats and ribbons, a pool of blood drenching her slim body. Her feet were bare and her toenails painted. In one hand she held a bottle of wine and in the other her fingers clutched a small velvet purse.

“You, you are very pretty,” Aria managed. “But why are you dressed like you’re going to a ball?”

The girl shrugged. “I do not know. It is a game I must play. I must pretend as if I am lovely and together. It does not do anymore. I quit the game. Or perhaps I lost. I’m not sure.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

The girl slid off the old table to her feet. She tipped drunkenly to the left for a second but managed to stand upright. Then she moved towards Aria.

“You have beautiful eyes,” she remarked. “I could stare into those all day.”

Aria turned her face away, flattered and embarrassed. “Do you always compliment strangers like this?”

The girl laughed again. It was a harsh laugh because it sounded empty. It rattled from her throat, out her pink lips, like a last breath. “You’re not a stranger to me. You’re a subject.”

Aria tried to make sense of this. The girl rolled her eyes at her confusion.

“I’m Lorelai Crass. Or at least I am told that is my name.”

“Oh!” Aria cried and she fell harshly to her knees. They would be bruised in the morning.

Lorelai laughed. “Do not kneel to me. Didn’t I tell you I quit the game? Stop playing it. We are just too girls, that is all. Call me Rosy, that is what my friends call me.”

Aria stared at the flowers that poked up between Lorelai’s dainty bare feet. Bright red wild poppies and blue cornflowers. They wrapped around the princesses ankles and grew stubbornly from the cracks of concrete on the ground. Aria slowly stood up.

“Why do they call you Rosy?” she asked.

Lorelai, or Rosy for that matter, held out the wine bottle in front of her, tipping it back and forth in Aria’s view. The wine was a light pink and on the bottle in gold lettering it said, “Rosé.”

“Why do you think?” Rosy asked, her eyebrows raised and her voice full of satire. Then she took a swig from the bottle, spilling some of it down her front and staining her satin dress.

Aria was unsure what to do in this strange situation so she turned back to the reason she had come to the ruins. She set up her easel on a piece of flat marble, what could have been a ballroom years before, and propped up a canvas on it. Then she sat down on the cold floor. She opened her case of paints, their chemical smell filling the air. Rosy was behind her and suddenly leaned her chin onto her shoulder to look at the paints.

“You’re a painter,” she noted quite obviously, her words tickling Aria’s ear, the alcohol on her breath wafting about. “Have you come to paint me or the ruins? We are one and the same you see. No one remembers a time when we were one piece.”

Aria was becoming more worried for the princess. She glanced sideways at her and their faces came close, Rosy’s pale skin and dark eyes alarming at that proximity. Aria pulled back instinctively and Rosy’s harsh laugh echoed about once more. It was at this moment that Aria noticed something odd. Something in Rosy’s handbag was moving.

“What’s in your purse?” she inquired as she fiddled with one of her ivory brushes.

“Oh!” Rosy exclaimed, standing up with excitement as if she had forgotten. “I brought along a friend! Yes, a dear friend.”

Aria did not like the way it was moving about in the purse, making the velvet material pulse and ripple.

“What kind of a friend?” she asked, her voice trembling. The sun was beginning to set behind the purple mountains. The air was growing very cold. Rosy looked as if she was going to answer but then suddenly turned her head, her mind completely sidetracked.

“That’s right!” she announced to the open air. “I almost forgot. I chose this day on purpose. Perhaps you did too?”

Aria smiled, remembering the excitement the night would bring. “Yes, the blood moon! I am going to paint it. I have wanted to paint it for five years now.”

Rosy sat down next to Aria on the marble, taking another quick swig of her wine. “Five years. That is a long time to wait for something. I presume nothing could be more important than being able to paint it. I suppose you would not miss this for anything.”

Aria bobbed her head, the sunflower falling from her black hair. “I can’t wait,” she said breathlessly.

“Perhaps you could paint me too,” Rosy suggested. “Would I look terrifying in the red light? Or tragic perhaps?”

Aria thought for a second, watching the color of the clouds darken to deep blue. “Why do you say you are like the ruins? What do you mean? It doesn’t make sense.”

Rosy stood up as if the words had deeply affected her. “Doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. “I sense the moon rising, that is what I sense. Do not worry about it painter girl, I mean nothing. I am nothing. Just pretend I am not here.” Then she turned her back to Aria and disappeared behind a pile of rubble.

Aria was not sure how to respond so she laid out her paint brushes, touching them with affection, preparing for the moment when the moon would appear. Something cold and wet suddenly graced her cheek. Like a kiss from a corpse’s lips. She touched her cheek, surprised. The air was icy and she watched her breath billow out of her mouth. Another cold thing landed on her nose.

“Snow,” she whispered, understanding. She watched as small snowflakes fell down around her and the ruins. They seemed to be falling all together, as if one body, one white unstable body. She sat beneath the snow and thought of Rosy's strange words. They became more concerning in her mind the more she tried to puzzle through their meaning.

She stood and walked towards the princess to see what she was doing. She sat against the pile of rubble, the bottle of wine empty and broken into shards on the ground. Rosy had evidently cut her wrists with some of the glass shards because there was blood spinning down the skin of her forearms. The snow settled around her, landing on the bright flowers and her bare feet. The world felt terribly wrong. Rosy had the purse clutched in her hands and she stared at it as if she was about to make a great decision. The look in her swirling black eyes was haunting.

“Rosy,” Aria said, trying to bring her into reality. Rosy’s eyes snapped up to the painter in front of her, clad in soft yellow, skin warm, body steady.

“Rosy, what’s in the purse.”

Rosy said nothing, her eyes fixed on Aria. The smell of Rosy’s blood hit Aria suddenly, metallic and musty, the snow fresh and stark in comparison.

“Rosy, won’t you let me bandage up your wrists? They are bleeding so much.”

“Good,” she hissed. “I love blood! Don’t you see, you lovely girl? I am not just like these ruins, I am them! I am the blood moon, and the clouds. I am everything you have ever painted. I am poetry and I, am, death.” She paused between each of her last words, her voice tense with drama.

“You aren’t making sense Rosy,” Aria said, feeling like a broken record. She began to cry and it felt odd, crying over someone she did not know. But the tears came anyways, warm and heavy. “Let me bandage up your wrists,” she pleaded.

But when Aria took a step forward, Rosy unclasped the velvet purse and pulled out, with one swift motion, a thin black snake. Aria flinched backwards at the sight of it. The laugh came again, echoing against the stone ruins again, echoing back at them. The snow was still falling and it came to Aria’s notice that the moon had appeared. It’s glorious blood light shone on Rosy, willing her to die.

“Know what this is, beautiful painter? It’s my mother’s snake. She keeps a whole tank of poisonous snakes in her room. She likes them. One bite from this one will kill me.”

“Rosy, put the snake back,” Aria pleaded, afraid to step forward again, glancing up at the blood moon then back at the girl.

“Go on!” Rosy cried, hysteria running rampid along her face. “Go paint your moon! Paint it and these ruins, all these ruins! Paint my ruins! Don’t miss your chance!” Rosy laughed again and stroked the back of the thin black snake. Aria was breathing hard with anxiety, watching those cold white fingers stroking the black scales. Her hair was cold and wet on her face from the snow and her body had begun shaking from cold. Her tears had frozen on her face. She should go paint her moon like the princess said. After all this girl was ruined wasn’t she? She looked into Rosy’s eyes, asking what to do.

“Go on!” Rosy commanded again. “I won’t keep you waiting!”

Aria glanced at the moon and knew she could not paint it. Not now, perhaps not ever. “What about your chance?” she whispered to her. Rosy scoffed, watching the snake coil around her hand and slither between her fingers.

“Now you don’t make any sense.”

“You said I shouldn’t miss my chance. But what about you? You deserve a chance to keep living.”

“No I don’t! What will another chance do for me? Nothing! Nothing you idiot!”

Aria was overcome with pain for the girl, and stepped forward, ready to grab the snake from her hands.

“Don’t move!” Rosy snapped. If I press on the back of this guy's little head he will bite. I’ll do it now if you move again! I will!” Rosy had begun to sob then. Her eyes were glossy and the tears streamed endlessly down her shallow cheeks. Aria stood frozen, feeling the whole world tipping on a scale. Possible consequences echoing all around. “I know you don’t want to die. So don’t. Don’t.”

Rosy shook her head no. “You can’t stop me. You said you have been waiting for five years. Well I have been too! I have been planning this death, my death for five years! For five years I have wanted to-”

And then mid-sentence Aria made a decision. She flung herself forward and stopped Rosy’s words short with a searing kiss. Full brown lips against thin pink ones. Lips frozen and wet with tears. Rosy tasted of the sweet pink alcohol she was nicknamed after and it sent a woozy sensation through Aria’s nerves. Rosy had gone still beneath Aria’s embrace, as if she was a machine, her lips the off button. Aria pressed her lips harder to hers, not daring to pull away. Willing to stay there until the end of time. It was Rosy who pulled her head back slightly, disconnecting their cold lips.

Aria looked down at the snake. Rosy had not made it bite her. It sat in her hand calmly, coiled up in her white palm like a sleepy pet. Rosy’s eyes were still shut and her eyebrows were scrunched up, her jaw clenched. Aria carefully grabbed the end of the snake tail and picked up the snake from the girl’s hand. Then she placed the poisonous creature in the handbag and clasped it shut. She tossed it far to the side. Rosy’s eyes remained closed.

“I still want to die,” she whispered to Aria who sat close on the snowy ground, flowers crushed beneath her thick legs.

“I know. But you don’t have to. You don’t have to die.”

Rosy’s eyes opened to Aria, wide and vulnerable, two open wounds. Then she fell into Aria’s arms, her sobs drenching her neck. They sat there in each others arms for an hour, the snow still falling lightly, the red moon still shining. Aria’s paints were ruined and the canvas soaked through but she had forgotten their existence. Aria realized how hard both of them were shivering and stood up, pulling Rosy’s limp body with her.

“We need to get somewhere warm.”

Rosy nodded against her. “Okay. Not the palace though. I don’t want to go back there. I’m done with that game.”

So Aria scooped up Rosy into her arms and walked towards her paint studio, the town lights in the distance guiding her through the darkness. The wet grasses were shocking on her bare ankles and Rosy felt light in her arms. Rosy watched Aria’s face as she struggled forward. “We hardly know each other,” she whispered to Aria.

Aria nodded, a curl of her hair falling over her forehead and brushing an eyelid.

“And we don’t share any blood,” she continued, clutching onto the fabric of Aria’s yellow dress with her quivering hands. “But we are family now. Aren’t we?”

Aria looked down at the princess in her arms. “Why do you say that? I have never had family in my life. I’m an orphan.”

“Family is people who take care of each other. And save each other. That’s what you did for me.”

“I only kissed you,” she remarked, not sure she could accept such a bold statement, such a word as family.

“No, you brought me back to life for a moment. I was already dead years ago but for a moment I felt alive again. How can that not be, be what family does? How can family be more than that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you not wish to be my family?”

“Of course I wish it.”

“You think I’m terrible don’t you? A mess.”

“No. I think you’re lonely. And stunning.”

“So…”

“Of course I wish to be your family.”

And Rosy’s lips tilted into a tipsy smile as Aria stepped onto the cobble path that led to her studio, the blood moon shining above.


"It's been what? Fifteen years. Yeah." "What is or was? I no too sabi this English thing." "What made me me." "Ahhh. This one you're making sense of today. What happened Kay?" "I never talked about my twin right?" "Yeah. I didn't want to probe. It was like you wanted the past to remain where it was. Although, I did want to know." Mide says a bit thoughtful. "Well... Here we go." "I'm the different one in the family. (Some people may replace the different with ugly if you get the gist.)" Mide knows better than to interrupt but he still does. "What! Mide screams. You've got to be kidding me. Or did you do plastic surgery and I'm not aware? How can you look like this and you say you are ugly? I can't believe you. Let me see pictures." "Nah. I didn't do plastic surgery. But here's a picture of us all." "If that's the case, then your family must be fine. Like superb. Spec. That kinda thing." I show him a picture that never left me and for a moment he is stunned into silence. He just stares at me then back at the picture. His mouth agape with shock. "Your family is beautiful. At this point, I think I know what beauty is". He says. I blush. But continue. "So, everyone had light. They were so fair. They even had strands of brown hair scattered around. And I was like this. Their hair was a crown. Mine was more like a comedy. They took me for a joke. I mean a joke. There were several jokes. But, I could not forget one, it said, we know God doesn't make a mistake, but when we see you, we doubt that. Everyone always laughed. And the joke never lost its humor. Tai was the sun and I was just a reflection of him. The moon. The closer I was to him, the more I shone but I still could not be as bright as he was. The farther, he went from me, the less I shone.

Just like the sun, everyone loved Tai. He was like warmth. Shining. Even jollof rice could not compete with him. He was loved. He was smart. And you already know he's a head-turner. He was approached by several modeling agencies but he turned them down. He said he wanted to be Doctor. He was so ambitious. I hadn't figured a thing about how my life would go. He was just perfect. He could run so well, when he ran, you would feel his breeze past you.

When we were fifteen, we had a small birthday party. More like Tai had a birthday party. After the party, Tai said he had a headache. Mum gave him painkillers. And just as he was about to put the water in his mouth, he fell Mum screamed. Everyone rushed down. It was so scary. Tai never fell ill. If we had known there were scarier things ahead, we would have prepared our hearts. But no. He was going to be a doctor and everyone held on to that.

Tests were run on him and we waited. We were asked to go home but we just couldn't. We waited. The tests results came out and mum and dad were called into the Doctor's office.

When they got out, mum couldn't look up and we knew something was wrong. Dad was still cool. He was cool in the storm kind of man. Keeping it all together till it fell away. He said it was fine but Tai would not be coming home with us that night.

After much persuasion, we agreed to go home but it was obvious that the sun was absent on our planet.

Tai kept his cool. He knew he had cancer. He knew he was close to the end of his life. He knew he couldn't be a doctor anymore but he still kept his light on. He was fighting cancer armed with a smile.

When I found out, I became numb and dumb. I couldn't feel. I couldn't speak. I forgot how to. I just didn't how I was living all before then. The only word that kept on spinning in my head was cancer. It was ironic. He wanted to be a doctor but now, he would need several. Days passed in a blur and when the pain could no longer be masked, when his hair was gone and his face looked gaunt, Tai began to crack. It wasn't as quick as an egg. It was a slow and painful cracking. He couldn't keep up with the bits of himself that were lost. As each hair fell, so did his spirit drop till nothing was left of him. He and I now shared the same feeling. We were united in our numbness and dumbness. No one could make us speak. Not even ourselves.

It was this time that I turned to self-harm. Blades, hot iron, fire were used. I enjoyed the only sensation I could feel.

One day, no one knew why but Tai talked. He emptied his empty soul. And I received the only piece left of him. The next day, he died. He knew. He knew he was going to die so he left a piece of himself as a legacy in my heart. When I heard, I screamed or maybe howled. It was an ear-splitting sound that only meant pain. I tore at myself. I grabbed my hair, intending to pull it off. I couldn't do much more because I was sedated.

When I came to be, I wept and wept. I did all types of crying. Loud. Silent. Tears only. The sound only. Whichever way. The numbness had left and the feelings that had been accumulated needed an escape. Seeing my state, mum and dad decided to take me to my aunt. I was always happy in her presence. She hated the jokes made about me. Affirmed me. Loved me.

She's who I call Mum. She nursed me to full emotional health. I became the crazy happy person that I am. So unlike then when I had no words and no tears, I now have words. A lot of them. And as for the tears, I've become an expert in shedding tears in public without being seen. So, Mide that's what made me me." "Wow. Wow. You went through all that? I'm so sorry" "No, need to be sorry" I said. He gave me a hug and when I looked at his face, I saw tears in his eye. Tears for me.


“Ahhhh yes. Now where do we begin with Lucy?... The first thing everyone notices about her is her hair. It shines golden. Bleach blonde actually... Just like her personality. During those winter months – you know, when it’s dark when you arrive at the office and when it’s dark when you leave - well she’s a shining light… And why not? Who doesn’t need a bit of cheering up at 6:40am on a Tuesday morning? It certainly wasn’t the tea that had me coming back… I could even say, at times it tasted like fresh horse piss! No… It was something most people don’t understand anymore, a certain class, a connection, a candour. She played the role of host perfectly, a smooth blend of frankness, service and… and respect. In years gone by she would have run an establishment for the local gentry, or nobles – or something. As it was, she was a waitress at a greasy spoon just off the A34. But she played the role marvellously… Just marvellously… After a while, we got to know each other quite well. She would always joke about what a lucky woman Mrs. Dowd was… I would joke about how one of these days I was going to leave Mary and run off with her… Yes, a very pleasant woman. Well then, you can understand my surprise when one morning, while in the toilets just before work, I heard two of the regulars chatting. A gruff voice let slip a secret. It turns out our Amy was making a little money on the side. Working discreetly shall we say. I mean, she can’t have been making much as a waitress… But what shocked me was the nature of it you see - she was a dominatrix! Imagine that! I can see why though, she understood roles very well. A good actress.... Psychologically gifted… As a gentleman I never made a peep about it, but you can be damn sure that I watched her a more closely after that! People are like that…. They lead you one way… Then they take you another… The next big surprise came a few days later. She was distracted behind the till one morning. Reading a book or something... I only noticed because we’d normally be having a chat at this point, but instead my only company was the breakfast news on the radio. So, interest piqued, I made my way over to her. Without making a sound, I leant over the till to have a look. Well, I’d never seen her move so quickly in all these years! Like a rat up a drain pipe that book was out of sight! She managed the situation well, as though nothing had happened, and the conversation ran smoothly before I headed out to work. But something changed. From that day on… A look… A feeling… Yes, some sort of distance had grown between us. She was watching me and I was watching her. Of course, it’s only natural for a man to feel a certain… frisson, in such a situation. But you must understand, as a married man… No, it was a purely intellectual curiosity. So, there I was, Mr. Nosey Parker, like a basset hound sniffing for blood. It was quite innocuous at first, just a peek into her car at the car park, through the passenger window. Well, let me tell you, there was… there was… well there was a lewd instrument! Just there, laying on the seat! I tell you, I almost had a heart attack! Oooh she wanted to get caught, I can tell you that. She knew I was sniffing around, and she wanted to get caught. She was leaving me tracks… What’s a man to do in such a situation? There we were circling one another like… like a whirpool, it was only a matter of time before we… plunged down into the sinkhole, as it were. Anyway, like a fool, I decided to take the initiative. I took the day off work. I went into the café as normal, suit and all, of course. So as not raise any suspicion you see. Then I parked my car around the corner, just off the T-junction, and waited. What was I thinking! Well, there it is, that’s what I did. So, I waited until… it must have been just before midday. Out pulls her little coral red Fiat 500 and starts off down the road. I followed just behind. It was rather exciting, but there I was cool as a cucumber, hanging back a car or two. I almost lost her when she turned off just after Stafford! But the hunt was on! Twisting and turning we meandered through some country roads. It was all becoming rather personal, what with the single lane and the hedge rows obscuring everything else. Tunnel vision. Just me and the back of her car. Just me staring at her… behind. Well eventually, she turned off down a dirt track towards the most derelict looking barn you have ever seen. Luckily, I saw a layby on the other side through a gap in the hedge row. What a find! But then I’ve always had the best luck. Without giving away the plot I drove on and parked up at the layby. To cut a long story short, I crept round to the front. The heavy front hung loosely from the top hinge, just, ever so slightly… squealing in the wind. My heart was racing and my blood pumping! What if… what if I saw… Well I skulked through… into the darkness… There were no lights in there, you see, just slats missing in the roof, through which great… shafts of sunlight thrusted into the dusty dinge. Blinking, my eyes adjusted to the gloom, when, there in front of my eyes, I saw… I saw a dungeon. A scaffolding of straps and chains and what not. I couldn’t quite take it all in! Then just as suddenly… darkness. When I came to, I was hanging. I was groggy… Strapped up by my arms and legs, just like this… I remember the drool running down my chin like syrup. I was gagged… Then, from the shadows she emerged… Mistress Lucy…She… She was… I had never seen her like that before… In a tight leather corset, with… And so imperious, such an… She looked at me like she owned me! ‘Hello Piggy’ She says! Her! To me! Well I was shocked, as you can imagine, but there was more, there was… a fire, do you understand? I tried shout, to call out for help, but it came out as a muffled whimper. ‘You’ve been a bad little Piggy haven’t you, following me around in the shadows.’ I struggled… I kicked out, I tried to break free… I did… ‘Mistress isn’t happy.’ I noticed the garden shears in her hands, and I tried… I really tried to break free in a twitching frenzy… ‘Mistress isn’t happy and you are going to make it up to her.’ My screams just came out as a bubbly moan. ‘She’s going to train you, she’s going to turn you into a good Piggy slave or…’ The shears clapped twice like snapping of a hungry crocodile. ‘Mistress wants you to kill Mrs. Dowd and serve Mistress from now on…’ Oh how I screamed... “ The feverish glimmer of his eyes was the only light shining from the abyssal black of the gimp mask. He had been declaiming in this manner for some time now, his zipped-up mouth muffling the monologue. Mark was pouring with sweat. He couldn’t help but notice the pair of garden shears in the gimps hand. “So you see,” whined the gimp. “Everyone learns to serve her, but in the beginning, we just need a little help.