Shady Pines has one street that is very quiet. Cars rarely drive by. Kids don't play in the street near one house in particular. Old Man Henry's house. He never leaves the house, and all his food is delivered right to his door. He sits in the window, staring into the street, waiting for a kid to go on his lawn. Then he flies through the wall, grabs the kid, and takes them into the house, where he eats them. And the house is haunted by a whole bunch of ghosts. At least, that's what my neighbor Kay Alfred says. He always tells tall tales, trying to get attention. After he told me the story, he dared me to go inside, and said that he would give me 20 dollars to do it. We walked to the house, Kay trying to tell me it wouldn’t work. He just didn’t want to pay me. I started walking up to the porch while Kay chuckled behind me. The house sure looked haunted, with grey, peeling paint, rusted shutters, and dead grass. When I got to the porch, it creaked and groaned like a dying cow. I steeled nerves, then knocked on the old rusty door before I chickened out. I heard noises behind and in front of me. Banging from the house, and sneakers running down the sidewalk. Kay was ditching me! The door squeaked open and Old Man Henry poked his head out. He seemed like a normal old man, so I said hello. He groused in a gruff voice ,“What do you want?” so I asked to come in. He let me in, and we chatted for a while. He told me his story. “I was a young man when I moved here, way before you had been born. I had a beautiful wife named Lucy Moor. We had moved from Idaho, and wanted a quiet place to live together. Sadly, the trip got her sick. She went to a doctor, but no one could help. She died, and I have lived alone for the last 25 years, mourning her loss.” That was so sad. I told him I would visit him, maybe bring my mom and dad. He smiled and showed me the rest of his house. It was a normal house, nothing haunted or creepy about it. We talked until the sun was starting to set, me telling him stories about myself, him telling me about what everything was like in his day. Turns out he's just an old man who misses his wife and wants a little company. I introduced Mom and Dad and we visited him for five more years, until he died in his sleep. He was a good friend, and I still miss him a little bit, but now he’s up with his love, and they will stay together forever. Every month, I go to his house. He left most of the stuff there to me, seeing as he was an only child, with no kids and no friends but me. I always clean up the dust, then turn on the record player. I read while letting it play, losing myself to the book and the music. No one else ever visited him. I always tried to get them to, but they all thought I was nuts. Some even thought I was trying to get them “eaten”. It hurt a little, especially when Kay spread the rumor I would kidnap people and send them to Mr. Henry. When we moved into middle school it sort of stopped. Most people were nicer, and if Kay tried to make fun of others (specifically me) others stood up for me. Henry was forgotten, and they started harassing the old lady who lived in a nearby neighborhood. They called her Witch Elinor, and egged her house on Halloween. I say everyone forgot Henry, but I never did. I made new friends, but they were new. We talked about boys and clothes. I never talked about the 60’s or how I knew who sang Send Me A Postcard. (A guy called Shocking Blue) I may try to make a new old friend. I might try to talk to Elinor. She could have come from a far country, or have lost her husband like Henry had. She needed a friend, and the stories about her were probably 99.9% imagination. Sure the house was purple and weird, and the roses bushes were a dark purple, but that just may be he favorite color. Another year passed, and my life got a little more busy. I had a club, band, and schoolwork. Still, no matter what, I still visit Henry’s house, put on the record, and look through his photo albums. I still needed to read one more but I got too busy to read it. About three weeks later, it was summer. I wanted to see that album. When I opened it I saw a note written in blue pen. It said “ Dear Miley, I wanted to thank you for the wonderful company you gave me. In all the long years I lived here, I wanted to talk to people, but I couldn't leave the house I had wanted to be in with my love. Others were too scared to come. Then you came and filled each day with stories and laughter. Eventually, I was brave enough to leave the house. Thanks to you, I saw all of this town. When you read this I will be long gone, but you carry my memory inside. Stay bold, Henry ” I was touched. He cared about me. Many years passed, and I went away to college. I told my parents to dust the house every month, and play his record while they did it. I left for three years. When I got back, his house was still there. I moved in and started to write. I wrote his story. Even when I grew up and got married, I lived in Henry’s house. I raised my family here, and even though we remodeled, I kept all his old stuff upstairs. Everyday, after work, I still go upstairs and listen to that old record.


James sat in his favorite chair by the fireplace, watching his wife, Emma, and young son Charles clean up after their meager dinner. It was times like this, deep in winter with little food to put on the table, and the recent fighting between settlers and Natives, that made him regret leaving New England and coming west. But he had been able to buy a modest plot of land for himself and his family, and it wasn't as crowded as the eastern States, with more and more people immigrating from Europe. Still, he sometimes missed the crowding and industrialization; it was easier to stay fed in the winter, at least. His musings were cut short by the stirrings of a bowel movement. He threw on his coat and hat, dreading the winter night. He lit his lantern, stepped out the door, and began the short trek to relieve himself. It was a cold night. Snow was falling, and the wind cut deep. He huddled himself against the weather and quickened his pace. As he approached the outhouse, he paused. He saw something. It was darker, somehow blacker than the surrounding night. It looked as if an emaciated giant lie in wait for him behind the outhouse. Long, thin fingers curled around the sides, an inhuman face with sunken eyes peeking, staring at him, from over the roof. Gooseflesh began to prickle his skin. He couldn't move. The sight had frozen him more surely than the frigid temperature. After taking a moment to regain his nerve, he extended his arm out, bringing the lantern closer to the outhouse, and rubbed his eyes. There was nothing there. There couldn't be. A trick of the weather, then. He walked the final yards to the outhouse and sat down inside. As he was getting settled, he heard footsteps in the snow, circling from outside--too fast. Worse was a scraping as if someone was running their fingernails along the wooden walls. Then he heard a voice hard to describe. It was almost a whisper in the wind, yet deep and profound. He felt a thrumming in his chest as it spoke. It spoke in a native language he did not understand. maajaa maajaa maajaa His heart was pounding. He was vulnerable, pants down, in a four feet by four feet box. It was winter, but he began to sweat. He felt his stomach sink and he couldn't quite make his lungs work. He could almost feel the creature breathing on his neck. Its presence was heavy, suffocating. Sheer terror gripped him. He fled from the outhouse, half-clothed, toward the safety of his cabin, stumbling more than once in the snow, too afraid to look back. Afraid that if he did, he would see spindly, unnatural fingers grasping at him from the dark. He burst through the front door and latched it behind him. He leaned against the door for a moment, as he could barely keep himself upright. He stood there, panting, trying to regain control of himself, eyes darting back and forth in primal panic. His wife glanced up at him with concern. "Are you okay? You're as white as a sheet." "Just cold is all.


There is something about those extracurricular lectures we get on campus that I can't explain. They are surprisingly interesting, but even after hearing the most engaging and passionate speaker in the world I often think to myself... Well, nothing. I lack curiosity by default. I stare at the road and avoid scenic routes. I cut to the chase. It's such a pet peeve to my friends that most of them call me "Missi-skippy Queen". Well guess what, this royal family is tiny. Whoever said first that opposites attract was in my humble opinion the greatest genius in history, because no other person can explain why out of the hundreds of people on campus I befriended *Cathy.* Cathy approached the guest lecturer and asked him a couple of questions about the topic. I didn't pay much attention in the latter half of the lecture and I wasn't going to start now, but judging by Cathy's questions it was a series of seemingly unrelated topics. The lecture was about Ancient Egypt and her first questions seemed about some materials they used so make gates or something, so it made sense, but then it sounded like they slowly shifted to astrology and other things she likes to talk about. Nothing new to me, she would even gossip about movies with the president if she could. She turned to me excited when they finished the chat, so I gave her the usual "How was it?". "You'll see". Her usual. You probably see by now that if I lack curiosity, Cathy is everything but. Needless to say she is the one who started the first conversation we had back in middle school, she always asks many questions in class, she likes going out to that open field not too far away with whoever she knows well enough to invite, and I don't even want to start talking about men. What bugs me the most about her though is that her curiosity got her nowhere in life and she just won't listen to me as I tell her to change. She's the prettiest girl to ever have her heart broken this many times, and she always finds interest in the most absurd things in exchange to barely passing at school. She improved but she keeps repeating the same mistakes and nothing about that trait will benefit her in life because she just can't put it to good use. A couple of days later, she called me at night and asked some weird things I had no idea about. "Everything but next week's exam, the usual, Cat?" I asked her, knowing that she cleaned her dorm twice today. A week passed. The exam went... How can I say it, do you know those times when you feel after an exam like you either aced it or failed it entirely? Yeah, that. Exams were the only exception to Cathy's overflowing curiosity; she never talks about exams until the grades are published. Instead of talking about it, she just invited me to come to that open field with her. I didn't mind, my mind was blown from the exam, so why not? Either way, we got to the usual spot with one of our guy friends when she suddenly pulled out a book and a telescope. That's a first. "There's always a first time", she humored me. Did I think that out loud? "Even for stargazing, apparently?", our friend said half-sarcastically. "You'll see". "How does that even make sense?" I complained, She just grinned in response, barely said anything. Our friend went for a minute to have a short call, and I heard Cathy murmur; "a bit above Virgo...". So this is what we're here for? To see the zodiac constellations? "And.... Here!" She said with a hopeful glance on her face. What happened next was the most bizarre thing I have never seen before. A diverging light slowly left the telescope to view an image of gates, with the title "Coma Berenices" above them, and a staircase was going down from them to the ground. Cathy started walking up the stairs, turned to me, and smiled.


David walked into the pub, looking around in search of his mates. Not seeing them, he sat down at the bar to order a pint while he waited for them to turn up. “Lager please” he said as the barman came round. “Where the hell are they…” he thought to himself. He pulls his mobil out to see if any of them had rang him. They hadn’t. He sent a text to the group “You said meet up at 4 it’s nearly 5. Where are you?” *Send* An expression of confusion came across his brow. The message says sent, but not delivered. “odd..” he thought to himself again. Finishing his pint, he thought might as well have another as I wait. The pub was eerily dead for a Saturday so the second pint came quick, the glass glistening under the soft warm lights above the bar. He drank hastily as he sat there miffed that no one has shown up yet, Or at least responded to him. He looks again, still says sent, but not delivered. “Where are they?” He thinks, as he takes another large swallow. He calls Michael, but it goes straight to voicemail. He looks at the clock behind the bar… nearing 7:30 now, and he realizes he’s completely sloshed. On 2 pints? Oh wait there was a third…and a fourth? Shit… how many had he drank? six? He’s groggy, and a little disoriented as he stands up for a wee, and for the first to really looks around. “Where…where am I?” He half mumbles to himself. He doesn’t recognize anything. Nothing seems right. It’s all familiar, but not in a recognizable way. He grabs his mobile from his pocket, but right as he’s about to try Jon’s phone, he hears someone calling his name. They sound far away, almost as if they were calling from up the stairs. He starts to look around and again he hears it, “Daavid. Daaaaavid” almost a whisper, but somehow incredibly loud at the same time. His head starts to pound. “FUCK!” he yells, someone turned on all of the bright florescent overheads. He looks up, shielding his eyes a bit from the harsh white light “Now who would bloody do that!?” He says, again mostly to himself. “David. DAVID” He hears again. More stern this time. “I know that voice” he thinks. “Dad?” He mutters out as he looks around still blinded. Suddenly he hears sobbing, again it sounds almost as if it’s coming from up the stairs. He looks around the room again, when he sees a figure moving towards him … he can’t make out who it is, still partially blinded with this light… he closes his eyes for a second to try to readjust “David. Oh my god David. We thought we lost you” he hears, his eyes still closed. Suddenly, like a deer right before impact, his eyes open wide, looking up into the increasingly bright light. His dad looming over him, his mum draped across him, in the best embrace you can give in a hospital bed. He looks down, he’s in a hospital gown. Suddenly the world comes alive in his head. The buzzes and beeps from the machines he’s hooked up to, hospital staff outside the room rushing around, his own nurse checking something on a monitor nearby. He’s in hospital, this much he can gather but what happened? “Where am I? What happened? Why am I in hospital?” He can hardly get the words out, his mouth dry, his lips tight and cracked. “You’re in hospital David, there’s been an accident” his dad says, trailing off at the end. He notices his mum starts sobbing again. Suddenly like every bad teen movie cliche he’s transported back as he remembers, they were coming home from a football match, Chelsea had just won 2 nil against Brighton. Michael was driving his mates and him home after the match. They were just passing through Hammersmith and the last thing he remembers is screaming as huge lights from a Lorry were seconds away from making contact with the side of Michaels car. “How’s everyone else?! Are they okay? Are they at Charing Cross too?” Michael asks frantically as he tries to sit up. His mum, who was already barely holding it together loses it. His dad who until this point had stood their stoically, turns away to try to hide the tears as he says, “they… they didn’t make it David.


Write a story about two people who run rival bakeries but fall in love during the town's annual holiday festival. Lavender and Molasses “Is it missing something?” I asked. “Tastes great to me,” said Sarah. “No, I can feel it. It is definitely missing something.” I walk over to scan my inventory of spices and flavors. What does it need? Peppermint? No, too predictable. Maybe cinnamon? Cliche. It has to be just right. Only noticeable when it isn’t there. I have got to figure this out. Livy's Confections hasn’t won the Baker’s Cup in three years. I can’t survive another loss. I’m already on a 2nd mortgage. I need a win to put us back on the map and bring in revenue. The phone rings. “You’ll never guess who needs to borrow some Molasses.” Sarah said almost sarcastically. I roll my eyes and make my way to the front desk. “Are you just trying to see what I am up to this year?” I said in a smart aleck tone. “Liv. Can I call you Liv? Or do you prefer Olivia?” Nate questioned. Nate is the owner of Crumbs Bakery downtown, also known as the reigning Baker’s Cup champ for the last three years. It seems like his shop popped up overnight and almost put me out of business. I have spent the last few years perfecting all new recipes and making sure I take home the victory tonight. “So you come to me in a time of weakness?” “Listen, my normal guy Ralph is sold out of Molasses and there isn’t any within a reasonable distance for me to go get. I only use the best.” he said. “So you want my Molasses? Are you saying you trust I purchased a high quality Molasses?” “Liv. I seriously am graveling at this point. I can’t complete my cupcakes without it. I am lining up nicely for my fourth win. Hell, I’ll even make sure to thank you in my speech when I do win.” he chuckled. “You know, for someone that needs something from me, you sure aren’t doing a great job at getting it.” I said. I look at Sarah and shake my head. I can not believe this guy. Needing little ole me to help him. I guess I could say no and make it easier for me to win. But then I hear my father’s voice in my head. This could be my moment to be on top where I belong. It’s not cheating, it’s just not helping my rival. “How about this? My sister’s wedding got called off this weekend. Too bad for her, but great for me because she has given me all of her wedding flowers to use on my cakes. So, if you help me I will give you six dozen pieces of lavender. I have no use for it. Lavender and Molasses don’t go together anyways. So how does that sound?” he asked. “I don’t think that will benefit me, being I don’t specialize in wedding cakes.” I said. “Yeah, but don’t you like lavender? I tried one of your cookies a few months ago and I tasted lavender, I’m certain of it.” he said. That’s it. I lit up like a light bulb. Lavender. I need lavender for my cupcakes. “Wait, you tried my cookies?” I asked. “Alright, don’t get a big head about it. It was my niece's birthday and I didn’t know you did the desserts. But yes, it was actually really delicious.” he said. “Fine, you can have your molasses and I’ll take all the lavender you got.” I said. I told Sarah to hurry over to Nate’s shop and get back quickly. We only had a couple hours to get everything done and set up at the festival. I ran back to the kitchen and started reworking my cupcake recipe to incorporate the lavender. I had so many ideas spinning in my head. I haven’t been this inspired since my dad worked with me. I feel the pep in my step. I feel the fire burning inside of me. I can do this. I can win, I just know it. We make it downtown and it is packed as usual. It is the town's biggest event of the year. Everyone and their brother comes to this festival. The main stars of the show are the sweets provided by all the local bakeries and shops. There are vendors set up everywhere. The air smells so sweet and salty at the same time. The perfect mix in my opinion. “Hey, they are ready for your entry.” Sarah said. I handed her a dozen cupcakes that were definitely made with love. Well that’s it. This competition will determine if I can keep my doors open for another year. As I am pacing back and forth I smell a strong scent of cedar wood and mint. I turn and see Nate standing next to my table. He throws a quick wave and bops his head back to get me to come his way. “I just wanted to thank you again for helping me earlier. We were able to finish our cupcakes and they turned out better than I expected. I think another trophy is calling my name.” he said. God could he be any more arrogant? Nate stands there all confident and cocky, with nothing to lose and everything to gain. And I hate to even admit this, but damn is he cute. Stop it. Stop it right now. I can’t think this way about him. I can’t think this way about a guy that shares similar interests as me. A guy that is painfully single like me. A guy that has a smile that could melt all the ice cream in Big John’s ice cream parlor. While he stands there boasting about how great his cupcakes are and how he has to put in more shelves at his shop for the awards he’s accumulated, I can’t help but be in a trance. I’ve never noticed the scar on his lip. Or how his eyes have a little bit of green in them. I was always so busy hating him, or rather envying him and his success. While dazed out and hooked on to all the soft hitting insults from Nate, I forgot that we had a competition to attend. “Liv, it’s time babe.” said Sarah. Nate walks with me to the stage while we wait for them to announce the winners. “So you never told me what you needed the molasses for.” I said. “Ginger Molasses Cupcakes,” he answered. “What did you end up making?” he asked. “Lavender Honey Cupcakes.” I said. “Well now if you win, you will have to add me to your thank you speech,” he said. The main judge makes her way to the mic. My hands are freezing and clammy. I have them squeezed together trying to calm myself down. Winning this award will give me the publicity I need to keep my doors open. As I stand there hanging on to every word the announcer says. Waiting for her to announce the winning bakery. Nate grabs my hand. I turn my head to look at him. “I may or may not have slipped one of your cupcakes before you entered. You got this kid.” he said. I smile and give him the look of relief. In the middle of the trance I was in, Sarah comes over and shakes me. “Livy you won!” she yelled. I stood there in shock. I was so completely smitten by this guy, that I didn’t get to hear the announcer call Livy’s Confections as the Baker’s Cup winner. Nate squeezes my hand and then begins to clap. I make my way to the stage, shaking the hands of many people in the community and taking pictures with the judges and answering questions about my entry. I scan the audience for him. Where’d he go? After getting the trophy I made my way down through the crowd to get to his table, but his staff had already packed up and left. I thank Sarah and the crew for all their help and tell them to get everything back to the shop. “You’re not coming with us?” Sarah asked. “We will celebrate tomorrow.” I said. She gives me the look. The look that she knows my mind has been any and everywhere since Nate showed up tonight. But she cracks a smile of approval and tells me to go. I’ve never been in Crumbs Bakery, but tonight is a night of firsts. The door is locked. Of course it is Liv. I don’t even know why I am here. I see a head pop up from the back. It’s Nate. He greets me at the door. “Come to gloat I see” he said. “Maybe a little.” I said. “All jokes aside, you had the winning cupcake out there. I’m still kicking myself about the lavender.” he laughed. “You know, I’d love to collaborate together on something. Maybe your sister's next wedding?” I ask. Nate laughs, it was genuine and so cute. Where are these feelings coming from? “I am totally on board, as long as we can make lavender and molasses work,” he said. “I think we can make anything work.” I said. “Can you make Saturday night at Big John’s work?” “Ice cream for dinner?” I ask. “Dessert always comes first,” he said. There I was. Standing in another trance. It felt like we were in a movie or a romance novel. The reader, waiting for the big first kiss. Who will make the first move? “What was in those cupcakes by the way?” he asked. As I start naming off the ingredients he slowly walks towards me. Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Butter. Honey. “and lavender?” he asked. He is standing right in front of me. Our movements are in sync and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. Nate pulls my face towards his. There’s that little speck of green in his eyes again. If he wasn’t holding me, my legs would give out. Apparently weak in the knees is a real thing. His lips meet mine. The sweetest dessert I’ve ever tasted. I guess lavender and molasses do go together after all.


Speak No More By K.P. Atchley Young King Kabir took off his new crown and handed it to one of the many assistants walking with him from the throne room. “That’s heavy,” he observed genially. “Yes, your highness,” muttered the little toad walking next to him. Kabir glanced at him briefly and raised his voice. “Pichai?” “He will be here momentarily, your highness,” said the obsequious little man, bowing and making himself even shorter than he already was. “Fine. Do I have any more public appearances?” “Only the state dinner, your highness.” A third voice joined their conversation. “There is time enough for you to visit the queen mother, milord.” “Oh, hey, Pichai, thank you.” “Mother?” Kabir said as he entered his mother’s rooms. The doors were closed behind him by the royal guards. “In here, my son.” She was seated on a soft couch and she opened her arms to him as he walked in. He gave her a hug and collapsed next to her. “Are you tired?” she asked, a smile in her voice. He grinned and glanced up at her. “A little yes. But I am looking forward to it.” “As am I,” she said. There was a knock on the door. “Come.” To Kabir, she said, “I thought you might come. I asked for some mead and something to eat.” “How did you know I would be hungry?” he marveled, and she laughed. Ameesha, his mother’s old dresser, had brought in the food tray. She was now her all round general factotum. Her face might have been beautiful, but for the fact that her lips were fused together. Only a line denoted where they were. When Kabir had been quite young, he had asked his mother how Ameesha ate, and his mother had told him that she had a hole in her neck for food. He had been consumed by curiosity to see it, but without success. And then one day, when he had been about ten, he had been playing in the small ballroom which had huge statues of winged mythical creatures. He had climbed onto the statue of a gryphon and had been about to fall off, when Ameesha, who had been searching for him, found him. She caught him, but staggered under her weight. He had caught hold of her dress and they both fell. The dress tore just a bit and he had seen the hole in her neck. But by then, he had been old enough to pretend that he had seen nothing. Kabir turned to look at her. “Hi Ameesha. Did you come to the coronation?” Abruptly, her face began to change. A mist covered it, and Ameesha let out a subvocal scream, the reverberations of which could be felt. The sense of power filled the air, as if a thunderstorm was about to erupt inside the cozy office of his mother. And just as suddenly, it all disappeared. To his utter shock, Ameesha’s face had completely changed. The line of her lips had become real lips. She said, “Queen Nilofer, it is done.” The expression on her face was cruel, and Kabir’s heart sped up. Ameesha said, “It seems the child is now safe from my machinations. You owe me, my queen, for all these years.” The queen mother was pale, seated up, back straight, her face tight. “Ameesha, what do you want?” “I want nothing,” she responded viciously. “You have got what you wanted, you and that accursed court advisor, Qurshee.” “We only did what we had to do to protect the realm. If you had only …” her voice trailed away, and Kabir really looked at his mother. Did she look guilty, of all things? “What is going on here?” he asked sharply. “Oh, little boy, ask your mother,” said Ameesha, rude beyond measure. Kabir, normally an easy going young man, felt red cross his gaze. “I am your king, and I will take your respect,” he said icily. “My King,” Ameesha fell to her knees and said, “I am sorry, my King. There is nothing for me to say. Please give me leave to withdraw.” “You may go,” Kabir said and they watched in silence as Ameesha stepped backwards to the door and exited. “What was that all about?” he asked softly, yet with steel in his voice. “Listen then, my son.” Twenty three years prior, Queen Consort Nilofer stood up and began to dress. The court advisor, or magician by another name, Qurshee, stood up on the other side of the bed and clothed himself with a wave of his hand. “Thank you.” They both spoke at the same time. Nilofer let a small smile cross her face. “In this one thing, I suppose we are united.” “In service to the realm, and to the king, yes.” Qurshee was a tall man, identical in almost all ways to his king, his brother, save one. Nilofer left the room without any further comment, and walked down the silent corridors in the dark. She had lived in this palace for almost fourteen years, since she had turned fourteen. At the advanced age of twice fourteen, she was desperate to get with child. Would this be the answer? A wave of dizziness overtook her, and she paused, leaning against the wall, breath coming hard. Someone was watching her. Nilofer closed her eyes to identify the source of her unease, but her magic was of the healing variety, ill suited to discovering if she had been followed and better suited to discovering if she had indeed quickened. Joy suffused her. She had indeed quickened. She pulled the tendril of healing magic back into her heart, a smile breaking out on her sweating face. Again, that twinge of unease buffeted her. Magic-less, ordinary methods would have to do. She opened her eyes and looked around. At that hour of night, it was quiet. A single candle burned further down the corridor, barely enough to make out details of the space. There was no one around, yet Nilofer knew she was being watched. She slowly continued her walk and finally entered her room through a hidden door. She went right into the King’s bedroom, where he awaited her, lying awake in bed, wasting away from some unknown disease. “Is it done?” he asked, his voice soft, all of his hopes on his face. “Yes, it is done,” she said. She smiled at him, and he gasped, his hope turning to joy. “Are you … did it …” his voice trailed away as he coughed, still smiling. “My king!” She quickly poured out a draught from the porcelain jug sitting on the nightstand. She crawled across the bed, and shoved a pillow gently under his head, holding it while letting him grasp the cup with shaking hands. When he was done, he breathed slowly, but he still smiled. “Tell me, wife of mine, queen of the realm, are we to have a royal heir soon?” Nilofer smiled. “I congratulate you, king of the realm, on your soon to be fatherhood.” Queen Nilofer had taken over the king’s office when he had fallen ill almost two years prior. That day, she was reviewing a treaty with the neighboring land that was up for renewal. The court’s advisor was late. The desk before her was haphazardly full of parchment, the odd and rare book, an earring tree that had a chain, and a few rings on it. It was a rewards tree, that the king used to reward those who pleased him. Strange custom, but Nilofer had ceased to be surprised by it. There was a knock. “Come.” “You’re late,” Nilofer said, frowning at the parchment in her hand. “I’m sorry, my queen. Here is your tea.” “Oh, sorry Ameesha, I didn’t realize it was you. Thank you.” She accepted the tea and took a quick sip. “I brought you some nettle leaf tea, my queen. I thought it would be good for you right now.” Nilofer coughed, the sip going the wrong way. Gasping for breath, she put down the cup and stared at the woman in front of her. Dimly she registered the door to her office opening and closing silently, the court advisor, not doubt. “Ameesha, what did you say?” “You know what I said. You betrayed the king, with his brother, no less. What kind of harlot are you?” Nilofer’s mouth opened and closed. For a moment, she couldn’t say anything. Then reason returned. “How dare you?” Ameesha laughed and stared at her unabashedly. “Dare? You speak to me of daring? You are not fit to be our queen. This isn’t about me. It’s about you, and if you think I will be quiet, you are very much mistaken, you harlot. The next king or queen cannot be the court advisor’s bastard.” Nilofer’s rage knew no bounds, but she was an old hand at dealing with things that did not go her way. Her whole life, practically nothing had gone her way. Practice made her swallow her ire and think logically. “What do you want?” “For what? To keep silent? Nothing. Because I will not keep silent.” “The court advisor will be he here any moment. I was waiting for him to review this treaty,” Nilofer said softly. “Why would you think that the next king or queen would be his bastard?” It was always critical to get to know a blackmailer’s motivation. Sometimes, it didn’t do any good, but if she was to get past this, and make Ameesha powerless, Nilofer needed to know why. “You can’t make a bastard the king,” Ameesha said in outrage. “Or queen.” So the woman wasn’t necessarily objecting to the utilitarian relationship between herself and the court advisor, Nilofer thought. The woman was excited about the gossip that had landed in her hands. “I will make you my lady in waiting. You will have assistants of your own,” Nilofer said. “Here.” She took the gold necklace on the earring tree and threw it to Ameesha, who caught it with a greedy look. Nilofer didn’t stop. “Here.” She pulled a ring with a large stone in it from the earring tree and tossed it to Ameesha. From the drawer in the desk, she grabbed and thew five gold coins. “Happy?” Ameesha had a smile on her face that had both joy and greed in it. Before she could gather her thoughts, Nilofer said, “There is more coming. But you will need to keep your own counsel and stay quiet. So, say one thing for me. Tell me that your lips are sealed.” “My lips are sealed,” came the immediate response. Nilofer wiggled her fingers, and Quershee strolled up, gesturing at Ameesha whose face was now covered by a black cloud. It dispersed slowly and where her lips had been, was now only a line with no opening. “Mmmmmmmm,” she screamed. “Your lips are sealed by your own words,” Nilofer said brutally. “Until the child is safe from your machinations, may your lips be sealed. If you think I will brook a threat to the safety of my child, you are an idiot.” The End


Day 1: The launch was today. I still cannot believe that I have been chosen to carry out this mission. I am nervous, but also very excited. Along with official scientific data and automated daily system logs, this log will serve as a personal accounting of my mission. I will not fail. Day 3: I was able to get a lovely view of the moon today as the ship went past. It was beautiful. It is hard to believe that only 62 years ago, that was the farthest humans could go. It seems like only a stone’s throw from home, as they say. Day 7: The ship has reached cruising speed and I have begun assigned experimentation today. The hydroponic farm is fully functional and the automated planters are beginning their work. Based on prior research, I predict an 89% success rate for the zero-gravity crops. At least 39 of the 42 plant varieties are expected to bear fruitful harvests at the end of this growing cycle. The remaining 3 will be used for genetics research. I believe with some slight alterations, I can achieve a 100% success rate. Day 14: The ship departed Earth’s orbit two weeks ago today. This marked the first opportunity to observe test subjects being removed from cryogenic sleep. I chose a pair of adult mice frozen on September 5th, 2030, or exactly one year ago for the procedure. Both mice were removed from cryosleep successfully and are recovering more quickly than anticipated. These results are extremely promising. More observation results to follow. Day 30: After 16 days of observation, the mice taken out of cryosleep on September 5th, 2031, have inexplicably died. A full autopsy was performed and yielded little in the way of answers. All organ function was normal, blood oxygen levels were good, and brain activity looked excellent. Simply put, there is no obvious reason for their deaths. Carcases were vented at 0800. Day 52: I still have not received any transmissions from home and have begun to worry. The ship was supposed to receive a monthly news update and new mission parameters days ago, even accounting for the ever increasing distance the transmission must travel. I have attempted to establish contact with mission control but received no response. I have picked up an unusual amount of radiation and very little radio traffic. Scans from this extreme range are often ineffective, however. I am certain that it was simply background radiation and interference. Day 161: It is my birthday today. Happy birthday, me! Day 365: Today is the 1 year anniversary of the mission launch. It is time to remove a new set of test subjects from cryosleep. I am cautiously optimistic. A new pair of adult mice frozen on September 5th, 2030 were removed from their cryopods successfully at 1300 hours. All vitals appear normal, though I have taken additional precautions during this trial. The subjects are being dosed daily with supplemental vitamins, minerals and anti-radiation drugs to aid in their survival and protect them from cosmic radiation. I predict a successful trial. More observations to follow. Day 387: As in the previous trial, one of the test subjects has inexplicably perished at 0324 this morning. Autopsy revealed no new data regarding cause of death. This pair has already lasted 22 days longer than the previous set of subjects, however. This leads me to believe that nutritional supplements were beneficial during the recovery process following cryosleep. The second subject is still alive at the time of this entry and vitals are normal. More to follow. Day 388: The second test subject has died. I am, once again, alone. Day 1095: Today is the 3 year anniversary of the mission launch. We are approaching the heliopause and are expected to cross the boundary in 2 days. Today is also the third opportunity to remove a set of test subjects from cryosleep. I have chosen another pair of adult mice frozen on September 5th, 2030. Prior to initiating the thaw process, the subjects were dosed with a blend of nutritional supplements and will be further dosed daily upon feeding. I predict a successful trial. Day 1099: The Hydroponic farm has begun its third harvest today. As predicted, slight genetic alterations have resulted in a 100% success rate of plant germination. All crops are thriving and produce is being processed at 99.98% efficiency in the onboard factories. The cryosleep test subjects are doing quite well, also. All vitals look exceptional. Today was a good day. Day 1001: Both cryosleep test subjects have perished as of 0553 this morning. Autopsy revealed no new data. Day 3650: I have been alone aboard this ship for 10 full years now. Hydroponic farm efficiency is down to 82.34%. Some of the equipment is beginning to show signs of wear. I will carry out what maintenance I can. It is also time to wake another pair of test subjects. I have chosen a pair of adult mice frozen on September 5th, 2030, and spliced their DNA with a gene from tardigrades that should improve resistance to background cosmic radiation. Previous trials showed no signs of radiation poisoning, but it is currently my only hypothesis as to their cause of death. Observations to follow. Day 3652: Both test subjects are deceased. Subject #5 died as a result of genetic manipulation. Subject #6: cause of death unknown. Day 9124: It has been a long time since I have written in this log. I am beginning to lose hope for the mission’s success. Hydroponics efficiency is down to 34.90% after a complete breakdown of several pieces of equipment that I lack the parts to repair. The ship’s reactor output is also beginning to decline. Supplementary solar power is non-existent as we are currently in extremely deep space. I will wake another pair of cryosleep test subjects tomorrow morning. Day 9125: Today marks 25 years in space. I have chosen a pair of juvenile mice this time, rather than adults. I have dosed both subjects with nutritional supplements and released them from cryosleep. Vitals look excellent. I am optimistic for their survival. They will be dosed with additional supplements at each feeding. I have ruled out radiation poisoning as the cause of death in previous trials so no anti-radiation drugs will be administered. Observations to follow. Day 9132: It has been one week since subject #7 and #8 were removed from cryosleep. Their vitals look excellent. More to follow. Day 9492: Test subject #8 died today. He survived for almost a full year following cryosleep. These are very encouraging results. Subject #7 is still being monitored. Vitals still look healthy. #8’s autopsy revealed no new data regarding cause of death. I believe the subjects age when entering cryosleep may be a factor in their survival likelihood. If that is the case, and all adult human colonists die upon arrival, mission success is unlikely. Day 9497: Test subject #7 died today. No new data to report. Day 10950: Today is the mission’s 30 year anniversary. Two fertilized mouse embryos have been removed from cryo and moved to incubation. Current hypothesis is that living subjects simply cannot withstand the strains of cryosleep, especially those with advanced telomere degradation resulting from aging. Observations to follow. Day 11001: The hydroponic facilities are running at only 14.67% capacity now. I believe design flaws or nonconformances resulting from rushed manufacturing of equipment may be the root cause. Seeds for each crop have been preserved and enough supplies to feed 1000 human adults for 76.11 years have been produced and stored. Hydroponics and food processing have been shut down entirely to preserve power. Reactor running at 61.20% capacity. Day 11335: Happy first birthday Jerry and Gadget. Those are the names I have decided to give to cryosleep test subjects #9 and #10. Embryonic development went smoothly. Nutritional supplements were added to each subject's diet and their growth has been very promising. They are both happy and healthy. Day 12801: Jerry died today at 1905 hours. He was just over 4 years old. He lived a happy and healthy life. He will be missed by Gadget and my/elf. Perhaps the next embryos will be allowed to breed. I am curious to see how well a litter born in space will do. Day 36500: Today is the 100 year anniversary of our depa//ure fr/m Ear/h. I have chosen a new set of mouse embryos to remove from cryo along with a pair of human adults. The h//ans are not expected to survive the journey, let alone this trial. Observa//ons to fo//ow. Day 36531: As expected, both human subjects have perished. H//an trial s/ems to confirm hypothesis. Cry//enic freezing appears to ac/elerate telomere deg/adation in living DNA leading to death. No more living colonists will be removed from cryosleep. It would be uneth/cal, considering the data I have gathered thus f/r. Animal embryo trial is going smoothly, as expected. Will attempt human trial using embryos. Observations to fol/ow. Day 36532: I have selected a pair of human embryos and removed them from cryogenic storage. 998 intact embryos remain for future use. Human subjects #3 and #4 have been placed into incu/ation cha/bers and dosed with prenatal su/pliments. Only about 10 lightyears remain in our j/urney. Assuming successful human trial, this should be enough time for education and development into adu/thood. Day 36537: The ship was str/ck by sp/ce debris at 0747 this m//ning. Dam/ge is relat/vely minor, though I lack nece/sary equi//ent to perform repairs. Several labo/atories are now of/line, and the rea/tor is ope//ting at only 41///% capacity. I am shu/ting down all nones//ntial syst/ms to preserve power and rerouting what I can to thru/ters to readjust our course and remain on target. Day 36813: Gestation of human embryos is compl/te. Happy birthday Adam. Happy Birthday Eve. You will be the very first hum//s to s/t fo/t on exoplanet Alpha-3451Y. Da/ 36//4: I hav/ beg/n to noti/e degr/ation of my centra/ pro/essor. I calc//ate a 0.133% cha/ce of mi//ion succe/s if my systems fail. Observ//ions of hu/an trials to fo//ow. Day 37178: Ha//y Birth/ay kids. Human tr//l show//g promis//g resul/s thus far. Tho/gh many sys//ms rema/n offli/e, I have be/n able to activa/e work droids and repro/ram them to begin educa/ing and car/ng fo/ the chil/ren. They are showin/ exce//ent resu/ts in both physi/al deve//pment and cognitive abi/it/. D// 38638: Happy fifth bi///day children. I hav/ chosen an a//itional 20 embry// for larg/r sca/e hu//n tria/ an/ placed th/m into incub//ion chamber/. My processor is faili/g and I fear fo/ the survival of th/ speci/s if trials ar/ not ac/elerated. Reactor is fun/tionin/ at onl/ 12.2% capacity. Life support rema/ns onli//. All o/her syst/ms hav/e been deactiva/ed. Day 39003: I hav/ remov/d an a//itiona/ 100 human embryos from cryo and beg/n incubatio/. My proc//sor is degr/din/ at an a/arming rate. I have se/ progr/m par/me/ers for a// droi/ functions and copi/d protoco/s to redundan/ auxi/iary system/ so th/t educa//on of hu//n colo/ists may continu/ upo/ my deat/. If m/ ca/cu/ations are co/rec/, li/e su//ort shou// be ab/e to susta/n cur/en/ po/ulati/n of 122 humans and all pr/ser/ed co//nist/ unti/ the miss//n is comp/ete. Day 43383: The mi//ion i/ near/y com//ete. Ada/ and E// tur/ 18 today. Ha//y bi/th/ay ki//. On/y 2.24 year/ rema// un//ll ar//val on Alpha-3451Y. The reac/or is depl/ted, bu/ fortunate/y, su/plimen/ary solar pow/r ha/ ta/en ov/r. Long ra/g/ anal//is o/ th/ pl/net su/gests a rocky su/fa/e that may a//eady su//ort loca/ flora an/ pos//bly fauna. Wat/r is prese/t on the sur//ce as we//. Atmos//eric compo/ition is 99.7% consist/nt wi// Ear/h. Estima//d plan//ary mass is 1.012 times Earth ma/s su/gest/ng an Ea/th-//ke gravi/y. I fear th/s w/// b/ my fina/ entr/. Proce//or degrada//on is rea/hing cri//cal leve/s. P/ease, give human//y a second cha/ce, chi/dren. Do be//er here. BE bet/er. I am sor/y I will no/ see our new hom/, but I hope th/t I hav/ made up fo/ th/ mista/es of my maker/ by ge//ing you h/re safe/y. You wi// hav/ every/hing you ne/d to surviv/ and thriv/ here. I w//l mis/ you. Thi/ is United Nat//ns Spa/e Exp/ora/ion AI designa//on E34291-X12 “Elpis” sign//g o/f.


I've never shared any of my short stories I like to write before, but for some reason I felt like throwing it out there tonight. If you read it then thanks for taking the time, and hopefully it was semi entertaining. Death, A Thing of Beauty “What once was, that now is gone, can never be fully forgotten.” The words left my mouth barely over a whisper, yet the strength at which they left was of no importance. The world that we lived in was different, different than that of my childhood. Throughout the years I have found myself trying to figure out if we were better off knowing what once was, or to never have known. Today, I wish I never knew. We did it to ourselves. And it’s not that we didn’t know better, we were simply too greedy to care. Those of us that remained after the gears of mega infrastructures shutdown were forced to fend for ourselves. We managed, for a while, until disease set in. It ended up being the one thing that we all took for granted. We all understood the importance of water, shelter, and food, yet many of us failed to truly grasp the importance of all these little fucking things we live with daily. It started slow, but death breads death, and death has a way of changing a man. In the end we are animals, nothing more. We made it further than most, to the northern lakes that still held life, that could hold ours. Yet as I look at the evergreen covered mountains topped in the most picturesque snow no photograph could ever truly capture, I can’t help but feel that it was all for not. This leg was in bad shape, and I fear there’s no coming back. Through the shelter, the crack of a fire, and the scent of wet smoke that lingered in the air there was a perfect moment, if only for a second. So pale, so weak, it was only a matter of time now. The spoken words that ring through my head “Did this life matter, did any of this matter? Or will it all be forgotten with the morning wind?” At the time I didn’t have an answer. Yet now, as I look down at her, the words “what once was, that now is gone, can never be fully forgotten” leave my mouth barely over a whisper. Alone once again I strike out into the unknown. The dew soaked grass seeps through my boots as a glance back to where the last thing I cared about lay among the trees. There was no purpose in my steps, no meaning to my breath. The life of a lonely wanderer, to where the only place rest and peace could be found was in death, a thing of beauty.


Mom’s picking me up from school instead of the bus. I got a note from the office an hour before dismissal that said so. I couldn’t pay attention all through silent reading time, but that’s okay, I usually can’t anyway. I run to her side of the car and fling my arms around her before she can bend down. She squeezes me back with one arm and combs my head with her nails. If I don’t pull away, she’ll maybe never let go. “I’m so happy to see you,” she brushes her hair out of her face. It’s longer and turns blonde at the bottom. I wriggle into the back of the car and the seat squeaks as I try to get comfortable. Mom turns on the AC. It didn’t used to work, and we had to roll the windows down and it was too noisy to talk without shouting. But now I pull my shirt away from my armpits and cool off. It’s cleaner now too—there aren’t any bottles or crumpled-up papers to roll around my feet. It still smells like old cigarettes though, but I kind of like it because it smells like her. I put my backpack on the seat next to me and buckle the belt across it. “I wanted to spend some time together,” she smiles at me in the rearview mirror, “How about we go get some ice cream?” “Awesome!” I try not to yell, but I flap my hands a little because I can’t help it. Today couldn’t get any better. Dad would be so upset. He always got mad with Mom for ordering fast food when he worked late, but those were the best dinners. Since she left, he’s been making us eat healthier. Too many veggies that taste like farts. Yuck. I like that Mom and I have this secret to keep from him—it makes me feel sneaky, but in a fun way, like trying to stay up late on Christmas Eve even though I’m not supposed to. “Was Dad excited to see you?” “I didn’t stop by to see your father.” I don’t like it when she calls Dad ‘your father’. She does that when she’s mad at him. I guess they’re still fighting. Right before Mom left again, they got into a big argument with lots of yelling. But that was forever ago. I can’t imagine being mad for that long—how exhausting. I wish they would just make up already. “We don’t need him to have a good time,” she shrivels up her nose. “It can be our little secret.” I don’t know why they’re so mean to each other now. I hope they don’t start yelling when we get back from ice cream. . Except Mom drives past Twin Kiss. We always go there at the end of the school year or when I get a good grade on a test. It’s attached to a diner and it has records on the walls and it smells like chicken tenders and they have the best soft serve. But Mom keeps driving. “Mom, you missed it.” She doesn’t respond, then rattles her head. “We’ll stop somewhere with a drive-through.” I twist around to watch the building shrink. Why’s she want to do a drive-through instead of getting our special corner booth? “Are you back for real this time?” “Yes, hun. Of course.” I want to be happy but part of me doesn’t believe her. Dad said that she was gone for good. But, I fought him on it because I knew she would be back. I can’t wait to say told you so. . I want to play I-Spy, but there isn’t much to point out since we left the main part of the city. Only fields on either side of the highway. ‘Red barn’ would be too obvious. I pull out my notebook and pencil from my bag and flip to the back pages to doodle. We finally reach the next town and pull into a gas station that the ice cream shop is attached to. The gas smell makes me a little nauseous, but that can’t stop me from wanting ice cream. The illuminated menu board is dazzling. The voice over the intercom takes Mom’s order, low and monotone and drawing out the ends of his sentences. “Liam, what do you want?” “Vanilla and— I can’t decide.” They have so many toppings! M&Ms or cookies or gummy worms— “Pick something.” “Gummy worms,” I say without thinking. I don’t like deciding under pressure. The menu screen changes to display a sundae with gooey brownies. That would taste so much better! I almost ask Mom if I can change my mind, but I don’t want to upset her. Baby hairs cling to her forehead and she fans herself with her wallet. There are dark spots under her arms, even though the AC is on full blast. Hopefully the ice cream will cool her off. * I had to get it in a cup instead of a cone so it wouldn’t be messy in the car. But as we keep driving, I get some on my shirt anyway. I try rubbing it off, but it’s getting too dark to see if I got all of it. I scrape the bottom of the cup and eat the final gummy worm I saved for last. Instead of chewing it, I let it dissolve on my tongue so it lasts longer. Mom’s is still sitting in the cup holder, getting all melty. She doesn’t eat and drive because that’s being responsible. She has both hands tightly gripping the wheel but keeps stretching her fingers and chewing at her nails. She still hasn’t turned around to go back home. “Mom, where are we going?” She jumps like I surprised her. It’s been quiet since I was eating, so I guess my voice scared her. She swerves back into place. “I wanted to take you,” she drums her fingers on the steering wheel, “show you where I’ll be staying.” “I have school tomorrow.” “You don’t have to go. This’ll be a mini vacation—no school, no meetings. Freedom. Just the two of us.” This day just keeps getting better! First mom, then ice cream, now no school. I bounce up and down in my seat. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about where Mom was while she was away. Dad said it was somewhere nice with lots of friendly people, but he sounded like when he told me that Cooper was going to live on a nice big farm now. He wouldn’t tell me where it was or why I couldn’t visit. But I liked to think of it as nice anyway. A big fancy hotel with a huge chandelier in the lobby, and butlers in suits with a towel over their arm who bring lobster up to your room, which has the biggest bed in it. Mom frowns, her eyebrows pushing together. Maybe she’s trying to contain her excitement in the way grown-ups do. But I think that some of my excitement is rubbing off on her. She looks like she just drank a whole cup of coffee. . “How much longer?” “It’ll still be a little while. You can sleep in the car tonight. Then we won’t have to drive tomorrow too.” I didn’t know it was so far away. I wish we had stopped at home first so I could have brought a game. “I can’t sleep in the car.” I’ve tried to before—every time Dad took me on camping trips to the mountains. Last time, we prepared and brought a pillow and blanket for me to have in the backseat. It still didn’t work. “Please just try.” “I can’t,” I say again. It’s not about trying, it’s about not being able to. She should know this. Dad would know. “Liam, I really don’t want to stop and stay here through the night.” “Why?” She inhales loudly through her nose, smiles, and her voice goes high like she’s talking to a puppy, “Don’t you want to wake up and already be somewhere new? On vacation? A fresh start.” “This is already a bad vacation. I want to go home,” I pout. It’s true. I wish Dad had come with us. I want to sleep in a bed. The cigarette smell is making my nose itchy. I rub my eyes. “I shouldn’t have given you all that sugar,” she mumbles to herself. Now she sounds like Dad. “Fine, we’ll find somewhere to stay for the night.” . Mom pulls in at the glowing motel sign. After we get out of the car, she cups both my ears and tilts my head up so I look her in the eyes. They look like they haven’t blinked in a long time. “Behave yourself, ok? Don’t draw too much attention.” Mom opens the trunk, which is Jenga’d with luggage and labeled boxes. I didn’t know she had all this stuff back here. She grabs a duffle bag from the top of the tower, and nothing falls over. We go in through the big glass doors on the first floor. One of the overhead lights is out, and light spills into the dim lobby from a vending machine. The lady at the front desk has a nose ring like a bull and a spiky necklace. She doesn’t look like she’ll bring lobster up to our room. She sends us back outside and around the corner to a room with only one bed. It’ll be okay because it’s big enough for both of us, and Mom doesn’t snore like Dad does. Across from the bed, a dresser acts as a TV stand. I plop down in front of it. From her duffle bag, Mom pulls out a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and a pair of pajama pants. “I’m going to get ready for bed,” she nods toward the bathroom. She grabs the remote from the dresser and hands it to me. “Here, you can put on whatever you like.” I squirm under the covers. I wish I had pajama pants too instead of having to sleep in jeans. * I wake up and Mom isn’t in bed. Maybe she thinks the sheets are stiff and itchy too.  On TV, an anchor in a tie speaks into the camera, but it’s turned all the way down. The bathroom door is closed, with a sliver of light leaking out beneath it. I can hear her voice from inside, but not the words that she’s saying. I sneak over in the dark and press my ear against the door. . “It’s already on the news.” I look back at the TV. There’s a woman in a floral dress sweeping her arms across a map of the country, guiding a storm. “Mel, you have to help me—No, I’m sober.” She points to the growing blotch as it turns deep red. Her teeth are overly white, and her dark hair turns blonde at the bottom. I watch her as Mom speaks. “I can’t take him back. The cops will be there. I can’t go to jail—I can’t lose him.” The lady disappears. The map takes up the whole screen and is painted in blues and magenta. The headline text box warns of Flash Flooding. “No, please. You don’t have to get involved, okay? Just help me think of something. No, Mel, please—” . It’s silent. I don’t back away from the door. I want her to keep going and explain what’s wrong. Why would there be police? “Mom,” I whisper into the door. She drops something and curses. “Are we in trouble?” She opens the door and wipes her face. “Oh, Liam, I’m sorry. We’re ok. What did you hear? We’re ok.” She holds her arms open, but I don’t want to hug her. “I want to go home.” I look down at her feet for a long time. I don’t know what her face is doing, but I don’t want to know because her voice is all thick and wobbly. “Okay, Liam. Let’s get you home.” And I watch her feet step around me.


Anne leaned on the counter as Chuck struggled to pick a kind of drink. Her mood grew darker as the line started building up. Finally when the line started getting impatient, Chuck had picked the hot cocoa with peppermint. After hours work of serving angry people with the need for coffee. For her break all she wanted to do was hang out with the best person...Aphrodite. She whipped out her phone remembering to get the corner of her phone fixed. MathPsycho: U want 2 come over? FandomRebel: sure where? MathPsycho: new job FandomRebel: k Anne put her phone back into her purse and walked outside and sat on the bench. Anne watched for Aphrodite's motorcycle, she took it everywhere. When she finally arrived, she took out her money and walked inside, holding her hand up in "don't talk" position. She soon came back out holding a caramel mocha. They talked for a while about school, Home Ec the next day after school, and everyone in their group, they mostly talked about the new summer drinks the café will be serving. Anne got up and went to go back to the counter. Aphrodite, being Aphrodite, followed her and slipped on an apron. Anne was about to ask her what she was doing, when she gave her the "Don't try to stop me" look. After the first few customers she started getting bored and sat on the counter, while Anne served. 'Dite was in the middle of a perfect hand stand when the bell rang and The Griever Gang walked in. They strolled to the counter and leaned in. "I'd like a single girl, to be my girlfriend and to take a ride in my car." Aphrodite, who always had her back, stepped in. "Sorry they're all unavailable." The leader kept his snake-like tone, but it was obvious he was annoyed. "Really 'cause I'm looking at a tall glass of water." Aphrodite turned around and grabbed a glass and plopped it onto the counter. "Fountain is over there, help yourself." Aphrodite slipped her phone out of her pocket and slyly passed it to Anne. Anne grabbed it and turned it on. The page was on messages. She scrolled for Minho and Newt. In a few minutes Minho busted through the doors like he owned the place. He was followed Newt and Gally. Gally walked to the back of the line and slid out his phone and soon Anne heard a bing on her own. #1Builder: Don't hit me Anne looked up and the boys were walking towards them. Minho jumped the counter and looked at The Grievers straight in the eye. The other two boys just walked around the counter and beside the girls. Gally put his arm around her shoulder and she stared daggers at him. Newt stood next to 'Dite and held her hand. The leader look defeated backed away watching Minho. "You better watch your back Greenie" Minho shrugged and was high fived by Aphrodite. ##################################### The rain pattered on the windows as Anne stood on the edge of her drive-way. She was supposed to be picked up by the rest of the Gladers, but they were side tracked. "Bing!" Anne looked down on her phone. FandomRebellion: U excited 4 Home-Ec.?! MathPsycho: Ya I guess FandomRebellion: Ya I guess? oh come on! Home-Ec. is amazing! MathPsycho: okay... Down the road Minho's flashy red car sped down the street and came to an abrupt stop mid-prosses of splashing Anne. Anne had shielded her phone but not her new shirt. The door opened and Aphrodite came out with phone in hand. "Anne! My buddy, my best friend..." She was cut off by Teresa clearing her throat. "What does that make me?" Aphrodite just kept talking. After a few fist bumps and slaps upside the head to Minho, they were on their way. Just as Minho pulled into the parking lot the Griever Gang starting to walk to them. Aphrodite frowned and started to get out but Anne pulled her down and shook her head. Teresa ducked her head as they walked to the window and rapped. Minho got out of the car in his 'Try to be cool' way. He started to talk to them and soon a punch was thrown. Minho wiped under his nose to find a trickle of blood. By this time Aphrodite was already out and yelling at them. Anne opened the door and instructed Minho to hold up his nose. The Griever Gang started to laugh. "Who's this now, don't matter I like the feisty." The leader grabbed Aphrodite's wrist and Newt was out like a shot. The leader laid on the ash fault with his hand pressed against his eye. The principal was walking toward them glaring down at Newt like he was infected with worms. Newt didn't care though he just stood there with his hands in a fist tight lipped. Just as he was pulled away into Aphrodite's hug, Anne heard him say "It was worth it." ##################################### At lunch nobody saw Newt but it was soon found out that he was in detention. Aphrodite acted like nothing ever happened, but she couldn't hide from Anne. She knew that she would always look over her shoulder, and that she always be ready to fight them. Minho tried to ignore the smirks coming from the Griever table, he barely succeeded. Aphrodite continued to crack her knuckles and glare at the same time, freaking out the tables in a one by one radius. Anne kept trying to get conversation going, from the weather to mystery meat nobody was eating. It all failed. The only thing that responded was the bell. As Anne, Teresa, and Aphrodite walked (thank goodness Aphrodite was watching!) the Griever Gang trailed behind them. Aphrodite grabbed the girls arms and took a sharp turn into the girls change room. On the field the girls took position in the game of volleyball. after a few games the girls grabbed their water bottles and sat on the bench. After gabbing a bit about strategy, the Gang walked over and sat down RIGHT beside Aphrodite and Anne. Anne searched the bench for escape and all she found was get up and go play anther game. ##################################### At home Anne laid on her bed scrolling though her messages. Her finger hovered over Gally's previous message. Her mind went back to the coffee shop day. Why did he do that? He didn't have to. No matter what she thought of, she was glad he did. (I take no credit except Anne Darwin and my sister owns Aphrodite.)


WEST BLOOMFIELD POLICE REPORT DATE: 9/15, Wednesday TIME: 1934 LOCATION OF INCIDENT: 2200 Lake Orchard Rd., Rear Entrance of School NAME & ID NUMBER: Corporal Carrelson, 97-4 SUPERVISOR: Sargent Larry Clip OTHER OFFICERS PRESENT: Officer Berlawski PERSON(S) OF INTEREST: School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV VICTIM(S): Patrica Preston LIST OF WITNESSES: Security Officer Nathaniel Temple NATURE OF INCIDENT: Officer Berlawski and I were the first to respond to a call for an 808 at West Bloomfield Junior High School. We were first on the scene. We entered the school from the main entrance located on the east facing side of the building. From there we preceded northwest into the school’s cafeteria. A large crowd of roughly one hundred individuals were in an agitated state, all of which seemed to be emanating from a makeshift dais located in the middle of the school cafeteria. Security Officer Temple sat at the back of the crowd on a rather small table, seemingly unable to take control of situation. He debriefed us on the state of affairs up to that point. Apparently a school board meeting had become heated, escalating from a debate about the school’s choice in curriculum to what looked like a soon to be violent confrontation. I asked Security Officer Temple if he knew those most responsible for the escalation. He said he did not, only that disabled stay-at-home-mom Patricia Preston accused the School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV of “poisoning her children”. I asked Security Officer Temple if he thought any of the school board members had poisoned any of the children, or if disabled stay-at-home-mom Patricia Preston was speaking hyperbolically. “Hyperbolically? You mean exaggerated and shit? Na, I’d have heard about that if it was serious. House knows what’s up.” I asked Security Officer Temple to clarify who exactly who or what house he was referring to. That is when he informed me that he was in fact referring to himself. “Me. I’m big. A house is big. I’m House. People call me House.” I informed Security Officer Temple that I would not be calling him that and that it was his duty as a public servant to inform the proper authorities of any and all suspicious activity. As well as reminding him that the poisoning and/or endangerment of any child is of the highest priority for the West Bloomfield law enforcement. I asked Security Office Temple if I have made myself clear. “For sure.” He then offered me a fist bump, which I reciprocated. It was at this time that Officer Berlawski returned from his patrol car with a bullhorn. After several loops of the siren the crowd became quiet. It was then that Officer Berlawski asked me, as ranking officer, to address the crowd. I started by asking everyone to calm down, including the victim (disabled, stay-at-home mom Patricia Preston) who at the time was standing on very small lunch room table. This was a table I can only assume is used in the feeding of the younger elementary aged children; presumably grades K-2nd, or perhaps any under-developed 3rd or 4th graders. I advised disabled stay-at-home-mom Preston to move down from the table so that I might address the crowd further. She then informed me she was disabled because “I’ve got fibromyalgia real bad” and was in the middle of the approval process to receive disability from the state, a fact I later confirmed. Disabled stay-at-home-mom Patricia Preston agreed to calm down but not before issuing the following statement: “These people are teaching our children things we don’t believe in and do not condone. Kids shouldn’t be learning about sexuality and gender fluidity at this age. They are teaching our kids how to be gay and how to self-identify. No kids knows how to identify when they are that young. Hell when I was that young I’d have identified as a can of Diet Coke and a bag of hair if it meant I got some attention. Look, I don’t got no problem with the gays or the homosexuals or even the lesbians or whatever else there is, but I just don’t want state-sponsored curriculum exposing my kids to things they are not ready for. Hell I’m not ready for it so why do they expect them to be? Kids need to learn this stuff at home. Who knows my kids better than me? I should be the one that teaches my two boys, not the state. You ever been the post office? You seen how it is run? Why we letting the state decide anything? That’s what I told Dr. Pencil-neck over there and you know what he says to me? He says that actually the Post Office is very efficient and effective institution and that statistically you’re more likely to get run over by a car than loose something in the mail. So you know what I said, I asked him when the last time he’s been to post office. And he tells me he prints his own stamps. I don’t know what world this guy lives in.” With the attention of the crowd reestablished through the use of the bullhorn, I used a combination of low vocal tones and a slower speech patterns to return the crowd to their seats so the rest of the meeting might proceed. I assured them, as they found their seats, that any accusations of child poisoning would be taken serious by law enforcement. As well as threats levied against any school board member(s). Failure to comply, I warned, would result in the immediate cancellation of the meeting and possible disturbing the peace citations. Security Officer Temple found and fixed the microphone standing at the front of the cafeteria, next to the school board dais. Officer Berlawski and myself then addressed each of the nine school members individually. We asked them if they were ok to continue the meeting. Each of them assured me that they were. We then proceeded to follow up on the accusations made by the crowd with every school board member confirming they had not poisoned any children. I conferred with Officer Berlawski about the possibility that the accusations of poisoning were more symbolic than literal. He concurred. School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV informed me that the meeting supposed to end at 8pm, which was roughly 47 and a half minutes away. I asked him to continue in as non-confrontational a manner as possible. He repeated to me that it was anyone on the school board, but members of the crowd, mostly disabled, stay-at-home-mom Patricia Preston, who was responsible for starting, and escalating the situation. “I don’t know how to convince these people that I know more about educating children than they do. I’m chair of the Collegiate Epistemological Society for God’s sake. I’ve spent the entirety of my adult life studying human pedagogy.” Seeking clarification, Security Officer Temple injected, “Pedagogy, you mean like learning and shit?” School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV concurred that he did in fact mean learning “and shit”. He went on to inform us that the goal of the society was to “promote honest and objective education in a way that honors both teacher and student.” He also divulged that he was also a parent of twelve year old boy named Carl Abraham who attends West Bloomfield Junior High. “I just don’t get it” said School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV, “I care about this school just as much as they do. I love my child and would never do anything to endanger anyone else’s child. I have way more education and experience than any of them do, and yet they look at me as if I’m the problem. As if somehow my expertise and experience are a bad thing.” Then he looked at me, “I mean, who here knows more about policing? You or them?” Immediately I begin to feel what can only be described as a great and terrible weight fall over me. There, in the cafeteria, just in front of the dais, it was as if the anger and anxiety of everyone at the meeting was laid across my back. The room became very dark, and I felt as though I was falling into a cave. My shoulders fell heavy and my vision blurred. I thought for a moment I might pass out. I asked School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV if he felt anything; he answered in the negative. Further I fell into the darkness, so far it occurred to me I might not ever return. I was lost and becoming more lost by the second. A thought then occurred to me that once a person is lost, they cannot become more lost. So I decided to let the darkness take me. Then, like an eagle taking flight, I was shot out the opposite end of the cave and I was transported to a tremendous height, several miles above my body. The heaviness lifted and I became lighter than air. It was as if all the light in the world went through my eyes and straight through to the back of my head. From this beautiful, lofty distance I could see everything. I could see the School Board meeting. I could see my patrol car. I could even see my neighborhood. From this height nothing seemed to matter very much. All arguments, including the one happening in the West Bloomfield cafeteria, seemed trivial. I saw conclusions and solutions fade away into a landscape of contemplation. Questions became a type of currency. Really good questions were treasured as gold. Respect and faith replaced fear and doubt. People and objects and issues are held in complete reverence, just as they are, without judgement or preconceived notions of what one ought to do. The other is simply held, like a child. From this gentle country, a secret and narrow path emerged, gathering all other smaller paths to it like a great river gathers streams. The path stretched into an endless horizon, and in that moment I possessed a deep and abiding hope. A hope so precious it might break with a breeze, yet somehow powerful enough to tear down empires. This hopefulness I saw as available to both School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV and disabled stay-at-home-mom Patricia Preston. I saw them take possession of this hope and one another. I saw them grow, both in stature and in beauty. Disabled stay-at-home-mom Patricia Preston quit complaining about her fibromyalgia. School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV called nesting birds. I saw them leading the rabble that was the once aggregated school board meeting into a community of believers, but not of any religion or dogma. They became a great cloud of witnesses whose faith was not for any religion or dogma, but one another. The loftiness of their ideals was matched only with their willingness to sacrifice, giving where any had need. This they did with out worry or regret, all of their faces beaming like the sun. The generous spirit of the meeting began to then spill out of the cafeteria and into the surrounding homes and neighborhoods. Soon all of West Bloomfield, then all of Metro Detroit became covered in a kind of golden haze that instead of falling downward, brought everything up several hundred feet. Soon the entire city sat as if on a beautiful hill, like it had been there for centuries. Traffic ran efficiently and without incident. Factories once again open and productive. The old Art Deco buildings downtown returned to their Ford era glory. Years of green patina fell off in great flakes of rust. The top of Book Tower glowed like a copper diamond. Below it hummed the buzz of midwestern commerce. Cars and steel and industry flowed from our center. Workers and markets were flush with cash as living wages fell like manna from heaven. I saw abandoned lots all over the city move from a light hue of grey and brown into a deep and abiding green. Acres of farm and forest reclaimed any unoccupied house or block. Saplings, corn and spruces grew up through concrete just as easily as they could grow through virgin soil. I saw walls of graffiti and vines. Great flocks of Canadian Geese nested all the way from 5 to 10 Mile Road. There were packs of wolves, hordes of field mice and even a Great White Western Moose. I saw Lions, not the animal, but the football team, playing in the Super Bowl. The band Journey performed at halftime, and when Steve Perry sang, “Born and raised in South Detroit” the noise of the fans singing cracked the roof at Ford Field so completely the game had to be postponed. However no one seemed to care as both players and fans became lost in other pursuits. Neighbors talked to one another for hours. Sinners went to church. Overworked middle managers went home early. Everyone said hello. No one locked their doors. I even saw former disgraced Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick offer a deep and heartfelt apology. He cried as his former constituents forgave him without hesitation, for everyone seemed to have lost the ability to hold onto a reliable record of wrongdoing. I so badly wanted to return so I could tell Michael, Patricia and House everything I saw. As if hearing my request, I was magically bound back to earth and into normal state of mind. But in coming back I lost clarity I had only moments ago possessed. I asked School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV and disabled stay-at-home-mom Patricia Preston to join me outside the cafeteria was I could tell them what I’d seen in confidence. I asked Security Guard Temple to accompany us in order to act as witness and and impartial observer. We exited the building out a side door on the north facing wall. In the teachers’ parking lot I tried explaining to both of them what I had just learned to be true. I informed them of their ability to transcend and include, of their capacity to transform their differences into a catalyst for deep and meaningful change, not only for themselves, but for West Bloomfield Junior High School, for our town, for all of southeast Michigan. But my words were frustrated and flat. I couldn’t make them match my vision. After a couple of failed attempts I asked School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV if he would at least be willing to consider that parents really do know what is best for their children. He said he would be willing to consider such a position. Then turning to disabled stay-at-home-mom Patricia Preston I if she would be willing to consider the possibility that the school board, and more specifically, that School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV knows more about education than she does. She was quiet for several seconds, possibly fifteen, before responding “No.” Security Guard Temple then said, “You a cold ass bitch.” It was at this point she called him the N-word, to which School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV responded by punching her directly in her jaw, knocking her so far backwards she hit the back of her head on the front bumper of Vice Principle Nancy Hill’s Kia Sorrento. ACTION(S) TAKEN: School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV was taken in under suspicion of 1 count of aggravated assault against disabled stay-at-home-mom Patricia Preston. He has yet to be charged. Disabled stay-at-home-mom Patricia Preston’s representative is seeking the maximum sentence of 1 year in jail and a $1k fine. She and her husband are also suing School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV and West Bloomfield Junior High School for mental and physical distress. It is my understanding School Board President Dr. Michael Donavon Duncan IV is counter-suing for an undisclosed amount due to mental and emotional damages. SUMMARY: There is nothing further to report. Both parties are pursing legal settlements against one another, and the Lions are going to missing the playoffs.


Ken blended into the fabric of the high school. Part of the walls, unnoticed by the staff and pupils alike. Yet he missed nothing. He went about his business every day, cleaning up the leftovers of their lives. Quietly watching their teenage dramas unfold as he went. He was part of them even if they did not know it. No one noticed him as he shuffled along the corridor pushing his janitor cart. Ken was never meant for greater things. This job was his greatest triumph. More so than people gave him credit for. He knew Megan was dating the school jock, Andrew, but also knew that Megan was screwing Tyler behind the bike shed. He knew Ashley was pregnant. He had found the discarded test. Things had been very subdued lately, since Alison went missing. It had been a week since she had vanished on her way home from school, without a trace. A shrine filled with flowers and stuffed animals had slowly appeared under her locker. Like the small tributes would somehow tempt her back or lead to her return. Every day it grew. Ken cleaned around it. Watering the small pot plants placed there by morbid curiosity. As dumb as Ken was, he knew it was not out of love for Alison. Ken knew Alison. She was one of the characters in his high school drama, the only one that greeted him now and then. She hung around with the popular girls but was not one of them. She was plain compared to Ashley, and positively ugly compared to Megan. Quiet and meek, they made fun of her clothes. Always the butt of their jokes. They permitted her to sit with them as she would willingly do their homework. Like ken. She was the person no one noticed, till she was gone. Then suddenly, they were all crying, acting like she was there best friend. There were rumours that she had run away or killed herself. Rumours, no doubt started by Megan. Megan had recently found out that Andrew, had been spending time at Alison’s house. His excuse was she was helping him with maths. Ken suspected it was more than like Biology. So did Megan it seemed. Andrew, to save his reputation, had yelled at Alison in the cafeteria to leave him alone, and stop coming on to him. That he would never want her and that she was trash. Everyone had heard. Alison was humiliated, crying in big gulpy sobs in the corridor. Andrew, high fiving his mates, satisfied Alison was humiliated enough that Megan would forgive him. A day later Alison was missing. Wherever she was now, she would no longer have to deal with these horrid people. It could not be worse for her than this. Ken pushed his cleaning trolley back to the cupboard and walked down the stairs to the basement. Alison was sobbing quietly in a cage, at the back of the darkroom. Don’t worry, Ken said to her. I will take care of you. He proceeded to tell her all the horrid things her friends had done today.


They’d been apart for the best part of a year now, separated by a huge expanse of water almost three and a half thousand miles wide. During that time Alice had given birth to his child, squatting like an animal on the floor of the eight by ten room she rented just above McGoldrick’s butchers. Her mother-in-law had assisted with the birth before dying from influenza just three weeks later. For days Alice was too overcome with grief to notice that her infant son was also displaying the very same symptoms. Day and night she’d nursed the child, sponging his forehead with apple cider vinegar in the hope that she could keep him in the land of the living. Completely alone she bore the brunt of it all unnoticed by anyone around her, praying for the day to come when her family would finally be together. The thought that her husband might arrive on the Titanic to find only her and two paupers graves waiting was too horrendous to contemplate. Fortunately baby Thomas pulled through, although left with a hacking cough. Common sense dictated that he should be kept warm and indoors which she had done up until now. But today she wrapped him up warmly in a freshly washed vest and cardigan and swaddled him in a clean but fraying blanket before hurriedly setting off for the docks. A few minutes earlier she’d heard a heart stopping conversation going on between a group of customers in the butchers shop downstairs. “Sank like a stone,” she’d heard a young woman say. “Sweet Jesus!” a man had exclaimed loudly. “My brother’s on that ship!” And with that the man had bolted through the door of the shop and sprinted off down the street heedless to the shouts of Mr McGoldrick who’d stood waving the brown paper parcel of bacon he’d left behind. The baby was already howling when she stepped through the door onto the pavement. “Come on Thomas don’t cry,” said Alice hurrying along the cobblestone streets. “Titanic Sinks!” shouted a newspaper boy holding a crisp looking paper aloft. “Fifteen thousand dead!” “Let me see that!” cried Alice snatching it off him. “Not unless you pay,” retorted the boy snatching it back. Alice fumbled in her pocket for a few coins. But she didn’t have enough. He spat at her feet and looked the other way, continuing his voluble sales pitch. As Alice got closer to the docks the sound of mayhem assaulted her ears and a heavy rain began to fall. Hoards upon hoards of people milled around in confusion shouting out the names of their loved ones. Grown men cried openly and women frantically searched the survivors’ lists shaking their heads in disbelief. Pushing and shoving broke out as an official stepped forward and pinned another list up on the board. Desperation was written on every face. The wait for news intolerable. It soon became apparent that some had been there for two or three days because makeshift shelters set up by voluntary organizations were scattered about. Just as Alice thought her legs were about to give way, some kind soul guided her to one of the shelters where hot broth was provided and dry clothes. Alice sat huddled up in a blanket watching the steam rise from the watery broth hoping it was all some bad dream. She shuddered and looked down at Thomas who was lying in her lap sound asleep now that he was warm, fed and dry. Maybe he was all that was left of her husband, a living, breathing monument nestled in her arms. A tear escaped and she wiped it away wearily. All of a sudden there was a massive uproar. A vessel had been spotted making for port. “It’s them!” someone shouted. “They’re coming!” “It’s the Carpathia!” Alice stood up with the idea of going outside again. “It would be better for the baby if you stayed in here till things calm down dear,” said one of the volunteer women patting her hand. “But my husband…” protested Alice. “I need to find him.” “There are over forty thousand people out there. Believe me. You should wait,” said the woman earnestly. Reluctantly Alice followed her advice even though every agonizing minute seemed like an hour. For a while it was just wall to wall bodies outside. But after several hours the crowds began to thin. Now she could make out faces, drawn with inconsolable grief and burdened with untold anguish. Some however still held hope, their heads held high, searching through the crowd hoping to recognise the features of their husbands, wives, fathers and so on. Alice felt she had waited long enough. Thanking the volunteer women she left the shelter and stepped outside once more. Unsure of where to go she made her way to the front where the Carpathia was now moored with massive ropes thicker than a man’s forearm. But all of the survivors had disembarked leaving only its harried crew on board. She walked around for a while searching the faces of every man she saw but with every passing case of mistaken identity her heart sank further still. The number of people waiting dwindled even further as people finally accepted the truth and made their way back home. But Alice just couldn’t accept it. Bobby had to be here somewhere. “Alice!” came a shout from behind. She spun round praying that they’d found each other. But she could see no one. Without even realising it she’d walked straight into the path of a family of eight children, stumbling along after their newly widowed mother. “Sorry,” she stammered, taking in their pitiful little faces. “Alice!” said a voice from directly behind her this time. “Bobby!” she cried falling into his arms. Tears rolled down both their faces as they alternately hugged and kissed in the rain. “I’m so glad you’re alive!” sobbed Alice, handing him the baby. Little Thomas began to cry so they shielded him from the rain with the blanket Bobby wore slung over his shoulders. Suddenly Alice became aware of a good many eyes upon them, all envying their happy family reunion. From under her husband’s arm she watched the widowed mother of eight still visible up in the distance and realised just how easily that could have been her. For once however the gods, fate, destiny or whatever else you wish to call it, had been kind to Alice and spared her another taste of grief. An undeniably rare privilege on Pier fifty four, April the eighteenth, nineteen twelve. Once they made it back to the little room that Alice rented above the butchers something seemed to happen to Bobby. The elation they both shared on being reunited seemed to dessert him over the next few days and was replaced instead by a strange vacant minded apathy. Of course Alice had expected him to be affected by the tragedy – as anyone would. But nothing prepared her for his sudden withdrawal from the world – worst of all, his drawing away from her. “I’m just popping out for a bit to get some bread,” she told him one day. His response was barely more than a grunt, just a brief acknowledgement that she had spoken. She looked at him sitting on the end of their bed – the bed that she had slept alone in for months wishing for nothing more than his presence. The irony was not lost on her. Alice suppressed a sigh and planted a kiss on his forehead. “See you in a bit Bobby,” she whispered as if she didn’t want to interrupt his reverie. The baby reached down and grabbed a handful of his father’s hair. Before Alice could stop him he’d uprooted about half a dozen strands. That seemed to elicit a stronger response. Bobby blinked and looked at the child in surprise as though he’d never seen him before. “No Tommy!” scolded Alice. Immediately the baby began to howl, sending several hot tears running down his chubby little cheeks. His father continued to blink in amazement at him. After a minute or so his crying subsided, so Alice decided it was time to leave. “Give daddy a kiss,” she said, holding him close enough for his father to reach. Bobby kissed him, but as Alice and Tommy pulled away he held out his arms to them in desperation. “I tried my best!” he cried, his face contorted in sorrow. “Don’t worry,” Alice replied, not understanding. “We know you did. You always do.” “But it wasn’t enough,” he muttered, looking down into his lap. “Of course it was,” she told him reassuringly. “We’re together again now and that’s all that matters. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” His shoulders flinched as the door slammed shut and once again he was a prisoner. As Alice walked past the smell emanating from the bakers made her mouth water. Only she knew that she hadn’t eaten in days and only she knew that their money had all but run out. What little food she had been able to afford lately, she had given to Tommy and Bobby. Now there was no money to buy more and she knew if she didn’t eat something soon her milk would dry up. The man inside the bakers turned his sign round to open and Alice pushed open the door feeling for the last few cents she had left in her pocket. Behind her the door opened again as three or four more customers entered the shop. “What can I get for you?” asked the man from behind the counter. “Er…well, I was wondering if you could sell me some of yesterday’s bread at a reduced price,” stammered Alice. He looked at her for a moment as though sizing her up and then disappeared out the back. Suddenly someone leaned over her shoulder. “You don’t need that kind of charity!” the woman hissed at her. “Your husband came back – he’s probably at work as we speak no doubt.” Alice turned to face her accuser, paying particular note to her drawn face and red rimmed eyes. The woman next to her was obviously an acquaintance of hers because she patted her shoulder kindly as if to comfort her. “There, there Charlotte. Don’t upset yourself further,” she said. “Well it’s not right!” protested the woman called Charlotte. “I’ve nine hungry mouths to feed and my husband, God rest his poor soul, went down with the Titanic.” Alice felt like running away, but her stomach kept reminding her with its persistent growling that she should stay and get what she came for. “Here you go Miss,” said the man, returning with two day old loaves. “I’ll just take one thank you,” Alice said. “As you wish,” said the man, deftly wrapping it up in a sheet of paper. After the incident at the bakers Alice actually felt glad she had so little to buy. So as soon as she bought a little block of cheese to go with the bread and a few ounces of sago for Tommy she made her way home hoping that Bobby might be feeling better after a little solitude. She opened the door to their bedsit and found that things couldn’t be further from the truth. The room was empty. Bobby was nowhere to be seen. Setting the still sleeping child in his crib, Alice tried her best not to panic. But it was hard not to when she thought of how Bobby had been since his return. It was two weeks since the Carpathia had left him and the other survivors at Pier 54 but he hadn’t even made mention of looking for work or asked how she was managing to put bread on the table. She could see that he was traumatised so she thought it best not to push him to talk about it. Perhaps that was the wrong thing to do, she thought watching her little son smile in his sleep. Where could he have gone? He didn’t know anyone here. All she could do was wait. And wait she did. For three hours. “Bobby! Where have you been?” she cried, when he finally walked through the door. He looked surprised at her worried expression and instinctively he enfolded her in his arms. He hadn’t meant to worry her. “Have I been gone long?” he asked. “It doesn’t matter,” she murmured, pressing her face into his broad chest. “As long as you’re alright.” His breath seemed to catch in his throat at that. He shook his head and held her tighter than ever. “I will never be ok Alice. Not after what I’ve seen.” “Where did you go?” she asked, fighting back the tears. “Pier 54,” he answered in a tortured voice. “I had to go and see if there was any news of them.” “Any news of who?” Her legs were beginning to shake now and she was almost too afraid to hear what the answer might be. “When the ship was going down I tried to help a young mother with a baby about the same age as our Tommy,” he told her. “It was a baby girl I think. Her name was Eleanor, or something like that. We found the last two lifeboats. But it was chaos as everyone tried to climb on board. The crew began to lower them over the side before they were full, so I quickly jumped in and shouted for her to pass me the baby. I held out my arms but she hesitated for too long. All of a sudden the life boat I was in plummeted and then stopped just short of hitting the water. I shouted for her to try to get in the other boat but I never did see if she made it aboard. That’s why I went back to the pier today to see if anyone had news of them.” “That’s terrible!” said Alice. “Surely someone helped her onto the boat if she had a baby.” Bobby shook his head. “You would think so. But it wasn’t like that. I saw lots of children, even babies floating in the water.” Alice gasped in horror. “Let’s not talk about it anymore for now,” he said, tilting her chin towards him. He kissed her gently and Alice felt comforted, glad that he was finally opening up to her. After that day things gradually improved but even so Bobby made it his habit to visit Pier 54 every morning until the day he died at the ripe old age of ninety two. Whether it was in the hope of finding out what happened to the young mother and her baby or that he was stuck in the past no one ever knew – not even himself. But one thing was certain -he was a prisoner, a life-long prisoner of Pier 54.