“I’ve had it. It’s time someone did something about this. And it looks like it’s up to me.” I had seen it happen once too often. There had to be a line drawn. “Yeah, so what are you going to do? Come on; you keep saying you’ll do something about it and never do. You just let it go every time.”

My disheveled husband of forty-three years doesn’t even look at me as he says it. I roll my eyes, but not where he can see me. He would just laugh. And I’m unsure what I might do if he did that. What happened to that adorable long-haired hippie I fell in love with?  I suppose it could have had something to do with what we were smoking then. I could use a doobie right now. Nope, got to keep my eye on the prize. Not a prize, a duty. Someone has to do it. Make a statement. Some of that good ole stubborn determination. My grandson thinks we’re all talk and don’t know what’s going on. We can see what’s going on.

I have to wait until dark. Nothing in the light of day would do. I certainly didn’t want to go to jail for the evil that others do. It’s simply unforgivable that some people have no respect for others and would be so callous in their actions. I intend to do something about it. It’s time. Let’s draw the line. It’s becoming cloudy outside. That’s good; it will be dark sooner, dark enough, anyway. My once long-haired hippie, now bald, pot-bellied, muscles gone to shit husband, is asleep in his well-worn Lazy-boy. I can be out and done and back before he knows I’m gone. I’m not sure he would care. Over the past few decades, he has lost his attraction for making things right. Not me. Not this time. It’s time for a reckoning.

It took forever for the street lights to come on; it’s dark enough now. Easing the truck down the driveway with lights off proved effortless. Only turning them on when I reached the main highway was simple. Okay, now I must think this through and not make any mistakes. I have my map with me. I suppose it is good that I’m a few more weeks from retirement. The job at the DMV has helped to make this plan much easier to accomplish. My list is on the seat beside me. A quick stop at the corner market, load up, and then I’m ready. Only four stops. There could be more later; I’ll take care of them when the time comes. Good old hubby never could understand the notes I made.

The market isn’t crowded; the same street lights have been out for the past few months. It’s almost like the universe is telling me, ‘do it, do it, do it.’ Who am I to argue with the universe? The truck is full; I have all I need. Patting my front pocket, I assure myself, yes, I’m ready. And dammit, I’m gonna make a difference tonight! I feel almost happy. It’s so good to be doing something, even if it is against the law. I’ll be doing someone a load of good. Maybe a lot of someones. Who’s to know? It’s one of those things that you can never really tell what benefits there are; you just know that the detriments will apply to the bad, bad people. I understand, yes, I do, that there are levels of badness. A little bad, then a little bit badder, and then the baddest. These fall into the baddest, mainly because it’s the same bad people every time. They’re going to learn this time.

Turning the radio on in the truck – thank god for Alexa – Bob Seger and his Silver Bullet Band are rocking out “Old Time Rock and Roll.” I relax as I make my way to my first stop. Lights are on inside, but it is noisy. There will be no tell-tell signs that I am here. The laughter and television will cover any sound. I almost hope there is an alarm, but no, there is not.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m done. Oh yeah, I do want a picture. Taking out my phone, I make a few clicks.  The next stop is tricky; there is no noise to cover my progress. I’ll come back to this one later, perhaps make it my last stop. The next two stops are as simple as the first. Typical jerks. Proclaiming ignorance of their evil deeds, going on about dinner and homework and television.

The last one. Still quiet. Lights are on; my approach will be tricky. There is a garage, unlike the other three. Perhaps easier, maybe not. It needs to be done. My little town will not go the way of the bigger ones. I’ve heard about them. Tens of hundreds of them. The mayhem. Not here, no, not here.

Just a few pics, and I’m done. I hear a car pulling into the driveway. Not good; if they open the garage door…I slide under the car just as the door begins to rise. Someone running, yelling for those inside the house. I slide out and run down the driveway, away from the yelling and outside lights. The truck is out of sight, around the next corner.

I don’t breathe again until I’m driving home. Pulling off my stocking cap, I laugh. Oh, it felt good. And it will feel even better when I post those pictures for all the world to see. Once again, on the side of luck, I have a grandson who doesn’t know I was paying close attention when he demonstrated incognito postings. I might be old; I’m not dumb.

Bald hippie husband stands at the open refrigerator door as I walk in, gulping milk from the carton. Great. No cereal for me tomorrow.

“Where you been?” I took a chance. “Just brought the trash bin in from the road.” “Hmm. I’m headed up to bed; you coming?” He didn’t offer that he had been looking for me. He likely didn’t even know I had been gone.

“I’ll be up in a few,” I replied. I had my laptop open on the table before I heard the water running from upstairs. He wouldn’t be back down. It only took me a few minutes to load the pictures and release them to the world. My next trip down the road would not encounter the same problems as before. I had eradicated those, as evidenced in the photos. Four cars, all four expensive cars. Dinged and dented, windshield broken, and the culprit which I had stolen – yes, stolen! – from the market, super-glued – with the super-duper kind (I checked it out) onto the hood of each car. A cart, well-used, rusting in various spots, wheels resting on the broken wipers and fancy hood ornaments, not removed easily, if at all. And a large sign on each one: PUT THE DAMN CART IN THE CART CORRAL, YOU DISRESPECTFUL IDIOT!


Moth came a-flying into the living room as the family lounged on the sofa after lunch. He had followed his natural homing instinct, and the garden door, left wide open, beckoned him inside. Mama was eating a generous slice of the sumptuous Christmas cake because it was the twelfth day of Christmas and ‘her true love’ had brought nothing else. The song was an annual recurrent betrayal of her romantic notions. Now there were two pretty women sitting on their high chairs leaning against the kitchen slab. One was Mama, her mouth full, checking out a new recipe, and the youngest daughter, rewriting her script, with an end that never surfaced. A whirring sound frequency in the air caught their ears at the very same second. Moth was  circling over their heads like a drone. The peaceful domestic scene now transposed to a war zone, saw WOW (Women of War) gearing up  to implement the weapons of moth destruction. They used screams of varying pitches, some high, some low. But not a note worth noting. Moth still flew overhead, whirring as if in mockery of their limited human endeavors. Then, with remarkable precision, it dove straight into the folds of Mama’s long skirt. “Ahhhhaaaaa…Out, you horrid creature,” screamed Mama. Time it was for some serious action plan. “Turn off TV,” Mama shouted to Papa. “Enough of hearing the mess the world's in. Its light is attracting them.” “Turn off all the lights.” Mama had elevated herself to Lady Gestapo giving orders now, where everybody had to fall in line. “Switch on the verandah lights. Let it follow the light outside.” It’s always good to follow the Light- of the world. Dolce was getting visibly excited. How do moths taste? He sniffed. All of a sudden, a piercing shriek from Mama almost shattered the glass door. Dolce jumped a foot high to her rescue. Her needs first before his own finer tastes, he knew without a shadow of doubt. Dolce had been sent to this good home on a special Comfort Mission from Rainbow Bridge as requested by the oldest son of this home. The young man had reached God’s side a little too soon, plunging the family into a deep sadness. He had loved his mama deeply and knew there was one thing that would ease her pain. A directive was passed onto the Leader of the Heavens from the son that his mama needed a special visible touch of comfort. And Poof! Dolce, the Havanese, arrived-the angel emissary dog. Moth had now ventured closer, landing right on Mama’s foot. Bark about impious audacity! The dog did a leap. It was a big one, not an ordinary inconsequential moth, you might say, being deceivers ever. The Papa sunk deeper into the cushions. “Wait I’ll get rid of it. Let me just finish watching this hole. Why are you makin' such a fire in my ears? It’s just a moth.” Papa had spoken all this without once taking his glance away from the television. He just wasn’t listening. The yellers sensed a lecture  coming. “It’s good for the ecosystem. It means the garden is flourishing. When I was a young boy, Ben and I'd collect these creatures and put them in a bottle- with a little vent. I love to see moths- soon he turns to a butterfly. Let him free,” he pontificates. “But this one has no desire to leave our home. Let’s bring in the lizards too. We can have a zoo inside our home, a menagerie of sorts.” Mama suggested. Papa had a mortal fear of lizards. All his manhood disappeared at the sight of a lizard. Whenever a lizard was spotted, perched on the wall, making cute clucking sounds, mama’s courage and daredevilry were praised. “There’s no one like you, when it comes to chasing lizards.” he mused then. That’s when his fingers would reach out for her curls which he'd twirl round his finger. Love just happens in those lizard moments. But let’s not deviate. We have a mission in hand. “This Moth has been doing a house tour everyday. We can’t sit with our doors open or enjoy the sea breeze. I feel imprisoned.” Mama argued. The man wasn’t budging an inch to help solve the crisis on board. Had Mama continued to watch his TV fix, her mood would get so thoroughly spoilt, that everyone would’ve to retire to bed, dulled into a stony silence. That’s the power of the Mama! She could get the family together in one happy frame of mind in the family room. Or the reverse. Even Dolce knew better and would go sleep under the curtain, with his nose sticking out, “Just keeping an eye on things, guys!” “Methinks Moth is a secret prince. Rhee. Plant a kiss on him. No telling who might suddenly appear.” The young lady smirked. These two women had a very natural, totally feminine, squeaky aversion of anything that flies-specially if they are to wander up the leg or seek new pastures through an open armhole, exploring unknown territories hitherto known to man. The man lounged even deeper into the sofa, spread-eagled on the cushions. He couldn’t care less. Somehow mosquitoes and flies never chose to woo him. It was his rock hard skin while Mama’s was super soft like vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. He heard the two women rave and rant on in  mindless chatter. As if there were a 1000 moths round about. Problem solving was momentarily deferred. “Wait. I’ll get rid of him. But I’m tired now. Playing 18 holes in the hot morning sun is not a joke.” “Who do you think you are? Get moving, Tiger.” Mama’s tone meant business. Papa decided it was prudent to get up. Looking visibly annoyed, but with a determined purpose writ on his brow, he moved closer to the intrepid flyer and spoke to Moth in no uncertain terms. “So if you’re not leaving this home, I’m gonna‘ve to kill you.” The nature lover, beetle advocate and moth preserver had changed his tune. “So now you're the horrid Mafia,” Mama whispered. The moth, unaware of this mortal scheming, sought higher grounds, circulating near the fan. Out in the garden, an eclipse of moths had gathered under the pole light. An executive meeting was in progress. The Moth Council was discussing their Christmas plans, where they could gather to pig out. But our homing Moth hated long board meetings and had strayed into our safe haven. Mama changed her modus operandi. She spoke in her sweetest voice, “Moth, I really like you. Do you have a name?” With great seriousness, Papa muttered, “Kutti”. ‘Kutti’ in a foreign tongue, far away in Kerala, called God’s own country, means “Little One.” “Ahhh! Moth-O’kutti,” Mama laughed, as she always did whenever Papa voiced these sudden, rare spurts of originality in his deep undertones. Moth was now hiding behind the cups. He sensed danger. An angry human is capable of anything. Then he vanished. They heard the distinct flapping, like distant drums, but Moth was nowhere to be found. Disappeared under the curve of the sofa. Silence prevailed. The calm before the storm. Finally, as if hit by an astroball from outer space, the young lady declared, “Moth has adopted our home. You can’t kill it, Pa. We need to preserve life, not destroy them. I won’t allow it.” Rhee was an animal activist. Realization dawned on her and she saw the creature as part of God’s creation. Her fears of the flying moth vanished, disappeared like the mist over the sea. “Soon, Pa, he’ll morph into a butterfly.” “Ya right!” His name will be called Butterfly Kutti. You’d think he was Moses. That was six months ago. Today as Mama gazed out the window, she saw a butterfly on the lemon tree. And she burst into a song: ‘All God’s creatures got a place in the choir, Some sing low and some sing higher, Some sing out loud on a telephone wire, Some just clap their hands, or paws, flap their wings, Or anything they’ve got now.”


The sea was quite. Last night bad-tempered storm was like a lie. A sheet of cloth that has a red whale was hovering in the blue sky. Black leather boots stabbed the fence of the ship. Arms stretched and the eye sneaked to the hole of golden telescope. On the other side of the telescope, the shell shaped island was visible. It is a beautiful. Green and violet color mixed to form a unique scene of nature, the smell of perfumed Lavender, the murmur of grass and trees. "At last, we are here boys." Eyes glowed with fire stared at the peaceful island.

The center of shell island, "Anything Market" A sharp shining metal fell on thick wood and cut it to fine edge two pieces. "This is great Louie. Thank you. If I go all around the island I won't find a fine blacksmith like you." The man handed the black stained hand three gold coins. "This is too much, Mr. Douglas!" hesitated and uncertain low voice." The last one is for you boy, you did me a great job here. Take it. You deserve it Louie" an ear-to-ear smile drawn on the exhausted pale face. "Thank you" Louie's lavender eyes said.

A giant hand snatched the three gold coin from Louie's dirty hand. "Hey!" Louie shouted. "This is my money, I believe" a plus sized, muscular with a big green bread man stood still in front of the tiny and skinny Louie "But I earned that money," Louie protested. The man sent a terrifying gaze to Louie who stepped back and gulped his saliva. The man's lip went up and showed his front broken teeth

"That is right. You don't take any money from anyone, kid. I feed you and you repay me that is your job" he then left the workshop and Louie stood their sending a hatred digger to the man's back. Louie expelled heavy air from his lungs, and sat down on sidewalk next to a "Limon bar". He stared at the people. Gorgeous suits, fluffy shawls, sparkling jewelry, "hey let's go there and have fun", "Daddy I want some chocolate bars", kiss on cheeks, laughs and beautiful day for everyone. Louie stared at his dirty hand. At the threads coming out from his trousers, slots were here and there in his jacket that was too much for 16 years boy, he was glad he didn't have a mirror to look at his face. He lowered his head and took those heavy airs back to his lungs again. No parents, no house and no money. A lone poor dog.

"You looking for StarTear you said?" Loud voice came from the bar.

StarTear, the name itself was treasure. The drop shaped violet diamond. It gives the wealth to the one who own it. Louie jumped and looked inside the bar.

Bloody wavy hair. She was giving her back to his vision and there were three more other people around her. Two women and one man. One of the women had sliver hair tied in ponytail and hooked nose. The other one was a girl maybe around his age. Short blonde hair and rounded face but oh, her blue eyes were dangerous for the hearts of men. The man was tall, black hair and had brawny arms. He had fine face that for sure girls could kill for that face.

However, it seemed to be that the leader of the pack is the red head women. She was still talking to the bar tender who seemed to be entertaining himself by having a talk with her. "Look miss, I don't know where is the treasure you are looking for," the bar tender passed a glass to her, "Many pirates had come here in past, and believe me they didn't left anything. They searched every inch on the island. Nothing. Nothing came out." He refilled the glass of the man, "In my guess the rumors of the StarTear hidden in this island is just a lie. Nobody found the actual map." He said. The red head nodded.

"Why is this the Crimson Rouge?" oversized body, black filthy long hair, one-eyed man approached the pack. Louie felt a lump in his throat; he never forgot that ugly face. Logan, the beast. He touched his throat and old image popped in his shivering mind. Logan had his blade on Louie's throat two years ago. After he sharpened Logan's sword, he said "Let me see if it is really cut" and he gripped him, pressed his sword blade on his throat. Louie shook his head.

Logan showed his rotten teeth. "SO Rouge you still looking for that ridiculous StarTear treasure?" he giggled and that wasn't sound pleasant at all, as two rusty metal snagged each other. Rouge turned back. Blood stained eyes, white silkily skin and her lips was red as she soaked some blood. Louie stepped forward until his face adhered to the glass of the window.

"How adorable of you Logan. Checking on me. I am touched" Rouge hand over chest, and the blonde girl, giggled.

"Do not you have business to do else where Logan?" the man crossed his arm and stood in front of Logan. He was tiny compared to Logan, but for some reason Louie saw him big in his eyes. "Move Royse! I am talking to Rouge!" Logan roared. "And I don't want to talk to you Logan" Rouge crossed her legs and lighted a cigar, "See Logan, if we begin to turn over tables and make bang, our unpleasant friends will rush, eh? You know them royal coast guards." She puffed giant grey smoke, "let's be friends here. I have my own business and you have your own, okay?" she smiled. Louie unconsciously smiled with her. Logan pointed at Rouge "I am watching you" and he left them.  Louie slid to his spot. He was smiling. His heart was dancing for what, he did not know. He looked up then bounced making cat hiss. Royse was looking at him. Louie stepped back until his back hit the window, gasped for air "I…I …" searching in the dictionary for a quick reply.

"Come inside. Captain wants to see you," Royse said. Louie's eyes turned into two dots.

 She pulled that cigar in pleasure. "You were watching us Kid" a smoke covered Louie's face; he coughed and looked around him. The others where just starring at him with poker faces. Louie rubbed his hands, looked again to the pack faces and yet poker faces. " I am Jenny" the blonde girl reached her hand, maybe she was a pirate but she was taking good care of herself. Louie pulled back his hand inside his pocket. "Do not worry. Here" she said and spit on her hand. "I have a dirty hand now, peace shake". Rouge blasted in laugh, "Did you see that Royse, She is filthy one I told ya" she hit Royse shoulder who seemed not bothering about it. "We are not going to eat you kid" Royse leaned forward to Louie, "we just need a little help" he scanned Rouge who was pulling another smoke, Royse sighted. "You should tell him by yourself Rouge." He crossed his arm.

"Okay …" Rouge put out the cigar then straighten herself up "May you give us a hand young man?" Jenny blasted in laugh this time "Cap you are like those weirdo high class ladies. You need a dead bird's feature and you would be perfect." She was amused; Royse put his hand over his mouth trying not to make a laugh. "Ya shut your mouth Jenny," Rouge pointed at Jenny. Jenny bowed to Rouge "Yes your highness" she said with a throaty voice, Rouge dropped her jaws "You little RAT!" she shouted and stood up from her chair, a chase begin between the two. Louie did not how to act, yell for help or just sit and listen to their unexpected act.  Royse put his hand on his head and sighted "Here is the thing Kid. We want you to show us some places on the island. You know we cannot lurking around with no host. We are pirates". In Shell Island, pirates can visit bars outside the main city, but they cannot go inside the city without any escort. And by the mean of escort, a person who would take responsibility if something goes wrong.

"You want me be your HOST?" said Louie "Yeah, of course with benefits" Royse waved his hand"100gold. That is sound fair to me" he smiled. Louie entered thinking mode. "Make it 300" Louie glared at Royse, he laugh nose "You are trying to negotiate with pirates. Do you know who we are?".

 The name of Rouge was known, who dose not know about Bloody Rouge, the captain of the Crimson Whale ship. She and her crew were among the deadly pirates. Louie washed that fact from his head as if he was cleaning a dirt from a dish. He wanted the Gold, no time for shaking legs and cold sweat, if he wanted to get rid from his greedy boss, he must take risk, even that mean he gave a hand to pirates, and maybe get himself killed.

"300 and I am not stepping back" he tried to hold his guts but it was as if holding into a straw in stormy day, at least for him. Royse showed his white teeth. "I liked that Kid" he turned to cat and mouse. "Hey Captain, the kid said he wants 300 gold. What do you say?" Rouge stopped.  "DEAL!"

 The central memorial park:

The central memorial park was a huge circle with a fountain in the middle.

"Wow, it is huge," said Rouge looking around the spacious park.

"Yeah, like your butt Cap " sound of slap, "OUCH!" Jenny put her hand behind her head "I was praising you" she commented.

"That is not what my brain processed it RAT" Rouge yelled, "Your brain is stinky" Jenny replied. Rouge took a silent moment, seemed to be thinking of something "What is stinky?" she asked, Jenny rolled her eyes

"like the Rotten fish you found under your bed" "You calling my head a rotten!" Rouge fist settled on fire.

"Are you sure she is your Captain?" Louie looked at Royse, he scratched the back of his head "Unfortunately, I'm positive she is"

"Just let us done with this Captain," the hooknose woman said in a bossy voice. "We will. Do not be so hasty Silvia" Rouge hit another slap on the back of Jenny's head.

"Now, where is left?" said Rouge. Louie tilted his head "That way?" he replied pointing to the left road.

"Then let us go there" she strode a head to the left direction. West side,

It was as your flesh nose attacked by sharp needles and stuck in there for long time. Rotten banana piles, piece of sandwich left in the lunch box for over than month this was the smell of the sewerage. And the bubbles came from the under water puffing violet small smokes. They were here for more than three hours.

"Are you sure it is here, Rouge? "Royse was covering his nose with his bandana. "Stop complaining, house keeper!" Jenny yelled from somewhere in sewerage and giggled.

"Exactly! Keep digging!" Rouge yelled.

 "You mean keep diving " Royse puffed heavy air from his lungs.

"This is not going anywhere" Silvia kicked the water which splashed to Jenny, "Hey! This is my new pants!" she shouted. "Are you sure about this Rouge?" Silvia said ignoring Jenny. "Keep digging, you fools! Or I will cut your HEADS off!" Rouge was irritated. For first time, in her voice and moves there were not any squandering and idiocy, her moves was fast, eyes looked carefully at every inch of the filthy sewerage, any item she gets checked three times before threw it. She was in madness.

"Why she is so irritated?" Louie approached to Jenny.

"Captain's legacy" Jenny hissed. "Legacy? What the StarTear? A blot of blue stroked Louie. "Yeah, Captain's predecessors were merchants. They brought it here and hide it…somewhere in this garbage" Jenny looked around.

"So is that how she got the map?" Louie asked. "Her father gave it to her," Royse said, "She is a different one in her rich family. When she made her choice to be pirate, they dismembered her, but her father gave her StarTear map to her before he dies." Royse explained.  "He gave her the legacy of Carmine merchant." "Carmine merchants? ." said Louie. "They were bashed from the island long time." He widened his eyes.

"Yeah, but they built another empire in another place," Royse replied. "That lunatic left all that heaven for this" Jenny motioned to the sewerage, Rouge sneezed. Louie stared at Rouge's back. She was determined. She had every thing but chose to be a pirate. Everything in her was in fire, even her heart. Louie clenched his fist. Hot, heart begun to play rhythm and blood was dancing. Did Louie felt of this before? No, he just wanted to be freed from that ugly blacksmith and never thought about getting in his real steel.

Rouge tossed an item, a grip held her arm and she glared at Louie. "What?" she asked in irritated voice. "Could you show me the map?" Louie's eyes glowed, Rouge reached her gaze closed to him "NO" she spelled the two litters in heavy and slow motion. "Just one peak. Maybe you missed something" Louie dipped his fingers to her arm. "You have a death wish Kid" she put her hand to the handle of her gun. "Just show the kid, Captain. He knows the island" Royse said, Rouge glared at him, a volcano ready to explode, " He has a point Cap" Jenny put her finger in hole of her nose, "damn, I did not clean my hands yet " she threw up.

Rouge looked on Louie. He was not going to let that hand off her arm and he was welling to die to see the map.

"Here!" Rouge handed the map. Quickly Louie opened the map. " SEE! Right there. This is the park and the arrow is on the left see!" Rouge pointed on the red arrow marked with star.

"You reading it upside down," Louie flipped the map. Every one glared at Rouge with narrow eyes, she looked up and whistled. "This is indicating to the right. So to the East "he said

"Alright! Let us head to there then" Rouge strode, "The most terrifying place in Shell Island" Louie said in slow, Rouge paused and every one stood still in their places.

East cave "I will stay here. Watch your backs," said Silvia.

"Okay, Let's go" Rouge waved to Jenny and Louie.  The darkness of the cave was dipping on their bones. "Say Cap, why you send Royse back to the ship?" Jenny asked. "To bring the kid his money, Rat," she yelled.

After some time passed, Jenny screamed. Louie and Rogue turned in terror, "Gosh, it is human skull. Look! Cool!" Jenny showed them the skull she had on her hand. They said nothing just narrowed their eyes.

"Look! A light! Over there!" Jenny pointed at the corner of the cave.

"WE MADE IT" Rouge rushed to the light and Jenny followed her," Wait!" Louie screamed, but they did not listen. He rushed behind them.

When they turned the corner, Rouge paused and the two bumped behind each other, "WHAT THE HELL. Cap why did you stop?" Jenny rubbed her nose as well as Louie did. They looked over Rouge. They froze.

Flesh pinkish long rope like figure, dome size head and two yellow eyes.  "AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" the three screamed. "AAAAAAAAAH" the giant Octopus screamed like a ten years old girl.

"Kill it Cap " Jenny yelled. Rouge pulled her gun. "Wait! Wait!" the octopus waved its tentacles in the air. "It talks" Louie shouted, "You are DEAD" Rouge screamed and fired her gun. It missed. "Not again! Your stinky aiming!" Jenny yelled.

 "Wait for god sake " the octopus screamed while it covered its face," you are Carmines' right?" it was shivering.

Rouge, Jenny and Louie popped a Question marks, " YEAH" replied Rouge.

"Oh! Finally someone came!" the octopus puffed relieved air. "Here take your treasure and leave me alone for god sake. And tell the others not to come here anymore. I'm done with all guarding thing" he pulled a chest from under his big belly and handed it to Rouge.

Rouge opened it quickly," What is this?" she yelled and pulled a piece of rolled old paper. "It is another map, Lady." The octopus replied.

"Where is my StarTear?" she yelled.  "YOU GET YOUR ASS FROM HERE!" the full volume voice that came from the octopus, forced the three to flee from that spot. When they got outside. They heard a familiar voice. "Well, well, Rouge we meet again" Logan said smiling . "What?" Rouge looked at him while trying to catch her breath.

"Silvia you double crossed us!" Jenny yelled and tried to jump on her but Louie gripped her waist.

"Hand it over, Rouge," said Silvia with confident and evil smile. "You Fool, Silvia." Rouge laughed

Louie dropped his jaw when he witnessed the whole pack of Crimson Whale pirates were surrounding them and Logan's pirates. "You send Royse for back up!" Silvia yelled. Logan kicked the ground "damn you Rouge" "Royse, I've an idea. Take them inside the cave! "Rouge pointed with her thumb to the cave. "Eye Eye captain "Royse answered and ordered the pirates to lead them inside the cave.

"HERE your money Kid" Rouge handed Louie a heavy bag. Louie stared at the bag "Could we change the deal, I want to join you" fixed his gaze at Rouge surprised face.

"Well, welcome aboard kid" she smiled and her Crimson hair waved with the wind.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   *** #This week's theme is Vice! This week we’ll explore the theme of ‘vice’. Vice is all about immoral wicked behavior. Some things that come to mind when we think of vices are addictions and bad habits. But this isn’t limited to just those things, it can extend to any bad behavior. As we enter October, this seemed like an appropriate time to explore this in your stories. People are not good all the time, neither are their thoughts. What kind of wickedness is afoot in your world? What kind of trouble will your characters get into? Are the other characters aware of the goings on or are they oblivious...until that one domino falls? Maybe this is the moment that the Big Bad enters the picture and turns the world upside down. I can’t wait to see where you take this. These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * October 3 - Vice (this week) * October 10 - Insidious * October 17 - Storm   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see point breakdown). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Last Week’s Rankings - - u/Zetakh   - - u/GammaGames   - - u/rainbow--penguin   - - u/Sonic_Guy97   - - u/ReverendWrites   - - u/Bavarianlageryeast   - - u/chunksisthedog   *** #Ranking System There is a new point system! Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above.Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out to learn more! - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts.


To The One Meant To Read This (you know who you are), Times are weird now. But you know that. I just can’t stop thinking about the way things were. Not even just the normalcy, but how great things were and then were abruptly ended. Now, you get in trouble for going outside. But then, right before, it was great. I hate using that word because it’s so overused. Even words like “amazing” and “awesome” have no meaning to me because everyone uses them for everything. But in the meantime, I’m using “great” because that’s really what it was. We were staying in the most incredible condo right on the beach. The best part was that it was for free — I know, right? But I guess it was even better because I was with some of my best friends — Isaiah, Liliana (whose condo it was), Amy, Luna, and then Adam. We didn’t know Adam super well but he was friends with Isaiah. I think he fit in pretty quickly with us. The beach was just so gorgeous! The water was so clear, you could easily see in front of you. No need to worry about a shark creeping up! We spent so much time looking for sand dollars, and it was so rewarding when you finally found one! We even went snorkeling. Nothing heavy duty, just close to the boardwalk, but I was in awe by the little underwater world. We even saw dolphins! They weren’t within reach, but it was still so awesome (sorry, I can’t think of another word). Some of my friends spent most of their time huddled under the umbrella, and I wish I could have taken a picture so you could see them crammed under there! I’m trying not to blab on — and you know I do that. But here we’re getting to the reason I’m writing to you. The sunset is right on the ocean, and yes, it’s breathtaking. Liliana said that we didn’t even see the best of the sunsets, but it didn’t matter to me. I don’t have much to compare it to. But we all sat there on the back porch one evening and watched it. It really was beautiful. Sitting there on the porch with my friends watching the sunset, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. The worries of the world — like the upcoming virus — could simply fade into the background. It’s when you think “This is it. This the moment that I will look back on and remember. And I’ll really miss it.” I try to soak it in, and I wish I could make it last forever. That complete contentment. I remember one song that was playing, and every time I hear it now, it takes me back there. I hope you can have those kinds of moments yourself. Moments where you feel so alive and anything is possible like you can almost touch the sky. And you’re surrounded by the people you love. It’s not that those moments last forever, but we can cherish those memories in the making by living in the moment. That’s what I’m trying to do now, and I hope you will, too.


“Oh my god, Kat! Come look at these pictures of my new g-little wasted!” Lindsey squealed. G-little, or grand little, is apparently a term you use in a co-ed honors’ fraternity. Lindsey took on a “little” in her fraternity last year, now it was her little’s turn. These roles were meant to emulate a big brother or big sister, but basically it just meant you bought alcohol for someone underage in the fraternity and forced them to drink too much. You see him for the first time on Lindsey’s iphone screen. He looked like a hot, teen pop star version of Cupid. Curly blonde hair, blue eyes, pink cheeks, drunk as fuck facial expression. You think he’s cute even though he’s hunched over a toilet. He’s filling out a Haines t-shirt in all the best ways. “What the fuck did you make him drink??” You say. “Oh we make them all chug vodka! It’s hilarious. They always throw up,” Lindsey answers. “How charming.” You can’t tell Lindsey you think he’s cute. She’ll try to set you up with him and it’ll be a mess. You’re a 21 year old virgin with a mean streak when it comes to men. Other than making out with random guys at house parties and then telling them to fuck off, you really have no experience with boys. Especially not dating boys. Dating is what Lindsey does. Where she spends all her time worrying about how many minutes pass between their texts. Or how much makeup is okay to wear because he likes her with no makeup even though he’s technically never seen her with no makeup on. Dating is draining. When you finally meet toilet boy for the first time it’s at your house. Drunk. Mitchell (Paul’s last name and nickname) comes in your front door after Lindsey lets him in. He looks out of breath from the cold and long walk. You run your eyes up and down him from the kitchen where he hasn’t seen you yet. “Tequila shotssss,” you call out to the house. “Jesus, you trying to get me wasted?” Paul answers walking into the kitchen. “Maybe...” You smirk. Paul blushes. You like who you think you’ll be to him. The hot, cool, older girl. At least until he really gets to know you. You really still feel like the least hot one in the friend group. The weird one. The clumsy, socially anxious, scared of everything one. The alcohol usually fixes that though. You clink glasses on the counter, then together, then take the shot. He winces. He’s wearing a white button down, cobalt blue jeans, white keds. Way more stylish than most college boys. Especially sophomores. You start calculating. He must be 18? 19? “G-Lits!!!!! Come here and take pictures of your Nana and her friends!” Lindsey cries out from across the living room into the kitchen. “Yes, Nana,” Paul says obediently. You wonder if he’s into Lindsey like most guys are. Lindsey has a way of completely dominating men that is somehow inviting and charming. Probably because she is hot. She always was the hot one as long as you were friends with her. She loved attention. Especially from men. And they loved giving it to her. It left you feeling like Velma to her Daphne. You still couldn’t help but love her even though you were a little jealous. You pose with your roommates in front of your front door while Paul takes pictures. “Okay let’s go!” Lindsey announces. You start the 20 minute walk across campus to one of the houses for Paul and Lindsey’s fraternity. It’s a classic frat house on campus-- large, old, Victorian, 4-5 bedrooms with blacklights everywhere and a huge basement. You get there and the living room is already littered with forgotten cups. The keg is in the basement along with a beer pong table and dozens of wasted college kids dancing to way too loud music. Like a G6 by Dev plays and everyone makes jokes about getting “slizzard”. You spend the first 15 minutes hugging people and taking shots with some friends you met through Lindsey. You met most people through her. “Hey bitch!!” Jessica calls to you. Jessica is the girlfriend of John, another fraternity member. She also used to live on Lindsey’s floor freshman year. She would always get drunk and brag about how big John’s dick was. Which was confusing seeing as John was shorter and more feminine than her. “Heyyyy,” you say, “How are you?” “I’m fucking great. I’m smashed,” Jessica answers. “Yeah I can tell!” you laugh, “Where’s John?” “Oh I think he’s over in the living room talking to Lindsey’s new g-little. He’s fucking hot. Have you met him? Pete?” “Paul. Yeah, we all came here together.” “Damn, I wish I could fuck him. He looks so young and innocent. Can you please do it for me and tell me all about it?” “Sex? What’s that???” you joke. “Oh my god, I always forget you’re a virgin. You don’t look like one in that, that’s for sure.” It’s true. You are honestly dressed pretty slutty. Tight, short black dress, push up bra, tons of makeup, long dark hair curled. The truth was the idea of sex seemed pretty intimidating and you really weren’t that interested in it. You got enough satisfaction from teasing boys at parties. Flirt, dance, make out, leave. Make them want you, but never follow through that way you’re never vulnerable. Besides, you had never met anyone that felt worth it. Especially not drunk guys in frats. “Yup, I’m trying to trick everyone. Glad it’s working,” you say. “Absolutely. Anyway, you should at least, like, make out with him or something. You would ruin his fucking life,” Jessica laughed. You look back over into the living room and meet eyes with Paul for a second. He blushes, looking back at John. He does look good. You can’t deny that. “Come on let’s go over there,” Jessica grabs your arm and drags you into the living room, just missing hitting the coffee table as she stumbles her way over to John and Paul. “Omg baaaaaabe,” Jessica says in a baby voice towards John who looks scared. “Uh hey… did you guys take some shots?” John asks. “Yup, Kat’s such a bad influence. Do you know that, Paul?” Jessica says, turning to him. “Oh yeah? I better watch out then,” Paul smirks looking at you dead in the eyes. “Please, we’re all grown ups. We make our own decisions. I only encourage what I think would be fun,” you shrug. “Baaaaabe, come upstairs with me. I want to… make sure my coat is still there,” Jessica giggles. “Uh, okay,” John replies. Jessica locks her fingers between John’s and drags him towards the stairs. John follows like the obedient puppy he is. You stay standing next to Paul in the corner of the room. “So you’re a bad influence, huh?” Paul asks leaning against the brick wall. “Noooo, me? I just like having a good time, that’s all,” you grin. “Alright, that’s fair. Look, everyone here seems to be on a mission to get me blacked out,” Paul says. “I mean you’re in college and you joined a frat. What did you expect? Though you did pick a frat for nerds so I can see how you might be a bit confused…” you shrug. “I knew there would be drinking and stuff. But they go hard here.” “Yes. Welcome! I mean I’m just here with Lindsey, but I’m basically an honorary member at this point. And yes, they do go hard. In fact I saw you went a little too hard last weekend. Lindsey might’ve shown me pictures.” Paul’s face flushes, “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing. They literally kept singing this one song about chugging over and over and gave us each a bottle of vodka. It did not end well for me.” The couch opens up across the room. You squeal, “Yessss, couch! Hurry! I hate doing things.” “Like standing?” Paul says. You move over to the couch and sit down. Paul joins you, knee pressed against yours. You look over at him. Eyes super blue. Face flushed from alcohol. “You’re cute,” you blurt out. “What?” Paul’s face flushes even more, “I mean... thanks. You’re…” “I know,” you say with drunken confidence, “but I’m not gonna kiss you. That’s a bad idea.” “Why?” “Because you’re gonna be at my house all the time with Lindsey. And you’re too young.” “Too young?” “Yes, it’s just a bad idea. But we can be friends,” you say. Paul presses his knee harder into yours. “Oh okay…” “So what’s your major?” you ask. Better to talk about politics or religion or anything that can keep you from thinking about what those blue eyes would look like hovering over you in bed. “Chemical Engineering.” “Wow, so you want to be a chemical engineer, huh?” “My dream is to study wildlife honestly. But this degree just makes more sense. But I love nature and animals and the environment. That’s really where I want to be. Out in the world trying to fix everything that’s being damaged.” “That’s pretty amazing.” “What about you?” “Special education. I love teaching.” You loved working with kids. It was something that always just clicked for you. You understand them and they understand you. You love the wonder in their eyes and their endless questions. You love the moment when something clicks for them or when they write something they’re really proud of. You never want to have kids of your own so they’re your kids. You love them. They frustrate you. You think they’re capable of so much. “That’s amazing too, I love kids. They’re the best.” You talk for hours on the couch. Something you don’t do at parties. He’s from a small, wealthy town in Massachusetts, but lived in a more modest home than most of his friends. He has a sister and some older half brothers from his dad’s previous marriage. Dad is English and mom is Swedish. He tells you he speaks French and Swedish. “That should be your opener with girls-- multilingual,” you say. “Why?” A little smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He’s fishing for compliments. “Girls love a guy who’s good with his mouth.” His body leans ever so slightly closer to you. “Maybe if I had you would’ve kissed me.” You smirk. There’s so many things you could say, so many you’d like to, but it’s safer to keep those pretty lips of yours together. A few seconds pass along with the moment and he moves back. “It’s getting pretty late. I need to get home.” “I’ll walk you,” he says a little too eagerly. “You don’t have to do that.” “I want to.” “I’m still not going to kiss you.” There he is, leaning in, invading your space with the way his muscles tense against the sleeves of his shirt. “What makes you think I even want that? It’s dark. You shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” You get outside. Campus is dark, but you can still see all of the trees and huge buildings. The hairs on your arms stand up in the cold wind. You keep talking. About movies, TV, other people in the frat, college life, social views, Marvel vs. DC, which Jessica is hottest (You say Alba, he says Biel), who’s better My Chemical Romance or Panic at the Disco. You keep looking over at him and staring at his lips. You finally get to your house. You say goodbye and hug him and your whole body lights up. You pull away slowly and look up at him. What the fuck is this? You push him away and say, “Okay, goodnight, friend.


Leonard hooked his cane over the back of his usual chair. Taking a moment before he sat to enjoy the afternoon sun. Setting the cup of coffee down onto the little table he slowly took his seat. His knees protested as he bent them; his rear didn't much care for the hard seats they had at this little cafe. Still he came every Friday. He pulled back the sleeve of his suit and checked his watch. It was 3:55 pm. It would be about 10 more minutes. He fiddled with the cup as he set to waiting. There was a slight breeze at his back, as normal. The outdoor seating area was empty save for him. There would be one more guest along fairly shortly though. He knew he shouldn't be doing this anymore. He was too old to be wandering around after people, but he couldn't really help it. People passed by on the streets. In all there various shapes and forms. He was never much of a people person. His wife always joked how he would be alone if she hadn't adopted him. He had always argued, but he knew she was right. It had never bothered him being alone; until he had met her. Now being by himself was agony. His eyes turned towards the door, no one yet. He had been coming to this cafe for over two months. He had been walking by, part of the passing crowd, enjoying his memories of what this place use to be. A young blonde woman, mid 20's maybe, had been sitting in the chair that was currently behind him. She had been playing on one of those smartphones his grand kids kept trying to make him buy. He hadn't thought much of it, until he got past her and the breeze caught up to him. Her perfume had reached his nose, stopping him in his tracks. She had smelled just like... "Excuse me?" The question broke him out of his thoughts. "Yes, how can I," he froze. The blonde woman was standing right in front of him, a polite smile on her face. "May I join you?' "Oh, of course," he stammered out. "Thank you," she sat down across from him. "I don't see many people here at this time of day. I noticed you here the past few times. I just thought I would say hello." She extended her hand. He reached out and shook it. He hoped she took the trembling in his fingers for his age. "I'm Emilia," she said. "It's nice to see someone else enjoy this place. What kind of coffee do you order?" "Oh just a normal cup of joe," he forced himself to take a sip of the vile liquid. He didn't come for the coffee. "I think that's the first time I've seen you drink from a cup," her smile widened. "So why do you really come here?" Caught. His panic peeked, then faded. All good things come to an end. He sighed and started speaking. "It's complicated," he began slowly. "I had my first date here. Well not my first date, and not here per se. My wife and I had our first date here. It was a malt shop back then. We sat inside and..." He trailed off, his voice failing. She seemed to understand. "When did she die?" "Two years ago," he whispered. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "You come here to remember?" He could lie. He didn't. "That and well," he forced himself to continue. "You see, you wear the same perfume she did." He hung his head. It was strange, he knew. She would think he was a creepy old man. He just hadn't been able to help himself. "I guess my friends were right," she quipped. "I really do have old fashion tastes." He looked up. There was sympathy in her eyes. "Would you tell me about her?" she asked politely.


Silvia blinked for a moment, as her eyes adjusted to what she was seeing. Her head throbbed as she brushed her fingers against the rough metal surface of the heart shaped locket. It's golden exterior, dull and dented, the dingy old bauble having seen far better days. Gingerly holding it up to her ear she could hear a faint ticking inside. It made her nauseous. "What do you think you're doing?" It took a moment to register the sound, her mind still reeling. She turned to find her sister shuffling impatiently near the door. "It's almost time for another security sweep. If there's nothing else in this vault, we need to leave." Silvia closed her eyes and tried to focus. "Yeah I...uh sorry Vee. Got a little distracted. I found something made of gold and it seems to be mechanical. It may be worth something, but it's the only usable thing here." She takes one last look at the necklace before shoving it in her pocket. This locket seems oddly familiar, she wanted to examine it longer but if they got caught by Reagan and his men something like that would be the least of their concerns. "C'mon" Vee beckoned, peaking out of the door to the vault "No one is out here yet, there's still time to get back to camp." Silvia stands up, wobbling a bit from another sudden wave of nausea, and gives one last look at the inside of the otherwise picked over vault and meets her sister at the door. Vee gave a curt nod and they walked back into the interior of the bank, climbed back into the maintenance vent, and scrambled out onto the roof. The sun was just beginning to set, they had left just in time. They didn't say much on the way back to camp, the two of them working in tandem to keep lookout for any of the heavily armed soldiers that patrolled the city. The dilapidated buildings and burned out cars littered around this part of the city provided more than enough cover to remain in the shadows. Ducking down through the street, skirting through alleyways, and when needed dropping down into the sewers, all things considered it was a relatively quick escape. It took them roughly an hour to get out of the city proper and into the dense muddy woods on the outskirts. Within a few minutes they came to a cave. Hidden amongst a large pile of rocks they came to a door and Vee offered a swift sharp knock. A light knock back was the only answer. Clearing her throat Vee responded, Guided by his patient hand We will salvage what we can We stay the course and here we stand We are the children of Atavan At this the door swung open and a small boy, about 7 years old looked up at them in disappointment, his small hands wringing the bottom of his tattered old superhero shirt. "It's just you two." He sighs, rolling his eyes and stepping out of the doorway. "Did you see my dad out there? He went salvaging and he isn't back yet." Silvia leans down, and gives him a soft pat on the head. "Sorry Danny, we didn't see him on our way in. I'm sure he'll be home soon though." "I hope so, he's been gone a real long time..." Vee interjects with a deep sigh "He's fine! Your dad's probably just wandering around drunk, he's always drinking this time of day anyway." Silvia gasped "Vee, he's a kid! Whats wrong with you!" Danny smiles sadly. "It's ok Sil, she's right. He does drink a lot, I guess. I don't mind it, as long as he comes home safe. You two go ahead, I'm gonna stand guard until he gets back." Vee just nods and turns away, walking toward the camp, while Silvia ruffles his hair and gives him a soft smile. She rushes up to her sister and is able to catch her halfway down the corridor. "Why are you always so mean?" Vee stops but doesn't turn to face her sister. "What exactly is mean about telling the truth?" "It won't kill you to be kind for literally a second of your life. You know how hard this is, sometimes people need it!' "Sometimes people need a reality check." At this, she does turn and stares directly in Silvia's eyes. "I don't want Danny to think for a goddamn second that his dad's behavior is acceptable. If he learns now he won't grow up to be like him and he'll be better off." "But it's not our place to talk down about his father. He is only a child, Vee! And if the council had a problem with the drinking they would have …" Vee cuts her off angrily "The council left us for dead and so did Atavan! Stop pretending they're coming back or that they even care what we do here. The only ones looking out for us are us. You’re just as naive as he is, and you both need to grow up and learn what the real world is like." "Vee… I…" Silvia blinks away tears. "No” Vee sighs “We have work to do. If you need me I'll be in Gareth's tent debriefing him on our salvage today. You clean off that thing you found and figure out what to do with it." . . . . . . . Silvia wiped her brow and dropped her cleaning rag. The locket was now polished, though still looked a little rough for the wear. Its hinges seemed to be perfectly intact despite the denting and damage but there was no latch anywhere on it. It clearly seemed like it could be opened to access the inside. She got a small flathead screwdriver, wedged it into the seam, and softly pried it open. Inside the locket was a faint blue glow and two identical watch faces. On the right face the numbers on the watch were strange. There was a combination of letters and numbers that seemed to constantly shift as the hands spun past them even some letters she didn't recognize that had to be from other languages. On the left face the numbers rotated slowly around the hands. Still shifting and changing but rather than the hands moving, the numbers themselves were in constant motion. She picked up the watch and touched the left face, when she heard a scream. Silvia clutched the locket in her hand and rushed outside her tent. Everyone else in the settlement was either already standing in the middle of camp or coming out to investigate just like she was. She caught Vee's eye as she came out of Gareth's tent, and they exchanged a frightened glance. The stomping of boots could be heard coming from the entrance to the cave. A group of soldiers, fifty or so strong clad in the city's insignia of a dragon, entered the camp. All of them impossibly large in their thick plate armor, holding heavy artillery rifles. In the front of this group dead and center was a hard faced man with slicked back jet black hair and an ornate tattoo of a dragon on his face. To his left, two soldiers were half walking, half carrying a man in chains who seemed to have been beaten. As they got closer she could see it was Danny's father. To the man's other side Danny struggled against the grasp of a soldier who was carrying him under one arm. Vee pushes her way to the front of the crowd and aggressively addresses the man. "Reagan, how did you find us, and why are you here?!" At this he laughs and signals his soldiers to halt. "Well hello beautiful. I'm here because I found this-" He snaps his fingers and the guards throw Danny's father to the ground. "-half drunk buffoon wandering around the edge of my city." He puts a heavy boot on the man's face and he sobs and slacks under the weight of it. "The only reason I didn't kill this pathetic excuse for a man is because he led me here." Danny screams and struggles "Dad! You let go of my Dad you monster!" Reagan signals and the guard throws Danny to the ground as well. Vee rushes to his side. She makes sure Danny is ok, and then stands between him and the soldiers."What do you want with us?" He scowls and steps up to meet her. "I'm sick and tired of you little rats scrounging around my city looking for crumbs. This time one of you has taken something valuable to me. And I want it back NOW." "I don't know what youre talking about!" "Oh you know exactly what I mean. The Amulet you stole. If you took it, you know damn well what it’s worth. I want it back right now and I will kill each and every last one of you little rats until I find it." "Please, we don’t know anything about an amulet. Leave us alone." Vee whispers, her voice cracking. Reagan scowls at her and snaps his fingers at the guard. "Fine. If that's how you want it. Kill them. Start with the kid." A soldier raises his gun at Danny, and before anyone else can move or speak, he fires, and Vee jumps in front of the bullet. She falls to the ground in front of Danny, and every denizen in the camp panics. The soldiers fan out, people are running and frantically searching for escape. The sounds of gunfire and pain ring out in the cavern. Silvia desperately pushes through the crowd to reach her sister, the herd of desperate people pushing against her like a turbulent current. By the time she finally reaches them, Danny has his shirt on Vee's stomach and is desperately trying to stop the bleeding. "Sil… she… she won't wake up. What do I do, she won't wake up.." She sits down next to Danny and holds her sister's hand. It's warmth is slowly fading. "No… Vee please. You gotta hold on. I know how stubborn you are. If anyone can make it...if anyone can..'' mid sentence she feels her sister's hand slack in her own. She holds her sister's hand tighter, her tears blurring her vision. "No…oh god no…Vee, why did this all have to happen? I don't understand." Silvia looks up at the panic and chaos around her, slowly realizing she's still in the middle of an invasion. Her eyes come across Regan loudly arguing with a guard. "I need that Amulet, when you shoot them search their fucking pockets for it, don't just stomp over them like some kind of moron. If you break it we'll have nothing. We need it intact!" Silvia looks down at her left hand, despite everything the locket is still held fast in her grip. She opens it and stares at the glowing faces. He wants this so bad, there has to be something it does. Some way to use it. She puts her finger on the hour hand on the left face of the watch. "You! Hey what is that you've got!" The soldier yells, holding up his rifle and pointing it at her. As he pulls the trigger, she softly turns the hand of the watch, and prays for something to happen. . . . . . . . Silvia blinked for a moment, as her eyes adjusted to what she was seeing. Her head throbbed as she brushed her fingers against the rough metal surface of the heart shaped locket. She covered her mouth with her hand, stopping a sob before it could escape, tears streaming down her face. She's inside the vault again. "What do you think you're doing?" She turns to her sister weeping, barely able to speak "Vee...I'm sorry… I'm so so sorry." "What are you talking about? It's almost time for another security sweep. If there's nothing else ….


Same dive bar, different reasons for that bourbon. My drink was neat unlike my mismatched socks & my noticeable limp as I surveyed the room. Usual suspects were playing darts, cracking jokes, & whipping buffalo sauce off their chin, but I was looking for someone. The group of drag queens shooting pool caught my eye. The queens weren’t quite regulars, but around enough where a head nod when eye contact is made is warranted. The sunburn on my cheeks, nose, & right below my eyes made my expression stiff, but it was good to see everyone, as it had been a while since my last drink in this dump. I had just gotten back into town, for the first time since I got my second face tattoo. The small thunderbolt high on my cheek bone, I regret that. I’m now known as the masked thunderbolt by the local paper, the armed bank robbing thief that was still at large from our last job. I was observed by many being pursued by the police on my bike, wearing my Tampa Bay Lighting t-shirt, go bolts. The name kind of stuck. I don’t regret that. That's how I make a living. I'm a career criminal by trade, I learned from my father & my father’s father. They taught me well. I made my way north west - by train, by taxi, by foot, by my thumb hung up in the air. I had to get out of town, as the heat on my whereabouts grew. I spent the last year drinking wild turkey straight out of the bottle, shooting dice with my lucky cigarette tucked behind my ear, & hanging out with nameless women of the night, all on my way to nowhere. I went by many names throughout my career - Ramon Grande, Johnny Mack, Parker Wallace, & my least favorite, Christian Williams, my actual name, which I stopped using years ago. Pages on the calendar had been torn away and the treasure trove grew thin. It was time to head back home, it was time to go back to work again, I was Florida bound. My town was small & humid, run down & close knit, it was us against the world. I was back in town for one reason, to find my partner and hit the next lick. My partner was a friend of a friend of a former girlfriend of mine. I met him at a bbq down by the park, right off the main drag, back in the spring of ‘93. I noticed him from across the gathering. He had that look in his eyes, the same look I had. An up-and-comer, a rising star. I saw him pick-pocket the guy manning the grill, like a pro. We understood each other without ever exchanging names, not even once. This was to protect ourselves in case push ever came to shove. He always went by Isaiah Monroe or Donald Gibbs or Cash Jackson. No names, no phone numbers, no addresses. That was the code, be where you say you’ll be. One of our meetup spots was Ricky’s Tavern. Ricky’s was the local watering hole with a wide variety of regulars. Classic bar food, most famously, their fried gator bites, and known for local beer on taps that have never been cleaned. Old wood framing with a matching L-shaped bar that hasn't been touched up since the late 70’s. Last year’s Nascar reruns on the TV, ash trays as the centerpiece of each booth, and you get your picture on the wall if you can eat 5 fried tenderloin in 2 hours, Cousin Tommy’s up there twice, God rest his soul. I sat for a while and waited. Lucky cigarette tucked behind my ear, rolling 2 dice around in my left hand, wild turkey in my right, neat. I watched the off-centered door open & close for a few hours, hoping to see a familiar face. ‘Last call’ Jimmie bellowed as he poured himself a shot of something brown. ‘Well, i’ll check out bowling alley tomorrow night, maybe better luck there’ I wondered to myself I slapped my cash on the wooden bar, winked back at Jimmie, & headed out to the parking lot, wondering when thunderbolt would be back on his bike, I can’t wait to smile in my sleep, again.


THE LAZY FLOP ON THE COUCH .. and more ! “ Oh is sooo good just to sit - actually flop and enjoy the view out the patio window and watch the trees swishing in the wind beyond the railing” says 70-something Vermont Issacs to herself. “ Oh, I forgot how nice it is just to flop and do nothing” Vermont word-thinking to herself once more as she melts into the couch. Vermont just realised she never gives herself permission to do just nothing; not needing the TV to stir up emotions with in-the-face horrible overseas news - which ain't relaxing; or flicking through the channels to be suddenly confronted by a passionate love scene that makes one realise that stripping naked in front of hubby for 'a hot roll in the hay' these days is not much chop for either parties. She breathed heavily to herself as she dissolved into the softness of the couch, and was by now camouflaged as a patterned throw-over rug ... “Just the sound of silence is oh so very wonderful when you are 70-something” “ Mind you” Vermont thinks on as the puffy cushions cradle so deliciously her stiff neck - “When I was in my 20-somethings the last thing I wanted to do was sit – it was all 'go go go' for me and my friends. Only grandmothers sit; and even 40-somethings sit. At 20- something I thought being 40-something was having one foot in the grave and I was cautiously waiting to hear that my parents had dropped dead from old age. Oh but 70-somethings should have at least some well-earned wisdom at least ! But the age of wisdom comes far too late I fear. If only it came upon us at birth !! If only we were smart and sensible and wise as a final gift from God as we emerged from the womb of our mothers into the big bright new world. If only we had a second go at life too ! If only we didn't stuff so much up. If only I married that guy I was head over heals in love with in Year 7 and not what now seems my 'desperate choice' so I could get married like all my friends were by the time they were 25. That awful feeling of being left on the shelf haunted us in our 20-somethings. In her wiser years of 60-something Vermont wrote this poem. She thought it summed up all the 'if only-s' she now ponders on (just occasionally) in her 70-somethings - If only the sky was blue each day..... If only the sun came out, what may ! If only love lasted a whole life long If only we had kept singing our song ! But ‘ if onlys ’ are never meant to be They are just our wishes – I can now see ! This life has no easy roads to tread With the trips and falls wherever we’re lead ! Peace comes and goes like a twinkling star It’s one step forward, then back so far ! But one day there will be that peace unknown When I walk from this earth, be it all alone ! But ‘ if only ’ was something never said Then we would accept wherever we’re led And then our today's and tomorrows too Could be wonderful, if only we knew !! As Vermont scans the glass of the window wondering whether it needs a wipe over when she eventually decides to pluck herself from the couch, she notices the finger marks of her two youngest grandchildren on the glass as the sun moves around the room picking out spots and marks on the glass, and suddenly her heart warms. Those lovely little fingers with chocolate and icecream imprints are like life itself - on a page in the tapestry of their lives. Little fingers mean that at 70-something I have produced a child and now grandchildren to carry on the 20-something me lost forever. At 70-something the mirror into her life tells her of those past years - of growth, lessons learnt, joy and sadness, love and hate - which are all now etched upon her face. In the corner of the lounge-room is a photograph of Vermont at 20-something. The long brown hair, the wrinkle-free face, the tight neck, the flat tummy in the bikini. “ Was I really a good-looker then? she thought to herself. I didn't think I was. I was always wanting to be as cute as Diane Harper, as good looking as Vanessa what's-her-name, as liked by the boys as was Bethany Norris (or some name like that)”. Vermont started to think more deeply as the sun moved right across onto her upper body – it felt warm and cosy on that couch and worth a bit more time out. “ Were they wasted years, were they years I made the most of or did I have no higher aims than the other kids in class 9B – kids like me with just normal intelligence, who left school and didn't want to be a brain surgeon or an astronaut – just get a job, make money, have respectable boyfriends (and not get pregnant), do a course to improve job prospects – and who eventually found a version of Mr Right, had babies, went back to work and had a nice house with a nice garden and just got on with life ”. Vermont quizzed her inner-self even more - “Is that enough ? Is that what we are here for ? Have I wasted 70-something years by being just ordinary. Did I do a good job at life, did I make others happy in the process, did I hurt many people, did I apologise if I did hurt anybody not meaning to, was a good mother and a good wife, and am I a good 70-something now - being useful and not just a face in the crowd with a limp from my sore arthritic hip, which certainly speaks louder than words as to my age ?” All this flooded through Vermont's head and in the end she had to stop questioning. She was there for a real bludge for a change, but ended up being very busy in her head. Too busy ! Vermont found herself slipping into a dream state as the sun now crossed onto her face. It was so pleasant, it was as if her face was being bathed with a warm cloth, washing away any negativity that lingered in her mind. Then it was like she was floating from the coach and into some heavenly peaceful sphere. Somewhere just so perfect, but the coach continued to cocoon her in softness as well. She had a vision of herself walking up a staircase, maybe into Heaven, she didn't know ? There were clouds surrounding the staircase, more and more surrounded her as she stepped higher and higher. As she moved upwards she felt and saw herself being shed of layers of herself – outer layers – layers just leaving and falling below. It was as if she had on ten layers of 'clothing' as she climbed the stairs, and the higher she moved up and up the more of the layers fell from her. They were like sheets of paper falling away from her being, and floating down, ever downwards until she stood naked in the purest sense at the top of the staircase. Naked but cleansed and without blemish and best of all as herself in her 20-somethings. A dream ? If it was it was brilliant ! “ Oh !” Vermont woke up with a fright when the doorbell rang. She realised she was still lying on the couch with her 70-something body now trying to move to answer the door, with all the aches and pains returning in the effort to get off the low couch. “ Where did I just go ? Where am I now ? Oh yes, back here, and that must be Joachin at the door … he is in his 40-somethings – he is my son – he is far too young to drop dead !”


Today I thought about leaving again. I remember the second that thought reentered my mind. This morning I stepped outside to see the sun rise over the earth, like every other day. There was a time when that view took my breath away, but now I applaud the sight with an unenthused sigh. I believe that was the first time I genuinely considered leaving. The novelty of my situation wore off quicker than you’d expect. When I was younger I would dream to be where I am today. If only I’d known how mundane it would be, then perhaps I would have moved to San Francisco or New York. Yeah, if I lived in New York I’d be happy. I could eat pizza all day and get lost in a maze of enchanting architecture. I know it doesn’t do me any good to fantasize about what I could’ve done differently. I can’t change what has already passed. Though I’m sad to say that thinking about a different life is the only way I can get through my reality. There’s something I like to say. When I first arrived here, I’d start every day by saying it, to try and comprehend the amazing truth that became my life. “I live on the f\*cking moon.” I remember still not being able to believe it, I was more than on top of the world, I had my own world. No other person had that. I knew this to be fact, but as days turned to weeks, to months and years, I started to notice a change in my attitude and spirit. My excitement for my little world faded, the so called honeymoon phase had departed and I was left with my new home for what it was. “I live on the f\*cking moon.” What was once a statement of wonder and amazement had become the truth that sucked me out of any pleasant fantasy I dreamt, a shackle that forever defines me. From afar, I’m sure the people of earth look up at the moon, at me and think that it must be like a dream to be where I am. I was a hero, a pioneer. The first to live off world. I can’t go back, for if they saw me return to earth they would be heartbroken. This is everything they had been working for. Those are the things I tell myself to get the thoughts of leaving out of my head. They’ve always worked until now. I’m not sure what’s changed, but what left my mouth next would reassure myself one way or another. “I do not want to live on the f\*cking moon.” When I finally heard myself say those words, the emotion I felt was relief. As if a weight on my back had floated away. I wasn’t happy, and I had finally let myself realize that. I looked to the rocket that took me here years ago, it’s never been more than 100 feet away from me. It always brought me comfort. I knew I could leave whenever I wanted, and that power gave me the will to stay here. But now I’m scared, I’m actually thinking about leaving. If I leave, I can never come back. There’s no assuring that where I’d end up would be any better than here. It’s the safer option the stay, at least for now, I can leave whenever I want. “I’m miserable and I want to leave. I can leave whenever I want. When I leave I can’t come back. I’m miserable and I want to leave. I can leave whenever I want. When I leave I can’t come back.” These thoughts kept me running in circles for over 30 years. I’ve spent my life fighting a war, and I’m the only living thing for thousands of miles. “...No. Not anymore.” I don’t know what had happened, but I was finally done, I was finally ready to take action. No more thinking, it’s time for me to do something for me. With many short hops I was able to get my old self to the rocket. Entering the machine flooded back memories and nostalgia nearly powerful enough to stop myself from bringing power back to the sleeping engines. But it wasn’t enough, I did it. I started the rocket, only to see two words flash on the dashboard. Refuel Required.  *This story was written for a podcast about trying new things.


The closing went smoothly, other than the banker spending 20 minutes convincing my buyer to not default on a $400,000 loan. There was a lot of mumbling at their end of the table, and I felt like I was in a different dimension. All the stress. All the stress. I set the only 2 keys to the store on the conference table. One for the handle and the other, the deadbolt. After 48 years in our family, I felt the crush of letting go of something our family owned for so long and for not knowing what tomorrow would look like. I just knew it couldn’t involve the business.

When I was 3 years old, my parents bought the local Dairy Queen for three thousand dollars, using Grandad’s money, because- who had three thousand dollars back then? This is where my siblings and I grew up. Watching the summers go by through the ‘floor to ceiling’ glass windows of the 1950’s style 2-window walk-up. Keen to the muscle cars roaring by. Dating the boys who drove them. Sneaking cans of our dad’s Old Style out of the walk-in cooler. This is where I heard of Elvis’ death from our transistor radio that sat on the shelf above the clock. This is where we learned loyalty. “If you want to go to college, go put yourself on the schedule ,” our dad told us.

This is where my own children grew up. My daughters, who worked their summers during high school, out-grew the business. The oldest would have nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with helping me. The youngest went to college in Michigan and met and married and stayed. In the end, it was my middle daughter who made me realize that I needed to sell. Alison was my right hand- and there was nothing I couldn’t accomplish with her at my side. We sold thousands of cakes each summer. She custom-decorated and air-brushed colors to perfection. We had midnight-madness sales on the 4 th of July. We grilled hot dogs for charity on parade day. She helped make out the schedules. She ran the store on days I had to attend events when I served as Village Trustee. She was head of the DQ Crew, and everyone loved her. Once, she gathered up the employees to tell them they were starting a Union. Dairy Queen Local #1, of course. I wanted to be in it, but she explained to me that’s now how it worked. The crew built a playlist of ‘favorite songs of that summer’ that we Spotify to each other to this day. From Wham to Enrique to Milli Vanilli to BSB and Disco Inferno. ‘80s at 8 was non-negotiable. It’s what we listened to. But, in real life, Alison was an inner-city high school teacher living 45 minutes away. She was on the negotiating team for CTU Local #1 when they were headed for a strike. Meetings would last well into the night. She coached girls’ softball and then also played softball with her friends in a summer league. She was taking classes to become a board-certified instructor, and a principal. She had a big life. She lived like there was no tomorrow, and I knew that she would never abandon me, so I needed to abandon it. Because I also knew, I could never run the store without her-nor did I want to. The DQ Crew I loved came back every summer throughout high school and college, but then the day came when they got a ‘real job’ and didn’t return. The weight grew heavier. I came alone to the closing. I suppose my brother could have come- but he had been a teacher for so long he wasn’t part of it anymore. He came last night to say goodbye to the old building. We signed our family names in sharpie marker on the concrete under a loose wall tile and then screwed it down. It was his idea. I thought it was genius. My father once told me, “Nancy, don’t ever sell that store.” But, Dad, you wouldn’t recognize the city anymore. His words so heavy. Dad taught high school Industrial Arts for 30 years. Coached varsity basketball for half of those and was the only coach to win the SICA Championship in 1963. For all of the years I stood behind that sliding window, students from years past asked about the Coach, and I would give them an update: he was out running around for me or up in Canada fishing. He was fine. When he passed, the whole town knew. And the whole town came to the funeral. I went back to the high school to get his championship basketball and all the photos of his teams over the years. Everyone at the funeral found them a joy to look at. My attorney handed me an envelope, I stood and forced a smile. I swallowed very hard and paused. I wished him well. The best of luck.

But, he was already successful. He had several stores in another town and a baby on the way. I left the closing and drove for the last time to the ice cream stand I loved for so long and would love forever and pulled into the lot before the new owner came. “She’s a pretty girl,” I whispered to myself and kissed the concrete wall that had carried me – literally carried me through the hardest times in my life because, to me, the place was joy. It was a safe place. The world that I built inside these walls was safe. The employees came back year after year, and we bowled together, had movie nights, Taco Bell food runs, and water-gun fights. We cried in the walk-in cooler and held therapy in the bathroom. We shared cigarettes. We landed a spot on a morning talk show because the host lived nearby and loved our ice cream. And every so often, TP’d peoples’ houses and left an abandoned couch on their lawn. We were a: Dilly-dipping Banana splitting Sundae-topping Blizzard-blending Cone-krunching Smile-serving DQ Crew


Quick note! This is my first piece of writing EVER. So any kind of criticism is welcome, do not be afraid to hold back! This is based on a Video Game called Spec Ops; The Line. so expect spoilers for the game if you haven't played it yet. This is kind of like an intro to a story I plan on writing if people like this short story I wrote on it. Thanks! "You know, Captain, we drove through this whole city to find you. We... We Saw things. If you don't mind me asking, what was it like? How did you survive all this?" "...who said I did?" I am Captain Martin Walker of Delta Squad, and I am the good guy. I saved Dubai. I saved all five thousand of them left when I arrived. Those bodies? All hallucinations. I didn't cause that, good guys don't do that, they save them. Lugo and Adams didn't die, they're still in America at the base. This was a lone op. Konrad wasn't corrupt. There was never a revolution. The CIA was never here. The rebels were the bad guys. The 33rd were the good guys. I was apart of the good guys. I didn't cause any of that madness to happen. It's Konrad. He did it. All of it. I didn't cause Lugo and Adams to die. I didn't kill all those people. I didn't kill every single survivor. I didn't end the lives of hundreds of soldiers saving the civilian population. I did not let that CIA operative burn alive in that truck. I did not leave the entire population without water. Conrad did that. I was only following orders. I am the good guy. I am the good guy. ...am I the good guy? Did I really let Lugo die, and then open fire on unarmed civilians? Did I really kill the people trying to save the civilians? Did I destroy their supply of water? Did I really leave Adams to die? Were their lives worth so little to me? Did I singlehandedly kill all 5,000 people left in Dubai? Was I really following orders? Did I have a choice? Why didn't you stop? Why did you kill the good guys? This is all your own fault, Walker. You'll never be a hero. I am not the good guy. I am not the good guy. You never were. I killed them all. Lugo, Conrad, Adams. All 5,000 of them. All of their blood on my hands. The image of the mother and daughter melting in each other's arms will forever be etched in my memory. The image of Lugo hanging 20 feet in the air having the life drained out of his body will forever be etched in my memory. The screams of those civilians, of Adams. Do I really care about any of that? Ha, I wish I did. I am not Captain Martin Walker, he died back in Dubai. All of Delta Squad died. I am not the good guy. You're a shell of who you were, Walker. I could have stopped all of it, yet I was determined to ruin everything. For what? Just because I felt like being a hero? Well, look at what you've done Walker. Do you feel like a hero yet? Sure, I guess I killed them all, but am I really to blame at this point? They got in my way. I bashed that soldier's head in because he was going to kill me. I didn't go too far. He could've been alive. And why would I need to waste a bullet on a dying man like Riggs? I didn't trust the old man in the first place, plus he was already going to burn to death. Why not save the bullet for the next person to step in my way? Those civilians weren't innocent. They were going to be trained. Everyone there was against me. Lugo and Adams didn't trust me, and they paid the price. No one followed my orders, and look at 'em now? Who's the sane one here? The ones who fell or the one who slayed the giant? Who is truly sane here Walker? The sane don't justify the murder and torture of hundreds of people, good or evil. The Sane are peaceful, and quiet. The sane are the dead, and the living are truly insane. "Hey, Walker, you OK back there? You seem to be quiet. Anything you need to say?" "I am fine." No you're not, Walker. You'll never be just fine again. "By the way, I'm Sergeant Roberts. Next to me is Private Ryan and next to you is Corporal Jacobs. We're apart of Falcon-1." He is a sergeant Walker, just like Lugo was. "We're supposed to meet up with the Colonel if, and when we found you, Captain. We're roughly 10 clicks out. I would suggest that someone of your state to get some rest, god knows you'll earned it." You don't deserve anything, Walker. "I'll rest. Wake me when we arrive." "Your orders, Captain.


Everyone in the class noticed it immediately. Pam was missing. The teacher wore a grave expression that she soon replaced with a rehearsed smile. Something was wrong. “Okay class! Pop quiz.” Every student straightened their backs. There was no time to dwell on their missing peer as sheets of paper made their way onto each desk, excluding that of Pam. “You may turn over your papers on the hour.” A measly thirty seconds until the needle on the clock would meet its mark. The students took the opportunity to dry their sweaty palms, and at the tap of the teacher’s heel, they all flipped over their papers in unison. A singular question graced that pure white canvas. Where did Pam go? They looked up at the teacher. Her eyes spoke a thousand words that no one understood. How were they to know? A student raised his hand. “Yes?” The teacher spoke, her voice a haze, a mere lull in the overbearing silence. “What are the stakes?” The student asked. His classmates were wide-eyed, shaken to the core with a reverberating terror. They each knew well enough that failing one of the teacher’s pop quizzes would have consequences. But Mark was the first one brave enough to ask. The teacher took a few seconds to think. “The window seat.” All the students looked at the girl sitting alone by the window of the classroom. She would never participate in class, nor speak to anyone outside of it. The window seat had claimed her, and it was bliss. To her belonged the sole privilege of witnessing the world beyond those concrete walls. She had no name, and no recollection of herself, but she was more important than she could ever know. The class became filled with the noise of pen on paper as students began scribbling down their answers. Johannes looked around until his eyes landed on the girl by the window. She looked outside, her ears deaf to the goings-on of the classroom, and beheld a lush, green field, lit by rays of light peering through fluffy white clouds. The wind rustled the grass, and the mesmerized girl followed the motions of each blade as it swayed to and fro. A few moments later, her eyes landed on another girl who she didn’t recognize. The girl seemed almost translucent. She walked to the window, and on it wrote a message with a black marker. The girl then left, beyond the window’s field of view. The student by the window stared at the message, wide-eyed. BREAK IT. As if she had said it aloud, every other person in the class turned their head towards her. The girl by the window was panicking. The students began to converge on her, slowly. Johannes shook his head and reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out what looked to be a remote and pressed a button labeled “END”. In an instant, the classroom vanished. Johannes looked defeated as he sat in a dimly lit room whirring with machinery, his ears tickled by the gentle hum of a tube light above his head. He raised his head slightly to look at an unresponsive Pam lying on the bed in front of him. Johannes raised an audio recorder to his mouth, hit “RECORD”, and began to speak. “Attempt 88: Failure” Johannes spoke, his voice shaking. He continued in a low, tired voice. “Pam’s still stuck in her Warden Space. She sits by the window and doesn’t know who she is. The artificial construct of Pam that I made escapes, and the teacher begins a quiz to find her. The construct attempts to communicate with the real Pam through the window, but she panics and the space becomes unstable.” With a click, Johannes ended the recording, and let out a deep sigh. He couldn’t say how long he had been at it. Where he was, time tended to blend together, layer upon layer until it became a mass large enough to smother all hope and ambition. When it became too much, and his surroundings began to buckle, Johannes would remind himself of Pam. The girl he loved. For her, he would break himself. Johannes stood up and went outside the shack. The starry sky brought solace, and the calm air caressed his back, running its gentle fingers through his hair. Johannes took out his phone and dialed a ten-digit number. The voice that answered from the other end was his. “Hello?” the voice spoke. The sounds of cutlery and smooth jazz could be heard in the background. “It’s me again” Johannes answered. “Look, you have to listen to me. Pam’s gonna-“ “Oh for f- I thought I blocked this number. Stop-“ “Please, just- “ “ Stop calling me. I can’t help you.” The voice hung up, and as it fizzled away, despair found Johannes again. The sky droned and the ground beneath him began to quake. Elsewhere, in a distant memory, Johannes sat on a dinner table at his favorite restaurant, his brow furrowed in frustration as he put his phone aside. “Scams getting elaborate day by day” he mumbled to himself. “You’re mumbling again”, a girl sitting opposite him spoke. “Huh? Yeah, I know, what about it?” She laughed. He smiled. “So,” she began after a brief pause, “ are those your dad shoes?” “They might be. Enough about me though” Johannes demanded, raising his glass to drink out of it. “You said something about getting tested?” “Oh, yeah. The doctors think I’m a Warden.” “What do those guys do again?” Johannes asked. “Sorry, I get them confused.” “Mhmm, sure you do. Wardens make spaces. Like whoever made this restaurant.” “Oh, right….” Johannes thought about it for a moment, looking around. Every inch of their surroundings was artificially constructed by the wandering thoughts of a mysterious Warden. Was the Warden still in here? Or did they break free? Not every Warden could escape their masterpiece, but the ones that did could profit from their creation forever. A pipeline to success if there ever was one, but with a dear price to pay for a mind lacking resilience. “If you’re a Warden, then” Johannes began, “what’re you gonna make?” The girl paused for a moment. Her face, initially invested in conjuring a genuine response, took on an air of mischief as a joke creeped into her mind. “Remember that rant you posted on the school website eight years ago? Something about-“ “Don’t” Johannes said, knowing where this was going. “-pop quizzes?” “It got me suspended, yeah, I know. I called it flowery; they called it vulgar.” The girl giggled. “Maybe I’ll trap you in a classroom.” Johannes sipped his drink once more. “You’ll probably get carried away and trap yourself in there too.” “Then I guess you’ll have to break me out” she responded in jest. Johannes scoffed, a smirk forming on his face. “I guess I will, Pam.” Another Johannes, sporting gray hair and baggy eyes, entered the shack and returned to the room where Pam lay silently. His eyes lingered on her stagnant body for a few moments as he composed himself. He had to stay calm. He wasn’t a Warden, and yet he had made the space in which he stood, all to save her. He breathed deep, and with half a heart and a tattered mind, he uttered those words that had now lost all meaning. “Let’s go again.”