I always passed the house on the corner on my way to school. It stood out because no other house on our street had a fence around the entire property. The fence was made of brick and steel posts, giving everyone who passed by a glimpse of the owner’s immaculately kept front yard. For as long as I can remember, I never saw anyone in the yard tending to the flowers. Though there were different kinds of plants throughout the yard, whoever owned the house had more rose bushes than any other kind of flower, and the roses were all red. Not until I was a teenager did I know that roses came in other colors besides red, thanks to this one house. Every time I passed that house with my parents, I would ask the name of the family who lived there. Did they have any children? Not that I needed more friends, I had so many that I always had a friend or two over almost every day of the week. But I always had questions, and I wanted to know whatever my parents could tell me about the family who lived in the garden of roses.

My father would chuckle at me and say, “Sorry, Becky, I don’t know the name of the people who live there. We’ve never seen them before.” His words only made me more curious about the house on the corner. Curiosity is contagious, and soon many of my friends started asking the same questions I was. Who lived there? And why had we never seen them? We didn’t have such things as the Internet back then, and we could get no information from anything at the library, though some of us tried.

Then at a party at my house –I think it was my younger sister’s birthday—my best friend Danny came up with a great idea. He and several other of our friends had joined me in my treehouse to get away from our younger siblings as they played games for prizes and to talk privately this once. I remember we talked in hushed voices so none of the adults could hear our conversation. We thought we were being so sneaky. “I was watching this show on TV with my dad last night,” Danny began. “One of the people on the show was a private detective.” “What’s that?” asked my friend Alice. “My dad says he’s like a policeman but you pay him to find things out for you,” Danny explained. “We can hire one to find out about the people who live at that house on the corner.” “That sounds like a great idea,” our friends agreed. “We can save our allowances to pay him.” It sounded like a great idea to me, but I had one little problem: I didn’t get an allowance. And my friends knew that. But it didn’t stop them from agreeing to it. After they agreed to start saving, we all started wondering what we might learn once we hired the private detective. “A family of vampires live there,” Danny suggested. “I’ve seen their lights on, but only at night, and we all know vampires cannot come out in the daylight.” “I don’t want to live near vampires!” Alice screamed. “I think a princess lives there. Why else would someone have that beautiful of a garden? Who do you think lives there, Becky?” All eyes turned to me. Up until that moment, they had pretty much been ignoring me since I had no money to help hire the private detective. I blinked a few times. I had never thought about who I thought actually lived in that house down the street. I opened my mouth to speak, but shut it when I failed to think of anything. But they wouldn’t ask anyone else until I said something, anything. “I think an ugly beast lives there,” I finally said. It was the only thing I could think of at that moment. The previous evening my mother had recounted the story of Beauty and the Beast only the night before. It was my sister’s favorite fairy tale, and whenever she couldn’t fall asleep right away, one of my parents would tell her the story. “Why does he have the roses?” another friend asked. “He was cursed by a witch,” I replied. “There is one special one that he guards in the house. If he can find true love before the last peddle falls, he becomes a handsome prince again. But if not, he’ll stay an ugly beast forever.” “That’s a fairy tale!” Alice argued. I turned to my friend and stuck my tongue out at her. “It’s about as likely as a princess living there.” Alice snorted, crossing her arms across her chest. “Since you won’t be able to help us with the private detective, I guess we won’t tell you when he tells us who lives there.” I smiled at her and said, “Go right ahead and keep it a secret.” Little did Alice know then that Danny told me everything. Oh, he would try to keep his mouth shut, but in the end, he would tell me. Then I would promise to never tell Alice that he had told me. She stuck her tongue out at me and demanded to be let out. She wouldn’t talk to me for several days after that, I knew, claiming we weren’t friends anymore to whoever would listen. I also knew she would want to make up like she always did.

Even then I could see it all play out in my mind, so I didn’t think about it again until a few days later when Danny snuck into my backyard and climbed up into the treehouse where I often hid to do my homework when I grew tired of my sister bothering me. He had a huge frown on his face. When he sat down beside me, he sighed. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “I looked up a private detective in the phonebook,” he told me. “I called to ask how much it would cost to find out who lives in that house.” I know I asked Danny how much it would cost. I don’t remember the amount anymore, but I remember thinking at the time that no one had that kind of money. A few days after that, Alice came over to apologize and to ask if we could be friends again. We never learned who lived in that house on the corner with the garden of roses. We moved away a few years later, as did most of my friends. But sometimes, when I think of the fun times I had with my friends on that street, I will think about that house. I find that I like to think I was right, and I often hope that true love broke the witch’s curse.


With each passing person, their information blinks in the left corner of my vision. Their names, occupations, home addresses, height, weight, hair and eye color and other things deemed “useful” by Tyrex Industries. I am the last of the Vega-12 experimental program. I am the last Replica. I am an android living in a human's world.

Replicas have been declared illegal on Earth. Well they’re illegal outside of Tyrex Industries at least. I escaped weeks ago, I wanted more out of my life. I wasn’t about to be someone’s pleasure model. Instead I was trained in hand to hand combat, military skills, along with some self defense and martial arts. Although my body and face are still built as a pleasure model, my body is a concealed weapon of power, force and strength.

My escape has been on the down low, I doubt the police informed the public. The last thing they need is thousands of people in a panic. The panic would make it easier for me to leave the city. I’m sure they have Hound Dogs looking for me. Hound Dogs are special police task force units designed strictly for the detection and execution of Replicas. Like me.

Luckily enough I have yet to cross the path of one, then again I’m good at passing as a human. If they suspect a Replica they’ll administer the HURA test. Human Empathic Reactions Assessment. I’ve always passed as a human. I’ve only been given it twice, but that still is too many for me.

I would have thought a Hound Dog would have found me out by now, I’ve been on the run for three weeks. I’ve seen many Hounds but they never catch on. For a Replica, surviving three weeks is pretty astonishing. Either the Hounds aren’t doing their jobs very well or I’m just exceptionally good at outwitting them. I like to think the latter.

Rain starts to patter down on the window of the cafe and people outside flee to shelter. I pull my hair up into a ponytail as I stand up, and make my way to the door. I smile quickly at the barista before exiting the cafe and stepping out into the cool rain. Neon signs glow in the gloomy atmosphere of the city, illumination reflected off of water on the street. Vehicles zoom by both on the street and in the air. The city never seems to stop for a second. There is always movement. I tilt my head to the sky and let the cold rain droplets splash my face. It’s been so long since it last rained. The air is cool and refreshing against my skin. I shake my head to shake away the rain droplets and then down the sidewalk I go.

Passing under neon signs and passing by shops, people seem to part and make a path for me. I know it’s because they’re trying to escape the rain but sometimes I worry. I mean I have a valid reason to worry, there are Hound Dogs hunting for me and me alone. I’m worried I might slip and leak that I am a Replica. It’s not terribly hard to pass as a human though. I was gifted with memories and emotions, human qualities. I was given an unlimited lifespan meaning without any kind of external resistance, I can live forever. I have developed my own emotions to things though. My childhood memories are still implanted, fake, but I am aware of what’s real and what’s fake.

As long as I “forget” of life back at the Tyrex Industry, I should be fine. Considering all the people who moved to off world habitations, there still are a lot of people here in this city. Lucky for me though there are a lot abandoned apartment buildings and hotels. I step inside my apartment building, and I say my because I have the whole building to myself. No one else lives here. I push the elevator button and the door opens with a little dinging sound. I step inside and press the button for my floor, number eight. After a few moments, the door whooshes open and I step into the hall, my heels clicking and clacking on the floor as the echoes reverberate through the emptiness.

I walk down the hall approaching my apartment until I hear movement, shuffling and some cussing.

Glass shatters, “Shit!” A man’s voice yells. The door to apartment 850 is open and a young man, about 23, stands over broken glass with some boxes behind him. “Are you okay? I heard the glass break.” I question, gaining his attention. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone lived here—“ “I live in 852. I’m Robyn.” I reply. I look into his eyes and then focus on my visual information log. Name Ryan Davis, age 23, height 5’ 11”, weight unknown, occupation Hound Dog, badge number 0-1-1-2-5-7, address— I unfocus from the informational data. This man’s badge number is identical to my serial number. 0-1-1-2-5-7. It’s impossible. This has never happened, this has never happened in the history of ever.

“I’m Ryan,” he says softly, his voice warm and tender, not something I was expecting. I plaster a smile to conceal my slight worry, “Nice to meet you Ryan, oh and try not to cut yourself while cleaning up that glass,” I say and then turn away, heading to my own apartment. I step inside and lock the deadbolt on my door. The only other person in this building is a person whose job is to hunt me down and kill me. Talk about luck! Rotten luck, but still luck!

The badge and my serial numbers, this doesn’t bode well. I’m not one for superstitions, omens or anything like that but this can’t be a good sign.

I turn on my photo analyzer and slide a picture into the examining slot. The screen blinks to life and then the photo appears. I sink down and sit on the floor, carefully looking over my photo. I’m standing on a sidewalk in a Chinatown. I’m standing and smiling while pointing to a neon shop sign, with a doughnut in my other hand.

“Zoom in 12 percent, 23 to 34. Stop. Pan right. Stop. Pull back.” The machine clicks with each verbal command. “Enhance and zoom 56 to 73. Stop. Sharpen the image. Clean it up. Pan right two degrees and stop. Print a hard copy.” The machine prints out the enhanced portion of my photo. It’s a man in the background, carefully observing me from afar, with the collar of his coat turned upwards. I can’t see much of his face but he looks somewhat familiar. Rather than go searching for his face, I’ll focus on his coat. It has a small insignia on the right upper sleeve. An image of a bloody snake wrapped around a thorny rose.

I’ve never seen this image before but it obviously means something to this guy. I have to find him and get rid of him before he can get rid of me. I don’t want to be executed just because I’m a Replica, I haven’t done anything wrong. In this world the people don’t care about right or wrong though. All that matters to them is that I am not human like them.

I shut the machine off, stuff the picture under my couch cushions and then slowly shuffle to the kitchen. In the silence of my apartment, I can hear muffled voices from next door. Ryan’s apartment. It sounds like he’s on the phone with someone.

“Yes, I’ve seen her. — No, I don’t need another briefing. I’VE SEEN THE PICTURES ALREADY. IT’S HER. — No, she doesn’t know, but she’ll suspect soon enough. — I know what my job is, I’M WORKING ON IT. — Look, she caught me off guard earlier. I know it’s her, I’ve been-. — Are you sure? — Yep, I can do that. She’ll pass the HURA again though. We both know. You know it, I know it—“ I stop listening.

He knows I’m a Replica. But how? Did Tyrex Industries give them a photograph? I changed my hair and stuff but are they that good? Have they known the entire time? Have I been watched and tailed the whole time? I thought I was passing really well. I got a job and everything to blend in.

I need to get out of here. Right now. I throw my coat on in a hurry and run towards my window. I don’t know if I can climb down the side of a building in the rain but looks like if I don’t I’ll be killed. I guess it’s better to risk it. I pull the window open and look outside, the rain pouring heavily now. The ledge looks treacherous. Immediate death just waiting to happen. Too bad this place didn’t invest in a fire escape, it would be useful right about now.

Maybe I can climb up the roof, it’s a lot closer than the ground. I inch my way out onto the ledge and look around for something to grab. There’s not a lot, a roof drainage pipe and another window ledge a little higher up. I take my chance with the higher ledge and pull myself up. Without hesitation, I kick the window in and climb inside. I exit the apartment and run down to the end of the hallway. I come face to face with a door labeled ‘Rooftop Maintenance ONLY.’  I turn the door handle, but it doesn’t budge, it’s locked. “Damn it!” I exclaim under my breath. With a few solid kicks, the door swings open, revealing stairs. I dash up them to the roof.

The rain pelts down on my hair and coat. I look around frantically searching for somewhere to go. Rooftop after rooftop are my only options. If that Hound is looking for me, it won’t take him long to realize that I went up instead of down. I look at the building next door and decide to make a running jump for it.

I run and brace myself to not make it, the jump feels like I’m flying and time seems to stand still for a moment, until my feet make contact with the next rooftop. I look back and see that I made it. I almost let out a squeal of joy.

I run to the rooftop access door and swing it open, running down the stairs as fast as I can. I follow the stairs, spiraling downwards until I find a door labeled ‘Ground Floor.’ Dazed and confused, I look around for an exit sign or a door. Unsure where to go, I carefully tip toe around, looking for a way out of here. I spot an exit and sprint to it. I shake the door, but it’s locked. I grab the nearest object and smash the door’s glass. I run out into the rainy city, down an alley and away from my apartment building. *** I sit in the cafe, my back to the door. A few other people also are here. I take the cup of hot cocoa in my cold hands, trying to absorb some warmth. I bring the cup to my lips and take a few sips. I then turn the collar up on my coat as a few more people step inside the cafe.

“Look, I’m sorry. I lost her, for now. I’ll find her again—” It’s Ryan’s voice, “Can I get a coffee, black?” “Sure thing,” the barista replies. Ryan sits down in a booth right behind me. I slowly turn my head to see that he has his back to me. Maybe I can leave without him seeing my face. I quickly finish my drink and then slowly get up. I take one more quick look at him and notice a familiar symbol on his coat sleeve. A bloody snake wrapped around a thorny rose. I turn so my face is away from him and then I make my way to the door. I slip outside and begin to panic. He’s been following me. Why hasn’t he killed me yet? He recognized me right away back at the apartment. Hound Dogs don’t care about killing Replicas in public. A tap on my shoulder breaks me away from my thoughts. It’s Ryan. “Why haven’t you killed—” “What generation are you?” His voice cold and emotionless. “What?! You should already know—” “I won’t ask again.” “Vega-12. Your people should know that already. They should have told you.” “They did. I just wanted you to admit it as proof that you’re a Replica. Now can I kill you.” His voice empty and cold, like the rain. “What’s your badge number?” I whisper weakly as fear overcomes me. I was trained as a fighter but right now I feel like a field mouse that’s about to be devoured by a lion. “0-1-1-2-5-7. Why?” “Because my serial number is 0-1-1-2-5-7.” “That’s not possible—“ His shock and confusion is just the advantage I need, letting fight or flight take control, I choose both. I fight him and get him laying on the ground, and then I turn to run. I’m not ready to die just yet. *** I can’t run forever, I’m getting tired. It’s been a few hours, so maybe I’m okay for now. I don’t even know where to run to anymore. I lean against a building and try to catch my breath. The rain has finally stopped, giving way to a starry night. I can’t go to my apartment, the cafe isn’t safe, and it would be suicide to go back to Tyrex Industries. I literally have nowhere to go. I hear the sound of a gun getting cocked, and then I feel the cold barrel pressed against the back of my head. “Just make this look good, trust me,” Ryan’s voice whispers.

“Like I can trust a Hound, but what choice do I have? You’re the one with the gun,” I whisper back. He leads me down an alley, out of sight from the street. His car sits idling. He raises his gun and fires twice into the air, to make people think he’s killed me.

“Why—” “Get in the car. We need to talk.” Despite my better instincts, I obey and get in the car with him. The heater blows softly, making the inside of the car warm. He puts it in gear and we start driving. “Where the hell did you learn to fight like that? You did one hell of a number.” “Classified training. Enough with the small talk, get to the point Mr. Davis,” I sneer. “Okay look, I did a little digging into the Tyrex Industry and your serial number doesn’t exist. It’s not in their system, hell it's not in our system either. As far as Tyrex and this city is concerned, you don’t exist.” “No, I escaped from there! There has to be some sort of mistake, or something!” I raise my voice. “Unless you’re not an original Tyrex creation. You might not—” I cut him off. “What? Someone else creates Replicas? So someone else created me? What the hell is going on here?!” Disbelief courses through me. “I’d like to ask you the same thing, I did my research! According to Tyrex’s and our systems you don’t exist! Which means you can’t be a Replica. It appears that someone wanted to disguise you as one though. And they almost did pretty good, but they forgot to create the Replica files. You would think that someone would have caught on sooner.”

“So am I... a human or something else?” My voice quakes with a whisper. “I don’t know, which means there’s something more going on here that someone really wants to hide,” Ryan whispers gently.


When Then Was Now Denise A Nisbet Our family’s baby looks at the world with big blue eyes. Fingers in mouth, she focuses on something we can’t see. Then she looks into my eyes and laughs uproariously. I laugh back at her and wonder what her world will become? Because no-one, fifty-odd years ago, could have dreamed of the world we live in now. When I was a bit older than our baby, my family moved to Toongabbie. The name comes from the Toogalal band of the Dharug peoples who lived there. It had good water and food for them, so of course early settlers wanted to live there too. The Dharug didn’t like it much. A Bidjigal hero named Pemulwuy[1] was the first to show the British settlers that the Aboriginal peoples were going to resist colonisation. In one battle, he got seven pieces of buckshot in his head; five others were killed. Despite the buckshot and wearing a leg-iron, Pemulwuy escaped from the hospital. That is because he was a carradhy, a man with magical powers. Although it was now our small farm, I felt the Toogalal still there. I knew them in the gentle wind in those olive-green trees, in the grass paddock beside the house, their soft presence …chattering and singing, whispering. It was their place, their country. They loved it and lived it. We only farmed it. Sacred to all Australian Aboriginal peoples is their obligation to care for their country. This resonates through art, music, folklore and religious beliefs. In Singing Saltwater Country John Bradley[2] describes the importance of song and ritual as keys to maintaining the energy flows that run through country. And now, with climate change, we see just how far short we fall as custodians of the land. The Aboriginal peoples of Australia were truly the first environmentalists and I am a proud supporter of ‘Country Needs People’[3]; Nowadays Aboriginal people are employed as rangers to care for their own country areas. They are busy preserving rare species, showing scientists new ones, and eliminating feral animals that prey on native species. It is a brilliant and perfect blend of the country’s environmental needs and the people who love it and know how to care for it. When I lived in America a friend confronted me about our Stolen Generations. I hotly denied that such a thing ever happened. I told him he was projecting onto Australia his own guilt over their mistreatment of American Indians. The first National Sorry Day was held on 26 May 1998. Could I have been wrong? Then on the 13th of February 2008, Prime Minister Kevin Rudd, tabled a motion in parliament apologising to Australia's Indigenous peoples. 'Indigenous children have been forcibly separated from their families and communities since the very first days of the European occupation of Australia by governments and missionaries’. I am appropriately embarrassed, appropriately sorry and hang my head in shame.[4] What hubris! To think we came here and settled a country we called Terra Nullius , which was already owned by over 300,000 (some estimates are as high as 1 million) Aboriginal people. Then we followed up with the so-called ‘White Australia Policy’![5] The Whitlam Government repealed this in 1975 and Australia's Migration Program allows people from any country to apply to migrate to Australia, regardless of ethnicity, culture, religion or language. Our early immigrants though, had a horrible time of it! When we lived in Toongabbie the Camilleri family from Malta had a market garden next door. I felt so sorry for my mother. Mrs Camilleri would send us over lovely cream cheeses and my mother burst into tears. She didn’t know what to do with them! Imagine that! Nowadays, we’d be lining up for Mrs Camilleri’s cream cheeses. I blame the government of that time. Oh, not for the cream cheeses or Mrs Camilleri but for their failure to teach us about our immigrants, and what we could do to help them. Some talks on radio (no television back then!) would have helped everyone enormously. How were we to know how lonely and hard it was for those early immigrants? From our side, there was a lot of talk about ‘them’ taking ‘our’ jobs, ‘our’ this and ‘our’ that. How could we go from being a largely homogeneous group of people, excluding even our indigenous folk, proud of calling England ‘home’ as my mother still did, to being open and accepting and helpful to the new migrants coming to our country? My loving mother would have helped Mrs Camilleri if only she had understood. I know this sounds stupid and naïve now, if not downright racist, but how powerful our ignorance was. You don’t know what you don’t know. At least we have changed over the years! Although my friend believes there is still a lot of backlash over multiculturalism, I do think that many of us are now proud of our multi-cultural country, embracing not just a Mrs Camilleri and cream cheese, but people and foods and customs from all over the world. Just think of all the wonderful foods that have come to us from Asia, Africa, and Southern Europe, as well as new ideas, new understanding, new tolerance, new vistas of the world. We used to be so insular and now we are on our way to becoming a broad-minded, outward looking country. How lucky we are; I credit our migrants with giving us that. I saw the most wonderful play about 50 years ago called Under Australian Skies [6] . It was brilliant; told in mime with background narration, of Aborigines, immigrants, old Australians using simple props and masks for each character. It captured my heart; the aboriginal woman with her love of country trying to show us how little we understood that relationship; the fear and trepidation of a Greek migrant woman coming here ‘for the children’; and a typical Aussie bloke in thongs and shorts mowing the lawn, up and down, nose in the air, caught in his own little white world. This play was an education in itself about our past. Education for me was Westmead Primary School. I wasn’t taught our own history except for the well-known explorers. But I can tell you lots about English monarchs and their wars. Waiting for the school bus, a bit bored, I’d shuffle my feet through a bull-ant nest. The ants would go crazy and I thought it was huge fun. We’d trundle down the HUGE hill of Binalong Road in the rickety bus (that hill is a lot smaller than it used to be). I went to my Aunty Mary’s house after school, and she would put me on a bus for home. The people next door to Aunty Mary had a sulphur-crested cockatoo in a cage. The phone would ring, and the cockatoo would call out ‘Mrs. G, you’re wanted on the phone.’ Aunty Mary would run out to get her phone call… And laugh, we really did! Not everyone had a phone in those days. You can’t imagine that now can you? Australia has the largest number of mobile phones per capita in the world. I’m not much of a phoning person, but we can’t deny how useful they are. After school, my cousin Errol and I would shoot down the hill outside Aunty Mary’s in his home-made billycart. ‘Police, who have received numerous reports of robberies from garages in the western suburbs, have been surprised to find that numbers of thefts have been committed by boys who wished to assemble billy carts … On Tuesday … police arrested three boys whose ages range from 10 to 14 years. …’[7] And this: ‘Billycart Furore. The serenity of Elizabeth Bay has been seriously disturbed by the heavy holiday traffic of billycarts and many of its unnerved householders have enthusiastically welcomed the reopening of school … we may yet hear of Parliament solemnly debating the question of whether billycarts should be banished from the streets.’[8] Heavens above! What a fuss! Whoever heard such nonsense? I’d love to see more kids out in billycarts instead of seeing babies on iPads. I went back to my aunt’s house recently. The hill we billycarted down has grown much smaller. Otherwise the house looks the same with the old verandah we used to sleep on, winter and summer, in saggy old beds. On a frosty morning, hearing the milkman come, his horse clip-clopping along the road, he’d fill our billycan with milk for the day. This ‘billy’ has nothing to do with billy carts; this is a small bucket with a handle. It was part of the kit for the army and was carried by swagmen to make their tea. A swagman was a man who travelled around the countryside carrying his ‘swag’, his bedroll and billycan, selling his labour sheep shearing or cattle-herding. He’s become famous in the song ‘Once a jolly swagman…’ At Pa’s place there was a swaggie who visited about once a year. Pa would feed him and give him tea and sugar. He’d make his tea in his billy and swing it around and around to draw the tea and dissolve the sugar. He had a hard and lonely life did the swaggie, travelling from station[9] to station for work, often walking great distances as our stations tend to be huge runs of land. I’m sure it’s a lot easier these days. Not the work, that is still really hard yakka, but the travel would be easier with trucks and cars and four-wheel drives. Back in the 1940s we used trains and buses and trams to get around, very few people had cars. A trip to the dentist (whose name by the way was Dr Teeful, I thought it hilarious) was bus to Toongabbie station, steam train to Granville – leave the window open so I can smell the smoke and steam and the cinders flying by. Change at Granville for an electric train to Central and cross Sydney Harbour over the bridge in a double-decker bus. Sitting on the top in front I could see everything; a sleek grey transport ship owning the water, a little sailboat bobbing nearby like a puppy begging for attention, the green and yellow ferries ploughing purposefully between North and South shores, Fort Denison standing guard right in the middle of that glorious harbour. I don't suppose that would be much of a thrill for a child today, but it was high adventure for a little girl from Toongabbie. So, a trip to the dentist... A drill that sounded like those pneumatic drill-things that dig up the road: grrrr-rrrr-rrrr it ground away. My teeth ached, my head rattled, my eyes watered and I felt battered. Now there is something I have no nostalgia for. Just think about the modern dental equipment. I suppose it makes a trip to the dentist a bit less traumatic. Then we went back across the Harbour Bridge to have a special lunch at David Jones. ‘What will you have dear?’ from my mother. A meat pie and peas of course. What else would an Aussie kid have? ‘Are you sure you wouldn't like something else this time?’ My mother would ask hopefully. No. Of course I wouldn't. When else would I get a meat pie? Lovely and round and sloppy with gravy inside and heaps of tomato sauce on it. Heaven! At Christmas time David Jones’ windows were dressed with wonderful scenes; dolls and teddy bears, little toy trains, a model of Santa on his sleigh with his elves, the winter scenes so unfamiliar to us here in high summer. We’d line up, dressed in our summer dresses and sandals, to sit on Santa’s knee and to tell him that yes, we had been good, and ask for what we would like for Christmas. I lost charity with Santa when I got a bike instead of ballet toe shoes. I guess that, just as we did, our little baby will be lining up to see Santa. How lovely that not all the old traditions die out. Well, back to that travel. How it has changed! The Australian Maritime Museum[10] has a replica of one of the ships early migrants came to Australia in. About ten square feet for a family! My family, travelling on the Parsee , was mother, father and five little girls and (I’m sure with great jubilation) my great-grandfather was born on board on the way out. I have a picture in my mind of that sailing ship whipping up the coast from Hobart to Sydney. It might have been rough and windy, with that wonderful sea smell. Seeing land must have been so exciting after a long sea voyage but what a land? Those dull olive-green trees can’t have looked inviting to people used to the brilliant greens of Great Britain. Nowadays we CROOOOSE. The things that strike you on boarding one of these lovely cruise ships is the sense of space and light and luxury. Cheerful smiling staff, white linen and silverware on the tables in the dining rooms, lovely ballrooms, the big theatre, beautiful decks by the swimming pool or sauna, comfortable cabins (even the small ones) with a towel sculpture made each evening by the cabin attendants. Oh, it is lovely. We had the greatest fun on Chocolate Night! ‘Yummy beyond expectation a delight to the eyes and the stomach’ said the baby’s grandmother. The deck was lit with fairy lights, the sky a gentle dark blue, the sea swished quietly in the background, there was lovely quiet music, we were all beautifully dressed and very glamorous. And there was a display of the most marvellous creations! Ice sculptures of birds and animals, chocolate monuments of the Eiffel Tower and the Sydney Harbour Bridge, bread twisted into decorative plaits or honeyed loaves and cakes and cakes and cakes. Sponges with jam and cream, chocolate cakes, profiterole towers covered in caramel, in chocolate, in syrup. The staff made Bananas Foster, Cherries Jubilee, Crepe Suzette… There were jellies and pastries … it was all too beautiful to eat. Almost. We sailed into Sydney at dawn at the end of that trip. The sun was rising behind us, lighting up the Harbour Bridge ahead as we sailed under it, ducking our heads – it looked such a tight squeeze. Every time I came home from my many, many journeys abroad, I felt so moved by my country. I cried flying over the harbour, I cried sailing into the harbour, I hugged trees when I got home, I adored that Qantas advertisement with the song ‘I still call Australia, still call Australia, still call Australia… home.’[11]     Now there are no more swagmen, no more billycans or billycarts, no more milkmen, no horse-and-cart. But these times are the very best of times. See the stunning changes in these last years! I learned to type on a manual typewriter, and now I sit in front of my Mac, using that same skill to write this story. I read a book on a Kindle or an iPad at the flick of a button. I travelled in steam trains, then, as a young woman I watched a man land on the moon, and I now see pictures from Saturn on a television. We had to go to the GPO in Sydney to book a telephone call to The Netherlands to let my Dutch family know when I became engaged. Now I write a note to my friends in England or America or Holland and they respond a few seconds later! And now we Zoom our friends and family. We walk around on titanium hips and knees; we have stem cells to reverse the effects of age or accident. No, we can be nostalgic, even peer a little sadly into the past, but we can’t regret the changes. And, like all of us now, in the future our little blue-eyed baby will see miracles that we can’t even dream of. The End. [1] Kohen JL (2005): Pemulwuy (1750-1802): Australian Dictionary of Biography. National Centre of Biography, Australian National University. [2] Bradley J (2010): Singing saltwater country: Allen and Unwin [3] The Country Needs People campaign is fighting for the growth and security of opportunities for land and sea country management by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. www.countryneedspeople.com [4] Based on materials that constitute copyright of the Commonwealth of Australia and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Australia license- external site [5] On 23 December 1901, the Immigration Restriction Act came into law. The legislation was specifically designed to limit non-British migration to Australia and allowed for the deportation of ‘undesirable’ people who had settled in any Australian colony prior to federation. www.nma.gov.au [6] I couldn’t find any record of the playwright or the play. [7] Boys’ Thefts: Parts to make a billycart. The The Women’s Weekly, February 1934 [8] Sydney Morning Herald, May 1932 [9] ‘Station’ is our word for the huge ranches we have. [10] Located in Darling Harbour, Sydney. Many and varied exhibits relating to our Maritime history. [11]    Allen, P (1980): I still call Australia home. On the album Bi-Coastal.


Collection of short stories Chapter 1 Once upon a time, deep in the lush woods lied a tiny wooden cottage. A particular little girl named Annie was part of the little, poor household. Happily, did she live with her loving parents. The mother, her curly hair dark as coal and the eyes of ocean blue, held a great value to Annie. Never were they apart from each other. Until one day, the mother passed away from an unknown reason. The father and Annie, little with money, could not arrange a proper funeral, so they buried Annie’s mother at the closest meadow with many beautiful flowers. What was left from the mother was only a gift for Annie, a teddy bear, called Tibbers, with black button eyes. And the bear would never leave her side. Little did Annie know that everything would change. One cloudy day, the father had brought two other people into their house, a girl Annie’s age, and the girl’s mother, both with golden hair, and especially the mother had a charming appearance to the father. It was evident to Annie that these strangers were now part of her family, the father in love with the woman. But this stranger held no value to Annie, since she had an oddly piercing and malicious gaze, and she would give the attention only to her own daughter. Annie got along fairly well with the other girl, now her stepsister. They would play from dusk till dawn in their mutual room with dolls and other toys. However, Annie was not particularly happy with seeing the stepsister trying to play with Tibbers, the teddy bear. One time, the stepsister mocked Tibbers, telling Annie he was stupid. Annie was raged and pushed the girl away from Tibbers, making her fall on her back on the floor. The stepsister started whining, and quickly came her mother into the room, rushing to see what happened. The stranger’s cold gaze turned to Annie and blamed her for the doing. Annie, disappointed and upset, withdrew herself into the corner of the room. Annie’s anger made her wish that the stranger would be gone one day. Despite Annie and the stepsister’s fight, one sunny day they went into the woods to play. Close to a ravaging stream, the stepsister wanted to cross the waters with Annie. Annie, hesitant, warned the girl but with a failed attempt. Worried was Annie, and she went after the stepsister who had already placed her feet on the slippery rocks that made a narrow path across the stream. Before Annie could reach the other girl, the girl slipped and fell in the water, trying to grasp from a sharp edge of a rock. Annie, rushing, offered her tiny hand in the hope of saving her companion. But after a moment of trying, the raging, flowing stream took the stepsister with it, leaving Annie on the rocks with tears in her eyes. Back she went home, fear in her mind of what to come next. Reaching home and telling the others what happened, the strange woman fell into turmoil, once again blaming Annie. The woman even wished Annie to be abandoned but the gentle father opposed. Annie, in her room, listening to the adults quarrelling about her, was in sorrow and anger. She was angry at herself and hearing the lover of her father calling Annie evil and selfish made Annie let bright crystal-clear tears fall down her cheeks to the floor. Tightly squeezing Tibbers, Annie wished she had never met the strangers. Instead, she wished her mother was still alive. Annie’s sorrow and anger lit a grain of fire in Tibbers, the gift that reminded of Annie’s loving mother. The fire was fierce and quickly spread to every corner of Annie’s room. The father, noticing smoke coming out of Annie’s room, opened the door and saw his little girl crying in the middle of flames. The father ran to Annie and saved her from the fire, but the crumbling ceiling could not save the father. So he threw Annie aside, and was then crushed by the flaming logs of wood. The whole house was collapsing, forcing Annie to hurry outside with the strange woman. There they were standing in front of the cottage, seeing it fall apart. Annie had saved Tibbers in one piece, and in relief hugged it. The woman was on her knees on the dirty grass covered in ash. She was sobbing and in shock. Annie slowly approached her in the hope of apologising and offering help. But in fury the woman stood on her trembling feet and cursed at Annie. Annie in fear stayed still and watched the malicious stranger mocking her. And then the stranger noticed Tibbers, making her feel disgusted. She grabbed from Tibbers and attempted to rip it off from Annie, wishing to tear it apart. Annie reluctant to give it away pulled back but in no hope. The woman was now successfully holding Tibbers in her hands. Before she was able to rip it apart, Annie started screaming and shouting in tears, her eyes flaming. And something miraculous happened. Annie turned Tibbers alive, making him grow into a giant teddy bear with deadly claws and teeth. And at that moment, Tibbers attacked the strange woman, ripping her apart like she had intended to rip Tibbers apart. That was the power of a little girl who had seen enough turmoil and death, and who was abused by the stranger. Now Annie was relieved, and a part of her felt even happiness. Happy was she to finally get rid of the only person she had always hated. Annie thanked Tibbers, the spirit of her mother, and started hopping joyfully into the murky woods.


Harold sat on the bus. It was a Tuesday, Harold always took the bus on Tuesdays. It wasn't that he had somewhere he needed to go. Harold just enjoyed riding the bus and today was a special day. He'd got on at Westmoor Station and bought his usual ticket. The bus was always empty for the most parts on Tuesday afternoons. No one was trying to get into the city, congestion on the other side always bulked up around four o'clock. Harold sat in his favourite spot, two rows from the back, left-aisle window seat. He used three baby-wipes on the seat and railing before sitting down. Harold could be very particular like that. Doctors called it an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Harold just thought of it as a hygienic and consistent experience. Routines were just rituals like that morning cup of coffee before work, or Friday night sex with the spouse. Harold just happened to have a few more of them than most. However, today had been an unusual day for him. He'd spent most of it cleaning his home until it was nothing short of spotless, not that that was unusual. He just tended to do this on a Wednesday. Breaking routine made Harold very anxious, but he'd powered through the sensation of burning hot wires in his head and gotten the job done, just in time to catch the bus in fact. Harold had a special guest coming to visit and he wanted everything to be perfect. 14th Street came up and he held his breath. There was a 7:1 chance that she would be at the stop. Harold had been riding this bus for almost three years and he'd been keeping track. To be fair Harold kept track of everyone, it was just another way to add order to his little corner of the universe. Two people climbed aboard, neither were her. Harold slumped, disappointed as the bus began to pull away. "Hey, wait!" Someone banged on the bus, running alongside it. Harold looked out and saw her chasing them down. Luckily the driver hit traffic and stopped. "Thank you," she gasped breathlessly; climbing aboard. She walked down the bus towards Harold. He stared at her a little too long, as always. She wore a flower print dress, perfect for the summer weather with blue and red blooms all over. Pink sunglasses, held back long, brown curls. Harold identified the style as some sort of 1950s hipster chic. She looked beautiful. Tall with tight leg muscles, Harold knew she liked to swim. He'd heard her talking about it on the phone once. Her name was Lucy. Lucy took a seat one row in front of Harold, on the opposite side. She flashed him a cheeky grin as she sat. That's what Harold loved about Lucy, she was so carefree. so not him. "Hey I know you, right?" Harold blinked, startled. A deer in the headlights stood better chance of responding. "Yeah, you're that quirky guy, that cleans the seat before he sits. Right?" Harold blinked again. "Ugh-" he sputtered. Harold struggled to formulate a response. His brain would not process this derailment in his plans. "Harold," he gulped. "Hi," she leaned over grinning, chewing some gum. She held out her hand. "I'm Lucy." "I know, I- er mean nice to meet you." "Nice to meet you too, Harold." She leaned back against the window, stretching her legs across the aisle. She watched Harold with a demure look. The bus traveled on for several more minutes in silence, Harold unable to break Lucy's gaze with his own pitiful squirms. His mind played static on a loop the entire time, unable to formulate any kind of adequate sentence structure. This only made him more upset. He'd waited so long to talk with her. He'd even practised asking her to dinner in the mirror exactly four hundred and twenty-seven times. Nothing but static remained of those rehearsals. Lucy turned to look outside and reached for the stop button. "I- er. Eat." Harold pleaded incoherently. Lucy gave him a strange look, as she stood up. "See you around, Harold." She made her way to the front as the bus came to a stop, climbing out before some more passengers came on. Harold let his head fall into his hands, wanting to cry. Something made him look over at her seat. He noticed her pink sunglasses sitting there, which must have fallen off. The bus began to move and Harold rushed to grab them. "He-Hey wait. Stop." He started rushing forward then remembered his bag. He clamored back and grabbed it, rushing to the front again. "Stop-Stop the bus. Please, stop!" he shouted, falteringly. The bus came to a sudden halt, tipping Harold to the ground. He climbed back to his feet, haphazardly as the bus driver opened the doors with a scowl. Harold climbed down and ran back over to the pavement. "Hey, wait!" Harold shouted to Lucy as she reached a street corner. She stopped, turning to see him. "Oh hey, what's up?" He stopped in front of her, panting to catch his breath. "Y-Your glasses-sun, your sunglasses" he waved them in front of her. "What sunglasses?" She asked puzzled. Harold stood up sharply, looking at his hand. There were no sunglasses. "Get away from me, pervert." Lucy shouted, aggressively. She shoved him backwards. "No, wait." He stumbled, landing in the street. Cuts on his hands and gazed elbows began to sting as he sat up, confused. There was no girl on the sidewalk. There was no one to be seen in sight. HONK. HONK. Harold looked up in time to see the truck that would end his life. He closed his eyes and smiled.


[this is my second post here I'm still trying to improve my writing. Feedback is appreciated. This is written in a sort of poetry style as it's the style I prefer. This story is sort of a continuation of my last post, though that story is not necessary to understand this one. I hope you enjoy.] The mold, darkness, and disease They were cleaved from this world By a "Hero" with a sword. Everyone rejoiced when we were "freed" Silly boy should've known There's no glory in being a saviour The ones he saved Didn't even know his name. It's been many days since then The world has changed Without the mold We had peace If you know humans You know peace is not real It's a simple facade which evil hides behind Soon men would attack men Becoming the antagonists we craved Far more vicious than the mold could even think of being. Torturing, brutalizing, beheading. Disgusting creatures we are. I decided I'd take matters into my own hands Any man who would threaten another I would bury a bullet in his brain "3" It's simple really. It's been many days since then. They've hailed me a saviour They've called me the next hero But they're wrong I don't do this out of the goodness of my heart Or the kindness of my soul Quite the opposite But I'll let them have their pitiful dreams Until the day I snatch them away "22" Today it's a little boy He told another boy if he didn't leave him alone he'd regret it Sounds like a threat to me. "43" You see I'm no hero. I'm justice. I'm inevitability. I'm death. In this world where no one must die I have to choose who should. It is the only thing that makes me feel as though I am alive. When I plant my bullets in the bodies of those I deem worthy. I free them from this cold undying world It's mercy really. He's been evading me for hours The chase is great Adrenaline pumps through my body I can feel the smile on my face Unnatural some may call it I'd kill them for saying it But they aren't wrong "What have I done to earn this!?" The boy screams at me. His terror incites a laugh from me. "Are you some kind of monster!? Someone please help me!" No one ever helps them. They tremble at the thought of me How could they possibly be courageous enough to stand against me. "I am Death, and I've chosen you." After hearing those words the boy falls to his knees Wimpers a cry like that of a sick dog so I put him down. "50" A woman looking on from her home screams in agony. You'll be next, you banshee. As she wails I flick my revolver up and quickly dispose of her. "51" "What makes you special? Why do you get to live when you've hurt so many?" These were my 63rd victims words. It's been many days since then Yet they won't leave my mind I've killed so many. Who would kill me Probably no one But is death free from his own curse? Is death's curse that he must live. The only way to escape the inevitable, is to become it? I've become the antagonist they need I no longer seek out victims. They challenge me Claiming to be heroes. But none of them have the strength to best me "68" Just boys with weapons Fighting a monster they've no chance against It's pitiful really As is my existence But I am inevitable A boy seemingly duller than the others approaches me in the night. I've heard tale of him. 'The hero of world's reborn' they call him. He seemed to have no interest in such titles But he approaches me none the less "Welcome young hero. I hope you're stronga' than the last" He does not respond but simply looks at me with contempt in his eyes. He then charges at me brandishing a sword from his side. I draw my revolvers fire a shot from each He deflects them with metal arm guards he's wearing He does not slow at all He does not fear me at all Instead I am the one trembling I see it in my right hand gripped on my gun Shaking like a child whose had a nightmare The boy goes for a quick stab, underestimating my own speed as I quickly step out of the way and put my right gun to his temple He knocks the gun from my hand and goes for another jab, which I barely dodge grazing my coat and slicing it. I attempt to retreat but he nearly keeps up with me so I unleash a barrage of shots from my revolver. He dodges all of them almost flawlessly Almost. One hit him square in his chest from which blood flows, but he seems not to care at all. Flying towards me as quick as ever he stabs my left shoulder as I am frozen and shaking. I'm weak. Sadly for him he thought he had finished me off. I drop my revolver to my other hand, Quickly point it to his chin and blow his head off. "69" "You done good, this wound might a'tually kill me. Bloods pourin' from it steady." I cough. Blood spills from my mouth. "Unfort'nately for you I am Justice, I am Death. Nothin' escapes me." I pointlessly say to his corpse, just before I Expell the final round from my revolver. As It cleaves it's way through my brain, I have one last thought.


Private Investigator Sam Ace relaxed in his chair. He hadn't had a case worth his time in over a month, only cheating husbands and insurance fraud. If the cheating were bad enough, the husbands would require actual insurance, which he referred to as a two-for-one deal. It was a cold afternoon, and in walked a tall blond, I mean really tall, like 6 foot 4; she had to duck just to enter the room. She had the height of a small forward, the body of a linebacker, and the face of a boxer who had spent too many rounds in the ring. Her name was Clarissa Madden, John Madden's niece and the heir to the Madden video game fortune. "Hello, I need your help. Whichever athlete we put on the cover of the Madden Football Game becomes cursed!" "I don't believe in curses; there's always someone pulling the strings behind the scenes." "How do you account for all of these cursed athletes?" She took many video game boxes and dumped them on the desk, totaling over 20 years. "Garrison Hearst, Marshall Faulk, Troy Polamalu, Larry Fitzgerald, and Ray Lewis all got hurt during the season they were on the cover," Clarissa said. "Injuries happen in football." "Barry Sanders was the best running back in football, then he was on the cover, and he retired." "Oh, yes, I remember that." "...Shaun Alexander..." "Who?" "That's exactly my point. Donovan McNabb threw up in the Super Bowl, Michael Vick got arrested for dog fighting, Tom Brady can't retire, and Daunte Culpepper was... Daunte Culpepper." "My God, you're right; these athletes are cursed." "We put John Madden on the cover last year, and he didn't win the Super Bowl either." "OK, Miss Madden, I'll take your case," he said, rising up and reaching for his fedora. "But I must warn you that things could get dangerous. I may have to put myself in the line of fire, and I'm not what most people would consider in shape, healthy, or alive; normally, people say, I thought he died when my name is brought up." Clarissa reassured, "Don't worry, I believe in you. Please help to save the Madden Video Game!" Ace felt he needed to speak with some of the cursed athletes to see if they had any clues or theories. Garrison Hearst was first on his list, and Ace discovered him as a coach for a local high school football team. He caught up with him in the locker room as he was changing. "I'm here to talk to you about the Madden video game curse, Garrison," Sam Ace remarked. Garrison shook his head as he stood there in his underwear. "The curse? Oh, that old thing. I've learned to live with it," Garrison replied, shaking his head. "Oh yeah, how so?" "I've been a football coach here for ten years, and we've never won a game." "Yikes, could it be that you're just a bad coach?" "Yeah, I thought that too, but it's how we lose. Last week, we led Lawrence Academy by 27 points in the first half but fell 31-30. It's as if we've forgotten how to play." "You have to be real choke artists to lose after leading by 27 points." "Yeah, tell me about it." Ace noticed a necklace around Garrison's neck as he was leaving. It was macaroni that had been haphazardly glued into the shape of a football. Next, Sam Ace spoke with Marshall Faulk, who was now a sports network commentator and met up with him in the locker room after shooting a segment. "I'm here to talk to you about the Madden video game curse, Marshall," Sam Ace said. "Ace, do you mind if I change? It was a long day, and I just want to head home." "Sure, do what you have to do." "Tell you the truth; It's real. The only thing I wanted to do after football was pursue my passion for improv comedy, but the curse will only allow me to be a sports commentator." "So sad. Why don't you just leave?" "I can't; something is compelling me to stay." Marshall has now taken off his suit and sits in his underwear in front of Ace. He, too, wears a macaroni necklace that has been haphazardly glued together in the shape of a football. "What exactly is the necklace? Is it a gift from your kid or something?" "Na, this is a gift from the most beautiful woman I have ever met?" "A supermodel or a fan?" "Not at all, Clarissa Madden." "Really, the blond with the… height? Kind of looks like John Madden in a wig?" "A man can dream, right?" Tom Brady was up next. He met up with Tom in the locker room after a playoff loss. "Do you have a minute to talk, Tom?" Tom came out in his underwear and sat on the bench next to Ace. "Sure, Ace; how can I help you?" He quickly saw the necklace, which was identical to the others. "Did Clarissa Madden also give you a necklace?" "Yeah, I never remove it." "I solved it! These necklaces are the source of the Madden curse, and Clarissa Madden cursed everyone." "That sounds a little far-fetched," Brady said as he removed the necklace. "Well, you removed the necklace. Are you able to retire now?" "No, Ace, that's not how it works. You've come to ask about the Madden Curse, haven't you?" "Yes, I was hired to figure out who was behind it." "Well, it's not so much who is causing the curse but rather what is causing it." Ace went on with his list. He met with Troy Polamalu, Larry Fitzgerald, and Ray Lewis, for some reason, all in their underwear. They all had similar stories and the same Clarissa necklace. Clarissa was the only one who could explain the macaroni necklace. So, he tracked her down; she was in the Madden Office's locker room. Ace went in to question her, and she was in her underwear. "Get out of here! I'll be right out; can't you wait?" When Clarissa exited, Ace continued. "What is the significance of the necklace? Why did you gift necklaces to all of the cover athletes?" "We were aware of the curse before launching the video game brand and began featuring athletes on the cover. The necklaces, which were blessed in Canton, Ohio, offer temporary reprieve from the Madden curse." "What do you mean you were aware of the curse?" "Strange things began to occur when we released our first edition, but why? Who? How do we put an end to it? I knew it was a mistake to come to you for help. I'm sorry, Ace; you're fired." Ace slumped away, feeling like a failure. A janitor approached Ace as he was leaving Madden Offices. "Psst, psst, do you want to know why this entire place is cursed?" "Sure." "Come with me." The janitor escorted him to the janitor's locker room. "Do you mind if I change out of my work clothes?" "Sure." As the janitor stood in his underwear, he explained. "This is the story of a young John Madden who became infatuated with the Tecmo Super Bowl. He was unbeatable since he played all the time. One day, he was challenged to a game in which the winner would have complete power over video game football forever. John easily won, and the rest is history." "Why the curse?" "John Madden cheated; if controller 1 was pressed down seven times during the title screen, that player could slow down the game; this is how he was unbeatable." "That's a harsh punishment for cheating on a video game." "No, it isn't; millions of dollars are on the line!" "It was you, wasn't it? You were the one who got hurt all those years ago?" "No, it wasn't me." "Then why do you have an NES in the janitor's locker room." "OK, it was me, but I'm not removing the curse; if you want, tattle on me and get me fired; that game will be cursed forever!" "How about a game of Tecmo Super Bowl to settle this once and for all? No cheat codes, no exploiting glitches, simply 8-bit competition to end a 30-year curse." "You know what, I'm exhausted; let's just get this over with." Ace and the janitor spent the afternoon playing Tecmo Super Bowl in their underwear. It was a hard-fought contest, but Ace came out on top. Tom Brady was able to retire, Marshall Faulk launched his legendary improv comedy career, and Garrison Hearst finally won a game.


Miriam looked to the familiar sights of Disney as she walked down the deep red cobbled pavement of Main Street. Looking down she placed her feet, one in front of the other, following the near hidden lines of the train tracks like a ballerina on her toes. The crowd was alight with excitement and frenzied movement as the brightly clad cast members marked off the streets with bright yellow tape. She closed her eyes breathed in deep, the smell of slow cooked turkey legs, began to waft towards her. Jonathan saw the red of the ice cream umbrella and his hand entwined in hers pulled her towards it. The eager line moved quickly and they picked up their favorites before continuing towards the glisteningly pink Castle. Jonathan began bouncing on his toes as the crowd gathered around them to get a view. Miriam curled under Jonathan’s arm as the crowd got close. She jerked back when the lady next to her touched Jonathans elbow. Miriam shot the woman a look of pure disgust and loathing, then she moved to stand in front of Jonathan as he wrapped his arms around her. The music queuing the characters entrance began and Meriam turn her head up to look at Jonathan’s big goofy smile. His blue eyes flashed at her, twinkling with mischief. Mickey was the first out in his tailed tuxedo, he tried to “sneak” onto stage and whisper to the audience, waving his gloved hand around. He was asking for volunteers to come on stage. The audience, already bursting with excitement, exploded. Jonathan lifted Miriam’s little frame up by the hips and threw her up into the air! Yelling at the top of his lungs as he did so!, Mickey looked right at her and pointed, waving for her to come up on stage! Miriam's eyes widened and her cheeks turned a bright shade of crimson as she grabbed at Jonathan’s hand to bring him up on stage with her. She began parting the crowd not caring who she hit (in the face) or stepped over (on) to get to the front. As she began to take the steps in 3’s onto the stage her hand left Jonathan’s briefly as she was met with an embrace from Mickey and the whole gang of characters and dancers as they simultaneously ran onto the stage. Two dancers adorned as princesses grabbed her hand and sat her down on the bench at the corner of the stage and placed a pink pair of mickey ears with a tiara, on her head. Miriam then was whisked into the action as the dancers began to dance and twirl, around her the flashes of golden yellows and bright reds. As the characters began their script, they whisked her away into the realm of glittery fairy tales and true loves first kiss. Miriam was caught up in the moment, until her gaze made a full lap around the stage and she didn’t see Jonathan. She then turned and put on a smile (on cue) and looked into the audience. Still, she could not find him. Trying to enjoy herself, but uneasy, her heart began to race. Before the fireworks, but after she’d become seriously agitated, Jonathan appeared, across the stage from her. She squinted her eyes, and blink a couple times, unsure of what she was seeing. He was in full costume, dressed head to toe like a prince, and he stepped right in time with the dancers. Miriam sat on the bench cautiously moving to the music. Her faced was slightly askew with confusion. Not knowing what was going on, or that Jonathan could dance. As the music began to wind down, then ramp up for the powerful final notes. The dancers and characters lined up facing the audience and stood her up, Jonathan ran to the other side of the stage, and in time, ran and slid on his knees across the stage before stopping in front of her. In a suave and calm motion he reached into his pocket and got up on one knee. Grasping her right hand he said, “Miriam will you marry me?,” opening the little black box, to a shining ring. His voice seemed a whisper after the volume of the show. Miriam gasped, and covered her mouth with her off hand. She had been expecting a proposal, but her daydreams couldn't have created the splendor Jonathan had brought into being. The audience was quiet. Miriam was catching her breath, her eyes were eager to glance all around the audience and the stage team awaiting her answer, but his eyes remained locked on her. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. “Yes, I love you, Yes!” Miriam wiped her eyes and took the ring. If I could tell you thank you, And for a minute you'd look at me And possibly somewhere deep in Your heart you'd believe me, I would, and I'd want to because You were the first time I'd been In love, wild and reckless love The way I fought for your heart I battled down those walls you held Til finally for me you fell I was at a loss, so emblazoned With this heart and love so alight I would do anything for you nothing you did was ever anything But perfect in my eyes Miriam walked down the quiet hall to the door of apartment #30 with her handbag and got out a singular brass key into the lock, turning the deadbolt slowly to the left and opening the door with the twist of her other hand. She walked in, with a graceful and calm walk, not bother closing the door behind her. She dropped the key on the floor and used the light from the hallway to grope along the walls for the light switch. The shoebox apartment was barren from floor to ceiling. The unpainted walls had taken on a murky grey. She walked into what had been the living room, and put her bag down on the dusty wooden chair in the middle of the room. She took the couple of steps to the sliding glass door that opened to the patio. It overlooked the rest of the apartment complex, and Miriam pulled the blinds back. Her cloudy eyes counted each of the lights that were still on, and accounted for anyone out on their patio. She flipped the light switch to the chandelier hanging above the chair and walked back to her opened her bag. She removed a razor and a pair of sheers placing them on the chair. Miriam stood up and began to unbutton her white collared shirt, starting under her chin working her way down. She leaned back and let the shirt fall off her shoulders to the ground. She reached back and unhooked her bra, and let it slide off her arms. Miriam stood and her pale exposed skin reflected the harsh light above her. She leaned over and repeated the process with her pants and underwear. Then she folded the clothes and placed them in her bag. Walking to the bathroom, she plugged in the sheers. She turned it on and placed the sheers on her forehead using her other hand to keep a close steady line. Then she slowly pulled the clippers through her long dark hair hesitating at her forehead with every stroke.and watched it fall to the ground around her. Again she put the clippers to her head and shaved the long soft strands of hair, following them with her eyes as they fell to the ground ticking her butt, and falling softly against the backs of her legs and around her feet, like wet feathers in a soft puddle around her. Miriam shaved off every hair. She turned on the shower and left the pile of hair on the cold tile floor. She stepped into the shower while it was still cold and proceeded to shave her legs, and her entire body, even her eyebrows, while the goosebumps were still smoothing. When she had finished, she turned off the water and stepped out, razor in hand. She had not brought a towel. She brought the razor with her to the sink, and began taking it apart. The individual razors fell onto the white marble of the sink and she picked one up, pricking her finger. She watched the red liquid pool on the top of her finger. Her steady hand put the razor to the skin of her chest, above her breasts and with slow and careful motion carved in two words, then on her stomach she wrote one more. Miriam did her best to keep her face taut, but slight winces broke though. She saw and she began to feel the warmth of blood running down her body. A hint of a smiled touched her lips as the flesh around her letters rushed with a bright crimson color sharp contrast to her pale skin. When she finished, she put the razor down in the sink, and walked towards the living room. Blood dripped from her body, and soaked hands onto the wood floors as she walked up to the chair. Miriam inhaled deeply, and exhaled as she stepped up onto the chair, and carefully turned around looking out the sliding glass door. She put her head through the rope hanging down from the chandelier and tightened the knot around her neck. She kicked the chair out from under her and didn’t struggle. She became a beacon for the message on her chest. “The other woman.


“I think he’s in here guys!” Jamie hollered as she waved to us up ahead. As we ran to her the carpet felt uncomfortably soft and damp under the soles of my shoes. The hallway lights, if the bulbs inside the casings worked, were so dim even the blind would take off their sunglasses. The wallpaper, an ugly shade of a patterned burgundy, peeled to reveal its years of weathering. All of it combined to create a cascade of dark colors in my peripherals as if I was running warp speed through the mind of someone on a bad trip. This was a bad trip. As we caught up to Jamie I could faintly hear what I believed was Leo’s ringtone playing behind the apartment door. Manny started rapidly knocking. The rusty bronze ‘C’ quickly succumbed to the forces of his fist. Somehow the ‘11’ continued to hang in there and take the beating, though you could hear its screws loosening up as it clanged against the wooden door. “Leo. Leo you in there?” Manny barked. I checked my phone—5:43am. “Around what time did we lose him?” “At like 2-ish.” Sofie replied. We then heard nothing behind the door. Sofie put her phone back in her purse, “Voicemail again.” It wasn’t unusual that Leo left us in the middle of a night out. He always did like going on a chase while we went out on the town. But he would always, ALWAYS let us know he was heading out. And almost always with glee. This time around it was nothing. Not a “catch ya later” wave, not a head nod and a smirk, not even a silly text. Nothing. I tried the door knob. It rotated about three quarters a turn to the left until it caught. But still nothing. “Help me shoulder into it as I turn it.” Manny provided the tag team. It took more than a few tries before it finally swung open. My face tightened up, my throat squeezed to close up, my arm covered my nose and mouth, my eyes squinted: The natural instincts have by the grace of God reacted to the deathly toxic skunky aroma. The apartment, a studio layout, was all dark but for the upper half of a window on the left letting in the faint orange hue of the street lamp and the open microwave in the kitchen on the right casting a dim yellow light. Residing inside the microwave appeared to be something slowly drooping out. Whatever it was, that’s where much of the smell was coming from. This apartment complex was right deep in the armpit of town. Even the homeless would look elsewhere for shelter. I could hear Sofie gurgling. She never did have a strong stomach. Jamie and Manny scanned the place. Jamie had her flashlight app on. Manny acted tough and didn’t cover up like the rest of us. But past his gruff exterior I could see his squinted eyes watering up and I could read on his face that he longed for fresh air. Along the back wall some several feet away from us laid what looked to be a bed rising some three feet from the floor. The bed looked empty from the doorway but it was hard to tell in the shadows. I also took my phone out and used the flashlight app to further scan the place. The floor was littered with empty convenience store drink cups and cardboard pieces varying in size and shape. It was all carpeted by many, MANY fast food bags. Every major fast food company was represented and all the bags looked empty… unless it was moving. “What a shithole.” Jamie astutely observed. Her index finger pushed her ruby red glasses back up before retreating to reform the defensive line her left hand made over her nose and mouth. “There’s his phone, I think.” as Manny pointed toward the bed, which we could now see was only two mattresses stacked on the floor without a frame. The bed had a dirty rag of a comforter on it. But still, it looked empty. I did see however what looked to be Leo’s phone on a makeshift night stand on the side of the bed towards that mess of a kitchen. We started tiptoeing nervously through the maze of trash. As those random few bags moved around I hoped that if there was indeed something not a hamburger inside them, that it was nothing larger than a nasty roach. But the dead blackbird on the floor to my left which I happened to flash over with my phone’s light told me that it was probably wishful thinking. I prayed the bags crawled way the hell away from us. “I always did hate going into the Halloween scare houses as a kid.” I caught myself saying it out loud. I still do. As we safely reached the bed I saw on the floor behind the makeshift nightstand some empty Four Loko’s and a paper plate ashtray with several already smoked joints. “Yup he was definitely here at some point.” I said. Leo was my roommate back in college. I knew some of his signs. “But where is he now?” said Sofie. We scanned around the bed some more. All four of our phones were now directing the spotlights. I spotted what appeared to be his jeans and one of his shoes to the left of the bed. I also noticed what looked to be a track of scratch marks on the back wall along the far side of the bed. The avenues it created revealed the poor drywall underneath its old beige paint. Manny pulled off the dirty brown comforter. Sofie’s natural instincts immediately took her in a dash towards the hallway oblivious to what she stepped on. Manny, maybe frightened for the first time in his life, paused for one second then ran to the door after her. Jamie and I couldn’t help but stare, frozen still. His uncovering of the bed revealed Leo, sunken deep into the mattress as if he was inside the lining of a coffin. His tank top was on but it was soaking wet and transparent enough to show his chest bruised in strategically delicate places as if he was loved on by an octopus. His lower half was wrapped in white bed sheets, also looking soaking wet. Thankfully nothing showed and I dared not to look further into it. However, two other things caught my eye and judging by Jamie’s shocked stillness, she like me has never seen something like this before. First, the body outline of the mattress wasn’t perfectly lined up to Leo’s body size. The hips and groin area looked as if they were disproportionally wide and medicine ball sized compared to the rest of his body outline that caved into the mattress. But what really has caused the shock in the room and Sofie’s puke in the hallway is Leo’s face. A deformed smile dominated the shape of his deranged face. It looked as if he saw the girl from The Ring come out of the TV and he fell in love with it. It was fascinatingly creepy as much as it was unfathomably grotesque. The Joker couldn’t look any happier. Jamie, being the pre-med student that she is, pocketed her phone and bravely went to check for a pulse. Her right hand shook nervously as it moved slowly toward the left side of Leo’s neck. Her index and middle fingers lined up to make the check for a pulse shape. I held my breath as she made contact. “He’s still alive.” Leo’s body remained still. ”Jesus, I’ve never seen this before.” Jamie said as she quickly retracted her hand and wiped her fingers on her leg. “I have.” Sofie replied as she returned with Manny. She looked paler than before, as if that was even possible given her Irish-like complexion. She looked distressed and anxious, but aware and alert. “Never in person before today. I came across something like this on Reddit once. Had pictures looking almost like this. Thought it was stupid photo-shop bullshit.” Jamie gave me a puzzled look. “I remember the headline that drew me to click it. *‘It walks amongst the bottle caps and cigarette buds during busy city nights. It preys on the lonely and broken hearted. Its breasts, pillows for the damned and depressed.’*” I noticed as Sofie spoke I had taken a couple steps toward the open door. “What are you talking about?” Manny said. Sofie stood at an angle that caused her body to silhouette with the window. “‘The Wildebeest’”. The bathroom toilet flushed, a shriek shook the floor with fury.


CHRISTMAS EDEN This may have been the worst idea ever. You don't pull together a group of adults who barely know each other and pretend to be a family again. It's ridiculous. I had moved out of the house when I was 15. I just couldn't deal with the abuse and neglect from my so-called parents. They didn't care one bit about us 8 kids. We truly meant nothing to them; except a few extra dollars from the government. We scrounged for nibbles of food, taking apples off of our neighbor's trees, nicking bread off of a delivery truck, knowing where every free handout and meals were located within 3 miles of our home growing up. Besides the neglect at home, at school, when we would actually go to school, we'd get mocked and beat up because we weren't wearing the latest and greatest fashions. Who cares. My body is covered; that's what matters. I was lucky to have a matching pair of socks. Even the teachers snubbed us and turned their noses up at us. So much for their support. Anyhow, I was messaged by one of my siblings who I hear from maybe once every 2 years. Duane said, "hey I know we don't talk much, but we're planning us kids all getting together on Christmas eve to catch up. Can you come, Eden?" Well that came out of the blue. Why would I even want to see any of that so-called family? We were raised pretty much on our own and we rarely looked out for one another as we just couldn't afford to. We each went our own way and never much looked back. I gave Duane's message some thought. Knowing it was pointless to get together, but I kept getting this odd feeling that I really ought to consider it. I messaged Duane back, "where and when?". He immediately wrote back, "Christmas Eve at Splindlers on Main at 2." That was just 2 days away and over an hour’s drive. Do I really want to make that trip for a little lunch with strangers? Again, something strange happened and I responded, “see you then.” The world must be going mad. Why had I typed that? I managed to head to work at the bookstore in the small town of Makron. I was greeted by Marian who is always this super bubbly soul who has had the easiest life. “Oh Eden, you have got to come over here and see this new author, Milton Masters. He has a book signing here today for his new book “From The End Of Time. He’s dreamy!” “Marian, we have met author after author at this bookstore and they’re all the same; egotistical, self-centered and overall annoying. What makes Milton Masters any different?” “He’s different; he really is. I just know you’ll like him,” whispered Marian so the entire bookstore didn’t turn and stare. Eden gave in and walked with Marian to the book signing area and there sat . . . “Now wait a minute! That’s not Milton Masters!”  Eden said with raised voice, “that’s my long-lost brother, Tommy DuGrant.  Who is this Milton Masters name you mentioned?” Marian, obviously confused and stunned, “You know Milton Masters? He’s a world-renowned author who writes about living out our days and even our last days to the fullest. Milton has quite the following and we are so lucky to have him here at the bookstore. And you have a brother? You never mentioned him, let alone a long-lost brother!” I immediately walked up to Milton Masters and said, “well hello there big brother, what brings you around this neck of the woods?” said Eden in a sarcastic tone. Eden knew that Tommy Dugrant, aka Milton Masters, thought he was God’s gift to everyone who met him. He always had an answer with many words, so it made sense he became an author; but why here and why now in my bookstore? While Eden waited for a response, Tommy, only glanced her way and acknowledged her with a nod of his head and turned back to the line of Milton Masters fans and continued the task at hand, signing his name and chatting. It wasn’t until an hour later that Tommy was ready to leave the bookstore when he approached Eden. “Hey, sorry about that, but I needed to take care of my readers. They have supported every book that I’ve written along the way. This book, From The End Of Time, is #1 on the Books-A-Galore ratings. I didn’t know you worked here, Eden? I didn’t even know you were going to be here.” “I don’t only work here,” said Eden, “I own the place! I found that I had a gift for retail sales after I left home all those years ago. I’ve made a good living; but look at you. Number 1 on Books-A-Galore? That’s amazing.” Tommy said, “Eden, life was hard growing up for both of us. It looked like no end in sight. I wanted a better life for myself, for all of us; I had to take the leap and write about overcoming obstacles in life. I didn’t think it would be well received, I was shocked when sales grew into the hundreds of thousands. And here we are face to face once again.” Eden wasn’t in the mood to talk about those rough growing up years, so a quick change of subject was in store. “Duane messaged me. Did he message you?” “Nah, I don’t even have Duane’s number.  I didn’t think any of us were in touch at all anymore. What did he want?” asked Tommy. “What are you doing Christmas eve at 2 pm?” inquired Eden. “I was planning to go snow skiing with some buddies. None of us are family men and we just were going to blow off some steam,” responded Tommy. “Well you are now going to Splindlers on Main at 2 for us eight siblings meal together.” “I’m what? No way. I already have plans and who are the eight siblings? I only know of four.” Eden gently said, “You moved out of the house even before the other 4 brothers were born. They don’t know you and you don’t know them, but you are going. I’ll pick you up at 12 here at the bookstore. Deal?” “I don’t know about this. Why would I even want to see any of them? I have lived without even knowing they existed now for 15 years. What’s the point?” inquired Tommy. “The point is, I see you, MILTON MASTERS, and it’s time they see you. Be here Saturday at 12. I’ll drive.  See you then.” And with that, Eden turned on her heels and headed to the back of the bookstore. Tommy, turned to leave and Marian said in her most chipper voice, “goodbye, Merry Christmas and hope to see you soon.”

Out the door Tommy went. I’ll think about going Saturday, Tommy muttered to himself. I don’t like how Eden just assumes I’ll be here Saturday. So rude. Not in the best of moods, Tommy headed to his next book signing at the next town of Lake Charles. Friday went by smooth for both Eden and Tommy. Nothing new and exciting, but both wondered about this Saturday sibling meal and both decided, I’ll give them an hour of my time and that’s it. I have things to do and people to see. It’s now Christmas Eve morning. Eden arrived at 8 am at the bookstore to get the coffee on and breakfast items out as it was a special day. It was ‘children’s day’. Buy a children’s book and one children’s book gets donated to the local orphanage; well they don’t call them orphanages anymore, Children’s Castle is the name given in our town of Makron. Children and parents, grandparents and grandchildren were lined out the door ready to buy the latest and greatest books by local authors and by nationally known authors. Everyone knew this was a brilliant way to support the Children’s Castle and provide a bit of hope to the children. The morning flew by when all of a sudden Milton Masters, oh I mean Tommy Dugrant walked through the front door.

“I’m ready to go, Eden,” said Tommy, “let’s get this show on the road. My buddies are expecting me at the slopes by 6 pm. Everyone should enjoy a Christmas Eve Ski Run!  Don’t you think?” “Let me close up shop and we’ll head to Splindlers,” said Eden. The last of the crowd had made their purchases and dropped their donated books into the donation box. It was a great day for the bookstore and for Children’s Castle. “Hey, do you mind if we drop off these donated books to the Castle before we head to Splindlers? It will make the children so happy.” “Sure, why not. I’m in no rush to meet up with people I don’t know for a lunch,” said Tommy. “Great, then help me,” Eden ordered, “this box is incredibly heavy.” Without a complaint, Tommy lifted the box and walked out the door to the waiting van to load it up. “Good grief, Eden, how many books are in here?” “If my sales slip is correct, around 750. You could have waited before grabbing that big box. We could have separated them into 2 or 3 boxes to help the carrying part easier!” said Eden while chuckling. “But you were always the showboat kind of man.” Eden locked up the bookstore, jumped in the drivers seat of the van and off they went to Children’s Castle to make an important delivery. The Castle manager, Noel, knew they were on the way and gathered the children at the door to greet the arrival of the books. “What an exciting day,” Noel said to the children. “You will all be gifted with a brand new, wonderful book from a very special friend of mine, Eden. Now we know what to say, right children?” “Yes, Miss Noel, THANK YOU,” the 30 children chimed together. Just then the blue minivan arrived at the front gate of the Children’s Castle. Tommy and Eden jumped out of the van and said “HO HO HO” to the children in their best Santa voices ever, opened the back end of the van and hauled the big box of brand-new books into the Castle. To say the children were overjoyed was no joke. It seemed just the right book was there for each child and many more. They had a full library now of brand-new children’s books to read, enjoy, love and imagine for a better life for themselves. Eden and Tommy couldn’t stay long as they had that sibling lunch in just an hour. As they were heading to the minivan, the children all said in their sing-song voices, “Thank You and Merry Christmas!” “And a very Merry Christmas to you, dear ones,” said Eden. “Happy Ho Ho Ho to each of you,” Tommy chimed in joyfully. In the minivan Eden and Tommy left for their hour drive to Splindlers. They shared many things along the way and it was actually great catching up; but what waited for them, they did not know. With five minutes to spare, they arrived at their destination.  The parking lot was loaded with cars. “This must be the place to be,” said Eden.

“I’m just hoping the food is worth it. Actually, that’s what I’m counting on,” added Tommy, “I need loads of energy for the evening ski run with the boys.” “Well, we better get inside and meet and greet and see what this is all about,” said Eden. The hostess of Splindlers welcomed us with “Merry Christmas! Just two of you today?” “Ohhhhh no, I believe we have a group here waiting for us by the last name of DuGrant,” stated Eden. “Follow me,” said our cheery hostess, “you are gathering in the Tidings Room.” We followed our hostess to the rear of the building, entered the Tidings Room and what a beautifully decorated room we had. Reminded me of photos I’ve seen of Christmas in the Hamptons. It was stunning. Multiple white Christmas trees with the fake snow on them with white twinkling lights. There were white knit stockings hung on the fireplace mantle at the far end of the room. The group of tables had white table runners on them with silver and gold snowflakes embroidered on them; gold metal crystal beaded pillar candle holders sparkling with dancing flames. Just stunning. The light jazz Christmas music we heard was by a band in the corner with such talented vocalists, saxophone, trumpet, trombone, violin, cello and piano.

“This is absolutely beautiful,” Eden said finally taking in the scene. She hadn’t even noticed her 6 siblings staring at her and Tommy. She was enamored by the beauty of the room. Tommy said, “I have never seen anything like it.” Duane was the first to approach Eden and Tommy, “Well hello there my sister and brother. Welcome to the DuGrant Christmas Eve gathering. I do hope the room meets your approval.” “Meet our approval? You have got to be kidding me. This is stunning. How did you pull this off Duane?” asked Eden. “I had no idea it was going to be this formal; I would have dressed more appropriately.” Duane just laughed and welcomed Eden and Tommy with a hug and reindeer head gear. “You have to wear them. Don’t even think about taking them off. Here, smile, it’s photo time!” Snap snap went a few photos and immediately they were posted to social media. Eden whispered to Tommy, “Well this is going a lot differently than what I thought it would. Much better actually. I thought we’d be all sitting around staring at the glass of water in front of us.” Tommy felt the same way and whispered back, “are we in the right room?” We went around the room introducing ourselves. Some of our siblings brought their families along. So I was meeting nieces and nephews I had never met before in my life. We all have the same freckles across our noses and the larger foreheads that we got off our father; you could see mom’s expressions in many of the faces around the room. It truly was incredible. We sat. We ate. We drank. We chatted. It was the most pleasant ‘family gathering’ I had ever witnessed in life. Considering we all came from a challenging home life, it looked like we all turned out just fine. There was one little girl present that actually looked familiar along with a little boy that were not introduced. Then all of a sudden, Noel came in the room, remember her from Children’s Castle? We had just seen her over an hour ago as we dropped off the donated books. Come to find out, Noel is dating Duane; well he actually proposed to Noel on the covered bridge down Township Road 62 on their way to Splindlers, so that would make Noel his fiancé! The two children, Josie and Jake, live at Children’s Castle and are being adopted by Duane and Noel. Eden stook up at her table and with a heart full of appreciation and thankfulness began to speak, “Honestly, I had absolutely no interest in coming to this sibling gathering when Duane first messaged me. My how the mind can change on a whim if we are open to the possibilities. Mr. Milton Masters here beside me is a famous Author; you may know him best as Tommy Dugrant. Duane and Noel have beautiful hearts to pull this entire event together for a family of siblings who struggled through the years both physically, mentally and emotionally. For all of us to come through our pasts to be this happy together, is a shock and a pure blessing; only the workings of a great Spirit could bring us to this point. Will you each please join with me in a toast, to the DuGrant’s . . . will to thrive in life no matter the obstacles and let’s vow to meet up again on Christmas eve each year and perhaps more often in between. To the DuGrant’s”. “To the Dugrant’s” was echoed around the room as children held their milk glasses, water glasses and bottles up and the adults raised their glasses to prove that humans can be resilient; that even with the challenges of life, the never give up mantra must be lived out.

Surprises are on the horizon and for Eden, Tommy, Duane, Noel and their family and friends, as they live their best lives ever.


“Well,” Adam scoffed. “This is a surprise.” Julia took him in. In truth, she didn’t want to break up with him, but she knew he wanted to break up with her. Actually, he didn’t want to break up with her, and that was the problem. He wanted her to break up with him, and he wanted her to know that and end their relationship while he pretended that he was being dumped out of the blue. Relationships are tricky things, especially when they involve men. And extra especially when they involve men like Adam. Adam was the kind of guy who called himself an ardent atheist but Julia believed would more truthfully identify himself as *raised catholic.* There are many men in the world who were raised catholic, and Julia did not begrudge any of them on the basis of their upbringing, but it was the devout ex-Catholics, the zealots, that she had grown to be wary of. They tipped their hand when they called themselves atheists without being asked, or specified that they only had a problem with “organized religion.” What they were really saying was “I had to wake up early every Sunday and do something boring and I still haven’t forgiven my bitch mom for not letting me watch cartoons.” They escaped the more heinous abuses that a boy might have suffered as a congregant, but they were told masturbating was a sin and they couldn’t have cheeseburgers on Fridays. In their eyes, the adults perpetrating those mistreatments might as well have been kiddie diddlers, and they relished the church’s scandals as evidence of their khaki-clad childhood struggles. A decade of dating had taught Julia that while you could take the altar boy out of the church, you couldn’t extract a lifetime’s worth of new testament values from a grown man. These guys could rail all they wanted about the abominable apostasy, but they would always be a former faithful, and there was no honor held in higher regard than victimhood. They could cover themselves with tattoos and piercings, kiss their college roommate, and paste anarchy stickers on their MacBook pro, but deep down they still strove to be a lamb. They would never unlearn the saintly virtue of meekness. Adam wanted to break up, but he wouldn’t because he could not find the salvation that he didn’t believe in unless he was nailed to a cross. Adam raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side as if he were steeling himself against the pain and disbelief of their conversation. Julia felt a sudden and powerful wave of resentment towards him. She couldn't believe how hard he was going to make this for her. She still loved him, and if she had her way they would be laying on the couch watching Naked and Afraid and eating leftover pad thai. But Adam had made it clear over the past few weeks that he was done, and even now, his eyes were goading her to continue. “I feel as though we’ve been growing apart for a while now. We hardly see each other, and honestly, I don’t see it getting better anytime soon.” Julia felt a bit cliche with her choice of words, but there wasn’t much for her to go off of. Besides, what she said didn’t really matter. This was just a formality. *Sign here, here, initial here, unfollow me on Instagram, and we’re all set! You will receive a message in two to three business days confirming the results of your breakup.* Adam scoffed again. His performance was hammy. He dropped his arms to his side in mock defeat. *C’mon* Julia thought. *Give it a bit more passion. If you’re not convincing me, you’re not convincing Jesus.* “I mean, Is there someone else?” He flatly delivered the line, but Julia was still stunned. How could he possibly think that? How could he be so cruel as to ask it? He had been her entire life for nearly a year and a half now. He was the one in the past two months who had stopped picking up the phone and started canceling dates. She was willing to go along with the “Yes, and…” to see the moment through, but not to this extent. She stood silent in front of him. Adam flicked his thumbs out towards her, his palms like two fish flashing their bellies on the surface of the pond. His face was frozen in a slack-jawed wide-eyed expression. It was an awkward moment. Julia felt like they were on stage and she had forgotten her lines. “N-no.” She stammered. “There’s no one else.” Adam remained frozen and silent, obviously unsatisfied with the thoroughness of her response. Julia took a breath and continued “But I suppose I do want to be free to explore my options. This isn’t working.” A look of relief graced Adam’s face for a moment before he scowled in anger “Well! That’s all I needed to hear! Just wish you wouldn’t have wasted a year of my life before tossing me aside to see what other dick is on the market!” He grabbed his sneakers but didn’t even put them on before storming out of the apartment and slamming the door behind him. Julia stood alone and sighed. “It was seventeen months, actually.


The scariest things to me lately have only been in my dreams. If you just read that you might be of the opinion that a dream is not scary. I unfortunately disagree. I have had many bad dreams, nightmares that turn my stomach, makes the hair on my arms stand up and send chills throughout my body as I feel someone watching me from across the room. I posted once before on Reddit about the horror that haunted my dream and it has returned but in a different form. Something is there in my mind or in my room I can't tell which is which and I am constantly losing sleep over it. There are times in the early morning I don't know if I am awake or not. I haven't seen a psychiatrist or a therapist I can't deal with the judgement. I just wanna talk about it. That's the only way I can get it off my back, for a few months anyway. Until it returns. Let me set the scene for you. I have been working these last two weeks pretty intensely. The coronavirus has kept me in my room 24/7. I only leave to eat or go to the toilet and then I return. To my desk to my bed the daily routine. Last night was particularly intense I had to reorganise a drawing and set up the website. I got into bed at midnight and the lights were out in an instant. I started reading on my phone Stephen Fry's Mythos which is quite a nice read. Zeus overthrew his father Kronos and now he is King of the Gods. I read but didn't fall asleep as I usually do. I turned to each side of my bed several times but nothing I felt restless and the heat in my room started to make me sweat. I put my phone down and watched a movie. The same movie I watch to put me to sleep. The Lord of the Rings The Fellowship of the Ring. Don't get me wrong I love the film but some parts put me to sleep like baby drinking warm milk. I got to the point where the Fellowship were on the mountain above Moria (ancient dwarf city) and Saruman was trying to sink them with snow. I was still wide awake so I shut it down and just tried to close my eyes. In minutes I was dreaming. Odd this time it was animated. I have never had an animated dream before. But there I saw Gandalf the Grey and Bilbo Baggins on a ship smoking. Hoops of grey smoke lifting into the air. The dream transitioned to the mountain. Frodo was walking down the mountain, Gandalf ahead. I watched Frodo walk calmly through the snow. The view turned to face Frodo and I saw behind him. There was snow trailing itself together into large balls of snow. One on top of each other until a snowman was built. Ready with a face of anger the body of snow dragged itself behind Frodo. All the while it stated at me. Dark black eyes and a carrot nose. It passed over a tree and it sprouted arms and started to move faster. Frodo was gone. Gandalf was gone. All that was left was the snowman staring into my eyes. As if it was trying to see into my very soul. I was frozen in my bed. Paralyzed again. Like last time I could feel my bed around me but I couldn't move. My eyes wouldn't open, all I could see was the snowman and now I could hear it. A grunting movement as if he was gaining speed to come closer to me. I was sweating and then the cold came. A sudden powerful wave came over me and I jolted up in my bed. I could move again but I was drenched in sweat. My room was hot and I was breathing hard. I got out of my bed to get my bottle of water from across the room. I told Alexa to turn on my lights. They flickered and slowly a light faded into existence and there across the room it stood in a pool of its own making, the snowman. It threw itself at me and I tried to run but it's water caught under my feet and I slipped falling onto the floor. My head hit the wooden floor and I was back in darkness. I don't know what happened after. I woke up the next morning. No water on the floor but my bed covered in sweat still. My head pounded the next morning it was 5am and I could only shower and get ready for work. Another night haunted by my own imagination.