It was a rainy and bleak May night in Pennsylvania, with the clock sharp on midnight. It was on a late-night train travelling from Allentown to Philadelphia that three friends, Justin, Bethany, and Sam were travelling back to college after spending time at home. As Justin stood up to stretch his legs, he banged his head on the luggage holder, his tall frame putting him in an awkward position. But Justin was by no means a lanky fellow, he was built, but slim, the ideal weight for a professional Badminton player, as his friends often teased. He smoothed back his hair, fussing about how he wished he wasn’t so tall, so he wouldn’t mess his hair when he constantly banged his head on things. “That wouldn’t happen if you weren’t so clumsy, dumbass.” Spoke up Sam “Yea and while we’re on the shitting on Justin parade, please wash that stupid cologne off! Where did you get it? A strip club?” jested Bethany “Hey c’mon guys, this meant to catch ALL the ladies, and it’s called *Love swash*” Justin rebutted sarcastically As Justin sat back down, he had to squeeze into his seat, hindered by Sam’s large gorilla like form. His square glasses were nearly knocked out of his wavy brown hair as Justin clumsily flailed his arms about trying to get in his seat. “C’mon Sam get your damn protein bar wrappers off my seat; I don’t want any leftover chocolate staining my jeans” “Yea fuck off, I need the fuel to keep this figure. You know all the girls like my muscles.” He said flexing Justin finally managed to get in his seat and the trio sat quietly for half an hour, with Bethany falling asleep while Justin and Sam talked quietly. Her bag full of precious textbooks and her laptop snuggled closely behind her legs. “Bethany, you awake?” Sam was nudging Bethany to try and wake her up, Bethany was awake the whole time, yet wanted to be left alone. She kept silent. “Bethany, come on, wake up.” Bethany opened her unrested eyes to be met with Sam and Justin getting out some cards to play poker, she rolled her eyes and tried to close them again, but Justin stopped her. “Come on, just one game? Sam and I are dying here Beth” “Yeah, we’re dying” Considering Bethany knew that Sam had no more brainpower than a muffin and Justin couldn’t ever hide the fact he had a good hand, she obliged, she often likes to flex her cognitive prowess. “Alright! Dibs shuffle!” Sam had the cards strewn all over the plastic table and was wiping them around in an attempt to randomise their order. Bethany and Justin gave each other a look. “Alright, shuffle done! Beth, can you grab a card that fell under the table on your side? I would, but I don’t think my tremendous forceps would fit under the table” Bethany gave out a chuckle, and then proceeded to look under the table while saying; “Forceps are a surgical instrument for grabbing things dumbass.” “Oh yeah, I knew that, I was just testing you.” Once Bethany picked up the fallen card and was sitting upright again, a slight scream could be heard from the front end of the train, it only took a split second later until sparks were flying from outside the window, the driver was slamming the breaks harder than what the train is designed for. Cards went flying, Justin covered his face with his hands, Sam was slammed into the table with a wet thud reminiscent of a slab of meat hitting a benchtop, and Bethany threw her hands over her bag full of precious items. It didn’t take long for the train to finally stop. All three said nothing. Suddenly, the intercom gurgled out a few static notes, and then came to life with the voice of the shaken and rattled conductor. “I… There… There was a body on the road. A human body, I don’t know how it got there, but it… Was… A… Human corpse.” Bethany, Justin, and Sam all looked at each other blankly. Though their mouths were shut, their eyes were conveying more emotion than any phrase ever could. Sam was clenching his stomach, the pain from the thud from earlier was only just starting to settle in. “A body, so we just travelled over a dead body.” Justin’s words were empty of air, like the words of a man with no lungs. Bethany tried to compose herself and spoke to the others. “Do you want me to go to the front of the train to see what people are doing?” Sam and Justin both nodded. “Can you guys take care of my pack?” “Sure Beth.” Bethany gave her backpack to Justin and wandered out of the cubicle. The back of the train was completely empty, so Bethany had to wander for a while to actually find someone. After checking cubicle after cubicle, Bethany finally found someone, a man, probably aged in his 50’s, travelling alone. His face was paralysed with fear and his eyes were tearing up. Bethany’s knock on the cubicle window made him jump. He looked at her with eyes deprived of sleep and life. Bethany could tell this man was mortified. “You alright?” Bethany said in a calming voice, the man gave her a miniscule nod, a lying nod, he was hiding the truth. He shakily spoke in reply; “I, I think I am, I don’t know.” Bethany noticed his hands shaking, she decided to console him. “So, what’s your name?” “Edgar.” Edgar gave Bethany a warm smile. Bethany smiled back at Edgar; she could tell that he hasn’t talked to anyone in a while, he seemed traumatised and lonely. Bethany proceeded up the train where a small meeting was forming. There were about six passengers and the conductor all congregating in one of the carriages. “Should we go out? I mean, we can’t just stand here” A middle-aged woman was asking the conductor to leave the train to investigate. She spoke again in a boasting voice. “I’m a doctor, I can check the body.” Bethany heard a familiar voice behind her. “What are you gonna do? CPR? Stitch his mangled parts together again?” It was Sam. He and Justin had joined Bethany and the congregation while carrying her backpack. Edgar remained in his seat, still traumatised. The conductor snapped at Sam; “Show some god damn respect who-ever-you-are” Sam rolled his eyes, if there was one thing he hated, it was being told what to do. Everybody stood silently, either because nobody had anything to say, or everybody silently mutually agreed to give the nameless body on the tracks a silent vigil. “I think we should go out, I mean, at least to check the body.” Bethany bravely broke the silence. About a half of the congregation nodded, it could easily be seen that all agreed, just many did not want to go out. “I’ll contact the police and the railway company.” The conductor shuffled back into the front of the train and began dialling numbers. “So, who wants to come out with me?” Bethany was met with no answer for the first few seconds, until Sam announced while nudging Justin; “We’ll go.” Justin’s face fell into a gloom-like state. “C’mon Justin, it’ll be fine, the more people that go out, the less scary it’ll be.” Sam seemed oddly sympathetic about Justin’s fear, perhaps it was the fact that he too was terrified. Bethany looked across the congregation to see if any others would come out to inspect the body. “Hey, what about you, the *doctor*” Sam hastily pointed at the woman who claimed to be a doctor. She looked back at him with snarling eyes. “Sure, I’ll go out, we need someone to actually know what they’re looking at, don’t we?” The group to go outside was decided, it was to be Bethany, Justin, Sam, and the doctor. The four of them began to walk up to the front of the train to ask the conductor to let them out, but he was engaged in a call. The four stood outside his door waiting. “Wait, Justin, can you give me my bag? I need to put it somewhere while we wait.” Justin handed Bethany her backpack and she began walking down the train to Edgar’s booth. “Hey mister? Can you hold my bag for a bit? Thank you so much.” Edgar’s eyebrows lifted for a split second; he was needed for something. Edgar couldn’t remember the last time that somebody needed him. “Sure, I can.” Bethany smile and made her way back to the front of the train, relieved that her bag will now be safe. She noticed that the conductor was off the call and that the first carriage’s door was open. She hesitantly stepped outside onto the soggy ground to meet up with the other three. “So, uh, the body should be about twenty feet down the train, give or take.” The doctor was pointing down the train when Sam interrupted. “Are you sure genius? I mean, wouldn’t there be *bits* of who-ever-it-was everywhere?” The doctor had just about had it with Sam, she lowered her hand and walked up right into Sam’s face. “Listen kid, would you leave me alone! I am trying to do my best here and the last thing I fucking need is for some brat to tell me I’m fucking doing it wrong!” She turned from Sam and marched slowly down the train searching for the mangled corpse, Sam wiped droplets of the doctor’s spit from his face. “Uh, Miss?” Justin called out; his voice devoid of life. “I think I see something…” The doctor and Bethany approached Justin; Sam looked on from a distance. Justin was avoiding looking at the thing that he had just found. “I think we found it.” Bethany called out to Sam, Sam responded in a thumbs up, but he remained away. “You guys have a look at that, I just can’t.” Justin stumbled away looking as pale as a fresh sheet of paper, he walked over to Sam where they both began heading into the train. The doctor and Bethany looked at the corpse from about five feet away. “I’m going to take a closer look.” The doctor got to about three feet away to examine the body, it was a male, at least it used to be. Its face was smothered in blood and the skin was a pale-yellow, but it was intact; the same could not be said about the rest of him. From the bottom of his breastbone was where the true damage lay, with that being the part that was caught by the train. His entire abdomen was ripped in half by the train, with his intestines leaking out onto the soggy, mushy, blood ridden ground. The doctor could not make out his legs, as they were severely mangled under the train. “That’s funny.” The doctor called out to Bethany. ‘It has a stab wound!” The doctor notice that there were multiple stab wounds on the corpse’s upper-left section of the chest. “This was a murder, and the train was the killer’s way to dispose of the body!” Bethany’s brain was racing, part of her wanted to have a close look at the body, but part of her wanted to throw up. “We need to get back in the train, kid.” Bethany nodded; she was mortified of what may have caused the corpse’s death.


It was in the final room of the final tower of the final kingdom that I was to lay eyes upon her once again. It had been months, but felt like years, day after day of sluggish and gruesome war. With the power gifted to me, a commoner of low stature, I had slaughtered villages, laid waste to cities and their armies, and forced every king and queen to bend knee before rending them to their rightful place beneath me.

They would kiss my hands, beg, plead, offer their bodies and minds to me- entire armies of concubines and vast riches- but yet none offered reprieve for my people.

The agony would not go unpunished.

The first king that I had

conquered, King Hermias, waited for me now before the door. He raised a blood soaked skeletal hand to a salute as I approached, hopping over armored bodies and still squirting heads as I did. The corroded, scratched, and beaten golden armor that he once wore proudly fit loosely on now decaying skin.

He opened his mouth to say something, dead teeth clattering to the floor as the nub of his tongue wagged wildy.

I held up my hand, “Understood, Hermy. Is this the last holdout?” I gestured towards the door.

He put his hand down, flesh dripping from it in flakes, and nodded confirmation.

“Good. Good .” I ran my hand along the ornate wooden door. It was etched with images of knights and godly women battling creatures of the night. It was a heroic tale of love and triumph. I laughed mockingly, “Can you believe this shit? They think they can win?! Even now?”

I reached for the golden door handle, a searing pain blasting my hand back as I touched the cool metal. I pulled it to my chest, uttering words of healing, clearing the burns instantly, “A holy ward? Not unusual. I suppose I’d be disappointed if they hadn’t tried.” I waved my hand dismissively, not needing a verbal chant to dispel such a low level spell. The door glowed purple, a thin ethereum of magic bursting like glass.

Dusting my hands, I addressed the hall, talking to myself and the bodies beneath me, “Suppose I should take her seriously. Arise, creatures, and do my bidding!”

The knights, some headless, some without arms or legs, began to shudder and rise to crawling, standing, or rolling positions. They had fought valiantly in life, killing many of my undead horde, and I hoped for them to serve me well in death. The commander of the knights, known as Rhianaceus, took his place beside Hermy. I cupped his chin and stared into the pits of his eyes, a long gash had decimated his face, revealing pink clumps of brain matter still squirming from nervous shock.

“I want you to lead the charge, Rhianaceus. Kill all who oppose me, but leave her alive.”

The creature nodded, slowly and with great effort.

I patted his shoulder, “Good boy.” Turning, I counted twenty new thralls in fighting condition and between fifteen and thirty operating on my magic alone. Far down the hall, the clattering of bone signified reinforcements were imminent.

A loud crash shook me from my victorious stupor- something behind the door had fallen.

I felt an involuntary smile, “No point in suspense, only results.” Taking a few steps back from the door, I instructed Rhianaceus, “Open the door and kill.”

He grunted, or at least croaked, something similar. Pale, broken hands clasped cold metal, pulling the handle with supernatural strength and shattering the locking mechanism. The oaken door squealed as my thralls rushed in and halted. Beyond, as I observed over the shoulders of the undead, was a lone woman praying at an altar. She was clothed in white robes, clinging to unholy curves, kneeling on a stone step bathed in sunlight.

She was alone.

“Stand down and leave us.” I ordered, my minions shambled out, “Guard the corridor.” I instructed, my eyes not leaving her while I listened to the cacophony of clattering and moans as they took sentry.

“Hmm. Privacy.” I mumbled to myself, turning and closing the doors. The lock was shattered, but at least unwanted eyes and ears weren’t privy to my conversation.

I marched to the altar, bending knee and clasping my hands together

in prayer beside the priestess.

“Lord, I wish for strength to do as I must and courage to brave even the darkest corners of this world.” I glanced sideways, mid-prayer, to watch the priestess. Her lips moved silently, fervently, “And I thank you for the gift of power over life and death. Let me use it wisely and according to your will. Amen.”

She sighed, “You done, Nkosi?”

I smiled solemnly, “I am. Are you?”

“Not quite.” She continued her prayer, silently.

I waited for quite some time, growing bored as my legs began to shake and fall asleep. I sat on the step, watching her pray.

“You know, I liked you more when we were little.” Her lips, soft and red, stopped moving, “And poor~”

“Is that so?”

I nodded, “Yes. It is. You were so much more- reasonable - back then.”

She smiled, “And you weren’t quite so vicious as a child.”

“Pfft.” I chuckled, “We were both kids.”

Silence settled, she twiddled her thumbs.

“Did your mother die? Is that what made you do this?”

I set my frown in stone, “Justice. Justice is what made me do this.”

“Justice doesn’t take the lives of many.”

“Oh fuck off!” I shouted, emotion bubbling up like a river. I took a deep breath, “Sorry. I shouldn’t yell, but your church killed many in the name of justice long before I did. You just happen to be on the receiving end this time.”

“You never answered my question.”

“I don’t think I need to. You know the answer.”

“I do. Was she killed?”

“Yes. Same as father, by children of the church.”

She frowned, I could see her closed eyes twitching, “I’m so sorry Nkosi. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Neither did they.”

I started pacing around the room. It was a huge, circular chamber with a skylight of brilliant yellow glass above. The sunlight cascaded over her like a waterfall, splashing out across the floor in soft hues of color. There were paintings lining the wall, an easel with a half finished painting of two children stood against the far side. I approached it, observing the strikes and swaths of expertly applied paint.

“Did you paint this?”

Suddenly, she was beside me, eyes still closed in prayer, “Yes. Yes I did. Do you recognize the children in the picture? Maybe the stream they play beside?”

I stared closer, realization sparking, “I do. It’s us. By that little stream cutting through Farebrook where we lived.” My heart softened, painfully, “Yes- I remember. This was right in front of the shack where I lived, down from the monastery.”

“It is. And I’d come visit you each day I could, often sneaking away from the Priests, remember Junyerd? The old man? Oh how he’d yell when he found out!”

I laughed, “Oh yeah! He’d chase me out of the monastery kitchen with a broom for stealing bread!”

She chuckled, a sound like broken glass and music, “Yeah! But I’d always sneak you and your mom a few loaves-”

“Y-yeah.” She would. A full basket of food whenever she could. She’d leave them on the front steps of our shack, never taking credit when my mother asked, always claiming it was the gods’ will to provide for us.

“I wonder what happened to old Junyerd. He wasn’t my favorite Priest- but he did raise me.”

“I-I killed the bastard. When he burned my mother at the stake for witchcraft. He was the first of my thralls.” I remembered the face of her old master the day I murdered him. He never expected me. Never saw it coming until the knife was already plunged deep into his chest. It was the day after I died, resurrecting with new powers. I set his zombified corpse against the rest of the monastery, tearing the nuns and monks to pieces with the very same knife that I had used on him.

She frowned, “I know what you did, Nkosi. I’ve seen it through my visions.”

“Then you know he earned his fate.”

“I-I cannot argue, but the magic that your mother- that you wield- it is not sanctified. It should not be practiced.”

I furrowed my brow, my chest filling with rocks, “Does it please you to think of her cries as she burned? She resurrected a fucking kitten , Eleanor, a fucking kitten ! So they burned her? Would it make you happy if they had burned me as well?” I sneered, half spitting the words like poison.

Eleanor took a long time to answer, standing there next to my huffing chest, “I-If I had known what you would do-”

“You would have what?!” I cut her off, “You would have killed me like my mother? Burned me?”

I reached for her, but she ducked away.

“Nkosi….I’m so sorry for what you’ve become-”

“But you’re not sorry for what the church did to me?”

“-and what you’ve become is what we vanquished in all our bravest fantasies-”

“You offer no apology for it? They killed me, Eleanor! They killed us !”

“-I admit you do not deserve what befell you-”

“They burned her in front of me! Throwing me into a pit in the wilderness to die!”

“-but the world does not deserve what you befell it-”

“And when I did finally die, do you know what I saw?”

“-so many innocents, dead, by your hands-”

“Power. Unrelenting. Unstoppable power over life and death.”

“-by the hands that I held until the Priests took me away-”

“And I claimed that power.”

“-I wish that I had never let go. Perhaps then something would be different-”

“I used that power.”

“-Perhaps things would have been different with you, with your mom, with us -”

“I took the world by storm. Killing and using each and every foul creature that dared take the breath of life from our creator!”

“-perhaps I would have kept my eyes, hiding my visions and prophecies for only us to use-”

“They kneel before me, even now, my loyal property!”

“-I know what I need to do.” Tears were streaming down her face now, crystal blue and shimmering in the dancing sunlight. Clouds were gathering, casting swaying shadows across the drawing room, the chapel.

“As do I, Eleanor .”

“But I do not know if I have the strength to do it-”

I took a few steps away from her, pulling air to me, “But I d0~”

She whirled towards me, knocking the easel and painting to the ground with a mighty crash, and flames rose in circles across the floor. I jumped above a wall of fire, pushing wind beneath me even as the inferno sucked the oxygen from the air. Landing, I spun and tossed a ball of black light into the skylight. Shards of glass rained down on us, plunging into our shoulders and arms as we ducked away, the cool winter air fought the heat.

“THERE WILL BE NO MIDNIGHT SOUL!” I howled. Creatures began climbing from the floor, bursting out as if from a grave. I knew the truth though, felt it as my energy drained, that the abominations of flesh and bone bubbling from below were not of this world, but from another plane of existence entirely.

One that I had already extinguished.

She danced beneath their blows, slamming their chests with holy fire while spinning with the elegance of a gypsy dancer between them. One spat a green glob of something at her- singeing and melting parts of her robes. She tore the tangled bits off, freeing her movement as she threw a bombardment of energy my way.

I ducked behind one of my abominations, it disintegrated as her magic undid the bonds holding it together.

“IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY, NKOSI!” She shouted over the groaning of my still rising army.

“IT DOES! IT ALREADY HAS!” I shouted back, draining the blood from a bulbous frog-like creature over the fire. As the blood coagulated onto the flames they turned blue, then purple, then extinguished altogether. It created a chain reaction, irreversible, crawling and smothering the fire, rushing towards its source, my dearest Eleanor, with the speed of a plague.

I watched as it touched her, tearing into her skin and arms, turning them to bloodied, shredded stumps as she screamed in agony.

Music- like broken glass and a mother’s cry - I thought.

She fell to a heap on the floor, my creatures swarming around her, dousing her in acids and poisons. Her cries died to a whimper.

“Enough!” I shouted, I felt my control of the beasts wavering, struggling to keep control, “Step back.” They did as I commanded, slowly, “Begone!” I waved my hand, feeling the steady drip of crimson from my nostrils. The energy used was energy wasted- never to return again.

The creatures, one by one, began the monotonous march out of the tower.

She lay there, broken, battered, a blue and red heap of cloth and once beautiful physique. I stooped down beside her, pulling her still rising chest, shuddering breaths, to me.

I muttered words of healing, just enough to keep her alive, not enough to renew her fight.

“Can you hear me, Eleanor?”

She opened her eyes, but there was nothing there, just empty sockets and pooling tears, “I can, Nkosi.”

I smiled, running my free hand through her hair and down her cheek, “I’m sorry things had to end this way. I truly am.”

She smiled weakly, “I-I know, Nkosi. I know.”

“If it's any consolation, I will not raise you as my thrall. You will rest atop the most peaceful mountains in the most beautiful meadows of wildflowers.”

She took a shuddering breath, “No.” She let out a long exhale, I could feel it was one of her last, “Bury me by the stream. I want to go there- one more time.”

I felt my chest well up with the impossibility of regret. I had done this before. I felt it. Died and returned with vengeful fire. She and I had fought in countless worlds, her winning sometimes, me others.  I always thought myself lucky when she was the one holding my corpse.

“Sure, Eleanor-” I cried through thick tears, melding and blending with the blood on my face, “Let’s go there now-”

She coughed, giggling so weakly, “Is the big, scary necromancer crying over me? I never thought that-I-” she took one last, deep, guttural, wet breath, “-I-lo-”

And she was gone.

I pressed my lips to hers.

“I love you too, Eleanor.” I ran my hands down her face, closing her empty eyes, “Until we meet again, my love.”

I collapsed beside her. The war for control waning and dying within me. I could hear the creatures, free from their master's control, howling in pain as they dissolved in the hall. My mother was gone. Every kingdom between me and the church had fallen. Mine. Eleanor has been killed by my hand. I turned my head, eyes locked to her beautiful face.

My eyelids, so heavy, fell.


I had been putting off my trip to the future for as long as I could remember. Not because I wasn’t excited to go, rather the opposite. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to step off of the platform into that courtyard to be momentous. Something to remember for the rest of my days, the swelling of pride, and my heart bursting out of my chest with excitement. My children and their children would see their mother, their grandmother after years of hard work pushing boundaries and forging a path in a world not made for the soft of heart. The time I spent away from them, building my fortune and my legacy, all worth it for that moment of glory. Most people make it a yearly event, though I’m not really sure why. It cheapens it, makes it commonplace and trivial. I seem to be the only one that holds a special reverence for the future. Growing up my parents told me of a time before when you couldn’t visit yourself, your children, or family in the coming years. It seemed surreal, in school you learn about your future, your successes, and failures. Everyone can easily search for a list of their important dates and accomplishments. To not know, to live your life completely unaware of what the future holds is insanity. How would you know what ideas were worth pursuing? What choices or places to avoid? I shudder to think of how your expectations could be so thoroughly and expertly dashed.                You might think it’s silly I’ve never been to the future since I already know how my life, my career, my family will turn out. And yes, I do know all of that on paper. The nuts and bolts of it, but the feeling of seeing my family welcome me, with love and pride is a once in a lifetime feeling. I have worked my entire life towards succeeding in business, building a home, and life grand enough to make anyone jealous. The frosting on the cake will be the moment I finally see with my own eyes the gratitude of my family after a lifetime of dedication and sacrifice.                My last morning in the present was like any other, I woke up at 4 am to hear my cup of coffee freshly brewed and dripping. The smell of it never failed to rally my spirits, even when the day seemed insurmountable. I left the house as I always did before anyone else stirred. I find it easiest to achieve success when you start your day before anyone else. There is clarity in the quiet cool mornings before even the sun greets the day.                There was always one person I see, my secretary Alex. She was ready with my second cup of coffee and the day's agenda. As usual, it was packed full of meetings and briefings, statistics, and figures. The sight of them soothed me. They were predictable, even in their unpredictability. Fluctuations here made sense to me in a way little else did.                “Today's the day! Nervous?” Alex asked me.                “Excited, more like it. 60 years leading to this moment.” I liked Alex, but the time spent on pleasantries has never interested me. There are only so many hours in the day after all. I took a quick glance over my desk, noting the important things I needed to do before embarking on my trip to the future. Last-minute calls and decisions were all that stood between me and my destiny. And like a flash, I was done. Grabbing my bag and nodding a quick goodbye to Alex, I headed to the transporter.                I had of course paid the extra fee to cut to the front of the line, sped through security, and found myself on the platform. For a brief moment, I felt uneasy. It’s not a feeling I’m used to, and it hit me like a sack of bricks as I heard the humming of the machines ramp up. For the first time in my life, I doubted. I doubted what I would see, hear, and smell. Sure, I knew the future, but actually being in it? This must be the uncertainty my parents had lived with. But in a flash, the feeling of dread and uncertainty left me.                I don’t know exactly what I expected to see. My understanding is that your family knows your coming and is there to greet you on your arrival. I don’t know how people celebrate in the future, balloons filled pictures of my parents’ birthdays, graduations, and retirements. I had been to very few parties in my time I must confess. I assume they hadn’t changed in spirit. Smiling faces, claps on the back and whatnot. I certainly didn’t expect to see the nothing that filled the room.                Must have been a mix up in platforms, bureaucracy’s inefficiency is perhaps one constant no doubt. My name, in giant black letters above the transporter, however, indicated otherwise. I was in the right place. Well, the time must have gotten miscommunicated somehow. Since I hadn’t been to the future I didn’t know the value placed on timeliness here. At this point, I would have taken any explanation for a mistakenly empty room. None appeared. I will admit now I was confused more than anything, and I left the room heading to the nearest uniformed person I could find.                “My room is empty,” I said. Getting to the point was always one of my strengths, and I expected to have a quick and salient answer just as quickly. The future had to be even more expedient than my time.                “I’m sorry to hear that.” Something in my expression must have given away my first-time status to the future, and a look I was not accustomed to seeing spread across his face. Pity. “Come this way, and we can find some answers.”                We walked down a hallway, doors opening here and there. People entering and exiting chatting comfortably and casually. Faces smiled and laughed, an air of familiarity among everyone. We entered an office and I was seated at a desk opposite a woman with a warm (condescending? Or was that imagined) smile. At this point, I still felt confident we would sort all this out. It was a surprise party planned, designed to prolong this moment. That was it. Had to be it.                “First time to the future?” the woman asked. I nodded in affirmation. Hearing her voice, my confidence in my dramatic surprise party dissipated. I worried my voice would suddenly crack or belie my growing apprehension. “Sometimes it’s hard to see the impact our actions have the first time, let’s see what I can pull up.”                Now I was really rocked. My actions impact? I worked hard, I gave all my time and my life to building my empire! Why would it be hard to see that impact? It should be shouted from the rooftops. Anger swelled within me, I couldn’t help but speak now.                “Excuse me? My actions? My actions are what made me a success. I was the first woman in my family to earn a master's in business analytics, own her own company, and a damn successful one. I built homes, sent my family on lavish vacations, my children to the best schools. Provided a secure future for generations. My actions are above reproach.”                “I can see your successes on my screen,” she said with a calmness that silenced me as effectively as a slap across the face. It was said with kindness. But a kindness tinged with sympathy. “I can also see here no one has reserved a seat to your meeting here today. You have no current communications with your children or their children in our time registered with our message servers. It’s common for impending visitors to confirm meetings. We find relationships can be more strained than anticipated without this open line of communication.”                “I had the visit planned, why would it need further communication? The date and time were clearly expressed in the travel plans.” She paused, looking down at her desk before returning my gaze.                “Sometimes the things we think are important in our time, aren’t as important to the future.” She left it at that and sent me with a print out of my living descendants' contact numbers.                I found myself sitting in the hall outside arrivals staring at the paper with my families’ numbers. I saw my oldest daughter’s name, my son. A list of their children. It occurred to me then I didn’t know a lot of the names under my children’s. Grandchildren? Who belonged to who? How old would my children be now? I had to perform a series of mental gymnastics to remember my daughter would be in her 60’s now, older than me. What was she like? Did she run a business like me? I had always assumed she did, but now I wasn’t so sure. The office administrator seemed to think her values would be different than mine. How could that be when I raised her?                But that was what she meant, wasn’t it? I hadn’t raised her. I left before she woke up and got home after she went to bed. It seemed and still does, like the right thing to do to build a future for her. Would she not see it that way? Did she remember me less as a positive and strong role model or as an absent mother, someone who floated in and out missing major milestones?                I sat and stared at the numbers, full of a doubt I had never felt before this day. I glanced at the bank of phones to the side of me, then back at the numbers. What if she didn’t answer? What if she did?


We always see somethings in life and think to ourselves what it's like? To go down that area explore those places, see what life could experience you if you dared. Could be something as crazy as climbing to the top of that one mountain or exploring that one room in the house. For me, it was a dark hallway in my grandmother's room. Ever since I was young it was always there beckoning me to enter and while I was always too scared to one day I worked up the courage to do so. I never understood why it took me so long to do it but I’ll be damned if I didn't. So I marched away into the unknown hallway only to find to my horror…. A locked door. Grandma always did have an element of theatricalises I suppose. Nevertheless, the search must go forward. This is merely just an obstacle in the way of greatness and just like all obstacles, it is necessary only to sway those who don't truly desire it and so like all great explorers I gave up. Yep, no great quest no X marks the spot. And to celebrate such a success I did what all great quitters do and reward myself with a freshly baked cookie. Grabbing the stool to reach the top cupboard to get the cookie jar wasn’t an easy task either, however it was a necessary one and with time and skill, I elegantly achieved my goal with grace. But just as luck would have the front door jiggled slightly as the current residential owner attempted to enter. I was able to analyze the situation quickly and knew my only chance to remain undetected was to make a perilous leap from where I stood. I did not know if I would survive the jump but the reward far outweighed. the risk so I did what any brave man would do. I jumped. The pain shot through my leg as I collapsed onto the ground but I had no time nor energy to remain where I was so I ran. The door busted open suddenly as I turned the corner into the dark hallway I started from. I was cornered. Like a rat in a sick maze. I made the disastrous mistake of being wrong. Something I shall not do again. "Hello?" The voice called out. She was close. Her fangs vile and crimson dripped with the blood of her last victim. It was then I realized that it was either me or her except I was clouded in the fog of war. While I knew what had to be done this was no easy task. The giant loomed over the hallway peeking her head around the corner staring into me. Stealth was not an option and I can tell whatever had my grandmother had to be destroyed before it infected anything else. "There you are sweety" the creature said turning on the hallway light. An oversight on me and a genius play on its part. I was blinded and she crept forward blocking the exit. If I didn't make a stand now I may not ever hold the chance. I readied myself and prepared my stance. My research and training by Power Rangers taught me everything I knew, not sponsored. And so with one quick blow I punched in the air having the wind blow the parasite out where I easily stomped it to death saving both my grandmother and the world. "WOAH!" said the child on the swing set. "Can you teach me how to do that?" "I could but I must warn you that you can **never** tell anyone about it AND you'll have to do the initiation" I replied. "Of course anything." replied the boy. A smile grew on my face as I watched the initiation ninja robots appeared.


Hey guys, a second installment of the story. Once again, please let me know if you have any thoughts! Cheers, Lordchimp Marks’ boots squelched through the mud as he trudged through the campsite. The rain had been unrelenting since the thunder began, they’d had to set their tents up in the downpour which had made Birmillius a very sour man indeed. He was bad enough in Marks eye’s, but now he become a nightmare. He snapped at anyone who came near, even if they came to help or lend a hand. He ordered the men to set up his tent, then shouted and hissed at them for doing it wrong. One man had given him a mug of hot tea, but he had taken one sip and thrown it away cursing that it was too bitter. There was no pleasing this wretch of a man. Mark’s strode his way over to his men, who had set their small tents up next to the main campfire, which lay crackling in the center of them all. They were all sullen and grumpy, but not because of the fact they were on the road. These men might not have been frontline infantry soldiers, but they had at least experienced travelling life before. No, there reason for being miserable was caused by their employer. At some point all of them had been on the wrong side of his furious, petty wrath and it had taken a lot of persuading from Marks to stop them from beating him to death. He sat down on one of the logs that the group had pulled next to the fire, the men making space for him as he approached. “Hey Marks, want a brew?” One of the younger lads asked, holding a mug up for him to take. He smiled fondly at him and took the mug graciously, taking a sip and savouring the warm liquid. “Lovely stuff Lance, tastes perfect lad.” “The boss still being a girl?” “Aye. Soft fool’s never been out of his house before.” Marks said, spitting to his side. He’d gotten along with Birmillius well enough before, but now he didn’t trust himself to stay near him. They all ate in silence for a while, enjoying and savouring the stew. “Hey boss,” One of the older men piped up. “What do you think of the new guy, you know, the siphon?” Revan had been a hot topic for the men, as they knew almost nothing about him, or what he could do. Marks glanced over to the very fringes of the camp, where Revan sat in the darkness. Alone. He’d been a strange one alright, not communicating with the men at all, just sat in the shadows prepping his equipment. It was the same every night, the same practiced routine. He started with his shortbow, unstringing the weapon and oiling the wood, testing the curve for it’s spring. Then, he unsheathed his blades, four in total and laid them at his feet on a scrap of rag. He oiled them as well, so delicately, so gently, it was like watching a man caress his lover. There was always a faint high pitched ring from him drawing the knives across his whetstone, stopping only when they were sharp enough to cut the hairs on the back of his hand. Finally, he checked all of the straps and buckles on his pack and on his horse’s saddle. Making sure everything was tight and secure, with no loose parts that could get tangled or caught on the undergrowth. *He’s a strange one alright.* “As long as he keeps his distance, I’ve got no problem with him… Seems to have a bit of an obsession with his knives though.” The men all ate and talked through the night, the way soldiers often do. He looked over his men with a sense of contentment. *These are good, honest men.* He was broken out of his contemplation by the sudden sound of angry, manic cursing. It was coming from Birmillius’ tent. He came out from the canvas literally frothing at the mouth with rage, stumbling around caught in the tent flaps. “By the bloody gates...” Marks said, rising to his feet to deal with the giant child. “My bedding! My bedding is damp and has mud over it! It was one of your men wasn’t it? Think it’s funny to play a joke on me!” Birmillius bellowed, stomping over to their fire. “My lord, I’m sure it’s just because it’s not been wrapped up enough, if you’ll-” “You dare? You think I’m a simpleton who can’t wrap his own equipment?!” He roared again. Before either of them could say anything else, Revan appeared seemingly from nowhere, a concerned, irritated look on his eyes. “You should both keep your voices down. There are other things than men in these woods.” Both of them looked at him in disbelief, lost for words for a moment. Then they both unleashed. “You dare?! You dare order me? A lord?!” Birmillius bellowed. “The bloody cheek of you! My men are perfectly capable-” “You must be quiet now.” He attempted to talk over the top of them both. Bad idea. “I’ll have you whipped for your disrespect for your betters! Whipped I say!” “We ought to leave you in the bastard woods!” A sound interrupted them again, this time, not from the mysterious ranger. It was a horrible piercing screech, that cut straight through the night into their hearts. It was like a dog’s lonely howl, crossed with a babies angry wail. “Stay by the fires. Now!” Revan ordered, moving quickly back to his deserted tent in a stealthy, crouched run. “What did he say? Stay by the fire? Is he serious?” Birmillius asked, attempting to be harsh and vicious, but the worry in his quaking voice betrayed him. “I assure you Lord, it’s probably nothing. There’s noises in these woods all the time. Still, stay close to the fire until he’s back.” “Yes yes...very good. I’m going to have him flogged when he’s back, thinking he can order me about like a mere peasant!” He said, venom dripping from his words as he travelled to the fire by the men. The shrieks continued, only increasing in volume. Sounding almost like whatever was making the noise was getting closer…The men were huddled round the crackling flames, standing as close as they could before the heat became too intense. Most of them were stood unarmed, there was only one young lad who had a spear readied. The noises went louder still, reaching very worryingly loud levels, it was almost as if the elusive source was on the edges of the camp. “Don’t worry lads, it’s just the noises of the woods. It’s loud I’ll give you that, but there’s nothing dangerous out there! Put that spear down lad, you won’t need that.” The young one looked around skittishly, before resting his spear on his shoulder, leaving the point in the air. The men all gave a good-natured chuckle, seeing a new boy so nervous. It was about mid way through the laugh when there was a sudden hissing noise and something shot out of the darkness and tore open the side of the boy's face, sending him tumbling to the ground screaming. It took Marks a second or two to comprehend what exactly he had seen. It looked like a branch of a tree had stretched and thrust through the air. Only it looked too dark to be a tree branch and it was covered in barbs… *Vineskins.


Me and my older brother have had an interesting relationship. We were best friends when we were kids, but ever since my parent's split and I moved in with him, we haven't spoken once. It's not like I didn't try, I used to strike up a conversation with him, but he would just sit in his lazy-boy chair and stare at me with his stupid eyes. I think he blames me for my parents divorce, which I understood. I got into some legal troubles when I was 16, I won't go into details but there was a long and stressful trial and I think it pushed them over the edge. My parents didn't want me living with either of them, so they left me with no choice, I had to live with my brother. My brother never verbally expressed his anger towards me about the incident. He knew it was something I deeply regretted but he still couldn't get past it. I've never brought any friends over to my brothers' apartment, the place is kind of a mess and my brother does virtually nothing to help clean up, he mostly just sits there in his lazy-boy and watches TV until it was time to go to bed. So one day I decided to clean the place up and invite my friend Austin over to hangout and have some drinks. Immediately when Austin walked in he complained about the smell. "I know it smells man I think there's some leaking in the walls and its turned into mold, I got a guy coming next week to take a look at it." I assure him. "It's all good man I know how that stuff gets, where's your brother? I thought you lived with him?" He asks me. "He's in his room doing something, probably sleeping honestly, he always gets up super early." I reply The night goes on as normal, We had some drinks, smoked a bowl and played some video games. My brother didn't make an appearance at all throughout the night, which i'm kinda glad, he's a buzzkill. "Has your other brother always been this way?" Austin asks me "Like a complete mess?" I ask him jokingly "Well I didn't want to say it like that, but yeah I guess" Austin laughs back. "He wasn't like this growing up, we would always hangout and do shit together, he was the talkative one in the family and he kind of kept us all together, well until my parents split up." "Oh shit, i'm sorry man." Austin offers his lifeless condolence to me "A lot of tough shit happened in our lives and it drove my parents apart, he felt like he failed this family and couldn't keep us together anymore. He blamed himself for it, but mostly I think he blames me for it." I confess to him. "Why would he blame you for it?" "I got into some trouble back in high school, It costed my parents a lot of money in legal fees and it caused so much stress between them that they just couldn't handle it anymore. I understand why he blames me for it, if it wasn't for me we'd still be a family." "What did you do that made all of that happen?" Austin's very curious at this point. "I really don't like to bring that part of my life back up, I've repressed it for so long and i'm just a totally different person than I was back then." "Well damn man, i'm sorry to hear all that, have you ever tried to talk to him about it?" He asks, as if i haven't tried. "I used to try all the time to get him to talk to me, I stopped trying because nothing I do will get him to talk to me. I understand he's angry with me but we're both adults now, If he doesn't want to talk to me then that's his decision." Austin can hear the anger in my voice. "I know it must be tough man, but there's gotta be a way to get him to come around, he's your only sibling and you don't want to burn that bridge yet. You have to appreciate them while you can." Austin says to me as if he has gone through something similar. His words resonate with me, even though my brother has refused to talk to me for all these years, I have to still try, for the sake of our family. Me and Austin have another beer until he heads out for the night. It's pretty late now and I doubt my brother's awake, but I figured I'd go see if I can talk to him for a bit. I open his bedroom door and he's laying in bed with the TV on, I can't tell if he's asleep or not but I decide to try to talk to him anyways. "Listen man, I don't want us to keep going on like this. I know i've done some shit in the past, but I think we just need to learn to get past it, we're all that's left of our family and I don't want to lose that." at this point i'm practically begging him to say something to me. He remained silent. "Just fucking talk to me." at this point i'm practically shouting so he must hear me. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen, It was an accident!" My brother's lifeless corpse lays silent on his bed. "I didn't mean to kill you.


The wretched creak of that fucking rope was gonna drive me insane. The wind had been pushing the ancient thing back and forth for the past fifteen minutes, it was the only thing to break the silence between me and the love of my life. It was a shame that our love was not meant to be, just like Romeo and Juliette, our relationship intertwined with the prickly vines of death. “Coralynn, you don’t have to cry sweetheart.” I soothed her. Grazing my thumb along her soft tearstained cheek, I drank in the rolling shades of shining blue that made up her eyes. Tears coursed down my girl’s rosy cheeks gliding into the tumultuous river below us. I tried to reassure her again, “We won’t be apart for very long my love.” That didn’t seem to calm her down though as a new bout of tears rose up. At that, I took her into my arms, soaking in her warmth for the last time. With a heavy sigh I consoled her, “Everything’s gonna be okay. This is just the way the cards fall hon.” Her shivering form leaned into my grasp. The luxurious Summer breeze pushed past me and I shifted my focus to the mass of water below us. The roar of the river was steady, no matter what happened the land around it obeyed and made way for the unending currents. Me and the waterway weren’t too different. People did what I say, they stayed out of my way because they knew what would happen if they didn’t. I gazed at the rope securely tied just behind Cora. “J-J-Jacob. P-Please,” she stammered, “you d-don’t have to do this.” Her words were marked by sharp inhales and whimpers. I looked back down at her, the sherbet colored sky reflected a golden glow off of her gorgeous, auburn hair. I took a final look at my sweet, sweet Coralynn, Taking in the the way the light accented her hips, her soft sunkissed skin, her fuchsia lips that concealed such an enchanting voice, and the silver shine portraying the wedding ring on her finger. I offered her a kind smile gazing into the perfect woman that I had loved for so many years. I took her left hand in mine and gently raised it into her view so she could see that monumental piece of steel and diamond that I desperately loathed, the tiny ornament that had sealed in her fate. “Yes, baby. I do.” I gazed into the azul oceans staring back at me. I watched the gears turn. I could see the scenarios playing out in her head, ‘What if I kicked out his knees?’ ‘What if I told him I still loved him?’. I could see the rope around her neck expanding at each frantic breath. I could see her hands trembling, as if they were trying to wave away her anxiety. And I could see the fear and panic swelling up behind the barrier of tears, tantamount to the intemperate waters just 10 meters below us. Her emotions threatened to consume her. It was clear that in this moment, all she knew was terror. I loved it.


Trigger warning - talk of murder and implied abuse. My lawyer advised – no, demanded, that I take a reprieve from the endless parade of reporters and journalists and well-intentioned acquaintances. That I allow myself some space to process what was about to come. A storm that had every intention to blow me over if I let it.

I was overwhelmed. Weighed down by the burden of proof that lies somewhere within me. I cannot recall the horrors they need me to remember, though I’ve tried and tried. Dissociative amnesia, they’re calling it.  A blockage of information associated with a traumatic event. My memory loss encompasses enormous gaps of my childhood. I can hardly recall any of the names of my grade school teachers. Concentrating, with my eyes closed, I try to picture the house we were living in when they said it happened. Can just piece together the color of the station wagon my dad used to drive, sitting in our weathered driveway. Gray. Like the color of the stray cat I found. Like the fabric of the collar I had made for him by hand, that I found in the trash along with the kitten, the day after my dad found out. It wasn’t that I had thought this normal, but I was content with letting the past close up behind me as I walked towards the future, letting it swallow all its agonizing secrets.

As it turns out, I was only walking sideways. Had no idea that my own mind was protecting me from memories that would only serve to destroy my sense of self.

It was my fault, he accused. I had taken the Ancestry DNA test in hopes of connecting with someone, anyone, from my mother’s side. She had died, he told me, in a rather tragic accident down the stairs when I was six. My dad had explained away that her family had disowned her, thrown her away. They weren’t even informed of the funeral. He said they had no right to her anymore. I think I remember a woman who may have been my grandmother try to visit me at my school. My dad found out, and I was transferred to a different district. I never questioned him when he was angry. I had assumed, when I submitted that test, that I wouldn’t find much. That if anyone cared enough to find me, they would have. Though, admittedly, I still dreamed about locating someone with a shared past that had been hidden from me without reason.  When the barrage of messages from my Aunt, my own mother’s sister, choked up my inbox, I clicked open each message and read the contents with a voracity I didn’t know I possessed.

My dad had changed our name after the death of my mother. I didn’t know that. I don’t remember life before her, even though I was 6, and by all accounts, precocious and bright. She had, she fervently insisted, been trying to find me ever since.

Though fearful, I acquiesced to her wish to see me. She flew out to meet me in Seattle, and we cried over pictures that she had brought of my mother. When I insisted that I didn’t remember meeting her or any other family connected to my mother, her concerned brow was the first inclination I had that something wasn’t right within my own mind.

She showed me memory after memory through pictures. I was there, seated beside my mother on a piano bench, green drink in her hand, juice box in mine. We were both smiling so hard that the corners of her eyes were lined with happy crinkles.  Seeing us seated together, love evident on our faces, it was the first time I can ever remember crying. So, we sat there. And she let me, for the first time, mourn my mother’s death.

It was my dad, she had sworn, that isolated my mother from her family. Stole her away, manipulated her into silence with the threat of taking me away from her. She loved me more than her own life, she had told me. And I cried anew.

I had a whole loving family waiting to embrace me, she stressed. Though the joy in her face belied the sadness in her smile. So much unresolved family trauma. So much time lost. I told her I was ready to make space in my life for them, and I meant it.

That was the plan, of course, until the FBI came knocking.

You see, my dad had been careful. Until he wasn’t. And I’d almost feel bad for my father, if the muscle memory of his abuse wasn’t such an insult to my ever-present trauma.

Months later, with my DNA that was ultimately linked to him, my dad was arrested on 5 counts of murder, including that of my own mother. His DNA was found on 4 bodies that had been recovered in the woods, miles from our old house. When they uncovered his connection, it wasn’t long until they reopened the strange case of my mother’s accident and ultimately declared it murder.

These brutal slayings occurred at my house, with me in it. State’s Evidence would show that I was there. Had likely heard these murders. Seen something damning. Smelled the bleach he used to clean the bathroom and the kitchen tile. Had probably even been in the car when he went to dump the bodies.

The problem? I could remember nothing. No amount of questioning could close the cavity of memory loss in my mind. The therapists labeled it dissociative amnesia. Privately, I felt it a blessing.

So, following the sage advise from my lawyer, I made to leave town for a while. I know the prosecutors have hopes that my buried memories will somehow resurface, but I’ve warned them it’s unlikely. If anything, the stress of the last few months has worn me down so hard, that I scarcely remember to breathe, to eat, to sleep.

Hardly able to mourn my own mother’s murder in solitude.

So here I am. A renovated lighthouse in France. Just me and the sea. How ironic, that I would be staying in a place meant to act as a beacon of light to warn ships at sea, so the crews make it safely home. I couldn’t even help my own mother, or the others.

I chose this location with intent. My Aunt had told me that my mother, before meeting my father, had visited France in her 20’s. Told me all about her quest to see the Carthusian Monks that produce her beloved Chartreuse. A terrible green liqueur she absolutely savored.  Her family would tease her mercilessly for it, but she held fast, insisting on its excellence.  Their monastery is just over the hills in Grenoble. When I find the will to move, I will go there and visit. Follow the flock of monks and honor my mother by tracing her footsteps. I imagine my bare feet walking the winding path up the mountain. Stepping on seedlings, feeling the light sprinkle of clean rain on my face, the universe doing its absolute best to absolve me of my sin of association. I don’t know whether I’ll ever get there. There will always be guilt until I can remember. I knew my father was a monster, but I did not know he was a killer. And honestly? I don’t think I want to remember.


I feel nothing. I don't believe there is anyone who is experiencing something who can accurately describe what that is as to give those who do not have it access to that thing. What does it mean to feel that which is objective, but cannot be accessed through the subjective? What are us who do not have this feeling to do with such inadequate instructions on how to obtain it. When people say they feel peace, they usually say they have a sense of relief, feel at ease, are detached from worries in the world, serene despite what is going on around them. Can a person who is committing some evil be peaceful? I am certain all agree with me on this; that you cannot have peace when committing evil. Whatever that person's sensation, we would call it something different, but not peace. But this makes my point. This vehemently makes my point. Choose any descriptors--which are subjective--to ascertain what you mean when you say you are at peace. Any of these descriptors can be used by the evil person, who is committing an evil act, who is most certainly not experiencing what you are experiencing. My point is not to say you are not at peace. You may very well be. What I am saying is that you have no way of actually telling me what this is. I can no longer turn to you. While in my yard the other day raking leaves I saw a worm. Grimy. Long. Juicy. Peaceful. How is it that you cannot tell me what peace is, but this worm can show me that I am at peace? It must be better to be shown. I will thus become one of you. Those who have it, but cannot explain it. For this reason I have decided to send those who search for peace out to the yard to rake. There it will be explained to you I say. I feel indignant for those who do not have the peace I have procured from this wise worm, just like you. I feel magnanimous with my new discovery.  Yet it is wasted on those like me. Those who cannot obtain the peace I now have through this worm which I ensured them was the secret to peace are useless. I lose my peace. Yes, I lose it and must find the worm. These idiots do not understand something so simple. Rake the leaves. Find the worm. Have your peace. Show others. The formula is simple. But my peace is lost, again the more I see those unhelpful swards parading with their misery out and about through life. Take my counsel! Was I this frustrating to those who found their peace through speech? Surely I must have been. Oh, and how terrible it must be that they lost their peace because of me! How easy it is to lose that which is so sweet and wonderful. What use is it, that we all have arrived at this pillar, through different modalities, but no one can tell us what it is nor give us the guidance on how to obtain it. And why can I not stay peaceful? Why must it be the case that I lose my peace? There must be better peace! Certainly that is the answer! The worm! Oh that dreaded worm, I must find you once again! Give me all the leaves to rake. All the yards! Every worm which has scoured the earth without my sight, allow me to lay my eyes on you just for a moment. Let it be so. This, this will be of great use for humanity. Imagine my peace, expanded. If I was more peaceful! If my peace was never lost. How much I could touch the hearts of those who lack what has been bestowed upon me; understanding. This worm holds the secret to the innards of my heart. Worm. If you can help me know the peace which is mine, let us show others that which is theirs. Can I be more peaceful worm? I still lose it. Can I always be peaceful worm? Is this too much to ask for? If so, why? If my question is irritating, maybe you have lost your peace. For peace begets patience and patience begets peace. You must answer my question. If I know that I am not perfectly peaceful, then why can't I have it? Why can't I be shown how to be perfectly peaceful? What the hell is that thing looking at? What is that? Oh, the sun. Whatever this thing is, it has taken away my shade. Let me be. Let me be the worm. I am worm, son of worm, brother and sister of worm. I just want to rest. Let me be a worm. I do not know what you are, but you are not a worm. You are a non-worm! Oh, how splendid. A non-worm. Non-worm understand me clearly, you cannot be me. I am a worm and you are not. This is clear. Now go on, it is my desire that you no longer be near me, for I sense you want what you cannot have. You cannot have me, for I am not yours nor are you mine. Maybe it is not peace which I seek. I do not know what I seek. Though I do not know what it is, I want it and more than anything. What is a man to do if he wants something he cannot have, but it is his to have. Glimpses. I only get glimpses of this. I could describe this for you here, but you would not understand and altogether you would misunderstand what I am referring to. Let me be clear, that this worm does not have my peace, nor do I have it, but it is inside of me. I do not deserve it. I know this, because I lose it. I cannot lose what I deserve. If I deserve something, it will be mine. That is how it works. A child may desire a toy, but what he deserves is some schooling. He will get what he deserves. I have not found it, nor is it something I think I can find, but it is something that I deserve. We deserve it, yes, this thing which I cannot speak of. Go and rake your leaves, you will not find it, but it may be with you.


I saw the black cat walking, but I never crossed its path. I was born into fortune and gifted with a knack for creating problems for myself. Maybe it’s because I knew there’s nothing worse than living a life without struggle. If you have nothing to work toward, nothing to fix, then you have nothing to live for. Twenty-five years of my life had gone by before I met her. Twenty-five years of searching for a purpose, a reason to live, a reason to die. She was the provisional answer. “My name is ,” were the first, unprompted, words she said to me. Why would she think that I care? Sure she was pretty, but did she know what I was going through? Her confidence radiated throughout the room, “do you want to split a drink?” This request would define our relationship forever. Her beauty was indefinable. Her soft pale skin complimented her gaunt physique. If it weren’t for her alluring eyes and invigorating glare, it’d be hard to tell she had a pulse. She had me in her grips from the start, and her claws would only sink deeper. I was no stranger to substance abuse. I drank nearly everyday, but smoked like a recovering addict. That was enough for me, enough to get me through the day without questioning the mundane. It wasn’t until I met her that I would graduate to a different vice. The first time I used, we split the hit. The needle was still warm when it entered my body. Serenity. Only two months had passed and I struggled with defining my addiction. The idea of destroying myself with her by my side gave me purpose. The sedating warmth that filled my core gave me peace. Her attitude toward life was pure hypocrisy. Race to the end, and enjoy every second of it. Our use wasn’t categorized into self-loathing or hatred for existence. It was the opposite. We lived everyday like it was our last, and as far as we knew, it was. The silver serpent would slip in and out injecting its innocuous venom into our arms. All the while we embraced its effect. Incorporating intoxication into our work and family lives was a struggle at first. Once we quit our jobs and severed most ties, pure bliss. Everyday was a new experience. We satisfied our spiritual appetite to the fullest extent, only to balance our physical pleasure with various drugs. Every moment with her was pure ecstasy, even when we weren’t on it. We weren’t naïve enough to think this could last forever, but it did, forever is a relative term. It never mattered to us if we were alive or dead, as long as we had each other. Her head on my chest, my breathing gets softer. Serenity. Purpose.


A year from now, she’d be married. She’d be curled up in bed with a stranger and a glass of champagne and the title of the next year as a crown atop her head. A year from now she’d be smiling and happy and loved. She’d have a stable job, a house with two stories, a stranger and a glass of champagne. She told herself this, with a hand wrapped around a cold glass. Whiskey, not champagne, but at least she had the crowd of strangers around her, like curtains on a stage, and her at the bar in her costume of a woman alone on New Years Eve. He was a villain, a victor, a side character. He was the man on the subway calling his wife, the boy on the playground laughing with his friends, the skater in a New York ice rink. He was the voice on the other side of the call, the mysterious love interest in the bookstore. He was the angry man at the corner of the street, the bully in high school. He was all these things and more, because to him life was but a story with countless empty roles to be filled. Today he was playing a man at the end of the bar, and nothing more. A drink, a laugh, a kiss, and this play would be over and on to the next one tomorrow. A drink, a laugh, a kiss and the year would end. Her hand, dripping in her lap. Condensation in a warm, bubbling room, like the froth on a wave lapping at the cliffside, rocks and pebbles crashing through the water - water eroding the beach, water eroding the rocks, water eroding the woman’s life. Water in the form of glass and whiskey and hate and lips. Water in the form of friends and family and loss. She was a pebble in a river, a bump in the rapids, and the water simply poured over her, indifferent to her cries and calls for help. And a hand, like a warm ray of sunshine, dripping with the harsh waters of life, lifted out from those fiery rapids, reached up to the sky, and held the stars at the tip of her fingertips. A drink, a laugh, a kiss. The play was winding down, ten seconds to the curtain call, ten seconds til his role was done, a line or two, a step or three, a drink, a laugh, a kiss. A drink. A laugh. He slammed the glass down on the wood, slick with years of shots and spills and tears and characters whose job it was to rub down the bar for the play this year. A drink, a laugh, a kiss. A woman sat next to him. She had hair like wild grass in the always empty patch of land just off the freeway, a nose like a crooked mountain, cheeks red and patchy. She had a mole on the side of her neck and eyebrows as thin as twigs. Her eyelashes were long and curved, like antennae on butterflies and he remembered, when he was little, in a role long before his own, his mom would brush her eyelashes up against his, and call it a butterfly kiss.

Does the laugh come before or after the kiss?

He liked the way her fingers slid over the glass in front of her, drew words in the dark of the bar, poetry that disappeared in the heat of the night. When she left that night, she just wanted to escape the loneliness of her apartment, the droning of the television, the cheers from the streets down below. She wanted to drown in the happiness around her, so she went to the bar. She went to the place thick with the choking smell of laughter, the stench of happiness and love and excitement. She could go anywhere in the city and smell it like death, like the plague, only she seemed to be immune. So she went to the bar to drown in the happiness wafting off of everyone around her - the bartender, the couple in the middle of the room, the friends making jokes in the corner, the man at the end of the bar. She turned to look at him, eyes of hazel poppies in a field of raked dirt. An oasis of palm fronds and bright blues of resort pools. Hands in his lap like the branches of a tree, so long she almost expected the fingers to grow out and up and wrap around her like ropes. A face like gravel, with dips where feet had shaken the pebbles loose. A broken nose, like hers. Five seconds in the rest of her life. “Hi.” His last bit of dialogue in the play. “Hey.” She slouched over her empty glass, looked side-long at him, lifted, tilted her face. Years went by in the minutes they existed, and the whole time she was wondering what made strangers so different, blank slates, gaps in the progression of time, canvases to paint a lifetime on. A car passing by carries a family of love, hope, hate, and tragedy. A light in each window of a skyscraper is a poem, a song, a story. We exist in our separateness all the same, all knitted together. And the room around them bubbled like water to a peak, a heat so vividly bright, it threatened to explode before its cue. He was wondering when his role would expire, when his life would reveal its permanence. Because he was tired of always constantly being something. He was tired of having cues, lines, roles, costumes. A laugh, a kiss, a drink. He would study butterflies in Brazil, soil in Argentina, literature in Britain, food in Paris. He would carry people through burning buildings, coax a baby out of it’s cage, raise a wolf from a dog, and yet he would always remain the same stagnant character. And a drink, a laugh, a kiss would change nothing, but he could hope that he might find a final role next year. The room chanting, characters with a goal, separateness finally pulled together, strands of yarn pulled tight if only for a few more seconds, pulled tight for a kiss and then let go. And the synchronization of the night, she thought, is what makes a stranger so alluring.

Her hands drifted up and along the man’s jaw, traveled to the back of his head. She smiled, he laughed. Breath smelling like alcohol and sadness and loss and loneliness. A laugh, a smile, a kiss. They pulled like magnets together, and connected at the last second of the year in a kiss like two currents twisting together for a moment before passing each other by. And piano riffs sounded from the orchestra bowl at the edge of the stage, and the audience erupted in applause. For a moment, they seemed to be synched. Eyes closed, breathing slow, together in the same story for a moment, just before finding their own peace.


They say when you have a dream you go for it. Do everything you can to achieve and don’t let anyone stop you. Because if you are truly passionate about something you won’t let it go. Well, that’s what Connor Bethany Alex and I are doing. Achieving our dreams. My ma had always told me to never give up on my dreams. Never give up was our family motto, whenever she saw me struggling with something I was passionate about she told me to not give up until all the other possible solutions don’t work. And that was one of the best pieces of advice she could have given me because I always found out that the other solutions worked out in the end. And it was the best advice I shared with my group. The crew and I had lived on never giving up. Which explains why we managed to achieve most of our dreams and were satisfied with our lives. But today we were going to achieve our biggest dream and excited would be an understatement of how we felt. You see in our group we’re all bakers and cooks. We love to do it it’s just what we do and we wouldn’t choose to do anything else. All of our future dreams are to be one-day famous cooks and bakers and we are all one step closer each time our successes get recognised on our socials. No matter how many times we screw up the recipe we won’t give up on this one. We’ve tried for months and months and we’ve all decided that if we can get this right we can cook anything. A Guinness world record we’re going for and a Guinness world record we are going to get. We have the support of everyone around us, Our extended families, other kids from school, workers at our parents’ workplaces, our neighbours, and surprisingly the support of famous chef Gino D’Acampo and that gives us the massive motivation boost but also a little panic. But we’re doing it to impress Gino! A huge inspiration to us all. “Connor, get all the equipment and ingredients Beth give him a hand. Today is the day you lot, Today is the day we are going to impress everyone and achieve that world record that I know we can get if we all work accordingly” Alex motivated and praised us. Alex and I whipped up the recipe and measured everything out and Connor and Bethany drew out the plans and discussed them while we measured. We’ve mastered the talent of measuring things accurately while having a conversation and that surprised everyone at the start but now they admire it. “Okay here’s the plan” Bethany announced. We were going to make the biggest cookie you could ever imagine. Bigger than the biggest. We wanted to achieve the world record for the biggest cookie. When we all heard about the world record and a challenge to beat it our faces lit up and we planned a get together on a weekend. We’ve tried multiple times trying the same thing but it didn’t work so we had taken a break and tried again this weekend. Connor had come up with a new solution to try and make this recipe and we were all impressed and kicked ourselves for not thinking about it sooner. We decided to make five batches of ingredients separately rather than all in one because that’s where we were going wrong. We gathered all our ingredients and I loaded them in the car. We were going to use the outdoor oven that Gino invited us to.

Once we had gotten the ‘Okay’ that we could make a public announcement about going to the outdoor oven we announced it on all our separate socials and our group account. When we arrived we weren’t expecting to see such a big crowd of people that had come to support us and our journey of achieving our long-term dream of achieving a world record and impressing our favourite chef. We had set everything up and went round to meet and greet everyone before we had to start. Everyone had fueled our determination and excitement and before we know it, it was time to begin baking the biggest cookie we’ve ever made. Time was ticking and there were several ‘take this’ ‘put this in there’ ‘mix this with that.’ We were cooperating well as a team as well as having fun under the pressure to remove it and that was what we needed. “Bethany where is the third batch of cookie dough?” I asked for the third time hoping she’d have heard me considering she was too busy getting comfortable with Connor. “Oh it’s over there by the whisk near Alex” She called back and I whisked it up and placed it in the bigger bowl ready to be put onto the big tray ready to be baked.

We all had to take a separate side of the tray and pour the dough out as big as we can and surprisingly we managed to do it. We had everyone on edge while we were waiting for it to bake. We all stayed together crossing our fingers that it’d bake all the way through in the time given and beat the world record. The time passing felt like an eternity never leaving and I had already chewed down my nails to the skin Connor was beginning to sweat like a pig, Alex kept checking his watch and Bethany was fidgeting at her hair pulling at it.

“Times up! Now we check the cookie” Gino announced and walked up to it with several other chefs we didn’t recognise. Probably just small chefs that work in a restaurant maybe?

They all checked everything and gathered together and had a small conversation with each other. They turned to face us and I had forgotten how to breathe. “I would like to happily present this world record to Connor Alex Bethany and Emily for making the now world's biggest cookie successfully” Gino praised us as he walked towards us ignoring our group squeal and finished with a small chuckle.

I can’t believe it. We actually did it! We accomplished our biggest dream and I was over the moon. My mother’s advice is something I would never forget and I will continue to pass it down to other people because it’s something everyone deserves to know. If you are passionate about something and you want to pursue it into a career then go for it, put your heart and soul into it. And most importantly NEVER GIVE UP! Because it could lead you to amazing opportunities like us, meeting our chef role model. Bite the bullet and take the chance. You have everyone’s support including ours!


Susy Clide I can't stop thinking about a girl named Sue, well Susy, Susy Clide. It doesn't matter what you call her she doesn't change. I think everyone around the world knows of her in some way, she's quite famous. Sometimes I'm able to forgot about her, but not for long, and when I remember her she infects my brain for quite some time. A couple people I know have actually gone out with Sue Clide. People really seem to change after having experiences with Sue, I guess you just really don't understand it unless you feel that intense desire for her and everything she does. I think a lot of people think about her but only a few are really able to commit. Sometimes it takes a leap, other times it's just hanging, but it is always the same. Sue doesn't stay with any one person at a time, she visits and flirts, but the visits never last longer than an instant, and that's all the time you'll need. She just has a way of getting inside your head, like her presence spreads through your mind like a virus and the only cure is a visit from her. I can't seem to get her out of my head tonight, I've heard rumors of ways to meet her or get rid of her, some kind of repelent, like a pesticide, it's called Su-i-cide. I think I'll give it a try, she's driving me mad.


A wave of energy pulsed and rippled through the darkened front room of the two-story home. It traveled thirty feet and dissipated. Electromagnetic signals grew red and also faded. From the doorway everything could be seen in a hazy x-ray, extending from the living room to the bedroom upstairs. The retrogress scanner was the only light, the condemned house fell quickly back into shadow. Harvester Asylus entered the home and touched the air to highlight the ancient signals, staring through a face shield. He closed the door to prevent his long coat from flapping in the wind. Primitive humans had been so obsessed with consumerism and the house was littered with random objects, the mechanical signals were all over the place. Pictures were lopsided on the walls of a life that was long forgotten. The people who had lived here were smiling but they had probably never known true happiness. In the kitchen he found rudimentary appliances and obsolete utensils. On the counter was a small rectangular device that had once been used as a personal computer, a method to view a distorted reality. Asylus picked it up and noted the strong aura coming from it. How sad that they depended on these small telephonic machines so heavily. Another trinket for his collection. He placed it in his jacket and moved to the area of the home known as the living room. There hadn’t been any real living here of course, not in modern terms. This is where the family would come to lay down and do nothing for hours on end. A faint aura was around the big box facing the couch. The rectangle in his pocket was the antecedent to making the big box superfluous. It was from these small devices that humanity banded together to criticize, uplift, demoralize, and comfort one another. Asylus remembered the history of these people. In secret they were lonely. It was the phones that connected them together, links in a chain, water pouring out in an endless digital river. The TV had been kicked in, plastic shards had decayed into mold and moss. He was glad for it. The phone device he would put on his wall to display the downfall of humanity. It had only led to their separation and division. Coddled and pampered, listening to their own ideals and beliefs being displayed back at them, society had cultivated a series of rules and unspoken, personal laws. Rights and wrongs were individualized. He looked at the family portraits and tore one off the wall, throwing it on the grass covered floor. Birthed from a glass tube and being raised in indoctrination center taught him the importance of being alone. But he couldn’t help but linger on the idea of a family. The past had stolen that sensation from him. The past had robbed all of civilization from something called humor, an expression of lightheartedness long forgotten because several individuals found it to be offensive. Laughter, with all its terrible derision, had become a foreign concept. Asylus supposed that the primitives never understood their own boasting and how important it was to the growth of the Transgressions. The sacred laws had to be upheld and he was proud of being part of its delivery. It was the Transgressions that made him a better person, drove him as a young child to push himself harder and focus more deeply. He activated the retrogress scanner again. The soft blue light echoed like sonar. There were no remains here but the Ultranet had pointed the Harvester to this area. That was when he looked up and saw the biological life essence, shimmering green on the second floor. The stairs were cracked and bent, the landing was nearly completely missing. Somehow a potted plant hung from the window. It had been overgrown but after a few hundred years Asylus didn’t want to disturb it. Pictures were here too, of an existence of clean water and breathable air. A peaceful world. A world of shopping malls, hair salons, fast food, and instant coffee. A world of accommodations, replacements, and comfort. They didn’t know what they had, and now it was his turn to reap, sow, and bring woe. He followed the green light to the master bedroom. A hole in the roof allowed rainwater and sewage seep through. Beams had collapsed onto the bed but that wasn’t where the body was. The skeleton was at his feet, arm outstretched. The man had been old, living alone and died from injuries to his torso. A scan of the man’s skull brought a virtual representation in front of Asylus, which grew with virtual neurons, recreated from the post-transgressor. Data ran across his interface and slowly filled in the personification that stood before him. The gaps were filled in with textures and visuals from ancient pictures. The recreated brain was ready to be activated. Asylus blinked hard to bring the simulation to life. The man, appearing in his seventies, blinked back and staggered, looking around his ruined bedroom. “Wha…what? Where am I?” Jerry Wilson, as his name tag indicated, was naturally shaken and tried to step out of bounds of the digitization but couldn’t. “Who are you?” Asylus put up his hand, “I am a Harvester. Your home, where you’ve been for seven hundred years. You’ve lived an extravagant life, Mr. Wilson.” “Extravagant?” He shouted, eyes darting. “I’ve lived a life I could afford and I think I’ve earned it. Is this the afterlife? What is this?” The simulation was as real as if he were alive and that excited Asylus. Of course, he was just a representation but there was still penance that needed to be paid. “This is not the afterlife, not yet. First you must face sentence. You are in violation of the Transgressions, our code and scripture. Even in death you cannot escape damnation. An eternity of virtual hellfire awaits you.” “Hellfire?! I was always a good Christian and law-abiding citizen. I did everything I could to be good to my neighbors.” “No.” Answered the Harvester. “We, the Surviving Union of the Ostrio Nation, judge you to be condemned. You have committed twelve violations against our culture and society.” “So I’ve been dead…for that long? Haven’t I been pardoned for such crimes? Why should I be accountable for my actions after my death.” Mr. Wilson looked down and seemed to ponder this last word. “You are guilty of such transgressions against your fellow man. You requested the cancelation of many shows and individuals on your social media accounts. This is forbidden. The other transgressions are much more severe. You were a consumer. Current law dictates that consumerism is forbidden. Usage of plants for anything other than photosynthesis is also forbidden. You’ve used 2 tons of toilet paper, 120 condoms, 4 tons of Styrofoam cups, and 4 tons of other paper and plastic products. Your gas emissions were well above the standards and your electrical output has been hazardous to the environment.” “This isn’t fair!” Mr. Wilson threw up his arms and gestured desperately. “You must all be held accountable to today’s standards, regardless of your deceased status. Prepare to be incarcerated into the digital realm of the infernal underworld.” With that Harvester Asylus opened his palm where an orb appeared in the virtual space. Jerry Wilson’s persona was sucked into its void and quickly disappeared, along with the orb itself. Another digital ghost detained. The world was a safer place. He breathed out deeply and smiled, knowing that the toxicity of the past would not taint the future. The relief quickly faded. His scanner chimed with another prehistoric life signal. Accountability was a never-ending job.


On a moonlit evening In a land beyond the horizon, There once was a forest. Within this forest there grew a tree who wanted nothing more than to hold the Sun. To grab it, so that it’s lifegiving rays could shine down on their forest forever, and the forest would never want for its warmth in the cold nights. And so, the tree decided that it must grow. It must grow tall enough to grasp the heavens. The tree’s roots stretched and reached; it would need much food and much water so it could grow tall enough to reach the sky, after all. As time passed, the tree grew tall and it’s height became remarkable as it now towered over it’s neighbors. But it could not yet reach the Sun. Even still, the tree did not relent. The tree spent years growing; it’s roots stretching further and further as the tree searched for more food and water. It had not yet grown enough to grasp the heavens. But far beneath the swaying peak, the other trees in the forest were withering away. The trees nearest the tall one had long since fallen as there was no food nor water left to be had. Those trees had fallen and become food for the tall one, as it continued to stretch towards the sky. Over many years, the area around the tall one became empty. The food and water having been taken by the tall one. The only life that lived near the tree now was the creatures that lived within it’s branches. But the tall one had yet to take it’s prize. Then the tree bore fruit. The sort that no woodland creature could resist. But the fruit was not given as a gift by the tree. The fruit was poison and was grown to kill the woodland creatures so that the tree could feast upon them. All so the tree could capture the sun. The forest had now grown small. There was only the tree and what few creatures that could stomach it’s poison fruit. There was no longer any food or water except for that which was had by the tree. Yet it still stretched out it’s roots further and further. It took all the food and all the water that lay before it as it continued it’s quest to snatch the Sun. Then, one day, the tall one found nothing at the ends of it’s roots. There was no food and no water; there was only sand. The tree had reached for miles and now found nothing but desert all around it. The tall one was now quite tall indeed, but still had not captured the Sun. There was now nothing left to sustain it. The water had been drunk long ago and there was nothing left to eat as far as the eye could see. And so the tree stood. Watching the heavens pass by day after day. Slowly drying out as the Sun beat down upon it. Until one day the tall one fell. It crumbled into dust there, at the heart of a barren desert of it’s own creation.


This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives. A vacation before college, before they say goodbye. Nora and Alexa were twins. Very close twins, the kind of twins that wore the same clothes for way too long. Alexa was set to go to MIT. She was always the overachieving sister, Nora decided to start her own business and she was ready to move 1 block away in an apartment building near her local community college. Nora wanted to get out of the house, but she never held onto anything for long, her mother worried she would switch her majors so many times she would get kicked out of college. Alexa just said that Nora was too good to be tied down by any decisions. Small or large.

Alexa and Nora had never spent time apart. 2 weeks before Alexa had to leave they decided to go on a trip. Alexa packed everything they needed, while Nora picked locations. Then Alexa got to pick where they actually went.

“One week, we have one-week, maybe even less” Alexa started to laugh as she talked to Nora “And?” Nora questioned, letting a small smile curl from her right cheek.

“We can’t make it to Egypt and back in one week” Alexa explained

“Well then I guess we will just have to stay forever,” Nora responded.

They decided to go camping. A 2-hour drive, and some light packing. Nora insisted they find something Egyptian. Alexa explained that there would be nothing Egyptian in northern Illinois.

As they headed out onto the road Nora started to talk about her future. She was going to be a marine biologist who wrote poetry and taught kindergarten. Alexa laughed once more before her smile turned downward. “What do you really want to do?” she asked

“I don’t know, no need to look that far into the future,” Nora responded “It’s 2 weeks away, what do you mean?” Alexa asked, with concern in her eyes “I’ve never made a decision that far in advance” Nora replied, she knew that wasn’t true, but she wasn’t ready for Alexa to know yet, she was never ready.

30 minutes into the car ride and they sat silent, then a song came on. Their favorite song since birth (or so they say). “Cat’s in the Cradle” blared from the car speakers, but their pitchy screams still sounded louder.

1 hour and 30 minutes into the car ride and they couldn’t stop laughing. Between the giggles and gasps for air, Nora began to speak “I love this”

“I love it too” Alexa responded as her laughter died down.

They finally arrived at the camping ground. Nora ran into the trees to find the perfect campfire wood, Alexa attempted to pitch a tent. For a soon to be MIT student she lost that fight badly. When Nora came back to the camping ground she found Alexa sitting on the ground, two metal camping rods in her hands. The look of defeat plastered on her face. Nora ran to her side and started to build a tent. “Huh,” Nora said as she put the tent together.

“Engineer,” Nora said, “I’m gonna be an engineer!” Alexa smiled as she adjusted the tent once more. They sat at the campfire and talked about life. Nora seemed aloof. As if she never worried about the future. As Nora stared at the flickering embers she stood up. She took a large breath and then walked to the tent. Alexa put the fire out then followed Nora. When she walked into the tent she saw Nora searching through her back. Like a battle with her backpack, Nora violently shuffled through the bag until she found the object of her desire. A small stuffed animal. Alexa knew exactly what it was. Nora looked at Alexa. “Take it,” she said softly.

“I can’t just take it” Alexa responded “You said nobody could even touch Buttons except for you.” “I know, I know” Nora responded “But listen, you are leaving and you need something to remember me,” Nora said as she pushed the stuffed animal closer and closer to Alexa. Finally, Alexa took the small stuffed animal and held it close. She could see the bittersweet relief in Nora’s eyes.

They sat there for a while. Until they eventually went to sleep. When Alexa woke up in the morning, she began to pack. Nora didn’t know that she was leaving for college in a day, not 2 weeks. She was almost done packing by the time Nora was awake, only the tent was left. They finished packing up the car and left, Nora was confused about leaving early. Alexa was never one to explain when she knew it would make Nora so sad.

As they drove back home, the misty air seemed to clog their throats. They didn’t speak. Alexa could see small drops of tears fall down Nora’s face, she didn’t want to talk about it. Alexa never wanted to admit it, but she never wanted to talk when Nora was crying. She never knew what to say, she never knew how to stop Nora from…

They finally got home, Alexa took her pre-packed moving bags and was getting ready to leave. She looked at Nora, sleeping on the couch. Unaware that Alexa was leaving. Alexa shed a single tear as she closed the living room door. With a painful heart, she started the car engine and drove away.

When Nora awoke she looked for Alexa. If she didn’t have Alexa, she didn’t have anyone.

Halfway through the drive, Alexareceived a call. Singing along to T-Swift she answered the phone. She stopped, her body paralyzed she forgot how to drive. After 2 seconds, she collected her head enough to drive. She turned the car and sped home as fast as she possibly could. Turning her 30-minute drive into 20. She knew she couldn’t save Nora, but she had to. She had to get to Nora. She had to say goodbye before it was too late.

When she finally got home she saw the ambulance parked outside her house. She ran up to the truck. “Please miss, take a seat, the best thing for you to do is let the EMT’s work,” The ambulance driver said to her. She sat outside on the porch, waiting for anyone to come walking out of the house.

With all of the thoughts pounding through her head, one thought wouldn’t stop ringing inside her brain. Why was this the only decision Nora could ever make? She watched as the EMT ran out of the house with Nora on the stretcher, Is she breathing? The EMT paused, he stopped moving the stretcher, he felt her pulse, he looked away. No. Not Nora. Alexa couldn’t control her tears. The tarp came out. She didn’t want to accept that by then it was too late.