DEAR ELLY, I’M SORRY She always wanted to see it. The ocean. Elly used to dream of what it would be like to smell the salty sea air. Her bedroom consisted of seashells, posters and postcards of palm trees, and white sandy beaches, wondering what it would feel like between her toes. Is the water cold or warm? Echoes of Elly’s voice slipped through my mind, sending goosebumps down my arms. “Would you be brave enough to venture out where you can feel the tides pull?” I said aloud, remembering all of her late-night rambling. I exhaled, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel, listening to the seagulls yelling at one another – the one true sign the end of the land was near. It took fifteen hours straight to get to the end of Alabama. My energy level was now fueled by sweets, coffee, and procrastination ten years in the making. I opened the car door and stretched before adjusting my jean shorts and an orange tank top. The box that sat safely in the passenger’s seat the whole trip awaited its final journey, one that took me so long to find the courage to achieve.

It was now or never. The wind blew my hair around my face, tickling my nose. I kicked off my shoes, tossing them through the open car window. The air was salty, just as Elly always wondered if it would be. The waves crashing against the bank beckoned me further, my feet squeaked against the clean, white sand, bringing out a giggle. I hesitated before touching the water, allowing my toes to sink deep down until they reached the coolness below. A smile crossed my face, one for finally experiencing her dream, though this wasn’t exactly how I pictured it. The beach was secluded. White dunes rolled behind me, seemingly untouched by man. One couple walked hand-in-hand in my direction. I looked down and wiggled my toes, chest starting to tighten. Fear gripped tightly around me, freezing me, refusing to let me proceed. Her voice flowed through my mind, reminding me of her never-ending questions she rambled off within the clutches of sleep. Do you think the water stays nice and warm down south?

What happens if we’re attacked by seagulls? I chuckled. The box remained within my fingers, staying close to my chest. It was no ordinary box – made of walnut, stained dark, black brackets, and black knobs that held it securely together to keep the valuable content safely concealed.

Enough courage surfaced to take a few more steps, once the couple passed me by. I closed my eyes, listening to each wave approach and then receded. The crashing sounds of their entrances were quickly followed by a quiet return to the sea, stirring up sand and shells. No amount of repeated CD’s could capture the true magic. I opened my eyes to find new shells traveling with each ripple, most broken, just remnants of what once was. One did lay there, soft, pink, unaffected by time and the movement of the currents.

“What are you waiting for, Billy?” Elly’s voice said through my mind, a sound not yet forgotten – a sound I was not prepared to lose.

“I don’t know,” I replied out loud, looking up from the shell. “Chicken.” “I’m not.”

“No, you’re not. So why hesitate now?” I sighed, looking down into my hands, holding the box closer to my chest. “You know why.” A tear fell, hitting the box, seeping into the wood. I dug my feet into the sand once more, searching for what the sun could not reach. I rubbed my finger along the edges of the box, longing for the courage she always gave me. Ghost crabs began to emerge from the sand, digging their holes to escape the eager seagulls above. The sun would soon make its descent. I took in a deep breath and moved forward, not stopping until I reached the first wave. Lukewarm water hit my feet with the first wave, sand brushing my ankles as it returned. Just a simple touch calmed my anxious heart, putting a smile on my face. I stood there, feeling each wave pass me by, relishing in the captivating sensation of never wanting to leave.

“See, not so hard,” Elly’s voice echoed, still close in my subconscious. “No,” I nervously laughed. “It wasn’t.” “How is it?” A tear proceeded down my cheek. “Perfect.” I ran my hand across the latch, unable to open it, fighting against my thoughts. Why did I come here? Why did I think I could do this now? Maybe I should go back, try again another time, later, much later. Ten years wasn’t enough. I can’t… I can’t. I can’t. “I can’t!” I shouted into the wind, turning to head back to the car. “Billy!” I stopped outside of the waves, jaw tightening, trying to hold back a scream. Elly. “Stop,” Elly’s voice spoke softly, shutting down the doubting voices in my mind before they could take control. “You can do this.” I fell to my knees, sand sticking where the water grazed. It took a minute to silence the demons inside effectively. Elly helped encourage me to stay active, to stay alive and sane – and I didn’t know how I could do it without her, how I could continue life without her. If I let her go, I would be alone with no one to save me. I turned towards the sea, watching the sun beginning to send a cascade of red and orange into the horizon. I sat the box into the sand in front of me, keeping it close between my legs. The wind had died down, lightly tossing hair around my shoulders. I pulled out a letter from my back pocket. The years of wear and tear showed. I wrote it for Elly’s funeral but did not read it. I did not speak to anyone that day. They didn’t understand, no matter how much their words tried to leave a soothing impact. I had lost the letter a couple of times over the years, but it seemed to have a way of finding me – and I think I knew how. Unfolding the paper took concentration, hoping it could withstand one more read. My heart settled, feeling a calming touch – a feeling only experienced with Elly’s presence. “Dear Elly,” I started, saying the words aloud for the first time. “I’m sorry. I don’t really know what else to say. You were the best big sister I could have ever asked for. Always there when I needed you, having all the advice, and sticking up for me. “Billy,” Elly whispered. I pushed her voice aside, trying to hold it together long enough to finish. “I’m sorry for all the mean things I ever said, the fights, the hits, and kicks.” “That’s what sisters do.” The flood gates broke with the approach of the final lines. Guilt tore through me, ripping into my chest, hyperventilation taking over, but I had to finish it.

“It’s...it’s my fault. I ran the car out of gas. Why? Be...because I wanted to see Jason, but I knew it wasn’t allowed. I...I didn’t tell you, didn’t warn you. You were upset with me for wearing your favorite blue sundress, and it slipped my mind. Mom and Dad do not know I am responsible. It’s my fault you ended up on the side of the road. It’s my fault…” I folded up the paper, wadding it into my hands, clenching my fists tightly together. I couldn’t. I remembered everything as I watched the ocean fade away, giving way to the flashes of my mind. Dad rushed home from work to pick me up, only vaguely giving information – the first time I ever saw my father break down. It wasn’t until we reached the hospital did I learn she had pulled to the side of the road, gas tank empty. It was then I discovered a truck had hit her – and we were too late. You were already gone. The calming sensation tried to regain control, but the pain would not relinquish. I sat in the sand, feet now completely gone, crying into my elbows resting on my knees. I cried until there were no more tears, allowing myself to grow numb, listening to the sound of the waves, and the gulls calling overhead. My mental capability had become weak over the years, and I no longer knew what strength felt like. The box moved closer through the sand. Some force seemed to push it into sight, an invisible force I had grown accustomed to. I looked up, expecting to find her face, but all I saw was the endless ocean and a descending sun. I knew what it meant. I knew what Elly wanted. She had been asking me to do it for some time now. Ever since the first time I heard her voice speak to me, close to my seventeenth birthday, a year after her death.

Elly wanted to be with the sea. We made a promise when we were younger. Our very first trip would be together. I at least held to that promise, and I needed to give Elly what she wanted. I shoved the letter into the front pocket of my shorts and picked up the box. The sand still squeaked under my feet as I made my way back toward the sea. The waves had cooled, sending a chill up my legs. I continued, stepping out farther, only stopping once the waves reached my knees, holding firm against the rocking of the tide. I exhaled before finding one more cleansing breath. “I hear you, Elly.” I rubbed my fingers across the lid once more before undoing the latch. A sigh escaped my lips, preparing myself for the final moments. My heart skipped a beat as I opened the lid and allowed Elly’s ashes to flow with the air and fall into the ocean. The wind shifted directions, carrying parts of her along the shoreline and out to sea. I closed my eyes, heart lifting freely, taking in the scent of her favorite lotion she always wore, cherry blossom, for the first time in ten years.  My eyes opened. Elly stood in front of me, almost like looking in a mirror at a younger version of myself. Her long, dirty blond hair swayed with the breeze, blue eyes shining bright. She stood in her favorite white lacy dress, which fell to her knees. She was taller than me by a couple of inches. Her skin tanned easier than mine, leaving it glowing against the sunset. I closed the lid to the box gently, breathing in the feeling of setting her free.

Elly’s red lips parted into a smile, showing perfectly white teeth. Her blue eyes continued to glisten, accented by winged eyeliner. Her freckles peeked out on her cheeks – not even foundation could ever hide them away. “It’s so beautiful!” She shouted, turning towards the horizon, allowing the waves to gently push against the back of her knees, the smell of the ocean intensifying. “You’re free now, Elly,” I said, allowing the tension to melt away, enjoying the moment of seeing her, not just hearing her voice. “So are you.” She turned and walked towards me, stopping close enough for me to feel her presence. “Let this be over, for good. What happened that day was no one's fault. Why didn’t I check the gas gauge to make sure I had enough? Why didn’t I get off the road? Accidents happen, Billy.” She smiled, her hand brushing my face, leaving the slightest feeling of her touch. “Go home. Talk to mom and dad. They are waiting for you to be a family again. Start your own family, follow a dream, become a vet, fashion designer, wedding planner. I don’t care what the hell it is, just do something -- for you.” I chuckled, taking in a deep breath. “Only for you.” Her arms wrapped around me. I could feel her touch and returned the hug, relieved in the ability to cherish her once more. “That is my final wish.” She pulled away, taking a step back. “I love you, Billy, and always will. We will see each other again, but not for a long time. I’ll wait for you. I promise.” “I love you, Elly.”

Elly’s smile broadened as she turned, running and disappearing into the sunset. I stayed there for a few more moments, watching the last of the sun fall below the earth’s horizon. All the regret and guilt of the past ten years melted away, making me feel whole and new. Elly was now free and happy. Keeping Elly’s words became my next task. Doing it alone took a strength I didn’t know I had. I returned home and spoke to my parents, unleashing all of the guilt I had hidden from them. They embraced me without hesitation, never once knowing her death weighed so much on my heart. That final relief of their love truly set me free, opening all the doors I kept closed. I did return to school, pursued a degree in history, and began the life she so desperately wanted me to start for the past ten years.

# I am currently finishing up my Doctorate. Death now shows itself in a new light, and I want to learn what I can from all corners of the world. Releasing Elly still weighs heavily on my mind from time to time, but I know I did the right thing. I no longer hear her voice, but perhaps if I did, I wouldn’t have made it as far as I have now. The letter I wrote is now gone, for I no longer say I’m sorry…

I stared down at the paper, heart filling with joy as I returned the pen to the notebook. Dear Elly, I’m happy. THE END


Riot The street was full, packed from side to side. Hundreds, thousands of people, streamed down the avenue. A low roar came from the crowd. Windows shattered as they passed store fronts. Car alarms sounded, and then faltered and fell into submission. Street signs were bent, and then disappeared into the bulk of people. They kept marching forward, an unstoppable mass of humanity. Maybe it was caused by ever increasing taxes, it could have been a court judgment that they didn’t agree with, possibly their sports team won a championship. They could have been rebelling against unfair laws, or wars they didn’t agree with. The angry mob of people may have been supporting any cause that could be imagined, yet it didn’t stop the fact that they were marching through their own city, destroying their own stores and their own cars, ruining the streets that their tax dollars paid for. Their reasons for rebellion didn’t stop the fact that when a man fell down the crowd didn’t pause, it still pushed forward. Feet marched right over their fallen brothers and sisters. Ahead of them was a monument. A depiction of freedom maybe, or possibly a building that housed their government’s leaders, ahead of them could have simply been an open area where the group could disperse. But blocking their way was a single line of armed troops. Dressed in black riot gear, helmets with plastic visors hanging down over their faces, men stood holding tall shields, armed with large automatic weapons. In front of them were sandbags and red and white striped saw horses. Behind them were big black vehicles, armored to the teeth, like children’s toys. From the top of one vehicle stood a speaker and from that speaker an emotionless voice demanded that the people halt and disband. The speaker warned of the use of deadly force if they continued. But the crowd had no choice; even if the people in front stopped they would be trampled by the people surging forward behind them. That wasn’t what they thought though. The force behind them made them feel unstoppable. As a single unit of people they felt invincible. The gap between the two forces closed. Weapons were drawn, cocked and aimed. A final warning was given to the crowd, the speaker sounded like it didn’t expect any sort of change to actually occur. A man, dressed in black, held a gun and aimed it into the crowd. His mouth moved, the word ‘Ready’ was heard. His eyes focused on where his bullet would be sent. He opened his mouth again, ‘Aim’ came out of it. Which was redundant, everyone had already planned on where their projectiles would be placed. ‘Fire’, was the final word that was heard before people started to fall down before them. Guns fired rapidly, automatic weapons built for slaughtering people sawed through the oncoming mass of humanity. They fell in lines. Like waves they crashed to the cold asphalt. The gunmen showed no emotion as they laid people down to rest, they were coldly following orders. There was no moral objection; morals played no part in their job. The onrushing people marched over their fallen brethren, stepped over the slippery bodies and pushed closer to the men who were firing upon them before they fell in heaps themselves. Guns began smoking. Empty shells popped out and piled up on the ground at the feet of the men dressed in black. The crowd seemed to be never ending, only slightly slowed by the mounds of the fallen bodies that they had to overcome on their way to their goal behind the men who protected it with deadly force. The men worked like machines reloading their weapons, bodies lubricated by sweat, silently repeating trained motions. Guns began to overheat, and were automatically discarded, traded for side arms. The mob of people seemed to pick up their pace, getting closer as hot assault rifle after hot assault rifle was replaced by cool, single shot, side arm. The crowd over took the saw horses first, still falling to bullets, still piling up and being walked over. The wood splintered crushed under the trampling force of the publics will. Next they overcame the sandbags, which were soon hidden underneath the smashed and bleeding faces, arms, legs and torsos of those who fell while crossing them. Bullets screamed, cutting through air and flesh, destroying. Finally, as they approached the men dressed in black, whose job it was to protect what was behind them, whose task it was to keep order, while they were still falling to bullets being fired and they over too even them. Black uniform after black uniform, the men were engulfed by the oncoming crowd. One gun after another went silent. In the end, after hundreds of bodies had been tallied, after the crowd had stormed whatever had been their destination. Men and women were laid into the ground. Those men in black who shot down the oncoming crowd were laid in graves besides those who they shot. Their tombstones shared the same last names as those people from the oncoming crowd that they were laid next to. In the end, we seek a moral. Yet we may find only chaos.


###Attention: The SerSun deadline has changed! **Serial Sunday Campfire has moved to 1pm EST (Saturdays). That means that the deadline to submit your story is now Saturday at 12pm EST - this is for all submitters, not just Campfire attendees. The feedback and nomination deadline is now Saturday at 11:59pm EST.** #Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Each week you are required to provide feedback for at least 2 other writers on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.   *** #This week's theme is Kindling! This week’s theme is ‘kindling’, which is most commonly defined as easily combustible sticks or twigs that are used to start a fire. This could be an adventure for your characters, a night in the woods, using their survival instincts to scavenge for food and start a fire to keep warm until sun up. Maybe this ‘firestarter’ is more metaphorical. Think about the words that get under our skin, the actions that spark reactions. The domino effect of certain events that very much feel like a blazing fire, or the beginning of one. How does one small thing trigger the next? Is there one character who seems to start little fires everywhere they go? How does this make those around them feel? What happens when a little spark becomes a raging inferno? Can something good rise up out of the ashes? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even vote on the upcoming themes on the Nomination form! - April 10 - Kindling (this week) - April 17 - Lore - April 24 - Mask   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 12pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Come back later in the week and leave a feedback comment on at least 2 other stories on the thread.   *** #The Rules: - **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme.** You can interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. - **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. If you don’t use the correct titling format, your serial will be automatically removed by the bot. (Please note: In order for the bot to recognize your serial, you **must** use the exact same name each week. Titles can not be edited in after the fact. Should you make a mistake or forget, you will need to repost.) - **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt or post is not allowed. - **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. Stories outside the wordcount will be disqualified, so don’t forget to check! **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** - **Stories must be posted by Saturday 12pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will be disqualified and will not be eligible for rankings or Campfire readings. - **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s on two different stories).** The feedback must be **actionable** and should include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. You have until Saturday night at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. Those who go above and beyond (more than 5 actionable, in-depth crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our sister sub, r/WPCritique. - **Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week.** If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead. - **Serials must abide by subreddit content rules.** This includes, but is not limited to, explicit suicide or suicide-note stories, pedophilia, rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of abuse or torture. You can view a . If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!   *** #Reminders: - **If you are continuing an in-progress serial (one that you began off of Serial Sunday), please include links to the prior installments on Reddit.** - **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire in our .** Join us to read your story aloud and hear other stories. We provide feedback for all those present. The time has changed! **We now start at 12pm EST.** You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join! - **Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted .** The form is open on Saturdays from 12pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations! - **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information. - **There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server**, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news, including posts and Campfires!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap), this does not count toward the required 2. **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above. Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” style comments will not earn you points or credit.)* ***So what is actionable feedback?*** Actionable feedback should be constructive, something that the author can use to improve. A critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. You can or these previous crits from Serial Sunday: - - -   *** #Rankings In case you missed the announcement at the top of the post, please be aware that the Serial Sunday submission deadline is now on Saturday at 12:00 pm EST. The deadline for feedback and nominations is now Saturday at 11:59pm EST. - - by u/stickfist   - - by u/mattswritingaccount   - - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - by u/Hades_Sedai   - **Crit Star - Awarded 1 crit credit** - u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Crit Star - Awarded 1 crit credit** - u/katherine_c   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


An orange pre-dawn glow rims the horizon, slowly banishing the hazy periwinkle twilight. Soon driving this direction will be almost unbearable, the strong clear rays of the rising sun burrowing into my eyes. I choose to beat the sun, and slip a pair of square black sunglasses over my face. Vintage, $5, super cool. They make me feel like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, even though they don’t really look like his sunglasses at all. As my 14 year old brother would say, “Issa Vibe.” It’s a vibe I’m grateful for as the sun’s rays finally bend over the curve of the earth and the eternal glowing ball sits squarely on top of the highway, framed between the trees. I pull the visor down, and try to keep my eyes on the road. It’s difficult. The sun is painful to look at, but it’s also beautiful. The metaphor isn’t lost on me as my eyes are also drawn to a Polaroid shot pinned to the inside of the visor.

One of the best and worst memories. Beautiful and hard to look at. The picture is me and my best friend at the beach, almost two years ago this week. Our first “adult” vacation, taken after a year apart at different schools. We drove 24 hours to California, through desert and mountains, and finally, to water. It was magical, the most perfect summer day in LA. The beach was a dream, the water blue and perfect. We spent the whole day soaking up sun, lamenting our land-locked lives back home. The house we were staying in was further from the beach than we would have liked, but it was all we could afford and still have a place to ourselves. It was up in the hills, hidden by trees and tropical landscaping. Even though we had to fight traffic, it was worth it. The house was lovely, all mid-century lines and pale pinks. It was on the way back there from the beach that I had pinned the Polaroid to the visor. I remember thinking that I would always want to be reminded of how absolutely perfect the day had been. Boy was I wrong. Like, super wrong. We were tired after the beach, but like any self-respecting teenagers on vacation, we ate dinner and then immediately headed out to the pool. That was when things started to get weird. The sun made its way down toward the ocean on the distant horizon, and we relaxed in our flamingo-shaped floaties. It took a while for me to notice that the sun seemed to have stopped setting, and that the fuzzed-out orange glow had been a constant source of light for far too long.

I’ve always wondered if that moment of consciousness is what caused me to remember what came next, while Jess didn’t seem to remember anything. Like the volume turning up on an amp with no guitar plugged in, I suddenly became aware of a buzzing, like a thousand metal bees were swarmed above me. So I looked up.

Big mistake. Filling the whole sky above me was a sleek sheet of curved metal, punctuated by orange lights that pulsed softly. A scream rose in my throat and died almost immediately. A scream wouldn’t help. As I watched and tried to make sense of what I was seeing, a circular piece in the center of whatever-the-heck-this-thing-was seemed to dissolve slowly, like the pixel melting animation of video games from days long past. When it was all gone, a powerful, pure light poured out. Droplets of water began to rise around me, and soon Jess and I were also being lifted up, up, up. The memory cuts off abruptly. That’s all there is to it. I shake my head, and try to refocus on the road. No one believed me, not even Jess. Especially not Jess. We woke up the next morning in our beds safe and sound, no scratch on us, no hair out of place. Jess was sure we had just blacked out or something from drinking too much. But I knew that wasn’t true. We weren’t even old enough yet to buy alcohol, and we didn’t know anyone in LA to buy it for us. And I checked. There was no alcohol in the house. Jess took this as proof we drank it all. That I had just had a super weird dream. But I knew that just couldn’t be true.

I’m not crazy. I know that. I’m not a conspiracy theorist, or a person who gets lost in wild fantasies. I’m about to graduate with a degree in accounting, and a minor in flute. I am precise and delicate and careful. Honestly, I’m kind of a stick in the mud. So I knew, with every fiber of my being, that something really weird happened that night. But it's hard to be certain when everyone thinks you're just making it up. After a few weeks, I stopped trying to tell the story. It started to sound too weird, even when I said it to myself. Maybe something had happened, but maybe it was nothing. Maybe someone had slipped something in our drinks at the beach. In the eyes of my small town parents, anything could have happened to us in a place like LA.

After a year, I didn’t even believe it myself. I put it out of my mind, choosing to focus on the sun and sand and glorious warmth of the rest of that trip. I told myself that I left the picture pinned to the visor to remember those things, not the disaster that may or may not have happened after the beach. And usually, that worked fine. So why is the memory hitting me so hard now? Am I having that weird road-hypnosis thing, but instead of forgetting I’m driving, I’ve gotten lost in a buried memory instead?

I focus on the road again: white lines and reflectors, grey pavement, green trees. The sun is still directly ahead of me, forcing my eyes away from the horizon. The highway is oddly empty, even for this early hour. The Polaroid hovers in my upper periphery like a magnet, drawing me to look. I glance back up at it: two smiling teenagers, the vastness of the ocean behind them, and millions of grains of sand under their feet. Come on brain, back to the road. Except- the road’s not there anymore.

The car is hovering 20 feet above the highway. I almost scream, but it dies once again in my throat. A scream wouldn’t help. I squint past the bright light of the sun. Except- it’s not the sun. Behind the light is a vast, curved metal sphere.


That's the thing about this city; it was built in a spot where the veil between dimensions was thin. It was commonplace for people or things to pass through a temporary hole in the veil and land into our city. You would think that living in a town like this that I would have already seen it all. It's my job to find, catalog, and determine what to do with our city's new residents. The newly minted Rican City occupants, or veilers, as most people call them, are usually relatively easy to find homes and jobs for. For the most part, they are mostly just like people from our own dimension, although sometimes their outer figures can vary drastically. They tended to be as smart or smarter than those who are from this dimension. The veilers live out their new lives in our little city as happy as they were in their original dimension. But sometimes, things didn't end so well. Some of the veilers just did not fit into our little metropolis. It was also my job to deal with that didn't fit in as well. But I try not to focus on those times. "Tazzi? Have you found anything yet?" The voice of Reis, the dispatcher on duty, came over my com. His voice was accompanied by the ever-present clank of his abacuses. Reis is one of the older veilers to have come through. His home dimension wasn't as advanced as ours; he couldn't quite get the hang of the technology here. He still preferred to use a lot of the older tech. "I just got here, Reis." I rolled my eyes. "I need some time to find our new guest." "Well, hurry up. It is rapidly turning into a bad night. We've already gotten word of another four breaches. I am running out of recovery agents to send out." "You know recoveries happen at their own pace," I replied, hanging up my mic, ignoring the faint sound of Reis's response. I climbed out of my beat-up old Toyota and observed the old building that the breach alarm had signaled that someone had crossed over in. Its two large towers reminded me of an old-timey castle looming over me. I pulled a flashlight from my purse and headed for the front door of the towering building. The door was thankfully unlocked. I was grateful I did not need to use my rusty lock picking skills. My partner, Elyas, usually handled that part of the job. A recovery gone wrong had sidelined Elyas with a bum leg. Elyas had still tried to be in the field, cane and all until Reis had shot down that plan. Recoveries didn't often get violent, but the risk was too great for someone whose mobility was compromised.

Opening the heavy oak front door, I found myself in a dusty, empty living room. I scanned the spacious room, looking for signs of where the newest veiler was hiding. There were no gaps in the heavy dust on the floor; whoever was in here hadn't moved around much.

"Hello, anyone here?" I called out; I had long since learned my lesson about scaring new veilers. "I know you must be scared. I am not here to harm you." The creak of a door across the room made me jump. I was glad that Elyas was not here to see me get scared. He would never let me live down, jumping at the bumps in the night. After everything we had seen, you would think I couldn't be scared by the unknown anymore. * Hello? * The voice in my head was hesitant. * Where am I? One moment I was walking my cat down the road, and the next, I am here in this…place. * Great, another telepathic race. It was always so weird having someone else's voice in my head. Not to mention, they were always a headache to rehome. They had so many different requirements for their living space. Reis would be just thrilled with the extra work. "You are in Rican City. Can you come out where I can see you?" The cracked closet door across the room pushed open further, and a tall figure entered my flashlight beam. The being could best be described as a humanoid fish. The tall being also held a smaller furry creature on a leash. He had said that it was a cat, but this was the first time I had seen a cat with eight legs. * I have never heard of a Rican City .* He drew closer to me, his yellow eyes shining in my flashlight beam. He was about my height but was covered in shiny green scales. * Who are you ?* "It's a long story." I held out my hand, "Care to come back with me to the office? My name is Tazzi." * Do I have a choice ?* his tone was amused, and he made no motion to shake my hand. * My name is Calu, and this is my cat, Kuki. * Right, a telepathic fish and his eight-legged cat, this is a new one. "Well, you can always stay here. But coming with me will get you your answers, and we will be able to help you." I dropped my hand back to my side. "But I can't force you to come with me." Reis wouldn't be happy with me leaving an undocumented veiler in the city, but it wouldn't be the first time I had made a field decision that one was no danger. Calu took a moment and then nodded, * I will come with you to this 'office' * "Great! Follow me." I led the way out to my old Toyota. Calu followed me out of the house; I could tell that he was scanning the whole area. I wonder how different his own dimension was then mine. I always loved to hear about the other veilers' homes. "Climb on in." I opened the passenger door and gestured for him to get in. I may not be able to read his fish face, but his body language told me he had no clue what this thing that I was telling him to get into was. Calu slowly got into my car, clutching his cat. I got a random flash of his fear that the car door would slam shut. That he would be trapped and eaten by the strange beast I had told him to climb into.  I gave him what I hoped he would view as a reassuring smile as I closed his door and hurried to my side and got in. Once I was in the car, I felt relief flowing from him. The strange beast would probably not be going to eat him if I was getting in it as well. "Ok, when I turn the car on, it is going to be loud but don't be scared." I told him, "It's just the engine starting." He nodded slowly, clutching Kuki on his lap, its eight legs all bent up under itself. Even with my warning, he still jumped a bit when the roar of the engine started. He tightened his hold on the cat his in lap, and it let out a low growl in protest. He loosened his grip and patted the cat on its head in the way of apology. "Tazzi, you better have that veiler all ready to go." Reis's voice came over my com again, sounding harried; he even didn't stop for me to respond. "We have breeches all over the city. There isn't time for you to come back to the office. Head over to Kozak's diner. He has something locked up in his freezer." "Ok, we are headed over there now." I had to hide a laugh at Calu's look of fright at the sound of Reis's disembodied voice over the com. "I have a telepath with me that will need a proper home that accepts pets." "Of course, you would. Any other impossible tasks you want to throw at me tonight?" With that, Reis disconnected the line. "All right, Calu, let's go find who else is new to this city of ours, shall we?" Calu gave me a look that I could not read, but I could feel his acceptance. Calu didn't talk during our drive, but I could feel his wonder at all the different things that he was seeing through the window as we made the short trip to the diner. I wonder how he would react to knowing he was in a different dimension. I wish I had the time to tell him everything now. * Your surface thoughts are very telling ,* Calu said suddenly. * I understand now that I am in a different dimension than my own. * he looked down at his cat * And also that there is no known way for us to get back .* "I'm sorry." There was not really anything else I could say. Our scientists had been searching for years to find out how to return the various veilers to their own dimensions and recover any lost from ours. But try as they might; they still had no idea how the tears in the veil worked. It didn't stop them from doing different experiments to find out. Many people were worried that their attempts might make the veil even more unstable.

The rest of the drive was in silence; soon enough, we were pulling in outside of Kozak's dinner. Kozak was another veiler, but he was human enough. Most people didn't even know he was a Veiler, and he liked it that way. He never really talked about his dimension, but I had gotten the impression that he was glad to have left it behind.

The bells in the entrance jingled when I opened the door to the diner. Inside it looked as though a tornado had torn through the room. The display case that usually sat on the counter was smashed on the ground. All the baked goods that it usually held were scattered on the floor. The rest of the diner was in similar disarray. Kozak was seated at one of the only remaining tables that was still in one piece. The rest of the diner was in similar disarray. Kozak's pet, Skeeter, was joyfully eating all the broken glass and other trash off the floor. Skeeter was one of the veilers that came through that wasn't humanoid. But we had found a job for him here are at the diner eating, well, anything. He was basically a bigger, hungrier dog. Kozak looked up, and at the sight of me, threw up his hands. "Freaking finally! The thing in my freezer chased away all my customers! No one will come back in until you remove that...that behemoth!" "Well, I am here now." I shrugged. "It has been a busy night." He sparred a looked at Calu, who had insisted on coming in with me, obviously decided that Calu was not worth his time and looked back at me, "Where is Elyas? It's not like you to be out alone. Is this…person…your new partner?" "Elyas is laid up. Recovery went bad." "This recovery is going to go bad, mark my words!" Kozak threw his hands up, "Just get that thing out of my freezer!" With that, he stomped out of the diner. Skeeter was prancing out behind him, a broken chair still clenched in his jaws, his thick tail waving happily. "Let's go see this 'behemoth' shall we?" I grinned at Calu. * He is scared.*  Calu tilted his head, * And hungry .* "Can you read everyone…and everything?" I asked him as we headed towards the locked freezer. * Most people I can…read as you say. I can get their surface emotions at the very least .* Calu might make a valuable recovery agent. I should bring that up to Reis when I bring all of my charges into the office. Stopping at the freezer door, I glanced back to Calu to make sure that he was far enough away to be safe if this did go as wrong as Kozak had predicted. The creature might just be scared enough to do something dangerous. Elyas would have told me that I should have brought some sort of weapon, but I've found weapons to just make the situation worse. Scared veilers and the threat of violence rarely ended well. Elyas' busted leg as case in point. A blast of cold air when I opened the freezer door sent shivers down my spine. That shiver got stronger when I caught sight of the veiler that was locked within. The being was seven, maybe eight feet tall; even in the freezer's six-foot ceiling, he was being forced to hunch over. He was almost shaped more like an overly large bear mixed with a crocodile. He was clutching the remains of what looked like a donut in his front claws. The donut crumbs on his scaly face made me laugh. At the sudden noise from me, he retreated further into the freezer, whimpering and pulling his long tail tight along his body.  "Shh.. it is ok. We aren't going to hurt you." I held up my hands, trying to soothe him; when my hands came up, he squealed and pushed himself further into the freezer. I quickly dropped my hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." This was as good as time as any to see if Calu would make a good agent; maybe his telepathy could get through to the obviously scared giant. I looked over to the fish in question, "Can you tell him we won't hurt him?" Calu nodded and looked at the giant figure. After a few moments, the being's green eyes opened back up and looked at us. Calu started to slowly approach him. When he got within arm's reach, he reached out his hand towards the frightened veiler. *His name is Hachie.* Calu said *He says he is five cycles old. He would like some more of these sugared pastries and also out of this cold box.* "We can do that. I saw some unsmushed donuts on the counter." I said, "And I would like to get out of the freezer too." Calu slowly reached up and took Hachie's finger. Hachie's hand was easily three times the size of Calu's. Together we all carefully exited the freezer and came back into the central area of the diner. Kozak was back in the building, sweeping up what little debris that Skeeter had not eaten. When he saw us come out of the back, his eyes got wide. "That…thing is even bigger than I remember." "That 'things' name is Hachie. He is just a kid." I had forgotten how much I didn't like Kozak. For a veiler, he was remarkably intolerant to any beings that looked different to him. If they couldn't pass as humans, they were just things to him. Less than things, if I was being honest. So that I wouldn't be tempted to smash Kozak's face in, I turned to the donut box and retrieved it from the counter, took one out, and handed it to Hachie. Hachie made happy purring noise as he took a surprisingly small bite of the pastry. "Are you going to pay for those?" Kozak was glaring at me down his nose. "Consider it payment for removing Hachie from your freezer." I didn't give him time to respond as I headed for the exit. Getting Hachie out of the diner required him to do some creative stretching that I was glad I didn't need to attempt. But we got him out without further damaging the building. I rewarded him with another donut. Outside, I realized we had a bigger problem. There was no way he would ever fit in my small, beat-up Toyota. "Hey, Reis," I said, opening a com line. "You better have that veiler out of the freezer." Reis's voice was as impatient as ever. "I do, but there is a problem."  "That is the name of the game, hit me." "He is an eight-foot-tall five-year-old veiler." There was a long beat. "Right. I will have Wally there with a truck as soon as I can." * Hachie will require more pastries. * Calu showed me the rapidly emptying donut box. "Have Wally pick up some donuts, will ya? The kid loves them." "Don't we all." Reis laughed, and then the click of the com told me that he had disconnected. I sat on the hood of my car, watching the telepathic fish creature take his eight-legged cat out of my car to show the eight-foot toddler who was still munching on some donuts. I had to laugh; I guess that was really the thing about this city. It could still surprise me even after all of these years.


My father used to read us the bible every night when we were kids. He’d pull a weathered wooden chair up beside our beds, turn on the side lamp and crack the old King James. The pages were thin and fragile between his fingers; a stark contrast to his meaty farm hands, and every time he turned a page the whole book would disappear behind his wide palms. He never read in any sort of order, but he always seemed to know what it was he wanted to read. If we ever protested or asked for a different story he would scoff at us and say, *the devil doesn’t take any days off. Neither can we lest we succumb to his temptations*. One day in late October, a kid in my class, the preacher’s son, had to be excused and a police officer waiting at the door escorted him out to his car and off they drove. The class erupted in hushed chatter until our Head Sister slammed a ruler on her desk and we went back to learning our times tables. When I got home that night, my mother’s eyes were red and wet and her hair had fallen from her bun. My father looked the same as he usually did but he stood closer to my mother than usual and held her head against his body when they thought we weren’t looking. We had pancakes for dinner. That night my Father pulled up his old chair and flicked through the pages, thumbing one chapter, then another, his eyes scanning back and forth. Eventually he stopped, his finger resting firmly on the page and looked up at us. *You’re going to hear a lot of stories at school over the next few days and I want you to know something. The Devil doesn’t care who you are. Or what you do. Or where you come from. We are all but of the flesh. And some men, no matter how hard they try, were just born to be evil. It’s as simple as that. It doesn’t mean this* – he pressed upon the bible when he said this – *isn’t real.* The next day a kid who lived next door to the preacher’s son told me the preacher had killed his wife and the family dog while we were at school. He’d carved them up with a sharpened crucifix and suspended them from a wall with nails, their limbs separated like pieces to a horrifying puzzle. They found him sitting in front of them repeating a scripture he’d drawn with his own blood on the floor boards. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God. Looking back, something about sparing his son seemed even more cruel than killing him. Having to live with that pain.  I don’t tell you this story to scare you, or even to call into question the thought of God. The truth is I believe in him. I tell you this story as a cry for help. As I sit here on this bench, writing this down, the man I’ve been following the last few days crosses my vision in the middle distance. His brimmed hat is tucked low over his face, but I can feel his glow and it calls to me. By the time you’re reading this, he will be my fourth. The handle of the blade I have tucked against my breast pocket burns my chest and the words my father said to me all those years ago bounce around my mind. *Some men, no matter how hard they try, were just born to be evil.* I wonder if he knew the thoughts I had back then. The thoughts I’m having now. The man’s about half a block away from me now so I must stand and give slow chase. To whoever finds this and reads it, please know I am trying. My father was always right. I just hope he was wrong this one, single, time. I’m so tired of fighting.


Chad hears the sound of construction equipment as he's doing his third leg workout. “What the frick?! I can't get swole with all this racket!” He thought agitatedly. Chad left his elliptical machine to go check out what was going on outside. What he found was a construction crew complete with a wrecking ball and bulldozer preparing to tear down his favorite Gold’s Gym! He screamed at the top of his lungs, “What the heck guys?! This is so frickin bogus!” at the sound of the B-word, an overweight girl in overly tight clothing stepped out from the sidelines and said, “What the frick? My guy!? You can’t just go around throwing the gosh darn b-word around all willy nilly you absolute dingus!” Chad looked her up and down skeptically and said, “Who the flip are you supposed to be? I've seen whale watching videos before and it looks like you need to be put back in the bay with your kind.” Stacy stared daggers at Chad and said, “How dare you say that to me! I am Stacy “The G” Albright and my dad knows all sorts of powerful people who can have you killed you dumbo!” Stacy exclaimed, outraged. “ I bet your dad had to drop a couple “G” to get enough grease to get you into those clothes!” Chad said. Chad was too distracted by his fire roasts directed at Stacy that he didn’t even notice her signal the wrecking crew to tear down the Gold’s Gym. It wasn’t until he heard the first crash of the wrecking ball that made him finally snap out of his trance of self-confidence. Chad spun around on his heels and screamed as he saw the wrecking ball going in for another swing. He tried to run and jump in front of it but he was too slow. He tripped on some rubble and skinned his knee, immobilizing him so all he could do is watch in horror as the wrecking ball swung one final time. Chadwick watched in horror as the building crumbled before him. He wept as he saw one lone Stationary bike get crushed under some falling concrete like the brachiosaurus in Jurassic World 2. The bulldozer moved in, crushing whatever equipment was left standing. Chadwick sat there, staring at the rubble of the place he once loved and cried out into the heavens, “ WHY GOD?! HOW COULD YOU LET A PLACE OF SUCH BEAUTY FALL??” Chad then sprinted back home to his father Zebulon, sobbing the entire way back. Chad barged in through the front door, startling his father straight off of his recliner. “Son, what’s the matter?” Zebulon asked in a concerned tone. “A big bully named Stacy tore down my favorite Gold’s Gym!” Chad replied, tears streaming down his face. “I'm sorry, my dear sweet boy,” Zebulon said, stroking Chad’s hair. “There is only one way to settle the score with this wench. You must challenge her to the oldest of duels.” “What's that papa?’ Chad inquired. “You must challenge her to... A THUMB WAR!!” Zebulon announced. Chad gasped in surprise at the words. “Papa are you sure I’m strong enough? I workout my arms a lot but I don’t know if my thumbs are strong enough to withstand the pressure of a thumb war!” “That is why I must train you, my son. I promised myself I would never return to this life but I’m afraid this is the only way. You will go to her house and challenge her to a thumb war in six months’ time. Both of you will train your hardest, but I know her type and she will undoubtedly cheat. We must be prepared for that as well, my child.” “You haven’t led me wrong before, Pops. I’ll challenge her in the morn.” The next day, Chad showed up at Stacy’s manor and knocked on the door. None other than Stacy herself answered the door. “Oh God, it’s the testosterone dispenser.” she said dryly. “Glad you remember me, wench, now, I'm here to avenge the honor of the Gold's Gym franchise by challenging you to a thumb war, or else you’ll have to go back to the farm, you fat cow. In six months’ time, we will meet at the biggest stadium and we will have a thumb war that will be remembered for all of HISTORY.” Chad said dramatically. “So be it.” Stacy said and proceeded to slam the door in Chad’s face. On his way home, Chad walked by the wreckage of his old gym. “I will avenge you no matter the cost.” And went home more motivated than ever to avenge the thing that was dearest to him. The next morning, Chad woke up to find arm braces sitting on his dresser. He picked them up and brought them to the kitchen where his dad was in the process of making breakfast. “Hey pops, what are these for? My arms aren't broken. “Those are to make sure your bones don't explode from training today.” Zebulon said “Wait, my bones could explode??!” Chad exclaimed incredulously. “You knew the consequences, boy.” “No I hecking didn't! I never knew the risks were this freaking high!” “Watch your language around me Chadwick. It's too late to turn back now so just eat your breakfast so we can start training for the big fight. After a tense breakfast between father and son, they went to the back yard where chad saw a large stump topped with a miniature boxing ring with two holes in the center. “What’s this papa?” “This my son, is a thumb war ring. Many years ago I was a champion of this sport. I promised myself I would never do this again. Not after the last time.” “What happened last time?” Chad asked “It's too dreadful to even think about. I'm afraid I can't say... yet” Zebulon replied as he stared off into the distance. After a few seconds of pregnant silence, Zebulon walked towards the ring and Chad followed. Zebulon inserted his thumb into the hole and Chadput on the brave and followed suit. As soon as Chads thumb was through, Zebulon smashed it into the floor of the ring. Chad yelped and drew his hand back. “What was that for?!” Chad yelled. “You must be prepared for anything, my son. Even surprise attacks.” Training over the next few weeks went on like this until Chad learned how to dodge effectively. “Good, my son!” Zebulon said and clapped his son on the back as he performed his first perfect dodge. “Thanks Papa!” Chad beamed. Over the next few months, Chad and his father bonded over something that they were both passionate about. He and his father had some laughs and at the end of the six month period they ended up closer than they had ever been prior to this experience. On the day of the big fight, Chad and his dad rolled on up to their enemies’ house. “A wise man once said; “The simple act of paying attention can take you a long way.” That wise man is named Keanu Reeves and he is truly breathtaking. Keep these words in mind when you take on your opponent, my son.” Zebulon said. “...okay dad.” Chad said confusedly. Father and son walked up the steps to Stacy's manor. Chad rapped on the door thrice and not even a second later, a bland looking servant opened the door and gestured them to come inside. As they entered, they beheld her giant manor. “Living like this has spoiled her, Chad. She will undoubtedly attempt some tom-foolery during the match. You must be prepared for anything.” “You got it dad!” They were led out into the backyard by the servant where they saw a giant arena surrounded by lava. “Holy guacamole! How the frick did you build this in only six months?!” Chad exclaimed. “All we had to do is move ze lava moat and ze rest was pretty easy.” The servant said in a light french accent. That statement raised more questions than it answered but Chad left the topic alone. He looked to his father but Zebulon’s eyes were set in steely determination and something else he couldn't identify. As they walked up the steps to the stadium they couldn't help but be awed by the sheer mass of it. As they reached the top of the stairs, they saw stacy already sitting in one of the two chairs set out for them. In between the two chairs, was a gilded thumb war ring. “Nice of you to finally show up, Meathead.” Stacy said tauntingly “I wouldn't miss it for the world, you tub of lard.” Chad said in retort. It was at this point that Chad noticed stacy had some sort of exoskeleton over her right arm. “That’s against the rules, Stacy! You can't have any body mods on during the match.” “I guess your rules weren’t specific enough, Chad.” “I said I wanted a fair fight, you cow!” Chad yelled “Easy boy,” Zebulon said as he put a hand on his son's shoulder. “With the grade-A training I have given you, not even her mecha arm could help her win.” Chad sat down across from Stacy and inserted his thumb into the ring. Stacy followed suit soon after. As soon as she was through, she immediately tried to pin him down. Chad was prepared for this and he dodged out of the way. He spun around and pinned her down to the floor of the arena with his thumb. She was down for two seconds but wriggled her way out. She slammed her knee against the bottom of the table, throwing him off balance and giving her an opportunity to attack and he just managed to parry her thumb away.before she could do the finishing blow. Stacy reeled back in shock at his miraculous recovery and chad took the opportunity to pin her down once more. Time seemed to move like a thick jelly as he counted down the seconds. All he needed was three seconds and he would be the champion. But then, out of nowhere, stacy whistled and a small dog ran out from the sidelines and attacked Chads ankles, preventing him from finishing the job. “AGHHHHHH” Chad screamed and tried to shake the dog off as well as fend off Stacy's attacks. But things were looking bleak for him. But then, Zebulon ran over and punted the Pomeranian into the lava. “CROUTON!!!” Stacy cried. While she was distracted, Chad took the opportunity to pin her to the floor of the ring. She tried to escape but she couldn't. Chad had won the battle!. He and his father cheered as stacy ran towards the edge of the arena to see if her dog had missed the lava by any chance. He hadn’t. Stacy later tried to press charges against chad for assault and killing her dog, but as it turns out, the judge also liked that particular Gold’s Gym. Chad was celebrated worldwide for his actions and from then on was referred to as “The saviour of Gold’s Gym. Stacy was forced to go into exile for the shame she caused her family by losing despite her cheating. She could never show her face in this town or any town again. Afterwards Zebulon and Chad went back home, laughing and enjoying each other's company.


"Can you give us any comment on your latest triumph?" Camilla silently substituted the word 'triumph' for 'murder'. Outdated though the term was, she still liked to use it privately. "The Brixham one?" Camilla nodded. Her older brother had covered the story; Ordinary murder made headline news by the popularity of the killer. And to think that she was interviewing him herself! "There's nothing much to say." The restaurant was busy and the man had to shout although they were only a table apart. "My employer paid less than my average rate, but to be completely honest I haven't had a job for a while. It was the best I could get." He shrugged. Camilla scribbled in her notebook, embellishing his statements a little because she knew her brother always did. So he was mercenary! Fantastic! Finally, a motive. She could see the headlines now. "May I ask if you have a new employment yet?" "You may ask," he said grandly. Camilla waited, but he didn't continue. She asked him another question, leaning forward in her eagerness. "We have 26 of your murders on record. Are there any more?" The mercenary turned green, then red, and Camilla cursed herself for using the word 'murder' in front of him. She had forgotten that murderers had a curious aversion to the word; they preferred to say they were 'playing God'. She herself preferred to plainly call it 'murder'. Despite religion's decreasing popularity, she still believed in God, and thought it was blasphemous. Camilla apologised, but it seemed no good. The man excused himself and walked off. Sitting alone at the table, surrounded by the ordinary bustle of a busy Saturday night, Camilla thought. She thought back to that morning, a week before. Roddie (her brother Roderick) was out when the letter came. It had been addressed to him, with his name in big, printed letters. She really shouldn't have opened it, but she couldn't resist just one little peak. The writer of the letter accepted Mr. Carlisle's invitation to a dinner interview, asking if it could possibly be delayed to the 2nd of June, as he had some urgent business on the date named? It had been easy, Camilla thought, just to change the date from 2nd to 3rd, and wait for Roddie to come home. She had felt a little guilty afterwards, but, she thought, it wasn't that bad, was it? It was about time for the spotlight to focus another Carlisle. Her thoughts were interrupted by the waiter's return with their first courses. "And where is your companion, Madam?" He asked. She murmured something vague about something urgent coming up and said that he could take the second plate away, but to her surprise the mercenary reappeared. "I'm sorry for leaving so suddenly. Could we possibly continue the interview?" he said. He sat down and gave her an apologetic, boyish smile. Just like his great-grandfather, thought Camilla absent-mindedly. (She had been researching his family history the night before, eager for the upcoming interview.) She drew her chair closer and once again took out her notebook. "I'm the one who should apologise. I was rude. I'm very sorry for offending you." There was an uncomfortable silence as the waiter appeared out of nowhere to serve their second course. When he had retreated, Camilla fired her companion a question. "You said that you... Play God... By employment," she said, gently skirting around the forbidden word, "Have you tried any other types of - any other types?" In her head Camilla reeled off the types: Mercenary, Gain, Mercy, Justice and the debatable fifth type, Passion. (Psychologists argued that Passion was a weak motive at most, with another of the five types behind it. Because of this, murderers who pleaded 'Passion' were considered weak in themselves.) The man considered her question, then flushed. He spoke quickly. "Don't tell anyone about it, don't add it to your report and I'll tell you." Camilla nodded, but her fingers already itched for her pen. "I was young and irresponsible. No one was told... I strangled my first fiancé. And like the miserable worm that I was, when my parents heard of it and told me off (they were mercenary in their own way; My fiancé had been rich), I - I pleaded Passion." Camilla choked down a gasp, then asked another question to cover it up. "When did you decide to become a mercenary?" "I was 26. Significant, don't you think?" He continued without waiting for her answer. "I had tried various jobs, and eventually got one in a library, cataloguing. I can't remember how, but one day I found an old one newspaper article on my great-grandfather. Believe it or not I'd never heard of him before.” Camilla interrupted, “So you decided to become a – to play God, like he had, but for a living. And you took his method and stretched it to 26 – 26 times instead of his 4.” The famous mercenary fiddled with his food. He looked at her oddly for a moment or two. “28,” he said. “28?” “Your earlier question. You asked if there were any more that weren't on record. I didn't answer; There were 2 more.” Camilla unconsciously shuddered. “You're Roderick Carlisle's younger sister, aren't you?” The man asked irrelevantly. She nodded, looking down into her food. That was all anyone remembered her as. The mercenary seemed to read her thoughts. “That's what you're known as, isn't it? You haven't been given a chance to be your own person, maybe to be famous on your own.” He smiled. “I know how that feels. Growing up I was overshadowed by my great-grandfather, and all I could see of him was the darkness that he cast on me.” Camilla smiled back at him. It made her feel more comfortable to know they had that in common. “You have to do something really amazing, really worth-while then, don't you? Something astounding that gives you your own light to shine. To cast your own shadow.” They sat meditatively for a while, then her companion beckoned for a waiter. As the waiter weaved through the maze of seats to their table, the mercenary began again. “I can see why my great-grandfather cast such a long shadow though. Imagine playing God four times, in a world where it was considered a crime. You had to be secretive about it, and extremely clever, or you were found out and hanged.” There was a light in his eyes that made Camilla shiver. The waiter reached their table, and her companion whispered something to him that Camilla couldn't quite hear. She leant forward inquisitively and only just heard the waiter's reply. “Not in our restaurant please, Monsieur. Perhaps if you went outside? The night is not so busy.” The mercenary turned to Camilla with a boyish grin, and she shrank back into her seat, only to rise again as he suggested for them to go outside. The air was warm, with a faint, pleasing tingle. Camilla breathed it in deeply. Much better than the stuffy air inside! “Camilla Carlisle of Churston,” said her companion. Then he repeated it. Camilla turned towards him. “Yes?” she said. He laughed, and his voice echoed along the empty street. “It's an alliterative name. A nice one.” He repeating it, staring vacantly at the house opposite. Then he put a hand on Camilla's shoulder and faced her. She felt goose bumps prickle her skin like small thorns. He reached out his other hand and clutched her throat. She couldn't breath, and the world slowly dissolved to black. *** Full explanation in the comments.


Dead Silence “Oh, shit”

The lights went out, my eyes growing wide. Was it that time already? I look to my watch, which has stopped at exactly 10:59 p.m.

“What the...” I trail off, looking around me. I scramble in the darkness to find my phone, so I can at least see a foot in front of me. I finally fish it out of the smallest nook of my book bag, and shine it directly around me. There is no noise; not even the sound of a page turning. Sure, it was typical for the library to be silent, but not

this

silent.

There’s nothing but stacks of books in every direction. I want to shout out, I want to know if there’s anybody else out there but I can’t seem to find my voice. What if somebody was out there? Lingering in the stacks of old books? What if this was all an elaborate ruse, to get me alone? “This is why you should watch and read happier things, and less about murderers and serial killers” I snap at myself, and I’m happy to hear the sound of my own voice. I grab my book bag and the book I was reading, “Zodiac”, and shove it in before I hastily zipper it shut and sling it over my shoulder. There had to be a way out, right? Shining my phone to my left and right, I decide heading to the right was my fastest chance at finding the entrance. Though I had been in this library a thousand times, in the dark was something I was not prepared for. I mentally mapped out the building in my head; I’d have to head down the stairs, hang a left past all my favourite books, to where I would find the counter. And where there’s the counter, about 50 feet away was bound to be the entrance.

Impressed at how quickly I manage to come up with a plan, I tread carefully. I had never been in a building after hours before, it had me wondering why they didn’t come to tell me they were closing up.

Candice, sweet, sweet Candice was always working. She was a sweet older lady of about sixty, who knew the library inside and out, having worked here for forty years. She knew me well, because of how often I frequented the place, and I her. But, I think to myself, she wasn’t working today. Yes, yes, now it’s all coming back to me...

“Good afternoon, I was wondering if you could help me find a book?” I step up to the counter, putting my bag on my left shoulder to take some of the pain from my right side. I’m surprised when a man pops up from behind the counter, I was expecting Candice. I knew where I could find most of the books I wanted; I was in here often enough. But I did enjoy the one on one conversations with Candice, so I’d humour her by asking her to find me various books.

“I was expecting Candice” I blurt out once I see it is not her. The man chuckles, and I can tell it’s not the first time he’s heard that today. The man was younger, perhaps mid to late thirties, twice my age at least. He wore glasses that vaguely looked familiar but I couldn’t point out from where.

“I’ve been getting that all day” he responds with a chuckle, and I feel a little more at ease. “She’s just out sick today” he tells me, and this strikes me as odd. Never in the two years I had been coming here has she ever taken a sick day. In fact, she proudly told me she’d only missed one day of work in her forty year tenure, and that was for the birth of her son.

“Sick?” I question immediately. “She’s never sick, I do hope she’s okay” I say, about to walk away when he stops me.

“She’ll be fine, I’m quite sure” he assures me. “But didn’t you say you were looking for a book?” He questions me, and I turn back to face him.

“Oh yes- I’m sorry” I stumble a little on my words. “I’m looking for the Zodiac book” I tell him, and he nods, gesturing for me to follow him.

“A true crime buff, eh?” He asks, and I nod though his back is to me and he can’t hear me.

“Yup” I say, once I realize he can’t see me nod. We don’t walk for long before he pulls it out of the shelf, turns to me and smiles.

“Always nice to see a fellow true crime fan” he grins, and as much as I want to be polite and indulge him in conversation, I just grab the book from him and turn to head upstairs to read.

“Yeah. Thanks” I say, gesturing to the book in my hand. He looks a little taken aback but quickly regains his composure.

“If you need anything else, you know where to find me” he whispers, before disappearing back behind the counter. I let out the breath I don’t realize I’m holding, and close my eyes for a moment.

That was weird .

Did this have something to do with Candice not working? Did the man forget to do his rounds before locking up? I had never seen him before today; maybe he wasn’t aware of the proper procedure.

My mind was racing by the time I reached the stairs. Maybe it was all the books I read that was allowing my imagination to run wild. Or maybe it was because I found myself in what I perceived as a dangerous situation.

I stepped slowly down the stairs, the only sound was my shallow breathing. It was eerie, being in this silence. There was no sounds of a computer starting up or shutting down, no shuffling of papers or chairs, and no hasty whispers. Everything was as it was when I passed it what felt like ages ago, but was only a few hours.

Finally, after reaching the bottom of the stairs, I see the familiar courtesy desk and breathe a sigh of relief, but that relief was temporary.

I looked to the doors, shining my phone towards the exit, hoping to make a hasty escape.

“What the...” I mumble to myself, as I slowly approach the door I notice a shining light right back at me. My eyes go wide and my heart begins to beat rapidly in my chest. Who was on the other side of the door? Was it someone coming to help?

I approached the door with extreme caution, the light still shining back at me. As I get to the door it hits me; of course there’s a light shining on you, you moron; it’s your reflection.

I scoff at myself, feeling overly paranoid. I reach for the door handle but before I get a chance to turn it, a hand slaps the window so hard I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Shit!” I scream, jumping back and tripping over myself. My phone lands with a loud thud, the flashlight on it turning off. I look back up to the window and I can hear the rattling of the door; someone was trying to get in.

I pick myself up from the ground and scramble away from the door, trying to hide from whoever is trying to come inside. I scurried from the doorway, finding the closest room I could find. It was a room behind the courtesy desk; one I hadn’t been in before. I run in and close the door behind me, breathing heavily as I try to listen for the sounds of someone inside.

I feel sweat bead on my forehead, and my heart won’t slow down. I was in such a rush to get away from the door I forgot my phone in the other room; there goes my flashlight.

I fumble around in the total darkness, before feeling up the wall to my right. There was thankfully a light switch. Not thinking I flicked in on, and in that moment I knew I was screwed.

“Oh, my god!” I gasp, bringing my hand up to my mouth in horror. “Candice” I gasp, looking at the librarian who lay dead on the floor before me. There’s no blood; he clearly strangled her, the rope was just to the side of her body. “Candice...” I trail off, instinctively reaching for my phone. I curse myself when I realize it isn’t there.

I quickly turn around, looking to find either my phone or any phone at that; I had to call the police. This was a crime scene; I couldn’t disturb it. Though my mind was in full panic mode, there were still some rational thoughts that managed to swirl through.

I open the door and I’m surprised to see a man standing before me; the same man that replaced Candice earlier that day.

“Oh, thank god” I breathe a sigh of relief. “You have to help! I think- I think Candice is dead” I manage to squeak out, but he doesn’t seem at all fazed. “Thank god you came back!” I add, beginning to calm down for a moment.

“Oh, I’m not here for you” he smiles, and my relief is gone. I can see it now, in his eyes.

I don’t have time to move; not that I could have, I was frozen in place. Before I knew it the man launched himself towards me, a rope in his hands.

It’s in that moment I realize why I recognized the glasses earlier. It was in that moment I realized; I was going to die. How did he go undetected all day? How was he getting away with this?

A million things ran through my brain, as he took the rope and wrapped it around my neck. I struggled, but only for a moment.

“Please...” I managed to whisper, my hands trying to pry the rope away from my neck but to no avail; he’s too strong for me.

“I didn’t.. want to.. have to... do this” he spits out, his focus being on something other than idle conversation. “You just were in the wrong place, at the wrong time” he says, as my eyes begin to flutter shut.

He sets me down on the ground, as I take my last breath.

“I’m sorry” he whispers, and it’s the last thing I hear before the deafening sound of dead silence.


Gregori tossed and turned impatiently in his cot. Even though the pain had subsided, if he wasn’t seen by a doctor soon he knew he would die. He had spent the past hour trying to get a doctor, a surgeon, or even a nurse’s attention. The entire field hospital was flooded with wounded and dying soldiers like himself and they paid no attention to him as they walked past him. “Hey!” He would shout to anyone who passed his bed and “Can you even hear me, my leg’s been bleeding for half an hour now!” Yet to no avail. No one had even noticed him until a man in a dark suit passed by his cot and he called out to him “Aren’t you going to help me?!” To his surprise, the man in the dark suit stopped and turned directly toward him. “You haven’t been seen yet?” The response annoyed Gregori. “No.” He answered. “Aren’t you going to help me out doc?” The man only sighed as he walked over and spoke angrily “I’m not a doctor but I’ll help you”. He said as he walked over to him and pulled out a pen and notepad. Gregori sighed in relief. Though this man didn’t even look like he was with the hospital or the military he was glad at least someone cared. “Anyways”. The man said. “I’ve been busy all morning so I haven’t got your information down besides the obvious. What’s your name?” Gregori then nodded “em Gregori Tabov Sir.” He said not sure what to address him as. The man then nodded and jotted it down on a notepad. “You’re from Vespool aren’t you?” He asked. Gregori was taken back by this “That’s correct. How did you know?” The man then stopped. “Your entire regiment is from there it was a lucky guess”. Gregori then nodded “Alright, are you a chaplain or something I don’t understand?” The man shook his head “Look I’m sort of busy. Someone can explain when you go to the next place. You were hit in the upper thigh correct?” Gregori then nodded and felt his cold leg “That’s correct. Look no offense but can you find me a surgeon? I’ve been laying in this cot too long and I’ve had too many friends who went out just like this”. The man then looked up from his notepad and stared at his leg for only a moment and spoke with certainty. “You won’t need a surgeon, also you were a believer in our Lord and savior weren’t you?” Gregori to this became annoyed “Well of course. I’ve always been a God-fearing man. But I have to tell you I’m not in the mood to be talking to some kind of chaplain, no offense”. The man then finished his notes and stuck them into his jacket “I’m not a chaplain.” He said. “Anyways I’ll come by to pick you up in a minute here. I have to help one of your old friends down the hallway. He took a bullet between his eyes”. The man then tried to turn and leave but Gregori stopped him “wait! What the Hell are you doing? I can’t even feel my leg anymore, everyone in this whole place has ignored me but you and I can’t even get a straight answer on what’s going to happen to me.” The man then frowned. “You don’t know?” He asked. Gregori then sighed “Know what?” The man then spoke with a stern voice “You died fifteen minutes ago.” Gregori then blinked and stared at him for a moment and then lifted the blankets to reveal the cot was soaked in dry blood and he noticed his skin was almost completely pale. “What.. what happens now then?” The man then nodded “Well like I said you’re coming with me to the next place.. and when you’re there we’ll see how much of a God-fearing man you really were.


The sun is upside down. Or is it? It is a rather peculiar sight for some people. But for them, it is a completely normal, everyday sight. When everything is already upside down, the definition of said word for them is (of course) different. Ume sits with her knees bent, her eyes are completely set on such a magnificent view: the sun leaving its work hours for the day and setting himself into a deep, deep slumber. After the longest day of the year, the sun clearly deserves its leave. It is slowly moving upwards, tainting the sky vermilion beneath it. In this side of the world—even though no residents in this small town knows exactly where they are, somehow the sun rises downwards and sets upwards. There is this urban legend circulating amongst the community that once, there was this man who accidently ( yes, you read that correctly) flipped this town upside down by offering a God an upside down fish dish at a summer festival. The God went into a rage upon the visible fish skin and curses the town with a sun that orbits the other way around. What an urban legend. Ume smiles to herself and stands up. Brushing off her aching heels and twitching shoulders, she then walks slowly towards her final destination of her summer trip: The Town Plaza. This town of her objective, no one knows exactly where that is. Even more unusual, nobody knows how this town looks like. There is no single person on earth has ever been into said town. It's a mystery, yet Ume believes that such conundrum would be a very breathtaking place embraced by mother nature: naturally enchanting, secluded, a jewel in discover. Perfect for a summer stop, right? A pair of curious eyes wanders around, savoring wonderful view of a hill clothed by grass, decorated by rocks. Bamboos and another skyscraping trees that she can't totally name are towering over her small figure. Summer winds are brushing her raven locks gently. Her ears take on a faint sound of a flowing water, indicating a spring nearby. Unconsciously, her steps guide her to said water. And what meets her vision is rather... unbelievable. How bizarre, she mutters to herself. What do you think she sees? In front of her flows a very, very clear spring water through a river. Rocks were sprawled across the river and fishes are dancing in them. What is so peculiar, you think? The water flows backwards. Backwards. Or perhaps, upwards . She can see it clearly with her own pupils, that a nearby waterfall is... flowing upwards towards its water source. And the fishes... The Kois, and Goldfishes (she convinces herself that they are, indeed, Kois and Goldfishes) are pulling out some Michael Jackson stuffs because they are swimming backwards! How is this even explainable? I thought the sun setting upwards is already as mystifying as that urban legend , she thinks. Well, The God referred in that questionable urban legend definitely has a few screw loose. Nothing, nothing can be more absurd than this... right? Or so she thinks. She decides to just snaps out of it and continues her journey. Maybe that is just a fragment of her imagination. Or maybe—Ume assumes, The God once goes into a human school to learn and gets a solid twenty points on physics and fails. Then, he proceeds to make sure that law of physics are banished from this side of the earth. Or perhaps, This Mighty Powerful God Who Hates Upside Down Fish has a terrible break up history with another God that creates physics. Yes, that totally makes sense. Maybe He got cheated on by that Physic God. This kind of thing is very common in Godly world, right? Right? Ume stands still for a good two minutes, convincing herself and her countless doubts that this town she is visiting is just another regular inhabited town in her destination list. Her worn out camel carrier has seen enough different cultures and architectures, various skin tones of various people, numerous money currencies and numerous ways to spend them, but none of those can explain what she is seeing as now. Such a peculiarly scenic sight to see. How uncanny that The God who is behind all of these masterpieces is such a frivolous figure to begin with. There is no time to lose. I have to move forward to the plaza before it gets dark, Ume whispered under her breath. Soon after, she starts jogging her way throughout a very bristly pavement to north. It is—apparently, her lucky day. She arrives in less than ten minutes of jogging at a colossal gate painted purple. Lights are surrounding the gate and the walls around it, emitting a very blinding warm toned glow reflected across the walls. Sounds of fireworks and cheers can be heard as clear as spring water, dragonflies soar across the sky above her dark hair. Enchanted by the dragonflies, she starts to lift her dirty high boots off the ground and heads off towards the gate. But, before she can sees what's behind the gate, a guard with ivory hair came into her line of sight. He towers over her for a good two heads or so. "Uh... good evening?" Ume says to him, trying to be as civil as possible. The guard seems to be observing her for a solid minute before replying with a distant expression, " Uoy era ohw? " HAH!? Ume screamed—internally. "I'm sorry, w-what?" " Ereh uoy sgnirb tahw? " sneers the guard, looking at her with more venom in his pupils. "Apologize, I really don't understand your language and I am not from here. Can you speak English?" " Tsiruot a rof ecalp on si siht, uoy llet tsum I ," he clicks his tongue before continuing. " Niaga thgilyad eht ees reven lliw... ereh emac ohw enoyna. " He manages to move aside and looks away. Ume takes it as a sign that she is allowed to proceed further into the gate. She smiles to him before expressing a genuine gratitude to the ivory haired guy and sprints inside. What she misses behind her back was the guard moonwalking back to his original post. This is it, she thinks to herself, excited. I will be the first one who post a publication about this interesting town for sure! Can't imagine the money I will make when they rea- Her thoughts stop in just a mater of seconds. She freezes on her spot, eyes shrinking on scenery that lies ahead. Her shoulder drops, words being taken away from her tongue. She could not believe herself. Her emerald eyes are moving back and forth from a person to another. What she doesn't expect is to have everyone— literally everyone's eyes on her. Every single person in front of her is looking directly at her. Yet, Ume can't decide between looking at the abundant amount of people, walking backwards, circling a gargantuan burning statue, or to look at a lofty waterfall in the background which has its bloody water flowing upwards. But, no matter how hard she tries to utter any words of greeting for her watchers, nothing manages to get out of her pierced lips. This is not right. Something about this just... feels off. Should I run? Ume snaps out of her thoughts when a middle aged woman in floral scarlet gown approaches her (moonwalking, of course) with torch in her hands. The woman in red is all smiley and wrinkly. "Oot ydal lufituaeb a hcus. Ereh evah ew luos evarb a tahw." Ume keeps thinking, she feels like she can understand the words somehow. Her brain went into a spree of Chloe Ting's work out routine trying to decipher those words. " Oot uoy ot remmus Yppah . Niap tuohtiw... eid uoy erus ekam lliw ew. Emit fo dog ythgim ruo ot decifircas uoy evah s'tel, neht! " Shit, it dawns on her. She should've known. She should've fled. They are talking backwards.


“Through Floating Mists of Time” It’s Saturday afternoon. Bake a cake Saturday. It was a tradition that began when I was about 4 years old with my Mum but now it’s with Grandma who came to live with us after Grandpa died. We’ve made pancakes, florentines, cup cakes with pink icing and hundreds and thousand sprinkled on top. Lamingtons with raspberry jam and lots of cream. My all time favourite. Today it’s Grandma’s famous chocolate cake. She’s won so many awards for her cakes and jams, shiny silver ones, big and small that line the kitchenette shelves. I think she’s very happy to have won so many. Her cakes are really delicious so I guess that’s why. When I started school she always put some of her special cakes or biscuits in my lunch box that I would sometimes share with my friends. We’ve begun and I stand beside her barely tall enough to see above the bowl as brown sugar crystals fall, releasing wafting scented veils of caramel. Eggs cracked on ceramic bowl’s rim splinter shells whilst slippery, clear albumen and balls of sunshine gold escape to soak the sugar crystals below. As Grandma beats the ingredients I reach into the bag of flour to fill the measuring cup but there’s not enough. Only half a cup that I shakily spill and the fine powder covers the bench top white. Grandma says it’s ok we’ll clean it up later and asks me to fetch another bag of flour from the pantry. I skip quickly into the gloom of the pantry as shadows lay thick upon the floor and laden shelves. I reach for the flour but it’s not there. But it is there. The bag is where it always has been but then again I see that it’s not there. Disappearing to reappear again when suddenly my hand and all of me slips through the thin walled paper bag into the floury space behind it and I dissolve into mists of powdery white nestled deep within clouds of silk. All around me I see clouds stretching to the horizon some small, large floating high above in colours bright and so wonderfully magical. I wonder where I am. I turn and ahead of me I see a gathering of people young, old, and carried on the wind children’s laughter drifts toward me. I step out upon a cloud as it becomes a candy pink coloured winding path that leads me to them. I see a tall lady standing a little apart from the others. She turns  her arms are outstretched in welcome and knowingly I run into her loving embrace that holds me ever so close and I feel her tears upon my cheek and I hear her trembling voice say “I love you so very much my precious daughter”. My mother who left us, me and my father. Slipped away not that long ago escaping her pain. Pain I did not, could not understand. The pain my father could not explain not hers nor his. I missed her so so very much then. It hurt so much and the emptiness of her inside me never filled. I’ve missed her always since. I never knew why she had to go. I was a toddler still and couldn’t understand, not ever.

I am here and I breathe in her smell. My mother’s smell that wrapped around me as I was born and never left. It’s always been with me. Mine forever. It’s the bond that is nurturing and ever timeless even when there were no arms to hold me, no lips to brush against my brow nor fingers clasping mine. She was still with me and sometimes I thought I saw her shadowed figure walk into my bedroom or sitting on my bed with a favourite book she used to read to me. Then she and the book would fade away leaving behind a lingering trace of her special smell. No one else could see her and I didn’t tell anyone because she was letting me know that she was still here, with me and the knowing was mine alone. Now I look into her eyes that swallow me up and feel the tears, warm, flowing with mine into the well that holds our sorrow. Hers and mine entwined with the rising overflowing well of joy and boundless love.

How did I slip through the membrane of reality of there and here. Through the white powdery mists of flour. How and why was my mother able to change this fabric of reality to have me with her again and her with me? I hear her words flow within me. Of her love for me that never fades. Words that tell me a little of why she left at a time when I could not comprehend her leaving nor my loss with nothing to replace it. She infuses me with a knowing that gently unwraps revealing her truth that allows me to know it, a small part of it. Enough to absorb for now. Memories shared till I know all that I need to know to close the door upon my lingering threads of pain and loss.

I sense the time to leave is close. A wrenching pain passes between us till love extinguishes it and we float lightly in the eternal knowledge that this moment will live within me for always. She reaches for me, her arms folding about me cradling me and I’m again her child just born. I feel her precious love that will from this day ease my pain and loss of her. A gift I will treasure that will be with me forever.

In the shadowed pantry unaware that I’d slipped through the brown paper bag I reach up, take it from the shelf give it to Grandma who takes out some flour leaving mists of powdery white floating in the air between us and in that mist I see the shadow of my Mother whose arms wrap around me and she whispers “I love you” and all of a sudden I feel so light as happiness surrounds me.