Heads I win, tails you lose. I toss the coin over and over, it spins in the air to land in my palm before I slap it over onto the back of my other hand. When I remove my hand, Heads!- ‘May you Rest in Peace Your Majesty’, I think, then flip it again, heads-Her Majesty’s serene profile again. Flip, the silver spins and glints in the artificial light- tails, a little platypus swimming, frozen in time, the monotreme memorialised forever on the tail side of the coin.

Growing up, my dad used the coin toss to solve all his parenting problems. Don’t want to eat your broccoli, you know you should, right? Well let’s flip for it, heads I win, tails you lose. You wanna stay at your friend’s place this weekend? Let’s see, heads I win, tails you lose. I was sure my dad was the fairest parent out there, never a tyrant like the dads of the other boys’ I knew, always offering one of two options and deciding the outcome on the flip of a coin. He was also the luckiest dad ever, he never seemed to lose. It wasn’t until I was older that I understood, and shook my head at my naïveté. “Dad, can you hear me?” The doctors think that he can, and they encourage me to talk to him. They say he responds sometimes. “Dad, I’m here. Not going anywhere so just relax, ok?” He was the biggest man I knew, huge, like larger than life. He’d have a beer or three of an evening, while he told stories, some taller than others, and his palate wasn’t overly discerning. He liked to stick with the tried and true, VB every time. I remember the adds on TV growing up. The voice-over man in that serious tone decrying, “A hard earned thirst needs a big cold beer…and the best cold beer is Vic, Victoria Bitter!” My dad was that man. Not the voice-man, but he may as well have been the blokes that stared in that campaign. So quintessentially Australian, a certain type of man forged by the era he lived in. You don’t see blokes like that anymore. It’s not really PC. I hadn’t seen Dad much these last few months, been busy but that’s no excuse really, and I hadn’t noticed that he’d become small. Kind of shrunken in on himself, as if all the bits that made him ‘dad’ were gone, just leaving ordinary human behind. “Dad, I need a favour,” I whisper into the stillness of the room. “I need you to hang on, you hear me?” He doesn’t respond. My heart hoped he would lift his lids and ask me what I needed this time. When I was a boy, I was forever asking for a favour.

Like the time I needed to impress Mandy on that first date. She was a private school girl, I was a local high school lout. She was seventeen and new, I was not much older but eons wiser, or so I thought. Mario hired her because she was cute, he was a chauvinist like that. Although I knew the meaning of the word, at eighteen I was hard pressed to identify it in practice. So Mandy was our phone girl and chick behind the counter. Me and Mario, well, we put the pizzas together. It was a great job, I got to work with my hands and stare at Mandy’s ass as she leaned against the counter to talk with customers. Win, win. Anyway, it was her birthday, and I was going to ask her out. Eons older than her, and my heart still stammered behind my throat when she walked in for that evening shift, looking like something that would melt in my mouth. I think I remember saying Happy Birthday and I muttered something about how lovely she looked. She smiled, a light of sunshine and I think I asked then with great coolness if she wanted to check out a movie. Said I heard the Drive-In was showing Indiana Jones, she said she loved Harrison Ford. So we were going. I hadn’t factored in the fact that my car was a piece of shit Datsun 120Y and it was nearly as old as I was. It wouldn’t start, and I was supposed to be picking her up.

So I asked, “Dad, I need a favour! Can I take your car tonight?” He just looked at me, right through me and into that part of me that was him, thirty years before. “Heads I win, tails you lose.” Of course, by now, I knew that to mean no. “But Dad!” “You’re not taking some girl to the Drive-In and getting hot and dirty in the back seat of my car!” “We’re not…” “Do I look like an idiot to you, son?” “I swear, no one is getting in the back seat!” Well Dad wasn’t having a bar of it. He pop-started my car the old fashioned way, with me pushing the thing down the hill, him popping the clutch, and we raced down to the auto shop before it closed, where upon he instructed me in the fine art of vehicle repair and battery replacement. There went a good chunk of my week’s pay, but I was still able to pick Mandy up just on time. We didn’t use the backseat, not that time anyway, however we did see many more movies in the Datto, and a few times we actually watched them! But life happens and Mandy grew up and moved on. She went to university to become a nurse, while I stayed on with Mario. I look at dad now and think about that lesson. He didn’t let things come easy for me. I had saved for that Datsun for three years, and yes, the bloody thing was a piece of shit. But I learned to take care of it, had a spanner in the boot that I would use to hit the alternator in just the right spot to get the thing going when it was temperamental. I checked the oil and water each week and learned how to change the oil and spark plugs myself. Dad was old school like that. Why pay someone to do something you could easily do yourself with a bit of time and effort? I thought of my own son. Riley probably wouldn’t know where the battery was on his car, and I wondered if I had even shown him how to pop the bonnet. What kind of Dad had I been for him? I had bought him a membership for the RAC and told him to call them in the event of a breakdown, but I’d never flipped a coin to determine his life, I just didn’t have that kind of input. I was too busy, having three pizza shops that I managed as the kids were growing up, and I worked long hours to get my business degree in on the side. “Dad, I need a favour,” I say again. “I need you to stay here, with me.” Of course Dad says nothing. He never used to say nothing, he was never afraid to tell me if I was being an ass. When my then girlfriend, Trina, got pregnant at twenty-four, he pretty much chewed me a new one, and we were married within months. Trina’s belly was rounded gently under her lacy dress. You can’t tell too much from the photos, we made sure she was standing just so, with the bloody great flowers, that caused my eyes to water and nose to run, clutched before her. So all our wedding photos look like I’m in tears and she is glowing.

“Dad, I still need you. You can’t just leave.”

I hold his hand. It was smaller than mine now, the veins and tendons stand out against the paper thin skin. Once those blunt fingers had held me together, his firm grip on my shoulder when my world had come apart.

The breast cancer diagnosis shattered my family’s foundation, and we floundered for three years. Trina fought it, was determined to conquer it. A hard, long and exhausting battle, but just before our daughter Ella was in her final years of school, Trina’s body said ‘no more’, and she left me alone to navigate those most important moments of our daughter’s life. What did I know of ball dresses and hair and makeup? If not for Dad, who put that huge hand on my shoulder and said, “You’ve got two kids who still need you, it’s time to man up!” I don’t know how I would have survived. “Dad, you’ve still got a son who needs you,” I say as I lace my fingers though his, the delicate bird-bones looking particularly fragile. I’ve always needed him. Growing up it was just him and me. Two bachelors doing what we could to get through each day. I never saw a string of women in his life, not like my early dating career where I enjoyed many girls, some for company some for more, but he was just a rock, an island to himself. After Trina died, I got it, you just don’t get time to put a woman first, as she deserves, when you’re holding together your life and children. In the last few months though, I had met Jo, and Jo had consumed me. I hadn’t taken her to meet dad, or the kids or anything yet, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be that serious.

“Dad, I want you to meet someone, her name’s Jo,” I tell him softly . “I think I’d like her to be someone important. So you can’t leave just yet, I won’t let you.” I hold his hand in both of mine, the silver coin clasped between our palms and I’m not sure if I imagine it, but I feel his hand squeeze back. It’s just a tiny movement, but I latch on to it. “Dad, you can’t go, you hear me? Not yet. Heads I win tails you lose, Ok?” I toss the coin, catch it and flip it onto my wrist. “Tails, you lose,” I whisper as I look into his peaceful, serene but sunken face, and I feel them, the tears down my face. Dad never loses…until today.


His name was Carl Hoag. Middle-aged, with salt and peppered hair with a beard he decided to let it grow out because as his wife said, “Reminded her of the day she met him. Carl was in the United States for twenty years, originally from New Zealand, but enough 90s action movies and a woman from across the world he met on a trip she made to his home country, made him realize that love is where the heart is. And his wife was his heart. Of course, life in America was different than in New Zealand, more difficult Carl thought at first, but hey, he wasn't one to complain. After a decade or so, he had his own chain of restaurants where he’d share his country's cuisine with curious Americans and youtube channels who wanted to advertise New Zealand’s most famous dish, the Pavlova. Years of study under his mother every holiday when she’d made the sweet creamy dish rewarded him to this day. On that day, Carl Hoag was ready to leave his restaurant that evening by himself, ready to go home and meet his wife Marina and his young son Shane, and they would have a quiet movie night, snuggled together on the sofa, eating Kit Kat minis and buttery popcorn while watching another marathon of his son’s favorite Marvel movies. Carl had to admit the blonde man with the hammer was quite entertaining and loved his character’s journey. He most specifically loved the sequel, about the dark elves, and grew to appreciate that in the darkest moments, good things will prevail. It was inspiring to him. The sun was already gone, leaving the once bright city, now in the cover of the luminosity of artificial lights. The traffic of downtown Chicago was bustling and crowds of people burst out across crosswalks and onto sidewalks carrying on a new schedule and the end of an old one. He was one of the old ones. To his surprise, however, Carl found Marina, waiting outside for him, whistling to him like a catcaller. He grinned as he turned around and through the lighting under the canopy of his restaurant’s outdoor area, she looked golden. Her blonde hair was long past her shoulders, and her gray eyes shimmered with gold as she walked towards him. Though she was in her forties, she still looked as young as when he met her. The two embraced and he found himself speechless for a minute. The light of his life. No light in the city, not the lights from the Navy Pier to the cameras flashing around its monuments, none could compare to Marina. They held hands as they walked to their uber, the rest of the night ahead of them filled with the familiarity of warmth.

Carl took a deep breath and caught in the world around him. Office buildings lit up through their windows as stoplights shifted from green to red, concrete glistened from light rain earlier, and up above, stars twinkled just slightly. Chicago was his home. A new life was now fully in light! He, like everyone else, did not notice it coming. As he went on to their ride home, he didn’t see, from block to block, the lights suddenly going away. He didn't see the stars be blanketed by inky blackness until the world around him grew silent. Like a shudder, his vision dropped and for a moment he thought he was asleep. That was until the screaming started. He heard a crash, a boom and hard metal scrape against concrete. Glass shattered against the ground and wet sacks pounded against each other. It took him a moment for his vision to readjust and for himself to view the world around him. There were accidents happening all around him.

“What’s happening?” Marina asked. Carl quickly pulled her alongside a wall as curses sounded all around him.

The two of them both jumped as an explosion suddenly lit the world in hellfire light and chaos sounded. “Omigod! Omigod!” Marina exclaimed as crowds of people pushed and sprinted past each other. The couple could barely hold onto each other as people scurried off past them. Some fell only to be toppled by others, while others crawled away from the gunshots in the distance. Carl and Marina stayed to the wall, letting passersby hoard away to safety. He looked up at the sky, but there wasn't any sky anymore. Buildings looked like monoliths of abyss as shrieking sounded in the distance. “Back inside! “ He yelled over the invisible chaos around him and he led his wife back towards the restaurant, to safety, or so he thought. Marina pulled out the flashlight from her phone and their world was illuminated by the horrors around him. Dark stains and debris littered the city around him. Shadows disappeared around corners as hunks of people pushed past one another for safety. He could hear people calling, pleading for help out in the distance. He couldn't stop. He had to keep moving. He found the doors to his restaurant and shut them as fast as he burst in. Flashlights strode across the place as he entered. Benjamin, one of his waiters, entered his wife's field of light. “What’s happening? “ “Is everyone all right?” Carl asked him. The waiter nodded and the couple went deeper inside the restaurant. Carl’s ears rang but he ignored it as he sat his wife down in the back. “Where’s Shane?” he asked her. “He’s back at home, waiting for us. I need to call him!” she opened her phone but cursed. “There’s no service! I can't even send him a text!”

Carl quickly kneeled and comforted his wife. He spoke in a tone only an employee would hear from him. “Listen to me. The city is fully out. Power outage I guess. We need to stay here until help arrives. We’re going to be okay. I promise.” he caressed his wife’s shoulders, trying to ease the jittery tension emanating off of her. She nodded and Carl flipped on his phone’s flashlight and left her in his office. He entered back into the center of the dining floor and explained the situation. People nodded and had hushed conversations in the darkness while Carl gathered his employees, and chefs and repeated the same. They all came to an agreement, and candles were lit and the restaurant was wrapped in a yellowish glow. Outside, fires suddenly appeared, opposing the figures and hunks of darkness fleeing for safety. Carl could hear sirens out in the distance.

It was an hour or so before the hectic aura of the restaurant died down and everyone grew to a silence.

Carl made it back to his office to check on his wife, then was back out on the restaurant floor as conversation stirred. “Could it have been an explosion?” someone asked “Maybe it was a storm?” “This is like in Wisconsin. Remember honey? They had a state-wide power outage.” “Statewide?” somebody replied. “What could cause that?” “A storm perhaps? Weather was just fine.” “I hope everyone’s okay.” “Did you hear those crashes?” “Where are the paramedics and firefighters?” “What a night huh?” “Definitely putting this one down in my scrapbook.” “Anybody else can't get no signal?” “Yep. Looks like we’re stuck here.” Carl stared across the floor before his spine grew cold. Out in the city, through the glass windows, he saw them. He thought his vision betrayed him, maybe a concussion he could have gotten from that explosion. He stared out into the window again and he saw them. The fires outside slowly started to wither away and with them, the lasting images of pale white figures, leaping on cars, and onto people. His customers saw the same. Some shrieked while other cursed prayed to themselves. The pale figures launched themselves onto people before the fires permanently went out, leaving the restaurant the only source of light left. “What the hell was that!” “Those were! OH, GOD.” The screaming from outside was quickly drowned out by the wave of darkness that swallowed the flames from outside. The scent of copper hung in the air, and Carl sprinted back off to the office for his wife. He burst through the door to find her still trying to contact their son, but to no avail. “What’s going on out there Carl?” “I don't know. But it's dangerous. Somethings out there, attacking people.” “What?” Marina stood up. “It's okay, we’ll be fine. But we have to stay in here, okay?” The yelling made both of them jump. They were both out of the office and onto the dining floor to see it.

An inky wave of darkness, took the candles out one by one. And with it, a person screaming for their life as pale figures grabbed them and swallowed them into the dark. Others scurried out of their seats and huddled backward closer to any exits, but with them came the entities. Tall, stark white, featureless except for black holes for eyes. They came out of the shadows themselves… Carl quickly pulled his wife away back to the office as the wave of darkness came towards them. Carl slammed the door to his office shut as the last of the screaming stopped abruptly. He and his wife looked back and forth from each other. Carl searched the office for any weapon he could find, a stapler, a pencil, anything! He could see his wife in the corner, whispering prayers. Then he stopped. He opened his ears. Nothing was outside. Not a crash, not a scream, no more sirens. It was like along with the light, the world shut off with it.

His wife screamed and Carl turned to see an entity in the corner of his office. It stopped, stared at the motionless. Its wormholes for eyes sucked away the light of their phones until the room was dimly lit. The specter didn't move more as it floated towards them. The two huddled next to each other as the tall figure loomed over them. For the first time in his life, Carl looked at Marina in a new way. The light of his life. He could see the last of their lights being dimmed out until they were enveloped in darkness. ----------------- Jeremy Childs screamed so loud, it rumbled the very mansion he was standing in. The Cowl of Astron, once bright and glittering with the very stars of the universe, of nebulas and galaxies, went dark. The shining chrome cowl turned to jet black as Black Pollux and her assistant Quartz burst into the room. Pollux caught Jeremy just in time before he fell to the floor. The two women stared at the boy, who was rambling on. He finally came to his senses and jolted upwards to the ceiling. He floated down and fell to his knees. Black Pollux felt herself shudder as she saw it. Tears welled down Jeremy’s cheeks. “It's almost here. It got another one.” “What did?” Quartz asked over Pollux’s shoulder. Jeremy looked up at them. “The darkness. It has another universe.”


Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat The runner blazes through the sweltering day on his delicate feet. Along the way, the sights of the Sonoran fly by his pupils. Saguaros, canyons, green bushels, the occasional jackrabbit who’d hop away before he could glance.

Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat He reached a strange, desolate human structure, but the asphalt he kicked behind his tail stretched ever farther. Once again, images of the unforgiving, dull landscape would pass his gaze. More bunches of greenery, more saguaros. He thought how fortunate those damned things are. Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat He had found this road a couple hundred miles back, eager to see what lay at the end of its trail. Yet here he was, still running. Still going. Still seeing those same old sights. Even the occasional human monuments were growing stale to him.

Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat Why am I what I am? He begins to think as his feet keep up the same tedious pace through the land. Why can’t I be as jumpy as those rabbits and touch the air above me as they do? Tat tat tat tat tat tat Why can’t I experience the patient thrill that those devilish reptiles do, striking for their next tasty morsel? Why do I run? Tat tat tat tat tat tat What have I got to earn? Another stop at unremarkable constructs of man’s making? He couldn’t even seem to reach the end of this long valley of black with a fading, cracked yellow strip dividing it.

Tat tat tat The runner stops. He isn’t exhausted either. Just as he begins to contemplate heading for a snake’s maw, he hears that same tat tatting a few feet away. The tatting stops just behind him, and he knows it’s another runner. He had a bright red stain on his beak.

“What are you doing stopping out here, my brother?” The red beaked runner paces his feet in place, pecking at the ground around him as he speaks. “Don’t worry about the mark, I had some delicious something a couple miles back! Whoever left such a bite there is a sorry soul!”

“Can you stop pacing?” the runner finally says. “Oh..” The red beaked runner halts suddenly. “My apologies, I just get excited to see any other of my type on this path! You’re the first one I’ve seen in a long while!”

“I feel so special.” The runner says it so dry, the other wonders if he got some dirt caught in his throat on his way.

“Well, I’d love to keep chatting, but could we maybe get running as we do? I’m eager to see more around!”

“You’ve seen all there is to see.” The red beaked runner runs ahead. The other doesn’t want to follow, but some weird feeling inside for this other runner makes him anyway. Why do I care? Why am I running again? The red beaked runner saw the other running to the side of him. An uncontrollable ecstasy fills him.

“You don’t know that for sure, my brother! Like I said, I had that tasty bite a bit a way over there, I saw this weird looking lizard before that, he had some interesting colors to him, he didn’t seem pleasant though, and, oh, I also found some wacky place that had a funny smell to it, with all these lights-” “You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“I don’t, I’m glad you noticed! No critter ever acknowledges that out loud!” Who else has had to suffer this? “Why are you talking to me?” “You looked a little lost out there, my brother!” “Well I wasn’t. I’ve known where I wanted to go for a while.”

“Then why did you stop there, my brother?”

“I was exhausted.”

“Huh, that’s funny. I didn’t think our type was one to tire easily. I say that because I myself have been running along this way for quite a while without fatigue. How about you? How long have you gone?”

“What does that matter?” The red beaked runner steadily stops his rapid trek and the other follows suit.

“Why should it not, my brother?” The road runner gestures his beak at the road to the side of them.

“Do you know where this path started?”

“No, not exactly. I just found this way and I’ve been following it wherever it may lead.” “How do you know it leads anywhere? You ever think there is no end to this?”

“I don’t, but I don’t see how that’s an issue.” The runner freezes for a moment. Confusion starts clouding his brain. “Doesn’t it bother you that we’re running a path that we may never see the end to? That this whole thing doesn’t seem to offer any final destination?”

“There have been plenty of destinations along here!”

“It’s not far enough.” “Why is going that far such a big matter for you?”

“It’s been my only matter for too long to say.” The red beaked runner’s eyes widen. “For so many days I run on this road only ever getting to see the same old stops every time. Signs, plants, man made structures, waiting for the moment I can be content about this journey!”

Silence fills the desert around them. A tear rolls down the runner’s left eye. “All this running here…no end...why?” The red beaked runner has no immediate answer. He turns his head lost in thought, before he turns it back to the teary runner. “To be frank, my brother, I don’t know. That thought is rather scary, hearing it…but maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. Maybe this road has no end, maybe we’ll perish before we know if it does, but look at what you’ve done along it. Can you think of any other critter in this land that has gone as far as you have? Any others that have been able to find and see what you have?” The runner says nothing. He is done dismissing. The red beaked runner continues, as moist tears still fall from the other runner dry to the dirt under him. “I’ve not seen how this way began, but there have been a lot of remarkable things that I’ve seen along it. Sure, some ugly ones as well, none can avoid the predators and bad storms of this place. Once they part and I can see those things again, though, it reminds me why I suffer through them. Maybe, my brother, you just need that reminder too.”

For the first time, the runner doesn’t feel like running. He looks around him and takes in the majesty of the Sonoran. The way the Saguaros stand so tall and strong in the sunlight. The way the bushels of the green complement the orange of the dirt around it. The red canyons in the distance casting shadows behind them with their grand slopes. Then, next to him in the middle of it all, the roadrunner that has been talking with him. Oh, how lovely that red on his beak is. The runner gives a light chuckle and another tear drips down. Though, now, the sadness has long fried in the earth beneath.

The red beaked runner, with its beak, gently pats him on his wing. The runner shakes his tear off. “Where was that delicious morsel you found exactly?”

The red beaked runner smiles. “Let’s see if it’s still there.”


The white fluffy clouds swim in the sky, changing their shapes whenever they moved. Like the salami toy, Taro had at home. Taro the seven years old boy was heading home after a long rough school day when his tiny chocolate eyes caught the orange sky and the diving clouds. Taro followed the clouds movement, titled his head when its shape changed, maybe an elephant or whale. His tiny imagination mixed all the colors, shapes, animals and everything he knows to give him a hint on the cloud puzzle. "Airplane" he yelled and pointed at one giant cloud.

He got home, and his mother greeted him from the kitchen. "Welcome home, Taro" her cheerful voice was the first thing he would hear when he arrives home. No home without mother's voice. "Wash your hands Taro", the usual instructions, Taro rushed to the toilet.

The smell of the miso soup, burger was on the pan, white rice ready, Taro's mother listed all the dishes that were be put on the dinner table tonight. "Mom, Are airplanes so scary?" Taro's voice came from behind her. Taro's mother jumped, " Taro when did you …"

He waved his hand "Just now. I am sorry mom. Did I scared you?" he held on his backpack strips. "Just little bit. Don't do that again" She give him a smile. "What did you said about Airplanes honey?" she flipped the burger. "Are they scary?" he said. "No they aren't scary. We let the airplane take us to grandma house. Don't you remember?" she squeezed the burger against the pan. "I guess so, but I heard they are scary." He sounded troubled. "What? Who told you that?" she turned to face her confused child. " I read a book and then …the airplanes were throwing bombs and then people died …" he looked at his mother. Taro's mother took a deep breath; she knew what her son was talking about. Taro wasn't like other kids, he had this huge curiosity which his mother herself couldn't do anything about it. Sometimes she was troubled by his embarrassing questions. Moreover, if it is only curiosity that would be easy but Taro was smart. He didn't fool by half- answer, so he would turn to little detective if it necessary.

"Yes, Taro. There were times when the airplanes were scary." She stroke his head, "but now they aren't and that is great news."

"But they still use them to be evil, right mom?" he said

"Well, people are working hard not to use them in evil again" she tilted her head and smiled at him.

"It's burning mom" Taro pointed behind her, she jumped screaming and flipped the cover of the miso soup. Taro laid down on his bed. He stared at the nylon light on the room ceil.

"Airplanes…Airplanes…Airplanes…" Taro was thinking of the book he read about the WWII. In his humble experience, airplanes were cool and astonishing. Transporting people to different places was excessively cool. However, what he read on that book was something different. Airplanes used to be scary and evil. They would kill people and burned the houses to the ground. Frightened indeed, a mass of metal used to take the souls of humans and without feeling sorry about it. Taro close his eyes and thought about the white giant airplane turned to evil monster.

A noisy sharp sound went on. Taro opened his eyes and put his hands on his ears. The sound penetrated his ears and shook his head; he rolled around himself in pain. It was siren.

"AIRSTRIKES! TAKE COVER!" he heard someone yelling. It was not his father or his mother's voice, he jumped to look who was it but to realized he wasn't home. Wall was from old darkened wood, there were thick wood stands, and the roof was ancient crack wood, the room left cold and doom. It was like those houses that would appear in old Japanese's tales.

Taro heard noises outside, he glared at the door when it suddenly slides and a shadow figure busted in, the ground shook and strong sounds of explosion went in the air. Warm vibe went through his wrist nerves. A hand was griping him.

"Come on, Toshi!" Taro float in the air and soon be embraced with skinny body. Taro knew from the voice she was a woman.

"I'm not Toshi" he screamed while he took a strong grip on the woman's weary sleeves.

"Not now, Toshi! We have to run!" she covered Taro's head and let her legs to the wind. The dark night soaked in bright crimson fire, wooden houses burning and truned to ashes, people running like preys chased by predators, children older than Taro trying to keep up with their parents, panic screams, frightened eyes; Taro witnessed those entire crazy scenes from a hole on the cover

"Don't cry. We will be fine. Toshi" the woman voice remained him of his mother's voice, Taro tightened his grip on the woman arms. A groan of engine blasted all the dark sky. Taro looked up and the cover slide little bit from his head revealing the figure of the dark monster roaming the sky. The black giant wings spread on both side, the pumped long body and the tail. The monster stomach opened and a ball fell. "Bomb!"

Pain, Taro felt a strong hit on his head. He reached his hand to the back of his head. Soft white bright light surrounded his air. "Where am I ?" Taro jumped and inspected his room. The study desk, his toys box, the books on the bookshelf, his stuffed bears and frogs and his fluffy bed all of them were there, Taro sensed that they all staring at him saying " little fellow are you okay?". "Taro it’s dinner. Come down!" For some reason, Taro heart broke into tears hearing his mother's cheerful voice.

"Mom…" he wiped his tears and rushed down stairs. Taro's mother was standing beside her husband when her body took a hit from behind not soon her waist embraced by two tiny arms. "What's wrong Taro?" she was shocked by her son face sinking to her waist. "I love you" a muffed voice. And a smile on mother.

"Oh, I love you, too" she hugged her son back and patted his back. "That is nice Taro. What about daddy?" his father spread his arms expecting to receive a hug, instead he received silence. "No hugs for daddy's I guess" he scratched back of his head, mother made pitiful smile to her husband. All of the sudden, Taro jumped to his father's arms and buried his head on his chest. "I love you, too. Dad".


Chapter 1 A gentle breeze blew past. Finn pulled his coat closer to his thin frame. Beside him, Larry stood still, cradling an urn in his hands. It had been handmade by a local potter and had an Indian Gate mural etched on its body. That was all they had left of their comrades. The battle ground had been so decimated there hadn't been any bodies or mementoes of others to collect. “Cold?” He asked, glancing in the boy’s direction. “Na, I’m good.” He replied. His eyes fell on the urn. “So, are you gonna do it?” “Not yet," Larry said. He nodded, turning his gaze to the water. It stretched out far into the horizon, where it met with the full grey sky. Leaves floated close to the shore as the Northern Red Oak trees shed their dying leaves like bloody tear drops. He noticed a strange hazel colored leaf in the water, and as he watched it float away his shoulders dropped. “This sucks.” He said. “I know. At least it was worth it. All-Knoweth is gone.” “I failed.” His lip quivered. “Again.” Larry said nothing. He stared off into the horizon, his mouth a thin line. “I couldn’t do anything when it mattered…” “Well, we don’t have control over-” “Easy for you to say.” Finn snapped. He could feel heat rising in his abdomen. “You’ve literally had this entire world in your hands.” The heat seared through his body, up to his finger tips. Smoke curled up from his coat pockets. The wind blew Larry’s collar, revealing a jagged scar running from beneath his jaw towards his neck. “Everything comes at a cost.” The flames died down immediately. He stared at his friend, unable to speak. “what price are you willing to pay for control over your own destiny?” All-Knoweth smirked at him. He’d pulled his sleeves up, revealing scarred, burnt flesh, etched with designs and murals. “Only those with courage to face consequences can truly make their own choices.” This whole time he’d been too busy thinking about the consequences to actually make any choices. Not anymore. “I’m leaving.” He announced. “The Union?" "Yeah." He looked down at his feet. His once bright red sneakers had faded, the fabric had peeled and it was caked with mud. He sighed. Silence hung in the air, save for the gentle rustling of leaves. "If this is about Rick, don't blamed yourself." Larry said. He was staring at the water. Rick. "Finn, get outta there!" He'd turned, frozen in shock. All-Knoweth had just smashed Toby to bits and was headed for him. The others lay in heaps of blood, bones broken and hearts weakened. He remembered Rick's battered face, hair matted with blood, eye bloodshot. He'd smiled, revealing a set of missing teeth. Then he'd stretched out his hand and repelled him with a magnetic force, right before- "Finn." He inhaled sharply. Larry was looking at him, a worried expression on his face. "I haven't been in control of my own destiny for a while now." He said, looking at the sky. "I just went along with everyone, letting others carry me." "But you defeated All-Knoweth." "I wouldn't have activated Incinerate if you hadn't told me to. I was indecisive and he paid the price." He stared at his palm, then clenched his fist. "I just feel this… Is a decision I finally made on my own.” He kept a plain face, but his voice betrayed his true emotions. “I see.” The deafening silence returned. Occasionally Larry would crunch dead leaves beneath his feet; the sound made Finn nostalgic of a time when things were simple and could be decided by nods and frowns. The wind had returned, rousing the dead leaves from their grassy graves and leading them in spirals like a choreographed dance. As he watched the leaves like mini-hurricanes, he realised his life wasn't something he had control over. Perhaps not in this place, where everything depended on the whims of an unknown being and they were all just pawns in a sick game. He glanced at Larry. The Brit always seemed to know what to do, and always seemed to be in control. Something he'd envied. However, All-Knoweth’s words made him wonder. Just what price had he paid for the choices he’d made? He briefly caught sight of another jagged line of scarred flesh stretching towards his wrist, contrasting his caramel colored skin, but he wriggled his sleeve and it was hidden from view. “So what are you gonna do now?” “Well, Kara’s left to England with Shadow"-Finn's expression soured-"and Kevin is still missing, but I know he’s coming for me.” He narrowed his eyes, staring off into the sky. Something Finn always found confusing. “I’ll probably just wait in Quiet Place for the end to come.” “Oh, okay.” Finn said. A tiny flame danced around lazily on his palm, before sputtering and dying out. “I’d go home, but..” “No home to go back to.” Finn shook his head. Larry was right. They were Outsiders ; there was no where for them in the normal world now. “I’ll just get my katana and go wherever the wind takes me, I guess.” Larry snorted. “That’s so cliché.” He smiled, in spite of himself. Most of the leaves had fallen into the river, and soon the contents of the urn followed, the ashes spreading out in the shape of a flower before disappearing beneath the surface, leaving the water clear as before. As he watched, a bouquet of flowers fell from the urn as well. Names seemed to enter his head as he watched them float away: Dahilas, their radiant orange petals spreading warmth over the water; the intense red Gladiolus casting a reddish tint around them; the distinctive lustre of Protea petals causing sparkles on the water surface, and finally, the subtle amber glow of Daffodils. The flowers combined to form an array of beautiful colours all around them. He stared, dumbfounded, struggling to fight back tears. He couldn’t see Larry’s face but the urn dropping confirmed the Brit was shocked as well. He raised his fist and punched the sky. He didn’t know where he was headed, neither did he know what he would face, but he was filled with a sudden sense of determination. He'd taken the first step towards his own path. Everything would be fine. Thank you, Rick. The flowers floated away, the colours growing duller till they faded into the horizon.


Dedicated to my new little sister, we may not be related by blood but we are related in spirit. We live in the mansion up the winding road.

Yes, that mansion.

The one with the bats perched precariously on the windowsills and spiderwebs littering every corner and strange screams from time to time. It’s just my little sister and I, and I promise we’re not scary. Everyone says we’re scary people with a scary house, but I prefer to think of us as quirky recluses with an eccentric living style. Our story takes place around two am: I’m still wide awake in my bed since I can’t fall asleep until the sun rises, and I hear a knock on the door. I already know who it is, so I offer up a “Come in.” My kid sister, Lilith, pushes the door open with a drawn out creak. I smile a soft little smile as she dashes to my bedside and scrambles her way into my bed. She kicks her little-bitty feet in her lilac footie pajamas a few times and curls up into my side. “Ambrose, I’m scared,” she whispers as she clings to me. I hum contemplatively. “Scared of what, my little spider-catcher.” “There’s a monster under my bed.” I grin at hearing this. “Well that’s wonderful news, my dear nebula. Why don’t we go meet him or her or them and see if they would like to stay in the spare bedroom?” We keep the inside of our house fairly free of cockroaches and spiderwebs, but the spare room has gone dismally unappreciated. It is coated in the remnants of insects past and I believe the single light inside has gone dim. But I hope a mythical creature would be kind enough to look past these details and stay the night. “Come, little one. Let's make acquaintances with our new friend.” But Lilith just shakes her head into my nightgown sleeve and I can now feel it growing soggy with fresh tears. “Would you like me to introduce myself solo?” Again, she moves her head from side to side and quivers against me. Now I have a conundrum. She wants to stay here but wants to be with me. I ponder this for a moment before hoisting her into the air and adjusting her on my hip. I snag the flashlight off my bedside table and we head off to meet the monster. Her golden locks bounce as we walk and she shudders further into my side. Hopefully she’ll realize once we get there that monsters are nothing to fear, just misunderstood creatures much like ourselves. At least I hope. I’m excited to meet a fantastic creature for the first time. Though our parents told us stories of them I’ve never had the pleasure of encountering one before. We reach Lilith’s door, (not a difficult trek considering we are one door down from each other), and I swing open the door rather carelessly. I parade past the sea of toys and set Lilith down on her bed with a bounce. I swiftly crouch to my hands and knees and begin to shine the flashlight in a circular motion. To my displeasure, the underside of the bed is entirely empty apart from a few dust bunnies. “Lilith, I see no monsters under here. Perhaps you were mistaken and just heard tree branches banging against the house?” “I think it’s hiding in the closet,” she whispered out in response. I shoot up like a lightning bolt and make my way over to the closet. I fling open the door and wave my flashlight back and forth. All I can find is the dresses she refuses to wear and the T-shirts and shorts she actually makes use of. “Sweetie, there is no monster in here.” I do try my best to hide the disappointment in my tone. “It must be hiding somewhere else then.” Her voice is a pout rather than the cheery bubble it normally takes the form of. “Well I’m sure we can meet it in the morning.” I turn off my flashlight, letting Lilith’s plethora of amethyst night lights illuminate her bedroom. “Can—“ she stutters as she speaks “—can I sleep in your room tonight?” I smile warmly. “Of course you can, my little firefly. You are more than welcome to come to me anytime you want.” She already knows this, but I try to reiterate at any opportunity I get. I waltz over to her bed and lift her towards the ceiling once again. She giggles softly and a smile creeps its way onto my face. We walk through my doorway and I drop her unceremoniously onto my bed with its many pillows. I lift up the quilt and we both climb into its warm embrace. She cuddles into my side and I wrap my arms around her. I love her from the very bottom of my cold, dead heart. And I can’t believe I’ll have to leave soon. - I wake up at four in the morning to the sound of stifled sniffles. It takes me a moment to realize they are not coming from myself but rather my baby sister. I turn towards her to see she is curled into a tight little ball facing away from me. I silently remove myself from my sheets and tiptoe over to face her. “Lilith?” I ask gingerly. She finally seems to take note of my presence and turns to look up at me. Her gaze is filled with tears and her eyes and the surrounding area are flushed rosy pink. Snot gushes out of Lilith’s little nose and runs down her face. I can see the area where her face sat on the mattress is now run through with bodily fluids. I suppose I’ll have to do laundry tomorrow. “My darling, what’s wrong?” She doesn’t respond and instead turns her face back into the mattress, leaving a trail of boogers on my fine linens. “Moonlight, I can’t help you if I don’t know what's going on.” She quickly turns to look back up at me and does something pitifully dreadful between a sob and a hiccup. “Why would you care? You’re gonna leave soon anyway, I only have two hundred days left with you in the mansion.” Then she sobs again and turns to face away from me completely. It was true. Even freak recluses had to grow up eventually. I am going to college at the beginning of the new school year, and I was unhappy with this fact to incredible proportions.

Lilith would be staying with her grandparents Gram Gram and Popsy. Of course I was glad to be furthering my education, considering I was something of a genius it was a necessary step towards getting a job too. But to leave Lilith behind? I loved her with all my heart and what little soul I had in my body. I had cared for her for two years now, and I loved every second of it. To leave her was agony, suffering at its finest. It felt like one thousand needles to the spine and the crunching of bones. I hated it. But sometimes we have to do things we hate in order to better ourselves, others, or the world around us. Hopefully I will be doing all three. “Dear,” if possible, she shuffled even further from me. “Please look at me.” When she didn’t, I chose to speak anyway. “I love you. And I know it doesn’t seem like it with me leaving, but you are my treasure. Please, understand something: I am not truly leaving you alone forever. I will return after my educational stint and we will live together in this mansion for all of time. I will write to you everyday and visit every weekend while I’m enrolled. If you need me, I will find a sorcerer's spell to teleport me instantly to your side and I will be there for you. “I love you beyond the possibilities of love and no matter what it feels like I will always be with you in spirit. Please, do not miss me as much as I shall miss you. Instead, be happy for me as I will be happy for you. I will smile for you everyday you get to spend with your incredible grandparents, and I pray you can do the same thing for me.” Her tears had stopped and she stared at me wide eyed. She sat frozen while hopefully running my words over in her head. Then she let out a tiny little “okay” and reached up for me. We embraced in full and I sat back down in my bed with her clinging to me. This was just how it should have been. Her in my arms, forever safe, forever loved. I was beginning to suspect there was no monster under her bed, but that was okay. It’s not like I could sleep anyways.


The year is 2050. The world is thriving. The borders are there only to let you know you should change the input language of your AI real time translator and acknowledge if it is socially acceptable to publicly experience flatulence. All the countries are one, while also keeping their unique traditions, their beautiful language and tempting foods. We have won our territorial unity, without losing our wonderful heritage. Every history class is as accurate as possible and we are not changing any narrative for the benefit or feelings or anyone. The past is the past. We will do our best to describe it exactly as it was. Economy is booming. We have not experienced a financial crisis since 2026 and even the most mundane job (like a technician at the sex robot rental) will earn you enough currency/year for a 2 bedroom flat and an exotic vacation . We have managed to balance the fallacy of constant yearly economic growth, when we have mapped it to the birth rate. For decades they have been trying to bring more capital into the economy while the birth rate was severely declining. Severe idiocy. Society is flourishing. Elders are there to guide the youngsters, and youngsters are eager to learn and respect everyone. We have successfully eradicated bias from the collective consciousness. No one cares about your skin color, your money, your sexual preferences, your political views. You are either a human, or an asshole. This is solely decided based on your behavior and ideas, a shocking concept for the woke 20’s. The chalice of science is overflowing with miracles. We keep pushing the boundaries of medicine and achieving new peaks. We find God in every pill that removes the “incurable” label from a disease. We keep trying to make our last discovery insignificant even if it seemed impossible before getting it. While I was enjoying my coffee in the morning, I hear my husband joyfully screaming: -Benito! Benito! Benito! Someone called from the institute. IT WORKS! -I hope you are not joking. This could only be achieved theoretically. -I know. I am speaking the truth. Another day, another miracle from the institute. We now have cold fusion. Unlimited energy. No greenhouse gasses. No radioactive waste. No scarcity of resources. No exploitation of poor economies in abundant countries. How did we achieve this, you ask yourself? I like to think I played a decent part in these progresses. Everything started in 2025 when I got forcefully transported to the Nonblack House, put in a dark room with a blinding light shining on me . -Congratulations Benito Moose Oolmani. You have the perfect profile! -What do you mean sir? Please let me go. People will be looking for me! -You can go home by the end of this discussion. Pay attention to what I say, and you might want to stay here. If you decide you want to go to your bing bok social media shit or fluid studies at your college, we will gladly let you go. -Yes sir. -In your file I see that our genetic lineage shows you are Jewish, Afro American, Argentinian, German, and Middle Eastern..Somewould call you a fucking walking paradox. I would call you a fuckin gold mine.


With the Suitcase in your hand, you head to the station. The textured handle feels slippery in your hand, no doubt due to the amount of sweat you are profusely letting out. You glance nervously about. You cannot shake the feeling that you are constantly being watched, and every turn you take, every stop, every gesture, is taken notice of. Yet when you do glance around and glance behind, you see the normal bustle of Sparrow City. Nothing to be worried about. You sigh, as you continue walking towards the station. Your heavy suitcase leans against your right knee, and your arm is already sore. You check your watch, and see it is 3:20, 10 minutes away from the next train. You speed up, and your thoughts return from the made-up person watching you to the business at hand. You walk the stairs to the station, and as you do, you tell God, for either the fiftieth or the thousandth time, that this is the last time you will be doing this type of stuff. No more, this is the last one. I just need a bit more… you think to God. You buy your ticket, using just your left hand with the Suitcase weighing down your right hand, something that would have annoyed you any other day had it been any other suitcase. However, a beating heart, as well as a dropping stomach, is what you feel as you take your ticket. You walk and stop at station 10, right in front of the bench. No point standing right behind the yellow line. Accidents could happen. You stare blankly ahead, and grip the handle of the case tighter. Just a few

more minutes, and The Suitcase would be out of your hands and out of your life. You stand and wait, and run what was going to happen in your head once more. You were going to step unto the train, and make your way to the window seat towards the middle of the train. You were to keep your eyes on the window, until someone took the seat next to you. After verifying that each person had truly found the right person, you were to hand over the case. You would be given another suitcase, this one for you to keep.

You think back to previous events that have led to you starting to take these kinds of jobs. I hope this is worth it. I’m going to stop after this job, you promise God once again. You could not have resisted the pull of money. When you had first been contacted, you were shocked by the amount you would be paid. The task had been a bit disturbing in exchange, but you told yourself that it wasn’t your problem. After that, you soon took another job offered by the Boss. You then think of her, of how after this was done, you were finally going to try and make up to her. You remember the days when she fought with you, wishing you would stop taking these jobs. “It’s wrong and you know it! You need to stop before something happens and you finally regret it!” Deep down, you know that what you’re doing may be wrong, but… I’m just the deliverer, you say to yourself. I’m not the one who is getting what’s inside all these cases, not the one who decides what to do with them . A high-pitched sound fills the station as the train shows up in the corner of your view. You turn towards it, and take a step forward towards it, though you know that it will be a few more seconds until it pulls up in front of you. You let out the breath you have been holding, anxious and also relieved that you would be free of this trouble soon. The blur of silver becomes clear as the train slows and stops. You step forward as the doors slide open. Before your foot hits the ground, though, you feel a yank, and your stomach drops, your right hand suddenly grasping the air. You look back, and you see a black sleeve and glove and the Suitcase blend into the crowd. You spin around and start towards where you saw it, pushing aside people. Oh, God, please help me. You know how important the Suitcase is. You dash after the person. You have to catch up. You have to, or you’ll be in more trouble than you’ve been in before. You run after the running figure ahead, his trail made easier to follow by the people being pushed apart to the left and right, and yet it was the same crowd that made it hard to chase. You make it out of station, and look to the left and right. A cloud passed in front of the sun, throwing the city scene from one of beauty into a darker and more depressed landscape, the people from happy and excited to rushed and downcast. You spot a running figure, Suitcase in hand, make a right at the intersection ahead. You chase after him, your heart racing, and wishing your shoes were better suited for running. As you turn the alley, you think of the consequence that would come upon you should you fail to retrieve the Suitcase. Boss’ll have my skin. There’s no way out of this if I don’t get it back. Your run and turn at another intersection, the captor fifty meters ahead. God, I’m sorry. I should’ve stopped doing this business last time. If You help me get this back, I promise I won’t do this stuff anymore. You watch the figure turn down a street, and you inwardly groan. You know this city enough to know that the area the figure went to is a more residential one with more turns and smaller blocks, and that to be able to see the figure turn into different streets meant you’ll have to be a lot closer to him. You speed up more, feeling your lungs give a tighter squeeze around you. You turn another corner, and another.

Your heart seems to stop. You feel like crying. Especially now that you are at a loss. He’s gone. You slow down at the intersection ahead, and look around, with no idea which of the 3 ways he may have gone. For all you know, he may as well be in one of the identical residential homes that line the streets in this particular area. You put your hands on your knees, breathing heavily, and you are filled with nervousness and terror. You keep turning your head, and decide to turn right. You run, and run, and run. You turn, you run, you look, all the while screaming inside your head, and pleading with God to help you. You slow down. You start to accept that you searching for the Suitcase isn’t leading anywhere. You suddenly feel light headed. From the run, or from shock, you aren’t sure. However, you keep walking. You absentmindedly walk, until, after a couple blocks, lucid thoughts start coming back into your head. You step onto the sidewalk and start your way towards the cross on a steeple, high above the residential houses. God, I’m sorry. You step unto the road to make way for a couple coming your way on the sidewalk. I knew better than to work in stuff like this. It was just so… well, I know better now. You laugh. “I’m going to die,” you say out loud. You laugh again. “I’m going to die!” You tilt your head back, and yell “I’m going to die!” You tilt your head down, and realize that your eyes are burning from tears. You sniffle, and blink and let the tears roll down. I’m sorry, God. I truly am. With the time I have left, I’ll try to put my life in order. You pull out your phone, and dial a number. Bringing it to your ear, you slow your breathing, and regain your composure. You hear the 4th ring of the phone get cut off, and a voice answers the phone. You apologize, you ask for another chance, and in the call that follows, you put this part of your life back in order between you and her. You say the 3 important words to her that you so strongly agree with. You also send the message you have had the guts to write long before, but had never decided to send. With a couple of taps, you send it to the police. You arrive in front of the brick building, and walk up the stairs and into the church. You sit on a pew, and start to pray. With the few hours you have left, for undoubtedly you will be caught-- and not by the authorities-- you pray to God, and ask for forgiveness... and you feel your burden taken from you.


The click of a mouse filled the silence, the screen light filled the dark, the purpose filled the void. Nora’s blank face was awash with a pool of blue light, her pupils as small as the eye of a needle. Her irises swelled with colour, her glassy eyes reflecting her avatar who bobbed back and forth on the screen. Right click. Collect confetti. “Are you doing the Green Orcas quest?” The white text appeared above a familiar avatar, an avatar with a saturated green cape: barbieblows94 . “I am,” typed Nora, the white text filling the silent space, stretching out across the empty arena. The arena was like a ghost town, a ghost town illuminated by ghastly white lights, the breeze whispering through both avatars’ knee-length hair, tickling the ends of Barbie’s green cape. After a concert, absence was tangible, silence was tangible; and it was the stark contrast that did it, the half hour that divided this vacuum from its prior fullness. It was like a black hole having swallowed up gas, dust, moons. And there they stood in the aftermath, as though the black hole had been defused, scraps of stars on its edge like bits of soup in the corners of one’s mouth. Collect confetti. “We both know I’ve already completed the quest,” said Barbie. “Did you need some confetti?” “I’d rather collect it myself tbh ,” said Nora. “It’s cathartic, I guess.” Plastic cups, cans and confetti littered the patches of grass, grass bleached white by the sterile lights. “Yup,” said Barbie. “I’ve got four capes already.” “Isn’t there another quest you’d rather do?” “Nup,” said Barbie, hovering over a crushed soda can. Nora scanned the arena for more litter, the click of her mouse prodding the silence as she collected another colourful lump of confetti. There was the crumple of aluminium as she fished a crisp from its packet, a crunch as she popped it into her mouth, her jaw pulsing beneath the blue light of her screen. Crunch, crunch, crunch. “And did you like the concert?” she typed. “I’m just here for the aftermath, really,” said Barbie. “I’m here for the silence; it feels a little louder after the sudden absence of so much noise.” Pause. The white text danced across Nora’s irises. She popped another crisp into her mouth, chugged back a mouthful of coke. Silence. Silence feels a little louder in the sudden void left by so much noise, silence echoes here in this emptiness. “…and I’m here for the privacy,” continued Barbie. “It’s a little more personal after the sudden absence of such a large crowd.” “You should write a book.” “Piss off,” said Barbie. “I’d flip you off if I could.” “Damn, what a shame,” said Nora. “But no, really, it’s a death of sorts.” “I guess.” I guess? Wasn’t it? It was as though the crowd had carved out the flesh of a kiwi, had occupied its hollowed skin and then left; it was as though they’d stretched the space like a hair tie, and it would never regain its prior form, it would never bounce back. They’d expanded the space and had then evacuated it; and what was once so whole was left loose and hollow. There was always a before, and always an after. Noise preceded silence, and presence preceded absence. Here, in the after , silence was louder, and privacy more personal. “You guess?” said Nora. “I keep coming back,” said Barbie, “because it makes me feel alive. I feel more alive in the aftermath of something, than I do in the absence of something.” “But they’re both absence.” “They’re a different kind of absence.” One was a before, and one was an after. Nora clicked on her inventory. She needed fifty more lumps of confetti and twenty-three more cans, then she too would earn a green cape, she too would have a sense of fulfilment, however trivial. She dusted the crumbs from her keyboard as she popped another crisp into her mouth. She too felt alive here in this semblance of death. She hadn’t understood it though, not really, not even now. She placed an oily hand on her mouse, double clicked a red can, twenty-two, click , twenty-one, click , twenty. “Did you like the concert, then?” asked Barbie. “Yeah, but Jade looked exhausted.” “Did she?” “I swear she almost fainted during Offline Love,” said Nora. “Don’t they all?” Idols lived so intensely that they burned through life like dynamite. They’d never stood in the aftermath, like this, here, now; they’d never had the time to live. There was so much life, constant life to plough through, and everything blossomed in their wake. And somehow this made the slow pace of monotony and mediocrity sacred. Nora had the time to live, the time to feel her joy, to feel her pain, the time to process them; and yet she didn’t. She ran from the void, she covered the void, she filled the void, but she’d never dived right in, she’d never examined its lungs, its heart, its skin. She double clicked on confetti. Forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven. The click of a mouse filled the silence, the screen light filled the dark, the purpose filled the void. “Woops,” said Barbie. “I gtg .” “Night.” Barbie’s avatar vanished, and Nora stared into the screen, the empty arena, the lights. Her irises swelled with colour, her chest swelled with the void. Exit to Lobby. Double click. Nora rose from her chair and waddled towards the wardrobe, her shoulders hunched. There was a girl in the mirror glowing blue with light, there was a girl in the mirror with acne and vacant eyes; she had oily lips, and crumbs in the corners of her mouth, but this didn’t constitute an aftermath. She hadn’t swallowed gas and dust and moons, she hadn’t burped up stars. There was no before, and no after; there was only this pristine and perpetual absence, as white as an unsullied napkin tucked into one’s collar. She craved collision, a before, an after, and her stomach grumbled for more. She wiped the crumbs from her lips with the back of her hand, and fell into bed, fell into ennui, into self-pity. Lobby music filled the silence, the screen light filled the dark, but nothing filled the void. Why couldn’t we sit in that space? The tranquillity of ennui allowed us to transcend this, here, now; it allowed us to speak to ourselves, our minds, and not merely our biology; and yet, it bored. It yawned so widely it swallowed us whole, and there we sat in its stomach, isolated and infected with its sleepiness. Why couldn’t we revel in the dreamlike languor? Why couldn’t we lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling, at the gotelé , at the objective self departing our body and floating above like a balloon? like a balloon attached to our core by an invisible umbilical cord. Why couldn’t we examine the subconscious? Nora reached towards her desk and shut her laptop, rolled over and closed her eyes. Her lids fluttered, her limbs twitched, her body sighed, and her mind swelled with colour. Silence reigned, darkness reigned, and dreams filled the void.


The term had finally come to an end. Jane was all packed and ready to go home. A home where she hadn't been to in years, since her grandma had passed away. She rushed out of the dorm in a hurry to catch the last bus for the day. Well you see, she was running a bit late. "Nevermind" she said, she took out her list and crossed all the points she had made. "Ah! Keys, here they are."And she was good to go. She gave her mom a call before she boarded the bus. "Have fun, sweetie!" said mom. "I think there's more cleaning to do than having fun." Jane grumbled to herself, sitting in her seat. She was very tired as she had to pack her own things, recheck on the main items. It was a task which her mother always used to do for her. Her mind was racing with thoughts of the town. Five years had passed by so fast, now Jane was a beautiful nineteen year old college sophomore. After moving from the town to the city so many things had changed. It was a busy life for Jane, thankfully her first year had passed by quickly. Finally vacation had started and she had found time for herself amidst this short trip. Jane sure had regrets, she wanted to return to being her old self but she never found time. Living in the city had worn her out, now she only wished to breathe in fresh air of the town. Soon, in no time the bus journey had come to an end. "Finally I'm back in the town", said Jane. She could smell the fresh air, the early morning mist hid the sun away. Though she had just arrived at the bus stop, she felt like she was home. She sniffed in the fresh air which had a slight fragrance of the flowers that surrounded the path as she walked her way up to the cottage, it was a mere five minute walk for her. As she was getting near to the gate, all the old memories were running in her mind. "Right!"She said. "I've got lots to do in this place." Jane had practically made a list of things she would do in the next ten days. She had obviously planned to meet her old besties and catch up with them. The cottage from the outside looked just as beautiful as it has been five years back. To Jane it felt like déjà vu. Someone had been looking after all the lovely plants in her grandma's dream garden she though to herself. Jane was now opening the lock. Just as she opened the door, a cloud of dust brushed past her face. (Coughing)"Oh boy! That's a lot more dust than I imagined", said Jane. As soon as she got in, she started with the cleaning business. In no time was she almost done. "Just the bookshelf is left",she said to herself. The bookshelf was one fun place where Jane and grandma would love to hang out, the memories returned. Jane was now getting all emotional thinking of those silly adventures she used to have with grandma. "Alright, it's okay!" Jane comforted herself. She soon got back to cleaning. Jane dusted the books one by one, in the process she found a few pictures of hers that grandma had sneaked between the books. "Oh! Silly me", Jane was now caught up in the old memories. She knew exactly when and where those pictures were taken. As she was looking through the old pictures one book out of the lot caught Jane's attention, she soon picked it up and flipped through the pages. The book title was pretty peculiar, "strange!"Said Jane. The book was called"Ask away and I'll take you there!" Well you see, Jane was one of those who loved experimenting with things. So,she soon got to do what she was best at. Thinking from the book's point of view, Jane wrote -take me to a place where the sunrise is the most beautiful. "Aha! Nothing changed. The book is just a bluff! "Said Jane. Little did she realize that she had been teleported to a tree house somewhere in the hills. "Why are the lights suddenly off, where am I? Why is there just that book in my hand? Where's the table? "Jane was all confused. -turn around, replied the book. The words were shining like they were written using gold, soon they faded into the dark. Jane was in shock, she couldn't imagine what had happened. "Oh my! A book with glowing letters, that just disappeared poof! I'm surely dreaming ain't I?" Grumbled Jane. Mumbling on, she turned around. The next thing she said was"oh!this should be real, it's the best thing that has happened to me." What Jane had witnessed was the best sunrise, she could never have even imagined of something more spectacular. The sunrise had taken away all the gloominess from Jane's beautiful face. The first light of the day was shining on her, Jane was smiling ear to ear. All of a sudden Jane felt energetic again, her past worries and regrets were all gone. Jane spent some time in the tree house, she used most of it by writing the day's experience in the empty pages. She concluded by saying,"now I believe in miracles". The next thing she wrote was -take me home. And she was back in the room where it all had started. That day ,she had quite an adventure. She wondered what all places her grandma might have travelled using the book as a magic portal because she had found a few of her notes in the book. Grandma was someone Jane thought she knew well, but now Jane had seen a new perspective of her through the book. "Well! "Said Jane, "I've got time and time to know more about grandma and her magical secrets hidden in this house." "For now I must recharge my energy so that I can meet up with tomorrow's plans", said Jane. She soon went to bed wondering what other surprises she awaited in the mysterious cottage.


My wife and I met in college, I was a freshman, and she a sophomore. Obviously, she didn’t know I existed. You may realise this has had no effect on the fact that we got together anyway. You see, I was a bit shy at times; often focusing on my studies, getting good grades, and finishing first. Some might have called me a geek, but I wasn’t. Besides, whoever said geeks don’t get the girl? I enjoyed working out at the gym, so my physique was impressive, for a seventeen-year-old. An undisclosed advantage till then.    When summer came I finally had the nerve to approach her at a pool party, hosted by a common friend. She wore her one-piece stunningly. The issue was, however, that a boy is not to ask a girl who happens to be a year older. ‘A bold move’ my friends considered it. No worries on my part; I went for it. At that moment I wasn’t quite sure if she pretended to like me to help me save face in front of my friends, or that her feelings were genuine, again, no worries; I took what I could get. We spent the entire summer together. She would sleep over sometimes, but I never made a move. I respected her, and I was quite sure I was falling head over heels in love with her. A year passed without us parting, and another party passed by. The same pool, the same friend, the same feelings. I asked her if she liked me when I first asked her to go out with me. Her face showed agitation, but confusion clouded her thoughts. She thought she had made it obvious from the start: she had loved how in love I had been and had felt the same from the start. Since then, the notion of not loving her left forever, and I would never leave her.    We graduated and got a job in the great town she grew up in, it was like it was meant to be. At times, she would remind me what a fool I had been for not realizing that she liked me as much as I liked her that day at the pool. I loved her for it. It showed me her feelings were real. Our love deeply rooted; fortified thoroughly by our commitment to each other. We were connected, we shared one heart. It made us grow together and be happy.

   As some years passed, we found we enjoyed enjoying the tiny things. A sunset above the lake. A party with friends and family, or just a walk in the woods and getting home right in time for the rain to come rumbling down. Soon we were fortuitous enough to find our first house. She fell in love with it when she saw it, yet it felt out of reach. I just knew I had to buy it, for her, for us. With the help of her lovely parents, I was able to surprise her on a walk one day. As she was about to walk past the house and turn her head to the left to look at it, like she always did when she lingered past, I stopped. She asked me what I was doing with her bright blue eyes and expecting smile, thinking I was crazy for walking up to someone else’s house. I stopped at the front door and turned around, she had tears in her eyes. She looked at me the way she did when I first told her I loved her. In fact, she looked at me as if I had just made her the happiest woman in the world. It made me feel the way I wanted to feel for the rest of my life. That night we made love in our own little house for the first time; right after I had asked her to marry me. Six months after we moved in, we got married in her parent’s backyard. I thought I had seen all the happiness in the world when I gave her our house, but I was wrong. This time she was glowing, and I was the one who had to wipe away a tear. This was the life I had wanted for her and more. As happy as we were as newlyweds and with our perfect little house, I had a feeling that it was not going to last. I wish I had been wrong. We were talking about making our family complete. She had always loved to be a mother, and I was ready for fatherhood. But as we were discussing names for if and when this would come to pass, she fainted. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I would be lost without her. My heart stopped. That night was the worst night of my life, so far. She had a tumour on the left side of her brain. It was supposed to be operable; things would be fine, and my lovely wife would be fine. I assured her there would still be time to start a family. First, we were going to beat this, together. But we didn’t. The cancer did not go away after the surgery. In fact, it had already spread to other parts of the brain. The only thing to do was to make sure she was comfortable. I did what I could, and she said it was enough. But her faint breath told me it wasn’t. We moved in with her parents. I needed to pay the bills, and she needed to be home. Though home was with me, and she would only feel good if I were there, she said time and time again. Still, I knew, she needed to be home. Every afternoon I would come home, and she would be sitting in front of the attic window where we had our little nook. She had somehow found the strength to make herself some pillows to sit on. I should have been angry with her for wasting her strength and energy, but I understood. She had felt she needed to show me she was still there. That confident beauty from the pool was still there, waiting for me to make a move. I shed a tear every time I think of whom she used to be. I still love her, as does she love me as we have always loved each other. As I came to her every day after work, we would sit in that window to look at the paths we used to walk together. We could see our perfect little house, and we would dream about growing old together there, surrounded by our children and grandchildren. The hardest part was knowing that would never happen. As we sat in that same window, me talking about how I would love to go out for a walk with her and how the fresh autumn air always smelled so nice right before the rain. She would say it was time to go home, and we would make it just in time before the rain set in. This time I was the only one who was going to make it. I remember her smiling as she said she could feel the rain, even sitting in front of the window. But it wasn’t the rain she felt, it were my tears as I felt her breathing get softer and her heart grow weaker. She lay in my arms as she used her last breath to tell me she loved me. She was thirty-two years old when she died in my arms. Since her last beautiful afternoon, I still went up to that attic every day for two weeks to reminisce about holding my dying wife in my arms. Two weeks after she had passed, I decided it was time to move back home. I went up to the attic to sit on her pillows and look out the window one last time. As I sat down and looked down, there stood my wife. Dressed in her most comfortable walking outfit, ready to go for a stroll with me. My heart skipped as I saw her. I ran down and out the front door, but there was no one. I fell to my knees and screamed her name, but it wasn’t enough to bring her back. It had been a memory. I knew I had to let go, I knew then that I had to keep her memory alive. So I decided to go to that attic to sit by the window every week to reminisce about the beautiful life I had with her. The second time I saw her, I ran down again. And once more, nothing. I felt heartbroken all over again. It was starting to be too hard for me to reminisce. I felt I was losing her over and over again, so I made a choice. Two weeks later, she was walking past on the street when I looked out the window. She looked at me, beckoning me to come with her. I stood firm in my choice. I got up, walked to the door of the attic, and turned around. I looked around and said goodbye. It took all the strength and courage I had to make my move and ask her to date me that day at the pool, and I never regretted it for a moment. That’s why I knew I wouldn’t regret what I was about to do. I ran towards the window as fast as I could. I didn’t stop. When I got up from the pavement, my wife was still there, and we walked hand in hand to our perfect little house, together.


Growing up my family lived about 10 minutes away from my Aunt Patty. Aunt Patty lived in this giant old historic colonial on 300 acres with a 15 horse stable, huge barn, pond. The works. My four cousins who lived there were the “cool cousins” of our family: all older, and bigger, and constantly finding new ways to torment me. With cheap babysitting available to my parents courtesy of Amy Lynn (Second oldest “cool cousin”) I passed most of my summers darting in and out of hay bales and causing mischief in the barns of this kingdom. The cicadas’ roar provided an ambient soundtrack to the day I found myself ankle deep in the pond, trembling. Roger, the youngest cool cousin, was daring me to wade further into the pond, jeering me for my fear of the snapping turtle who presided over the pond. “Worst case is you lose a toe! Stop being a pussy!” Not an uncommon scene for those summers, all things considered. Just as I was about to make my fateful choice to risk loss of toe by turtle rather than face the wrath of Roger, a small croak snapped both of our attention away from my cowering. I splashed out of the pond before Roger could protest, though I doubt he noticed. His attention was fully focused ten a small patch in the reeds ten feet away. There sat bullfrog, a small one by pond standards, but a beastly little guy nonetheless. “Awesome!” Roger bellowed, and in one motion, using his super-human-older-cousin-strength, he scooped it up and sprinted back towards the house. Suddenly alone by the pond I faced a predicament. Happy with my full set of toes, should I retreat to the safety of the adults inside? Or should I try to earn some cool points by tagging along and seeing what the plan was for our amphibious friend. My curiosity got the best of me and I took off after Roger. I caught up to him in what he called his secret hideout — the crawl space under the back porch. It took half a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the claustraphobic clubhouse but when they did they registered a couple of things in succession, without immediately connecting their implications. 1. The frog was sitting extremely still on a rock in the middle of the dirt and dust ground of the hideout. 2. Roger was standing above the frog, now looking at me with a smile to which the word “devious” doesn’t begin, and never will, do justice. 3. Complementing the smile, Roger had in his right hand a rock the size of a soft ball. 4. Aforementioned hand was precariously, if not malignantly, hovering directly above the frog. “He better not drop that rock or it’ll hurt the frog,” I thought. “You better not drop that rock it’ll hurt the fro — AHHHH” I yelped as it became too late. Roger, with all of the force of his 5'6'’ eight grader frame, drove the rock down and *through* the frog. The result was remnant of a dropped watermelon, if watermelons were filled with intestines and had heads that could have eyes dangling out of them. I shrieked, and sprinted to the safety of the adults inside, Rogers cackle resonating off of the wooden ceiling, dirt foor, and cement walls of his hideout cum torture chamber.


That’s the thing about this city. It’s too noisy. From the moment that I wake up and bathe under the stinging water coming out of the showerhead, I can hear the flushing of the toilet above me and the sound of water falling through the shower drain. I get out of the shower and dress up in front of my mirror stuck to my cardboard and I can hear the thumping above me. I have no idea what it is. It’s probably the neighbour’s boy playing football. I stare at myself, my hands slowly doing the buttons on my long-sleeved shirt, one by one. It feels like an eternity and in the end, I realise my shirt is one button short. I unbutton it yet again and try to focus on it as much as I can. My mind feels hammered and my chest feels tight. I know this feeling. This feeling of worry and anger and sadness combined. Her face appears in my mind and her name repeats and repeats. Bella, Bella, Bella. I can hear myself saying sorry and sorry again. I get out of my house, keys jingling against each other and I rush to the lift, frantically pushing the button. I look at my watch and god, am I late. I can almost hear my boss lecturing me about how I’m irresponsible and how she might fire me but then she never does anything in the end. The elevator finally comes and I’m pushing those buttons again when suddenly, I hear a ring. I take out my handphone and there it is. The bookstore is closed today. Turns out the boss’s daughter died. I slump back and I’m wondering whether I should message her but I don’t have the right words. Too lazy to open my door, I walk out to the street and cars are blaring at each other, some dude is playing the saxophone and singing some jazz song. I walk past him while memories of Bella peirce my mind. She used to love jazz and we would go down to the bar where there would be some jazz players jamming on drums. We stared at them, mesmerized by these beautiful mess of musical notes. Her hands slowly wrapped in my fingers and slowly, I stared at her and we kissed. But, everything became a mess. These beautiful mess that was us could not last. Shouting and shouting. Annoyed at the saxophone, I rush down the street but it just becomes worse. Side to side, I can see disgusting couples holding hands, smooching and smooching, skipping on this drenched pavement. My heart beats and I’m sweating as I crush my pockets in frustration. I put my hand out and a taxi comes by. It’s your typical uncle with this blue polo shirt and he asks me where I want to go. The park, I reply. I sit back against the leather seat and just as I feel a sense of relief, these uncle starts playing some radio. A woman says how much she loves her boyfriend and I can’t help but think about Bella. Why did she leave me? Did I not love her that much? Did I not go down and hug her when she was sad? A couple of places zoom past by. A pizza place. The cinema. A restaurant. My heart can’t stop aching. We used do that. Go to the restaurant and eat spaghetti. She had the most beautiful smile but it faded. I’d ask her if something was wrong and if she want to talk about but she’d keep quiet. It would agitate me and we would get into another argument. The taxi reaches and I leave my crumpled 10 dollars on the cup holder. I slam the door and I trudge across the pavement. It could not have gotten worse but needless to say, it did. Screaming kids who moan and parents who can’t seem to shut up. I walk briskly but my legs feel like steel. In the distance, there’s a table and there’s 2 old men who sitting and playing chess. Suddenly, one of the old men leave. Finally, a chair. For my poor butt. I saunter down and sit at the chair. I stare at his face and strangely, there’s a kind of peace in his face but I’m hesitant to say anything. After all, he’s a stranger and I don’t really think he wants me to tell my life story to him. “Your move”, the old man gently says to me. I make a move but now, there’s some peace and all I can think about is Bella. “Is something bothering you, young man?”, the old man gently says to me, “You’ve barely moved.” “It’s okay”, I say. “You know, if you keep pain deep inside yourself, it will slowly consume you until you are paralysed. However, if you would like to keep your pain private, I understand. Sometimes, we need time to think and process our pain alone .” I look down at the chess pieces for a short time and I push my chair. “Thank you…”, I whisper to the man before I walk to the beach. Everything slows down as the sun slowly sets down and people leave the park. I’m left alone with myself as I lied down on the sand of the beach, staring at the pink clouds in the light violet sky. I run my hands against the sand and grains of sand pass through my fingers. Waves crash against the shore and I can see the lights from the big ships in the distance glistens against the seabed. I honestly thought we would be together for the longest time but maybe, I was a jerk. Maybe. I messaged her but she didn’t reply. I wish everything was different but, nothing is the same and I guess that’s okay. The waves crash against the shore and I can’t help feeling a sense of relief just breathing the beautiful air of the sea.


Ryan wakes up to the sound of skittering across the room. He fumbles round for his glasses and finds them on the wedge between two couch pillows. Sitting up he realizes he’d only been asleep an hour. Work had been insane this past week and this is not what he needed right now. Someone was going to pay. Is it rat? He never had a rat problem in this apartment. Looking across the room he finds a cat—a cat? Its strangely focussed stare irritates him. Squinting at it he notices some kind of metal contraptions on its back legs and something on his forelegs as well. The cat also has a bizarre headpiece. “Yes, Ryan. This is what happens when you don’t sleep for over thirty hours,” he tells himself. “Human.” Ryan jumps a little at the sound of the distinctly feminine voice. He looks around to find whoever it was but his apartment is empty as usual other than his feline guest. “Human,” the voice insists. That cat… it just spoke right now. “Were you speaking? What the fuck? How did you get here? Get out! Oh my God—” “Calm down, you silly human. I am hearing—” “I am not going to calm down—” “—on my master’s behalf to catch a rat—” “—an animal talk!” Ryan and the cat stare at each other unblinkingly. “What do you mean a rat—” “What is it cats not talking—” They stare at each other some more. “Females go first,” he grumbles. “Humans go first,” the cat says just as insistently. They stare at each other some more. “Cats are good communicators, but they can’t talk,” Ryan says with conviction. “Stupid human, I can talk because of this,” the cat says, pointing to the contraption around its neck and the head piece. “This converts my language to yours—” “There is no such technology!” “—and stop interrupting me. I am from the year 2165,” Ryan scoffs, “and all the animals have been able to speak for over 30 years.” Ryan sits there blinking. This is not his night. He has a talking cat that says it time travelled—Ryan needed alcohol. He can’t survive this without alcohol. Getting up he walks to the fridge and pulls out a beer. A sudden whoosh sound makes him twirl on the spot and— “My couch…” His couch is gone… and so is that coat he loved. That cost him a good $250. And the couch… $1500 all gone. He’d spent months living frugally for this. His eyes turn to the culprit that now had a squirming rat in a box. “What did you do to my couch, you menace?” Ryan growls, advancing on the creature. “Zero-g, activate.” A sudden pulse hits him and his mind spins out of control as his body becomes weightless. There’s a cord wrapped around his ankle and the cat pulls him like a child pulls on a balloon. He’s pulled to his room and another pulse later, all his weight hits him at once and he groans from his position on the bed. His stomach turns, he tries to vomit but nothing comes out. He tries to glare at the cat, but the cat very quickly plays something. It’s so soothing… ‐‐‐ The cat presses a button to portal out of this time. This mission had been one disaster after another. She wants to do nothing but blame it on her master. Stupid Master, she thinks as she steps through the portal. Between one blink and the next, the cat is back to her time. It’s time for decontamination. First up is the anti-fungal field, then comes the anti-bacterial and then the miscellaneous. The rat despite its fugitive status is treated to the same things. An hour and some verbal statements later, after the rat is taken away to rat prison, the cat is finally allowed to go to her master with the device. “Missy,” her master cries. Again, with the silly name, when will her human stop giving her stupid names. Her name was Missile, not missy! She turns her nose up and walks away to place the device on the table. She’s about to get on her bed and sleep when her master attacks her. She growls and sinks her claws into her stupid human’s arms but he doesn’t listen. He’s still crying tears of joy, stroking her head and the cat wants none of it. “Missy, I missed you so much. Where did that come from?Did you have to go to stupid time—” “Whose fault is that?” she interrupts. “Mine.” He grins happily. She grumbles, settling down for the pets. She does like them. “There was damage,” she begins. “The corps will pay for it,” her master says. She settles down to sleep. This was written for the wonderful u/Say_Im_Ugly's Discord Secret Santa story exchange.


Can You Keep A Secret? I shared this bench every Thursday lunchtime with the same little old man for months now and apart from the usual hello, lovely day, we had never really spoken to each other. I would sit, enjoying the sunshine on my face, munching my sandwich, relishing not being in the office for an hour and he would sit at the other end of the bench, enjoying a repast of blackened bananas. At first the smell of over ripe banana was a bit off putting but he ate them with such obvious enjoyment that I soon got used to it. At his question I turned to look at him, surprised at such a strange query. I didn’t know whether I did actually want to know, who knows what evil…. etc. etc. but he seemed such a quiet, refined little man it seemed silly not to answer. As he turned towards me I noticed how pale he looked – but he always looked pale, it went with his baldness and lack of eyebrows, so that seemed no different than usual. His thick glasses, with the one eye glass blacked out, was as usual, too. I had often wondered how he rode the bicycle he always came on. I had never asked him if he lived close by – he must, I would think, to get to the park unscathed by city traffic. Smiling, his one eye twinkling he said “I am so glad I am old. There, I’ve said it out loud. I know that’s something you’re not supposed to admit to but I am – so glad.” He sat back on the bench, reached in his knapsack for another banana and started to peel it. “But why,” I asked “Are you ill?” He smiled and set his banana skin aside to join the others in the little pile on the bench. “No, I don’t think so, although once you get to my age things tend to creep up on you and before you know it, you’re dead!” He said this almost gleefully, which I found a little odd but then this whole conversation seemed a little odd. “No, it’s just how the world has changed so fast in the last few decades, I can’t keep up. I love my little bookshop but books have gone by the by. Phones are so strange I can’t even use them. There are so many channels on my television I don’t even know what to watch, anymore! My children seem to think I should want to live forever but to be frank that holds little appeal.” “You own a bookshop!” I exclaimed. “Books are my favourite things, above all else. Not everyone wants to read on their e readers – I don’t. I love paper books. You are so lucky to be surrounded by words! I envy you – I work in an office, I’m on a computer all day.” I finished off my sandwich, rolling up the bag to stuff in my backpack, “My name is Helen, by the way.” He inclined his head as though receiving a gift and offered his own. “I am Horace Walter. I beg you to call me Walter as I dislike Horace. What relative my parents were placating by naming a poor, innocent babe Horace, I have no idea.” He said, chuckling. “Helen, very nice to meet you.” He held out out his hand. I shook it, smiling, standing and gathering up my backpack for my trek back to work. “ Hope to see you again, next week, Walter. Enjoy your ride home. Your secret is safe with me.” The next Thursday it rained so I ate my lunch in the lunchroom. Yuck, just saying. But the following week it was a lovely, sunshiny day and I found myself walking a little faster than usual to see if Walter was sitting on our bench. I smiled when I saw his old bike chained to the rack by the road and saw him unloading his bag of bananas. “Hello, Walter, any more secrets to divulge?” I whipped out my sandwich, a thing of beauty I might add, and sat down, first checking for bird poop as seagulls are great that way. Coast was clear so I sat and opened up my lunch. He chewed for a moment and said, thoughtfully, “I wish I could tell you how quickly time flies. How one minute you’re in your prime with a lifetime ahead of you and the next minute you’re at the pointy end and it’s almost over. I can’t, of course, because that’s how the human mind works. It takes the knowledge of our own ending and slides it out of our thoughts so we don’t dwell on it. I don’t mean to sound maudlin. I think it’s incredibly sad that you have to get old to figure that out.” Munching and swallowing, I replied. “I do try to enjoy each day, to find something good, even on the rainy ones when I have to eat in the lunchroom.” I must have sounded glum because he laughed at that and nodded his head. “Good. That’s a great way to do it.” We chewed side by side for awhile and then I heard him sigh. “What?” “I enjoyed my life. I grew up in Birmingham, England, poor, but as they say – if everybody is in the same boat you don’t even know you are! “ He paused to reach for another banana, peeling it carefully. “ I was an infantryman for a couple of years but was honourably discharged when I became ill. I wasn’t really soldier material. Too short, too small. Lost all my hair when I was sick, even my eyebrows, so you could really say I came back from war a changed man!” Chuckling, he turned towards me and winked. “What did you do then?” I asked, smiling. “ Became a tea salesman for a while. Travelled round Warwickshire signing up stores and tea shops. Great way to see the countryside and meet young ladies.” That eye of his had no trouble twinkling for two and I laughed at his expression. If he had any eye brows he’d be wiggling them. “I worked my way up to superintendent at the telephone exchange, back when phones were landlines and people actually spoke to one another. Texting.” He said, shaking his head. I laughed, nodding “I hate texting, my last boyfriend actually broke up with me that way. Not even a phone call!” Walter grimaced. “Ouch, that must have hurt your feelings.” “Actually, I was happy to see him go but jeez louise, I thought I deserved a phone call!” “How did you end up here, Walter, in Victoria?” I asked, shooing away a sea gull wanting to share my sandwich. “I wanted an adventure. I saved up my money, packed up my bike and came via Quebec. Boy, those custom guys there made me so angry. They took apart the crate holding my bicycle and just left it, in pieces, on the floor. I had hardly any time to get to the train station to catch the cross Canada train so I just left the crate there and cycled away!” He said, grinning. His obvious enjoyment of that memory had me grinning, too. “Bet they weren’t too happy about that.” “I made it to the train with minutes to spare and loaded my bike on with me. Then every time I saw a part of the country that looked interesting I got off, rode for a day or two, and got back on at the next station. It was a great way to see Canada. What a beautiful country! “ He added to his banana skin pile, turning back to face me, his face solemn. “You will never know how lucky you are to live here, Helen, trust me on that. It was the best decision I made in my whole life – to come here.” He tipped back his head, closing his eye, letting the sun warm his face. I gathered up all my garbage, hiking up my backpack, touching him on the shoulder as I turned to go. “Well, I’m very glad you came here Walter, otherwise I’d never have met you!” He smiled, keeping his eye closed against the glare of the sun, and I returned to the cubicle that is my life. Thursday again and I am so looking forward to seeing Walter . I googled his book shop and I want to ask him if he has some of the authors I’m looking for. I could go out on Saturday on the bus. I don’t see his bike and when I get to our bench someone else is sitting on it. Maybe he moved to another one, I thought, looking around. Nope, no Walter as far as the eye can see. Oh, well, maybe he had something else to do. There’s always next week, I tell myself as I choose another bench. I looked for him every Thursday for months but I never saw him again. I couldn’t believe how much I missed our little lunch time chats. I’ve tried to make a conscious effort to enjoy every day as he advised me to do. I’m hoping he’s sitting on a bench somewhere, in the sunshine, giving another nugget of wisdom to a lucky someone. Maybe he’ll tell them a secret.