We hadn’t seen each other in two years, hadn’t spoken or even texted since then, until she liked my post about moving to the city and asked, in a comment, if she could show me the best coffee in Chicago. And I, having no friends and a roommate I’d just met and didn’t care for, said yes. She called me twenty minutes before we were supposed to meet. Her name flashed across my phone and I was momentarily confused. I hadn’t heard from her since our conversation in the Facebook comments, and had convinced myself we weren’t still meeting. After all, college acquaintances say all the time that they want to meet for lunch or coffee. They rarely mean it. I answered the phone and pitched my hello so high that she laughed. “Still on for today?” she asked, and I laughed too, because she sounded the same as always, and because it was a question that anyone else would have asked hours ago. She didn’t apologize for the late call. I told her yes, and she said she would put on shoes. It turned out that she lived above the coffee shop, not directly above, because that would be too cute, but above and slightly to the left. When I arrived, she was leaning against the wall, talking to a woman, and not looking for me. Though it was only February, she wore a long, flowing floral skirt and short boots, no jacket. Her hair was longer now, dyed a slightly darker brown, but aside from that she looked the same as I remembered: a summer day in the middle of winter. When she finally saw me, I lifted my hand in a small wave, suddenly uncertain of what I was doing here. We’d been classmates only twice despite majoring in the same subject. The two classes we shared together were the worst I took in all four years of college. We worked together on projects a few times, and she would grin at me across the room when our professor said something obnoxious. Once, we got lunch together, on a day when class was moved to 11 AM and got out at noon. I recalled her trailing me to the dining hall and sitting down at my table, without asking if she could. I walked towards her, suddenly very aware of my arms and legs, and trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with them when I was close enough. She solved that for me by pulling me into a hug. I stiffened, then relaxed as she pulled away and said how good it was to see me. I said it was good to see her too. And it was, in the way that it’s always good to see someone you haven’t seen in a while, like a reminder that you’re still alive, and there are people who know you even when you don’t see them and you never think of each other. A reminder that even in a sea of strangers, there are faces that you recognize and people who know strange little facts about you, such as where you put your pencil in proximity to your notebook when your professor is on a particularly rambling lecture. I felt anchored to the streets of Chicago for the first time since I’d arrived, no longer adrift in an unfamiliar sea. It wasn’t just her; it could have been anyone, and I would have felt the same way. Even if it was someone I hated. It was much nicer to feel anchored by someone I didn’t hate, though. When she released me, she waved me towards the door. "Shouldn't you say goodbye to your friend?" I asked, gesturing towards the woman. Her eyes crinkled and she said, "Her? I've never met her before today." We went inside, and my eyes drifted around, taking in the abundance of houseplants on the tables and counters and framed watercolors on the walls. She saw me looking and pointed, saying, “That one’s mine.” Somehow, I already knew this, even though I hadn't known she was an artist. The painting depicted a landscape, all hills and squat buildings bathed in early morning light, a dreamier version of our college campus. “It’s really good,” I said, because I wasn’t in the business of complimenting art or girls. She pointed again, this time to a chalkboard menu. “Tell me what you want to order, and then I’ll tell you if it’s a good idea.” I squinted to read the tiny print and said, “Maybe just a latte?” “Wrong,” she said. The line was getting shorter. “Cold brew?” “Wrong again,” she said, but her voice was teasing, not rude. “Do you want to just tell me what to get?” “Nope,” she said, “This is a teaching moment. Also, a learning moment. ‘Just a latte,’ really?” There was only one person in front of us. I frantically read the specials. “Honey lavender matcha latte?” I tried. She grinned. “Good choice. What kind of milk?” “I have to pick the milk?” It was our turn. She ordered for both of us, a honey lavender matcha latte with oat milk for me, and a black coffee for her. I waited until she had paid to say, “Really? Black coffee?” She laughed out loud, and it sounded even better than it had on the phone. I just shook my head, at a loss for words. We sat at a high table carved from wood. Her feet dangled from the stool and she swung them back and forth a little, making her skirt flutter. “Welcome to Chicago,” she said. “Why on earth are you here?” “Here with you, or here in general?” “Here in general, of course,” she said, casting a raised eyebrow at me. “I know why you’re here with me—you lack for fascinating company.” I told her, then, that I was going to grad school at UChicago in the fall but decided to move early. It wasn’t that exciting of a story on its own, but she nodded politely. The barista called our order then, and she got up to retrieve it. She placed the black coffee in front of me and winked. I thanked her, relieved, and got up to stir in sugar and milk. When I sat back down, she was sipping her matcha and looking at me with a curious expression. “I don’t think you’re being honest,” she said, and I didn’t have to ask what she meant. I started talking then, being honest. I told her that I had to get out of my parents’ house, and that my anxiety was getting worse, and that I’d hoped moving would help. I told her that I wasn’t sure why I was going to grad school, but that it seemed like the only logical next step. I told her those things and more, and the whole time she just sat there, sipping her drink. I felt compelled to tell her my secrets, as if bewitched. And maybe I was bewitched, in a way, but not because she was trying. After that day, I didn’t expect to hear from her, and I didn’t. The hour we’d spent in that coffee shop didn’t feel entirely real, and I held onto it as a sweet memory and nothing more. My time was occupied with unpacking, and learning my way around the city, and taking care of administrative tasks like opening new bank accounts, then figuring out how to use the ATM at my new bank. Grocery shopping, buying stamps. New adult, unglamorous things. And then it was March, and just as I felt settled, everything fell apart. Two months into the shutdown, when being stuck inside no longer felt like a fun challenge, I had given up any hope of it being temporary, and was beginning to contemplate cutting my own hair, my phone buzzed with a FaceTime notification while I was watching TV. It was so rare for anyone to call me that I jumped, and my confusion only grew when I saw her name. I answered, assuming it was a mistake, and expected her to hang up immediately. But there she was, wearing glasses, hair pulled back in a braid, sitting in a bedroom with the walls painted a deep purple, and she didn’t hang up when she saw me. “Hello!” she chirped. “How is the apocalypse treating you?” Dumbstruck, I started to say Oh, you know, holding up . That’s what I told everyone else. I knew it was what I should say. But one rogue brain cell struck out on its own and I said instead, “Honestly? Awful.” The words started to spill out then: “I feel awful all the time, and I wish I hadn’t moved here, and I hate that I feel awful because I’m just sitting in my apartment playing video games and watching TV, and people are dying or working in hospitals, and, and—” “Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “It’s okay.” “Sorry, I’m rambling.” “No, it’s fine,” she said as she shifted to lay down, feet kicked up behind her. “Do you want to talk about it more, or do you want to be distracted from it?” I thought for a moment. “Distracted,” I finally said, and she pushed her glasses up on her nose, as if preparing for a complicated assignment. It was a move I’d seen in class before, a gesture she did when she had an idea, always before she raised her hand. “Okay,” she said. “As you can probably tell from the hideous paint, I had to abandon the city and run home to the suburbs. So I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but it’s been kind of crazy. I take a lot of long walks around cul de sacs these days.” She rolled her eyes, but there was a small grin on her face, suggesting she enjoyed those walks more than she wanted to admit. “Anyway. Time for a tour of my childhood bedroom!” She stood, and the video shook a little as she readjusted her phone and walked over to a closet. “This is a choose-your-own-adventure tour,” she said, and turned the camera so that I could see into the closet. I held my phone closer to my face, as if I were peering into it with her. “Pick a box. Any box.” “The one with the green lid.” “Diaries, notebooks, and old report cards,” she announced as she pried off the lid. “You got the jackpot on your first try.” For the next hour, she read to me from her journals, which were embarrassing, as expected, showed me her notes from high school classes, and disputed her teachers’ comments on her report cards. When I went to sleep that night, the only thing I could think of was a surprisingly poignant line from her seventh grade diary: I just want someone to acknowledge that I’m here, and I’m me, and they’re happy about it. She called me again the next night and told me that it was my turn. I reminded her that I had just moved in and didn’t have any exciting childhood memorabilia. “So? I didn’t say you had to do the same thing. I just said that it was your turn.” She was right, so I gave her a tour of my kitchen and made her guess which items belonged to me, and which to my roommate. She guessed correctly on almost every single one. Every night was like this. She would call me and have some new idea of how we could make our unchanging environments exciting. I assumed that eventually, it would fade away. She’d forget one night, and then another, and that would be that. I also assumed that she was calling a lot of other people, keeping herself busy, always the socialite, but when I told her that, sometime in the first week of June, she gaped at me. “You think I have the energy to be on FaceTime all day?” she asked. I shrugged. “I don’t even like FaceTime! I hate holding my phone up!” It was my turn to be surprised. “Wait, what? Why haven’t you told me? I hate FaceTime too. It’s the worst.” We both dissolved into giggles then, occasionally choking out something about how dumb we were, and after that I stopped assuming it would end. And we stopped using FaceTime and finally switched to Zoom, like everyone else. One day in July, she called me and when I answered, she was wearing a party hat and blowing up a balloon. She held the balloon between her fingers, keeping the air trapped inside while she announced, “It’s our fiftieth phone call!” It wasn’t until a week later, just before phone call 57, that I understood what was happening. I’d like to say it was gradual, but it wasn’t: basically, one day, I woke up and realized I loved her. I didn’t even feel dumb, like I should have known sooner. I didn’t feel nervous either. It was odd. I didn’t call her right away. I waited until our regular time, and for the first time ever, I was the one to call. She gasped dramatically when she answered and mimed a swoon. “To what do I owe the honor?” “I love you,” I said, and she laughed, and that only made me love her more.


Amidst the snow-capped Himalayas is unveiled a place of pristine heavenly beauty that is none other than Kashmir. The reason why this place intrigues me so much is – Just as the spectacular beauty it showcases in its lush green valleys, glaciers, and Mughal-era gardens so are the zeal and spirit of its residents. They have a burning desire to achieve the unfathomable. One such girl was Tara, who hailed from Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir. A 23 year old, smart and sensible with a good sense of humor was the darling of her parents. As she was born to them at a relatively older age, they pampered her and made sure she never had complaints. So, she was home-schooled and then went on to complete her bachelor's and master's from a prestigious university in Kashmir. So in a literal sense, ‘Life in a Nutshell’ to Tara just meant – ‘Home’ and ‘University’.          All through her teenage years, Tara watched the neighborhood kids and university classmates indulge in fun and frolic. She had all the luxuries that she dreamt of, but soon she realized materialistic things could only get her momentary pleasure. Since then, every dusk and dawn, her parents would find her sitting quietly by the window, deeply lost in thoughts. Day by day, her parents grew more concerned about her this behavior. Nobody knew how much Tara longed for a chance to go out and explore the world on her own. That’s when she received an offer letter to work for a world-famous software company in Mumbai. She was thrilled on seeing this. Her parents were both happy and distressed at the same time; happy because they hadn’t seen their daughter so cheerful in a long while and sad as they knew she would be going miles away from them. And so the day had come when she was leaving her house for the first time with lots of goals to accomplish. She took her parents’ blessings and bid them farewell before boarding the flight. Her next destination was ‘The City of Dreams – Mumbai!!’            Tara still couldn’t believe that she had started a new chapter of her life as she gazed at those tall skyscrapers. The Queen’s Necklace – ‘The Marine Drive’ fascinated her the most while viewing from the plane. She didn’t want to miss out on anything this time. Although the next few months were hectic for her as she hustled between home and office, she did make sure to take out some time on weekends to hang out with colleagues or do solo travel. She was enjoying life to the fullest and her parents were contented. Time flew and Tara was transforming into a true Mumbaikar! Everything was going smoothly except for one night, at around 9 pm, just when Tara got back from the office all exhausted, she suddenly felt a sharp, cramping pain in her lower back and left side. She had never experienced such sort of terrible pain before. She used to stay all by herself in a 1 BHK apartment. Hence there was nobody to help her. Neither did she have any emergency medicines in hand. She suddenly collapsed onto the floor but was still conscious. She felt suffocated and started gasping. It was that time of the year when the bitter cold would force you to stay indoors and that’s when Tara had to go through all this. She suddenly remembered her parents and started weeping. The clock struck 10 and there were still no signs of the pain-reducing. Tara lay there sobbing in pain for nearly 2 hours, rolling to and fro on her carpet. Suddenly, in that silence, her phone buzzed displaying a new message, but what caught her attention was the wallpaper and not the message. It said in big words – ‘The Pain – It will leave once it has finished teaching you’. She didn’t know exactly why she had to go through so much suffering alone. But now she accepted this as a challenge and decided to get rid of it, come what may!            She didn’t want to be a burden to anybody so late in the night. Hence, she mustered up the courage and rose to her feet, grabbed her trench coat, and walked out of her building, her head held high. Chilly winds were blowing at the speed of 39-46 mph. There was not a soul on the streets and there was Tara, struggling to walk against these strong gushing winds desperately in search of a clinic or hospital. Despite the temperature being awfully low that night, the chilly breeze gave some relief to the burning pain that she felt down her spine. A few cars passed, but sadly none stopped by to offer help. This gave her all the more willpower to fight this alone. Soon after she had crossed two lanes and headed for the third, she spotted a gentleman stepping out of his clinic and locking the front door. Her heart knew no bounds. Suddenly, all her grief just seemed to disappear. She somehow managed to reach that spot and the doctor, at once knew what she was suffering from. So he took her inside, gave her a shot of Dexona to relieve the spasms, and advised her to get an ultrasound done the very next morning. He was all praises for her as he couldn’t believe she made it here on her own, although in so much pain. The next morning, as told, she got her scan done and the reports revealed she had multiple stones in her left kidney. The good thing was she didn’t require any surgery and it was self-treatable, provided taken good care of.            Now that she was at ease, she decided to take a day off from work and contemplate last night’s incident. She didn’t want her parents to worry too much and so kept it to herself. All this time, she had just heard that people may even turn into warriors if tough times demand so. Somehow, she couldn’t believe that she had it in her as well. This definitely was no easy feat. But if she compared this intensity of pain to the measure that cancer patients and injured soldiers suffered from, then it was almost negligible. She thought of her old parents and the love they bestowed upon her since childhood. She felt guilty for leaving them alone and having come so far. She burst out into tears and it seemed as if all her grief was being washed off. Her heart was so full of ambition all this while that there was barely any space for compassion in there. Now that her heart felt lighter, she was relieved. She set up a new agenda with altogether a different perspective. The next day she gave her resignation letter at the office and in 2 weeks’ time, she was packing her bags to return to her hometown.            Back home, she was welcomed like a queen and she too felt overjoyed seeing that smile on her parents’ faces. She also took them on a mini-vacation to do house-boating in the beautiful Dal Lake. After getting back, she decided to start working on her agenda. Within a short span, she began volunteering 4 days every fortnight in a nearby hospital. In the meanwhile, she was also working on her startup idea of building a healthcare platform that assisted with home-based health care. Although she started off a bit late, still as said – ‘Better Late than Never. Tara was now leading a peaceful and contented life and there was no safer heaven to be in than with her loved ones!


They say that light always wins, overpowering the darkness, be it fiction or reality. Everyone glorifies the light, the yang, shunning the darkness and thinking of it as the 'wrong way of life. But without the dark, we wouldn't know of the light. This is my story. A story about darkness. A story where one surrenders to the orphic shadows which our demons thirst for. A story where yin triumphs. * * *

In the faraway lands of Galaecia, the kingdom of hope, righteousness, beliefs, and love stood. For all that people knew, merry days was what the future held for the kingdom... Yet none spoke about the dark truth of the lands, the forbidden secret which was left unsaid since eons, and now forgotten. Its existence nothing but spun folk tales narrated by the few elders of the lands.

All the happiness of the kingdom depended on one person. The happiness of others dependent on one soul who would be eternally cursed to feel nothing but pain and desolation. Born to the king and queen of Galaecia, one would assume my life was nothing but rainbows and sunshine. No, my life was dark dreams and monsters, thirsting for a release of emotion. One peculiar thing I never quite understood was that whenever I was out of the palace, it felt as if people didn't want me around... Some even refused to look at me and some threw me nasty looks. Conflicts and little brawls used to start erupting all around me. The soldiers of the kingdom had to escort me back to the palace every time, saying that it was 'dangerous for me to be out here. But as soon as I made my way out of the streets of the kingdom, I could hear light laughter and joyful conversations. I could sense the frolicsome environment, all of which made me bitter inside. Hatred coursing through my veins and anger in my bones. As soon as I turned sixteen, I was barely allowed out of the palace. Growing up, I was an obedient child, taught to never question my elders and respect tradition. That habit stuck and I never was able to get rid of it. Keeping all my emotions and questions to myself and remaining stuck inside the palace for hours and hours, I felt like Rapunzel. But at least she had her pet chameleon, a horse, and a happy ending. I didn't have either of those and I didn't expect one anytime soon.

I found slight solace in the company of the sea, feeling the wind in my hair, inhaling the salty ocean breeze, and gazing at the vast body of water from the 'comfort' of my room's balcony. The sea was right in front and all I wanted was to reach out for it. It was so close yet so far...Never was there a picture as enchanting as the ever-evolving sea. Today, whilst I was gazing at the infinite blue sea and the crescendo of the waves as it rose and fell into somewhat of a beautifully choreographed ballet, I saw the guards of the kingdom carrying a man into the dungeons. Never was I ever curious about any of our prisoners, probably because we barely had any, but this time, something pulled at me to take a chance this one time. Sneaking away to the dungeons, I saw him, lying on the cold hard ground. "You shouldn't be here.", came his voice in a stone-cold rasp. Stepping aside from behind the stone pillar, I took a good look at him. "Says you. We've barely kept any prisoners in Galaecia. What did you do that you ended up here?" "And why should I tell you?" "Maybe I can help you break out." "Why would you do that?" I remained silent. After a minute, he sighed and continued "I said some things about the kingdom. About how it was cursed and all. And how they're living under a facade. And how I could help them." My head almost had whiplash at the word 'cursed'. "What do you mean 'cursed'?", I asked. "There is a legend revolving around this kingdom. Said to have been forgotten by most, but I have my trusted sources. They say that this kingdom is destined to greatness at the hands of one but its people won't be happy any longer." "And what? You were planning to invade with a one-man army?" "No, I was hoping for a different turn of events. I was hoping I could get them to trust me and then I'd figure out the rest." "Don't you think it's brainless of you to tell me all this when you barely know who I am? I could snitch on you, though it won't make much of a difference.", I said wistfully. He laughed lightly, a melodic rasp I'd say, "Oh I very well know who you are. Valerie, princess of Galaecia, rather, the cursed one. How does it feel, to know that everyone around you is content and cheery at the cost of your happiness? And poor little you suffer in agony, and rage...", This time, he met my eyes, and oh the flaming anger in them was as beautiful as it was terrifying. "What are you babbling about?" I asked, my voice slightly shaky but in the back of my mind, I knew what he was saying wasn't wrong. It did connect everything. Would my parents really do that? Sacrificing my happiness for their kingdom...Did they know this all along?

"You know I'm right.", he got up and said, tapping his fingers on the metal bars of the cell. I looked away from him. All this happened but none of it came across as much of a surprise to me. "Well, what are you going to do now since your 'plan of invasion' was very stupid. If you think about solely gaining all the time, without thinking of the problems which would arise, something like that is bound to happen.", I said, squinting my eyebrows "That's all that life is about, no? You gain, you lose, the cycle repeats, and then you die. But, when power comes along the way, life takes a turn. It's in your hands to make it better or worse." "Greed sounds like your God." "No, greed bows to me." "Yet it failed you. " "Not yet it didn't." "And your God?" "I only favor those Gods which bring me a fortune." "I don't think Gods work that way." "Oh, but it does. I am here right now, aren't I?" "What about your fortune?" "I am looking right at it.", he said, a hungry gleam in his vivid emerald eyes. Upon my frazzled expression, he let out a chuckle and said, "The Kingdom, I meant. Aren't you tired of living like this? Being miserable while others around you are celebrating and are happy for some stupid reason at the cost of your happiness. Think about it, if you come with me, you won't have to suffer any longer. We'll be strong together. We'll be unstoppable. I don't want to rule your kingdom. No, you can have that. But what I want, is a share in the power. Think about yourself this once. You can finally experience what you've always wanted to. It's a win-win. Think about you, Valerie. You." By this point, I was in the front of his cell. Since I used to remain in my room for most of the time, I had mastered the art of picking locks. Taking out a pin from my hair, I inserted it in the keyhole. The cell door opened with a satisfying

click . "I'd never thought someone seducing me to the dark side would be so tempting." I almost whispered. Stepping closer to me and tugging around a few tendrils of my hair, he whispered near my ear, "What are you waiting for then?" Giving him a wicked smile, I whipped out a dagger from his grey leather belt. The dagger had a gleaming sapphire attached to the pommel, the hilt-a vintage silver color. "You had this all along. Why didn't you use it?", I asked. "How else would I have come to meet you? If I killed those guards, I'd be dead on the spot.", he said. "You had this all planned?!", I asked, surprise evident in my voice. "To every last bit.", he said. "How'd you know that I would follow you?" "I didn't. But, I took a chance, just like you." Noticing me admire the carvings of the dagger, he said, "I won it in a duel, along with other merchandise. I almost lost my eye that day but you should have seen the other guy." Grabbing the collar of his quilted vest, I said dragging the tip of the dagger and making random patterns on his crisp white shirt, "Must be very precious to you then?" "No,", he let out a chuckle, "I've had better. And be careful with that dagger, ay. That ain't no toy." "Well, I best be careful then." The act was swift and sudden. The blade of the dagger sliced into his heart. A cold sheen of sweat covered him and he gasped, his eyes bulging in disbelief. From his open mouth came gurgling and sputtering sounds. "I should've ....known..", he coughed out blood.  I tipped his chin upwards to meet his eyes, "Yeah. Do you know what your problem is, based on what I figured out in this five-minute conversation? Though you are quick-witted, you assume too fast. But you know what? I don't like to share at all. I didn't have anyone to share with when I was young, and I guess the habit stuck. " I patted his cheek. I polished the dagger clean with the cuff of my sleeve. Without sparing the corpse another look, I stepped over it and walked away. Anger and wickedness coursing my veins, my entity was to be feared. And it was about time I confronted some people, starting with my dear father. It seemed as if the sinister smile I had on affected the waves of the sea as well as it crashed against the shore, wild, turbulent, and... unforgiving.


Snake Bite Everything began seventeen long and painful years ago in the year 2536. A young boy named Tenshi Demonkira was born on March 5th at 10:46 am in the capital of Japan. He was born a regular child and was a happy one at that. Though that quickly changed after he aged three years when his life and everyone around him would change. One year before this child was born, scientists had developed a serum that could alter a human's genes to that similar to any animal. They were beginning to test said serum on kids that were three to five years of age, and all of the results were promising up to that point. Sadly, when Tenshi turned three, he was selected as a participant for this serum. He would be the first human to be injected with the newest serum, which would change his genes to that similar to a snake. Though, something went very wrong after injecting the child, and it affected him drastically. He grew scales on the left side of his face, and his eyes changed from a brown color to a pure and blaring yellow with slit pupils. His hair had changed from brown to an albino white. His tongue was now split, at the end like a snake. He had green and yellow scales littering his arms and all over his body. Within the first month, he had grown a tail that was covered in green and yellow scales. After the end of his first two months, he became cold-blooded and couldn't keep himself warm. None of this was in comparison to what the real issue was. This child now had venomous teeth and scales, and if he bit someone or someone touched his scales they would be paralyzed. Harrowingly, if any living thing smaller than a teenager touched him, they would be killed from the poison. The scientists feared the child and threw him out on the streets of Japan. For the next fourteen years, the young boy lived in streets and alleyways doing whatever he could to survive. He had caused a lot of trouble in that time, such as stealing and robbing places for food and clothes. He knew it was wrong, but he had to do what he needed to survive. Currently, the now-teenage boy sat in the back of an alley hiding in the shadows. He often sat in the shadows away from people, so he would not be found. He knew better than to walk out of the shadows of the alley unless it was night. If he ever did leave the alleyway during the daytime, or he would surely be caught and taken to prison. Time passed, and after hours of waiting it was finally dark outside. His stomach grumbled in hunger as he had not eaten that day, he sighed and stood up with a stumble from exhaustion and hunger. He walked towards a closed store with his snake-like tail swishing behind him lightly. He pushed the white hair out of his face showing the scales that covered the left side of his face. The scales on his face, arms, and legs were now glistening under the moonlight. Tenshi looked up at the closed store in front of him, and he sighed and hung his head. He swished his tail around, and the glass door shattered. The alarms rang throughout the building and the street as he walked inside the store. He quickly grabbed whatever food and drinks he could find before quickly running back to the alley. He heard the familiar sirens of police cars as he hid in the back of the alleyway once more. He opened up some of the food and immediately began eating because, truthfully, he only ate once or twice a week. After he finished the food, he curled himself into a ball to stay as warm as he could. Half an hour later, he was finally able to welcome sleep, and his breathing evened out. The next day he awoke in a clean and white room as he laid in a bed. He looked around for a moment and figured that he was in a hospital room. He was very confused because he had not slept in a bed in over fourteen years. A nurse walked into the room and saw that he was no longer asleep, "Good morning, sir. How are you feeling today?" the nurse asked with a warm and friendly smile. "I-I'm terrible," he said, sighing to himself, forgetting that he spoke in lies. "Not sorry, I totally do not speak in lies," he said with a sad smile. The nurse's eyes widened, and he nodded as he understood what Tenshi meant. The nurse then wrote down how Tenshi was feeling on his clipboard also adding the fact that he spoke in lies. The nurse walked over to Tenshi and shook an IV bag filled with parenteral nutrition fluid. Tenshi was shocked when he saw this, and he looked at the IV bag and traced the IV line to where it was, connected to him. He finally found the pick line in his neck, "Why do I not have a pick line?" he asked the nurse as he was anxious. The nurse looked at Tenshi with a raised eyebrow, "You mean why do you have a pick line, right? If so, then it is because you are very malnourished." the nurse said, continuing to have a bright and happy smile on his face. Tenshi was shocked but nodded even though he was upset about it. He had no say in what happened to him because he was under the age of eighteen. The nurse lightly bowed his head as he walked out of the hospital room. The nurse did so because it was thought dishonorable not to bow your head when leaving a room. Tenshi sighed to himself in anxiety and worry because he had no idea of who found him or how he got there. Tenshi was beginning to nod off from exhaustion, but before he fell asleep, he heard something. He heard a creaking sound coming from the door, and he heard footsteps. He shot up in the bed, and he looked around to see if anyone was in the room. He saw a police officer sitting in a chair by the door, "How can I not help you, sir?" Tenshi asked, hanging his head. "Not sorry... I do not speak in lies," Tenshi said, sighing to himself and banging his head on his hand. The officer made an 'Oh' face, and he understood what Tenshi meant. The police officer nodded, "Look, kid. We know that you stole food and drinks from a lot of different stores. Legally we can't send you to jail, and you, are considered too mentally unstable to go to a Juvenile Detention Center. The only thing we can do is send you back to your parents or put you in the foster system." The officer said, with a sigh, he wrote details about Tenshi in a notepad. Tenshi's mouth was ajar as he sat in shock at what he heard. He knew it was illogical, but he ripped out all of the tubes and IV lines out of him. He got up and noticed he was still in his original clothes, which he appreciated. The police officer tried to stop him as he ran out of the hospital, pushing and shoving people out of the way as he ran. When he got out of the large hospital he was stopped by a police cruiser. He soon noticed he was surrounded by police officers and was commanded to stop. He didn't listen and ran into the nearest alleyway where he saw something he thought he would never have to witness, hear, or see again. He chose the wrong path but even though it was wrong he had no plans of stopping.


The voices....the voices are growing in number,not really voices, but whispers. They tell me things, they say they are here to help,but they never seem to. They always want more, more blood. The floor in basement has a hole in it, more of a pit really. I must keep it filled with bodies, or they will come for me. The voices say it is so, I must serve the pit or suffer. The last few years have been very difficult. Ever since the hole appeared, soon after my mother died. The hole appeared, and soon after that, I started hearing whispers, instructing me to do small and seemingly meaningless task. They told me to stake out certain houses, certain people that I had never meant. It seemed odd but I was so distracted by grief I went along with this new obligation. It has lead to the death of many, only to save the majority of the earth. Keep the hole fed and be blessed they tell me. So I stalk the innocent, I take them from the world to fill the hole.


11:09 pm I exited the house ready to make a quick getaway but I noticed something strange; there was no car. I was staring at an empty driveway; my plan had fallen apart already. I should’ve turned back at that point but I was persistent. I decided to go for a walk while I devised a new plan. I crept down the driveway and on to the sidewalk; I didn’t get far before I noticed another strange site, it was my moms van parked in an unusual spot. I felt relieved but uneasy, why was it there? It was parked along the street beside my house, almost 4 or 5 houses down from mine. Before jumping to wild conclusions like I usually do, I reasoned that my mom probably parked there to leave space for my brother. We’ve got a lot of cars in our driveway so sometimes this happens, but this was still pretty weird. To put my superstitious mind at ease I quickly inspected the outside of the van for booby traps; it seemed to be in good condition. All I had to do was clear the inside and I could get back to my plan. I hesitantly took the car keys out of my pocket and unlocked the car. I took a deep breath, readied the flashlight on my phone and stepped inside. Before I even got a chance to sit down, a familiar voice grabbed my attention. "Yo Tristan", I heard from off in the distance. My heart stopped. I was so close, but of course with my luck Ide get caught at the last second. Too afraid to answer I slowly poked my head out of the van to see who it was. As the voice got closer I noticed two figures appearing from out of the darkness. Sure that it was my mom and dad there to bust me, I shamefully got out of the van ready for punishment. As they got closer I noticed something was different though. My dad looked a bit taller and my moms shape was off too. They weren’t my parents, they couldn’t be. I breathed a sigh of relief as they got closer, and squinted my eyes again to see whom they really were. Seconds later Jessie and Altheas faces lit up under the flickering orange streetlight. They were my ex-coworkers. “Why are they here?” I thought to myself. They didn’t live in my area. It felt like nothing was making sense, but in any case, I was happy to see them. I was happy to see anyone besides my parents at that point. We exchanged greetings than broke into conversation. It turned out that they were headed to a party that wasn’t too far from me so I offered to give them a ride. Throughout the entire trip they persisted that I come into the party with them. I refused though, I just wanted to practice parallel parking, not steal my moms van. By the time we got to the house Althea had given up on me, but Jessie had not. “Just 5 minutes man. C’mon!” Jessie pleaded with me as he handed me a beer through the driver-seat window. I knew that I should’ve turned him down, went home, and dove into bed, but Jessie was just so damn hard to say no to. “Alright, just 5 minutes man” I said to him as I got out of the van. At that point I knew I couldn’t drive home so I mentally prepared myself to walk home later, than come back for the van in the morning. Thankfully the party was close by- and I mean really close by. We'd only driven for about 2 or 3 minutes; we should’ve just walked. It was too late though, I was already there with an open beer in my hand; there was no turning back. The music was loud as we walked up to the house stepping over empty cans and cigarette butts. When we got to the door two familiar women came out to greet us and directed us inside. I knew it was going to be a good night. 12:30 am After an hour or so I felt the drinks taking their toll; my inhibition was gone and so were Jessie and Althea. I didn’t mind though, I was feeling good- too good to have any minor concerns. Jumping from conversation to conversation I eventually found myself in the basement. I sobered up a bit as my foot touched the cold concrete floor at the bottom of the steps. The basement was unfinished but massive; I passed at least 2 or 3 rooms as I walked down the hallway. I heard faint talking in the furthest room, so I followed the voices. When I got there I could see that the lights were dim from the outside of the room, but knew people were definitely in there. I casually opened the door and walked in. The room was cozy: 2 leather couches, a futon, a large red carpet, and huge flat screen TV displaying the infomercial channel. At a first glance I noticed: a few pretty girls, well-dressed guys, some familiar faces, some new faces, but all were drunk. “This was going to be interesting,” I thought to myself. I sat down on the couch by the futon and tried to smoothly join the conversation. It worked; they welcomed me like one of their own. 2:00 am The party was dying down, at least in the basement. At that point the ratio of guys to girls was clearly in my favor. Unconsciously I took advantage of that. I had the attention of two ladies; one of them seemed really into me. As I moved couches to fill in the gaps between her and I, a semi- sarcastic voice blurted out "hey why don't you sit next to me?” I turned my gaze to the corner of the room where a lady I hadn't seen all night laid comfortably on the futon. I was intrigued. After she said that everyone took the hint and gave us our space. Some people paired up and ran into a room, some went home, but all left the basement. It was just she and I. I asked her her name. She said it was "Clarisa". She had pretty eyes, a beautiful smile and was petite- maybe 5'2" with long black hair, and a nice athletic figure. She looked like a mix of Chinese and Spanish or something like that. I just knew I was in love. We laid on the futon for a while getting lost in conversation. Eventually words weren’t needed; we had an understanding deeper than that. Once we knew no one was coming back, things escalated. Before I knew it, it was morning. 5:00 am We heard people coming down the stairs. I quickly grabbed a white sheet and threw it over our exposed bodies. We joked about pretending to be asleep or acting like we weren’t there, but time ran out. People soon flooded the room to see our half naked bodies. I was too hung-over to care and I sensed the same from everyone else. They said hi, made their clever remarks and gave us our space again. After they left reality hit me. I needed to be home to return moms van and Clarisa had her own obligations. I gave her my number and she promised to call. The next morning we talked but she had to baby sit so our conversation was short. She said she would call back at 6:00 pm that day. I lost my phone around 5:30 pm so I never got a chance to talk to her again. That was probably my karma for taking moms van. I seem to have luck when it comes to finding people, but Clarisa was the one that got away. Time went by and I eventually moved on, however every time I go for a late night drive I cant help but think that I might see her again.


Charlie had been drinking for days, solidly, sleeping little and doing little other than drinking. The sleep wasn’t even real sleep; it was just his body crashing the way it does when one is perpetually drunk. It was midday on Thursday. He had crawled off the king-size luxury mattress at around 10am; the king-size luxury mattress that had lain on the floor, dirty and without sheets, since he’d destroyed the bed frame in a fit of pure rage a few weeks earlier. He had a mug of gin with a bowl of dry Weetabix, and then started on the ouzo. The pub next door didn’t open until after 12, and his sciatica was really playing up so our man had to make do with the remains of his dwindling home stock. Dozens of half empty bottles that sat in a small dark wood chiffonier pulled up right next to the sofa for ease of grabbing. It was a large living room, but the television and all of the furniture had been dragged over into the back corner, on the other side of the room from the bay window that looked out into the real world. It had been this way since Kelly left. His wife, his agent, the only thing bringing any semblance of organisation to his life, had left. And all that remained of a prosperous and happy partnership was an alcoholic old man, with a novel to write for a publisher that had already paid him, writers block and chronic back pain. **Charlie Slater and the fight with the delivery boy.** *I feel like shit. Where’s the remote? I can’t listen to these idiots anymore. I used to like chat shows, people mulling over their lives and careers with a man in a nice suit who really looked like he was interested and knew all the right questions to ask. I used to like a lot of things; movie stars and rock bands and popular culture. Then this new decade happened and everything just got fucking annoying.* Charlie scrabbled around the seat for the television control. He switched over from the light-hearted daytime talk show being hosted by a young man he didn’t know the name of talking to an old actor he’d forgotten the name of, and onto ‘antique hunters’, which was basically a lot of people without real jobs running around a car boot sale. He did this whilst simultaneously pouring himself another mug of ouzo and coughing violently. Charlie was a man who could multitask. *Jesus this is boring. It’s the sort of thing Kelly made me do. Put wellies and a windbreaker on and chasing around a car park at 7am looking for useless rubbish people are willing to sell for pennies. I might be miserable and alone but at least I’m not freezing my balls off trying to look excited about an old lamp.* It was lunchtime. The television and Greek alcohol had kept him occupied for the last couple of hours and now it was time to feed. He had peculiar eating habits did Charlie, and they’d become even more peculiar since he was left to his own devices. Kelly would always try and get him into a routine, whereby he would eat three square meals a day, with an equal amount of carbohydrates, proteins and roughage, but he’d never really taken to it. He would try to find ways out of sitting down for dinner at normal time; say he’d hit upon a purple patch, that he was really getting somewhere with a character and had to stay in the study to write. And if she nagged he would pretend to yield and take his plate into that dimly lit room with him, but instead feed the neighbour’s cat through the window. Over the years that little tabby grew plump, whilst Charlie just got leaner and leaner. Charlie was 6”4, and weighed on average just over ten stone. His doctors would say he was underweight, he would say he was svelte. His bones were brittle, and as a teenager he broke his arm in four places, his leg twice and his collarbone once. He kept all his old casts, sweaty and signed, in a cardboard box in the airing cupboard. Every so often he would get them out to show guests, almost as proof that at one point in his life he had friends. He reached for the nearest takeaway menu. He had hundreds of them scattered around the house, Chinese, kebab, pizza. There was even a leaflet from a place that only sold roast dinners, full roast dinners with gravy and Yorkshires and all the trimmings, delivered straight to your door by a man on a scooter. But these glossy little menus, all brightly coloured and screaming for your intention, were scattered out of reach and Charlie had no intention of moving from his groove. He grabbed at the only one he could. It was a plain and poorly put together leaflet, with bold Helvetica font on the front that simply read ‘The Tandoori Palace’. *What time is it? Can I eat curry at this time in the day? This place gave me the shits last time. I’ll just order some bahjis. And maybe some sag aloo. That’s onion and spinach and potatoes. All vegetables and the healthier I eat the more alcohol I can drink without feeling guilty. That’s actually three of my five. Then if I ask for some of that mint yoghurt stuff aswell I’m basically sorted for the rest of the day. Free delivery on all orders over £7…I reckon that’ll come to £7. They shouldn’t charge me for the yoghurt though. Should come gratis.* When Charlie was eleven years old, his sister Claire took him to Margate for a weekend. Claire was born a decade before Charlie and had moved out when she was just sixteen, just as Charlie would when he reached that age. She had decided she had been spending too much time drinking and taking drugs and had been neglecting her little brother by leaving him in a sterile home environment with their overbearing mother and mostly absent father. She wanted to get him away for the weekend to experience some life seeing as the only occasions she had spent any time with him in the prior three or four years he had looked painfully bored and lonely, and whilst it had taken her some time to convince their parents they eventually relented. Claire picked Charlie up in her rusty Vauxhall Nova and on a road trip to the Kent coast they went. She booked them into a bed and breakfast on the seafront; being the early nineties and Margate still being popular destination amongst day trippers and holiday makers from all over the country this wasn’t cheap, but Claire was doing alright for herself working for an insurance company in the city and wanted to treat the little boy brother she had barely seen in months. On the Saturday night Claire took him to an all you can eat Indian buffet. It would be the first time he would sample food of an ethnic origin, and he sampled all of it. A little bit of something from every metal trough. He had Chicken Korma, Lamb Madras, Vegetable Jalfrezi and egg fried rice. He had onion bahjis and potato fritters. He had little garlic prawn skewers and chapatti and peshwari naan. He had dal and endless poppadoms. He ate until he vomited, and then he vomited for the rest of the weekend. When Claire returned young Charlie home on the Sunday morning, pale, shaking and still occasionally expelling Indian food from his stomach, their mother went berserk, hollering charges of recklessness and irresponsibility at her reckless and irresponsible daughter. What she didn’t realise was that something had stirred in her innocent and impressionable young son. What had stirred was a love of anything exotic, and a composition of dangerous compulsion. *“Tandoori Palace…”* *“Hello can I make an order for delivery?”* Charlie sat upright on the sofa and adjusted his pants, still looking at the menu; still unsure of what it was he wanted to eat. *“Go ahead…”* *“Excuse me?”* *“I said go ahead”* *“What do you mean go ahead don’t you need my address first?”* Technology had always been something that had puzzled Charlie. When he wrote he used a pen and pad, and only occasionally a vintage typewriter. He didn’t have a mobile phone, wasn’t a member of any social networks, and consistently refused to upgrade his 25 year old television. The fact that the young man that had answered the phone to him to take his order already knew his address had caused a panicked and confused look to appear on Charlies face, and when he was in a state of panic and confusion he had a tendency to get angry. *“I have your address. What would you like to order?”* *“How do you have my address? That’s an infringement of my privacy”* *“It comes up on our computer system. If you don’t like it mate call someone else…”* *“I don’t like your tone.”* Charlie took a second or two to deliberate. Whilst he was extremely unhappy that his whereabouts could be so easily located, his stomach moaned at him in impatience. *“Can I just have some pilau rice, mushroom bhaji and some sag aloo please?”* *“Is that all?”* *“A thank you wouldn’t go amiss”* The line went dead, and Charlie cursed the abruptness of youth. Still, his food wouldn’t be long and he could then carry on his business of getting as drunk as humanly possible. The television spat noisy disorientating images at him; the sun crept in through a gap in the curtains and after what felt like a lifetime, the doorbell rang. Charlie stood up for the first time in over an hour and his knees cracked. It was a sound he had always enjoyed, and frequently initiated by way of bending his joints and bones until they popped. At the door stood a slight Indian boy, no more than 17, holding a crash helmet and a vinyl bag full of hot pungent food over his shoulder. *“Are you the one I spoke to on the phone?”* asked Charlie, with the intensity of a wronged man. *“Dunno what you’re talking about mate. Thirteen fifty yeah.”* *“Don’t lie to me you little shit”* he spat *“I recognise your voice!”* The boy, not intimidated in the slightest in spite of Charlies hulking frame towering over him, laughed impudently in his face. In a sudden fit of rage Charlie lunged, knocking the bag of hot food all over the doorstep. They fell to the floor, grappling and wrestling for dominance. In a moment of improvised genius, the boy reached out and grabbed a plastic spork from the vinyl satchel and rammed it in Charlies eye, snapping it in two and causing immeasurable pain. Charlie let out a high pitched squeal, the sound a dog makes when you accidentally step on his tail, and clutched his face with his spinach and potato covered hands. The boy sped off on his moped and left Charlie rolling around on the pavement. After a minute or so he regained his composure, scooped the bhajis and from the floor and stepped back into his house. Charlie smiled to himself, a packet of frozen peas strapped to his eye socket. A free dinner, and all it took was the blunt trauma of some recyclable cutlery to the face and a bit of a roll around with a teenager. The only downside was that he really fancied that sag aloo. *“Tandoori Palace.


I leaned against my car in the parking lot of my apartment and took the first drag of my cigarette, Tony’s voice behind me nearly made me jump out of my skin. “I thought you quit.”

“Son of a biscuit eater, Tony!” I yelled at my husband as I tried to calm my racing heart. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Tony was always sneaking up on me. I had considered putting a bell around his neck like a cat. The thought made me laugh now, despite my annoyance. I passed the cigarette to my husband, who had quit smoking long ago, and watched him blow smoke rings. I sighed.

“Yeah well, just another thing that vile woman has done to me. She has me so stressed every day. Six months smoke free, down the tubes. Thanks, Mitzy.”  I spat her name from my mouth like sour milk. Tony passed the rest of the cigarette back to me.

I used to like my job; or, I should say it used to be tolerable. Five months ago, my manager Mr. Murray had retired. He had been with the company for twenty-five years and I had been with him for twelve of those years. Mr. Murray was a kind man, he treated his staff like people, not just numbers on a spreadsheet. When he left, our company, rather than promoting from within, hired Mitzy Davis. Mitzy was in her mid-thirties; she had a major chip on her shoulder, big blonde hair that looked straight out of the eighties and clearly, something to prove.

Within her fist three months, Mitzy Davis had turned our once friendly and collaborative office into a battleground. She picked her chosen few pet employees and made life a living hell for the rest. I was not, one of her pets because I, am not a brown-noser. Mitzy took extreme pleasure in pitting staff members against each other; she manipulated us like puppets.

So far, my personal tortures had included being given incorrect instructions for three major projects and then being thrown under the bus for my “mistakes”, not being included in several trainings I needed and berated for my appearance. The worst part of it all was that she was smart. The crafty witch was very careful to leave me with no proof. Yesterday I had asked her to give me the instructions for the current project via email rather than just verbally; if I had her instructions in writing, she wouldn't be able to claim it wasn’t what she told me to do. Mitzy had snorted with laughter. “If you can’t remember my instructions without me writing them down for you, maybe it’s time for you to retire, Hannah.”

Retire? I wish! But I’m only forty-three.

Then there was today’s whopper. Today Mitzy had summoned me to her office, my timecard was laying on her desk.

“Didn’t you leave early on Monday Hannah? Your timecard says you clocked out at five. Did you have someone else punch it for you?” Mitzy glared at me, but I could see a glint of enjoyment in her eyes.

“Nope, I was here ‘til five o’clock just like every day.”

“I don’t think so.” Mitzy tapped the timecard with her perfectly manicured, blood red fingernail. “I believe you left at one o’clock. I’m going to make this adjustment to your timecard and you’re going to initial it.”

Now she was trying to mess with my paycheck? This is where I draw the line. I stood and placed my hands on the edge of her desk in the process.

“Didn’t I tell you to get a manicure during our last meeting? Why are your cuticles still a mess?”

“Mitzy, having perfect cuticles is not in my job description, nor is it in yours to critique them. I was here until five o’clock on Monday and every other day. I will NOT sign anything that says I wasn’t. I’m going to HR now.”

As I left her office, Mitzy called out. “Good luck with that. I’ve already spoken to Carl about you. He knows you are a troublemaker.” Her cackle of a laugh followed me down the hall to the elevator.

I saw red all the way down to the first floor and down the hall to Carl Benson’s office in the Human Resources department. I knocked on the door. “Come in.” Carl yelled from across the room.  I entered and closed the door behind me. “What can I do for you Hannah?”

“I need to file a complaint; multiple complaints actually.”

Carl raised an eyebrow. “Oh? About what?”

“Mitzy Davis.” I said flatly. Carl leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily.

“Hannah, Mitzy has confided in me that you and some of the other ladies are having a difficult time adjusting to accepting her authority. I know you all liked George Murray but, things change. You must give Mitzy a chance. Just because she’s younger and attractive, doesn’t mean she can’t be a good manager.”

“Younger and attractive?” I couldn’t believe it. Carl had a crush on the enemy. “Her age and looks are irrelevant Carl. The woman is evil.”

“Evil? That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“Nope. Can I fill out the complaint form, now?” I looked at him expectantly. Twelve years here and I’d never had an issue with any other employee, management or otherwise. I didn’t know how this worked but I had foolishly expected Carl to be professional and unbiased. If he WAS biased, shouldn’t it be towards me? But I am not “younger and attractive” so perhaps not.

“Hannah, go home. Take tonight to cool off. If you still want to file a complaint in the morning, come back and we’ll do it.”

“Fine Carl. I’ll see you in the morning.” On the way home, I had stopped at the jiffy mart and bought a pack of cigarettes. I was smoking the first one when Tony had scared several years of my life out of me in the parking lot.

“You could always quit.” Tony looked at my sympathetically. “No job is worth this. I’m sure you could find another job quick.”

“Maybe but, not one that pays this well. It’s like --- it’s like being stuck in golden handcuffs. I’ve invested so much time with this company; I hate the thought of letting Mitzy Davis run me off.”

“What I hate, is the thought of you being miserable every day. Just quit Hannah. We’ll figure out the bills. Your mental health is more important.” Tony gave me a hug. “Now, give me the pack of cigarettes. Hand ‘em over." Reluctantly, I handed him the pack and watched him crush it in his fist before throwing it in a nearby garbage can. “I want you to be happy and healthy; that’s all that matters.” He kissed me on the forehead.

God, I love this man.

I had just finished typing up my resignation letter when my phone rang. It was Laurie, my best office buddy. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her at first. Eventually she was able to convey that Mitzy had called her into her office at the end of the day and informed her she was being written up for doctoring my timecard. According to Mitzy, I had thrown Laurie under the bus when confronted about the discrepancy in my clock out time. Hearing this filled me with homicidal rage. It was probably a good thing I didn’t know where Mitzy lived.

“Laurie, I hope you know I would never say that.”

“Oh, I know that.” She sniffled. “You would never fib on your timecard either. I HATE that woman! I don’t know if I can keep working there.”

“Speaking of that, I am quitting tomorrow morning. I have my resignation letter ready to go.” My revelation was followed by stunned silence. “Laurie? Did you hear me?”

“What are the rest of us going to do without you? You can’t just leave us there with Mitzy!”

“I’m sorry, I really am. Tony and I have talked about it and it’s just not worth losing my sanity.”

The following morning, I arrived at the office early. I quickly packed up the personal belongings from my desk and took them out to my car. I wanted to be able to walk right out the door after turning in my resignation. I was waiting for Carl outside his office when he arrived. He sighed when he saw me.

“Haven’t changed your mind about filing a complaint?”

“Nope.”

Carl let me into his office and handed me the complaint form. I spent twenty minutes furiously writing out each and every offense Mitzy Davis had committed that I knew of, even ones that didn’t involve me directly. If any of the other gals ever got brave enough to complain, my account would back them up. There was nothing else I could do for them. I pushed the form across the desk to Carl who quickly skimmed through it.

“Hannah, you should probably just take some of this as constructive criticism.” I raised an eyebrow in question. “Like this part.” He pointed at a paragraph about Mitzy critiquing my clothing and nails during a meeting.

“It’s inappropriate Carl and you know it. If that were all she had done, I wouldn’t even bring it up but as it stands, it’s part of a pattern. She’s a bully, an adult bully.”

“Alright Hannah.” He took the form and scanned it in. With a few keystrokes, my complaint was officially filed. “Anything else I can help with?”

“Just this.” I pulled my resignation letter from my purse and handed it to him. “I know it’s proper procedure to give this to my manager but, given the circumstances, I think you’ll agree it’s best I give it directly to you.”

Carl took the letter, his jaw dropped as he read it. He recovered himself quickly. “Well, we hate to lose you Hannah. Can you at least work out a two weeks' notice?”

“No. I’m sorry but, I really can’t. “ There was no way I was going to subject myself to two more weeks of retaliatory harassment from Mitzy.

I opened the door of Carl’s office prepared for my triumphant march out of the building. Lined up in the hallway were Laurie and four other gals from our department. “Here to send me off?” I asked.

“Not exactly.” Laurie grinned as all five of them held up their resignation letters. “We’re here to ambush Carl. We are quitting too.”

“Umm, just to be clear, this isn’t a Jerry McGuire moment. I am not asking anyone to come with me and I don’t have jobs for you all to go to. I don’t even have one for myself.” I didn’t want the unemployment of five other women on my conscience. They all laughed at my reference.

“We know that silly. We’re just done with Mitzy’s tortures. Wanna watch?”

“Do I ever!” This was about to be delicious. All five ladies crammed into Carl’s office unannounced. I stood in the doorway, a silent grinning observer.

“What’s going on here?” Carl demanded. The ladies each tossed their resignation letter onto his desk.

“We quit.” Laurie said cheerfully. “Let’s go ladies.”

The six of us sashayed our way out of the office together. It was liberating, even if we were all headed for potential financial ruin.

Three more victims of Mitzy’s resigned within three weeks of our mass exodus. That left Mitzy and the few employees that had been her pets. According to the grapevine, with no one else to bully, Mitzy had now unleashed her wrath on even those chosen few.

As it turns out, Tony was right, I was able to find a new job quickly, one that was willing to match the salary I had been making at the last job. Laurie took a job there too and I was glad we would still be work besties.

I haven’t smoked a single cigarette since.


Nicholas has been having an absolutely horrible year. When he received word that he would have a promotion at his marketing consulting firm, he thought it would be phenomenal. He would have a bigger paycheck, he would have assistants, and he could set his own hours. Those hopes would not last. Expectations were high on him to deliver not just in terms of work but in terms of personality. Clients would love the work that they did, but they would cut out the consultant anyway because something in the budget needs to go. Nicholas has to constantly be attending lunches and work functions to make sure the client at least likes them. He also has to compete with other consultants for the same job. To top it off, his underlings hate him for telling them they need to work overtime or that their work is not to the clients liking. People say don't shoot the messenger, but the bullet holes in Nicholas's suit say otherwise. It is a few days before Christmas, and a restaurant has tasked them to prepare new marketing ideas for next Valentine's Day. Nicholas sits in his office reviewing work when he hears a knock on the door. "Come in," he says. "Excuse me. I was wondering if I could head out early tomorrow. I got my work done, and I would like to spend Christmas with my family," Kelly, a new-hire, says. Nicholas opens her file and looks it over. "I am sorry, but I think you are going to redo parts of this. I will send you a more detailed draft tomorrow, but for now, why don't you go re-look at it," he says. Kelly's face drops as she walks out the door. Nicholas looks out of his door and sees every employee shares her disposition. Nicholas hates it here too, but they have to do it. His cellphone rings. The name reads Jim Ross, an old college friend. Why would he be calling? "Hello, Jim what is going on?" Nicholas says. "Oh not much, I figured we have not spoken in a while, and it is Christmas," Jim says. "That is very nice of you, but I am busy right now," Nicholas says. "Really, it is eight at night, a few days before Christmas. Why are you working?" Jim asks. "That is the job. Besides, I am not alone. Other employees are here," Nicholas says. "They must be miserable. I know I would," Jim says. His words sting Nicholas, even though Nick had the same thought earlier. "Yes, well, we all do what we must. Bye, Jim," Nicholas hangs up before Jim can react. He gets back to work marking up Kelly's paper when his phone rings again. It says Mom. "Hi, Mom," he says. "Merry Christmas," his mom sings into the line. "Mom, can I call you back please? I am busy," he says. "Busy, son, you should be off work and enjoying the holidays," she says. "I know, but I need to get things done." "I remember you used to love Christmas as a kid. You took charge of overseeing how we decorated the house. I guess that carried over to adulthood. Will we at least be able to see you on Christmas Day?" she asks with a tinge of sorrow. Nicholas takes a deep breath. "Honestly, probably not, sorry Mom," he says. "Oh," Nicholas can almost hear the tears start to fall, "Well, I love you and Merry Christmas." "Love you to Mom," Nicholas hangs up the phone to get back to work when the phone rings again. "What?!" Nicholas yells into the phone. "Woah, sorry man for calling, is this a bad time?" an apologetic man says on the other end. Nicholas pulls the phone away to see it is Mark. He used to play basketball with Mark before the promotion. "Heyyy, Mark, no, just busy. Sorry for yelling. What is happening," Nicholas stands up and a smile starts to form. "Not much, I know it is last-minute, but my boyfriend and I are throwing a Christmas party tomorrow. I know it is last-minute, but you haven't been to the courts recently so I couldn't tell you," Mark says. "Boyfriend?" Nicholas's smile starts to fade. "Oh right, remember David that cute guy in the park I was telling you about. I asked him out, and we are together now. Wow, it really has been a while since we talked," Mark says. "That sounds wonderful. I am sure he is awesome," Nicholas looks back at his computer, "I would love to meet him, but I am busy these next few days. I am sorry." "No worries. We should do lunch later," Mark says. "That sounds great. I will text you when I am free," Nicholas hangs up the phone and checks his calendar. His days are all booked up. He may never see his friend in a while. His phone rings again one more time. "Hi, Nicholas, where are you," a woman's voice that Nicholas knows well asks. "Joanne, my god, I am so sorry," he gets back in his seat to apologize to his girlfriend, "Things at work got out of hand, and I forgot about dinner. "That seems to happen a lot recently," her venom slips through the phone. "I know I have been a jerk. I will make it up to you. I promise," he rubs his temples. "You keep saying that, but I don't think that means anything anymore," she goes straight for the jugular. "You are right. I am sorry. I have been a bad boyfriend. I will do right by you," Nicholas says. "We'll see won't we. Merry Christmas," she says. "Merry Christmas," he replies. Nicholas looks back at his call-log. His new salary and hours were supposed to make life better. All he has done is fall out of touch with friends and family. He starts to analyze Kelly's work again, but he realizes that he is making her do the same. When he glances at her desk, he sees that she is just as miserable as he is typing away. Nicholas closes the document and logs out of the computer. He jumps out of his desk, and with a spring in his step, he goes to the open-floor office where his underlings sit. "You know what? It is Christmas. Go home and spend time with your families. We will finish the work before New Years, but for now, be happy," every head in the room looks up and brightens. Papers are shuffled, and computers are turned off. "Thank you so much sir," Kelly says as she walks out of the office, "Merry Christmas." "Merry Christmas to you," Nicholas walks out of the building and calls up Mark. He tells him that he will be at the party tomorrow, and he can't wait to meet David. He texts Joanne about the party, and she ecstatically replies that she wants to go. On the way to his apartment, he picks up a bouquet of roses to give to her tomorrow. When he reaches his apartment, he calls his mom and tells her that he will be home for Christmas this year. She tells him how wonderful that is, and she looks forward to seeing him again. When he reaches his apartment, he collapses on the couch and dials the number that started it all. "Hey Jim, I am sorry I was so curt earlier. Why don't you tell me what you have been up to and Merry Christmas.


It wasn't dark like she believed it would be. Actually, it was super fucking bright. She knew she was dying, no more oxygen and it was making it hard to think.  She couldn't feel it but was aware of it. You know, like when there's something you forgot to do but you know it had to be done? It's just that feeling. It's kind of like a shedding of a skin or a layer or a peel. It's weird however you want to describe it. Death is so scary because we don't know what is next. Kinda the same with life except we feign control of life. Death is like nothingness and who can deal with nothing. At least while living we have some semblance of control. It does all flash before your eyes.  Your life.  Mostly it's the lessons you learned.  It all becomes crystal clear.  The last thing she remembered of her life was swimming and getting tangled and gasping and fighting and the struggle then peace. Fighting for that last breath was the worst. Then it was the easiest. She'd only been in the keys for about a month. There was something about island life that pulled her in. Maybe because she was born on an island. Granted, it was in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay but an island nonetheless. It's nothing but a highway full of strip malls now, just a route to get to the beach. She loved growing up along the creek waters and playing in amongst the marsh reeds. People knew one another and looked out for each other. She'd been searching for this again most of her adult life. She thought she'd found it again but the place grew faster than her childhood island did. Too many people. Too much commotion. The keys were exactly what she was looking for. It was a different pace here and it was WARM. She had gotten her scuba certification before moving down. Always wanting it just never doing it. That dang breathing thing just scared her. But fuck it she said. "I'm almost 65, I've got shit to do!" In the month she had been here she had friended the next-door neighbors. Their trailer was on the canal while hers was one over. They had a boat and went fishing and diving quite often. They invited her to go on the next trip. They wanted to do some spearfishing and it would give her a chance to go on a dive. The traffic was BULLSHIT. It took two hours almost to go 8 freaking miles. She had driven in LA traffic and DC traffic. Grandpa in his RV going down highway 98 was worse. Way worse. When people overtake an area it sucks. She'd found this place by accident. Drawn to the white sand beaches and emerald waters. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen and in the last 10 years, it apparently became the most beautiful place thousands of people had ever seen! The growth was heartbreaking. People suck the beauty out of nature. They bring their bullshit with them wherever they go. They ruin paradise she thought looking at the jam-packed road full of tourists. I think it's time to move she suddenly thought. She didn't like the thought of moving again. Not knowing a soul, again. But at the same time, she kinda liked it. Life's an adventure, right? And to be honest, she was great at making friends. People just seemed to want to be near her. She had just gotten her SCUBA cert because she wanted adventure. She'd been bored too long. Got too comfortable. And frankly, it had been on her bucket list for a long time now. She wanted to feel the freedom of being under the water. To see the animals that lived right in her beach backyard. Then go to the keys and dive there where the diving was amazing. Routine had finally gotten the best of her. She didn't want to do this anymore. The business kept growing but she was done building it. It was time to let someone else do it. Ten years was plenty of time to devote to something. Every day was the same. The people were the same. It was cold outside too. She wanted to wake up and go sit outside with her coffee and listen to the birds and the sea every day. To have a perpetual tan and a perpetual smile. As she tugged on her coat and felt properly suffocated she went outside to her car. The wind whipped through her it felt. The iciness causing her to pull inside the coat even more. Fuck it's cold today she thought as she slipped on ice and almost fell. That was it! I'm out of here. Driving to the office hoping she didn't hit any patches of black ice. She eased her convertible into the lot thinking how badly she wanted to be able to feel the warm sun on her as she rode with the top down. Once inside she immediately started to google beaches in Florida. She was done with winter. She was done with this routine. Destin and the emerald coast came up. That intrigued her. So she booked a trip. Write your own obituary. Well, that seems kinda morbid she thought as the professor handed out their assignments. Hmm, I guess I need to first figure out how I die, she thought as she bounced the assignment around in her head. She could come up with plenty of ways she did NOT want to die. Violent or bloody was a definite no. She didn't want to suffer in any way either. She didn't want to be so old that she was crapping her pants and needing someone to take care of her. She decided that dying suddenly while doing something fun was probably the best way to go. So, no blood. No pain. I'll die while scuba diving! Seems like a good way to go. Kinda terrifying but painless. Lacey Grey Simpson Born 1970 Died 2034 Lacey lived an exciting life...