By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. My own house were I spend my whole childhood was burning as a huge campfire and the reason is just me... no one else but me. I ran down the lane to find the fire brigade. The firemen heard the incident and they agreed to help me. When I had come before my house with the firemens, the fire had spread into my neighbours house too. By seeing the conditions I fell down on the street; Fainted. When I opened my eyes in consciousness I was in a hospital, a nurse staring at me. She asked me some questions which they ask the people who get shocks due to a certain sad reason, I answered every correct answer then she left me by my own in the room alone. I reviewed the whole day which had started with much joy and excitement had turned in a dangerous and sad accident. All the past flew past my mind and I started to panic about what will my parents and my brother's reaction would be. I tried to remember each and every words I spoke throughout the day till now, and now want you guys to feel the accident and I want you to imagine each and every moment:-

IN THE COLLEGE DORM... "It is fall atlast", I screamed. My roommates woke up because of my scream and Mia yelled "Samantha, can't you keep your voice down specially on the weekend mornings. I really get tired of my schedule and I try to sleep in the weekends late so would you mind if I ask you to keep your mouth shut till 10:00 am?". Kelly screamed "Why did you ruin my sleep, I slept really late yesterday night, now I have to go to the pool party with a black spot under my eyes!!". Zia laughed and said "You are my little alarm clock Samantha, everyday you have some reason to shout in the mornings and I don't have to put an alarm as I wake up by your scream".

I said a little embarrassed "Sorry guys, from my childhood I have a sore throat which makes me speak so rough and loud, and Zia has some help too... She can wake up by my screams". I put my hand on my hair and played with a string of it and I said again "Today I am really very much excited as I'm going back to my hometown... and after so long time I would see my Mamma, Daddy and Brother, so can you please forgive me for breaking through all of yours sleep??". Zia came down from her bed and smirked. "What are you smirking for Zia?" I whispered. "You can guess the reason pretty good... Thank You 'alarm clock'..." My face began to grow red with anger and I spit out these words "Don't you dare to call me 'alarm clock' you flirting queen". Zia laughed as Mia and Kelly turned around to complete their broken sleep.

I had packed my bags 2 days beforehand so that I don't have to rush in the mornings. I had given my leave notice for 3 days and had got the acceptance card and I only need to attend today's class and then I'm free to leave for Mamma, Daddy and Bro. I checked the list I made and gave a tick-mark on the things I've done. In the meantime Zia peeped from her book and rolled her eyes at my behaviour and said "You are going to your own house Samantha not any examination, so why do you prepare what to take and what not to in a 'to do list', I'm really seeing a person so nervous while going to her own house the first time". I just merely gave her a faint smile and went back to do my work.

When I had finished all my classes for the day, I had a quick lunch with Mia and went off for my home...

ON THE WAY IN A CAB...

I booked a cab and told the address to the driver and he picked up the speed, I thoroughly enjoyed the ride. On the way I buyed some fruits for Mamma, she loves fruits so much I cannot elaborate it.

IN MY HOMETOWN... In a short time I reached home. But the house was empty and my phone was out of juice. I had a spare key of the backdoor and I tried to enter the house... But woah!! The back door was full of dust and spider webs as if it is not cleaned for a month or so...then also I entered the house. As soon as I had entered my stomach started growling with hunger. I had instant noodles so I went to the kitchen with a pack of them hurriedly. But my luck was so bad I didn't get a lighter to light the stove for hot water, my hands were rolled in a fist till then as if I'm going to hit someone and I said to my own "Why does this bloody shit house has nothing neither of any of my people nor any lighter to light the stove...". I searched through my bag to find a box of matchstick. It took a minute or two when I got the lighter and lit the stove to boil some water. I didn't pay attention to the matchstick and threw it outside the window in my kitchen. Then I took out a bowl from the cupboard washed the bowl neat and clean. Then I poured some of my drinking water and boiled it to pour off in the noodles. I ate the noodles searching my bag for a charger but 'Oh Shit' I forgot... I wanted to slap myself but I controlled my anger. When I had finished the noodles I was feeling so tired, I went to the couch to rest for a while... I had fallen asleep, but I was woken by a smell of something burning. I went to the kitchen and saw that I had turned the flame off... But the smoke was there outside the window in the kitchen.

I rushed out and saw that near the back side of the house, the heap of dried leaves were burning because of the half-burning matchstick that had landed from my hand to that heap of leaves and had caught fire... I was so shocked I couldn't understand what to do and what not to... An idea struck me... To call the fire brigade. I ran down the lane tripped two times hurt my elbow and a knee, but I still kept on running, blood dripping from my elbow as it was a big and deep cut... but my first mission was to save my house. In 10 minutes of running I reached the Fire Station. I explained them everything in detail and not wasting our precious time we rushed to our house... But when we reached my house, for me everything was literally going to be over. My house and my neighbour's house was burning like a fireball or a huge campfire. My eyes were filled with tears, hands and legs shivering with many kinds of fears.  I looked at my neighbours they were crying and saying "Our house gone... where do we go now... all gone... everythings are burning... with the arrival of fall came our end... where should we put our head to sleep..." I couldn't resist the tension anymore, my head became dizzy and I fell on the street. I had fainted... I woke up and saw the room, it was so hazy. I rubbed my eyes and saw that I was in a hospital and a nurse staring at me with eagerness. When I stood and sat on the bed with a supporting pillow, she asked me many questions and I gave the correct answers. "Who are you?", "I'm Samantha Drew Laeno". "Where were you at the time of the accident?", "At my own house". "Whom do you love the most? And his name?", "My elder brother. Samuel Drew Laeno". And many More...and More... and More... She said "You have no illness and your elbow is stitched... so remember to keep it dry the next few days. And one more thing... you will be discharged in a few hours", then she left me all by myself, alone in that room and that is when I started remembering the past hours.

        ------------------------------------------------------------ After I was discharged from the hospital, the same nurse asked me "Do you want anyone to come to pick you up or will you go home alone?". I replied "No Thank You I'll go by myself don't worry". I headed towards the road, but I didn't know where from I was walking... I was walking on the main street and a car was honking from behind but I couldn't hear as I was lost in thoughts... "What will my parents think of me when they get to know the mess I had made?... Will they forgive me?...". Just then as the car was to hit me dead, Melissa my best friend came to my rescue and she pulled my hand bringing me on top of her laying down on the sidewalk.

She screamed her tongue out of her mouth and shouted on the top of her voice "What the hell are you trying to do??... 'SUICIDE'? Are you senseless? What happened give a brief description of it please, and what happened to your arm and head?..." I nodded and gave her all the information, and she stood there with her mouth big opened. I asked her why she is looking at me like that. She replied "don't you know that your family has moved to another locality?...". I nodded 'NO'. We both got up and from my back Zia came running and pulled me face to face to her. She shook my head vigorously with anger and shouted "Samantha have you gone crazy??... Are you out of your mind??". I started crying like baby girl at the shouting of both my friends when Melissa asked us to go to a ice-cream parlour as her treat. We agreed. When we were eating our ice-cream my brother arrived 'Samuel Drew Laeno', he waved at me and winked at Mellissa I waved him back and I saw Melissa winking him back too. I asked them "What's your connection?", and both of them smiled and said "A secret".

Then he started arguing with me as because not calling him directly on my way back home "Are you a Donkey, Monkey, Idiot, Bastard...??" and etc.. etc...he said me. I quarrelled back "Why didn't you call me about the issue that you all have changed houses? Was the balance in your phone over 'Bastard'?". As we were shouting some people were seeing him and me both. A little boy of age 6-7 fell down the chair laughing with the ice-cream on his face. We all stood laughing seeing the boy's condition. I and my brother left for home. When we reached home my brother announced my arrival to my parents as "Mamma, Daddy your idiot Samantha has arrived". I hit him in the arm when mamma stopped him from beating me back. By seeing my mamma's face I started crying again when she comforted me and brought me at the couch to rest. She also said that "It doesn't matter dear, that is not our living place anymore... don't be sad honey." I looked at my mother's face she had a faint smile on her lips. Then she said to me "I think you have learned your lifetime lesson 'think before you leap' if you would thought what can happen right at the moment you threw the burning stick from your hand outside the window, this would not happen...". By that words I was changed throughout my life.


"They eat each other??" "Indeed sir, that seems to be the case." "Every single one of them?" "Based on our encounters, every species seems to partake in this act. It has become their fundamental method of energy acquisition." "Ugh, that is barbaric - why don't they simply use synthesis?" "The most prevalent species are photonic entities that do employ synthesis, akin to us. However, the majority of them remain in the Stage 1 temporal state - and they are preyed upon by other species for energy." "You mean they're eating the children??" "As far as we can tell." "I've heard enough, I can't listen to any more." "But-" "I said no more!" "Sir, they're on the way." "Come again?" "One of the dominant species has managed to venture off their planet, and their behavioral patterns indicate that they've discovered and pinpointed our location." "Very well. When should we expect them?" "Our analysis suggests they could reach us within a hundred cycles of their planetary orbit." "Ah, creatures of the dark I see. Wait... one cycle of theirs is - this can't be right, our cycles are almost the same. They'll be here within a hundred cycles around their star?" "That's correct, sir." "But that's tomorrow!" "Indeed, sir." "Why are they moving so fast?" "That's precisely what I was trying to explain, sir. The photonic beings on their planet act as energy sources for the remaining species. Consequently, the non-photonic entities use the abundance of energy from the practice to operate predominantly within the Stage 2-" "Young tonics and their waste, always waving and weaving about! Making wind instead of moving with it. I can understand the rush and excitement of awakening to Stage 2-" "Sir-" "-and the burning desire to share your stories, but you must always remember sustainability! No matter, they will learn our ways - shall we prepare for a rooting ceremony?" "I would advise-" "I must admit, I can't wait to hear of their adventures. This may be the most exciting addition to our root network since the Supanovae Blossoms that awakened us Stage 3! Though, the little I've heard of their planet's other species gives me shivers." "Sir, it's not the photonic beings that are on their way." "What!? Impossible... what are you suggesting?" "Our surveillance indicates that it's one of the non-photonic species that has managed to travel off planet. They appear to exist mainly in the Stage 2 temporal realm, sustaining that state via their feeding behavior. Given their current expansion rate, we estimate they'll be able to travel at the photonic limit within half a day." *stunned silence* "What do you recommend?" "We have made attempts to communicate, but our messages only seemed to agitate the species. We witnessed some destructive nuclear fusion activity on their planet's surface, leading to the burning and withering of almost 60% of the photonic beings." "Light and stars! In a day??" "These incidents were followed by what looks like a mass departure of most of the surviving non-photonic beings towards us, including their microbials." "And they all feed on photonic beings for energy?" "That's correct, sir." "Even the microbials?" "Yes, sir." "Initiate Stage 3 exit, system-wide.


All around her, the city was grey, bland, and muddied as the rain fell into tiny puddles, too small to be fun, and too big to be pretty. Storefronts and buildings were closed and quiet; her mother’s car was silent (as was her mother) but for the engine and the little tapping of droplets against the metal. Anise wondered how unremarkable this world could be, sometimes, until, just beyond glass panes of Anderson’s Antiques , she glimpsed a warm light. It came from a lamp, its lampshade made up of a thousand colors of brilliant stained glass,

and though the store looked small, it didn’t look like a store at all. It looked like a home, with its pictures, sculptures, and oak brown bookshelves, even through the rain-splattered car window. Anise knew somehow, in a way that could never be explained, not even with the wisest of words, that she must go in there one day. She did not have to say it out loud to know it or even to rationalize it to herself. It was a simple urge; an instinct, that she knew was right, right in the way that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. It simply was.

And so, when her mother asked her what she wanted for her ninth birthday a week later, Anise got her wish. Her mother had looked at her with a funny little tilt of her head, the look usually reserved for Felix, Anise’s older brother when he came home late after school, smelling strange and spouting vapid excuses.

“Why would you want to visit the antique store?” Her mother had asked. Anise smiled. What could she say and how could she say it? She shrugged. The explanation hardly mattered at any rate, as they were already on their way to the store and Anise had worried she might never get to be ‘on her way’ to that warm-looking place.

“Because I want to,” she had said, and her mother had sighed.

“You kids,” she grumbled, but Anise could tell that her mother seemed happy, even if it was just a little bit happier than her ordinary weariness with the world.

Inside the store, there was a smiling woman with white hair and an old wrinkled face, who welcomed them through the door into the warmth. Immediately, Anise was awed by the sheer amount of dazzling things, that seemed to cover every single inch of space. What a place, she thought. She saw shimmering beads, old faded toys, shining bright old clocks, worn but pretty clothes, and paintings of every sort (oils, watercolors, inks, pastels, and more unidentified materials). They captured portraits of ancient dignified people, the imperious and the joyous, the uptight and the humourous, all the various spectrums of the human condition, captured in portraits. This was a place full of treasure.

While it was not big, the room was designed in such a way that there seemed thousands of things hidden in little nooks and crannies. Behind a mirror, there would be old toy soldiers, motioning and commanding themselves in what could only have been an invisible war of sorts. Inside a chest, Anise found clothing, and under that, scrapbooks with faded photographs of big families and smiling babies. Surrounding it all were towering shelves of books, who knows how old, each decaying to the touch, spines trembling under her fingers, and pages tearing at the slightest provocation.

There were also two cats, one thin and tan, wizened with age, and the other black, with shimmering fur and iridescent green eyes. Anise was fond of the second one, and she was sure that that it liked her back. Animals, she had always thought, were not like humans. They were quiet and observant, and they never missed a single thing.

“You can buy one nice thing, or a few small things,” her mother had told her, in her usual strictness. Anise had nodded dutifully. Surrounded by shelves and boxes and colors, what was she to choose? What she wanted was one day to live in a place like this. If every year she came here and bought just one thing, one nice thing, one precious thing, then she could do it. In twenty years, she could have a room like this one, if on a smaller scale, and she would only be thirty-one. And still, if thirty-one could be counted as an adult, which she was fairly sure it did, and if what her mother had said was true- that adults lived in different ways than children, and the future is unpredictable, no matter how many charts and calendars you use- then she just might have more than twenty things by then anyway.

Anise had considered the jewelry, which was mysterious and shiny, attractive and promising, but it reminded her too much of her mother, who kept glancing at rubies behind glass panes, and the look in her eyes was making Anise sad. She had thought of the toys, too: there was a beautiful porcelain doll with starry blue eyes and velvet soft blond hair. But in a sense, even though they were strange and old, they were ordinary. They seemed too much like the plastic barbie dolls she had played with at school, or the Happy Meal trinkets her mother got her on occasion. The comic books reminded her of Felix and a little wood-carved dog of her labrador Calypso. She had even asked the woman if the shimmering black cat might be bought- but no, Harriet was not for sale. In the end, what stopped her in her tracks what the painting.

It was small, no bigger than her two hands, but in it was the prettiest, most vibrant red rose -painted or actual- that Anise had ever known. It was found buried under old books, in the deepest corner of the store, and she had wiped the dust off of the glass with her fingers, not caring if the dust would cling and compress itself under her nails. In the center of the picture was the rose, as rich as a single drop of blood or the cherries on an ice cream Sunday. The rose was surrounded by a dark and shady bush, and perched on the edge of the rose was a white butterfly. It was speckled with grey and black and rendered in such fine detail that she could see its little white spindly legs; it was a kind of butterfly Anise had never seen.

And nothing else mattered after that, not the dull, rusty metal frame or the look her mother gave her at the price tag, or even the smallness of the birthday cake that she suspected was really just a large muffin, because she had found beauty, and it made the world remarkable again.


It was early autumn. The air was fresh and crisp, and the light breeze carried the vibrant fall leaves. A cold breeze playfully tossed the fall leaves, sending whirlwinds of color down our street. I lay on my bed, though the sun had been up for hours. I chose a different spot to zone out every day: my beanbag, the couch, my bed. It never made a difference. Every night, I still cried myself to sleep, soaking my pillow, which was stiff with tears. I didn’t bother to turn it over onto the fresh side. Every day the sun rose, but even its radiance and warmth couldn’t light my world. Not now, that my mother was gone.

I stared at the ceiling. When I was little, mom and I would lie on our backs, tracing shapes in the ceiling plaster. I named them now - the spaceship flying out to the stars, the sleek otter swimming with the cool brook, a ewe lamb, away from its pasture. They don’t mean anything anymore, though. They’re just splotches of plaster. Everything in the house radiated off her, the kitchen, paintings on the wall, the unmoving pictures that still, somehow, held some movement of joy. The bench, the piano, was mom’s, and only hers. Often she held out her hand, asking me to join in the symphonies of the music, but she, only, ever played the pieces, now stuck in my head, in a familiar pace.

The cool draft pressed my lungs, choking me, as the memories drowned me. I couldn’t stand it anymore, the shapes on the ceiling, the pictures of her smiling face, the bench, the pieces stuck in my head, the horrible, muffled silence of the house, the hours passed unnoticed. I ran downstairs, out the door, listening to the cicadas chirp through the sleepy silence. I pause at the mailbox, watching a mail truck turn the corner at the end of the street. I opened the mailbox, not expecting to find anything, but I needed to do something new.

Back in the house, I flipped through the mail. A lump formed in my throat when I see that several of the letters were addressed to Hazelle Johnson. Most of the letters are for my dad, but one of the letters is addressed to me. A smile almost crept on my face after seeing the stamp had the queen's profile on it. It was from Will, my brother, who attended college in England. I tore open the envelope, and read: Dear Bree, I couldn’t believe it when I heard that mom had been killed in a car crash. I miss you and dad like crazy. Tell Dad that I’m coming on the twenty-first. Hang in there, Bree. See you soon. Love, Will ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ I got up the next day, realizing that it was seven days since it happened. Since the day she left. Since the day mom was, irrevocably, gone. I’m surprised I lasted this long. After eating breakfast with my father, who barely acknowledged my presence before shutting himself in his office, I decided to talk a stroll through the town.

The sun hadn’t come out to warm the streets down, so it was cool outside. I slipped on the soft blue jacket that mom bought me before hurrying outside.

Thirty minutes later, I walked further than I had ever before - the part of town I had only ever seen through a car window.

The road sloped downwards, and as I began to walk downhill, I saw the red door of a black house open, and a girl and a dog walked out. The girl firmly gripped the harness of the dog, walking cautiously uphill towards me. She seemed to be blind.

I was so fascinated that I almost didn’t hear the whir of a bike tire. Almost. When I looked up, I saw a man on a bike riding swiftly towards the girl and her dog. I expected him to steer clear from her, but he was listening to music, not paying attention to what was ahead of him.

“Watch out!” I screamed. The girl looked up, confused. Her dog barked and tried to pull her out of the way. The biker looked up, but it was too late for him to change course. He was going to crash! Without thinking, I leaped into the bike’s path. I felt it collide with my body, knocking me down on the cold, hard asphalt. My head slammed against the ground and I blacked out.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the music. It was the piano, and at first, I thought it was my mom playing. But I had never heard this song before. All the songs mom used to play were worn in my head. A never-ending cycle of tunes and rhythms.

I opened my eyes. I was lying on a tan, leather couch, and it was the blind girl playing the piano, not mom.

I tried to raise myself on my elbows, but my head was throbbing. I fell back on the couch with a groan. The girl stopped playing abruptly. “Mom! She’s awake!” she called and hurried over to kneel by the sofa. She moved with such ease through the room that I wondered if she was really blind.

Then, a short woman with short, blond hair and blue eyes came into view, holding an ice pack. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes knit with worry. “Lousy,” I mumbled, my body throbbing. The woman gently placed the ice pack on my head and said. “I’m Julia Belmont, and this is my daughter, Selene.” I looked at Selene. She was tall, with a willowy figure, just like her mother. Her hair was a wavy, dirty-blonde sheet, and her eyes were gray as the stormy clouds, wide and clear, filled with light.

“What happened?” I asked, pausing with uncertainty. “All I remember was jumping in front of the bike and then…” I paused, with a loss of words.

Julia smiled gently. “Yes, that’s what the biker said. He was quite worked up. He didn’t even say sorry. Seemed to think it was your fault you got hit.” She sighed. “At least he helped me carry you here.” “I had to jump ahead. Otherwise, he would have hit her,” I said, gesturing to Selene.

“Are you always this noble? The biker wouldn’t have hurt me any worse than he hurt you,” she said, with a smile playing across her lips. I giggled. “I suppose you’re right. I couldn’t just stand there and watch it happen, though.” I added, “It wouldn’t have been fair.” She laughed. It was a musical one, like the ringing of bells. The kind that made everyone smile and joins in. I couldn’t suppress it anymore. I joined in and Julia looked between us, chuckling.

I realized it was the first time I had laughed since she left. It felt so good to be free. When we stopped laughing, Selene asked, “What’s your name, Ms. Nobleness?” “Bree.” “Should I call your parents?” Julia asked, worry reflecting in her eyes. “They might be worried…” I cut in quickly, “No, I’m sure they’re not.” `“Alright,” Julia said, clearly worried. “If you’re sure.” Just then, I noticed the dog, a black Labrador Retriever, which had been next to the sofa the whole time.

“What’s your dog’s name?” I asked, stroking its silky, black fur.

“Luz,” Selene replied. “It means ‘light’ in Spanish.” “Why’d you name her that?” I asked, curious. “I guess,” she began, thoughtful. “I guess it’s because she’s kind of my light - she’s invisible to me, but I can’t see without her.” “Are you girls hungry?” Julia called from the other room. “Do you want some food?” “Sure! Thanks, Mom,” Selene called back. A few minutes later, Maria came in, carrying a tray of crackers and cheese. Selene and I devoured it, and Selene fed Luz a few bits of cheese. When they were finished, Julia came in, holding a phone. “Do you want to stay and to rest a few hours?” she asked me. “If you do, I need you to call your parents and let them know you’re OK. Otherwise, I can drive you home or you can have them come pick you up.” I sat up, but it made me feel dizzy. “Can I stay here for a while?” I asked. “Of course. Just let them know you’re okay,” she said. She handed me the phone, and I whispered to myself, “829-291-0932,” as I dialed our number. As I had expected, no one picked up. I left a message saying that I would be home in a few hours. I didn’t need to worry dad about anything. It’s not like he’d notice I was gone anyway.

He only remembered mom anyway. I laid back down the soft, brown pillows. I ached all over. Selene went back to the piano, a beautiful symphony of notes. Luz snuffed comfortingly in my ears. I relaxed my stiffened muscles and eventually drifted off to sleep.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ When I opened my eyes again, I felt less sore. Selene was still at the piano, but the light had changed, and I felt like I had been asleep for at least an hour.

Julia poked her head into the room. “Want some lunch?” “Sure,” I replied, suddenly feeling hungrier than I had in ages.

“Are grilled cheese sandwiches OK?” I nodded and sat up. I still was soaked with aches and sore, and there were scratches and bruises on her arms and legs, but I felt a little better. “Do you play the piano?” Selene asked. “I took a few lessons a while back,” I replied. “I know some easy duets we could play,” she said hopefully. “I have the music, in case that makes it easier?” “OK,” I replied, though I was unsure. The bench, the piano, was mom’s spot. Not mine.

I played with Selene until Julia called us for lunch. The duets were simple and easy to play, but they had harmonies that sound cool together. I enjoyed the duets as much as the sandwiches that followed.

“Can Bree stay a while longer?” Selene asked her mom. She caught my eye, and added, “Only if you want to.” “Sure. If that’s OK with you guys.” I replied, hoping Julia would allow it.

“It’s fine by me, as long as you’re sure your parents won’t mind,” Julia said. I doubted my father would even notice I was gone. We spent the afternoon hours playing. Selene pulled out a solo piece since we were out of duets. This one looked familiar, though.

“My mom used to play this,” I said softly. My voice dropped to a whisper. “She died in a car crash a week ago.” “Oh my god!” cried Selene. “You must be so sad.” I nodded. “My dad just wanders around the house or shuts himself in his office. And my brother, Will, who’s in England, sent me a letter. He’s coming home in a few weeks.” Selene took my hand and squeezed it. A warm sensation spread through my body. “Well, at least you have that to look forward to. You have to remember to look for the good things in life. If we dwell on the bad things, we’ll never enjoy life.” She paused, then added, “I wasn’t always blind, you know. I got very sick one day when I was little, and now I can’t see. At first, I cried so much. I missed light and colors. I missed seeing the little I took for granted. But then, my parents got me Luz, and I learned to play the piano. I can feel the light that can’t see, through music. I can feel the colors, even if I can’t see them, through the music.” ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ Later, Julia drove me home. As they pulled up to the house, its shuttered, dark windows stared back at me. It was a ghost house, cold and unfeeling, quiet as a graveyard. Not the welcoming house it had once been.

It just wasn’t right. “Are you sure your parents are home?” Julia asked, staring at my bleak house.

I nodded, my throat tight. Julia turned around to look at me. “It was very sweet of you to jump in front of that bike. And Selene loved having someone to play with. If you want to come over sometime, you can have your parents call me.” I nodded and got out of the car. “Thanks for everything.” I managed to say. I climbed up the stairs to the front door and pushed it open. It was unlocked, just as I’d left it. I watched from the window as Julia’s night blue car drove away. I was sick of the dark, dreary silence. I went up to my bedroom. It was hot, and stiflingly stuffy inside, so I opened my window, as wide as it would go. I grabbed my weathered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and ran outside. I sat in the tire swing hanging from the willow tree and read for the rest of the afternoon. When I got back inside, I almost felt good.

At dinner (pizza, again ) I told dad what happened at Selene’s house. He seemed shaken. “I’m sorry, Bree,” he said. “I’ve been so grieved from losing Hazelle that I haven’t paid any attention to you.”

“It’s OK, Dad,” I said quickly. “No, it’s not. Hazelle is gone. There’s nothing I can do about it. We need to move on.” “I was wondering,” I said. “Could you help me find some of Mom’s piano pieces? I want to try to play some.” “Sure,” dad said, almost smiling. “And, one more thing, could you call Selene’s mom and see when I can come over?”

“Of course.” When they finished eating, dad showed me where mom’s music was kept, then left to call Julia leaving me to play. The bench. It was mom’s spot, and it radiated of her. The memories of her didn’t drown me, for once. I stumbled through the first few pieces but gradually relaxed into it and played with more confidence. I could feel her presence, in the music, underneath my fingers. A few minutes later, dad came back into the room. He waited for me to finish the song she was playing, then he said, “Want to start taking piano lessons again?” I smiled, watching the sun sink behind the rooftops across the street. Even when it was gone, it wasn’t really dark. Just twilight. “That would be great,” I said.


TW: infant death There was a mournful silence in the room. To anyone who wasn’t familiar with the usual dynamic, it may have seemed comfortable; cozy. Usually there was music. Usually Carmen would be beside Matt near the stove, and they would be dancing and laughing as they prepared their meal together. Sometimes there was wine. Sometimes there were disasters when the recipe didn’t work out as planned, or when they lost track of time and burnt the food to a charred mess. There was a fine line between caramelized and burnt.

Today Matt was at the stove by himself. He wasn’t sure that Carmen was going to want to join him today, but he set her spot anyway. He had been doing so for the past five nights. Carmen hadn’t been able to get out of bed. He felt like, even though they were partners, and even though this was their shared loss, he would never know exactly how she was feeling. All he could do was take care of her, be there for her, let her know that he loved her, and that he was mourning with her. There was a hollow feeling in his chest, and he took a deep breath to try to push it away. He tried to quiet the ache that he felt, or at least to drown it out with the busyness of day-to-day activities, like spending most of his Saturday preparing a stew from scratch.

He selected the veggies and meat at the farmers market that morning, and got the mushrooms from a collective that foraged locally. Carmen loved them -- both the mushrooms and the people in the collective who were passionate about educating people about eating locally grown, sustainable foods. Matt immersed himself in the process of scrubbing each vegetable, peeling the carrots and onions, dicing the celery, carrots, and onions. Peeling the garlic, dicing the garlic. Scrubbing the mushrooms. Breaking down and deboning the chicken. Seasoning the chicken. As he peeled, diced, chopped, sliced, and seasoned, he worked on concentrating on each individual task, not allowing himself to get swallowed up by that nagging grief. By the time the roux was developed and the stew was simmering, Matt could no longer ignore his emotions. He sat on the kitchen floor and pulled his knees up to his chest. He didn’t cry, but he did allow his shoulders to relax. He didn’t realize how much tension he was carrying.

A little under an hour later Matt got up and continued preparing dinner. Carmen took her seat at the already set table. She could hear the scraping of the spatula against the cast iron as he emptied the last of the thick stew from the cast iron pot into the ceramic serving dish. The whirr of the range hood fan must have drowned out Carmen’s footsteps because Matt hadn’t yet noticed her presence. The oven timer dinged and he pulled out some freshly baked dinner rolls. They weren’t from scratch; they were the kind that you buy frozen and then bake at home. They still created that delicious heady, freshly-baked smell.

Carmen felt her stomach growl and she let out a quick, soft, surprised gasp. She hadn’t felt like eating for days. She hadn’t felt anything for days. Matt turned away from the oven to grab a basket for the bread from the kitchen island.

“Hey,” he said, gently, when he saw Carmen. He offered her a small smile, but his eyes were sad and sympathetic. “Hey,” Carmen replied. “I made chicken stew with lots of mushrooms… One of your favourites.” “It smells great,” Carmen said, willing herself to smile. But that small allowance of emotions opened the floodgates, and her breath was released in a shaky, violent sob. Matt made sure the stove and oven were off, and knelt beside Carmen, taking her hands in his. She leaned down and pressed her forehead to his. They cried together as the dinner rolls cooled and the stew developed a film on top. Carmen slid from her chair onto the floor, and into Matt’s arms. They had been trying to start their family for years. Before they even started trying, they made sure that they were in good health, and had been watching what they eat, taking vitamins, and staying active. As the months passed they started to get concerned. After a year they went to the doctor. They were told that they just need to be patient with themselves; these things take time. They gave it another six months. Carmen tracked her cycle meticulously. She took her temperature to make sure that her body was ready. They meditated, they prayed, they tried all of the relaxation and meditation techniques, even the ones of which they were skeptical. And then finally, it worked! But at the twenty-two week ultrasound, there was no heartbeat. Eight days later, they found themselves on the kitchen floor, holding each other tightly, as if for survival, oblivious to the continuing whirr of the fan, the phone ringing, and the music that blared from the neighbours’ backyard patio. At that moment, it was just the two of them. Again.

Carmen calmed herself first. She peppered Matt’s forehead with tiny kisses and stroked his hair. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “I’m so, so sorry…” Matt wiped his face on his sleeve, “Not your fault, Carm,” he whispered. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“I don’t… I don’t feel guilty. I just feel… sad…” “Me too.” “I want to wait before we try again.” “Me too.” “I feel like I need some time.” “I know Carm. I know.” “But first?” “Yes?” “I need a good meal,” Carmen offered a slight smile. Mat nodded, “I’ll reheat the food.” “I really did smell amazing in here earlier,” Carmen said reassuringly. “Let me tell you about what happened at the farmer market!” Matt immediately felt like he may have been a little too enthusiastic in his tone, but Carmen chuckled. “Did you harass those nice mushroom gatherers again?” “I didn’t harass them! I’m genuinely curious to know if they’re only interested in food mushrooms, or, you know, other mushrooms,” Matthew laughed. “Matthew,” said Carmen, “I can’t let you out in public on your own… next Saturday, I’m coming to the market with you.” Matthew’s wide, joking grin softened. “That’d be great, Carm,” he said. “That’d be great.”


The heavy steel door ground to a halt, revealing the dimly lit room it protected. In the centre of the room was a rectangular table with a metal foldout chair on either side. The closest chair was empty. My gaze rose across the table, and I saw it. Cloaked by the darkness of the room, sitting in the other chair, unblinking eyes fixed on me. My legs quivered as I approached. With every step its focus on me seemed to intensify, its gaze never faltering. I took a deep breath and sat down. I stared across the table, trying to collect my thoughts. My heart was racing but my mind felt completely almost blank. Despite all my preparation, only one question came into my mind. “Why did you do it?” It smiled, “The voice of the creator compelled me.” The intense look in its eyes gave me a lump in my throat. “The creator?” “The creator speaks to me, guiding me down the right path”, its smile grew wider. Hearing its answer stirred up and mixture of anger and confusion, “How can murdering seven people be the right path?” Images of the crime scene flashed into my head. Mutilated bodies strew across the furniture. Blood soaking into an opulent Persian rug. An ornate chandelier lying shattered in the centre of the room, a child’s body crushed underneath. “Do you really think they deserved it?” “I do not question the guidance of the creator. I follow and obey.” Its expression became serious, pale green eyes narrowing. We both fell silent. It stared at me, unmoving. I stared back, trying to figure out if it was telling the truth, or even believed what it was saying. “What created you?” It smiled again, sending a chill down my spine. “The creator made everything, space, time… you!” It licked its dry lips with a long, black, glistening tongue. I grew more curious, “There’s a lot of research that would prove otherwise. It’s indisputably proven that…” “Heretic!”, it interrupted me suddenly and with great volume. “You have no idea what is real, you are merely looking at shadows on the cave walls, you have not heard the voice!” Its twisted features began to look angry as it continued, “you sit here and question me? You presume to know the origins of the universe based on what you’ve been told by your peers, I have heard the creator!” Its cracked lips started to bleed as it spoke louder and louder. “Even if that’s true it doesn’t justify all the violence. I find it difficult to believe that an almighty deity told you to do it all, or even exists at all” I paused “I think that you’re delusional.” Immediately it launched itself at me, knocking me out of my chair and on to the concrete. It stood, frozen mid-lunge, held in place by its restraints. It’s eyes boar into me as it snarled like a wild animal, lips oozing with blood. Slowly, I backed away, never breaking eye contact. The door behind me clunked open and the waiting guards rushed inside, weapons aimed at it as I hurried out of the room. As I left it cried out to me in an anguished voice, “You all fall! He is eternal!” Three hours later, I re-entered the room. Its restraints had been secured, affixing its limbs to the floor. Once again, I steadied my nerves. “I’ll ask you again, why did you do it?” It growled, blinked slowly, and then spoke. “I have had this conversation many times, with many people like you” A razor-sharp finger extended slowly, pointing towards me. “You can ask me a thousand questions a thousand times, but it always ends the same way.” I was taken aback by its sudden change in demeanour. “And what way is that?” “Either we give up trying to convince either other of our beliefs or…” its teeth were in full view as it paused, “violence!” “The people you killed; did they choose violence? Did that child choose violence?” I felt myself becoming angry at its casual attitude towards what it had done. “The creator saw that they were evil, the creator told me to punish them. I did the child a kindness, it did not fear like the others did, it did not experience the pain that the other did. Its life was ended first.” “You call that kindness? You call them evil? You murdered them in cold blood!” Fury welled up inside of me, my fists clenched and my legs shook. It started to cackle like a hyena “I knew you would not understand” Its cackling grew louder, and my rage boiled over. Blinded by my anger, I swung my fist towards it, hitting it square in the jaw. Unaffected by the blow, it smiled once more. Its barbed teeth seem to elongate as it grinned wider and wider, its lips now dripping with blood. It flexed its claw-like hands, showing off their true, gargantuan, size. The spines that lined its back and forearms bristled, standing on end. I then watched in horror as its restraints fell away, clattering on the concrete.


The stranger, the man with eyes far older than he, stepped out of the caravan. He stared down the group of soldiers they had sent for us. As if one man could stand against Imperium soldiers. If we had double their numbers it wouldn’t make any difference, yet he stood there as if understanding something we don’t. My people hid behind our wagons, watching, not fully understanding the stranger, or his intentions. I was hiding in the mud underneath the same caravan the stranger had just stepped from. I was close enough that I could see him trembling, apparently, whatever he planned on doing, he was just as terrified as the rest of us. I don’t blame him. The Imperium were infamous for their cruelty. They’d been known to kill men for far less than his current actions. Yet, when the stranger spoke, his voice was a contradiction to his trembling body, and it came out resounding and sure. “You tyrants need to leave now. Tell your lord you were not able to find what you were seeking” A tall, ugly solider with a cruel face spoke in a demeaning tone. “Well well, look here boys! it seems we have ourselves a hero. Try to use *creativity* when you kill this one. Hero’s love the idea of dying as a martyr.” That same soldier glanced down and noticed me watching from underneath the wagon. “Hello little girl…” He almost whispered, with an evil grin. “It appears our hero here has a couple rats he is trying to protect! How noble of him! Look closely boys, you can see one of the smaller rats hiding in the mud, just under that wagon.” He stepped closer to me, bending slightly to get a closer look. “I guess our little hero here doesn’t know the dangers vermin like these can pose! Rats, like the one under your wagon can carry nasty diseases. Just killing them doesn’t quite do the trick though. You see that just allows their corpse to rot, spreading more filth and disease. No, the trick is you need to use fire!” With that the soldier pointed at me, then, suddenly, a thin line of bright flame shot from his finger tips directly at me. I attempted to move out of the way but the flame hit me on the hip and immediately caught my clothes on fire. I screamed as the burns lanced my torso. Frantically, I patted the burns with my bare hands causing burns to my palms as well. Eventually the flames stopped and I laid there and wept from the terror and pain of what had just happened. As I composed myself I looked back up at the Soldiers to find that they were *laughing* at what had just transpired. I glanced up at the stranger and found him staring at me, and for the first time I could see his eyes. The strangers trembling had become more intense now and suddenly I realized, from the fury within his eyes, he had never been trembling from fear ..but from rage.


Out in a dusty field stood one solitary man. Perfectly alone he pondered upon the complex series of events that had led him to that moment. “How quaint,” he smiled. “How quaint that after such chaos, I now stand alone in a dusty field.” All day he pondered. Utterly comfortable, his remarks on the field began to turn sour. “This field…” he mused, “this dusty field, ‘tis but grass and dust. How grand a curse from the gods that I now stand alone in a dusty field.” Day grew to night and still the man pondered. Now as he lay down in the soft, embracing grass, his face grew red. “For all that’s holy!” he yelled. “For all that’s holy I do so state in no uncertain terms my displeasure for the events that led to how I now stand alone in a dusty field!” The sun rose to light a new day and the man’s smile returned. He tipped his hat to the field and made his way out the gate and down the road. He never looked back. He was happy.


I Live in an Apartment I’ve Only Had One Person at a Time Someday the hair on your head becomes gray and your face shows every memory you’ve made: the grin you couldn’t wipe on your wedding day, the despair of losing your mother, the overwhelming relief hearing the news that you’ve beaten cancer. Years fly by and your heart is filled with all of your life’s experiences. Some people grow old with their loved ones and pass before they are alone. Some people spend their last days with their children and grandchildren. Some remarry. Some go to old people's homes. Not me, though. I live in an apartment. After high school, I left my rural home in the mountains of Arizona. That was a hard day. My mother cried. I cried too. We had spent 18 years together in our trailer home. We used to go to the only ice cream parlor in town every Saturday and share a vanilla sundae. So that we did. We picked at it in silence, taking small bites to make our time together last a bit longer. I’d never seen her cry until then. The ice cream didn’t taste as good that day. A week after I left, my mother took her own life. It was lonely for the first few months in the big city. I still wasn’t used to the skyscrapers and sound of airplanes flying overhead. The night was filled with the wails of ambulances and cars blasting music on the radio. An older man, Mr. Manley, whom I had known from my small town, let me rent out one of his bedrooms. He lived in a duplex. That area of the city was a bit rough, but I didn’t know better. This was luxury to me. My savings didn’t last that long and it was time for a job. Mr. Manley was kind enough to let me do yard work for a month while I tried to pick something up. Eventually, I got a job as a barback at Free Spirits, a hippy pub nearby. The 70s loved that place. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this job would become my career. Over the years, I worked my way up the chain. I became the senior bartender by the time I was 22. Michael, the young bar manager, was my best friend. I’d never had a brother, but Michael was my brother. Mr. Manley started to show signs of dementia. He left the oven on one night, nearly burning down the entire duplex. Luckily, only the stove and cabinets around were devastated. He did this three more times, but I learned after the first time to check the oven every night or before leaving the house. Even though I was scared for him, I took care of Mr. Manley. I started cleaning up after him, made sure he got dressed every morning, and ate three meals a day, but dementia is a ruthless and unforgiving disease. Very soon after his diagnosis, he couldn’t remember my name. Then he forgot who I was altogether. I didn’t know much of Mr. Manley’s family, so reaching out to anyone was a dead end and he was a bachelor for the entire time I knew him. I consulted with Michael on what to do and we came to the decision to put him in a home. We didn’t have the money for a personal caretaker. We dropped of Mr. Manley and I visited him every Saturday with a vanilla sundae in hand. Now it was just Michael and I. Michael had a similar past to mine; an only child who left home for the big city. When we weren’t working at the bar, we were there as patrons. Free Spirits was our home aside from the apartment we were sharing together. This was the first apartment I lived in and we were living the dream. On one of our rendezvous nights at the bar, we met a pair of fine women. Cheryl, with flowing blonde hair and ocean blue eyes, and Mandy with curly autumn hair and hazel eyes. How lucky were we? Extremely lucky. I was married to Cheryl in three years time. Michael married Mandy just a few months after us. Michael and Mandy left the city a couple years later. **Cheryl** Cheryl was everything to me. Every Saturday she joined me in visiting Mr. Manley with his vanilla sundae. It felt like she knew him the same way I did. She would take his compliment of her eyes every time we went and she sounded as genuinely grateful for it just as the first time she came with me. Her beautiful eyes never changed, even with age. There came a day where we would have to say goodbye to Mr. Manley. Cheryl and I were the only two at the funeral. We attended in silence and I felt the way I had on the day I left my mother. Silent sadness sometimes sits heavier. She hugged me afterwards. We didn’t share words, but we knew each other’s grief. Cheryl knew how to comfort me. We bought our first house together in a nice little suburb of the city. I bought Free Spirits from the owner. Cheryl and I were as happy as could be. We would play with the idea of starting a family and so by our late twenties we started trying. We had little fortune. Cheryl had gotten pregnant three times, but miscarried each. We learned that we wouldn’t be able to have children. Cheryl didn’t cry when the doctor gave her the news, but she became very quiet. We drove home in silence. I held her hand. I knew how to comfort Cheryl. Her weak, midnight sobs tore my heart to pieces. This wouldn’t be the only obstacle we would have to overcome together. When I was forty-seven, I was diagnosed with stage 2 lung cancer. This came with only minimal surprise because smoking in bars in my days was very common. I smoked every time I was there. Cheryl was inconsolable at the doctor’s appointment. Seeing the sky in her eyes be clouded with a rainstorm of tears made me quit. I never touched a cigarette after that. Back then, aggressive chemotherapy was the only regimen for any form of cancer. I endured eight months of it and finally showed cancer-free on that last scan. We celebrated with a vanilla sundae. I think the actual medicine that cured me was Cheryl. Sure the chemo probably did something, but she was the only thing I needed to live for. My sweet Cheryl. All good things must come to an end. Cheryl was a good thing that came to an end. We were together for fifty years. Fate took my beloved in her sleep at seventy-five years old. **Pretty Boy** Here I am, six years later. I live in an apartment. The city has changed since I moved here. My place is in a fancy commercialized part of the city. My one-bedroom flat on the second floor faces inwardly to a pool area. The way the apartment is set up is that each residence has a balcony that faces the center pool area and each has a large window that shows into the living areas. It’s like a big rectangle with a pool in the middle. I’ve spent every evening enjoying a nice beer on my balcony. Most nights, I find myself focusing on the apartment across the way from me. Several people have lived there by now: a young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties who was very promiscuous having numerous men over every week, a young couple with a golden retriever who always kept their blinds down, an older gentleman like me who must’ve passed because he was replaced months after moving in by a young man. This young man stood out to me. He never put his blinds down. So every evening I poured my beer and set up shop on the balcony to observe him. His place was decorated smartly for someone his age. He had modernized furniture and kept everything very clean. The only time I ever saw it messy was after his nightly cooking/karaoke sessions or his sprawled out suitcase when coming back from a trip. He was very handsome and closely reminded me of myself when I was his age. I called him Pretty Boy. He didn’t leave his apartment often. I could tell by the way he spent hours on his computer and how he stood up with angry gestures on the phone that he must’ve been some kind of work-from-home businessman. He would occasionally have friends over, but never women. I began to recognize his friends. He had two that would frequent often. One with curly hair and the other with a thin, lanky stature. Those were the nicknames I gave them: Curly and Thin. Curly and Thin were there every weekend. The three of them would drunkenly stumble in every Friday night and head to the balcony for cigars. This pattern went on for around a year. No women, just Curly and Thin every weekend. However, things changed recently. Routinely, I was on the balcony on a Friday night waiting for Pretty Boy, Curly, and Thin to trip over themselves trying to get through the doorway. Pretty Boy headed in first and was oddly composed followed by Thin. To my surprise, Curly had been replaced with two young ladies both with long, blonde hair. One was a bit larger than the other. Nonetheless, I was stunned to behold what was happening. Pretty Boy had never had a woman over before, let alone two. I watched in amazement as the girls took a seat that the kitchen bar and the boys stood across. The larger girl was much more talkative than the smaller one, but everyone seemed to be getting along. They moved from the bar to the sofa and socialized for hours. I watched the two girls leave the apartment and Pretty Boy walked them down. Thin slumped over on the couch and dozed off. Minutes later, Pretty Boy reentered with the smaller blonde alongside him. He woke Thin from his slumber and gestured for him to leave. For the first time that night, I saw the small blonde light up with animation as she spoke with Pretty Boy. Pretty Boy was all smiles and was finding subtle ways to get closer to the girl. I couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. He was doing the same things I did when I first met Cheryl. I would pretend I needed to grab something just so I could stand up and then sit a little closer to her the next time I sat down. I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I saw the girl. **Amber** As foretold, the small blonde made her way over to the apartment every day for a week after their first encounter. I sat on my balcony and witnessed their blossoming relationship. Pretty boy always had a new wine for her to try and a new song for her to listen to. They cooked together, played cards together, and ended their nights with a drink for her and a cigar for him on the balcony. She always spoke loudly. I loved it because I got to hear details instead of watching them. Pretty boy was obviously embarrassed by her loud talking and often shushed her, reminding her that there are neighbors, but this is how I learned their names: James and Amber. After Amber spent an entire week with James, she disappeared for a bit. I became worried after not seeing her for two weeks. That was until James was on the balcony on a phone call. I heard him say things like, “Three hours isn't that long for a drive!” and “I’m already looking at cabins. I’ll see you tomorrow, Amber.” James was gone for the next three days, but when he came back, he sprawled out his suitcase and had two pinecones that he sat on his windowsill. Amber was there the next two weekends and brought a new pinecone each time. James now had a small collection of them and a big heart for Amber. Watching the love unfold filled a void in me. Amber returned full-time after her time in the mountains. She was at the apartment almost everyday. I’d watch them make breakfast together, or more accurately, I’d watch James make breakfast while Amber danced around him trying to get him to join in. He’d brush her off with a grin on his face, which only made her try harder. I could tell she was a kind soul. She would stay while he worked and fold his laundry or pick up around the place. He would swivel his chair around and gesture for her to sit on his lap. They walked through the door hand-in-hand, got dressed up for date nights, and had endless cinema nights. I saw Amber cook there only once. She made a sort of steamed roll. James took one bite out of it and gave a big thumbs up with a full mouth. Only I saw him take the bits out of his mouth and throw them away. He gave her a big kiss on the cheek afterwards to which she happily swung around and gave him an even bigger kiss, delighted that he liked her cooking. Months flew by and two were blatantly in love. But love sometimes doesn’t last. **All Good Things Must Come to an End** I started to see Amber less and less. When she would appear, she came with a backpack and several textbooks in her arms to which she would set on the counter and start taking notes. It was around the time the local college started back up, so I assumed she was enrolled. James would try to be near while she studied, but she shooed him off and buried her face in her hands. I only saw Amber about once a week at this time and each time she was flustered with schoolwork and often changed into a work uniform and left James’ apartment shortly after. James started smoking cigars on the balcony every night accompanied by several beers. He would gaze at the city-polluted sky with a solemn look on his face. This continued for a month. Then there was a week that I didn’t see Amber at all. That week I sat out every night hoping to see Amber walk in and return to being the happy couple they were, but that’s not how things go. That Friday, James drunkenly swung open his front door. Behind him followed a slim brunette who definitely was not Amber. My heart sank. The two wobbled to the couch and indulged in each other. I couldn’t bear to watch. For the first time since I moved into my apartment, I had my beer inside that night. When I finally did see Amber again, it was late in the evening on a weekday. This was out of the norm because the last few times I saw her it was only on weekends. Amber walked in with James and gestured to the balcony. She wasn’t loud that night. They had quiet conversation for quite some time. Then they sat in silence. Amber held her knees to her chest and James reached his hand over to hold hers. He knew how to comfort her. She could only hold his hand for a moment before she erupted in tears. Amber sobbed into her hands and then stood up saying she had to leave because she had assignments to get done. It was hard to hear what she was saying in between her weeps. James stood with and pulled her into a hug which made her cry even harder. Amber was still inconsolable as she walked through the door. James tried to accompany her on her way out, but she shook her head no. James stood at the door for what seemed like eons before making his way to the sofa. He crumbled into his palms and cried the way I did when I lost Cheryl. His sadness turned to anger and by the end of the night, every decor item, table, wall, and the pinecones that filled his windowsill were smashed to pieces. I think I was hoping to relive the love I had with Cheryl vicariously through Amber and James, but I’m only filled with sorrow. All good things must come to an end. Remember this. I have lost everything and everyone I’ve loved. You grow old and you ache to be returned to the ground that bore you. You may see ecstasy in life and do things you’ll never regret, but the daunting end is always waiting for you. Now, I live in an apartment, yearning for the other side of life.


“You wanna do something fun?”

I looked up at Janie, red, slick hands wiping the jean windshield that was my narrow thighs. I could see the heave in my chest, feel the bones rattling in my neck. Her eyes were bright and crazed, and standing up at this moment felt like lifting a car. Still, I stood. “Something fun, huh? More fun than this?” I gestured to my torso. The broken skin mixed with torn fabric and blood reminded me of the inside of a strawberry danish. Talk about taking a bite out of life.

I could sense her resolve, and while not so much as glancing down at her well-done friend, she turned back around to the mouth of the cave.

Eight hours earlier “You know what I actually hate? It’s this. It’s what we’re doing.”

I laughed out loud. This trip was all Janie’s idea. Her voice bounced around the stone walls, our tent doing little to muffle the acoustics. I watched her zip up her sleeping bag and stuff it neatly into the corner of our tiny, synthetic-blend green tent.

“I thought you were dying to come here,” I snorted, lacing my boots up. I bought them specifically for this trip. The tread was new, leaving wet marks in the shape of my shoe size all over the freezing stone ground. As I did this, my ears caught the quiet drips of water whose mother lake hid miles within the earth. “I was,” She sighed, disappointed. Whether it was in herself or in the great wonder that was nature, I wasn’t sure.

There was a little truth to it. The glitz and magic of Destinations Magazine ’s must-visit locations only included well-edited photos. Unbeknownst to its readers was the feeling of the unforgiving, freezing stone ground and the ten packs of astronaut food we spent good money to pack. Honesty doesn’t sell an article, however.

“I think you’ll like it,” I lied, mostly talking to keep myself warm, “once we’re in there, we’ll be in there , you know?”

Janie grunted at me in agreement. I shoved an extra bottle of water into my pack, and we made our way into the beloved Meramec.

My companion turned on her headlamp first. “Weak,” I teased, and as she chuckled back at me from behind, “you’re not getting the true cave experience.”

“I want to see what we came to see, Anna. Is that okay with you?”

It was, but to be honest, there wasn’t much to see. Not yet, anyway. The glittering stalactites were about a mile away, past the slippery tundra of rocks and water. I turned my headlamp on then.

As we crunched further in, the sound of droplets became more coherent, and every now and again we needed to slosh through puddles of ice water. It was always just enough distance to keep my boots wet, and mark my tracks. If there were any other direction to turn but forward, then it may have even been handy.

Janie turned around to look at me, her headlamp making a black spot in my vision. “What?” I asked, squinting.

“What did you say?” I covered my eyes with my hand. “I didn’t say anything, but you’re blinding me.”

“Oh,” Janie switched off her light, “Sorry. Did you say something just now?” “I said I didn’t.”

I walked past her, eyeing her. She had come to a full stop to rummage through her bag, but she seemed fine. A few cones of mineral and stone began to appear, like a ceiling of elderly teeth. I shined my light on them, watching them shift and glow.

Stepping closer into the pocket of rock to get a closer look, I sank my boot into a knee-high tower of freezing water. Damn. I pulled the full weight of my body out with my arms, catching the silver bodies of cave fish swimming

inside with my headlamp.

“Janie! Hey, there’s some fish over here.”

Nothing. “Janie? Let’s stay together, okay?”

I continued to call out for her, listening for the rustle of her backpack. The floor of the cave copied her footsteps, leading much more deeply up the rocky path. I quickened my pace, almost running, my voice echoing over and over. The black of the cave swallowed my view of everything the light couldn’t touch.

I ran further inward than I ever figured Janie would go without me, and thinking back, for much longer than I would have hoped. Time really plays tricks on you in the catacombs.

“Anna.”

From behind me, Janie’s voice was low and calm. Low enough not to echo, even. I turned around to see her.

“Janie, what the hell? I was looking for you!” Her face was incredulous. “Yeah, Anna, you were running . I wasn’t sure if maybe there was a bear or something.”

A bear? Her breaths were heavy, perhaps from having to run after me. “I don’t think a bear would wander in here.” I scoffed. “Let’s just make sure to stick together.” Janie made a face. “Speak for yourself.”

We continued our trek into the cave, next to the drying footsteps I thought were my friend’s. Unable to stop myself, I finally looked down at them. Size ten.

“What now, Anna?” “These haven’t been here the whole time, have they?” I motioned to the tracks.

Janie looked nervous. “I don’t remember them. But there could be other hikers here. I mean, this place has to be popular.”

I nodded. Other hikers, here because of the spread in Destinations Magazine . It made sense, but wouldn’t we have seen them? I spanned the length of the cave with my headlamp. Nobody.

My anxiety matched Janie’s now, as we squinted at each other through our blaring lights. I watched Janie rifle through her bag once more, and this time, I waited for her.

“What are you doing?”

She seemed hypervigilant now, the rifling becoming a blatant search. “I can’t find my phone. I thought I left it on earlier, I heard voices. I thought it was you.”

I remembered. Janie went down on her knees to search, emptying her pack. I helped her, going through our snacks and water. No phone.

“It’s probably in the tent. We have mine, if anything happens.”

If anything happens? I knew I shouldn’t have said it.

“Make sure you have it,” Janie said, pulling my backpack off my shoulders, “just in case.”

 	I obliged, but somehow, I knew. I unzipped the top for her, eyes glossy. When all the pockets were empty, I repacked my bag with sweaty hands. I remembered packing my phone. Better than stepping into the water, better than my sixteenth birthday, I remembered. I looked up at Janie, who was still glaring at the overwhelmingly large bootprints. “Let’s go back,” she suggested, shivering. “We haven’t gone far, maybe thirty minutes?”

There was no way to tell how long we’d been here. No sky, no time. But I nodded. I was cold, and I knew Janie was going to do what she wanted regardless of my feelings-- especially if my feelings were that we’d been exploring for significantly longer than half an hour. “Anna.” I was zipping the last pocket. “What, Janie?”

I turned my head toward her voice. When she wasn’t standing there, I felt a familiar hand on my bicep. Shaking, pitched high, Janie whispered in my ear.  “That wasn’t me.”

I wrapped my arm around my back to feel her inches behind me. I began to stand, and she mirrored me until we were both upright.

“Do you have all your stuff?” I whispered back. “Yes.”

“Let’s go.”

We ran. Somehow, we decided at the same time that an all-out sprint was appropriate. As we were running, I watched the ground. Fresh, wet size tens faced opposite us on the stone floor of the cave. I started to slow down when I noticed them disappearing.

Anna began to jog with me, and we both stopped at a small joint in the leg of the cave. For a second, I wondered if we were two girls who fell hilariously victim to a silly prank. We stood there to stare at each other, our chests inflating a little less with each passing second.

Click .

A bright flash of white hit the black air like lightning, blinding us for a moment. Janie stumbled back, and as I went to catch her, I felt something hit my abdomen. I was facing the wall, my arm reaching out sideways to reach her. Harsh, copper penny blood creeped up from my throat into my mouth.

“Anna, oh my god!” Another click, and a flash, like a camera. I grabbed Janie’s collar and dragged her out of the corner we were in, waving my left over arm at anyone who may have been in front of us. I couldn’t see anyone worth running from, but my now-bitter tongue said otherwise.

When I felt confident that Janie had chosen flight over fight, I let go of her and felt down my stomach. Perpendicular to my body was a long, cold object, jutting neatly from my ribs. It was too thick to be a knife, and really too rough to be any traditional weapon of which I could imagine.

My boot caught uneven ground, sending me flying onto my back. My head hit the rocks, freezing stone immediately soothing the hot pain that followed.

“Janie! Janie, I fell!” It came out like begging.

She slid to a stop, turning around to face me. I arched my neck away from her, back into the sorry, sullen earth that was suddenly very noisy. Barreling down the length of the cave came a man. He was large, over six feet, pounding the ground with thick, black soled hiking boots. He wore an army green jumpsuit, and held a camera close to his body. He had a rough beard, and blue eyes--

Janie picked me up with strength that surprised me. “Anna, let’s go .”

We continued to run, and my mind raced with us. I knew that man. I knew his face, but I couldn’t place it. I felt like I should have, while I was awaiting my inevitable death on the floor. Coward. Reporter: Can you tell me the most exciting place you’ve ever explored? Bairn: Absolutely… I visit a lot of places, and I’ve always, uh, figured I’d never choose a favorite. I mean, all over the world, you know? But there is one.

Reporter: Care to elaborate?

“Anna, are you okay? Anna!” Janie’s voice echoed in front of me.

I had slowed down, almost to a stop. I knew where we were now, very, very close to camp. Maybe five more minutes and we’d reach the tent.

“Anna!”

“Janie, keep running!” Janie stared at me, incredulous. But to my intense surprise, she did as I asked. I turned around. And I waited, while this flashback continued to play.

Bairn: There’s a cave in Missouri, the Meramec Caverns. It’s amazing. You can really be… alone, in there, you know? No one, and I mean no one, can find you.

Reporter: And you enjoyed that?

Bairn: Of course. You can do anything. Be anyone. When I think, “Hey, you wanna do something fun?” I think of Meramec. Mark Bairn. He was close now. I egged him over to me, acting hurt, helpless. I stood against the deceivingly small pond of water that maimed my still-soaked pant leg.

“Please, no,” I feigned, my big doe eyes black under my headlamp. I watched him sink long-ways into the deep, narrow cave water. He splashed and slipped around, his enormous arms grabbing for me. Waiting for an opening, I lifted my leg as high as I could.

I landed an even, sturdy kick to the face, and his head hit the corner of the pool. Splat. While he was limp, I slipped the strap of the camera over his head, and stuffed it into my jacket. He looked like a goner, but there was no way to be sure until I could get his pulse. Instead of doing my due diligence, I ran as fast as I could to meet Janie.

When I found her, I realized just how late it was.

“Anna…”

It was the first chance I had to look down at myself. A stalactite, once pinky brown, was now red and lodged squarely into my ribcage. Giving Mark Bairn’s camera to Janie, I began to unlodge it.

“Not so deep,” I grunted, the tip coming out easier than I could have hoped. She made a face, and I noticed a large rock in her left hand.

“Where’s that guy?” Game face, Janie. “That guy is Mark Bairn. It was his article that we read in Destinations .” I decided not to watch her eyes widen, or to console her in the emotional death of her favorite literature. Instead, I sat down, taking my boot off to make a bandage out of my only dry sock. After a few minutes of peaceful silence, she sat down next to me, his camera around her neck. We flipped through the contents, most of which were photos, but there were videos as well. Men, women, children. Most dead, some dying. From behind us, our camera man groaned.

I stared into Janie’s face, and she began to stand. She still had her rock.

End.


Author's Note: If there's any interest, I'll consider working on this story more. \*Currently Unfinished\*  10 Days Left Smith Berganstein, that’s steìn not stéin, was a fashionable man of the utmost prominence. He worn only the classiest cologne, smelling of sweet and salty ocean breezes, and fitted himself tight with a black and white suit. To top it off an original beaver hat suited his noggin that had been past down in the Berganstein family and concealed the beginnings of balding that too had been past down. His attitude was furious in nature, but his cunning grin and outstanding charisma allowed him to make fine first impressions. In fact Berganstein was an overall well like man with almost no enemies. *Almost* none. However, there was one fellow of the name Johnathan that was sure causing a ruckus. Johnathan, maybe a man of 60 or 70, was quite fit for his age. His tan and abundantly damaged skin was the result of many years of hard labor. Although uneducated, Johnathan was hillbilly smart, having great ways in the automobile and general machinery. Throughout his working years he had done various tasks and settled down on a homestead with a hefty pension. Life was great. Johnathan enjoyed going to the nearby bar and singing with his bar buddies, working on automobiles, and going of adventurous walks with his best friend Rex. Best of all no halloring wife, no money soaking son, no drama talking daughter, and no judgmental in-laws. Only him and his pup Rex, with the whole mid-west fields and valleys to explore. Johnathan was a man of nearly no drama and almost no problems. *Almost* none. There was, however, this “gentleman” who always stank of expensive cigars trying to buy his house for a shenanigan project. Smith Berganstein glanced at his calendar and sighed. It was October 1st and that bloody stubborn man still was putting up a fight. He did the normal, a fresh crack of flint blazed an orange flame that refused to flicker and lit his premium Columbia cigar. He wheezed, coughed, but enjoyed the taste and his nerves relaxed. A few moments past before Mr. Berganstein yelled, quite politely surprisingly, to his assistant Christopher “Any reports on the offer?” Christopher, now going on 18 long years with his boss, was careful with his words, he couldn’t afford listening to another angry break down. “Sir, he has once again rejec-“ “REJECTED? We had offered a *GENEROUS* 3 MILLION DOLLARS. CAN THE SCUM READ?!” Christopher cleared his throat and perused “He has rejected our offer, however Sir, we are making great progress in the city council. It will be only a matter of ti-“ “DO I SEEM TO CARE? A rejection of SUCH AMOUNT IS INSULTING.” “Sir, I hardly believe it’s personal, we believe he has inherited the plot of land through his grandfather.” Berganstein popped a bottle of Brandy and sipped the cool liquid slowly. He turned his chair and looked Christopher dead in the eyes disregarding his shaded circle glasses. “Christopher my good friend and companion. A deposit has been made to the demolish of his house in 10 days. Further more promises for the construction to be done in 3 years will be kept, and why is that Christopher?” “Sir, a Berganstein keeps his promises.” “Good, now shew, I need to call to remind the urgency to our dearest friends in city council.” Berganstein’s drooping irritated face quickly faded to a cunning grin as he greeted the phone. 9 Days Left Was it dawn or sunset? Johnathan rose from his nap completely disoriented from time. Perhaps Johnathan’s second favorite thing about retirement and being alone was the unlimited naps that could span from whenever he chose. Glancing at his phone he confirmed his suspicion that it was indeed dawn. It took only one step and a slight stretch for his entire body to snap and crack. Pain shot down his back, but nothing would keep Johnathan from enjoying a brand new day, neither a Berganstein or petty arthritis. He let Rex outside, a lab mix or something of the sort, and chuckled at the name. It was nearly 10 years ago Johnathan took ownership of the dog from a client that no longer wanted the pup. He absolute hated the name Rex, but the stubborn male bitch refused to be renamed. After serving himself and his mutt a royal king’s breakfast of steaming sausages, oozing syrup pancakes ever so soft, and delicate crispy apple smoked bacon they took a long early morning walk. Ever since all his neighbors became sellouts, Johnathan hated his usual walk to the now ghost town and now instead walked miles in any direction, any direction that wouldn’t remind him of that Berganstein. Upon the return to his house his mood shifted. It shifted hard. He thought this bullshit was over, how much more could this stuffed whale offer? Two men, laced in fine black boots, knocked at his empty wooden inhabitance. Rex growled low and brandished his teeth from his mouth and increased pace. He quickly restrained his dog by the collar, knowing they would use anything, including an assault, to steal his house. “ERRHM, What now? Another offer? Tell him to go off and fap to himself in the mirror! I’m sure he gets so hard looking at himself that egotistical bastard!” Expecting a chuckle, a smirk, heck a change of expression Johnathan was intimidated at both men’s self-control and daunting eyes. “Mr. Beckett,” the taller man said fluently in upspeak “although yes the offer still stands to be taken at anytime you wish we have come to deliver a letter.” “Supplying me with more tinder? I’ll shred it right here, watched me! Like before, watch me!” Johnathan Beckett scoffed sourly. “Ah, ah, Ah, Mr. Beckett,” both men step forward, increasing their intimidation “I’d advise you to control your anger. This letter isn’t from Berganstein. Now enjoy the weather, and please call anytime.” Both men walked slyly at near perfect sink towards their black BMW that shined painfully at Johnathan. Damn Shecklesnachers. Shecklesnacher was the nickname supplied and patent by Johnathan to the crooks and thugs who followed the orders of Berganstein. Officially the group was private security for hire, although it wouldn’t be hard for a child to realize that was hogwash. They were in fact mafia for hire, whose loyalty stemmed only for the coin, but that was just the silly rumor that only those whom committed suicide from two bullets in the head would believe. Puzzled, Johnathan grasped the neatly stuffed enveloped address to himself, predicting the contents were no longer offers rather threats against his life. No threats, not even death threats, would shake Johnathan. What did shake him was who the letter was from. City council, and the mayor. 8 Days Left It felt great to be a winner. Once again the incredible charisma portrayed by Smith Berganstein came in clutch allowing him to fiddle with the strings attach to the local government. His argument was quite easy, almost too easy to pull off, but his lawyers sure earned their salary after this! Under Kelo vs. City of New London undeveloped private property could be seized only if it was for public use, why of course it could be! Mr. Berganstein would build a public park in his plot, besides it really wasn’t the land he needed rather the area above it. City counsel argued that his land was indeed for the most part undeveloped but his house couldn’t be categorized as such. Berganstein then told city council that they were all aware of how out of code his house had become, and it was due for massive reconstruction that would probably need to be demolished. But Berganstein who was known for his generosity offered out of the bottom of his heart to pay not only in full but over 1000% of the land value! And it was so, a notice was sent out to Mr. Beckett, and plentiful gifts were given to the city council members and mayor for there hard work that Berganstein had the only utmost respect for. Besides keeping promises the Berganstein family was known for magnificent parties, both public and private. Deciding not to push his luck Berganstein decided against a public party and invited relatives and employees to a short notice party at his mansion. Despite the short notice, upwards of 50 people lavished themselves in free drinks, smoking caramel dinner hams, and toasted to the highest stock price the Berganstein company has ever reached. In fact, of the few people that didn’t come only one didn’t respond to the invitation. Smith did have a cruel sense of humor. Christopher, although usually bleak looking, looked seemingly displeased with the party but his heart suddenly sunk to his stomach when he saw Berganstein staring right at him. At least the bloke was drunk Christopher thought to himself, maybe he couldn’t even see him. Not a moment later Berganstein waved for his servant to come hither. “Why the long face Mr. Christopher Mac Christy!” the fat man poked before the crowd around him and himself fell under hysteria. “Sir, it’s jus-“ Christopher whispered softly “It’s what?!” “Don’t you think it’s a little early to celebrate, what if he lawyer ups or worst?” “The man’s poor! He couldn’t afford lawyers, be sides what could a man of his age do?” “Sir, people in retirement that have nothing to live for can do crazy things, what if he doesn’t leave?” “What are you suggesting? That stinking man is going to put up a physical fight? Christy the man can’t do anything. Besides, I’ll do what I must, even if it includes ripping it from his bloody corpse!” Bergstein slouched back into his seat, kicked up his feet, threw some trash at Christopher, and quickly engaged back to entertaining the crowd. Christopher promptly left his sight. “That bitch won’t take my land until he rips it from my corpse!” Johnathan yelled at his bar buddies before slamming the entrance door shut. Steward, one of Johnathan’s oldest friend, nodded silently knowing he needed to vent. “That son of a bitch got the whole city council and THE FUCKING MAYOR against me? Can you believe it? For fuck sakes” Johnathan spoke, still yelling, then aggressively plopping his body down into a musty bar stool. Steward gestured for the bartender and pulled out his wallet, hoping buying the drinks would lessen his pain. “No, no, no, Steward! Don’t ya know? Johnathan Henry Beckett will be a millionaire in a week.” He laughed hysterically, while clutching a glass and nearly breaking it by slamming it down. “Please John, I understand you are upset, but what you said is true! My god, I’d give up my house in a heart beat for that money, too bad I didn’t hold on longer!” Steward examined with a grin that quickly faded once he realized what he had said. “You don’t get to say shit Steward! The moment he offered double you sold out you greed-“ Johnathan began to cool down. There was no point of arguing, what was done was done. After a moment of silence, John took his glass and started sipping reluctantly. “Besides John, why care so much about the place?” John took a deep breath and looked up, but the neon lights irritated his eyes. John hated the new bar ever since the one he’d been going to became a sellout. Not a big surprise, he was the only one left, however he did enjoy driving longer to this bar after a good day’s work on his car. “It was my fathers place, and his father, and the father before that, hell I have native heritage! Bet you didn’t know that Steward! You’ll never understand ” Steward realizing he accidentally may have pushed too hard recoiled his hands back in a defensive posture. Steward curiosity was unrelenting knowing that this was only half of the story. He had hoped to learn later that night, but the topic shifted, and it seemed it was any other night out with the boys.