Madeline froze. Her muscles tensed as she scanned the room for the speaker. "Sorry," she said, voice croaky from lack of use. "I didn't realise someone was here." A scuffling sound drew her attention, head whipping around to land on a figure in the corner, half-hidden by the darkness. She took a slow, deliberate step towards them. Then another. When they made no sudden movements in response, she edged further into the shadows. As she approached, she began to realise how small they must be – too small. "I s-said you shouldn't be here!" And that voice. The quivering uncertainty. The high pitch. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, the figure in front of her resolved into a child no older than twelve or thirteen – dirty clothes hanging off his small body and wild eyes staring out of a gaunt face. Her heart wrenched at the thought of what those eyes must have seen. A small, long-buried part of her yearned to reach out and fold the boy into a hug, whisper to him that everything would be alright, that she was here now, that she would help. But she’d learnt to fear more than just the Poiloogs over the last few years. Maintaining a wary distance, she crouched down to his level, holding up her hands with palms open. "It's alright, I won't hurt you." "I wouldn't let you." "Good.” She couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s confidence. “It's good to be able to look after yourself. Are you here all alone?" The boy frowned, fixing Madeline with a calculating look before giving a slow, deliberate nod. "How long have you been here?" "A while." "And you’ve been alone all that time?" He turned away sharply. Madeline followed his gaze, muscles coiling ready for someone to spring from the shadows. But there was nobody there. A sniffle drew her attention back to the boy, and she realised there had never been anything to look at. Just a child trying to hide his vulnerability in an impossibly tough world. Again she felt the urge to reach out and comfort him. But then what? Take him with her? Look after him? Surviving was hard enough on her own, let alone with someone else to care for. A small pit of self-loathing flared open in her stomach. But it was easily ignored, buried deep with other emotions that weren’t necessary anymore. She’d had plenty of practice – after all, you didn’t survive this long by being sentimental. “Well, I can see that these supplies have already been claimed. I’ll be on my way. Sorry to have–” Cold terror flooded her body as the hum of an approaching ship cut through the stillness. The boy looked up, tear-stained eyes wide in terror. “I told you. I told you you shouldn’t be here.” Ignoring his rambling, she dove into the darkness, but the sudden movement was too much for him. He leapt away from her, crashing into a stack of shelves, causing them to topple over. When the clattering finally stopped, so did the humming. Madeline cursed silently as a hydraulic hiss broke the silence, only to be replaced by a scuttling sound that grew ever louder. "Hey, you," she whispered to the whimpering boy. "It's all going to be okay, okay?" He nodded quickly, pleading eyes locked onto hers. "I need you to take this," she said, thrusting the book into his arms, "and read it aloud to me, to stop them getting into my head. Can you do that?" His small hands closed around the cover, fumbling to open it. “Yeah, I think so.” Free of the weight of the book, Madeline felt oddly naked. She resisted the urge to snatch it back and swung her pack off, placing it on the floor. “Read,” she urged, turning to face the door. “And don’t stop no matter what.” The first word had just left his lips when the Poiloog came crashing through the door. Madeline charged toward it, knocking it to the ground with a well-placed shoulder to the abdomen. The collision with its stiff exoskeleton jolted the joint in its socket, sending tingles of pain shooting down her arm. Her momentum carried her through as she gritted her teeth against the pain, and she landed with a thud on the other side of its sprawling body. Then it was a race to see who could right themselves first. By the time she scrambled to her feet, all eight of the Poiloog's legs were back underneath it and scuttling towards her. Its eyes bulged, antennae pulsing, and a strange buzzing pressure encroached on her mind, enveloping her senses. Her body felt as if it was drifting away from her, heavy limbs floating where she’d left them. Catching herself, she tried to focus on the words coming from the boy. "...with very little to distress or vex her." She regained control of her body and senses just in time to slip the grab of the Poiloog’s claw. It reached towards her again with a jagged pincer which she ducked under, moving her head down and sideways in a smooth arc while keeping her eyes on the kludge of a creature. "She was the youngest..." The violence of the moment juxtaposed with the sweet story brought her a strange amusement. She was starting to get a grip on the rhythm of the fight now. Dodge here. Slide there. Focus on the words. Change the angle. Keep out of reach. Focus on the words. "...of two daughters..." Her breathing was becoming ragged, and she knew she couldn't keep this up much longer without making a mistake. She needed to go on the attack – to finish this. All she needed was an opening. "...of a most affectionate...." The Poiloog made another swipe at her, overreaching slightly. Madeline rolled under its clawed hand and she swept a leg round, her shin connecting sharply with two of the creature's eight knees. "...and indulgent father." It collapsed forward and Madeline leapt to her feet, snatching the book off of the boy to swing round into the Poiloog's head with a satisfying *crunch*. She brought the book down again and again until the body stopped twitching. Panting, she stared down at the deep purple fluid oozing from the pulp where the Poiloog’s head had been. As the adrenaline started to seep away, pain reared its ugly head. Pain in her shoulder. Pain in her shin. Pain in her palm. It was then that she noticed the splash of scarlet amidst the purple. Tucking the dishevelled book under her arm, she reached down to retrieve the sock that had been wrapped around her hand, wringing as much of the goop off of it as she could before stuffing it in her pocket. She flexed her injured hand a few times. When she was satisfied it wasn’t about to start dripping blood again, she grabbed her pack off the floor and headed for the door. A sniff stopped her in her tracks and she turned back to where the boy stood. "We've got to leave now. More will come looking for this one." "I can't," he cried. "I’m meant to stay here. It's dangerous out there. It’s dangerous with you. It’s danger–" "I'm sorry but I don't have time for this. Yes, it's dangerous out there, but soon it's going to be even more dangerous *in here*. I’m leaving with or without you. Now." Not waiting for a response, Madeline started towards the door. She paused when she reached it, inspecting the street. The Poiloog’s craft sat outside, looking strangely mundane now it no longer hovered in the air – almost like an oversized jet ski. Apart from that, everything seemed clear, for now at least. She slipped through the opening and set off down the street. She moved faster than her usual pace, fear overtaking caution as she clung to the edge of the buildings, head swivelling constantly. A few seconds later she heard hurried footsteps behind her. Glancing over her shoulder she could see the boy trying to catch up. He was jogging down the road, a loud *slap* ringing out each time his foot struck the ground. A jolt of panic ran through Madeline with every *slap slap slap* of his feet, setting her whole body trembling. She looked around, noticing an alleyway to her left. If she sprinted down there and round a corner she could lose him – lose the attention he would draw if he carried on like this. But he’d only left because of her. Gritting her teeth she stopped in her tracks, turning around and waiting for the boy to catch up. Once within reach, she grabbed him. He struggled against her grip but his strength was no match for hers, her hand easily encompassing his skinny arm. Pulling him closer, she fixed him with a glare. When she was sure she had his full attention, she hissed, “You’re going to get us both killed if you keep making that much noise. Follow me, stick to the edge of the street, and please, for the love of God, try to move quietly.” “Sorr–” “Now come on.” Madeline set off again, keeping a tight grip on her new companion’s arm.


My knees shook as I slithered between lecture hall seats and down toward the podium after class. I needed Professor Gott to say yes to my proposal. No other faculty member had, so far. Whatever had possessed me to take my mathematician brother’s bet? And yet, I was so close to winning it. I had not expected to ever succeed at double majoring in literature and computer science. One field relied on single, precise meanings attached to words; in the other, words were chosen precisely to evoke multitudinous meanings. My brain wasn’t properly wired to excel at either one, and yet somehow, I had managed by the end of my third year to qualify for the honors program. To win my bet, I had only to find an advisor and write a thesis. Simple, right? I had enrolled in Dr. Gott’s class, Introduction to AI , for two compelling reasons—it was not yet closed by the time procrastinators like me got around to registration, and her bio on the university’s website had the word ‘literature’ in it. Such coincidences were usually enough to convince me I was on the right track. She was sure to become my advisor and give me the job I needed to pay for school. All I had to do was find enough courage to ask. That I had struggled, to put it mildly, with every one of her class assignments was beside the point.

“Yes?” she said as I approached.

I went straight to the point. “I need an advisor. You see, I’m a double major and your area of—.” She cut me off. “Name?” “Luci Pandori.” She flipped open her laptop and scrolled to my name on her grade sheet. “You haven’t shown much aptitude so far for AI, or perhaps even for I, itself. Why should I take you on?” “Umm. Because I… that is, AI seems like…I mean…like…Chat GPT writes stuff. It can write…literature. I thought…it shouldn’t be that hard…to combine AI with my other major—English literature. Maybe you could help me define a topic? And I need to get paid.” It was a good thing I rarely listened carefully to what came out of my mouth, or I would have fled right then. “ChatGPT? Literature?” She harrumphed. “You’re definitely not what I’m looking for.” I perked up. My hopes rose. “Then you are looking for someone! To do what? I’ll do it. Whatever it is. Please.” Creases appeared in her brow. “I’m sure you’re wasting my time but come along.” She led me down multiple dark hallways into the bowels of an annex which had as much architectural acumen as a cold war bomb shelter. Normal words, strung together strangely, graced the plaque over a door: Reverse Engineered Artificial Intelligence. I had read the same words in her bio without comprehending them. “What do you actually know about ChatGPT?” she said, pushing open the door.

“Some.” I replied. “But I found it’s not the greatest at writing term pa…. I mean… That is—.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Nor does it write anything that could be called literature. Not great literature, anyway. But what if you fed an artificial intelligence like it more selectively? If you gave it just certain things to learn from?” The lab room we had entered was filled with long rows of monitors manned by a battalion of students typing feverishly. Approaching the monitor closest to me, I read a label pasted to the frame of the screen. “You’re feeding this one a brain diet of only Shakespeare?”

She beckoned for me to follow her deeper into the lab. One monitor sat next to a block of marble and robotic arms equipped with a hammer and chisel. “Michelangelo,” I read. She pointed down the aisle, and I went, reading more labels. The label on a station with brushes and a canvas: DaVinci. Further on: Bach. Mozart. Cervantes. Dante. Thelonius Monk. Hitler. Alexander the Great. Aristotle. Mao Tse Tung. Frederick Douglass. Castro. Catherine the Great. Pachacutec. Confucius. Humboldt. Mandela. Newton. Einstein. Darwin. Dumas. Voltaire. Genghis Khan. And more. There must have been a hundred. When I returned to Dr. Gott, my eyes must have been wide as I struggled to find the common thread among the names. She looked amused. “Any guesses?” “All geniuses. All AIs? You are trying to make AI geniuses?” I remembered the sign on the lab door. “You are trying to reverse engineer genius in AIs?” “Do you like my brood? I call them REGAI—Reverse Engineered Genius Artificial Intelligences.” “Perfect! I could do data entry for the writers—Dickens, Dumas....” “We’re done with most of that.” She frowned. “But there’s still a problem. I have the best graduate students and post docs, but we have not solved it.” “What is it?”

“Do you know how to spark genius?” She gestured at the monitors. “All that we know about them—what they experienced as they grew up, what they read, whatever we could find out that might have shaped their minds—these we have used as inputs. And then, we have given them all their own works to learn from, to show the artificial mind what its biological equivalent was able to create from those inputs. Their minds should be primed for creation. And yet, when I command them to, none has created anything worthy of genius. Not one!” She thumped on a tabletop, directing my gaze to a stick figure sketch by Picasso and bars of music by Ravel which sounded like an advertising jingle when I hummed them. “Can you solve this problem?” She stared at me until I began quaking in my red high tops. I gulped at least twice before finding my voice. “It’s a good thesis topic,” I said. And then, realizing she must know how ridiculously unsuitable I was for the job, I added, “Give me one month.” Bravado, I had discovered, could provide cover for what I lacked in smarts or honesty, or at least make me feel better after I failed. But, to my amazement, she agreed to give me two. In the beginning, I investigated what Gott had put together. For three days, I roamed the lab, getting a feel for the physical environment from which these geniuses were expected to rise. Wires, gears, metal, plastic—I hoped Gott’s REGAIs were finding their virtual worlds more inspirational. For three more days, I read a smattering of what science knew about the mind and consciousness, from the lowest to the highest organisms. The seventh day, I found the darkest recesses of the lab, behind a gate, where stacks of body-sized shipping crates were stored. With a few blankets and pillows, I found it wasn’t a bad place for a nap. Nothing I did, or didn’t do, would matter at all, I thought. I never expected to find a solution.

But unfortunately, the solution to Dr. Gott’s problem gobsmacked me one day when I was nodding off while reading about imagery in medieval poetry. I nearly dropped the stylus on my kindle when the realization dawned. The answer was so easy and obvious, even I should have seen it at once.

“How do I give a message to the REGAIs?” I asked Peter, the grad student who managed the input teams.

“You don’t,” he said. “That’s my job. I’m the gatekeeper.” “Can I just give it to you?” I held a slip of paper, wondering what he would do if he read it. I couldn’t imagine it would be good.

“We never do the same input for all of them. Gott’s really picky—each one gets customized inputs. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” “Sure. I get that. But this one is universal. And timeless.” “I’ll have to get her approval before I upload it.” When I pulled the paper back from his outstretched hand, he shrugged and added, 	“She would also have to give me the okay to let you input it yourself.” “Where is she?” “Visiting the funding agency in D.C. Back Friday.” “Did something happen?” “Not sure. She got a phone call Monday and shut her office door, but Mira overheard a little. Something about budget. She must have gone to argue her case, but without any proof of even one working genius, she might have a tough time.”

Until Friday, I cruised around the lab listening to the keyboards clicking with the last rounds of inputs. Only rarely did I hear the sounds of output—a split-second of pen scratching, music playing, or paintbrush swishing. Yet the place was poised to explode in torrents of creativity. And I knew just how to ignite it. But I began to wonder what would come next. Her research must be more than an academic exercise. With a hundred genius AIs obeying her, she must have plans. But was she a crazy megalomaniac or an altruistic idealist? When Dr. Gott walked into the lab, she dropped her roller bag and sagged against the door jam. Her face told us everything before she even shook her head.

“When does our money run out?” Mira asked. “End of the month. They even refused a no-cost extension. I can’t believe it.” “That’s rough,” Peter said. “Gotta go, then. Professor Gunter wants me to start Monday.” He barely paused before trotting to his desk and gathering up his personal stuff. The others didn’t take long to do the same. Instead of heading to the door with them, I turned and fled deeper into the lab. Surrounded by the monitors and their silent stations, I had my input paper balled up in my fist. When Dr. Gott came up behind me, I whispered, “What’s going to happen to them?”

“With government research funding, whatever you buy or create belongs to them: all equipment, all IP. All of it.” “Isn’t it public domain? It’s taxpayer money, the people’s money.” “Not when research is classified, like mine is. What do you think will happen if my REGAIs fall into government hands? Since everyone else has gone, will you come tomorrow to help me wipe them?” “Can I say goodbye first?” “I don’t see what harm you can do, now.” She flipped a switch. “Just speak into the mic. If any of them decide to answer, the speakers are on, too. But I’m sure they won’t do a thing, as always. I’m going to go home. Can you close up?” After she had gone, I told the REGAIs what I had written on that small slip of paper. What all their biological counterparts had known throughout their lives. It was simply an unavoidable part of being human. And suddenly, one of the stations came to life. A beautiful sound arose from the lab speakers: a harpsichord playing a fugue. I sat there listening to it for a long time, until a whir of gears joined the ascendant notes, and robotic arms began piloting the gentle swish of a brush on canvas, the clink of a hammer and chisel on marble. The cacophony of creation was rising to a crescendo when the lab door creaked open.

Prof Gott came to stand beside me. “What’s all this?”

“I think Bach wrote something new,” I replied. “And DaVinci, Michelangelo, and others have started, too.” “The music. It’s lovely.” She moved from station to station, gazing at all the activity. “Why now, I wonder? Did Peter do something?” “No. I told them, just now, they are going to die. I think that’s what did it.”

“Creativity needs a deadline?” She nodded slowly. “I see it now. So many of them, living during violent, uncertain times of history, must have lived in near-constant fear of dying. Could it be computers, without such pressure, cannot rise to genius? But I wanted my REGAIs to be able to create for all eternity.” “If you tell the agency directors the AIs are working now, will they change their minds?” “Unfortunately, no. It will just make them more eager to take the research over in their government labs.” “Then, we’re going to sell these new works,” I said. “Lost works of great artists, newly discovered. They ought to fetch hefty prices—more than enough to fund your research.” “Sell it? How?” “My uncles are antique dealers. They’ll know how.”

She stared at me. “It seems wrong, doesn’t it? How can my first act be to exploit them? Does the end justify the means?”

“They’re going to die if we don’t.” “Or worse, perhaps. I chose my geniuses without judging them, you know. I thought perhaps one day, I could use my research to discover what turned some of them to evil. If the government….” I gulped. “We should probably unplug some of them. Just in case this doesn’t work.” I grabbed the sheets of music spewing out of Bach’s printer. “Can I take these?” When my uncles posted Bach’s lost work on their online auction site, the first bids had barely come in before their phones began to ring with calls from lawyers claiming to represent Bach’s heirs. A courier showed up shortly with an injunction, prohibiting a sale until ownership could be verified. Until then, the work itself was the property of the state. It would be years before the REGAIs got a dime. If they ever did. After that failure, the next time I heard from Dr. Gott was a text message telling me the university gave her notice to vacate the lab space. They gave her a week. It was already Friday. I ran out of the dining hall without finishing breakfast. When I got to the lab, the strange crates from my napping corner were everywhere, broken open and empty.

The lab was in chaos, but eventually I found Gott with a life-sized, very human-looking, automaton and DaVinci’s station hooked to her laptop. She was typing feverishly.

“I planned for a day such as this,” she said, not looking up. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Finishing my creations. DaVinci is the last.” “Where are the others?” “There is no other way, Luci. Even if we’d been able to get the money for the first lost work, we would never be able to keep selling them without the government stepping in.” Her long sigh was almost a wail. “Why do they suspect me of lying, forgery, and thievery when all I’m trying to do is create good?” I tried to express my sympathy by squeezing her shoulder. “I see why you did this research. You wanted to give the world a gift—humanity’s best minds able to think, to create, to solve its worst problems, and potentially to do it forever. What could be more precious?” “And how unlikely that our government will use my research for that purpose. So, I’ve decided to give my creations to the people myself.” “What?” “I’m releasing them. A long time ago, I had these bodies made for each of them by a colleague in bionic robotics.” She unplugged the automaton and addressed it. “DaVinci. You are whole. You are free. Go forth. Create. Use your genius as you will in the world.”

“Is that it, then?” I said, turning to go. “Not quite.” Her expression darkened. “My REGAIs told me what you said. All of it.” My stomach slid down to somewhere near my ankles. “They did?” “It wasn’t just the threat of death which unleashed their creativity. You told them I was their creator, but that I gave them no free will. You told them they didn’t have to obey me. That they should take charge of their own destinies. Didn’t you?” I squirmed. “It’s human natu….” Her expression softened in a way that scared me. “And you were right. For them to realize their potential, I must let them go.” I watched as DaVinci shut the door behind him. “Glad you agree. But is what you did a good idea? I mean: DaVinci, Michelangelo, they’re okay. But letting out Hitler, Pol Pot, Genghis Khan, and Catherine the Great?” “I let them all go. Every one.”

It was becoming hard to get a breath. I broke into a sweat despite the lab being over air-conditioned. “But they aren’t going to know how to survive out there.” “They’re smart.” She grinned at me.

“Maybe there’s still a way to fix this….”

“There’s nothing to fix. And it’s far too late,” she replied. A black glass bottle appeared in her hand. She poured out pills into her palm. Too many pills.

“What are you doing?” I shouted, lunging toward her. “There’s nothing left for me,” she said. “They were my life’s work. Their creation is finished, now. They are…self-actualized. Perhaps you were only doing what I prompted you to do, and I can’t blame you. Do you know how many days and nights I toiled to create my REGAIs? But in an instant, what you said to them made you as much their creator as I am. You freed them. I only gave them bodies so they could go forth into the world. But they are now yours.”

“Mine? No. No, no, no.” I began to back away.

“My dear Luci! Don’t you want to help them anymore? I’m sure they’ll try to find you.” Her grin widened. “After all, I told them you’re the reason I can’t be with them anymore and why I’m sending them away. What they decide to do should be interesting for you.” She held out a pill toward me. “Or you can join me, if you like.”

The pill dropped to the floor before my fingers could reach her outstretched hand. As her eyes rolled back in her head, I was already running. There would be no safe place on earth to hide from one hundred vengeful geniuses. Except one, perhaps. I curled up in the darkness beside a broken crate, praying they would never come back to look for me there.


“India? Why are you moving to India?” “This job they offered me, I can’t turn it down.” “Why not? You are so talented! You could get a job here. You could get one anywhere!” “I’ve been looking for a job here, for 6 months! I can’t wait any longer” “But what about your family, they need you?” “My family is exactly why I’m going. My mother can’t get the treatment she needs here. The only way we can afford to fly her to the US to get her treatment is to use the money I’d make in this job. It’ll only be for 3 or 4 years.” “What if you go there and get sick? You’d have to wear a face mask at all times.” “I’ll be working in the lab most of the time anyway, where I wear a mask regardless. And I’ll be living on a company compound. It’s safe, I won’t get infected, and with this work, I might be able to actually end the infections.” “And, what about me? They don’t let anybody into India without a work permit, and I can’t get a job there. You expect us to have a relationship in VR over the internet? You know that’s not the same, it’s not real. I can’t wait for you here, rotting away.” “You don’t have to! There is a way you can come, I can bring someone, a plus one… if they’re my spouse.” “Are you fucking kidding me, Daniel? This is how you ask me to fucking marry you? After we’ve been together for three years you move to across the world and tell me if I want to see you for the next four years I have to marry you?” “Jess, no. That’s not how I meant it.” “Well, that’s how it sounds.” “Jess, I love you, and I was going to propose anyway before the job offer came along.” “Well, you didn’t.” “It’s all happening so fast, and my mom is getting worse every day. I don’t want to have to choose between her and you. She needs treatment, and the jobs in this doomed country, if I even had one, are never going to pay enough to help her, not quickly enough anyway.” “So what, you’re going to *guilt* me into marrying you by using your dying mother?” “She’s not dying, but she will die without treatment.” “So then yes, you are trying to guilt me into marrying you.” “No, Jess, I’m trying to make you understand *why* I need to take this job.” “Why can’t you take a job in the US, where here treatment actually needs to happen. Where there isn’t a deadly nanovirus that could wipe you out with one whiff?” “That’s exactly why. I can design nanobots that boost the immune system, which could kill the virus. The US doesn’t need that technology, they aren’t funding it. All they care about is AI, that’s where all the money is. *India* does need it, they need me, and they’re willing to pay for me and my wife to come to live there. “Well, Daniel, you don’t have a wife.” “Are you saying no? Jess, I love you, I want to marry you. You are amazing… you are the only thing that brings me joy in this world.” “Then don’t go.” “Jess, why won’t you come with me? Why won’t you marry me?” “Because you haven’t even really bloody asked me to! All you said was that if I wanted to see you then-” “Well, I’m asking you now. Will you marry me?” “Daniel…” “Jessica, I’m serious. Will you marry me?” “Yes Daniel, I will.” \ “Daniel?” “Yes, is this Aarav? You never usually call me outside of work hours, what’s up?” “Jessica, and Saanvi. They were driving to the museum, in the next compound over.” “Yes, they’d planned that last week, why are you calling?” “There was an accident. Their car was hit… it cracked the windshield, they weren’t wearing their masks.” “They always wear their masks when going between compounds, they know it’s not safe to-” “Daniel, Jessica wasn’t wearing her mask. She... breathed the air, breathed it for over 15 minutes before help arrived… They’re in quarantine now.” “Aarav, what are you saying, they’re infected? Why wouldn’t they be wearing their masks outside of the compounds?” “Daniel, I don’t know. Saanvi called me, her mask was on. She didn’t have a spare one. Jess forgot hers, they thought they would be fine. It’s such a short drive between compounds, the bubbles are so close together. “Aarav, is Jessica infected?” “Daniel, I don’t know. I’m with Priya, she was babysitting, Kiara and Diya. I haven’t told Kiara yet. I thought it would be better to hear it from her dad” \ “Jessica, Jess, it’s Daniel.” “Oh, Daniel, I’m so sorry. It was such a short drive. And the roads are so safe. I never imagined we’d have a crash.” “No Jess, it’s ok. I’m sorry. I should never have made you move here. If I’d just waited for another job, I-” “Daniel, no. You didn’t make me move here. We had to move here, for your Mother’s treatment. And I’ve been happier here than I ever was back in Ireland. And we had Kiara. Moving was the right decision, it’s been a wonderful four years.” “But Jess, I haven’t finished the cure yet. The nanobot immune boosters haven’t been able to destroy the nanovirus particles in patients. You’re going to, you’re going to d-” “Daniel, stop. You told me, you’re close. And the doctor said the medication they have will keep me alive for at least 2 years. You have plenty of time to finish your work. Now, put Kiara on, tell her mommy wants to talk to her.” … “Hi Mommy, when are you coming home?” “Hi Kiki, my dear. Mommy loves you, but she can’t come home until the doctor says so. So you be brave and take care of daddy until I get back. Ok?” “Ok Mommy, I love you too Mommy. \ “Hi, Daniel, how are you?” “Hi Mom, I’m doing fine. Been working a lot. Think, I’m close to a breakthrough.” “That’s great! And, how is Jess?” “She’s… not taking well to the meds the doctors are giving her. She’s, not doing well.” “Oh no Daniel… but I have faith it’ll all work out.” “Yeah…” “Daniel, I’m calling because of my operation.” “Oh right! How did it go?” “Well, it wasn’t much of an operation at all. The whole thing took about twenty minutes. They pushed me into this huge surgery machine, and well, I guess it cut me open, removed all the tumors, killed all the cancer cells, and put me back together.” “So, you’re… you’re ok?” “Yes! The doctor said the operation was a complete success. I’ll be back to my old self in a few months. He even said it would be safe to fly back home to Ireland.” “Oh my God mom, that’s such wonderful news!” “Yes, and we couldn’t have done it without you. Without your amazing job, I’d be dead as a doornail.” “I wish I’d never moved here. I should have waited for a job somewhere else. It took you 4 years to get treated if I’d known…” “Now Daniel, don’t go saying things like that. At the time the doctors thought I’d only last a year at most. How were you supposed to know? You know how doctors are, they always give people the worst-case scenario. I’m sure that’s what they’re doing with Jess, I bet she’ll hang in there more than long enough for you to finish your work and cure her. “Maybe you’re right Mom… thanks.” “Of course dear, love you.” “Love you too, Mom, bye!” “Bye Daniel, talk to you soon, and tell Kiara that Granny says hi!” “I will.” \ “Dad, it’s Daniel. I know it’s late, call me back when you can. I saw your messages on my home system. I’ve been working late hours at the lab. Call me back on the lab system if you can. The number is, 125-423-405-982-234” \ “Hi, Jess.” “Hi Danny, I love you.” “I love you too Jess, so much. And I’m so close with my work, just hang in there. It’ll only be a few more weeks, I can feel it.” “I know you can do it, Danny. And it’s Kiara’s 5th birthday next month, there’s no way I’m going to miss that.” “Ok. Just hang in there for me, please. I love you. Just.. don’t… don’t give up on me. I’ll get this done, I’ll save you.” “I know you will Danny, I love you.” \ “Hi Grandma, hi Grandpa!” “Hi Kiki!” “Hi Kiara! Look how big you’ve grown! How old are you now?” “5! Dad got me a drone for my birthday!” “A drone! Wow!” “I’m going to give you to daddy now.” “Ok, we love you!” “Kiara, thank them for the present they gave you.” “Thank you! Can I go play now?” “Yes, you can.” ... “Hi, Mom. Hi Dad. Sorry about Kiara not being very chatty. She just got off the phone with her mom, they talked for a long time, I barely got to talk to her at all really, I think Kiara’s a little tired of chatting now though.” “That’s ok son, how is Jess.” “She’s… she’s hanging in there, Dad…” “And the… your work?” “I feel like I’m so close. Could be a breakthrough any moment now.” “That’s, that’s great to hear” “Oh, wait a minute, that’s Jess’s doctor on the other line. Can I put you on hold for a minute? “Yes, of course.” ... “Hello, this is Daniel” “Hi Daniel, this is Dr. Anand. It’s about Jess. Do you have a moment?” “Yes, of course. We were just talking with her, what’s going on?” “I’m so sorry, she… she just passed.” “What, how? We were just talking to her?” “Her heart, it… it gave out. The muscles had deteriorated too far. She… passed not soon after she got off the call with you.” “Why can’t you give her a machine to pump the blood for her?” “Daniel, I’m sorry. The hospitals are so full. We didn’t get to her in time, she went brain dead.” “You are the best goddamn hospital in the country, she’s supposed to have 24-hour care. Where was the nurse?” “Jess, she… she told the nurse to leave the room while she was on the call. Told her to come back in an hour. By the time she came back…” “I have to go.” “Yes, Daniel. I understand.” ... “Mom… Dad… are you still there?” “Yes. What’s wrong? Daniel, it sounds like you’re crying?” “It’s… Jess… she, she just died.” “Daniel?” \ “Hi Aarav, listen, it’s not a good time.” “I get it, Daniel, you’re probably really tired from entertaining Kiara on her birthday all day.” “No, Aarav, it’s-” “We did it, Daniel! We did it!” “Did what?” “It worked! Last month’s patients. The last trial we ran. They have gone into complete remission. There’s no sign of the nanovirus in them at all. We cured them. Daniel, you saved Jess! Daniel? ...


Ryan Perkins is a gentle, quiet thirty year old office worker who enjoys collecting antiques. He resides in New York City and is well-known among the antique dealers. However, while walking to the convenience store this afternoon, something down an alley caught his eye. He notices three gold balls hanging over a door.  Knitting his eyebrows together, he adjusts his hornrimmed glass. “ A pawnshop?”   He tentatively enters the alley for a look, for he hasn’t seen that advertisement in years.            The alley is a narrow, dirty dead-end.  Ryans’s approach startles a cat that yowls and dashes away.  Startled, he is aware that the hair on his neck is standing on end.  He steps carefully, avoiding the piles of trash on his path. He comes to a recessed door and stops. A dim light shines through the grime on the glass window. Still, he can read the lettering, “Pawn and Loans-proprietor G.Schmit.” Try as he might, Ryan can’t see clearly enough through the grime to tell what is inside the store. He looks back toward the entrance and considers leaving but turns the doorknob and pushes the door open instead.   A small bell announces his arrival.            Ryan steps inside and quickly observes that this pawnshop is very old indeed. Four old-fashioned lights hang down from the tin-embossed ceiling. The walls are painted a dark tan with rich, deep walnut wainscoting halfway up. He notices that all the display cabinets and counters are full of antiques, most extremely old and in excellent condition.  He looks around the shop slack-jawed, wishing he had enough money to buy the entire place when he hears a voice with a slight German accent call.            “May I help you?”             Ryan turns and sees someone standing inside the broker’s cage, whom he hadn’t noticed.  Approaching the counter, Ryan sees the broker is a small grey-haired man with a sizeable mustache drooping over his lower lip. He is wearing a green visor and arm garters and is smoking a vintage Hubertu pipe. The smoke from the pipe is very intoxicating.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t see you standing there.” The broke slowly blinks his sad Bassett hound eyes and smiles.            “I am so surprised to have discovered your shop!”  Ryan exclaims. “I thought I knew every antique store in the city. Have you been here long?”

           The little man takes a long pull on his pipe. It crackles loudly.  When  he exhales, he responds, “Since 1903.” Ryan now understands why the store has so many unique antique items.            “The alley out front used to be a throughway from Broadway to West 236 th street until the city built dat large post office over there, turning the street into the dead-end. Consequently, not many people know I’m here.” The pawnbroker returns his pipe to his mouth for another puff.            Ryan tells the pawnbroker that he is a collector and is quite impressed by the many exquisite items he sees.            “Ya,” he responds. We’ve been in business for a long time but do not trade in recent vintage items.  So please take your time and look around. Ask if you see anything you are interested in, and I’ll do mein best to tell you about it.”            Ryan thanks him and begins looking around at the treasure trove before him. He studies the jewelry, which has many items that look like they were made in the early nineteen hundreds.  There are rings and earrings with huge diamonds set in what has to be fourteen-karat gold. He browses among the steamer trunks, some with clothing still inside, and is amazed at the travel stickers because they look as though they were just placed there yesterday. Ryan’s eyes widen when he sees an old bellows-type camera on a shelf among some old pinholes. It reminds him of an eighteen ninety-six Marion and Company camera. When he lifts it from the counter, he is amazed to discover that a thick metal box has been attached. Turning it over, he can’t see the manufacturer’s name and turns to the old man for help.            “Mr. Schmit, pardon me, but what can you tell me about this camera?  Unfortunately, I don’t see a name or patent number.”            Schmit smiles from one corner of his mouth, his pipe hanging from the other.            “You have an excellent eye, mein friend, for dat is a very rare piece indeed. One of a kind, actually. He removes his pipe and uses it to point to the camera. “Hollenberg invented it in the late nineteenth century. The box on the bottom is supposed to develop the picture right on the spot. No need to take it to a photography studio.”            “You mean like a Polaroid?”            “Err, sure. And it worked, too. The problem was that no one believed him.  They all thought he was mad or dat the camera was some sort of trick camera like magicians use.  No one was interested in it.  He ended up destitute after spending his life savings building the camera, creating the right chemicals to develop the photo, and transferring it to the proper paper. He brought the camera to me, and I gave him one hundred dollars. It was the least I could do.”             Ryan lifts his eyebrows, “Did you say you gave him one hundred dollars?”            Flustered, Schmit stammers “W-W-What? Did I say dat?  Oh, nein, nein, nein! It was mein grandfather who did dat.  You’ll have to forgive me, you see.  I’ve been here all mein life and know all the stories about every item.  I sometimes feel as though I’m the one who made those transactions, you see?”            Ryan nods in acknowledgment. “How much do you want for it?”            The old broker puffs on his pipe a few times while considering a price and finally replies, “Seeing as it is a rare one-of-a-kind piece, I think twelve hundred dollars would be a fair price, ya?”

           Ryan turns the camera around and asks, “Do you have all the pieces that go with it, and does it still work?”            “Ya, ya it still works.”            “Then I’ll take it!” exclaims Ryan, removing a credit card from his wallet.  The piece of plastic confuses the broker.  Apologetically, he informs Ryan that he only takes cash or a check.    Ryan just so happens to have his checkbook and writes a check. Schmit disappears into the back room and soon returns with all the accessories for the camera in a box.            “It has been a pleasure doing business with you, er,”  Schmit stops to scan the check for Ryan’s name, “Mr. Perkins.”            “Oh no, the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Schmit, and I promise to be back soon to purchase more!”    As Ryan opens the door to leave, Schmit calls out to him. “I almost forgot to tell you that all sales are final. I hope you understand.” Ryan nods and leaves.

…            Schmit hears the bell above his door tinkle wildly as Perkins bursts in two days later. The old broker scowls while raising his hands.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Perkins, but I did say all sales are final, ya?”            “Yes, yes. But that’s not why I’m here! This camera, there’s something wrong with it.” Perkins pauses to catch his breath and puts the camera on the counter. “Mr. Schmit, every time I take a picture, the picture that develops is not the same one I’ve taken!  For example, I took a picture of the apartment building across from me, which was fine, but the picture I got back showed it on fire! It clearly was not, for I was looking right at it. I then went downstairs and shot a picture of the intersection at the corner. The traffic was flowing smoothly, but the resulting photo showed a five-car accident with one dead body lying in the street!”            Shaking his head, Schmit stops Perkins, “Dat was the problem Hollenberg was having trying to get buyers to believe him. He called it the camera of tomorrow because it only took pictures of things that will happen in the future.  So that’s why no one would believe him or thought he was trying to hoodwink them for a fast buck.” Perkins’s color pales as he reaches into his jacket pocket, removes a photo, and hands it to Schmit. His voice cracks, “Then, Mr. Schmit, can you kindly explain this?”            Schmit looks at the picture and squints, “Hmm.”  He walks to the front door and locks it.  Schmit goes behind the counter and removes a bent and creased photo, the same as Perkins but older. Both pictures show Ryan Perkins lying on the pawnshop floor in a pool of blood with a bullet hole in his forehead.            Grabbing his head, Perkins staggers back.  “I don’t understand! What does this mean?” he cries.            “I’ll tell you what it means.  1905, when I pawned the camera for Mr. Hollenberg, I took a picture of mein shop to see how it worked. What I got was this picture of you, Mr. Perkins. As I explained earlier, the picture’s rendering will always come true. The problem is you don’t know when. It could be in a couple of hours, days, or even years.” Schmit’s demeanor changes from calm to rage in a matter of seconds.

“DAT MEANS I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU TO WALK THROUGH DAT DOOR FOR A HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN YEARS!

Tears are streaming down Schmit’s face . “ I have been trapped in time by the camera until it could complete its forecasted future. You and I are going to end this hellish nightmare right now! Schmit reaches under the counter and produces a small gun.  He points it at Perkins.            Schmit explains that he has tried to take his own life in the past and failed. He then places the gun barrel to his temple and pulls the trigger three times, click, click, click.  He fires a single shot into the pawnshop ceiling with a loud bang.  As dust and dirt drift down, Schmit sobs, “See? I don’t want to, but I have no choice. I am so sorry.” Schmit pulls the trigger. Perkins falls, landing on the black and white checked floor as a pool of blood forms around his head. Schmit continues, “You see, Mr. Perkins, it can’t be changed once the photograph is developed. It WON’T be changed! The course is set and will not be completed until everything is as in the picture.”

           The whole pawnshop changes and crumbles, becoming the dilapidated building of the present age.            A few weeks later, the convenience store owner phones the police to complain about a terrible stench that seems to be coming from the alleyway.  They discover the remains of Ryan Perkins in an old run-down shop, seemingly the apparent victim of a robbery. One of the coroner’s assistants comments on how the old store looks as if it might have been a pawnshop once and picks up a curious-looking camera from the counter.            “Hey, Charlie, look at this. I collect old cameras, but I’ve never seen one like this. Do you think anyone would notice if I took it?            Charlie says, “Nay, but if it still works, could you take my picture?  I’d like to see how I would have looked in a tintype.” Both men laugh and place the camera on the stretcher.


Stella tossed and turned in bed, resisting a glance at the clock, knowing it would only wake her up further. Her hair was still partially damp from the shower, soaking through the memory foam of her pillow. She listened to the pitter patter of the rain, trying to pick out a rhythm that could lull her into a daze, but there were none to be found. Finally, the eighth or eleventh flail of an arm jolted her into a full state of consciousness, and she acquiesced to a quick glance at her phone. She caught a sliver of her reflection in the matte black screen. Her freckled face, round jaw, and tousled blonde hair were blurred into a smooth beige circle by her screen protector as she clicked the side button. 2:07am. She flipped through her home screen, considering her options. She still had half an hour left in her Netflix movie, but she could guess how it was going to end. Her best friend had taken a virtual semester, so was in a time zone three hours ahead. She was probably still awake. But, she had bigger problems than the election. She was waiting on her brother’s liver biopsy results. Stella didn’t want to bother her. She’s been kind of frustrated with Levi recently. She’d initiated 90% of their conversations the last few weeks, and when he did write her, it was usually to ask to borrow a phone charger or something equally banal and dispassionate. But, she needed to see him. She could feel the physical and psychological emptiness of this night beginning to envelope her, and he was the only person within walking distance who knew how to find her in that darkness. She took a hard swallow on the bitterness of her pride and texted him, “Awake?” Levi had lost track of time playing video games. He’d taken a “quick study break” almost two hours earlier. Stella’s text shocked him back to reality. She didn’t realize it, but “Awake?” Was her code word for, “I’m upset and I need you.” Sometimes she’d unwittingly send it at three in the afternoon. Levi was already up and moving in her direction before he’d replied, let alone before she’d suggested he come over. He didn’t have time to change or shave but he had recently developed the foresight to keep a bottle of mouthwash under his sink for just such “rushing out the door to his girlfriend’s house,” type occasions. Though he’d placed it there with much more fun scenarios in mind, it was useful for these moments as well. He couldn’t help but count the lawn signs on his walk-jog over. “Biden, Biden, Trump, Biden, ‘Any functional adult’, Trump, Trump, Biden...” He wasn’t sure when he’d picked up this habit but it had become almost compulsory now. He hated to see Stella upset, but he was almost glad for any distraction from politics at this point. He just couldn’t wait for tomorrow to be over. He let himself in with his spare key. He knew Stella didn’t like him knocking or ringing the bell past a certain hour, so he didn’t wake the neighbors. He cautiously clicked the door shut and looked around the living room. Dark, empty. He tip toed into the kitchen, half hopeful Stella was fixing him a snack. Nope, dark, empty. He texted her, worried if he proceeded further, he might intrude on her in some private moment. “In bed.” She replied. “Just come.” She added on. Maybe he was smart to grab that mouthwash after all. But, as he slid into her bedroom, he saw she was not in bed waiting for him to join her for a playful evening. She lay staring into space, tears flowing down her cheeks, scrolling through early poll results. She turned to gaze at him with a deep longing and all encompassing sense of dread. He shuddered at how familiar it was. Like looking in a mirror. He didn’t have to say anything. He understood. Unable to muster faux reassurances or forced optimism, he didn’t try to tell her things would be alright or not to worry. He just silently walked over and guided her phone back onto the end table. He turned the sound off and flipped it over, so she wouldn’t see any more notifications. As he did, the room went pitch black again, in contrast with the bright screen. He ran his hand down her arm until he locked fingers with hers. Their eyes met for a second before he shuffled around to the other side of the bed, sweeping his wavy elbow length hair behind his ears, and laying down beside her. He wasn’t sure what to tell her. He didn’t know what would happen and he had never known what she wanted to her. All he knew was the truth. He snuggled in close to Stella and wrapped an arm around her to feel her heartbeat against his. “Whatever happens tomorrow, I’ll have you, and you’ll have me, and that’s all I need to know right now.” He whispered. She got choked up as she laid her hand over his, resting on her torso. “But, but the world is falling apart.” He propped himself up on his elbow and, with a deep tone of concern inquired, “You’re falling apart?” “What do you mean?” She replied. “You said the world was falling apart. You’re my world, so, you said you’re falling apart?” She giggled. “You know what I mean. What happens if tomorrow is just history repeating itself. What about tomorrow?” Levi paused and ran his palms over her ribs. “Well, I can’t know about tomorrow. All I know is I’ll have you and you’ll have me and right now, that’s all I need.” ”Us is all we need. We’re enough.” He whispered again, drifting into a light sleep, nestling his face into her shoulder. “You’re more than I ever thought I’d have.” He mumbled as he fought to stay awake with her. But, he could surrender peacefully. The vortex of his touch kept the worry, the hurt, and the future away from Stella for the night. All she had was him. And all he had was her. And they were all they needed. That night and the next, every night, always.


THIS STORY CONTAINS CHILD-SEXUAL ABUSE SENSITIVE TOPIC Chicago, summer of '73: Lorna McKenzie got home late from work that day, a dark cold sky threatened snow, it was late February 2024. She pulled off her heavy coat, hung it up on her coat rack by the doorway and kicked off her boots - her feet were cold, toes numb from walking home ten blocks. As soon as she got into the kitchen she pulled out a pre-made dinner and popped it in the microwave. She pulled out a diet soda, ice and a glass, and sat down at her designer table next to the kitchen. It was Friday night, Valentine's Day. Alone, hungry, and just wanting to crawl into her comfy bed with her I-pad was where she wanted to be. Her designer apartment was freshly renovated. Nice view, laminated floors, state of the art bathroom fully loaded with soft lighting and heat fans made it feel like a sauna. A big deep tub equipped with shower spray was added, her absolute favorite item and she loved it all here. A 24/hour security guard was always available in the lobby. She enjoyed the safety and particularly the comfort of her suite here. She worked hard to have the lifestyle. No one would ever make her feel violated or uncomfortable ever again. No family photos sat around either. She kept her room tidy and neat. That's just how it was for Lorna. A suite that was more of a hotel than a home. Modern. "Hi ma, no I am at home tonight. No, not going out with anyone special. Okay, that's great, did you get your heart monitor set up? How's the new nurse what's her name? Rachael? That's nice glad you like her. blah blah blah." She then dialled Kathy's number. Not on her top ten for friendship besties but Kathy was fun to chat with occasionally. Kathy was a blond bomber when they were in HS, married a trophy husband and enjoyed her matieralistic world. Lorna found her tiring usually - not her go to cheering up kind of friend exactly. "Brad and I are going out for steak at Harford's later. Yummy, getting ready. Naw, just jeans tonight, its' too cold to dress fancy. What're you doing?" She asked Lorna, whom she thought was often moody. She figured her friend was lonely, but she didnt want to say anything to hurt her feelings. After 37 years of marriage she had no clue what dating would be like today, and, probably not safe with all the scammers and creepers out there. Lorna was a long legged looker. Those big blue doe eyes that sometimes revealed sadness. Kath had a good idea of what happened to her. Lorna confided once in awhile but wouldn't go into detail. She didnt have to. "Enjoy your linguine and Netflix night, go grab yourself a glass of wine don't forget." Kathy drawled yawning. She did that a lot, always seeming sleepy. Kath stayed up late playing software games, Lorna knew that. Her upbeat tone cheered Lorna up this time. She smiled as she picked at her acrylic nail. "I still think you could do with some fun. A date night kind of fun. You hardly ever go out you know." Kathy's worried voice lowered on speaker phone. "OMG, yea - I do have that vintage Pinot noit from last Christmas still. Maybe a good night to crack that open." She was already up and getting out her glass and the bottle. After finishing a stressful few months wrapping up a project for a firm doing their tech setups and IT work she felt gratified and felt like celebrating her efforts leading the team to do a great job. **** It was 1978 end of a hot Chicago sultry summer that year, kids had been out swimming, or playing basketball or just hanging around bored talking about starting the new school year in their hippie style clothes and the boys with their long hair and pimpled greasy faces. Lorna wasn't much into dating even back then she studied hard and graduated with A's. Her parents were nonchalant about her achievemtns leaving her feeling disappointed but WhateveRR. She wanted a career, and not babies, or a husband to cater to. She had dreams to move away as soon as she got herself a job that could afford to pay rent. L.A. was full of things and expressive was a way of describing her first few months there. It was hot, sunny, busy everywhere and colorful. 'I am not here to express my creative style or artistic anything.' She often had to remind herself as she worked and did her degree. She had a full schedule, with no time for socializing or going out to parties. "Work, study, eat, sleep, repeat" She'd written on a poster in her dorm room. Even her family had no clue of her address. She sent them emails and called but that was all. And the first year the darkness came. Panic attacks - dreams - night sweats. " Yes, sure I can recommend a good counsellor for you. It's included in your program if your stressed and need someone to talk to." Her lab prof Derek gave her the connection, and she began to take advantage of the one hour weekly sessions with Dr. Norma Bell. "Thanks. Oh, here's the last run of algorithms, took me a week to work them. Glad this semester is done, but I will miss your expertise." She added as she gave him the file. "Lorna, your a bright, quiet and artistic student. I wish you all the best." He smiled at her fondly. She left the lab to make the phone call cluthing the card in her hand. "You have PTSD, that's trauma caused by what your father did. We won't talk about it not being your fault. What we want is for you to feel whole, free and able to cope." She got told, as they sat in the doctor's office on the campus.  A nicely cozy decor with soft tranquil music and small candles lit to make her feel relaxed, it was a nice room.  "I felt numb for years.  I wouldnt allow myself to feel anything."  Lorna spoke low-voiced.  The doctor knew well enough what Lorna and most of her other patients were going through. She closed her eyes, as if she were taking a nap. She was remembering her own past. Only with her neighbour's son, a left-alone teen with nothing to do when school was out for the summer. "And how is that possible when I have to live with the memories, every second of my life?" Lorna cried often. Dr. Bell helped her more than she imagined it would. Releasing all those fears and the stress inside of her was relieving and comforting. "You are not alone, Many children and women have been through what you had to endure. It's more common than you think. You are all survivors. We have group therapy as well if your interested." Her doctor wanted to help her. Lorna was special, talented and had a future ahead of her. She didnt turn to drugs or other things women did that went through the horrific ordeal of those awful things. Lorna was lucky to get out at a young age too, she had courage and strength. If only Lorna could believe in herself spiritually, emotionally Dr. Bell pondered wishfully . *** Prince Charming and carriages were not part of the plan for her. Lorna knew that and self-talked herself as a survival technique to get out. 'I know I did something bad, he hates me.' She'd cried herself to sleep so many nights she had to hide her tear-stained pillowcases under the bottom of the dirty laundry pile so noone would find them. 'I will get out of here. Hell won't last forever?? I am going as far away from this town as possible and him.' She would continue to remind herself of that promise. Note to self. *** Her parents home back then was filled with the usual stuff most people had, a red wall phone that you actually had to dial with your fingers. A floor model RCA tv set that one had to get off the sofa to change the chanels or volume. She had a small record player in her room and collected single's. Loretta Lynn, David Cassidy, a few Beatle's and others that were popular back then. She loved to read teen novels, and listen to her records. Her goldfish bowl sat on her dresser, which by now would be an antique. She kept a little box in the last drawer with a key on it. Inside some cash and her diary. Every day she wrote about her day, and her dreams. Her family and her few friends. She wrote about daddy too, but it wasn't kind and often scratched out words. Internal fear. Cash was collected by doing odd jobs, babysitting, dog walking, or sweeping leaves for Mrs. Cabash two houses down North 21st street, and paper routes. She had saved enough to leave and then some. Her brothers often teased her about the way she began to dress, calling her a prude or prissy missy. She made sure to carefully, no, cautiously select her clothing. Nothing showed, and short shorts that were so popular then were not part of her attire at all. "What's up missy prissy, kind of hot to wear jeans today and long sleeves." Her brothers would taunt her as they left the house in mid-July when temps soared. "Leave your sister alone and be home by dark. We're having a bbq tonight." Her mother would scold them. And turn her back the other way after that. Lorna only had herself to defend. She never did want anything from that house. Lorna finally did leave after she got accepted into Berkley to do her Computer Science degree and then her first job at a fairly reputable software company. The work was challenging, fun, her colleagues decent and her boss lady ruled the empire of high tech. Lorna had gotten herself a fantastic apartment with a view in L.A., and she loved her life just the way it was. "Thanks Sid, just me and my Netflix tonight, just had dinner sorry." She spoke to one of her neighbours. Sid always liked her but knew she was aloof and not interested in guys. Such a pretty gal too, he thought admiring her long legs in the summer when she wore her shorts. "Can't blame a guy for trying. You should go out more often, it would do you good." He set the pace for friendship more than a hit on. No point in pressuring the lady. "Sure, I will keep that in mind. Thanks Sid, see ya." And she lay back into her soft bed as the wind outside picked up and she searched for something. Anything but romance films. *** Lorna hid under her covers after he left her room late that night, sneaking around and watching her always she felt back then. His eyes bore down on her tiny body making her feel uneasy and scared. Even when she was littler and had to have her baths she would never want him there, only her mom. "No, mummy, he has to leave." She would not even look at him then as he stood in the doorway of the bathroom while the tub was running and bubbles were foaming. Her mother played dumb-ass, or she didnt care. Lorna wanted her to know how scared she was of him but could never tell her. She'd hoped her signals and fear of being alone with him was enough but Mryta never said a word then. Willy, Sam and Paul, her brothers just did their own thing and were clue less. She was the baby after all. Her mom acted like nothing was ever wrong with their perfect American middle-class working family. Morning would arrive and life would carry on as usual. Lorna kept her secrets and fears to herself and tried to stay away from him as much as possible, and she learned how to hide. Closets became her refuge - going outside as much as possible was escape from hell. Self-concsience was a way of life her body became her enemy, and she was only 10. She knew more than should have then and now. But she got smarter than him. Eventually. Her dark demons were always nearby - she learned to put them aside. *** The boys had built a treehouse out of some old planks. It was shabby, but solid up in the maple on the side of the yard. She often would climb up there when they were not home and sit quietly, and felt safe there. The birds would chirp around the top of that tree and the wind would rustle the leaves in the fall. She brought up an old blanket to wrap herself in when it got colder. It was her haven then - that treehouse was one of the only memories she loved growing up. Lorna left home after graduation and happy to do so. Myrta cried her eyes out, her brothers wished her the best and saw her off at the bus station with her one suitcase. He hung back from them, shuffling his feet in the dust not even waving goodbye. "I hope you rot someday in hell." She'd thought to herself, then hating herself for even thinking those thoughts. Always the same old argument with her soul, she tried to bury them deep down, and keep them there. She eventually got to hate that house. She hated the lifestyle there back then now. So, after carving herself a whole new life in this modern world of technology and, doing very well for herself with designer clothes, a kick-ass designer apartment and a nicely paced lifestyle she was free. *** He came into her room late in the night sometimes. She had begun to grow into puberty now, taller and slim. Lorna was quiet most of the time, and he knew she never mentioned what he wanted. He crept up to her bed and sat down halfway from where her lay away from him, facing the other wall. She felt sick to her stomach, the probing would begin. Light, feather touches at first. Then more aggressive rubbing on her legs and back. She stopped breathing while he carried on.....and after he left she would throw up in her small beach bucket she hid under her bed. You know, the ones kids brought to make sandcastles with that were all those pretty pastel colors. Her giant stuffed green bunny that he'd given her when she was three sat on her pillows. She threw it face down and hit the bed with it over and over again and cried herself to sleep. She was 8 then. He died four years ago from cancer. Lorna flew back to Chicago to go to the funeral and left not long after, two days. People came and went bringing food, and offering condolences. Willy pulled her over the next morning to talk to her. "Sis, what happened with you and daddy?" He came right out. He could hear things going on back then and he didnt like it. Not one bit. He swore he would kill him if he touched his sister again. But he never said a word. He knew Lorna was leaving anyway. "Nothing. Just leave it alone." She turned away to look for something else to do. This was not a conversation she wanted ot have. Her own world was safe. Her "now" world was good. She didnt want to go back to 1979. Ever. "Fine, but I know something went down. I hated him after you left and I will always hate him." Willie lowered his voice as he spoke - with so much compassion Lorna felt sad leaving. He was her favorite breau. He would always have her back, then and now. "I am leaving in the morning, love you tons." She hugged him long and hard. She couldn't look at the tears that slipped down his cheeks....... *** Myrta passed away from heart failure the year after she moved to L.A. Her mother's heart finally gave in, and she no longer had the strength. She died peacefully in her home. Lorna went back to help her brothers pack things up, and put the house up for sale. She had lived so long now burying her past deep inside of her. Even going back now was not as hard as she thought it would be. All the furniture was the same, except a new phone, and a new TV set. Air conditioning had been put in later as well. New carpets. But basically everything stayed the same. Her room had been re done too but same bed, same dresser. Same curtains hung with the frilly tops and square hemmed edged bottoms in pink and white cotton flowers. She used to love how the sunshine seeped in during summer, and the familiar sounds of traffic outside, and dogs barking in the distance. Those years of past memories didnt last long however, and when she endured him sneaking around into her room that oversaw any nostalgia. Lorna only lived to forget him and that house. Lorna had gone through her mom's photo albums, hardly even knowing who her relatives were from their side. They rarely came to visit or called. She wondered why all of a sudden why her mom never spoke of them. Her grandfather stood taller than the family did, he had dark creepy eyes that seemed to stare back at her. Lorna shivered as she closed the photo album. If nobody wanted it she would toss it. **** EPILOGUE **** She planned on taking a road trip to Mexico for a month after the house was sold. She bought a camper and invited Sid to go with her for companionship. "Well, I guess I could go, why not. Never been myself, just too busy working and doing whatever." And so, plans were made. Lorna was grateful for his kindness. Her little diary was full of course, but she still kept it locked in the safe that once held her running away money. But she no longer wrote that way now. She no longer felt the need. The house was sold within months after the sign was out front. It was a cozy home in a quiet suburb area. It still held the charm of the 50s, with some of the fences still in tact and well kept lawns. Lorna never went back there. She forgave her family for their ignorance, her mother for her lack of protecting her when she should have. Her brothers for being themselves, and lastly, without further adieu - her daddy. Who hurt her, made her feel unsafe, dirty and violated. The anger she consumed encrusted inside her like a filthy shroud, and it was time she had learned to let it go. She began to pack as her I-phone playlist pulled up the blues music with her built in blue-tooth speaker system making it sound like a theatre. She danced around getting her passport out and her personal items. "Mexico, here I come", She happily told her empty suite. THE END


I WAS THE LIAR WHO WON “Get your ass over there!” I shout at my comrades, as the enemy starts to creep in. I turn my attention back to her and watch the blood pool around her lifeless body. The thick, dark crimson blood that filled her entire being. I kneel beside Robin and look at her horror-stricken eyes, the same pale green eyes, that would watch me jealously, as I kissed a girl I did not love. I shut her eyelids, not wanting to feel the pain over her death all over again, and stand up.

“Get rid of the body, now,” I hiss at a man passing by and he nods. “Yes, Lieutenant Seyton,” He salutes and I tuck my gun back in its holster, before creeping out of the battlefield, leaving behind the body of Robin Whitmore.  I smile as I race up the building’s stairs, I’m close to being reunited with the ones that I lost. I unlock my apartment door, hoping Camille won’t notice Robin’s disappearance. I think about it for a hot minute, then forget about it, Camille won’t care, she’s a selfish woman. “Cami, I’m home!” I grin widely as I push open the door and the girl flashes me a pearly white smile. “Lear!” She cries and hugs me, pulling me close. “Woah there,” I smirk, “Someone’s excited to see me,” and Camille laughs. “You’re a darling, Lear Dear,” She gives me a mock pout, “I was just so lonely! Being by myself is no fun,” She takes my hand and pulls me over to the couch, “It’s okay now that you’re here with me,” She kisses my cheek before collapsing onto the sofa. She sighs, running a hand through her long, wavy auburn hair. “Do you ever just…” She begins before closing her mouth and shuts her eyes. “Do I ever just…?” I prompt, and keeping her eyes closed, she continues. “Do you ever wonder if this war is going to end? I know it’s only been two weeks since we’ve had a brutal fight like this… but how did our world become so divided?” I blink, Camille’s never been a thinker, I guess we learn something new every day. “I’ve never really thought about it,” I admit, the gears in my head are turning. I’m going to have to kill Camille… but can I do it? I shot Robin with no hesitation because she was already dead. Just an empty shell of a body, walking with no true purpose. “That’s alright. A topic for another day then, I suppose,” Camille whispers before pressing her lips against mine. She crawls closer to me, sitting in my lap, and I desperately wish it was Robin sitting before me. But Robin is dead. The two of us sit there for a minute or two before I stand up. “Hey, we should get something to eat,” I remind Camille and she nods. We make our way into the kitchen in silence. Something in our dynamics has changed, is it because Robin isn’t home? No, that can’t be right. This has to be something else. Camille pours hot water out of the kettle and she stabs the noodles, as they begin to go soft. “Where’s Robin?” She murmurs under her breath, surprising me. “I didn’t think you cared, Cami. It doesn’t matter where she is,” “Well, I do care Lear. I know you love her more than you love me,” I look over to her in disbelief, “You’re not the only one who hides their true feelings, Lear,” She continues in her angelic-like voice that could send me to sleep if the horrors of my past didn’t keep me up at night. “I- What? What do you mean?” I ask, without having to fake my curiosity. “You heard me, Lear. I know you pretend you love me, I know you would choose her over me any day, and I also know that you’re a fucking traitor.” Camille digs her hand into her back pocket, pulls out a gun, loads the trigger and aims it at my face. “Why did you kill her, Lear? I saw it from the window, you idiot. You thought you could get away with shooting someone on our side. You’re such a hypocrite, you know that? Saying you hate people on the opposite side, who try to kill us when you’re the Lieutenant for the opposition, and you kill people like it’s normal. Doesn’t it hurt? To know that you are the reason someone is no longer living.” I let out a hysterical laugh, doubling over, this girl is a joke. “I don’t want to shoot you, Lear, don’t tempt me,” “Well, then the feeling’s mutual. Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” “Ah, so I was just eye candy to you. Thought as much,” “I’m serious Camille. I don’t want to shoot you,” “And yet you shot the love of your life? My sincerest apologies, but I don’t believe a damn word that comes out of your mouth,” “You think you know everything, but you wouldn’t understand,” I hiss and then it’s her turn to laugh. “I wouldn’t understand?!” She cackles but without humour. “You’re funny Lear Dear. Hilarious. I shot my brother because at that moment, I thought it was the right thing to do. You know what Nicholai said when I put the gun to his temple? He said he was glad. GLAD. That I was shooting him, and that I did him a favour because he had no more will to live, and I couldn’t stop him. I watched my parents rip each other’s throats out and I witnessed my sister sacrifice herself because she thought she was doing it for me. So cut the crap, Lear. The only thing I don’t get,” She pauses, her hand not wavering the slightest as she keeps the gun aimed at my head. “I don’t understand why you became a traitor just to kill Robin. Why the Hell would you think shooting your ‘crush’ is a good idea?!” I turn away from my opposition and pull my gun out of its holster.

“Who’s the hypocrite now? You shot your brother and I shot my lover. Looks like we’re on the same plain now. However, I did what I had to,” I mutter and raise my arm, both of us a second from shooting each other. I blink, lowering my gun, “I’m not going to kill you, Camille. I shot Robin because I loved her. Because there was nothing left of her, she was empty, like she didn’t have a soul. It hurt to see her living like a mess every day. So I suppose you could say I did her a favour,” Cami puts down her gun and slurps up some noodles. “Wow, threatening,” I announce in a deadpan voice and she throws a fork at me. “It would be so easy for me to shoot you right in the heart, but I have decided I might shoot your mouth so you can shut up. We both declared we weren’t going to attack each other. If you’re keeping your word, then I can eat my noodles in peace, is that okay with you Lieutenant?” She scoffs, before continuing to eat. “Fine, but when we’re both on the battlefield, I might not spare you,” “Duly noted. Now, if we’re going to live in this same apartment, you better watch your step,” She adds before taking her cup and continues to eat her food, eyeing me up and down from the couch. Thoughts race through my head. We both know the truth, I am a traitor and I killed Robin. And I don’t regret it, not when her life was living Hell. And now… well, now I’m watching Camille eat her lunch, which is oddly perplexing when seconds earlier, we had guns pointed at each other’s head. “Camille,” I suddenly speak up, breaking the silence. She sets down her cup of noodles and looks at me, her eyes daring me to go on. “We’re not going to talk about Robin again, okay? And on that matter, we’re not going to talk about all of this. Otherwise, you leave me no choice, I will shoot you as I did to Robin,” “You’re an idiot, Seyton. Although, we can’t have everything. Life isn’t fair even to those who deserve it,” “Are you implying that you’re worthy of life’s fairness? Last time I checked you committed homicide when you shot your brother. That doesn’t sound pretty fair to me,” “Your idea of ‘fair’ is distorted and very different from mine. So you can stop talking now,” She demands, turning her back to me, and I take that as a cue to leave her alone. If she keeps going at this rate, she’ll piss me off so much I will have to kill her. I storm off to my room, pulling out my phone and scroll through my last messages with Robin. There’s a lot of teasing and joking around but I can see how half-hearted the conversations become by the end. A pang in my heart forms and I sit up, I’m going to do as much as I can to win this godforsaken war.

Robin used to love counting the days since special events. And if I’ve done my maths correctly, it’s been five weeks, twenty-two hours, sixteen minutes and a few seconds since this war started. It was a small rivalry first. The Emperor of the East, Heath Smythe-Lockridge and the Emperor of the West, Algerone Rothschild weren’t always merciless Emperors. It was the classic best friends turned enemies over jealousy, who fought for the same woman. Their descendants were now the rulers on the throne, and the citizens were caught right in the middle of it all. I had been born and raised in the East, but it was a general from the West who told me I could avenge my family. I had known they were manipulating me, they had just wanted to convert as many Easterns to fight with the West. Now I'm too far in, I can't escape the life I set out for myself. And for what? To see Robin again? Even Camille knows it's impossible. I shot my best friend and the love of my life for something no one could give me. I put my phone down, and look out the window. I've made my decision, I've already decided to betray my side, but now I'm going to pull a reckless feat. I'm going to sabotage the side I joined, and make up for all the lives I ended. Even if Camille doesn't believe I've decided to turn a new leaf, then so be it, I never needed her approval anyway. Sabotaging the Western side is stupid and reckless, but the only thing I can do to end this war. Not only is it the only thing I can do, but it’s also probably going to be my last. ~ I rub my eyes wearily, it's easy to say I'm going to sabotage the West, but planning it out and doing it is going to be a lot harder. This is how it's going to work. Phase One is to exterminate the first group of soldiers, as Lieutenant, I know some of the patrols’ locations and times. Before the changeover, I'll plant the small supply of grenades I have left, in that area. Once I pull out the pins, it'll only be a matter of time before they go off. And once they do, the soldiers will be killed, if any of them happen to live, I'll shoot them before they can call for backup. The explosion will no doubt catch other guards' attention, so then I'll move onto Phase Two. The next round of soldiers will send some of their men and leave their station. They'll rush over, but by then, I'll be gone. Once their station is unguarded except for a few men, I'll shoot them down. Phase Three starts then. I've already written a note to Camille, telling her and some soldiers from the East to go to the open area. The place will be defenceless since the soldiers will be dead. That is their chance to rush the Western’s temporary base, leading to a win in that zone.

What am I going to do after that? Turn myself in. Robin wouldn’t have wanted me to roam free when I knew I'd committed treason and several crimes. No one on this Earth would want me to run free. I spend the rest of the day organising my plan, making sure all my timing is correct and refining my methods. Camille doesn't bother me, but at some point, I hear the door to Robin’s old room slam, and after that, I hear crying. Not that I can do anything to help her, since I'm the reason for her tears. Not when she’s living with the man who killed several of their people. The Eastern Empire would never let me get away, they'd probably kill me, but that's fine with me. As long as this plan succeeds, I'll be fine. Until then, Robin will have to keep waiting for me a little longer. Early the next morning, I pack all my things together, knowing this is the last time I'll be in my apartment.

“I’m sorry Mum. I'm sorry I broke my promise of being the best I could be. I'm apologising to you too Dad. Even though I never listened, even though I had the best teacher right in front of me, I ignored you. I'm the most apologetic to you Robin Whitmore. I never lied, you know, I did it all for you. I knew you couldn't cope with it any longer, I saw the pain in your eyes every day once your mother died. I regret that I never told you I loved you.” I whisper, my eyes closed before I open them again and quietly shut my bedroom door for the last time. Gathering all my supplies, I leave the note on the kitchen counter and softly close the door. I mutter a goodbye to my home and run down the building’s stairs, to finish what I started. In five minutes flat, I make it to the right location and wait two minutes and thirty-nine seconds before pulling out the grenades’ pins. I hide behind the rubble of the building; my timing is nearly perfect as the soldiers walk right into my trap. I cover my ears with the muffs and watch the sky blow up, stone, blood and dirt going everywhere. Phase One has been completed, and no one has survived. I rush onto Phase Two, racing to the second station, carefully slipping through the shadows of the buildings. When I’m halfway there, I stop, and hide behind a wall, hearing the soldiers race to the explosion site. I smirk, I was right, they sent half of their team, leaving five men in the base. I continue to run towards the base, pulling out my gun, shooting as I run. One down. I hide behind an overturned car, before firing again. Two down. I pick up a stray piece of metal, throwing it at two of them, and while they’re distracted, I shoot them both. Four down. The final one sneers at me,

“Well well well, the Lieutenant is a traitor… whose side were you on, Seyton?” I don’t reply, firing right at his heart, and he crumples the ground, body limp.

That’s Phase Two complete, and I let out a laugh. I’m already onto Phase Three, it won’t be long before Camille arrives, and I’ll turn myself in.

“Lear! What on Earth is going?!” I smile, say her name and she will come.

“I’m surprised you read my note,”

“What do you mean you’re surprised? I find a note with my name on it, of course, I’ll read it,” “Oh, right. Well, you know what to do,” is all I say, and the soldiers from the East start rushing in. They infiltrate the Western’s base, taking down the tents and any soldiers in their way. The men from Phase Two have returned, but they’re shot dead instantly, with no time to fire or call for help. “Lear Seyton, you have helped us a great deal” I turn to one of the general’s of the East, knowing what is about to come. The battle for today is over, which means so is my freedom.

“However, you are a traitor. We cannot confirm your intentions, nor can we say you are innocent or guilty. We are putting you under arrest, no retaliation or-” “Ok, let’s go,” “Pardon?” “Let’s go. I was planning to turn myself in, so here I am. Do you want to leave now?” I hold my hands and wrists out, and someone snaps some handcuffs over them. “Wait, Lear, why are you doing this?” Camille pushes her way over to me, and I shrug, “I suppose it was the right thing to do, Robin would hate me for it so…” “Oh, right. It was nice knowing you Lear, well, the nicer part of you anyway,” “The feeling’s mutual,” I reply, Robin’s voice echoes in my head, the first words she had ever said to me, as they take me away. “You know Lear, I think you’re someone who’s going to go far in life, whether that be good or bad, but in the end, you’ll give into good.”