The snow crunched under the man’s feet, briskly passing by the Spruce trees. Wails and howls are heard from the distance, bellowing throughout the darkened forest. The wolves of Nyerdermor have found him. “Where’s a bow and arrow when you need one!” the man jumps over a fallen log, quickly regaining balance, the wolves’ cries nearing his position. His thick fur coat was the only thing that kept his skin from certain death, but damn was it heavy! Pristine blue eyes shine under the radiant moonlight as he takes off his woolen hood. A cave slowly comes into his vision, it was his only respite for now, those damned canines were only getting faster. The mysterious man rushes into the mouth of the cave, narrowly avoiding sharp stalactites forming at it’s entrance. The cave itself was deep and dark, water droplets created from the humidity inside. He thought that it was safe, until small scuffles echo from the back of the crevice. “What was that!” a silver knife is taken out from a hidden sheathe. The scuffling noises suddenly stop. “Show yourself, you bastard!” The blade of the silver knife shatters into sharp pieces. “Argh!” The man falls back, wondering how the hell that happened. “Viribus Meis!” He holds his gloved hand in the direction of the sound. It lights up in a bright yellow hue, engulfing his entire arm. “Solvo!” The yellow light quickly rushes into the middle of the man’s palm, forming into a sphere of dense light. He pulls back his arm, orb of light in hand, and stretches it forward with great force! The ground cracks due to the immense force emitted by the giant beam of light, the entire cave shattering from the raw strength of the beam. It blows a gigantic hole straight through the cave, leaving an opening as large as the cave itself. The foundations start crumbling, and stalactites start falling from the ceiling. The man rushes out as the cave is buried in stone and rubble. “What the hell?” The man gazes upon the sight in extreme confusion. A boy in rugged clothing floats above the newly created opening he’s just made. His eyes are filled with blue energy, azure flames dancing around him. He points his hands toward the man, mimicking the stance the man created earlier. “Universum Solvo!” The boy shouts, all the blue flames congregating between his outstretched palms. They whirl together in a harmonious balance and create a giant orb of blue flame. In one quick gesture, the entire orb disperses into multiple beams of blue light that circle around the man. The blue beams randomly go around the even more confused man, obliterating anything in their vicinity. Unbeknownst to the man, the Nyedremor wolves jumped at him right at the second the blue beams were released, easily destroying the magical creatures. The following wolves turning back and retreating, smart enough to know that they can’t beat this boy. “Damn, Kid….” The man still fixes himself on the boy’s sheer power. That is, until he falls from the sky, losing his shining blue eyes and blue flame. The man leaps up to catch the boy from falling to his death. He lands under a thick layer of snow, laying him on top of it. Instead of the blue light that emanated from the child earlier, he possessed jet black hair and black pupils. Any and all signs of magical power absent, the only mark being a small scratch mark on the boy’s neck. It still glowed faintly with blue light. The man’s home was near the horizon, the smoke billowed from the still lit fireplace. Yet he still thought about the sleeping boy in front of him. He looked to be living in that cave before he arrived, and he looks to have been far away from any town. All that unkempt power… He shudders to imagine what heights the boy’s abilities can reach if not properly controlled. “It’s decided then.” He thinks to himself while lifting the boy up and laying him on his shoulder. The boy would be his own, and he’ll be safe from ever destroying anything again. “Huh? Where am I?” Salvador thinks to himself, remembering he had just been inside a cave. Obviously waking up in a warm, fur bed made him very confused. He stands up, putting his bare feet on the warm wooden floor. The room he was in was quite spacious, even more than that cave was! Salvador looks at the stairs beside the bed he woke up from, it leading down to a larger area. He walks down the stone steps, admiring the shields, artworks, and items attached to the wall. “Oh look, you’re awake.” Salvador’s eyes flicker to the voice. It was a man wearing a long, fur coat and leather armor. He seemed to be eating a large piece of pork, accompanied by red sauce, garlic and strong ale. His stomach grumbled to his discontent, and to the man’s pleasure. He laughs and offers him a chair adjacent to him on a small table. Still very hungry, he rushes to sit on the chair, the hearty meal making him lose all sense. He delves into the pork first, finishing it a few bites. The chewy meat giving him a massive wave of euphoria. He hasn’t been able to taste things like this ever since he abandoned his village! It really was worth the wait. The only thing that he didn’t like was, well, the man staring at him thoughtfully, never even taking a moment to blink. :”E-excuse me sir? Is there anything wrong” The man snaps from his mind and returns with his big , warming smile. “No nothing. It’s quite alright. But I do have a few questions of my own.” The child lets him continue. “What’s your name?” “Salvador.” He replies blankly. “No last name?” Salvador shakes his head. “Well Salvador.” The man leans back onto his chair. “ You can call me De’Vour, or Dev for short.” “Okay Sir Dev.” “ Do you want to know why I brought you here?” Salvador again shakes his head. “Well, it is because of the way you easily dispatched the Nyedermor wolves yesterday.” Salvador’ face turns into a look of confusion. “Wolves? What wolves?” “Hrrgh.” He was unconscious the entire time, yet he killed them like he was stomping on ants! “A-are you okay Sir?” the man was already heavily breathing. “Huh? Oh yes of course.” He regains his composure, but he was still troubled. “Do you realize what power you hold?” Another head shake. Now he was just plain choking. A child like this, lost in the woods! He began to wonder what else this stupid forest hid. What next, a sword made of light? “W-Well Salvador, you have extraordinary powers that you seem to have no understanding, control, or even knowledge of.” Oh did the thought make him dizzy. “Who are your parents? Do you have any family, relatives?” “No sir. The last person I’ve come across was a trader, and he didn’t even see me.” No parents. No understanding or ability to control his power. It was almost too perfect for him to have found the child at such a moment. He contemplated it. And again, and again. And again….. “Well child, I will be your new guardian! I will teach you the ways of magic if my name weren’t De’Vour, the great Elder Lord of Vyertemus!” “Really! That’s awesome!” The child smiled in great delight. It was going to be a long couple of years.


The first to arrive is Julia, I know her, she wears bright red lipstick and her hair is the color of the night sky. She looks like a porcelain doll, like the ones in the glass cabinets at my friend Beth's house. One that will never crack is what my mom says. Julia comes from what my mother calls hill billies. I don't know what those are but Julia sometimes talks real slow, and her words have a funny accent. One night after a couple of glasses of the bitter juice my mom always serves, she said, "I ahm a prohhhper Holly go Lightly, I left my sweet country husband for the bright lights of the big city, Ghabby." My mom's name is Gabrielle, I learned this on my sixth birthday, before then she was only my mom, the woman the woman who sings me lullabies and braids my hair. Now at the ripe age of nine I am more mature, I have responsibilities, I feel proud as I refill Julia's glass of bitter juice. The next to Arrive is my babysitter Lydia. My mom and Lydia have been friends since they were my age. They grew up across the street from one another on the Lower East Side. "Hola nina." She greets me with a kiss after I reach out a plastic cup of bitter juice to her. "I see you've broken out the fine china Gabriella." She says. "Delilah insists on joining us tonight, so she has a job to do." My mother shouts from the kitchen as she puts the finishing touches on dinner. "Delilah, you're a big girl now." Lydia says as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. I've always admired Lydia's big brown curls, ever since I was a little girl. I would lose my hands in it every time she would pick me up to cover my cheeks in kisses. Soft tendrils framed her face and her locks were soft and carried the fragrance of a tropical island, from the coconut oil she used as conditioner. The final twist to my mother's princess cut clan, arrived as julia and Lydia were in the throes of their latest relationship news. I'm not sure how she heard the faint knock at the door, but when my mother opened it, she received our guest with a huge hug, shielding her face from my view. "I'm so glad you could make it." My mother releases her embrace, and I can see it is Briar. I've met her before, she's quiet, not like my mom's other friends, who speak as if the grown up world is full of intrigue. Briar is also the most ordinary of the quadruplicate. Her skin is pink and fleshy in my mother's africanish hand. Her hair is thin and sandy blonde, much more modest than Julia's onyx retro curls, and Lydia's dusky ringlets. "I was just about to put dinner on the table." My mother says. As she's led to the table Briar gives me a brief wave, I wave back and follow them towards the dining room table, but stop at the threshold. Both Julia and Lydia stand up for Briar and my mom, but really just for Briar. They dote on her and stroke her hair. I wonder what's happened to her. She doesn't visit as often as Julia, and I haven't spent time with her as I have Lydia, and my mother never mentioned some sort of disaster happening to one of her friends. "Come Delilah." My mother beckons from the dining room table. "Put the wine on the table and wash up for dinner." I step over to the table as my mother heads to the kitchen. She has baked chicken, and as she opens the oven door the warmth and scent is enveloping. Suddenly my mouth waters and I rush to the bathroom to wash my hands. When I return the salad bowl is being passed around the table and I take my seat beside Lydia. My mother sits beside Briar, and Julia politely protests being at the head. "I only sat here for the cocktails, I didn't know I'd be the head of the table." "Enjoy it like a queen, and we're your loyal subjects." Says my mother. This causes Julia to throw her head back with laughter. "Grape juice Delilah?" Lydia asks as I fill my plate with crispy lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers. "Yes please." I feel like one of the ladies as Lydia fills my glass. Julia raises her's, "Let's have a toast to good friends who love and Suhhpport one another." She drawls out. "Who are always here for one another in a crisis." Lydia raises her glass, "You too Dee." She says to me and I raise my cup and toast with the big girls. " What kind of crisis?" I ask after taking a sip. "The kind that leaves you feeling all alone, but then you realize you have friends." Says my mother. "The earthquake and tsunami type of disaster in the form of a man." Says Lydia. "Tha kind where when you turn around, the village has your back." Says Julia. "The kind where your boyfriend disappears." Briar concludes. "Oh… I'm sorry…" It must be one of those times where I ask a question that mother says isn't polite, because there is an uncomfortable silence, although it took some time to get there. " I never told you, but Briar lost a loved on a while ago at this time." My mother tells me. "A while ago? When?" "You were just a toddler." "When I was a toddler Briar's boyfriend disappeared?" "Murdered, my boyfriend was murdered." Briar informs. The room is silent, I don't know what I feel, it feels like sympathy, curiosity and surprise all rolled into one. But mostly surprise. "You never told me about that." I side eye my mom. "Why would she tell you about that, you're just a baby you don't need to know about these harsh realities." Says Lydia. "I'm not a little girl anymore." The table chuckles. "It was a very unfortunate event, one that's been hard for Briar to put behind her. We're sooo glad you could make it out tonight Briah." Grins Julia. "It was rough on all of us actually, and I wanted to wait until you were older to tell you about it." My mother tip toes. "The truth is it was a horrible relationship and the authorities first pointed the finger at me." Briar says. "They pointed a finger at everyone at this table." Lydia says. "But none of us lost a loved one." Says my mom. "But it was a horrible relationship…" I ponder. "That doesn't mean I didn't love him." Says Briar. "Love is complicated." Says Julia. "So complicated you could die?" I ask. "Just turn on the news." Answers Lydia. "Of course you have to be careful who you see." Says my mom. "His name was Lane," Julia pauses, "is this ok?" She asks Briar. "It's fine" She answers. "And because of his actions we didn't approve of him, so the police questioned us." "What were his actions?" I ask. "Well," Julia continues to chime, "he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering or his hands to himself, and since I smacked him hard enough on the cheek to leave a mark, the police found me suspicious." "Did you get arrested?" "We weren't arrested, just questioned." Answers Lydia. "Why were you questioned?" "Because he was inappropriate to my baby niece at a family barbecue I invited Briar to and I fought with him." "That doesn't sound like a reason to suspect you of murder." "I told him I would murder him if he ever went near her again, very loudly, in a public park." "Oh…" "And since my niece was only twelve at the time, they couldn't blame me if I flew into a rage and killed him, at least that's what my interrogator said. "Yes, they said a lot of things." says my mom. "Did you fly into a rage?" "Yes but not in public." "Why?" "When you were a baby, Briar and I planned on embarking on a business venture together. Lane promised to invest our money and double it. Briar and I emptied our savings accounts and handed him the money. But his so called investments were bad, and we lost our savings." "So you fought with him too." "And since I was a single mother on a budget, that gave me motive." "And you stayed with him? I ask Briar. "I stayed with him through a lot of things. I had thought he would pay your mom and me back, but he never did. What he did do was hit me every time I asked him to try and repay us." Briar's eyes are sad as she tells me this. "So… You all pulled throughout it together?" "The same way his ass was pulled to his grave." Briar says. The table goes silent again. "Everyone ready for the main course?" Asks my mother. The table hums in agreement, and she goes to the kitchen. Today I am I big girl, today I have friends like my mother's and I've baked a chicken. I'm sipping my glass of bitter juice when the door bell rings. I've always liked dinner parties, ever since I was a little girl.


“Oh, Sweetie! Your antlers are starting to grow in!” said Artemis' mother as she ran her hand through her daughter's hair. “And just before your tenth birthday, too”! She pinched one with her cloven fingertips and tried to wiggle it at the base of her scalp. “Soon enough you'll be walking on hooves- just like your mother”! She rubbed her head one last time before walking into the kitchen with lithe steps that faintly clacked on the wooden floor. Artemis felt strange yet normal as she watched her walk out of the room. The moment she was out of sight, she too ran her hands through her hair to feel two hard nubs protruding from her skull. She remembered father saying things like this were normal for all humans though and tried to calm herself down. She looked down at her feet; they were small- but she was happy to see she still had all her toes. Caught off-guard, she jumped as the door flew open behind her. “I'm home, everyone!” boomed father's thunderous voice while he struggled to fit his horns through the doorway. Tall and bovine; he was as much a bull as he was a man. He towered over Artemis and almost stepped on her as he entered. He was still wearing his blood-speckled uniform from the slaughterhouse as he walked into the kitchen and hugged mother. Slim and cervine, one could easily have mistaken her for a doe were she not standing upright. She seemed to be almost engulfed by his enormous frame as Artemis watched. As they embraced, mother whispered something into his ear. He raised a brow, knelt down, and motioned for Artemis to come over. As she walked up to him he held his massive hand over her skull and gently rubbed her antlers. With a grin, he then grabbed Artemis and lifted her up in his arms. “My baby girl is finally growing up”! Artemis smiled, but still didn't feel right deep down. What was supposedly something almost everyone experiences somehow still felt strange to her; she was nervous. She looked at her father with timid curiosity on her face. “Dad? Why are my antlers important”? Father turned to mother and saw her smile almost joyously at the question. “Because we saved a lot to make you this way, Artemis. I don't know if you've gone over it in school yet- but Humans are... malleable. His beady brown eyes shot around as he thought of the best way to explain as Artemis didn't seem to understand. “The stuff that makes up other kinds of other animals makes us into... what we are. We made sure to make you something different- like your mother but more... exotic”. “And a little like me, too.” he chuckled. “You know what? Try asking mother later- I'm sure she can explain better than I can. I'm a butcher not a biologist after all”! He held her close as he rubbed her antlers again.“You're going to be our beautiful little gazelle, Artemis”. He then kissed her forehead and set her down. “But why Isn't Alex like you or me”? Father opened the refrigerator, pulled out a metal canister, and handed it to her. “This is why- I'm sure you've seen these before”. Artemis looked over the heavy metal cylinder and she struggled to hold it up. A large green toxic symbol was stamped on one side with the words “DANGER: EULSCENT MATERIAL”. Underneath, in smaller print, it continued “For unaltered infants only! All surrohumans must avoid consumption due to EXTREME TOXCICITY; doing so will also be punishable by the full extent of the law”. Succumbing to it's weight, Artemis set the container on the floor where father picked it back up and placed it back into the fridge. “Some mush for babies; goopy green stuff we're supposed to feed him instead of real food. I've heard that some people say that it's made from plants or something- but I think we know well enough that you can't eat those kind of things”. He carefully opened the canister and winced at the fibrous mash's ferrous stench. “Anyway, supposedly if the likes of you or me try it they say we'll be dead before we knew it. But as long as we feed it to Alex instead of normal food he won't change. Until these aren't sent to us any more, of course. Then we have to start feeding him normal food like we did with you. That's why you're changing and your brother isn't- understand”? He sealed the container and took a deep breath as the smell dissipated. “But why does he have to stop eating it”? Father took a long sigh and looked down at Artemis with a pensive glance. His tail swayed from side to side. “Look Artemis- You're too young to get how things are”. As he finished, heavy knocking came from the door. “Just before dinner? Who would be-”. He cut himself off as he glanced out through the window before quickly shooting away from it. His face was suddenly strained and pale under his brown coat; his eyes wide with fear. With a quiet monotone he tried to throw his voice across the kitchen “Honey- hide Alex”. She shouted back that she couldn't hear him. His voice was muffled by the loud knock of her knife against her cutting board as she prepared dinner. He leaned closer but not so much to be seen from the door's window. “Honey- hide Alex now”. His seemed to simultaneously shout and whisper as he spoke. Again, she said she couldn't hear him and put down her knife.. As walked toward him to ask what he was saying she looked out the window before briskly slinking away with sudden urgency. She paused for a moment and then began to sprint toward Alex's room with wide and wild eyes. Her small and sharp hooves tore and scuffed the floor as she carelessly bolted to him. As whoever was behind the door knocked once again, father wiped his brow with a bloodied rag from his pocket and went to the door. A solitary man stood in the doorway as a van sat parked on the side of the road behind him. They were a perfectly normal human- something Artemis had only seen on television before. They had no scales, no feathers, no pelt, hooves, horns, not even a muzzle like her parents- he was a pure, unaltered human wearing a black ministry uniform and a pair of sunglasses. Even as Father towered above him, he struggled to keep his composure as the man looked at a clipboard in his left hand; his right around a gun in it's holster. Under his breath he mumbled “Adult, male, bovine surrohuman.” as he made a tick on his board. “Check”. “Hello- is this the residence of mister and missus Frahum? His voice was professional and smooth is if what he was saying was said many times before. “Y-yes.” was all father managed to mutter. The man nodded and looked further down the clipboard and lifted a page “And I presume you are Angus; Angus Frahum”? “Yes.” said father almost instantly the moment the man finished talking. The man groveled at his urgency and pointed at another part of the clipboard. “And your wife is... Hera? Hera Frahum? “Y-y-yes.” said father behind chattering teeth. Artemis noticed his entire body was shaking now as the man continued to look down at his board. “Adult? Female? Cervine surrohuman”? “Yes” mumbled father. The man then looked ever so slightly over toward Artemis from behind his glasses, made a small wave, and checked off another part of his clipboard “Child, female, developing surrohuman. Check”. He then stuck his clipboard under his arm and stepped inside. “May I see her”? “Father's eyes darted to Artemis as he wiped a sheen of sweat that had started to appear on his brow with his rag, leaving a crimson stain between his eyes from where it was still wet with blood. “Yes, sir, you can see her- this is Artemis”. He flipped up her hair to reveal her antlers underneath, “As you can see- shes beginning to develop... we're feeding her-”. “Mister Frahum, I was referring to Hera- your wife. Not your daughter. Now by authority of the Ministry of Consumption- I want you to bring her to me... I have to see her”. Father began bawling as he collapsed to the floor. With fully-wide eyes, he looked at Artemis with a pain she never saw in him before. Minutes passed by as father seemed to grieve; the whole time the man stood absolutely silent as he waited for father to recompose himself. The entire time he stood there, the man never let go of the gun on his hip. At last, with an exasperated sigh, father turned down towards the hall where Alex's room was. “Honey- Someone would like to see you. Please... come talk to them”. His voice was almost unrecognizable as he almost choked while speaking. Mother stepped out from Alex's room while trying not to make eye contact with the man who whispered “Check.” after looking her over and making another tick on his clipboard. With short, timid steps, mother walked down the hall. Each time her hooves hit the floor a flat echo seemed to reverberate through the entire house; they were almost deafening amid the silence. She hadn't even gotten halfway down the hallway before Alex's muffled cries could be heard from his room. A look of dread washed over the faces of Artemis' parents as the man began walking toward the source of the crying while holding onto his gun with white knuckles. The three of them quietly stood as they watched him enter the room and listen to the sound of a closet door being opened. Mother hugged Artemis and held her close as tears streamed down her face while father stayed on the floor beside them and grieved. A minute went by before the man emerged into the hall holding Alex in one arm while he held out his gun with his other hand. As he passed mother, he turned to her and said “The ministries thank you for your cooperation in the selection of your child. You are performing a great service”. His voice was cold and robotic as if he was reading the words directly from a script. She looked back at him with all the repressed raged she could muster and was met with the blank gaze the man's sunglasses. “I know how you feel right now- about me, about the ministries... but know this- you are helping keep order”. As he stepped out of the house, another representative of the ministry- as perfectly human as the first- emerged and took Alex toward the van waiting outside. Instead of walking out with his accomplice though- he turned back and walked up of father who was still on the floor. Even sitting down, he was almost eye-level with the man as he spoke to him. “Mister Frahum, If you would be so kind to retrieve the child's rations for me, please”? Between hushed sobs, he nodded, walked into the kitchen and emerged with three of the canisters that he had shown Artemis earlier. One by one he handed them over to the man who placed them in an unmarked sack. The man then placed his hand on father's shoulder and almost climbed up him to speak directly into his ear. “I saw that your wife had a plate of meat in the closet- please thank her for not giving him his first taste”. Father swallowed nervously as he said it to him. “I appreciate her understanding of what would have happened if she did”. He then stepped outside and checked one last box on his clipboard. “Infant, male, pure human- Check”. “You're monsters, you know that- right!?” Shouted father in sudden impotent rage as the man walked away. He stopped, turned around, and took off his glasses. His eyes were piercing blue and locked with father's; his chiseled face was devoid of almost all emotion. “Mister Frahum- we're all born the same.” was all he said before he continued on to the van. The other man placed Alex in the back of the van; on it's side was printed 'Ministry of Consumption' in bold lettering along with the seal of the ministries: a lone human standing stoically while surrounded by a ring of beasts. The two men then got in the front and drove off. “I... I think it's time for dinner, everybody. Everything is already cut and cleaned. Angus, c-could you please get the plates?” Said mother shakily as her eyes stayed fixed on the van as it continued onward into the distance and slowly faded away into the smog. Artemis stood with her and watched it take a turn and disappear altogether from their sight among the maze of factories and slaughterhouses. After a moment, father called them to dinner. They all sat around the table with their meals: beef for father, venison for mother, and a cut of gazelle meat for Artemis. She didn't feel like having anything though as she watched her parents eat; their still-human teeth underneath their bestial muzzles twisted and tore at the flesh in their mouths. Their sorrow seemed to evaporate as they ravenously chewed away. “Dad”? “Yes, Artemis”? “Those people who took Alex- they were humans. Real humans. Why aren't we”? The two of them looked at each other with open mouths still overflowing with raw and bloody meat. “That isn't a conversation for right now, Artemis. Just... just eat, okay?” said father as he went back to slowly chewing his beef. “Your father is right Artemis- just eat your meat. After all- it was expensive to get for you so please be sure to have it! After all, I want you to be my beautiful gazelle”. Artemis silently gazed at the blood-soaked meat in front of her. “Why do you want me to be a... gazelle”? “It was a compromise between me and your mother” said father. “We wanted you to be a little like me and a little like her”. He grabbed another filet from his plate and shoved it into his mouth. “Your mother can't have horns like I can- so we chose to feed you something that should look like your mom but with horns like me, understand? That's why we were so happy to see your antlers growing in”. Artemis continued to stare at the hunk of flesh on her plate. “What if I don't want to change”? “Oh, you know it's too late now for that now, Artemis. You're going to stand out- you're going to be different! Gazelle meat is hard to come by around here, after all. Now eat!” Underneath her encouraging words, Artemis could tell she was frustrated by her question. “Mom, I want to talk to you about this”. “Not now sweetie... Is there anything else you would want to talk about instead?” Said mother nervously. “Yeah- yeah, there is...”. Artemis watched them continue to eat. Even in their ravenous joy, she could still see her parents were shaken by what happened earlier. Father's beady eyes were still strained and wet while mother seemed to nervously twitch and tap her hooves on the floor while she ate. The stress on their faces was still there- no matter how hard they seemed to ignore it while they ate. “Mom”? “Yes Artemis”? “Why did those people take Alex? Is he coming back”? Mother let out a long sigh and uncomfortably shifted herself as she sat in her chair. “You're too young for things like this to concern you. Now don't hesitate, Artemis- have your meal. You're going to be beautiful. After all-”. She paused to swallow and quickly grabbed another cut. “You are what you eat”.


I walk along the beaten dirt path and come closer to the trees. The birds chirp frantically and loudly as I approach and I wonder why. Perhaps I am not welcome here, perhaps they are afraid, or perhaps... As I wonder more I grow panicked. In this moment of panic I am no longer human, but I am prey to a most unsuspecting predator. At least, unsuspecting at a first glance to the average person. But if you were like me, you’d notice their sharp talons at the ends of their feet, perfectly sharpened and eager to sink into vulnerable flesh. Their colourful matted feathers call you to come closer, and just when you’re close enough, you notice the beast glaring right at you, your skin will be reminded of the drugs that penetrated your virgin flesh and forever tainted your life. As you lay in pain on the ground, you’ll notice you are lifeless and yet experiencing the most you’ve ever had in a surge of unclear emotions. The experience is cut short by the sharp pain of an army of birds pecking at your skin until you die. In these moments of suffering, you wish for the release of life’s tight grip on you. The grip that held your hand when you fell off your bike to ensure you could experience life’s purest moments, the grip that pulled you back from the ledge when you didn’t appreciate the hardships that life had dealt you. And now, even after saving you many times, it lets go. Out of sympathy, life lets go and you drift off into a peaceful sleep preluded by pain. Even in death, the birds will forevermore be pecking and pecking at the remains of what once was. I walk deeper into the woods as you drift further away, and the chirping is silenced like my voice in my times of need. Have I been able to get away? I don’t know yet. Am I safe? I don’t know yet. Will I die soon with the same fate as you? All my questions hold answers unclear as my mind and the clouded sky that you left for. I didn’t ever get to say a proper goodbye. Perhaps the unknowingness of when we’re going to die makes the inevitability of death so frightening. We hold on to life so tightly, believing it to be the peak of our existence, but maybe the release of death is true heaven and life is a hell we must endure first to test our worthiness. Life is all we’ve ever known, and we’re not so foolish to let it slip away, so we fight to stave off death, but the harder we fight, the harder death fights back and we only die more painfully. I begin to clear my mind in hopes of reaching the blankness if ourselves during death. My eyelids fall heavily onto my eyes and I allow myself to become vulnerable. I let the sound of the wind fill my body, and with the wind I hear wind chimes. Is somebody nearby? Is there a home I can turn to? Or is this merely a mirage of my own ears, fooling me into thinking I am safe. But I need not be fooled into thinking I am safe if I can find safety in the water that envelops my body like a mother’s hug. My body relaxes as I find peace within myself, and I sink deeper into a never ending dream. In this dream, I can finally say hello again, my friend. I’ve missed you.


Madeline may have felt as if she was making no progress in her search for Liam, but at least the same couldn’t be said of her fighting skills. Just having another human to practice with and discuss strategies with made a world of difference. Though she was still fairly certain that Billie was holding back a little, their bouts were beginning to feel more and more evenly matched. As their search continued, the areas they were combing became further and further from the housing estate where they were both sleeping. Soon, it became necessary to stay the night elsewhere so as not to spend the whole day walking only to check one building. Unfortunately, that also meant decreasing the frequency of their meetings. Between them, they devised a new schedule, based on the weeks the world used to run by. They would each search for six days, travelling to their new sector on the first day and sleeping there until the sixth, at which point, they would return home. The seventh day was then left for rest. And training. And whatever else they wanted to do together. Their meetings were the highlight of her week. Outside that, the long hours alone started to take their toll. While she was busy, Madeline could keep her doubts and fears at bay. But when she settled down to sleep at the end of a long day of searching and finding nothing, the sense of grief and loss that lived in her chest broke free. Billie kept reminding her that every building searched was one crossed off the list. Each day the area left to search got smaller, which was progress in itself. In the moment, the words made her feel better. But in the night, alone and afraid, they were of little comfort. Tonight was one such night, trying to force the images that haunted her out of her mind. The pictures shifted continuously, flicking through her worst nightmares. Liam broken and bloody. Liam captured. Liam dead. She wondered if Billie was lying awake somewhere, struggling to block out thoughts of their brother in the same way. Perhaps she could ask them tomorrow. Though somehow that seemed too personal — too private. Despite how close they’d grown over the past couple of months, they still seemed to avoid talking about the thing that had brought them together — their loss. Eventually, as she did every night when exhaustion won out over worry, Madeline managed to drift off to sleep. Though images of Liam still haunted her dreams. The morning came none too soon, and she was out the door and jogging to the house where she was meeting Billie at the first hint of dawn. A fine drizzle hung in the air, clinging to her hair and skin as she moved through it. Droplets trickled down her face, tickling her until they dropped off her chin. She arrived, breathless but invigorated, to see Billie pottering about in the kitchen. “Morning,” she said as she stepped in. “Good morning to you too,” Billie replied. “You weren’t far behind me this morning. Maybe one of these days you’ll actually beat me here.” Madeline shook her head, squeezing the water from her ponytail. “Like you’d ever let that happen.” “I might!” Billie said indignantly. “I’m not actually that competitive you know.” “If you say so,” Madeline replied as she settled down at the table. Billie set a bowl down in from of her before taking a seat. “You’re one to talk. I still have bruises from our last sparring match.” Pausing with her spoon midway to her mouth, Madeline scoffed. “Please! You have bruises? You should see what I look like underneath all this,” she said, gesturing to her clothes. “Maybe I am competitive, but it’s kind of hard not to be when the other person has to win *every single time.*” “Alright, alright,” Billie chuckled. “Maybe we’re both a little competitive. But if it keeps you training hard I’m not complaining. After all, I have a vested interest in you staying alive.” “As long as I *can* complain,” Madeline said through a mouthful of cereal. “Of course! Our training sessions wouldn’t be the same without your continual soundtrack of moaning and groaning.” Madeline glared at her friend but said nothing as she shovelled the rest of her breakfast into her mouth. When they were done eating, they briefly covered what they’d found over the past week. Though there wasn’t much to report, going over it all somehow helped make it feel as if something had been accomplished. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Billie said once they’d finished, “are you still interested in becoming a part of my group?” The question caught Madeline off guard. She’d answered it so many times in the affirmative, that the answer almost tripped off her tongue. But there was something about the way Billie had said it this time that made something feel different — more serious. Still, she’d come too far to back out now. At the very least, she didn’t want to risk losing Billie’s friendship. “Sure,” she replied. “Why do you ask?” “The next meeting isn’t far away. I wondered if you wanted to come along. Maybe someone there will have seen or heard something useful.” “I can do that? Just turn up?” “If you’re with me, sure. How else do you think we get new people to join?” “Fair point,” Madeline conceded. “So? Want to come?” Madeline’s mind raced. It had been easy to be interested in a hypothetical. Especially when doing so had meant gaining enough trust from Billie for them to pass on what they knew. Now that she was faced with a much more real prospect, it was a different matter. The thought of all those people and the danger that brought… How did she know she could trust them? What if they didn’t trust her? Glancing up, she realised Billie was watching her, cursing herself for not doing a better job of hiding the turmoil that was likely written plain as day on her face. Uncertain what to say, she decided honesty was her best option. “I’m interested, I really am. But…” She trailed off, trying to figure out how to put it into words. “But your nervous?” “Yeah. Before Liam, I hadn’t seen another human for… I don’t know, probably approaching a year. And I hadn’t seen a human who didn’t want to hurt me or steal from me for a lot longer before that. The idea of all those people… it unsettles me. Not to mention the risk from the Poiloogs.” Billie sighed. “I understand. I do. But if they knew I’d been meeting with you and telling you all these things, then didn’t bring you along they would *not* be happy with me.” Something twisted inside Madeline at the thought of the trouble she was causing. With a deep breath, she made up her mind. “In that case, I’ll come.” Billie smiled at her. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.” “I’d better not,” Madeline said, narrowing her eyes playfully. She could only hope that the teasing tone in her voice masked the quiver of nerves beneath. “So when is this meeting? And where?” “It’s in three days' time, right on the edge of the city. So I’m afraid it will interrupt the search a little.” “How much of an interruption?” “It’ll take a day or so to get there, so probably three days total. But it will be worth it to get information from more pairs of eyes.” “How many people will there be?” “It depends. Sometimes it's as few as ten. Sometimes more like fifty.” “And they’ll definitely be okay with me being there.” “Of course!” Billie said, a playful smile spreading across their face. “If not, they’d have me to answer to.” “Now that’s a fearsome thought,” Madeline chuckled. “Is there anything else I should know?” “I don’t think so, just… maybe don’t let on quite how much I’ve told you about them.” “Ooh, have you been spilling secrets you shouldn’t have been?” Madeline asked, poking them lightly in the ribs. Billie squirmed away, giggling. “What can I say? Apparently, I just can’t say no to you.


Cialden and Kytris died eight years apart. Kytris was the first to pass on, as Cialden was much more robust and healthy. Mixed in with caution and a passion for life, it was always expected to be the way of things.

Kytris never really left, and Cialden knew so. He heard her when he was alone in bed. He heard her when the kids came to visit. He heard her in the peculiar way the house-maidens described the eerie feeling of being watched.

So it was no surprise to Cialden when his heart gave out one July evening that his beloved was waiting for him in the afterlife. Together they haunted their haunts, cleaning dirty dishes, lounging in their comfy chairs, reading the same dozen books they had fallen in love over together in life.

As they were in life, they were in death: inseparable. Until one day… “Cialden, dear.” “Yes, darling?”

“I’m thinking of passing on.” Kytris said it plainly, as though she’d planned to go for a night stroll. Cialden’s ghostly figure, in the shape of his prime as a young man, set down the book he’d died reading.

“I’m sorry, dear. I think I must have misheard you.” Her incorporeal form blinked slightly.

“Cialden…” As always, she wore her favorite dress. Even in the ghostly constellation of her being, Cialden could make out those glittering jewels she had buttoned into the trim and linings. Sparkling emeralds shone like ghastly stars hanging from her supple ears. “I don’t know how, but I think it is time.” He shook his head and placed the book back on the shelf. Or tried to anyways as the book slipped through his hand and crashed upon the floor at the base of the shelf. Somewhere in the house, a light turned on. “You know, Kyte, I think you’re having one of those dreams again. You know, the ones where you still think we’re alive? The…” he scratched at his face, “oh damn, what was it called… aha! —a de ja vu moment!”

She turned to face him, her form blinking again, only this time more noticeably. “Oh, Cialden. I know we’re dead.” Somewhere down the hall came the creaking of footsteps on the stairs. Cialden wished his son had gotten around to fixing those things.

“So… what are you saying?” He dreaded the desperation in his voice.

“I’m saying…” She disappeared.

The room became dreadfully cold as the woman Cialden had loved in life and in death faded away forever.

The creaking across the steps finally reached the third floor, on which the study resided. The door creaked open and the beam of a flashlight shone into the room. It swiped back and forth, passing over Cialden and shining right through. He stood as still as his corpse lay in the cemetery outside.

“Funny,” said the voice of the intruder. The beam landed upon Cialden’s favorite book on the floor. “How the hell did that end up there?”

Cialden stared at the last place Kytris had stood. He hadn’t felt this kind of pain since her first passing. But at least then, he could still feel her presence.

“Gee, it’s damn chilly up here. Might ought to turn up the thermo—“ “DEAR GOD, SHUT UP FOR A BLOODY SECOND!!” Cialden raged unlike any he’d felt before.

The books came flying off the shelves. Papers from the study's desk twirled in midair in a mini tornado.

The renter, as Cialden was sure that he was, screamed and ran out the door, carelessly flying down the stairs.

Cialden floated after him, his fists clenched. The twisting pain from Kytris’s absence multiplied into anger. “How could she… why would she…?!” Cialden tore the house apart. Furniture flew and crashed, china fragmented, doors and windows slammed open and shut.

Cialden watched as the intruder, the renter, flew out the front door and into his bean-shaped carriage. Magnificent starlight the colors of red and gaslight dashed away from the manor, down the road.

Suddenly, with no one left in his home, Cialden felt tired. He fell into a deep, exhausted slumber.

*	*	* “Cialden Bartelow, Kytris Bartelow… call upon your name… answer me from the… beyond.”

Cialden awoke to a particularly obnoxious voice.

“Please speak… priest of Diabellos…” “Oh give it a rest,” said Cialden.

The new intruder blinked. Cialden studied the woman. She wore a cardigan over a simple, conservative outfit.

Again, they were in the study. The room where Cialden had died. Where Kytris had left him.

“Kytris? Cialden? Is that you?” asked the woman.

“Kytris won’t be coming back,” said Cialden glumly. “This is Cialden.” “Oh,” said the woman. An amulet across her bony chest glowed with jade light. “And where has she gone off to?” Cialden collapsed on the couch and lifted a wooden puzzle box, idly playing with it. “Goodness knows, my lady.” There was a tense silence for a moment. “Are you—“ “Tell me, what are you doing in my study? Where is the renter?” “The… oh, Mr. Constellos is my employer. He alerted me to poltergeist activity and I am here to expel you,” said the priestess from Diabellos.

“Oh, expell away then,” he said. The damn puzzle box was giving him a devil of a time.

“Cialden,” said the priestess. “You are aware that you’re… expired?” He sighed, “And here I thought this was an ordinary conversation with the town clergy. Of course I know I’m ‘ expired .’” Again, they sat in awkward silence.

“Look, do you need something or are you just here to gawk at a phantom?”

The priestess folded her twiggy arms, “Poltergiest, actually. Renters won’t pay good money for a poltergiest roommate.” Cialden rolled over, finally giving up on the puzzle box. “It was one time. I am not a harm to anyone.” He made to place the box down, but instead, it shot out through his fingers and blasted out the window. A carriage alarm went off outside.

The priestess quirked an eyebrow. “Look, something has got to be done. It’s beyond time for you to… pass on.” Pass on . Those infernal words were the last things she’d said before leaving him. All alone in this house. All alone in death.

The room became dreadfully cold. The priestess tighetened her cardigan and pulled a scarf out of the bag she’d brought in with her. “Cialden, please!” “No!” He growled, “No! I will not pass on like some… some dandelion in the wind!” The priestess remained still, pressing her arms tightly to her torso as the paper tornado did its rounds across the room.

But it was only for moment. Then everything was still again.

“All done, Cialden?”

He looked across the study to see she was seated at the desk. Despite her hair being upheaved into an absolute mess, she appeared unharmed and unimpressed.

“I’m sorry,” Cialden said after a time. “I don’t know what that was.” The priestess placed the puzzle box before him, the puzzle solved. In it was a little ring. Though it was dainty, it dazzled with diamonds and rubies.

“Kytris moved on, yes. And she did so without you.” Th papers on the floor stuttered.

“But,” the priestess continued, “It doesn’t mean she didn’t love you. Death comes in its own time, for each and every one of us.”

Cialden stared at the ring and moaned. “It is… it is so lonely.”

“I know,” said the priestess. Her eyes were telling; Cialden knew she had felt loss as well. “But we have to forgive. For it is the nature of things.”

He met the priestess’s eyes with his own. “But without her, what is there to pass on to?” The priestess shook her head, “Hope. Hope that in the mystery of it all, you two may be reunited.” Cialden sighed. His phantasmal hands shook, no longer with anger, but with fear. “Will you stay with me until the end?” She reached her hand out toward his. Though they couldn’t touch, her warmth carried over between worlds.

“Of course,” she said.

He nodded. He suddenly felt so very tired. “What is your name, priestess of Diabellos?” She smiled, “Reverie.”

For one last time, he smiled back, “Reverie,” he said, caught up in his own flashing memories. “I had a grand daughter named Reverie.”

“I know,” she said, those knowing eyes looking sweetly into his.

Cialden’s smile vanished. As well as his entire form.

The study was once again left with only one occupant. She gathered the papers back onto the desk and exited the premises of her grandparents’ estate.


“Are you ready?” She swallowed hard. The whole ride up, she was trying to forget where they were going. Now, the car pulled into the driveway and she had no choice. “Bailey.” Her mother’s tone was short. Insistent. “Yeah.” Bailey followed behind her mom up the concrete path, her feet remembering the way but her heart pulling her back. Ahead of her, she heard the jangling of keys, a lock turning and the front door being opened. Hesitantly, Bailey followed her inside the familiar doorway. Everything was how her Grandmother had left it. The pale worn carpet gave way to a large living area with a wooden rocking chair set in the corner. A small jacket hung off the back, left behind. A television, radio, and spider plant framed the room’s brown spotted couch. Her Grandmother’s house was small, but was one of the warmest places she’d ever been. Now, it was stillness that said everything was wrong. Different. The rocking chair wasn’t moving and television set was dark. But it was still Grandma’s house. It was still where she had spent so many summer nights eating ice cream past bed time and was sworn to secrecy. Where she’d cried over how John had made fun of her at recess and she reassured Bailey that she was smart, strong and going to get past this. A part of Bailey wished she would see Grandma coming in from around the corner, scolding her about tracking dirt in the house. A quick glance toward the large kitchen on her right was spotless, as usual, and the bedroom was at the far end of the room. The silence was broken when she heard the sounds of drawers opening and closing. Then, more noise. “I need your help in here. Please bring a trash bag.” Wordlessly, Bailey pulled a trash bag from her pocket and unfurled it, shaking it out as she walked back into the bedroom. It was just as she remembered it, a large bed in the middle of the room with its golden metal headboard. On the left wall, a chest of drawers filled with clothing. Currently, her mom was hurriedly pulling clothing out of the drawers unto the bed. A slight breeze was coming in through an open window. “There’s a local Goodwill I’m hoping we can donate to,” she said, no trace of emotion in her voice. “I think it’s the best way we can give back because I can’t see neither of us wearing any of this clothing. Do you?” Bailey just watched as shirts and pants she’d seen Grandma wear pile up on the bed. After a few wordless moments, her mom prompted her to start working so Bailey grabbed whatever was being thrown on the bed and shoved it into the trash bag. Vaguely, she knew her mom was talking about something, but she couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was that Grandma was gone. What had their last conversation been? How long after Christmas had it been? She was so busy with school that she couldn’t place how long ago it had actually been. She was racking her brain trying to remember the last words they’d said when she saw the applique calico cat peeking out from the pile of clothes on the bed. Pulling it out, she held up the cotton sweatshirt to look at it more clearly. Suddenly, her Grandma’s floral perfume filled her nose. “Bailey, dear, do you mind if we go to the mall today? I have some coupons I want to see if I can use at the clothes store.” A young Bailey shrugged, rolling the cherry lollipop around in her mouth. It was the dead of summer and her grandmother had volunteered to look after Bailey for the weekend while her mother had picked up an extra shift at work. They’d done a couple errands in the morning, stopping at the bank where Bailey had gotten her sweet treat, and picking up her dry cleaning. “Maybe we can stop and get ice cream after.” Bailey’s ears perked up. “Yeah?” “Of course. I’m certain I won’t spend all my money on clothes,” her Grandmother said, laughing warmly. Excitedly, Bailey kicked her legs, feeling the fabric of the car stick to her leg. As they drove, the air conditioner whirred and Bailey felt the traces of the air on the sweat rolling down her legs. “Are you excited about school starting again?” Bailey nodded, curling up her legs to her chest. “Yeah, I miss seeing my friends.” “You don’t get together with them over the summer?” “They live like forever away.” “Mom could always drive you.” “Nah, everyone’s on vacation a lot. Maybe some time they’ll take me with them.” The car turned a corner. “Oh where do they go on vacation?” “The beach.” “Oh. We’ll have to go next year, huh?” Bailey’s eyes grew wide and nodded excitedly. “Yeah! It’ll be a lot of fun.” “I’m pretty sure we can all get to the beach next year if we start saving.” The car grew silent as Bailey started to plan out how she’s save her $5 a month toward snacks and arcade games when they got there. The mall was pretty crowded when they arrived but Grandma led them past the crowds toward the clothing outlet store. It was mostly older people shopping, definitely not somewhere Bailey would find much that was “in style” for her. Still, she followed along, hoping she would finish soon and they’d get ice cream. “Oh how cute, look dear, it’s a cat!” Bailey peeked over, noting there were sequins surrounding the small applique calico cat. “Awww.” “You know most calico cats are female,” her grandma said, picking up the sweatshirt. “Really?” “Yep, so if you’ve ever seen one, it’s probably a lady.” “Good. Guys are dumb.” Grandma laughed warmly, making Bailey smile. “Oh I can’t wait to remind you of that on your wedding day...” “Ugh,” Bailey whined. “As if.” Laughing, Grandma wrapped her arms around her and Bailey squeezed tight, breathing in the smell of the floral perfume. “Bailey?” Bailey buried her head into the sweatshirt, feeling the tears roll down her face. All that she had held in since she got the news was now pouring out of her. Her body began to move, chest heaving and then as if the heavens opened, Bailey started sobbing. Once it started, she felt it rack her body. Without any power over it, she cried hard. Grandma was gone, really gone, and she wasn’t coming back. After a few moments, she felt her mother’s arms around her, holding her close. She buried her own head on the back of Bailey’s shirt. “I miss her too, Bailey. So much.” Bailey felt another pool of moisture begin to form and her powerful, strong mother began to join her. Bailey squeezed back. Hard. “She loved you so much.” At that moment, a gust of wind sent a leaf from the trees outside through the window, landing on the clothing that was piled up. “Thanks Grandma,” Bailey said, laughing through the tears.


Bells ringing. They’re in the church; they’re in my ears. Bells. I close my eyes and see doves flying. I open them again and see the weather is too dark. Too sad. It’s lost. My sister’s cheeks are as wet as the pavement. My every step weighs heavier than the next and it’s not just this coffin that’s on my back that’s on our backs it’s something more. The weight of death, nearly as unbearable as the whiteness of being. Every step is a slosh. Every puddle is a loss. And if I took the time to catch my own reflection in the mud I’d see the face of death fighting back tears made of mercury just before my own foot stomped the image out. As I move forward. As we move forward. Carrying the burden of a loss on our backs. My face is his face- he gave it to me. His furrowed brow, my dimpled chin, his bushy eyebrows, my winter-hardened complexion, his olive tone, my loving eyes now fighting the force of a thousand hurricanes behind them- his tears in my eyes. His humor in my laugh. His kindness in my smile. His depth in my stare. My mother’s lips are as shaky as my promises. She can barely hold them still after he’s been lowered into the ground. Low, lower, lowest. He travels deeper and deeper into the earth, exploring depths he never saw in life. Six feet feels like six-hundred. He gets further and further away. I still have not heard him hit the bottom. He’s as low as our hearts have sunk. My brother says that heaven’s real. I can only hope he’s not just saying that. I fear for worse. I fear a hell for my father. Trapped in my body, trapped by my failures. He’s in my eyes, my brother says. His heart beats on in my smile. He’s as hopeful as I am lost. For the rest of the day and the next, we were the closest we’ve ever been. All the long-lost relatives, close friends, recent acquaintances, and old pals had left. Our home was suddenly as empty as his eyes when he passed. We kissed one another goodnight and made sure that we knew we were loved. It’s the mathematics of life and death- one person slips away and four people tighten their grip. Our mother kissed our foreheads like she used to when we were children getting ready to head off to school. In the moment, I felt as small as ever. I may have just as well been wearing blue jean overalls and carrying a lunch pail. We lent tears and warmth to one another. Like a team huddle in the game of life and now feeling more strongly than ever the inevitable reality of our own mortality. We broke away, and I found no trouble falling asleep. Sun beams warmed my too cold skin as it blasted through my window far too bright to be ignored. I made my way down the stairs and past the dining room still set up for guests from the day before and barely noticed the glare gleaming off the stale silverware- distracted by the serenity in our kitchen which drew me nearer. A feeling of inclusion resonated from our linoleum. I walked in to find my family waiting where they had always been. My brother sat gaily at the corner table donning my father’s robe with a coffee and daily tribune- just like dad used to do. My sister couldn’t help but giggling at an anchor’s audacity as she watched the morning news and munched on a burnt piece of buttered toast- just like when we all lived here together. My mother’s smile beams more life-affirming warmth than the sun itself as she poured herself a cold tall glass of refreshing orange juice- just like she has for every morning that I can remember. Despite the loss, despite the pain, despite the missing body from this scene painted so perfect just for dad it’s almost like he’s now the one behind the easel looking down on his beautiful, lovely, coherent creation that he’s left behind and perhaps was only completed and fully recognized posthumously like so many great artists before him- our family, our love, our everything. Just like how dad always imagined it. I sit down in the empty chair across the table from my brother. He’s as hopeful as the light of the morning. I’m as warm as my father’s love filling the room. We’re as peaceful as my father in his grave.


The late afternoon sun cast overhead as a couple drives along a muggy backroad. You can hear the soft murmur of the cicadas thriving in the trees. An unyielding sea dances with the pavement in the distance. A pale white hand pulls down an old car visor, it slides the mirror cover open, a pair of soft brown-sugar eyes are revealed. the sun reflecting off them to highlight in vivid detail. “How long have we been drivin?,” his wife says, As she dresses her thin lips in a soft shade of red. “I would say about 12 hours now, we’re half way to Wichita he replies” “hey I wanna give you something, and I’ve been waiting since we left Dallas to give it to you. I think you’ll lik- hey! Are you listening!?” he looks over to his wife. She looked like she’d she a ghost, she begins to pull the metallic tube of makeup away from her lips. Her shoulders start to sink into the worn leather seats of his car. “Sweetheart?.... you there?” but no response. Like he was talking to a wall. “Look!” she said short of breath. Then his eyes completely glued to what laid ahead. At first it was hard to make out. The thick Kansas brush cloaked what remained of a car accident. All that was left was the twisted remains of a car that looked frighteningly familiar. An odd chill crawled its way up his spine. For the next thirty minutes they did nothing but drive. After those confining minutes pass, he decides to speak. “Hey? You okay?” “Yea” she said with a slight whimper in her voice. “Look sweetheart, I’m sure whoever was driving that car. Is--w-well I’m sure they’re fine”, he said reassuring her. She twiddled with her fingers nervously. Finally with a slight crack in her voice she says, “it’s not that hun… it’s..tha…well” she shuddered, “that car”. Her husband looks back at her with a puzzled look on his face, “What’ahboutit?” He asked. “Well… it… it looks familiar? You know?” She faces him, “I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere before.” “What do you mean? That old thing was almost unrecognizable. Hell, You couldn’t tell the ass end of that thing from its front”, he says as he wipes the sweat collecting above his brow. “I don’t know, it’s just… I felt something. Kinda like when you smell a certain smell and it takes you back to a place… a place you’ve been before but… you can’t remember where.” “Babe” he says while slowly moving his hands to her rose freckled cheek. “It might just be the drive getting to ya, We’ll stop somewhere, grab ah bite to eat?... how’s that sound? She finally breaks a faint smile and says, “yea, you’re probably right.” “Duh” he says under his breath. “that’s why you married me! But first,” he pulls to the side of the road. The grinding of the gears sound as he puts the car in park next to an old rusted “Welcome” sign. “As I was saying before I’ve got something for you,” she looks at him in with innocents in her face. “I was gonna save it for when we got to Wichita but…seeing as you might need a little pick me up. I thought it might help.” He unbuckles his seatbelt trusts his waist towards the steering wheel and shuffles through his worn jean pocket, His hand comes out clinched in a fist. “Before I show you this, I know you said we should be saving money and blah, blah, blah but… getting you this meant a lot to me,” he begins to open his hand and the sun immediately begins to illuminate a locket. Her hazel eyes glow ever brighter upon seeing it. Tears begin to rush down her cheeks that slowly turned into a busy highway of transparent motorist. “So I hope it means as much to you as it does to me,” She opens the locket and reads, “To my home. To my beautiful sunflower.” She smiles as she lunges to hold her husband. “Thank you so much baby! And I had no idea you were such a poet.” She places the locket over her head and around her neck. “I’ve actually got a surprise of my own for you. I mean it might be a little difficult to top yours but I’ll try.” She grabs a small sunflower covered satchel from the glove compartment. And pulls a white letter from the vibrant yellow bag. Before she can take the letter out he stops her and says, “Wait! I think I’d much rather wait till we get to Wichita… please?” She smacks her lips, “well… I guess it can wait. I’ve waited this long to tell you, what’s a couple more hours?” “Now come’on,” his hands grasp the keys and he turns the ignition to start the car. “I think I saw a sign a few miles back to a diner, it shouldn’t be more than 10 miles up the road.” The car pulls up from the side of the road, the tiers kick up a barrage of dust trying to gain traction. Finally, on the weathered pavement they drive off As he drives he feels like this place, this road these trees. They all belong in a memory he’s never had. And he can’t shake the feeling. The sweat on the back of his neck begins to dry and his hands turn cold. His lips start to feel numb and his stomach sinks. No matter how hard he tries he can’t shake this feeling and then it appears. The sign. “Hey babe,” his wife says, “isn’t that the same welcome sign we past a few miles back?” “babe?,” He snaps out of the trance and looks right. “no… cant be. There’s no way, the map said it was a straight shot from here to Wichita. there’s no way we’ve been going in a circle.” Before his wife has time to respond he yells out. “AH! There it is.” A lone diner fades into the mirage between the pavement and the baby blue sky. “There’s our diner, And you were worried,” he teases. They finally pull up to the diner and it seems oddly new. The building had a slick vintage look to it. But with no sign of age. Its silver doors reflected the rays of the sun like a mirror. Its parking lot looked as if the lines were freshly painted and the gravel recently paved. As they pulled up to the parking lot the numbing sound of the neon sign above drowned out any and all sounds of nature that surrounded it. The cars breaks began to squeal subtly as it moved along the pavement. The engine cuts off and the lights dim slowly to shut off. The car is silent. The chill. It’s back. The husband freezes. The shallow feeling in his stomach. His grip on the steering wheel gets tighter with each breath of anxiety. The back of his knuckles start to turn white from the hold on the wheel. His body starts to tremor like his entire soul had been thrown into an icebox. After a few more moments he shook the feeling and laughed nervously, “ha” …well that was weird, right babe?,” he waits a few seconds for his wife to reply and nothing. “Babe?” he turns to the passenger side to see nothing. He feels the seat and surprisingly not warm. As if he’d been driving this entire way alone. He turns to look in the back to find it empty and oddly dusty. Sweat begins to rush down the side of his head one drop at a time. He feels lost…. alone. He runs out of the car frantically towards the diner trying not to stumble under his own weight. Finally, he reaches the diner doors and pushes them in, once inside he finds- nothing. Not a single costumer. The smell of coffee flows around him. A jukebox at the far end of the diner plays a cover of “La Bamba” sang by Richie Valens. The checkered pattered floor glows with white light above. Just as outside, the diner keeps a seemingly timeless look all around. And finally, a soft voice. .“sir?” his mind quickly snaps back to reality. “Sir?” He turns his head to the cash register. It’s a woman. Dressed in an all-white waitress uniform. She wasn’t standing there before. Her hair a dark brown and tied up in a bun. Eyes so blue they could get even the strongest of men to tell the truth. And skin so vibrant… so perfect it was like she had never aged a day in her life. He was to busy staring that everything became muffled around him. After a few seconds her voice broke through again as she said, “Hi, for how many?” The husband still in shocked answered, “Sorry I’m looking for my wife,” in a weak broken tone, “hav…have you seen her?”. “ummm… I may have, could you maybe describe her to me?,” he tries to put words together and says, “su…sure umm.. shes bout your height light skinned. Oh umm.. she has hazel eyes and freckles. Freckles like you couldn’t imagine, She’s also wearing a silver locket around her neck” She smiles and says, “We might have seen someone with that description wonder in here a couple hours ago. But we do see a whole lot of people in this diner. As you can see obviously,” she laughs. She puckers her lips to one side as to think “I tell’s you what, how’s about we get you set up in a booth, get some coffee in you. And I’ll make a few phone calls and see if we can get you back to your wife?” The husband puzzled hesitates to accept but does, and follows the hostess to a booth closest to the door. As she starts to walk away he stops her and asks, “excuse me I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name?” “Oh, How rude of me, I’m Luci with an “I”, She says as she smiles. “let me go get that coffee for ya Hun.


This morning when I saw her, she was sitting at her desk in the HR department, wrapped in a sweater that made her form shapeless. She looked cold. Her grey eyes were unfocused, staring into the distance, and her eyebrows were furrowed slightly. She lifted her right hand to her lips and chewed on a nail. She stood up and stiffly walked towards the coffee pot. Her hands ripped open the sweetener packet gracefully, and she leaned against the counter to take her first sip. I was infatuated with the way she held her cup, two hands wrapped around the warmth emanating through the porcelain. Those intense eyes were scanning the room, without registering any of it. She undoubtedly had something on her mind, and what I wouldn’t give to know what it was, or how I could help. I knew I only had a split second before her eyes met mine, and I took this moment to take her in. I hadn’t truly studied her since we both started working at the company. She looks more tired than she used to, and her weight has fluctuated a little, but she hasn’t lost her good looks. She’s conventionally beautiful, with those light eyes and blonde hair, but something about her in unconventional, too. Her body doesn’t fit current standards of beauty, but it fits her. I took a deep breath and braced myself for impact. Our eyes met, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. 1…2…3… a smile spread across her face, and her eyes lit up as bright as the NYC skyline. I couldn’t help but shoot her a toothy grin. God, in that moment, there was nothing more beautiful. We just smiled at each other for what felt like an eternity, until I finally stood up with my coffee cup and walked over to her. She slid down the counter, indicating I could lean against it with her. She pulled the cup to her lips to take another sip, and I found myself staring. Who knew something as simple as taking a sip of coffee could be so captivating? Per usual, she asked me all about how I’ve been, how things are going with me, focusing on me. She never brings herself up, and doesn’t often like to talk about herself even when asked. She makes me feel like I’m at the center of her world, and I know I’m not the only one. She is often the person people turn to when they need to feel included and cared for. For those few minutes that you have her attention, she makes you feel like the most important person in the room. When I look at her, everything else fades. Work, stress, anything. It all disappears. I ramble on, and she never judges or makes me stop, or makes me feel like I’m intruding on her time. I was grabbing at anything I could to keep our conversation going, anything I could think of to monopolize her time for a little longer, and then it hit me. I could ask her out. Then she’d spend time with me, uninterrupted, and I could get to know her. Maybe even ask her questions about herself. I told her that I was thinking of going for drinks that night, and asked if she’d like to go. She said she’d be happy to, and I told her that I’d text her. I never did.


God's teeth, it just smelled so... so good . Like yeast and warmth and charcoal. Her hands gripped the edges of the silver tray, knuckles almost white. She wouldn't drop it. Nor would she even look at it. But she felt that even looking at it would be less sinful than smelling it. The aromas were more than sensual as they caressed her cheeks and penetrated into her very soul. In fact, she worried she was blushing an unseemly red, betraying one of the many desires she wasn't allowed to have. None of them were allowed to have. Desire was not a word that belonged in this world for women like her. She loathed being assigned the bread tray. At least with the meats and the cheeses, the aromas took longer to reach her nose. But with bread, crust still crackling in protest after being torn from the oven's womb, it was always a challenge to keep composure, to pretend to float on air down the hall with dozens upon dozens of eyes upon her. The last thing that Mistress Mary - lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth, first by the grace of God to bear that name, Queen of England, Ireland, France, and Wales - felt like, was floating anywhere. She didn't think that Lady Anne had done a very good job lacing up her corset that morning and suspected her bumroll was slightly too low, thus not doing its job of supporting the weight of her heavy brocade skirts. Mary had been in a foul mood all morning as a result of the discomfort and kept subtly shifting to try and relieve the sharp pinch on her right hip bone. To make matters worse, she was hungry. More than hungry - she was convinced this must be what starving was like. Although a properly-tied corset brought many benefits, such as distributing the dress weight across her mid-section, an improperly-tied corset just made her feel...squished. Like a grape under someone's heel, but held there for hours and hours in a sort of fashion-induced purgatory. Even worse, rather than shrinking her stomach and doing something useful like masking hunger pangs, it seemed to squeeze out uncomfortably sonorous rumblings instead. She had spent the last few hours trying to time fake coughs at just the right moment to prevent them from being heard, but coughing was absolutely not something she could do for her next task. Presenting the feast trays to Her Majesty required perfection. All of the pomp and circumstance the most powerful woman - no, the most powerful person in the world deserved. But what if her stomach made such a noise while she was presenting? The growls were decreasing in subtlety as the afternoon wore on. She would get to eat with the other ladies after the presentation, but imagine the horror of making such a noise in full view of the court? Or rather, her traitorously unhelpful brain contributed, full hearing? On certain occasions - such as the impressing of foreign dignitaries or reminding certain domestic nobility of their place - the presentation of the feast was a lengthy and, in Mary's opinion, an awkward affair. Each lady-in-waiting would hold a tray of food piled with meats, cheeses, pickles, breads, or pies in abundance. The ladies would line up and enter the dining hall in a predetermined order at shortly timed intervals, reverancing Her Majesty every three steps as they made their way down the hall. Each reverance had to be perfectly timed with the lady in front and behind her, as if in a dance. It was all in full view of the entire court, standing and waiting to watch Her Majesty and selected guests dine. Mary and her companions would be free to eat after the Queen, which was as far away as the next century, as far as she was concerned. Mary glanced around her, noting the sightlines of her companions as they grabbed their trays and began organizing themselves in the correct order. What was worse, eating a morsel of the Queen's feast before it was presented, or embarrassing the Queen herself with a stomach symphony? Mary attempted a furious calculation in her head, but the variable of human need won out, and before she could even consider the consequences of being caught, she raised up one of the smaller rolls to her mouth and took a bite. "Mistress Mary, if you could return to the present and line yourself up in the appropriate position." That voice. Mary was convinced that voice could bring her back from the dead. Lady Kat Ashley, appointed Mother of the Maids and former governess to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, was the last person on earth that Mary would want to catch her in such a guilty act. What little luck Mary had today was with her, though. She was at that moment facing away from Lady Kat, who had evidently not noticed Mary's gross indiscretion. In fact, she'd already moved on to the next lady, delivering her next cutting remark. Mary was about to sigh with relief when she noticed Anne, her closest acquaintance at court (in age if not confidence) starting at Mary, lips parted slightly in shock. "Are you insane? "Anne hissed, eyes flickering down to the roll hovering at Mary's lips. Anne's own tray was covered in soft cheeses, and she held it away from her chest perfectly, elbows at right angles and the tray perfectly parallel with the floor. Her gray gown was laced in silver threads, so even without complicated embroidery, the fabric spoke of her family's wealth and explained her position as a lady in court. It made Mary feel dowdy in comparison with her own attire, made up of the most "impressive" wardrobe pieces from every female in her family. Beaded yellow sleeves from her aunt, dark bodice from her sister with a fraying stomacher, and slightly-too-long blue skirts from her mother. Mary had tried widening her hoops to allow the skirt to lift more off the floor, but risked being too wide of a silhouette to be called fashionable if she widened any more. Her family's wealth and prestige only barely made the cut to have a daughter presented as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and sadly, it showed. Mary slowly lowered the roll from her lips as Anne glared. The bite of bread sat on her tongue, warm and soft. Her mouth began to fill with saliva, responding to the flavors. Not daring to chew but afraid of choking, Mary pressed the bread as much as she could into the roof of her mouth and swallowed what liquid she could. "You know better, Mary. If you're caught..." Anne trailed off, shaking her head slightly. The sapphire-blue feather on her pillbox hat accentuated the movement, catching the candlelight as no doubt it was intended to. Mary narrowed her eyes at Anne while at the same time inwardly sighing in relief at the implication that Anne would not tell. "Mary! Anne! Places," the voice of Lady Kat cracked like a whip, the bearer sweeping them by in a huff with a spine as straight-edged as the personality it carried. No more time to think, it was time to enter the dining chamber. Hastily, Mary attempted to hide the damning evidence of a partially eaten roll under a thickly cut slab of brown bread, but began to sweat as the folly of her action sunk in. Her mouth had gone completely dry, and she struggled to try and swallow the hellish bite still in her mouth, but realized that it would do nothing but make her cough uproariously. She carried her family's reputation in court, and as difficult as it was to get her here, it was just as easy for her to sink her entire family's reputation with one small mistake in front of the temperamental Queen. Even a coughing fit at the wrong moment could ruin everything. She was well and truly stuck with the consequences of her actions. Mary took her place in the line of ladies, feeling her individuality drown amidst the swirl of skirts and pale faces. Hoop skirts pressed into awkward shapes and feet shuffled quickly as the ladies crushed into the small hallway that led to the larger dining hall, and the air was heavy with bated breath and anxious musk before suddenly the thick wooden doors opened wide and the presentation of the feast began. Being near the front, Mary didn't have any time to work on getting rid of the bite of bread, let alone worry about it. She stepped out once the lady in front of her neared the middle of the dining hall and began making her way down the path created by lines of courtiers. She refused to look anywhere except for a spot on the ground several feet in front of her. She felt numerous eyes boring into her, taking into account every aspect of her appearance. Her hand-me-down garments. Her slightly too large hat. The slight color difference between the front and back of the bodice where a repair had to be made. So many things that shouldn't matter at all, and yet made up an entire world of gossip and power plays that could make and break careers. Even if she couldn't have the finest dress, she would at least act with decorum, do her damnedest to "float", and not collapse in a coughing fit. At the end of the hall sat the Queen herself. Today she sat resplendent in a blood-red gown, the dark color contrasting artfully with flaming hair that shone out from under a heavily bejeweled hood. Long, tapered fingers rested on the stem of her silver goblet, and a small line between her brows seemed purposefully forced, creating an emotional mask that could have been anything from disdain to boredom. Her Majesty was in a diplomatic mood, it seemed, and the courtiers around her would be kept on their toes for the entire meal. Mary stepped forward for the final of the three reverances each lady had to make as they processed across the room. Her eyes began to water with the effort of holding her mouth completely still, and the instinct to swallow the bread was overpowering. Although Mary's own gaze was to the floor, she knew the Queen would not be looking at her. She would be watching other powerful figures in the room, or perhaps even her reputed secret lover, Sir Robert. Still, enough courtiers would have their eyes on Mary, just waiting for her to make a mistake and make their day more interesting. She couldn't risk the slightest misstep. Mechanically, a Queen's yeoman stepped forward to taste a morsel from the tray Mary offered forth. Mary almost blacked out with the shock of it - how could she have forgotten? A yeoman was always to make a show of tasting the food presented to Her Majesty to prove that it was without poison. Mary remained frozen in place, her knees locked in such a way that could carry her weight for hours, a secret that Lady Kat taught all the ladies as soon as they came to court. She stared intently at the floor, wishing she could be anywhere else in the world. From the corner of her eye, she noted that the yeoman was quite tall, his chest broad and imposing. Soon Mary's line of sight was flooded with a red tabard, and the Tudor rose embroidered on the chest swam into focus. Against her will, Mary found herself looking up to the yeoman's face. She didn't recognize this yeoman. He wasn't grey and grizzled like the usual taster. This man was younger, closer to her age. His jaw was sharp but his eyes were soft, and she noted a hint of laugh lines around his eyes. Perhaps most shocking of all, those eyes met hers. With her thoughts so distracted, her body took over, and...she swallowed the bread. The sound of the swallow echoed in Mary's own ears, and she could have sworn that it echoed in the entire hall. The yeoman's hand paused briefly on its way up to the tray, and his gaze sharpened as he looked at Mary. Truly looked at her...at Mary, not just another of the Queen's ladies. Mary refused to break away from his stare, and she could have sworn that the laugh lines crinkled slightly as the yeoman resisted an urge to smile. His hand pulled away a slice of bread, revealing the roll with a desperate bite out of it. To Mary's shock and immense relief, he smoothly dropped the slice of bread, picked up the roll, then covered her bite mark with his own, erasing her sin in one elegant movement. Mary's eyes widened slightly, and his eyes twinkled at her as he chewed. The exchange was a beat too long. A throat was loudly cleared. "And following the breads made from the finest English wheat..." The Master of Ceremonies was nothing if not overly obvious. The yeoman's left eye twitched with the shadow of a wink, and Mary rose from her reverance to exit to the left. As the Master of Ceremonies called out the "finest of cheeses" and demonstrated a lack of imaginative vocabulary, Mary risked a glance up to the Queen. She was met with the piercing stare of the woman who ruled most of the known world, and who fiercely controlled any relationships in her own court with burning jealousy. Mary averted her gaze and hastened to the end of the table, handing the tray to the noble assigned to serve the Queen and stepping out into the adjoining chamber. The room was blessedly empty of courtiers, as the ladies before her had hurried on to re-enter the dining hall from the other side, so Mary took a moment to lean back against the wall, the coolness of the stones seeping through many layers to her skin. She focused on her breathing, feeling her lungs press against the whale bones of her corset. She felt such a fool. All of her worrying over tasting something forbidden, when the real danger had been the eyes of a yeoman, and a temperamental Queen that destroyed the women who were free to love because she could not.


Round the bowl I plod. The task at hand, dishes. Mood: Big sisters lead lives that suck. Big sisters are assigned tasks that big brothers evade without awareness. Luck finds boys like mold finds bathrooms. Insidiously. Darkness infringes on the daylight used to complete my chore. A scream strikes the air at a pitch that rivals the goddess Mariah Carey herself. The bowl slips into a loud collision with the stainless-steel sink. “What the heck?” I mumble. The soft shudder of our double screen door sounds and a bitter chill foreign to the tropics bleeds inside. “It,” Malakai, my youngest sibling, starts. “It’s coming.” Fear, like light, finds his eyes and focuses his gaze out the window. “What?” I ask, alarmed by his hurried breaths. Malakai is always cucumber and cold carrots, calm. He struggles to form words around the tremble in his lips. “The Chicken tornado.” *** Plump chickens’ cascade through the air. The winged creatures gaze at us with intention. Instinct or conditioning demand my outstretched wet hands take hold of my brother and pull him close. The theatrical winds die down when my hands have dried, and I force my bony body to shield him. The sight that settle around us, save for the chickens themselves and the humidity, is wholly novel. A substance at our feet licks my sandals and pleased with the taste, laps my toes. The sensation is cold and curious. Alive. Malakai and I look up and there is a void more profound than darkness. The black hole of space is a painful attack on our eyes and we each turn to each other, our frightened expressions carrying the horror of the moment further afoot. Millions of Silkies, a breed of chicken nowhere native to our Caribbean home with their densely packed satin fluff feathers, clamor around with gooey interest. A tart smell grows stronger the closer they tiptoe. Each wonted flap elicits a gag from Malakai. “Stop,” I plead. The outcry stirs a commotion and the chickens bark, suspicious sneers on their sharp black and brown beaks. “Monica?” my brother whimpers, his seven-year-old arms wrapped tight around my waist. “I want to go home.” I try to bend down and utter words of assurance like heroes manage with select kids in action movies, but he refuses any effort of amputation. My stomach churns with the strain of his restrictive hold and the phone in my back pocket pops out. “No!” My attempt to catch it before it falls into the midnight liquid is unsuccessful. “I’m so sorry, Monica.” Malakai laments. He pulls away by a hair and we each stare down at the spot it fell. “I didn’t see it -,” Before he can wrap up his apology, my phone breaks through the surface, alight with the yellow outline of a Silky on an otherwise black screen. The image blinks out and the green vertical line of a factory reset appears in the upper left corner. Pick me up, it types. Compelled by a lack of options, I gasp and oblige. Point me at the Leather Clad Leader. I hoist the phone up and it zones in on a brown vested chicken with cream plumage. Bow. “What’s happening?” I ask. You’re following commands from a sentient phone. Now bow. What was meant as a rhetorical question has produced an answer that leaves me even more bewildered, but again, I heed its direction and when I stand, await further guidance. I will act as a translator. Keep my camera pointed at the Leather Clad Leader. They will decide your fate. My throat swallows a proper gulp of air, and my hands shake under the device as if it weighs hundreds of pounds. Sweat falls into my eyes and I can smell the scent of my own fear rivaling that of the environment. My brother breaks down and pinches his nose for relief, a helpless glint in his eyes. Leather Clad Leader extends his wings, and they span on for what looks like an eternity. The screen blares a hyper blown out version of the gesture and Welcome stranger appears in comic sans below it. Underneath that, the phone writes, Greet the leader, don’t be rude. “Please, send us back,” I say, my larynx strained and squeaky. Point my screen towards the Leather Clad Leader. Now. Goddamn idiot -,” Geez, my phone is rude. The chicken leader, wings folded, saunters within reach. His plucky head bobs towards the screen then wobbles side to side in agitation. When he stops, his glossy black orbs fix on me. I fumble the phone back around. The comic sans text is packed in a long paragraph that defies the time it took the silky to convey this message: Yo, yo, yo. We got another woman in the house! So excited to meet a Silk-less girl, you’re my first. But yeah, sure thing. You just have to push the blue button behind me to get home. It’s so ‘boing’! It’ll zip you right out of here. But the boy stays. Girls gotta’ eat! “What the fuck?” I say, perturbed. “I’m telling grandma,” Malakai wails. I glare at him but given his tear-streaked face and the message read, I let it go. He is just a kid. The few habits he has are hard to overcome. I turn my attention back to the Silky leader and regret my sexist assumption that the top dog – pardon the phrase - of chickens would be male. Conditioning, am I right? A square of space appears as the silky leader steps aside. I catch the vibrant glimmer of the blue button. It buzzes with energy, pulsating in deaf echoes that visibly frolic on the surface of the liquid floor. It strikes me that we should dash to it just as a tiny beep escapes my phone. So, are you going to answer? “Give me a break. She’s asking me to sacrifice my brother. I am responsible for him. My grandmother would kill me if something were to happen.” Ah, yes. I have heard her sonic rumbles. All the same, you must still address Leather Clad Leader. “ Leather Clad Leader, I appreciate your welcome. But I need to get home. I have dishes to do. My grandmother isn’t a very patient person and she asked that I care for my brother. I’m afraid I need to press that button to send us both home.” I turn the phone around to face the silky and watch as she shakes her head in a dismissive wiggle. She lifts her eyes to meet mine then stares at the screen. After a series of flaps and a caw that rings on and on and on for ages, it is my turn to read. No . Malakai tightens his hold. The pressure is familiar and unpleasant. Grandma has always said “it is your job to look after your siblings,” as if the eldest, Gabe, has a duty only to himself. I am the one expected to clean up, to rally us together, to be the glue. It’s always me and it is the opposite of fair. “Is there really no other way? How could you eat a little boy?” Beak pointed at the phone, the silky cackles an unmistakable laugh. She “body-rolls” her head and neck then gives me a pointed look. I pour over the message. Obviously, we are not going to do that. You silly goose, so I really do mean silly. Air escapes me, a gust I was unaware rested in my chest, eager for release. “Thank God. Then what do you want to do with him?” Leather Clad Leader chews on the phone case a moment, backs up, waggles her tail feathers, and bumps back into place. She snaps her head at an angle, as though to say, go ahead. I take up the phone then slam it to my chest. “Malakai, you’re squeezing the life out of me. Please let me breathe a bit. Here, hold my arm so I can read, okay? Please.” I am unable to catch my breath and with the new freedom, I bumble from one soaked foot to the other, back, and forth. My hand with a mind of its own pushes the phone’s ungodly screen under my nose. I was being sarcastic, can’t you tell? Of course we are going to eat him, duh. Don’t act pretentious. Y’all fry us with grease hotter than the sun over there. That’s why we're here, in the magnetic waters of Every Mother. Here, even your sandals can have their voice awakened. All life exists here, animated even when inanimate. Vocal even when voiceless, like your phone. It tells us about all, and in order to sustain that knowledge, Every Mother needs us to feast on the blood of men - and I do mean men - to replenish all-knowing magnetism. Men, even as babies, do the same to us gal pals all over space and time. Figuratively and literally. Just desserts, I say. I close my eyes and take in the truth of those words and think back to when my father abandoned all four of us with our grandmother. My sister and I have been nannies ever since. And what of my brothers? Running amuck. Life at their leisure. “Okay.” Malakai screams. He understood more than I suspected. “What? Monica, no!” I break away and run at the blue button. Once pressed – Leather Clad Leader did not oversell it, and it was deliciously boingy – it envelops me in a whirlwind of silence. A minute later, I think I hear the vicious bleat of a million silkies. I abandon the thought like I abandoned my brother and look down. I find myself elbow deep in dishwater. “Big sister luck has its limits.”