e walked along the lake, seeking solace in the wings of the birds as his mind soared high in search of the elusive – the sublime messages of nature, so little understood, or misunderstood. His path was deeply carved by his passion, the vehicle in which his brilliant mind travelled through space and time in search of the beating heart of the universe. ‘Kurt,’ a voice called. He turned his head toward the source of the voice. His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. He had completely forgotten about her. It was Destiny. ‘You missed the meeting,’ she said. ‘I am very close to solving it … I think,’ Kurt said rather hesitantly. He did not dare to speak with assurance, for he had been wrong before. Destiny sat beside him. ‘I like it here.’ Of course she liked it here. It was at this very lake, at this very university that they met forty years ago. ‘Walsh has invited us to his house for dinner tomorrow night. I told him that we’d go.’ Kurt by nature was a loner, but did not mind the company of Professor Walsh Miller. They had worked together on many papers over the years, many of which were groundbreaking. ‘How was the meeting?’ Kurt asked in low voice. ‘Interesting,’ she said casually with a shrug of her shoulders. Kurt smiled. Interesting. The one word his mother always said was the most disinteresting of all the words in the English language. His smile changed into a muffled chuckle. He still remembered it as if it was yesterday. ‘Please, Kurt, if you want to get a job, don’t go and say in the interview that the job is interesting. Say something that shows a bit more enthusiasm,’ his mother would often nag at him whenever he was applying for a job, and of course not getting it, because he was deemed as being too academic. Oh, the years of unemployment! The years of abject poverty, when there was no need for it to be so. But those years also gave him his greatest chance for doing his own private research which led him to produce great papers, ultimately opening the way back for him to the academic world where he found his own little niche and felt comfortable in it. At last, his mother drew a sigh of relief. Her son had a job. His mother’s greatest fear was for him to be stuck in poverty for the rest of his life. She had, of course, another great fear and that was for Kurt to remain single. His mother drew another sigh of relief when he finally met Destiny. He was thirty-six and she was twenty-six. ‘Destiny,’ his mother said as soon as she met her, ‘is finally here to fulfil my dream of giving me peace that my son won’t be alone when I am gone.’ There have been only two women in his life and he adored them both, devoted to them both. His mother and his wife – two great women, both of whom two great gifts, who gave him two great gifts. His mother allowed him to pursue his passion into the workings of the universe to discover the unimaginable. And his wife allowed him to experience the birth of the universe by giving him a son. ‘I am so close to solving it,’ Kurt murmured. ‘You are a great mathematician,’ Destiny said lovingly, wrapping an arm around his waist. ‘If anyone can solve it, it is you. After all, it is your own equation.’ ‘I know. I solve one equation only to find another and now I am stuck with this one. It is like a slippery eel. Just as I think I have it, it slips from my hand. But if I solve it, it will change the world … our understanding of the universe. It will give us all the answers that we ever wanted to know. We will be able to learn the big why. Why the universe came into existence? Physicists and mathematicians alike have always accepted that the universe began with a naked singularity as a matter of course and none of us were ever interested in knowing the why, but if I solve this equation, we will know the why…’ ‘And we will be able to see the face of God,’ Destiny whispered in his ear, knowing that Kurt wouldn’t appreciate the remark since he was an atheist. ‘Only metaphorically,’ Kurt said, with a half-smile. ‘Only metaphorically,’ Destiny echoed with a full-smile. ‘Come, let’s go. It’s getting late. I don’t like to drive at night.’ Kurt rose to his feet. He never learnt to drive. In his youth, he never got the chance to drive. He was either too poor to pay for driving lessons or too busy to take driving lessons, and when he met Destiny he saw no reason to learn driving at all. Destiny was the driver. **\*\*\*\*** **K**urt lay in bed beside his wife, but sleep eluded him. In his mind he went over his calculations again and then crossed them all out – they were wrong. His mind drifted to Mendeleev, the famous Russian chemist, who, after working intensely trying to understand the pattern that the chemical elements were following, ended up dreaming about them and came up with the two-dimensional periodic table upon waking. How he wished that he could dream his solution. He was an old man and time was not his biggest fan. His eyelids were getting heavy. He looked at his wife again, sleeping so peacefully next to him. He stifled a sigh only to let it turn into a silent yawn. Tomorrow he will begin a whole new set of calculations to trap his slippery eel. **\*\*\*\*** **T**he mist grew thicker. He had no idea where he was going, but then the light appeared. At first it was a speck of light, the tiniest flicker, which expanded to form itself into a human shape. ‘Kurt,’ the human shape called. ‘Yes,’ Kurt responded and saw that the shape was gliding towards him. He narrowed his eyes incredulously. Something odd was going on. The shape had Destiny’s features during her youth – the way she looked forty years ago when he first met her. ‘What is it that you seek?’ asked Destiny lookalike. ‘I seek the truth,’ Kurt answered, not sure of what he was seeing or with whom he was even conversing. Everything looked so peculiar. Was he dreaming? He must be. But then it didn’t feel like he was dreaming. He felt very much awake. Maybe it was a lucid dream. His reverie got interrupted when Destiny lookalike spoke again. ‘And when you find it, what then?’ ‘Then we will know. We will know why we are here,’ he answered, while glancing around to see where he was. He wasn’t in his home. He was standing in a place that he couldn’t describe. It was foggy and yet it wasn’t. He just couldn’t see anything other than the shape of Destiny lookalike. ‘Why is it so important for you to know this?’ ‘It is important for everyone to know this. From the first moment that man walked on earth he has been searching for this answer. Some gravitated towards religion to find the answer, while others towards philosophy, because science could never answer this question.’ ‘And you think if you solve this equation you will know the answer and set humanity free once and for all?’ ‘I don’t know about setting humanity free, but it will certainly set me free.’ ‘Set you free? How?’ ‘Because I want to know,’ Kurt answered, his eyes flickering about, trying hard to see something, anything that could determine where he was. Destiny lookalike moved her head sideways and looked at him in a way that Kurt thought she was studying him. ‘Who are you?’ Kurt asked, frowning in puzzlement. ‘I am the answer you seek.’ Perplexed, Kurt’s brow furrowed. He was looking for equations, not a Destiny lookalike woman made of light. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said in a tone of utter bewilderment. ‘What is it that you don’t understand?’ she asked, quite composedly. ‘You! This! All of this!’ He waved his hands about. ‘It doesn’t make any sense to me. How could you possibly be my answer? You offer me no geometrical or algebraic solution.’ ‘Are you sure?’ the woman said with a touch of amusement in her voice. Kurt remained silent for a few moments, studying the being and his surroundings. He even made an attempt of injecting some esoteric elements into the whole scene, but nothing worked. This was not the answer he was looking for. ‘I am sure,’ he said finally. ‘Follow your destiny but know that the path will be difficult,’ Destiny lookalike said, as she turned away to disappear in the mist. Kurt tried to follow her through the mist, but found it impossible. The mist was too thick. Then he heard his mother. Suddenly he was sitting in his mother’s kitchen. Clearly, this was a dream, which was most likely brought on by stress over his work, for no other explanation could be attached to it. But damn it, why couldn’t he have a dream similar to the one that Mendeleev had? Surely, dreaming about his calculations would be more productive than visiting the ghost of the past. ‘Kurt, I think you should apply for this job. The pay is very good,’ his mother was saying about a job ad. ‘I’ll apply but I doubt if I’ll get it,’ Kurt responded, while wishing he could get out of this dream, even though he loved seeing his mother again. ‘That’s negative talk.’ She stopped, rubbed her forehead and sighed. ‘For the life of me I can’t understand why it is so hard for someone to give you a job. There is nothing you can’t do. You are brilliant.’ ‘So says my mother.’ She sighed again, but said nothing, and Kurt went to hug her. ‘I can’t rely on anyone giving me a job, no matter what I know. The only person I can rely on is myself. The only thing that will get us out of this poverty is my own work.’ His mother nodded, accepted that that is how life was. They had to do it the hard way. ‘The path has been difficult, but maybe it can be easier now,’ Destiny lookalike said as she appeared again. Once again he was back in the mist. ‘How?’ Kurt asked abruptly. He was beginning to lose his patience with this nonsensical dream and wanted to wake up from it, but didn’t know how. He had no control over it. He was also not quite sure if it was a dream. It certainly didn’t feel like he was dreaming. But if not a dream, then what? For surely it couldn’t be a hallucination. ‘You have done all the hard work and now you must look for it in the right place,’ Destiny lookalike advised. Kurt grimaced. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘In your notes you have all your equations...’ ‘Yes, and they are all wrong,’ Kurt said, feeling frustrated both with the dream and the argument. ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Of course I am sure,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘I am going to delete all my previous equations.’ ‘That would be a grave mistake,’ Destiny lookalike warned. Kurt suddenly woke up. So, he was dreaming. It must have been the stress of his work that was responsible for him having such a weird dream. He looked at Destiny and then got up and went to his study. He switched on the light, turned on his tablet computer, and pored over all his equations. They were wrong. He was certain. Then he saw it. The answer was there all along, but for some inexplicable reason he had failed to see it. But how was that possible? ‘You know, darling, you have a habit of sometimes ignoring little things,’ his mother once said to him when he had been slaving over some particular mathematical proof when he found out that he had actually solved it, but didn’t know that he had. **\*\*\*\*** **K**urt’s cellphone vibrated. It was Walsh. In his excitement, Kurt had texted him in the middle of the night that he had the answer. ‘I always knew that you would solve it one day. But when did you do it?’ ‘Oh, about fifteen years ago.’ ‘What?’ ‘Yeah, I can’t explain it. Go figure…’ Walsh laughed. ‘Well, this will surely make your name immortal.’ Fifteen years! For fifteen years the answer has been sitting there somewhere hidden in his equations on his tablet, until he dreamed of Destiny appearing as a creature of light to enlighten him. ‘Good morning, darling,’ Destiny said, as she came to his study. ‘Breakfast is ready—’ ‘I have the answer,’ Kurt said excitedly, with a big grin. Destiny smiled and before his eyes she disappeared to be replaced by pure light. Kurt blinked in disbelief. This couldn’t possibly be a dream. It can’t be. He was wide awake. ‘Are you ready to reveal it to the world,’ the light asked, breaking into his thoughts. I am,’ Kurt said with assurance, though he was anything but assured. He didn’t know what was going on. ‘Do you think that the world is ready to learn of this greatest of discoveries?’ ‘I think so. Yes. Yes. Of course.’ He nodded profusely, despite his confusion at the whole thing. ‘Kurt! Kurt!’ He turned his head around. Someone was calling him, but he couldn’t see anyone. In fact, he couldn’t see anything. All around him nothing existed but light. He was swimming in a sea of pure white light. ‘Kurt! Wake up!’ ‘What? I am not sleep. Who is this? What is the meaning of this?’ He squinted his eyes to see through the thick veil of light. He brought his hands close to his eyes. Nothing! The light was so bright that he couldn’t even see his own hands.


How I die and the pigeon’s cookbook I happen to know how I die. And I do not mean in any abstract or metaphysical sense. I happen to literally know how I die. As all things in my life, I stumbled upon it. I was in a bookshop looking for a pigeon cookbook. Not a cookbook written by pigeons, but a cookbook on how to cook pigeons. I had always wondered what they taste like, and never really let go of the thought that they taste soda. Anyhow I digress. I was in this bookshop on Brooks Street. You know the place. It is right by the frog fountain and squeezed in between the Jewish baker and that man who shouts about vegetables all day. As I was idly looking for my book. I came to a section of the store, which somehow I had never been in before. I frequent this particular store quite often and yet a new section seemed to fold open when I rounded the corner from Greek food to Helenistic cuisine. This new section was unlike any other in the store. The shelves were made of old and almost rotten wood. There was dust everywhere and it smelled like my grandmother used to: Of mintcake and Chanel no 17. The bookcases towered over me and threatened to keel over at any minute. I paused, wondering whether I should seek the help of the proprietor, Mr. Dunder, but relented as I noticed the titles of the books. “Jordan Dale: Killed by his cat” “Jennifer Kendall: Slipped and fell in mayonnaise” It struck me as weird. Not that anything about this experience wasn’t weird, but this intrigued me. I put down a book named “Scottish Meals and Trantra Sex” and ventured onwards. The section seemed to expand and widen and with each step a new bookcase seemed to appear at the end of the row. Every book was named in the same manner: “Geoff Wintrop: Hit by a car while looking at his phone” “Ismail bin’Said: Choked on a piece of bread” There was no sensible order to the books, so I took one to read. It had 300 pages with the same sentence over and over again. “Danielle Winchester Cotton: Stabbed by her best friend” Over and over again. At first, I wondered how all these authors had managed to get published with such lackluster materiel. It gave me hope of being an author myself, at least if the bar was this low. But then it dawned on me. This is how people died. I took out my phone and googled Danielle Winchester Cotton., but there was no wifi, which was really disappointing for a store in 2021 not to have free wifi. Anywho, I did what anyone would do if they were in a store with a book about how people died. I looked for my family. Not that I hoped that they died, but those whom I knew was dead. My uncle, Frank. He kicked the bucket six years ago while inside a wheat silo, which collapsed and crushed him. I went looking, and searched for what seemed like hours, but no Frank Finkle appeared. There was a Francis Wonderwood who got shot, twice, for being a cunt. A Frederik von Finklevile who died giving birth, which just screamed intrigue, but my search was in vain, until I by chance said his name out loud. “Frank Finkle” And the book just fell from the top shelf into my hands. And there it was: “Frank Finkle. Crushed in a silo”. A thought popped into my head. Is it just people who died or how people will die? And you know you cannot help yourself. I said my own name. And \*plop\* a boo fell into my hands. It had my name on it, and my cause of death.


Somethings change and some things never change. I thought about this for quite a while and looked back on life's ups and downs. Smirking while going down memory lane was fun, until I pondered and criticized myself. Of course, I found a lot of self-doubt, stupid and dumbing down moments that were not cool. Why? The kids in the middle of the family had the good, the bad and the ugly moments. I was in the middle and more times than not, had to play the nice card. Big sis had the say, all the time, and was a bulldozer from the get-go. Sometimes it was fun and then I wanted to run and hide under the bed. Little sis followed the leader and that was that. How did our personalities become so different yet the same in many ways? The family dynamics were what they were. Our mother, and dearest dictator of us kids, was the boss from morning til night. She was the one with the whistle who called the plays until one time she locked us out of the house. We were who we were aka KIDS. But then how many times could you keep going in one door and out the other with dirty shoes on? When dinner time came it was the whistle that called us home. I mean a two finger in the mouth whistle that always got our attention. How embarrassing when the kids in the neighborhood heard it too and laughed us out of their yard. It was just one of a bunch of moments you wanted to just plug your ears. We grew up in a sheltered neighborhood. NOT. Our playground were the woods and everything in and around the outdoors from streams, and ponds to the highest trees to climb. We were given such a free rein to just go; go here, go there, go everywhere, well, within reason. Our neighborhood were the five houses on one side of the road. That's it. Our bikes were the freedom riders, and they were our golden chariots. I mean who could peddle all the way and make it to the beach? Unless it was green hornet season mid-summer and then that was a wasted adventure. But that turned around really quick when as tired as we were, the number one detour to get back home was to make it over to Benson's. Pennies, nickels and dimes saved from our 'to do' lists came and went with a drizzle of chocolate sprinkles on top of that yummy ice cream cone.

School time was a never-ending story and one long chapter after another in the book of life. Blending in with others from everywhere was sometimes not so easy when you lived out in the sticks with only a bunch of kids you knew and hung out with day after day. Personalities ruled the classroom. Even the teachers had their own totem pole and you hoped for the one that looked at you and not through you. We didn't buy food. Lunch of the day was pretty much baloney sandwich after baloney sandwich. An apple was always a treat and maybe an Oreo or two was a nice way for the queen to keep her underlings happy. More time spent at school was where the brain came on or went in silent mode. How much could you keep in that upper space when outside recess time had you playing so many made up games? Thinking, learning how to beat others while playing a game as one or with teams, having the rules set up, was the way to go! Being in my own space without big sis or little sis in my face made me learn about how to belong with others who were different. Which of course changed as soon as we all got on the bus to head home. Move over!

More change crept into our lives as the more we did things courtesy of the dictator and mother of the household. Our dad had quite the say in doing stuff, too. We took his lead on how to be a true Yankee. Lots of fun was in the learning of random stuff like how to use a screwdriver or saw some wood. Then it was time to clean up which then equaled more play time. Never a moment lost over the years. How this becomes ingrained is like playing a song on the piano over and over. Keep doing it until you get the right melody. Your brain has a place where it keeps all the right notes.

From the first grade, the left brain was in competition with the right brain. That became the way my pathway meandered throughout book learning from the get-go. It was a tough road at times as school was all about how much information was worthy of retention. How we were separated into A, B, and C classes from middle school through high school was not the way I was happy in order to be judged on your way to Smartsville. I found my way through it all but of course book learning sometimes became the leading cause of my self-doubt and dumbing down moments. How was I going to survive the game of the mental monster? This happened until I woke up to another book that had the most colorful and brilliant pages. ART. This became the right brain way of teaching my left brain how to cooperate. You can't have one without the other. To this day it is way I move with purpose. It's all about going forward with that one word leading the way. It has been a transformation to understand and give worth to something that had been calling to me for so long there was no way to pretend to hide or ignore the reality of what that true part of life is calling you to do. Go forward, most definitely yes. Backward is just a word in the dictionary. Is everything changing? Well, yes and no. Yes, is how we get up and go from one thing to the next. Look to the stars and find the guiding light. It has been there all along. Change can be a great road to travel if we take ahold of the reins that will lead us down the right path.


Everything was still that night. I'd left the cicadas buzzing though because something about that rhythm was relaxing. The first breeze of an October wind was blowing. It glided across the porch and right through my hair, cooling my forehead. The stars of the night sky were in-numerous and twinkling brightly. Barring all the mosquitoes and the humidity, I could see why people loved the south. Laissez, Mississippi and all its nature were putting on a show for the whole world to see and only I could view it. Well me and the man that crept slowly, cautiously down the stairs inside the house. Each step quickened like he was learning how to walk again. I slowly rocked in the man's chair as the steps came closer. Faster and closer. I looked to my left as he was right at the door beside me. I heard him take a deep breath and snort as tears began to roll down his cheeks. The young man with his smooth brown skin slowly opened the door and stepped out. I knew he could hear my chair rocking but he gave it no mind. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through gasps of tears. "I can smell my wife's flowers," he said. I let out a short laugh and stared at the beauty with him as I still rocked in his chair. He put his hands on his chest and took in a long, satisfying breath. "I can breath," he said. I stepped up slowly and put my arm around him. "Let's sit down," I said, "Come on Lewis." I had to nudge him backwards as he couldn't be bothered to look away from the beautiful scene ahead of him. I didn't blame him. As I helped sit him down, I took a moment to lean against the railing in front of us. I wanted to savor more of his night because it seemed to make things easier for me when I wasn't just checking off a list. *This was Lewis Morgan's night and he's earned the right to enjoy it,* I thought. Reaching into my front coat pocket, I pulled out a cigarette and placed it between my teeth. I didn't feel my lighter and then I thought for a moment. I lifted my hand out and back in and the lighter was there. The cigarette lit with a puff of smoke and I savored the drag before putting it between my fingers. I turned around to see if he was still staring out at the yard. He was. "Has it always looked this beautiful?" he asked me. I crossed my ankles and leaned back against the railing, blowing my smoke up as to not blow it in his face. "Of course it has," I said. I pointed to him with the hand that held the cigarette, "and you made it that way." His voice quivered as he asked, "I did good?" Something started to swell up in my throat and I quickly cleared it away. I nodded my head slowly, "Yeah Lou. You did good." "My wife is so beautiful. She gave me everything. I want her to see this with me," he said. "All of it seems so meaningless. The late nights spent working on cars at the shop. The fights we always had. Why did that stuff happen? Why am I realizing this now?" I took in another drag and watched a tear roll down his cheek and splash onto his suit jacket. "I don't know Lou but that isn't all that happened. You're reading the wrong chapters. What about June 5th, 1992?" Lou smiled through tears. "Tell me about that night," I said. "I could hear Meagan trying to push the trash down with her foot. I was probably fooling with some stupid thing outside when I heard her scream my name. Oh my god I ran so fast I never caught my balance until I reached the screen door," he said. I laughed, "You flew down that interstate didn't you?" "Yeah," he shared in the laugh. "I didn't even notice though. I was ready to meet Lucia." "You raised her well Lou. I think she turned out alright." "She did. I knew she would. Even though her drunk daddy didn't always give her the love she deserved." I put out the cigarette, "Let me ask you something. Through all of that, did she ever stop saying 'I love you'?" Lou shook his head. "Even after she went to college, did she stop coming home and staying up with you to watch your favorite movies?" "She thought they were stupid." "But she kept watching didn't she? One more thing. Who's upstairs right now?" Lou looked down at his hands, "She is." "She is, Lewis. She's there holding your hand and sitting beside you. Love isn't perfect. It's not a bible verse that is followed to the letter. It's not a country song about a father and daughter fishing down at the lake. Love is standing beside someone in spite of any past mistakes they might've made. Lucia did that for you and you did that for her didn't you?" "I can't remember," he said as he started to cry harder. I leaned down and put my hand on his, "Of course you do. What about the worst night she ever had? What did you do?" "Some guy broke her heart. I figured it was a girl thing. I figured she'd go to her mother and I was halfway down a bottle of Jack anyway." "But you put it down when?" "When she came in and put her arms around me and cried into my shoulder." I looked up at him, "She wanted you. She wanted her daddy. She loved her daddy and you loved her. They all loved you. They still do and that won't end now. Their love will be with you and with them for ever and ever. Trust me. I know what's on the other side and it's not the end." I ushered him down the steps of his porch and into the grass. The woods beside us began to rustle. A man, almost an exact twin of Lewis, stepped out and smiled. The man's arms stretched out and Lewis met his embrace. I placed my hand on Lou's shoulder, "You did good Lewis Morgan and you've earned the right to rest.


\-911, what is your emergency? First there was silence and then I heard a faint: – I… think there’s someone in the house… It was a child’s voice. A young girl’s voice. \-What’s your name, sweetie? – I asked in a calm voice, just the way I was trained to do. I always dreaded receiving calls from children. \-Catherine. \-It’s a beautiful name – I said, trying to sound calm and optimistic. Silence. I could hear just a faint breathing. \-This is very important… Can you tell me what’s happening right now? Still silence. Then a child’s voice again: – I… think someone’s in my house. Catherine gave no further clues, so I had to inquire more: – Where are your parents? \-I don’t know. My heart sank. This child was probably left alone in the house and was now facing a potentially dangerous situation. \-Is there anyone else in the house with you? – I asked, hoping there was a babysitter or someone looking after her. Again silence. \-No… – the child’s voice answered finally. My heart sank even deeper. I tried not to show it in my voice. \-Can you tell me where you are now? – I tried to inquire further. \-In… my parent’s closet… The poor child probably thought it was the safest place to be and that the intruder, or the intruders wouldn’t find her there. It was a smart child. \-Good – I said in a voice as calm as possible – Stay there, sweetie, policemen are on their way. Silence. The girl said nothing. I could just hear her breathe. The silence was too long to be comfortable, so I tried asking another question. \-Can you tell me what’s happening now, sweetie? – I was doing my best to stop my voice from cracking. I didn’t want to make the girl even more anxious and nervous than she already was. Through her breathing I heard what sounded like the cracking of the door. \-They are calling me… – said the girl. I could feel dread in her voice. I was filled with dread, too. I didn’t want to make her go look for the intruders by asking her how many of them there were in the house or if she could see them. \-Is it a voice of a man or a woman? – I asked, hoping to find out more about the intruders and to still know what Catherine was doing, where she was at, etc. so I could help her in the case of something more serious happening. The other end of the line was silent. Catherine wasn’t speaking, just breathing faintly. There was silence for about a minute or so in which I felt extremely nervous. I wasn’t sure if I should ask Catherine for more information for fear that the intruders were nearing her. I didn’t want to alert them to her hiding place by making her speak. After a minute or so, I started hearing something that wasn’t just Catherine’s breathing. I started hearing voices in the background, but they were too muffled and inaudible for me to discern a single word. The only thing I could get clearly was that there were at least two distinguishable voices. I heard the voices approaching the place where Catherine was. There was some mumbling, some knocking, some furniture moving. The closer the voices got, the harder the heart pounded in my chest. I heard footsteps and two male voices talking to each other. The voices sounded familiar. I couldn’t think clearly. Then I heard a mixture of screeching and knocking and the voice on the other end of the line said: -Hello? \-John? – I asked in disbelief. It was the voice of one of the policemen I’d sent to the house. \-Dave? Is that you? – John asked. \-Yeah. Where’s the girl? – I asked almost frantically. \-What girl? \-The girl that called 911… Her name is Catherine… – I tried to keep the sentences coming from my mouth straight. \-There’s no one here, Dave – said John and then told the other policeman to search the house for a missing girl – You’re sure there was a little girl here? \-Yes. Her name is Catherine. Where is she? – I didn’t get what he was asking me that. I’d already told them the little girl was alone in the house and that there was a possibility of a break in. \-Nah, Andrew just informed me there’s no one in the house. \-You’re sure? I was on the phone with the girl until you picked up the phone. You’re sure you didn’t see any girl in the room? – I was puzzled. \-There’s no one here, I tell ya. This is an old, abandoned house. I’m amazed that the phone is still working. \-John, listen. There was a little girl, Catherine… she called 911. I was with her on the phone just right before you picked it up. I thought you were the intruders. \-Nah, Dave, there’s no one here… Wait a sec – John put down the phone. I started to panic. Have they found the girl’s body? Have they found blood on the floor? I didn’t know if I wanted to know what they’d found. I was terrified. \-Hi, Dave, Andrew just showed me a picture on the wall… \-What picture? What are you talking about? – I was angry at both of them. Instead of searching for a missing girl, they were looking at some photos on the wall. \-Yeah… it’s an old picture. Gives me the creeps… it’s a post-mortem photo or something. \-What are you talking about? What post-mortem photo? – I was almost yelling – Who’s in the photo? \-A little girl. Her name is Catherine.


My knees are scraped and I have a headache. I hit a car backing out of the driveway my first time behind the wheel. I stub my toe on every corner. I burn my cereal. I still don’t know how to whistle. The closest I’ve been to talking to a girl was during a freshman lab experiment. That one blew up in my face in more ways than one. After failing time and time again in life, I finally realized I’m a hopeless case. So maybe I need some help. Some outside help. A trip to an alleged “witch doctor” seemed extreme at first, but I don’t have many options. Next thing I know the room is shaking and a white glow blinds me as I cover my eyes. Maybe I’m in too deep. A man of about 6 feet steps forward and my eyes feel glued to him. Piercing eyes and chiseled features stare back at me with a calm gaze. This guy was... different. “I heard you could use some help.” His voice was magnetic, and it didn’t take long for me to spill my entire story. He listened carefully and after a moment spoke in an almost uncaring voice. “I’m Michael. Just follow me and I’ll show you what’s up.” If only I knew who I had in front of me maybe I would’ve asked to end world hunger, or bring peace to the world. But I didn’t, and so we hit the bar. “You just gotta walk around like you’re the shit.” I blinked a few times. “What?” He smiled at me and responded. “Yeah, you just gotta imagine that everyone here is beneath you. Anything they could ever do is of complete insignificance compared to a being such as yourself.” I didn’t know if I could do that. I came from a household where you wouldn’t have a good time if you didn’t show respect to others. But I was here because I was desperate, and so I thought I’d give it a shot. A Black woman with curly hair and pretty eyes was my first challenge. I walked up as if nothing mattered and sat down in front of her. “You from around here?” She looked me up and down before responding. “No actually, me and my friends are in a band and we’re performing around here. Thought I’d check this place out.” This was going well. Now to follow Michael’s advice. With complete confidence, I looked her in the eyes and said “Do you think I care?” A second passed and her drink was thrown in my face before I knew it. As she stormed off I stumbled to the bathroom, dejected. Maybe I really was hopeless. No matter what I did, I’d never amount to anything and— My thoughts were interrupted by a warm body slamming into me as I turned the corner. “I’m so sorry! I’ve been having an absolutely horrible day.” I helped her up, a woman around 5’2 with freckles and fiery eyes. Her elbows were scraped, there was a hole in her jeans and she looked like she was barely holding herself together. “I know the feeling. Wanna talk about it?” It wasn’t what Michael told me to do, but somehow it felt right. Her eyes lit up and she dived into her story. We spent many hours in that bar, talking about our troubles and learning about each other. I never saw Michael again, and thought to myself how glad I was that I abandoned his advice. Michael, having returned to heaven and watching from above, smiled to himself and laughed. (got this prompt off instagram @ writing.prompt.


I was just a young girl who graduated high school. When asked what I would do with my life I never was sure what to say. Senior year was when my mother died from a terrible car accident dad and her where in. My dad blamed himself and fell into a drinking binge. He never hurt me, but I also never bothered him during those times. I felt so alone after graduation. My best friend Analise was getting packed up to move to the city for college and I was so proud of her and though she begged me to go with her, I knew I couldn’t leave my dad even if my relationship with him wasn’t the best. If I would have left it would have been the last nail in the coffin for him.

During that last few weeks before Analise would leave she decided to stay with me until her moving day. In the meantime, we had fun slumber partied together like old times, went shopping, gossiped and she even helped me look for a job in town. We came across a want ad at for a kennel tech at an animal shelter. It was perfect for an animal lover and introvert like me. I immediately made up a resume and sent it out to the owner’s email address. Not even a couple day’s later I got a call back for an Interview. I was so thrilled.

The owner’s name was Darrin. He was 32, had the shelter for 7 years and was running it with himself, and a handful of employees including his stepsister who was 16, Victoria. I must admit he was very striking to me. He came off so cool and so sweet, any girl in this small town would’ve swoon over him. He hired me on the spot, and I was extremely excited to start this next chapter in my life. To turn a new leaf and leave all the dark stuff behind.

Within a couple days our towns newspaper came out with a story of a missing girl Analise and I knew from high school. Her name was Bridgette, she was the bad girl in school. She was a bully to any girl in the school who was not in her clique and she dated any guy that was even the least bit attractive. For her everything was a competition in life. Although Analise and I did not get along with her the rumors of how she had gone missing had us worried. Bridget’s little sister believes her sister was kidnapped and murdered. She said Bridget was talking to someone new and then soon after went missing. Nobody knows who the person was that last talked to Bridget but people who did see her before she disappeared said she seemed like she was struggling.

Working at the shelter I grew close with Darrin especially after Analise left for the sister, but I also felt like he was hiding something the more I hung out with him. He knew how to be charming and sweet but there would be moments in the day when I would seem him drop the facade and look almost scary and calculative. I passed it off as him just being stressed with his business but, I had a feeling it might have been something more.

One night while working with Darrin and his stepsister Victoria he left frantically saying he had to deal with an emergency. He had never done that before and it was very odd. I went ahead and closed as usual with Victoria. After I locked the door to the shelter and got into my car I realized I forgot my jacket and headed back to the front door to get it and suddenly I heard a loud nose coming from the back. I went to investigate thinking it was one of the dogs getting lose again from his kennel but what I found was Victoria trying to shake the shed in the back open. There was this shed that since the first day of working here Darrin said was just a ‘junk shed’ and we would not need to worry about it. I found it obviously strange that Victoria seemed determined to get into it. The shed had chains all around it and without a key to the lock you where screwed if you wanted to get in.

I asked what she is doing, and she startled that I came up on her feels caught and immediately starts to confess that she is afraid of Darrin. She tells me how she thinks he had something to do with the disappearance of Bridge because he was the last person to see her. Bridget had come to him looking for a job and she didn’t get the job but they did go out once and whenever Victoria tried to ask about Bridget to Darrin he would curse her and threaten her if she said anything. I am in shock and start to become scared too. She tells me he probably has her body in the shed or that there must be something in there that can prove she is not making it up. I take a moment and realize when Darrin left, he gave me his keys to the shelter that included every key to every lock…. I quickly try looking for the key that fits the lock on the shed quickly before Darrin shows up and finally after finding the right key, we open the shed. When we go into the shed, we find it is spotless. As if Darrin comes in to clean the shed daily. There was not a speck of dust in sight or anything else in that matter. No junk or anything… Just what seemed to be an empty shed. Until I noticed a hidden door within the wooden floorboards. At that moment I knew we where about to find something awfully bad. I tell Victoria to keep a look out in the parking lot for Darrin and to call the police while I go investigate. She was hesitant to go alone but after I beg her to go, she did. I then open the floorboard and take out my phone to use the flashlight. I see immediately that there are stairs leading down further. I start to go down the steps and I hear a whimpering growing louder and louder. Finally, I get to the end of the steps and a stench hits me. I start coughing and covering my nose trying to prevent my self from getting nausea and then I hear a collective whimpering. I look around and see caged up dogs and cats, they look starved and sickly, they can barely even react to seeing me as a normal healthy animal would. Then I see a operating table and medical tools… there’s blood on the table that drips to the floor but no human or animal on the table anymore… I then try to look around more for where the stench is coming from and I see a dumpster and in it is dead animals and… a dead body… I am terrified at this point, but I must know who it is. If it is Bridget. I shine the light closer to the face with my hands shaking and heart racing and it is her…. I run back up the stairs as fast as I can when suddenly, I hear Victoria crying for help in the distance and Darrin cursing. They where coming towards the shed… I run back down the stairs with tears in my eyes and try to look for a place where I could hide. The only place I could hide is in the dumpster. I crawl in it and try to bury myself beneath the corpses of dead animals and Bridget. I cannot help but cry as I cover my mouth making sure no sounds come out. I can hear Victoria’s screams as he is trying to get her down the stairs. I suddenly realize this is it. I need to do something while Victoria is distracting him so I can help her. I get up out of the dumpster and grab the nearest object I can which was a scalpel knife that was laying bloody on the exam table. I yell for Darrin and as he looks at me in shock, I clench the scalpel and thrust it into his left eye. As he screams and falls to the ground Victoria and I start running out of the shed as fast as we can. We run and run and finally we hear the cop’s sirens coming closer to the shelter. We wave them down in a frantic and tell them to run to the shed and the cops start running with their guns immediately.

Victoria and I stay back while the ambulance pull’s up and start examining us and checking our vitals. I had not been able to process anything that happened, I felt so sick after taking a moment to catch my breath. With the overwhelming feeling of nausea, I step aside from the EMTs and throw up until I cannot anymore. As I am hovered over on the side of the street, I suddenly get a chill... As I look up slowly towards the end of the street, I see him... smiling at me.


I was on top of a hiking trail when the world ended. It was ending, but dammit, why did it end so beautifully? Because it was, you know, beautiful. The asteroid, The Famous Asteroid from Channel 7, talked and tweeted and posted about, was finally hitting and there was nothing we could do about, and maybe that's why, standing there with my foot propped up on a dusty rock, my water bottle dangling between my index and middle finger, mouth gaping, sweaty in my workout-gear, watching the world end, it was so, so beautiful. The colors, for one. The asteroid skidded across the sky, scorching everything in its path and leaving behind a big, scorching red-purple-blue-red-yellow bruise, and wow, it was beautiful - (I need to stop saying beautiful) and all I could do was think that I would die but at least the sky looked stunning while I was at it. I had never thought skies could bleed. I was wrong. It bled, and it collapsed. Because then the asteroid hit. The heat rolled over me like a ´tsunami-wave. Trees erupted below along the hillside like match-sticks. The ground moaned and shook like it was in pain, like it was pleading with somebody, begging for something, anything, to make it stop. Tiny specks of rubble dug into my skin, it felt like rain, only it was needles, not water. I remember falling. Then the world didn't dissolve, nothing cinematically faded to black, and I felt no Angel of Death reaching for my hand. No, my vision just shattered. I went numb. It happened so fast, I didn't realize it was even happening. All I know is, I woke up here, my mouth feeling like the inside of a chimney, rubbed raw, aching, my chest covered in dust, head spinning and wondering, why was I alive, why did I survive, why is there air flowing in and out of my lungs when I should be charred and burned and nameless, covered in the wreckage of what used to be the world. I opened my eyes. I reached for something to grab onto - and low and behold, there was a chunk of granite I could use to haul myself to my feet. Heart pounding. And now I'm here. I'm alone. It's hitting me. I've survived. Me. Teenage, awkward, red-haired, chubby-armed me. That's how you know the universe does not care - anybody could have survived, the mayor or the president or, I don't know, a scientist. Instead it was me. The odds... I stare at my surroundings for a long time. Everything is gray. The air is not air anymore, it tastes like acid or sulfur, like it's mad at me that I dared to survive. The forest is gone. The town below is gone. Just like that. Funny. All those roads and power-plants and elections and med labs and big ideas and even bigger plans we made, you know, like, humans, I mean, and now it's all just this blurry gray Something in the distance, a pile of ash, and I'm looking at it, trying to swallow mouthful after mouthful of angry air. I want to cry. I'm not the type of person who survives this kind of situation. Heroes survive. Not random kids who climb up hiking trails at 7 p.m. at night, because they get teased for their lower belly fat and don't wanna show up to prom looking like a beluga whale in sheet. Anyway, the town is gone, the forest, the roads, the hills, everything is flattened out. Like someone took a knife and sliced off the top layer. So I do what I would be doing if the world hadn't ended, if I was still on that hiking trail with my water bottle. I start walking. As I do, snow starts falling. Only, it's not snow, it's flakes of pale-gray ash, like little dust motes, drifting down from a sky that I can't see anymore, because its wrapped in dark clouds of...i don't know...some sort of dark matter. This isn't what they taught me in physics. I guess it's just me now...I guess it's just me...two steps...keep walking...one, two, one, two...what do I do now?...one, two, one, two...there's no way anybody survived this, there is no way, I''m alone, I can feel it, I'm alone, there's nobody here, not my mom or my dad, or my brother or my dog or anything, I can feel it all closing in on me now, the ground is crunching beneath my feet, it feels soft, God knows what I just stepped on, don't think about it, keep walking, one, two, one, two, watch your step, that's a boulder, go left, I think that's neighbour Patty's dresser, just. Keep. Walking. But I'm alone. I'm alone I'm alone I'm scared I'm alone I can't breathe why me why me WHY ME? - "Susie?" My heart stops. My ears are ringing. "Susie!" It can't be. "Susie, it's me. Aaron. Holy...I thought I was the last person on earth." A hand comes out of the fog, then a face, more specifically, the face of my biggest tormentor from middle school to senior high. I know his face from the cafeteria - right before he smacked a tray of pudding into my face in 8th grade. I know his face from chemistry class, when he compared me to the pig's heart we were dissecting, in 9th grade. I know his face from The Spring Dance last year, when he stood me up in front of the whole school and my world ended (for the first time). This was not someone I wanted to be alone in the world with. And here he was, the Class Clown everyone adored. He looked different without his minions glued to his side. Grief didn't become him. His dark skin looked paler, covered in dust, his hair was unruly, sticking out at weird angles, his clothes were tattered and burned. He looked like he'd been to hell and back, which I figured wasn't far from the truth. The ringing in my ears faded slightly. I said nothing. Just surveyed him. Somewhere in the depths of his face I made out two wide, black, glistening blotches: his eyes. He looked terrified. And somewhere in those eyes, I sensed relief. Hope. "Susie," he repeated. His voice cracked. And he hugged me, even though we were both sweaty and grimy and dirty, and even though our limbs were shaking, and holding up myself, let alone Aaron, was enough a challenge as it was. But we stood there. The ash-snow falling around us. So this is what if feels like to be last two people on earth. It feels like ash-snow and pain and terror and forgiveness.


“This is so boring,” Fran huffed, rolling her eyes at her friend across the table. “Come on, just give it a chance. The book says all we have to do now is close our eyes and take deep breaths. What if it actually works?” said Seline with the fetching look she always used to get Francine to follow along with her insane schemes. “Nothing is going to happen, Sel. This is all absurd.” “If nothing happens, then we’ll just go back to our shitty lives and forget we ever tried. Ok?” Fran groaned but held Seline’s fingers, which felt clammy in her apparent excitement. Or perhaps desperation described it better. Between their joined hands was a black-red candle, lit with a flame that wiggled frantically amid their discussion. Crystals and stones of various colors encircled the relic and trailed all around the room because Seline had read that these would protect them from any unwanted spirits.

The book explained that if any dark entities slipped in while they were ‘away’, anything could happen.

“We need to call in our protectors,” Seline said aloud as she thought of that possibility. “What?” stabbed Fran, opening one eye to check for any indication of how serious she was about this next step. “Our angels, ancestors, our higher selves.” Fran stifled laughter, saying, “Great Aunt Lily, the one that died chasing her dog across the train tracks back in 1891, please look after us as we travel to the underworld.” She waggled her eyebrows and waved magic hands all around their setup while Seline sat, unimpressed, until she finished.

“Don’t joke! Did you really have a Great Aunt Lily? We’re sorry, Lily! She didn’t mean it.”

Seline moved to grab her tarot deck from its satchel beside her. She inhaled slowly and closed her eyes as she shuffled and said, “All of our watchers, our loved ones on the other side, our familiars, our guides, and angels. Please be with us as we make this journey beyond the veil.”

At this, Fran sat back, quiet. She let out an impatient sigh but closed her eyes as instructed while Seline continued.

“We want to journey to the other side to ask for an escape. We want to jump. We want to recreate our timeline. This one is poisoned. It no longer serves us. Will you help us find the path that we desire?”

She took another deep breath, in through her nose, then out through her mouth. She placed the deck just beside the trepid candle and coughed to call the attention of Fran, who might have been falling asleep, but actually felt herself slipping into a kind of trance, caught up in the strange ambiance Seline had summoned into the room.

Seline was eyeing her now, looking from her to the deck, inviting her to pick a card. Fran did and viewed it herself before unsurely placing it on the table on the other side of the candle.

“Ressurection,” Seline’s blue eyes flickered eagerly as they met with Fran’s. She opened her mouth, smiling, but seemed lost for words.

“What does it mean?” Fran asked anxiously. “It means,” she paused, searching for the word, “death.” “What!” Fran replied, too loudly for the moment. The sound startled them both and even more so when Fran pushed herself away from the table, scraping her chair across the floor as she went.

“No! Francine, do not break the circle,” Seline said cautiously, referring to the loop of salt that went all the way around them, enclosing them with the candles, stones, and curios that had been strategically placed with purpose.

“Please,” Seline begged, “Sit.”

Fran did. She was breathing heavily, nervously, but she looked over at her best friend, who had been by her side through so much. Who she would run away to when her boyfriend came home drunk. Whose shower she could use when hers was running cold. Who always looked out for her.

Seline began again, sensing that her companion had calmed down enough to hear her. “Death,” she said, the word pricking both their ears but with the next word came an immediate sense of relief, “Rebirth.” Fran sat up straighter, signaling that she was ready to hear more. “Rebirth?” she replied meekly. “Look,” Seline said, hovering a black-painted fingertip over the image on the card. She pointed to a golden angel who was sounding a trumpet, then moved down to show three children who stood rejoicing and glowing from their little gray caskets. Yellow flowers bloomed from the sides of their stone beds, while underneath them appeared dead and crumpled weeds that stood there before they had risen.

“See?” Seline continued, sensing that Fran now understood, “We need to release that what no longer serves us.” She looked up at her now, all seriousness in her blazing blue eyes. “We need to kill it to live the lives we deserve.”

Without wanting to show it, Fran was feeling nervous again. She would usually follow Seline into anything. She trusted her with her whole life, but this was getting a little too serious for her liking. There was a heavy feeling steadily taking hold of her. Her breathing was low and deep, and felt like it had a life of its own. She could feel drops of sweat rolling down her chest. Seline took Fran’s hands and held them tight. She closed her eyes and swayed a little as she began to chant, “We call to you! Our watchers, loved ones, familiars, guides, our angels on the other side, please guide our path out of the darkness. We surrender that which no longer serves us. We relinquish it to you. Please illuminate our path to well-being.” Silence then fell. Fran held on as long as she could before fluttering her eyes open to witness Seline, whose faint movements she had felt but was startled to see now. Her body was jerking strangely in circular motions, her chin was erect, and her eyes rolled back to show their whites between vaguely blinking eyelids. The whole scene made Fran feel like she didn’t belong there; like she was watching something private that was not her business to see. She closed her eyes and hoped it would soon be over.

Fran exhaled in relief as Seline finished at last, saying, “We thank you for your guidance and are forever beholden to your service.”

A yank at her left hand signaled for Fran to follow suit.

“Um, yeah. Thank you,” Fran offered.

Seline finished with a deep breath and finally released her friend, looking at her excitedly.

“Didn’t that feel amazing?! I think it actually might have worked!” “What do you mean?” Fran asked, feigning passive. “I guess we’ll just have to see how reality treats us these next few days. Then, we’ll know.” Seline got up, feeling buoyant. She began extinguishing candles and thoughtfully plucking up the stones, then placing them back in the silk purse she kept them in.

Fran felt suddenly nauseous as the smell of smoke and herbs filled her lungs.

“I think I’m going to head home. I’m not feeling so great.” Seline looked at her with concern but gave her a warm hug goodbye.

“Call me when you get in,” she shouted as Fran softly shut the apartment door.

Fran forgot to text Seline when she got home.

She arrived to her boyfriend passed out drunk on the couch with the TV blaring after-hour commercial programming. He didn’t even budge when she accidentally kicked over a pile of boxes they hadn’t bothered to unpack months after moving in together.

She walked through the living room and straight into the bathroom, where she turned on the yellow light to look at herself in the mirror. She grimaced at how tired she appeared, then turned the faucet for hot water and splashed the burning liquid onto her face. When she looked again, she was scrubbed all pink and splotchy. Wiping tears from her eyes, she turned from herself.

Though her stomach rumbled, having skipped dinner for Seline’s seance, she walked straight to the mattress on the floor in the otherwise empty bedroom. She’d had enough of this day, and after kicking off her jeans, she threw herself into bed to finally put an end to it.

As she closed her eyes, Fran stifled the pained cries that erupted from within. She hated that she’d gone along with Seline’s plan. How could she hope for anything better than what she was living right now? It was all she had known, and there was no way out no matter what she tried, least of all some crystal magic bullshit.

In what felt like moments later, Fran was awoken by rays of sun flashing in her eyes. She took a startled inhale and was confronted with a fresh floral scent. Whirling her head around, she located the source: a huge bouquet of white and yellow flowers sitting atop a bedside table she didn’t recognize.

She sat up, confused and a little scared. Where was she? This was her bedroom, but there were curtains where dusty blinds used to be. In a corner that was previously stark and empty, there was a cushion with a decorative pillow placed upon it. And beside her typically lonely mattress there was the mysterious new nightstand and beautiful flowers.

After standing up cautiously, sure she was waking in an eerily realistic dream, she peeked from the bedroom door to see if her boyfriend was still sleeping where she left him on the couch. He wasn’t there. But what was there instead made her forget all about him. She stepped into the room and spun slowly, taking in her surroundings with wild, unbelieving eyes.

The space was like something from her wildest dreams. Every inch was filled with adornments reminiscent of her favorite things. Prints of ocean scenes were hung on the walls, and the TV that was previously set up on a dusty old chest now sat between vintage books on a small wooden side table. There was even a bicycle that did not belong to her propped up by the front door.

Covering her mouth, Fran crumpled to the floor, trembling and shaking her head in disbelief. Her heaving cries of shock were interrupted by the sound of her cell phone ringing from where she left it in her jeans pocket.

She moved tentatively back to her bedroom to answer it, afraid that any sudden movements would wake her from the bliss she’d slipped into.

“Fran,” said Seline as soon as she answered.

“Holy shit, Seline. Is this real?” asked Fran through joyful sobs.

“Fran, where is Toby?” asked Seline in a shaking voice.

“What? I don’t know. He wasn’t here when I woke up,” Fran wiped her nose as she walked to scan the small apartment once again. “Oh, my god. It’s all so beautiful!” she exclaimed, distracted by what she found in her new bathroom. “Have you turned on the news today?” Seline asked, her desperation taking Fran by surprise. “No, why? Aren’t you happy, Seline? Didn’t it work for you too?” “Just turn on the news. It’s Toby. Your Toby. On every channel.” This stopped Fran dead in her tracks. She made her way to a new sofa, draped with cozy blankets, and sat before reaching to grab the remote control from a pristine glass coffee table. The television flashed on, and Fran jumped at the volume of it.

She remembered how it had been blaring while Toby slept last night. She wished now that she had stopped to shut it off, that she had pulled him to stand and go to bed with her. Maybe then she wouldn’t be seeing his face on the screen as a newscaster declared, “The young man was found dead by a jogger this morning. Cause of death is yet to be determined.”


The residents took off their blindfolds as soon as they were instructed to do so and allowed their eyes to adjust to the piercing bright atmosphere. Once the realization that they were in the middle of nowhere sat in, two armed security guards led them to a dark-haired man in a crisp suit. His professional attire appeared so out of place in comparison to the arid desert backdrop, that the residents were taken aback. He smiled and appeared oblivious to their discomfort. "Welcome to HT Incorporated, where pure human connection starts!" Immediately after saying the well-practiced phrase, he turned around and placed his wrist on what appeared to be an electronic door sensor on a solid metal wall. The wall immediately split in two and a large gap appeared in the middle revealing the inside of an elevator. The doctor stepped in and motioned his residents to follow.

As quickly as the doors opened they had shut, leaving the residents cramped and silent. Stealing nervous glances at one another, the familiar feeling of an elevator travelling downward crept into their stomachs.

The elevator stopped, and after a loud beep, the doors opened into what looked like a single unit on a hospital floor. Swarms of women and men in white uniforms were collected at what HT Inc. referred to as "the hive", the central nursing station. Some were typing and reading giant monitors, others were drawing up a clear solution in a large syringe, and some were speaking to important looking men.

The doors shut behind the residents, and every one of them noticed the large stone-faced security guards standing on either side of the elevator door. A sterile white hallway branched off from "the hive". The hallway consisted of 10 doors on each side leading to the individual client suites, AKA interaction rooms. For marketing purposes, "suites" landed better in the focus groups, but interaction rooms were what the staff used to refer to these small client rooms. A heavy steel door with a large square window was the only way into an interaction room and was locked from the outside. There were 17 adult interaction rooms, and the remaining 3 were reserved for children. In the adult rooms, the only furniture present was a bolted down table with 2 bolted down chairs and a small sofa in the corner. The children's rooms had a smaller bolted down table, 2 small bolted down chairs, a colorless play mat, and a small box of children's toys and books. If one looked closely, they would notice the books and toys were colorless and wordless. Blank covers were followed by blank pages. Inside every cell, there was a door to a holding closet where the HTs were activated and paired to their human counterparts, which was locked on both sides and controlled by the staff at the central station.

"We believe we found the cure for loneliness at HT Incorporated. We are going to change many lives here, and you all should count yourselves lucky to be a part of the first phase of human trials." The medical director's voice shocked the residents out their dull, humming reveries brought on by the buzz of the monitors and disorienting walls. He gave them a cold, clinical smile and proceeded on with the tour. His smile, similar to the walls and floors, was almost too white, and hadn't reached his eyes.

"The clients are seated in their assigned suite when they first arrive. A nurse then takes a baseline set of vital signs, lab tests, and then conducts a psychiatric screening. This information allows our experts to cater the experience to our clients, as well as streamline the care for the most effective outcomes. It's this combination of advanced medicine and client personalization that sets us apart from any current competition."

The director led the residents towards the 1st doorway on the left, and they all huddled around the window looking into the room.

"Here is Sonya. She is a 42-year-old widow who has suffered extreme familial and financial loss in the past three years. She signed up for the human trials, desperate and discouraged after many therapeutic approaches were not successful in controlling her severe depressive symptoms."

Through the window, the residents saw one of the nurses inject Sonya in her left arm with a clear, colorless solution. The nurse's bright red lipstick contrasted severely with the white walls. After she applied a small bandage to the injection site, the nurse was observed speaking to Sonya and then promptly exited the room. The residents moved off to the side as the nurse opened the door and walked back to the station.

"The clients have portable heart monitors on so we can monitor any changes the medication may cause," the director explained.

One of the residents, a tall young man with large glasses asked, "What is the medication you are administering?"

"It is a combination of three medications, actually. One is a blood pressure medication to prevent any fatal blood pressure spikes during the interaction with the HT. The other two medications consist of an anxiolytic and a specific psychoactive compound that is tailored to the client's genetic and physical make-up."

"Which medications are those specifically?" glasses asked again.

The doctor gave another cold smile and scanned the room before answering. "Given how this trial is still in its early stages, I have been advised by the company not to state the specifics. We have a lot of rival companies who are willing to do anything to access our secret formula. I apologize for the disappointment this may cause, but unless you are a spy, I'm confident you will find that a reasonable answer."

Immediate silence spread through the group.

"Now, let us observe how Sonya does when the HT is brought in. The medication should be starting to take effect now."

The residents looked toward the window. Sonya was seen sitting at the metal table looking towards the door in the back corner. A few seconds later, the door opened, and out came what was named after the company that designed it. The HT had the basic structure of a human and was fitted with a layer of white silicone material. Even with these features, it appeared even less life-like than it would without them. The face, if one could call it that, had no defining structures.

Before the residents could express their confusion, Sonya flung out of her chair and began crawling towards the HT on her hands and knees. The HT stopped and tilted its head to look down at Sonya as she began crying and kissing its feet.

"What is happening?" one of the female residents asked, clearly concerned.

The doctor flashed another one of his award-winning smiles, "Despite Sonya's losses in this life, she is a deeply religious woman. She believes one day, the suffering and sickness that make up this world will end and be replaced by eternal life, but only after Jesus Christ's second coming." He paused, allowing the residents to observe the scene, "Well, I'm not able confirm or deny if that is true, as I am a scientific man, but here at HT Incorporated, we were able to get Jesus to come back a little earlier for our friend Sonya." The director smiled a little longer after this last sentence. It was as if his mouth was completely detached from his face manipulated by an unseen operator. Another resident chimed in, "So, she thinks THAT is Jesus?"

"No, she doesn't think anything. She 100% believes it to be the case."

Before anything else could be said, the director began to walk further down the hallway. The residents looked in the windows of each room they passed. In one room, a lady was slowly dancing with an obvious HT, but to her, it must have been a long-lost lover. Her face was resting on the thing's torso, with her eyes closed and a sweet smile forming at the corners of her lips.

"We have installed settings to help the HT's respond to their human counterparts that would be the most comforting to them. Within the silicone covering, temperature sensors are present to help mirror the body heat of the client. The legs can change height to mimic the height of the person the client is remembering or fantasizing. They even have an audible heartbeat, breath sounds, and movements that respond to the client's facial expressions, change in heart rate, and non-verbal cues."

The director continued, " By achieving this with an extremely cost effect model, production will be fast, and anyone can afford it. The medication is the trickier aspect. We are currently working on a long-acting tablet form, but that is going to take some time to get the formula just right."

They stopped in front of one of the children's rooms. Looking in, a child of about 4 years-old was sitting on the play mat with an HT, who was holding one of the books up and appearing to read to the child. Looking closer, a light coming from the HT's torso was projecting a story onto one of the blank pages.

"Johnny has severe difficulty in school. Not only with the materials, but the social aspect as well. By allowing Johnny to learn at his own pace with someone who can foster social interaction in the most comforting way to him, I am confident we are going to see significant improvements in his functional and emotional well-being."

The director and his residents passed by the remaining rooms. Room by room they passed. A man sitting with an HT appearing to fish, an elderly woman rocking a small HT in her arms, a man kissing an HT on its silicone mouth, a laughing child being carried on an HT's back. Each of these people were engrossed in their own perfect worlds, completely unaware of the real humans in the rooms next to them.

The residents came to the end of the hallway and followed the director back to the elevator entrance.

"I sincerely hope you have enjoyed your first day here at the HT headquarters. We are doing excellent work, and I have no doubt we will be the leading face of human flourishing. I will see you all back here at a time undisclosed."

With that, the director flashed one last sterile smile, and the elevator doors opened behind the perfectly still residents. They got in and started their return trip back, blindfolded and speechless.


There they sat; the three of them. The feeling began at the ends of their toes and slowly crept like electricity up their bones and through their skinny legs. The drops of the healing waters remained on their skin and immediately they felt the magic of the place pulsate through them. “Do you feel anything?” Beatrice was always the more headstrong of the trio. “It’s gonna take more than a few minutes! Be patient!” Margot retorted at her friend as she looked over at the third member of the group, Jessica, and rolled her eyes. The three friends sat waiting on the banks of the Spring. That’s what they called it, the Spring. Any other body of water on the whole of the Island needed its proper name, but not this place. It all started a few years ago when it seemed like everyone everyone knew was coming down with polio. The sufferers would dip their legs in the cool water, play with the ripples, toss in stones, hope and wish, and inevitably be healed within moments, though some weak in faith required a few more treatments. Father Walsh reluctantly raised funds to bring the ill of the Village to the Spring, douse them in the water, see them heal, and praise the Divine and thank Him for giving the people of the Village these miraculous waters. New and would-be mothers spent hours at the Spring, then, would move on to the local parish to praise the Divine and give thanks for the healing waters they had been given. Father Walsh had a telescope that he would let the children of the Village look through after Mass every Sunday. First, the Sacrament, then the Heavens. He kept papers by his bedside and would scribble notes on them as he was inspired by the majesty of the universe and the wondrous majesty of the Divine he witnessed when gazing through the lens most nights. His flock knew him and his eccentricities well and in the Sanctuary, they would laugh and giggle at the homilies he would deliver about the wonders of the world the Creator had provided. It was a revolutionary time, and the doctors and professors on the Mainland were steadily making intellectual progress. Father Walsh desired to see the fusion of higher thought with that of the pondering of the Highest of them all. Father Walsh would begin his recent homilies in a similar fashion: “We are all here this Blessed Sabbath to come and partake of the Sacrifice of Our Creator. We also know that there are many temptations amongst us: false idols, natural wonders that draw us further from the Divine… waters that claim to heal without the Touch of the Almighty. I must surrender the fact that many have claimed to be healed by the Spring and its appealing waters. However, we as men and women of the Faith must guard against the denial of the Divine’s Touch on these waters. In fact, there are learned men, scientists and naturalists that reliably claim that the Spring is in fact just that: a spring. A naturally occurring spring of naturally occurring water rising from the earth. While I fault no one for dipping their extremities in the waters, be aware of the fact the Divine above is the cause of these supposed ‘healings,’ not the Spring itself. ” The congregants scoffed. How could this backcountry priest know anything about polio? About the toll it took on the families. Their children - their next-in-line - knew that there would be no more if not for these waters. It truly *was* as if the Divine had dipped His own toes in the Spring and blessed it Himself. One could feel the pulsations up the back, through the neck, and around the skull. Headaches were no more; pain did not exist. Afternoons-out became commonplace in the Village and nearly everyone went to the Spring after Sunday Mass. Father Walsh would become reluctant, but bless the Spring nonetheless each Sabbath, hoping to indirectly demonstrate to the villagers that the Divine had touched these waters and that that is why they were miraculous; the Spring was not simply a supernatural phenomenon, but proof of Heaven’s Grace. He noticed that many began drinking the liquid and claimed the healing of fevers, melancholy, and dipsomania. Wives would dry-out their husbands on Saturday night, see them fit to attend Mass on Sunday morning, catch them drinking Sunday afternoon, then promptly bring them to the Spring before dusk that evening. “Divine above. What am I to do? My parishioners, my congregants, my flock, they are turning their eyes toward the less-than-sacred. Toward waters that I do not feel in my deepest of soul are holy - not sent from You above. Great Creator, Grand Architect of All, what am I to do?” Father Walsh prayed, asked, and pleaded with the Divine more each evening than he had the one before. “Let us look at your wonders, shall we, and reinvigorate in me the faith that has sustained this Island for ages.” Peering at the sky above, the priest saw the familiar constellations, planets, and the Majesty he was accustomed to. “Well, that *is* odd, is it not, Father above?” The Moon had seemingly shrunk *again*, not drastically, but noticeably once more. It should never have been this diminished in the Heavens this time of year. “What, oh Divine, is becoming of this Heavenly body? Why does it seem to continue to diminish?” Father Walsh was perplexed. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ “It *does* appear small.” Bishop O’Malley knew little of astronomy but gazed at the Moon often as he pondered the Mysteries. “What, Reverend Walsh, makes *you* feel as though the Moon is getting smaller?” “I have been watching the Heavens nightly for several years now - since coming to serve the congregants of this Island - and I know well these bodies in the sky. There is something amiss; something quite off about all of this.” Father Walsh peered once more through his diminutive telescope. “I can see that the Moon above has diminished. There is no manner in which it should be *this small*. Something is just not right, Brother. I’ve noticed, in fact, that something has been ‘different’ about the skies in the recent weeks, but I can now place it: the Moon itself is small; smaller than it should be.” “This all seems like guff to me, Brother. I’m sorry to say, but this all does not seem possible. While the Moon does seem out of place and small, who are we to judge the Divine? What would make the whole of the Moon succumb to the mass of the Heavens above? There is just no manner in which this could happen.” “I know, I know. But, you must believe me, Bishop O’Malley: something *is* amiss.” Father Walsh tried to convince the wary bishop of his theory: that the Moon itself had begun to shrink progressively since the discovery of the healing powers of the Spring: “Brother, I tell you, I tell you, I do: the Heavens above have not been the same since my flock have been dipping their toes in and drinking the waters of the Spring. Stars have ever so slightly shifted, entire constellations are being altered! Orion’s Belt doesn’t even fit anymore! But, most tragically of all, the Moon is shrinking, day by day.” “Why is this so troubling to you, Reverend Walsh? What are you getting at?” “Bishop, you must understand, the Moon, as odd as it seems, controls the waters of the earth! The Moon dictates to our earth how and when the tides shall rise and fall. Without this heavenly body, fish will no longer know where to swim. Fishermen will not know where to fish! Villages near the sea, like ours, will perish! Even the Spring, as inland as it might be compared to our small Village, will be overpowered by the sea! These methods, these tides, these *reliable* methods keep all life in check.” Father Walsh could hardly compose himself and he was blushing in the presence of the Bishop. “Bah!” “No, my lord. I do tell you: this is troublesome.” “Well, what are we to do?” The Bishop knew the consequences of Father Walsh’s theory. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ “Before we depart, I do have a message to give all of the Village. The Spring is hereby off limits to all.” An audible gasp lifted to the vaulted ceiling of the old cathedral. “I know many of you rely on these waters, but they are not Holy! They are in fact destroying your fellow man. You must have faith in what I say: these waters will destroy us all.” The parishioners had heard this nonsense before - that all use of the Spring was unholy and that they must give the Divine their thanks before, during, after, and always. “I mean this! It will be folly to continue to use these waters!” The congregation began to leave the cathedral and directed themselves to the Spring. Children were hobbling on crutches; elders were barely walking down the stairs leading away from the Sanctuary. The Spring was their only hope and their last resort. Father Walsh and the Divine had failed them habitually. “Please, I beg of you! Stop! This Spring is not the answer!” Father Walsh implored his congregants. “Then what in the Hell is the answer, Father? Don’t tell us anymore of that nonsense you preach in your rambling homilies.” A brave member of his Flock spoke up and the rest followed suit. They shouted and threw stones and branches at him. Some spat. “Alright, alright. But… you must listen! All of you!” Father Walsh was able to still the crowd. “The Moon! The Moon is diminishing. It’s becoming smaller due to the use of these Waters… due to the use of this Spring! We cannot use it anymore! You, Beatrice! You, Margot! You, Jessica! It might save your legs… it might have already! It might! But, it will inevitably destroy us all!” The crowd scoffed. “To Hell with him!” “No! No! I beg of you to *not* use these waters ever again! The Moon controls the tides. It dictates to the waters around our Island as to what they shall do. I swear it. Oh, please, I swear it!” “Run him out of the Village!” Some shouted. “Send him back to the Mainland!” Shouted others. “Kill him; hang him!” Shouted some. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ All were eventually healed. There was no pain, no headaches, no trembling, no weakness, no polio. When the waters rose they deconstructed the Cathedral and brought its remnants inland for firewood. As the Sea encroached and even more livestock died and crops failed, the Spring became their only respite. Eventually, the waters of the Sea overtook the Spring and the parishioners waited for finality on the rocks above. They all surely perished, and the Spring let out a hollow creak as its waters succumbed to those of the cold, dark Sea.


Hi I write short stories by using the first word generated from a word generator online as the theme. Enjoy and I appreciate any feedback. Thanks! **"Carve"** Sweat trickles down the side of Andy's face. He has been at it for three hours without rest, food, or drink. Out in his backyard with no shade or shelter during the summer, he wonders if he might suffer a heat stroke. He reminds himself to Google the recommended time one should spend outdoors, and to set a timer next time. Andy is the kind of person who sets a timer for everything; and follows it. He once set a timer for how long he would wait for his girlfriend to return from the washroom before he drove off. She is an ex-girlfriend now. He also owns an Apple watch - it allows him to set a timer more easily. Andy loves his timers. "Fuck this. Why am I even doing this?" he mutters under his breath. Yet, he continues. Fanning and fanning, each wave of his forearm is filled with hope and longing; he has faith that it will all work out. That all his efforts will come to fruition. That he will succeed. After all, he has timed it. Andy is spacing out now, daydreaming of the pleasure that awaits. The pain has become numbness but he keeps going. He makes a mental note of the time required for his arms to go numb. He reminds himself that nothing worth doing is ever easy, and that he has to work for his reward. He thinks about how he could have just picked up his phone and chose the easy way out. He thinks about how he could have spent the morning researching how fast to drink his coffee before it loses its optimal flavour. He thinks about the decisions he made in life leading to this moment. He thinks about... Then, it happens. The shrill chimes of his Apple Watch telling him that his suffering is over. He drops the dreaded paper fan, light as a feather just three and half hours ago but now the very symbol of pain in Andy's eyes. Putting on mitts, he pulls the foil wrapped object out from the heat and lay it on the table. Having set said object down safely, he collapses on the grass exhausted. He sets a timer for fifteen minutes, as Andy will. Fifteen exact minutes later, he stands up. "It is time." He carefully opens up the foil package, as carefully as his excitement allows anyway. With trembling hands he unpeels the final layer, the last barrier between him and triumph. A gap emerged between the layers of foil. An explosion of aroma hits him - thyme, rosemary, garlic, butter and oh that glorious chicken. That beautifully slow charcoal roasted organic chicken fed with non-GMO corn (Andy only eats organic). He has never seen anything more exquisite. Andy forgets about the hours spent fanning the damn charcoal. He forgets how ridiculous he felt following a recipe requiring three and a half hours of consistent fanning to 'keep the airflow going to ensure crispy skin'. He even forgets to set a timer. There is only thing left to do now: **carve**. (Typically, Andy sets a timer for 4 min 27 seconds when carving a bird of this size.) He pulls out his carving knife and begins a familiar routine. He carves with precise movements. Then, he stops. Andy realises. .... ........ .............. The chicken is still raw.


Briana was a beautiful lass with nut-brown hair and wide blue eyes. She sang a tune to herself as she strolled through the emerald green hills of the country. Following the road, she neared the Sweeney's farmhouse. A loud crash sounded in the distance, followed by a chuckle and a high-pitched squeal. Briana ran into the barn to investigate. Angus Sweeney's arms wrapped around a creature the size of a chicken. It was a wee fellow in a green suit with a red buckled hat and boots. "You're going to drop all your gold if you want to be set free," grumbled Angus. "Oi!" yelled Briana. Angus dropped the leprechaun in surprise, and the creature flashed behind a hay bale. "Bria, you just cost me a fortune. I hope yer happy," Angus' crossed his massive arms and pouted in silence. "What did the little man do to deserve to be jostled so?" "He has all the gold, mountains of wealth. You only need to catch them." Briana folded her arms. "So you capture them against their will until they drop coins? Sounds like robbery to me." "They're not human**.** They're Sidhe." "That doesn't make it right," sighed Briana, shaking her head. Angus rolled his eyes and stormed out of the barn. "I didn't come here to be nagged by a woman. I have important work to do." He huffed and plodded out of the barn. By the bale of hay where the leprechaun was hiding, Briana saw a tiny shoe. It was the most exquisite little thing she laid eyes on. The leather was as soft as butter, and the buckles shone of pure gold in the broken sunlight. "Tank you very much, my lady," he whispered. The little fellow came out of hiding and kissed her hand and bowed. "For rescuing me, I owe ye one wish. " Briana thought for a moment and handed him back the shoe he was working on. "I want to learn how to make shoes like that," she said. The leprechaun raised an eyebrow. "To teach a human such a task would take ages. I can offer you gold, a handsome husband, land, or a mansion." "If I learn how to make shoes as thus, I will earn my old gold. I can buy the land and mansion myself and won't need a husband, no matter how handsome he is." The leprechaun sighed and shook his head. "Very well, woman. We meet at daybreak past the green hill with the stone circle. Your days will be long, and your toil will be great. I wish you had asked for something else." "You are Sidhe. You must keep your bargain." "As I shall," said the little man before vanishing. Briana woke by the cocks crow the next dawn. She packed herself a small lunch and headed past town toward the fairy mound. Underneath the hill, she found a tiny workshop. "Hello?" she called. The little man came out of the shop and snapped his fingers, and Briana shrank to his size. "You kept your promise and came at dawn," he said, putting a corn-cob pipe in his mouth. "I work on a farm. Waking up early is nothing to me." He nodded and led her into his workshop. There was a bench full of little shoes and a hearth with a little pot cooking over the flame. They had a meal of porridge and tea in complete silence. "Tank you for the food, but I want to start the lessons now," said Briana. "Well, you can start by soaking the hides." He pointed his hand toward a mountain of rabbit pelts." "The leather is from rabbits?" asked Briana. "How else would it get so soft? The hides need to be soaked and cleaned. Now ye best get to it." Briana lifted the pelts and soaked them in a small peat bog. She dredged the heavy skins from the drink and squeezed them dry. She took a little round knife and skinned off the fur and flesh. The leprechaun came by and picked through all the hides. He tossed them into the bog after finding one solitary hair on the leather. Briana took a deep breath and soaked the skins again. She wrung and scraped the hides for a week, only stopping for meals of rabbit stew, brown bread, and tea. She slept short nights in a thatched bed. Eventually, after the cool spring breezes turned into the beating summer sun, the hides felt like silk under her hands. The leprechaun came back and checked the leather and nodded in approval. "I didn't tink yea had it in you. Now we make the sole." The following day, he took her to a patch of forest with an enormous oak log. Briana spent the next week sawing the log into planks. She carved the wood into soles and sanded them smooth. The leprechaun would inspect the soles and throw the ones that were too splintery into the fire. Her hands were rough and full of splinters. But as her hands grew rougher, the soles grew smoother. The leprechaun came to the working mill with the soles and inspected them once more. He whistled as he saw the number of soles lying before him. "Aye lass, these look fine. Yer next task is the fitting and sewing." As the summer sun turned to the crisp wind of autumn, Briana learned how to fit the leather to the sole and hammer the shoes together. She painstakingly fit each piece over the sole and hammered it to the wood. Once again, the leprechaun would inspect the shoes and threw the ill-fitted ones into the fire. As the warm colors of fall turned to the frost of winter, the **l**eather fit the soles exquisitely. "Last, I shall teach you how to make the buckles." He led her toward a large pot of gold coins. He showed her how to melt the coins using tiny bellows, the coals' heat fending off the chill of winter. After they melted the coins, she would cast the slurry into molds. When it cooled, Briana would polish the gold until her arms ached, and it still **didn't** shine enough for the leprechaun. It wasn't until the frozen ground thawed back to spring did she had the buckles polished to perfection. In that year, Briana had helped the little man makes dozens of shoes. She now knew the craft of cobbling and could go back to the world of man. The leprechaun looked at Briana with a forlorn expression as she left the workshop. His debt paid for. He let her take all the shoes that she had made. All the times he had thrown the shoes into the fire or griped at her, she did not get angry or lash out. At worst, she would sigh and begin the same task again. He wished her well and drank a glass of ale the same size he was. Briana grew to normal size as she returned to town. She sold the shoes for a handsome price and opened her own shop. She worked day and night tirelessly to keep her shelves stocked. Rabbit pelts were a bit too small for humans, so she did her best with the skin of a stag. She couldn't reasonably afford gold buckles but could buy the best brass and polish it to a blinding shine. Instead of giant oaks, she settled on good cork. Her hands became rough and her slight frame filled out with muscle. Her face was still comely, and her chestnut hair was still silken, and her blue eyes were bright. Briana relished in her work and sang the most beautiful songs. Angus Sweeney was now town mayor, and Briana's craft and beauty caught his eye. He swaggered into her shop and plucked one shoe off the wall. "I had thought you were a goner when you left town a year ago. It was as if you vanished. All of us thought the Sidhe had taken you." "I went to them of my free will. One of the little folk owed me a bargain," Briana looked around her shop. "It looks like l succeeded." "I think you'd be happier as me, wife, " said Angus, his broad shoulders blocking her door. "I tink not, I earned everything here, not to have it ripped away by some bully." "You'll have all the riches and never have to work again in your life." "I earned this right to work. I have honed my craft for a year straight. I belong to no man," she spat. "You did not learn this talent by natural means. You've consorted with fairies, and the devil touches you." Angus grabbed Briana and dragged her into the street to the courthouse. "As mayor, I accuse this woman of witchcraft!" Angus threw Briana into a small cell and locked the door. She curled up into a ball and cried through the night on the cold stone floor. They called the priest to town the next morning. The people who had been in awe of her shoes the week before now reveled in the burning of her shop. The mayor dragged her to a river, and the priest tied her hands together. "If she sinks, then the Lord and will forgive her in heaven," said the priest as he threw Briana into the rushing stream. Before she could sink, a giant green salmon swam up to her and led her to the shallows. It used its colossal tail to knock to safety on the rocky bank. "The woman consorts with the fairies. She is not of God's creation," said Angus, pointing at her. Briana refused to let tears fall as they brought her to the pyre. They tied her to a stake. Before the townsfolk could light the stack of firewood, a bright green light dazzled everyone. When the townsfolk rubbed the sting from their eyes, Briana had vanished. She was underground by the most beautiful palace she had ever seen. Walls carved out of crystal met shining silver doors and windows. By the gate stood the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He had copper hair and eyes of emerald green. His ears came to a point. He wore a beautiful green cloak fastened by a gleaming gold buckle. "I owe you my life," said Briana. "I thought this would happen if I taught you. The crafts of the Sidhe weren't meant for man. They are so often lost to jealousy and greed." "Do I know you, sir?" asked Briana, her head tilting toward the side. "I know you. I saw you every day in my shop for a year. I know your rough hands and your calm temper. You could be a swan or a salmon, and I'd know who you are, Briana." "You're the leprechaun," said Briana, her mouth falling open. "Aye." "I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Leprechaun." "Call me Lugh." "I still owe you me life, Lugh" said, Briana. "Then you'll agree to marry me and be my queen. It's been lonely since ya left." Lugh knelt before Briana. "But you taught me how to make all those shoes," she said. "You worked your fingers to the bone day and night to make those shoes. I trust you more than any woman I've ever known to help me run my kingdom. I love you, and it's been so quiet since you left." Briana kissed him and took his hand as Lugh led her to his crystal castle. The locals to this day can hear the sounds of little hammers when they walk near the low hill with the yew trees and stone circle.