Archibald Drakeford or Archie, as the few people who knew him well would call him, was sitting in his private jet, looking wistfully out of the window, the sun was hitting his pale, sunken cheeks and he felt a wave of positivity wash over. He watched thoughtfully as the sea turned to land and back to sea again, he could see all the life beneath him from this perspective, seagulls swooping, waves crashing, he even felt like he could sense all the creatures in the ocean living, eating, thinking, fighting for survival. 'What a thing life is' Archibald thought. "How many is this now?" Archibald said to his long-time personal assistant Jenson. "This would be the ninth, Sir" Jenson responded tiredly. "And where is this one? Archibald asked "This would be…" Jenson checked his notes "Ah, this would be a shaman located in a particularly remote area of Mongolia Sir" "And what kind of poultice or herb is he going to recommend? " Archibald scoffed. Archibald had been diagnosed with a particularly aggressive, terminal, neurological condition known as Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. In his search for any form of cure, he had traveled the world, after realizing none was forthcoming from any of the team of doctors and neurologists he had assembled. "And what the hell is a Shaman going to do?" Archibald said annoyed with Jenson. "Well at this point I fear nothing, Sir," Jenson said sorrowfully "but he came highly recommended. Word of his work has popped up throughout our travels, Sir. So I thought we'd at least give him a try last." "Last, you mean this is my last chance?" Archibald said his voice cracking. "Your last chance to find some peace perhaps, Sir" Jenson said looking at his feet. The plane landed in a dusty rundown airport, Archie was quickly bundled into a beat-up 4x4, and driven through some of the most uncomfortable, unconditioned terrain he had ever experienced for four hours. Archie was beckoned into the Shaman's hut, which was filled with a mixture of fine-smelling mist and fire smoke, and seated. Jenson hovered awkwardly behind him. The Shaman walked in wearing some traditional hooded garb, but Archie could make out beneath it a tatty band T-shirt of some sort. The shaman sat directly opposite Archie and lifted his hood. Archie was shocked and furious when he saw the 20-something-year-old boy staring back at him. "You seek a cure," the Shaman said. "Yes!" Archie said with both a tone of pleading and frustration. Jenson stepped in "If you know of a cure, young man, then please give it to us so we can send it to the lab for testing" "This is not a cure for your body," the shaman said with a solemn wisdom far exceeding his youthful appearance "But it will, in time, heal your soul and prepare you for wherever your body carries you next" "Just get on with it so we can leave," Jenson said The Shaman leaned into Archie closer and closer, until their noses touched, fixing his eyes the entire time. Archie thought their eyeballs might touch, but he couldn't pull his head back. The shaman started silently mouthing something to Archie. Jenson leaned in closer trying to hear what was being said, but no sound was coming out. Jenson looked at Archie, worriedly but he was transfixed, He had a look of peace on his face and a deep sense of joy radiated from him. Back on the plane now. Archie hadn't spoken for the entire return Journey, and Jenson had honored that in silence up until now. "What did he say to you back there?" Jenson asked softly. Archibald was still in a catatonic state of peace and contemplation. "Assemble my children Jenson," Archibald said "I need to meet with them" The Meeting In Archibald's 5000 square foot estate, Jenson had arranged a meeting table with 5 places, one for Archibald at the head, one for Jenson beside him, and 3 for each of Archibald's children. Jack the oldest child at 27 was, what he would consider an entrepreneur/broker/trader/investor. He was clean-cut and ruggedly handsome with exceptional bone structure. Rose, the middle child, was 25 and on her way to becoming London's newest 'it girl,' she was beautiful under a heavy veneer of expensive cosmetic treatment and clothing. She considered herself a fashion guru, socialite, and model. But her real fame had come from being photographed with an extensive list of rockstars, actors, and sports personalities at various events. And Barney the youngest child at 20 was a film and book critic and wrote an online blog about the latest fantasy board games. He had a 'fuller' build than Jack but with similar facial features that he covered up with an unkempt beard and mid-length hair. Jenson went up to summon Archibald from his bed, "they'll be here in 25 minutes, Sir" Jenson said softly "Would you like a glass of water?". Jenson had become a full-time carer for Mr Drakeford over the past few months as his condition slowly declined. Archibald's body had maintained its health but his mind was noticeably failing. As Archibald slowly made his way downstairs, he could hear his three children nattering to each other in anticipation as to what this was all about. "Morning children," Archibald said "and thank you for all coming, as you know, I am not long for this world. But I don't want to leave it before I have shared with you all one beautiful thing that I have learned and that I feel will serve you all well in your lives. However I cannot simply explain this discovery to you, this is something you each must learn for yourselves. To do that I have instructed Jenson to close your access to the family business accounts for 3 months. In this time I want you each to find a way to live that ensures you don't reach the end of your life regretting it, as I am now. You must try to live with clarity, compassion, generosity, and love. I want you to see the world for what it is, not for what you can get from it. Beyond that, I cannot tell you anymore, that you have whatever money is currently in your respective bank accounts to achieve these goals.

Archibald slumped off back upstairs. "He's lost it," Jack said "He'll see us starve" "Why would he treat his daughter this way!" said Rose "Is Dad ok?" Barney said looking at Jenson "he seems a bit off, what happened in Mongolia?" "You know what he wants don't you?" Jack said standing up and waving his arms around "He's losing it, and he's been spending all this time around some sort of international hippy cult, and they've convinced him that money is the route of all evil so he just wants to see which of us can disregard our fame and success the most, and who can survive without money. It's a goddamn race to the bottom!" "And whoever wins inherits it all," said Rose with a glint in her eye. "That doesn't seem fair," said Barney "Who determines the 'winner'?" "I think he just wants you to learn to not expect things in this world" Butted in Jenson "that nothing just materializes. Be it the things you think you need, or inner peace and understanding, it all takes effort and time. I've been instructed to come and find you wherever you 'find' yourself in 3 months." Jacks Journey Jack left the house in a hurry, still considering this a literal race. He jumped in his brand-new BMW, put it in drive, and set off. Half an hour into racing through the city and out onto the open road, Jack thought to himself ‘Right plan of action’ but there was no plan. ‘Just get out there in amongst it’ Jack thought, ‘see the world through new eyes’. But that was still not a plan. Jack pulled his car over and sat for a while. ‘what do I need ‘ Jack thought ‘Are some absolute no-hopers’ Some people I can educate and help them see what life is all about, I can teach them how to make money, therefore demonstrating my generosity, compassion, clarity and ‘love?’ That’s a no brainer’. Jack set off to a part of town he knew to be filled with absolute degenerates and deplorables. He parked up outside a park, in an area known for its crime rate, and waited until it started to get dark. His first hope of a ‘target audience’ for his ‘life-altering experiment’ came in the form of a group of young men, walking purposefully with hoods up. Jack watched closely as they approached another man lying in the street, with a jacket over his head. ‘Robbery? Drug deal? Or some kind of assault’ Jack thought. As he watched the men crouched down and handed something to the sleeping man ‘Drugs?’ Jack thought Jack felt a pang of fear as he opened the car door and prepared to approach. As he walked closer to the group he saw they were handing the sleeping man a sandwich and a bottle. As it later transpired the young men were quite friendly, they were bringing some food and a drink to an unwell friend, and for personal reasons refused to go to the doctor. After Jacks's initial attempts of trying to convince them of the error of their ways and encourage them to sign up for business school, they started to ask Jack for money, which Jack refused, They then invited Jack to a party they were all going, at a friend’s house. Jack thought there might be more opportunity there to interact and meet with some more of the city's less fortunates. Roses Journey Rose traipsed out of the meeting in a huff. She had thought that, when her father had told them he wanted them to all meet up, he would be doing so to explain how the estate was to be divided among them and how long he had left. Instead, he sends them all off on some wild mystical goose hunt. Along with the added insult of implying they were all vapid, self-centered individuals with no substance or charity. She could believe that of her brothers, but she was an artist for Christ's sake, who frequently sent messages out on her social media platform condemning, or promoting the latest cause. What more could she do, she was just one woman. Rose set in motion a plan that, at least in her mind, would benefit her, as well as meet some of her father’s criteria. She would get into contact with the last man she truly loved, and leverage reconciliation, on the pretense that she was mortified by her father’s imminent passing. Boris was her old love from the last years of high school and they had stayed together for 3 years past graduation. He was a nice man, nothing exceptional, but one she had been truly in love with up until the day he left to pursue a degree in some sort of nature or ecology-based thing she didn’t get. Boris answered her call and was genuinely saddened to learn of Archie’s illness. He and his family had always been close with Archie, literally and figuratively, they were neighbors. Rose and Boris met up in the local park and the old flame reignited almost immediately. They went back to his house for dinner, rose was expecting more, but Boris had an evening talk to give at the local university. Something that he did voluntarily between research trips to obscure and remote locations. Rose spent the next evening with Boris and the next week, she had almost completely forgotten about what pointless self-obsessed journey her father had sent her on. And had begun to settle into a comfortable long-term relationship with Boris. Barneys Journey Barney spent the first week after the meeting, frantically researching Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease online; he trawled the web and his blog community for answers to no avail. Barney spent the next week falling into a deep depression, that left him questioning his own life and achievements, which sent him deeper into a depression that cycled over and over in his head relentlessly. Until he eventually decided to take a trip with the last of his savings he booked a 6-week cruise across northern Europe, past the Nordic countries, and the northern length of Russia, ending at the eastern tip of Alaska. Barney met a host of fascinating people on the cruise and at each of the many stops along the way. But the whole time he couldn’t shake the feeling that something could be done about his father’s illness, and questioned, in his mind, what his father had meant when they last spoke. Barney would often sit out on the deck during these times, and as the frigid Siberian wind blew, he could feel a tear freeze on his face, that was normally the time he would get back on board. Jensons Re-consolidation Jenson started up his laptop and checked all 3 trackers that were put in a ring that Archie had given each of them, Archie had explained the importance of the rings and how much it would mean to him if they wore them. Barney First Jenson set off to locate Barney, the furthest away, he had found himself in northern Mongolia. Barney had disembarked his cruise at the most westerly point and had traveled through the arid frozen wilderness, spending his savings on buses, and taxis and hiring locals to transport him to Mongolia. With the vague recollection that that was where his father had gone to find the shaman. Jenson was forced to almost retake the steps of that fateful trip he had taken with Archie precisely. He found Barney in a Bar in a small village in Mongolia. He was sitting by himself reading a book about philosophy; he looked up when he heard Jenson walk in. “I couldn’t find it,” Barney said in a weepy tone. “I don’t know where it is, I don’t know where the shaman is, it’s not in any of these books” Barney started to sob uncontrollably. “Come on Barney I’ll take you home,” Jenson said, he put his arm around Barney and led him back to the plane. Rose Rose was sitting down for dinner with Boris when she heard a knock on the door. “Who’s that!?” said Boris. Boris had shown another side to himself since Rose had moved in with him, h was still as sweet as ever but had started to become paranoid and tempestuous. Which Rose had found exciting at first but was now starting to become bored with. “I’ll check,” Rose said Rose opened the door to Jenson with a big smile. “How have you been love?” Jenson said. “Oh my god I had forgotten,” Rose said flabbergasted, “has it been 3 months already?” “Of course,” Jenson said “How did you forget” “It’s been a crazy 3 months Jenks,” Rose said fondly “We got engaged!” “Congratulations” Jenson “And we’ve just found out we’re pregnant!” Rose squealed ”Would you be able to come back to the house with me Rose?” Jenson said Boris overheard “Remember it’s the last episode tonight babe!” “It won’t take long,” Jenson said He and Rose shuffled out before Boris could say anything “Be back soon babe” Rose called back Jack Jenson struggled to locate Jack, he found the tracker in a pile of stuff someone had left in a rundown squat. “Were you goin through my stuff, man!?” Jenson swung around defensively. “I’m looking for Jack Drakesford, do you know him?” Jenson enquired. “No, man, get the shit outta my house,” “I didn’t know this was your house,” Jenson said “There was no door” “Who is it, Caleb?” Jenson recognized the voice immediately, although it had lost all its clarity, and now sounded raspy and weak. “Jack!” Jenson called back ecstatic to see him. Jack was now very thin, and despite his good looks still being intact he looked half the man he once was. “Come with me Jack” Jenson said softly Regroup Around the table again, all 4 sat, each looking altered to their core. Apart from Jenson who just looked tired. “Where’s dad” said Barney “He’s no longer with us Barney” Jenson sighed “But he was quite insistent that I followed through with his last wishes. You have all strove in different directions to find the core of who you are” Jenson looked at Jack, who was nodding off and only occasionally half opening his eyes, with great sadness “Some of you have found love” Jenson looked at Rose who was texting Boris a request to record the last episode, “and some have found answers” Jenson looked at Barney who looked more confused than ever. “But none of you truly understood what your father wanted of you.” Each of them looked back at Jenson with anger and amazement at what he was saying. “Hey man, I found the goddamn answer to life and happiness and all that shit,” Jack said slurring his words “And it comes in a little brown bag, man” “I’ve found the answer to my life,” said Rose “And his Name is Boris, and our child is going to be beautiful and we’re going to get married and we’ll be together forever” Rose screeched in a disbelieving tone. “I have a deeper understanding than I ever have,” Barney said teary-eyed “I have traveled long and far, I have read every book on philosophy I could find, I even met the Shamans brother!.” Everyone looked shocked “He said he’s a charlatan.” Jenson looked back at them all and smirked a wry knowing smile. “If that’s what you want to believe, then you all win.” Jenson grinned “But that’s not what he meant.” The end


The first time I met the Kid he was standing outside McDonald’s in Bradford. It was November and there were no leaves left on the trees. He wore a short-sleeved oversized T-shirt, giving the impression of a whippet in bulldogs clothing, and was holding court telling his diminutive audience he knew how to summon the devil herself. His skeletal frame was alive with his gestures, eyes bird-like and wild. The audience had an average age at least four times his, grateful for entertainment in the cold and wind. A spectacle as he explained ‘An accident! Can you believe it! The Devil appeared to me and the devil can appear for you too!’ An air of QVC. That previous summer I’d had dealings with the devil myself. Inevitable really with the war raging on as it had for a decade or more, and the business I keep myself in. Despite her bad reputation, and a complicated history between us, the devil had supported the trade and then vanished as soon as the leaves began to drop with a score as yet unsettled. I waited patiently from a distance as the crowd gradually dispersed, their busses arriving to take them home or hunger taking over and burgers awaiting. ‘I need you to bring me the devil,’ I said. ‘Follow me’, said he. The BBC tells us about murderers and shysters and confidence men hiding around every corner, so base are we all that we the last two elections were cancelled because who can trust us average Joes and Janes to choose a leader without cheating? ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Lead the way.’ The only way to navigate this world is to trust everyone and suffer the consequences. A short while later we were sitting in his flat, mugs of tea in hand that his mum had forced upon us. On the way here he hadn’t left a second of empty air, telling me in lengthy monologue about the false-hoods in papers and did I know Piers Morgan is a giraffe in a lizard suit in a human suit. And Dominic Cummings is doing God’s work and that’s the danger. And the sheer evil that is… Yoghurt pots. Like mother like son, on arrival he fell silent and she took over. She asked me not a thing but told me all the variety of teabags she rated and why, and that whatever happened to Cadbury was a tragedy and the government are definitely behind the shrinking creme eggs. Her phone rang and she left the room. The Kid closed the blind. ‘Are you ready?’ Eyes wide I nodded, and it began. A flailing of arms, left to right. Right to left. Hands touching his forehead. Hair flopping this way and that. Knee up, knee down, his T-shirt billowing without any wind. Superman pose. He stops with his head down and arm up, and raises his eyes to meet mine looking for my reaction. The room is still and quiet. He’s mad, of course. And suddenly, we plunge into darkness.


In the whispering heart of Emerald Valley, shrouded in the emerald embrace of ancient sequoia, nestled the quaint bookstore, "Whispers of Time." Its facade, weathered by whispers of a thousand autumns, bore a faded inscription: "Where stories find whispers, and whispers find you." Inside, the air held the musty scent of aged paper, sunlight filtering through stained glass windows, painting the floor in kaleidoscopic hues. Here, amidst towering shelves groaning with the weight of tales untold, resided Eleanor, the bookstore's enigmatic owner. Eleanor was a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, her emerald eyes holding the secrets of forgotten lore. Her silver hair, streaked with moonlight, seemed to shimmer with untold stories. She dispensed not just books but keys to hidden worlds, her voice a warm caress that lured you into the labyrinthine alleys of forgotten narratives. One crisp December morning, a young man named Jack, adrift in the aimless sea of post-graduation ennui, stumbled upon Whispers of Time. Drawn by the siren song of the inscription, he found himself standing before Eleanor, who smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Welcome, seeker," she purred, her voice like velvet stroking his soul. "What story are you searching for today?" Initially hesitant, Jack confessed his yearning for an adventure, a tale that would ignite the spark of purpose within him. Eleanor, eyes twinkling, led him to a dusty corner, cobwebs hanging like spectral drapes. She unveiled a leather-bound volume, its title embossed in gold: "The Alchemist's Gambit." "This," she whispered, her voice barely above a sigh, "is more than just a book. It's a map, a whisper from the past, offering a chance to rewrite your story." As Jack devoured its pages, the book pulsated with an otherworldly energy. It spoke of a hidden valley, nestled within the forgotten folds of the Emerald Valley, where alchemy wasn't just a science but a dance with the very fabric of reality. It spoke of a hidden village, untouched by time, guarded by a cryptic riddle woven into the tapestry of the stars. Consumed by the fire of the narrative, Jack, with trembling hands, traced the constellations etched within the book, his heart pounding like a hummingbird trapped in his chest. Armed with the cryptic poem and a map drawn with stardust, he embarked on a quest, Eleanor's enigmatic smile his only compass. The journey was arduous. He trekked through whispering forests, his path riddled with treacherous climbs and perilous descents. The stars, his only guide, winked at him from a velvet sky, their celestial whispers leading him deeper into the labyrinthine heart of the valley. Days bled into nights, his resolve teetering on the edge of exhaustion. Then, just as despair threatened to engulf him, he stumbled upon it: a hidden valley, bathed in an ethereal glow, nestled between emerald-clad mountains. Its beauty stole his breath away, waterfalls cascading like liquid diamonds, meadows carpeted with wildflowers that shimmered like scattered amethysts. In the heart of this paradise, nestled amidst moss-covered cottages, lay the village frozen in time. The ageless and serene villagers greeted him with smiles that held the wisdom of centuries. And at the village center, amidst a ring of whispering stones, stood the alchemist, his eyes sparkling with a thousand moons. Under the alchemist's tutelage, Jack learned the valley's secrets, the dance of elements, and the whispers of the stars. He discovered that the true alchemy wasn't in transmuting lead to gold but in transmuting one's fears into courage and doubts into conviction. But as weeks turned into months, a nagging question sprouted in Jack's mind. Why was he chosen? Why was he entrusted with this knowledge, with this power? The answer, when it came, shattered his world. He learned Eleanor wasn't just the enigmatic bookseller but the guardian of the valley, the keeper of its secrets. And the book, the "Alchemist's Gambit," wasn't a map but a test, a whisper designed to lure and refine worthy souls. Jack, through his struggles and triumphs, had passed the test. But there was another truth, a whisper Eleanor hadn't shared. Jack wasn't just another seeker. He was the descendant of the valley's founders, his blood resonating with its magic. His arrival wasn't a coincidence but the culmination of generations, the valley reclaiming its lost son. The revelation hit him like a rogue wave, his past, present, and future swirling into a dizzying vortex. He learned that the true purpose of the valley wasn't just to hide but to preserve and safeguard the knowledge of a world on the brink of forgetting. Now imbued with the valley's magic and burdened by its legacy, Jack faced a monumental choice. He could stay, embrace his lineage, and become the valley's next guardian, safeguarding its secrets from a world that might not be ready for its wonders. Or he could return, armed with the knowledge and power he'd gained, and try to bridge the gap between the hidden and the ordinary, sharing the whispers of magic with a world thirsting for meaning. The decision tore at him. With its emerald embrace and whispers of ancient wisdom, the valley was a siren song, a tempting haven. But the outside world echoed in his heart with its cacophony of confusion and yearning. Seeing the turmoil within him, Eleanor spoke, her voice laced with the soft sigh of the wind through ancient pines. "The choice, dear Jack," she said, "is not about where you belong but what story you write. The valley is your sanctuary, your anchor, but the world needs your whispers, too. Go, if you must, share the stardust you've gathered, the lessons you've learned. But remember, the valley will always be your home, a haven for your weary soul." With a heavy heart, Jack bid farewell to the ageless villagers, the alchemist's twinkling eyes etched in his memory. He emerged from the hidden valley, the first rays of dawn painting the world in hues of hope. The outside world seemed different now, the mundane thrumming with an unseen magic. He saw the whispers of the stars reflected in city lights, the echo of the waterfall's rhythm in the rush of traffic. He started small, planting gardens on concrete terraces, whispering tales of alchemy to wide-eyed children in libraries. He taught origami birds to take flight from sterile office windows, their paper wings whispering of hidden valleys and forgotten spells. Slowly, subtly, he began to weave the valley's magic into the fabric of the everyday. One day, while speaking at a local university, he met Amelia, a brilliant astrophysicist whose eyes held the same yearning for something beyond the known. Together, they embarked on a quest, not for hidden valleys but for the whispers of magic hidden within the tapestry of the cosmos. They delved into ancient texts, hunted for celestial anomalies, and deciphered the forgotten language of the stars. Their journey led them to remote corners of the world, scaling snow-capped mountains to listen to the whispers of glaciers and diving into turquoise oceans to hear the heartbeat of coral reefs. With each discovery, they unraveled the interconnectedness of all things, the delicate dance of energy that binds planets and people, stars and stories. Years passed, their quest morphing into a shared mission. They built a research institute, a haven for like-minded souls, a place where science and magic intertwined, where whispers from the past guided the search for a sustainable future. Jack and Amelia, their love story woven into the tapestry of their shared purpose, became symbols of hope, proving that the whispers of magic, once shared, could bloom into a brighter reality. But the journey was not without its thorns. Those who feared the unknown, who sought to control rather than understand, opposed them. Jack and Amelia faced ridicule, skepticism, and even threats. Yet, they persevered, their resolve fueled by the whispers of the valley, the echo of Eleanor's smile, and the unwavering belief in the transformative power of shared stories. One night, under a sky ablaze with a million stars, Jack sat by a crackling fire, Amelia nestled in his arms. He traced the constellations etched on his wrist, the valley's map forever imprinted on his skin. He knew then that the true story wasn't about hidden valleys or forgotten magic but about the courage to share it, to rewrite the narrative of a world teetering on the brink. As the fire crackled, embers danced like fireflies, carrying whispers of hope on the wind. And somewhere, within the emerald embrace of the hidden valley, Eleanor smiled, her eyes like pools of stardust, reflecting the light of a thousand stories yet to be told. The last embers died down, leaving behind a canvas of ash and whispers. But the story, like the constellations forever etched in the night sky, held the promise of a brighter dawn, a world where the magic of the hidden and the wonder of the everyday danced in perfect harmony, all thanks to the whispers shared by a seeker named Jack.


*By Bebe Smyth, South Sun Gazette* *“Demolition of the old New Castle technology buildings in Commerce Park West was halted today after workers discovered the skeletal remains of a human being. Crime scene investigators were called in to help identify the remains. The New Castle technology buildings were abandoned three years prior as the parent corporation made moves to consolidate properties during the last economic downturn in the technology sector. City planners had rezoned the commerce area for residential use. Demolition is slated to resume Tuesday morning.”* Fred tunneled his eyes onto the monitor, pressed hard on the power button, and leaned forward. It was 7:00am, too early for any life to be stirring about the cubicle farm. Not that he would notice anyway. The machine booted (slowly), Fred entered his access password (#1TopDog), opened the e-mail app and clicked on the first new mail, something from corporate. Fred scanned quickly the standard corporate blurb; smiley greetings from the CEO; cheery few sentences about last quarter and the company making great strides; attitude and determination of all employees was key for continued progress. In total it was a collection of snappy inspirational clichés. That was the set up. The email continued on, not enough progress; tough times; competition, and unexpected shifts in the market place. The last lines gamboled on about the value of the individual, their importance, their spirit and the need for continued commitment that will lead to future success. I’m sure of it. Then he scanned the rest of his inbox. Before him a long list of emails from conference organizers, subscriptions of interest, daily updates. But the email that he looked for, the one of highest interest to his situation, was not there. He knew the plant was closing, he just didn’t know when. Fred exhaled a silent stream of exasperation. He read on but found nothing directly addressed to him. Just a continuum of corporate spam; Meeting Minutes, production announcement, customer success stories. By eight Fred was ready to move onto the next part of his routine - which started by brewing a fresh pot of coffee. He rose slowly from his desk; it was a task to raise his head after being fixed to the screen for an hour. He had to fight against gravity, or scoliosis in order to rise up. Years of hunching over a screen had turned the heads, necks and backs of colleagues into an s shaped curve. In the past, many of those walking around, reminded him of the comical parody “walking like an Egyptian”. They were gone now, let go ahead of the final plant closing. These deformed individuals, with their feelings of importance and corporate self-worth, were gone. Too bad Fred thought as he ratcheted his ass up slowly from his cubicle. His staying power rested on keeping a low profile. As his ass finally gained space from his chair he proceeded to the coffee machine, head down, eyes averted. Eye contact with the wrong manager could be dangerous. The coffee machine stood disgustingly bleak and alone in the break room, just another reminder of corporate cost cutting measures. The corporate sponsored coffee service had stopped long ago. How long he couldn’t remember. It still really ticked him off. He grunted low, with some disgust of this poor excuse for a break room. That growling sound made him feel defiant. But it was a sound made only for himself, because Fred never openly complained. “Nope, not going down that path” he reminded himself. Rule #1 - complainers go first. Just keep your mouth shut and focus. Be steady, one step at a time, keep a low profile. It was a strategy that worked. At least the water was still free. Fred filled the coffee machine with enough water for 2 cups. Staring at the Pyrex coffee pot, looking intently at the water Fred grunted again to himself. Well maybe it’s free, but it’s not looking to good lately. Maybe the brown tint was just coffee residue from the previous millions of pots of coffee. Maybe it came like that from the faucet. Maybe it was his eyes going bad from years of staring at a computer screen. He filled the coffee filter with his own store bought coffee, clicked on the machine and waited for the brew to begin. The coffee machine gargled and perked, and the coffee aroma filled Fred’s nostrils in a most gratifying way. When all the bubbling and gargling was over and the last drops of brown fluid dripped from the machine, Fred poured his coffee, added creamer and took the first cautious sip. Ahhh. This would be the best part of his day. The caffeine jolted his body awake and cleared his head. The gratification went right to his bones. His heart fluttered and he took a deep breath. Well, no sense hanging around the coffee pot. Loitering doesn’t help your company profile. Best to take your cup and move back to the cube as quick as possible. Walking back slowly to his cube Fred heard the ominous sound of electricity beginning to fail. A hard click of relays implanted somewhere in the bowels of the building. Fred couldn’t remember if he had left open his file on competitive benchmarking and marketing analysis, a huge compendium of a report that he had been working on for over a year now. Damn, I’m going to lose work, he thought, and in the next breath he cursed the IT department because his backup power supply never came back from repair. Fred began the race back to his cube hoping to close the file before the machine came to a dead stop. A ridiculous race to catch a file before all the electricity ebbed from his machine. He scurried in a jerky motion as quickly as his gimpy legs would carry him. As he raced he could feel the palpitation in his chest growing into a full hard thump. Ignoring the thump in his chest Fred listened to the sound of things whirring to a standstill, in his head he estimating the time before shut down, quickening his pace and keeping his feet moving. I’ll just make it he thought optimistically. Fred came to his cube row as things stopped completely. Spurring himself on his gait became gangly and awkward, the last steps to his cubicle were frantic and panic stricken. He plopped down into his swivel chair, the hard thump in his chest became a giant knot and he gasped for breath. It was a knot that quickly cut off his air and made him nauseous. Fred was able to gasp a breath, but he already knew this was a heart attack. Damn this will cause a commotion. He leaned over and vomited into his waste basket. He needed help quickly. He grabbed for a desk phone, something he hadn’t used in months, but there was no dial tone. Fred sputtered, and then slumped forward onto his desk as the lights went out. Thirty minutes later, in the twilight of the deserted office building one could hear the scurrying and scratching sounds of rodents stirring. Their interest had been peaked, and shortly thereafter the mutilation began. His body was found, at least what was left of it, 2 years later, right before the old New Castle Technology building was demolished. The story was initially reported in the South Sun Gazette. A follow up story reported on the identity of the bones found, one Fred Foster a former employee of New Castle Technologies. The mystery of what Fred was still doing there remained. CSI could not provide any conclusive evidence of foul play, and could not answer the question of how the bones of Fred Foster ended up inside a building that had been vacant for almost 3 years now. New Castle Technologies did acknowledge that Fred Foster was at one time an employee of the company, but he had been terminated along with several other colleagues almost three years ago. A spokesperson for New Castle could not answer or would not comment on how Fred’s body had found it’s way back into the building. And that was the end of it. Almost. Mary Conner, a second line HR Director, remembered the New Castle building having visited the site several times. The last time was to go over the closing schedule. She didn’t remember any of the employees there and only had a vague remembrance of her counterpart on site, an older lady who was ready for retirement and just counting down the days. But her curiosity had been peaked when she saw the story in the Sun Gazette. Over the course of the next five or six weeks, Mary spent a few moments of her spare time working on her “hobby” as she called it. She pieced together these details: Prior to plant closing corporate had moved Fred to a global responsibility. However the manager in charge had been on vacation and somehow the transfer was never actually authorized. The transferring manager had been let go in the last downsizing as well, so Fred was somehow a free floating element in the corporate innards. There was no one who clearly owned the headcount of “Fred”. So Fred never did get an email. As far as corporations go, New Castle Technologies operated much in the same way as every other corporation. Whether or not someone claimed Fred as a headcount, the IT department kept providing services to a one Fred Foster and billing this to a global headcount bucket that held all the miscellaneous contractors and temps that filled jobs on an as needed basis, and as long as IT got paid it provided service, no matter where the individual sat. Their world was virtual and they had little concern for actual location. That provided at least a theory as to what Fred, or his remains might have been doing in the abandoned building. But she thought further and asked herself why someone didn’t notice a car left for days in a parking lot unattended. She hypothesized that most likely someone did notice the car in an empty parking lot. Someone who could hot wire it, chop it up and sell the parts. Mary sat pensively in her cubicle staring at her screen. She felt satisfied with this hypothesis. In her mind she had elevated herself from HR Director to CSI agent. She smirked to herself, but understood there was no way to share this victory. No one to tell. Don’t stir the pot Mary, that was her motto. She hunched over, focused on her screen, and clicked to open the next email.


The invincible man sat on the edge of his bed and thought about death. He had thought about this almost every day since he was a young man, but more and more since he had hit seventy; thirty-odd years ago. The old man missed his friends very badly, and he envied them. *A flash of scarlet and sapphire, flickering from one to another, cutting them down in the blink of an eye.* Back straightening and creaking as he rose slowly, tendons defying age as they did every day, the man pottered across the small bedroom. Wallpapered by photographs and newspaper clippings, the room barely contained the man, his bed and his little wooden dresser adorned with picture frames. *Holding his fingers to his temples, he worms inside their brains. All he has to do is crush the right capillaries and they fall to the ground, mentally castrated.* Pulling a clean white dress shirt and a pair of only semi-wrinkled slacks out of the little dresser, the man pulls open his bedroom door, trudging through the threshold into the bathroom. Glancing only briefly in the bathroom mirror, he wills his arms over his head to pull off his nightshirt, revealing wrinkled yet unscarred skin as he steps into the shower. *Earth itself rising up to condemn them to a living burial; swallowing them whole in loam and soil.* The old man drags himself back into the bedroom, pulling a green smock - decorated with a little tag reading DEAN, ASSISTANT MANAGER off a hook on the door a little reluctantly. He makes the mistake of glancing down at the minefield of memory he has placed on the little dresser - a picture of seven costumed men and a woman, golden medals around their necks and smiles on their faces. An imperceptible shake of the head and the man is on his way outside again, reentering a world he no longer belongs in. ***Excerpt from “Requiem for the American Superhero” Chapter 1.*** “Freedom Force Clobbers the Krauts! Axis on the Retreat!” At first, nobody took them seriously. Eight people in costume, including a woman and a Negro? It was a news media ploy that would just wind up leaving eight more Americans dead, at the end of the day. That sentiment lasted about a week, until Adam punched a U-Boat in half. As more and more tales of the Force’s exploits began to sweep through New York and Chicago and Dallas, people started clamoring to find out more about these American demigods, the feeling shifting from mistrust to adoration. Radio news programs began distributing pulpy promos for each member of the team, the copy handed down direct from the US military. *“The Blur sprints faster and faster towards Allied victory!”* *“Cosmonaut dispenses intergalactic justice to the Axis of Evil!”* *“Adam Amazing carries the flag of freedom, family values and American might!”* Young men clamored for information about the supernaturally beautiful Gaea, who could reportedly open the Earth to swallow packs of Nazis whole. Toy stores began selling Freedom Force action figures, including a Stuntman figure that was fireproof, waterproof and drop-resistant and a Genius figure whose brain hummed and vibrated when switched on.


*I just wrote this relatively short short story, however I am not sure how I feel about it. I would really appreciate any input you might have! — “Don’t fucking go down there.” The man said to me. I ignored him as I opened the door. As I open the door I look down and see a rickety wooden staircase, going down into a black abyss. The only hope of light came from a bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. “Listen you little fuck, don’t take one step down those stairs or you will regret it.” He spat. I stared into his eyes. His eyes were angry, meanwhile mine were blank. HIs eyes had fire in them, a desire to stop me from going downstairs and ruining his life. “Look, I know you people don’t take bribes, but I have money. A lot of money.” The man bargained. They always bargain. One step down “You will regret this!” The man got up and reached for his gun he had tucked in his waistband. He walked to the top of the staircase and aimed the barrel of his pistol at my eyes. I continued to stare at him with my left foot about to fall onto the stair below the one I was on. If my intelligence is correct then there is no way I can let this man get away with whatever insidious crimes this man has been committing. Rumors have it that there are several children hidden in that basement. This man needs to come to justice and I will be the one to serve him that. “Please man. I’m begging you.” The man drew the hammer back on the gun, making that cliche gun sound you always hear in the movies. The man wasn’t going to shoot me, we both knew that. I walked down two more stairs when I heard the gunshot. That loud crack that leaves a ringing in your ears, making yourself wonder if you are still in reality or if that was the end. The same gunshot I hear just about everyday. I looked up at the man, who was lying in a pool of his own blood by now. I let a brief sigh of relief out as I continued down the steps. As I made it down to the bottom of the stairs I turned on a light to see something worse than I was expecting. Children. Dozens of them. All sitting down, some of them shaking, most of them crying. This is why I do this job, to get scum like this off of the streets. To cleanse the world of people like this. It is not a beautiful job, nor is it an easy job, but it is a job that has to be done. I continued to stare at the children, counting them, and then began to make my way to the top of the stairs. “Good shot, Dieter.” I said to the man who killed the damn swine that was hiding these despicable children, “We got a 22 children downstairs, all appear to be needing of cleansing.” I said with a smirk on my face. “I think we have room on the train for 22 more!” Dieter laughed.


I adjusted my gray paisley tie one more time in front of my hotel room mirror. All of the wrinkles of my navy suit were ironed out yesterday and my hair was carefully sculpted out of my face. I dreaded hobnobbing and networking - but at least I looked like I did.

Turning to reach for the TV remote on the bed, I reached over and flipped off the news that played in the background. One last check that my shoelaces were actually tied - and yes, they were - and then I grabbed my briefcase to head out the door.

I nodded politely to an elderly couple that walked past me, as I pulled the door noiselessly shut behind me. They looked like they were about to head to the pool. Wouldn’t that be nice? I’d be sweating profusely and shaking hands with all sorts of germy people. So yes, I’d take a chemically treated pool over all of that. But it was my turn to represent our company at the conference this year. The company wasn’t paying me to lounge around in the pool. Yet. The hotel room doors all faced towards the center of the expansive hotel lobby, with two glass elevators on each side. Potted palm trees stretched up to at least the third floor and I wondered whether or not they were fake as I rode the glass elevator down. Once the elevator reached the lobby, I walked out to the sound of a rushing fountain in the middle. This place was really going all-out on the tropical feel.

I followed the crowd of power suited men and women to the convention center, checking my wristwatch every so often to avoid eye contact. I’d need a bit more included-in-conference-fee coffee to get there.

Finally, I made my way to conference room C for my first session of the day. I found a table off to the left in the back that looked uninhabited. I set down my briefcase on a chair and pushed it in, before wandering back to the hallway where the continental breakfast and coffee spread was. I was lucky that I was an “early worm” type of person. None of the pastries had been picked over yet and the coffee bar was pristine.

Quickly selecting a danish and a coffee with just a splash of cream and Splenda, I speed-walked back to my table, silently hoping it would remain uninhabited.

No such luck. I think I did a pretty good job of hiding the disgust on my face and set down my breakfast in front of my briefcase. A tall, slender man with a clean, chestnut crew cut started to unbutton his gray suit jacket and set his briefcase down two chairs to the right of me. “Good morning,” I attempted to greet him, taking my briefcase off of my chair and setting it on the floor between the legs of my chair.

He laughed, and at that moment, I realized I must have come off as sassy to him. “Good morning to you, too.” “Sorry,” I grumbled, setting down the danish my stomach was groaning for. “I’m kind of a bear in the morning.” Well, that was putting it lightly. And hopefully, I wouldn’t run into him later, so he wouldn’t realize I’m a bear all the time.

“Aren’t we all?” He joked, then slid out of his jacket and set it on the back of his chair. “I think I’ll hit the breakfast bar too. Can I interest you in a peace offering?” “I don’t need a peace offering. Thanks, though,” I waved him off. Those kinds of gestures always seem nonchalant, right?

He smirked, then turned to fix his own breakfast. I pulled out my phone to see a few unread emails. One of which was from Nicholas Doyle, a colleague I had been working with and corresponding to via email for the past few months. We were tackling a huge multi-state project - he was the visionary, and me, the detail-man. I guess it was a bounce-back email saying he’d be out of the office for a few days. Hmm, nothing too crazy. “So, I haven’t seen you at one of these before,” my tablemate announced. I looked up to find he’d picked up a bagel and a coffee during those few blissful moments of silence. “First time?” He started munching on the bagel and watching me expectantly. I set down my phone and took a sip of my coffee. “I went a few years ago. I’ve been busy lately, but I was able to make time for this one. Not too far of a commute for the company to send me.” He nodded along as I spoke, continuing to eat his bagel. “Well, I hope it’s worth your trip.” A glob of cream cheese fell onto his plate and he dipped his thumb down to the plate to retrieve it before licking it off his finger. “What company did you say you’re with?” I cleared my throat, setting down my paper coffee cup. “I didn’t.” I fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. Why the interest? “I’m from Beckworth and Associates. You?” “Graystone.” He broke his iron stare on me to take the black lid off of his cup and take a sip. “I’m Nicholas Doyle, pleased to meet you.” The saliva in my mouth dried up instantly. Oh crap.

“Beckworth…” He stroked his chin during the pause. “Do you know a David Levy? I’m working with him on a project.” I better hope I do. Otherwise, I don’t know myself. “Levy’s a solid guy,” I stated, too embarrassed and terrified to fess up that Levy was me. “Hard-working, diligent-” “Detail-oriented. Saved my ass quite a few times. I owe him, big time,” he professed in a quiet tone, holding his coffee cup like it was a precious gem. Looking up to me, he reached over the empty seat between us and patted my back. “Give him my regards, will ya?” I nodded and the crowd’s murmurs dissipated as the speaker took the podium. Nicholas withdrew his hand and we both listened to the speaker while finishing our breakfasts. I was starting to feel paranoid like he was eyeing me up and down. Was I just so out of my game that I didn’t know what it was like to flirt? Wait, did Nicholas freaking Doyle even swing my way? The speaker finished quicker than I anticipated and was rewarded with full applause. I brought my hands together clumsily and groaned inside when I saw Nicholas’s hand shoot up for questions. An attendant with a microphone sprinted over to his side. He took a deep breath before speaking into the microphone. “Great talk, thank you for sharing with us. Say... how do you recommend maximizing teamwork on long-distance or virtual projects?”

I stopped swirling the last bit of coffee that had grown cold in the bottom of my cup. Oh great, he was talking about our project. I thought we were a pretty functional team? The speaker gave some brief answer about really “trying to get to know each other” before getting started and Nicholas thanked him politely. He leaned back into his seat and smiled knowingly at me. I couldn’t tell if he was complimenting me - I mean, my associate - or throwing him under the bus. After that session ended, I got up quickly and lost him in the shuffle on the way to my next room. I attended a few more talks, before deciding to retreat to my hotel room to recharge my introvert energy. I bumped into Nicholas again outside of the conference room.

“Hi, stranger,” he laughed and patted me on the back. He was definitely touchy-feely. “What session are you off to next?” “Oh, uh…” I struggled to come up with an answer as he walked in step with me. “Just going to sit out the next one, gotta charge my laptop’s battery. It’s about to die.” I patted my briefcase for effect. He didn’t have to know I hadn’t cracked it open once today. “That’s too bad,” he replied. “I’ll catch you later then.” He paused to turn back towards the conference rooms. “Wait!” I called after him, stepping out of the stream of people to follow him. Well, here goes nothing. “Yes?” He stopped mid-turn and I caught a good whiff of his cologne. Oh, damn. “Would you… like to grab dinner tonight?” The words tumbled out of my mouth and it was probably all in my head, but my tie felt tighter and tighter around my neck. “Oh.”

Oh. Oh?

Wait -

Ohhhhhh . I backed away, knowing what was going to happen next. It wasn’t my first rodeo. “You know what, don’t worry about it,” I muttered under my breath, speeding away. I wasn’t exactly running , because that isn’t a classy way to exit - but I surely was power walking my way back to that stupid tropical lobby. Back at the glass elevator I took earlier, I pounded the “up” button with my fist, not making eye contact with that elderly couple, back again from the pool.

When the elevator chime dinged, I stepped in, watching the second hand tick by on my wristwatch. I made it through most of the day. I could probably say I got sick and had to cut out of the rest of it. Not too big of a deal.

Getting off on my floor, I took a sharp right out of the elevator and strode up to my room, digging for my room key in my suit jacket pocket. Just as I grasped the glossy plastic card, I was startled to find a long, masculine hand splayed on the door, right in front of my face. I looked up to find Nicholas study me with dark, stormy eyes. He was pissed.

Before I could open my mouth, he leaned into me, looking even angrier. “You have some explaining to do.” He removed his hand from my door and looked at the key card in my hands. Shaking, I slid the key into the reader and twisted the handle when the green light flashed. I stepped inside, not sure what to do when Nicholas followed me. The door clicked shut behind the two of us. “Look, I don’t know what you want-” I couldn’t even finish that sentence. He pushed me into the wall next to the bathroom, silencing my mouth with a furious, passionate kiss. I could swear he was trying to bite me, to draw blood. Kinkier than I was into, but I wouldn’t argue with him right now. I clawed at loosening his tie and he pulled off my jacket, throwing it to the floor. I’d have to iron that again later.

He pulled back from me, our chests heaving in sync. “So, Levy… What do you say to maximizing some teamwork?” Oh hell yes.


TW: contains descriptions of gore appropriate to the sixteenth century and there are references to miscarriages. A king does as he pleases and anyone who disagrees is a fool. Wolsey, my lord chancellor, who the pope made cardinal, erred in being too slow to deal with “the king’s great matter” which was how the need to legitimately free myself from my first marriage became known. Thomas More who I promoted to the same position, forfeited his life when he put conscience before obedience to the crown. When Thomas refused to take the oath of succession and denied I was the Supreme Head of the Church of England, it was only a matter of time. Both men lost their lives; one before he could be tried and beheaded, and one who actually was. I was sad about More’s death because I learnt much from our religious debates. Until things took a turn for the worse, I enjoyed our little spars. He must have known I had no choice but to have him executed for his treachery – although I showed mercy by transmuting the manner of his execution to beheading rather than the hanging, drawing and quartering of his parts which is the standard punishment for treason.

I dream of him sometimes in the dead of night, but that is inevitable with someone who was once a friend. NEVER LET IT BE SAID I HAVEN’T BEEN A JUST KING! ** At first, Anne Boleyn was my dream girl. Beautiful, vivacious, and intelligent, she was going to give me everything I desired. I knew she would satisfy me in bed, but I also hoped to confide in her and assumed she’d continue to support my interests. Above all else, I needed her to provide me with a legitimate male heir. In return she would be my queen, gain undreamed of riches, and her family would be given lifelong prestige.

Loving her was a kind of madness. I was such a pitiful wretch I actually trembled in her presence! She must have wanted me, but her refusal to yield and become my mistress made me crave her all the more. She was the only woman who denied me, and it spurred me on. I was crazy for her sweet pert breasts (I called them my doxies). My soul drowned in her bright eyes, and at every opportunity I would try to kiss that fine gazelle-like neck – even when she perkily brushed me away and said, “No, the queen might see and be upset.”

Anne created a stir everywhere she went. Her alluring voice and elegant French ways were the talk of the court. She’d first been sent to Brussels, then to the French court, by her father for seven years and returned a true daughter of the Renaissance. She had an air about her quite unlike other ladies of my acquaintance. I knew if I stalked this enchanting creature long enough, I’d win my prize. Later when we were together, she joked she’d had no choice in marrying me. It was boldly devilish coming out with something like that, and I laughed heartily at her archness. She further shocked me by saying I’d “pestered her by bombarding her with letters and gifts” when she withdrew from court for a year. Could she have been trying to escape my advances? Not possible. It was just another ploy. One of her schemes which had me had playing into her hands. And it worked. It made me all the more determined to catch her.

Like Jacob who had to serve Laban seven years for his daughter Rachel and then was tricked into marrying his older daughter Leah, I had to wait seven years before I could marry Anne. We slept together a little before marriage, but only when the marriage was certain. Divorce from my first wife Catherine should have been straightforward, but for political reasons the pope refused to grant me one. I grew increasingly desperate. I certainly could never have imagined the trials and tribulations that lay ahead as I fought to marry my dream woman. The very fabric of my country’s religious landscape was being altered as a result of the reforms I made. I could not turn back. Although Anne had been the maid of honour to my first Queen, I did not let that deter me. I can hardly believe I once loved Catherine and did my best to comfort her in her miscarriages. It was only after years of failing to provide me with a male heir, I realised the marriage must have been cursed and that I’d been wrong to marry my brother Arthur’s widow at seventeen.  By marrying Catherine, I had unwittingly “uncovered my brother’s nakedness.” In doing so, I had gone against Scripture. For doesn’t it say in Leviticus that if a man marries his brother’s wife they will be childless? NEVER LET IT BE SAID I WASN’T A PIOUS KING! That being the case, I had no choice but to look elsewhere. In the early days, it was easy to pursue Anne at court. When she emerged from Catherine’s bedchamber, I ran after her in the corridors. I ignored Catherine’s tearful pleas not to embarrass her in front of courtiers by flirting openly with her maid of honour. As far as I was concerned, our marriage was over. I had been supremely kind to Catherine in the past, but my patience had long worn a beard. NEVER LET IT BE SAID I WAS NOT A TENDER-HEARTED KING. Shortly after this, Anne retired from her position as maid of honour and retreated to her family home at Hever. Distance is no barrier to a lover’s heart, and I deluged her with letters and gifts. I was amazed when she kept sending them back, possibly out of a sense of misguided propriety. I couldn’t believe it! Most women would have been falling over themselves for half the attention. Anne’s sister had happily given herself to me in the past even if it had ruined her reputation. I knew Anne couldn’t resist for ever and my need grew so urgent I even told the court I couldn’t manage without seeing her. I camped nearby at a friend’s house and besieged her daily. By the time she consented to marry me, they had long been calling her the “great homewrecker” and the “great whore.” An accusation that no longer appears as unjust as it once did. ** I don’t know what I was expecting, but not long after I had Anne, the craving stopped. It was as if all the fire of passion that had driven me had been extinguished. She was better than her sister who just lay there like a sack of potatoes while I took her, but really no different to any other woman in that way. Perhaps after waiting for so long to achieve my goal, I had grown bored. Now she was mine, there was no need to chase. By her second pregnancy, my eyes started wandering a little, but after all I’d gone through to make her my Queen, I could hardly rid myself of her without just cause. For a while, she became more compliant, and we had a few months of happiness. I decided I would bide my time. But when she miscarried again, I could hardly contain my disappointment. The stillborn baby boy lent proof to my doubts. Anne always maintained she miscarried on account of my jousting accident when she’d feared I was going to lose my life. She kept telling me I was never the same after the horse fell on me and I lay unconscious for two hours. Either way, it seemed unlikely she was ever going to be able to give me a son.

The fate of my second marriage was now sealed. Ironically, before the miscarriages, Anne had given birth to a healthy girl at Greenwich palace. At least my daughter looked like me! As Elizabeth was our firstborn, I did my best to cover over the embarrassment, but there were none of the expected bonfires and rejoicings a male birth would have merited. I could almost hear the bawdy remarks in taverns up and down the land. No doubt my predicament was a source of merriment at court; I could read the guilty looks and hated the way the talk dried up as soon I entered a room. Secret scornful laughter mocking my failure. ** NEVER LET IT BE SAID I WAS A KING TOO PROUD TO LEARN FROM HIS MISTAKES.

The strength of character, the witty personality that had once so delighted me now grated. When I heard Anne laughing with her coterie of male admirers, I felt as if she was insulting my manhood. When she wasn’t doing that, she was accosting me about reforming practises, constantly asking whether some of the money from the dissolution of the monasteries could be used to fund places of education. She said I had agreed to this, but I don’t recall making such promises. Nothing worse than a meddlesome woman! Who was she to harass me? Once convinced our union was doomed, I could think of nothing but finding a way to get rid of this woman who’d made me a laughing stock in Europe. Though it occupied my every waking hour, I came up with nothing. That was when I turned to my right-hand man to see if he could find a solution.

Cromwell has never disappointed me. Yet. Unlike More and Bishop Fisher who steadfastly refused to accept the new faith to make me head of the church and were destroyed for their treachery.

It didn’t take long for Cromwell to resolve my problem. He has the most practical turn of mind of any man I’ve known. He understood my infatuation for Anne had turned to something else. I had become obsessed with the need to rid myself of this burdensome woman. The woman I had once adored now hung about me like a plague. I could hardly bear to breathe in the same air. In his customary style Cromwell sorted things out and before long Anne was escorted to the Tower where she was charged with having committed adultery with five men, one of whom was her brother! It didn’t surprise me. The pair of them were always sneaking off in corners and giggling together. No doubt laughing at me behind my back!  I could well believe her capable of it even though she strenuously protested her innocence against every charge brought against her. She claimed she had never once been unfaithful. She had always been true in word and deed to her king.

How could I have been so deluded? How could she have betrayed me thus? How could she have lied so? And how could I ever have fallen under her spell?

** She has been hunted down and will be slaughtered tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. I daresay she will be waiting in a high state of dread, not knowing when it will be.  I have already been more than magnanimous in acceding to her request for a French swordsman; that way her end will come swiftly for she only has a little neck. I consider it a final act of kindness towards a treacherous wife who was once queen.

NEVER LET IT BE SAID I WASN’T A FORGIVING KING. Tomorrow or the next day, I will wait on Tower Hill for the cannons to announce the witch’s death. Then I will turn horse and ride to Hampton court. I anticipate celebrating with Jane once the deed is done. Jane is not well educated, but she is loving and submissive as a good woman should be, and I plan to marry her soon. I know we will be blessed with a son. I can HARDLY wait.


Today I am a tiger. Running through the jungle. I am hungry. I come upon a beach. On the infinite shore is a woman and in the water are three kids having a time. The woman tans just on the edge of the wood. It is Mishi. I go up to say hi. She notices me and begins to panic. "Calm down... I mean you no harm... it is only me." But instead a monstrous roar comes out. She trembles in fear. She falls to her knees and she sobs. "What's wrong?" I say. It comes out as an even more ferocious roar. Off in the distance I hear children screaming. She notices them too and begins to sob even harder. Through her sobs she begins: "Please... for the love of God... do what you will to me... but leave my children alone." I am confused. I had no plans to harm her children. I just wish to eat. I fulfill Mishi's wish and my own in one action. I pounce on her. I tear her body to shreds with my claws and sink into her neck with my teeth. She is no where to be found. I am now a red tiger... dripping in blood but not satiated... still hungry. The kids are gone... no where to be seen. But I can smell them... I can see the path they took into the woods. I can hear their crying. They just want their mom. I panic. I begin to run into the woods aimlessly. As fast as I can. I just run and run and run... and then I sense it. A tiger. The most familiar tiger in the world. The most beautiful tiger in the world. My queen. She speaks. "Hey what's up? Why are you covered in blood." "I just ate Mishi." "Oh yeah?" She asks, and with a seductive glance she continues: "How did she taste?" And then I felt it. The greatest feeling in the world... that feeling deep down inside... that feeling only a man knows. And in an instant she is upon me. Holding me down with a force I cannot understand. "What are you waiting for?" She says through my core. And at that moment it happens. From the white furry nether regions it comes out. War drums. bum BUM bum BUM bum BUM "there's my man." She lets out with a joyous squeak I cannot believe what I am seeing. A huge purple penis... throbbing in unison to the drums. For a moment all I can see is this huge purple... purple... throbbing to the drums... dancing to the drums. And then she brings me out of it. "Hey now! I want some!" I hear her come through from no where in this dream within a dream. And I look at her. She presents herself in a way only a tiger can. And I do the only thing a tiger can do when presented with such sights. I pounce on her. And we dance that eternal dance. The divine waltz. The scene is just too much to take in. And I can hear her... "I'm... I'm... I'm" I cannot help but close my eyes. I open my eyes and look down. Everything has vanished... and floating in the clouds amidst a fantastically infinite colorful space there it rests. A huge purple penis. Nothing else. The penis absolutely still... as if frozen in time... the clouds and colors buzz around it in sync to a mysteriously divine sound... the ambiance radiates as the purple statue remains in absolute stillness. "Huh... would ya look at that", he thinks, "now that's new." And at the realization the immense statue began to shake. Slowly at first. But then faster. Now vibrating at a finer speed... resonating. And in its resonance a hum begins and the image blurs. WUUUUUUUUM-wuuuuuum-WUUUUM-wuum-WUM it is coming to a point... and at the moment of silence the blurred image solidifies and at the peak of the purple pyramid is a brilliant white orb... rotating ever so spectacularly Radiant... perfectly colorful... perfectly circular... perfectly new... perfect. I fly towards it with all I am and reach out for this artifact; I have it in my hands. And then it happens. The infinite purple plane I now stand upon begins to buzz. wum-WUUM-wuuuum-WUUUUUUM-wuuuuuuuum and as the tone speeds cracks flow into the plane from his feet. And in an instant cracks of light fracture the plane. Brighter and brighter the light between the cracks become. The resonance of the plane, the hum, the tone... becomes unbearable. "We gotta get out of here!" He screams out to the purple planar void as he launches into the infinite space beyond. And he runs and runs... he flys and flys... forever and ever he goes... and then he forgets where he is. He stops and thinks about why he moves. He cannot remember. He turns his head and looks back. And he begins to fall... at incredible speeds. All now in rewind. No idea why he's falling... he looks down into his hand. He clutches a white orb. He probes it... inspects it. Solid. Sturdy. He cannot remember what it is but it looks oh so pretty. He looks up. He can see the milky way now. And in the next moment he notices our solar system. And in the next moment the Earth comes into view... it's all moving way too fast. He closes his eyes and braces for impact. Darkness. Nothing. Then he feels it. This buzzing sensation. He has no body. No sense at all except for this vibration. It feels absolutely divine. Good vibrations... too good. And then above the heavenly vibrations and darkness he hears it. He hears crying. And it takes him away from this serene place. I open my eyes. I'm in a dark bedroom. There is this foreign woman going to town on my cock as mascara chases her tears. "WHAT THE FUCK!" I scream as I pull her by her hair and hold her in front of me with one arm as if she is a bucket of awful. She screams in pain. "PLEASE!" "Who are you and where is the Queen?!" I ask, as the echoes of libido turn to wrath. "PLEASE!" she sobs as she dangles. "Just please anything you want just don't hurt my children." And then it hits me—I am dreaming—And then I drop her. She collapses to the floor babbling... inconsolable. She rocks back and forth saying "please don't hurt my children." I get to my knees, stark naked and with my free hand I caress her shoulder. She instantly recoils and sobs harder. I decide to speak instead. I speak from the heart: "I didn't mean to hurt you... I'm sorry... don't cry. I won't do anything bad to your children. It's okay Mishi." And at that there is a sudden change in her demeanor. She is calm. She breathes. Slowly she collects herself. She wipes away the tears from her cheeks. She realizes what's going on. There is a strange naked man in her bedroom holding a pearlescent Christmas ornament. Calmly she asks: "What do you want?" Calmly I reply: "I want to know what is going on... how did I get here? What happened?" I can see the moonlight shine off her face. She looks at me blankly. Beautiful. I continue: "I know this is weird but I really don't know what the hell is going on... I mean I know where I was and what I was doing but the first thing I can remember here is you crying and sucking me off." She blinks a few times... incredulous she blurts out: "You raped me!" "I raped you?!", I reply incredulously. "I was sleeping and the next thing I know you have your hand over my mouth and you threatened my children. You said if I struggle you'd kill my children right in front of my eyes." Tears well up in my eyes. I look into hers. I say the only thing I can say: "I am so sorry... so so sorry." And she began to cry as well: "Why would you do that... why would you do that?" "I don't know. I honestly thought I was a tiger and I was hungry... and you said I could eat you... so I ate you. To be honest it was amazing... you were delicious. To be perfectly honest I am dreaming right now." And at that she started to laugh. Wild uncontrollable laughter. She is mad. Completely lost. "There it is!" I joyfully cry out. "Listen, Mishi, I know this doesn't make sense. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to go check on your kids. You'll find them sleeping. Then I want you to grab your phone and come back. If you trust me you'll do all these things." And mishi got up, threw on a shirt, and left the room. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. She grabbed her phone and went to dial the police. And then she noticed it... as the phone rang Her house is immaculate. Oddly clean. She did not do this. In panic she ran to check on her kids. Peacefully they slept. And then she heard it. "911 what's your emergency?" And she drops her phone with the knife and runs to her bedroom and flips on the light. Her bedroom is immaculate... and there is one other difference too. Her bed is covered in brilliantly lush purple linens. On the center of which a white pearlescent sphere lays. Mishi is confused. All of a sudden. She hears a voice come from within. "You should of trusted me Mishi. I did not say call the police. I said check on your kids and grab your phone." She cries out: "I didn't call the police, I hung up on them! Come back!" "You called them. They are on the way. They will wake up your kids. This is on you. You should of trusted me Mishii." "Where are you?!" "Why I'm right here on your bed. What are you going to tell the cops when they get here? That a Christmas ornament raped you? Who is going to believe that?" And at that she began to cry. "Ah Mishi, don't cry. I'm just fucking with ya. The cops aren't coming this is all a dream." "But you raped me!" "Yeah but look on the bright side. I cleaned your house and got you new linens. And to be perfectly honest I don't ever remember asking you to go down on me... that was all you. Bye now." And at that. Silence. No more voices in her head. Just her. She picks up the ornament. It's just a normal Christmas ornament... even has a hanger attached to it. She inspects it seemingly forever. And no one ever came back. And she cried and cried and cried. Until finally she tightened her grip and crushed the ornament. The shards slicing up her hand before they spilled onto the purple linens. She watches as her blood trickles onto the broken fragments of our hero. "You should not have done that." The voice catches Mishi by surprise. She looks up. Before her is a woman. She hovers slightly off the ground in a booming black dress that ripples in resonance with an invisible aura. Her blonde hair ripples in a curious synchronization with the dress. And her eyes... her eyes glow red... so red... pure red. They exude an aura... a blood red aura.. an aura that ripples out of sync with her dress and hair... a faint red haze that seems to envelop her entire being. In an instant the haze turns solid red—a new red—and in the next instant it vanishes. And Mishi cannot believe her eyes. In her bedroom is a tiger... with transcendentally red glowing eyes. And as the Queen pounces towards the bed she lets out not a roar but a banshee wail.


“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” Alan kept repeating to himself as he gazed out across Biscayne Bay from his twentieth-floor balcony. The shadows of the high-rise condominiums that line the Miami shoreline were beginning to stretch out across the bay as the sun slowly settled behind him. He took another sip of his gin and tonic and winced as it was much more bitter than he expected. The clouds out over the ocean were slowly turning from white to a soft tangerine as the last rays of the setting sun slowly settled on the opposite horizon. Alan’s lips again mouthed the words, “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Today was his sixty-sixth birthday, and in five days, it would be the first anniversary of Colleen’s death. They had planned this retirement for years. And once their three children had scattered to the winds, there was no reason to stay in Central Ohio. Alan and Colleen’s kids were grown and gone, with lives of their own, raising their families, chasing their dreams – looking forward, not looking back to Columbus. That was the past.  That was where they were from, not where they were going. With the house now empty, the Midwest winters seemed colder.  And South Florida seemed more and more inviting. Linda and her mom often discussed them moving to Florida, and the more they talked about it, the more Linda encouraged her parents to make the move. It wasn’t that she wanted them to be further away. It was just that she wanted her parents to be happy and to start enjoying that third chapter of their married life together; to live out their golden years with people their own age and without the pressure and responsibility of raising a family. For almost a year, things were perfect. Both Alan and Colleen retired from their respective jobs and never looked back; it was a clean break for both. They sold the only house their kids had ever known, sent the dog to live with Linda, and followed the moving van south out of town to Florida. Over the next nine months, everything fell into place. Colleen made many friends both within and outside the condo – friends to play bridge with, friends in the book club, and girlfriends to simply share coffee and gossip. Alan was just as lucky; the condo had a men’s group that organized fishing trips, poker nights, football watching parties, and most importantly – golf. Alan loved golf but never seemed to have the time for it back in Ohio. Here he had nothing but time, and anytime was a good time to play golf. The plan was to spend the next twenty years together here in Miami.  They had the financial resources to last that long. Then after Alan’s passing, twenty years seemed reasonable; Colleen would regroup with the kids and probably move somewhere close to Linda for the rest of her life. This understanding may have seemed a little morbid, but that was the plan, and they were just being realistic. Unfortunately, fate didn’t see it that way. Thirteen months after settling into their perfect new life, Colleen was struck by a massive heart attack as she was playing bridge at a friend’s house. She was not feeling all that well on that fateful morning, but it was bridge club, and she didn’t want to disappoint her friends by staying home. Besides, it was just indigestion, and it would pass once she got into the game. The EMS were frantically summoned at 10:14 that morning. Her friends desperately applied CPR until the paramedics arrived, but two hours later, Colleen was pronounced dead at University of Miami Hospital. It was not supposed to happen this way. The light of Alan’s life had suddenly and unexpectedly gone out. Alan took another sip of his gin and tonic. The eastern sky was beginning to lighten as a full moon broke the ocean’s surface on the distant horizon. It was the twelfth full moon Alan had watched take the night sky since Colleen’s death. And for the twelfth time in as many months, he sat alone on his balcony silently staring out to sea. As Alan quietly watched the moon make its appearance in the night sky, an unusually bright star slowly rose just below it. “It’s my birthday, and it wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he kept silently repeating. Suddenly he was jarred from his stupor by the sound of a loud knock at the door. It was either his friend Sam, who had promised to take him out and get him drunk for his birthday.  Or it was the pizza kid delivering the pizza he had ordered. He set his glass down and slowly walked to the door. As he opened the door, to his surprise, it was neither. Well, it was a person holding a pizza. But it wasn’t the usual Hispanic kid with tattoos covering both arms and baggy pants that barely clung to his bony hips. It was a beautiful young woman. She had steel blue eyes like Colleen’s, but any other similarities ended there. She had dark brunette hair almost to her waist; Colleen was blonde and never wore it longer than shoulder length. The girl had a goddess-like Florida tan; Colleen was fair-skinned and burned easily. And instead of baggy shorts and South Coast Pizza t-shirt, the usual kid always wore; she was wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian print sundress. Colleen wore sundresses, but for some reason, never Hawaiian prints. Alan just stared. “Pizza,” the girl said with a huge smile. “You ordered a pizza, didn’t you?” “Uh – yes, I ordered a pizza.  Where’s the tattoo-kid?” Alan finally managed to stutter. Deferring his question with a question of her own, she politely answered, “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” “Uh, yes,” he said, still searching for words. “And how did you know it was my birthday?” “Let’s just say a little birdie told me,” she said as she skirted past him and headed for the kitchen. Surprised that she had just slid around him and entered his apartment without an invitation, Alan quickly closed the door and turned to follow her. “That little birdie wouldn’t be named Sam, would he?” “Sam?  I don’t think I know any birdies named Sam,” she responded with a flirtatious tone to her voice as she set the pizza on the kitchen counter and opened the grocery bag she was also carrying. Alan hadn’t previously noticed the bag, and to his surprise, she pulled out several salads, olives, some sort of Italian dessert, and a bottle of wine, all of which she neatly arranged on the counter. “I didn’t order any of that,” he protested. “Oh, it’s okay Alan, it’s your birthday,” she paused, and with an innocent little grin, added. “May I call you Alan?” He felt his temper flare, but she was just so damn cute – and that smile. “Okay,” he stuttered. “And what’s your name?” “Stella,” she said as she spun on the balls of her feet, and standing on tiptoes, opened kitchen cabinets to get out plates, serving bowls and wine glasses. Alan couldn’t help but notice she was getting down two of everything. “Are you staying for dinner?” he inquired, still not sure if he should be upset or not. “Of course, it’s your birthday. You don’t want to spend it eating alone, do you?” Stella responded with a wink of her eye. Befuddled and a little annoyed, Alan started to snap – but she was so damn cute. “Okay, okay you’re staying for dinner, I get it. But who sent you?” She had found Colleen’s pizza paddle and slid the still-hot pizza onto it. “Well Alan, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you. And besides, what difference does it make? It’s your birthday and none of your family or friends wants you to be alone, and more importantly, I don’t want you to be alone either.” Alan settled on to a nearby barstool and watched in amazement as she transferred the olives and salads to serving bowls, set the table, and even lit candles. “Mind if I get my drink?” he asked. “Oh no, of course not – but hurry back. Dinner is almost ready.” As he returned from the balcony, he pushed the sliding glass doors all the way open to let in the sea breeze and pulled back the curtains to allow for the full view of the moonrise over Miami. He started to plop down in his usual chair, but noticed she was patiently standing next to hers. Luckily, he realized in the nick of time she was waiting for him to hold the chair for her, which he quickly did with a smile. “Stella, this is beautiful – thank you,” he said sincerely as he settled into his chair. She poured the wine and they clinked glasses. “Many people love you Alan, and they don’t want you sitting up here night after night by yourself,” she said with a sparkle in her eyes. “Stella, it wasn’t supposed to be this way…” he said before she cut him off. “I know Alan,” she said, interrupting him. “But you’re here tonight and I’m here tonight. It’s a beautiful evening, the moon is rising – and Alan, your pizza is getting cold. So, let’s not talk about what was supposed to happen. Let’s talk about here and now.” And over the next hour, Alan talked like he hadn’t spoken in over a year, and Stella listened intently to every word. He also ate like he hadn’t eaten since Colleen’s passing. And as the moon slowly rose above their view as they sat at the dining room table, every morsel of pizza, salads, and dessert were consumed, along with the entire bottle of wine. Finally, pushing back from the table, happier than he’d been all year, he said, “Let me help you with those dishes.” “Okay, as long as you’ll sit and have another drink with me on the balcony when we’re done,” she said with a smile. “It’s a deal, Stella – I can’t thank you enough for the wonderful evening. Thank you.” It seemed like old times as they washed and put away the dishes. Alan opened another bottle of wine as Stella arranged two chaises side by side on the balcony. From the balcony, the moon was visible again as they settled next to each other and gazed out into the moonlit sky. The moon was so full and bright, almost no stars were visible, except for that one brilliant star that seemed to be following just south of the moon as it rose higher and higher over Biscayne Bay. “They say love is a tender thing, so why do I find it so painful?” Alan sighed. “Love is forever Alan, and pain always fades in the face of love,” Stella answered. She reached over and laid her hand on Alan’s. He responded by interlocking his fingers with hers. Staring out into the night sky, Alan spoke first.  “Stella, do you know what I miss the most?” “Yes,” she said, “I actually do know. You miss the companionship of another person to share your life with. You miss your partner – you miss your wife.” Alan slowly took a long sip of wine. This girl couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old, he thought. His daughter was older than that. How could she know these things? And who in the hell gave her the right to say them. He had never laid eyes on her before this evening, and yet she seemed to know him better than he knew himself. Who was she? But the softness of her hand and the scent of her body next to his kept him from asking. The food, the wine, and the moonlight were all taking their effect. Alan was more comfortable, more at ease – more vulnerable than he had been since Colleen’s death. “Alan,” Stella asked. “I am also your birthday present. I’m sure you realized that by now.” “What do you mean?” Alan responded, though he actually knew what she meant. “I’m spending the night,” she said lovingly. There was a long silence. “Stella, I don’t know who sent you, and I guess at the moment, I don’t really care. I’m honored and flattered, but you can’t spend the night.” There was another pause, “I mean, we couldn’t do anything. I’m sixty-six years old – I’m not the man you are expecting.  I’m not the man you deserve.” She squeezed his hand and leaned over towards him. “You are all the man I need, and besides, I still have one more gift for you.” Alan hadn’t previously noticed, but she had a small coin purse in her hand that she placed between them and snapped open. Inside was a tiny pill bottle with two blue tablets. She took one tablet from the bottle and held it out for him to take. “Stella, I can’t.  I take nitrates for my heart, and a pill like that could kill me.” “Alan, I would never do anything to hurt you. This is a light dose, and it won’t interfere with your medications,” she said in a knowing and caring voice. “Am I healthy enough for sex?” he jokingly retorted, paraphrasing a popular TV commercial and holding the pill to his lips. “You are tonight, my lover,” she softly responded as she slipped from her lounge chair and onto his – straddling his body at his waist. Sitting atop him, she offered him the Sirens’ glass of wine. He paused, pressed the pill between his lips, and sipped the wine until the tablet was gone from his mouth. She took the wine glass from him and placed it gently on the table beside them. He sighed in resignation as he knew this might be the last night of his life, but he was powerless to say no to her. Smiling, she stood, still straddling him, and slid backward until her feet cleared his lounge chair. Now standing facing him, she slipped her hands up under her sundress and pulled her panties to her knees. She then wiggled them to her ankles and kicked them to the corner of the balcony. Alan realized she was now only wearing one last piece of clothing, the sundress. She had kicked off her shoes while they were doing the dishes, and there was no way she could have been wearing a bra as there were no tell-tail straps or lines. With an alluring smile, she walked forward and resumed her previous position sitting atop his lap. As she slowly started unbuttoning his shirt, Alan could already feel the effect of the little blue pill. His face was suddenly flush, his eyesight began to blur slightly, and for the first time in over a year, he felt a definite tingle in his groin and the beginnings of that long-lost firmness of his youth. Stella could also feel it, the unmistakable tightening of Alan’s pants as her bare crotch pressed into his zipper. She gave Alan a knowing smile of approval and a wink of anticipation, as Alan responded with his own smile of accomplishment, but with a slight hint of apprehension and fear. After pushing his shirt aside, she took another long sip of wine before bringing her lips to his. To soothe the blurring, Alan closed his eyes and soaked in the sweetness of her kiss that lovingly lingered on his lips. His head swirled with memories of so many kisses so many years ago. Stella’s touch and taste, and scent instantly brought back memories of his first date with Colleen. All the feelings of loss and loneliness vanished as Stella’s soft lips left his and started a long and luxurious journey across his face, around his neck, and ever so slowly down his chest to his belt line. There she sat up, unbuttoned his pants, and lowered his zipper. She then stood, and straddling the lounge chair, pushed his pants down and over his feet that dangled off the end of the chaise. As she returned to her previous position kneeling just below his waist, she slowly settled on to Alan’s lap and began their sensuous journey to mutual gratification. As the drug had dulled Alan’s normal sensitivity, their voyage to his climatic release lasted longer than he was accustomed to. But he was in utter heavenly bliss and didn’t mind if it took forever. The warm sea breezes of the Miami evening enveloped them both and carried Alan to an imaginary tropical paradise of his youth. And as Stella so sensuously moved her hips to the sound of a distant Samba band, she was inevitably compelled to cool herself by pulling her last remaining piece of clothing up and over her head before tossing it to the edge of the balcony. She now sat naked atop Alan’s waist, with her dark hair swinging back and forth to the distant rhythm. When Alan’s moment of fulfillment finally came, it was a total release, unlike anything he had experienced in years. It was like college; it was like the first time he had taken Colleen to bed over forty years ago. It was like they were both kids again. Alan’s lover collapsed onto his chest, and as he wrapped his arms around her to hold her tight, she responded with like affection. Their bodies seemed to fit so perfectly together. Her scent, her touch, the warmth of her body just seemed so natural. Alan drifted off for a moment into a dream-like sleep. Upon reopening his eyes, he gazed into his lover’s face – it wasn’t Stella at all, it was Colleen! “Colleen!” he stuttered. “Yes,” she calmly replied. “It was you – it was you all along.” “Yes, my darling, it was me.” “But – but where did you come from?” he said with his voice choked with emotion. “From that star,” she answered. “That star just south of the moon.” “Colleen – that star, that was you?” he managed to say as his eyes filled with tears. “Yes, my precious, that was me,” she reassured him. “That star just south of the moon,” he repeated as he struggled to search the sky for the star. “It’s gone,” he said after frantically scanning the night sky. “It’s gone; where did it go?” “I’m right here Alan, and I’m not leaving you again,” she whispered. There was a long pause. “Where am I Colleen – am I dead?” he asked. “No, my beloved, we’re together. Together forever, together someplace just south of the moon.”