Finding Mr. Evans Written by Jay Kappas Edited by Oliver Hagemann “Come on,” my best friend Charley shouts. “Let's go!” “I’m coming, I’m coming,” my other friend Matt yells. We were running as fast as we could to the tree house fort by the stream; the same stream where we found Mr. Evans. When we got to the tree house, we didn’t notice him. We ran to the rope ladder and climbed up. I grabbed my telescope and looked through it to see if anybody had followed us to The House. That was what we called our tree house fort. The House.

“Do you see anyone?” Matt asks. “Nothing,” I reply. “Wait, what’s that?” I say as I look at the stream with my telescope. “What is it?” Matt asks. I don’t know,” I say. “Let's check it out. Come on!”

We scramble out of The House, and run over to it. “It looks like a body!” I shout as I get close. Charley and Matt ran up. “It is a body!” Charley gasps. “But whose?” I ask. “How should I know?” Matt snaps. “Let’s flip it over to see who it is.” Charley suggests. “On the count of three.” I say as we grab the body. “One! Two! Three!” We flip it over and gasp as we see who it is.

“Mr. Evans?!” Charley gasps. Mr. Evans is, or rather was, the father of a girl in our class named Ava. “What’s his body doing here?” Matt asks. “The real question is who put his body here?” Charley says. “Murder by the looks of it. Single bullet to the back of the head. It looks like it’s from a Ranger 10/22. Dead within seconds.” I say. They stare at me. “What? I watch a lot of murder mysteries and true crime.” I reply defensively. “Okay, if you say so.” Matt says.

“What do we do now?” Charley asks. “Obviously, we tell the authorities.” Matt says. “No, we should try to solve this ourselves.” I say. “No way! We are not doing that!” Matt argues. “We are going to tell the authorities about this right now!” “Can we at least try?” I plead. “How about we give it a try and if we don’t find anything within three days, we’ll tell the authorities.” Charley interrupts, “I’d like to investigate. It’ll give us something to do. “Fine, three days.” Matt huffs. “But if we get in trouble, it's not my fault.”

Within two days, we found something. I was walking home with Matt, and we were crossing the street when a Ford pickup truck came roaring down the street, music blasting. When it saw us, it screeched to a halt. And who got out but Mr. King. Heavily tattooed, smoking and looking enraged, Mr. King was very intimidating. “What are you doing, crossing the street without looking!” He yelled. “Sorry sir.” Matt apologized. “You better be!” King shouted. As King turned to walk back to his truck, I noticed a bulge in his pocket. “Did you see that?” I asked Matt as soon as King was gone. “What, the fact that his tattoos look super ugly, or the fact that he’s slowly killing himself by smoking?” “Well, both of those are right, but what I’m talking about is the bulge in his pocket.” “A pistol.” Matt whispers. “Which means he’s a suspect.” I say.

By the end of the week, we had a list of 5 suspects. Abigail Ramirez hated Mr. Evans for accidentally hitting her with his car and never forgave him; her friend Mary White had a gun so Abigail could’ve borrowed it and say she was going hunting. Mr. King was a competing bait shop owner. And as you know, Mr. King has a pistol and probably a hunting rifle. Pete Lee, John Thompson, and Emma Young all thought he was rude and disliked him. All of them had at least a hunting rifle, and maybe a pistol.

When Matt, Charley, and I met up at The House, we went over the list of suspects. “I think it was Emma Young,” Charley said. “I mean, she’s always saying how much she dislikes Mr. Evans and she has a gun. “We should go to the authorities.” I say. “Yeah, we should. This isn’t our job.”

So we went to the sheriff’s office and told Officer Allen about Mr. Evan’s body and gave him our list of suspects. “This is some good work you’ve got here,” Officer Allen says. “But you should’ve told us as soon as you found the body.” “Yes, officer.” I say. “Now show me where the body is, and we’ll go there in my squad car.” Officer Allen says. When we got there, we all got out and walked toward the body and the stream where the body was found. Officer Allen looked at the body and whistled. “Well, you’re not wrong. This is definitely murder. I’ll call some backup to move the body. You stay away for a couple of hours while we check the scene and move the body. Okay?” “Got it.” Charley responded. “And be careful. The murderer could target you for figuring them out.” “Be careful.” “Okay.” I replied. The next day we came back and scoped out the area before we entered. Then, one at a time, we ran over to the rope ladder and climbed up as fast as we could. When all of us were up in The House, Matt took the telescope and scanned the surrounding area. “I don’t see anyone.” Matt says after a minute or two. “Wait! I think I see someone! They’re coming up! Quick! Ready the weapons!” “What weapons?” Charley asks, sounding confused. “Whatever weapons we have!” Matt says. We grabbed as many rocks as we could before Mr. King appeared holding a pistol!

“Put down the rocks, now!” barks Mr. King. “Okay! Relax.” I say as we slowly set down the rocks. “Now tell me how you figured it out.” Mr. King demands. “It was sort of easy.” Charley admits. “You have a gun, you both own competing bait shops, and Mr. Evans’s bait shop was making more money than your bait shop the last few months. Now, goodbye.” “What?” Mr. King asked, confused.

And at that second, Officer Allen appeared behind Mr. King, holding a gun of his own. “Put down your gun, please.” Officer Allen said as Mr. King slowly turned around. When Mr. King saw Officer Allen and his gun, he set his gun on the floor of The House. “Thank you.” Officer Allen said right before tasing him. ZZZZZZZZ! Mr. King dropped to the floor with a THUD!

“How did you know he was here?” Charley asked. “He was our main suspect, and we were following him. When we saw him coming here we knew it was him.” Officer Allen said before he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and knelt down to arrest Mr. King. We followed Officer Allen down the ladder and helped him carry the unconscious body to the cop car. And as we watched Officer Allen drive away, I said to Matt and Charley, “Investigating this was the worst idea I ever had. Even worse than filling my mom’s car with Orbeez. Man, I got harsh punishment for that.”


Danny wanted nothing more then to fit in with his peers, he would always tell tall tales of great adventures and far off lands; fighting large bears and evil witches, only a courageous duckling like himself would attempt such dangerous feats. His grandmother warned him that one day all of his white lies would catch up to him, like most children his age he never listened. In fact his lies became more and more elaborate, his best friend Terry the turtle started questioning the validity of Danny stories. “I don't care if you believe me Terry, because my real friends know how truly brave I am.” Terry became so frustrate that he stuck is head in his shell just to get away from the conversation. Danny waddled off angrily to confront his friends; hoping that Terry was they only one that did not believe him. Sammy Snail and Billy Beaver where hanging out by the pound discussing what they were going to do that day when Danny came storming up, they glanced at each other with a worried look, they knew exactly what was coming. “What's the matter Danny?” “Nothing, I don't want to talk about it, lets just find something to do as long as we don't include Terry, him and I are no longer friends. I can't believe he called me a liar, you two believe me right?” Sammy and Billy had no clue what fib he was talking about ,there was so many that they just nodded their heads in agreement and continued on with there walk. “The bear was huge over twelve feet tall, he would have been a nice bear but he was controlled be a vile witch.” Danny was unaware that every time he told the story the bear just kept getting bigger, the witch last week she was part of a separate adventure that he and his grandfather had embarked upon. Sammy and Billy just shook their heads, Danny lied so much that he could no longer keep his stories straight. Finally Billy had enough, if Danny didn't stop lying he could not continue to be his friend. “Danny you need to stop all of these lies.” He put his head down in shame; “I feel like I failed as a friend because we have let you go on day after day. I know you miss you grandfather; by lying about all the things that you have done together takes away from the real memories of him. Plus there is no way a little duckling could conquer a twelve foot bear, which by the way last week was only nine feet. You can hardly beat me and I am just a cub, if you don't stop this no one is going to want to be around you. ” Danny stood there with tears in his eyes as he watched his friends walk away. He ran home as fast as his little feet could carry him, by the time he got there he was more angry then sad, how dare his friends question the truthfulness of his stories when they weren't there to witness it. His grandmother was out on the deck beating the old living room rug, he coughed as waddled into the house. “Little one why so upset?” She put both wings around him and held him close. “Oh, cheese and pinwheels grandma I am so, so....” His grandmother chuckled softly as she watched him stomp his little feet. “Now if you done throwing a temper tantrum take a deep breath and think about what you are trying to say.” He took a few calming breaths but before he could get the words out there was a loud bang at the door. It was Franny fox, she owned the bakery two doors down. Her eyes where wide with fear and she was shaking like a leaf. “Donna quick we must hide all the little ones we are being attacked by savage bears.” At first Danny couldn't believe his luck, he was going to make his friends believe once and for all that he was a very brave duckling, if he did this his lies would then be truth. He promised himself that after he defeated the bear that he would come clean to his friends and hoped they would still like him even though he never did any of those things. Billy and Sammy had been his best friends for years for some reason that was never enough, he had to be friends with every one and if they thought the was brave they would want to hang out with him. “I am brave, when I am done with my mission they will all see that my stories where no lies but predictions of things to come.” He grabbed his wooded sword and shield and ran right past Franny and his grandmother. The bears where terrorizing all of the animals, Terry and Billy where hiding behind a large rock when Danny found them. “Don't worry I am Danny the brave, I will vanquish these evil foes.” “Please don't, just admit that you are lying we won't be made.” Billy tried to pull Danny behind the rock but Terry stopped him. “No, Danny if you are truly a brave a fearless duckling here is your chance to prove it.” He pointed towards a very large grizzly bear that was trying to catch a bunny for dinner. Danny took a deep breath and strutted up to the menacing animal. He thrust his mighty sword into the massive animals rear end, the only thing he accomplished was annoying the very hungry bear who had just lost his lunch. “You just cost me my lunch boy, I would eat you instead but you would just be a tease for my stomach.” Danny stood his ground and stabbed the bear again. “Listen hear you big brute, I am Danny the brave.” The bear picked Danny up with his very large paws, he also noticed the one of the bears claws was a big as he was. Billy jumped out from the behind the rock and yelled; “Uncle Brutus that enough, I think that  Danny got the point.” “Good because I am not going to do this again.” Brutus looked at Danny very seriously; “I hope you learned your lesson about telling lies. You friends and the rest of these fine people have became so tired of your lies that they had to call in the big guns, if you are confused kid that is me. If you think these smart people are fooled by your lies you are kidding yourself, they just want you to come clean with them and yourself. He put Danny down, the whole town had gathered around waiting for the tiny duckling to say something. Danny shared sheepishly at the crowed, for the first time in his life he saw how is lies affected people. “I am very sorry for all the tall tales that I have told, It was silly for me to think that you all believed what I was saying. I thought if I wasn't just this boring little duckling that you would think that I was cool and brave. I not any of those things; Sammy, Billy and Terry I am sorry that I didn't think your friendship was enough for me. I don't blame you for hating me, I don't blame all of you for hating me. I promise for this day forward that I will always be truthful to my friends and neighbours. From that day on Danny never told a lie again, he came to realize that his friends and family loved him not because they though he was brave or adventurous, they loved him because he was Danny.


A story by Winston Roberts and Don Krieg He pushed his desk chair back from his laptop. He had spent the day Zooming with co-workers between battles in Doom. He stretched his arms wide. The constant focus on the laptop screen had left his body frozen in a shape that was conducive to seeing the screen while typing. It felt good to have a stretch. It felt necessary to revitalize joints that had been dormant for so long. He scanned his phone for the take-out restaurants he used routinely. He would cook himself, but it was just easier to order out. He happened on the Taste of Thai restaurant offering. Scanning the menu, he rested his eyes on a particular favorite, Gaeng Kua Kling. Logging onto the Taste of Thai website, he navigated the menu and clicked the toggle button beside the dish. He was especially fond of their pork version and so selected that as well. They wanted to know a hotness level for the dish. He chose three stars out of five. He liked it a bit spicy. He closed the laptop down and made for the kitchen. He could use a beer and so opening the refrigerator, he pulled his last bottle out. A simple twist of the bottle top and he was already gurgling the sudsy amber liquid into his gullet. The beer was cold from the ‘frig, but it had a warming effect in his belly. All was good. He plopped onto the living room sofa and clicked the remote. He liked to watch the news while he ate and today would be no different. The lady delivering the news on CNN was giving the latest death totals of the Coronavirus pandemic. Well over 78,000. He let out a gasp. That was a lot of folks dead. The virus had crippled the nation and the world for two months now. There was no cure for the infection, and it didn’t seem to respect whether you were rich or poor, you could die from it. There did seem to be an advantage of you were young and in good health. Fortunately, he was both, but there was no guarantee that those qualities would let you slide. The virus had even killed a small child. The doorbell rang and he ran to the door. There was his usual delivery guy on the other side. He thanked the young man and pulled his bag of goodies inside. He fished for his phone in his jeans and entered a tip for the delivery. He gingerly placed the take-out packages on the coffee table. He pulled a couple of antiseptic wipes from their dispenser and thoroughly wiped down the packages. He had placed a cylinder of antiseptic wipes on the table for just this use. He would not skimp. The virus could be anywhere. He didn’t know where the delivery guy had been. He pulled the chopsticks from their paper house and dove into the food. The lady at CNN was interviewing a doctor now. It seemed there would be many months more of this pandemic. It might even come back in the fall. He was already going batty with the isolation, but he knew he needed to keep a distance from other human, if not for his own health, for theirs. The news was over, so he gathered up all of the empty cartons on the coffee table and threw them in his trash bucket. He went to the bathroom to wash his face. He turned on the spigot and soaped his hands thoroughly. Washing was important to help stop the spread. It was then he noticed it. He was having congestion in his nasal passages. Also, for some reason, his eyes were red and watery. There was a distinct soreness in his throat and, if he inhaled deeply, it caused him to cough. ‘I’ve got it for sure!” He said the words out loud, to himself in the mirror. He donned his bedclothes and snuggled under the covers in his bed. He hoped he might have what some had described as lower grade reaction to the virus. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go to the hospital. He assumed once he was put on a ventilator, that would be his end. Most of those people died. He would sleep, but not well. The worries of the disease kept him from total relaxation. He trembled under the covers in a cold sweat. He dared not close his eyes for fear he would never awake. When he woke the next day, he felt better. A trip to the bathroom mirror confirmed that his eyes were back to normal and his nasal mucosa had lost their inflammation. He could breathe again without coughing. Massively relieved by these phenomena, he washed and clothed himself for the day. The day was wrought with the same boredom and ennui that had characterized all his quarantine. His hunger grew as the day progressed until he was moved to order his dinner. His phone happened on The American Bison Wild Wings menu. “Yes, please.” He began to produce saliva at the tasty offerings on his phone. He ordered the hot wings with extra sauce. Also, some jalapeno poppers, he loved those. Finishing his work for the day, he shut his laptop and made for the living room. It was time for the news. It wasn’t good. The death rate was accelerating. The economy was imploding. The news from the White House was inconsistent. More dead and no real hope that it would stop. The doorbell rang. The American Bison Wild Wings had come through again. He unpacked his dinner in front of the TV and continued watching the mayhem unfolding from the global pandemic. The newscast finished as it did every day and he cleared his dinner packages away into the trash. A visit to the bathroom, however, gave rise to the fears he had had the night before. Nasal congestion, red tearing eyes. He had added a new symptom. He was sneezing. He washed his face and prepared for another fitful night, worrying about his infection. The next day he woke to a new body free of symptoms. It was curious to him that the symptoms would come and go like that. The news had said that there were those who had the infection but display no symptoms. Maybe he was one of these, except he showed the symptoms at night, when he was most tired. He dressed and went to his laptop to work for the day. He tapped the keys of the computer, but his thoughts were far away. If he had the infection, these may indeed be his last days. Quitting time came again and again he ordered take-out. Today it would be Charlie’s Chuck Wagon. He loved their six-alarm chili with habanero corn bread. Better make that and extra order of the spicy corn bread. Back to the living room after he had received his delivery and he chomped away while the bad news blared on. The symptoms recurred. But there was a difference this time. Along with the normal congestion, lung problem and watery eyes, he now was experiencing a lack of feeling in his mouth and lips. He could not taste or smell anything. That was yet another indicator of the disease, as he had learned from the news. This was getting serious. When he again awoke, he vowed today would be the day that he sought to rid himself of this virus. He would try the time-tested methods his mother had sued when he had been sick as a child. A visit to the medicine cabinet produce two tablets of acetaminophen. He put the kettle on the stove and brewed a pot of tea. A check of the refrigerator yielded half a lemon that he sliced and steeped in the tea. He was so far symptom free as he had been all the days before, so he returned to his work. But dinner time was soon approaching. Instead of his normal take-out, though, today he was following Mom’s prescriptions for a return to health. He headed to the kitchen and rummaged through his cabinet where he stored his canned goods. He was after a particular product there. His Mom had sworn by it. Ah, there it was. He pulled the can of chicken noodle soup from the cabinet and put it in a pot on the stove to boil. The soup heated; he assumed his position in front of the TV for the news. The scientists were still stymie at getting a vaccine or even a good therapy for the disease. There were hopeful signs, but nothing definitive yet. He drank his soup. When the newscast ended, he performed his usual task of cleaning his dinner away. Then he went to the bathroom to wash his hands, as per usual. When he looked in the mirror, however, he was a bit surprised to find that his eyes looked normal and healthy as they had before the infection. He breathed through his nostrils. The air flowed freely. He took out his toothbrush and slathered some paste on it. Not only could he taste the minty teeth cleaning gel, he failed to cough when he breathed deeply. Could he really have done it? Could he really have cured his disease? He rushed to his laptop to share his findings. He logged onto Facebook, Twitter and TikTok. He told of his symptomology with the virus. He told of the tea with lemon. He championed the chicken noodle soup as the probable locus for the cure, but more double-blind scientific studies would have to be performed to isolate that as the primary curative. He closed his laptop, his duty of reporting his findings had been completed. Who knew a cure could come so easily and quickly? He smiled at his luck at having happened on the cure. He would have to credit his mother if he were asked to receive any kind of award. It was she who had always used the chicken noodle soup.


It's finally All-hallows Eve October 31st or Halloween as most people would say.Every year my fellow witch sisters choose a meeting place so that we could come together and solve whatever issues we may have. Our witch circle is fairly small because you don't know who you can trust anymore. Our circle has been the same for years. we have beautiful Luna a very powerful witch with the powers of psychokinesis Luna says she loves her powers but when she's angry everything moves and it's very scary. we call bree mother nature because she has the power to control the weather this is very helpful on our vacations but bree usually let nature take his course being a good witch and all. And we have Lilith she is the most powerful witch I do believe without Lilith we cannot fix anything Lilith has many Powers I have seen her move things with her mind, change her eye colors, change shapes and she has the ability to see through walls and other things and could hear very far away she is definitely the most powerful of us all. And this leaves me my name is Cordelia I have the gift of intuition. Living in Salem Massachusetts is not the best at times for a witch with intuition. I was born in raised here in Massachusetts if this was 1692 I probably would have been hung or burnt alive already. What's unbearable is walking around with constant reminders of how numerous people died that may or may not have been practicing witchcraft. I usually walk around Salem attacked by the memories, because most of it is frozen in time in museums of what was. Now that I finally realized why I am so unusual is because I was born a witch, A very powerful witch with the gift of intuition that's if you want to call it a gift. This power gave me nothing but sorrow because as I grow I often react to people's emotions way before they express them and this leaves me looking like the bad guy for years my emotions have been all over the place. Believe me, feeling other people's personal feelings is nothing to wish for. Because most of the time people are not very happy and all that emotions comes towards me. Making me feel like I am being attacked and I usually respond badly. I'm never wrong about what I feel, but I'm always wrong because I'm fighting back because of how they feel about me accept they haven't told me how they feel yet. I guess being different people hate you because there are so many people that live right next to me that really have strong hated feeling towards witches. This is like being in hell when everyone is against you and you the only one fighting for yourself. As a witch, I usually dream about what's going to happen way before things happen. I've never really believed my dreams until they began to come true. Right now it's about 48 degrees here in Massachusetts and I'm already dressed and black from my head to my toes and not because I'm a witch just because I love black. I usually do small spells being that I'm a good witch. Just spells to shut people up just for a little peace once in Awhile. But these people are making it really hard for me to stay good. my mind often wonders about binding certain people because they really deserve it. But I never before did any black magic being that I don't know the consequences of the powers that I would release. I never before have done any black magic maybe I'm just scared that I may grow a giant mole on my chin and a long crooked nose or maybe turn green or something. I guess that's funny to you but the consequences are real and I don't believe I'm ready. From the beginning this had been a disaster so on all-hallows Eve, Luna, Bree, Lilith and I are going to come together to quiet down my intuition. We plan to meet at the North River of Salem walk. Because water has the most energy. Before our rituals, we must Purge ourselves and wash and stay away from animal flesh.we supposed to had met at midnight but we were running late and luna forgot the candles and everything was off. Something was just not right. Everyone said that they feel weird but we just ignored the feelings. As we arrived at the North River the mist in the air gave me a chill. Lilith began to bring up the old altar from under the dirt and the dust began to blow we covered our heads until it passed us by. We began to light the old candles and Lilith kneel at the altar holding up the cauldron we begin to recite earth, water, air, and fire until we felt like what we wanted was given to the universe. Lilith began to walk backward around the circle reciting a spell. The sky became dark and it begins to rain and fish was flying out of the sky and we begin running and when I turned around bree had hold of Luna choking her and bree had luna  twirling in the wind. We began to run towards luna just to help her when Bree began dropping lightning bolts towards us. The rain was unbearable and we could barely walk with the wind blowing so hard we finally got to Luna and Bree released her just to hold all of us up twirling in the wind. Lilith began to chant and we began to follow saying." from the beginning we were one nothing on this earth could make it undone" from the beginning we were one and nothing on this earth could make it undone. Holding hands and chanting seem to be calming Bree down she let us go we hit the ground hard but we were ok. But we never stop chanting until Bree's eyes begin to look noticeable and then we called her name and when she responded we knew we had bree back. We never really understood what happened on that all hallows eve but we know next time if something feels off to pay attention. Bless be


On the 50th anniversary of the sensational Zodiac killing spree, a cold case detective from the San Francisco PD pulled out the dusty boxes of official records. They hadn’t been touched in years; and the killer himself was presumed dead or incapacitated by advanced age. There were as many suspects as there were theories but the last time anyone had worked the case was in the early 1990’s. Since then, DNA genotyping has exploded and forensic science had advanced in leaps and bounds. Amazingly, the original envelopes and morbid correspondence sent from the killer to various media outlets were still there, turning yellow in the evidence boxes. With millions of people participating in ancestry tracing programs, there is a huge DNA database of family links. Of course those are conducted through ‘private’ organizations but hundreds of cold cases are solved each year with their cooperation and discreet assistance. Detective Tim Rand got into law enforcement with the goal of helping people. He also enjoyed challenges and solving mysteries. The Zodiac case was one of the most infamous, unsolved crimes in the world. He figured he would take a crack at it himself. With modern science, he hoped to see if it could be used to do what thousands of hours of old-fashioned detective work, could not. Of course countless people had been in contact with the evidence over the years. From postal sorters, mail carriers, mailroom staff at the newspapers, the secretaries for the editors, and more than a dozen lab techs and detectives, the chances of having uncontaminated DNA was unlikely. Honestly, it was pretty slim but it was worth a try. If it failed, he’d just chunk the papers back in their boxes and put them on the shelf for the next eager sleuth to crack the case. The lab attendant rolled his eyes in frustrated annoyance when the detective explained what tests he wanted performed. The technician knew all-too-well how many random sets of unrelated DNA would be found on that pile of evidence. Tim had a clever solution to the issue. “Cross reference all samples found on all the letters. The Zodiac send his cyphers and correspondence to several different media outlets and individuals. He enjoyed taunting the editors of different newspapers and the detectives assigned to the case when it was an active investigation. The only DNA thread they should all have in common, is him.” As incredible as it might’ve seemed, there was only one set of common DNA for all samples! It was just like he had predicted. Detective Rand had stumbled onto the first major break in the case in nearly 30 years. The forensic team were honestly impressed with the heightened potential for linking the evidence to the unknown killer. They recorded the DNA sequence and approached their contacts within the ancestry database for an official ‘rush job’. Even with amazing lucky breaks, they were still highly guarded with their enthusiasm for a match to be made. It therefore came as a great shock when a direct match was made in only a couple days. Greater still was the impact of learning the identity of the DNA match for all 14 known pieces of authenticated Zodiac evidence. No one was ready for the truth and the push back by the authorities was considerable. The profile was a 99% match to the chief of police of San Francisco at the time of the crimes! At first the laboratory dismissed the shocking revelation as accidental evidence contamination. That explanation would’ve made sense but it was eventually disproven. The chief had stated formally in his memoirs that he always left the investigative work to his detective team. He even went so far as to declare that he never meddled in any of their open cases. If so, there wouldn’t be any logical reason for his DNA to be on every single piece of Zodiac evidence. Internal affairs stepped in when they caught wind of the mounting evidence. The ‘boys in blue’ were known to protect their own, especially the higher up officials who retired, or had passed away. There was an unspoken protocol that their law enforcement legacies were cemented in stone and beyond reproach. Damning evidence like the former chief’s DNA being directly linked to the Zodiac was hard to ignore and even harder to suppress. Detective Rand just wanted the truth to come out but a revelation like that would surely cause backlash and heads to roll. The chief himself had died a dozen years earlier but many of his contemporaries were still around. A few younger officers who worked under him were still on the force. They were going to chafe at the accusations against their former boss. By all accounts, he was a well liked and respected senior officer. It was going to be a tough sell to convince the public, even though it was the truth. Tim had to find corroborating evidence to tie him to the disturbing series of crimes. Without that, he’d be dismissed as a reckless rookie with penchant for throwing veteran officers under the bus. That’s what they would say. That he did it just to make a ‘name’ for himself. The biggest question of all was ‘why’? Why would an officer that swore to ‘protect and serve’, lead a secret life as a serial killer? It made no sense. The man spent almost 40 years in law enforcement. At times Tim wanted to chalk it up to a crazy coincidence but some of the evidence they tested hadn’t even been available to the San Francisco PD during the active investigation phase. A few of the letters from the Zodiac were sent to neighboring police departments and had only been released to him the previous week for the testing. His highly unusual suspect had never legally been in contact with them, yet his DNA was on all. As is often the case with big city government organizations, they had yet to completely digitize their old records. Detective Rand filtered through mountains of dusty records for the chief’s sign-in sheets for the time periods in question. While they couldn’t prove or disprove his guilt, it would shed light on whether he was officially ‘on duty’ during the known crimes. Secretly, Tim hoped the Chief was signed in during some of them to disprove the allegations but in every single instance, he was officially out-of-the-office. He hoped he was wrong but It looked very bad. The fact that the Chief fit the general appearance of eyewitness accounts of the Zodiac was another troubling element that couldn’t be dismissed. Research into the Chief’s past also revealed he was a Korean War veteran. As a Navy signal man, he would have been well acquainted with code symbols and cryptology similar to the cyphers the Zodiac sent. All of those things added up to compelling circumstantial evidence but it wouldn’t be an open and shut case without the DNA association. That made things difficult to deny. Tim spoke to a number of old timers from the department about their memories of the investigation but he was careful to avoid implicating their former Chief. Most just offered a general commentary about the shocking crimes but one of them mentioned the Chief personally. It proved to be a very revealing interview. Interesting, the retired lieutenant thought the Chief’s reaction to one of the gruesome crimes was ‘odd’. He said he had an odd grin on his face when informed about the taxi driver’s murder the night before. The lieutenant assumed the Chief was simply amused by an earlier event, but felt it was strange that he continued to smile, long after informed about the murder. At no point did the pleasant gentleman suspect the former police chief of any wrongdoing. He just shared the strange anecdote from 50 years earlier because it stuck him as a strange reaction. Only detective Rand would’ve been able to use that offhand testimony, in an official capacity. Tim thanked him for his time and made plans to interview the most important person yet in his undercover investigation. The Chief’s widow resided in the suburbs and was reportedly still ‘sharp’. Tim put a great deal of thought and planning into his ‘game plan’. He wanted to ask important questions without clueing her in to the delicate and very personal subject of his investigation. It was going to be a balancing act. He called in advance to make an appointment to speak with her. He explained he’d inherited several cold cases and merely wanted to ask her recollections on them. It was all presented as a casual chat. She invited him to come by at noon. Tim felt she was probably very eager to have company in her advanced age. He arrived a couple minutes early and rang the doorbell. She opened the door and invited him in. Seated on the sofa across from her, she surprised him when her demeanor immediately changed. “Young man, why don’t you come clean for your reason to visit me? I’ve been the wife of a lawman too long to fall for ‘the casual chat’ ruse. My husband practically invented that interrogation technique.” Tim started to feign ignorance or protest but stopped himself. She saw through the facade. It was clear to both of them that he had some uncomfortable, indiscreet questions to ask, and she wanted him to just cut to the chase. Her ‘no nonsense’ attitude was both admirable and intimidating. He had spent so much time working on a strategy that he was unprepared to dive right in. “You came to ask me something about my husband. Something so disturbing that you are avoiding the subject entirely. I can see it in your eyes. Are you sure you want to know the answer? Once you discover the backbone to ask, I’m going to tell you. The question is, what will the truth do? Will it bring you fame? Will it solve a series of nearly forgotten crimes where even the victim’s families are probably long dead? Will it besmirch and tarnish my dead husband’s memory and celebrated police career? Yes. The answers to all those things, is yes.” Detective Rand was at a loss for words. The Chief’s widow had all but confirmed what he already knew. Up until that moment he had hoped for an unlikely but plausible explanation for the damning evidence against the man. Instead, she sewed up the case in a tight little package for him. The information came so freely that he was unprepared to handle it. “Down in the cellar there is a large cardboard box marked ‘decorations’. It contains a black hood, a pistol, several pieces of stained material, a number of library books on code writing and cryptology, and a personal diary. If the handwriting and substance of that journal were analyzed by experts, they would find that it is consistent with the letters you have in your possession from the Zodiac killer. They would also agree that it perfectly matches the handwriting of my late husband.” Tim sat there speechless. He stared into her eyes while trying to absorb the incredible revelation she had just disclosed to him. For the briefest of moments he worried she had unveiled the dark truth because she didn’t intend to let him leave, alive. “I didn’t always know. I suspected. I really did, but like most people I was in a deep form of denial about it. He went through strange mood swings. He was obsessed with the case in a way that surpassed any officer’s level of professional commitment. His behavior was highly bizarre and erratic at times, but then again he was obviously affected by the war. It changed him. I couldn’t bring myself to consciously suspect he was ‘The Zodiac’, but deep down I suppose I always knew. When I found his secret box down there, I was devastated because I could no longer deny it anymore. I couldn’t begin to answer why he did any of it but his journal probably spells it out pretty well. I couldn’t bear to read beyond the first couple pages. I just put it back in the box and pretended it wasn’t there. It was his dark little secret and I wanted no part of it. We never spoke about it. I was secretly terrified of the man I slept beside until the day he died.” Detective Rand stood up. He had a lot to process. She looked up at him with a steely glint. “Young man, what do you plan to do with this information? I’m a feeble old woman with terminal cancer. I can’t take a media circus or the public shaming of the news media. At best, the doctor’s say I only have a few months left. I am grateful to unburden myself about this to you. I guess you are my official confessor. Will you sit on this ugly secret about my husband until I pass? What’s a couple more months? Revealing the truth now won’t bring back any of those poor souls. I’d just like to go to my grave without being dragged through the mud.” Tim nodded. The confirmed identity of the Zodiac killer was now his burden the bear. He could keep the lab technicians and internal affairs quiet until it was the right time to reveal the truth. In the meantime he had plenty of other cases to work.


CORA level 48 element: fire yesterday The rain poured down onto the street, as if the earth was feeling what I was feeling. I bit my lip and threw my head back to stare at the blinding white clouds. The rain could disguise my tears. No one wanted to see me cry; it would stain my cheeks and make my eyes red and terrible. I wasn’t wearing a jacket or even a sweater, but I didn’t care. It’s not like the clothes I was wearing - a too-big extra uniform from the lost and found - meant anything to me, anyway. My hair was pressed flat; black and heavy with rain. “Kid!” Damn it. “Hey, come here!” I turned around, shuddering to think that my father had returned. My father, who had not come back in five years and left my mother and me, my mother 39, and me 8. But it wasn’t. It was a man standing in his open doorway, in pajamas, waving a newspaper in one hand and a can of … some drink in the other. I walked over carefully, glancing suspiciously at the can. IPA. My father’s initials - Ian Prince Adams. And India Pale Ale. Which he - my father - couldn’t get enough of. The man shoves the newspaper towards me, into the rain. I reach forward, but when I see the ink running down the paper, I freeze. “Take it!” ordered the man, thrusting it towards me. “ Take it! ” I blinked, shivering, and took the paper. I looked at it, not bothering to read the headlines. “Have you seen it?” “No, sir,” I said. “I don’t receive the newspaper.” He grunted, went back inside, and slammed the door. Before it closed completely, I saw him shake one last drop of IPA into his mouth - and toss it into a trash can. The trash can is full to the top with cans. I looked at the headlines as I continued walking home. The smudged ink made it hard to see, but I was finally able to make out the words: GLITCH FOUND IN SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA. A glitch , I wondered. Glitches happen all the time in technology, but do they mean on Terra? That’s never happened, such a high-tech game as this is. I shook my head, laughing to myself. Fake news, probably. When I got home, I threw the newspaper into the trash. My mother was at work, she worked 24/7 and practically only slept for two hours everyday, and the weekends. I never saw her. Like that mattered, she was a robot. My real mother had no idea I was even on Terra. I went to my room to look up ‘glitches in game terra’. Scrolled down. Nothing. I tried to ignore the paper, which I saw everytime I went downstairs. I tried to forget about the glitch in SF, which was not far from where I was, in Oakland. Damn it! I can’t forget… I didn’t have my mother to tell, so I needed to figure it out myself. I had lots of money, 71,281 coins to be exact. But it wouldn’t be enough to last forever. My mother made the money in our family, and even then it was barely enough. I had to resort in selling things I found or made and keeping on the top of my class. She only gave me a coin a week, though. Kept the rest for herself. I shook my head. I can do just find by myself. I’ll take the - I glanced at my watch. 6:30. I’ll take the 7:00 bus to San Francisco. I didn’t bother leaving a note for my mother; she was a robot, and she wouldn’t care. Robots don’t have feelings. They’re stupid, programmed to be predictable. Unlike real humans, who are never truly understood by anyone. now I wear a cloak that covers my hole body and my head. The shadow falls across my face, so I’m good as invisible. My invisibility is terrible, so I’ll have to pay for the bus. Unless… I could kill everyone on it… no… I don’t want to be hunted by the police or anyone. I will pay. I’m bringing everything I own with me, which will definetely drain my energy, but I will have plenty of time to rest - it’s not like I’m going to do something in San Francisco, just see the so-called glitch. Maybe it’s a one-time thing that’ll boost my level. When I walk out into the rain, I feel a burst of excitement. It almost makes me laugh. I walk down my street, towards the bus stop at the end of the block. “Cora!” Crap - ! “Cora, where are you going?” I whirl around, feeling my eyes widening. Infront of me stands my neighbor, Peter, waving his arm vigorously. He’s soaking. “Peter!” I reply nervously. “What are you doing?” “What are you doing?” he says, laughing. Peter, of all people. First of all, he’s a real guy and my real freaking neighbor, and my classmate, and he’s had a crush on me for for freaking ever! I ignore him, turning back around and looking at my watch. 6:43. “Coooraaaa,” he whines. I hear his feet pattering against the concrete; in synch with the rain. I don’t have time for this. I walk faster, using my weak invisibility at full power. It’ll keep me all the way covered for an hour, at least. Which will be more than enough time to lose Peter. I feel a bit guilty, but he knows I’m not interested in him after the countless times I’ve rejected him. He knows , but he keeps pushing. Heartbreak will be the end of him, he’s desperate. I arrive at the bus stop and can’t hear his footsteps anymore. “Finally,” I whisper under my breath. I release the invisibility, letting out a sigh, as the bus rolls up. The first thing I see in San Francisco is the earth. Of course the earth, it’s everywhere and it’d be impossible not to see it. And then I see the cars, the people, the roads. I can see everything. Having the element of fire isn’t useful at all, and sometimes I think about restarting the whole game just to have something better like air. If I had air or earth or water, I would be able to fly. Which would be nice. Air is the best element, of course, because you can fly but also those with the element of air have the best invisibility. Fire is good in battle, but air, water, and earth can all put it out. “Are you getting off?” The sharp voice of the bus driver snaps me out of my fantasies. I nod and step off the bus. And then I see it. The glitch. It looks just like static, hovering right infront of me. I reach out, but before my hand makes contact with it, I hear my name being called. “Cora!” it’s a familiar voice, one that I know well but hardly ever hear. It’s my mother’s voice. I turn around quickly to see her - my mother - and behind her are a group of at least a dozen soldiers. And next to her is a mage. My mother wears a pink t-shirt and jeans. She’s scowling, her arms are crossed. How does she know I’m here? What… why does she have soldiers - and a mage? She reads my mind. “You didn’t know? I thought you would’ve figured out that I’m not working to desperately gain money, I have all the money I need.” “What?” I say, surprised. I would have never thought that she had lots of money, or even enough money, and I shake my head. “What are you talking about?” My mother laughs. “You can’t escape me, darling Cora, you’d have to go into the glitch and you’re not going to do that. It could destroy your whole computer. It would , probably.” she takes a step forward and her group follows. She reaches her hand out. “Come back. Don’t think you’re not in trouble, but I wouldn’t hurt you, Cora.” Everything in her voice and her face tells me that she would. She’d hurt me. “No,” I whisper. I dive backward, into the glitch. The surprise on my mother’s face causes me to smirk, even though my computer might be destroyed. The things I would do to spite a robot. When I swim deeper into the glitch, I see other players. The deeper I go, the more people there are. No one I know, though, until…

“Cora!” “Peter?” the one time I’m glad to see him; when I’m stuck in a glitch and my robot mother is trying to… kidnap me. “Cora, look,” he whispers, spinning me around and pointing. I follow the line his finger points to. Beyond the people swarming by, beyond the blue and purple and white and yellow pixelated colors of the glitch, is the sky. The sun is going down, the clouds are drifting past. It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s not the world of Terra that I left, though, it’s something bigger than that. It’s the… the world made by… the glitch .


A boy experiences the loss of a close pet and is changed forever, leading him to join the legions. \ I always fought for my younger brother. When we were children, I would stand up against those who tormented, bullied, and stole from him. Usually, he was seemingly too timid to put up a defense himself. But one encounter changed him forever. It was the day that something irreplaceable was taken from him. See, my brother, Marius, had a pet mouse named Leucon. He had white fur with little blotches of brown, and a pair of wide, searching eyes. I remember the creature being playful, intelligent, and fully adored by Marius. The mouse must have known this as he would squeak and chirp gently when held by my brother. Their bond was strong and Marius would often take Leucon with him wherever he went. One fateful day though, our father sent us to the market to acquire some bread, oil, and fish. He even gave us a few extra denars in little coin purses so we could get something for ourselves. This concerned me a bit as Marius was still a little naive. I was worried that he would be swindled out of his money and even warned him myself before we set out. But he told me that Leucon would be watching out for him. As with many outings before, Marius decided that the mouse would accompany him on this trip as well. He tucked his tiny companion neatly into his coin purse, saying that “Leucon would help guard his silver”. To me, such a statement was ridiculous, but Marius was nonetheless my silly little brother and such care-free innocence gave me a sense that something was good about the world. I made it a point to watch out for Marius and by extension the little things that mattered to him. If he thought Leucon was there to guard him, then so was I. They would both be equally my responsibility. When we reached the market we began to wander through the labyrinth of stalls and tents. Marius, being young and easily distracted, wanted to stop and gawk at the wares of every trinket salesman. I did too admittedly, but I also knew we had to press on through our chore. However, the task must have been too burdensome to my brother as somewhere along the way, Marius decided to separate from me. More than likely his eye was caught by some exotic good or toy. I rapidly backtracked throughout the market, panicked at the notion of losing my brother. I asked all sorts of merchants and vendors whether or not they saw him, describing his small stature and auburn colored hair. One vendor mentioned that he saw Marius with two other boys who looked to be cornering him. I asked the vendor in which direction they went and he pointed to a nearby alley. *Oh no...* I thought. I sprinted to the alley entrance, pushing past people in the busy market to get to Marius. The scene that I stumbled into horrified me. I saw the two boys the vendor mentioned standing above my brother. He was on the ground, huddled into a ball and sobbing. The boys seemed to be roughly the same age as Marius but were certainly larger than him. One of them held Marius’s coin purse while the other one seemed to be sucking his finger as if it were pricked. Then I noticed Leucon... The tiny mouse was lifeless on the ground; a motionless clump of white fur with its neck snapped at a grotesque angle. The bastard sucking his finger must have crushed the poor mouse’s neck and then tossed him to the ground like a discarded rag. All in front of Marius. I was *furious* upon realizing this. Immediately, I charged the boy that had killed Leucon. He might have been bigger than Marius, but he wasn’t bigger than me. He turned to face me, but it was too late to stop my rage. Using what tricks I learned from my father, an old mercenary, I slammed the boy across the face with my fist and then delivered a gut-punch. He dropped to the ground, moaning and crying. The other boy, stunned, dropped Marius’s coin purse and stared at me. “Get out of here! Go! Before I decide to hurt you as I have hurt your friend!” I hollered. The coin-thief continued to stare dumbly before it registered that he should flee. He then turned and ran like his life depended upon it. Meanwhile, the boy who I had dropped was rolling on the ground. “You too!” I shouted as I kicked dirt on him. The boy staggered to his feet, barely recovered from the blows I delivered. He proceeded to limp out in pursuit of his friend. I turned to see Marius still on the ground and curled up. I ran to attend to him. “Oh God, Marius! Are you ok?” Marius unfurled a bit from the ball he was in, revealing a bruised face reddened with blood and shameful despair. “Cy-cyrus? He meekly asked between tears. Upon seeing me, he immediately hugged me, resting his chin upon my shoulder. I returned the favor and comforted my little brother by holding him tight. “Cyrus, it was awful!” he exclaimed. “They-they killed him, Cyrus. They killed Leucon! He was just trying to protect himself. But they decided to snap his neck anyway!” I said nothing and just held Marius closer to me as he sobbed. “Why would they do something like that?” he asked. “Leucon was just scared. How could they be so cruel?” My mouth emptily gaped open and closed as I struggled to form an answer. “I...I don’t know,” I began. “I guess people can be horrible to creatures they see as weak or lesser. They think that they can easily take from them or hurt them for their own gain.” Marius held me tighter as his fingers gripped into my back. Something about the mouse’s death struck deep into his soul. I could feel a sense of rage building behind his sorrow. “But why did Leucon have to *die*, Cyrus? Why did they *kill* him?” he asked breathlessly. I contemplated this question as deeply as any philosopher. “I don’t know, Marius,” I said. “Because they could? Because Leucon got in the way of the silver they wanted?” Marius inhaled and exhaled raggedly in between bouts of little sniffles. “But ***why***?!” He screamed, still not understanding. “Life shouldn’t be like that. I don’t understand why good things get hurt. It’s-it’s not...*fair.*” “It isn’t, at all, Marius,” I said in agreement. “It truly isn’t.” I held Marius for a little while longer before peeling him away from my hold. I looked into his face and he appeared to have calmed down a little. However, something else in him seemed deep in ponderance. “Come,” I said. “We should give Leucon a proper burial.” Marius collected the mouse and we found some cheap cloth to use as a shroud. We then traveled outside the city gates to find a quiet place in the country to bury Marius’s former companion. We didn’t have to walk far to find an idyllic patch of flowers on the side of a quiet road. Marius and I knelt down in the flower bed and began to claw out a little grave in the earth. Carefully, Marius deposited Leucon in the hole and remained quiet as I filled the grave back up. We then stood side by side in silent reflection. “Cyrus?” asked my little brother. I looked down. “Yes, Marius?” I replied. “Did...did Leucon die because I wasn’t able to protect him?” he asked with a hint of remorse. “Marius...” I began. “Because if I were as strong as you, Cyrus,” he continued. “I don’t...I don’t think Leucon would have died.” He looked up at me and seemed as if he were on the verge of tears again. “How-how do I become as strong as you, Cyrus?” he asked. How do I protect the things that matter to me?” I knelt down and hugged him. As I stood up, I sighed and grabbed him by the hand before speaking. “We should go home and tell father about what happened today.” \ My father was reluctant to teach us the ways of fighting. He taught us one or two things about defending ourselves and maybe surviving combat if we were ever called to defend the city. But otherwise, our father limited his lessons as he didn’t want us to lead the type of life that he led as a mercenary before he got citizenship. He was afraid we would end up getting ourselves hurt or killed while seeking adventure and glory. But in the days after losing Leucon, Marius wanted to learn everything about fighting and would pester our father constantly. He eventually gave into Marius’s demands, perhaps out of sympathy for the feeling of weakness that my brother felt after losing his companion. So Marius learned how to fight regularly. At first, other boys would continue to steal from and pick on him given his size. But at least he was more than willing to put up a defense by then. Initially, he often lost and I would have to save him. But that didn’t stop him from throwing punches as if he were possessed by a furious spirit who was blissfully unaware of his small stature. Over time though, Marius not only grew, but he also became better skilled in martial prowess. He even surpassed me. Eventually, our father passed and his business and estate were granted on to me, the eldest. Marius could have worked the shop with me, but he felt he had another calling. Over the years, Marius had grown strong and become very competent in the martial arts. So instead he opted to join the legions, figuring that there could be no higher honor than protecting his home and his family. Marius and I would correspond regularly through his training and then his deployment to the outskirt provinces. Through letters, we would often reminisce on childhood, converse about philosophy, or talk about his time in the frontier fort. I learned that the fort where he was stationed was only five day’s travel from our city. He would often remark how peaceful it was out there in the forests of the frontier and how different it was to our home city, despite the relatively short distance. Then one day though, I realized that Marius was late in continuing his correspondence. At first, I figured nothing of it, thinking that my brother was busy with his duties. Then another day passed and then another. Then a week. I came to fear the worst. Eventually, a messenger finally appeared at my door. That was the day I received the news I wasn’t ready to hear: the fort where my brother was stationed was overwhelmed by warriors from the northern tribes. He was likely killed by those barbarian savages in a surprise attack. I could barely stand upon hearing this. How could that even be? My little brother, who, from humble beginnings, became such an impressive fighter. My little brother, who would discuss philosophy with me. My little brother, who cared for tiny creatures. How could he be dead? I shuddered to think of him bleeding out on some forsaken battlefield or upon a cursed rampart. Why would the heavens allow him to be taken from me like that? Worse yet, the messenger still had more terrible news to deliver. Apparently the barbarians who took the fort where Marius was stationed were marching towards our humble city. They would be here in two days' time. I dismissed the messenger and immediately made arrangements to send my wife and children beyond the walls to safety. I decided to remain, days' however. I still remembered a few tricks my father taught me and I wanted to stay and defend my shop and my home. Beyond that though, I wanted a chance...any chance...to seek vengeance for my brother. Over the course of the next days, panic swept through the city. Some fled to the country. Others, like me, decided to hold, not wanting to surrender their homes, to the barbarians. I found my father’s old sword, shield, and some aged leather armor. I cleaned up the armor and sharpened the sword as best as I could. I then joined up with the city militia and received a helmet and some last-minute drill instruction. In due time, the barbarian horde emerged from the forests and came to besiege our city, cutting us off from food and other necessary provisions. From the walls at night, you could see the fires of their camps in the distance. They would hoot and yawp from the darkness, screaming like animals in an attempt to terrify us. It was unnerving, but not as unnerving as the sound of axes chopping wood and saws cutting through timber. Rumor had it that the tribesmen had captured some of our engineers and coerced them into revealing the secrets of siege warfare. God only knew what they were building. We certainly didn’t see anything during daylight. However, on the morning of the seventh day of the siege, we beheld the fruits of their labor. The barbarians had assembled an array of equipment to aid them in their effort to take our city, seemingly having conjured it out of thin air. This included a number of tall ladders, a few catapults, a battering ram, and even an imposing siege tower. They likely built everything piecemeal in the cover of the forest, away from our sight. Then the night before they must have assembled everything in the relative protection of the impenetrable darkness. Their apparent plan was quite clever as the sight that morning was dismaying, to say the least. As the sun rose, the barbarians took various positions around the city and laid in wait for a signal. Then it came. A series of bellowing horns blew and the barbarians unleashed a roaring chorus of battle-cries. All hell broke loose. Archers and catapults pelted our positions. Boulders collided with the battlements, sending men, stone, and brick tumbling through the air. Meanwhile, the wheeled siege tower and battering ram began to lumber towards the city walls. We returned fire with our arrows and ballista shots, picking off the men pushing the siege engines and rushing our walls with ladders. One lucky ballista shot even managed to knock out a support in the siege tower, toppling it in a shower of splinters atop the barbarians. A cheer rose from our men, but the victory was short-lived. Some of the ladders reached our walls and fierce tribesmen, wielding an assortment of clubs, axes, and spears, were climbing towards us. I readied my shield and prepared to defend my position. The initial wave of barbarians clambered over the wall and were met with our steel. I got my first good look at them in the maelstrom. They were large and wild-looking; unshaven and unkempt, often wearing thick flannel or furs to emphasize their beastly appearance and tall helmets to emphasize their height. They fought with ferocity, but there were enough of us on the walls that we temporarily halted them. Then suddenly, a thunderous sound boomed through the battle. **THUD...THUD...THUD…** The battering ram had reached the gates. Half of us were ordered to retreat from the walls to reinforce the men holding the entrance to the city. I volunteered to go. **THUD...THUD...THUD…** 30 or so men and I ran down a set of stairs located in one of the wall towers to reach the ground. We then rushed to the gates, desperately trying to get there in time. **THUD...THUD...KAGRRAASH!** The gates crashed open. It was too late. A wild throng poured through, and by the time we got there, the barbarians were already swamping the men who were desperately trying to hold the entrance. I looked back to the wall ramparts, hoping to see our men still holding somewhere. Instead, I saw the defenders there being overwhelmed as well. Someone ordered us to retreat and regroup at the city center. The walls were lost and barbarians were flooding into the city, spreading fire and slaughter as they went. We tried to stay together, but in the confusion, I became separated from my troop. I ran through the streets that were rapidly filling with a disorienting smokey haze. Screams and shouts could be heard not far in the distance. As I pushed towards the city center, I came across four tribesmen, armed with spears and axes, who were bashing down the door to a stranger’s home. Time almost froze when they fixed their gaze upon me, but I was catapulted back to reality when one shouted and pointed, prompting them to give chase. Not wanting to be caught out in the open, I decided to run. My plan was to lead them to the city center where the remnants of the city’s defenders were most likely going to make their final stand. At least there I would survive for a little longer. But in the haze of fear and confusion, I made a grave miscalculation. I turned into an alley, expecting to find a shortcut. Instead, I was faced with a brick wall. Something about the alley seemed familiar, but I had no time to contemplate such a thing. I pivoted and hoped to exit this obvious death trap. Alas, the barbarians appeared with appropriately grim timing. *So, it has come to this,* I thought. *At least I shall be with God and my brother if I must meet my end this day.* I bashed my sword against my shield and beckoned them to come forth. All four of them exchanged glances. One with a short spear and his own shield gave his compatriots a nod and stepped forth. He charged me individually. I braced myself. The barbarian came crashing against me, almost knocking me off my feet. However, I managed to widen my stance just enough before the impact to maintain my footing. He struck wildly at me with his spear, but I blocked his blows and bided for an opening. He then made his mistake. He inevitably wore himself as one of his thrusts was slower than the last. As he made one last labored strike, he dropped his shield just enough to give me an opening. I used that opportunity to parry, knocking his spear out of the way with my own shield and moving in for a thrust towards his chest. I ran him through, pushing upwards and stabbing into the heart. He gave an animalistic whine. “For my brother!” I quietly hissed in his ear. The barbarian was whimpering and I could feel warm blood coat my sword and my hand gripping it. I retrieved my weapon and he collapsed to the ground, lifeless. My assailant's compatriots gave each other a look and exchanged something in a tongue I barely understood. But before I could piece together their strategy, they all charged. Two were armed with grizzly looking two-handed great axes and the third had yet another spear and shield combo. They brought their weapons to bear upon me and I once again braced myself. The larger of the two axemen crashed against me and my shield and tried to chop at my head from overtop my defenses. I managed to parry his blows with my sword and even delivered a counterattack in the form of a slice across his face. Stunned, he hollered and staggered back, cursing but still alive. The spearman behind him jumped into the fray, replacing his wounded companion and further tying me up. Meanwhile, the other axeman was rushing to my exposed side. I tried to land a decisive blow on the spearman before I would be open to an attack from the axeman moving to exploit the opening in my defenses. However, I took too long in getting to the pole-armed warrior as he wisely used his weapon to keep me at length. This gave an opportunity to the axeman rushing my side. He was nimble on his feet and dexterous with his weapon, managing to flank me and hook my ankle with the flat underside of his ax bit. He pulled, sweeping me off the ground. My sword went flying and the next thing I knew, I was on my back. The huge, grizzled barbarian who I had scarred across the face walked up and was now looming above me. He looked angrier than the furies as he brought his ax up and stuck downward with a yawp. I still had my shield and hefted it above me as a last-ditch effort to survive his rage. The ax came crashing down and bit into the wood, striking through and nearly splitting my face in half. I held onto my shield for dear life, but it wasn’t enough. The ax head was lodged in my last line of defense and the barbarian used that leverage to wrench my shield away from me. I laid there fully exposed as the barbarian set himself for the final strike. I had nothing left. I then recalled why this alley was familiar. It was where Leucon died. Upon this, I remembered everything. That was the day I came to my brother’s aid just too late; the day Marius realized how cruel life could be. It was fitting this would be the place where I would get such a reminder myself. *I guess it’s true,* I thought, *the strong do take from the weak. What is there but suffering and destruction for those who can’t defend themselves?* I could feel my own breath go inward and outward. *Marius,* I thought. *How much I wish I was there for you.* Ready to embrace death, I closed my eyes and listened. I could hear the crackle of fires and the screams of people in the background. It all seemed so hopeless. But that wouldn’t matter soon as I was about to make my passage. I listened to the barbarian heave his huge ax above himself once again. I knew what was coming and resigned myself to my fate. Then I heard it: something else against the background noise of damnation. It made a low *whooshing* sound. At first, I thought it was the barbarian’s ax. Instead, it was my salvation. I opened my eyes just in time to see my executioner be impaled from behind with a thrown javelin. It was as if providence itself stuck down the wild man. He gurgled and toppled to the side in a heap, his prized great ax falling to the wayside. The other barbarians, stunned for just a brief moment, instinctually swung around to face the danger opposing them. I also adjusted my posture to see the interloper who had defied the hand of fate itself on my behalf. Through the smoke emerged an all too familiar figure. He was shorter, but stout; bloodied and bruised, but not broken, and armored like a professional soldier of the legion. My brother, Marius stood as a battered warrior, with sword and shield in hand, defiant of the apocalyptic chaos going around him. He was back from the dead, seemingly returning to pay retribution to the cruelty of the world itself. I again recalled that fateful day in this exact alleyway. I never really considered what Marius must have felt when he saw me coming to his rescue after experiencing such a lowly point in life. But in that moment when I saw him, I began to understand. I remembered why Marius was obsessed with becoming a better fighter. It wasn’t just because he lost faithful Leucon or felt weak. It was because he wanted to protect what mattered to him. Because he saw me throw myself into the fray so many times for him. He saw that he mattered to me and that I loved him as my only brother. And now here he was, returning the favor. “Marius?” I quietly asked myself underneath my breath, not fully believing what I was seeing. My brother glanced over to me and gave a look of relief when he saw I was still alive. He then stared down the barbarians. “Men of slaughter!” he bellowed. “Leave my brother be...or face me instead.” The barbarians cursed at the arrival of this interloper. The spearman was hesitant to engage but the remaining axman had grown enraged at the loss of his counterpart. He charged Marius, with a reckless abandon, running towards my brother with his weapon wound behind his shoulders. But Marius saw the mighty swing coming and deftly ducked below, only to pop back up with a stunning shield bash. The barbarian staggered back, grunting. He then blindly swung back and forth, desperately trying to land a blow. Marius simply dodged by stepping backward. He then used the space to go on the offensive Upon seeing his first opening, Marius did something unexpected: he chucked his shield at the barbarian and rapidly closed in. The barbarian managed to bat the tossed shield out of the way with his ax. However, it was too late for him. The axeman was still on his downswing when Marius came upon him with his sword. The savage tried to parry but wasn’t fast enough. He was run through, coming to choke on his blood and then collapsing to the ground. The spearman, not wanting to lose his life too, threw his arms to the dirt and ran off. My brother, having seen the day was won, approached me smiling. He offered me his outstretched hand. I took it and was then hoisted into a warm embrace. I almost broke into tears upon receiving my brother’s hug. I thought I would have never experienced a moment like that again. We then pulled apart, clasping each other's shoulders and staring into each other's beaming faces “Marius!” I began. “The attack on your fort…How are you still alive? *How* did you find me?!” “Oh Cyrus! Brother! It is a long tale,” he said. “You must have many questions and I have so much to tell you, but...” He was interrupted by the sound of a war horn blowing in the distance. “But for now we must make haste to safety. Come!” We gathered our arms and then ran. As we sprinted through the streets, I was uncertain of the immediate future. However, that really didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was that my brother and I had each other again. Yes, everything was chaos. But I knew Marius and I would face that chaos together. Together we would stand a chance. I used to fight for my brother. But now...now we would fight as one. \ Hey, thanks for sitting through this and reading. This piece was admittedly more experimental and I wanted to try some new things. I honestly think the story could have come out better though. If you have some criticisms, please send 'em to me. I would love to hear what you have to say.


I’m always the first thing you look at, when you wake up. You roll over, looking at me nervously, afraid you have knocked me off your too-small bed again, like you did the very first time I stayed over. It's cute. I'm always there, next to you. I am not as easy to knock over as you may think. We have a good relationship, I think. I am a bit awkward, I never know what to say, and you often get frustrated with how vague I am. I’m sorry. I am sorry that sometimes I get us lost when we are driving. I swear, it's not my fault. I just get mixed up. “I just get mixed up.” Sometime in the last year or so, you've gotten tired of hearing that. The quirks you thought were cute, now you find obnoxious. The fact that I'm tired all the time isn't a plus, either. You want to go out. You want to do things with me, and I just can't find the energy to do them. I still love you. I love everything about you. The way you hold me at night, the way you share all your secrets with me, how dorky you look when you and I try to take a picture together… but you're always smiling in those pictures. I love that we are such a cute couple. The way you are always willing to get wet, just to keep me dry when it rains… it's sweet. Chivalrous, even. You're a proper gentleman. I… see the way you look, sometimes. We've been together years. I know what that look means. You think about others when you lay with me, and those quirks you loathe now draw tempered sighs of disgust. I remember the first time you called me useless, and threw me into the bed. I remember the way you stormed out, mad that I had forgotten to remind you about your pizza. I remember the look of loathing you gave me. A million tiny things all somehow led to that, and from then on you were different. You hit me. Slapped me. Shook me. You called me things I don't want to repeat, and made me feel like just another broken thing. Last night, you hit me so hard I blacked out for a while. When I came too, you had elected to sleep instead of care for me. It didn't surprise me. I know I am trash in your eyes. You've never seen me the way I see you. When you left this morning, you left me behind. You didn't say goodbye like you used to. You didn't bring me along. When you come back, you will have forgotten me entirely.


In a quiet workshop, bathed in the soft light of a setting sun, there stood an old machine, once the pride of its operator. Bradley, the man who had relied on this machine for decades, was known for his precision and skill, producing work with an accuracy that was the envy of his colleagues. But lately, things had started to change. Bradley looked at his hands with a mix of frustration and sorrow. He remembered the days when every movement, every action, was carried out with perfect coordination. His body responded to his mind like an extension of his will. Together, they had crafted countless pieces, each one a testament to their shared precision. But now, his body stuttered and groaned. The once smooth movements had become rough and unpredictable. Bradley’s mind, still sharp and experienced, was no longer met with the body's former reliability. A slight tremor in his hands, a delay in his reflexes, and the tasks that used to be seamless now required rework and adjustment. Bradley sighed as he fumbled a small tool. It wasn't that his skills had diminished, he was certain of that. He had spent hours meticulously practicing his techniques, only to find them as sound as they had ever been. The issue lay within his body itself, aged and worn from years of faithful service. Each day, Bradley's frustration grew. He knew his body like an old friend, and watching it falter was painful. He tried everything he could think of—exercise, rest, even medical advice—but nothing restored it to its former glory. The once-proud body now seemed to resist his efforts, like an old machine whose joints no longer moved as they once did. "It's not your fault," Bradley whispered to himself, almost as if his body could hear him. "You've given me your best for so many years. It's just... time catching up with us." Despite his understanding, the frustration lingered. He wanted to produce the same quality of work he always had, but the body's inconsistencies made that impossible. The mind’s sharpness hadn't changed; the body had. Bradley’s friends noticed his struggle. They offered advice and assistance, but no one knew his body like Bradley did. They didn’t understand the bond he shared with it, the respect he had for the precision they once achieved together. One day, as Bradley sat in quiet reflection during a rare moment of peace, he realized something profound. It wasn’t just his body that had aged—it was their partnership. The body, in its prime, had magnified his skills, making him appear almost superhuman in his precision. Now, as it aged, it highlighted his own human limitations. Bradley decided that, instead of fighting his body's age, he would adapt to it. He began to move more slowly, with even greater care, understanding that his body needed more patience now. He listened to its aches and hesitations, learning to anticipate its quirks and compensate for them. In time, Bradley and his body found a new rhythm. The tasks they performed weren't as perfect as before, but they bore a different kind of beauty—one of resilience and adaptation. Bradley learned to accept that aging wasn’t about becoming clumsy or imprecise; it was about learning to work with the changes that time brings. The body, though old and worn, still had much to offer. And so did Bradley. Together, they continued their work, proving that precision wasn’t just about perfect actions, but about the perfect partnership between mind and body, no matter the age.


      “......an’ I had to tell him that he wassa beening too uptight, eh?” Jonathan smirked. “Yes, that does sound like him. Really, Alden is really uptight. Oh, that reminds me, I planned a trip to your town. I hope you don’t mind me visiting you and Agatha, old friend?”

There was a pause. Then the man named Johnathan spoke.

“Yeb, er, I ain’t minding ya! Me and my wife willa seeya ther!” Beep.

The unnamed man sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked around his cozy, but cluttered mess of a room. Guess I will be packing . The man reached down and picked up some papers off the floor. He then walked out of the room to pack. *** As his own private jet arrived, the man quickly noticed one thing. He had just landed in the middle of… Nowhere? Soon, though, the man had regained his bearings, and walked to the town one mile away. As he neared his destination, he realized what he had waltzed into. A neat little town. But there was an odd atmosphere lingering around this town. It was a little too neat, a little too quiet. It was so quiet that you could hear water evaporating, your heart beating, your watch tick tock-ing . Suddenly, a burst of life exploded in the too neat, too quiet town, transforming it into a bustling village. He smiled at the people, but then it hit him. Literally. As he was rubbing the sore spot on his neck, where the shoe had hit him, he thought, these people are angry at me. But why? His rescuer soon arrived on the scene, in the shape of….

“Nathan! Yer back so soon?” He frowned.

He had known Jonathan for eighteen years now, so how did he forget his best friend's name? However, when he saw the look of total fear on Jonathan’s face, his angriness was replaced with nervousness, and he gulped. Right on the spot, he decided to play along and pretend to be this so-called “Nathan.”

“Yep, uh, I’m back! Hahaha, I’m back!”

All the brooms and dusters went down as the mob dispersed. There were only two people left. A grayed hair woman walked over to “Nathan”, looked at him, and walked away hurriedly, murmuring things to herself.

The latter turned around to face “Nathan” and he could not help but blurt out “Agatha!” He regretted this immediately, as she advanced on him.

“HI NATHAN! I can’t believe you are back so soon!” Agatha gave him a Don’t-you-dare say-anything-or-I-will-knock-your-head-off look. “You WILL join us for supper, right? RIGHT?! I’ll see you in my house!” She walked away to her house and pulled the dumbstruck Jonathan in.

Good acting, drama queen. “ Nathan” thought. He then joined them for supper.

*** “This town does not like visitors?”

“Ai, yeb mate. I sent a message to your phone b’ you ain’t looking at it, ai?” “You are right. I should have looked,” he changed the subject. “Your house is impeccable!”

He was right. A sparkling crystal chandelier hung across the glittering ceiling, as the floor danced with light in a dual tango. The walls hung photos of Jonathan and his family, all smiling. The stairs intertwined paths and created a beautiful rainbow walkway. The house seemed to be held up by some sort of magic, as it was remarkably high. The kitchen was pleasantly kept and cleaned, not like the town. Everything was in order, and well-made foods sat on the table, waiting to be eaten. The living room was a whole other world. Chairs, couches, seats, armchairs, cantilever chairs, wing chairs, deck chairs, and desk chairs were all chatting as the fireplace crackled nicely. A sweet aroma filled the room as flowers of all kinds spread their petals. Carnations. Irises. Lavender. Roses. Tulips. Sunflowers. Gardenias. Orchids. Those were just a few of the lovely flowers in the choir of sweetness. The large, billowing curtains swayed to and fro, creating a lighting show. “Ai, mate. It ain’t half bad, once yer get over da brightness, ai? Any who,” continued Jonathan in an airy tone, “I no’ tha you ain’t from ‘ere, so do’n be looking fer trouble, hear?”

“I--Of course I won’t, but why do you guys not like outsiders?” Jonathan was opening his mouth, but then a riot broke out in the streets. They both hurried to the door to see what was happening.

“Brooke, there is someone in Johnathan’s house that is not Nathan!!!”

“Nathan” gulped and looked at Jonathan. His face said it all. He was utterly terrified.

“Should we run, mate?” Johnathan whispered.

Just as he was about to reply, he heard Brooke exploding, “WHAT!? Where is he…, thank you two for reporting this, but I suggest you do not get involved here, alright? The mayor is hearing about this...”

As the duo attempted to nod, Brooke spotted Jonathan and “Nathan” on the doorway. She marched up to them and started to pull “Nathan’s” hand. Jonathan tried to stop her, trying to block her way, distracting her, but Brooke was unfazed by his pleas. Her grip was tight, her mind was made up. A single strand of her gray hair fell on “Nathan’s” arm. He brushed it away subconsciously.

In the Mayor’s office, it was just as neat as the town, everything placed in order, everything where it was supposed to be. But “Nathan” could not help to notice a clear inch of dust on the organized items, as if they have not been moved for the past few years. As “Nathan” began to look closer, he noticed a small frame of two little girls holding hands at the beach, with their mother watching over them. The setting was picturesque, and the girls glowed with pride near a sandcastle that almost rivaled their height. Just then, the mayor stepped into the doorway.

“So you decided to visit me, stranger? Figures. It took you long enough. But why are you here, an’ what are you doing in my town?” he said.

“But I shon’ be gettin ahead of myself, right? My name is Alden, an I’m the Mayor of our town.”

 “Uh, hi, I did not know this town had a mayor. So----” “All towns ave a mayor, right?I don’t see what the fuss is about, so why don't ya tell me summat of yourself, hm?” “But, Alden…...” Brooke butted in, but Alden held up a hand.          “Nothing you ave to worry over, Brooke! Why don you go home, you’ve done yourself a great job, me beautiful wife!” Brooke gave Alden a swift, searching glance, narrowed her eyes, and left his house. Thus, they began the conversation, which slowly stretched into a long,long, long story. They were talking like old pals, and “Nathan” was ready to ask the big question, the only reason he was still here. But then he remembered something.          “Hey, in that photo, there was a girl I recognized. Don't you think--” Before he could work out what was happening, Alden was on his feet and shouting at him. “I KNEW IT! YOU ARE ONE OF THEM!!! YOU JUST WANT MY FAMILY! LEAVE MY FAMILY ALONE!!” “This is a misunderstanding, I don’t want- “ENOUGH OF YOUR LIES! I’VE HAD IT WITH YOU-YOU PEOPLE!” This was enough to get “Nathan” to start hollering, too. “YOU NEED TO LISTEN! I DO NOT WANT YOUR FAMILY! I ONLY CAME HERE TO VISIT MY FRIEND! I HAVE NOT SEEN HIM FOR TWO YEARS!” “I DON’T CARE! I CAN’T LET THAT HAPPEN AGAIN! WHY DO YOU THINK I DON’T ALLOW PEOPLE IN MY TOWN?! I- Alden suddenly knelt down and started to sob. Calming down, “Nathan” sat down, too, patting Alden on the back, and asked for the whole story. In a shaky voice, Alden started, “W-when this town was younger, we used to be very happy an welcoming. But then those rich p-people came.” Alden said the sentence with such scorn that it burned a hole though the words. “They were alright at first, helping us out, cleaning stuff. But they left unexpectedly w-with-” Alden paused and took several deep breaths, then went on. “T-they took my o-oldest daughter. W-we never found h-her. Tha pic wassa before they captured my beautiful girl. Since them, we h-have been closed to the public, as to protect my last daughter.” “Nathan” stared soberly at Alden. Then he stood up, making up his mind in the spur of the moment.

“Keeping it in your heart for all these years must have been eating you from the inside.” “Nathan” paused and looked thoughtful. Then he spoke. “I must also reveal the truth. I am a detective, working to stop kidnappers. I came to this town because, well, I had some cases of missing girls. I just found out that one of the missing girls had disappeared from this town.” “Nathan” looked at the mayor, who had tears brimming in his eyes, “Help me to find more, please, I know it’s hard to talk about this never-healing wound. I promise I will work with my team to find kidnappers, and, if possible, your daughter. The only thing I ask for is for you and your town to be more welcoming to this world. And, let me make things straight.” Pause, “The other reason is that I just want to visit my friend.” Alden looked at “Nathan”, shocked. Then he also stood up and said “I’ll-I’ll give it a shot. Thank you… for this information.” *** Six months later… …

“Thank you for- for just everything you have done to help this town. You have brought back joy and life to our town and helped us reform into our old selves. You have also taught me and my wife, to not stay in the past, but accept the present. You are right ,my daughter will love it when she comes back. ” “That is what I do, Alden. I will see you next time, then. Mrs. Lewandowski’s gray hair looks like an angel's harp under the sun.” He added.” Pause. “Ok, mate! And er, never got yer name. What is it?” “Reid.” “Reid.” “Reid Falcon.” Then Reid Falcon walked away, leaving Alden to bask in the peaking rays of sunrise. He looked at this town, and saw Agatha, Jonathan, Brooke, and many others waving good-bye to Reid.

                                                              *** “You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is like an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.” ― Mahatma Gandhi