21? Twenty-one sounds like an overrated number. I should probably explain that better; I’m twenty and only four weeks away from being twenty-one. I don’t know why this impending birthday is my first mid-life crisis birthday. Most people get excited to hit the bars and welcome the most exciting years of their lives? Maybe it’s because I have a lot of friends in their twenties who are already tired of the bars and $8 beers when that money could be spent on better things? Or maybe it’s the awful commute from the “up and coming,” real-estate lingo for overpriced and out of the way, neighborhood. You know the ones that have the “great coffeehouse culture”, also known as generic hipster remix of Dunkin and latte art. Life gets busier, work gets harder, people grow farther apart and there is no such thing as spring break, or summer break, or syllabus week!!! Then again, why should I be worried. There are plenty of stories that are going well. My friend hit it big with some Wall St. firm, and now he’s got a great place in Brooklyn and went backpacking in south America for 8 days. I’ve done my homework. I should be in a good place. I should be free from the worry that “I’m not going anywhere”, and into that place of “I’ve got myself in the right position to be in an amazing place tomorrow.” That relentless optimism that comes with youth. There never seems to be a middle ground in the twenties. It’s either the best time or the worst time. Hopefully, I’m on the right side of this fork? Of course, I haven’t tackled the biggest source of angst for most twenty-one year old’s. The highly anticipated access to the bae4life app. I know the algorithm is said to be perfect. The AI’s comprehensive interview analyzes every aspect of who you are to find your perfect match for life. Sometimes, I feel like an old man. I just cannot fathom how a five-hour facetime conversation with an AI and its advanced neural network developed from over a hundred years of match making has yielded an app that will not only give someone a match and that match is the perfect match. Things have happened to my friends who matched with this much touted “one.” Sure, people say love’s one hell of a drug, but I still can’t fathom how Dereck went from being constantly high on some drug or another since he was fifteen to meeting his match and getting clean by himself. Hell, his girl’s got him convinced he should go to college. Flash forward to a year later, and this stupid shit ended up in Harvard. Ironically enough, Emily who hasn’t so much as sipped on a beer or spoken any second language got matched to some Thai drug lord last week. They hit it off so well on their first date that she decided she wanted to stay in Thailand. People hadn’t even know what happened to her until she sent everyone gold-plated wedding invites. I know you probably think I’m crazy for thinking the best part of turning twenty-one is the part that worries me so much. People have used the app for generations now. It seems like when they meet their bae4life match they find that part of their soul that was missing for twenty-one years. It’s been found in some of the most unlikely places as well as the most mundane of places. There are the normal ones out there like Mike and Ashley who have been dating since middle school. They lived across the street from each other since the 2nd grade. Who was surprised when they matched with each other! Of course, anything sounds better than going back to the old days. My triple great grandpa loves to tell the agonizing stories of all his failed marriages. The disgusting divorces he went through until the app got developed and turned his life around. Ugh, I’m not really sure how to explain divorce. Essentially, it’s when you are older than 21 and you break up with someone. I know crazy right? Back in the 2000s every other marriage used to end up in divorce. Since the app Bae4life started no ones had a divorce in three hundred years. I guess the reason I’m worried is because all these people really thought they knew themselves, but what they thought wanted turned out to be so far from reality. I could just picture myself being matched with some psychotic, roid raged, and half deranged stranger. Surprise, your best complement for life is a complete nut job because you are one too. If I’m being honest with myself, that would probably be the favorable outcome. At least there’s someone else on the match screen. Someone is always better than no one. I don’t know why, but some sixth sense tells me the app won’t work for me. It’s like I am wired different from everyone else. Almost as if I’m not a human, and the algorithm’s going to break when I use it because it has never had to match a non-human. Could I just be another angsty young twenty something? I hope I am, but something tells me the radiation my pregnant mom endured during her deployment in the fifth moon wars did something more than just give my skin it’s signature bluish glow. Two weeks to go, and I can’t help but wonder if now, might be the appropriate time to hit the panic button on life. My roommates think I am being melodramatic again. I have a hard time believing that I’m the one being histrionic. I can’t understand why everyone wants to keep taking me out to party. Everyone says they are doing it so I can enjoy the last days of the “single-life,”. It really just seems like everyone wants an excuse to party. Last I checked the single life consisted of sad hot pockets and sadder Netflix shows about the moon wars. Is it weird that I worry about future worries? I’m worried that I’ll wake up the morning of my twenty-first and complete the interview only to find that I’ll have the most anxiety filled time of my life until I get my match. It isn’t an instantaneous match because there may not be someone in the world at that moment that clicks with you. The wait to match can take weeks and knowing me every second I don’t get a match is a second of agony. One day to go...I had the weirdest conversation last night. My mom basically asked me if I had ever considered setting my location preferences for the moon colonies. I don’t understand why she would want me to match with a second-class interplanetary colony citizen.


"Order, Order!" The grand wizard slammed his gavel onto the table made of magical stone. The spell muted all of the creatures to stop their blabbering discourse. Nothing had been done in the last fifty years since humanity had been introduced into their magical realm. A reoccurring issue with the main species was that they consistently fought amongst themselves. The wizards, the dwarves, and the elves. Standing at the front of the small group of lords and leaders of the realm, the Grand Wizard let out an exhausted sigh. He knew from the great book, it was not his choice nor anyone else to determine the validity of humanity and their existence in their wonderous world. A world where Elves lived prosperously near the water, the dwarves lived sheltered in the mountains, and the sparse wizards separated in the far reaches of their planet. "We must give the humans a chance to live." The wizard began, "They do not have the luxury of evolving for millions of years, as we had just discovered them less than a century ago." The grand wizard slammed his staff into the ground forming a white cloud above the large table for everyone to see. In three separate segments, the leaders watched as individual projections of their species evolved in front of their eyes. They watched the Elves, who initially grew from an ancient mermaid in the depths of the sea. The dwarves who began as a rare mushroom troll deep in the earth, and of course the Wizards, who were flower pixies before eventually gaining their true power. Lastly, he showed the ancestor of humans, a three-eyed monkey, who had once been able to communicate with all the creatures on the planet, telling signs of the future. As it goes, the Great Book was written by one of the ancient Monkeys who had lived during the stages of the other creatures' infancy. Humanity still had yet to discover its true powers in its primal stage. "You see now, these Humans will one day be able to help us. We must be patient as they are still growing. One day they will use their powers to bring us together as their ancestors foretold." With a wave of his gavel, the spell was uplifted from the room. "They won't come together in time for the war. They are too selfish." Interjected Ravi, the General of the mighty Elf fleet of the East. "Yes, they are too greedy. We cannot depend on them!" Added the Dwarf king from the south. "This is true, this is true. They won't be ready for the war if we keep them here." The grand wizard picked his long white beard to the troubled question. If the humans stayed, they would one day no doubt try to overpower the elves, dwarves, and maybe wizards too, for their bidding one day. Once they had full control of their psychic abilities, they could just as easily use evil to overthrow their planet to serve themselves. Shaking his head at the thought, the wizard repeated themself "As I said, they are not ready." "Yes, and the Book says the war will begin in 2,300 years. I say we raise them as elves. They will do fine within our culture" Exclaimed Ravi. "Oh, you want them, so that you can make them slaves. Just as you tried to do with us and our mines. We must fight for ourselves, and hold true to our own people. The humans can die amongst their own self-pity!" The dwarves cheered at this response from their king, while the elves ignored what they considered small-minded opinions. Again, the room was in an argument, and loud. Mostly because of the dwarf leaders who were yelling. Frustrated, the Grand Wizard saw the meeting going nowhere over everyone's disagreement. If they did not find a way to evolve the humans, the great war would be the end of all their planet. What shall they do? Are they doomed? "Silence!" Slamming his staff into the ground, the grand wizard grew 20 feet tall, a dark cloud over him. He had the power to send these people to another world lightyears away if he wanted to get them to shut up and he sure as hell felt like doing it... Drawing axes and arrows on both sides of the table, everyone waited on edge for the first strike to initiate, however, it didn't come. Instead, they watched perplexed as a sense of peace looked to befall the Grand Wizard. The dark cloud above his head turned into sunshine. "I've got it. Eleanor, please bring in the Human King." Walking down the long hallway into the realms court, was Jesus, the leader of all man draped in rags. The only sign of royalty he had was a sword. "Yes, grand wizard," he answered kneeling before the room. "You will select a boy and a girl from your people and bring them to me before the days end." "What for?" asked the King. "We shall place them in a new world, and they will grow your species there. In time, they shall learn to grow with each other much faster than if they would in our world." "Will they be safe?" "No, they will suffer and go through much pain, however it necessary in order for them to grow. In 2,300 years they will grow more as a civilization than if we kept them here. Don't fret, you and I shall help them in moments of change." The King returned to his village, and selected young Adam and Eve to go as partners to this new world. He did not tell the young ones why they needed to start the species or of the war. All he said was to obey the simple commands given to them by the gods. "But how can we know if we are doing this right, my King?" "I don't have that answer, Adam, all I've been told by the Grand Wizard is this. You must keep your knowledge of this world between you both and nobody else." "How will we survive.?" "The grand wizard will advise you. Remember what the great book says --above everything, and anything, love everyone, and anything.


The cold stung my nose and cracked my skin, though I don't mind. I have come to enjoy the coldness that January brings. It adds a pleasant tingle and isn't as irritating as summer, especially the sweat and humidity. I dug my chin further into my scarf, reveling in its warmth, the cup of coffee's heat leaked into my hands. Smuggled into warmth on a cold morning is one of winter’s finest bliss.

I walked down the street to my work, thankfully it was a walking mile away from my house. The world was drenched in gray tone with clouds camouflaging the sky.

The coffee shop’s little bell announced my arrival with its little tinkling sound. “Good evening Mrs. Ichigo!” A woman popped from behind the counter. Her benevolent smile had etched lines around her mouth and time had done it under her eyes. “Aren’t you early?” her tone had a buoyant swing, as it always has. “Well you know, had nothing to do so came early to help around the shop.” “You can watch the counter and fill the shelves,” she gestured towards baked goods. “I’ve done half of it but the storage needs organizing so I’ll head there.” “Aye aye captain!” The shop was empty for it was a weekday and the rush hour had its due in the morning. Few folks came in a few minutes after I had arrived, the shop’s ambiance was tranquil with a homely tint. What was better than a warm and cozy shop in winter. However , having hot cocoa milk spilled all over your apron without an argument is not blissful. As I was about to serve a customer their order, a man had run into me splashing that good all over my apron. The small crowd gave a small collective gasp at the commotion. The heat stung my skin. “God, I am so sorry.” He gushed with a red face. “No sir, no need to apologize. It’s okay,” I say as I pick up the order from the floor. “No, I should’ve looked where I was going and shouldn’t be in such a rush in a

crowded area. Can I pay for the dry cleaning?" “Oh you don’t need to, ” I returned as I got up and for once, took a look at the man. There was something familiar about him, as if I know him but can’t put my finger on it. "No please, let me, It was terrible of me to ruin your clothes like that. Please let me pay for the damage." Knew him or not, this man did not know how to take no for an answer. "Can we talk later about it? I have to work right now.’ I excused “Then can I have your number to call you later? I don’t have money on me right now, I can pay you later= though.” Jesus, there is no escaping this man. “I’ll give it in a minute.” “Once again, so sorry.” I was finally released to attend to other customers. Well, that man ended up with my number when he came to order at the counter. He was in a rush to meet someone, that’s what he told me as I wrote my number down on a piece of paper. He expressed how glad he was that his guest did not arrive. It had to do with his job and he would’ve looked like a blundering fool. “Can I have your name?” he asked. “Nathan.” ‘Uh,’ he said it as if it ringed a faraway memory but he was unsure. “Nice name.” "And yours?" "Aslan." I've heard that name before, was it from the Narnia movie? -no wait-it was somewhere else, but where? Soon enough he was busy with the man he was supposed to meet and I was busy with my job. Though it still startled me how familiar he looked, I couldn’t remember the details of it. The crook in his nose, the light’s embrace on his cheekbones, even his perfect smile seemed like deja vu. I racked my memory storage to recall from where I knew him. I recalled every face I could from everywhere and he was there, In the depths of my goldfish memory, but blurry-very blurry. He left along with his guest.

“Goodbye Mrs.? Ichigo, see you tomorrow.” I waved her goodbye and trudged down the sidewalk toward my home, which rested a few blocks away. Snow sauntered and the wind danced lazily. Albeit the serene weather, the street itself was animated with activity and noise. People bustled in their world and the building’s bright light illuminated the street. The city was just as alive in the night as it was in the day. I reached my small apartment that consisted of a small living area, a small kitchen, and a small bedroom.

I was having my dinner when an unknown number called me. “Hey, it’s me, the guy that ruined your clothes.” “Oh! Hello Aslan.” “When do you have the time to meet up?” His tone jittered like a nervous cat. “I'll give the money then and perhaps treat you to a coffee.” “You don’t have to go to such lengths.” “I insist.” “Well, umm…..how about this Saturday?” “Works for me.” “Meet up at Seong Cafe at……..five-umm-thirty?” I suggested “...works for me.” “See you then,”

I say. “Yeah.” He says. And the call ends with a click. Well, this ought to be interesting, first being that I seemed to know him from somewhere, I just don't know where that is. Second: he seems keen on inviting me to have a coffee with him. For what purpose? Well, I’ll procrastinate on that and sleep for now because I am exhausted. Good night fellas. _____________________________________ Saturday came after two days with snowfall and cold whispering winds. I arrived 15 minutes early at the cafe. Seong Cafe was a few streets away from ours. It was a cozy and homely shop with modern and sleek steaks. The window showed a white and cold world inside from a warm shop.

He soon arrived. His dark hair was hidden under a dirty green beanie and he wore a blue jacket. I waved him over. “Did you get something?” He asked after our greeting “Besides water, nothing.” “What do you want?” He asked and his hand went for his wallet. “It’s my treat.” I was about to protest when I remembered arguing with him is as good as arguing with a wall. I got a Caramel

Macchiato and he got himself a cafe special mocha. We each ordered a slice of cheesecake and sat near the window. I still couldn’t figure out where I knew him from. “Sorry to interrupt but do I know you?” I asked.

His deep brown eyes widened as if I told him that Russian were aliens. Then his eyebrows dug in a frown in a pensive manner. “Well you look familiar too,” He said. “ but I can’t recall how.” “Well, that’s fantastic. Two strangers that know each other but can’t tell how. Isn’t fate beautiful.” I remarked

“Did we go to school together perhaps?” Said Aslan. “That’s a possibility but I’m hoping it’s not true. My school wasn't my prime years.” He gave a small laugh, “ well how about I treat you to dinner and we can figure this out then.” Dinner caught me off. He did say that I looked familiar too. “Nah, dinner will be on me this time. You already paid for coffee” I said. He opened his mouth to protest. “I’m not taking a no.” I cut him short with a brick answer. “Alright alright,” He raises his hand in surrender. “ So tomorrow at seven. If that’s alright with you.” “Where to meet up?” I ask. “This place serves fine.” We continued to sip our coffee with small talk lingering between us. He seemed to talk about plants a lot. We also discovered we both lived on the same street. He paid me for the dry cleaning and we bid each other goodbye. I reached home around 7:48. ——————–———————————– “Jesus Christ it’s cold.” Aslan rubbed his hands and blew into them. “You should’ve worn more clothes then,” I said. “Or you could’ve allowed me to drive you to the restaurant.” “Nah, walking is better. I like feeling the cold.” His lips turned a little at the end. “ Do you find that weird?” He asked suddenly, taking a nervous edge. “Not at all. I quite enjoy it too.” I replied with a slight smile. He took me to a small weather-beaten

Chinese shop. “It doesn’t look pretty on the eyes but they sell the best dumplings ever.”

“I’ll take your word on it.” We sat in one corner and ordered two bowls of dumpling soup. He was right about being great food.

“It is great.” I exclaimed, savoring the spices and perfect texture of the food. “Glad you like it.” A minute or two might have passed when he suddenly made an “OH!” Sound with an extra exclamation mark. I was a bit startled. “I almost forgot to tell, I figured how we might have known each other.” He seemed ecstatic. “So how do we know each other?” “I was right, we went to high school together.” I choked on my dumpling, “we-we did.” I dreaded this.

He gave a soft chortle, “now I know why your school wasn’t your prime years. Who knew you keep long dyed hair with piercings.” I buried my face in the cup of my hands, mortified. He continued to laugh at my reaction. “No wonder I couldn’t recognize you. You look so different.” Well, I did change my hair to its natural honey brown shade and cut it short. Lost the piercing and had to get a pair of glasses. “So what about you?” I asked. “I was on the football team.” It didn’t ring a bell and I must’ve shown it on my face. “Doesn’t ring a bell.” He says after studying me for a bit. I shook my head. “Wow, your memory has some other level of damage.” I shrugged and took another mouthful of that dumpling soup.

“Well, we met an old friend and are having dinner with him. Who cares about the past.” I say with a free and lazy tone. “You’re just saying that to cover up your terrible memory,” Aslan said with a raised eyebrow. I shrugged. We ended up having two more bowls. He continued to talk about his school days and what he thought of me. He talked and I listened.

Miraculously I remember him through the course of that meal though I did not say. He is a stranger now and was before. I don’t consider him a friend. I remember him being outgoing and friendly, the type to have a smile all the time. Easy going and an extrovert. I was the opposite. Nothing about him intrigued me back then, we were two different people.

“Did my stories bring anything back or is it not working.” Aslan sashes with a stuffed mouth. How is his food not cold with him talking all the time?

“Your stories did unpack a lot of trauma. I also remember you. You were a real friend to everyone, weren’t you.” He gave a small chuckle.

We then brought ice cream and a little walk in a nearby park. We talked, we laughed, and had fun overall. “I enjoyed today,” I said as we were about to part. “Oh, and the meal. The food was the best part.” “Great, I had fun too.” There was a pause before he continued. “Would you wanna do this some other time. I can make a wicked chicken roast If you are interested.” “I’d like that.” “I’ll give the details over the phone.” “I’ll be waiting. Bye now.” “Bye.”


Surfacing \ Readying his shocker spear, rhythmic waves bounce the jockey up and down as another whine of migratory drones fly overhead towards the shore. “Hurry up, coaster… we don’t have all day”, crackles the patrol captain from the jockey’s ear-bud. “Oh don’t mind me, I just LOVE the smell of putrid fish and toxic runoff. I’d be out here forever if you’d let me,” the jockey replies snidely. Just one more catch container to fill with fish before nightfall. He needed this haul to be complete or it would be another week stuck on land. The jockey looked toward his spear tip noticing the exposed wires from the hilt and dulled-edge of the blade. Scanning the murky water surrounding him, he spots the familiar yellow glow of a leader fish roughly 25 meters below. The jockey pulls in a deep breath, cocks his arm back as he’s practiced all his life, and with the downward motion of his hauler craft he chucks the spear into the water with a splash. The spear’s homing sensors flicker with electricity as the blade punctures the glowing fish. The jockey waits for the soft thud of the usual electrical pulse that can be heard upon a successful catch. No thud. The spear isn’t returning. The smaller pack fish around the leader have scattered. “SHIT shit shit shit… no…” In a flash, the jockey jumps out of his saddle on the craft. He zips up his wetsuit, throws his breathing mask and goggles on and steps to one side of the craft. He can still see the diminishing remnants of the faint glow below him as the misty sky above grows darker. The jockey dives headfirst into the water swimming as fast as he can towards the leader fish. *Please don’t let this happen to me again,* he thinks as he comes within a few meters of the dying fish. He grips the handle of the spear and feels around for the controls as the final sparks flicker within the 100 lb fish. Frantically clicking the squarish button on the hilt of the spear, the inflatable won’t deploy. Panic sets in as the jockey looks up at the dying light above the water. Coaster horror stories flood into his mind as he grapples with the impending dread of being submerged in complete darkness while night takes over. *I do NOT want to meet whatever fish come out down here after dark*. He’ll have to swim. Gripping the spear with both hands, the jockey begins to kick his legs furiously, propelling him and the fish towards the surface. Dragging the huge fish for what feels like hours, he finally emerges from the infested void. Climbing on to the wireframe cargo carrier attached to the back of the craft, he starts to pull the fish out of the water. The fish is frustratingly heavy as he drops it into the remaining empty catch container. The container appears almost empty with one lone leader fish. It’ll have to do. The spear in his hands is broken and will need extensive repairs. The jockey lets out a frustrated sigh as night falls. He presses the dispatch button on the craft’s center console, notifying a drone to come claim his haul. After the drone buzzes off, he pilots the craft back towards shore and notices the numb blisters that are starting to bubble on the skin around his hands. In the chaos, he forgot to wear his protective gloves. *Being a coaster is going to kill me,* he thinks as the soft, bluish glow of the city beyond the dock slowly appears through the fog in front of him. \ I wanted to write something that was action packed and hinted at some interesting world building. Would love any criticism! This story began as a part of the exercise done in this lecture about writing short stories: This lecture is amazing and gave some of awesome foundations for how to write a short story.


“Next!” She did not mean to shout, but she knew what the morning would be like. The people waiting in line would be buying stamps, picking up packages, check post office boxes, etc…and then buying whatever groceries they could find in the drugstore before heading to the café or the metro. The day they decided to put her job in the middle of the brightness of a drugstore was the day she should have quit. But she was still here, after the move, wearing the uniform that indicated some level of responsibility and experience. Yes, that was the word: experience. She was standing behind the counter, waiting for Lee to get out from the back and help her out with whatever traffic they would face. There were now three in line, but that was early. “Next.” The old lady did not hear her, but that was fine. Janet knew that this was going to be business as usual with Ms. Lindar. She was always getting packages or trying to get the latest celebrity stamps if she had not bought them last time. Her thin windbreaker and cane were clear and simple props she expected on a Monday. The lady approached, with a slight scent of mothballs and polyester, and smiled to herself. “Just a package today.” She passed over a slip from the delivery service with her name and address on it. She ran a scan over the QR code and it was legitimate. What else should it be? “Do you have identification?” “As always.” In her red faux-leather handbag, she took out a set of plastic cards held together with a green rubber band (always green, she noted; just like the ones we use here). Her birth certificate and driver’s license were right on top. “Here, my dear. Do you need anything else?” “No, not at all. I just had to check…” There was a decision in her mind not to check Ms. L.’s address again if she was at the desk. Lee would probably call her for help, anyway. And where the hell…? “Lee!” At least there was no one in line at the moment (Ms. L. was heading toward the painkillers). She turned around the corner and saw him. “Lee…” Nodding out again…and no surprises here. The boy was sitting on stack of plastic boxes, now turned over and empty for their collections, and he was out of it. Why couldn’t the boy go for a large coffee loaded with sugar and cream like the rest of them at the café down two doors from them? He would always pill himself up or out and she had been very good about not saying a thing to the staff or management about this. It was easy to do so, since Lee was one of the sons of the too-rich-to-think people who owned the place ( one of the sons : legitimacy is a strange animal). The epi-pen was rolling across the floor. “Lee. Lee, Lee…” She squatted down to pick it up, recognizing that this was a new one that he had just obtained (was that a gift from upper management?). “You are so lucky it is a quiet morning…” It would be some time before she forgot the coincidence of what happened next. The pen was still in Lee’s leg and he was groaning and moaning after he caught his breath, stood up and pushed her into some stationery. And that was when she heard the bell on the counter…and the scream. “Everyone, down on the ground!” It was not an easy Monday, but it was still a Monday. She pushed Lee back down onto the plastic – he needed a moment – and walked around the corner to face a rather squat and ski-masked man waving a gun around the room. “Lady, get down!” She looked over the man’s outfit up close: jeans (loose-fitting, but clean), Chuck Taylors (excellent condition), thin leather jacket (weathered with a white t-shirt, so very stylish in black), and the ski-mask (a balaclava…is that what they call it?). Something was off. “I am the senior person in charge of this station, so you do not want me on the ground.” “Lady, I ain’t playin’!” “ You ‘ain’t playin’?” She actually made the air quotes around his attempt to sound tough, or “street” (was that the right term?). “You have to be kidding me…” The man was now pointing the gun directly at her chest, stepping gingerly over the clerk on the floor (a nice kid, she thought; pants were soaked with urine and she could smell something worse down there). Again, something was really off. “I have a gun!” “It is not...a real one.” It almost made her laugh out loud when she saw how he blinked in those eye sockets. He was looking for his words. “But, it’s my… It’s a…” “Look,” she put her hands on the counter, knocking over a tray of pamphlets for a philatelist event, “this place is full of cameras, very few exits, and it is in the middle of the day. The police are probably already on their way, and you have a weapon that can’t do anything but shoot a BB pellet below the skin.” She took the gun out of his hands and placed it on the stepladder beside the drop box. “You know what to do next.” * The police were annoyed (as always), the staff impressed (the boy with the biological failure was sent home with the police), the management informed (once again) and the customers consoled. Not much left over for the staff that had to stay on for the rest of the day and try to earn their pay. Lee finally stepped out from the back. She had almost forgotten about him (the police never even looked back there). He actually looked well. “Whu’appen?” Again, it was very fortunate that no one was in line. She could only deal with so much today. “Nothing. Handle the cash. I have to take my break.” Lee was somehow managing to stand up straight and focus at the same time. The kid could actually work for fifteen minutes at a time. “Yeah. I’m…I got it.” She did not wait for the rest of the sentence. There was a cigarette she needed right now. At least it was a beautiful day. “Oh, dear.” And she was still here. Ms. Lindar, cane and all, was walking between the cars to the path behind the mall. Why did she hang around after…? “It’s all right. It wasn’t a real gun, just a toy. I could see that he was messing with us.” She frowned at her for a moment. “No, dear. Not that. I just...” She looked at her cigarette. “I didn’t know that you smoked.” She dropped the cigarette and somehow made it to the back entrance without rolling her eyes. So, that was her break. At least five people were still around after the attempted robbery, one of them a shoplifter who thought that this was a golden opportunity (she brought him to the counter and made him empty his dirty backpack; another call to the management…). Lee was still at the register, trying to decide how to use the card scanner with a man who wanted a dozen commemorative stamps for a singer she did not care for (they were international; guess those songs were more popular somewhere else). The customer, a face she knew (no name; no problem), was happy to talk about it while no one else waited in line. Maybe it would be an easy afternoon. And then the power went out. * It was not a bad moment. The thing about daytime power outages that she accepted was that the people around her would try to continue as if nothing happened. The customer noted the darkness, but he kept up with his history lesson as Lee flinched at the loss of light. The rest of the pharmacy got so quiet that she noted how she wanted to hear the hum from the freezers and long shelf of drinkers in the open coolers. Some curses were heard, a few laughs, but it was not a moment worth worrying about. Once she found the fuses and noted the smoke rising from the box, it was a quick change that brought everything back to what could be called normal. The moment would pass. So would the phone call. “Front cash.” “You still on?” Very friendly for a Monday… A lot of sympathy in that voice. “Where else would I go?” She knew who it was. “Right, right… Well,” she could almost hear Mr. Benedek’s belly shift in that swivel chair that was more squeaks than comfort, “we just wanted to thank you for everything today. The robbery…blackout…” “Lee?” “What?” Did he even care about the kid? “Nothing.” The customers were gone now. Almost noon; almost lunch time… “Right, well, we want to promote you.” She tried not to freeze up as she looked at the phone (it felt like an animal she should not have picked up). “Say what again?” “Promotion. Upper management. You obviously’ve earned it. And we can get Lee and some other kid on the counter. We’ll have to talk about…” That was all she wanted to hear. She looked at the stacks of stationery – envelopes, packaging, pamphlets, tapes, labels, posters with estimated delivery times – and dropped the phone, startling Lee to a point (he was already heading back to the storage area). She walked out the front to the main parking lot, looking up at the threat of rain and staring off at the kids from the local school getting out at the bell, the workers in the various shops looking for a place to eat, and certain customers who were aware of their hunger. Her cigarette pack was almost empty, but she did not need another one. There was something perfect about that Monday and she did not want the morning to end.


This story was based around the line 'Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer' taken from a poem called The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe. As I rode my grey stallion over the sweeping valleys surrounding my kingdom, I came across the morning sun. The penetrating rays shone over the misty lowlands, filling both the skies and the heavens with what seemed like everlasting light. This transcendent aurora beneath me had only just begun its solemn, yet necessary journey, as had I. The crisp chill gently scratched my cheeks, and my long, auburn hair billowed in the wind. In the distance, the outline of a bird could be seen, soaring high up against the clouds, looking for some unsuspecting prey to swoop down upon. I knew that there would be many victims today. The reds and blues of the enemy were visible on the horizon; a thousand men were ready for battle. I looked back and saw my own army: a mismatch of the young and old, healthy and tired, scraped together in the vain hope of victory. Up until this point I was brave, I understood what I had to do as queen, and rose up to my position in this war. Yet now, I felt tired. The armour was heavy against my weary limbs, my sword too large to raise and my horse unable to carry me through the bloodshed. I collapsed against his tangled mane in anguish, feeling too weak and scared to continue. I heard the faint sound of a horse's hooves approaching, before I realised that my chieftain was sitting next to me, with a look of worry upon his face. Without making a sound, he reached out, and gently rested his fingers upon my arm. I looked down in shock; it was most unusual, considered deranged even, for someone to talk to, let alone touch, royalty unannounced. Yet, just by looking at his expression, I understood what he was saying. As though I had been gifted by the gods above us, a feeling of strength surged through me. I felt fearless. My soul grew stronger, hesitating then no more. As he returned to his place in the battalion, not a single word having been said, I straightened my back, narrowed my eyes on the sea of arms in front of me, and lead my men into the dark abyss of the unknown. The thunder of a thousand men running at each other, anticipating collision, rumbled in my ears as I flew down the hill. I watched as the enemy and I approached one another and each individual became clearer to see. One man, stout in shape but strongly built, lead his soldiers with a determined grin, from which a raging howl was emitted. I thought to myself, he probably lived quite a nice life. Maybe he had a family worriedly waiting for his return at home; small children who would never know their father. I did not falter once. The last I saw were the whites of his maddened eyes, before I placed my sword neatly in the centre of his chest. For three hours we battled on, claiming back our land, inch by inch. Hundreds were dead, but all knew that the sacrifices made that day would be done for the rest of the people, and would not be in vain. The enemy slowly began to retreat, knowing that defeat would soon be upon them. Though we grew tired in our bodies, never did we become faint in our hearts. At last, victory was ours, and we rejoiced. Though looking around, I began to see the deformed and mutilated bodies, contorted into positions of agony before the life had fled from them. Fathers, brothers and uncles filled the grassland, their crimson blood saturating the moist ground. An eerie sadness gripped my stomach, and, fearing that I would become emotional, turned to go. As I rode back in the direction I had come, I saw my chieftain once again, relieved that he had survived. A broad smile broke out across his face, before I felt something strike my back. Snap. My spine shattered, as the tip of an arrow pierced my skin and entered the flesh. Though it had flown through the air with great force, I just sat there, bewildered as to what had just happened. Surely someone had not dared kill me now? I turned to face my executioner, and saw, lying on the ground, a wounded soldier whom I had presumed dead. We locked eyes, before his became cloudy and his head limply dropped back to the ground. I sat in my saddle for a few seconds longer, before sliding from my seat and falling to the earth myself. The hope of life quickly began to diminish, and I knew that I was to accept what was about to happen. I stared up into the dark, cloudy sky, and allowed my body to relax. My chieftain once again was at my side, filling my vision, clasping my hands in his. He was trying to say something to me, but I could not hear him. I concentrated on looking at the movements of his mute mouth, and smiled to myself. For the first time, I was not afraid. I embraced the numbness in my body, allowing the ground to hold me. As the light began to fade from my eyes, I thought of home, and knew that my people would be safe. The last thing I felt were the small droplets of rain hitting my face, before I slipped away from my world, and was gone forever.


This is my worst nightmare. I would love to tell you that I don’t know how the hell I got dragged into this, but I’d be lying. Lying to you and to myself because everyone around this neck of the woods knows that when Mrs Ursula bloody Quartermaine clicks her expensive high heels, people around here jump to attention and do as they are bid. This especially applies to my mother, Lillian. My mother idolizes Ursula Quartermaine; has done since they went to school together. Personally, I can’t stand the woman and never have but, as a 21-year-old Kooma girl I am country town savvy enough to know that a woman’s reign as top hen in the pecking order is never based on personality. No, Ursula Quartermaine has only ascended to her position as leader of the females through the powerful combination of name, wealth, social standing, and the ownership of a seriously large farm. I was dragged into this hell at precisely 9 pm, an hour ago, when Ursula Quartermaine had phoned my mother to ask a favour. Well, let’s call a spade a spade, shall we? There’s no pretending Mother, and subsequently I, ever had a choice in the matter. When Ursula Quartermaine threw a scrap of attention on the ground Lillian McAllen was the first to swoop down and gobble up a chance to please her leader. ‘No’ was not an option. I was interrupted just as I settled in to write a letter to an old friend of mine, May. May had escaped from Kooma with her friend, June to go and live in the city of Adelaide. That was a year ago now; January 1953. If everything goes to plan and if I find the courage, I will soon be joining them. My mother urgently explained to me that Ursula Quartermaine was in a tizz because her darling daughter, Suzanne, needed a ride back from the dance in Tilbin; the next wheatbelt town down the road. Suzanne was originally supposed to get a ride back in Jack Spragg’s brand new 1954 Holden FJ Ute but the car had developed a flat and Jack had to renege on his offer. Ursula was ringing to see if I would drive down to Tilbin to bring her back. If I knew Jack as well as I thought I highly suspect that, after a few beers and some time to reflect, he had purposely chewed through the wall of the tyre using his own teeth. This would be preferable to the prospect of the 24 mile drive back to Kooma, imprisoned alone with the impossible princess that is Susan Quartermaine. I can’t say I blame Jacko, I would have shot off my toes to avoid the same fate, but at 9pm that summer night Ursula bloody Quartermaine had clicked her heels , Lillian McAllen had jumped and I was too chicken poop to say no to the formidable pecking order of Kooma. So here I am, Cate McAllen, driving down the Western Highway on a stinking hot January night towards the town of Tilbin; towards self-imposed entrapment with my mortal enemy, Suzanne bloody Quartermaine. I have never liked Suzanne Quartermaine and I’m sure she has never liked me. She and I started school on the same day and for whatever reason she has had it in for me ever since. Perhaps it’s because I am introverted, bookish and quiet. More likely it’s because Suzanne Quartermaine is simply a giant insufferable cow and, like her mother, was born to lord over anyone she deems beneath her lofty station. Her attacks on me began as school bullying and childhood pranks; like the time she, unknown to me, tucked the back hem of my dress into my knickers and I walked around for half a day looking like a pubescent baboon. In time Suzanne’s terror campaign became more sophisticated and centered more on psychological warfare. This usually came in the form of made-up gossip about me. Make no mistake, the grown-up game of Chinese Whispers is the #1 entertainment occupation of any country town and Suzanne easily found patrons willing to lap up each juicy snippet; spoken morsels to be tasted and savoured before being passed on to the next eager host. That the rumour is true or not doesn’t matter in the slightest. All that really matters is the flow of whispered words must not dry up. That there is always enough gossip to feed the mill. Titillating for some? I’m sure. But it becomes unbearable when you yourself become the focus of the microscope that is Kooma. It’s at that point all you, I, can think about is escaping the toxicity. ___________________ My headlights brush past the Rotary Club’s ‘Welcome to Tilbin’ sign and I touch the brake pedal to slow down for Main Street. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been here, so I hang my elbow on the opened window and look around. I reckon Tilbin is much like any other West Victorian wheatbelt town that I can think of. All the Wimmera towns that I know sport wide streets; streets that host the usual collection of rural businesses: post office, petrol station/mechanics, milk bar, land agent, chemist, and such. Of course, there are always pubs, all closing at 6 o’clock for the day. I pass the Commercial Hotel, the Railway Hotel, The Grand and lastly; The Royal. A pub on every other corner. The pub is the hub of the male herd in a country town like this, where beer is drunk, sports dissected, wheat prices discussed, and weather obsessed over. Women are not welcome. Oh, don’t get me wrong, women are allowed IN but, if they do enter the hallowed sanctuary, they are corralled into a room called the ‘ladies lounge’. There the ladies drink shandies, a mix of beer and lemonade. Their children drink raspberry vinegars, which sound horrible, but taste lovely. After I pass The Royal I put on my blinker and turn left, bucking my way across the steel rods of the western railway line. There is always a railway line that runs past a wheatbelt town. The train east carries away bags of wheat and wool and people. The train west returns the people. Most will never leave. Turning right into cemetery road I crunch my way along a narrow gravel road that is edged by gnarled gums, towards the corrugated iron town hall. As I close in on the building I can see there’s quite a crowd of people outside, taking in the night air. Their dark forms are silhouetted against the background light of the frosted hall windows. Others are secreted in the dark and can only be seen by the glowing ends of cigarettes, pulsing on and off as the smokers take a drag. The car park is full of cars, so I nose my little Morris further along the road and find a place to stop. My green Morris Minor is my pride, my joy, my independence and my deliverance. It’s unusual for a woman to own a car in these parts. I call her ‘Titch’ and I hope one day that she will take me away from here. I find a park next to a Ford sedan that I recognize as belonging to fellow Koomarite, Keith ‘Bluey’ Jones. Bluey’s a nice bloke, hard to miss with his big frame and crop of red hair. Like all red headed men in Australia Keith has been branded with the ironic nickname, ‘Bluey’. I tap the steering wheel and look out the windscreen. What now? Do I just start asking around for her worship ? Maybe I should go into the hall and look for her? Bugger, I don’t want to go inside. I’m wearing the comfort of slacks and a short sleeve cotton shirt, no makeup, and I know I’ll stick out like a sore thumb amongst all of the ladies clothed in dresses and powder. Stalling, I light a cigarette and start smoking. With any luck Lady Muck will show herself so I can make a beeline for her and we can get out of here without too much fuss. I’ve just about finished my smoke when I spot h er nibs next to the hall steps. She’s wearing a blue rose print cotton dress with matching high heels. Her blond hair is coiffed in the most perfect bob I think I’ve even seen. Of course, she is beautiful. That’s the way life works. She is talking to another woman in an overly animated way. I watch with a sick sort of fascination at the way she snaps her head back to laugh. Her neck ripples, her red lips part as she emits a laugh so shrill that I can hear it from where I sit. It’s a laugh that is designed to turn as many heads as possible; to direct maximum attention towards herself. She’s now resting her left hand on the other woman’s arm as her right hand flits in the night air like a Spanish dancer. It is making exaggerated turns here and there to emphasize some point she is trying to make. Every single thing about her makes my stomach feel heavy. I can’t do it. I can’t do it anymore. I open my glove box and pull out a pencil book and start writing. When I finish, I open my car door, unfold my legs, step out into the night air and place the sheet of paper under one of the wiper blades on Bluey’s car. He’ll find the note before he drives home. Dear Bluey, Please take Suzanne Quartermaine home to Kooma. I can’t do it. Best, Cate McAllen. I turn the key to start Titch and back out onto the gravel road. The warm air feels delicious on my skin as I change gears and pick up speed. I actually feel giddy? Light? I’m smiling. It’s going to be a hot one on the wheat plains again tomorrow. I wonder what the weather will be like in Adelaide?


                                  SORTIE

     by                                                    Michael Parker Jack Edwards, code name ‘Ice Man’, knew this mission would be vital: destruction of the dam would shorten the war considerably. He felt confident about himself this time as the Pegasus engine of the Harrier Jump Jet wound up into a crescendo of sound. He could feel it vibrating through the control column. He completed his checks and held up the mandatory four fingers to the ground crew to declare that the ejector seat and canopy were armed. He acknowledged them as he began to taxi out on to the short runway. If he felt nervous this time, Jack didn’t want to show it. After all, he was the Ice Man. He dabbed the break pedal to check the brakes were functioning, and then made another quick scan of the cockpit instruments. He knew his fuel load, his target co-ordinates and his time over target, scribbled on his knee pad. The air traffic controller gave him clearance for take-off as he came to a halt on the very short strip of tarmac road. It was a public highway, closed now, that served as a runway at the forward position established by the allied forces. Jack brought the power up to maximum, set the nozzles at 50% and turned the water injection on. He could feel the jet straining on the leash as he held the brakes for a moment longer before lifting his foot. The Harrier leapt forward sending up clouds of dust in a vortex of wind and noise and scattering the birds from the trees.

Within seconds he was airborne, the jet’s nose dropped almost level to the ground as he raced towards the end of the short stretch of road. He touched the brake pedal to stop the wheels spinning and selected undercarriage up. He moved his eyes quickly and checked the four greens had changed to four blacks: ‘undercarriage stowed’. The trees below him almost bowed their heads in homage as the Harrier hurtled over their tops. Jack pulled back on the stick, edging it to the left and turned away from the forward airstrip. He turned up into the low cloud that hung sombrely over the dark countryside. He checked his heading. On his knee was the notepad with the estimated time over the target clearly written. It wasn’t far and he knew he would probably not experience any enemy activity on the relatively short run into their territory, which meant a clear run. He did wonder on just what his chances would be of returning safely once the dam had been breached. The target was the important thing though: the dam had to be breached. His life was no longer important, but the dam was. He had about eight minutes of relative calm and safety, and then he would fly into the mouth of Hades where one false move would pile him into the mother earth. The cloud cover above felt like a blanket as he streaked over the ground, no higher than one hundred feet, his ground warning radar switched off to avoid unexpected detection. Ice cold concentration was needed now from the Ice Man. In the distance he could see the vague shapes of the mountains: black silhouettes against a brightening, dawn sky. Jack had played the scenario repeatedly in his mind. He knew exactly where the valley began. It was not clearly visible yet, lying almost unseen beneath a ridge spanning two peaks. Once there he would be in enemy territory.

Suddenly he was hot! He heard the ‘ping’ as the enemy radar found him, but it was only a brief contact as he hurtled into the shadow of the mountains and into the valley. The Harrier fled like a bullet, wings tipping as Jack turned to follow the winding river course that had scoured the valley for millions of years. On each side the ground rose up like castle walls, hemming the sleek aircraft in, threatening to pull Jack into the forests that clung to the sides. The wind funnelled through the canyon, buffeting the Harrier. Jack fought it, letting the stick tremble gently in his hand as he steered the jet with consummate skill. Then the dam came into view: a small, almost insignificant wall that held back millions of tonnes of water. Jack selected the bombs, armed them, and levelled out as bursts of flak began to explode dangerously close. But Jack ignored the ground fire; his attention focussed on the dam wall. He dropped the Harrier to within fifty feet of the river, concentration forcing beads of sweat to burst out on his forehead. His breathing was harsh, but his determination never wavered. He flipped the trigger cover and pressed. Bombs gone! Stick back. Jack heaved, lifting the Harrier up, fleeing like a guilty child after throwing rocks at someone’s home. Over the dam and turning, stick hard over to the right. Jack watched the gravity meter, the ‘g’ force, climbing. He knew he had to turn sharply into the only valley he could use to get away. 5g! His weight was now almost 350 kilograms. His G-suit was inflating to protect him from blacking out and he could see the gauge reading going up. The pressure on his ribs would be enormous. He wanted to ease off to reduce the g-force, but the valley wall was turning sharply and Jack needed to pull the stick further back and let the gauge climb to 7g. How much more could the plane take? There was a danger he would grey out. A few more seconds and blackout would occur. He had to get the jet back on level flight before the whole thing fell apart.

He heard the explosion as his bombs hit home and the missile ‘locked’ warning almost at the same time. Jack had expected this. He focused on the valley wall, sliding past him swiftly now and hit the chaff and flare buttons. The silver foil burst from the Harrier together with the flares, absorbing the transmissions from the oncoming missile. The burning flares decoyed its seeker head. Suddenly Jack straightened and pulled the stick back, simultaneously rotating his jet nozzles. The missile streaked by and exploded against the valley wall. The valley turned left and Jack followed. Soon, very soon, he would be clear of the valley and into open country. He knew what awaited him there. As if by appointment two MIG 27’s hove into view. The sky had brightened considerably. Jack was flying with the rising sun behind him. The MIGs would not see him clearly, but their radar would be their eyes. He dropped the nose as the MIGs picked him up. They swung round in a symmetrical pattern to follow Jack down towards the ground, nap of the earth flying, reheat blowing from their tails like glowing torches. Jack’s Harrier was no match for them in pure speed, but Jack had more weapons in his armoury. More guile. He dived down to a long run of trees, hoping to confuse the radar of the MIGs, but the launch of two missiles told Jack they had him locked into their radar. He made a tight turn, dropping more chaff. He couldn’t hope to outrun the missiles, but he could hope to spook the MIG pilots. He turned tighter until he was flying straight at the two jets and skipped over the tree line. The missiles made the same turn but lost time in the turn. Jack was now heading directly towards the two fighters at a closing speed of well over a thousand miles per hour. Before the two jets could pull up, Jack tugged the stick back hard, bringing the nose up almost vertical, dropping chaff and flares at the same time. One of the missiles, confused by the different heat signals in close proximity, took out one of the MIGs, blowing it from the sky. Jack cheered noisily as the second missile whistled between him and the remaining MIG. He turned again, knowing he had a chance to make it to friendly territory, but he had to shake off the remaining jet. He knew the pilot would need just a moment to recover from seeing his wingman being shot down by his own missile, but not too long. It was enough for Jack. He went in hard and fast over the trees. This then was to be the killing ground. This was to be the place where he would be able to test his skill against that of the remaining MIG pilot. One on One! Mano a Mano! He felt a sudden thrill surge through his veins. The kill! He saw the MIG clearly. And the missile! “Jack!” He spun round in his chair. His wife was standing at the door, one hand on her hip, the other thrust against the door jamb. “If I’ve called you once, I’ve called you a dozen times. Your dinner is ready. Now switch that silly game off and come and get your dinner.” Jack sagged visibly. He looked back at the computer screen as it blossomed into an orange flame and a message flashed up. “ Sorry Jack, you lost. Better luck next time!” He switched the game off and closed his computer down. Then he picked up his walking stick and levered himself out of the chair.

“Ah well,” he muttered to himself. “Not bad for an eighty year old. I’ll get them next time.” His wife had already gone and Jack knew he had met his match in more ways than one.                              THE END

Michael Parker


"Let this be a warning, the stars align for you. They will make an example out of you." The mist cleared and I was in darkness, like a cave with a hole viewing the night sky. Through it, stars shown in a brilliant white belt. Then suddenly each star exploded and formed a mass that was nearly a third the size of the sun. The mass exploded then, and the cave was blasted away, rock flying every which way. The earth was laid out below me as it was destroyed, blown apart with the power of the huge blast. The voice that wasn't a voice cut through the dim light once again. "Let this be a warning, the stars align for you. They will make an example out of you." It was like every force of life that had ever lived, was delivering a message to me. I awoke in the cool darkness of my room, my heart pounding as I tried to process it. This wasn't the first time I had dreamt that, and I shuddered, beating down the fear that threatened to rise. It was later that day during school when flashes tore through my head. The belt of stars, the mass, the destruction, the voice, replaying the warning over and over, ringing in my ears. I tuned it out, trying desperately to focus on the math quiz I was presented with. *Solve for x; 3x(8)=24.* I focused and tried my best, etching away until I found what I considered to be the answer. Why was I so bad at math? I couldn't even solve a very simple equation like this. I set down my pen and studdied the room. 2 windows to the left, slightly open so the fresh breeze could wash over the students. We were on the second floor, the parking lot bellow, riddled with cars. Ahead, the front of the classroom boasted 2 whiteboards, an old chalkboard with no chalk, the teacher's desk to the far left corner, and a projecter screen which rolled down, a thin silver chain and plastic ball at the tip. The screen was unrolled and covered the chalkboard, and on it was a sheet from a math book with notes scrawled over it. Might as well have been greek to me. I looked back down at my sheet of clean white paper, my leg tapping. I whispered the equation three times in a row as my brain calculated out each step. The belt of stars, the mass, the destruction, the voice, replaying the warning over and over, ringing in my ears. I tapped my foot harder and dropped my pen. Why can't I focus? I could hear the clock ticking. I had 2 pages of this test left and I have 10 minutes to finish it. There's no way. Nada. Suddenly my brain registered the figure to my left. "Hmm." She said. "Still on the third problem?" I looked up at the teacher, my heart pounding. 10th grade and all I get is a failing test grade right after the other. She must think I'm stupid. Who is THIS bad at math? "Sorry Mrs. Reunberg," I whispered. I looked down at the papers. I crumpled them up and handed the wad of paper to her. "I'm no good." But she was shaking her head. "Nonsense. Come by the room before and after school every day the rest of this week. We'll work through it." I shook my head at her and sighed. "Why not?" She asked. I stood up from the flimsy red chair and pushed it aside. "I'm no good." Suddenly Mrs. Reunburg grasped my hand. "I know what you're capable of." She whispered. I stared at her blankly. Surely she didn't mean... "I think I can help you with those... dreams." She said again. I almost fell over, my knees going weak. "I have to go," I told her as I dashed away from her room. I turned down the nasty beige walls, lined with dull red lockers, and ended up at the stairs. I fled down them and winded my way towards the front of the school, out the doors and into a nice breezy day. There were pine trees, sure to be filled with those nasty scorpions, wrapping the way around the perimiter of the school. I carefully made my way through the walkways and away from the trees and towards the parking lot, then I went over to my car, a tiny brown honda, ugly as butt. I touched the handle, and heard a noise behind me. "I can help you," a voice said, not really a voice, but more like the life force of every thing that had ever lived. I shivered. My teacher found out my secret.


History is told by the victor. So simple it is for the them to revel in their glory, their pride. To look to their loved ones that they fought so hard to protect with caring, yet tired smiles. Not even a hint of remorse for the families they've torn apart, destroyed, and broken. Of course, there are those who regret, although happy to be alive,yet burning from inside out simply knowing they can never forget the lives they extinguished for their countries ‘noble’ cause. How they seek retribution for their actions, solace in their emotions, a sanctuary amongst their inner turmoil for the hopes at piecing together what is left of their broken hearts. Some fail, and continue their lives all the while rotting away, but a diamond in the rough exists. It just takes one with enough heart to make the difference, even if it doesn't exist. Gyrus (Jy-ruhs), a country of science. Humans of technology whose pride is within their problem solving androids, capable of emotion, yet given orders unable to disobey. Built of turning gears, and clicking clockwork breathing life into their very being, while families treat them as if they were their own children with just more of a; technological disposition. Cities mirroring it’s ‘Children of Gears’ composition of moving clockwork, co-inhabited by its human denizens. Its government comprised of one true ruler holding all power, king of the ages said to have ushered in peace, tranquility, and progress. Yet with all this power, when a ruler is lost, the lineage must go on. Feyrus (F-ey-ruhs) a country of magic. Its denizens, humans with animal like qualities whose pride lie within their medical advancements through the use of mana. A teal energy that exists in all things, yet unseen to humans. With an aptitude for channeling the latter, they heal the sick with ease, while moving with almost superhuman speed, and strength. Clans based on the animals they ever so slightly resemble, but with each of their chiefs together form the Feran Council. The country itself comprised of a democratic government, and as such each village has a say in political matters, at least, they did. Once Gyrus had taken an interest in Feran magic, things changed drastically. The advanced medical technology possible with Feran magic was far too valuable to ignore. Androids now outfitted for war, and Gyran armies compiled together; they were to invade Ferus under the orders of King Rheon ( R-ee-onn). For most soldiers of Gyrus it was not hard, as the Ferans, similar in their names, were thought to be no more than feral animals. But as the war dragged on it was evident that these animals, these people. They were ever so human as the invaders they feared. Click. A Feran soldier fell dead, Click, and yet another. A steel maiden gliding effortlessly through the battlefield resembling a village, while not even a hint of emotion evident. Sword coated in blood, glinting in the moonlight with every swing. A negative emotion with every click that resounded, but what emotion was it? Bang. A gunshot resounded in the rain. What did it all mean? "You, and your unit are to take this village." A Gyran captain announced, while pointing at a map. 'By any means necessary.' The emotions in his face hardening, lips forming a tight line. His words ringing through the deafening sound of the raging storm just outside the tent. “Understood.” An android of the Valkyrie Model confirmed, a click resounding in the room. Her face unreadable, with an unknown emotion coursing through her circuitry, after all this isn't the first village shes taken. The android beside her, a Medical Model, frowned. “What about the villagers, their families, the children even?” She said with obvious discontent. “We’ve already won!” Her frown deepening immensely, eyes briefly tightening shut. The captain stared at the Medical Model, his emotions unwavering under her glare. “If they fight back, then they are to be eliminated.” A smirk coming across his face. “It’s not as if you could disobey a direct order anyways.” His voice now dripping with venom. “Those Feran scum deserve it.” All that could be heard now was the deafening rain, the village was deathly quiet. The villagers, all of them, fought to protect themselves, but their orders were evident. “Titania, how do you do it?” The Medical Model said with barely a whisper, staring at the aftermath of the attack. “How many lives have we taken?.” Click. Titania the Valkyrie Model stood there silently taking in the sight of the bodies littering the village. “Orders.” She said frankly, her gears whirring quietly, and her face still devoid of emotion. “ You know this is wrong!” The Medical Model’s voice rising. “They didn't deserve this, none of them!” The rain trickling down her face reminiscent of tears, how ironic. Click, she had nothing to say, simply because she did not understand. Titania, as all androids should, have the capacity to experience emotion, but for her it was different. When Titania was first built, the scientist were mesmerized at her lack of display of emotion. It was supposed to be in her programming after all, and yet nothing they did to get a rise out of her worked. For Titania, with every attempt they tried, she heard a click resound in her head, but she could never tell what it was. Was this a so called emotion? What does it mean? What does it do? So many questions, but a question like “What is emotion?” cannot be simply answered. Her model was to resemble the word Valkyrie in such that she was a guardian to those who needed guarding. They wrote it off as a glitch, because of that fact. But because Gyrans valued androids as people, they could not bring themselves to decommission her. “Sylph, what is emotion?” Titania asked, her voice monotone. Sylph the medical model simply looked at her, eyes tired, and emotionally broken. “Something i wish i didn't have.” She said now with her eyes downcast, unable to look at the bodies any longer. Sylph, created with the purpose of pharmaceutical needs, was always very emotional. After all, she must be, medical models need emotions to help reduce panic in patients during treatment. Once the war started she personally believed it to be a curse, with every village she invaded with Titania’s unit, she could feel a part of herself break. But orders were orders no matter what they were, they were impossible to disobey. Each of the androids were produced in pairs, and as such created sibling like environments. To her surprise, Sylph’s designated sister, was none other than Titania her complete opposite. A babies cry resounded through the rain from a lone cot in the distance.”Ah!” Sylph felt immediate joy, yet the negative emotions were still fresh, as she sprinted to the small building. Click. Following suit, face unchanged, Titania bolted after her. With the cot now in front of her, pausing briefly to take in the rundown building. “I'm so sorry.” Titania heard a voice from the now opened door. Upon entering she saw, grey, and black? A small baby boy with wolf ears, and a tail, was being cradled in Sylph’s arms. Click. “Can you believe it?” Sylph said with mixed emotions. “ A baby boy, but with no family to take care of him.” Rain Water trickling from Sylph’s hair, falling past her eyes, yet again reminiscent of tears. Click, Titania heard it, but this time it was different, something- hurt? “Ha-ha, finally something huh?” Sylph was looking at her solemnly, a smile on her face. Titania was frowning.


Writers note: I just want to thank everyone that has been reading my chapters lately and giving me feedback it means so much! I also wanted to state that the mystery of what an emotional hair is will be explained later in the story when it seems less forced. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter please do leave feedback :)  Chapter 5 The Mark The knowledge spirit that had been by my side for nearly five decades swallowed the stone heart I had given it, the heart shattered into a thousand pieces and reformed into a black beating heart, each beat causing the spirit to be less translucent and more solid. My blood went cold as I started to suspect that I had made a huge mistake. “What is this?!?” I screamed demanding answers. “I am whole again child!” The voice sang in a hauntingly beautiful voice, light no longer passing through it. A beautiful purple wavy-haired woman stood in the place of the spirit, her scarlet eyes meeting mine and her purple lips parting giving me a wide evil grin. “Without you boy, I would have never gained my solid form again and for that, I thank you for being so trusting.” She said with a purr, clicking her long black fingernails. “You still owe me three answers!” “I owe you two you already asked one when I was transforming.” Damn, I thought to myself wondering how I could make such a rookie mistake. I stroked my white beard thinking of a question to ask her. “Who are you?” “I am called by many names child, but my most well-known title and name is the first queen of the first empire, Mavra.” My eyes grew wide and I felt like I could not breathe from the sheer panic of understanding what kind of monster I had just released into the world. I almost asked a trivial question stopping myself from making another huge mistake and thought for several moments as the woman gazed at me with a bored expression. I smiled slightly knowing the question I had to ask. “How do I defeat you and make sure you never exist again?” The woman’s face snarled at me making me flinch and step back as she hissed a curse at me. “You dare ask such a question!” She screamed at the top of her lungs Information poured into my mind on how to destroy her once and for all and her form blurred toward me and slammed me down to the ground her dagger-like fingernails slamming into my chest causing an excruciating amount of pain to go throughout my body. A voice echoed throughout the room repeating itself over and over “Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy!” I woke up to Mrs. Zacharias hovering over me, her lips moving talking to someone out of my vision, her words not entirely reaching my brain. Mrs. Zacharias noticed I was awake and slowly sat me up making my head spin and she put my head in between my legs. It eventually clicked with me that the one talking to Mrs. Zacharias was our school nurse and I felt her handhold my wrist for a few seconds and then she lifted the back of my shirt and put something cold against my back and instructed me to take deep breathes in and out for her, while the other one checked my head for wounds. All of this was happening as my fuzzy mind inspected my life force by concentrating my senses on it and I felt it knitting itself back together growing slowly. That was an excellent sign I thought as I felt my headache gradually getting better and no longer felt the world spinning uncontrollably. After a few more moments they eventually picked me up and took me to the school nurse's office, sat me on the not so comfortable bed, and got me a small paper cup of water to sip on until my parents arrived. While I sat there waiting, my mind kept replaying the memories of how Mavra had tricked me into bringing her back from the dead. I gritted my teeth and I swore to myself that I would build my powers back up in this world and I would get back to my homeworld and slay that bitch Mavra for making a fool out of me. While my mind was jumping from thought to thought I noticed an odd tingling sensation coming from my chest that I had never felt before and rubbed at it through my shirt annoyed at the sensation. My parents showed up after a few moments distracting me from my thoughts and they asked the nurse a few questions, the nurse assuring them that I had passed out do to not enough electrolytes and suggested that I should take today and tomorrow off to recover and that if I got worse to immediately take me to the hospital. When we got home my Mother got me a big glass of watermelon flavored juice and I happily drink it down as I watched TV for a few hours taking my problems off my mind for a little while. After the sixth episode of the colorful world about three superpowered girls destroying evil my chest again let off a tingling sensation for the umpteenth time I scratched at it again and finally had enough and went to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror and took off my shirt to inspect my skin. My stomach sank and ice went through my veins as I stared at the circle on my chest with a symbol’s inside it so old that not even, I could read what they said. I recognized the structure of the symbol though and I was confident that this was a curse mark placed on my soul and body. My heart pounded as several possibilities ran through my head on what the curse mark was meant for. My mother walked in not knowing I was already in the bathroom and stared at my shirtless body. “Jimmy are you okay? Your skin is looking pale.” She rummaged through the bathroom drawer for a few seconds and took out a thermometer and placed it in my mouth checking for a temperature. Right, I thought to myself, I forgot people that don’t use magic can’t see marks like these. Which was probably for the best considering I didn’t want to explain to my Mother what a curse mark was and how I had not the foggiest idea of what this specific one did. The thermometer gave a beeping sound and my Mother read it and ruffled my hair still looking worried and told me I did not have a fever. She hugged me, kissed me on the forehead, and told me to get some rest. She tucked me in turned my nightlight on and turned off my ceiling light and gently closed the door. My thoughts raced as I wondered what the mark was going to do to me or what it had already done to me. My eyes widened as I saw the shadows next to my nightlight move back and forth slowly as the objects that made the shadows did not move even slightly. “Shit,” I whispered and kicked the sheets off my body to get out of bed. I did not even manage to get a foot on the ground before shadows not attached to objects wrapped around my body and held me in place while other shadows swirled around my bedroom slowly whispering and laughing. My heart drummed in my chest as I watched the largest of the shadows crawl toward me and wrap around me like a snake engulfing my body in darkness and whispered in my ear. “Edward we have been looking for you.


Seraphina Celestis. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair with a hint of red–she was beautiful. Orion Blackthorn watched her gesticulating excitedly to her expo booth visitors, words pouring over each other as she described her research into the Luminary Artifact.

He felt awkward in a blue jumpsuit covered in luminescent stars, but he fit right in on the colorful planet Astraloria. It was the kind of place that could be called lush, with as many tall tropical trees as buildings. He was in the capital city, Celestis, and he was staring at a descendant of its namesake: Seraphina. When the crowd around her thinned, he approached the booth, focusing his attention on the holographic display of the artifact. Orion wasn’t sure what to make of the bright cube pulsing with ethereal confidence. He was used to assessing things for their value to other people, but this one seemed to glow with a knowing insight: he wasn’t here for science, he was here to steal. “Isn’t it beautiful?” A voice beside him gushed. “It’s captivating,” he said, turning to see Seraphina, nearly jumping out of her gorgeous yet completely functional blue dress. “Captivating,” he repeated, now describing her instead of the object. “It has the potential to change the path of research into quantum mechanics and temporal physics,” she exclaimed. “Sounds like you have the perfect background,” he said, smiling. “My parents were pioneers in their chosen research paths, so I suppose being able to utilize both of their fields is an advantage,” she said, nodding vigorously. He already knew his access to the artifact lay in taking advantage of this scientist, and the conscience that he usually kept hidden away made its presence known with a tightness in his stomach. He recalled her profile for the dozenth time. Her parents were renowned astrophysicists who lived on the outskirts of the city. A prodigy from an early age, she had already cemented her place in history with her research on celestial mechanics. She was the natural choice to study the artifact when it was discovered several years ago.

He thought about his own parents: his mom, the stern but loveable teacher, and his dad, the gruff city worker, both doing their best to raise a child on a dark, crime-ridden planet. He'd joined the Shadow Sable Consortium as a teenager, doing their dirty deeds until he'd escaped to make his own way. Now he was tired of running, and he hoped to get back in their good graces by selling access to research about the artifact. He focused back on Seraphina. “Your parents were blessed to create such an intelligent and beautiful offspring.” He smiled as the compliment hit its target. “Orion Swiftwind,” he said, extending his hand. “Usually I'm up in orbit, but I heard great things about your research.” “Seraphina Celestis,” she said, shaking his hand with sudden shyness. “What do you study?” “I'm just a pilot,” he said, leaning on his made up persona. “All I know is how to make the engine go zoom.” She giggled, and he said, “I'm sure you get this a lot, but I'll be kicking myself if I don't ask: Would you like to get dinner?” Her face showed a tangle of emotions, and she looked away. Orion paused; maybe his assumption had been wrong and she did get a lot of attention planetside. She said with distaste, “People only ask me to dinner to network.” He laughed. “Well I suppose we could call it that.” He moved strategically close. “I meant as a date.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “Where do people go on dates?” Orion chose a slightly fancy restaurant–not his typical fare but expensive enough for Seraphina's cultured upbringing. She explained her research with animated gestures, going off into random side tangents and describing ideas in way too much detail, but he didn’t want to stop her obvious enjoyment. She was a scientist, and, like a child proudly displaying her art, she wanted to share her knowledge.

When it was his turn, she listened rapturously as he described his adventures across the galaxy, disguising his smuggling as “research.” As they returned to her home, he thought about his plan. He sensed her innate trust in him, and he felt a yearning he’d rarely felt, something more than sexual. He thought he saw a kindred soul, comfortable in her environment but profoundly lonely. He wanted to spend more time with her. As he contemplated ways to convince her to see him again, she asked, “Do you want to come in? I have snacks.” He laughed. ”You must not have many visitors,” he said. “No,” she said, her voice dipping with sadness. “Just other scientists. I have a whole lab in my basement.” They stopped outside the door of her house. “Basements are where the fun happens,” he said.

“Are they?” she asked unironically. “Come on in. Hello Athena,” she called, and the door unlocked. “Hello Seraphina,” a female voice said.

“Who’s that?” he asked, on guard in case she had a roommate or worse: a mother. “Oh, that’s Athena. She’s my AI.” Seraphina bounced into the house. “Nice to meet you,” the voice said. “Are you a dashing rogue here to take my Seraphina on an extraordinary adventure?” “I wouldn’t say all that,” he said, silently pleased to be described as dashing. “I’ve had enough adventure in my lifetime.” “He’s here for the expo,” Seraphina said. “His name is Orion Swiftwind.” He braced himself in case the AI discovered his thinly veiled identity. He exhaled with relief when the computer merely said, “Pleased to meet you, Captain Swiftwind.” “Fruit?” she asked, walking toward her kitchen. Orion nodded as he got his bearings. It was a tasteful and warm home, with plaques dotting the wall and potted plants covering the floor. Reading one of the plaques, he said, “Your parents must be so proud of you.” “They are,” she said. “But I wouldn't be where I am without them. They've given me so many opportunities.” She offered the bowl of colorful fruit to him. “What about yours?” “I haven’t lived up to their expectations,” he answered truthfully. “But I owe a lot to them.” Stuck under the Consortium’s rule, his parents would be paying for his sins until he died or came back. The thought of finishing this job and finally returning home filled him with energy as he said, “Enough about me. Tell me more about your work.” He left her house that night with the beginnings of a connection and a pang in his heart, whether with satisfaction or guilt he wasn’t sure. Early the next morning he sent a message to an old contact. I may have something Marcellus will be interested in.

The reply came back quickly. Looking for redemption? He sighed again. I have conditions , and he imagined Adrian smiling at the word.

Adrian Voss had been like an older brother, introducing him to the Consortium and training him in the ways of a thief. He remembered the days they spent in the alleys together, baring their souls and sharing the dream of wealth and power.

It all changed with Nebula’s Embrace. Orion had been sent with a small crew for a simple heist. They’d stolen the Embrace, but things went wrong on the way back home. All alone, Orion had hidden the device on an asteroid, resolving to leave the Consortium and live a law-abiding life.

Orion had told Adrian he planned to leave, and the older man saw his opportunity to cement his place in the Consortium’s hierarchy. He exposed Orion just as he was escaping on a cargo ship. Forever labeled a traitor, Orion took to the stars, finding work where he could in the shadows of the galactic underworld.

He spent the next few weeks enjoying his time with Seraphina. He had been right: the only people who interacted with her were scientists interested in her work or the public who revered her. It made it easy to integrate himself into her life, but it brought more than occasional bouts of guilt. “Caelum said I shouldn't be so trusting,” she said one day while they were out walking. Caelum is right , he said to himself, but out loud he said, “Isn't that the one who wanted to do the research on the artifact?” She nodded. “I think she's just jealous.” “I'm so excited to go on the Celestial Voyager and visit the artifact,” she said, eyes sparkling. ”It'll be amazing to see it up close.” She turned and grabbed his arm. “Can you take me on your ship one day? Maybe go see your parents?” He avoided her eyes. “I'd have to see what contracts are coming up.” In his mind, though, he wanted to say Yes! with as much excitement as she carried in her lithe body. But this fantasy only went so far–he was a hardened criminal, after all. A future with Seraphina was impossible. Finally and with considerable enthusiasm, she showed him her basement lab. Orion was impressed–he had seen spaceships with less technology–and he asked questions with genuine interest as well as to get the information he needed. The Consortium’s hacker created an insertable key that would bypass the lab’s security systems and continuously upload Seraphina’s research into the cloud.

Orion picked up the key but held on to it for days, unwilling to end his time with Seraphina. Getting a second lab tour was easy, as was plugging the key into a spare port. The only obstacle was Athena. “Seraphina, I've detected unauthorized access at your terminal.” The AI sounded gentle but firm in her communication, likely to keep Seraphina from panicking. “What?” Seraphina asked. “What's going on?” “Captain Swiftwind is accessing your data.” She turned her dark eyes on him. “What are you doing?” He shrugged, slightly frustrated at her innocence. “I'm stealing your research.” “But why?” He closed his eyes to avoid the bewildered stare. “I’m a thief,” he said, “That’s what I came to do. I’m selling the data to the Shadow Sable Consortium. I’ve been an outlaw for years, and I’m buying my way back in.” “Back in?” He nodded. “With criminals?” She lowered her head. “I’m so stupid,” she said quietly.

“It's not personal…” he started to say. “It's for my parents,” he said more firmly. “Right now they're prisoners on their own planet. After this deal I can finally see them again.” “Your parents?” she asked. He nodded. “I wasn't able to stop the root process on the system,” Athena said. “Please remove the key and destroy it immediately.” Seraphina moved toward the terminal, and Orion wondered if he should try to stop her.

Slowly she pulled the key out of the terminal, looking at it like an artifact of its own. Key in hand, she walked toward him. With inches between them, she opened her hand. “It's for your parents,” she said quietly, brown eyes staring at him with sympathy. “Take it.” Orion took the key, but he felt stuck in place, frozen with guilt. He closed his eyes and made a decision. He walked to the terminal and opened a secure connection. Adrian was standing by, waiting to hear news.

“I changed my mind,” he said, watching both of them for a reaction. Seraphina's was more obvious as she brought her hands to her mouth. He held up the key in his hand. “You can't access the data without this key, and I'm going to destroy it.” Adrian glanced around the room and spotted Seraphina. “Going for the romantic gesture, I see?” His voice held no trace of the empathy and affection that used to exist between them. “You know I'm not going to leave empty handed.” Orion said firmly, “Then I’ll offer something of equal value. Nebula’s Embrace.” “What about it? We all know about your incompetence.” “It wasn’t incompetence, Adrian.” He tried to keep his voice from trembling. “The Embrace didn’t go missing that day. I hid it, and I’ll tell you where to find it if you settle my debt now. Leave me, my parents,” he looked over, “and Seraphina alone.” Adrian's expression shifted from disdain to a flicker of surprise. “Send me the location, and then I'll decide what to do with you.” Hands shaking, Orion pulled up a map of the Eclipsar Cluster. A few more key strokes and the deed was done.

Adrian mused silently over the information before saying, “So you weren't as naive as you seemed, little brother. This will do.” He closed the connection, leaving a tense silence.

Seraphina Celestis looked at the floor, shoulders slumped. “What happens now?” she asked. “Now I can stop running. And I can finally see my parents again.” “And what about me?” She looked up at him with a mixture of grief and disappointment, and Orion instinctively stepped closer. "I never meant to hurt you, Seraphina. I was lost, seeking a way back into the Consortium. But in the process I found something.” “What?” she asked. “You,” he said. He closed the distance and took her hands. “Come on my ship with me. I can take you to the Luminary Artifact.” “You can?” she asked excitedly. “Yes, and I'll protect you and your research.” “Protect? Will they come back?” she asked. “Yes, but we’ll be ready.” He pulled her into his arms. “You have me now.” “How can I trust you again?” she asked, doubt lingering in her eyes. “I know I can’t ever make up for betraying you,” he said, “but I will tell you everything. I’ll do whatever it takes to rebuild your trust. Seraphina, I love you.”

He waited in suspense as she considered, head leaning against his chest. After a moment, she nodded, and from there they joined together in a celestial bond that would withstand the test of time.


Susan’s mind obsessively repeated the opening phrases of her presentation.

She walked at a brisk clip through the corridor, her sensible pumps making light taps on the tiled floor.

She knew her work, she was prepared with a stellar presentation.

She knew she was going to impress the board with her findings.

Research was her thing.

She was good with numbers and graphs and correlating meaning into the results.

Her most recent work with the Biotech group had been intriguing and highly successful.

She was pleased with herself and anxiously excited to share her findings.

As she neared the elevator she noticed a well dressed man already patiently waiting.

He had carefully coordinated colors, perfectly trimmed facial hair and excellently manicured nails.

Just the hint of the most expensive cologne teased her nose.

“Marcus.” She said nodding in his direction. “Susan.

Lovely to see you this morning.” He replied equally assessing her attire from head to toe.

“Going up to the top as well?” He eyed her handbag, heavy with computer and files. “Yes.” She stated simply. “Well, well.

I see we’re riding up together.” He returned with a smug smile. Susan let her colleagues' insinuations roll off her back.

She knew she had something good this time.

She knew she had a presentation of a lifetime. She allowed herself to gaze back evenly with a pleasant smile pasted on her face.

He gracefully bowed and motioned for her to walk inside as the doors opened.

Irked by his overly polite attentions Susan hesitated long enough to be passed by a young woman wearing a white lab coat.

Her dark curls were held back with a colorful sash and her brown eyes framed by dark rimmed glasses.

She quickly pushed the button for the parking lot at the base of the building. “Honey, we’re going up.” Stated Marcus matter of factly as he stepped inside followed by Susan and pressed floor 10. “Sorry, it’s an emergency.” She replied politely, the doors already closing.

Susan glanced at the girls badge grinding her teeth.

Gemma.

She would remember that name.

The elevator slowly glided downwards. The number of the floors lit up on the top of the door: number 6 then 5.

Susan shifted her weight and braced herself as the elevator came to a sudden halt somewhere between floors 5 and 4.

The lights flickered and shut off. “You have got to be kidding me!” Shouted Marcus pulling out his cell phone.

The blue screen shining light on his irritated face. Susan followed suit fishing in her bag for her new iPhone 11.

She had just purchased it with her most recent raise.

Marcus was already yelling into his phone at some poor 911 dispatcher.

But Gemma had disappeared. Susan looked around and found her huddled into the recesses of the back corner of the elevator.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. “Hey, are you ok?” Asked Susan. “I need to get out of here.” she replied.

Susan observed the shallow breathing and heard the strain in her voice, hinting at panic. “It’s going to be ok.

Marcus already called for help.

They will be here soon and get us out of this.”

Susan’s attempt at soothing came out clipped and annoyed.

She wasn’t used to being warm and friendly.

She understood the signs and symptoms and certainly didn’t want someone having a panic attack in the middle of a small elevator, but her social skill set was not the greatest.

At least that’s what the last boyfriend had made very clear to her.

What was it he had said?

She was an ice princess?

A vast wasteland of desert?

An emotional vacuum?

Well, whatever, not all women are born lovey dovey and why should they be?

She was smart, successful, moving up the career ladder and quite attractive to boot.

He was just a loser that couldn’t handle the competition.

And with that she dismissed him from her mind.

Wiped him clean out, never to be thought of again.

At least for a little while. Marcus angrily hung up. “They can’t be here for at least another half an hour or more.

Can you believe that?”

He reached for the elevator phone, pulling it out from behind the metal door.

“Don’t do that.” Said Gemma from her corner. “Young lady, you can stay huddled in that corner, but I am going to get out of here.” he replied stiffly, lifting the receiver to his ear.

He listened for what seemed an eternity, then silently hung up the phone.

“No answer” he stated. “Ok, I’ll get you out.” stated Gemma determinedly lengthening her long legs to a standing position.

She turned and placed one foot on the hand rail, pressing firmly to lift herself into the air and catching her balance by placing the other foot along the other wall, her hands braced against the ceiling.

“What are you doing?!” Susan demanded, startled by the sudden change in demeanor. “There’s a door on the ceiling I just need to open it and we can climb through.” “Brilliant!” Marcus clapped practically dancing on his feet. “No Marcus, that’s not brilliant.

She could hurt herself.

We just need to wait until help arrives.” interjected Susan irritably. Gemma had already worked the latch open and was leaning on Marcus’s outstretched hand. “Ok, just give me a boost up.” She directed him. He made a hammock with his hands for her foot and pushed upwards as she used her upper body strength to lift herself through the opening.

Marcus turned to look at Susan indicating for her to place her foot in his hands as well. “No thanks.

I’m not the adventurous type.”

She stated, crossing her arms. “Alright, suit yourself.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I’m sure the board will understand if you’re late.” That did it. Susan swung her satchel firmly across her chest and placed her foot in his hand.

It wasn’t nearly as graceful as Gemma had made the process look, but she somehow pulled herself through to the top of the elevator.

Gemma was already clinging to the wall of the elevator shaft and digging her fingers into the elevator door to force it open from the inside.

Susan fished through her bag again for the long silver letter opener she knew she had.

Placing it in her teeth she grasped the metal rings of the inlaid ladder on the shaft wall to climb up to Gemma.

“Here” she said, extending out the letter opener with one hand.

Gemma looked down and managed to reach the offered tool.

“Thanks,” she replied.

Using the letter opener she was able to shimmy the thick doors open and push them out all the way with her hands.

Susan followed her through the doors with Marcus not far behind.

Strangely, the hallway on level five was dark as well.

“This way to the stairwell.” Stated Marcus heading off down the hall using the light of his cellphone to show the way.

Just as they were nearing the door marked ‘stairs’ a guard burst through breathing heavily like he had run up from the bottom floor.

“Well finally!” Exclaimed Marcus. “We were the ones stuck in the elevator, but we’re out now, no thanks to you.” Gemma had backed away and was looking frantically around.

As she turned to look down the hallway another guard was heading in their direction.

Susan saw the calculations behind her eyes.

She knew how quickly the mind could size up a situation.

It only took an instant before the decision was made.

Gemma turned to Susan lifting her hand out for a handshake.

Susan found herself lifting her own hand in response and clasping Gemma's smaller slender palm. “Thank you so much for helping me.” Said Gemma.

“You are a good researcher, I’ve read your work.

I think you’re also a good person and would do the right thing.” Susan felt something hard and small pressed into her hand as Gemma's other hand came up to hers in a double clasp encouraging Susan's hand to close over the item before she was released.

Susan saw something in Gemma's eyes that made her stay quiet when the guards identified Gemma and took her away.