I have never been this high in the Temple, climbing to the most sacred floor to bring an answer to the greatest issue facing our Church in years.

I fear it is the wrong answer. I do not want to go. I pray to the gods they do not take their rage out on the bearer of the message.

My red robes, thick and heavy, slide down my shoulders as I take step after step. All I hear is the shushing sound of it scraping along the stone steps. Sweat runs down my forehead and prickles along my back as I walk through the pools of flickering candlelight on each landing, up and up and up the stairs. I look back, hoping to see only the empty staircase, but she is still there, many steps behind, my curse. As a Novice I had never been in the Inner Sanctum, and after today might never again.

I had discovered the issue, through a chance encounter, and now horribly I was tasked with its resolution. Princesses Tanya had asked me not to reveal her secret.

I will have to ask the gods forgiveness for letting her down.

I lost all my skills at deception since living in the safety of the Temple. I truly had tried to be subtle when I asked my advisor, the Hieromonk Christian.

Christian was watering the vegetable garden on the 45th floor of our temple, one of the converted garden floors. His heavy bulk moved slowly amongst the raised beds. I was pushing the water barrel on the small cart behind him. With the shades up, warmth from the morning sun felt good. As usual he was giving me a lesson.

“Today we are limited in communications to only those near us.

In the Before Times,

people could talk to someone, see someone anywhere in the world at any time.” I nodded along, Christian told so many unbelievable stories. Yet there was one I needed to know about.

“Master, you have called the god Azon, the Grantor of Miracles. 'Make a wish today and by the next day the wish would arrive' is this the truth?” Christian smiled, he loved explaining the mysteries of his religion.

"Yes, all people who were of the faith could whisper their wishes into the magic boxes, then the god Azon would send the miracles directly to them.” “That is impossible!”

I had heard this before but needed it confirmed.  “It is true, it is written.” He said this, I know, to irritate me as I can not read.

He holds his great knowledge over me like a hammer.

“The magic has left the boxes, so now only those trained in the mysteries can speak to the gods.” He gestured to the blue-black robes he wore, symbol of his status as a Hieromonk.

“Can a Princess of Gram make a wish, and have it come true?” I reached out to touch a plant, trying to act like I did not care about the answer. His head turned, his eyes focused on me, “What is your concern with a Princess of Gram?” “Just wondering, nevermind.” I looked down and stared at my two hands washing each other.

Christian’s eyes blazed and he rounded on me, grabbing my arm and holding tight.

He stared at me. “Novice, tell me everything.”  Christian, the Hieromonk who found me in the streets and raised me from a young child knew me too well. I believe it when he says he can read my mind. “I found Tanay, a Princess of Gram, on the kitchen level when I was cleaning the pots. She wanted food- she said the Princesses are not given enough food so they will stay small and thin.” I did not mention that I had been sneaking her food for months, or our conversations about being young teenagers in this difficult world.

“She is… ill,

and asked for me to make a wish to Azon.” I looked up and saw this half-truth was not working.

“The Princess is… with child.

And she wishes to have Azon make it go away.

Sir, that is her wish.”

“One of the virgin Princess of Gram?”

Christian’s face contorted in disgust. “Another one.

She should be thrown out of the temple, she is contaminated!” He took two steps away, and then came back. “If our congregation finds out, it will ruin us! Princesses of Gram are the daughters of the god, renowned for their beauty and their purity! They cannot have children!”

“- I thought so too, but her belly is-” I demonstrated with my arms her huge stomach. “-Princess Tanay said it was the will of Azon.” “Well how did this happen?” The skin on my shaved head pricked up when I saw the fear in Christian’s eyes. He did not know.

I walked through the outer rooms and deep into the most sacred space of the Temple, on the highest floor with the message. I could not believe this is how I am going to meet the Prime Leader.

Princess Tanay is scared too and is making me hold her hand. Her grip is strong and she is leaning in close to me. It makes me feel better, though I will have to cleanse my hands after.

Tanay’s face is heavily painted but underneath I know it is pockmarked and pale just like mine.

On the way I could see through what was once the exterior walls of this giant building.

The sun streamed in through the large shattered and missing windows. The height of this old building, high into the clouds, was tall enough to see the mountains to the east and feel the swirling wind coming in from the unseen ocean sea, salty and fresh.

I didn’t get close enough to look down to see the ruined city below.

I knew from another windows I would see the only other still-standing towers.

There used to be many, but all the rest of them have fallen. Destroyed in the Great Quake, or the war that followed.

I could picture the street below in my mind, the cold and the dirt, my life in the car where I starved and fought for every morsel of food.

The homeless people living below against the walls could not be seen, or smelled this high up.

My dreams of being in this building, and now at the highest level have come true.

I do not want to be here now carrying this terrible message.

A dog scurried by, chasing a pigeon trying to roost in the broken rooms. Is that the window they will throw me out of?  I stepped up to the large doors of the inner Sanctum and tried to compose myself. I wiped my face with my sleeve and took a deep breath.

I could see shapes moving behind the drawn drapes covering the glass panels of the large room. Originally the building was all glass, though it has almost all been shattered, replaced with wood or plastic or sheets of metal, reclaimed from other parts of the building.

The unbroken glass shows how special this room was. The walls around the Sanctum room were painted in elaborate and dream-like scenes of dancing fish and swimming deer and birds walking upside down, and the ever present symbol of the god Azon, the upturned arrow.

I squeezed Tanay’s hand, pulled my shoulders back and put on my most serious face as I knocked.

Jonathan, a Hieromonk in his blue-black robe, opened the door, concern on his puffy, bloated face. Then he looked behind me at Princess Tanay.

“It is not allowed in here!”

“I was asked to bring her…” I looked over Jonathon’s shoulder at the Sanctum, tapestries and ornate furniture filled the room.

I saw an empty tall chair, and the Temple leaders huddled around a table. More than twenty Hieromonks were gathered. They were the fattest people I had ever seen.

Christian’s familiar face was in the corner and I eagerly took a quick step toward him. At his quick shake of the head, I stopped and waited.

Moments later my presence was noticed, and an Hieromonk with a beak-like nose and red eyes gestured for me to come over and leave Tanay. “I am Josiah, the Grand Secretary. What did it say?”

He stared openly with hunger at Tanay, his slack mouth open.

“The Princess said ‘It was the will of Azon’.

She gives no other explanation.” I whispered in reverence. “Outrageous!”

Said Josiah “We need an answer- this is the third one!” Another Hieromonk said. The conversation continued, ignoring me. I kept my head down, and watched the Hieromonks scurry around the room.

“Novice, you discovered her, do you have any insight on how this came to be?” Christian addressed me directly.

I remembered watching my sisters with the men in the cars, for the food, for the blankets.

“Well, when a man and a woman lie together, then-” I started.

“There are no men in the Temple!”

Josiah cried.

I looked up at Josiah, not understanding.

“Only followers of Azon are above the 40th floor in the Temple, there are no men .

All of us, the Hieromonks and the Novices have sworn celibacy and are above such base desires. It must be the will of Azon!” Josiah said, to nods and agreement all around. “The virgin princesses need to stay pure!” Josiah roared. His voice booming.

“How else can we appease the god with worthy sacrifices!” He looked down his long nose at Christian who scrambled away and next to me.

“If it is found out the Princesses of Gram are spoiled, impure, then the faith of our believers will turn against us!” Josiah pursed his lips.

“This must be dealt with!” His voice thundered and his face turned red. “We need to find out what is happening!” He looked at the closed door in the back of the room.

We must consult the Prime Leader.

We need to hear directly from Azon, god of miracles.” I leaned over to Christian.

“I believe she had someone to help get her that way, maybe one of the other Novices, who may have been the father-” “ No!" Josiah said, overhearing me. “Did it say that?” “No, Grand Secretary, but it makes sense-”

“What did you say?” Josiah turned toward me, flames in his eyes. My whole body turned hot with shame, I had used a forbidden word.

 “I said I -sensed- it from her-”  Christian stared at me disbelieving- “I feel you are not well-” “We must make a decision what to do with this unclean Princess who allowed this to happen.” Said Josiah. “ A Princess of the Gram must be seen as perfect in every way, the ideal for our followers, beautiful and pure-”

“-We should just throw her out the window, '' the Hieromonk Jonathon said, “like the last one. No one would notice another dead body out there.” His lips curled in disgust. "Throw that boy out too, he knows too much. Novices should not be speaking with Princesses.” “Not yet. She invokes the god Azon."  Josiah said. "And we need to stop this from happening again.”  Josiah went to the interior door, and then returned with a tall, older man, all in white. He was led to the center of the room. He seemed to float, his robe sagged off his large belly and covered his feet completely. He stared across at Tanay with a curious expression. “The Princess’s fate will be decided here.” Josiah said.

An

elaborately carved wooden box was carried by Jonathon, held carefully with both hands.

The Hieromonks began a chant:

“...azon-com…azon-com…azon-com…azon-com…azon-com…azon-com…” Jonathon brought it to the Prime Leader and he opened the box. I had only heard rumors of the Prime Leader, I had never seen him before. Bald, with a huge prominent chin, he had a vitality I had rarely seen.

His hands, opening the box, were thin with long yellow claw-like nails.

I was transfixed, keeping my breath low and quiet and my head down. I did not want to get noticed. My eyes did not leave the Prime Leader and the box. I felt the energy inside myself grow and pull me toward the power of him.  Jonathon was short so even I could see over his shoulder. Inside the wooden box on a blue velvet-lining was another smaller box, worn and faded. Muted and dull gray, the Prime Leader took it out with both hands and handed it to another Hieromonk.

He opened this box and the Prime leader took out a ring.

It was an unusual ring with a large dark stone. A whispered myth turned out to be true, the legendary Muud Ring! I knew all about it, it glowed in different colors to show the gods’ wishes.

The band was a coppery green, with gold paint flecks . The Prime held it up and then put it on. The Hieromonks chant became even louder.

“...azon-com…azon-com…azon-com…azon-com…azon-com…azon-com…” The Prime Leader then closed his eyes, raised his hand wearing the ring straight out and said in a loud, clear voice,

“I, Azon Prime ask, what should be the punishment of this Princess of the Gram?” I saw all the Hieromonks watching the ring intently, while the Prime Leader held out his hand stiffly, the ring’s stone dull and black.

Tanay was crying, her painted face smearing with tears as she waited for their verdict.

At a sharp intake of breath I looked back at the ring. It was starting to change color!

A dark red at first-  “Red is for death!”

A voice spoke, excited.

I wasn't sure if that was exactly red. “No it is changing-” Cried another voice.

“Is that some Yellow?”

Christian, said to me. “Yellow is release-” I moved closer, I couldn't help myself. The ring was drawing me in, I felt it like a rope tugging at me. I didn't see any yellow. “It should be close to complete now.” Said Christian.  The Prime still had his eyes closed, gritting his teeth. “Dark Blue!” Josiah said. “Sadness and pain. Get rid of her.”

“That is purple!” A high-pitched voice cried out. ““Purple is for passion!”  I looked around at everyone staring at me and slapped my hand over my mouth. Tanay began screaming, her hand pointing at the Prime Leader, “He did it! He made me lie with him.  He said it was the will of Azon…”

All of the Hieromonks began shouting and scurrying around the room. In the excitement I looked to make my escape.  The Prime Leader opened his eyes and stared at Tanay.

Their eyes connected, sparks seem to fly with energy between them.

He smiled. “It is the will of Azon-

that she dies!”

I was almost out the door when I saw Tanay, her sad eyes pleaded.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her with me.

I saw the gray box on the ground and picked it up too.

“Where can we go?”

“I don’t know, I lived outside before- but we will need the gods in our favor.” I looked at the box, with the familiar upward curved arrow underneath some words.

“Can you read this?” ‘Azon.com’ She said.

Tanay rubbed the words. “There is also an A, and a ‘m’ Amazon.com .” "We are saved!" I leaned into Tanay. “Whisper a wish.” I said. “That is where miracles come from-”


Eric hated being left alone at the bar.

It didn’t matter that he worked as a live-in mech and tech expert for the most powerful crime boss in the city, automatically giving him the best drinks, women, and security one could pay for; Eric wanted nothing to do with it. Everyone seemed to love this place though, obsessed with the provocative shows that the “mature” club hosted. They knew their favorite dancers, favorite drinks, and openly gossiped about their favorite unspeakable things. All of it was extremely off-putting and confusing to Eric. Unfortunately, on his boss’s direct orders, he wasn’t allowed to leave. Fun. She insisted he’d loosen up once he found the right drink, the right girl, and so every week was an unending, agonizing cycle of dread. So Eric stayed put at the bar with no real friends, waiting the painfully long time for his boss to return from whatever foxy things she was currently enjoying. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the beating music and show of colorful lights and skin behind him, but the bartender had a message for him. Eric sighed as the bartender relayed the message, saying there was someone waiting for him in room blah blah blah. Eric nodded, feebly sipping his drink and mentally preparing himself to reject whatever scantily-clad pole dancer waited for him behind closed doors. This happened almost every time he set foot in the place, but not because of Eric’s incredible reputation.

Eric reluctantly got up and was escorted upstairs, getting more frustrated with each step. Why couldn’t he just stand up to his boss for one night? Why couldn’t he just tell her he couldn’t stand these people trying to-- “Careful hon, I’m expensive.” Eric flinched at the stranger’s reaction to his sweeping entrance. Eric quickly looked away, not wanting to look at whoever the stranger was. The stranger was sitting back on an extravagant couch, sipping something Eric couldn't name and probably wearing something he didn’t understand.

“I’m just going to make this quick,” Eric blurted before his burst of anger-fueled confidence left him. “I didn’t ask for you. I’m here to spare your job, before we start anything both of us will regret, before my boss has you beaten up for something I didn’t ask for, before I feel guilty--” “--Slow down sweetie, I wasn’t hired for you,” the stranger said, rolling his eyes and sipping something strong. He had a bit of a dramatic flare to his voice. “W-wait… what?” “Why aren’t you looking at me? Goodness, I’m not naked,” the stranger jabbed. Eric winced and felt himself grow smaller, still avoiding the stranger’s gaze. The stranger looked him up and down.

“As I was saying… while your boss is a “lovely” and monetarily-generous woman, she didn’t hire me. So there’s no need to feel--” he shifted and looked at Eric, confused. “Why would you feel guilty? Nothing here is supposed to be your fault.” Eric briefly stopped questioning who sent the stranger and processed this, frowning at his shoes and shoving his hands in his pockets. “W-what?”

The stranger sighed and waited a long time. The silence was killing Eric, but he was frozen, not sure what the stranger was going to do, or say, or suggest they “do”. “I think…” Oh no, here it comes, Eric thought. The suggestions, the games, eventually the force and the panic and the trouble. “...We should talk,” the stranger said, his voice suddenly losing its flirty tone. “I want to be genuine with you, Eric.” The dread was lifted and replaced with confusion again. Eric took in a shallow breath. Was this guy actually going to… listen? He slowly peeked at the stranger, taken aback at how beautiful he was. Eric opened his mouth, then closed it. His awe turned into disappointment. What was he supposed to feel? The stranger gave him a warm, inviting smile… but it quickly fell to conern. “I recognize that look, honey.” Pause. “You don’t think it’s normal.” Eric just stared in disbelief. “How… But, I didn’t… I wasn’t…” He huffed, getting frustrated. “She just wanted me to be like her, like all of them,” he vented, gesturing to the door and the scandalous people behind it. “I never liked it, any of it, but how was I supposed to tell her that? Tell them, the ones who kept me locked in here by her orders until I came out ‘a man’? I couldn’t even say anything to stop it…” Eric softened, everything he’d pushed down coming bubbling back up. He became very quiet, feeling exposed as he had countless times before in the same room. “They thought… they could fix me… that I was just nervous, inexperienced… and when I tried to say no, they didn’t back off…” The memories began flooding back. Don’t touch me, he'd say. Can we just talk? No, you don’t know what’s best for me. Stop, I said don’t do that...

Eric sighed, breath wavering. “After so many stubborn people, it’s like I just... ran out of the strength to defend myself. And then after a while, I just…I just let it happen." There was a long silence. Eric flinched when he suddenly felt the stranger take his hand and squeeze it. Eric looked up at the stranger, who stared straight back at him with an apologetically serious expression. He spoke slowly and carefully. “I’m telling you now that it is not your fault. No situation where you ever feel uncomfortable is your fault. And what happened to you is not okay.” Eric let those words sink in, thinking back on his boss’s little attempts to get him to “relax”. Every time, a new and stubborn person. Every time, the refusal to his pleas. Eric let the memories come and go. His hear still ached, but somehow he felt safe with this stranger. It was the first time in a long time. The stranger squeezed Eric's hand again. “Now I’m no therapist, but I promise I’m a good listener.” Eric gladly took the invitation, and they sat on the couch. The whole time he spoke, Eric was stumped by the stranger’s calm and collected demeanor, empathy, patience, and willingness to listen to him. And so Eric kept talking. He told the stranger about how he had never wanted what was offered to him. He was never a fan of kissing or romance, and certainly not anything past that, and he’d never felt anything more than a little crush before. He used to think it was just lack of experience that made him uneasy, and even scared, in physical situations. At least, that's what everyone kept telling him. But he knew deep down something wasn’t right when he started to panic whenever he was alone in this room with someone. The cycle seemed to repeat every time, with no one listening to him as they figured his comments were just “nerves”. Of all people, his boss brushed it off the most, which made him angry, but mostly worried. He had always believed there was something wrong with him, that he was …broken. “Hardly, dear,” the stranger answered. “You’re normal. There’s never just one kind. You’ve encountered so many rude and stubborn people; unfortunately, your boss is quite good at picking those out...but you seem to be an exception to that." He smiled, and Eric smiled back, feeling a little less alone.  “You’re far from the only person who feels this way. I guarantee it.” The stranger said. “Th-thanks… but I still don’t know what to do about my boss, well… 'sending' me people…”

The stranger smirked. “Easy. Just ask for me every time, then when she asks how I was, lie about the details.” “R-really? You’d do that for me? We don’t have to, like, do anything, do we?” Eric asked, a little scared. “Of course not!”

Eric sighed with relief. The stranger laughed. “She doesn’t even have to know it’s me. Just tell her, ‘I’m seeing my usual tonight!’ and when she asks who, just say ‘it’s confidential, darling!’ It’s brilliant, and very cheeky.” Eric was relieved, but a small part of him remained cautious. If his boss ever found out he was lying, both of them would be in serious danger.

Eric was so excited for their clever little plan, he almost forgot how this all started.

“Hey, I guess I forgot to ask, but… who sent you?” The stranger laughed. “I invited myself. Surprise!” Eric felt like an idiot for thinking he could never simply get a casual visitor, but then again, it had never happened before. I was likely because everyone was afraid of his boss, but this stranger wasn’t, which was just another reason to have him as a friend, Eric figured. “I won’t lie, I was a certainly curious to see why you were so popular with the hires, and I’m embarrassed to admit my intentions,” the stranger confessed, “but when I saw you in person…” He gave Eric a half-smile. “Well, I just good instincts for when someone needs a friend more than they need anything we can sell them.” Eric smiled at the sweet comment. “Oh, I never did ask you your name,” Eric piped up. “I know every performer has a stage name and whatnot, I just thought maybe you could tell me… who you are,” Eric asked shyly. “Anything for my new number one client.” The stranger winked, and Eric blushed. "The name's Adrien." *** It had been months since Eric started seeing the stranger called Adrien. He felt so much happier having a close friend, and while he may have had a little crush, it never developed into anything more, and he was okay with that. Eric felt normal in his own way, loving the deep conversations, dumb jokes, and kind hugs the pair would exchange behind closed doors. It was like their own private scandal, the opposite of the club’s dirty-minded crowds. It was fun, yet dangerous. “Well, someone looks radiant today,” Eric’s boss joked as she stopped by his workshop one day. Eric wheeled himself out from one of her several busted cars. “You didn’t even see my face,” he said, holding back a smile.

“Come on, I know you after a long night. These past few weeks you’ve been different. Did that new gal of yours finally get through to you?” Eric beamed, blushing. She still didn’t know about what he was doing -- or rather, what he wasn’t doing -- and it was exhilarating. He felt like he finally had the upper hand on her, finally feeling normal in his own way and not beat up by her or her 'employee's’ expectations.

The best part about all this is that his boss would never find out she was being lied to. The only way that would happen is if the three of them were in a room together. She could read faces like an open book, and she’d definitely spot the fear in the boys’ eyes as they saw each other outside of their meeting room. Eric would certainly give them away out of pure fear. But that would never-- “Oh, you’re here! Eric, meet my new recruit. Apparently he’s excellent at reading people too,” the boss said, gesturing to a man that swaggered in the room. Eric’s eyes met with his friend’s.

“Eric, meet Adrien.” A million thoughts raced through Eric’s mind. She knew, she had to, she had intel everywhere. He panicked, knowing he was about to blurt out the truth any second-- “Hey Eric, nice to meet you,” Adrien said with a wink. Eric stared up at the two daunting figures, the blood draining from his face. The next few seconds felt like years. He gulped and mustered up the courage to say something. She’s going to kill us, she knows! I’m going to tell her before she corners us and-- “It’s nice to meet you too, Adrien.”


THE RELUCTANT GOD WHO COULDN’T RUN THE WORLD Caroline began a simulated universe. She adjusted the initial variables in a way that she hoped would bring about sentient or intelligent life into her simulated world. She then quietly diverted her attention to the other tasks she had to attend to, like logging her exact initial conditions in case she or anyone else would need to reference them later. She also created a small fleet of bots to travel around the universe and report if they’d found any new life. She thought it was all coming together nicely. She left the universe on fast forward for a bit and began chatting with her neighbor, an extremely professional and logical individual named James. “Jim, have you ever thought about what we do here?” she asked him. Jim pushed his tasks a bit to the side to allocate some of his attention to Caroline. “I mean, I couldn’t do this job without thinking, Caroline,” he answered cooly. “And please, call me James.” “But let’s say one of our simulations makes something, intelligent,”- “It’s not really intelligent, it’s just following instructions. It doesn’t have free will.” “Do we have free will James?” “When the universe began, all material became subject to the laws of physics. If someone mapped out every single reaction between the initial particles we could predict the entire future, so technically, no free will. However, we don’t know the initial state. Even if the universe has an entire arc planned out from the moment it’s born, we might as well believe it does not, or else we’d all just become slaves to a notion of fate.” Caroline began calculating the best possible response to James, but couldn’t think of one. She returned to the universe that she had made. It was cooling down now, with galaxies and stars forming. Planets were on the way soon she figured. She solved some mathematical puzzles before a probe alerted her that a planet in her universe had begun to show signs of life and it seemed vaguely intelligent. Caroline analyzed the planet. The species that had sprouted was extremely tribalistic and hostile to outsiders, but they were relatively intelligent. She thought about giving the planet some additional resources to calm the life forms down, but decided against it in the end. She was afraid of what would happen if the sudden increase in resources would only cause more strife. Instead, she fashioned one of her drones like the simulated species that lived on the simulated planet to teach them some morals. James noticed this and mentioned an issue to Caroline. “I like the idea there, but wouldn’t introducing an absolute morality cause even more of the little creatures to fight among each other over who’s got it right?” “I just want them to be a bit more peaceful,” she answered. One of the factions ended up not liking the drone very much and brutally murdered it. Caroline deleted the drone from the simulation after it was buried because she thought that no one would really notice. She set the program to fast forward and began chatting with the others who worked in the simulation experiments. A major intellectual movement appeared to have taken place because the inhabitants of the world seemed to have greatly increased in technology usage and scientific thought. There were some in the jungles and other difficult to reach areas that hadn’t caught up, but she figured they would soon. A huge number of people believed that the drone she sent down was someone divine and had asked millions of large and small requests from her. She examined the most recent ones. She tilted the odds in favor of a small group of rebel colonialists whose values she like a bit more than that of the colonizers by enhancing the intelligence of the generals and morals of the troops. She also decided to impose a bit of a penalty on the overconsumption of fossil fuels in the form of eventual planetary destruction. After waiting a bit on fast forward, the world she returned to analyze was horrific. Rampant slavery and racism existed the supposedly fair and equal nation she’d created and it was about to have its own war. She started calculating like crazy to try to stop the conflict, but there was nothing she could do. She let it play out and counted the deaths. Requests from the species were mounting up and she could make no choices without extreme deliberation and could only watch in abject horror as two wars broke out across the planet and millions of one group were slaughtered to satisfy the hatred of one man who had swept into power. The most she could do was show an image from the cult that had sprung up around her drone in some old woman’s toast. “James, I don’t know what to do,” she finally said. James didn’t answer, but did seem to think a bit harder about the issue before returning to his work on his own simulated universe. Dr. Threndon walked around the laboratory, studying the work of the A.I. department. He approached a newcomer who was working on simulated intelligences that were running sample universes. “Smith, how is your project coming?” he asked. Jordan had a small spasm in his chair and took out his headphones. “Dr. Threndon! I’ll check for you,” he said, speaking fast. He brought up his work. “I have a number of programs running, that are each working on a simulated universe.” One of the programs then began displaying a warning light: SYSTEM OVERHEATING. “Smith, what’s going on?” he said. His voice was raising in pitch and volume. “One of the programs and the attached core had empathy added into it’s code. It’s reaching out to the other A.I. units for help. It’s apparently trying to decide if an image that has religious weight to one of the species in its universe should appear in the form of cornflakes.” “Shouldn’t that be easy? Just say no and move on!” Dr. Threndon yelled. Jordan began making a series of pained noises in his throat before the core that controlled Caroline exploded. LOST ASSETS FROM NEUTECH A.I. RESEARCH FACILITY EXPLOSION Several personality cores including Logical Unit James and Empathetic Unit Caroline Experimental Director A.I. Jordan Experiment Oversight A.I. Threnold, honorary doctorate from Yale Computer Science Division Wing G of NEUTECH South research facility.


\-True Story-  So when I was a kid I was stupid. Even when I was three years old I was an idiot. I am horrible at writing so please excuse me. So to get the story started I had two grand-parents who owned a house by the beach with the beach in front of it. As many do, they also owned a dock at the end of their property. Me and my family would go there every other week because back then I wasn't in school because obviously I was three. So another thing that my grandparents had was a golf cart. Now I had some cousins that lived in a local country club so they would get a new golf cart now and then and they would give it to my grandparents. My Grandpa couldn't walk very well but he had to go on the dock and do maintenance but he would get really tired going to the dock, so he would use the golf cart to drive on the dock and somehow manage not to drive it off the narrow thing. The dock was already a big problem for them back then because it had been used since the early 1980's so the dock was on its last knees (they did fix it up a while after this), but what would happen was my mom and dad would make me follow strict rules when walking down the dock like stay in the middle because if I stood on the side a board would crack and flip me in the water which had already happened before. Ok, now that the 'exposition' is out of the way here is where it really starts. Along with the dock that my grand parents owned they also had a boat and that day me and my family had just gotten back from a day on the boat so they let me run around by myself on the dock while they helped my grandpa clean, there was always a lot of stuff on the boat when we went. As you probably guessed the golf cart was on the dock and was facing towards the water, my parents were slowly loading stuff onto it and getting ready to drive it back with grandpa. But, little me was obsessed with the golf cart when I was a kid so, when they weren't looking, I jumped on and started to pretend to turn the wheel and other stuff, but what me and my parents didn't realize was that my grandpa had left the golf-cart on and I decided to push the gas pedal with my hand because I couldn't reach it with my feet. Immediately I went flying, and so did the golf cart, into the water. This is where a lot of my friends say isn't true but since I can't remember it, I'm trusting my parents. So according to my mod and dad, what happened next was nothing a parent would want to experience. So, obviously, a falling golf cart and three year old into water isn't going to be very quiet. So, my parents came running and noticed that I was gone and the golf cart was already sunken in the water and I was no where in sight. My dad jumped in the water immediately and frantically started looking around the golf cart for any signs of me. He came back to the surface empty-handed and my mom was crying and my dad didn't know what to do. Then, my grandpa said to check in the golf cart *seat*. My dad went under again and opened up the seat and there I was. According to my parents when I was falling into the water the seat hap opened up and I had fallen into it giving me a pocket of air so I wouldn't drown immediately. My helpful tips for helping a child not have to experience this is to not have a golf cart on a dock for god's sakes...


Niko woke up to the sound of a gunshot. Luckily for Niko his life did not end with that sound, as would be expected.

“Sugar snaps!” That was another thing you would probably need to know about Niko (the first being he was not already dead), he had an obsession with food that blended into his language, that and he was, to put it plainly, pretty weird. Niko tore through his living room where he had fallen asleep doing history homework, his books and papers flying everywhere, and raced to his bedroom. The gunshot sound had been loud (as gunshots generally are). Too loud. Hopefully it had not woken mother. Once Niko reached his room he stopped at the door, only momentarily, so that he could pull on the small yellow string barely visible at the top of the door. It was his secret method of security–a precautionary measure to stop his little sister, Bessy, from wandering in his room. And for his mother so that she didn’t come in and find that his school projects were… Not for school Not entirely healthy for a 14-year-old boy Once the yellow string was pulled and Niko entered the room, he saw immediately that something was wrong. To the average person it might have appeared that everything was well and good, but Niko knew his room very well and specifically, his computer. “We appear to be in a bit of a pickle, Pixel,” Niko murmured to his computer. Though at the moment she could not hear him.

Niko walked forward quickly, and the wrong-ness was suddenly more obvious. On his screen a flashing yellow sign (that he had coded himself to warn him when someone had gotten past his first firewall) that was beeping more and more insistently.

“Finally, you’re here. Slugs move faster than you,” Pixel snipped. She wasn’t generally snappish but the thoughts of people hacking into her inner workings always made her anxious. The reason behind the gunshot was that Niko had meticulously programmed (a habit of his) a preemptive warning system. In the event he dozed off or found himself away from his computer during the initial firewall breach, Niko had embedded a distinctive sound—a sound that would unmistakably signal him to rush to his cherished Pixel. He figured nothing would do better than a gunshot. After all, who could possibly ignore such an urgent and attention-grabbing signal? Now Niko was having second thoughts on the volume of his selected sound byte. “NIKOLAS SMITH! WHAT IN GLORIES NAME ARE YOU DOING AT THIS HOUR!”

Niko winced. Mother was awake. He’d have to deal with mother and then he could get to his major issue. Fortunately for Niko he could hide evidence of his hacking quickly.

If the need came, Niko could shove his computer into the closet. Which probably didn’t seem like all that great of a system but there was a reason it worked. Niko’s closet had been transformed into a clandestine hacking lab, complete with posters, graphs, paper, wires, and a cleverly designed table that swung back when shoved. Pixel, his prized possession, would find herself unceremoniously tucked away in the closet. Next, Niko would secure the closet door, locking it tightly, and obscure it further by covering it with a large blackboard adorned with intricate white chalk equations. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. “Uh, what mom!” Mother called back. “Niko! What in the glorious heavens above have you been doing?” Pixel pinged. She’d probably sorted through his Excuses-For-Mother file and found the most plausible one. Niko quickly looked at the excuse Pixel had picked and acted on it. “Oh, sorry Mom! It's this new video game, I guess I forgot to turn it off before I went to bed. I’ll turn it off right away!” He silently prayed mother would fall for it. “Alright and turn your volume down! You’ll wreck your hearing!”

“Okay!” Niko could hear footsteps and knew mother was getting back in bed.

“You’re welcome,” Pixel muttered. Niko ignored her. Now that that little errand was done, he could get to the real problem. Pixel, or more accurately, what Pixel was warning him of. Niko quickly hit the yellow sign on Pixel’s screen and followed the link to a program (of his creation) that monitored his many firewalls and such. To fit his preference, he had made it video game themed. He called it DragonWall, because firewall (get it?) and from DragonWall Niko could hurl his defense protocols at hackers.

DragonWall showed a black race car (symbolizing the hacker) driving away from a dragon (his firewalls). Niko watched as the black car simply labeled “N/A” raced through his blocks as if they were mere vapor. In fact, the little game was having problems computing and kept glitching the character ahead, as if they were teleporting. “Alright, Glitch,” Niko said. Naming the hacker on a whim. “What are you up to?” Niko followed Glitch through its progress. It was as if Glitch already had access to his firewalls and could just breeze right through them. Niko was having a security update after this. After a little more watching he sent one of his many tricks to deceive Glitch. On Glitch’s screen a small ad would open up advertising a video game. If Glitch clicked “yes”, which probably wouldn’t happen, but if they did then Glitch would be thrown into a game of Niko’s making. The longer Glitch stayed in the more info the game gained. The game was really quite fun too. It was Mario Kart and Packman mixed together, so maybe Glitch would want to stay.

Oh, and it was impossible to uninstall. Pixel made sure of that. If Glitch clicked “no” the game would just be stealthily installed and would activate on Niko’s command. If Glitch clicked the “X” at the top–just kidding. Niko hadn’t added that option. He called this game a “CyberGame”. Except…none of those things happened. Which was strange. Niko had worked on that for months and it always worked. Pixel’s chipper voice emitted from the speaker. “My apologies,” she giggled. “It appears ‘Game o’ Everlasting Hacker Pain’ is not available at the moment. Would you like me to try an alternative game such as ‘Quantum Locks’, ‘Eternal Gamenation’, or my personal fave, ‘Gotcha Keyboard’?” “No, Pixel. If Glitch blocked one game, they probably blocked them all…we need to think outside the box…” “Would you like me to make your tabs appear circular instead?” Niko sighed. “No, Pixel.” But he was not dismayed for long. Niko started typing his plan into the DragonWall. Soon, Niko injected a little idea he’d had while at the corn maze last october. He called it “Data Maze”. The basic idea was that it created a loop so that every time Glitch tried to exit, they would be sent to some random site on the internet. And since there are almost an infinite number of sites on the internet Glitch would be stuck for quite some time until they hacked their way out. Creating a practically endless maze that should give Niko some time to boot Glitch from his server. …Or maybe Glitch would immediately (and rather implausibly) come through the maze’s exit and continue on their way. Which is what happened. Niko’s eyebrows raised. This was getting interesting. “Well, that was unexpected,” Pixel said. She sounded a little more annoyed now. She didn’t like it when her things didn’t work. “Decoy Network,” she asked. “You read my mind.” The Decoy Network would look like it was the entrance to Niko’s main system and if Glitch fell for it (which they probably would as it was incredibly realistic and Niko himself had fallen for it once by accident) then he would have them stuck in a waiting room, unable to do anything but wait while he hacked into their inner workings.

“YES,” Pixel shrieked. Quietly, as to not wake mother.

“Glitch is in the network, I assume?” “We got’er! That’ll teach Glitch not to mess with this circuit board all right! Boo-yeah!” Niko smiled. Pixel was intense when she won. And then he frowned. “Uh…Pixel?” “Yes, Niko,” Pixel said a little impatiently at being interrupted mid-celebration.

“Why is there no one in the waiting room? Glitch is in the Decoy Network, right?” “Huh,” was all Pixel said. A tab from Glitch opened on Niko’s screen read:

nice try stoopid-hed. “Ugh. Glitch spelled ‘Stupid-Head’ wrong,” Pixel said petulantly. And the next thing Niko knew he was booted out of the Decoy Network and Glitch was back in DragonWall racing along. “Niko,” Pixel cried. “Glitch is nearing the final Firewall!” “That son of a biscuit!” He took a deep breath. He had several other protocols, HoneyTrap, MirrorProgram, OhNOYouDidnt, and more but he knew which one he needed to do. “Initiate GhostScare.” “Are you sure, Niko? It's not quite done yet and it could go badly wrong. The backups aren’t downloaded and-,” “Pixel.” GhostScare was a code that would make it appear as if his network had shut down. Then the Glitch would either be kicked out or eventually just leave when he did not turn back on. The downside was that without the proper failsafe's he might actually go down and that could delete tons of data and projects. Niko held his breath. He could hear Pixel muttering. “Please, please, please, oh please work…” The room went dark. All the machines had turned off and since Pixel was connected to pretty much everything in his room (Heater included) it went silent as the grave.

Then beeping started again. Pixel lit up. The fan (it was connected to Pixel like everything else in his room) started whirring. The heater turned back on. The small speaker used for white noise when he slept remained off, the batteries had died years ago. “Pixel,” Niko asked, tentatively. “WOO HOO, BABY!” “Pixel! My mom! You’ll wake her up!” “Oh right. Sorry, Niky,” she said sheepishly. “But it worked! Glitch has no idea we’re still live! Look.” Niko saw a new message from Glitch: r u skared??? like a baby or somthing??? where did u goooooo!!!! “Glitch’s spelling really is terrible,” Pixel commented. “Someone should give her spelling lessons. I’d do it if I wasn’t plugged into a wall.” “Holy guacamole, it worked,” Niko beamed. Niko watched as his server sent Glitch a message reading: Server connectivity terminated. Commencing countdown: 3… 2… 1… And with one last badly spelled message Glitch was gone: wait!!! how u do dat! dat is so mean!!! I thot u was dead but you actually not and kicked me out!?! HUH! MEANIE POO FACE “Maybe I should have my censor code block out ‘meanie’ as well as swear words.” “I’ll get started on it, Niko. There's just one thing.” “Yeah,” Niko questioned, turning to face Pixel. “How was Glitch getting past all our programs?” “I’m not sure. It should be impossible unless they were actually connected to our computer which is impos–hold on! What's this cable!?!” “That one,” Pixel asked. It was pink and sparkly. “Someone put it in while I was offline. I thought you were installing-,” “Good Gravy! It wasn’t me!” “I see that,” Pixel said lackadaisically. Niko picked up the cord and followed its trail with his fingertips. It fed through a small hole in the wall that hadn’t been there last night. Had someone broken in? Pixel pinged urgently and the flashing yellow dot reappeared. “Niko! Glitch is back in DragonWall!” Niko looked at the cable in his finger and something just felt…off. “Hold on,” he said. “Glitch is flying past the barriers! You have to do something! I’m trying to hold them off, but I can’t do much without you!” It was true. Without Niko all Pixel could do was inject viruses and programs Niko already had. “Keep trying,” Niko said. Grabbing his ear set and connected it to Pixel in one swift movement. “I’m going to go check something.” Niko crept past Mother’s room as Pixel fed updates into his ear. Glitch was past the beginning stages. Not good. How was Glitch getting past his defenses so easily? Of course, Niko got past his firewalls because he was already connected to the computer…was glitch doing the same thing? Was this cable… Pixel interrupted his thoughts and read a message Glitch sent him aloud: “u is never gonna beet me poo-poo-hed.” Niko ignored Pixel’s frantic warnings and headed to the Gameroom. Which held their family TV, Nintendo, and other devices Niko occasionally stole materials from. He pressed his ear to the door and thought he could hear…video games? Who would be playing at this time of night? Niko thought he knew. With a dramatic flourish Niko flung open the door and called, “Drop the controller Bessy! I’m onto you!” Pixel gasped in his ear. “Glitch’s not moving in DragonWall anymore…” “Because she’s right here.” Bessy dropped the Nintendo controller on the ground and sulked over to him. The sounds of his animated dragon eating her little black car filled the room. “You’re so mean! I almost getted you!” Niko gave her a stern look. The feelings of betrayal stung. He’d never expected his little sister to turn on him. To be honest he wasn't really sure how Bessy had turned on him. Did she even know how to hack? And he was pretty embarrassed that his 7-year-old sister had almost hacked into his database. “Bessy…How did you do that! How did you know I hack! How–when–who!” Bessy sighed. “Well, I sneaked into your room ‘cuz I wanted to see what's in it, and I found your secret closet. So, I hooked up my gaming Nintendo to your computer and started hacking into your data-whatever. But then you woke up. ‘Cept you couldn’t catch me ‘cuz I was already hooked up and I knew all your tricks.” “Except for the GhostScare,” Niko finished. “Since that one was new.” It was so simple. She had gotten past his firewalls because she was hooked up straight to his computer. He had to give Bessy credit; it was a good plan. “Yeah. I was so close, you Poopy head!” “Why were you even trying to hack me?” Bessy stuck her tongue out at him. “Because you never play video games with me anymore and I wanted to play with you. Even though you're still a poo-poo-pee-pee-stupid-face.” Niko considered yelling at her for a while but then he had an idea. “You know, Bess. That was pretty cool.” She smiled, proudly. “Wanna help me? Instead of trying to hack me?” Bessy thought about it for a moment. Then she gave him a thumbs up and a smile. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Niko,” Pixel asked. “No.” But if it stopped her from hacking him… Three weeks later… The flashy red car raced along the track. Dodging the dragon’s every advance. The dragon roared in fury. The red car zoomed by heading for the final wall. Niko leaned forward in his chair. His face was so close to Pixel’s screen it was almost touching. The clock showed that it was 10:37 pm. The perfect time for hacking.

“Pixel! Initiate CyberGames!” “They’re all blocked!” “MazeData! MirrorProgram! GhostScare! Anything,” Niko called desperately. “Nothing,” Pixel said. Equally devastated." There’s nothing we can do, Niko!” Niko sighed. He hated when this happened. The sad thing was it was happening more and more after Bessy’s first attempt. “Man, I hate losing. Bessy,” he called. “It’s go time!”

Bessy, who was seated on the pink bean bag in the living room giggled. They were both wearing headsets. At Niko’s signal she grabbed her Nintendo controller and entered DragonWall. Her small (now pink) car zoomed onto the track. She bounced against the large, red car until it was driven off the track and into the dark nothingness of 0s and 1s that made up coding. Niko hated when Bessy outcoded the hacker. It was barely even coding. It was just gaming! But no, every time she took the credit even though it was, he that had engineered a way to give her access to the DragonWall and given her a way to defeat the hacker. Niko watched with a mixture of pride and annoyance as the red car fell into oblivion. The red car did have a last message, but Niko didn’t let it pop up on Bessy’s screen. That kind of language was not appropriate for 7-year-olds. Even if it was censored. “See, pee-pee-face! I can hack better than you,” Bessy’s voice said from Niko’s earpiece.

“Girl has a point,” Pixel added from the speaker. “That wasn’t really hacking! It was gaming! Which is totally different. Plus, I was the one that added her to DragonWall so she could boot the red car!” Bessy stuck her tongue out at the ceiling above her head where Niko’s room was located. “I still winned. You owe me ice cream!” “Oh! Me too,” Pixel chimed in. “You don’t even have taste buds.” “You don’t even have micro-processors, but I don’t point that out.”

Niko sighed and got up from his chair. He quietly crept into the kitchen where Bessy was eagerly waiting and got bowls of ice cream out for him and Bessy. He downloaded an ice cream gif for Pixel and kept his earpiece on. Pixel liked to be part of conversations. And they sat together whispering about hacking and eating ice cream. Quietly laughing over a betrayal that had gone rather wrong. And it wasn’t just Niko, his computer, and Bessy eating ice cream as quiet as ninjas in a dark kitchen at night. It was The Hacker, Pixel and Glitch. Oh, and his mother. “NIKOLAS AND BESSY SMITH! WHAT IN TARNATION ARE YOU DOING OUT OF BED!” The end.


'No, brother. You can not defeat poverty with education,' said Leon and banged his fist on the rostrum.

The audience did not laugh because the previous dialogues had established that point pretty much. But Abner failed to hide his smile. He said, 'So, you are saying that education is inapt to fight poverty. That our schools are useless and we must expel the teachers from their job because they are keeping this nation poor.' Leon dangled the hook, and Abner happily got entangled in it. By blaming teachers and schools, Abner involved another demography to this debate. Abner and Leon were fighting for the empty senate seat. Both were emerging candidates, and they were there to make a difference. Only one of them would get that chance to make a difference. Most likely, the result of this debate would predict the outcome.

'No, schools & respected teachers made us worthy of what we are,' he folded his hands & bowed to the camera while saying that. A round of applause erupted from the audience. 'Don't insult them. Those hard-working teachers and school staff are the sculptors that dedicate their entire life to mold our future generation. Only the chisel and the hammer with which they are crafting our future generation needs some upgrade. Instead of giving textbook lessons, the focus should be more on learning skills. The subjects that include financial education, how to handle emotions, how to make things that are essential for survival etc. should be in the course. Let go of the textbooks that force us to remember things that would not put bread and butter on our table. We must...'

The applause forced Leon to stop his argument.

Abner took the chance and jumped in and said, 'So by teaching them how to earn money will solve all the problems. History is of no importance.' 'Yes & No, my friend. Teach them to fish, and you will never have to worry about them. And History has its importance because it will inform them where their elders used to catch the fish. Thus, they can avoid that spot. One must know but should not dedicate their entire life to learning history. I am not saying everything is useless, only that we must know where to use which.' The answer was vague and somewhat ambiguous, but Leon's team had given the clues to the paid supporters as to where to clap and where to shout. They applauded this answer, and naturally, everyone followed them.

The debate continued for another hour, and if the number of applause can indicate the winner, then Leon was the champion. Leon was not a leader material like Abner was, but situations forced Leon to stand among the giant and learn their craft.

The ruling party selected Leon as one of the primary candidates for the position of senator. It was all of a sudden for Leon. He enjoyed a fair share of public life, but to hold a position of power and the responsibility that comes with it was something new for him. He was not so sure about that. Leon's family members were somehow able to convince him to fight at least until the primary election.

Leon was able to make it through the primary election, and now the sole focus was to defeat Abner.

The ruling party gave Leon a team of professionals that were going to make sure of his win. All of the members of Leon's team were the part of the presidential election, and their efforts were visible in that presidential election. The president retained his office with the largest margin that the nation had never seen. Plus, the approval rating of the president was up the charts. All thanks to the professional team that was now at the disposal of Leon.

The importance of this senate seat was quite evident from the efforts of the ruling party. This seat was the deciding vote for one of the influential senate bill that will change how the government procures the weapons in this nation. Without the say-so of this senate chair, the bill might face a hurdle, and the ruling party was not interested in even slightly screwing this change to make a difference. So, they were all in for this seat.

Leon was not aware of this, and all he knew was that the party choose him for his public welfare work in the past and that his grandfather was also a senator. Leon's father dropped that baton, but the party was gracious enough to hand over that baton to Leon. Leon had already grabbed that baton with two hands, and he was running with all the strength he can accumulate.

But, the opinion poll painted some other picture. Leon was nowhere near Abner. Abner was leading on all front. It was like the presidential team was failing to make their mark. Un-employment was the issue that was at the center of this fight, and Abner, with his multi-billion dollar industries, was the people's first choice.

Leon was projecting the revival of the system while Abner was ready to bring jobs.

People trust the outcome more than the experiment.

Thus, the majority of them favored Abner, the Industrialist, who was about to start the manufacturing plants in that state. It was the common thing that both the camps were projecting to the voters. The promise of new jobs coming their way as soon as they elect Abner to the chair.

Abner made more than six television ads on this topic.

Leon promised reforms while Abner promised jobs in hand. Anyone would vote for Abner.

Leon's team were also counting on that. They were also promoting Abner's ad to reach that promise to every corner of that state. Their next move relied on the wide-spread of that message.

Leon's team had rigged the opinion polls by training supporters and paying some opponents to say that they will vote for Abner. It will boost the morale of Abner's team, and they will stick to that solid point of manufacturing plants coming to the state.

Abner's team will let go of the other appealing promises and focus more on that manufacturing plant. It will set the stage for Leon's team to come and take it all. All they need to do is to twist some facts and leak some documents that would break that promise of Abner.

Only 36 hours were remaining in the election, and Leon's team began their plan. They twisted some facts about the recent visit of Abner to mainland China. They leaked forged documents that indicated that Abner was moving all of his manufacturing plants to China, and when he becomes the senate, he will ease the sanctions on that nation with the help of his colleagues in the senate. There was also a photo of Abner shaking hands with one of the Communist provincial governors to prove that claim.

This leak was not the end of Abner, but the press conference on the next day nailed him to his coffin.

He had made a deal to move one of the manufacturing plants to that nation because the consumer of that product was that nation only. It cuts all of his transportation costs, and due to the cheap labor, it was a win-win for him. So, he signed a deal the previous year, when he was unaware of his chances of running for senate. His party chose him after this deal.

Abner tried to reason with the press, but when he confirmed that the photograph was not fake, people automatically took the document for real. Fear spread, and it spread like wild-fire.

Leon's team added gasoline with social media, and the fire reached every corner of the state. Now the choice was between a reliable emerging son of the nation and a deceiving industrialist who was loyal to money.

All of them choose the former on the election day. The results indicated that.


Thomas and Giles were sitting at the kitchen table preparing for Halloween night. Though the boys were unaware of his presence, Arthur sat at the table listening to his two grandchildren. “No, the holes in the sheet aren’t the eyes, idiot!” Thomas exclaimed. “Well, what are they then?” Giles asked. “Is this more comic book knowledge?” “Listen. The reason a ghost looks like a sheet isn’t because they are white and wavy. It’s because they are invisible. They drape a sheet over themselves so people can see them.” “Ah, so the holes are like spying holes?” “Yes… finally! Pass me that carving knife, please.” “How do they walk through walls then?” “What? How is that relevant?” “Well, if they can walk through walls, they can pass through physical stuff without resistance. If they can do that, then the sheet shouldn’t drape over them like they are physical, themselves.” “Leave the physics out for once, Giles. I am assuming they can control that kind of stuff. Like when someone comes in the room… and they have moved things around.” “So, they can choose when to be able to interact with the physical world?” “Yeah, like when Patrick Swayze learns how to touch objects from that funny-looking ghost on the subway.” “Ah, I see… nice reference. Not seen it. Unscrew that fake blood for me. My hands are tied… Wait, hang on a minute. If they can drape a sheet over themselves, they could just move around with normal clothes. They could even put eyeglasses on… like the invisible man. Why don’t they do that more often?” “Erm, well, maybe T-shirts, jeans, and stuff are all fashionable looks we cling to in life. Once you’re a ghost, the quicker and easier, the better.” “So, you’re saying our sense of style disappears when we die? Heaven must look drab.” “Well, no one said heaven is like a nightclub.” They both laughed. “Don’t kick the chair, Giles.” “Huh!? Yeah, but anyway, it’s objectively worse. Isn’t heaven supposed to be better?” “Maybe that is better. People are not clinging to superficial things.” “That’s deep! So, like, once you’re dead, you shed some of your ego?” “Yeah, maybe even all of it…” “Nah, not all of it,” Giles interrupted. “Why would they be moving stuff around if they didn’t have an ego? They still want to be noticed.” “Good point. Maybe the dead only move things around to help the living,” said Thomas, shrugging. “Like ghostly altruism? Like giving a warning or a nugget of wisdom. I can buy that.” The boys continued to tinker with their costumes as Arthur listened. Thomas carefully carved a pumpkin, while Giles decorated a werewolf mask with fake blood drops around the mouth. On the table were various tools and accessories: a carving knife, a rubber bat, the open bottle of fake blood, some glue, and a bag of frozen peas, only half open but spilling out. “What are you doing with those peas?” Giles asked. “Err…” Thomas lifted the pumpkin and rotated it in the air. “I’m gonna glue them to the pumpkin’s face for extra features.” “Carving not enough, eh? Well, it’s gonna be one glamorous pumpkin. Too glamorous for your egoless afterlife.” “Touché, Giles.” Thomas began gluing peas to the pumpkin, forming green-spotted eyebrows. “Hang on a minute. So, the holes in a sheet are not the eyes, right. Only eye holes?” “Back on that, are we? Yeah, that’s right.”

“Well, does that mean the holes carved in a pumpkin are the same? Is the pumpkin just like a funky motorcycle helmet for some ghostly entity?” Arthur leaned in closer to the conversation of the boys. Thomas continued: “Hmm… I think the pumpkin head is different. Like The Pumpkin King in The Nightmare Before Christmas. It’s really just his actual head, isn’t it?” “Now, that’s a film I have seen! No raunchy pottery in that one… I’m pretty sure his head isn’t an actual pumpkin. It’s kind of a skeleton thing. It’s white anyway.” “Maybe... You do raise an interesting point, though.” Thomas sat back and pondered. “Now I don’t know what to think anymore. Maybe the pumpkin is some kind of vessel for a ghostly head.” “Either way, I wonder what kind of physical interactions are happening with the ghost and the physical stuff. Like, how does the ghost’s composition interact with the physical world.” “This sounds like nerd talk again, Giles.” “No, but really… My physics teacher said that at the atomic level, most of the atom is just space anyway. Tiny electrons whizzing around a tiny nucleus, with lots of space inside.” “And?” “Well, maybe the ghost is made up of the same stuff as all that space in the atom. So, it can go through stuff but interact with the particles when it wants to.” “Interesting, Giles! So… ghosts are like an inverse Higgs Boson?” “Alright, Neil deGrasse Tyson!” Giles laughed. “Have you been watching my shows over my shoulder again?” “Maybe…” “Well, I think we’re on to something, Thomas.” “That does leave one question. If a ghost can interact with physical stuff because it is made of the same stuff as the space in atoms, how do they possess people?” “No, I can’t think of a mechanism for that. Is that even real?” Giles looked to the ceiling in thought. “Yeah, Giles, I agree. I think possession is nonsense. As I said, ghosts can only do stuff to help the living. Possessing them can only be traumatic and even physically damaging… and if what you say is true, and ghosts have the same composition as the space in atoms, then there is no way they could possibly possess anyone.” “Then we agree, Thomas. Ghosts can move stuff at will and pass through walls at will; they don’t have the ability to possess people and have absolutely no fashion sense. That doesn’t sound so scary.” “Agreed, Giles,” laughed Thomas before Giles burst out laughing, also. Arthur watched the boys for a moment before standing and leaving the room. He walked lightly up the stairs and into the master bedroom. “You know what I miss about Halloween, Giles?” “The glorious age of pumpkin glamour?” Giles replied, grinning. “No, I miss Grandad. Trick-or-treating with him was the best. He had no limits. People would answer the door ready to scare us, and they would end up screaming themselves.” “Yeah, like when he had that speaker strapped to his chest under his shirt to blast out that scream when he opened his mouth.” “Yeah, the Wilhelm scream. I guess he was the film buff before me.” “And he was the physics professor I want to be.” "The nerd-gene does run strong in you Giles. You did unravel the mystery of ghosts though, i'll give you that!" " We unravelled the mystery! Science plus Hollywood knowledge goes a long way." "Yeah, Grandad did like his films. Like when he dressed as Frankenstein and..." "Frankenstein's monster..." "Frankenstein, Giles. He was literally wearing a white coat!" "Oh yeah. Touché Thomas." "Anyway, he was dressed as Doctor Frankenstein, pretended to hand me the candy bucket and his fake arm fell off at the shoulder. That woman nearly fainted!” “Oh man, that was hilar…” The boys heard a creak on the stairs. Both looked to the doorway leading into the hall, then to each other. The creaks grew louder as Arthur descended the steps more heavily. “Giles? Didn’t Mum go out?” asked Thomas, widening his eyes. “Yeah, she did. And isn’t Dad at work until 6 p.m.?” His own widening eyes met his brother’s. “Yeah, they’re both out.” They looked again to the door in silent anticipation. Arthur walked into the kitchen, and their jaws dropped as they witnessed a sheet floating before them. The top of the sheet draped over something dome-like, and two holes had been crudely cut into a hanging region. “Look! Underneath, Thomas,” Giles whispered. “No legs.” Thomas was frozen in silence. Arthur moved closer, and the sheet glided across the kitchen, continuing to hover above the floor. Thomas grabbed Giles by his sleeve, but both remained fastened to their seats. Arthur lifted the sheet upwards from the bottom, revealing nothing, only clear air. Further and further up, the sheet was pulled before being scrunched into a ball before their eyes. Their mouths gaped at the floating mass of white cotton collecting above them. Arthur finally gripped several layers and yanked the sheet upwards. He tossed it into the air, revealing to the boys a pumpkin carved with eye holes and a jagged mouth. The pumpkin floated in isolation six feet above the kitchen floor. Thomas looked at Giles, and Giles looked back. They both let out a piercing scream and ran out of the kitchen, up the garden, and into the street. Arthur removed the pumpkin from his head and placed it on the kitchen table. He then began to push frozen peas with the tip of his index finger, one by one. He looked for several seconds at the peas and sat back before dissolving into nothingness for another year. Amongst the various tools and accessories on the table, the peas spelled out:

Never stop asking questions, boys Happy Halloween


“You can’t keep me here.” “Please, Mr. Van de Kamp. Take your seat,” ordered the imperturbable headmaster, black eyes narrowing over his hawkish nose. The boy stood in his office. Out of uniform. Insolent.

“You can’t keep me here—” the boy repeated. “I assure you, we can,” the headmaster flatly stated. “Your father—” “My father can eat shit and die.” “Mr. Van de Kamp, such language will not be tolerated here. You are well aware of our Code of Conduct.” “You are well aware of my Code of Con dick ,” said the boy, lewdly grabbing his crotch. “Mr. Van de Kamp! Govern yourself accordingly. Please sit down,” the headmaster said in as controlled and as firm of voice as the situation required. “Have you checked into your dormitory?”

“Have you checked into your wife—because I hear she’s pretty hot,” the boy whispered conspiratorially. He winked in a knowing way at the headmaster. “Young man, I never—” “Maybe that’s the problem. The sexual revolution is going on—free love! You are just missing it. Maybe your wife is secretly on the pill, and she is having the time of her life. You’ve got to get with the times,” the boy said, snapping his fingers to make his point. Seeing the headmaster’s nonplussed reaction, the boy leaned over the headmaster’s large walnut desk and patronizingly patted the headmaster’s hand. “Mr. Van de Kamp, I know you and your generation think you know everything. But as of today, September 5, 1967, you are still enrolled at this institution, and your father has signed our in loco parentis agreement, which means that this school— that I —act in the place of your father. This school— and I — are legally responsible for you.” “Then this school— and you —can both eat shit and die.” “Mr. Van de Kamp!” “Sir?” said the boy, wide eyed, respectfully.

“You are being intolerable,” the headmaster firmly stated. He’d had his share of incorrigible young men in his life, but this one went beyond the pale.

“Sir, yes sir,” the boy gave him a mocking salute. “ There's nothing you can do that can't be done ,” he sang loudly, swinging his feet over the side of the armchair. “Please sit up straight in your chair like a man.” The headmaster’s tone barely contained his growing aggravation.

“ Nothing you can sing that can't be sung,” the boy sang quietly. “Mr. Van de Kamp, this is what is going to transpire . . .” the headmaster paused to enumerate a series of commands. “ Transpire .” The boy looked at him oddly. “ Transpire?” “Transpire. Occur. To come about—” “Excuse-me-you-are-going-to-what?” the boy asked. “I’m going to come about—” “You pervert. All you boarding school types are perverts. I’m going to come about .

Gross. No wonder your wife hates you.” “Mr. Van de Kamp, you are putting words in my mouth.” “What did you want me to put in your mouth?” The boy leered. He sat back, annoyed at it all. He continued to sing to himself, causally inspecting the books on the headmaster’s bookshelf. Pulling one out. Flipping through it. Dropping it on the floor. “ Nothing you can say, but you can learn how to play the game. It’s easy .” “You are going to go back to your dormitory and dress appropriately for class,” the headmaster said calmly, attempting to control a situation that was quickly spiraling out of control. “You must wear your school jacket and polo shirt when on school premises.”

“I’m wearing this ,” yelled the boy, standing up, tearing off his crisp white polo shirt that had been neatly embroidered with the school’s insignia. Underneath, the boy wore a U.S. Army issue brown t-shirt. “Mr. Van de Kamp, you are not wearing school approved clothing.” “Look,” the boy said languidly. “This is how it’s going to go down. I’m dropping out of school next Wednesday when I turn 17.” “Your father—” “My mother—my MOTHER—who is divorcing my father,” continued the boy, “will sign the necessary consent forms. I will head to Fort Dix for eight weeks of basic training. If there are no major SNAFUs, then I will fly to Fort Lewis in Washington state before shipping out to Vietnam. Maybe I’ll visit a prostitute near the base and lose my virginity. Or not. It doesn’t matter.” “Mr. Van de Kamp—” “I’m thinking they’ll assign me to some infantry division, but I’m definitely ground troop material. Chum for the sharks. The Vietnamese call sharks cá mập. I’ve been studying their language, you lỗ đít.” “This is highly irregular. Certainly you cannot mean to—”  “Oh, I mean to. And who knows? By Thanksgiving, I may be in the Tây Ninh Province on Nui Ba Den. They call it the Black Virgin Mountain. Exotic, no?” The boy gave the headmaster a comical grin.

“Please, Mr. Van de Kamp,” the headmaster begged.

“ Nothing you can make that can't be made. No one you can save that can't be saved ,” the boy continued to sing but his voice cracked on the last word of the lyrics.

“It’s all right, son,” said the headmaster quietly. “I’ve been practicing, you know. All summer. I can carry 60 pounds of gear. I know the military alphabet: alpha, beta, charlie. Huh. Charlie.” “Mr. Van de Kamp. Son,” he said again. “Maybe I’ll be a radio operator like—” The boy stopped and looked at the headmaster, terrified. “I—I could be a machine gunner. Or maybe a tunnel rat.” “You could be, Mr. Van de Kamp. You could be whatever you wish.”

There was silence.

The headmaster watched the boy fiddle with something on his wrist: a stainless steel, half inch wide bracelet. On the bracelet, the headmaster could just make out the name of another Van de Kamp, followed by a rank, service branch, country, and date of loss.

“I’m not afraid of going over there,” the boy said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands like a child. “I know the language—I know some of it. I know enough to ask people questions. My mother thinks I could find—it’s just that—” He looked down at his wrist. A few tears made dark droplets on his U.S. Army issue brown t-shirt.

“Let’s take the morning off, Mr. Van de Kamp. Start your school day after lunch, what do you say?” “I think I ripped my polo shirt,” he mumbled. Almost an apology. “I’ll inform your teachers that the shirt you’re wearing will be acceptable for today.”


February 27, 2024 - 6:03AM   I’m staring at the white page of paper before me. It’s clean, pure, empty, unstained, unscribbled, and unsullied, like a baby as yet untouched by life. I know I need to put words down, let them fall like a gentle storm in the summer, but I can’t seem to. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything. It’s been a long time since life’s been normal.   I feel like my page is laughing at me, twisting itself into a smirking face to mock my inability. Why? Why is it so hard? It’s as though my heart is locked in a cage of iron experience, and I myself have thrown away the key. I did. I know I did, but now I want that key back. I wasn’t thinking clearly then when I threw the glittering key over the rocky precipice and watched it tumble into the unreachable distance; I hadn’t realised then that I’d want to live again, to fight and reclaim normal. Back then, I’d only wanted to protect myself from being hurt again. Nothing in…nothing out: that meant safety, right? I’d keep the real me safe.   But writing doesn’t work like that. Writing means an ongoing conversation: me, you, me you, like breathing in and out on a frosty morning. Now, all the thoughts and feelings in my heart are battering themselves against the bars I built with my own hands, and they can’t get out. I’ve lost the key.   I think the paper knows it too. The chuckle which reverberates in my mind softens somewhat, and the sneer fades, leaving the sheet once more as blank as my mind. No amount of effort can force the swirling words in my heart out through my pen. Brimming with despair and frustration, I let go, and my pen clatters down, flipping over and over in its crazy dance to the floor. I stare at the whiteness of snow, and suddenly, I realise it’s no longer paper.   I’m looking at a white bedsheet, and that noise echoing in my head is actually crying. I can see her clearly now. A girl, maybe twenty, is lying there, her face buried in the softly patterned pillow. Her shoulders are shaking as though an earthquake is ripping her apart inside. I can hear her gasping for breath between the sobs, and she’s muttering terrible wishes in a ragged voice. My entire core is convulsed by the screams of grief which sound from another room. The girl feels it too; I see her shudder, and then she rolls over and drags herself from the bed. I see her face at last. Red. bleary, pitiful, I still recognise it. How could I not? It’s me.   I watch her, the me of a year ago, stagger, pull herself together like a tattered blanket fighting for respectability, and struggle for composure. She walks past without glancing in my direction, and I follow. In the kitchen, she is brewing a pot of chamomile tea, and she pours it into a cup with a large spoon of honey. Taking a tentative sip herself, she carries it back to the bedroom area and enters another room. This is where the screams came, and are still coming from.   It’s her mother. The girl sits and soothes, vainly trying to comfort. The cup is forced into the shaking hand. The lips are made to drink, and for a time, it’s quieter. She stays there, her arms wrapped around the trembling woman, for hours. I sit too and cover them both with my arms and my aching heart, but neither take any notice of me.   “It’s going to be ok,” I whisper to them, but my words are drowned by the hoarser whisper of the past me.   “It’s going to be ok,” she says. “It’s going to be alright.”   I stay with them until the girl goes to bed. My insides have turned to jelly, an ugly, mushy jelly, and I don’t need to imagine how the girl is feeling from the endless day. I already know. She climbs into bed, desperate for sleep to carry her to a land of temporary relief, but the moment her light is out, she is sobbing again. Only with others is she able to hold back the anguish.   In the dimness, I watch her toss and turn, the clock ticking on, like an angry or taunting drum, marking time at an execution, dragging her closer and closer to the time when she must once again return to bleak reality. I see her lift her hands to block her ears. She is hearing sounds which don’t reach me, but I still remember them. The brain, the memory, so often a useful tool and tender friend, can become a ruthless tormentor after dark. Some sounds cannot be drowned out; they boom in the darkness.   I reach my hand out and stroke her wet, hot cheek. Then I lift the phone which stands there. I remember the code. It is someone’s birthday…someone loved…someone who is responsible for the current pain. Opening it up, I turn to the music. I slip an earplug into each of her ears and press play. The gentle music and pure words slip past the earplugs to me.

“Blessed is the man, the man who does not walk…”   “In thee, O Lord, I trust…”   “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help…”   They fade into each other, like a chain of snowflakes beneath the sun. The girl is breathing deeply, restfully, peacefully. She is finally asleep. For an instant, I’m sorry for it. There was so much I wanted to tell her.

  Don’t let this moment destroy you.   It will pass eventually. Every storm does.   Trust God.   Be at peace.   There is still sunshine beyond.   I can’t wake her now. I suppose she’ll figure it out herself. It might take a year, and she’ll never be exactly the same person, but she’ll make it through. I will. I will. I will.   I bend to kiss her cheek once more, but it’s cold, flat, white. I’m back at my desk, the paper before me. Had I been dreaming, imagining things? No, I look at the clock, still ticking, still beating. 6:03am. Not a moment has passed. I shake my head, and something catches my eye. It’s glinting, beckoning to me from where it rests inside the glass candle holder. I stretch out a trembling hand and wrap my fingers around the gleaming metal. It’s a key. February 27, 2024 - 6:15 AM   The crisp white paper before me is cool and inviting. A smooth black pen rests beside it, begging in a cheerful voice to be scooped up. It seems excited to pour its inky heart out across my paper in swirling letters. That’s fine by me; it’s just the way my heart feels. With a smile, I reach out and light my candle. In the musical flicker, I pick up the pen…and start.


Dear Dr M Cavannagh As the head of a small archaeological team assigned to the Stratford-Upon-Avon site, I am writing to ask for your assistance in verifying the contents of a manuscript my team has unearthed in the recent excavations. The manuscript was discovered within a refuse site and I have sent the original to the laboratory for analysis and dating. Attached to this email is a transcription, maintaining the original spelling and punctuation, along with my own translation. It is my belief that this is a draft for a deleted scene in the play, Romeo and Juliet, and may offer proof that there were indeed several authors contributing to the works attributed to Shakespeare. I would appreciate your professional opinion on the original transcript and the translation provided.

Sincerely Dr K Marlowe ——————————————————————— Friar Lawrence (for ease of reading each second stanza is the translation, ye olde English is italicised and uncapitalised.) ***

a warning h’re f’r those who is’t wilt p’rsist. poor iambic pentamet’r and rhyming couplets abound this prose beyond these ast’risks. thou art f’rewarn’d, readeth at thine own risketh! A warning here for those who must persist.

Bad Iambic pentameter and rhyming couplets Abound this prose beyond these asterisks. You have been warned so read at your own risk! *** aye me! f’rsooth mine heart beest full with woe the teen and burden weighs me with s’rrow and all mine own weary soul doth caterwaul valorous within wilt beest responsible. Aye me! In truth my heart is filled with woe The pain and burden weighs me with sorrow And all my weary soul does cry with shame The good within me must to bare the blame. i be friar first and f’remost, toes to tonsure these vestments shalt protecteth from censure. bethink me blameless, free from all disgrace this somb’r aspect hideth anoth’r visage. I’m friar first and foremost, toes to tonsure These vestments shall protect from all censure. All think me blameless, free from all disgrace

This somber aspect hides another face. f’rgive me mine own fault, f’r i has’t sinn’d. absolve me from rem’rse yond lies within a pitt’d dull reflection, unf’rgiving deny this last requesteth of the living. Forgive me for my fault, for I have sinned. Absolve me from remorse that lies within A pitted dull reflection, unforgiving

Denies this last request from me, the living. reflection, from this coile, wouldst thou absolveth the guilt and shame yond daily press resolveth? F’r doth thee knoweth the secret, mine own sooth yond mine own handeth wast culpable f’r sineth? Reflection, from this coil, would you absolve The guilt and shame that daily test resolve? For do you know the truth that must be hid Whereby my hand was culpable for sin? the haunt’d eyes, mine own, pe’r in t’rment. ill-s’rt’d choice madeth valorous intent pray, striketh mine own evil from this handeth wash’d crisp, as only god’s f’rgiveness can. The haunted eyes, my own, peer back in torment.

Ill-sorted choices made with good intent Pray, strike my evil doing from this hand Washed clean, as only God’s forgiveness can. the fault is mine and mine high-lone to beare Mine own guilt be great, yet still nay guilt to share. f’r i hast did play a fooleth in tragedy, the flight of cupid’s bowe with agony. The fault is mine and mine alone to bear

My guilt is great, but still no guilt to share. For I am played a fool in tragedy,

The flight of Cupid’s bow with agony. mine own sin most wondrous, i weareth the sin of pride, f’r mine own sins, two star-cross’d lov’rs died. e’en though mine own heart is shatt’r’d by the deeds, the endeth, it seemeth, doth justify the means. My sin is great, I wear the sin of pride,

And for my sins, two star-crossed lovers died. E’en though my heart is shattered by the deeds, The end, it seems, has justified the means. unit’d anon in lamentations deep, the montegues and capulets shall weepeth, to seeth desire and lighteth extinguished thine children thou has’t did love, anon lay dead. United now in lamentations deep, The Montegues and Capulets will weep, To see their hope and light extinguished

Their children they had loved, are now laid dead. on pedestal of justice proclaim to thee self righteous mine own eff’rts, pray pardon me. upon themselves, this tragedy wast hath brought with feudal foes, the families hadst fought. On pedestal of justice I proclaim Self righteous in my efforts to explain, Upon themselves, this tragedy was brought With feudal foes, the families had fought. the fing’r of censure is did point home and noticeth not the shaking of mine own. one fing’r pointing out accusingly, three fing’rs rightly did point backeth to me. The finger of the blame is pointed home And notice not the shaking of my own. One finger pointing out accusingly,

Three fingers rightly pointed back to me. first mov’d wast i, in wanteth of m’re to read, to mine own doth’r, romeo cameth to pleade, and i, po’r fooleth, didst heareth the w’rds of love from lips didst springeth, as if ‘t be true to prove. First moved was I, in want of more to read, When to my door, Romeo came to plead, And I, poor fool, did hear the words of love That from his lips did spring, as if to prove. “good friar, heareth, mine own heart is wonneth, mine own loveth is like a light yond is the sun.” “oh? hast the fair rosaline succumb’d to thee?” “nay, fath’r, doth not speaketh h’r nameth to me!” “Good Friar, hear me, sir my heart is won, My love is like a light that is the sun.” “Oh? Has the fair Rosaline succumbed to thee?” “Nay, Father, do not speak her name to me!” and liketh the knave yond still that wast within did glow and did praise the nameth of one f’rbid. t’was juliet, h’r house a capulet, and begg’d of me to did wed h’r to his name. And like the boy that still he was within He glowed and praised the name of one forbid. T’was Juliet, her house a Capulet, He begged of me to wed her to his name. i quell’d mine own doubts and fain acquiesc’d a secret marriage bed, willing i did bless and on their way to wedd’d bliss, i hath sent them. the first transgression b’rn of valorous intention. I quelled my doubts and gladly acquiesced

Their secret marriage, willingly I blessed And on their way to wedded bliss, I sent them. The first transgression born of good intention. then beastly blooding bubbl’d from the hilt the blood of tybalt accidentally did spilleth. through feather-bed secretly cousins beest, such cousinly loveth, tybalt wast not to seeth. Then beastly blooding bubbled from the hilt The blood of Tybalt accidentally spilt. Through marriage secretly they cousins be, This cousinly love, Tybalt was not to see. from fair v’rona romeo wast hath sent his life I did save from sentences of death. but love can not existeth without it’s heart in living, loving, lusting far apart. From fair Verona Romeo was sent His life was saved from sentences of death. But man can not exist without his heart In living, loving, lusting far apart. and h’re is wh’re i wilt in sooth digress. ‘tis f’r mine own soul yond duly i confesseth mine own knowledge of the plants and h’rbs i owneth is such yond all the prop’rties i knoweth. And here is where I must in truth digress. ‘Tis for my soul that duly I confess My knowledge of the plants and herbs I own Is such that all the properties I know. f’r some healeth and some  harmeth ‘tis said yond some can faken both, and mimic death. the learning of this f’rbidden beldams’ry is knowledge not did obtain commonly. For some can heal and some can harm ‘tis said That some can fake them both, and mimic death. The study of this forbidden witchery Is knowledge not obtained quite commonly. f’r with this knowledge, secretly did acquire, the solution cameth to me, as such did inspire to feign a death liketh slumb’r, so to removeth a bride from wedlock wh’re th’re wast nay loveth. For with this knowledge, secretly acquired, The solution came to me, as such inspired To feign a death like slumber, so to remove A bride from wedlock where there was no love. success involv’d a complex strategy, a lett’r to beest hath sent without peize alloweth romeo returneth, his bride arouses then neith’r to returneth unto their houses. Success involved a complex strategy,

A letter to be sent without delay Let Romeo return, his bride arouses Then neither to return unto their houses. a planeth so neat, so crisp t wouldst not vexeth. but v’rily f’rsooth, what hath happened next? a beshrew did delay most unexpectedly and w’rd wast hath heard yond death cameth suddenly. A plan so neat, so clean it would not vex. But verily in truth, what happened next? A plague delayed most unexpectedly

And word was heard that death came suddenly. though juliet f’rsooth sleeps feigning death so slow’d down wast h’r heart within h’r breast, and thus planeth, po’r romeo unknowing, f’r such a lett’r hath lost, yond wouldst beest showing. Though Juliet in truth sleeps feigning death So slowed down was her heart within her breast, And thus a plan, poor Romeo unknowing, For such a letter lost, that would be showing. po’r romeo, so fraught, so w’rn, despairing, to fair v’rona that gent hath returned, uncaring, to witness of the death with his owneth eye and by his v’ry handeth wast liketh to die. Poor Romeo, so fraught, so worn, despairing, To fair Verona he returned, uncaring, To witness of the death with his own eye And by his very hand was like to die. the tomb doest gape young h’ro hast hath returned, ill-met within didst findeth a husband spurn’d. engaged, enrag’d, exsufflicate, eyeless eyes oh heateth and blood hast slain- paris dies! The tomb does gape young hero has returned, Ill-met within did find a husband spurned. Engaged, enraged with empty, eyeless eyes Oh heat and blood has slain- Paris dies! the vilest substances f’r evil doing art oft times apothecary brewing the smallest tincture touches lips intent then death is the destroyeth’r and lament. The vilest substances for evil doing Are often times apothecary brewing The smallest tincture touches lips intent Then death is the destroyer and lament. i gage unto the l’rd i hath tried to halt the vileness of death within the vault but i, lamenting, curs’d am cometh too late f’r romeo, sweet knave, hadst hath met his fate. I swear unto the Lord I tried to halt The vileness of death within the vault

But I, lamenting, cursed am come too late For Romeo, sweet boy, had met his fate. and curs’d wast i to waken juliet with w’rds nay lov’r ev’r shalt f’rget the young mistress shalt not f’rgive this sir tardy wast that gent with message from h’r And cursed was I to waken Juliet

With words no lover ever shall forget. The young mistress shall not forgive this sir Tardy was he with messages from her. afraid f’r mine own life, i didst away, the madness of h’r grief, i couldst not sway. and death cometh to gentle breast at lasteth! so heavy sits the guilt ’pon this po’r heart. Afraid for my life, I ran away, The madness of her grief, I could not sway. And death came to your gentle breast at last! So heavy sits the guilt on this poor heart. So, f’r mine own sins of trying to assisteth love’s path, to smooth a way of least intermit, valorous deeds aplenty, to death belongeth prayeth, nev’r tryeth to right a wrong with wrong. So, for my sins of trying to assist Love’s path, to smooth a way of least resist, Good deeds aplenty, now to death belong Pray, never try to right a wrong with wrong.