Ananias watched the first ball of clay strike from the edge of the crowd. A man stood before the cliff with arms outstretched. His eyes remained open but he showed no emotion even as the clay began to rain. The rising sun signaled the beginning of the execution and the impatient crowd did not wait for the blessing of the priest, who mouthed words lost among the roar. Many aimed for the man's face only to watch their clay fly over the cliff, though some hit their mark. Some came with bowls filled, while others traded their salt to vendors, who had come with their carts heavy. Soon, the clay piled up past the man's waist and he struggled to keep his arms extended with the added weight. The fallen clay at his feet rose as fast as the sun, and as it reached his chin, the priest raised a hand, stopping the crowd immediately. The priest approached the man followed by his aides, he gestured to them, and they began to wash the clay from the man's face with wet cloths. Addressing the crowd; the priest did not raise his voice. "So ends Saul. A man who sought to test our faith and further us from our lord. He sought to destroy the tower, and though he succeeded in felling it, the tower is eternal as our faith. Many have sacrificed their lives building the tower, knowing their ancestors would one day reach the heavens. That day will come. Saul stands as the foundation. We will build anew." As the priest turned to leave, Saul spoke. Though he had remained silent throughout the drawn out execution, he cried a few words in a strained voice that pierced the crowd. "We make the same mistakes!" Those still gathered approached Saul and pressed their remaining clay into the mass that trapped him. Some spat at him, others cursed him. He kept his blank stare and responded to nothing. Many remained past noon to watch the clay begin to harden and see if Saul would finally break. They became bored when it became clear he would not gave them the satisfaction, and eventually Ananias found himself with only a priest's aide, and a group of impatient men who had not ceased in taunting Saul. One called out to Ananias: "What's that in your hand? You should know he can't hurt you. What are you waiting for?" Ananias looked down to the clay still clutched in his hand. He had squeezed much of it out between his fingers absentmindedly and had somehow forgotten he still had it. Ananias dropped the clay at his feet and the man yelled out in protest. Ananias ignored him and walked towards the statue of a Saul. He studied him for a moment. Saul did not seem capable of it. No man alone did. To destroy the tower that had stood for generations in a single night. The reason seemed clear. Saul had spent his life building the tower, and now knew he would never see it finished. Still, something did not seem right. Why would he remain to face execution if he was responding to a life in service of the church? "It doesn't matter." Saul's head bobbed as he moved his jaw. The clay had begun to harden under his chin. Ananias was startled and jumped slightly before asking "What did you say?" "It doesn't matter." Saul responded. "What doesn't matter?" Saul let out a long sigh before saying once more "It doesn't matter." "What does matter?" Saul met Ananias's stare. "That's a good question." With that, Saul closed his eyes. Ananias looked out over the cliff, along the river to the horizon before leaving Saul to rest.


“Y’know, I heard egg salads are really healthy,” Will said to the waiter, looking at an article about the health benefits of egg salads on his smartphone. “I’ll have an egg salad.” “Sure thing! And what would you like, sir?” the waiter asked, glancing at Trent. “I’ll just have the T-bone steak, medium,” Trent replied, folding his menu and laying it on the table. “Are you sure you don’t want to try today’s special?” the waiter asked. “Oh, what’s that?” Trent asked, furrowing his eyebrow. “The egg salad, of course. Everyone loves it,” the waiter answered. “N-no thanks, I’ll just have the steak,” Trent declined, shaking his head subtly. “Oh, alright, what would you like for a side? Would you like a baked potato, fries, or an egg salad?” the waiter asked, fiddling with his pen and dodging his eyes around the room. “Hey, Trent, try the egg salad. I heard it’s really good,” Will insisted to Trent. “Erm, I’ll have...just a a side of fries, please,” Trent said, eating a piece of buttered pumpernickel bread. “Alright. Your food will be ready soon,” the waiter said, walking away. Will was scrolling through social media posts on his smartphone, fixated. “So, have you heard anything from Jon?” Trent asked. Will continued scrolling through social media posts. “Will?” Trent snapped. “Wh-oh, sorry. What?” Will blurted. “Have you heard about Jon?” Trent asked again. “No, why?” Will asked, curious. “He’s usually an avid texter—always texting me one thing or another. He hasn’t been texting recently,” Trent said. “Did something, like, happen with his girlfriend? Last time he broke up, he didn’t talk to any of us for like a month,” Will indicated. “I was thinking that too. Last time he texted me, he told me he was having some troubles with Amanda,” Trent said. The waiter came, with a tray of several dishes of egg salad. “Oh, it’s here!” Will exclaimed, ready to eat more egg salad. However, the waiter continued walking by as he served the egg salad to a few people at another booth. Trent wondered why everyone was ordering egg salad. Is the egg salad THAT good? What kind of stuff is in that? Trent thought, looking at the waiter serve egg salad. The entire restaurant had a distinct smell—that of lots of eggs. Trent peered around. Everyone was eating egg salad. Everyone. Something seemed to be wrong to Trent. Surely someone would get a steak—or a nice baked potato—but all egg salads? Trent stared at the couple across from Will and him. They were both eating egg salads, and they both devoured the egg salads with their eyes wide, wide open. Something was very, very peculiar about these egg salads. No, Trent thought. I'm just over-thinking things. It's just the latest food craze. The waiter passed by, this time with a tray of steak and egg salads. It was for them. “An egg salad...and a T-bone steak with fries,” the waiter said under his breath. “We threw in a bonus egg salad for you,” the waiter said, staring at Trent. “Oh—thanks...” Trent muttered under his breath, tapping his fingers on the table. “Oh, hey, they gave you an extra egg salad. That’s cool!” Will exclaimed. “Thanks,” Trent said, waving to the waiter as he walked off taking others’ orders. Trent was cutting his steak and snatched a few fries. “Alright, I hope the hype is worth it,” Will said as he poured the special sauce on, scooped it the egg salad, and, without hesitation, ate it. “Woah, this is really, really good, Trent! You need to try it!” Will exclaimed, his mouth stuffed with food. “I guess I’ll try it,” Trent hesitated. He grabbed a spoon and scooped his egg salad with his fork. “Okay, here goes nothing,” Trent said as he ate the egg salad. “It’s not that good—I mean, it’s okay. Like, I don’t exactly understand the craze over these egg salads,” Trent said, slightly confused. “What do you mean? It’s the best food in the world!” Will said, shoving yet more egg salad into his mouth. “How have you not choked yet?” Trent joked. “If I choke and die, I will die in happiness,” Will said, cramming more food into his mouth. “Are you gonna eat that?” Will asked with egg salad falling out of his mouth. “Meh, you can have it, I guess,” Trent said, eating some bites of steak. “Thanks!” Will exclaimed, gobbling his egg salad down at an unmatched rate. “It should be illegal how good this is!” Will said as a ball of chewed-up egg salad fell out of his mouth. As Trent was chewing steak, a shadow loomed over him. It was the waiter with a tray of yet more egg salad. “All out of egg salad, I see. Try some more,” the waiter said, fiddling with his mustache. “You bet I want more!” Will exclaimed in ecstasy. Trent looked around. Now was a perfect chance to voice his growing concerns over the egg salad. “Hey, uh, waiter, do you, like, know what’s in the egg salad?” Trent asked, interrogatively. “Well, sir, you see, there’s eggs, and there’s...Well...There’s other stuff, I think. Look, I don’t know! I’m not a chef! I’m a waiter!” the waiter said nervously. “Look,“ Trent said, facepalming. Trent felt a sudden rush of anger. “What makes these egg salads taste different from other egg salads? What makes everyone so damn obsessed with these salads?” “Well, sir, it’s—it’s—it’s a secret recipe, sir,” the waiter stuttered. “We have allergen info, though, if you need it!” the waiter said, faking enthusiasm, with a slight chuckle. “No—no, I don’t need allergen information..I’m allergic to cats—that’s all,” Trent muttered. “D-Did you, um, not like the egg salad, sir?” the waiter asked. “It didn’t taste that good—I’m just confused why everyone likes it, but—“ “Oh, I’m so, so sorry, sir! I forgot the sauce! Oh, silly me! I’ll get you a free egg salad,” the waiter said. “No, thanks—I’ll just have a refill for my drink,” Trent looked at Will, and he could not believe his eyes. The bowls of egg salad the waiter brought were clean. Will was licking them. Will was devouring every crumb of the egg salad and every drop of sauce. “Oh, yuck! Will, what has gotten into you?” Trent exclaimed. “It’s egg salad! Maybe you just got a bad batch!” Will uttered. “Hey, waiter, get my friend here some egg salad—with extra dressing,” Will said, whispering to the waiter. “Oh, right away!” the waiter said, excitedly how to dashing to the kitchen once again. “What did you say to him, Will?” Trent asked, enraged. “I hope you didn’t ask for egg salad!” “Uh—well—uh—“A large man in a tuxedo suit came and slammed his hands on the table. “Is there a problem here?” the man said in a condescending tone. “N-no,” Trent muttered, nervously. “I heard a complaint about the egg salads. They said it was from a guy in a red shirt at table twenty-two,” the man said, squinting his eyes. “Now tell me, the manager of this restaurant, what’s the problem here?” the manager asked, almost in a soothing voice. The manager leaned close into Trent’s face. He looked like a stereotypical businessman—a tuxedo, black leather shoes, good posture, slick, black hair, a masculine face, and he seemingly had a recent shave. “No, I just don’t want to order it,” Trent said, leaning back to not have the manager breathe in his face. “Everyone likes my egg salad. Everyone,” the manager said pointing at Trent’s face intimidatingly. “Hey, get me some more egg salad!” Will said, demandingly. "Enough!" Trent yelled ferociously, his fists clenched, and his teeth grinding. “I’m leaving. I’m leaving. I have to go,” Trent said, determined to leave. “No need to fight. I’ll get you both two egg salads...each. On the house, too!” the manager said, smirking. “Will, you have had enough! You complain about never having a girlfriend, and here you are eating so many damn bowls of egg salad! I thought you were on a diet, Will! You need to stop this,” Trent said, pointing his finger at Will. “Please stay! Have an egg salad! It’s free!” the manager said. Trent exited the booth and frantically walked to the exit. As he was walking to the exit, he saw something. He stopped for a moment. It was Jon and his girlfriend, Amanda. They were eating egg salad too! Egg salads are certainly what stopped Jon from texting. “This is bad,” Trent said, quietly. Trent grabbed Jon by his shirt and shook him. “Wake up, Jon!” “Hey! Trent! Have an egg salad!” Jon said, with half-chewed egg salad spilling out of his mouth as he shoved egg salad in Trent’s face. Trent stood up and dashed for the door. This was going too far. The manager started chasing after Trent. “It’s free egg salad!” the manager shouted. “Just take a bite!” Trent dashed to the door, but a woman in her 80’s grabbed him. “Do you want some egg salad, sweetie?” Suddenly, all the customers flocked to Trent, their eyes rolled up, egg salad smeared across their faces and falling out of their mouths. Trent tried to stop them. He called for help. Nobody answered his cries. Trent, too, became a victim to egg salads.


Over the years, a number of people have asked why I’m so jumpy and nervous all the time. I’ve even been described as uncomfortable in my own skin. While unflattering, that characterization is pretty valid. If I’m not feeling particularly generous with my personal explanations, I just make up an excuse about it being a normal part of my temperament. That usually ends the conversation. I presume my brother and sisters have fielded the same question. It’s a reasonable thing to wonder about four paranoid adults like us but the disturbing truth comes with a tangled answer. As my Papa ‘came clean’ to us years ago about a grave mistake he made in a moment of spiritual weakness, I’ve decided to share his story with you. Suit yourself over whether you believe it or not. Frankly I wouldn’t believe it myself but Papa had no doubt at all. Over time, his ironclad defense of the story went a long way toward convincing my siblings and I to keep glancing over our shoulders. I was raised in less-than-ideal circumstances. Born into abject poverty in a rural part of Eastern Kentucky, my teenage parents struggled to make ends meet. Life was deeply religious in our part of the country back then. In that way, I suppose my upbringing wasn’t so different from others around me. Pa got work in a coal mine and Ma did housekeeping for rich people. My three siblings and I had plenty of chores ourselves to do around the tarpaper shack. It was the first thing we did after school in the evening. Papa didn’t have time. He didn’t get home until late. He was always covered in coal dust and coughed up copious amounts of blackened phlegm. It was the Appalachian working man’s burden. I always felt bad for both my folks. The mine dust was rough on Papa, and Mama worked her fingers to the bone washing and cleaning. Then after working all day long for other folks, they came home and still had countless things to do. My brother and I couldn’t tote the wheelbarrow up to the house. It was too heavy. We just chopped the firewood and filled it full for use in the stove. Papa still had to bring it up to the house when he came home. Both of my sisters cooked and cleaned while Ma was working but washin’ clothes at the riverbank was something she had to take care of. Every day, the cycle of responsibilities would start over. The only day they ever had off was Sunday, and that was set aside for religious things at the church. They were very devout back then. One Tuesday morning there was a horrible collapse at the mine. We all feared the worst. The story made the national news. Mama prayed for Papa to make it back to us but the mining company spokesman said the shaft was completely shut off. They had no air to breathe. In all, there were 23 men trapped in the mine for eight days. 23 households awaited a miracle but in the end, only one family got ‘the man of the house’ back. Ours. The other miners died. Either from the deadly collapse itself, starvation, fear, or from slow asphyxiation. There are no pleasant ways to pass on, but dying in a pitch black coal mine was surely one of the worst. We were so grateful that he survived but at the same time, we felt terrible for the others. I went to school with several kids who lost their Papa. It was very awkward to celebrate our good fortune in the presence of the bereaving families. Ma warned us to be solemn and respectful around town, to avoid stirring up emotions in the less fortunate. We didn’t know it at the time but there was another reason for her call for discretion. Reporters came a callin’ but Papa refused the speak to any of them about his harrowing ordeal. As a kid, he’d been locked in a closet by his old man as punishment for bad marks in school. He’d been terrified of the dark all his life but toughed it out every day to put bread on the table. We assumed the disaster was too painful for him to think about; or he was keeping quiet out of respect for those who didn’t make it. The truth was infinitely more sinister. In a time when most people would assume my parents would become even more strong in their faith, they stopped going to church altogether. The folks around town started gossiping. Tongues wagged at our apparent lack of appreciation for him being spared. Instead of them being angry at the damn mining company for dangerous, unsafe working conditions, they resented Pa for being the only survivor! No one was willing to hire him after that. He was cursed in more ways than one. He had the ‘nerve’ to walk out of a collapsed mine shaft with no apparent contrition, while others paid with their lives. They had no idea of the truth of the matter. My siblings and I couldn’t help but notice my parents’ unsubtle shift away from religion. Ma kept telling us to ‘let it go’ but finally one night, Pa broke his silence. He confessed to us that like all the other doomed souls trapped in that dark shaft, he prayed to the lord to be spared. He wasn’t ready to die and didn’t want to leave us financially destitute. No matter how fervent any of them were in their pleas, their prayers went unanswered. One by one, the others succumbed to injury, deadly mine gases, hunger, or a lack of oxygen. Completely alone in the madness of death’s belly, Pa lost all hope. In his moment of greatest weakness and desperation, he gave up his faith, forever. He cast it aside like an old unused shovel. All the years spent praying in church for unity with God had been useless. The lord didn’t answer any of his pitiful cries. The miners were abandoned and in their tomb. For Papa to die alone in the cruel, closet-like darkness terrified him more than anything else in the world. Many of the perished men in the trapped crew were pious, God-fearing folks; and yet they had been forsaken in the end. If it was a test of loyalty or faith, their final reward was death. Their families were now fatherless. Papa grew frustrated and angry. In a pivotal moment of spiteful retaliation, he reversed the recipient of his pleas. He prayed to ‘the great adversary’ to spare him. We were wide-eyed in terror at his startling confession but then it grew even worse. He began to sob and shake. He realized that his own life held no collateral value to strike a bargain with since he was near death. Through tears of shame and regret, he admitted that he offered ‘the lord of lies’ one of our lives in exchange for sparing his own! There was no verbal affirmation from the Devil in the encompassing darkness but immediately afterward, a rescue party reconnected the collapsed tunnel. No sooner than the betrayal escaped his lips, they freed him. Pa accepted that ‘coincidence’ as an undeniable confirmation; and that there was no backing out of their diabolical agreement. He firmly believed that at some unknown point in the future, the hammer would drop and the ultimate price would have to be paid for his freedom, by one of us. To the day Pa died of black lung disease and Cirrhosis of the liver, he begged our forgiveness. Ma didn’t blame him and neither did any of us. Under unimaginable circumstances like those, many would’ve given into temptation and offered up horrible things to save themselves. As a man who kept his word with unwavering commitment no matter what, he fully accepted the consequences he believed that he brought upon my siblings and I. We all did. He and Mama turned their backs on the Bible from that day forward. Despite being an unrepentant prodigal to the very end, I think Papa drank himself to death as a form of subconscious penitence. He never forgave himself for “failing to accept death like a man.” Ma died soon afterward from a broken heart. They were interred beside each other at the town cemetery. It’s been more than twenty years since the mine disaster. All of my siblings are still alive but we never talk about ‘the pact’. We’re older now and have experienced a much broader world than the fragile one we grew up in. I’d like to believe we’re immune from believing in the trappings of folktales and curses but the nagging fear still lurks in the back of our minds. It haunts my thoughts and colors my perception of seemingly innocent events. If I hear a strange noise or disturbing shadows on the wall, I wonder: “What if this is it?”, or “What if ‘he’ has come to collect his debt?” We may never talk about it but I know my brother and sisters have the same lingering superstitious affliction. The irrational fear is inescapable. We’ll always worry that the reckoning day has arrived for one of us. It’s the source of our fears.


Lewis walked through a lonely hallway into his lonely room, on a bleak day and his bleak house. The whimsical feelings of joy and grandeur that come with the American dream in a beautiful nuclear family eluded him. For little Lewis wasn’t one of those lucky children to be born into a nuclear family to live out the American dream. Lewis was the child of a single father, Dr. Carroll, the nasty dentist who was never home, and on the occasion that he was he brought the nasty attitude he held at his nasty job. Dr. Carrols beautiful wife was no longer with us, her pale white skin and sunken in eyes had left the earth many years ago. Another poor victim of an overdose and the wonderful adult candy she would steal from Dr. Carroll’s office. Morphine bit her right to her core, it’s the very thing that helped her cope with carrying baby Lewis. “I never wanted this parasite, why am I the one stuck with this thing.” She would say on occasion as she gleefully awaited her baby’s arrival. On that boring Saturday afternoon Lewis was tired. Not from playing or exercising, but the type of exhaustion that follows as your brain turns to mush from hours up days boredom. Just ask any other 11-year-old boy Lewis’ age, they’ll all tell you the horrible torture that comes from being isolated in a house where you have read every book and out grown every toy. With no neighboring friends or pretty girls to faun over Lewis was all alone to deal with his boredom. Its not like anyone wants to be friends with the child of the most dreaded and feared doctor any kid must visit, the scary old dentist. Not to mention the stigma Lewis carried on around him, the rumor that he was haunted by his mother spirit. He picked his skin and itched just like she used to when she didn’t get her candy. Its almost like the boy had similar cravings, only our dear friend Lewis was not brave enough to steal any morphine from his father, if he did he would be beaten to a bloody pulp. As the Saturday went on Lewis’ boredom took greater and greater hold until he couldn’t help but entertain a thought he had lying in the back of his curious little head. He thought to himself about just how much fun it would be to indulge in some of the candy his mother use to take. “But what if father finds out?” the child thought out loud. He contemplated more and more on if he could get away with it or not. Pondering and pondering on that sweet little thought, could he do it? Would he get caught? What would happen if he managed to escape the office with the precious sedative? What would father think if he caught Lewis doing the very thing he hated his mother for doing? All these thoughts raced through the child’s mind as he continued to ponder. It was 2:56 PM, Lewis knew his father had an appointment with a patient at 3:30. He wondered “would I have enough time to sneak into father’s med room before his appointment is up?” For this appointment was longer than a simple twenty-minute teeth cleaning, this appointment in fact had to deal with multiple fillings. Something that would keep Lewis’ father busy for just a little while longer. And if he walked over to the dentist’s office now, he would get there just before the appointment starts. “Maybe its time I finally see what mom loved so much.” The bored preteen thought to himself. In one of the sparse and rare moments of bravery in his short and uneventful life. The morbidly curious boy made his way through the small uneventful town under the gray uneventful sky. He smiled for the first time in weeks as he made his way in the door of his fathers’ nasty old building. A grossly boring building with white walls and grayish blue carpet stained with spit, blood, and god knows what. The sound of a high-powered drill filled the eerily silent sound of the eerily calm building. Lewis checked the clock to see it was none other than the time, 3:45. Now was his golden moment, his time to shine. Lewis asked the middle-aged nurse sitting behind the counter if he could go into the hall of rooms that patients would normally fill on a busier day. At the end of the hall to left, is the room with treasures Lewis covets. Walking quickly but light footedly through the hall that only irradiated with the noise dentistry equipment and disgusting gurgling noises of spit flushing up into the hose whose job is to make the dentists tools just a bit less wet. Down the hall and in the room on the left Lewis found the bottles of the candy he craved. Happily, he stuffed his jacket with the vials and jars that held the sedative. And taking a few needles just to help inject the medicine. Blessed with the first glamour of joy he had felt in many years, the very thought of enjoying the same substance his mother did, made him miss her just a bit less. Dr. Carroll was nearing the end of his appointment. Filling in the teeth of a first-time client, a girl no older than 17. He scolded the child in his mind, the delinquent rotted her teeth with sugary sweets, and every dentist’s biggest pet peeve, she never flossed. Frustrated with this teenager’s negligence towards proper dental care the mean old Dr. Carroll walked down to his medicine room to get a minute to himself as well as grab some supplies for to replace some of the tools he used on his patient. When the old wretched dentist entered the door, he noticed instantly something was off. Something was missing, something had been taken without his knowledge. Someone took one of the good Doctors tooth brushes, the sterile gifts he gives out to all his patients, the hook he uses to bring back his patients. But alas the old cranky dentist walked back to his patient leaving the room and the thought behind him, he had work to do. Lewis slunked back into his old boring house making his way to comfort of his greyish blue room. He walked to his desk digging to find an old rubber band to tie off his arm. On many occasions he saw his mother do this. Tying her arms with shirts, rubber bands, scarves, and even a simple little sting. Lewis found rubber band that he would soon use to cut some circulation in the around the flesh on his tender little arm. Lewis stuck the needle of the syringe he stole from his father into one of the morphine vials he had. He was afraid of taking to much just like his mother, so he only took just a little bit. He stared at his needle in both awe and fear, excited to experience something that would take him away from the awful confines of his boring old life, in his boing old house, and from boring old emptiness he felt. He stared and stared continuing to dwell in his nervous excitement. Finally, he pushed the needle in, it stung and hurt and he wanted to stop but he couldn’t, Lewis needed to commit. He pushed down the syringe, pumping the sweet sedative into his blood stream. Almost instantly he felt a euphoric sense of calming numb the anxiety he felt. It was than that he started to notice he was no longer sitting still. The candy infused boy felt air begin to brush against him in an upward motion, feeling as if he was weightless. His surroundings became dark but with a faint light, he noticed the darkness around him was hallow, and the walls he started to see weren’t walls at all. They were made of dirt, he was in a hole. He fell, and he fell feeling better and better with each coming second. The cool wind against his body, the comfortable darkness with a barely visible light to ease the atmosphere of it all. Lewis felt calm, at ease, and more relaxed than he had ever been in his entire life. It was than he heard a voice, something that normally would have frightened the shy boy. Alas this voice was gentle and sweet, it sounded young and vibrant, like it belonged to a girl no older than he. “Who are you?” Lewis muttered. “I’ll tell you my name when we meet, I’d much rather greet you in person.” The voice said in a playful tone. “I am glad you aren’t scared by the fall, let me sing to you to make it a bit easier on you just in case!” Lewis spoke up “What are you talking about.” “shush.” said the voice in a firm but playful way. “Down in the water the cat sang to me, a story so lonely he couldn’t help but cry, the rabbit came and brought us all away. Straight to a place where anxiety hates to play. Joy and wonder, you will never get older, come with us to play.” The voice sang in a sweet and soothing tone. The euphoria entranced Lewis than awoke abruptly. Back in his gray and boring room Lewis realized he found the key to unlock the door of his boring cell in his boring brain. Just a little bit of that sweet sedative medicine and he would be freed of his boredom and loneliness. Having a beautiful voice sing to him as he fell into eternity. Lewis couldn’t wait until he could go back. But he had the feeling that just jumping back in might not be the best idea. Plus, he didn’t take very much Morphine from his father’s medicine room. He had to make it last otherwise what we he do? Go back to those empty days of empty feelings in his empty life? Lewis adjusted himself to get back to normal, he fixed himself some dinner and noticed a note on the table. “I am out tonight, I don’t like how you choose to waste your time sleeping all day. I still expect you to go to bed on time." Lewis knew it was a note from his father. He felt comfort knowing that his father seemingly didn’t notice the morphine he stole. A few days later Lewis grew bored just as he felt before. The empty loneliness he felt enveloped him again, just as it always did. It ate at him more and more until the boy decided, rather excitedly, that he would indulge in the morphine again. Tying his arm up, he knew that all his negative feelings would abandon him as soon as the candy hit his blood stream. He pushed the needle into his skin and pressed down, releasing the sedative into himself. Once again, he found himself in the dark, falling into infinity as the rabbit hole swallowed him up. Lewis waited for the voice to call out to him again, he was excited to hear her soothing voice again. “Oh, you came back? I am so excited, its been so long since I’ve had a friend as cute as you!” He heard the voice call out. “How do I meet you? I’ve never had a friend before…” Lewis called out. “Just use your imagination.” Called the voice in a playful manor. It was then that Lewis saw a light coming his way, or rather that he was falling into. He fell so fast he felt sick but when he came through the light he instantly felt as if he was stopped. He opened his eyes to realize that he was on top of a massive mushroom, red with polka dot like white spots all around it. He was surrounded by these mushrooms, all in varying height and width. He looked to see if he could find a way down, but he was a bit too high. It was than that he heard the voice “Come down Lewis. Its safe to jump.” So, he did, he turned, and he fell, “its not like I have any other option.” The boy thought to himself as he fell from the mushroom. He landed and rolled, but he didn’t feel any bit of pain. “That was a fantastically graceful landing” laughed the girl whose voice drew the hopeful Lewis down the hole. Lewis looked up just to be stunned, it was a beautiful girl just around his age, he lush blonde hair and deep blue eyes enticed him. “well I am not the most athletic, I am more of a book worm myself.” The nervous boy mumbled. “Oh, don’t be so shy Lewis.” She said. “how do you know my name?” the boy questioned. “We all know you here Lewis, you are of great importance.” The beautiful girl stated. “What you aren’t going to even ask what my name is?” She snarked at him. “Well what is your name?” he asked. “It’s Alice.” Alice began to show Lewis around, she took him to see the straw berry fields where strange creatures that resembled cat like humans, a race of beings who lived for tricks and riddles, loving to play games with all who interacted with them. Alice than brought him to see the Caterpillar, an opium smoking maggot who Lewis hated among seeing the disgusting worm. He mocked Lewis “little boy Carroll the boy who thinks his doom is his release.” Lewis felt like the oversized bug was mocking his use of medication to escape his life perils. But it wasn’t long until Alice took him to her favorite place, a hill by the ocean. An amazing sight that shows of the glorious seas where the water was not blue, but a violet color. The vibrance radiated a beautiful and calming aura that flowed from it, it made Lewis relish in the moment. Alice than took him to her dear friend, Mr. Hatters house. Where Mr. Hatter, a rabbit, and a boy made of wood and scrap metal all surrounded a table with one more open spot. “And that’s where I sit for our dinner and tea parties!” the little blonde girl explained. The whole seen looked straight out of a book, something mystical and whimsical, and oh so marry. But one thing Lewis noticed was that there was no food being served, nor tea to be drunk. Before the boy could question this however he found himself abruptly waking up. He tried to stand up, but his body felt a bit sluggish, like it was lagging behind his thoughts. Lewis was frustrated, he finally met some friends, some others who he could share his time with, others he could share is thoughts with, and a girl he could even try to romance if he ever became brave enough. The wonderous magical wonderland that laid inside his mind or possibly another dimension that the medication took him, held all the things sad little Lewis wanted. He finally understood just why his mother was so addicted to the stuff. The substance gave you a sweet sensation of calming and imaginative bliss. It took you away to a better place. Lewis was in a hurry to rush back but when we looked to see how much morphine he had left in his vial, he realized he might problem. There wasn’t enough left for him to get back to wonderland, there was a little, but it was far less than the amount he had been taking. He wanted to steal more but also feared if he stole more than once every couple of weeks that his observant and nasty dentist of a dad would notice that he had been taking his medication. But Lewis needed to get back, he hated the real world. It wasn’t long until Lewis’s cravings began to overtake him. He wanted to go back, he wanted to get away from his boring and empty life. He wanted to get back to colorful and vibrant radiance that was his own wonderland. And he wanted to be back with his new darling friend Alice, the first girl to ever talk to the lonesome boy. But than Lewis remembered, he remembered that his father had kept medication in his room. Lewis could recall multiple times seeing his dad melt powder onto a spoon before injecting it like the morphine. He could recall his father doing this deep into the night, when he thought Lewis was asleep. Maybe this was also morphine, or maybe something similar. Lewis thought about how much better he would feel if he could escape reality and go back to the land that made him feel alive, made him feel wanted, made him feel at home. Lewis took the powder and put it into a spoon, setting things into motion ready to go. But then he ran into a problem, a big problem. Lewis had no lighter, where would he get one? He searched tearing through drawers and cabinets searching high and low looking for something to use to light up his salvation. He dug deeper and deeper, he couldn’t find anything to help him get back into his own little world. Lewis began to shake and cry and lose it. He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t take another moment of the abuse of mundane loneliness. He started wallow in his misery and he sobbed. Sobbing and sobbing until he realized……. He could use the stove. He took the spoon and brought it to the stove putting it over the gas lit flames. His fingers began to burn but he didn’t care, he endured the scorching pain the hot metal letting it burn him knowing his salvation had come. He took the hot spoon and put it on the counter with a yellowish muck inside it. He took a syringe and put it in getting it ready to be injected into his arm. Lewis took the needle and stared at it for a moment, he smiled slightly, and then he jammed the needle into his arm. He punched down on the syringe injecting the syrupy liquid into his blood stream. And all at once it happened, everything went dark. The stung-out preteen opened his eyes to see the skies of the place he wanted to make his home. He starred at the sky, it looked a bit darker and more crimson than before. The air also smelt different, that fruity smell from the strawberries that once overtook the air now had the strange scent of iron. Lewis got up and started to walk, it was eerily quiet. He walked past the strawberry fields and there were no cat people tending to them, the leaves looked more withered and Lewis saw no fruit. The further he walked he started to find the way towards the ocean. Lewis felt a heaviness in the air, a strange aura seemed to be filling the oxygen he breathed. The lonely boy walked onto the beach and stared in confusion and discomfort, the ocean was gone, the violet water was gone. It was just a void, like an abyss with an orange glow coming from inside it. He contemplated getting closer and looking inside but ultimately, Lewis felt deep down that it could be a bad decision. The boy walked onward into this strange place, the land that once filled him with warmth and hope, now felt dead and empty. You could say it changed into a pretty twisted wonderland. Finally, Lewis found his way to the Hatters place. The door was cracked, he walked. Expecting to find the friendly faces waiting for him. But rather he saw some smiling but ominous faces. They still had no food on the table and tea to drink. Before Lewis could say something, “You finally came to join us!” Alice spoke up with glee as she turned around from her spot on the table to look at the unnerved young boy. “Just in time we were just about to start eating! I hope you love tender meat.” Lewis was confused, there was no food at the table. But just as he opened his mouth, a sharp deep pain rushed through his abdomen. He looked down to see a large three-pronged fork sticking through him. He looked up to see the table of friends now laughing in delight as they watched him writhe in fear and pain. It was then that the boy was flung off the fork and onto the center of the table, he saw the creature that had hurt him, it was a boy who looked similar to him but with a oversized grin, and sharp fang like teeth. Before he could muster up the courage to scream he felt his arm be pulled and chopped. They started to fill their glasses with his blood, gushing quite quickly from his arm. Thanks to Lewis Anemia it made it all the easier for Mr. Hatter to fill his cups and serve his guests. It was than that Lewis finally let out a scream. “Don’t act so scared Lewis, you are only becoming part of us now!” the child playfully shouted with a blissful giggle. The Boy with fangs jumped onto the table above Lewis, it was then that he saw this boy not only had fangs, but cat ears. The Feline smiled, before bringing a blade down and stabbing right above Lewis stomach, Lewis screamed again in pain, just for the agony to amplify all the more when the knife was pulled down tearing his gut open. Alice, Mr. Hatter, the cat boy, the scrape metal monster, and the Rabbit all began to grab pull out the insides of Lewis eating him alive. His intestines, his stomach, his entrails. Dr. Carroll came home from a long day’s work, the house was just a bit to quiet. He walked around the house looking for his pitiful son. He walked into the kitchen and saw his child on the floor, eyes wide open, foaming at the mouth, but lying motionless. He checked his pulse and realized. Lewis’s heart had stopped.


A shiver ran through Bianca’s spine. Through her window, she could see the blanket of snow and how it tucked the concrete floor. The sunrise was creeping behind the buildings, announcing the beginning of the last day of the year. Leaving her bed and stepping into the cold was less of a hassle than it was most winter days, the promise of her first time watching the ball drop pulling her up and into the day.

She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, flushed cheeks from the cold in her porcelain skin. Amid her excitement, there was a slight weight. The subtle reminder lingered on her mind that this time she would be alone for the holidays, her roommate Clara away in Bali with her boyfriend, her family back in Austin. She shook it out of her head, and opened the hot water of the shower, letting her troubles float away with the steam. After her shower, she got ready and headed over to Bite of the Apple, the small coffee shop a block away from her place. She had some work she wanted to get ahead on to start the New Year off with the right foot.

She set her things up in a long, wooden table after ordering a green tea, and got to work on a book cover design. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a tall body covered in a long, black coat. She felt a steady glance positioned over her body and caught the tall man staring at her. As soon as she noticed, he turned around, pretending it had never happened. He was attractive, pretty conventionally so. Strong jawline, dark hair, dark eyes. Bianca struggled going back to work after that interaction, especially after she got startled by a deep voice. “Do you think you could plug this in there?” it asked. Bianca jumped, barely, out of surprise, and looked to her right to find the forementioned man showing her a laptop charger. “Yes, sure thing,” she replied, agitated, recovering from the initial shock. “You startled me,” she added, laughing. “Yeah, I noticed. Sorry about that,” and then, the man smiled. His teeth were a little crooked, overlapping on the front, but nothing that made his presence significantly less alluring. And somehow, they started talking. The man’s name was Clark, and he was a real estate agent. He had just moved to New York a couple months ago, just like Bianca. The conversation carried on smoothly, and eventually, they casually and discretely slipped some waves of laughter out of each other.

“So what are you doing tonight, Bianca? Anything special planned?” A shy smile crossed her face as she looked down at her keyboard. “Well, if you count ordering take-out and then walking to Times Square in freezing weather as exciting, yes.” “Don’t tell me you’re spending it alone,” he said, a concerned look spreading over his face. “Well, I won’t tell you then,” Bianca chuckled. “Me and my roommates are throwing a small party tonight at our apartment, heading over to Times Square after, and then going to an after-party.” “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied shyly. “I just met you, and I don’t know any of your friends either, I don’t wanna be a burden. I’m not a big party person.” “Nonsense. Give me your phone and text me your address, I’ll pick you up at 9,” Clark handed her his phone.

After a moment of hesitation, she punched in her number and saved herself. “Fine,” she said. “Can’t promise I won’t change my mind last minute, though.” “Sounds fair to me,” he replied with a laugh and started gathering his things. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.” “No worries, anytime. No one should spend New Years alone.” He picked up his stuff and left. Shortly after, Bianca did too. ----- Bianca gracefully blushed her cheeks pink, when she got interrupted by her phone buzzing: Clark was here. Her heart threatened to pop out of her chest in shaking motions. Why was she so nervous? Then, the phone started ringing. “Hello?” she picked up, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “Hey! I’m so sorry to delay this further, but could I use your bathroom?” “Yes! I’ll let you in now.” And so she did. A few moments later, a knock on the door.

“Hi, you look so gorgeous,” Clark said after Bianca opened the door. His body relaxed as he said it as if for a moment, it had forgotten its own needs and impulses. “Thank you,” Bianca blushed. “The bathroom is right there,” she said, pointing to a door at their left. The apartment was small, so it wasn’t too hard to find.

He left his wallet and phone on the table at the entrance before heading in. “I always drop these in the toilet, that’s how all my past phones have left me,” he said, a charming smile creeping into his face.

He shut the door behind him, and Bianca waited outside, strolling around her own apartment as if seeing it for the first time. What did it say about her to a stranger? The beige walls, the postcards hanging from them, the light grey comforter? Did it speak about her soul to someone? Did it whisper? Her thoughts were interrupted by several buzzing sounds. She turned around and realized they came from Clark’s phone. Who was texting him so much? Curiosity got the worst of Bianca, and she decided to casually peek. The texts were all from an unknown number, notifications piling on top of the other. The latest caught Bianca’s eye, it was an address. Then, another message followed. “Want it here by midnight. Or else.” A feeling of dread washed over her body. Something was terribly wrong. Why was Clark receiving these texts? Wasn’t he supposed to be with her at Times Square at midnight? Was it dumb of her to go out with a guy he had just met, alone at night? The bathroom door opened and startled her, but she tried to contain her surprise as much as she could. “Are you ready?” Clark asked. “Yes! Just let me grab my wallet,” Bianca said this as she headed over to her nightstand, knowing full well that her wallet was already in the purse she was holding. Her pepper spray wasn’t, though, and she discretely took it out of her drawer and slipped it in her bag. They went down to his car, Bianca’s thoughts racing too fast for her to catch up. She forced herself to breathe, to carry a normal conversation. They arrived at an apartment building after a few minutes, and Bianca began to relax. She could hear the music even from outside, everything seemed reasonable. Maybe it was an overreaction, after all, looking too deep into things that didn’t need that much looking into. She had a habit of doing that. They got into the apartment and went on the elevator, and she watched as Clark punched the 10th-floor button. Then, something caught her eye. He was missing his left earlobe. “What happened to you there?” she asked, pointing at it. She saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, leaving them so quick it could’ve never even been there. “It was an accident,” he replied naturally as if there were many things that could casually snap your earlobe away. As soon as she was gonna respond, the elevator doors opened, and she was forced to step out and into the mass of people.

“I’m gonna get us a drink. Will you be fine waiting here?” Clark asked. Bianca nodded and settled on the couch behind her, watching him walk away to a table full of different bottles and people. The party had a lot of people for the size of the place, but it wasn’t too big either. Music was blasting loudly, but people were talking without shouting, and some others were dancing. It was a great precursor to the New Year, Bianca thought. She turned to see Clark talking to some people, holding two red cups in his hands. Some of the people gave her a couple looks as if they knew something she didn’t. A shadow had washed over Clark’s face, and he looked serious for a minute. I’m not drinking whatever he brought me, Bianca thought. There was no way in hell. When he walked over to her, the seriousness was gone and had been replaced by the usual charming smile. They got caught up in conversation, while Bianca stayed alert to any clues, and pretended to take sips of her drink.

Clark excused himself to take a call, and even though Bianca realized it was only 11:30 and she was close enough to make it to midnight and head over to Times Square, something in her gut told her not to: she wanted to go home, and she wanted to go now. She saw him heading back after maintaining the same seriousness on his phone call. She could’ve sworn she also saw a flash of anger at a given moment. “Hey, I’m really thankful for your invitation,” she started, “but I’m feeling really sick. I have a big headache, and I just want to go home.” “But it’s almost midnight!” Clark replied. “You’re so close. We’ll leave in about ten minutes for Times Square, and after that, I’ll drive you home myself.” “Thank you, but I really don’t feel well,” she was scared this would happen. The insistence, the charm. Her gut was yelling at her to get out. “I don’t want to take you away from all this fun or ruin your plans, though. You’ve already done enough. I’ll just Uber.” “Nonsense. If you really need to go home right now, then I’ll take you and just meet my friends at Times Square after. You live pretty close to there, so it’s not out of the way,” and before she could say anything, he squeezed her hand and said, “let me grab my coat.” This was not what she had planned, but it was better than nothing. The doubt of if she was overreacting crept back into her head. Clark was kind, he was respectful. Why was she acting crazy? They went down and got in the car. It was 11:45. They drove into the distance, and Bianca was clutching her pepper spray in her bag. She let her body relax as she spotted the Chinese place that was on the corner of her street, but it tensed up again as she realized they were driving past it and further away. “My place is back there,” she told him, but he didn’t seem to acknowledge it. “Clark. Where are you taking me? We just passed my place.” “We’re going to Times Square,” he replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He tried to show his usual charming smile, but it died halfway. “I told you I wanna go home. I don’t care about Times Square anymore.” He didn’t stop, though. If anything, he went faster. Bianca tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t give in. “Clark, let me out of here.” “I’m not letting you go anywhere,” he snapped. “And you better shut up about it, or it won’t go well for you. You’re gonna make someone very rich, and you’re gonna help me stay alive till I can get away.” “What do you mean? Where are you taking me?” “See,” he proceeded, caught up in his own narrative, “that girl Stephanie was too much trouble. I guess that’s who he wanted, that’s the important girl. You’re nobody. But if you’re Stephanie, you’re somebody. And I need somebody.” Suddenly, he jerked the car to a stop when the red light came on, then looked straight at Bianca’s eyes. Where there was once charm, now lay terror. “I made the mistake of getting rid of her because she was annoying and loud. But he doesn’t know that. He just knows he needs her, and they’re looking for her, and he has the power to get the ransom money from notable people. Once they realize you’re irrelevant, I’ll be long gone.” The car came back to motion. Bianca’s brain was going a thousand miles per second. How did this happen? But then, she remembered the pepper spray in her bag. She clutched it tightly, and when the car came to a stop again, she sprayed Clark in the face. She fidgeted with the door until she got it open and ran.

They were close enough to Times Square by now, and she decided the mass of people was the safest place she could be now, blending into other bodies. She regularly checked behind her, terrified he was there, waiting. It was 11:59 The countdown began. Ten, nine, eight, seven. Her body began to relax, telling herself it was foolish to believe he had found her. Six, five, four. The New Year was coming, she was right where she wanted. She had escaped. She would be okay. Three, two. A cold hand on her shoulder. One. Warm breath on her neck and unintelligible words murmured into her ear. Then, the screams, and the ball. Zero. Happy New Year.


Cacophonous sounds of terror pierced the air. An orchestra of chaos wreaked havoc all around. Curdling screams, obscene battle cries intertwined with the shrill clanging of swords and the striking of arrows as they hit their targets. Horses pained brays’ go unnoticed as champions force their chariots to ride through the fray. Blood soaked the earth, the blood of enemies, the blood of allies and the blood of innocents. Bodies littered the floor, the preponderance of them lay in the most perturbing positions and disgusting places. The fight has lasted too long already.

Flags flew high, each side fighting for their honour and their belief. Yet their wake will leave only destruction behind. They would make widows out of women, orphans out of children, scared little boys out of soldiers, empty men out of champions, calamity out of peace and terror out of joy. War brought devastation to everyone but the heartless who found pleasure in bloodshed and entropy.

Amid this massacre, a temple stood above the battlefield. It’s white pristine marble untouched and untainted by mortal blood. So far, it is safe. It wasn’t a big temple. Compared to the other beautiful, looming buildings around it, it was small. It was slighted and inconspicuous. It was perfect.

Hidden within the ivory-coloured walls of the temple, she huddled close to herself, hunched over as muted sobs wracked her body. Her hand clasped her mouth tightly, suffocating her wails of anguish. She was Cassandra, Princess of Troy. And here she sat, trembling -no,

cowering-

in the Temple of Athena. Raising her trembling hands to her face, she desperately tried to claw away the tears from her face. She was Cassandra, Princess of Troy. She needed to be courageous, powerful. Worthy of her title as a monarch of Troy. But her tears wouldn’t subside, they wouldn’t stop.

Every heart-wrenching sound of the war below echoed faintly throughout the sanctuary. Every sound made her quiver with fear. Gasping for air, she breathed erratically, painfully. Each breath she took felt as suffocating as if she were trying to breathe underwater. The horror of the war outside was distant now. All she could hear was her heartbeat. It’s rapid, rhythmic melody taunting her as an unwanted reminder of her mortality. Her eyes were wide with terror, too petrified to blink. No amount of self-assurance could make this hysteria wane.

Oh, how cursed she was, Cassandra of Troy. A High Priestess, a Princess, a favourite of the god Apollo. ‘Beautiful’, everyone had praised. Be them mortal or divine. Adored by all, she enamoured everyone. Even the god of the Sun, Music and Prophecy Apollo, was besotted by her. And as proof of his enthrallment, he approached her with gifts.

“I will bestow upon you, prophecy and foresight. In return, you will heed my requests and fulfil my desires,” the god had offered her, “you will become a priestess of Apollo.” “I accept,” Cassandra had said. A humble smile on her face, but a flicker of defiance gleamed in her eyes. How foolish she was, to try and defy a god. Anyone would think it senseless to deny one of the Pantheon. Anyone but her.

Apollo was outraged that she dared to refuse him even after their deal. Furious that she wouldn’t comply with his advances onto her, the seething Apollo did not see it fit to refute the gift he’d bestowed upon her. Oh no. That would be far too kind. No instead, he placed a curse on the human he once desired. “Every prophecy you tell will tell only the perfect truth,” he spat, “But no one will

ever

again believe any truth you speak.” It was all because of one god’s fury that no one heeded her forebodings of the Fall of Troy. She had done everything in her power to try to get them to listen. To

make

her people listen. It didn’t work. It never did. Every prophecy she foretold from the day she was cursed, was never acknowledged as veracious. Every truth she spoke was rejected, ridiculed and dismissed. She could only watch as every divination, every revelation she had foreshadowed whether it was exhilarating or heartbreaking, it would always come true. And no one believed her until it was too late.

Sitting on the cold marble in Athena’s Temple, Cassandra closed her eyes and gave one last prayer as the pounding of footsteps grew louder. She’d known what was to come. Cassandra had seen it thousands of times. Its visions plagued her dreams, leaving her with sleepless nights in her wake. This tragedy had been burned into her mind until she knew the events to the second they would occur.

The Greek soldiers would storm into the temple, dirtying it with their bloodied bodies, Ajax leading the assault. He would examine every corner and every crevice hungrily for a suitable enough, beautiful enough trophy to claim as his prize. He would look everywhere. He would murder the women. Slit the throats of the children and completely defile every sacred artifact on the holy grounds. And eventually, he would find

her

kneeling behind the statue of Athena with her eyes closed, her face tear-streaked but still as beautiful as she was known to be. And he would decide then and there, that she would become his prize.

She ended her soundless prayer and opened her eyes. Standing there, in twisted glory, was Ajax, whose sword was held tightly in his hand, soaked with the blood of her people. And now, it pointed at her throat threateningly. Cassandra straightened her back and held her head up high, looking Ajax in the eyes. She refused to submit to a man like him. Her body trembled as tears fell from her eyes. But she did not recoil from his looming figure. She repulsed to let him see her cower beneath him. Even if she were to die, she would do so with pride.

“Curse the gods,” she rasped as she mustered her last act of defiance, eyes livid.

“Curse the truth.”


Before the beginning of history, many thousands of years ago, a parasite was created. Ravenous, and greedy, and through its actions it began to tear at the very fabric of reality.*Edina, Minnesota, United States of America, June 23rd, 2025*. Phil clambered to the top of his steel death trap, and began to clear the leaves from his drain pipes. He is a man of 63, a decade too old for such a chore, but with no child and only his even older wife to hold the ladder, he had little choice but to do it himself. The hairs on his head had all turned gray years ago, and his weight had all shifted towards his abdomen. His wife, Barbara, 65, held the ladder as steady as she could. Unlike her husband, her hair glowed with color, natural or no. That’s when He arrived, The Stranger, he was driving an old 93 Malibu, its dull blue paint scratched and torn to reveal the rusting aluminum shell beneath. He, having noticed this couple, pulled up to their driveway. From there he began to walk up to them as they both stand transfixed by their individual labors. He was the first to break the silence, a light cough was all that was needed to get Barbara’s attention. She, having been understandably startled by the sudden appearance of this stranger, jerked back almost pulling the ladder with her. He stood in rather plain clothing, a plain long sleeve, a plain pair of jeans, and a plain hair cut of obsidian, and he only looked even plainer in flesh. Nonetheless there seemed to be something wrong with him, his eyes lay framed with red, and the crimson had begun to seep into the very veins of the eye, giving him an appearance like that of a druggie. “Wh-Who are you!?” she trembled, still reeling from the shock.“ No one of consequence.” came the answer, with a voice even more average and yet… off. Almost as if purposefully plain. “I’m simply passing through, I saw you two struggling, may I be of any assistance” it was a formality, not a question, as he began to walk up to the ladder. “You can start by holding this fucker still so’s I don’t fall on my ass” came an angry reply from on high, Phil was holding onto dear life by the very pipes he was meant to clean. “I have a better idea” the stranger’s pale hands clasped onto the sides of the steel trap before continuing “Climb down fella, I like to meet you and finish your job myself”. No complaint was heard from Phil as he practically slid down onto the concrete pavement of his driveway. “‘Preciate it friend” came his thanks before turning a vile gaze towards his wife and quickly returning to being grateful. “May I ask your names before we begin?” “Name’s Phil, and this-” he gestured with his sight, with just a hint of that same vicious look from before “is my wife Barbara” “Pleasure to meet you both” he gave a wide smile, revealing snow white teeth, and quickly leapt onto the ladder without a second thought and cleaned the gutters without any aid. It took him less than a minute, he moved with an otherworldly level of efficiency. The conversation continued on as he worked and soon led them inside. First they made small talk, discussing the weather, talking about road conditions and travel. Then began a different line of query.“So tell me, you have any children?” “Goodness no” Barbara shot out before a second thought could suffocate the first. “Friends and family perhaps?” “We go to a monthly block party every month, hell Barb once dragged me down there while I had a stomach flu, spent half the party in the bathroom because she wanted to” Emphasizing with an indication of quotation “ ‘Save face’, *phhh* while she was saving face I was busy trying to save dinner!” he let out a laugh, although it seemed more an indication of anger than of joy. An awkward silence soon fell over the house as The Stranger continued to smile politely and Barbara began to be filled with a terrible query. Why was The Stranger passing through when he saw them? The thought soon took hold and became all she could think about. But for at least half a minute she dared not ask it. Until finally she could bare it no more, as if holding in the juiciest secret and not being able to tell anyone about it for years. “And why are you here?” Barbara finally found the courage to ask. The stranger took a minute, considering the question quite visibly before finally responding “I’m just passing ‘round” “Surely that can’t be all” Barbara had never been known to keep to herself, nor to leave others alone when they attempt to dodge a question. “Yep, just passing around, visiting and traveling. Although I am considering moving in with some folks if the opportunity presents itself” The Stranger admitted with some grief. “We have a spare guest bed if you need a place for tonig-” her eagerness finally giving way to remembrance, remembrance that she was not the master of the house. She turned an eye towards her husband, fortunately noticing an agreement in his own eyes. “We’d be happy to have you strang- oh shit! Where’re my manners? What’s your name traveler?” said Phil offering a hand as tribute. The Stranger took it and as he stared Phil in the face, and leaned in close before whispering “you may call me… **Death**.” as insects of all form and species began to shamble out from the stranger’s sleeves and writhe their way onto Phil’s own hand as he began to scream and attempt to free his hand, to revoke his sacrifice. But The Stranger’s hand held him with the strength of at least a half dozen men. The Stranger began to turn his neck towards Barbara, who had also begun to scream. Until she saw his face. It had begun to rot, yellow skin gave way to translucent blood, followed by green pus, which gave way to long decayed bone. His eyes now glowed with a necrotic light and he opened his mouth to behold an abyss, only for it to soon be filled with vile black and red. The substance flung from oblivion and branded Barbara and all the furniture around her. he soon turned his attention back towards Phil, still struggling and screaming, he had not yet looked The Stranger in the face since his horrid transformation. With the gentlest, yet most forceful of movements, The Stranger turned Phil’s screaming head towards The Stranger’s own Until they both stared each other down in silence. As Phil stared into The Stranger’s eyes, he felt that same feeling you get when you stare into the sun, but it was not just his eyes that felt it, his whole body now overcome by the sensation. He feared that if he continued to stare his entire being would be extinguished, not capable of withstanding its radiance. Soon, all of Phil’s nerves were engulfed in necrotic flame. The Stranger opened his mouth. Once the deed was done and both husband and wife lay in their living room covered in vicious bile and vomit, The Stranger put back on the mask he had worn when first meeting them, and walked over to his vehicle. As he made his way to the door of his run down vehicle, he stared up towards the sky and said “May your plague spread throughout these lands, and may it devour all of those who dare come in contact with it”. He climbed into the driver’s seat and began to ride. There was work yet to be done. **1**  OP Note: Hello there, thanks for reading through the entire story! My name's Jonathan A. Harkness (with a name like that could I really do anything else as a hobby?). This is the first part of a larger short story, so far I'm only about a couple of parts in, and I've yet to really etched anything in stone yet. The purpose of my posting here isn't limited to me wanting to share a story with you all, I really wanted to get some opinions on it. I have shown the story to some friends, but fear that they've too much of a personal bias to get too much advice on it.What I want is critiques, things that worked and things that didn't, where you think the story should go (I've a small idea, but as I've said nothing's quite solidified and I can adapt), etc.I appreciate your comments. Thank you.


He awoke with a gasp, jolting upright, one hand at his chest, the other grasping out into the empty darkness in front of him. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut, but Her face was already fading, and he was pulled unwilling into reality. His heart was still pounding inside his ribcage, and his bare chest drenched in sweat, but the heat of the nightmare was already fading, and the nighttime summer breeze through the open window sent a chill through him that made him draw breath. Slowly, he opened his eyes and allowed them to adjust. Across the darkness of the bedroom, a faint blue glow solidified into the display of his digital alarm clock. 2:10 a.m. He sighed and flopped back onto his sweaty sheets, staring at the black ceiling. The dreams came less often now. He had begun to fear that without them, he'd forget the details of Her face, or the sound of Her voice, but the years spent fighting against the shadow of his nightmares had become instinctual, and his recent efforts to prolong the dwindling encounters seemed fruitless. A distant flash of lightning briefly lit the room, and the blinds at the open window rattled as another breeze blew in. He counted silently, waiting for the thunder. It never came. He cast aside the sheet, got out of bed, and shivered again. He grabbed his lighter off the dresser and took one cigarette from the pack laying next to it, picked a crumpled t shirt off the floor where he had thrown it just a few short hours ago, padded barefoot through the dark house, and out the screen door onto the porch. The night was still and heavy. Somewhere at the treeline in the distance a single cricket carried out his song with indifference to the somber mood of the night. Another flash briefly illuminated the sky behind a black silhouette of trees, and he saw for a moment the clouds churning low and purple and ominous. He threw the t shirt over his head, quickly pulled it into place, and stuck the cigarette between his lips as the first sound of thunder rolled over the trees. He lifted the lighter to the cigarette and gave it a flick, and at that moment the wind blew in, snuffing the meager spark. The storm was coming in from the southwest, as was often the case. He gave a wry smile and nodded knowingly in Her direction, before turning his back to the wind. This time he hunched over and cupped the lighter with his other hand, and watched the faint orange glow in his palm as the cigarette took the flame. He drew deep, allowing the burn of the smoke in his lungs to mingle with the familiar ache in his heart. He could no longer get high enough or drunk enough to ease the tightness in his chest, so he'd all but given that up, instead trying to chainsmoke his way into a cancerous early grave. The wind snatched the smoke from his lips as he exhaled, as if his soul was being drawn out of his body, and he watched it spiral up into the darkness and out of sight. In its place, a raindrop fell, landed on his face, and ran down his cheek like a tear. Thunder rolled again, and as the rain began in earnest, he closed his eyes, whispered Her name, and let it wash over him.


I've just decided yup, that's a spaceship when it thumps to the wet sand nearby. It was moving, or falling, fast enough that it seems like it should have broken, but it seems unharmed. It's a big grey egg. I've wondered about this sort of thing before. It came up a lot during my pothead phase: What would you do if a UFO landed? People seemed to come down on the issue based on which science fiction they'd seen or read most recently. I liked to think of myself as the open-minded guy in the group, and I'd seen the most Star Trek, so I often took the position that I'd be the person who wandered up to an alien artifact and held out a hand to shake, hoping for the best. Turns out, I'm not that person. Never meet your heroes. I cower, for what it's worth, because there's no cover anywhere. It's a wide, empty beach and the moon isn't out. My family is probably still asleep in the tents. I like to come out here alone on our camping trips because the stars are impossibly beautiful and my wife doesn't know I still smoke. In fact I realize I haven't dropped my pipe or lighter. They're clenched in my sweaty, vibrating fists. I decide to praise myself for having steady hands, instead of acknowledging that I've probably got a problem. The space egg does nothing. It's not making any noise, or glowing, or anything. It's a little larger than a Volkswagon. I straighten up because the half-crouch is hurting my thighs and pride. A minute or two goes by. I take the remaining hit from my pipe without taking my eyes off the egg, then put it away. So this is it. First Contact. It occurs to me that it's probably technically possible that this thing is just a rock. I squint at it. Am I the world's biggest idiot? I'm comforting myself with the notion that an egg-shaped space rock is still a pretty cool thing to be able to show people, when the side of the thing dials open silently and a person steps out of it, waving vaguely at me. I stare. The figure leans backward in a long, slow stretch, then rotates it's upper body in the familiar "I've been driving too long" movement everyone does. It moves just like a human. It's about six feet tall. It's wearing black pants and a baggy floral patterned shirt. It just kind of looks like a dude. Apparently that's enough for me to step forward and wave, and I say "Hey there," like you do when you pass someone in the parking lot of a grocery store. Immortal words, if this really is First Contact. Shit, did I just start a war? I am too high for this. The space egg dude steps away from his egg, and the side of the thing closes again. He holds out a hand with the wrong number of long fingers and grins at me with a mouth that's confusingly feline. His voice is a quiet, controlled yowl. "How's it going?" We stare at each other. His hand is still out, as if to shake. It's smooth, brown, and has something like narrow, curved, black fingernails. I don't know what to do. My heart feels like it's going to explode but that just happens sometimes when you smoke good pot. The space egg dude yips and rolls his eyes, withdrawing the hand. "First alien?" "Yeah." "Yeah, that tends to be the case out here. Well, I mean you no harm and all that. I'll be out of here in fifteen minutes." He looks around the beach and sighs. "Hard to believe it takes that long to catalogue... this." "I like it here," I say, a little offended. "What are you cataloging?" I'm vaguely aware that I'm not reacting to this situation in anything resembling a reasonable way. This is not what I should be asking. I should not be talking to this being. A normal person would have run away. A really brave and smart person would be asking why the alien speaks English like he's from Long Island. The alien gestures around. "The area. A few cubic units of it, at the atomic level. Because, you know, nowhere else has saltwater and sand." "This is... your job?" "Got a clever one here, don't we?" He yips again and I realize it's a laugh. "Yeah, this is my gig. There's all kinds of nerds and weirdos who buy scans of frontier worlds. My cousin's a scan broker. It's all right. It's fucking boring, but the ratio of pay to actual effort is pleasingly steep." He takes out a little device and sucks on it, then exhales a vapor that sparkles dramatically before vanishing. It's a vape pen. What is happening? It isn't supposed to be like this. I know it. I can feel it the way you feel that voice telling you to get a gym membership, and it has as much authority over me. I can't make myself give a shit. It's like we do this every year when I come camping. I'm just accepting it. Why? "What are you smoking?" "Smoking? God, no, you people still smoke? This is sparkling. Much better for you. Want a hit? I've never seen what happens when one of you guys tries it." "I probably shouldn't," I insist, pulling my own pipe back out again. He's smoking, so I guess it's all right if I do too. "I'm on a trip with family. Can't get too crazy." The alien shrugs. We smoke, together and separately, for a quiet minute. I study his body with interest while the tiny voice inside grows increasingly disturbed. He's not human, his bones and muscles aren't in the right places and his face is all wrong, but he looks enough like one of us that you wouldn't be able to tell the difference from fifty feet away. He's barefoot, standing on broad, clawed tiptoes in the sand. I'm not concerned, just curious, so I ask, "Are you doing something to my emotions somehow?" The alien yips quietly and nods. "Oh yeah. Got to. Are you kidding me? You guys freak out if we don't. Don't worry, it won't hurt you any. It just makes your brain not able to panic until after I leave." "That's pretty neat." "I use it on myself when I'm stressed," he says in agreement. "I keep thinking I should be reacting more strongly to all of this," I admit. "Nice to know I'm not just crazy." "Yeah, well, enjoy that feeling. It goes away once you try to tell someone about the alien you did drugs with." I laugh out loud at that. He's totally right. I laugh again at the thought of someone putting up some kind of First Contact Monument, a great bronze man and alien, ripping fat clouds. "That reminds me," I chuckle, "There are cultures on this planet that do a Peace Pipe ritual when they meet with foreigners or whatever. We're kind of doing that." "Super," the alien purrs. He inhales and exhales dancing light, watching the waves with evident disinterest. "I keep forgetting to ask, why do you look so much like a human?" "What do you mean? I don't look a thing like you." I gesture vaguely at his whole form. "Maybe not superficially, but isn't this kind of crazy, in evolutionary terms? I mean what are the odds of two advanced intelligent races from two totally different worlds, bearing this much of a physical resemblance to each other? I mean you can even speak my language perfectly!" The alien yips repeatedly at this. "Where to begin? First of all, I'm not speaking whatever your language is, that's a brain gadget too. It makes you understand me in your dialect. Second, nothing about this stupid fucking planet is 'advanced' in any sense of the word, which brings me to the next point, your species' level of understanding of evolution, and the conditions of the universe, is childish." That's a lot to swallow, I suppose. "How do you mean?" He gestures up and down at our bodies with the hand holding his glitter device. It trails brief auroras. "This is the template that works. You don't get tool-builders without free hands. You don't get free hands without evolving in trees. You don't get big brains and tribal cooperation without the correct set of behaviors, nutrition, and so on, and so forth. So yeah, nearly every spacefaring species more or less looks like this." "Do they all act like us, too?" This is blowing my mind, sort of. A little. "I guess. They build cities, they conquer each other, global commercial interests replace government and religion, interplanetary culture arises as a by-product of space-based resource gathering operations. Usually takes a few thousand years. Or the species kills itself. I think it's like twelve percent that make it? I don't know. It's been awhile since school." I find I'm packing my pipe again. "Do you want to sit down?" "What? No, I'm leaving in about ninety seconds." I feel sad. The little voice mourns and wails. "That's too bad. There are so many things I want to know. Are more of you coming?" He shrugs and turns towards his space egg. The side of it opens. I can't see inside it, somehow it's blurry. "Depending on who likes these scans, maybe? If you're lucky, you can be a busboy in one of our hotels. Take it easy, human." "Drive safe," I say, waving. He shakes his head and sighs at me as he climbs back into the shadowy innards of the egg. It closes, silent. I watch in awe as it lifts out of the sand without disturbing a grain, leaving a perfect ovoid impression. It slips into the sky. I lose sight of it when I finally blink. And that's when I remember and start screaming.


I was laying on the ground in a place unknown to me. I slowly opened my eyes as I regained consciousness. I stood up, dusting off my clothes. I looked down the horizon to see a herd of cows. I looked around for a bit. I seemed to be on the edge of a forest and a field. I saw what looked to be birch trees all around me. I saw flowers that seemed to slither on the ground as they grew and picked a few. I pocketed the white clovers, thinking that they could be useful. I continued to find different species of flowers and fruit and picked them. I hoped that the fruit wasn’t poisonous. Soon enough, I had gathered enough to fill up the pockets in my jeans. I went back to my starting place and saw a chest right beside my ‘bed’ and opened it. Inside were different wood logs, bread, some more fruit, a pickaxe, and some sticks. I probably looked a bit stupid with how much stuff I was carrying. I carried the logs in the crook of my elbows and carried the pickaxe in my hand. The flowers and fruit I had gathered were sticking out of my pockets. There was a torch placed close to the chest. I picked it up with my other hand and went on my way. I headed south, or at least the direction I thought was south. I saw a bamboo-like plant and harvested it. I shoved it into one of my belt loops and hoped that it would stay there. After wandering for a bit, I saw a herd of cows and came up with an idea. I would tie one of the smaller logs to a stick I had found. I did this and it resulted in a make-shift sword. I also knew that I needed wood. I created an axe using the same method and did what I had to do. So, I put down my stuff, and using the dull sword that I had crafted, I killed 8 of the cows. I skinned them and stored their meat within the satchel I had made from their dried skin. I found some more sticks and placed them on top of the logs I had been carrying. I gathered some more bamboo-like stalks, some stones, rocks, and metals until I saw it. I saw a monster unlike no other. It looked like me but had green skin and blue clothes. It attacked me. I used my sword to defend myself. I’m thankful that my sword attacks were effective. I killed the foul beast. I ran out of the cave I had been mining in, scared of more run-ins with monsters. While I was randomly wandering about, still traumatized from the day’s earlier events, I found a village of some sort. I wandered about the village wondering if I was being rude in any way. I saw that the village had farms, houses, and a cool-looking monument. I didn't know what it was for but it looked quite mystical. I was in deep thought about this monument until I saw a person who resembled me but was slightly different. This… person had a long nose that covered their mouth and arms that were connected by the hands. The person seemed to be mute. They only made ‘huh’ sounds, almost as if they were always asking a question. *‘Were these the people who had placed that chest?’* I thought to myself. It was kind of scary to be in the presence of this thing. I tried to communicate with it but I don’t think it understood. I continued to wander and well, loot the village. I had found armor, some kind of dark crystal, some more bread, a chest to store my findings, and a furnace. I melted the metal I had found into ingots. While I turned the place into my own, it slowly turned to night. I didn’t mind it and continued to loot the village and its farms. While I was doing this, I found wool and made a bed with it. I took the materials and laid them down in the house that I currently call home to make a bed. I then went to sleep.


[FN] The sewing machine hummed along rhythmically, white thread stitching white fabric together. Colorful hands painted with tattoos guided lace and silk where it needed to go; a yellow duckling wrapped in filligree on one hand and an exaggerated cartoon style needle and thread, bobbin and pincushion on the other; the fingernails, shortened by nervous teeth, worked a heavy dark blue fabric through the machine. Nine hours. She scowled at the old fashioned alarm clock, willing it to turn back. Time manipulation still wasn't part of her repertoire. Unfortunate. Nine hours... She had been working at this set of dresses for six weeks straight now; last minute jobs weren't something she normally made a habit of taking on but the client had been willing to pay an exorbitant sum of money, easily making it her most lucrative project ever. The wedding was in two days and this dress still had to be fit to the final bridesmaid, but Allison had never missed a deadline and wasn't about to start now. She clicked the machine off and pulled the elastic from her auburn hair, letting the tension in her scalp bleed away then leaned back and straightened her shoulders, hearing them pop as she did so. "Hey there quazimodo. How's it coming?" Allison grabbed a roll of thread, spun toward the door as quick as she could and launched it toward the voice with fervor. It sailed wide and thunked into the wall a foot from her intended target. A chuckle and grinned at her. "Nice throw A-Rod." Danny stood in the doorway holding a plate with a peanut butter and jam sandwich in one hand and two cups of coffee in paper take-out cups from the cafè around the corner snugged into a cardboard carrying tray in the other. "One cream, one sugar. The left one." She reached. "No no. My left." Allison accepted the coffee and sandwhich with a smile. "Thanks babe, it's like you're inside my brain." Her stomach grumbled at the sight of the food. She hadn't even realized she was hungry. He looked at the incomplete pile of dark blue fabric dangling from the machine as he sipped on his own coffee. "Looks like you'll be done today?" "Yeah, maybe mid afternoon." She told him between bites and sips of coffee. "I'm going to call Angela to come and do a quick test fit later. Could you tidy the kitchen and sweep the floor please?" "Aye m'lady, I could." He smirked. "Thank you for the coffee and food, love. I need to get back to work." Allison had worked late into the previous night and been up before dark this morning. She was tired and her patience was gone but she felt much better with some food and a bit of caffeine in her. "It would appear that I've been dismissed."he said with mock disappointment. He frowned outwardly but a hint of a smile played in his eyes. Allison scrunched her brow and stuck out her tongue at him before spinning around and returning to her task. She sent a text to Angela when she had a better idea of when she would be completed and then returned to her work for the rest of the day, from time to time breaking long enough to stretch and again when Danny brought another cup of coffee and a plate of fruit. At 5:32 and fifteen seconds precisely, there was a knock on the door. Danny's footsteps echoed through the apartment and then a woman's voice drifted down the hall, faint but distinct. Right on time. She pulled the finished dress from the sewing machine and held it in front of her just as a smiling pixie face with a head of short blue hair poked itself around the corner. A loud sqeak erupted from Angela. "So pretty!" Her eyes were wide and she gasped as she stepped into the room. The deep blue, almost black fabric seemed to ripple with light, like a shadowy ocean floor. "Can I try it on?" She was almost giddy. "That's why I called you." Allison respond with a bit of sarcasm in her tone. "Oh, right!" Angela laughed a bit sheepishly. "Here." Allison hung the dress on a wall hook and stepped past her to close the door. "You look exhausted." Angela commented as she pulled the t-shirt that she was wearing off and then removed her jeans before pulling the dress over her head. "Well, it's been a bit of a rush job and I wanted to finish early in case there were any problems." And a rush job it had been. Four bridesmaid dresses in a week and a half. Sixteen hour days. Four thousand pounds of coffee. But the end was in sight now. Tomorrow she would inspect the dresses for imperfections and that would be it. Done. Fini. Terminado. "Yeah, sorry about that. I really am sorry about springing this on you last minute." "Its alright. I can take a few days off after this. How is Denise anyway?" "Still in the hospital. It was a pretty bad accident." Denise was the bride's mother in law and one of the best seamstresses in the state. The wedding had been on short notice to start with and so Angela hadn't been upset nor surprised when they offered the job to someone like Denise. But she was old school. Traditional. She didn't enhance her work the way Allison could. "She says she's going to escape if they don't release her today and she probably would. The surgery went really well but they want to make sure everything is healing." Angela pulled the dress over her head and smoothed the rumpled bits along her hips. "It fits great. How does it look?" "Pretty damn good. Now for the final touch." She reached for a short, loose thread hanging inside the collar and pinched it between her thumb and finger. Her lips became thin and tight. Her eyebrows furrowed a slightly. The thread began to shimmer and then a faint silvery luminescence traced it's way along the stitching of the dress as she had intended to reveal an intricately embroidered flower motif, with an old world Ukrainian flair. The glowing thread had a slightly iridescent quality, shimmering as Angela moved around the dress. "It looks like the bottom of the sea." She marvelled, running her hand over the fabric. "That is so cool." "Want to see the rest of them?" "Of course I do." Allison opened a closet and took out three identical dresses, hanging them from pegs on the wall and then grasped a loose thread on each infusing and illuminating the thread to reveal the embroidery that she had spent so many sleepless nights on. The first was of a red fox on the skirt. It's tail was coiled round it's legs while the head tilted ever so slightly, as if looking at a particularly interesting blade of grass or an unaware and unattended chicken. The fur was finely detailed and and the light rippled as she watched it, blowing in the faintest of breezes. The thread in the fur was a deep red and the glow was only faintly visible, giving the animal a subtle bit of color. The second dress was a raven perched upon a branch. Allison had sewn a deep yellow thread into the eye that was almost lifelike when it luminesced. It to looked at you, into you, and through you no matter where you stood. The final dress had, sewn into it, a group of waves cresting in a traditional Japanese style. The whitecaped crests of the waves shimmered and Angela was reminded of a vacation to to the Oregon coast that she had taken with her family years ago. All that was missing was the smell of the salt air, and the drying seaweed. The sound of the crashing waves. The call of the gulls on the rocks. Angela was silent as she studied the dresses, leaning in close and inspecting the stitches and glowing thread. "These are amazing. Diane is going friggin' love them!" She gushed. "Let me guess. Kaylee." She pointed at the first dress. "Meghan." The second. "Tatsuki." "Yup! And I hope she does. If I'd had more time I could have done more." "Oh shut up." She gave her friend a reproachful look. "You're always so modest and these are perfect." Angela got a twinkle in her eye then. "Soooo... can I see the brides dress?" Allison grinned. "Hell no. You'll wait like everyone else. I'll give them a once over tomorrow then bring them to you guys Saturday morning." "Perfect. I'll text you the address when I get home." "Well you just got here so you aren't leaving yet. I'll get Danny to make us some coffee or tea or something." "I'd love that." Allison opened the door and yelled down the hall, "Dammit Dan! Make us some coffee!" A terrible British accent called back sounding more than a little bit like Mrs. Doubtfire. "Coming right up deary!" They laughed together and Angela called out the door. "Thank you! You're a dear and I love you!" "Hey lady, get your own man." Allison giggled. There was more banter and more laughter as Angela changed back into her own clothes. The dress was hung in the closet next to the others. The floor was swept. Four paper coffee cups were gathered up along with two porcelain ones and a number of plates. Odds and ends of scraps of fabric and rolls of thread were returned to their proper homes or thrown out. "Coffee's ready." Andy's torso was leaning half in the door. "Thanks love." Allison grinned. She pulled a now stuffed bag from the garbage can as Angela set the broom back into the corner. "So just out of curiosity, do you know any single guys with a snappy suit ready to go on short notice?" Her tone was coy, probing. "Wait, what? What happened to Marcus?" Allison was downright shocked. They'd seemed to be perfectly pleased with each others company. She supposed you never could tell what might be going on with people. "Well, things were going great... until they weren't." Offering no further explanation but a furtive glance away, not making eye contact as she pulled her shirt over her head. "Oh geeze. I'm so sorry." "Don't be. We weren't right for each other. Though I do find myself dateless for the wedding now and it's pretty short notice." She pulled her hoodie on and zipped it up while Allison tied off the garbage bag and added a fresh one to the bin. "OK, well let me think." "I was going to ask if maybe your brother, Antony, was free?" "You didn't hear, did you?" "Hear what? Its been a few years since I've talked to him." "He was engaged with a baby on the way. She died giving birth and his daughter passed a week after the birth." "Oh my God. Is he doing ok?" "He's.... healing... I think. He went camping this weekend out to some lake they liked to hike to. Looking for closure I think." "That's so awful. I can't even imagine." And she couldn't. Angela had never really lost anyone close to her so far as Allison knew. Even her grandparents were still healthy enough to make trips to Florida for the winter. Allison felt a welling of emotion constrict her throat. She was supposed to have a niece and new sister now but the world was indifferent to the wants of decent people. It wasn't fair. Seeing her brother lately, she knew the grief was swallowing him as much as he tried to put on the brave, stoic face. Change the subject she thought and forced herself to speak. "Let's not talk about that right now though. We need to find you a date." Allison gestured toward the door. "Shall We?" She switched off the light and closed the door behind them, leaving the fox and the flowers and the raven and the waves to cast their pale glow.