Chapter 6 The alliance I could hear my heart beating in my ears as I felt the shadows continue to get tighter and tighter around my body binding me to the bed as many more circled my room slowly like rotating clouds laughing and whispering. The largest of the shadows stared at me from the ceiling its red eyes gazing into my eyes waiting for a response. “How did you know my real name? Who is your master and why haven’t you killed me yet?” The whispering and laughing grew louder and they circled the room faster their shapes constantly changing forms. “Our master has sent us to give you a message and to lend our assistance in keeping you alive.” I was dumbstruck. Who the hell was siding with me? I thought most of my allies had either turned on me or was killed in the war against Jackeal’s army. This supposed ally I had must be one hell of a necromancer to be able to control this many shadows at once. He might even be on the same level as I was back in my former body. “Who is your master?” I asked in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and authoritative but, instead, it sounded squeaky and pathetic. Damn the gods for putting me in such a useless body. “Our master is someone who rather keep himself unknown to you for now.” “Okay, what is his message that he has sent you to give to me?” “That he is aware of the question you had asked Mavra right before she sank her claws into you. He knows that you know how to kill her and he wishes for you to do so.” My eyes widened at that, how the hell did their master know what happened that day? I gritted my teeth and doubled down on my authoritative tone not caring if my voice sounded squeaky or not. “Your master can speak to me in person if he wishes me to help him. I am the great Edward the one who raises the dead back to life, I am the one who makes the holiest of priests turn from there god and get on their knees I am the one-“ The shadows body tightened around me harder cutting my speech short causing me to grimace in pain as I felt my ribs on the edge of breaking. The shadows circling the room abruptly stopped went silent and all the shapes of the shadows turned into snarling humanoid faces. Hollow eyes everywhere in the room gave me the death stares. “Your arrogance disgusts me, you are trash compared to my master!” It’s face also turned humanoid and snarled at me and stared red daggers into my eyes. Bloodlust and anger filled the room all of it directed at me threatening to suffocate me. “If it weren’t for my master’s explicit commands to keep you alive your small body would be torn apart by now and thrown into the garbage where you belong! Do you think you were brought to this world by pure coincidence?! Do you think that you were so great that the gods themselves decided to reincarnate you into another world to give you a second chance at life?! If it weren’t for my master your soul would have been ripped apart and tossed into the void by Mavra!” My heart pounded so hard it hurt my chest and my confidence was felt nonexistent. Questions ran through my mind about the identity of there master and how he was able to put my soul into this world. “I’m sorry.” I whispered to the shadows trying to calm them down. “Forgive my rudeness and tell your master I beg his forgiveness to, please quiet down though you will wake my parents up if you continue to yell.” “No sound can leave this room thanks to the spell my master has given us.” The shadows started rotating around the room again with their faces still filled with rage. “So, I’m not under some dream spell, then right? So, I really did die that night that she sank her claws into me?” The shadows red eyes stopped drilling holes into mine and seemed to ponder the question. “Your body died but your soul was saved by my master since you are a valuable weapon, he can use against Mavra in the future with the knowledge you have on how to kill her.” “Why doesn’t he just ask me how to kill her then? It seems to me that would solve his problems and he could simply do away with me.” The shadows circling the room all grinned and began to chuckle and rotated faster and faster around the room causing them to start blurring together. The largest of the shadows loosened his grip on me, my ribs thanking him for doing so and a deep chuckle rumbled through the room and his red eyes smiled at me. “You might be garbage mortal but, you are amusing garbage. To answer your question my master even with your knowledge could not kill Mavra himself it has to be a mortal wizard that does the deed.” “But I only know how to kill her.” I said staring at the shadow with a pleading expression. “How does your master expect me to kill her if I don’t know how to get back to my world yet?” “There is no need to get back to your original world mortal. Mavra will eventually arrive here in this world to slay you. As we speak, she is attacking the wall that separates your world and this world and trying to pour her soldiers into this world to find and destroy you.” Well, that is not good I thought to myself wide-eyed not knowing what to do with that information. The shadow spoke again now with a calm voice the anger seeming to completely evaporate from the air. “We have been protecting the wall since you have arrived here, and we will continue to do so until we can no longer. Soldiers of hers will eventually slip past us this we are certain of. This is why we are going to provide you with your own shadow that has already been paid for with mana, he will be your protector and help you grow your powers, he will still need some of your mana to stay in this plane of existence but, there will be no summoning fee.” I blinked at the shadow's face. All the information swirling in my head made my head begin to ache and I sighed. “So my shadow has already been picked out for me? I don’t get to choose who my partner is?” “No, you do not get to choose he has a debt with our master and this is how he will be repaying it off by protecting you until Mavra is defeated. You both have a debt you owe my master so you must work together to defeat her once and for all.” “Who’s my partner?” “Right here!” A shadow said cheerfully as he glided towards me. The shadow snatched up my hand and a burning tingling sensation went through my hand causing me to wince in pain. The shadow let go of my hand and a tattoo was left on my skin representing a bond between me and the shadow, my mana now was directly linked to the shadow allowing me to siphon energy into it. “You can’t just make me bond with this shadow!” I said in protest. “We can make you and we will my master owns your soul. After all, he did save it from annihilation. Have fun working with him.” The shadow said waving its gigantic shadowy hand in my direction and released his grip entirely on me the others doing the same and all shadows started to go into regular non-supernatural shadows and went back to their dimension. All except for one that is. My now new partner which was my shadow now I guess drifted around the room making noises of excitement and paid my death glare no attention. “This is going to be a wild adventure buddy!” The shadow said and then it rushed at me stopped near my face and grinned.


It ended in silence, as most things do.

It all ended in the brutal, stifling nothingness, with no one there to bear witness. Not even the wind dared to howl, for it knew that there would be nothing left to hear it. Before, though, there was a gunshot. Ringing out in the cold stale air, the last thing that anyone ever heard.

The cries of that girl. A single girl, laying on the unknown remains of her childhood home, as she realized that she had lost everything she knew. The cries of the last girl on a dying world, her cries, knowing that there was no other option.

There were very few sounds, though, as that very same girl woke up in an abandoned world full of ash and endless shades of gray. She looked around and wondered how she would get back home.

But the events leading up to this were loud.

There was shouting and wailing up to the very moment before the girl came to. In the moments before her death, she would think that they were part of a dream. A vivid nightmare, far better, though, than the scene that was real. The world that was actually around her. If only she had remembered what had happened minutes earlier, maybe the end could’ve been different.

So prior to the sudden waking of the young women, there was a raging war around the sleeping girl, not much older than a child. Not a war between men, though the men were the ones who fought it. It was a war inside all of them, as they fought to accept their fate. The people said their last goodbyes. They cried their last tears, and breathed their last breaths of fresh, mortal air. They wondered what it would be like after they were gone; they wondered where they would go. As all the people came to terms with their inevitable fate, hundreds of eyes peered down and stared at the fair skinned girl, who they knew was the only one that would survive longer than them. Silently, they all wondered if her fate would truly be any better than theirs.

But of course, the event preliminary to the waking of a girl must be the falling asleep of one. So she, at the bright and youthful age of 16, was chosen. Chosen she was, and she became the people’s modern Sleeping Beauty. She was a symbol of hope, someone that they thought could handle the weight of simply existing on their fragile yet determined shoulders. And even earlier than that, all the people, including that girl before she slept, sat without words as they realized that the words of a madman weren’t as mad as the man who spoke them. They began to prepare, mentally and physically, for the things they now knew would come.

They didn’t believe the man who had figured it out. They didn’t think that he knew what he was talking about. After all, he sounded insane, standing up there in the middle of Times Square. No one wanted to believe that their end would be so sudden, so seemingly pointless. Soon, though, every resident of the famed concrete jungle would learn that his insanity was contagious, if insanity is what you can call the knowledge of a massive extinction.

In the beginning, before the chaos, everything was normal. People went about their mundane days; walking to work and driving their children to school, groaning in frustration at the endless line of cars, piling up to create traffic. They had no idea what was coming, because no one knew. No one could have warned them.  And that’s really all there is to tell. We start at the end so you can understand the beginning. You are given the conclusion so you can understand why it could have been changed. Why it could’ve been different. See, before the silence, the kind of silence that presses in on your ears. Before the gunshot, the final ringing through the head of someone’s young daughter and the sick thump as her body hit the dusty earth. Before she woke from her sleep and cried for the city; a now dead, leveled sandpit of ash, and for her family, buried under the crumbled buildings.

And before the shouting, before the wars within the people. When the people’s only hope for this girl was that she could survive and live on, whether it was tourture for her or not.

And finally, before she was chosen, along with eleven others.

She had no idea before she died, but she was not alone on that earth. She, regrettably, forgot. Tragically wiped from her memory was the knowledge that just 250 miles away was the next one. A boy of 18 with dark skin and eyes, ‘ saved’ just like she was.

There were two more on that continent, and three just across the ocean. Five more in the countries beyond, and they were all saved so that the world could have another chance. They were last symbols of hope, children that others thought could handle the weight of simply existing on their fragile yet determined shoulders.

How could they have known that they would forget? How could all the people know that every last one of those twelve children would be consumed by the grief and pick up those guns?

The guns. The simple shotguns, the only things left behind. Not one of them stopped to think how the sleek metal weapons got there. They only decided to die. Every one of them within eight minutes of waking up.

Within eight minutes, all twelve of the children took their own lives.

They were simply numbers to be recorded. Notes were taken on times of death, vitals right before the trigger was pulled, and even what their last words were, wailed to no one but themselves.

All twelve of those children, the youngest at 10 years old, were minor casualties, sacrificed so that the next test could be run with more accurate results. To add maybe two more minutes to the time between consciousness and the decision to end their own life.

I saw them die, and I’ve come to one conclusion.

It ended in vain, like they all do.


"Congratulations!" my Grandfather shouted and gave her daughter a hug. "Thank you Papa!" Mom beamed. "Aren't you going to say something?" Nyla whispered. "Hello." I said in a bored tone. "Idiot." Nigel shook his head and snatch a piece of brownie from the table.

Nyla gave me a small smile and held my hand. "It's time for a new beginning,Niamh." she said. I didn't say anything. I felt like I was still in a dream. Everything happened so fast I haven't even had a time to brush my hair or paint my nails. "Look at them,they look so happy." my younger sister muttered. "What are you trying to imply?“ "That you should be happy for them too." My brows immediately furrowed on that thought. "Our mother just married a man the same age as our older brother. What you'd think people might say?"

"I don't care about what other people might think or say,I only care about mom's happiness." Nyla stated. "Of course." I said and laughed sarcastically. Why can't she understand how I feel? Our dad just passed away a few weeks ago and now his wife is married to another man. Did they even feel a single ache from what just happened?I don't think so. "Niamh,tell your daddy dinner is ready." mom said It's been 5 days since Jake settled here in our house and everyday,my mom keeps on insisting to consider him as my new father. I haven't talk to her "He's not my dad." I hissed and stood up. I walk quietly and went towards the master's bedroom. Before I could even raise my fist to knock,I heard a voice spoke so I decided to listen. "Tomorrow would be another remarkable day for a member of my family."

"Why?" "A big surprise." "Film it." I heard a loud laugh before the room went silent. "Jake! Dinner's served!" I shouted and went back to the dinning room. A big surprise? Really? The next day,I was really excited to go home to give my younger sister a new dress that I bought for her. "Nyla I'm here!" I shouted. "She's still not home." Nigel said and poured some orange juice on his glass. "Why?" "They went out to watch a movie." he explained. "They?" "Yeah together with mom and Jake."

So I'm guessing Nigel doesn't want Jake to be a part of our family too. That's cool. "Oh,okay." I grinned. I was about to take a walk outside when I heard the door opened. "Nyla!" I immediately went towards her and hugged her tightly. "Go away." she whispered. I slowly released her and placed both of my hands on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" I asked. "I think she's sleepy." mom said. "It was a long and tiring day." I smiled shyly and handed Nyla a paper bag. She really looks exhausted and her eyes were still swollen like she just woke up from a 12-hour sleep and still needed more. "Nyla!" I called. I made a few knocks and it took a while before the door opened.

"What do you want?" she asked in a bored tone. "I just finished baking!" I giggled and show her a tray full of cookies. "I don't like it." "But it's your favorite." I chuckled. "I said I don't like them,didn't I?" Nyla snapped. My smiles faded as I stare right through her eyes. I know how to read someone else's emotion and all I could see within her is pain. I placed down the tray at the top of a table near me and held her right arm. "Nyla." My eyes widened when she pushed me back. I winced when I felt my body ache from the impact I received. "Leave me alone!" she screamed at the top of her lungs and slam the door in front of me. I blinked twice before standing up. I couldn't believe what just happened. This was the first time my younger sister shouted at me. Before I could even say anything, I already felt the tears rolling down my cheeks. "I'll always be here for you." I whispered and ran to my room. Something's not right and I need to find it out as soon as possible. "Mom!" I called out. "Yes sweetheart?" she wiped her hands with a clean towel before leaning to gave me a kiss. "I think we need to take Nyla to a psychiatrist." I said. "I don't think that would be necessary." Jake suddenly spoke behind her. "Are you even my mom?" I hissed. Jake smirked at me before sitting in a chair. "That's out of our monthly budget." Jake said. "He's right, what makes you think she needs one?" my mom chuckled. "Have you seen her movements these past few days?" I asked,not leaving my eyes on Jake. "No." she answered. "It's because you don't care." I said nonchalantly. "Niamh?" I could clearly hear the confusion in her tone when she called me. "You heard me right,it's because you don't ca-" before I could even finish,my mom slapped me so hard I took a step back. I glared at the both of them before heading back to my room. I opened my cabinet and grab my wallet. When I returned,they were both talking in hushed voices. I threw my wallet and it slid right in front of them. "500 bucks and two debit cards." I growled. "Set an appointment tomorrow morning." I demanded and left them dumb founded. I was about to walk past Nyla's room when I decided that maybe I should talk with her.

"Nyla.." I spoke. I knocked on the door a few times but she won't open it. I knew she was there,I could hear her sobbing and that made my heart shatter into pieces.

"Nyla,talk to me." I pleaded. There was no response but I don't want to give up. "You told me we wouldn't keep a secret and now you're here,ignoring my presence." I whispered and let out a heavy sigh. "Nyla."

The door opened and I immediately hugged her tightly. I thought she might push me away again like what she did before but she didn't moved at all.

"Nyla,please tell me everything." I said when I finally let her go. She wiped her tears away before taking my hand and letting me inside her room. She locked the door and sat on the floor. I sat beside her and caress her cheek. "Do you remember the day when I didn't go to school because I was sick?" she asked all of a sudden. "I do." I answered. That was the day when mom and Jake took her out for a movie. Also the same day Jake said he'd have 'a big surprise' which didn't happen at all. "I was here in the room reading some books when someone knocked. I opened it and saw Jake carrying a tray. I let him in so he placed the tray on the table. He went towards the door and I thought he was going to leave but instead he locked it." she cried. "He locked the door and pushed me."

I felt like my heart stopped beating when I realized what she had just said.

"He.." my voice trailed off. Nyla nodded and cried even harder. "He took advantage of my weakened physical state."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked softly. "He told me he will kill all of us if I even say a single word about it." Nyla answered. I wipe my tears away and hugged her tightly again.

"Please don't tell anyone." Nyla whispered. "I won't." I said. I gave Nyla a kiss before letting her go. She leaded me out of her room and smile before closing the door. I walk towards my room and took my phone out. "I'm sorry,Nyla." I whispered before calling a number. It was a minute past nine went I heard sirens of a police cars outside. I immediately went out and I saw Jake being handcuffed by four policemen. My mom kept on crying while grabbing her husband's arm and I was still there,standing near the corner, watching them. Nyla went towards us with eyes wide open while Nigel's taking random pictures,obviously enjoying the scene. Nyla began to cry and hugged me tight. That was the moment I knew we were all safe now.


"Miss Kayla Swanson, you are cordially invited to this years June Jamboree on the 2nd of June 2024. Dress code as required. Men in suits and a black tie. Women in black and white dresses. We hope to see you there." I can't believe I'm invited to this year's June Jamboree, the social event of the year. This is unbelievable. I wonder why I'm invited but I don't care. Keep the dramatics down Kayla. I'm calm. I have to find a dress, a black and white dress. I leave my home and go to the mall. I spend hours at the mall trying to find the right dress. I think I found the right dress. It's not too long. The dress comes right above my knees with a parting down the right side of my leg. I love the way the dress looks on me. This is the dress for me. I pay for the dress and leave. I need shoes now. I leave the dress store and go to my favorite shoe store. It didn't take me long to find the perfect black heels. The heels accentuates my legs. They will go perfect with my dress. I happily leave the mall with my new dress and shoes when I see the woman who gets on my nerves. The woman in this whole town who I can't stand, Savannah Mitchell. She has this squeaky voice that will literally put holes in your head. Every year she gets invited to the June Jamboree and every year she throws it in my face. Not this year she won't. I don't pay her any attention. I just walk to my car and get in and drive home. Today is the day of the Jamboree. I wake-up early have breakfast and go to the salon. I want my curls to bounce. I love when my curls have texture. It took Marisa three hours to do my hair. I love the way my hair looks. I arrive home. Now time for my make-up. It takes me half an hour to do my make-up. My make-up is done. It's time for me to put my dress and heels on. Wow, I don't recognize myself. I look stunning. Time for me to go. I grab my purse, the invitation and my car keys. I carefully walk down the stairs, out the front door and to my car. I can't stop wondering why I was invited. The people who plan the Jamboree usually don't invited journalist. Anyways, I'm going to have a good time. I arrive at the hotel five. The most expensive and luxurious hotel in Coral Bay. It looks like the whole town is here. The Riley family who literally built Coral Bay and who host the Jamboree every year only invites the rich and famous. Why is the whole town here? That is a mystery. I get out of my car and hand the keys to the valet. I walk to the front door and show my invitation. The lady allows me to enter. Wow, the hotel is beautiful. I walk to the ballroom and enter. This is just beautiful. I feel like a princess walking inside of a castle. The Jamboree is also called the black and white Gala. Everyone looks amazing. I find a couple of my friends who are also shocked to be here. We talk about the Jamboree and the Riley family. After a while I excuse myself. I need some air. I walk to the balcony. The hotel over looks the ocean. I close my eyes and breath in the cool fresh air. "What are we going to do?" I hear voices coming from the other side of the balcony. I move closer. "We have to expose the Riley family for who they are and we have to do it tonight." Oh My God! Someone is after the Riley family. But why? The Riley family isn't perfect. Everyone in Coral Bay knows that. The Riley family built this town. The voices have quiet down. I peek around the corner. No one is there. I didn't recognize those voices. One was a man and the other a woman. What should I do? Should I go warn security? I look inside the ballroom. Everyone is having a good time. Why would anyone want to ruin it? The smiles and laughter is everywhere. Everyone is dancing, drinking champagne and eating. I have to put my journalist hat on and investigate. I enter the ballroom. I look around and see my whole town is here. It is a beautiful site to see. This is basically the only time the entire population of Coral Bay is in one room together. I see the Riley family huddle together. Mr. and Mrs. Riley hugging and kissing. There is Jake and his sister Jessica talking. They seem like a normal family, only with a lot of money. Could these people be after money? This is the first time I see Mrs. Riley smiling. She looks beautiful. Mr. Riley is a tough man who hold nothing back. Right now, I see a loving husband and father. The Riley children, Jake and Jessica. What can I say about them? Jake is just like his father and Jessica is known throughout Coral Bay as a spoil brat. But not tonight. Tonight they seem different. I can't point my finger as to why. Whatever the Riley family did to those two individuals, I can't let them and their vendetta ruin the whole night for the people and for the Riley family. I walk around the ballroom trying to figure out who the voices belong to. One by one I listen to each voice of the guest. I eliminate half go the guest. Then I go to the other side of the ballroom and listen to each voice. I eliminate the other half until I come up to two people. I don't recognize them as Coral Bay residents. I slowly walk up to them. I hear them talking. "By the time we finish tonight, the Riley family will be no more. Are you with me? "Of course, I am." That's them. I take a picture of the couple and leave. They are going to hurt the Riley family. I have to tell security. I go and find security. I walk up to them and tell them what I heard. I show them the picture of the couple. A couple of minutes later, I hear a man and a woman yelling and screaming as security is taking them away. Everyone is looking at them wondering who they are including the Riley family. Mr. Riley goes to the stage and tells everyone not to pay attention to the two strangers. Mr. Riley walks off the stage and goes back to his family. I see him whispering something to Mrs. Riley. After the two strangers are led away by security, the town of Coral Bay enjoys themselves including me. I do wonder what the couple had on the Riley family. One day I will hopefully find out.


The Mentor Off-key crooning… “The green leaves of summer are starting to fall, and those…’’ “Enough with all the melancholy end-of-summer stuff, Sawyer!” “How about something a little more upbeat like a little ‘Summer Nights’ from Grease, Jesse?” “Oh my God, no. If I hear about Sandy and Danny one more time I’m going to toss my cookies. You need to move on. Summer’s over. We had a good run, but school starts tomorrow.” “Yeah, I know, but I sure am going to miss those lazy, laid-back days of summer, sleepin’ in, sittin’ on the porch sipping my lemonade and checking out all the cars that go by, video games, watching Paw Patrol until my eyes hurt, trips to the park …” “Snap out of it, Sawyer, life isn’t all fun and games. It’s high time you got a little serious about your future.” “To be honest, I’m scared about my first day of school tomorrow. I don’t think I want to go. Maybe I’ll just stay home.”  “Don’t be ridiculous, Sawyer. You can’t stay home. And there’s nothing to be scared about. Sit down, I’ll tell you everything you need to know about how to be a good student.” Huck strolled into the room. The kid is so cool he makes the Fonz look like Napoleon Dynamite. “What’s up, bros?” “Sawyer’s got his undies in a bundle over school starting tomorrow, Huck.” “School starts tomorrow? Huh, I didn’t know that.” “Gees, Huck, how could you possibly not know school starts tomorrow?” “School, shmool, who cares? The Huckster’s got more on his mind than getting packed into a classroom like a bunch of sardines listening to some boring teachers try to teach us a bunch of crap.” “Watch your language, Huck!” “Crap, crap, crap, crap. Sawyer, relax. School’s no big deal. Just don’t let your goodie-two-shoes brother Jesse get in your head about it. You listen to him, and you’re going to hate school.” “You’re going to like school, Sawyer, but you have to take it seriously. Learning new things is exciting, fun, and rewarding. Knowledge and hard work are the keys to a successful life.” “You listen to Jesse, and you’re going to have a permanent seat at the nerd table at lunch. Lighten up on the kid, Jesse. Sawyer, all work and no play and you’ll turn into a super-geek like Jesse.” First days of school can be worrisome for a kid. First first days of school can be downright scary. Sawyer was making the big move, from kindergarten to first grade, real school. Jesse, having polished off his first two years in a breeze and now entering third grade, would be there for his little brother. Huck would also be there to…well, that was the problem. Huck would be there. Having miraculously made it through grades one through four without one documented minute of study, Huck was not likely going to be a good influence on his youngest brother as he embarked on his academic journey. But Jesse ranked high on the responsibility scale, too high for an eight-year-old kid, and he wanted Sawyer to get off on the right foot. “You got your pencil box packed?” “I think so, Jesse.” “Think so doesn’t cut it in the first grade. You’re not in kindergarten anymore, Sawyer. Let’s go through the list.” “ Six #2 pencils?” “Check.” “Ruler?” “Check” “Glue stick?” “Check.” “Remote control fart machine?” “Shut up, Huck. That’s not funny.” “Funny? Are you kidding me? That’s the funniest thing in the world. Sawyer, you make it sound like Miss Finn is rippin’ off a few thunder-busters, and you’ll be the most popular kid in the class.” “Stop it, Huck! Sawyer, don’t listen to him. He’s just going to get you in trouble. Fiskars kid scissors?” “Check.” And so it went, Jesse the force of good, and Huck, the force of not-so-good, exerting competing influences over their little brother. “Jesse, is Miss Finn a good teacher?” “She’s great, Sawyer. She’s very patient, explains everything really well, and cares about her students. You’re going to love her.” “B.S. She’s a witch, Sawyer. You can’t chew gum in class, she wants you to pay attention all the time, no throwing things, and she won’t let you go to the bathroom all day long. And I heard she killed a kid once.” “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Huck, Miss Finn never killed anyone.” “It’s what I heard. Just watch yourself, Sawyer.” “Is first grade hard, Jesse?” “Not if you stay focused and work hard. It’s pretty tough stuff, Sawyer, letters, words, numbers. If you pay attention in class and do your homework on time, you’ll be fine. Focus is the key. You’ve got to stay focused.” “Yeah, and here’s what you focus on, Sawyer- lunch, recess, and three o’clock. That’s when school lets out.” “Huck, don’t tell him that…” “Get in the lunch line early. Here’s where their stupid rules will work to your advantage. There’s no running in the hallways, but you do it anyway. That puts you at the front of the line every day. That way your hot lunch will actually be hot. And always look for some stupid, nerdy kid who might be willing to swap his dessert for your fruit or vegetable. It’s hard to believe, but they’re out there.” “Sawyer, you cannot run in the hallway! That’s a very important rule. Principal Carson is quite strict about that.” “Sawyer, I do it all the time. You don’t have to worry about Clueless Carson. His head’s up his butt most of the time anyway.” “Keep it up, Huck, and I’m telling Mom.” “Oh, that’s a surprise.” “Sawyer, Principal Carson does not have his head, well you know, what Huck said.” “Are you kidding me? You’d think after finding a fake puke on his desk five days in a row he’d catch on. Sawyer, the guy ran out of his office every time. Once he even barfed himself.” “That’s so disrespectful, Huck. He’s a very nice, smart man.” “Smart? One day I put a ‘School Closed’ sign at the entrance. When he saw it, Sawyer, he turned around and went home. Ha, ha, ha.” “He did not go home. You just told everyone he did.” “Well, he thought about it.” “How would you know if he thought about it?!” “And how about all the fire alarms I set off? The whole school knew I did it, and he never caught on.” “Stop it, Huck. Sawyer, if you listen to Huck you’ll spend a lot of time in detention.” “That’s where you want to be, Sawyer- detention. You don’t have to do a thing there. You just sit. And that’s where you’ll find all the cool kids. Hell, you and I can be in there together.” “That’s sounds pretty cool.” “Sawyer! No, you do not want to be in detention. Stop it, Huck!” “I’m just trying to help the kid out.” “ And, Sawyer, you want to look good for school. How you dress sets the tone for the day.” “No one cares what you look like Sawyer. Just try not to smell. In fact, it helps if you look a little rough, torn dirty jeans, your shirt hanging out, hair a mess. It boosts your cool-factor, gives you some street cred. Now, back to what matters. Recess. Stay away from the nerd games like 4-Square, Red Rover, Kick-ball, and Simon Says. And stay off the playground equipment. The cool kids are never caught on the swings or merry-go-round.”

“Don’t listen to him, Sawyer. The playground equipment is fun. You’ll love the climbing ladders and the big slide.” “They’re death traps, Sawyer. I heard half the stuff was paid for by the school nurse and some bone doctor in town to keep their business up. You can shoot some hoops or toss a football around, but what you really want to do is play marbles or dice for money. Just make damn sure you get good at marbles before you play, and most of the kids won’t know the rules for dice so they’ll be easy pickins. You can make some pretty good dough at recess if you play your cards right. Oh yeah, and cards, Texas Holdem so you can get a lot of hands in.” “Will you teach me dice and Texas Holdem, Huck.?” “Of course, Sawyer. That’s what brothers do.” “Huck! Don’t teach him that stuff! Sawyer, that’s not what you want to learn or what you want to do. You go to school to learn, not to gamble, pull foolish pranks, or get in trouble.” “Sawyer, look how much stuff you know already, and you’ve never been to school! Life is short, enjoy yourself. Do you think they would have invented the remote control fart machine if they didn’t want someone to use it? You gotta have a sense of humor, Sawyer. You listen to your nerd-bag brother Jesse and someday you’ll be putting starch in your underpants.” “I don’t put starch in my underpants!… I do ask Mom to iron them though.” “Oh, my God. I can’t believe we’re related. Ok, little buddy, let’s move on. Three o’clock. Once your school day starts, that’s the only thing that matters, the moment you walk out of the joint.” “Eight to three, that’s a long day, Huck.” “You bet your sweet bippy it is, Sawyer. That’s why you need to be able to entertain yourself while all the teaching crap is going on.” ‘Huck! The language…oh, never mind.” “Game Boy was always my go-to device. Then I got busted, and now they watch for that stuff. Same with the little radios and the earbuds. The best you can do now is a comic book slipped inside one of their humongous textbooks. And of course, you can always doodle.” Sawyer was taking notes. “Comic book and doodle…” “Sawyer! Don’t write that stuff down. You don’t want to remember anything he’s telling you.” “And there’s always the sweet element of distraction. My buddy’s brother is in college, and he calls it ‘defensive booking’. Rather than study yourself, you keep the other guy from studying to lower the curve. It’s brilliant, and you can have a lot of fun doing it. There’s all kinds of things you can do.” “Lower the curve, that sounds interesting, Huck.” Jesse couldn’t stand it. He put his hands to his forehead. “Oh, my God.” “Like what kind of things, Huck?” “Spitballs, funny faces, fart sounds, whatever strikes your fancy. It’s a good chance to show a little creativity. They should give grades for it, but the tyrants that run the place don’t understand.” “Sawyer, as Principal Carson always tells us, ‘Your business here is learning.’ Your future starts now. Education will be the foundation of your life. You fall behind, and the Chinese will eat your lunch.” “Huck, you didn’t say anything about Chinese people in the lunch room.” “Sawyer, Sawyer, Sawyer, you’ve got so much to learn. That’s why you’re lucky to have big bro Huck to take you under his wing.” “Big bro Huck is going to get you in a lot of trouble, Sawyer. You need to listen to big-bro Jesse. You’re at a crossroads of your life, Sawyer. You can either try to make something of yourself, accomplish great things, and live a meaningful life, or idle away your time like a goofball clown…like your brother Huck.”

The meeting of the brothers was interrupted as Mom and Dad entered the room. “Well, Sawyer, have the boys been filling you in on what first grade will be like?” “Yes, Mom.” Dad understood the forces at work. He could imagine the good and bad angels perched on Sawyer's shoulders. “Let’s hope you take your cue from Jesse and not from Huck. “Yes, for sure, Dad. Jesse really helped me a lot. The main thing is I will need to focus. It’s important to pay attention, follow the rules, and do my homework on time. I understand my business there will be learning. Oh, and I always want to look sharp.” Jesse smiled proudly; a devilish grin from Huck. --------- As the three boys and their Mother stood at the end of their driveway waiting for the school bus, Sawyer gave Huck a questioning look. Huck leaned toward Sawyer, smiled, gave him a quick wink, and whispered. “Don’t worry. It’s all good, Sawyer. I snuck the remote control fart machine into your backpack.” “Thanks, Huck. I think I’m going to like school.”


The old man walked slowly down the sidewalk. Thinking about where he had just come from, he hesitantly reached into his pocket for a cigarette, but he soon realized he had none left. Taking a small detour from his planned route, he crossed the street and entered a convenience store, where he bought a pack of cigarettes. After walking another block or two, he approached a bench outside of a small delicatessen and sat down, taking a break from his prolonged saunter. As he felt the cold metal through the back of his long, black pants, thoughts of his late wife began to rush through his mind. He took out the pack of cigarettes he had just bought, and opened the box. Just as he reached for one, he noticed a quarter on the ground about ten feet in front of him. He stood up, and began to walk towards the coin. Before he could take another step, however, there was a deafening crash, as if something had fallen from very high. The old man turned around to see an old air-conditioning in pieces on the bench. Under the rubble, he managed to make out a now crushed pack of cigarettes. As the gravity of the situation set in, the old man was not hit with worry, as what had happened was not going to happen again. He was not hit with grief, as he had faced too much in the last few months. He was struck by gratitude- not just that he had managed to narrowly avoid a terrible death, but that God had been kind enough to show him a sign. The old man walked down the sidewalk with newfound pep. This sign could only mean one thing- that he needed to quit smoking. This made sense to the old man, as his wife had been a smoker too, and met her end via lung cancer. Although he was sad about her passing, his motivation to quit smoking took over, and all an outsider would have seen was a jolly old man out for a stroll. When he finally arrived home from the cemetery, the old man decided to call up his daughter, explaining what had happened, and told her about his vow to give up cigarettes. While his daughter was very excited about this proposition, she cared little about his incident. She was more concerned about how this air-conditioning unit managed to fall onto the sidewalk, and curious as to why he did not stop to see who had been in the apartment; surely they would have come down to apologize. She tried to ask these questions to her father, but the old man was stubborn, and continued to rave about the “miracle” he had experienced. As a pious man, it was his responsibility in life to achieve greatness just to give away the credit to some external force, in the same way that his wife’s responsibility was to go to Him when He decided it was her time. The old man walked into his house, and immediately beelined to his room, not caring to lock the door or even take off his shoes. He collected every cigarette he could find, and started to walk back downstairs to throw them out. As he reached the bottom step, he saw a man dressed in all black approach him. The man in black grabbed a knife out of his pocket and proceeded to slit the throat of the old man, who now lay in a pool of blood at the base of the stairs, dead. The man in black looked down, and said to the body, “If you’d just stayed on that bench, I wouldn’t have to clean this shit up.


I have to get it working. Four hours without life support and we'll all be dead, but that's not the main thing. I mean, it is. Obviously. None of us want to die out here, least of all me. But we've also got a point to prove.

They said we weren't ready. The Council fought us every inch of the way, and I know it was only Ethan's intervention that got our expedition over the line. Ethan's name, really. There's only so much can be denied to the crown prince, even by the Council.

And the reason Ethan fought them so hard? Me. So we're out here now, lightyears from home, hours from death, all because of me. All the exhileration of the launch, the adrenaline of the crew, the bombast and the posturing and the talk of guts and glory has splintered into stardust. Hundreds of accusing eyes burn into me as I pass through the ship. There might only be a dozen of us on board but the weight of those souls threatens to crush me. Their shading tells me louder than words that it's the guts rather than the glory that currently occupy their thoughts. I've heard what they say about me, too. I'd have to be deaf not to, it's not like anyone has the energy to spare my feelings right now. I've heard it all before, how I'm over-rated, over-promoted, a mad scientist that no one sane would let out of the lab. Usually it rolls off me, but usually I'm not holding my accusers' lives in my tentacles. Nepo baby. Sycophant. Catamite is a new one; I’m actually faintly impressed by the erudition of the insult.

None of it serves to divert me for long. Because not only is the mission my baby, the ship herself is too. The hull, the engines. The life support system. I'm her inventor and her chief engineer, and while Ethan is her captain and pilot everyone knows she's mine to her wiring.

I don't want to die. We have a point to prove to the Council. But I have a promise to keep to Ethan which is written in more than blood.

“Are you sure?” His tentacles played over mine as we lay entwined in his bed. “I trust you, Tam, you know I do, but...” “I know. It's a big ask.” I couldn't hide the waves of colour that swirled across my scales, hope and excitement laced with the deep burgundy of avarice. To be first , to be the one to break the barriers of the edge of our star system, for it to be my ship, my engine, my innovations that cradled my people out into the unknown? A shiver of anticipation rippled over me, ruffling my frills. “I won't let you down, Eth, I won’t embarrass you.” He'd shaken his head, a hint of hurt staining his cheekbones emerald. “It's not that, Tam.” I waited, confused, as he coloured with anxiety. “Is it safe?” “Of course it's safe! You think I'd risk my own skin if it wasn't?” He'd frowned at me, knowing me a little too well, his look all that was needed to conjour the memories of boyish expoits and youthful innovations that blew up in my face, often literally. Sheepish, I'd conceded the point. “This time. This one is safe, Eth, I swear.” “You'll bring them all back? The crew? Every one of them?” “I swear.” I was under no illusions about the kinds of folks who I'd be given for the voyage. Those with too little to lose, too much to run from. Or those servicing a debt so great that it could propel them beyond the limits of our atmosphere. But a life is a life, and even though Eth is a much better person than I am I was happy to promise him this. “On my life, Eth.” Quite literally, actually, since there was no question of the ship leaving the planet without me. He'd nodded, apparently satisfied, and golden exhileration flooded my body. To be replaced by a chilling sense of horror at his next words. “I'll captain her, then.” More than blood, then. Instead, a vow to which I'm tied by the soul bond between me and him. Oh, there's no deep magic here, no arcane link that compels me to obey, nothing like that. Just the fact that this man is half of my whole, and my entire heart, and nothing in this universe matters if he is not at my side. I'd be a hell of a lot happier right now, though, if he wasn't literally at my side, but instead safely ensconced in the royal chambers in Selmat.

Is this what he expected? Is this what his family anticipated when they appointed a royal engineer to their court? It was a fancy of his father's, I'm sure, a conceit inspired by visitors from abroad who displayed their own scientists and mathematicians like a florist bedecking a ballroom. He'd requested a physicist and a cosmologist as well and the univeristy had been only too happy to offload me, the troublesome thorn in the administration’s side, to complete the trio. Aretha and Silas didn't last long, their tempraments far better suited to the dusty, theoretical towers of academia than the whims of a court which demands flair and novelty more than rigour and punctiliousness. But I was in my element. Every harebrained idea I'd ever had suddenly had an audience. Nothing I could say was too out-there, nothing too outlandish to delight my avid fans.

I wasn't expecting anyone to take me seriously. It had never happened before, after all. Oh, I knew my ideas would work, but I'd never persuaded anyone else. Or, at least, anyone who had the wherewithal to actually get them beyond the point of theory. Not until Ethan. Ethan listened . Not in the delighted, vapid way of the rest of the court but with actual interest. He asked questions . Intelligent ones. It was my engine design that fascinated him the most. His father quickly lost interest in the scheme once Ethan's questions become more detailed and my explanations less about showmanship and more about satisfying the insatiable curiosity of the crown prince. And about proving myself, of course. But that was fine, because in the face of his father's impatience Ethan began to ask for ‘personal briefings' on my ideas. They became increasingly ‘personal' as we got to know each other, and for a while the whole space exploration programme risked being derailed entirely as we discovered just how much exploration we could undertake within the four walls of the prince's bedroom.

The scene in the engineering bay, when I get there, is a horror show. A pall of smoke hangs in the air, choking the handful of crew who know one end of an induction manifold from the other and have hurried in here in a forlorn attempt to help. There's little they can – or dare – attempt without my instruction, but they'll stand there and broadcast their resentment in neon blue streaks nonetheless. My orders echo around the cavernous space, chillingly unimpeded by the engine's usual hum. Suddenly six tentacles don't feel like nearly enough as I press reset buttons and hammer overrides and make absolutely no difference to the silently accusing power gauges.

It's the fuel. Of course it's the fuel. I know it, even the underqualified grunts hovering at my back know it. But none of us have dared say it yet because to go in there and deal with it, to pass beyond the containment field, is only fractionally less of a death sentence than sitting around here waiting for the air to run out.

We're out of time, and I'm out of delaying tactics, and I've known for a while – since the instant the explosion rippled through the ship and the alarms began to scream and the crew was painted lime green in terror – that it would come to this. Muttering ripples round the room but I can't spare the attention, not right now. There are supplies in the emergency locker for this, and I snag the tub of gel that I've never found the opportunity – or perhaps never been sufficiently suicidal – to test and start to smear it across my body.

A commotion by the containment hatch catches my attention just in time, and my panicked screech stops the youngster's tentacle just before he overrides the security lock. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” He freezes, glares, steps into the shadows to try and hide the shade of his scales which are now so dazzlingly viridescent that they almost glow. “I'm the most junior. Sir. You don't have to order me.” “Order you to what?!” Panic and confusion is making my voice shrill and a couple of the onlookers wince and cover their sensitive earholes.

The youth – Derran, I recall, belatedly – looks faintly uncertain. “To go beyond the door. You... you do realise it's the fuel, don't you? Sir?” The honorific is tacked on tentatively, like he's increasingly unsure it's merited. Not that I can really blame him at this point. “That the lines are clogged?” “Of course I do, I designed the bloody thing.” I've finished slicking myself with goo now and I'm feeling unpleasantly tacky and more than a little nervous, and my temper is fraying. “What makes you think I'm sending you in there?” His expression goes flat, confusion and scorn and faint hope swirling across his scales. “Because someone has to unclog them, and it's a death sentence, and I'm the most junior.” He doesn't even bother with the ‘sir' this time.

I can't help myself. I scan the room. Half of them are staring at the floor, the rest meeting my eyes with a degree of defiant condemnation and the words are out in a jumble of hurt before I can stop them. “That's what you think of me? Seriously?” I'm at the door before the first of them realises my intention, and the shock as the rest catch on is almost palpable. “Don't follow me. If I can't do this, no one can.” It's not hubris, it's the bare facts from the one who designed the engine, built it from scratch, nursed it through these first dozen light years and beyond the edge of the Relean system. “Give me 20 minutes then evacuate.” It's an order they might or might not obey. There's an escape pod, of course, but who will find it out here? They can jump ship, but they'll be drifting in the void for the rest of their natural lives unless we've woefully underestimated the population density of this section of the galaxy. That’s not my problem, not right now. Not with the containment door looming imposingly above me and the handle suddenly heavy under my hand with the weight of what's riding on this.

It's a tiny comfort, as I take a final breath and step into the airlock, that Derran's scales are shining with relief and gratitude. (A little adoration and hero-worship wouldn't go amiss too, I'm putting my life on the line here, but beggars can't be choosers.) If the engineering bay was a horror show, the containment pod is a hellscape. There are no alarms blaring in here, because there isn't supposed to be anyone to hear them. But the heat and vapour and the smell assaults me and it's all I can do to focus on what I need to do. The goop on my scales will protect them, and I grabbed a respirator as a bit of defence for my eyes and gills, but both will falter when confronted with the scale of this catastrophe.

As soon as it happened, as soon as we felt the ship rock and heard the alarms blare, I knew what must have happened. No one is ever meant to come in here, because I built backups for the backups and the only way they could all fail was through a series of events so unlikely that designing it out seemed a waste of time. (I'm reconsidering that assessment now, you will understand.) A blockage, an explosion, the failsafe systems taken out neatly in precise succession with split-second timing; I couldn't have done it intentionally if I'd practised for a month.

In the vanishingly unlikely event we all get out of this alive there's a hell of a repair job and plenty of redesigning to do, but now is not the time. We can send the cleaner bots in later, but for now it's down to me and my tentacle-tips and the rising temperature is doing little to make them any more dextrous. The ringing noise in my head and the blurring of my vision tells me the muck is already seeping into my system, and choking clouds of fog are still blocking my view of the critical parts.

In the end I have to just go for it, forge forwards into the choking miasma and rely on my instincts to guide me to the right place. Like I said to Derran: if I can't do this, no one can.

The next minutes are a blur. Afterwards, only fractured impressions remain. The shriek of pressurised steam escaping from another rupture. The heat of the metal under my tips as I wrench at the valves. The choking stench of leaking exhaust and singed scales.

The sound fades away. Finally I realise I've done all I can, and there's a protesting gurgle that sends a flood of hope through me as the fuel reluctantly starts to flow again. I stumble back to the hatchway, yank it closed behind me, and collapse in a heap on the blissfully cool deck.

Ethan is there. Of course Ethan is there. He's there because he's the captain, and because he's the closest thing we have to a medic on this forsaken tin can, but mainly because he's my... because he's mine . I can feel the fluttering of his limbs on my body, the respirator replaced with medical masks, something sharp breaching my scales below my frill. His tentacles are everywhere, his touches reassuring and tender and a shade too intimate for a public setting but it's not like anyone's going to begrudge him those in my last moments.

The ringing noise in my head fades and I realise that this must be the end. Oddly, I’m no longer scared. I've kept my promise, after all: our ragtag little band of explorers are safe. I've not failed Ethan. I've not failed my ship. I expect to see Ethan's scales swirling with the deep black of grief but to my shock it's the faint crimson of irritation that I see, not deep enough to truly be called anger, but hurtful nontheless as my... my Ethan's reaction to my last seconds. (It has occured to me more than once that we really ought to get round to naming this thing that's between us. I guess we're out of time, now.) Without the ringing noise I can hear snatches of words, and their unexpectedness tugs my brain closer to consciousness. Idiot. Stupid, bone-headed, self-sacrificing... And then it occurs to me that the scene is getting clearer rather than fuzzier, and the pain is starting to recede, and the realisation that I'm not actually on the verge of death hits me like a shockwave. “Ethan?” There's relief marbled through the crimson as he locks some of his eyes with mine. “Tam. Of all the stupid—” “I kept them safe. I promised you, Eth. I kept them safe.” Ethan glares at me and then scoops me up in his tentacles with an ease that I usually find incredibly hot but for which I am just overwhelmingly grateful right now, and bears me off to bed and healing rest. As we approach the door I'm shocked to hear the approving sussuration of frills from the others in the room, and see the shades of gratutide and loyalty, if no little surprise, that adorn their bodies.

I don't know what we'll find out here, beyond the edges of our home system and out in the depths of the galaxy, but it looks like one thing has changed. Our little group of court sycophants and university spies and futureless outcasts has changed into something else today. I get the hopeful sense we're doing this as a comrades, now; teammates. And Ethan is here, and he's holding me close, and despite the utter carnage of this morning I can't help but feel that a lot of good has come out of today. I settle against his chest and let sleep wash over me as his insults fade into endearments. There's time enough to rake over today's debacle and make sure it never happens again; for now I can rest. I need my strength back - we've a universe to explore together, after all.


All of my team said when we heard the announcement that our team was going to get the final bit of funding for our prototype hyperspace ship. The day I had always dreamed about was so close. The problem was my team and I had already built the ship but we just needed fuel which we couldn't have afforded with our budget that NASA had given us which luckily after our fourteenth appeal to NASA for a bigger budget they reluctantly approved. After a small party with my team the question came up, who would co-pilot the ship. I was the main builder of the ship and also took astronaut lessons, so I would be the main pilot. None of the team had experience of piloting a ship so after looking through countless candidates only one person took my eye Oliva Airhart, a P.H.D at Harvard University for Engineering and she has three years of professional experience in a jet aircraft there's no one better for the job of a co pilot then her. A few days after accepting Airharts candidate letter, my team and I finally met with Airhart. We throw welcoming party for Airhart so that we can get to know her better. After the party I went and found Airhart off to the side and I asked “why did you apply to be my co pilot we made it clear that this isn't the safest project, and with your talent you could be on a” Airhart cut me off “what's the point of working on some boring jet craft when what you guys are doing is so much more than what I could do working with anyone else” standing there with a stupid smile on my face Airhart stood there confused “what's with the grin on your face?” after what she said I turned away to hide my smile. I said “Glad to be working with someone who shares my views” I left shortly after saying that. Some time after a few weeks getting Airhart up to speed with the whole project and how to pilot the hyperspace drive we were ready to go. About to launch and my heart is pounding, my fingers are numb and to be honest I can't feel my face. The first time humanity is ever going to hyperspace. The computer starts counting down, One minutes remaining…Forty seconds remaining…Thirty seconds remaining…Tw- Airhart cuts in on the radio “Somethings wrong, turn it off!” in a panicked tone. I looked at the computer blinking red. Somehow there was a hole in the center of the spaceship quicking trying to not freak out. I go to turn the rocket off then as if a whip snapped the noise away, nothing , no noise besides the ringing in my ear. I had made it into hyperspace…alone. Looking at the computer frozen all I could see was the message displayed by the computer. Damage to the lower half of the ship second pilot M.I.A. It all happened way too fast for me to think. Luckily the computer was already trying to get me out of here. It tried to get a report of anything and everything. What it read out to me was the following “unable to use radio, fuel was at 1/10 still draining, Estimated time for rescue UNKNOWN, main pilots brain waves unstable.” Once I heard that report read back to me after what seemed like days I snapped. I opened my drawer behind my chair and got out my grandfather's old pistol and pressed it to my skull. I chuckled to myself. My grandfather said that this is the luckiest gun he ever had and how it got him out of everything. Chuckling to myself for the irony of me using it now.I slowly loaded the mag of the gun I thought wouldn’t help me but brought it because I loved the stories that gun told. Accepting my fate I closed my eyes and right when I’m about to pull the trigger I hear Airharts voice “Coward I wish I would have lived and you take surviving for granted” I looked around ready to see my friend but what I wasn't expecting was to see a face covered like I was trying remembering a face in a dream. Then all of a sudden all of my team started to appear faces covered in that same fog. I couldn't describe, slowly one after the other they one repeated “Airhart wanted to live more” The computer was screaming at me “UNUSUAL BRAIN ACTIVITY CALM DOWN”. I screamed at the top of my lungs to these ghosts “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO”. Snapping, I pulled the trigger, the pistol clicked, And the spirits disappeared. Unfortunately after an hour of silence they came back. My pistol won't fire because the bullets my grandfather gave me were fake, that damn old man. Now I have the same nightmare about the death of Airhart in my head. I record one last message with that pistol in my hand praying it helps me too “Even though this ship has no signal and almost out of power I hope this message reaches out to someone, anyone I AM LIVE COME HELP ME” with that I tell the computer to loop that message and keep sending it out. With that recorded and looped i’ll spend the rest of my days pulling the trigger of my gun and listening to the illusions teammates call me a coward till death or someone saves me.


           This morning was not unlike any other morning in the City of Gloom. In fact, it was difficult to distinguish if it was morning at all, for day and night look the same here.            The Gloom city council is scheduled to meet later today to discuss the urgent issues at hand. Mayor Grumble heads up the committee of eight. I am the mayor’s assistant, Phineas Foghat.            As I look out the window of my apartment on Tedious Road, I see the citizens of Gloom wandering the streets. Each one of them hangs their head low, staring at the ground below their worn shoes. I will be joining them shortly as I head down to City Hall. One of my duties is to run all of Mayor Grumble’s errands, which for this morning, includes picking up his breakfast.            I slip on my gray suit, tie, and shoes, then it is out the door I go. The sidewalk is packed with others trying to get to work on time, each of them dressed in similar clothes to me. We march down the street like bottles on a conveyor belt. While everyone else stares at the sidewalk, I raise my eyes to the sky and wonder if there is more to life. The sky is dark, and cloud covered. There are no stars or moon to see.            As I reach Shadow Street, I head East toward City Hall, but on the way, I need to stop and pick up the mayor’s order from Shady’s Diner. Maria, behind the counter, has it ready when I walk in. Every day, it is the same meal, black coffee, burnt toast, and truffles with a slice of Gray Owl Cheese. The aroma from the truffles is overpowering as I quickly rush out the door and back into the semi-fresh air outside.            When I enter the mayor’s chambers, he is sitting at his desk with a light gray bib tucked into his dark gray suit. In his hands, he holds a fork and knife while drool dribbles down his mammoth chin. I quickly set the food out in front of him and stand back as he devours the meal in a matter of seconds. I’m certain that if I left my hands near his plate for one second longer, I would have lost some fingers.            With an enormous belch that filled the air with the smell of truffles, coffee, and old cheese, Mayor Grumble began barking out his orders to me.

“Foghat!” he shouted from six feet away, “Get me the list of complaints from the workers at the mine. I want to know what to expect at the meeting today.”            “Yes, of course, sir,” I replied. “I have it right here.” Pulling the list from my briefcase, I handed it over. The mayor studied the list for several moments and scratched down a few notes for later reference. Then he turned his attention back to me.

“Foghat, I need you to run down to Bleaker Street and pick up a package for me. It is a gift for my wife. Today is our anniversary.”            “Congratulations, Mayor Grumble. Will you and Mrs. Grumble be doing anything special tonight?”            “Don’t be ridiculous, boy! I have a city to run. I don’t have time for such nonsense. Now, get out of here.”

I rushed out of his office and headed back out onto the busy sidewalk. Bleaker Street was four blocks away, and the crowd had died down slightly from earlier, so I made it there in record time. The shop was called, “Waste Not, Want Not,” a second-hand store with items that other people had thrown away. As I walked into the front door and introduced myself, the manager came out from the back and told me that the mayor’s gift was all wrapped and ready to go. He handed me a box wrapped in newsprint that was no more than six inches wide and four inches high. I thanked him and left the store.            As I crossed the street, it began to rain, so I ducked down an alley to take shelter. Light was nearly non-existent apart from a dim light at the far end of the alley. I walked towards it and was shocked to see that beneath the light stood a doorway, but not just any doorway, it was unlike any other door in the city. This door was the color red. I was taken aback, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. Colors like this did not exist anywhere in Gloom City. I had to see where it led to.            I reached for the handle of the red door, took a firm grasp of it, and turned the handle to the right, then the left. It was locked. I hung my head in despair as I pondered what secrets could possibly be hidden behind that door. Looking at the package in my hand, I realized that I had already wasted too much time. I needed to get back to City Hall.            The mayor took the package from me and set it inside the drawer of his desk. He then ordered me to go prepare the council room for our meeting. Preparing the room was not a challenging task. I needed to make sure they each had a chair to sit in, a glass of water, and a copy of the agenda. I finished early and decided to have a seat in the mayor’s chair. It was larger and more padded than the others, and quite comfortable. I leaned back and set my feet upon the table in front of me then closed my eyes. That was when I heard a knock at the door.            Startled by the sudden interruption, I fell backward from the chair and hit the floor, my feet still resting upon the table. When I finally composed myself and got to my feet, I saw Wanda Bluster standing in the doorway shaking her head in disgust. I begged her not to mention anything to the mayor about what she saw, and she agreed reluctantly. She was there to drop off paint swatches for the mayor to look over for his office. He could choose from Gunmetal Gray, Ash Gray, Slate Gray, or White Smoke. I thanked Wanda and told her that I would make sure he got them.            Once the council meeting began, I knew that I would have a couple of hours of free time, so I decided to wander back down to the alley off Bleaker Street. This time, I brought along a small prybar to help me open the door. I tried the door handle once again to be sure, and it was still locked, so after scanning for onlookers, I wedged the prybar between the door and the doorjamb, and I pulled back with all my strength until I heard and felt the door pop open.            Carefully, I eased the door open, praying nobody was waiting on the other side ready to clobber me. The hinges creaked with disapproval of my deed. Inside, was a dimly lit staircase that zig-zagged upward into darkness. I edged my way step-by-step until I reached the first landing, listening for any unusual noises, but I heard none, so I continued into the darkness, with my hands planted firmly on the railing to guide me.            As I reached the top, I stepped out onto a flat platform. The darkness engulfed the room to the point where even sounds from the street below had faded away. That was when I saw it, a bright light above me waving back and forth. I shaded my eyes from the blinding light. A male voice came out of nowhere immediately after calling my name, but I couldn’t see anyone. Fear began to envelope me. I had no clue as to what was happening or who could be calling my name.            Again, my name was called out, but this time by a woman. Somehow, I recognized the voice, but I couldn’t put a face to it. The light appeared again as I felt a hand squeeze mine. The female voice called out,

“Phineas, open your eyes.”

I could feel the grasp tighten on my hands and I strained my eyes to see past the light. Suddenly, images started coming into view, blurry at first, but after a few minutes, things became clearer.            In the room, there were two people, a woman who sat by my side, and a man standing in front of me. As I looked around, I was surrounded by light and colors. I stared into the deep blue eyes of the woman next to me and my memory of her returned. She was my wife, Christine. I was in a hospital room and the doctor stood at the foot of my bed.            Tears ran down Christine’s face as I smiled at the realization. I asked her how I got there, and the doctor began to speak.

“Mr. Foghat, you have been in a coma for several weeks. You overdosed one evening and were found by your wife when she returned from work. She mentioned that you had been feeling very depressed lately, so it is my recommendation, that you start seeing a counselor regarding your mental state. Mental health is something to take very seriously, Mr. Foghat. I hope you are aware of that.”            “Yes, doctor, I am aware, and I have had plenty of time to consider what kind of world this would be if we were all in a depressed state all the time. I certainly have no desire to return to Gloom City.”

Christine and the doctor looked at each other perplexed at my statement, but I decided to wait until Christine, and I were alone to tell her about where I had been hiding out lately. It felt so real to me, and I am sure that there are thousands of people still trying to find their way out of Gloom City too. All I know for sure, is I plan to make the best of every moment from now on.


There’s a hair on your left arm that you never noticed before. Not that you usually notice your arm hairs, but this one was tough to miss. It was thicker than any of your other ones, and darker too. You give it a little tug and find it’s longer than you thought. You pull it a good four, five inches and there’s still more hair coming out. You take some scissors and cut it, or at least try. It’s a lot tougher than you thought: your scissors are ruined and the hair is still there. You give it another pull, just to see if there’s more, and there is. You take it about two feet before you stop, wondering if it ever ends. It never does. It doesn’t hurt when you pull it, though it does feel weird. You poke and prod the area around the hair, thinking something is maybe under your skin, but you feel nothing. You go to your parents who, in the course of their investigation, pull the hair another three feet, then conclude you should see a doctor. The doctor, after pulling the hair another foot, tries to x-ray your arm, but the machine breaks as soon as it’s turned on. They try again with another machine and that breaks too. The doctor tries cutting the hair, using a scalpel, an electric saw, a paper cutter, and even an antique Japanese knife a patient had on him. Nothing works. So they try surgery. You find this very scary and just want to go home and not think about this gross hair that’s coming out of your arm (and it is quite gross–you didn’t realize it at first, but now that there’s enough of it you realize it smells, very faintly, of bad BO.) Still, your parents agree, and you’re given something that makes you very sleepy. When you wake up, there’s a bandage on your arm and a doctor beside your bed, who says that they could not remove the hair. They tried digging it out by its root, but all they managed to do was break several scalpels. They also couldn’t find any reason why this one hair suddenly got so long, strong, and gross. They say the only way to really get rid of the hair would be to remove the arm. That makes both you and your parents very upset. So, your family tries other things. They try a blowtorch. They try a laser. They try a saw used to cut diamonds. Nothing works. Sometimes, like with the blowtorch, you only get hurt, because you find out the hair conducts heat very well. This goes on for weeks. The hair gets extremely long in the meantime. You do your best to be careful but sometimes you’re walking and it gets snagged on something and you don’t notice for a while until you look back and see you’ve added another ten feet or so. Or sometimes, in your sleep, it gets caught on your pillow and as you roll around in bed the hair gets longer with each movement of your arm. One time, the worst time, you got into a car and didn’t realize your hair had gotten wrapped around a tree branch and it took a few miles before you realized what had happened. You might have been able to tie it up before, when it was smaller, to keep these sort of things from happening, but now it has gotten much too large to manage. You have to coil it up like a garden hose to walk around, and it’s heavy and it’s stinky and it’s gross. So, eventually, you tell your parents that you just want them to chop off your arm. You’ve had enough. Your parents take you to the doctor’s again and, within a day, your arm is off. You’re sad–you and that arm had a lot of good memories–but you’re glad at least you don’t have to trail that hair anymore. A while later they take off your bandages and see how you’re healing. Sticking out of the stump, where your arm used to be, is another hair. Heart beating loudly, you grip it with your remaining hand and pull, hoping, praying, desperately wishing that it would just pluck out of your skin. It does not. It gets longer.


Mike let a handful of sand slide through his fingers. He stared at Jenny. She hadn’t changed a bit. It was five years since they’d had that awful row. He couldn’t even remember what the argument was about. All he remembered was Jenny storming off and then sending him a text to say it was over between them. Now, quite by accident they were together on their favourite stretch of beach on the anniversary of their breakup. Jenny looked straight ahead. She loved to hear the seagulls and watch the waves crashing on the shore. “Do you remember how we used to walk on top of the cliffs?” Mike said as he raised his arm and pointed to his left. Jenny glanced toward the high white cliffs as memories stirred inside her. You never, ever held my hand and always walked a few paces ahead of me. I was scared stiff when you got too close to the cliff edge. She thought. “I’d run ahead of you and take photos of the wind blowing your hair in your eyes. You always looked so serious. Maybe it was the cold wind up there on the cliffs.” You always looked like an idiot and people thought you were going to either jump off or fall off. No wonder I looked serious. You’d take me up there no matter what the weather and never listened to me when I said I was cold and wanted to get back into the car. She thought. Mike picked up some more sand and a handful of pebbles and began making an image of a flower in the sand. “What about that time I bought you a massive bunch of red roses for your birthday. We had to go out and buy three vases to put them in because you didn't have any big enough.” My birthday was the day before. You forgot my birthday and you forgot to turn up for our dinner date. I had to make up some excuse about us both being sick and cancel the table. You only remembered my birthday after seeing all my cards on the windowsill. Jenny was deep in thought. “Would you like an ice-cream Jenny? Shall I go and get you one? Your favourite is the strawberry isn’t it? I won’t be long.” Said Mike as he fiddled with the change in his trouser pocket. My favourite ice-cream is raspberry ripple actually, and I love candy floss. Jenny thought. “Here you are Jenny. You’d better take it quick as it’s dripping down the cone. I’ve bought us both some candy floss too. I thought you might like it. A reminder of the good old days.” “Thanks Mike. Yes, I do love candyfloss. How’s your Mum these days? I miss our little chats. Sorry to hear about your dad. Your friend David told me he’d passed away but I didn’t have an address or phone number for you so I couldn’t let you know how sorry I was.” “Oh, that’s all right. Water under the bridge now Jenny. Mum’s fine. Well, sort of. Yes, we all miss dad. Mum has asked about you a few times. But like you say we lost touch. I changed my mobile and you must have too because I did try to get hold of you.” “Yes, I did change it and I live with a group of girls now in a house that’s been turned into flats.” “Sounds nice. I moved back in with mum, but you wouldn’t have known that anyway. Strange us meeting up here like this. I thought it was you as I passed by the pier and then as I got closer, I realised it was you. Hope I didn’t startle you too much when I called out your name.” Said Mike. “No, you didn’t startle me. I could hardly hear you though above the sound of the waves crashing and the seagulls overhead. Good job you came over or we would have missed each other.” Said Jenny. “Yes,” said Mike as he sat on the sand beside Jenny. I wish he’d put his arm around me. Thought Jenny. “Are you doing anything this evening?” Said Mike. “Nothing really. The girls often go out on a Saturday. I sometimes go with them. I might tonight if I feel like it. But then, again, I might not. It all depends on how I feel really.” “What are you doing this evening Mike?” “Oh, I’ll probably sit in the hotel. I’m staying at The Grand. They have a pianist in the bar most nights. I’ll sit and listen to the music and then probably have an early night. I’ve got to get back to mum in the morning. I just came down for a couple of nights. To get away from it all you see. I do quite a bit for mum these days and it can be rather tiring. I just needed a break and thought the fresh sea air would do me good. Then I saw you.” Said Mike “Yes, strange that. I don’t often come to the beach on my own and especially at weekends when it can get rather crowded.” Said Jenny. “Do you remember that row we had Jenny?” “Not really.” How could I forget it? She thought. “I don’t even recall what it was about now Jenny. Do you?” “No, I don’t. I don’t recall what we argued over.” Said Jenny. I caught you snogging with Amanda at the party. You won’t remember you were too drunk. Amanda had been after you for weeks and you couldn’t keep your hands of her. Jenny’s face flushed a little as she remembered that dreadful night. “Do you ever hear from your friend Amanda at all? I heard from David that you had had a big fallout with her. Is that true? She’s quite a nice girl and I thought she was your best friend.” Said Mike. “She was” Said Jenny. “But she isn’t any more.” “Oh, shame that. Such a good-looking girl too.” Yes, I bet in your eyes she was better looking than me and she had bigger boobs than mine too. Thought Jenny. “She was quite shapely too, If my mind still serves me well, Jenny.” Said Mike. “Yes, she was quite shapely. She took up modelling you know.” Said Jenny. “Oh Wow,” Said Mike. “Look, would you like to spend the evening with me back at the hotel. We can have a meal and listen to the pianist if you like or take a walk along the promenade together. It’ll be just like old days.” Said Mike. “No, I don’t think so Mike. Thanks for asking. I’ll probably just stay in and have my usual pizza and watch a film. The girls will be there and they’re good company.” Said Jenny. “But I thought.” Said Mike. “You thought what, Mike?” said Jenny. “I thought that maybe we could begin where we left off. I thought we could get back together again. I thought this was not a coincidence but was meant to be, Jenny.” “No Mike. What you’ve been thinking about isn’t going to happen. What you remember is another you, another me, another us.”


Special thank-you to my own computers teacher who is the kindest teacher I have ever known. *** For everything that I know, there is so much that I don’t. While I know how to keep a child engaged while learning even the most boring of coding languages, I don’t know how to explain the bruises. While I know how to make an amazing task bar with flashing rainbows and unicorns using CSS, I can’t explain the sudden weakness or how it suddenly hurts to breathe. I wish I could tell them. About this. *** “We’re sorry. We could have saved you if you had come six months ago. The cancer has progressed too much to be removed without hurting your body. It isn’t even normal cancer and I don’t blame you for not realizing it sooner. You have chronic lymphocytic leukemia, which develops very very slowly. You had a quarter chance of getting it.” “H-How much time do I have left?” “A year, give or take.” “Will I have to do chemotherapy?” “It would do more harm to your body, seeing as you are older than most cancer patients.” “Doctor, thank you… I’ll be leaving now.” *** One year. That’s all I have left. No, I shouldn’t think like that. I need to make the most of my time, and teach this new batch of children the best I can. Speaking of which, they are already being difficult. First I had to deal with the bubblegum kid, then someone hit their keyboard too hard, and by the time we actually started learning about JavaScript, we had already lost 20 minutes of class time.

What makes it worse is that the school wanted me to leave and rest and I insisted to stay, so they lessened my work load and made me teach just one class. Which would be this class. I told them to leave the first page of their notebook open. I wish I could yell at them for being naughty, but I don't have the heart. This will be the last class I will ever teach. *** My doctor is insisting I get a cane. In true family tradition, I only agreed if the cane is shaped like a flamingo. (It took him 4 days and more than 200 Amazon searches to find a flamingo cane that I liked. I made him pay for it too, claiming that I would tell God in heaven that he did something good for me. It works every time.) *** Like I imagined, my children were highly fascinated by my flamingo cane. I quote, “He’s ACTUALLY kind of cool!” We’re making fast headway in JavaScript. They’ve just learned prompt boxes and alert boxes and I am very proud. I keep on meaning to tell them that, but I don’t. It feels too much like a goodbye, so I avoid it.

*** My children are so much better behaved now. Every time they do something bad I just swing my cane a bit and they quiet down and submit very submissively.

My bones hurt and I’m starting to think that this must be how the Tin Woodman felt before Dorothy oiled his joints. I suspect something is afoot, however, that they are either giggling whenever they see me in the hallways or look straight ahead as though they are afraid to give something away. I’ve never dealt with anything like this in my forty years of teaching. But I like their laughter, so I give them less homework than usual today. *** It’s my birthday week! And today I coughed up blood. Well, what a sad way to start the last birthday week of my life. I bet the children are anxious, the mid-year parent teacher meeting is nearly here. I feel young again, giddily waiting for cake and presents. *** “So how has my child been so far?” “They are a wonderful student. I’m very happy to have them in my class.” That’s what every parent asked, and that’s what I answered to every parent. The parents told me all sorts of things too. Apparently I was a favorite teacher and all the kids loved me? How strange. *** THESE CHILDREN THREW ME A BIRTHDAY PARTY. ALL BY THEMSELVES. I legitimately started crying. In all my years of teaching, no class had gone out of their way to do something special for MY birthday. They deserve to know the truth. ** We’ve finally reached the last three months. We’ve also reached while loops and for loops and Boolean values. I made up a theory and shared it with my class. Everything is actually black or white. You’ll either do your homework or you won’t. (I will die, or I won’t.). Someone could win the election. Or they couldn’t.

Based on this theory, I taught them how to randomize Boolean values to create a sort of coin flip code. They had a lot of fun with it. *** I have four weeks to live. Today would be the day I told them about it. I walked up and down, willing myself to say it. My children were quiet already. I guess they knew me so well that they knew I was tense. “Children… I have chronic lymphocytic leukemia.” No reaction yet. Don’t think they know what that means. “It’s a type of cancer that… is very deadly to, um, people of my age.” Stunned silence. This is going worse that I thought. Anna bursts into tears. Other kids begin to tear up too. “No, no, it’s ok… I still have a few weeks. And I want to spend it with you guys.” The only boy who wasn’t tearing up had his hand up in the air. His name was Alex. “Yeah, Alex?” “W-why would you want to spend it with us?” “Because I love you guys and you guys are like my children. Speaking of that, remember how I told you to leave a page in your notebooks? I’ll need those now, please pass up your notebooks to the front.” My kids were still mostly crying but they listened to me and passed up their notebooks.

That day, they all gave me a hug when leaving, as though afraid that I would die over the weekend and they wouldn’t see me again. *** I spent the weekend writing a note to each and every child on the first page of their notebook. Although each was personalized, I ended each with, “The only thing I regret is that I only got to spend a year with you. I am very, very proud of how far you’ve come, and I’ll be watching you all the way. I love you all.” I was still alive by the end of the weekend and I gave them their notebooks back and they all became teary-eyed again. We spent my last class playing video games. *** I took them all to the beach, and ice cream, and to the dog park to play with dogs and to the animal shelter for cats and dogs and birds and then it was the last week and I felt very weak so I stayed home and rewatched old romance Hallmark movies. (The nostalgia is real.) Luckily, it came like sleep and it was actually kind of cool how fast it went by. —-^/\—-^/\-—^/\———————————————————————


\[ VIII \] Upon looking over the disappointingly disruption of the of patterns that mounted up: Matilda thought of the battle with the Centaur, as it were politely ended with no judgement by both parties. She let the links form naturally as she strolled in the dark, and her eyes gazed across the land near her Golden Fleece. She had returned home in which the land where there once lay massive fire was being covered by a gargantuan red and white tent that gave suggestion of a circus. Matilda had never seen a tent so grand and curiously marveled at the sheer height that the erect tent stood, and all its flimsy glory. The mesmerizing swaying lead her to question the structural integrity of the tent and its inhabitants that seemed to be yelled. She set foot inside without hesitation as to simply observe the engineering feat, and prioritize safety protocol. Her attention was set as natural to enforce safety, and reflex holding her frown under this very visibly unstable situation. Despite all the unarticulated noise of the ignorant people in attendance: she pressed blindly through the stomping crowds and headed west as to find the center of the labyrinth. The giant circus tent housed countless dead-eyed savages, blind and seeking the thrill of sensationalism. This misunderstanding of patriotism was a labor for Matilda, as she was obligated by her title to secure the safety of all those who stood resident on her yard. She yelled frantically and sincerely for them to stop their abrupt behaviors, and fell ill when she grew lost in her thoughts and orders of desperation. Her chest clasp tight as she heard their yells of hate filled intimidation, and she felt her strength weaken for only a second weakened from the endless shoulder to shoulder bumping. She tried standing like stone but the physical blows to her chest forced her lose her wind, and when she said nothing the sounds got louder all around her. Matilda had a migraine that lasted for what seemed like many years and many moons, and she finally fell asleep laying crumpled in a head under the unsteady swaying tent. She laid there being continually trampled over by the dead-eyed savages yelling nothing on her land, as Matilda had failed to find center of the labyrinth. She awoke to the same seizing shock that had once been brought on by the boulder running over her spine in Hades, and Matilda stood up confused surrounded in the masses. They had stampeded over her until her clothes fell torn to shreds and she was left stand there as bare as the day she was born. To this: Matilda looked down her front and shrugged. “Aight then” she said factually to what seemed to be nobody in the crowds of endless randoms. Matilda was an Indigenous Warrior from the West: being naked was how the original ancestors used to gyrate and she held dichotomy to her woman parts. Silly to be offended by something she clearly couldn’t change, and so Matilda continued wandering through the many obstacles the zombie like tenants presented. This precise event was things of nightmares for those with the fear of public speaking and often dreamt they were naked, but for her it just resembled the chilliness of Hades. She continued West to find the the now viewable pillar that stood in the center of the labyrinth. Matilda made her way through the crowds of shrieking dead-eyed savages, and found her small stature made it easy to push past them unnoticed. She stood in front of a pillar made from the wood only found in her yard, and she began to pace its circumference looking for a clue. The massive Redwood pillar held a small door along its backside, and to this ominous door Matilda cracked her neck as she stepped forward to investigate whatever lay within, and moved to the task without hesitation. The interior of the Redwood seemed to have been hollowed out, and sitting center was the beast Matilda had only known as the Minotaur. He wasn’t the quickest of monsters, and his notorious endeavors were often topic of jest to those on her land, as he was one of the many children that belonged to Mechanical Boar that now terrorized her yard. Matilda had known little of the Minotaur, as he were were only quoted when he contradicted himself and ridiculed for his beauty being seen opposite to that of his sister: the daughter of King Minos. Matilda strode up to the beast and observed that he had little in his facility, but saw that the Minotaur also held onto a magic book that held subpar might to her Golden Fleece. She asked him what he had done, and the Minotaur tightened the grip on his magic book lined with gold. He said that he may have pulled at some intertwined threads made of silver and sought favor of the Cyclops, and he was now sitting stuck in the pillar surrounded by the maze of dead-eyed savages. Matilda rubbed her temple in annoyance as his voice was that of a banshee, and it had been already known to the world these facts that he had now presented as new. The Minotaur began to cry at what he had done, as he had no solution on how to leave the pillar that now held up the unstable tent called the labyrinth. To this self-pity Matilda grew enraged, and began yelling at the beast asking if he had any concern for those who stood resident under his circus tent. He slowly shook his head no, and she knew instantly that he held absolutely no understanding of justice. Yelling at this slow beast would solve nothing: forcing Matilda to lower her voice and she asked if he knew how unsound the structure had become. She informed him the dire situation as it posed danger to all those inside, and that danger now included the both of them. He sat there very apparently having never thought of this before, as his woeful face began to show worry. Matilda was left to find solution alone, as the beast was slow in thought and obviously worried only aboot his own safety. She asked him if she could go find help from his rich family that often ignored him, and to this suggestion he stood up in excitement, as he loved the all forms of attention given by his father. The Minotaur didn’t care if the attention from his family was appraisal or disapproval, as he was enamored with the rare occurrence of being center of attention. Matilda said “Oi’” as the Minotaur began to yell excitedly aboot all those in his family that could assist to his problem, as it seemed that the Minotaur had been exiled from his family for far too long. His banshee voice grew old quickly and so Matilda resorted to slapping the beast as to get him to cease with his excited impromptu plan filled with grunts and wails. Matilda didn’t have time for this shit and she stood there watching as he slowly realized how hard she had slapped him, as he hadn’t ever been treated in such an appalling manner. He fell silent as Matilda stood there visibly judging the beast, forcing him to think of a plan: no matter how long it took. He finally whispered something and instantly turned away with self-disapproval at his own opinion. Matilda had little patience without the kind Argonauts beside her, and so she swiped away the balance of the standing Minotaur by way of kicking the backside of his knobby knees. To this he fell awkwardly and Matilda stood above him asking him one more time to repeat what solution he had brought forth before he had turned away from her in dismay. The Minotaur lay there and said under mumbled breath that he were sure that his sister would know what to do. To this Matilda rolled her eyes, as she didn’t understand the hype around the Daughter of King Minos. She had little knowledge of the woman beside the fact that she had once publicly boasted of being complicit, and that she never halted the advances of sexual desire made by her father: the Boar. At any cost Matilda knew time was being wasted on this beast that now lay at her feet and so she left him and his incriminating magic book lined with gold in the pillar and attempted to find way for her to leave the labyrinth. Outside of the pillar Matilda avoided the dead-eyed savages that held tight in the masses around the pillar. She looked up and without second thought began to climb the outside of the Redwood pillar, and found fond ease remembering how much she loved climbing trees. Atop the pillar lay flat surface, and as it stood center the tent: Matilda looked down the cloth as to try and find a way to place her away from the circus tent that shook violently in the wind. Matilda hated heights but found her anxiety heighten being atop this swaying pillar and so she was left with only the option to jump and slide down the cascading fabric. She rolled around and tossed as she fell and it seemed the tent was even bigger than she had originally understood, as she fell for what seemed like forever along the red and white fabric. Eventually Matilda was desensitized to the quantity of adrenaline produced falling and by that time she had came to an abrupt halt, as she hit the ground with heavy force and rolled across the land of her yard. She stood up winded: half impressed she hadn’t died by fault of her own shitty plan, and set afoot armed with her weapons of silver and gold, as to find solution to the dangerous circus that stood over her land.  \-A Traditional Yurok origin myth composed and re-mixed with Greek myths by: Matilda Brooks US Federally Recognized Property #562-6146, Yurok Tribe, CA.