They breach the door, Eli shooting the guy on the other side. They walk up the stairs, they find an office. Jack opens it and falls, clutching his stomach. Roger kills the shooter, the two pull Jack into the office. Blood follows from the wound. Roger closes Jack’s eyes. The elevator at the back of the room opens, and blood flies from Roger’s head, staining the wall behind him. Eli goes to shoot, but they shoot the gun out of his hand. Eli charges the closest one, Slamming his head into the wall twice, Eli throws him into another guard, The guard shoots, killing the other guard coming at him, Eli runs at him, knocking him down, Eli takes the pistol, aims at another guard, fires then shoots the downed guy he’s on top of. Eli stands up and walks to the elevator, he goes inside and pushes the top floor button. Eli checks his ammo, wishing he had grabbed more off the guard. The elevator lights cut off and the elevator stops. Eli pries open the hatch on top. Climbing the cord, the next floor door opens, two guys walk out, and they both start shooting down. Eli aims and takes one out, he falls backwards, blood spattering on the roof Eli shoots the next guy and he falls off the ledge, hitting the elevator roof with a splat. Eli looks down, blood pooled around the busted wound on his head. Eli climbs up, and looks at the other guard. Blood had also pooled from the wound on the left of his head. Eli continues on, shooting three more guards who attempt to stab him. He enters a room then jolts back, hitting the ground, boots walk toward him, “Look alive. You’re gonna get executed.” The voice says. Eli wakes up with his mask removed and his head on a wood slab, the crowd from before watching intently. Someone walks out and puts a gun to the back of his head, the crowd cheers, the executioner starts pulling the trigger. Eli kicks his leg out, making him shoot the air. Eli kicks off the table, flying into the executioner, knocking him down, Eli wraps the handcuffs around the executioner's neck, choking him out. By the time the guards snap out of shock, Eli already broke out and shot three of them. One feel off the unguarded platform, Eli shot the executioner who tried to get up. The last two guards drew their guns, but to no avail. Eli drops the handgun into the crowd, picking up another one on the way back in. Dammit he did it again, should’ve grabbed the ammo. He opens a door. The building head grabbed someone and pulled them in front of him. Mason, he looked in pain and terrified. Eli looked at him. Not noticing the gun raised up, blood hit the wall behind him, Eli heard it. But there he was on the ground looking up, his face must’ve been a blank expression. Eli couldn’t move the muscles. Eli cursed softly and faded out.


Everyone thinks I don’t go into the lake because I fear water. In a sense that’s true, I do fear water. In particular, this water: Seneca Lake — the longest and deepest of the Finger Lakes. But not because I’m afraid I’ll drown, I’m actually a very good swimmer. I don’t go into the lake because I know what’s down there and they do not. So, here, on the south shore of the lake, I sit and watch small white waves roll in while other people swim. The clear and deep, chilly blue waters of the ominous lake are not for me. Nor, I suppose, not for Corey either. It’s been more than forty years, but I can still hear the sounds from the 4 th of July celebration, the year of our bicentennial. Practically every man, woman, and child of Watkins Glen came out to celebrate. There were firecrackers on lawns, bottle rockets in alleyways, and sparklers in the hands of every wild child racing up and down Franklin Street. NASCAR drivers stood by their shiny new race cars signing autographs while talk of a real professional firework show over the lake at dusk quickly spread from neighbor to neighbor. It was small-town America at its finest, all decked out in red, white, and blue. Corey and I were not going to miss out! I first met Corey Madison on the playground near the lake when we were both six. He and his mom had just moved to Watkins Glen and lived three blocks down from me on Decatur Street. Corey was a chubby little kid with honeysuckle-blond hair, fierce blue eyes, and a considerable limp due to one of his legs being longer than the other, all because of a viral infection when he was four. Somehow the infection caused his left leg to stop growing for a while. “By the time it started growing again, my right leg was already two inches longer.” Despite having just met (and his bum leg) we played together for hours that day. Corey told me about his dad and how he died in a car accident the night before his sixth birthday, just two months earlier. “That’s why we moved here. To get away from where it happened.” “That’s terrible, Corey. I’m sorry.” “It’s okay. I still have Mama.” It’s accurate to say I liked Corey from the start. Most kids in our neighborhood teased him about his plus-size body and nerdy limp, but not me. Meeting Corey was like discovering paradise. Although, I soon learned, Corey perpetually drew the short straw. Pete Slater was one of Corey’s short straws. Once a well-paid prison guard in Elmira, Pete fell off the wagon, hard, as the story goes. By the time he arrived in Watkins Glen in ‘74, he was jobless, penniless, yet conveniently handsome. Enough so, he got the attention of pretty Shirley Madison, Corey’s mom.

Shirley worked at Dusti’s Bar & Grill. It was the sort of place where people like Pete, hayseeds mainly, could shoot darts, play pool, and get totally soused at any time of day. Pete could be found there most days. He typically wore a navy blue bandana on his head, tied off in a knot at the nape of his neck. It kept his long, mud-black hair out of his face, I guess. But what I remember most about him are his ugly tattoos. The worst was a devil’s head wrapped in serpents, smack dab on the side of his thick neck. Black, red, green, and threatening. I hated it and I hated Pete. But, just about everyone in town hated Pete. “Brute, swine, vermin, thug...” Words typically used to describe him just three months after he hit town. So, when he disappeared a couple years after marrying Shirley, not too many people lost sleep worrying. “Adios muchacha,” was the most common sentiment. A day before the bicentennial, in an unusual display of generosity, Pete managed to obtain all sorts of illegal fireworks from Pennsylvania for Corey and me. We were planning on lighting them. All of them. Most girls were afraid of such things, but not me. Heck, I was twice as brave as Corey and everyone knew it, including Corey. When we’d go searching for night crawlers to sell down at the dock — two for a penny — it was me who scooped up those slimy fat bastards while Corey held the flashlight. He wouldn’t touch them; said they’d make him puke if he did. Another time, when we were eight, all my friends sat huddled on our front lawn watching my mother snip away at my long, shiny black hair until it was “boy short.” It made no never-mind to me, but Corey bawled his eyes while scooping up that raven-colored hair and carrying it home in his hip pockets. Yeah, Corey was odd that way; all sentimental and not very brave. Until the early evening of July 4, 1976, rolled around. A night I’ll never forget. It was about six o’clock when I arrived. The firecrackers were lined up in their driveway. Naturally, Corey was waiting for me; he needed someone to light them. I cut through the breezeway and knocked on their back door, but no one answered. I knocked again. When still no one answered, I pressed my face against the window to get a peek inside. That’s when I saw Shirley collapse after Pete hit her across the face with his closed fist. Just about everyone in town knew that Pete Slater hit his wife on a regular basis, but it was the first time I’d ever witnessed it. Poor Corey had probably seen it dozens of times which must have been heavy on his mind when he came screaming from the living room, lunging at the giant of a man before him. Before I knew what was happening, my hand was on the doorknob, turning it, until I was well inside their kitchen, part of the mayhem. Pete easily repelled Corey’s advances and seemed to enjoy the sport. But Corey was as mad as a cat left in the rain, the sights of which I’d never seen before or since. “I’m going to kill you, Pete!” he screamed, frantically slapping away at Pete. Shirley lay crumpled on the black and white tiled floor, crying and bleeding into a kitchen towel while I stood still like a statue of Sacagawea trying to figure out what I should do next. Then Pete, I’ll never forget, threw back his head and began to laugh, shamelessly. That crazy-ass, serpent-wrapped devil tattoo on his neck laughing right alongside him…or so it seemed. “That’ll be the day when a pansy-ass cripple like you gets the better of me,” he taunted, his grin now coldly demented. I thought I might pee in my pants but instead, I screamed, “Corey, stop! Let’s go outside and light the firecrackers.” “Yeah, and don’t forget where them firecrackers came from, sweetheart. A gift from yours truly.” Pete sneered, pounding his thumb to his chest, offering an outstretched hand to Shirley. “Get up!” Shirley, with a look of sheer terror smeared across her bloody face, scrambled backward, away from his reach. Seeing this, Corey suddenly vanished into a back room. When he returned, I could hardly believe my eyes. Less-than-brave, twelve-year-old Corey Madison stood stone cold in the middle of the room, his feet shoulder-width apart, bottom lip curled under with a .38 Special pointed straight at Pete Slater’s head. “Okay, let’s all calm down,” Pete sputtered, veins in his neck throbbing. “Everything’s cool. Put down the gun.” Corey never flinched and even Shirley, still cowering on the floor, remained deadly quiet. “Shirley!” Pete barked. “Stop crawling around like a fucking maggot, get up, and talk some sense into your stupid son!” Obediently, Shirley grabbed the top of the kitchen table, pulling herself up, attempting to stand. She was rocky. “Corey don’t do this,” she pleaded as she continued trying to steady herself. “Put down the gun, honey. Everything’s going to be alright…” But Corey didn’t seem to be listening to her, or anything, as he stood in what looked like a trance, both eyes fixed on Pete, chin up, shoulders back, hands firmly holding the gun. Pete returned Corey’s unbroken gaze but somehow managed to reach behind his back, dragging Shirley by her long, red hair. “Tell him again, Shirley! Tell him…” CLICK! Pete was interrupted by the deafening sound of the pistol being cocked. “Let go of my mother!” Corey demanded. Then, to everyone’s shock, he fired a live round high above Pete’s head, erupting in our ears with a loud and powerful

BANG! With the sudden and dramatic tip of the scale, Pete finally surrendered to Corey (or, to the gun) by letting Shirley loose. Quickly, she scrambled backward, away from Pete. I don’t know how she knew what was about to happen, but she screamed, “Corey, don’t!” It was too late. As the words parted her lips, and the neighbor’s firecrackers began to bang and pop again outside, the gun went off again. This time hitting Pete squarely between his eyes. Pete collapsed to the floor. Bright red blood quickly began to pool around his head. Corey’s mouth flew wide open, and he dropped to his knees. Shirley released a high-pitched, primeval sound, like a wolf’s howl, and crawled across the floor to Corey. Me? I threw up on top of my bright yellow Converse and covered my face with my trembling hands. Instinctively, we all scrambled to the far end of the kitchen with our backs against the wall — as far from Pete, and all that blood, as we could. We must have remained there for ten or fifteen minutes, maybe longer; suspended in time with our shared state of shock. Shirley finally spoke, breaking our eerie silence. “Corey, look at me,” she said, gently running her hand over the top of his head. Silent tears streamed down Corey’s cheeks. “We need to get rid of Pete’s body. Do you understand?” Events now seemed to unfold very slowly as Corey and I sat wide-eyed depending upon Shirley, the only adult, to take the lead. I thought about running home when Corey whispered, “Yes, Mama, I understand.” “Okay, good…that’s very good. You’re doing great. Don’t worry about anything. Everything is going to be just fine, as long as you both do exactly as I say. I promise.” Corey nodded again. Then Shirley spoke directly to me, her voice hushed but completely clear. “Olivia, honey, you need to stay and help us take care of things. Do you think you can do that, sweetheart? Help us?” My mouth opened but no sound came out.

It was all so frightening. I couldn’t speak. But I must’ve said something to satisfy her, I just don’t remember what. Shirley then took the gun, still in Corey’s hand, and wrapped it in a brown paper sack. “Corey, go into the bathroom and pull down the shower curtain for me.” Corey did as she asked, returning with the plastic shower curtain. Shirley spread it next to Pete’s body. As instructed, we rolled Pete onto it and wrapped him up, tightly. “Like a burrito,” Shirley said. After his body was wrapped and tucked into a corner, we began washing the kitchen floor on our hands and knees with bleach; scrubbing and wiping until our hands split, and our eyes burned. When finished, Shirley gathered our blood-soaked rags and took them outside to the firepit. About this time, many of Corey’s neighbors were outside, gathering their lawn chairs and coolers as they walked to the lake to watch fireworks. Shirley, now shockingly cool as morning dew, calmly smiled in their direction as she doused the bloody rags with lighter fluid and lit a match.

Poof!  They were gone. “We’ll just wait for it to get dark outside. I’ll pull the truck out of the garage, and we’ll move him when the coast is clear,” Shirley began. “People still be outside then, Mom. That’s when they’ll be returning home from the fireworks,” Corey said. “They’ll be out getting drunk and setting off more firecrackers for hours … don’t you think?” “You’re right, Corey,” Shirley said. “We’ll just have to wait until after midnight to make our move.” “My parents will wonder where I am,” I said, terrified and hoping the simple truth would excuse me from further bedlam. Shirley was ready. “Let me call them and tell them you’re going to spend the night, okay honey?” (Yes, she called me ‘honey’ for the second time that night, as if I were still an innocent child.) “You’ve spent the night here before so I don’t think your parents will mind. I’ll tell them that you and Corey are having such a good time that you’d like to stay longer, and it’s okay with me if you spend the night on our couch.” I still wanted to run but all I could manage to say was, “Okay.”

At Shirley’s insistence, we played several games of Yahtzee or tried to, on the shag-carpeted floor while we waited. A game I now refuse to play, ever. When “after midnight” finally arrived, we looked outside and discovered the neighbors were, in fact, back inside their homes — lawn chairs, coolers, and themselves all tucked in. All was normal, yet nothing was normal. Shirley backed her pickup up to the breezeway door. We struggled with the weight of Pete’s burrito-wrapped body while we carried it outside, knocking over house plants and even a lava lamp. Once the corpse was finally inside the pickup, Shirley drove down Decatur Street, without headlights, towards the lake. Corey sitting next to her, me next to him. At the lake, Shirley turned off the engine and yanked two cinder blocks out from the back of the truck. Corey gathered rope and we helped him tie off the blocks, wrapping everything around Pete’s body and tucking the gun inside the shower curtain. Shirley told us to wait while she borrowed a speedboat from the dock. Back then, many people in Watkins Glen were very trusting; they’d leave keys to their boats where anyone could find them. Shirley took advantage of the status quo and motored through the darkness with me, Corey, and a very dead Pete beside her. The macabre drone of the small engine propelling us further into the lake — and madness — was the only sound we heard. Four hundred yards out, Shirley cut the motor and we all pushed the corpse — laden with heavy blocks — off the starboard side. We leaned forward, wide-eyed, watching a large ripple spread across the still waters while the body of Pete Slater sank some six hundred and seventeen feet into the black abyss. None of us uttered a single word while Shirley turned the boat around and drove back to shore. Later that morning, tossing and turning on the couch, the unforgettable sound of Corey’s gun kept echoing inside my head. I tried to make sense of it all. Why Corey fired that second fatal shot I just couldn’t understand. Pete seemed to be surrendering. Perhaps Corey finally had enough of his stepfather’s cruelty. Or, maybe, it was the terrifying image of his mother, bloodied and bruised by her husband’s hand again, that pushed him over the edge. I considered everything I could think of.

Had Corey intended to kill Pete? Or had his finger accidentally slipped? Did he even think about what may happen to him if he did kill Pete? These questions ran through my mind all night long. But I never concluded a thing. All I knew as I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, was that Corey killed Pete with one, perfectly aimed and well-timed shot — magically muffled by the sounds of a Fourth of July celebration in town. Paradise lost. When the glorious sun, my savior, finally flooded through the open windows — and after I promised both Shirley and Corey I’d never tell — I ran home, barefooted, as fast as my non-calloused feet would carry me. (I never could bring myself to wear those yellow Converse again.) I ran past the neighbors’ houses, past the chilled, steel blue water of the lake, past the dock, past the playground, trying to forget how my best friend shot and killed his stepfather right in front of my eyes! As the days slowly passed, Corey and I began seeing less and less of one another. It had become clear to us that nothing could ever be the same. The innocent days of our childhood had slipped away, and soon were nothing more than a distant memory. Shirley and Corey moved away the following fall to a small city nestled at the top of the lake. I never heard from them again. I’m an adult now, a spinster, still living in the same house I grew up in with my now elderly parents. “Such a shame that Olivia Spencer never married,” I’ve overheard the same neighbors from 1976 say as they pass me on Franklin Street. “She was such a lovely child. Never pegged her to turn out like this. Such a shame…” So, here, decades later, I sit alone on the gritty beach and listen to the sounds of the waves hitting the south shore of Seneca Lake. Now and again, swooping in from the direction of Decatur Street, a helpless little wisp of wind forms this way and that, riding upon some mysterious breeze, swirls around my head. It’s then I worry that old, tattooed Pete may one day float up to the surface of the lake. I pound my fists into the sand and force myself to close my eyes and forget! Perhaps the underground currents of the imposing Finger Lake will be kind to me. Take Pete up north, about thirty-six miles, and let my old friend Corey and his mother deal with him all alone this time. But then, that’s only fair. Don’t you think?


I was standing near the end of the path yet again, the only thing stopping me from reaching the end was standing in front of me. “What brings you here, hero?” She asked in that deceptively sweet voice of hers. Knowing that talking is worthless I charged at her. She was able to quickly dodge my attack, just as I knew she would. I had already begun to swing my sword to where I knew she would be, but the damn witch noticed this and cast a spell that sent us both flying back. We both quickly recovered, and spent the next few minutes fighting in a flurry of magic and steel, she would send a spell flying towards me and the path led me away from it. But eventually I reached a point I haven’t gotten to before, because of this my moves became sloppier, but the path is paved with mistakes. Eventually I made a big enough mistake for one of the spells to hit me and I fell to the ground, and woke up at the beginning of the path once more. I really don’t care about much anymore but one thing I still hate is the start of the path, I always wake up in the same bed, in the same house and to top it all off, I become a child again! I laid in the familiar bed for a moment contemplating my mistakes, and how I can avoid them next time. Once I decided the best way to avoid them, I added the necessary steps to the path, and like clockwork quietly got out of the bed and started to walk down the steps. I had to be quiet to avoid waking up the family in the house, if they find me tonight it will massively interfere with the path. I slowly made my way into the kitchen and grabbed my knapsack that lay on the counter and emptied out the contents of the bag. Once I did that I started to gather supplies, Food, water, knives, just the necessary stuff. After this I slowly made my way towards the back door and opened it. I breathed in the cold night air as I walked outside, closing the door behind me. In front of me lay the vast forest that I’ll be training in for about a week. (It’s the maximum amount of time the path let’s me stay there, as any longer and the family in that house will find me.) I started to follow the path once more. The years flew by as I done little but train and slay the monsters that live in the wilderness. (For training and for making enough money to buy food.) Just a few weeks ago I’ve reached the part of the path where I have to help a group of young heroes on multiple occasions. (I can’t remember why making sure they survive is apart of the path, but if I’ve learned one thing it’s not to mess with the path.) Soon in a few months I’ll be back towards the end of the path. But as of right now I have to deal with one of the few parts of the path I hate. In front of me was a girl that looked a few years younger then me. She was a part of that group of heroes and shes asking that damned question, in that annoyingly sweet voice that sounded so sad when she asked it. “Brother. Why did you leave?” I ignored her and the question and went to walk past her. But just like I knew she would, she stopped me. She claimed that she loved me, that she became a hero to try to find me and she was gonna bring me back home whether I wanted to or not. It was at this point she tried to cast a sleeping spell on me that I knew was coming. I dodged it easily and drew my sword as she drew hers. After a short fight I had managed to knock her out and continue to follow the path. I found myself entering the dark castle that marked the beginning of the end. I was able to easily slay the monsters and soldiers blocking my way to the end. I kicked down the door. The only thing stopping me from reaching the end I so craved was standing in front of me. “What brings you here, hero?” She asked in that deceptively sweet voice of hers. Knowing that talking is worthless I charged at her. She was able to quickly dodge my attack, just as I knew she would. I had already begun to swing my sword to where I knew she would be, but the damn witch noticed this and cast a spell that sent us both flying back. We both quickly recovered, and spent the next few minutes fighting in a flurry of magic and steel, she would send a spell flying towards me and the path led me away from it. I laid in the familiar bed for a moment contemplating my mistakes, and how I can avoid them. Once I decided the best way to avoid them, I added the necessary steps to the path, and like clockwork quietly got out of the bed and started to walk down the steps. I had just finished helping the heroes kill the small army of trolls and undead that was attacking the small village. They were trying to ask me who I was but I ignored them. I was walking out of the village before I was stopped by a girl with red eyes and white hair. She was about to thank me for helping them before both our red eyes met. She stood in shock for a moment, and I took the chance to get out of there as fast as possible. I really don’t care about much anymore but one thing I still hate is the start of the path, I always wake up in the same bed, in the same house and to top it all off, I become a child again! I sat around the campfire with the heroes as they discussed how to beat the Great witch of Minnar and stop her evil, The girl was staring at me spitefully but I ignored her (It wasn’t my fault I needed to follow the path and couldn’t do what she wanted.) They all give their opinion on the matter until the big blond one that hung around the girl a lot asked me. “You told us you have important information, what was it?” I muttered out the information the path allowed me to give and as soon as I said it a got up and left. At least I got a little bit further that time. She asked me why I left. I told her I needed to do something important. She asked me if she was important. I walked away. I was at the end once again. As soon as I walked in I went on the offensive. I followed the path closely. Finally the path brought me to the final step as I plunged the short sword into the witches chest. She gasped as the floor was covered in black and red blood. She fell onto the floor and not long after dissolved into black dust. I let out a small chuckle as I fell onto the floor, a small dagger sticking out of my chest, the path finished. As I lay there I heard those heroes rush in. The girl quickly ran up to me and asked if I was ok. Instead of answering I simply asked her “Do you hate me?” She let out a small sad chuckle “How could I you dummy? I’m your sister.” My sister was trying to tell me everything was going to be ok, she was right; the path is over I can rest now. Hope you all enjoy it. If you read the whole thing please criticize any flaw, Grammar wise or story wise. God bless! Edit. I went ahead and fixed some grammar issues and rewrote some small parts so it reads better.


I love to watch people. I know how it sounds, but let me explain. I love to take a simple glance at a stranger and invent their entire life story. That woman you queued behind at the supermarket? She’s a single mother, her three children, all under the age of 5, struggling to survive. Of course, I could be, and most likely am, completely wrong. She might be heading home to her spouse, or to an empty house, or even to no house at all. I have no idea. But I have instinct. I have this odd feeling that I’m right. Each and every time. Deep down, I know that each observation I make is entirely true. And in my profession, it makes all the difference. Things have been slow recently. I’ve been slow. None of my stories seem quite right. That was, until, I saw her. She sat across from me on the metro, staring down at her phone. It was nothing out of the ordinary. But then, she moved. She flipped her hair back, read something off of her phone, and smiled. It was brief. Only for a second did that grin cross her face. But I saw it. And it made all the difference. My mind began to spin, running through every single possibility I could conjure up. Maybe a family member was having a baby? Maybe she was having a baby? Or maybe it was something simple, an “I love you” from the one she cares about, perhaps. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something sick. Something twisted. The passing of a loved one. A friend in danger. Maybe she smiled so briefly because she knew it was wrong. But this thought exited my mind as quickly as it had appeared. What were the chances of this woman being a sociopath? Highly unlikely. Of course, it was something mundane. Like a turning cog in my head, I waited for my brain to land on an explanation. And then it came. Her loved one was far away. Much too far away to keep a stable relationship. But they had. And the smile? The reasoning was simple. I was almost dismayed at how long it took me to work it out. Her lover was coming back to her. Whether they were taking the next flight or had only just booked, I had no idea. But that was her story. Do you see? Do you see now why I love this so much? I can ignore my boring life and think about all the adventures that other people have. I began to imagine the reunion. Maybe they would embrace. Maybe she would drop whatever she was holding and run towards them, like in a movie. Or maybe she would simply smile, like she had just then. I didn’t know. I can’t tell the future; just the present. I sighed, my shoulders falling, a small, brief smile gracing my face. Just like hers. For the remainder of the ride, I stayed deep in thought about this girl and her mystery lover. That was, until, the train came to a grinding halt at the station. I knew it wasn’t my stop, so I started to close my eyes, leaning back more in my chair. But she stood. She stood up, brushing the dust from her lap and beginning to make her way towards the platform. I told myself it didn’t matter; that I didn’t care about this stranger. But I did. I cared more about her and her story than anything in my life. I had to know. So I stood. I brushed the dust from my lap. And I followed her onto the platform. And all the way home. I had no idea where I was, but I didn’t even care. My mind was clouded by excitement, at anticipation for seeing how this story continued. She paused outside one of the homes, most likely hers, and turned. She looked one way down the street, and then the other. And then down at her watch. What was she waiting for? Or who was she waiting for? My heart began to pound. It was almost ironic; I thought I must have been more excited than her. I - no, we, - waited there for almost an hour. Nobody came. I was angry. Disappointed. In fact, scratch that - I was furious. How could they have left me hanging like this? Left on the edge of my seat, barely even breathing, and they had disappointed me. Of course they had. They always did. But she looked worse. She had crumpled down onto the concrete, head in her knees, sobbing. It was muffled from across the street, but I could tell she was weeping. She lifted her head up for a moment - the same way she had lifted her head on the train - and I saw the tears lining her face like a periwinkle glitter. Before I could even tell what I was doing, I took a step into the street. And another. And another. And before I knew it, I was sprinting towards this poor, poor girl. She didn’t know me, of course, but she needed the comfort. She needed my comfort. And she was going to get it. I realised how close I was standing to her, towering over her crumpled figure like some kind of twisted, humanoid lighthouse. She didn’t even lift her head. Rude, I thought, but she was sad. I couldn’t blame her. I knelt down, my knees rough against the concrete pavement. Should I speak? I tried. I opened my mouth, my throat dry and lips chapped, but no sound came from my decaying mouth. Not even a hoarse groan. Nothing. So instead. I raised my skeletal hand to her shoulder. I’m so sorry this had to happen to you, I thought in my head. No one deserves this. And as my hand fell, fell towards her shoulder, it never hit. I phased straight through her. Like always. My piteous smile turned into a grimace. My other hand swung up, down through her back, and into the concrete. I tried to grab her face, to lift up her beautiful head, to wipe away the tears, but all I felt was air. My love, I’m sorry, I tried to scream. I didn’t mean to leave you here alone. I tried to come, I did, I swear. I just never made it. It wasn’t my fault, but it also isn’t yours. You could never do anything wrong. My love. My love. My love. I shut my eyes tight, praying, wishing, begging I could embrace her once more. Pleading with the universe to allow me to explain myself. And yet, when I opened my eyes; nothing had changed. I’m back on the metro, sat across from the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She flips her hair and smiles; smiles at my text message. I can’t wait to see you again, it reads. She types back. I never get her message. Because a block away from her home, I’m dead with a bullet wound in my head. Tossed away like garbage in a back alley. She never gets to embrace me. I can never embrace her. So all I can do is observe. Over and over. Forever.


My phone rang once more, and for a moment, I thought he would have changed his opinion, but when I looked at the screen, it was not him, it was Elena, the department's assistant. I picked up, and before I had time to say anything, she started to yell at me: "Where are you? They are waiting, you are late! I sent you like ten messages!" I looked at my phone. There were no messages. Then I remembered: my work phone. Elena kept yelling things I couldn't understand, maybe because she was speaking too fast or perhaps because I had not slept for thirty hours. My work phone was in my backpack, with no battery after a long weekend. "Elena, calm down. My phone is dead. Let me charge it," I told her. "You have no time to charge anything! You have to come here!" I connected the charger to the little black brick and pressed all the buttons of the phone frenetically, but before I could see any messages, she said: "They moved the interview. It was supposed to start ten minutes ago!" I froze. "Please hurry up," she said, "I will entertain them as much as possible." "On my way!" I said, and I hung up. I picked up my backpack and keys, and just before leaving my apartment, I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was bloated from all the crying; my eyes were red as two massive potatoes, and my hair... "Fuck it," I told myself. I opened the door and closed it carefully after me. That's how this story was about to go, no matter if I wanted it or not, so when I entered my car, I took a big breath and convinced myself about something: the universe could not be so cruel; something good would happen that day. I started the car on my way to work, and while driving, I thought about how I had reached this point in my life. Once upon a time, I was an International Product Manager. I did not sell, care for the marketing, or innovate any of the Company's products. I "just" managed. According to my development colleagues, my department was full of glorified secretaries whose only job was sending emails with the information provided by others, meeting clients at fancy restaurants, and calling everyone and anyone continuously. Looking from the outside, that was a fair description, but to be fair, the job was even better than that. I became an IPM after working for a few years in the same Company's development department. I used to be one of those invisible people who tested and made devices engineered by others a reality. I grew into an experienced team member and reached the point where it annoyed me to see the commercial teams lacking the knowledge and experience to sell what we were creating.

"We deserve better," said the product manager who worked on the same project as I did once in the laboratory. "We would benefit from someone with technical experience, someone like you."

I felt over the moon. Someone had looked at me and my job and thought I could do the job that would put me in front of customers, developers, and marketing people worldwide. "There is an opening, you know?" He continued, "I think you should apply." I think that was the first time anyone told me I could do something else at work, and I grabbed the chance as if my life depended on it. When he told me there was a vacancy, I focused all my attention on getting that job. I tailored my CV, sent my application to the responsible manager, prepared myself for all the imaginable questions, and waited... and waited... and then I waited a bit more until I got tired of waiting and called the recruiter in charge of the position. I was expecting he would tell me there had been delays or that he was about to schedule my interview, but instead, he told me that "I was too technical" for such a position. He also thanked me because since I had called, he didn't have to write an email telling me exactly that... "too technical." That day, instead of feeling defeated and keeping with my life, I decided to enroll in university to get a management degree. Elena, one of my friends at work, thought I was brave; my boyfriend at home did not understand why I wanted to return to university since I had gone through it already, got my engineering degree, and scored a full-time work for a high tech company, working in the development department. I was 23 then. "Why would you want to do something else if your job is already good? He said, "You will have less time for other things.. for us," he continued. But I did not care. I was determined to get what I wanted, and no one would stop me... despite "the Universe" not being kind to me. The classes happened between nine in the morning and four in the afternoon when I was supposed to be at work. My plan for success was to attend as many classes as possible and recover the work hours before and after my regular schedule. My manager was cool with it as long as I delivered my test results and reports on time. I had no car that year, so I moved around on foot or with public transportation. I did go to work by bus, but whenever I had to go earlier than seven in the morning or leave after eight in the evening, I had to ask a colleague to give me a lift. So, a "normal" day for me would be starting to work at six, leaving the office at eight, having a couple of hours of class, returning to work, and leaving the department around eight or nine in the evening. After that, I worked on the school assignments at home, met friends, and tried to sleep. Life was not easy, but I had a very clear goal in mind, so I did not mind. After one year, I could have been the face of any energy drink, not because I used them but because I was all over the place all the time. Multitasking should have been my middle name. I was crushing it at school and work, and then, something happened: a change of management in the Product Management department. It took less than two weeks for the new boss to decide he needed more "technical experience" in his department, and out of the blue, I got a call the day before a long weekend when I was supposed to visit my mother, on my birthday, with my boyfriend. They were inviting me for an interview the following week, in case I was interested.

I tried to keep it cool and accepted the proposal. The man on the other end of the line told me he would check the potential dates and times and would call me back. I left the office, happy as ever and ready for a long car trip, where I should be able to recover hours of conversation with my boyfriend and a weekend of quality time with friends and family. Unfortunately, my plans were better than the real deal: the weather throughout the whole trip was awful, my boyfriend was in a mood because I had not dedicated him time enough in the previous weeks, my mother was not happy with my decision to bring him along, and my friends were attacked by a severe flue case that killed our dinner and drinks plan. I spent the weekend with angry people, and the return was not better. After six hours of driving without stops, when we arrived around midnight at my boyfriend's place- two hours away from mine- he told me that the weekend had opened his eyes and he did not want to be with me anymore. I "slept" in his place with my eyes wide open until 4 a.m., when I recovered enough energy to get the hell out of there. I went to my place on time to have a shower and go to work, but as soon as the first person who entered the office told me "Good morning," I broke into tears, and my boss sent me home, afraid of the chaos my state of mind could cause across the team. So I returned to my apartment, crying non-stop and feeling my broken heart was about to jump out of my chest, and tried to sleep (again, with no success) on my sofa. A couple of hours later, I received Elena's call. That's why I returned to the factory instead of eating ice cream and cookies in my living room. I parked and ran to Elena's desk because, on my way out of the house, I had forgotten my phone and had no idea where I was supposed to go. As soon as she saw me, she gasped: "Gosh'" she said, "what happened to you?" "Long story," I replied, "where do I have to go?" "Human resources, main meeting room." I crossed the facilities running as if a lion was chasing me, and when I arrived at the meeting room, I found two men in their fifties, wearing suits and drinking coffee, who seemed to be having a pleasant conversation. When they saw me popping up on the door, I'm sure I was not what they were waiting for, but that was the best I could offer, so I immediately composed myself the best I could and said: "Gentlemen, my apologies. There was a misunderstanding, and I lost track of my agenda, but I am ready for the interview if that's ok with you." They looked at each other, their watches, and again at me. It was not clear to me if they had any other appointments, but I believe I made them curious with such an entrance, and I had my interview. They had read my curriculum, and I had good references from my colleagues. Despite having yet to finish my management degree, I had good notions of the business and a good eye for detail, something the new manager was looking for. It was evident that I was a good fit, so I asked the terrible question: "Which is the salary you offer?" The men looked at me as if I had insulted them, their wives, and all their relatives. "Salary?" replied the Human Resources manager. "That's not under discussion. You need to show first that you can do the job." "But, you said I would have more visibility and responsibility, so I guess I should have at least a raise to buy a couple of suits, right?" I asked, always with a nice smile. "You know," said the same man, "There are banks that can loan you money if you need to buy clothes." My smile vanished. I looked at him, his suit and his expensive leather shoes. I looked at my potential future manager, who wasn't smiling and seemed uncomfortable with that conversation. We had discussed everything by then. "Any other question?" asked the man. "No," I said, "I am not sure I am interested in the position if the conditions are the ones you mentioned. Thanks for the opportunity, though." I stood up, shook their hands, left the room, and walked calmly to Elena's desk in the other building. "So?" she yelled as soon as I crossed the door. "I don't think I will get it," I told her. "I'll go home now unless you need me for anything else around here." She nodded. She knew staying would be no good for me or anyone in a 5km radius. I needed sleep and sugar in significant quantities, independently of the order.

I returned to my apartment, to my sofa and my fridge. I managed to sleep, and the next day, with a better appearance and energy, I started my shift at eight in the morning as if nothing had happened. Shortly after, Elena called me to her desk, and when I entered her area, she pointed at our manager's office with the biggest smile. Our boss was speaking with the head of Product Management. I sat by her side and stuck my nose between the pages of the tools catalog she handed me until the office door opened. Our boss left immediately for another meeting, and the other manager stopped by my side. I stood up and, and he told me: "Would a fifteen percent raise convince you to join my team?"


For the sake of expediency let's assume you're not really crazy. You don't have a mental illness. The voices you're hearing and the outrageous emotions and anxiety you seem to spontaneously generate are not the result of a faulted brain or some past emotional trauma. Let's go so far as to assume that you've even worked out most of your personal issues with yourself and the world and are relatively comfortable with yourself. Or at least you were. Then one day, in your calm little mind space you noticed another voice. An exterior voice masquerading as your own thoughts, perhaps even playing off your own thoughts, but consistently chiseling at your esteem and self confidence. Being aware of this is important, but let's not make something that isn't there. Let's assume a lot here. Let's assume you went to doctors and you sought help. Let's assume that you've already listened to hundreds of opinions and perhaps even experimented with dozens of psychiatrics at the behest of learned practitioners in an attempt to reclaim the calm inner space you remember having. For whatever reason, no amount of consoling from loved ones and no amount of professional advice or meditation silences these extra voices. These constantly chiding and nagging and crippling voices, or the unexpected sudden instantaneous reversal of emotional feelings with what would appear to be no outside provocation. You can sit in silence and be laughing and in another ten minutes be bawling your eyes out all to the tune of whatever foreign orchestra is playing in your head. And because that's where it is, in your head, you can't ignore it. Like the radio in a neighbors apartment at three in the morning, there's nowhere to move your bed where there is a silent spot. A calm quiet place. The sound is all present, the mood all consuming. Your experience with medications have left you physically damaged, while on them tired, perhaps lagging. The expense and constant taking of a new thing to counter act the effect of the old thing you where taking has slowly accumulated to a meal of pills and liquids and regimens and for whatever reason, they still don't work. You begin to feel like a thirsty boy, now drowning when all that was asked for was a glass of water. So you ween yourself, and you quit the medications because they weren't helping anyway. Because even as tanked as you are they're still there. Perhaps even you enviously eye others, who having similar complaints as you seem to work fine on the medications. Their laughter and joyous good mood is crippling as you yourself barely made it out of bed today. But you know what that feels like, because you have felt that way before. So you know something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. And it is. Here is a record of my experiences and how I dealt with them. Your experience may vary.


Paris had fallen. The Imperial forces under Napoleon had made it to Fontainebleau, and while the Emperor was determined to march on the occupied capital and reclaim it from the Allies, his Marshals were not. And so it was that Michel Ney and the others entered the great hall where their frustrated overlord anxiously contemplated the situation. "My Emperor," Ney began, "it is time... to abdicate." Napoleon turned and cast a scornful glare at the Marshal. "Are you *mad*, Ney!?" The Emperor might have expected the other Marshals to share his own surprise at Michel's proposition, but they all seemed to line up behind the Bravest of the Brave. "There are always more recruits- we still have the National Guard! The Eagles will fly! The Grand Army *will* follow me to Paris and we *will* take it back from the Allies!" "No," Ney responded calmly. "The Army... will follow its generals." Napoleon turned away from his Marshals, clenching his fists in anger. "My Emperor, you *must* abdicate... or else..." Bonaparte slowly turned his head, glaring at Marshal Ney with yellow eyes. "Are you threatening me, Marshal Ney?" *Pssshew!* A red lightsaber ignited and the Emperor, with a devious grin crawling across his face, turned to face Michel. Ney, in return, brought his hand up and force-pulled his own lightsaber from his belt, igniting a blue beam. "Surrender, Napoleon... this is your last chance." "So be it," Napoleon replied, accepting the Marshal's challenge. Ney gripped his saber with both hands. "Leave us." The other Marshals, some more reluctant than others, retreated from the room. "Raaagh!" Napoleon flew forward in a devilish twirl, the power of the dark side propelling him towards his opponent. Ney reacted with keen reflexes, parrying a series of deadly blows from the Emperor. The hum of their weapons were interrupted by the terrible sound of their clashing; sparks flew in all directions and such was the display that any sane man would commit self-defenestration. Napoleon attempted to drive home a fatal blow utilizing *Dun Moch*, but was parried or frustrated by the more-defensive *Soresu* style of Ney. The duel may have been a stalemate, but Napoleon was gaining ground and Ney was forced to fall back in the midst of the Emperor's flurry. "Nyah!" Napoleon's palm flew forward - force-pushing Ney towards a window. The Marshal's lightsaber flew from his hand as he crashed through the window and down into the courtyard below. The Emperor, in his mad and enraged state, leaped from said window and attempted to deliver a deadly blow. Fortunately, Ney, ever-ready in the face of great odds, rolled to the side. All over the courtyard were Imperial soldiers, looking confused. They raised their weapons, but most did not know if they should aim for their Emperor, or the Bravest of the Brave. Force-lightning shot from the Emperor's palm and struck Ney as he tried to collect himself from the fall and the roll. "Aaaagh!" he cried out, suffering at the intense shock emitted from Napoleon. With his opponent subdued, the Emperor was able to put away his lightsaber and combine both palms into his deadly attack, electrocuting Ney with the power of the dark side. "Aaagh!" the Marshal cried out in agony. "F-f-f-fire!" he finally managed to spit out. There was a minor hesitation amongst the surrounding soldiers, but they finally opened fire on the Emperor. Napoleon was quick enough to re-ignite his lightsaber and deflect the beams, but there proved to be far too many and more and more soldiers opened fire on their Emperor. Napoleon fell with a whimper, alive - but barely. The Bravest of the Brave struggled to his feet, smoke rising from his clothes as he did so. Using the force he called Napoleon's red lightsaber to him. "My Emperor..." he began, igniting the weapon and placing it at Napoleon's neck.


# Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills, areas in which we excel, and ways we’d like to improve. This is our weekly thread to discuss all things writing and to get to know your fellow writers!! We will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion each week. Feel free to join in the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, and more. You do not have to answer all the questions, but please try to stay on topic! # This Week’s Roundtable Discussion - **If this is your first week joining us, please feel free to introduce yourself! Tell us a little about you and your writing!** **Additional Questions this Week:** - **How do you approach topics you’re not familiar with or used to writing about? How do you approach *genres* you’re unfamiliar with?** - **Is it difficult for you to write about new things? Are you comfortable writing outside what you’re best at or known for?** *** # Reminders * **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** * **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussions in any form will not be tolerated. * **Please try to stay on-topic.


On the Way to Easy Street Jolene and I have this deal. No matter what our week was like we go out on Saturday night. Nothing big. Just a restaurant, maybe a movie. We get some time with each other and away from the kids, and they get time away from us.

I love our kids. But a four-and five-year-old can suck the life out of you faster than a vampire on speed. Steven, the older one, likes to make believe I'm a ladder and climb to my shoulders. And Lynn tries to do whatever her brother does. So I have these two kids climbing all over me.

It's fun for about five minutes. Of course I'm at work most of the day, so it's really on Jolene. She's amazing. I'm surprised the church hasn't declared her a living saint. It was her idea to stay home when Steven was born, and it seemed natural for her to keep staying home with Lynn.

She says she doesn't regret it because the kids are so well-behaved, at least in public. Steven is already reading and Lynn sounds out everything she sees.  She's always asking, “What's that word? What's that say?” after making “t-t-t” or “b-b-b” sounds.

Which also offers five minutes of fun before it grows old. Jolene is looking forward to Lynn starting kindergarten. Steven started this year. Jo wants to go back to work full-time. She was a legal secretary before we married, and she's worked a little part-time since. But she says it's not the same. I tell her she can go back anytime, we'll find a way to work it out, but she wants to wait until Lynn starts school in the fall. She's really a great mother and wife, but lately she hasn't been herself. I figure it's this flu bug that's been going around. Maybe going out tonight is what she needs to get out of her funk.

"What do you want to do tonight?" I ask. "Your sister'll be here soon. You want to eat and see a movie?" "I don't care. You decide."

I check the movie schedule and there's something we both want to see starting at 7:30. "We could eat at six," I say, "and have plenty of time to get to the movie, especially if we go to that Chinese place near the theater. The one we have a coupon for."

She says she doesn't want to eat there.

 "What's wrong? You still have that virus?" I try reaching out to her, but she pulls away. "No. I don't have a virus."

When she's angry or hurting, she wrinkles her forehead. Now her forehead is so wrinkled she looks like she's wearing an old lady mask, the kind kids wear on Halloween. She doesn't say anything. She just looks at me like she's trying to remember who the hell I am and why I'm in the same room with her. "If you're not feeling well, we could call Pam and stay home." "No. I want to go out." "So name another place. Isn't Red Lobster near the movie theater?" She makes a face. "I don't want seafood." "Italian?" "No." "Then you tell me what you want to do." I raise my voice a little. The kids had been playing in the other room, but they come to the kitchen to find out what we're fighting about. "Why you talking loud, daddy?" Steven asks. "Because your momma's being a pain," I say. I try putting my arms around her waist to show the kids I'm not really mad at their mother, but she has the same look she had before. Only now she doesn't want me on the same planet with her. She tells the kids to go play while she fixes dinner. And she tells me to go to hell. Just like that. At least she waited for the kids to leave the room. "Me? What'd I do? I just wanted to take you out. The hell with you."

I start to walk away, but just as I do, she says, "I'm pregnant, damn it! You made me pregnant!" #

Not the most romantic way to learn news like that. I remember the first time, with Steven. We were in bed and she was resting her head on my chest. She asked if I want to have a baby, and I said, "Sure."

She whispered, "How about seven months from now?" "Sure. You want to start trying in seven months?" I can be real thick sometimes. "No." She lifted her head and looked at me. I can still remember the way she was smiling, kind of nervous and shy, like she looked the first time she spent the night at my apartment. It suddenly dawned on me. "Seven months is good," I said. "Real good." And we started kissing and laughing. We made love after that. I said it was to make sure it took. When she told me she was pregnant with Lynn, we were eating breakfast on a Saturday morning. Steven was in his highchair making a mess. I poured coffee into a mug she had on the table and started drinking. After a while, she asked, "Do you like the new mugs?" "Sure," I said, only half looking, because I need at least two cups of coffee before I'm human. Then I saw that nervous smile on her face again. I looked at the mug and it had "Expectant Father" written on it and I looked at hers and it had "Expectant Mother" on it. I didn't say anything at first. I just put down my mug, grabbed her hand, and said, "I love you."

"You better," she said, and we laughed like two children. Steven started laughing, too, and I thought how I must be the luckiest man in the world. When Lynn was born, I said, "She's a beautiful girl. Now we have a matching set." "Shop's closed," Jolene said. "No more deliveries."

As soon as Steven started kindergarten, Jolene spoke with Bernie Nagle, her old boss, and he said he'd be happy to have her back full-time. To be honest, I started figuring how we could make double payments on the mortgage with the extra money or save for the kids' education. I make decent money, enough for us to live on, but not enough for us to move to Easy Street. I think about how we could take a good vacation. The kids are old enough to appreciate Disneyland and I know Jolene always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. With two salaries, we could do some of those things, instead of just talk about them. So when Jolene said she was pregnant again, this time we didn't celebrate. #

"Are you sure?" I ask. "Of course I'm sure."

I put my arms around her. "We'll make it work."

She backs away and whispers, like she's afraid of anyone hearing her. "What if I don't want it to work?" Her nose is red and her hands are shaking. "What if I don't want another child?" I just stare. I know I don't really want another baby either, starting all over with diapers and all, but hearing it out loud scares me. It's weird, but the first thing I imagine is my mother's face. I see her squinting her eyes, the look she has when she disapproves. "A baby is a gift from God," I hear her saying. I realize I'm staring at Jolene. Worse, I'm squinting.

She turns from me and starts making dinner for the kids, adding tuna and peas to leftover macaroni and cheese. It sounds terrible, but it's the kids' favorite. As it warms, I try talking to her, but all I can say is, "It'll be all right, honey. You'll see." She pulls away and tells the kids to wash for dinner.

I pour two glasses of milk and get plates and silverware and put them on the kids' place mats. Then I sit down at the table. We usually join them when they eat, even if we're not eating.

"You want me to make you something?" Jolene asks. "No," I say. "I hope we're still going out." She looks at me with the saddest expression I've ever seen in my life. "I didn't know if you still wanted to go out with me." I swear it was everything I could do to keep from blubbering right there in front of the kids. # We decide to go to a new restaurant that opened nearby. It looks expensive, but we don't care. The waiter takes our drink order. I get a beer and Jolene orders vodka with club soda and a twist of lemon, but then she calls the waiter back and asks for cranberry juice instead. I don't say anything. We stare at each other for a long time. Finally, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a pamphlet. I see Woman's Clinic printed in bold lettering. Underneath it, I read, "You Have a Choice." I see the word, "abortion," but nothing I read registers. My heart feels like it's decided to stop backing up the other organs and take a solo. "When did you get this?" I ask. "Yesterday. I went there to make sure I was pregnant." She points to the pamphlet. "I talked with a counselor." "And this was her idea?" I don't like the tone in my voice, but I can't help it. "No, it wasn't her idea."  Jolene presses her lips together so tight she almost can't squeeze out the words. "I asked for the information. She told me it's a simple, safe procedure." I take her hand. The back of my throat is burning. "Could you go through with it?" "I don't know," she says.

Then she starts crying. I feel my eyes filling up, too. The waiter comes with our drinks and I turn away, like I'm looking at the menu. Jolene doesn't care. She lets the tears flow. I wish I could. I don't even remember what we ordered. All I know is we talk and talk, and we both finally admit we don't want another baby. "Aren't we being selfish?" I ask.

"What's wrong with being selfish?" Jolene looks at me and I see wrinkles under her eyes I never saw before. "Don't we deserve to be a little selfish? We're good parents. We're good people. We just need time for ourselves." I nod my head slowly. I admit how I'd been thinking about her salary and what we could do with extra cash. "It's not like I want the money to buy a Jaguar or something. I just want things to be easier for us." "I know," she says. And she starts crying again. # That night, we talk about God and sin and hell. Neither of us is what you'd call religious. My family is Catholic, but they hardly ever go to church. My mother used religion mostly to scare us as kids. She'd say that God was always watching, so we better do the right thing. I guess it worked because I tell Jolene that I feel God is listening in on us right now. "And I don't think He's happy."

As soon as I say that, I hate that I said it. The last thing I want to do is use God to make Jolene feel guilty.

I apologize. She says she understands. "But if there's a God, why would He do this to us? Why would He give us a child we don't want while Pam's been trying to get pregnant for eight years now? It's all so random."

I know nothing I could say would make any sense, so I just hold Jolene and let her cry.

# A day later, we're sitting in a small, stuffy room filled with files and boxes of rubber gloves, talking to a counselor about our "options." Jolene is sitting there holding a tissue, hardly saying anything. I know I'm talking too much. I do that when I get nervous.

Jolene grabs my hand, but her eyes don't meet mine. I see her bottom lip twitch when she tries to speak. At first, it's like she lost her voice. She moves her lips, but makes no sound. "God forgive me," I hear her whisper. "I don't want another baby." The counselor talks about adoption as an alternative, but Jolene shakes her head. I know she isn't listening because her eyes have the same look she gives me when I talk baseball. We spoke last night about having the baby and letting Pam adopt it, but Jolene said it would never work. She'd always know it was her child and she'd want to raise it her way. And if she gave the baby up for adoption without offering it to Pam, it would destroy their relationship. Finally, the counselor looks to Jolene and says, "There's no need to decide today. Why don't we make another appointment in two days? If abortion is your choice, we can make arrangements then." I feel like I'm going to throw up. The counselor comes around her desk and hugs Jolene. I'm just sitting in my chair afraid to move. I finally stand up and go to Jolene. I tell her I love her. I kiss her and squeeze her tight. The counselor smiles and holds out her arms to hug me. "I was talking to my wife," I say, and we all laugh.

It's good hearing Jolene laugh, even though her eyes are red and puffy, and I'm shaking. We walk out of the office with our arms around each other. I can't say for sure if I'm holding her up or if she's keeping me from falling, but together we make our way out of the clinic, shading our eyes from the sun.


Sabrina walked the Hall of Zillard University with Cheng and Kia by her side, her childhood best friends as they butchered her ears about the popular relationship goals couples that turned into relationship don'ts, in the midst of it all they happened to scorn her because of her choice of singleness. “ Bri stop looking so unapproachable, you are scaring the men away,” Cheng said and Kia responded, “Ever since Jay she's been the walking dead”. Sabrina took off running hoping to disappear before their sight. Kia and Cheng finally catching up to her latched their hands on her and all fell to the ground in an eruption of laughter. “ Keep at it and I'll run away without a trace” Sabrina added, nudging them because of their annoyance. “ we know you and are your best friends in the world so we've found the perfect solution for your condition, there's this new dating site out, by plugging in your email and answering selected questions you are then paired with another person and either he or you will email each other but the kick is you guys remain anonymous unless you choose the option during conversation to reveal yourselves.” Cheng uttered dramatically and enthusiastically. “ That sounds risky,” Sabrina said in concern. “ And stupid, how will you know if the person is hideous?” Kia jumped in. “ Well clearly the site pondered upon all this and placed identity security authentication in place along with other safety principles that are written in the terms and conditions no one reads,” Cheng said, letting out a sigh. “Will you join” kia and cheng said in sync and in just a moment their hope was deferred when sabrina said “ ugh, i don’t have the time, exams are here”. Rolling their eyes they all agreed to meet later in Sabrina’s dorm for their Friday wind-downs. Sabrina entered the now-filled lecture room, finding her seat in the 3rd row closest to the professor to prevent distractions as she prepared herself for the most dull and bland hour of her day.

Meeting at Sabrina's dorm later that night, Cheng entered with their favorite snacks and Kia with their favorite drinks. Tonight was movie night and Cheng's turn to pick the movie.” Don't worry guys, this one? You will love it!” Cheng said confidently. Sabrina and Kia looked at each other remaining silent and in expectation of disappointment because Cheng constantly chooses romance and it has become draining, “a little action would be pleasant as well, after this hectic week of class” Sabrina's thoughts murmured. '' da-doom” waved through the room following red block letters reading Netflix. Cheng said in between laughs ``everyone close your eyes, it's a surprise”. They instantly obeyed and while selecting the movie suspense filled the air and their ears were ready to detect the movie, these few words playing through the TV ruined everything. “You once asked who I loved most in this world, it's you” Sabrina and Kia began denouncing Cheng’s movie choices “Is there nothing else? Do you love sorrow? Haven’t exams made you cry enough? Sabrina said curiously while standing up. Everyone became silent.

In an attempt to save the night Kia suggested for Sabrina to try the email dating site they conversed about earlier. Not waiting for an answer, Kia grabbed the laptop from Sabrina's desk and slid down to the ground as Sabrina's twin-size bed supported her back. Kia found her way to the site “ I already told you I have no time for this creepy dating site” Sabrina wined, knowing there was no excuse to get out of this. “We do,” Kia and Cheng said in sync as Cheng joined Kia on the ground. “ I’ll just make it for you, start a conversation with whomever you are paired with, and decide if you’ll continue?!” Kia tried to make light of the situation and Cheng chimed in “No pressure, no rush”.  On the dating site called “ Mystery Mate” there was an envelope that filled the middle of the screen and clicking on the middle flap that meets the other half of the envelope to seal it, opened into a letter giving an overview of the site, scrolling to the bottom was the option of signing up with an email or signing in with an already made account. “ Whoever designed this hit the target, omg the details. Y2k Myspace, aim, kick just refreshed, modern, and flattering” Cheng blurted. “ What's your email, and not your school email please, remember to be anonymous!” Kia asked Sabrina. “Sabjen05@yahoo.com” Sabrina responded, joining the other two “ Oh, this is cool, nostalgic, and aesthetically pleasing” Sabrina realized and agreed with Cheng. After verifying her identity the fun began.

“Describe yourself in 3 words” they all read in sync. “intelligent, energetic, and thoughtful” Kia typed. “She is not energetic,” Cheng said in laughter. The next question read Top 3 character traits for your mystery mate, “ honest” said Kia, “loyal”, Cheng added, “Since we only have the limit of 3 words let integrity be the first since honesty, loyalty, mindfulness, etc. is involved in bringing many traits into one. For number two add a sense of humor, and for the third add adventurous” Sabrina insisted, taking control. Kia and Cheng gave each other a look speaking with their eyes and tilting their head sideways signifying “ that's their girl”. The last question read “ describe your ideal date”, “ make it realistic, something that someone can plan.” Kia said “ ugh I’m not sure, I don't know, just would like for it to be fun and less stressful like traditional dates” Sabrina responded, “ okay so no dinner, maybe an activity?” kia responded, “yes,” Sabrina said. “ aquarium, museum, arcade, etc? Cheng added. “ Just add those there so we can finally be done,” Sabrina responded hastily.

  Profile loading filled the screen and transitioned into what looked like an email inbox titled “ potential mates” where the private email threads are held. As Sabrina's profile was being matched with another, they placed the laptop on the desk awaiting an email, in which they fell asleep.

The next morning, Sabrina was the first to wake, moving Cheng's foot away from her face. She climbed off her bed and into her slippers going straight for the laptop out of curiosity. And there it was

AndIdrew08@aol.com: Hey, our profiles matched and aquariums are boring, arcade? Great choice😭! Sabrina whispered to herself

“Who asked his opinion, should I respond? That was a little funny and agreeable, I'm anonymous, which makes it easier to respond! Ok I’ll do it”

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: hey & I agree 😭.

AndIdrew08@aol.com: and she responds, what brings you to this site?

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: best friends! it was against my will!

AndIdrew08@aol.com: okay, another thing in common😭.

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: what's the first thing?

AndIdrew08@aol.com: I’ll save that for later if there is one.

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: ok so this is the part where we ask each other questions in an attempt to get to know each other.. I’ll start, are you a liar?

AndIdrew08@aol.com: Get straight to the point then! & liar? Nah. I have matured past that point from a relationship perspective and my actions will speak for itself. how long was your longest relationship? Sabjen05@yahoo.com: hmm.. 2 years. Yours?

AndIdrew08@aol.com: 3years..

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: how old are you? AndIdrew08@aol.com: definitely should’ve asked this from the beginning! 27 and you?

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: I know, the dating scene is becoming weirder and weirder & I'm 25. AndIdrew08@aol.com: Agreed, oh so you are interested in dating? This anonymous thing isn’t helpful, imagine falling in love with a stranger! Through words? I mean the option to decide whether or not to reveal ourselves earlier on is there but more suspense to wait 😭🤯

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: these are my thoughts exactly but I'm here now 🤷🏽♀😭.

As they continued to get to know each other asking all the questions available Sabrina became shocked realizing all this time went by and her class began in 5 minutes. She quietly jolted out of her dorm in a rush to get to class as Kia and Cheng were still soundly asleep. In class, Sabrina couldn't help to think about the conversation she had earlier with a mystery mate, not delusionally but the idea of speaking to someone was refreshing, and as weird as it sounded in her head she felt there was an instant connection and instantly sobered up at that thought reminding herself that essentially this could go nowhere. Class ended and she returned to her empty dorm and decided to continue the conversation she had earlier, opening the laptop screen she read AndIdrew08@aol.com: The Great Gatsby, perks of being a wallflower, or 13 reasons why?

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: Perks of being a Wallflower👀. You?

AndIdrew08@aol.com: neither, just trying to peek into your mind😂. Books or movies? Sabjen05@yahoo.com: 🙄movies, visual type of girl. Although I do read books but prefer movies

3 Months went by like this as they unwinded through conversation forgetting they were strangers, until AndIdrew08@aol.com shone the light on his affections. Sabrina in her own world keeping all this to herself combated with what consumed her thoughts daily and was ready to release when she, for the first time emailed

first

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: I need to talk to you about something

AndIdrew08@aol.com: that first date? I would like to take you.

Both emailed at the same time.

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: we’ve been emailing 😭😭 for months now and our conversations only grow deeper and more humorous. Talking to you has been the relief I didn’t know I needed. We have truly become friends! But my heart wants more.

AndIdrew08@aol.com: I’m proud that you are expressing yourself (concerning the conversations we’ve had). I already told you, that journeying through and with you is my new quest. I was ready to reveal myself but you insisted on waiting.

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: I’m ready to say it back now… AndIdrew08@aol.com: nope! Wait until our date! Want to see how brave you are and how well you handle pressure😭🫢.

To be continued.


Connor settled on his couch at the end of a long day. Not that he didn’t like his work in the library, he loved it. A little peace and quiet was just what he needed in his job. Just sometimes, the peace and quiet could drag a little. It also made times when it was disturbed even more jarring. If he had to have the same conversation with Miss McPherson about her late return fees again… Still, going down to the beach before coming back for the night had helped relax him. He’d always loved the smell of the sea, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. It helped remind him there was more to the world than what happened in his little corner of it. He’d even done something of a good deed for the day, returning a beautiful for coat to a woman down near the water’s edge. She’d behaved a little oddly though. She was a sight to behold. Big blue eyes with a long matching gown, shimmering like it was crafted from the very waters of the sea. Flowing waves of ginger hair. Skin so pearly smooth, she wouldn’t look out of place curled up inside an oyster. When he’d returned the coat to her, she’d given him this look like he was from another world. No thank you, no words at all. Just staring at him. He’d made some excuse and left. When he looked back before leaving the beach, she’d vanished. It was something of a strange encounter to say the least. There were some fine looking girls in the town of their island home, but nobody like her. It wasn’t even tourist season. Maybe she was one of those backpacking types? Oh well, it was over and done now. He was about to turn on his TV and sign into Netflix, but something happened that he didn’t expect. There was a knock on his door. A very frantic sounding knock. That in itself would be a little odd. What was even odder was the fact that Connor lived above the library, which was closed and locked for the night. The only way to get in touch with him up here was the buzzer outside the main door and he’d have to come down to let them in. Was it a burglar? But then what kind of burglar knocks first? Maybe it was someone really desperate to return a late book. He looked around for the nearest heavy object, a rolling pin from the kitchen. Just to be on the safe side. He slowly approached the door. The knocking had upgraded to a hammering. “Alright, alright now,” said Connor when he reached it. “Calm down, I’d rather not be spending money on a new door. Who is it?” “You know fine well who it is!” a musical, irritated voice snapped back. “Can’t say I do. If you’re wanting to check out a book, you’d be best coming back during normal opening hours.” “Opening hours?” She scoffed. “Well that’s just daft. What kind of place isn’t open all the time?” “Most places. Now get going or I’ll be calling for the Guard.” “Oh I don’t think so! Don’t you think you can just brush me off after the stunt you pulled on the beach!” “Beach. Wait a moment…” He unlocked the door and opened it. “You?” “Oh, now he remembers.” It was her. The woman from the beach. She held up her coat. “You mind telling me what the hell this is?” Connor stared at the coat. “I’m trying to think of an answer that’s not the obvious one.” “You think this is funny? Do you have any idea what you’ve saddled me with?!” She stormed past him into his home and turned to face him. “Now, let’s try this again. This time, you’re going to do it properly.” With that, she dropped her coat on the floor and looked away from it. She folded her arms and started tapping her bare foot. Connor looked at her, then down at the coat and back to her again. “Well?” she snapped after several seconds had passed. “Come on now, I don’t have all day.” “I… think I must have skipped a few pages here,” said Connor. “Look, miss, I’m going to have to ask you to-“ “My name is Niamh,” she interrupted. “And since you’re obviously daft, I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you.” She spoke like she was addressing a slow child. “You take my coat. I am betrothed to you. We have children. That clear enough?” Connor stared openly at her. He stared for a long while. Then, he did the only thing anyone else would do if a beautiful woman demanded you take her coat so she can marry you: he laughed. This did nothing to improve her mood. “Oi! Stop that! Stop it, it isn’t funny!” “How… how can it not be?” he managed to say when he stopped. “You’re calling me the daft one? Steal your coat so you marry me? I didn’t realise I was talking to a selkie.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “Ah, just when I started to think you were entirely devoid of common sense. I’d have thought the signs were obvious, but I suppose you can be forgiven if you’re daft in the head. Now we’re both on the same page, we can-“ “Hold on now, hold on.” He had to fight back a fresh round of laughter. “Now, I’m not sure who’s put you up to this. Was it Seamus, down at the Rock and Shoals? This seems like something he’d do.” Now, it was Niamh’s turn to stare. “Who in the hell is Seamus? Look here, if you’re not going to stop fooling around-!” “I think it’s clear who the one fooling around is. I know full well that selkies are children’s stories, myths. Fine stories to be sure, but that’s all they are.” He paused. “Well, perhaps not fine. Stealing some poor lass’s coat and forcing her into marriage. That can’t be right. But still, that’s all they are. Stories. Now, if you don’t mind, while your company has certainly been interesting, I’ll have to ask-“ “Just stories? Just stories, he says?!” Niamh looked like Connor had accused her mother of impropriety. “Fine. Looks like I’ll have to make this clearer for you.” She stepped into the coat and pulled it up over her shoulders. The moment it touched her body, she began to change. Her legs merged together, developing a furry texture. Her feet morphed into appendages more akin to flippers. Her hands and arms took on the same colour and texture, her fingers becoming like flippers too. Seal flippers. Her face too adopted this quality, her hair changing from fiery ginger to as pale as the moonlight. Her eyes widened in their sockets, their pupils growing until they were almost completely black. Even long pale whiskers sprouted from the side of her face. All of this happened in less than a minute. She curled up on the floor as she transformed and when she was done, threw her arms out. “There we are, see?” Her voice had a slightly bubbly quality, like she was talking underwater. “How’s this for ‘just a story’, eh?” Connor had nothing to say. He was fairly certain he’d have to pick his jaw up off the floor. A selkie. A selkie in his home. In his home, on his floor. The stories his mother used to tell him before bed, right here in his living room. “Now we have that cleared up, I think it should be clear to you what comes next.” As casually as if she’d just sat down to tea, she slipped the skin off and it turned back into a fur coat. She stood up from the floor, back in her dress and once again turned her back on it. “Go on now.” “But… but I…” Connor shook his head to clear his thoughts and managed to arrange them into words. “Now, you just hold your horses a moment. I’m not just going to steal your coat so we can get… well, so we can be… you know, so we’re-“ “Married? It’s not a dirty word, you daft bastard,” she said impatiently. “The daft bastard has a name and it’s Connor,” he replied. “And I’m not forcing you to marry me by stealing your coat.” “But that’s how it goes! You steal my coat, we get married, have children, they get my coat back to me and I go home. It happened to my mammy and her mammy and her mammy before her and on and on.” “Well my father never married a selkie and I’m pretty sure none of their fathers did either, so I’m not keen on starting some new bizarre family tradition, thanks.” “Why? What’s the matter, not pretty enough for you?” She folded her arms and glared. “Or do you think you’re too good for a selkie woman, is that it?” “No! No, none of that! You’re gorgeous,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks go warm. “B-But I’m not just going to force you to marry me! You’ve only just learned my name for Christ sakes!” “What was it again?” “For the love of…” He pressed his hands to his face and groaned. “Right, how about we have a sit down and sort this out?” Connor moved to the sofa, gesturing to an armchair next to it. Niamh regarded it warily before settling into it. She kept her back straight all the while. “Right then, Niamh. Do you want to get married?” “Want? Not really. Not right now, at any rate,” she answered. “So why the rush? You followed me back from the beach, broke into my place of work and have done all but throw yourself at me. Am I really that desirable?” “Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not that good looking.” Her cheeks flushed a little at this. “I just… you wouldn’t understand. You’re human.” “Right now, for all intents and purposes, so are you. Try me.” She gazed at him searchingly with those wide, fierce blue eyes. After a moment or two, she broke off eye contact and stared across at her coat. “I just thought… this is what was meant to happen,” she said quietly. “You mean like what happened with your mam and all the others?” “Aye,” she said quietly. “I just thought that, if it’s going to happen at some point, might as well get it over with. No-one else came by the beach the whole day and when I saw you… figured I could do worse…” She hugged herself closely, looking at anything in the room except for Connor. She was practically squirming in the chair. He didn’t know what to say, not at first. “Niamh,” he began softly. “I’m sorry that’s happened to your family. Sorry they were treated that way. It wasn’t right, what they were put through. Nobody should be forced into anything, especially not marriage.” When she spoke, her voice was just above a whisper. “So… why did it happen?” “Because some people, some men, don’t care much for right or wrong. They just care for what they want, damn anyone else who says otherwise.” “And you’re not?” “Well, call me old fashioned but when a woman of the sea comes to my door proposing marriage, I’d like to get to know her a little better first.” That prompted a laugh from her. She had a nice laugh. “When my mother told me those stories, about selkies, she always made sure to tell me that it wasn’t right, what happened to them. I was always a bit sad they left their children without a mammy, but they never wanted it in the first place. Sometimes, they already had husbands and children. The men in those stories just didn’t care. Some people just don’t, so long as they get what they want. I can tell you, I speak from…” He trailed off, wincing at the memories that crept back into his mind. The dread. The fear. All from someone he thought that… “Speak from what?” He looked up in surprise. Niamh was looking at him expectantly. How long had he been quiet for? He instinctively wiped at his eyes and tried to smile. “Doesn’t matter. But regardless, Niamh, my point stands. You’re a fine woman, both in your looks and your bearing. Nobody but yourself should decide if you’re ready, or even wanting, for marriage. We understand each other?” She nodded. “Aye, I think so. Thank you.” “Happy to help. Would have preferred you not breaking and entering to have this little chat, but I won’t get myself in a tizzy over it.” He frowned. “How’d you get in, anyway? You use your selkie magic?” “You left a window unlocked downstairs, you daft ba… lad,” she corrected herself. “Selkies don’t have magic like that. You want creeping inside your house when you’ve got your doors locked, ask a banshee.” Connor chuckled, then suddenly stopped. “Wait, they’re not real as well, are they?” “Might be,” she said with a teasing smirk. “Right, I suppose I’d better be going. Leave you to… whatever you humans do after your ‘opening hours’. Sorry.” “Water under the bridge. You just take care.” “Yeah. You too.” Neither of them rose from the chairs for a bit. When Niamh stood up and went over to retrieve her coat, she seemed almost reluctant. “Wait.” Niamh stopped and looked back at Connor. She seemed just as surprised as he felt at his call. Connor had to admit as well that, barring the unusual circumstances in both her arrival and nature, he didn’t want her to go just yet. “Look, like we’ve said: marriage isn’t something either of us are looking for. But that uh… well, that doesn’t mean we can’t get to know each other a little better in the meantime. If you want to, of course,” he added. “Well…” She pursed her lips in thought. “I suppose that, if I ever do decide to find myself a husband, might do well to understand the goings on up here.” “No selkie men where you’re from?” She scoffed. “Trust me, no self-respecting selkie woman wants to get with a selkie man. They’re an incorrigible lot, especially with human women.” “Not much different from men up here?” “Seems so. Besides, humans are all the rage where I’m from. If I do find myself a man, I at least want him to be interesting.” “You’re not going to leave your coat around for me to ‘find’ then?” “Oh no, you had your chance. This coat stays with me.” She scooped it up and plonked herself next to him on the sofa. “So, what were you up to before I so rudely interrupted?” “Well, I was about to put on the show I’ve been watching on Netflix recently but we could always watch something else. I’m a fair ways through and you may not get what’s going on.” She tilted her head. “What’s Netflix?” “Oh, you poor deprived lass.” He flicked his TV on. “Consider this your first lesson of human life.” “Is there going to be a test?” “Maybe further down the line.” They both laughed and sank into the sofa cushions. As they ended up in something of an impassioned debate of what exactly to choose, Connor remembered thinking how much he usually enjoyed the peace and quiet. Not just in his job, but his life too. He remembered thinking how jarring it could be if it was suddenly disturbed. Well, he thought, maybe the occasional disturbance wasn’t entirely unwelcome…


Somehow in her 35 years of life, Penelope had never been in a police station before, let alone been given a ride in a cop car. She was disappointed that the officer had not activated his sirens or lights. He wasn’t even speeding. Could he not sense the urgency? This was an emergency. Her baby was missing! Penelope was grateful to the officer; however, as he did not make her sit in the back like a criminal. Penelope was a straight laced goody two shoes, and she wasn’t about to have her reputation thrown into the rumor mill. As she exited the passenger side of the vehicle her body turned into lead. One foot in front of the other, she told herself.

The officer guided her to the door. She was lucky, she supposed, that she had never required police assistance before. Penelope had always been hard on herself and this time wasn’t any different. Why hadn’t she been more careful! If she had, none of this would have happened. What would her husband think? If anything happened to Sammy, he would never forgive her and neither would she forgive herself.

Once inside, the officer and Penelope walked past the reception window and through a security door. They made their way down a flight of stairs and into a small office. The officer gestured to the empty chair next to a big metallic desk. Penelope took a seat. The chair was hard underneath her, but she deserved to be uncomfortable after what she did. “Let’s start from the beginning.” The officer said. “How did this happen?” “Shouldn’t you be out there looking for him? It’s already been three hours. I’ve seen crime shows. If you don’t find him soon, he’ll be lost forever. I should be out there searching!” Penelope sobbed. “Ma’am, we have our investigators out looking already, but they need more information.” The officer patted her arm. “We’re doing everything we can. Now, please tell me what happened.” “Tony! We need to call him!”

“We tried ma’am. He didn’t answer, but we’ll keep trying.” The officer said. “Let’s focus on getting more information for the officers, okay?” Penelope didn’t want to relive the moment, but she would do anything to get Sammy back. “Here’s what happened.” She began. Penelope opened her eyes and groaned. Her alarm clock was buzzing. Next to her, her husband stirred, but he made no attempt to rise.

“I’ll put a pot of coffee on. What do you want for breakfast?” She asked, but Tony had fallen back to sleep. Penelope got out of bed and showered and made her way to the kitchen. The smell of the bacon and eggs sizzling wafted through the air summoning Tony.

“You’re just in time.” She said as she dished him up a plate. “Where’s Sammy?” “Umm…he’s outside babe, remember?” Tony replied. “Oh that’s right, silly me. He’s flying his flag again, isn’t he?” She said. “Yes, dear.” “Shouldn’t he come get some breakfast? He must be hungry with all that playing he does.” “He’s okay for right now, honey.” She nodded. “I’m going to go check on him.” Penelope walked out the door and spotted Sammy at the end of the driveway. “Sammy get back here. You’re too close to the road.” Sammy didn’t move.

“Sammy!” She yelled. Again, he didn’t move. “I’m going to tell your father.” She stormed back into the house. “What’s wrong?” Tony asked. “Sammy won’t listen to me. He’s too close to the road.”

“I have to leave for work anyway, so I’ll talk to him.” Tony kissed Penelope, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door.”

“And then I lost track of time. I was sitting eating breakfast, and I don’t know what happened.” Penelope sighed. “The next thing I knew, it was time for me to go to work. When I went out, Sammy wasn’t as close to the road, but the cars were going so fast. I was afraid he’d get hit by a car. I was about to get him when all of a sudden… some guy…he…he… jumped out of his vehicle and grabbed Sammy.”

Penelope laid her head in her arms on the officer’s desk. Tears streamed from her eyes and her chest heaved. “I’m such a terrible mother!”

“No, no, this wasn’t your fault.” The officer tried to console Penelope. “Do you have a picture of Sammy?” “No, not here I don’t. I forgot to grab one.” “Okay. We’ll get one later. What was Sammy wearing?”

Penelope picked up her head. “A red baseball cap.”

“Okay, good. What about his shirt? What color was it?” “Green. He’s such a vibrant boy. He likes to be bright! Oh, and he had a flag!” “Great. How tall is Sammy?” The officer questioned. “He’s four feet and four inches.”

“How much does he weigh?” “I…I don’t know…He’s light for his size, but oh forgive me my brain doesn’t want to work. You should ask Tony. He’ll know. Penelope said. The officer was confused. He knew how much his kids weighed, give or take a few pounds. Isn’t that something every parent knew? Having your child kidnapped could do weird things to people. Maybe he shouldn’t judge her so harshly. After all, he wasn’t in her shoes.

To not make her feel bad, he switched to the description of the car. “It was a red-ish, burgundy color.” She answered. “It was an SUV of some sort, and I think it was a Ford. She continued. “Did you get a license plate number?” The officer asked. “Not all of it, no.” She hung her head. “Just give me what you remember.” The officer prodded. “It was...AJ…K… Yes, that’s it! I don’t remember the numbers though.” “That’s okay, that’s a good start.” Do you remember what the kidnapper looked like?” “I think it was a female, but I don’t remember anything else. I think she was white and wearing jeans.” Penelope responded. Just then, the officer’s phone rang. He excused himself and went in the hallway to answer the call. Penelope strained to listen, but the officer’s voice was muffled. “Mmhm. Really? Are you sure? Okay. Yes, thank you. Bye.” The officer ended his call and went back to the office. “What’s going on?” Did they find him? Please, tell me they found him.” Penelope said. The officer’s phone rang again. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Hang on.” He went back into the hall. When he returned, he informed Penelope that Tony had finally responded, and that he was on his way to the station. “Oh, Tony. He’s going to be so upset.  Earlier, the phone call, did they find my boy? I need to know they found him.” The officers had found Sammy. They spotted a burgundy Ford Escape with the letters of the license plate matching the description that Penelope had given. The vehicle had been driving north on the highway when the officers pulled it over. The officers had surrounded the vehicle and told the female driver to exit the vehicle. They immediately opened all the doors of the SUV, but they did not find a boy. “What?” Penelope asked the officer. “No, Sammy is real.” “I’m afraid he’s not Penelope.” Tony responded as he walked into the office. “Tony, I don’t understand.” “He’s real Tony. He’s real.” Tony then stepped aside and revealed a plastic neon green slowdown Sammy sign in the shape of a boy. It was complete with a red flag and baseball cap, and the word slow was written on its base.

“I’m very sorry, officer. I had no idea that this would happen. Ever since we lost our boy, Penelope has personified “Sammy” here, and I just played along because I was too sad and tired not to. “Given that this was all a misunderstanding, I will not arrest Penelope for false charges, but please make sure she talks to somebody. The officer responded. With that, Tony thanked the officer and took his wife home promising that he would get her help.