He blinked his eyes hard. Opened them. He saw everything in shades of purple, the way the world looks when the sun is too bright. It was too hot, too; he could tell from the way the people under the awnings shifted and fanned themselves. But all he felt was cold. The sweat seemed to freeze on his skin. The dust felt cool under his feet. Bare feet. He looked like a fool, standing there. That sumbitch had taken everything. Even his boots. The sumbitch had been done gambling, he said when he called that morning. What he meant is he’d been done playing at cards. He looked around. Everyone looked fit to catch flies, with their mouths open like that. Jenny from the saloon’s was shut, and her eyes were welling up with tears. She turned away and hid her face in her hands. Damned fool woman. He was faster than the sumbitch, and better than him too. She ought to know better. He grinned, and looked the sumbitch straight in the eyes. Through the smoke, he saw the smirk twisting his enemy’s face. His mouth formed a word. “Draw” is what he meant to say, but he choked on something. He coughed and wiped his mouth. The back of his suntanned wrist came away red. He felt a thump against his leg, and looked down to see his revolver fall from his grasp. He frowned at his nipples. He seemed to have an extra, just above and to the middle… His chest snapped into focus, and he saw the ruined flesh just above his breastbone. He looked up, the movement heavy with effort. The sumbitch was grinning now, a grotesque expression marred by a twisting scar. “I done told you last night, boy,” the sumbitch said as he raised his gun. “I always win.” In the stables, a horse reared. As the echoes died away, all that could be heard was the sound of a woman sobbing.


Jerry’s days were monotonous. Every day, every night, the same cycle. He thought this was what he wanted, after all this was the American dream right? He had graduated college, gotten a job at a law firm, and started a family. Although he loved his family something didn't seem right. Every morning his wife greeted him in the same way. “Hey honey, how'd you sleep?" his wife would ask. His two kids would exclaim, “Good morning Daddy!” in unison. Always this, nothing more nothing less. After, he would make 2 scrambled eggs, bacon, and some coffee. Then it was time to head to work. On his way to work, he would always be stopped at the same red light and a black Toyota Camry would give one senseless honk at him. When he got out of his car at the parking lot, a black lab on the sidewalk would bark three times. Once in his job, a man named Lorenzo would walk into his office exactly five minutes into his shift with a question about a civil dispute. Throughout the day the same clients he'd seen time and time again would stumble in. After 12 hours of this, he would go home. “Welcome, home Daddy,” his two kids would say in unison once again. After having meatloaf and potatoes for dinner with a glass of cheap wine, he’d head to the living room to watch T.V. As always, the Buccaneers were playing the 49ers and when he turned it on the score would be 21-21, 5 minutes into the second half. At exactly 11:30 he would head to bed and immediately fall asleep. The next morning the cycle would repeat. This continued to repeat until one day, an inconsistency happened. A man walked into the law firm Jerry had never seen before sporting a black leather jacket. He asked to speak with Jerry at the front and headed to his office. Without any greeting, the man prompted, “Aren’t you bored yet?”. For a brief moment, Jerry was confused about what he meant by bored, but within a few seconds, something clicked. Although he felt things had been off for a while it was as if a force in the air prevented him from doing anything about it, he was like a salmon flowing down an endless river, he lived an inescapable, monotonous existence. “Haven’t you noticed?" asked the man. "It's all the same Jerry," he said coldly. "Why don’t you go and feel your heartbeat for me,” he coerced with an eerie grin. To Jerry's horror, his heart was as still as a statue and he now noticed his skin was frigid as well. “You see Jerry you're already dead, you've been a corpse for many years now," the man stated dryly. "You’ve been repeating this day endlessly for quite some time, but in case you're wondering this is heaven nor hell, or even purgatory". "No, no, no, my dear friend this isn't a place for the good or bad, but instead for those who waste away their precious life. Those who were too scared to chase their dreams and chose to wallow in a miserable existence instead," stated the man. "You always wanted to be an actor Jerry, that was your only real passion in life, but you were too much of a coward to take the chance, too scared it would go wrong so you worked a job you despised and married a woman you didn't love until you died a lonely death, am I right?" asked the man callously. "However, I have a proposal for you," the man declared and began to smile. "I’ve chosen to give you one more chance. You will relive your life from when you were 18 and will have 10 years to change your fate and pursue your dreams". "If you manage to change, I'll let you live the rest of your life out. However, if you fail again, you won’t be going back to this place, oh no you'll be going someplace far, far worse, I’m sure you can imagine what I’m referring to," the man pressed. "Oh and if you choose not to accept you'll continue this day for all of eternity," he added. "Well, the decision's all yours Jerry, what will it be?" he asked with a nefarious smile. Face to face with the devil, Jerry reached out his hand….


“All is fair in Love and War” I may or may not have several mental issues that originated from my Middle school and High school times of which I am highly ashamed of. I was a very dumb kid, like impressively naive and hopeful. Many of my friends would say they were the same way and that it’s not worth thinking about, but I just can’t stop thinking back on my younger self with nothing but harsh judgement toward him. My first kinda real relationship I had was… not successful to say the least. It was back in Middle school so it was bound to fail, but it’s easy to be blind to imminent failure when your hormones are off the charts and you believe you’re on the brink of striking gold. Her name is Murphy. Murphy was kind of “the hoe of Pendleton”, which is a sad and concerning title to have at 13. I didn’t know that though, and it probably wouldn’t change what I thought about her very much if I did, it’s just food for thought and a little important to mention. Most of that relationship isn’t really worth talking about. We met, she had a crush on me, nobody liked me so knowing someone liked me like that won me over, blah blah blah, dating. You couldn’t even really call it dating though, we never went out together other than to smoke weed. No parks, or dinners together, we just ate frozen food, junk food, laid around in my room smoking weed and constantly having sex. After 2 months of “dating” she told me she had cheated on me but it was when she was drunk and that she loves me. I kind of shoulda seen that coming because she cheated on a different guy to get with me, but I was also 13 and very romantically influenced by whatever dumb HollyWood movies I was watching at the time, so it felt like we were vigilantes of romance, or at least I felt like a vigilante. Instead of breaking off the relationship after that violation of trust, I believed she still loved me and shrugged off the emotional damage that caused. She proceeded to cheat on me two more times in our one year relationship, one of those times being with my bestfriend at the time. After that bad experience dating and smoking a brain damaging amount of weed during that, I found myself paranoid and untrusting of everyone unless given an unhealthy amount of reassurance. I still need it to this day, less now than before, but I still find myself uncomfortable even in rock solid relationships if I’m not given a weird amount of reassurance. I’m not very bothered by that though, what I’m more bothered about is the ending of that relationship. Toward the end she told me for the third time that she had cheated on me again and that she was sorry. I was seething with a full range of negative feelings, some really vile, toxic shit, but instead of breaking up with her and distancing myself from that mess, I told her it was fine. The very next day I cheated on her, then a week later I broke up with her after I told her what I did in the most unapologetic way possible. The first and only time I really took pride in being an asshole. I turned into the thing I hated most, something that to me was unredeemable in any scenario, I had done out of spite. Some hear it and say “All is fair in Love and War” then tell me what I did was bad but justifiable, but to me there is no justifying that. She didn’t sink me down to her level, I got there all by myself, she just showed me how easy it is to fight fire with fire. That’s Pendleton for ya though. Everyone wants to leave this place and it’s obvious why. Pendleton is just a sad hole in the ground that turns everyone rotten, maybe not as rotten as Murphy, or maybe more. You can’t really predict how negatively this place will affect someone, all you can really know is that this place is cursed, and just being here for even a moment will guarantee that you lose a bit of your niceness. Or if you don’t have any of that, you’ll just become like the main majority of Pendleton. Mad, untrusting, and mentally feral. This is the first thing I’ve written in a while so it’s not very great, but I’m proud of it. I’ve used a fake name to protect the person I wrote about, but they know who they are.


My name is Teresa, I’m sixteen and Halloween is by far my favorite time of the year but it also has some anxiety for me. You see my specialty is creating the costume, no sexy kitty for me it has to have references and it has to show skill. I’ve done the werewolf, I’ve done the vampire, I’ve done so many things it’s getting hard to think of what to do next. After much deliberation I’ve settled on the ghost this year. I keep quiet about this choice, not even telling best friend Jess. She and I go to the same high school and much as I love her, this is the one area where the two of us compete. Instead I secretly begin to collect and hoard what I’ll need to make the costume. I watch videos about how to make fake blood, I consider who I was before I met with my terrible fate, I settle for cheer leader hoping to be funny as well as scary. You may be wondering why so much effort for one night of the year. Well we live in a rural mountainous area called the Catskills and there’s not much going on out here. Jess and I live on neighboring properties. There’s a road that runs past both of them but it’s not the shortest way to get to each other’s houses. The quickest way is over the fields and through a small forest called Winkle Wood. My mother doesn’t want me doing this but once I’m out of sight she can’t exactly stop me. This Halloween the plan is to meet Jess at her house and her mother will drive us both into town. Getting ready requires some time, I powder my skin white and draw dark circles under my eyes. I desecrate a cheerleader outfit I found at the local goodwill with fake blood. My mother comes and leans against the bathroom door eyeing my efforts. “I was a cheerleader you know.” “I know,” I say grinning widely She sighs, “I don’t know why you are drawn to such gruesome ideas” “Oh come on Mom, it’s Halloween!” “Yes, well go and have fun, make sure you take the road to Jess’s house.” “Sure will” She leaves me too it and I pack my phone and other necessaries into a small back pack and head out. I do walk towards the road at first but then as usual I veer off and head towards the woods. It’s quite beautiful out in the fields, the stars are shining above me and fireflies are skipping through the grass. Inside the woods it’s a bit spookier, the trees loom large, their branches blocking out the light. I hear the hoot of an owl and the crack of a branch under foot. I sing to myself determined not to let the creepiness take over. To be honest It’s more usual to come this way by daylight but I know this forest like the back of my hand. Or at least I think I do. It seems to be taking longer than I expected to get to Jess’s house. Old stories begin to rise up in my mind, Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel, but there are no wolves or witches out here unless they are children in their Halloween gear. I try to laugh at my imagination but it comes out sounding hollow. I pause to lean against a tree and catch my breath and find my bearings. I can just see the moon angling through the trees, it’s still close to the horizon and I begin to feel sure of where I am again. I set off with more confidence and much to my relief find myself coming out near Jess’s house. I wonder what costume she will have cooked up this year. There are lights on inside and I can hear voices on the night air. Silently as the ghost I’m pretending to be I slip around the side of the house and come up the front path just as if I had walked in off the road. Confidently I ring the door bell and wait on the front page. “Hey Jess” I say as the door swings open but the words die on my lips. Because it’s not Jess or Jess’s mother or anyone in her family, it’s just an older lady who looks a little puzzled. “Who?” “Jess, This is her house!” “I’m sorry dear I and my husband Tom have been here for ten years and there’s no one of that name here.” I’m feeling desperate now, “no one here, not ever?” “Well there was a family here ten years ago but they moved away, sad circumstance the daughter lost one her friends, she just disappeared and then the whole family decided it wasn’t safe here anymore.” I’m shaking like a leaf and if I didn’t have the make up on I would be white as a ghost. “Do you want to come in?” asks the woman doubtfully.” “No.” I turn and run back the way I’ve come. Something tells me I can’t go by the road not if I’m to find my way back. Instead I plunge back into the forest not caring what branches scratch at me or what vegetation catches at my feet. I run as if my life depends on it, I have the strongest feeling that it does. This time the trip through the wood is as quick as I expected it to be, it seems my sense of direction works better when driven by pure instinct. I run out the other side and into the fields around my house. I run up to my house praying that it is my house. As I approach I slow down thinking about what story I could possibly tell my mother about why I’m back so soon. I pause outside the door panting a little and then raise my hand to ring the bell. The door swings open and there stands a man I’ve never met before. I am about to dissolve into tears when my mother appears behind him. “Tess? What are you doing back?” The story bubbles out of me between messy sobs. My mother listen’s gravely, “Tess, I’ve always told you never to go by the woods.” “But why mom, what happened?” “I can’t say for sure but the legend has it that those are the woods Rip Van Winkle fell asleep in all those years ago.” I stare at her mouth agape and then I begin to frown. “Mom, who’s this?” The stranger extends a hand, “Tom the name’s Tom, I got a little lost, it seems to be ten years before the time I left home.”


“Today’s the day I change. No, really, this time I mean it.” It was the best lie I’d ever told myself while being ushered out of our gate with 7,000 other males. We bundled up our 1 pair of clothes on our shoulders along with our pride. Our shoes were stripped away as well as our Manma’s fingers, gripping our brown collards… Would it be considered real change if we knew it was coming from day 1? In Boarding we were told the definition was “the act or instance of making or becoming different.” I guess that’s what I wanted… I wanted something different. Flies littered the air as the sun slowly faded behind the cracked buildings. A frigid wind slapped at our dark brown jumpsuits as we relentlessly walked forward, not knowing why, and not able to stop. In the early days we were plucked out because of the inevitable tendons snapping due to no stretching, or frostbitten toes back in the Hinge Valley. Miserable was an understatement when describing the trial we had been trained for since babes. “Listen, if we all decided to run how could they stop us?” Krane smugly asked, leaning himself against a younger boy behind him. “Because it’s never worked before.” Nearus softly said, shaking his rusty locks angrily. “We don’t know that for sure…” Stated my best friend, and leader of our dingy group, Lorel. “Yeah, s’pose you’re right, Lorel. S’pose that’s why none of our dad’s ever came back, no, NONE of the men ever come back. It’s because we don’t know nothin, and those masked fleas don’t say nothin.” Hefting his tall frame up quickly, Nearus turned angrily making his dramatic exit while wading through and stepping squarely on a mass of now angry awake boys. “He’s right ya know. We know nothin.” I exclaimed softly, already seeing the looks on my friend’s faces in my mind. Krane would roll his eyes, Lorel would drop his head in thought, hoping that a new plan would be better than the one before. Drinch inevitably had checked out due to our lack of sign language, and Fallow.. Well Fallow was probably sleeping at this point. “I can’t take that answer forever, Marr.” Lorel’s grey eyes searched my face as I looked up to him. “We have to try something, do anything and… and…” “And not die before tomorrow.” finished Fallow, who was surprisingly not sleeping. DAY 225 Dawnbreak today. Eyes meeting eyes as we finally let our bare, completely calloused feet find a stopping point. Splitting us up into groups of 8, The Grimms, or as we fondly called them, Fleas would lead us into the scrap of a tent on the edge of New Camp which was made every 5 days, and fed us. By day 20 Lorel realized that the groups picked to eat first were always at the back of the caravan VS the front… “It’s a sick game. Those at the back are the weaker… They’re a few hours away from collapsing and being plucked. They’re fed so they can go longer and the Fleas can watch us suffer more.” It’s hard to forget seeing a forgotten language for the first time… Fingers gracefully carving out words from the air around him, Lorel vented to his doormate, Drinch. My wide eyes gave away my surprise as Drinch looked over Lorel’s slight shoulders and pointed a dark finger at me. Since that moment I’ve known that I was following closely behind the winner of this… If there was a winner at all. Whatever this was. Questions whispered during the freezing nights were more numerous than the stars at this point. Death was our greatest fear, and on hour 22 of day 4 before Dawnbreaks, it was secretly our deepest hope. DAY 258 “JUST SAY SOMETHING!!!” Feeling every vertebrae straighten click by click isn’t something I ever thought would remind me of my humanity. Remind me that I was still a person. Speaking was forbidden until the cloak of night when The Flea’s couldn’t decipher who had spoken, or really just didn’t care anymore, and on Daybreak days. Though our sense of hours had faded away, the count of days was the only thing that left us feeling normal… Today was not a day we could use our vocal chords. Flashing forward Krane tackled Nearus to the dusty ground, and in an instant a lone hushed whisper commanded “Close in.” This was new, exhilarating territory. By closing the gap around the deviant yeller, we ourselves were choosing to die, choosing to disobey… Choosing to change. As if a conductor had lifted his wand, the symphony of us boys flowed together and closer to Krane who was shaking Nearus out of his death wish. But with the symphony there’s always the clashing cymbals to awaken the audience from their daze… Black helmets moved forward quickly, and expertly though to everyone’s notice not as effortlessly as usual. “Don’t. Stop.” This time the whisper was directly beside me. Lorel… The winner. If one could watch prayers and pleads fly into the sky, there would’ve been millions as we directly went against everything taught to us in Boarding. Rule 12.5 When in Wander Way there is no need to speak nor will it be permitted. Rule 15.8 When The Grimms move in to give correction, move away immediately. Move away immediately…. Move… Immediately… Shick. Shick this. Manma wasn’t tolerant of much, but luckily for her, she had a son who never disobeyed. This was how I would excel, she always said as she fussed over a stew. Excelling is the last thing coming to mind… move your feet. Move your feet. “Move your feet, Marr.” The hushed command startled my dark eyes upward again, and the realization hit that I had stopped moving. This was the only rule you didn’t break, and without realizing it, I had disobeyed in the biggest way. Panic flashed through me and my legs moved before my brain had time to give the command. Holding back a strangled sob, waiting to be Plucked, my eyes scanned around me. Grimms were being knocked around by incoherent, terrified boys as they were still trying to locate the vocal criminal. Safe. I was okay. DAY 305 “Next time you decide to be an absolute shickhead I won’t be there, got it?” Krane fumed, long dark hair plastered against his sweat soaked forehead. “What were you trying to accomplish, Neaurus? ” Drinch’s fingers danced through the air jerkingly, expressing his annoyance. “I’m sorry, okay?! I was just…” “Just trying to get half of this group killed, that’s what. Like yelling would’ve done anything.” Krane interrupted, leaning forward on his knees, staring daggers into Nearus. “At least I finally said something. Anything. Our motto is about doing something, right? RIGHT?” Krane slapped his hand over Nearus’s mouth, causing a brief struggle that eventually faded into sobs. There was no fault in his speech… Was our group motto just a hopeful quote that would fade into nothing? Like us? “You’re right. If we’re to have a motto, we’re to live by it. Today was a small glance in the right direction… A brief glimmer of warmth in our winter. There has to be change.” Sorel’s eyes closed in thought, and no one dared even breathe for fear that our only chance would blink out with the shifting of a boot. But how does one person change an entire way of life? Sorel was smart, really he was the only option of hope at this point, but was there really an escape? Without even knowing why we were marching, or why we had been trained for this… Was there even an end? DAY 333 Lorel’s plan was basically foolproof, except that we were all too cowardly to go through with it, minus Searus who was always up for anything rebellious these days. His words were on repeat like the old tune on Manma’s receiver, “Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away…”

Changing the words from “fly” to “die” hadn’t helped my nerves, but it was better than the alternative. Giving stock to Lorel’s plan would secure our death, along with the 41 others who’d died in the last 28 days… yet there it was, replaying again. Stupid plan. Stupid song. Stupid Frank Sinater, or whatever Manma said his name was. Loathing had begun to stretch across my skinnier, paler demeanor… 333 days. 66 meals. Out of 7,000 males there were now 82, soon to be 81 by the looks of Juno stumbling in the back, face paler than my own. “There has to be change.” The sure, strong, annoyingly calm voice of Lorel rang through my dehydrated mind. I went into this believing exactly that… But change wouldn’t come from ME. Staying neutral while others did the change making was my game… so why wasn’t that working? The world around me swirled and slowed the moment I heard “It’s now or never.” resound from Lorel’s small mouth. “No, wait. We can’t - “ My excuse was cut off with another sound from the mass. A low whistle shot through the air, clear and loud against the silence. Out of the corner of my eye, Krane’s body stiffened to a halt, fear lacing his veins. Neaurus oddly was out of sight, but with our eyes always pointed forward, taking the chance of turning around was deadly. The tune continued without end it seemed, until a new harmony joined. A voice from the midst. …..my voice… “Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away…” The world had swallowed time in this moment. Escaping on the cusp of hope was impossible, so becoming change was the only option here. A smarter move on our chessboard of death. Grimms filtered into the mass of boys, their direction pointed at us and their mission apparent, when to my right I got the answer to where Nearus had been before. Perched on his shoulders Drinch signed intently, his lip quivering in fear while his golden eyes shined brighter than ever. “Don’t. Stop. Morr. Keep. Going.” Small hand signals fed into my courage as I looped the song again, smiling up at Drinch as I waited for a Grimm to end me. From the ashes of silence birthed a new change… Humming that started softly crescendoed quickly into a chant of change. “FLY. FLY. LETS FLY AWAY. FLY. FLY. LETS FLY AWAY” And then it stopped. We all stopped. Stopping was forbidden, but here it was creeping down our legs, the solid release of tension and tendons. Eyes meeting eyes, blinking away tears, trying to grasp onto an understanding of where we were… why it was so bright when just a moment ago we were at NightFell. “It wasn’t real… It wasn’t real… Fake. We are fake.” Lorel repeated this line over and over again for weeks as we were all taken to our new placement, he rocked back and forth in the “lab” as the Grimms… er… Scientists had called our new habitat. “They are a new breed of human, able to withstand all weather, survive off little to no sustenance, and the more and more they breed the less and less emotion passes down. A wonderful unit for any up and coming H. O. M. E. system.” A Gri- Scientist boasted to a dark suited woman, looking down at us with a countenance similar to Krane’s. Irritating. After weeks I still wasn’t sure what it stood for, but what it was… well it wasn’t good. We were scum, essentially. To be used, abused and tossed whenever the Fancies deemed us unusable, I guess. Lorel, in his psychosis, hadn't been wrong. It was all fake. A test to see what new breeding update had proquired for them… what new model we were. Everyday, 4 or 5 of us were taken upon request of the Fancies upstairs. Krane had been one of the first to go, walking away smugly until he got to Nearus. Shoulders dropping, I caught their hands slip together one last time. Nearus left 3 days later along with Lorel and Fallow. The trio turned before reaching the darkened exit, catching mine and Finch’s eyes, only nodding. Alarms raped the air angrily, causing us all to bow our heads in solemn understanding that it was yet another day of choosing and leaving. Gloved hands firmly gripped my shoulders, marking me one of the chosen today. Turning my body towards my last friend, I stumbled, seeing the tears race down Drinch’s face. “Thank You. For. Changing. Me. Morr” was the deafening scream of silent words carved from air.


I saw her again last night. Her visits have gotten more and more infrequent as time passes. Before this past night it had been 6 days, 13 hours, and 42 minutes since our last encounter. I was drunk. I spend most of my time in an alcohol-induced stupor these days. A fist smashed my door several times, yanking me from my whiskey nirvana. After a brief but brutal fight with gravity and the floor, I managed to navigate my way to the knocking sound. But I was cautious. It could have been another one of my "friends" claiming they were there to help me. I'm too smart for them. All they want to do is strip away my life-preserving elixir, the one thing getting me through every morning and every night. My mud brown orbs peep through the eye-hole and meet a pair of Caribbean blue eyes. Her eyes. It's hard for me to recollect what happened next but I remember flinging open the door with such force it's a mystery the hinges didn't come undone. Then she's in my arms, bringing me warmth greater than Hell but everything in this moment is so perfect that I know we must be in a place even higher than Heaven. Strawberries. That's what her hair smells like. I had almost forgotten. Immediately I curse my memory and fight back tears of frustration. But before I have the chance to cry, she leans in and whispers, "I miss you, darling" and I melt into a sweet, steaming pile of yearning. Our eyes meld into a navy black mess. I hate my own eyes for dirtying the beauty of this union. That old, tangled knot in my chest returns. It slowly expands and I know it's going to explode soon so I go for the only cure I know. My lips seek the warmth of her lips. Instead they meet a finger, stiff and icy. She shakes her head, wearing the same kind of smile a mother does when her three year old son asks for the meaning behind "you'll be a big brother soon". The rest of the night was a blur of love. Hours dripped into hours. At some point the alcohol and strawberries took their toll. She didn't visit my dreams that night and when I awoke to the light of the morning she was gone. The knot in my chest unwound and sunk back into its bottomless void. I poured myself a glass of whiskey and stared out at the blindingly bright sun. Though it stung, it helped bring back a bit of glowing comfort. I finished my drink and grabbed my car keys. For once I actually had a destination in mind. The drive was uneventful. The sun hid behind a shield of clouds and did not return for the rest of the day. On the way there I stopped at a farmer's market and picked up a bouquet of forget-me-nots. They had been her favorite flowers. I placed the forget-me-nots on the cold stone and stared at nothing for three hours in somber silence. Then I drove home, opened a new bottle of Jack Daniels, and drank myself into another coma. As I drifted into death I promised to spend tomorrow the same way. And the day after that. And the day after that. And that was how my life would be spent from now. I don't need anything or anyone other than my alcohol and the occasional visit from her. Maybe if I take one more shot than I did the night before I can see her again. And maybe next time she won't leave once the sun rises. And maybe we'll be together forever, like those two stupidly innocent children promised each other underneath the thousand year old oak tree in that field of gold forever ago. Maybe.


 Manuscripts are from the devil, I’d been told, but I felt it too, evil emanating out like heat from a fire. I wrapped it in cloth to be safe, tucked it in my satchel, and now I wait. I had a few hours, enough time I’m sure before my Master discovered my absence, and my theft. I drank my beer down to forget the past, to focus on my future, my hope brightening the walls of the dark Public House. My eyes followed Evelyn as she moved around me, cleaning up from the night before. Her dark hair pulled back tight showed her pale beauty, and even the dull woolen uniform couldn’t diminish her lithe figure. I lifted my head in an attempt to catch her eye, but no, that candle had guttered out, only the smoke of my longing left. When she first came to town she spoke to me, asked about my work and my Master, but her attention had drifted when I said no. Now I was no more than another chair in her way, an obstacle to sweep around.

I did this for you Evelyn, and you won't even look at me? On my own, I see. So be it.  Pulling out the cloth wrapped bundle from my satchel I carefully placed it on the table. If what Evelyn said was true, this strange item could allow me to finally escape my service, with enough gold to make a new life,  free from my bonds. I stared at it, hesitant to touch the elaborate box. Just parchment squeezed tight between wooden boards, how could it hurt me?

I had seen it before on my Master’s shelf, next to an old statue, but gave it no more thought than the worn boots below it.   I have no need of such things as paper or written symbols, my only use is for work. Evelyn said a man, Daemon, had come from Rome searching for these old manuscripts, such as one rumored to be held by my own Master.  No larger than my two hands together, this small item could be my salvation.

The cover creaked open, dust puffed into the air, as if breathing again after ages of suffocation. First one page, then the next blank. My heart leapt into my throat, could some magic be needed to make the words appear? But then on the third sheet, an image appeared, a man so bright and real, I touched the page to see if he lived. I understood why Daemon wanted this, needed it enough to pay gold for it.

The man, his hands raised with blood on his palms, a cut in his ribs, stared at me, a gold circle around his head, a gold cloak over his body. Was this the man whose soul had been caught? Half the page and and the next were filled with black marks in dense flowing lines. They seemed to move as I looked over them, as if these lines were fighting to be released from the page. A black dread flowed down my back. Have I released some demon by opening his cage?  My blunt and scarred fingers moved along each, following these strange markings. A hand on my shoulder. “You did it.” I turned to see Evelyn behind me. "I hoped you wouldn't-" “What?” My confusion intensified when she looked down into my eyes, deep pools of sadness. “If this goes well, I ‘ll have gold-” My lips quivered, matching the tremor of my heart. “We can leave together-” “Poor boy.”  Her hand touched my face, the blaze in her eyes lit a fire in me, illuminating a future better than I could dream. “I wish it could be so-” Her eyes closed. “Yes, if-” “After, meet me outside-” I grabbed her hand, kissed her fingers. “We’ll leave this town, together, and - live free!”

 Evelyn bent down, her lips met mine, just an instant, her warm touch an eternity of bliss, sparking lighting through to my toes, then she looked up at a sound, and stepped away.  The door stuttered open and a man spilled in with the morning light.

I felt Daemon before I could see his face, a cold frost flowing into the room. A narrow stick of a man, his over- large head bobbed on a narrow neck, hair fine, matted to his temples, with a few strips reaching down his jaw. He clutched his cloak to his chest with thin arms, like crooked branches. Glasses perched at the end of his long pointed nose, a sparrow hanging on for dear life.

He moved without effort, as if he floated instead of walked. Daemon nodded to Evelyn, waved toward her with two fingers. Dark, cold spots of light peered out under heavy brows. Eyes like a wild beast with no soul, and I feared him like no other man I had ever met. He smelled of mold and dust, an odor of death that sent the hair on my neck lurching from my body to escape.	Long, thin fingers danced on the table, blackened nails clicking against the wood. I had heard of these Scribes, men who trapped words on a page, with strange magic and a feather. What mysticism did they practice, what knowledge did they deal in beyond my ken? I eyed him warily, that knowledge stuffed too tight, a too full sack, could explode, destroying him and anyone around him. “Do’ya have the gold?” I whispered, keeping my head low A cough, dry and hoarse escaped his lips, like a death rattle. I feared for his health, but at his crooked grin, I recognized it as his laugh. Evelyn brought two ceramic cups of black beer, along with a metal platter laden with apples, dried meat and cheeses. Daemon’s hand brushed her leg, up to her hip, lingering. I didn’t understand how she could stand the touch, but her body stayed still, though her eyes looked away. “Si. I have the monete .”	Daemon’s face fell into a sneer. His words had a strange, foreign lilt that grated on my ears. A cloth bag landed with a heavy clink on the table, the sound of my future. Evelyn had spoken the truth! I suddenly saw our life together, our horses in the green pasture, prancing in front of golden fields of wheat. Evelyn stood at my side, holding a draught of beer for me, and my pipe. Our young children laughing around us, I tried to count their little heads, were there eight or ten?   “You have il manoscritto ?” Daemon interrupted. I looked around the empty room, before I placed the bundle on the table. I felt lighter having passed it on. His hands paused in midair when the cloth fell away. The old man breathed in, his eyes bright, his back straightening up. His mouth dropped open in pure desire. Daemon moved to open the cover. I grabbed his wrist, felt his bones in my hand, his skin cold as ice. Alive though, his pulse beat thin and fast.

“Be careful, the man he's awake-” “ Questo è il mio lavoro. ” Daemon’s spoke, low and dry as a desert wind. “This is my life’s work” I knew enough to know that these lines signified words, somehow. The Man in Gold’s voice trapped on this parchment. I sunk down further in my chair, weighed down by the pain of slavery. I knew what it meant to be under lock and key, allowed to be free only on the whim of my master.

Daemon meant to keep these words locked away, to add to his collection of souls. Better them than me. “Mio Dio, Il Horae.” He said. “The Book of Hours. The rumors spoke true, we thought lost-” “Is it what you’re looking for?” I focused on reading Daemon's blank face. He didn’t answer but continued to lift page after page, each turn showing the same, more and more black snakes, squirming under my eyes. I had no idea what thoughts these little lines captured, but I didn’t want to understand. I felt the beer roil in my stomach, threatening to come back up. The Man of Gold had been trapped onto these papers, imprisoned forever, with this foreigner to be the jailer. "Pay me or I' ll burn the vile thing-"  Daemon’s knife flashed, a blur of steel, and then a sharp line of heat at my neck, Daemon held me, with death at my throat.

"I'll take this as a gift. Or will you trade with your blood?" A swipe of his wrist and I would leave this life, damned to hell for eternity. I should have read the signs, they were as clear as day, the offer too good to be true. I’d been betrayed.  Slam!  The door flew open and my Master stood in the door, his stance unmistakable, his rage shaking him and the sword dancing in his hand. “Boy!” My Master shouted. “How could you betray me, steal from me!” The blade lowered, pointing in accusation at me. " Cos'è questo! " Daemon shouted to my Master. "I didn't know he stole. He will be punished.”

I thought of Evelyn, our life together. I couldn’t go out like this. “Please, no! Help me-" Suddenly the manuscript moved, falling to the floor, catching Daemon’s attention, loosening his grip. I’ll never know if it was a quirk of fate, or if the Man in Gold chose to help me, but I took the chance and grabbed the knife by the blade to pull it from my neck. I escaped his grasp, though my palms were sliced to shreds.  I turned to see Eve wielding the platter like a hammer, swinging again and again at Daemon. With Evelyn at my side I could make an escape! Scooping up the manuscript, I grabbed an iron poker from the fire and ran at my Master, standing in front of the only portal to my future. I had lived more of life in these few short hours than in all of my 20 years. I kissed a girl, escaped death, and now carry a priceless treasure in my hand. The stars were aligned with me today, I could not lose! Anger at all the scars, all the pain this man caused powered my arm, I swung my war axe for a killing blow to his head.

My master took a simple step, dodged my weapon and I felt his blade in my side.

I’m invincible!” I screamed as I fell out the front door, the manuscript tumbling from my hand. If only I could find my love, Evelyn, then we can meet our future together. I looked at my hands, covered in blood, my life pouring out of my side. As I fell, a flash of recognition, the Man in Gold-  I opened my eyes to see Evelyn above me, her face more beautiful than anything I deserve.  “Is this heaven?” “No, not yet.” she said. “Soon enough.” She picked up the manuscript from the ground.

“That,” I gestured to it, “the Man in Gold, he needs to be set free-” I said, out of breath. “That devil will take him-“ “Men are the devil, I learned that where I was raised in the monastery, as a servant, and then-” Her jaw clenched.  “A Brother taught me my letters, now I work for Daemon. My world is small, and hard. But when I open this, read these words, I release the Spirit, and I escape this life, even if only for a few moments. Do you believe?” “He saved me-“  I closed my eyes. I saw the horses in the green pasture, golden fields of wheat. The Man in Gold stood with me, as Evelyn read to us, her words flowing on a breeze. I am finally free.

“When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears, and rescues them from all their troubles.”


The elegant black hearse pulled slowly away from 53 Bellamy Street, leading the cortege comprised of just it and one other car. Hetty’s ecofriendly, bamboo coffin, covered with garlands of cornflowers, irises and buddleia in beautiful hues ranging from sky to midnight, could be seen from the back of the second vehicle. “Do you think we’re doing this right?” Stella gently placed one hand on the shoulder of her daughter’s smart, black suit and the other on the cream leather of the seat. “I don’t know Mum, but it’s the best we could manage,” said Claire. “We don’t know much about Hetty. Not much that’s true anyway. Apart from her wonderful clothes.” “I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but she did tell some tales!” Stella stifled a giggle. “You’re right about her dress sense though, those periwinkle stilettoes were something, and the suede cobalt slip-ons. She had a silk scarf to match every outfit as well.” “Tales is the word! Remember when she said she’d been in the service of the Dutch Royal Family? The Royal House of the Netherlands, she used to say.” “Ironic that they had a Princess of Orange when Hetty always wore blue.” Stella played down her grin by gazing out of the car window and focussing on the houses they were passing. "I'll never forget that peacock jacket of hers, iridescent like real feathers, absolutely stunning." “I still don’t understand why she chose us to oversee all of this.” Claire fiddled with the St. Christopher that sat just above the open top button of her grey blouse. “But then I suppose she didn’t have anyone else.” “No, she didn’t even talk to anyone on the street, apart from us. I did knock on all the doors you know, to give them the details, but I don’t think anyone'll be there.” Stella ran a finger along the square neckline of her black shift dress and straightened her pearls. “I suspect most of them just didn't take to her tall tales.” “Mum, do you remember when Hetty said she once won a wildlife photography competition at the Grand Canyon? She said she hid in a bush waiting for porcupines, but skunks came instead and she only managed to snap a picture of them spraying directly at her!” Claire sniggered. “Oh yes! She said she stank for days and spent the prize money on scented soap and new clothes!” Stella pinched her nose with two fingers and raised her eyebrows before letting out a loud guffaw. “Mum!” Claire shot a glance towards the back of the driver’s head, his neatly cut hair mostly hidden under a black top hat. “A little decorum!” But she was giggling, too. “Must be hard to disguise yourself in the desert when you’re clothed from head to foot in sapphire and navy. Sorry. Not sorry.” The two women covered their mouths with their hands, and each stared out of their own window until they had regained some composure. They were reaching the edge of town, and things were looking a little more rural. “Anyway,” said Stella, “one of us is going to have to give a eulogy and we still don’t have any idea where to start. What can we honestly say about the old dear?” “Well, we can say that she always wore blue,” said Claire. “We know that much is true. And that she was very generous. She’s left us practically everything she owned, I still can’t quite get over that. Who leaves almost their entire estate to people they've only known six months?” “She was very kind; I’ll give her that.” Stella checked her reflection in the rear-view mirror. I'm sure her clothes and shoes won't fit us, she was tiny! The charity shops will have a field day! But those gorgeous scarves we will have to keep." There were a few moments of silence. Stella wiped a tear from her eye. “I don’t suppose it'll matter too much what we say." Stella sighed. "I doubt there'll be anyone there but us. It’s a shame. No one replied to my message in the local paper and I didn’t get a single response to the cards I sent out to those people in her address book.” “We tried, Mum. It was all we could do. Maybe if Hetty had told us anything about her real life, we might have stood more of a chance.” “Her real life. I wonder what happened to the identical quadruplet boys she said she had out of wedlock with the 1960’s film star she refused to name.” “Well, the 60’s was all about free love. Maybe we can give her the benefit of the doubt on that one. Didn't she say they all joined the army?" “Quadruplets?! I don’t think so, Claire. As much as I want to believe she had a loving family at some point, I didn’t see one visitor go to her house since she moved in opposite us. Let alone four .” Stella fiddled with her hat. “How about that time she came over to borrow a casserole dish to put a baby parrot in that she said she’d found abandoned in the park?” “That was so weird. Didn’t you give her some hay from our rabbits, too, to make it comfy? You did indulge her when I think about it. Like with the trifle.” Claire smirked. “Oh my, the trifle! I'd almost forgotten that she woke me up at 2am demanding red fruit to put in a trifle for the vicar’s wife. She swore blind she made a trifle every week, but had just forgotten that day. I’m not sure she even went to church you know. Nonsense.” “Yeah, but you still gave her a punnet of strawberries and a bag of cherries.” “Well, that was all I had!” “Not really the point I’m making, Mum.” “So what about this eulogy?” asked Stella. “We have to do better than ‘she always wore blue.’” “I’m not really sure we can do any better than that. If we told any of these silly stories it'd be like making fun of her. And as much as they have amused us over the last six months, that just feels wrong as part of a church service in her memory.” “I suppose you’re right. It’s so sad we never got to know who she really was. And now we're the only people around to say goodbye.” The hearse rounded a corner off the hedge-trimmed lane and briefly disappeared out of sight. “I think we’re here,” said Claire. “I’ll do the talking if you like. I can say some fairly generic, kind words that we can feel ok about.” “That would be good of you, if you don’t mind.” The funeral car followed the hearse round the bend and pulled into the almost full carpark opposite St. Leonard’s church, as the hearse stopped directly in front of the gothic building. Claire and Stella sat in the back of their car, wide eyed and speechless. Four identical men in full military dress were waiting as the hearse pulled up. They greeted the funeral director and exchanged a few words with him. He pointed to the car that Claire and Stella sat in, and the four men nodded and started to walk towards them. “I don’t believe it! Look at all these cars. Are we at the wrong place?” Stella wound down her window and stared at all the people milling about in the carpark and hanging around the entrance to the church. “I, I don’t think so Mum,” said Claire. “Look, that guy has a parrot and there's a very posh woman over there with a bodyguard!” “And there’s Reverend Gordon and his wife! I’ll be damned if she isn’t holding a trifle! Has that guy got cowboy boots on? And a camera?” At that moment both back doors of the funeral car opened, and Stella and Claire were each greeted by a tall man in spotless military uniform. “Claire and Stella Green?” said a deep, silky voice. “Our mother told us so much about you. It really is an honour.”


The early morning sun was starting to burn through the morning fog. The  heat of the afternoon approached nonchalantly. For now, the weather is perfect with a little chill in the shadows.

Along the waterways, an unassuming man was on a stop along his walk and feeding the birds.

First came the pigeons, whose territory he was in, then a large raven landed while another rested on line nearby. The pigeons gave the huge bird space, deferring and staying out of striking distance no matter what was thrown. Today's breakfast was bits of scrambled eggs and bread.

His bites of the sandwich alternated between feeding himself and the birds. It was a family tradition his grandmother started, and the source family name, Ravenna. The Ravenna Family had leveraged their relationship with the Corvidae family into making the business empire you have never heard of. Ruby Ravenna took care of the families and the family took care of things. Like their avian comrades, the Ravennas had jet black hair with the occasional ginger popping up among them. Zenzero was one of those people, hence his name which meant Ginger.

 Zenzero was one of the elders of a family full of adventurers with the scars and tattoos to prove it. Not that it was obvious, he looked like someone who is easily overlooked. A look he carefully cultivated over the years. Anyone who has ever seen an episode of Hoarder's would be familiar with his work.

He called himself a broker. He arranged for people who could afford it to home creatures that could guard whatever it is that needed guarding. He was once in the business of finding monsters to populate the estates of the wealthy.

He preferred to call it a matchmaker service. He only placed creatures in their ideal habitats for buyers who could maintain the monster's lifestyle. He enjoyed his semi-retired life. Like himself, his kids were fertile and started early. His jokes about being in the business of raising rogues were tolerated because they knew their children were safe while they worked.

He didn't have any grandkids to watch today, now that they are school age, so his morning walks were quieter than he liked. The raven used the space given by the pigeons to communicate. The large bird pecked at the offerings on the ground, and a few other times as well. After a few bites, the scratches started to form the runes telling him that he was needed by the Enterprise.

  "I guess it's time for a drink," told the assembled flock, picked apart the rest of his sandwich, and scattered it to make sure everyone got a nibble. He patted himself, checking his pockets to make sure that he had everything needed. He doffed his hat to the birds, "thank you for your company. I must be going."

 Looking for a suitable place, he settles on a quiet bistro, pops the dried-up stem and cap of a mushroom into his mouth, and picks up a newspaper at the door

Zenzero walks into the bar, the brunch rush ending, the crowd thinning and the noises return to a low murmur, a few tables with a single person at them with notebooks and portable magic mirrors arranged in territorial markings, symbols of industry, and an excellent camouflage for the afternoon drunks pretending to work.

Picking a table near the bar, He sat down and pulled out his newspaper. Shortly after sitting the waiter came over to take his order. "Welcome, what can I get for you today?

You just missed brunch. We have some great afternoon plates available, would you like to see a menu?" "No thank you. I'd like an Absinthe, Oaklander if you have it, simplified presentation, please," before adding "make it a double." "Of course, I'll have that right out to you." The waiter's relief was hardly discernible, the classic absinthe ritual was labor-intensive, and those who usually order it either never had absinthe before or it was the only thing slowing down their consumption. Both groups are lousy tippers. The waiter correctly assumed that his customer was going to be a camper, just like the other smattering of the tables. Perfect customers for the time of day. It allows the staff to prepare for the evening rush. He pulled out a banknote which was generous without being suspicious. He needed to be undisturbed. The waiter brings out the glass and the pitcher of cold water, a slotted spoon, and a sugar cube, placing them on the table. He raised the glass to his nose and inhaled deeply, the licorice of the anise, blending in with the wormwood. A deep breath, held and slowly released, warm airflow out of his mouth as he sticks his tongue in the glass, tasting the undiluted liquor. Another deep breath and holding it, letting the bubbling in his stomach settle down, cheeks and forehead blushing. He starts the mantra of focus, "Yes. I welcome this lesson, this green fairy tale. Show me what I need to know." He opened the newspaper to the comics and puzzles, the crossword was where he would keep his notes. The absinthe combined with the magic of the mushroom to allow him to "see" his message. A kind of alchemy-induced telepathy.  The text and images of the paper were just something for his brain to focus on.

The text on the page started to dance. A slow shimmy as some words and phrases rise above the page. The runes coalesce the usual greeting.

So glad you could answer. Your skills are needed. Zenzero took another sip of the absinthe and then added some of the cold water.

The words formed and filled the page, a paragraph at a time. Do you know what happened with Mykonos? The letters formed a shape of a thick human with a bull's head, tail, and hooves.

The Minotaur recently was visited by poachers. He lives, but his reproductive organ has been severed. The golem used for transport, dubbed Egget, was hijacked by the organ, killed the poachers, went on a rampage, and was caught several days later.

"I have so many questions," he thought as he took a long sip of the drink, blinking a couple of times to let the words respond. As do we. Those questions are finding their answers. We need your efforts to clean up. The path Egget took is easily followed and littered with the bodies of the victims , all humped to death. He gulped the water, smiling grimly at the images of the roughly cleared path littered with mangled bodies.

We don't know if there are any survivors.

Zenzero recognized the cascading mountain range. Fortunately, it's sparsely populated but several large predator hunting territories were intersected.

Harpies were at higher elevations and along the coast. The only other thing that could survive was any one of the owlbears. The black bear-shaped lump showed just how roughly the creature wooed.

Owlbear are already enchanted and the combined magics would make for rare and valuable offspring. "What do you need from me?" His inner voice asked. The text settled. He took another sip of the absinthe, he didn't want to eat another mushroom. After a couple of deep breaths, the next part of the message appeared. Your mission: handle the situation. Backup is available upon request. Regional Managers are aware of your mission. Burping signaled the end of the session. The licorice flavors help to ease any nausea.

It also gave him something to focus on as his mind wandered around this new project. Egget, the newly sentient minotaur penis life support system of a golem rampaged through several known magical creatures' habitats, the only things big enough to survive the encounter are the owlbears. If there are any young, the value of their by-products in the arcane and alchemy markets is high. They need to be protected, and he started making list plans.

He wrote in the crossword puzzle Handle Inventory Spot Scatter Protect His mission was clear. Retrace the path of Egget, find any baby mamas, set up wardens to provide prenatal security, and find habitat ranges to relocate any surviving young. For these efforts, he would get to harvest any renewable resources, like fur, feathers, eggshells, and even nests. The ravens and others can help cover the area and keep track of the beasts, and there are enough relatives to share the efforts for a portion of the bounty. All of the history books talk about how the Great War ended, and the Dragons establishing a financial system that allowed the use of their gold via the bank notes the Dwarven crafters made allowing the new prosperity of the Great Peace. Most of those books barely mention the other immortals who helped shape the postwar world, the Ents. Employing their Branch Managers, druid enforcers who quietly keep the peace between the different factions and help reform the Goblinoids and integrate them into the brave new frontiers. The old trees were tired of the constantly clashing mortals and decided to try to influence their peace. The Enterprise is rumored to have a splinter group of dryad upstarts who are seeking power. Potential interference from them and the usual Undead Underground, who are probably behind the poachers, but Egget isn't any kind of necromancy, so there's no direct connection to them. Add to that the possibility of any murder hobo trying to make a name for themselves. Whether they are hunters looking for fame or other adventure capitalists like himself  This was going to be a lot of work, but it meant that the victims and their young could be given a chance to have a good life, and not exploited by some of the real monsters, the people who just see the revenue and not the animal. Discretion is a must. Nobody knows about Egget. Not yet, anyway, and once word gets out and that would bring all of his professional rivals.

Zenzero drains his glass and fills it with water, as he calls the waiter over and orders two sandwiches to go. It's time to start getting ready. The End


"My fish died..." "Oh," I say, being especially useless in these types of situations. My best friend seems to be biting his lip to hold back the tears. Although, I recall him being nowhere near a caring state for this fish, he barely even fed it. "Yeah, man it sucks. I really liked Fin-Finnegan? Was that his name? No...I think it was Taco-" His voice trails on but I'm no longer listening. My eyes have landed on one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. Her peach colored hair is catching the sun at the most perfect angles, her eyes are slanted to look almost feline, and her smile is so...so hot. I feel a flutter in my stomach as she glances over in my direction. Her eyes obviously don't linger on me, never in a million years would she notice someone like me. Instead, she sees Chad. I mean, could any name be more self demeaning than Chad ? It offers so many assumptions about him. Her gaze is fickle, though, bouncing from one person to another. Probably finding someone worthy of her attention. "Hey Beau?" I say. "Yeah, man?" "I'm going to get a girlfriend this year." "Alright, Ace for the win!" he says a little too loud. "Who's your victim?" "Her," I say pointing in the direction of the girl with the peach colored hair. "Dude, good luck. It's the new girl. Your- our social standards aren't quite adapted to even get within ten feet of her." "Anything is possible," I say, patting him on the back as a goodbye. I start walking to Literature, my first and most favorite class of the day. It's quite awkward walking by yourself, and I've noticed how much more nervous I get when walking past someone that I want to notice me. Like Peach-Hair girl. As soon as I make it up the steps to the school, the principle is making a beeline towards me. I prepare to be reprimanded for god-knows-what, I'm an ideal target for the popular kids to blame their tomfoolery on. "Mr. Linville!" I cringe and turn to face him. "Yes sir." "Follow me to my office, I have a few questions." This man is so monotone that I don't know how to tell the difference between his good moods and bad moods. I hold in a laugh when I think of the shirts that have Darth Vader and his moods on them, that's like Mr. Leads. We step into his musty office that smells of ham and he motions for me to sit down in a torn up, leather chair. "Uh, am I in trouble?" I ask when he is silent for two seconds too long. "No sir, not at all. We just have to wait for Miss Foster and then I'll be able to start." "Okay..." Principles are obviously infamous for addressing people by their last names, so I have no clue who he's referring to. A few grueling minutes later, Mr. Leads' eyes light up as he sees Miss Foster walk in the door. I turn to see who she is and my heart does a few flips as she waltz's in. She sits down beside me in an identical chair and soon enough, her vanilla scented perfume in teasing me. I sink lower in my chair, still maintaining eye contact with Mr. Leads as he clears his throat. I can see that Miss Foster is calm and collected, so I try to chill and not look so visibly nervous. "So, I've called you both in here today because I need you, Mr. Linville to be Miss Foster's escort. Meaning, you will show her around the school, take her to her classes, and be her friend. You're one of my best students Linville, so I trust you." "Yes sir, I can do that," I say. As he continues talking, giving me a rundown of how he usually chooses a girl to escort another girl, but he trusts me enough to treat her with respect, I nod along. When, really I'm using my peripheral as my best friend. Peach Hair girl stays quiet, I feel bad because she's probably severely uncomfortable. "Now, with that being said, Miss Foster, will you-" Someone enters the room, whispering something in the old mans ear. He mutters something under his breath like "These damn kids," and walks out. The secretary scuttles in, asking us to stay put while the principle is dealing with the fight and quickly walks out. "So last names say nothing, what's your name? Does it complement Linville nicely?" Miss Foster asks, it's a peculiar question but I'm grateful for the break in the silence. "It's Acelet, but please just call me Ace. I hate my name." "I think it's cool, not basic like Chad or Mark. Is it French?" "Yeah, my mom just likes French names. We're not French, though. What's your name?" I say, inwardly smiling at her hate towards the name Chad. "Ivy, like the weed." "Well, it's nice to meet you." I smile and she holds out her hand, I shake it. She's even more beautiful that I had expected. "You too, though I do have to say, I'm pretty self-sufficient. I'm going to have to kindly reject your position as my escort," she says. It feels as though she's taken a knife to my stomach and twisted it. All my hopes and dreams of getting to know her have been crushed, ran over with a car, thrown out the window, etc. "Oh." "But...Leads did include the word friend," her eyes light up and so do mine. "It would be an honor," I say, shaking her hand once more. This time, it wasn't a greeting. Not to get all gushy, but it was a silent agreement, to stand together for this last year as seniors. She smiles with me and the principle walks back in. "Seems like you've become acquainted, good," he says while sitting down. Me and Ivy became inseparable. Beau was so focused on being the mastermind behind our senior prank, that we had little to no lost time with each other. My previous thoughts of who Ivy was ended up completely wrong. Her personality was so much different than anyone, I think, would expect. Still, there was something between us that wouldn't let us be just friends. One night, we were at a lame party that a bunch of freshman found out about. The trust-fund kid who was hosting the party lived on the ocean, that was the only plus. I was exhausted and the thought of my warm bed was starting to become physically painful. Ivy wasn't exhausted, she was the opposite of exhausted. So I let her be inside the party while I sat out by the ocean. I could feel the wet sand soaking through my khakis but the sound kept me sitting there, staring at nothing in particular, but wondering why the ocean was so much more eerie at night than during the day. It would be so much better if the sound from the party wasn't polluting the silent night. It was an hour before I heard footsteps behind me, so faint but I could tell who it was. "Hey," Ivy says while sitting down next to me. She's obviously is tired now because she lays her head on my shoulder, slightly bringing my heart-rate up. She still smells like vanilla, despite the fact that she was in the middle of about 300 kids with poor hygiene. "You ready to go home?" I ask. "No, I just want to talk." "Okay, what do you want to talk about?" Silence. Ivy lifts up her head, scoots back and looks me in the eyes. Her hand is on my leg, which was normal for us, but it's different this time. "Do you love me?" she asks in complete seriousness. "Uh-What?" "I do, and I think you should love me too. You act like it." My heart-rate is nonexistent at this point. My heart has completely stopped. She loves me? It's a question of doubt, I thought we were just friends. I do, though. I think I do. I've never loved someone, I mean, Beau but he's been my best friend since VBS in '04. I love him like a brother, but Ivy. Like a wife. Ew, no, way too soon. "I-I." The words won't come out, she's tearing up, she's standing up, she's sobbing, and...she's gone. No, No, No. I love her. I really do. I've loved her since the day I told Beau that she was going to be my girlfriend. I screwed up, but I can fix this. She's my best friend. I drive home in a blur, lying face down in my bed when I get home. My pillow feels like paper though, I lift up my head and there's a note. I thought you loved me. It was written in the same elegant handwriting that the notes passed to me in class would be written in. Not only that, but it had a finality to it. I didn't have a second chance. That was the night that I told myself my life had ended. I went through the blur and stress of applying to colleges, receiving the acceptance letters, and one small one. I saw her in the hallways, always by herself. It was all my fault. It was like we had broken up, but we were never together because of me. The last time I saw her was at graduation, the night after the senior prank, which was a total bust. Beau didn't speak for a day after his mouse-traps didn't trap, and his fireworks didn't fire. ~~~~ Wofford College was printed above me in big letters. I watched my mother try to work her first digital camera as I stood with a slump under the purple sign. They helped me unpack, and my mom explained where everything was, my shampoo and unneeded conditioner, my extra bed sheets, comfy soles to put in the bottom of my shoes, and my pictures. Including one of Ivy and I. That one stayed on a bottom shelf. The first three years of college were easy for me. No distractions, no friends except Beau, my roommate. You think he would leave me to go to college alone? There was only once that a girl had approached me. She asked if I wanted to go to Carson's one night, and I said no. She was very pretty, if I'm being honest. But it felt wrong. From then on, I was not approachable to other girls. Now it's my senior year in college. I changed my major many times in the first few years but ended on Literature. One day I'm going to be a writer, and I'm going to write about Ivy. Not directly, but she's going to be fit into every story I write. No matter what. ~~~~ Beau and I are walking down the street, back to campus. When a girl with Peach Colored hair catches my eye. I convince myself that I'm hallucinating and close my eyes, wishing that I'm not. When I open them, her sharp, feline eyes are met with mine. She sees me and this time, they don't bounce to another person. I stop in the middle of the street. "Ace, wha-" Beau sees her too. "Go. Get. Her." And I do, I walk up to her and I don't stop walking. I don't stop walking until her face is right in front of mine. "I love you," I say, closing the distance between us completely. I do what I've wanted to do since the first day I saw her. I kiss her, and she kisses me back. I put my hand on the small of her back and she pulls away, smiling at me. "I knew you loved me," she says. Me and Ivy have become inseparable. She's finishing her schooling at Wofford, which was the plan before seeing me again, calm down. I am more happy than ever. I've actually started writing a book. Ivy was a big inspiration for it. I'm heading out the door to my next class when I see a note on our white board. Feed the fish!!!!!!! I roll my eyes and walk over to Beau's hidden shelf beside his bed and pull out his fish tank. Grabbing the food, I realize his illegal fish, Shark-Bait, is floating. Oh, no.


When I was nine years of age, my young mind unironically believed that there was such a thing in the world as a "Friend Fairy", which, on the contrary to the classic Tooth Fairy, would have you exchange money for a friend. Which, of course, is an idea so unrealistic and depressing for a nine-year-old to think of on his own that the idea on itself would create an entire museum for unrealistic and depressing things and be the first exhibit. However, my young and unfortunately stupid mind did not only think of this concept, but also believed it to be true until I turned eleven, without any questioning at all. I do suppose that even as a nine-year-old, the idea seemed ridiculous, however, this was irrelevant to the fact that I wanted to be comforted by the idea that one day I would have as many friends as I wanted. Now, as a twenty-three year old man looking back on his embarrassing past, I think that even if I had the chance to buy people from some loud, annoying little human with wings, I wouldn't. Over the course of my life I have decided that, in my most wildest of fantasies, I wouldn't have any people I had to interact with, and would just read and nap and watch television for the near-entirety of my life. In short: I am a severe introvert. And, as anybody would expect from the average severe introverted house-slug with an excuse for a job and more video games than he could handle,  I was planning- nay, relying on having my afternoon cleared up of unnecessary tasks and unnecessary people. Of course, to my utter disappointment, just as I was silently appreciating the fact that I had the entire evening to myself, I heard my doorbell ring - dINNg - which, as a nice bonus, reminded me that my doorbell sounded like a plastic Halloween prop that was nearly out of battery, and that I was going to have to use my hard-earned money to have someone repair it. I went to the door. Ken stood on the welcome mat. "John, enough is enough. We're going for a boy's night out," he said. Ken was the most extroverted person I knew, and if I had known that I would have to not only work with him but also interact with him outside of our jobs, I would have seriously gotten a job somewhere else. His jeans were both too tight and too small, cutting off at the halfway point of his calves, but despite the jeans being too small, he had the boldness to roll them up an extra inch. His Metallica T-shirt, on the other hand, was an adult extra-extra large, even though he was short and rather skinny. He's holding a coffee in his hands. "That sounds like a great idea! But oh, God, I just remembered: I have a dentist appointment in like, half an hour. By the time I'm out of the door for this night out, I'd already have to be on my way to my appointment," I said quickly. Surprisingly, of all the excuses I have made to avoid interaction, I have never used the classic "Dentist Appointment" until just now "Oh, really?" Ken asked. "which dentist? What's his name? What kind of appointment do you have? Have you been there before?" "Er-" I stopped to think. "Uh, there's a new place out of town- I think his name is..." My voice trailed off. "Dude. You are such a lying - what's the word - liar. You are such a lying liar." "Very smooth," I said. "Meet me outside in five minutes or I will seriously egg your house, John." "Then I'll call the cops!" Exclamation unnecessary, I thought. Get over yourself, Ken. "You won't know who did it," he said entirely unsarcastically and in complete seriousness. "Ken, you literally just confessed," I replied curiously, not in such a way of which I was actually curious about something, but in such a way that I'm just questioning whether he's mentally unstable or just kind of stupid. Then I sighed. "Give me that coffee." "Get your own goddamned coffee," Ken said. "Give me coffee and I'll be out in five minutes." While my sigh is a small, barely noticeable exhale dragged out for another half second, Ken's is an over-dramatic mess: SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIghhhhhhhuhuhuh. "Fine. Be out in five minutes," he sighed. I took the coffee inside, took a very large sip (some of it dripped down the sides of my mouth and onto the floor) and put the rest of it down on the coffee table. Then I walked back out, regretting what I was doing. "I'm ready." "You look the same," Ken said. "I said I'm ready. Where are you planning on taking me?" "Let's go for a drink." "Should have brought that coffee," I groaned, then shuffled into his Toyota Corolla. On my way inside the car, I happened to sit on a chewed piece of gum, and leaned back against the very uncomfortable car seat. Ken then had the wonderful idea to play the soft rock radio an blast it loudly. The worst part? He yelled, "Oh yeah, that's the stuff," as it came on. There goes my alone time, and my comfiest pair of pants, and my sanity, if it hasn't already gone. On a regular basis, I would never think to buy anything from the Friend Fairy, because first of all, buying friends from a fairy is very depressing, and second of all, I don't want friends. But, alas, Ken was there and he wasn't leaving there, and, after all, I was getting a free drink, so if I had the heart to ignore someone who was very desperately trying to spend time with me, and if I had the heart to let myself experience an "Ow, my feelings" drama act from Ken, and I ended up pretending that he wasn't there, tonight won't be so terrible. But, all things considered, it probably will be.


Hey guys, I've had this idea for a story for a while, but haven't had, and still don't quite have the muse to write it. Please forgive spellings, typos, et al as this is a very rough draft, a snippet, that may one day be fleshed out. Enjoy: The problem with bending light back on itself wasn't the tremendous amount of energy involved. He'd simplified that through design. It wasn't oversight. Though, he knew he was being monitored by some unnamed branch of his nation's government, all he needed was a relatively basic internet connection. He'd run a line to a neighboring house, anticipating his work. The problem was the temptation. His life was ruined. Cliche: it all started with a thought. Time travel is really hard. It takes a lot of energy, stars worth of energy to move matter backwards through time. However, photons had no functional mass, their mass was nothing, or everything. In essence photons transcended mass. They were also the gatekeepers to the limits of our 3rd dimensional reality. Conveniently, they were also the mainstay in information transfer of his day. That meant less parts. He could bend photons, back on themselves, then tracking their interactions with forward passing photons. Depending on the subtlety of the measurement, amplified by various nuanced things, he could see as far forward in time as his machine existed, though only through the lense of the internet. It was a one way portal into the earthly and eventually trans-earthly internet of any time. Again, so long as the machine he built was up and running. He knew his machine would fail, amazingly, in ten thousand years. He also knew, when and how he would die. The thought obsessed him. He knew who he would marry. When he would meet her. Then when he would.... meat her, so to speak, kak. He knew when his children would be born and when they would die. He knew that no one but him would know of his work. He didn't know how he was going to manage to keep that a secret from his wife. He won the lottery. Twice. He watched every episode of every tv show he was interested in, current and yet to be created. Spoiler alert. He knew where to be to avoid calamity, yet couldn't seem, for the life of him to stop it. He was burdened with knowledge. You see being imbedded in time, he couldn't affect it. For some reason, you could see anywhere in time, via this method, but not affect anything within it. He would seem like he was affecting it, but something would always happen to maintain his imbeddedness. It was maddening. The illusion of free will manifest. He couldn't conceive of how the agents observing him never quite figured out what he had accomplished. Or maybe they did.


His father managed to drag him out of the house that afternoon after relentlessly pestering him all through the day. They took a long stroll around the neighborhood, then made a stop at Mrs. Baker’s candy shop in the business district of the community. He had many memories from the time he worked there during his high-school years, and his father was determined to remind him of as many as he could recall of those he had been involved in making. It was his first time visiting in years. Once upon a distant time, he had deeply loved Brownsville. When he was in high-school he abhorred the thought of living away from the community. It was home for him. It was home for his family. It was home for his closest friends. It was the only place he knew and loved, and he derived great pride from being surrounded by true patriots. That quickly changed when his biochemist mother returned from her assignment abroad with a strange illness. Their lives changed dramatically after her return. His father had had to resign his employment to focus on caring for her and the family. He had had to take his job at the candy shop more seriously because the family needed every penny it could get. His sister had had to take charge of him when their father started to spend more time with their mother at the Military Hospital. The rapid change popped the bubble he’d been living in, and each passing day wringed out the love he had for Brownsville. When his father arrived home with news one evening, disoriented and broken, it was the final blow. When the admission letters started pouring in, he chose the one farthest away from Brownsville and never looked back. Ten years had drifted by since he made that decision. As he looked around Mrs. Baker’s candy shop and uncorked his bottled-up memories, he found himself smiling. Spending so much time away had healed his wounds, so he could afford to look back on the memories with a fondness that became alien to him after he moved away. *** He had been standing by the counter, listening to his father chat with Mrs. Baker, his mother’s best friend, when someone moving past the window overlooking the street caught his eye. He immediately disengaged himself from the conversation and moved towards the window to investigate further.

From what he could see, she had scarcely changed. Tall. Lanky. Hair bundled into two buns on opposite sides of her head. He recognized the spring in her step. He recognized the sway of her hips. He recognized the fullness of her backside. She had entirely occupied his thoughts after they graduated from Brownsville High School, but life and its vicissitudes had gradually brushed her into the background as more pressing issues came to the fore. For the first time in years, he felt sensations that only she could evoke. He felt a tingling in his palms as they began to flood with sweat. He felt constrained by his shirt and the jacket that sat atop it. He felt a dryness in his throat, which refused to budge despite the large amounts of saliva he began to swallow. His eyes latched onto her and refused to let go. His heart called out to her by beating harder and faster. His legs stayed rooted to the spot, to afford his eyes time to feast. It had been ages since he’d seen her. She had all of a sudden disappeared into thin air. He wondered if she was still the girl who caused him to drench his tuxedo with sweat as he walked up to her to ask her for a dance. He wondered if she had changed, and how. He decided to find out.

*** He picked a red rose from the bunch lined up neatly on the display outside the shop. There was so much he wanted to say, there was so much he wanted to know. Over the years, he had probed the internet in search of her, picking up all potential clues and examining each one closely, but they all led to dead ends. It had been much easier to find mutual friends of theirs, but no one had been able to give him any concrete information. He followed her on the opposite side of the street, all the while hoping she would turn in his direction so he could signal her to stop. When the traffic lights permitted the movement of vehicles and brought her to a stop, he saw his opportunity.

He sprinted across the street and as he neared her, he called out, “Candace, how are you doing?” he was surprised at the sight of a transparent plastic mask around her lower-face.

She pushed away a strand of her frayed hair from her pale face with a bony finger, and said, in a soft voice, “Hello!” Although he could still see evidence of the girl he had once known, gone was the cheerleader who’d actively cheered the school team to victory. Gone was the bookworm with a look of curiosity in her eyes. Gone was the voice that kept him company on nights when sleep reported late for duty. The girl before him had a slightly hunched and shrunken frame. She stared at him through tired eyes and had to make a conscious effort to keep herself balanced on her feet. “How are you doing?” When she fiddled with a cylinder inside a bag hanging off her left shoulder, his eyes darted in its direction, and there, he discovered the origin of the transparent cord connected to the mask on her face. His eyes followed a stream of white gas all the way up the cord to the mask on her face, then he watched her consume it all in one deep breath. She had a look of satisfaction on her face when she returned her full attention to him.

He decided to stick with his plan, so he thrust forward his hand and handed her the rose. “This is for you.” Her face burst with life for a few microseconds, but her condition quickly bullied it into submission. “This is very kind of you.” She delicately raised the flowers to her nose and breathed in deeply. He didn’t know if she could actually smell it through the mask, but he was happy to see a smile on her face. “How can I help you, sir?” “I’m Andre Wilson.” She nodded gingerly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Andre Wilson. Have we met before?” He hadn’t been expecting hugs and kisses, but he hadn’t been expecting the blank stare either. He had spent too much time searching for her to let the chance encounter go to waste, so he prodded further. “We were both at the Brownsville High School back in the day, we had a few mutual friends back then. We even shared a dance at the school prom.” When he didn’t see any signs of recollection, he added, “It has been a while though.” She nodded. “Yes it has.” She looked up thoughtfully. “I can barely recall half of the things that happened high school. But I know we kids were up to no good most of the time.” They both chuckled. “How time flies.” “Yes, indeed. Time does fly.” The traffic light turned red again, so he said, “Where are you heading to this cool evening?” “I’m off to the grocer to get some ingredients for dinner.” She said, gesturing with her head at the store on the other side of the street. “I’ll walk with you then.” He said, definitively. She shook her head nervously. “I don’t want to be a bother. I appreciate the rose, but I don’t want to hold you back from your plans for the evening.” He shook his head. “I don’t really have any plans. I was just taking a stroll with my dad. We can pick him up on our way back.” He stood his ground. She exhaled. Wearing a look of frustration, she said, “I see your mind is made up.” He shrugged, and said, with a cheeky smile, “That’s the consequence of forgetting how good a dancer I was at the prom. You have to make new memories with me to replace the ones you forgot.” He took the first step onto the zebra crossing and motioned for her to follow him. “Come along! If we don’t move fast, we’ll have a late dinner. I prefer having my meals early.” She beamed at him and raised the rose to her nose again. As she took her first steps towards him, she said, “New memories?”  “Yes,” He smiled. “New memories.”


When Richard mentioned going out for dinner on Friday, Leslie was more surprised than excited. Richard rarely made any plans for the two of them. She couldn’t remember the last time that he’d spontaneously suggested anything. Their marriage was in a place her mother warned about the night before the wedding. Mom said that marriage wasn’t a bed of roses, and there would be times when life was stale. But Leslie believed with all her heart that her marriage would be different. But that was fifteen years ago. Life threw them a lot of curve balls. Two stillbirths and three miscarriages finally convinced them they wouldn’t be parents to any natural children. When Leslie asked Richard how he felt about adoption, he told her in no uncertain terms, “No.” So, the dinner on Friday was a big deal. Leslie found herself humming unexpectedly over the next few days. On Wednesday, after work, she took herself shopping. Twirling in the deep wine dress, Leslie glimpsed the girl she used to be in the tri-view mirror. She was happy to see her figure was almost as lithe as she was in high school, and her stylish haircut framed her face just right. Paying for the new item, Leslie felt a lift in her heart as she walked out to her car. She thought to herself, “Maybe we are heading into better times. Mom said that things would go up and down over time. This might be an up that I’ve been waiting for.” Friday finally came, and Leslie was impatient to get home. It felt like all the cars ahead of her were moving along at a snail’s pace, and she wanted to lean on her own and shout, “I’ve got a date tonight – I want to get HOME!” But she controlled herself and arrived home at the same time it always took during the Friday evening commute. Richard wasn’t home yet, so she treated herself to a bubble bath before getting dressed. Leslie called out, “Alexa, play Spotify ‘Absolute Faves.” Alexa told her it would be so, and her favorite music filled the bathroom. After setting an alarm so she would have time to dress and carefully apply makeup the way Richard liked it, she slipped into the water that wasn’t too hot but still soothing. Leslie let her muscles relax. She wanted to let go of anything else in her head. She wouldn’t think about work, and the past would stay in the past. Tonight, was all about the future. A future with Richard she wanted with all her heart. Before her alarm sounded, Leslie heard the back door open as Richard entered. He called, “Hi. I’m home.” “Hi back. I’m just getting ready. You do not know how much I’m looking forward to tonight. What restaurant are we going to? You made a reservation, didn’t you?” When the words came out of her mouth, Leslie wanted to take them back. She belittled him with that comment, and she regretted it. He constantly asked her to give him some credit, and she just proved she didn’t trust him to take care of the details for tonight. As Richard entered the bathroom, he spoke tersely. “Yes, I made a reservation, and no, I will not tell you where we’re going. You must wait until we get there.” Leslie smiled to herself. “So, he’s going to be playful. Oh, this will be fun. Everything in our marriage will turn around now.” Richard waited in the living room as Leslie put the finishing touches on her hair. She could hear him jingling the change in his pockets, and she knew he was becoming impatient. She took one more look in the mirror over her vanity and grabbed a wrap that complemented the new dress perfectly. Her work was worth the time. Richard’s face lit from within when he looked at her. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Well, it looks like we’re ready. After you, miss.” And so, the evening was off to a wonderful start. Leslie felt nervous in the same way she did when they were dating. She stole brief glances at Richard as he drove, and though she couldn’t discern his feelings or mood, she told herself he was as happy as she was. The French Gourmet was one of the most expensive restaurants in town. As the car slowed in front of the restaurant, a valet approached, and Leslie watched in disbelief as Richard tipped him and handed over the keys. She began to reach for the inside handle to her door and stopped herself when she saw Richard standing next to the car and reaching for the lever on the outside. “Why, thank you, kind sir.” “You’re welcome. A pretty lady shouldn’t be opening her own door, now, should she?” Leslie loved this, Richard. He was the man she’d fallen in love with sixteen years ago. He was attentive and loving. Her head was spinning with joy, and she felt her eyes sting as tears of joy rushed forward. She was careful to keep Richard from seeing the tears, and as they walked into the restaurant with the Maître de taking them to their table, Leslie felt like she was in a dream. When they were seated, Richard asked, “Is it okay if I order for the both of us? They have a great seared steak here, and I think you’d like it.” “Of course, Richard. That sounds good.” And even as the words fell from her lips, Leslie felt the antenna come up. “ When was he here? How could he know anything about their steaks? Somethings up.” The kernel of fear that his words started in her belly grew as the evening went on. Leslie did her best to enjoy the wonderful meal, but this Richard wasn’t the one she knew. No, this Richard was more verbose. He knew more about the town they’d lived in for years. She wondered when he’d gone to the place he spoke about. He worked ten to twelve hours a day all week and often went in on Saturdays. “When did he have time to ‘discover’ all these places?” The fear turned into a caustic acid, and Leslie knew something terrible was coming. And she was right. It showed up with the dessert cart. “Oh, why don’t you treat yourself, Les?” The use of her diminutive name scared Leslie for some reason. It didn’t sound natural as it fell out of his mouth. It felt forced and conniving. “I really don’t feel like dessert tonight. Maybe we should get home.” “No, not yet. I need to talk to you about something.” She held her breath. “Oh, well, tell me.” Richard drew a deep breath. Leslie could tell he was struggling with the words in his head as they fought to come out. “Ugh, I have to tell you that I’m leaving.” “Leaving? Like on a business trip?” “No. I’m leaving you. I’m not going to live in the house anymore. I’m moving tomorrow." A buzz started at the back of her brain and grew louder as it filled her mind. "Moving? Tomorrow? But where are you going?" Richard had the good grace to flush as he spoke the following sentence. “I’m moving in with my girlfriend, and I’m serving you with these papers tonight.” She watched him take carefully folded papers out of his breast pocket. He opened the creases and lay the document in front of her. Spots formed in front of her eyes. Leslie grew fearful as she felt herself leaving conscious thought. And with that, she fainted. Life would never be the same.


This is the story of Old Ben, who had 5 days left to stay alive. Now old bens got himself a secret that he has just recently discovered. Ben can’t tell you now but don’t worry, I got it covered. Old Ben doesn’t want to say goodbye, he hangs his old head and cries, in five days he’s gonna die. Say goodbye goodbye. Upon learning this Ben goes straight to his hometown bar, his home not terribly far. Sherry that’s his girl, hears wind of the rough mental place that he’s in. Sees old Ben sitting from afar, streaking sad tears fall onto the bar. Next to him she has a seat, “what’s wrong Ben”, she asks as he pours a drink. Old Ben doesn’t want to say goodbye, he hangs his old head and cries, “in five days Sherry I’m gonna die, I’ll have to say goodbye, I don’t want to say goodbye. If only you had me for a little longer. We could be married, have a daughter.” Sherry, though teary eyed began to grin. She whispers into his ear with a sad smile, I’m in. Day One Sherry and Old Ben go to the courthouse not leaving for themselves a minute too waste. I do, I do as well, they say. Ben kisses his beautiful bride. He cant fathom ever being able to say goodbye. Day Two, Though I don’t have to say, what it is the bride and groom did yesterday, Sherry feels it anyways. The daughter inside, inside. She’ll raise it wishing Ben would be by her side. Ben cries. But look, it’s not tears of sadness, it’s joyous tears Ben has for his wife and daughter. Even though he doesn’t have very much longer, Ben is thankful for the gift of a family. “Thank you Sherry.” Day Three Ben and Sherry go to the beaches, they wander and walk for a while. Sherry smiles. Ben laughs, and they gaze into one another’s eyes. Love for the other fills them and they continue to walk on by. Hand in hand they look to the golden sky, it’s almost night. Ben holds Sherry in his arms, for a moment he forgets his terrible secret inside. The one he confided in sherry not too long before. Day Four Ben and Sherry just stay at home. No talking no walking, just holding each other in their arms. Wishing Ben wouldn’t come to any harm. Cherry holds bens hand, tells him to stand and together they look at the setting sun. All is almost done. The tears begin to flow from sherry’s eyes, a few days prior her family had just begun. Now it’s Almost time to say goodbye to her best friend, say goodbye to her now husband, say goodbye to Old Ben. Ben walks to the bed. Lies down quietly and in his head, He’s thankful for the world Sherry let him have. For a few days of love, of hope. And even though the next day he would no longer be. Old Ben was Thankful for the fact that he could have someone to say goodbye to. He takes her by the hand once more as he says goodbye to his wife, his love, his Sherry. And after all’s said and done, Ben closes his eyes. Day Five Sherry lies on the floor, crying in the other room, she is unable to look upon her groom. Her daughter, even yet to be born, along with her mother, they love and mourn. Blessed to have the short time with him that they did. With old Ben. They say one more time goodbye. So hold your loved ones close. Make every day with them count, remember to Cherish the ones you have, love the highs and lows. Like old Ben with only a total amount of five, you too may only have that long before you say goodbye. Goodbye.