I feel my feet barely touch the rough rocks below the water. I wade only a small distance from the shore in the murky green lake as the thumping in my temples respond to the overbearing heat. I breathe, and yet it feels that the water has filled the air as much as it has my pores, and the soft caverns of my lungs continue to feel its nourishment. The water is still and cool, and I can stand in place on the rock with only a slight feeling of my hips twisting. *Rain has yet to fall.* I close my eyes to the looming willows, intertwined with white daisies and zippering fleas, and listen to the imminent summer storm. Not relentless as one to change the seasons, but one that is thorough and plain. Livable. I feel this emotion come over me, I am nothing in this world. No bigger than a grape woven into the skirts of a mountain and yet I have this power that comes intrinsically to the living thing. I am nothing in this world, and this lake will never remember the feeling of my feet on its bottom as I remember the feeling of its bottom on mine. In ten years or ten weeks or ten days will I remember the rough edges of this rock? The rock on which my whole world stands still. I gently kick with my feet, not letting go of the rock, just enough to keep my balance as the waters around me begin to crack open like ice. The rock nourishes me as I balance on it, as if it can protect me from all the rain to come. And yet somehow, I know I must leave the water someday, away from its protection. But I am not scared, until I had the rock, I never needed it so I will continue living without it. Living, finally. The song of a bird makes me open my eyes. A short call, not one to start a response. And yet the bird decides that it does not require the energy it consumes in calling; it will just call instead. And call it does. And stand I do, looking around for it but without any success. I am marvelously intrigued by the tone and rhythm of the call, and it makes me continue to look around and lose my balance slightly, kicking to stay upright and treading with my hands. I feel the cool waters clashing with the skin around my neck, skin that feels the weight of the dank air. Flies swarm so close I could bite down on them and chew. I feel the bird calling me out, its song continues. Tears beat at the back of my throat and near the bottom of my eyes. Why, I do not know. I should begin crying soon, I know I should. But I cannot until I leave the water, lest my tears fall into this vast basin and be shed in vain. The water picks me up, and slowly drifts me backwards. I trust it, it is not a long journey to shore, it can take me there. And if I should drown because of it, then I let the world make its choice, as I am nothing. Nothing like the snails on the road. Goodbye, rock. *Rain begins to fall*. I emerge and I am something, something like snails to a watchful eye. The lake is more active now, waters moving and pushing, somehow this part’s work is done and yet as a whole there is so much more to do. Oh, the woes of the waters. Life fills me with warmth as the air engulfs me. I feel the lake on my skin, its homely waters resting in bulbs as I lay still. Some are disturbed by the occasional faint droplet coming from the sky. Those are painful tears, tears of something ready to burst, but tears of love or hate only the waterer knows. The rain hurts, and so I let out my tears. I imagine them beating through my skin, and finally ripping through. Not coming from my eyes but from under, a place they come from when they are not mine. These are not my tears I am crying but I feel the pain, fuck I feel the pain. Why do I feel such pain? And then I take my first real breath, and everything comes back to normal. I have a gentle wheeze as I inhale, and feel the real air enter my lungs. Warm and thick, I feel it pressing against my cheeks. I know why I am crying. The bird’s call makes me stand up. Water dripping down my back and down my legs until it reaches the soil, just as the rain begins to wash away the muck left on me. Calm but strong, the bird’s call finally has a location, it has been calling me. I meet its gaze. It is a small bird, yellow in its feathering with red around its eyes, and a tall head sticking up from its round body. And finally I understand that I was wrong. I am nothing to myself, but to that bird I am everything. So what am I… Everything or nothing? I cannot be both, but here both exist. And so I decide I am something after all, and the mountains can have their grapes in their skirts because I have you. I didn’t realize it was you until I could see you, but I see it now. I have you with your brown-almost-black eyes and your ugly toes that you are always embarrassed of, but I find adorable. You sit perched on a rock nearby (did I love a rock once?) and you sing for me to come to you. And I come to follow you forever. Until you find the place you want to take me, somewhere where the rain doesn’t feel so bad, as it enters, my skin.


This is so old, it's got mold. Here we were on the way to clean out the remains of a house trailer that had been stuck in the same location for over eighty years. It's buried like a grave site imbedded in the ground but there was still access to get inside to hopefully find the answers to the questions that have surfaced at family get-togethers over the years. It was an unforeseen moment in time when a hurricane lifted the house trailer only to neatly set it down about a hundred yards away. That was the craziest moment highlighted years ago in daily newspapers across the country. Where the family disappeared to was anyone's guess. They were never seen again. Long ago, the trailer was built in the Carolinas and moved to its permanent location by a team of horses and wagons. It was only a few weeks ago that we found out about their questionable lifestyle and livelihood. This family lived their lives as hucksters, where the selling of items through and around towns along the east coast by wagon became a huge money tree. A new area was needed to serve their purpose, so suitcases were packed up and they settled into a new house trailer. They picked a rural area that had many small towns near the Outer Banks region of North Carolina where they could peddle their wares; shoddy or otherwise to a new influx of the ones settling into this area towards the end of the Great Depression. Cash money was on the upswing. No one trusted the banks. You know what I mean? And now, here we found ourselves in the middle of a family dilemma yet to be made clear. We only knew that the property had seen better days and now it was time to sell. As the story unfolded, we were not aware if anyone inhabited this place back in '35 when an epic seasonal windstorm began brewing up the Atlantic Coast. Its wrath started to unfurl along the southern part of Florida's coast. Then it came screaming up through various coastal regions and turned into the most horrific monster of a category 5 storm remembered to this day as the Labor Day Hurricane of 1935. It was reported that more houses flew around, but there did not seem to be any bad witch that this particular house trailer landed on in the aftermath, oh well. It most certainly would have turned into a different version of the famous scene in the movie as it would be showing a hurricane instead of the tornado. It probably would not have turned into the epic film it still is to this day. You know what I mean? Before we came here on this interesting adventure, the black and white picture we saw of this place looked disturbed and creepy. Certainly not for the average person to unknowingly agree to take on this task. How we got railroaded into making this whole mess go happily in another direction was another story. Generations change and this family was only known to us through a few grainy photographs and some of the old, saved newspapers. Who and how we were related was still unclear. The three of us were tasked to go on this road trip destination and to figure out how to proceed with the next part of the plan. The property had been vacant for decades and declared abandoned years ago. Our Uncle who was on top of this situation had asked if we could assume the role of managing what was left of the property. We needed to make changes since more development was affecting the town. The train depot and rail lines were along one side of the property boundary for miles so who knew what that meant in the long run. He had more information kept in his file of the family and arranged to meet to let us in on the story behind the story. It was agreed to open, what we charmingly called, Pandora's box, at the town coffee depot in an hour. Before that happened, the three of us opted to stop by the house trailer and maybe get a sense of the mystery of this place and the surrounding property. You know what I mean? As sisters, we've had some pretty amazing road trips over the years. This one had to top the cake. We found the muddy, dirt road less travelled where the house trailer sat, and pulled over to scope out the surrounding area. With windows rolled down, we observed the sunken Albatross in the distance which was overgrown with vines and wildflowers. It had an interesting cluster, though, of metal still attached on the roof. So, freaking amazing! It was an object d'art piece made to be an actual weathervane. I called first 'dibs' on it since it was a family heirloom of sorts and did not care what the others found behind the doors at this place. They looked at me like I was crazy, but this was my winning prize when our job was over! Then the talk went on and on about the who, what, where of it all. Why us? Then we got out and snuck around looking in the windows. The place was filled, floor to ceiling, with boxes of stuff and random odd items like horses from a carousel. Was this a huckster hording nightmare gone through the roof? Time was up to get to our meeting, but the decision was made as we drove away, that the three of us would go back and get it done, whatever that meant. We would be smart, go in carefully with helmets, safety goggles, headlamp, coveralls, boots and a pickaxe, since there was no idea who or what remained behind the 'curtain'. You know what I mean?

We pulled over, parked next to the front door of the coffee depot and went inside to find our uncle sitting with the box. He greeted us as coffees were poured and each took a seat around the 'centerpiece of the hour'. Pandora's box had been found blown into a tree in '35 and kept in the town archives. The name on the box was finally connected to the family of the family who were notified of the property. He got right down to business informing us of the contents. "You are not going to like what you agreed to do." The look he gave us was not expected. He reached into the box to pull out only one piece of paper and a key. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." The key was to the house trailer. The rest of the words on the paper stated, "Whomever holds these words are hereby obliged to partake in the windfall of artifacts duly acquired yet fully submerged on the property." We were shocked to learn that we had a distant cousin who had joined up with the hucksters. It was none other than the famous bank robber, John Dillinger! How could we even think about selling the property not knowing if a boatload of money was squirreled behind the walls in the house trailer, under a mattress sunken to the floor with hundreds of boxes on top or randomly buried in a treasure chest somewhere in a field on the property. You know what I mean?


TRIGGER WARNING: This story mentions physical violence, mild substance abuse, and profanity. Watching the time pass by keeps me sane. It helps me cope. It keeps the days, and thankfully the nights silent. I remember when my mother used to use her time to see other men, who only saw her as a sex object. Tip toeing past my door, in an attempt to sneak into her room as if they were stealing food from the fridge late at night. Noises of pleasure beating the wall until it bleeds white powder from its foundation. Waking the world, my world, from its peaceful state of silence.

     My father used to waste his money on cigarettes and booze. He would bathe in his own tears. Walking around as if he was the victim of his mental abuse. Of his physical abuse. Painting my mother’s face in different colors. Black circles were painted on rainy days. Purple bruises stroked across the arms and neck on stormy nights. Dripping red blood, stained on the ripped shirt and busted lip of the canvas.     I was fourteen when my parents first decided on divorcing. Fifteen, when they made it official. On my sixteenth birthday, neither one of my parents said happy birthday. Seventeen was the age where they stopped acknowledging me altogether. Lucky number eighteen, was there ‘I love you’ mute button. Three days before my twentieth birthday, my father died. Five days after my twenty-second birthday, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Fighting to save her life for two years, but gave up after the third. Seven months later, I met my boyfriend.      Andy.      The love of my life. My drug. He’d make me happy when I covered my cries. Taking me away from the world that was beating me down. Our time together was perfect. Until someone changed him. In times when he should’ve been making me smile, he was the one making me cry. He eventually became  the world that was beating me down. But every time I left him, he'd apologize and I would run right back.

       Andy was a drug lord and at first I wanted nothing to do with it, but then my new friend cocaine came along. Followed by my best friend heroine. They were my rock. My safe haven for when I'm in need of saving. And there was a time they filled my body with happiness so great, my heart stopped for only 4.7 seconds. A new record.       His little business in Chicago ended after one of his junkie friends overdosed on his supply. He says that it was so traumatizing, it would be best for him to move in. With me.       His failed business got so bad I had to buy a gun just to protect myself whenever I came home from work.

     There was a time when I worked at a medical clinic. One of the biggest businesses in the world. I was clocking out after a shift, when I realized that I had forgotten my keys at my desk. I didn't have time to wait for the elevator, so I ran up three flights of stairs. I hated those stairs with a passion. It always made me feel as though someone was watching me, lurking in the shadows of the corners I ran past.

    I had finally grabbed my keys and then stopped. I don't know why, but my body told me to stop and listen. So I did. There was no sound. I was stupid to ignore it because as I placed my heel back down on the hard, white tile, another step that wasn't my own followed. I breathed in. But someone else breathed out. It was a longer and heavier breath. I could almost feel it from where I was standing.  My body began to tremble. My knees began to buckle, but my mind told me to run without looking back.

Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back .

I ran to the stairs. 1 minute. New record.      I kept running, and I kept listening. As my steps echoed, that person behind me had ran two steps closer. But I finally made it out of the building before they could grab me. I heard a thud but I was smart enough not to turn around. I ran all the way home in less than ten minutes. New record . I turned off the lights of my house, just in case they followed me. As I peeked out the window, I heard the door knob shake.

     “Marlee?” It was Andy. He was supposed to be with his family on vacation.

     “Andy? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Chicago with your family?” I stood up and opened the door to let him in.      “Flight got canceled. I have to leave tomorrow afternoon for the next one.”

He sat down at the dining room table. “After I heard about it, I just came straight home to see you. Didn’t take any stops because I was honestly too tired.” He asked what happened and I told him someone had chased me after my shift from work.     “WHAT?! Who was it?” He stood up with rage igniting in his eyes.     “Andy, sit down. They are long gone by now. Nothing to worry about.” I grabbed his hand and guided him back down to his chair, but he winced at my touch.     “Oh, I’m sorry. What happened?” I asked.     “Nothing. I’m tired. I'm going to bed”. He got up to leave but I grabbed his wrist this time, so that I wouldn't hurt him. I turned his hand over.

I was confused. “What happened?” His palm was scraped up. and bleeding. I ran to get the first aid kit. When I came back, Andy was just sitting there. As if someone casted a spell that made him paralyzed.     “Give me your hand. Honey, what happened?”     “Well nothing really. Some lady dropped her wallet and as I was running to give it to her, I tripped and my hand broke my fall. It's just a little scratch, no biggie.” He shrugged. I dabbed alcohol on his wound and he wouldn’t stop flinching so I decided to give up on cleaning it, and just chose to dress it.     “Was this at the airport?” I asked.     “No, it was over on Kinley street. By the bakery. Uh, what was its name? Oh right, Charlie’s Cookie Factory. Such a corny name.” He giggled. He looked up at me.      I was staring at him.      “I thought you said you didn’t take any stops. Why would you be on Kinley street?” I stopped wrapping the wound, and was now in a staring contest with him.      “That doesn’t matter. Are you done?” He asked with a serious look on his face.      “Yes it does matter. Why would you be on Kinley street Andy? Why would you be on the same street, my job is located?” I asked, becoming frustrated.      He snatched his hand away and stared deep into my eyes. I could feel them burning with irritation.

    “I said that doesn’t matter, Marlee. Now stop asking questions, and let's just go to bed huh?” I stood there, silent.

Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for time to start again but it wouldn’t. I couldn’t move. It wouldn't let me. He wouldn’t let me. But I provoked him, and you should never provoke a liar.

    “You were with that bitch weren’t you? Your new girlfriend. I fucking knew you were still seeing her. I’m done with you! GO TO HELL!-” He slapped me and the air left my throat.     So I said again: “Go to hell.” And spit on him. Andy grabbed me by my arm and pulled me so hard, I lost my balance and slammed my knee into the ground. He then grabbed my clothes as I was fighting back, and dragged me into the spare bedroom and beat me. Just like how my father beat my mother.     But this time, there was no storm. It was quiet. No sound. No thunder, lightning, no rain. Nothing. Just the wind’s calm tune as it walks through the leaves of the bushes in the neighborhood. After he finished painting his masterpiece, he walked out and locked the door.     I sat on the bed. Silently sobbing. I would never let him hear my pain. Never will I ever let him know that he is in control. I didn’t sleep because everytime I closed my eyes, I saw his. His scary, green eyes staring at my soul. I hate the feeling of its burn. So I just stared at the clock. The clock, yes the clock, watching the time tick away.     Tik. Tears. Tok. Sniffles. Tik. Silence. Tok. A year went by since that night and it was Andy's birthday. I picked up a couple extra shifts to earn enough money for a new watch he had been eyeing since I met him.  But every time I left the house for a late night shift, it seemed that someone else came in.

     09:23.

The clock read. It was three hours before his birthday so I decided to go home early to change into something more romantic, as I planned on taking Andy out at twelve.      10:12. I finally got home and walked to my porch. Step by step, my smile grew. Excited to make my love the happiest man on earth. Forgetting every somber memory of us from the last three years.

     10:22. I hear giggling coming from our bedroom,and as I open the door my heart falls down to my ass.

     Andy. The love of my life. My drug. Sitting next to a woman. A beautiful woman. The type of woman, to be with another woman’s man.

     Andy. The love of my life. Our time is precious. Why waste it?      10:45. Silence. For forty-seven seconds. New record. Stares. Tik. Sniffles. Tok.

     “Leave.” I say to the beautiful woman in my bed. With my man.

     “Andy, honey? Who is this?”

     Andy.

       “Leave.” I say once again.

     “Marlee? Why are you here? I thought you were working late tonight.” Said Andy shaking.      “Honey, why are you shaking?” Said the beautiful woman becoming a little nervous.      11:26. Step. Tick. Fear. Tok. Step. Tick. Begging. Tok.      “Marlee don't.” Said Andy rising from his spot on the bed, leaving a rip in the sheets from holding on too tightly.

     “Don’t what baby?”I said, lifting the heavy, new pistol from its resting place. “Take another step and I'll shoot your toe off.”       11:34. The man in bed with the beautiful woman. Perfect.      I've been wanting to end this nightmare, the minute he let me take the fall for his second business. His second business. Number two. Lucky. Number. Two.      He got caught selling dope in an alley. He had asked me to hide them in my purse. Of course I told him no. The cops searched him. Clean. They searched me. Clean. They searched his car. Clean. His bag. Clean. Our house. Clean. Everything was clean. My purse. Purse. The purse. My purse wasn't clean.

     Thrown to the ground. Screams of pain from my lungs rang in his ears like the church bells that everyone loved to listen to. From a distance.

     Four years. Four long, time consuming years. Taken from my life. Twenty-nine years old. Finally being released from prison. All thanks to good behavior. Isn't that amazing?      11:56. Aim. Tik. “Leave.” Tok. No movement. I slowly move my fingers down to the trigger. Breathe in. Tik. Bang. Tok. Breathe out. Tik. Breathe in. Tok. Breathe out. Tik. Relief. Tok.      “MARLEE! NO!” Screamed the man, trembling over the blood painted body of the beautiful woman.

      I was surprised at how he hadn’t lunged to hurt me like he would before, but i guess he knew he fucked up in the end and accepted what came next.      “Barely breathing. Just how I like it.” I giggled.

     12:00.

     “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Andy. Happy birthday. To. You.” I sang.      A hush fell over the room… and then I heard it. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. BANG! Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.


\-1- It was a cold November morning in Washington, D.C. The sun had yet to peek over the Trump Monument, the tallest point in the capitol since 2020. In fact, the sun hardly covered more than half the city at a time because it was usually blocked by what some might call a ‘pinnacle of engineering aptitude.’ The monument appeared nearly identical to that of the Washington Monument, but after the demolition of the latter, for what congress called “something much better”, the Trump Monument now towered at 2,500 feet from the ground, and covered a span of nearly 5 blocks. According to the history books, the monument was originally erected as a “tribute to the greatness of this country”, proclaimed by then president Donald Trump, although to the wise it may stand as a symbol of oppression; keeping those deemed lesser in the shadow of those deemed greater, only for the lesser to be inevitably crushed by (possibly quite literally) their tribute to greatness in the end. Each year, this fate became seemingly more certain to those who know it, but as money filled the pockets of the capitalists in their endeavors, accepting ignorance in exchange for giving up morality and aptitude, the care for the matter seemed less and less urgent. Those outside of the government were too concerned for their wallets to be concerned about the world outside of business. The year is now 2051, and the government that has worked so hard to plug the holes in their sinking ship of debt has reached the brink of global nuclear war. The air carried a cloud of doubt, that these men and women that were soon to arrive at the downtown hover-rail station might change the fate of all those around them. As the train neared the city, the only lights that could be seen through the thicket of bramble and fog were that of the capitol, since, as of early last year, all federal employees have begun working rotating shifts 24-hours a day to maximize profit, including weekends, typing furiously at computer screens to the point of callous, trying to prolong the inevitable for just a couple more days, a couple more days—And each day, they typed a little faster, a little faster, sending and receiving international transactions until you could barely see their fingers yet but a blur of flesh and skin and bone across each key in each fell swoop, until they would return home each night, armpits damp from anxiety, twiddling their fingers endlessly as they typed away into their dreams, never sleeping but never awake, but always working, for there was always more work to be done. The magnetic brakes kicked on automatically as the train hovered down the rails to the final station, quickly but gently slowing down the behemoth. An unsecured brown leather backpack fell from a faulty overhead compartment onto the head of a younger woman. “Ouch! Whose stinking bag is this?” “Sorry about that, looks like I didn’t pack in my luggage good enough. Are you okay?” John picked his bag up off the pristine floor of the luxury train cab and carefully secured each arm through the shoulder straps. his cheeks swelled and reddened from embarrassment. Elevator music played in the background. “Whatever, you’re lucky I don’t have that money yet or I would have sued your ass.” The woman looked at him, annoyed, before turning her back to him and departing from the awkward conversation. *People are too sensitive these days*, John thought. He wasn’t going to let one sour encounter ruin his day, however, for as she reaffirmed, there was a lot of money to be earned from this little week-long endeavor, whether they wanted to be there or not. These 100 men and women, all of which were from diverse backgrounds, cultures, educations, and wealth, were all there for the same job inquiry—they had all received hand-delivered letters to their front doors by men in black suits and sunglasses, bearing official U.S. badges representing their affiliation with the US Department of Future Security, a military agency that focuses on protecting the United States from any and all future terrorist and domestic threats. Each delivered envelope contained the same message, which reads as follows: IMPORTANT NOTICE Dear (insert name), You are hereby ordered to report for induction into a 7-day testing program at your nearest **UNITED STATES FUTURE DEFENSE** facility. Transportation will be provided to and from the facility. Be prepared for pickup by FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11 @ 5:00 AM at your residence. $50,000 USD will be electronically transferred to your E-Wallet upon completion of the program as reimbursement for lost time. Willful failure to report at the place and hour of the day named in this Order subjects the violator to fine and imprisonment. Bring this Order with you when you report. Your country thanks you for your service. David Koehl, Overseer of U.S. Future Defense The doors of the train cab slid open with a long, hydraulic breath. The men and women aboard the train, all clenching their envelopes and anxious to finally stretch their legs, slowly and clumsily made their way out of the only couple doors available, and per instruction of a nearby official from the Future Defense Department, lined up: men on the left, women on the right, until they were left with two perfect rows of 50 men and 50 women. The official checked each person’s papers before a Greyhound arrived shortly for each line to provide the remaining transportation to the facility, although the personal space proved to be inconsistent with the luxury accommodations provided by the hover-train, and people were finally forced to small-talk with each other, something that has become outdated in modern society, and is generally avoided. “What do you think they’ll be testing us over?” whispered someone in the back. “I don’t know,” replied another, “but the sooner this is over and I get my money, the better.” There was a long silence before someone spoke again. “…Do you think it’s gonna hurt?” “They wouldn’t do that.” “So then why won’t they tell us what we’re—" “Just shut up and be glad you’re getting paid!” The Greyhound was silent the remainder of the way to the facility. The Future Defense Building was located on the very edge of the city, down a mile and a half of gravel back roads and through three electric barbed-wire fences with security checkpoints, each more thorough than the previous, until finally arriving at the underwhelming front driveway of the two-story Future Defense Building in what seemed like the middle of the swamp. It looked like a crumb on the crust of the earth compared to the mighty Trump Monument, and this was most people’s immediate observation. *How ugly, this building!* *Only two stories? Pfft! My vacation home is probably worth more than this whole facility…* The two groups of fifty were escorted by men in their full military uniforms from the Greyhound up to the main entrance of the Future Defense Building. John was near the back of the line, pondering this operation that was about to unfold in the coming days. The group of women were immediately separated from the men and led around the back of the building, while the men were led through the front doors. Coming from the outdoors where it was much darker outside, most men in the group grunted and groaned as they were temporarily blinded by the white fluorescent lamps that composed the majority of the ceiling in the facility. The air was warmer than outside, but smelled of sterility and latex gloves. An older looking doctor in all-white scrubs with only a single wisp of grey hair covering his shiny head popped out of a side door in the lobby to greet his subjects. “Good morning everybody. We are thankful for your safe arrival!” began the doctor, “I am Doctor Mayflower, head of the E.D.E.N, project, Short for the Extended Deep Equilibrium Network. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, so let me try and explain some things.” Doctor Mayflower reached into his lab coat pocket, withdrawing a tiny micro-chip, and held it for everybody to see. “At E.D.E.N, we’ve been perfecting the science of recording data. Not computer data, but rather, biological data. That is, the data that each and every one of you carry up here.” Mayflower tapped his index finger on the side of his head. “As many of you may know, our country has been on the brink of war for quite some time.” They did not know. The quiet hush of the crowd was replaced with panicked whispers and faces. “Oh, you aren’t aware? Well.” He cleared his throat. “See, nature is a cat-and-mouse game of survival of the fittest; Humans are bred to survive, and adapted over generations to catch each and every mouse, and prove time and time again his dominance over nature until there was nothing left to dominate. But as arrogant as humans are and always have been, we will time and time again neglect to realize that the greatest enemy to man is himself. The apex predator. The only difference this time is that we jingle the very keys to the atomic ending of life as we know it, and do so as if attempting to entertain a child.” “We aren’t at war, we paid our debts!” blurted out someone from the crowd, believing what the doctor said to be borderline hysterical. “Allow me to continue, please,” proclaimed Mayflower. “The government has exhausted its options for peace negotiations. If money is truly god, then god will not save us now. E.D.E.N. is our only escape.” The crowd became silent. Mayflower took a long pause, allowing his subjects to absorb everything he just said. After a moment, he began again. “Clear your mind and stay with me for a second. I would like to demonstrate a mental exercise.” He did not begin until the entire group was at his attention. “When I say the word ‘tree’, I want you to close your eyes and imagine the first image that comes to mind. Study that image in your head closely, but don’t overthink it.” John closed his eyes, and imagined a gnarled and ancient oak tree in a corn field. It was the very one that he used to swing from as a child. “Now,” said the Doctor, “I want you to imagine the first thing that comes to mind when I say the word ‘home.’” John did not picture his home where he currently lived, but envisioned the home where he grew up—a small farm house with a tin roof and vines creeping up the ancient oak siding. This image brought a smile to his face, if only long enough to have his fantasy interrupted by the doctor once more. “Okay. Lastly, I want you to think about the tree again.” The crowd stirred restlessly, not really seeing the point in this exercise. John followed the instructions and thought about the tree again, however, and pictured the same old oak tree in the field. “Now, I’ll bet money that the image of the tree you saw the first and second time are the same tree, yes? And if you think of ‘home’ once more, you will see the same image of home that you first imagined?” The men all looked at each other as if the doctor had read their minds without even needing to hook them to equipment. “This is because the human mind accesses memories using what we like to call ‘triggers.’ When I say a certain keyword, your first image that comes to mind of that word will always be the same. Because of this phenomenon, we have coined these as static memories, and have made possibly the most important discovery in human history, the ability to read and download thoughts. Since these memories don’t change, they have no risk of a deviation of outcome, and can be safely stored on these chips. Have you ever tried to store abstract thought on a computer chip? Well, it’s quite an impossibility. We have to have real, tangible data or the entire system is buggered.” “Why do you want to read our thoughts?” someone cried out. “What, do you have something to hide?” joked another. Mayflower ignored these comments. “For the past 5 years, we have been working on a super-computer of sorts. Imagine a perfect reality, composed off all of the puzzle pieces of society, government, weather, and economy. Every man, woman, and child are as real and tangible as in this room right now, but there are no longer any possible threats to our existence as a species. No more wars, no more violence, no more aging. Perfect harmony. Equilibrium.” The crowd became suddenly more interested in what the Doctor had to say. “When the bombs fall, there won’t be anything left if we don’t prepare for it. So, we’ve created what we like to call the Extended Deep Equilibrium Network. A virtual reality held on a central computer here at the facility that houses the very thoughts and memories of the human race in order to construct the most perfect and accurate simulation of our reality possible. That is, after we take out all of the harmful or bad memories beforehand. That’s why we need each of you—You all have been selected as the basis for simulated human life. We have set up a state-of-the-art augmented reality chamber where the participants will re-experience static memories the exact way they remember them. Touch, smell, sound, sight, and even taste will remain intact. This is the only safe and efficient way which we’ve learned to collect these memories onto our chips. All of you standing here before me today might very well be pioneering the very fate of the human race as we know it. If and when the bombs drop, we will be prepared to house up to 500,000 Americans in state-of-the-art stasis chambers miles under this very spot. Finally, After the earth’s crust is blown to bits, we will be safe and sound, living indefinitely in the paradise known as E.D.E.N.


Around two o’clock, a guy walked in. He might’ve been thirty. He had this huge coat on even though it was early summer. He stared at a few items before shuffling up to the counter. “You guys must be taking a real beating. I hear its hard out there.” “Well,” I said, “we’ve seen downturns like this before, and we’ve made always made it through.” “Yeah, but it’s tough out there. I hope you’ve got some savings built up.” I gave up trying to fold t-shirts. I couldn’t focus. “We’re lucky to have a loyal group of customers who’ve always supported us. We’re grateful for their patronage, especially in hard times.” The guy pulled an apple out of his coat pocket and took a bite. “Yeah, but what if *they* don’t have savings? That pool of money’s got to dry up sometime, right? It’s pretty hard to run a business on luck.” “I’m sorry, but I need to grab a few things from the back.” He nodded as I stepped into the storeroom, punching the first box of packing peanuts within reach. I cursed quietly when I returned to the register and found him lingering nearby. “So, what kind of revenue does a place like this pull in?” he asked. “You got angel investors or something?” “I don’t know off the top of my head.” “Is it seasonal? How many people want this stuff year-round?” He took another bite from his apple. “Sir, please don’t eat in here.” “Oh, oops.” He tossed his snack in the trash. “I didn’t see any—” I pointed out the conspicuous sign he’d missed. “Got it. Well, I really hope you guys make it a long time. In Europe, there are businesses that have been running for hundreds of years. I bet, with the right management, this store could be just like that. You know, I hear they’re shutting down this whole street for a year to do some sewer work.” “Yes, but this strip of stores will still have accessible parking a short walk away.” “Who walks anymore? In five years, everybody’s going to have one of those things. You know….” He tried to pantomime his way through the description. “One of those mall cop things that rolls. The burbs are at least five miles from here. That’s too far for anyone to scoot to this side of town—not in traffic.” I tried to force a smile. “If anyone’s brave enough to try, we’ll be happy to accommodate them.” “But they’d have to duck to get in here. If I were you, I’d knock out more of that wall and make the doorway higher. In the long run, you’d be better off relocating. These old buildings are so restrictive. Open layouts—that’s the future.” “Sir, I have a lot of things to do today. I need to handle those tasks now. You’re welcome to keep looking around.” “Maybe I was about to buy something.” “You weren’t.” “Yeah, all this junk is overpriced anyway.


A father and son were driving through a tundra hellscape. With a blizzard raging outside, they couldn't see a half mile ahead of them; the temperature on the dashboard indicated 4 degrees as they approached a security checkpoint. "Hello and welcome to Dome City. Are there any weapons in the vehicle?" A security guard asked. "No, sir." "Is there any contraband? All alcoholic beverages, medicines, and food must be purchased within Dome City." "We don't have any of that, not at all." "Finally, please, no drones, ATVs, dirt bikes, or straws, no straws at all." The father turns his gaze to his two-seater smart car. "No, sir." "Welcome to Dome City: where the weather is always perfect, and the sky is the limit." The father and son drove beneath a large structure into Dome City, a futuristic metropolis covered by a massive weather dome. The dome blocked out dangerous storms and kept the temperature at a steady 72 degrees, making it one of the most highly populated cities on the planet. The son couldn't help but observe a crowded beach umbrella to umbrella, with people surfing and fishing off the breakwater as they drove through the city. "Dad, where did the sky go? Where does the water come from if there is no sky?" the son wondered, peering up at the dome above them. The father laughed. "Son, it's still there; the dome just covers it. Storms and precipitation are kept out by the dome. But, every night around 2:00 a.m., it rains just enough to provide water to the city below." The son seems confused. "How can there be waves, sunbeams, and fishing when a dome blocks everything?" The father smiled. "It's all fake! The sun is just a giant light on the top of the dome, but people are used to sitting around on the beach all day, so they get spray tans and do it anyway. The water at the beach is the world's largest wave pool, and the city has stocked it with fish so that tourists can continue to fish." "Why would anyone want to live under a dome?" "Everything relies on tourism. More tourists will visit the city if the weather is nice throughout the year. Dangerous animals can be kept out, and hotels and businesses can profit all year. Plus, did you know you can pay to watch a sunset, pay to see a bird fly, or pay to feel the wind on your face!" "Wow, I want to feel the wind on my face!" "Sure, we can do that; first, let's park. Oh, there's a spot for only $750 dollars," the father said as he parked between two dumpsters. The father and son strolled along the beachfront. They walked past a massive shopping center, where people were lined up to purchase straws made of recycled materials. "Can I have a straw for my drink?" asked the son. "Sure." Once they got the straw, the son took two sips of his soda, and the straw disintegrated. "Oh, my straw has already run out!" The father and son kept walking until they came across a group of people dressed in winter gear, tossing snowballs at each other right next to the beach. "What's going on here?" the son asked, perplexed. "It's an indoor ski resort. People pay to experience the snow, even though it's hot outside." "Don't they know there's free snow right outside the dome?" "Yeah, but it's too cold out there. It's fun to play in the snow here." They walked 10 steps from the snowball fight to a restaurant, where they were met by a hostess in a bikini. "Welcome to the Budweiser-sponsored Beachfront Grill! Table for two?" A buzzer went off while the father and son were eating, and the son looked at the father, confused. From above, a mist was sprayed. "What's that?" "Well, since everything is technically inside, sometimes it can get stinky in here, so they installed these spray mists, sponsored by Febreze, to keep Dome City smelling good. "Oh, cinnamon apple!" They walked into some of the residential areas after they finished eating. They came across a pharmacy with a drive-thru window. As people passed through, they received a shot in their arms. "You see, once you become a permanent resident, you must have weekly vitamin D shots because there is no sunlight under the dome." The son gave a concerned look as he rubbed his arm. They passed the local high school, "McDonald's High School for STEM." Followed by "Arby's Middle School for the Arts." "How come every school here is named after a fast-food restaurant?" "Because all of the food must be brought into the dome, restaurants recognized that by acquiring the name rights to the school, they could get exclusive rights to serve lunch at that school." "So those kids get to eat chicken nuggets for lunch every day?" "I believe they can order the Fish fila as well, but they never do." The father then took his son to the city's outskirts, where there was a forest. Look, a forest where you and your friends can play manhunt or build a fort." The son approached one of the trees, knocked on the trunk, and turned with a puzzled expression. "It's made of plastic, and the entire forest is a fake." "Of course it is; without sunlight, there is no plant life." They continued their tour past the police station, sponsored by ADT, the fire station, sponsored by Weber, a dog park, sponsored by Purina; and a for-pay water fountain, sponsored by Coca-Cola. The father and son took a seat as they arrived at a series of park benches sponsored by LazyBoy. The light at the top of the dome, sponsored by Philips hue, was setting, and the fake stars, sponsored by Disney, were starting to shine. "What do you think of Dome City, son?" "I guess it's fine." "What if I told you I landed a job as the head of Waste Management here in Dome City?" "So, when someone flushes the toilet, you would take care of it?" "Sort of, but this would mean that we would be living in Dome City. What are your thoughts about that?" "I'm not sure; I don't think I'd like living here without sunlight; the people seem a little tense. It's something about their eyes; everyone looks like they're about to snap." "What about the weather, though? It's always nice here?" "I think that's the issue; if the weather is always nice, you never appreciate it for what it is; you need bad weather to appreciate good weather." The father realized that the trip to Dome City had not convinced his son it was a good place to live. He decided it was time to leave for the day and try again sometime in the future. They could see a fake moon rising in the sky, sponsored by Dreamworks, as they strolled by a park with fake grass, sponsored by Gatorade, and a fake shooting star flashed across the sky, sponsored by NBC, advertising their Thursday television lineup. The father thought that maybe his son had a point; it's not natural to live without the sun, and perhaps they were better off in the real world.


He stood at the shore, the sun diving onto the clear horizon ahead. The water from his skin dripped, making the sand beneath him harden. The skin of a long dead lion weighed heavily on his head. He heard no sound but the crashing of the waves, the white water seething its way to his toes. “You are victorious,” said Poseidon. Hercules had not heard his uncle approach. Perhaps from the waves. Perhaps when it crashed. “I am,” said Hercules. “But not truly. If you had, you would not have come for me.” Poseidon said quickly, with a hint of impatience. Hercules had heard of his uncle’s poor temper before, but he never had the curse to see it first-hand. Tired from his debacle in the darkness, Hercules had no intention to arouse the wrath of the sea god. “I must ask a simple favor,” “A favor?” Poseidon laughed at that, and the sea shook awkwardly, betraying its common course. “And what might the bastard son of the god of gods ask of me? ... Favors *heh*,” And again he laughed. “Safe passage through this sea, that is all.” Hercules felt the fatigue in his arms. The dark dog had raged well, though not well enough. Still, Hercules grew ill-fond of the tricks of Hades, another one of his uncles. The uncle who stood beside him now, a god with hair as glorious as his accolades, was fond of tricks himself. The water seemed to coat Poseidon so that he shimmered in the sunlight. His trident, gold and majestic, was staked on the sand beside him. His tricks, Hercules was sure, was hidden somewhere in his words. “Passage?” Poseidon looked around, confused. “Where is your ship, then? Or even a boat?” “Of those I have none,” answered Hercules. *Do not anger him*, he told himself. *The sea is unforgiving, and relentless.* “Are you playing games? I do not wish my time to be wasted with petty riddles.” *Or perhaps do, but the right way. If I do not play this gambit well, all will be for naught.* “Once-“ “You truly are your father’s child, always conniving, always at lust for more power.” “Once-“ “He never truly respected me, did he? Your father in his clouds and in his comfort. Not ever, not once.” “Once-“ “WHAT IS IT, BOY? WHAT IS THIS *ONCE* YOU HAVE IN MIND THAT YOU WOULD NOT DARE LET ME FINISH A THOUGHT?” Hercules smiled but he dared not let Poseidon see it. An opportunity was all he needed. “Once, you allowed a man through. A herd of men, in all actuality. Led by a shepherd carrying a grand staff. The sea, red as it was, parted to let them walk the sand beneath it. That would not have happened, that would *never* have happened, without your leave. Do I speak untruthfully?” Poseidon thought for a moment. “I remember.” His uncle replied. The rage in his face slowly subsiding. “What of it?” “I ask you kindly, uncle, to do for me as you did he. Not to part the way, but to calm the sea. That I may walk on your waves in this journey. This, I humbly ask.” Hercules knelt then, the lines he’s rehearsed left lingering in the air. He saw his uncle shift his feet to face him. “Rise,” Poseidon said, and so Hercules did. “Gods do not kneel.” He paused. “Why do you request for this *safety of passage*? With no rest, no less, from your labor?” “I had heard soundings, rumors that I must confirm myself. And for that, I must cross this sea. But only alone can I accomplish this, and only through here. To see it for myself, with haste.” “*Haste*?” His uncle asked, and Hercules nodded. “As you will,” Poseidon lifted his trident and pointed it at Hercules. “But for this favor I must burden you with a labor, your thirteenth, your final.” Hercules agreed. “Good. Seek and capture a bolt of lightning. I wish it bottled.” He lowered his weapon. “I will bring you this bottle of lightning you ask for.” replied Hercules assuredly. Hercules wondered why Poseidon would not just ask his brother for that. He looked to the sand, and beneath it from where he came. Below it lay the darkness, the underworld where Hades ruled over. Hades, who turned a blind eye to his trial. He looked to the sea, where he would traverse, the vastness that Poseidon dominated. The sea spread as far and as wide as Poseidon’s power, and twice as deep. Would he turn a blind eye as well? Finally, Hercules looked to the sky, where he found the sun. But no amount of warmth could make up for what his father had brought him forth to lose. A life of tragedy, Hercules reflected. *Still.* With his guiding hand, Poseidon brought a wave to drench Hercules’ feet. And with a stroke, the water receded, and Poseidon was gone. Hercules felt the water shift beneath his feet. It was far different than walking on land. Below, the waves moved endlessly and unpredictably, where ground would not. His balance, as unsure as his courage, struggled to remain afloat. Not a meter from the shore, Hercules fell backwards, splashing into the shallow water. This would be harder than he had thought. Hercules retreated to the sand and tried again. This time, he managed to walk five meters away, until a wave swept at his legs and sunk him. Again, he tried, this time reaching ten meters, where a fish drifted between his toes. Caught unaware, Hercules moved his feet only to lose his footing and fall. As he swam there idly, the water moved abruptly, weirdly, as it had before. It seemed to dance. *Was Poseidon laughing at him?* Hercules would not fail again. He would not give his uncle the pleasure of this kind of entertainment. This time, Hercules *ran*. *With haste*, he thought*.* Running, his feet moved above the water. But he did not fall. He bounded off the waves, like a rock thrown at just the right angle, continuously bouncing across the water’s surface. *With haste.* The fish that caused him failure once before leapt in front of him, but he paid it no heed, slapping it away with such force that *it* bounded like a rock thrown at just the right angle. The waves did not move this time. Poseidon no longer laughed. An hour passed and Hercules, still running, found himself inside a storm. It was night for a while now, and the sea had turned as black as the ominous clouds above growled thunder, but Hercules knew better than to stop. If he did, he would fall. He knew. So he ran. Above the wild waves, he ran. Thunder cracked and whirlpools formed, yet still, he ran. *With haste,* he thought. Mysterious silhouettes moved about beneath his feet, to scare him, to impede his journey, yet still he ran. His uncle and his other uncle watched him now, shadow and sea alike. He gave them no mind. Hercules chose to look at the sky instead. Beyond the rain and the clouds that held them, he knew the sky was still there. *Still,* Hercules almost fell asleep midstride, but his face touched the water and he was awakened, catching his fall with a quick step. The storm had gone as it had come, and day began to break. For once, Hercules stopped. He was in the middle of the sea, with nothing around him. He saw the horizon unobstructed. The water slept, attending to not so much as a ripple. He ran and ran, and this is where it took him. Nowhere. Nothing. Nothing but silence. *Still,* A step rattled the sea’s peace. Yet only timidly. Small ripples sent themselves across the face of the water. Hercules turned and saw him, standing there on the water. He wore a robe, white as silk and pure as an angel’s wings. He was bearded and had hair that dropped to his shoulders. The rumors proved to be true. “You are real.” said Hercules. “Only as much as you are.” The man’s voice calmed even the sea, where the ripples formed soon faded. “And you are powerful,” Hercules pointed to the man’s feet, which were firmly above water. *Did Poseidon bless him too?* “Only as much as people allow me to be.” Hercules scoffed. “That is not how power works. My strength is-“ “Given to you since birth?” The man smiled. No matter how much he had tried to deny it, Hercules could not help but agree. It was true that when he lay but a baby, he had strangled two snakes sent to kill him. Nothing of that was his own doing, though Hercules would like to credit his courage. Yet in truth, he had no memory of the snakes or the strangling at all. Only the stories kept his feats alive. Only the stories. The man continued. “You are blessed beyond all others, so why do you come to me?” “For...” Hercules did not know. Perhaps it was his allure. Whatever it was, it made Hercules speak thoughts he had tried to forget. “He promised me.” Hercules said. “He promised me a seat beside him, a place in his pantheon, the mountain of gods.” “And he did not deliver on his promise?” Hercules shook his head, slowly. The man looked at him, in part with eyes of pity, another of *love*. *Was it?* Hercules had never known the feeling. He could not be sure. But the man spoke with such grace that he could not help but feel warm, “Fathers have their own mysterious ways with their children, I have found.” “I do not recall telling you I spoke of my father.” “Sons. We have a way of knowing, don’t you think?” The man neared Hercules, his steps silent, keeping the sea’s peace. He stopped an arm away from Hercules. “All sons have a place in their father’s heart. You already have a seat at the mountain, I assure you. Do not fear, for I know.” Hercules would not take lecturing from a man who natured himself a prophet. *How much pride must one have to declare himself the arbiter of truth?* “And what would you know of sons and fathers?” asked Hercules. “Far too much,” said the man, with *pain*. Hercules felt it, slightly, a tinge in his voice. “So, tell me why, prophet. Why am I here and not there, where I am destined to be?” The sun peeked from the clouds lingering on the horizon. Sunlight poured on the two men facing each other. Hercules had to cover his eyes because the light grew too fierce, but the man not so much as squinted. “Once I would have asked myself the same question, to have doubted. Once I would have strayed and lost my way. But that once is gone now. The years have taught me much. I’ve realized that destiny is not always what it would seem. It barely is. And long have I strayed from its path. Destiny is so... unforgiving. How can we hope to understand such a thing that binds us?” “Nothing can bind a god,” Hercules replied, but the man shook his head, disagreeing. “Of course, hydra-slayer, sun-shooter, you labored with courage and ferocity. You conquered the impossible. But I must contradict. Being a god, of all things, is the very element that binds them; to locations, to dominions, to philosophies, to powers, to beliefs, to the minds and whims and wills and prayers of man.” “Yet I could not have done those labors without my strength, without being the son of Zeus.” “You sell yourself too short. It was courage, not your strength, that bore fruit to those labors. And courage... what else is more human than courage? How can one be courageous if he is almighty? “ Hercules looked at the man in disbelief. *How could he be so sure of himself, to not have doubts, to have thoughts as clear as the sunlight that made the water beneath him shine? How?* “How are you so sure?” He blurted, although not meaning to. Hercules thought it a foolish question a child would ask an adult. They were on equal grounds now, both in the middle of a quiet sea, yet for once Hercules felt small. “The years have not been kind to me. Death, brother. Death comes for us all, even for I, even for you.” “Death,” Hercules repeated. “The purging of what is human within us. The defeat of life, of our souls. How can man be strong if he dies, while god does not?” The man smiled. “It is the man who knows, understands, and accepts death. It is the god, with all its pride, who refuses to succumb.” The man made no sense. “How is succumbing strength?” “The same way that courage can only exist in the midst of fear. True life begins only after realizing the importance of death.” A lone gust of wind swept Hercules’ damp tunic, his hair flowing as water droplets fell back to the sea. “*Who are you?*” asked Hercules. The man’s smile faded. “Only what people believe me to be,” And the gust of wind turned to mist, which moved to envelop the man who walked on water. As the mist parted, dissipating back into the air, the man had gone far away, nowhere to be seen. *Such faith,* Hercules thought, *such faith that man has on his father that he would travel even death.* After a moment of serene silence, the water resumed its crashing, with waves piling on waves. White water descended on Hercules, as he tried to stay his ground. The sky darkened, and black thunderclouds gathered on the horizon. The rain poured intensely, but Hercules had not a care. The rain no longer fazed him. Striding to the peak of a large raging wave, Hercules sought the sky, and peered into a streak where the clouds posed darkest. But the water was determined to drown him, and a wave washed his lionskin to the watery depths. *Damn you, uncle.* Yet he climbed, though water filled his lungs, he climbed. There, he saw it then. Lightning raged and bolted from one cloud to another. There, he sought the truth. *Still,* the saddened Hercules thought, *still he gives no answer*. With a strong leap, Hercules soared from the wave and into the clouds. The rain pierced his skin like tiny daggers, but Hercules did not wince. The ferocious winds whirled to prevent his ascent, forcing him down, but Hercules did not obey. He neared the clouds; closer and closer he came. *Father, answer me.* The clouds rumbled and roared, growling at Hercules behind its darkness. Lightning crossed his vision, unraveling from one cloud to the other, each lighting up in a rhythmic cadence, like a festival of lights. The thunder, Hercules heard, behind its furious facade, bellowed like a grand piano. But the conductor was nowhere to be seen, playing a song Hercules could never hope to understand. He grabbed the tail of one of the clouds and pulled himself up. There, he stood, no longer able to see the sea below. The orchestra continued to play. “Father, answer me.” He said unknowingly. The clouds responded with a roar. The heavens seemed to shake as the lightning grew fiercer, brighter than it had ever been. The wind howled, but Hercules would howl louder. “FATHER! ANSWER ME!” He boomed so loud that the clouds in front of him parted. In a flash, a bolt of lightning struck Hercules straight to the chest. *Why does my father resent me so?* He grabbed it before it can chance to escape, and the bolt wriggled in his hand like a fish out of water. Poseidon would be delighted. He presented it to the heavens. “IS THIS YOUR ANSWER?” And in a breath, the clouds calmed and disappeared. The bolt of lightning he had captured faded to the sky. Pure silence. From above, Hercules could see everything, the shining sun, the clear sky, the peaceful sea. He realized he was falling. His body felt weightless, like a feather drifting in the wind. But he wasn’t drifting. He was crashing. He closed onto the sea below, faster and faster. His father had answered. *I have labored and won, yet still I am defeated.* He could hear the waves now, cracking ahead of him. In the moment before he plunged into the water, a spark of light bolted from the corner of Hercules’ eye. He turned to see it. Lightning, one bolt, no, five bolts, no, fifty, more than that, way more. They all came for him. They slithered like yellow serpents in the sky, all charging at him. *Is this what he meant?* *“It is the man who knows, understands, and accepts death. It is the god, with all its pride, who refuses to succumb.”* Hercules closed his eyes then, emptying his thoughts. *Succumb*, he told himself. *It is not weakness, it is strength. Succumb.* He did not know what struck him first, the lightning or the sea.


“Help!” All I hear anymore. “Help” this, “help” that. Shut the fuck up. Nowadays, when I hear “Help,” I respond with “Bang.” That way, they can never say that filthy word again. I don’t know who I am anymore, to be perfectly honest. At this point, I’m just trying to get by. It’s hard sometimes – impossible, even – but I always pull through. I have to, for her. I walk about a half-mile back to “The Hole.” Well, to anyone else, I guess it’s just “A Hole” to everyone else, but that’s when I shoot them and tell them that that’s what I am. “I’m home,” I mumble, with a half-hearted smile. It’s hard, out here – but she keeps me going. She motivates me. However, I only have two for her today. *“What do you have for me, sweetheart?”* says that beautiful, silky-smooth voice. Buttery, almost; except I’m not fond of butter. Goddammit. I’ve only been her servant for a few weeks, but I already see that she isn’t happy with my progress for the day. *“This isn’t enough,”* she softly murmurs, *”It’s just not enough.”* I’m sorry. This is my fault. “My condolences, ma’am. I will make it up to you tomorrow, I swear upon my life.” I do swear. I mean it, honestly; she means everything to me, and I won’t disappoint her. I hope. Six hours pass, I open my eyes to see my brown, slightly molding ceiling. I walk to the bathroom and splash my face, not even noticing how dark and chunky the water is. On my way out of my bedroom, I catch a quick bite to eat – a slice of sweet, whole wheat bread, with only a little bit of dirt on it. “I’m out for today, ma’am,” I yell on my way out the door. No response, as usual; she knows where I am and where I need to go at all times. She’s so smart; I wish I could be as smart as her. The sun peeks out halfway over the eastern hillside as I feel a slight warm breeze on the back of my neck. It’s silent, as usual; No birds, no cicadas, no leaves rustling in the summer breeze, nothing. Just the way I like it. I stop, just as a hand on a clock with the batteries removed. Well, in my life, more like the hand on the clock bashed in with a sledgehammer before being eaten and shit out of a sumo wrestler. I see one, about 300 yards away from me, slightly north-west of “The Hole”. She’s probably in her 60s, if I was to guess, due to her greying hair pulled back into a neat bun and her fashion sense of disgusting flowers and neon colors. I hate flowers. I hold my arms out in front of me, waiting for the perfect shot - I can’t hold my breath yet, I have to wait until she’s perfectly in range – and I wait. She’s still running towards me, yelling the usual – “Help!” – I guess she has bad eyesight. I cock the revolver, waiting for this dumb bitch to notice that these are her last moments. I don’t know how she’s lived this long, honestly – most don’t make it past 30, if they make it at all. Whatever. It’s not my problem anymore. Five more for the day. Five! I get back to the hole with my bounty dragging behind me and leave it proudly on display for her to see once I call her. I’ve never achieved five before; my previous record was three and a half (it should’ve been four but she doesn’t like the smaller ones). “I’m home!” I say excitedly, without realizing that these will be the last words I have the honor to speak to her. *“What do you have for me, sweetheart?”* That silky smooth voice. I cut myself on one of her tendrils in my excitement to give her the score for the day. I watch, with much fascination, as she devours all five bodies for the day. *“I’m so, so proud of you, sweetie,”* she tells me in her voice that reminds me of warm blankets on a cold winter day, *“So proud. You can join me.”* What? Is she serious? This can’t be real. I nod with more vigor than a five-year-old boy after being asked if he wants ice cream after a fun day at the local pool. As I feel her warm, spiky tentacles absorb my pathetic human body, I finally feel at peace. I’ve ascended.


It was 2:30 AM on a busy new york street. Everything is normal, people walking, talking on their cellphones, calling for taxis. One man, however, seems out of place. Dressed in a dark black cloak, he takes long strides down the street. Most people don't even take a second glance at him, some stop and stare, others laugh. Then, the cloaked man walks in a burrito store. Loco Burritos is the store name. He walks up to the counter. "Hello, how may i help you?" The female cashier says in a cheerful, perky voice. "Yeah, uh, i need a... a" The man pauses. "You need a what, sir?" The cashier asks, brushing her dirty blonde hair out of her eyes. The man clears his throat. "I need one burrito, with, uh, salsa, lettuce, turkey, and onions in it." The man glances behind him. A police officer and his buddy watch him intently. "Alright, that will be 7.49 sir." The man looks up at the cashier. He then pulls his cloak off, revealing several grenades, a bullet proof vest, a small sub-machine gun with 3 extra mags, and a revolver. The two police officers stand up and draw their stun guns. "Hands in the air, right now!" One of the officers yells. The man puts hist hands slightly above his shoulders and slowly turns around. The two police officers are converging on him slowly. One calls for backup. Then, out of nowhere, the man throws two razor sharp throwing knives at the officers. Both knives land in their adams apples. They crumple to the floor. Then, the man turns around, draws his handgun, and yells are the cashier, "The burrito, now!" The cashier jumps and runs back to the back of the shop. There is some arguing, then the cashier returns with the burrito. "Here you go, please don't hurt me." She says, cringing, "Excellent" The man says. He runs outside. His escape vehicle is waiting right where it should be. He stuffs the burrito into his mouth, gets in the car, and starts the engine. Already, the sirens are blaring down the street. The man floors it down the street, dodging cars. The man pulls the burrito out of his mouth. "Man" he says with a mouth full of meat and salsa, and onion hanging half out of his mouth. "This is a good burrito." Suddenly, he looks ahead to see a police roadblock. He looks frantically for somewhere to go, but before he can turn into the parking lot branching off the road, he smashes into the roadblock. He stumbles out of the car. Taking one last bite of his burrito, he pulls out of his sub-machine gun and yells "This burrito is too good to live without!" He then begins firing blindly into the line of police cars, screaming. Chunks of meat and salsa spit out of his mouth. Suddenly, the man stops. He drops to his knees, makes a gagging noise, and begins clutching his throat, gagging all the more. Food still spits out of his open mouth as he frantically clutches his throat, thrashing about. Then he stops, and collapses to the floor, face as blue as the sea. When the police moved in the inspect the body, they find he choked on a large piece of turkey. One officer is clearly angry about the whole incident. "We lost two perfectly good officers, over, a, a, burrito!?" No one knows if the burrito was really good enough to die for. "Yeah, i mean, i like the burritos, but i would never kill for one" A frequent customer says. "Oh, he was always crazy." A neighbor of the man says. "He was trying to grow burritos in his backyard." Police are now being trained to deal with crazy, burrito wielding psychopaths.


Sarah had met him at a dinner party. It felt like she knew him even if she was sure she didn’t. In the weeks after she felt this strange feeling in her stomach, was she in love? After all this time? She called her friend Margaret to be sure. Margaret was known as the love expert, she had had many boyfriends and still got married at 23. A lot of her friends were really jealous. Margaret explained to her that indeed Sarah was in love. Her body was telling her that she wanted to be with this man, even if they had just met. As a test, Margaret advised her to go on a blind date. If she couldn’t focus on the date, Sarah was in love. While she was getting ready for her blind date, she couldn’t stop thinking of his face. Would she ever meet him again? She applied her new lipstick and watched herself in the mirror. Confused about the advice of Margaret Sarah went to the restaurant looking for a man with a purple flower. She froze in the middle of the alley. Through the window she saw him. The man that she was in love with! And.. did she see it right? Was he holding a purple flower? While holding her breath she tried to walk confident to the restaurant. She was welcomed by the smell of delicious Italian food, but this time she couldn’t care less. Nervous she gave the waiter her name and followed him to the table. When she met his eyes, it looked like he froze as well. Was it just because he recognized her or did he feel the same? She couldn’t tell. He greeted her with a kiss on her cheek. She slowly sat down. “I’ve already ordered some antipasti and a bottle of red wine, I hope you don’t mind,” he kept watching her. “Sounds good.” “We have already met, haven’t we?” He looked at her hands. “Yes, we did. We met a couple of weeks ago. Do you remember?” Please don’t blush, she thought. “I remember.” He looked directly at her. “Do you think we can call this a blind date if we have already met?” The waiter brought a beautiful plate with antipasti and let them taste the wine. The wine was amazing. “I don’t know. If you don’t want to continue our blind date because we have already met, you can tell me.” She tried to look away and hoped that he couldn’t see that she didn’t want their blind date to end. “Do you want this date to end?” She felt that he was trying to look into her eyes. “I want you to want me.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that.” I looked sideways and choose not to meet his eyes. “I asked if you could give me the salt.” “Sure.” He gave me the salt and while I wanted to take it from him, my arm wouldn’t cooperate. “Do you want the salt or not?”, he smiled at me. It was silent for a second, what seemed as hours to me, and then I finally took the salt from him. “Thanks”, I whispered. “I met someone a couple of weeks earlier.” Sarah froze, afraid of what he was going to say. “You did?” “Yes,” he touched her hand while he took the salt from her. “I didn’t think I would ever feel this way again.” Sarah could barely look at him. She felt tears coming up. Tears for someone who was almost a stranger to her. “Will you see her again?” She whispered. “I hope so.” He took a sip of his wine and Sarah followed. She slowly drunk from her glass, thinking of surviving this blind date. She should never have taken the advice of Margaret. If she hadn’t gone on a blind date, she wouldn’t have such a terrible evening. “Have you tasted the mushrooms? It’s amazing with the flavour of the wine.” She tried to avoid his gaze while she tasted a mushroom and took a sip of wine afterwards. “You’re right. It is delicious. The combination is perfect.” “Have you met someone lately?” She felt his eyes watching her. Curious for her answer. “Actually, I did.” She took a deep breath. “But I don’t think I will see him again.” Their eyes locked. “If it was me, I would love to see you again.” Sarah feelings overwhelmed her. “You would love to see me again?” “Yes, I would.” He touched her hand again, this time he didn’t need the salt. “I want you to want me too.


All the king's horses and all the king's men came to help and here I am hiding. The longer I sat at the edge of the pond, the more I hoped that none of this was true. That my time with Alwyn, Tessa, and Merlin was only short-term. That I had a home to return. That I still had a family. But no matter of time there could ever do what I needed. Especially with Merlin being eerily quiet, waiting for my answer. My mother always told - used to always tell me everything would seem clearer after you slept on it. I never understood it and Merlin’s question made me think this was the only thing she ever got wrong. I had slept on it and I still didn’t know if I was going to talk to Arthur.

And Merlin ‘patiently’ waiting wasn’t making it any easier. He kept fiddling with his collar and cuffs. If he wasn’t doing that, he was tossing stones into the pond. And if he wasn’t doing those, he was opening his mouth to speak before remembering he promised not to explain anymore that Arthur wouldn’t push, he understood what I was going through.

How could he?

He didn’t know me. Didn’t know my people. My neighbors. My family. The closest people to him didn’t burn to death. Didn’t have their farms and shops and homes taken away in the dark of night.

Not blindsided by faceless, nameless people.

"Why don't we see if they have breakfast ready?" he interrupted, taking my hand. "I guess," I mumbled, letting him pull me to my feet. Fortunately, Tessa and Alwyn had breakfast started: *. I didn't need to talk nor did they. At least for a little longer. "Have you decided?" Tessa asked, taking our empty dishes.

"Maybe." "What about Arthur scares you?" What a stupid question. And I explained it as such. "Alwyn hates him. Merlin was nothing but annoyed with him. And you… you couldn't get me away from him fast enough. What was I supposed to think about him!" They all sank in their chairs. “Please don’t misunderstand us,” Merlin started. Following the line around the table, Tessa continued, “We weren’t sure if you were ready for visitors.” “We wanted to give you the choice.” He pushed himself away from the table and walked to the window. “And to do that you need to know the facts.” “Arthur Pendragon,” Tessa said, “Knight of Camelot and heir to the throne.” “And Alwyn didn't always get clenching red when he saw Arthur," Merlin laughed. "He used to live with my mother and us when we were young."

"Really?!" I mean living with an elf, a fairy, and a wizard was one thing but a prince was a different kind of special. "What happened?" Merlin shifted his gaze up to the window. "That's a long story." "I found out he is the son of the man who killed my mother," Alwyn drone to the window. "But… and trust me… he's not his father's son. Like you." All of this was a horseshoe to the face. A knight. A prince. Roommates. Bring up my father like that. But it made their point. “I’ll talk with him. Only if you come with me, Merlin.” “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He grabbed my hand. He held my hand the whole way to the knights’ campsite. None of them looked at me. Not even a sneak peek.

I wanted to turn right around. I don’t think I could have taken their condolences but a greeting would have been nice. The only thing keeping me moving forward was Merlin’s unmovable fingers knotted with mine.

We came upon the largest tent. A small ring of knights met in front. Someone was barking orders sending knights to different villages around mine. When they dispersed, only Arthur remained.

"I'm glad to see you," he said, "let's take a seat inside." He spread his arm out towards the large tent. I clenched harder to Merlin's hand. My feet wouldn't move. Merlin squeezed my hand back then began walking. I was not going to be dragged in front of a prince. He knew that. My feet knew that. And now I was moving.

Merlin lifted the flap up for me. I was met by a table and chairs.

How? How? How? echoed in my head. It made no sense. And I hope I wasn't standing there too long thinking about it as Arthur pulled a chair out for me. "Thank you," I said, pushing back some of my fly aways. "Thank you for meeting with me." He pushed my chair in. "Why don't we start somewhere simple," he continued as he and Merlin sat: him across from me and Merlin adjacent. "Do you know when the fire started?" My head started shaking before I could think. "Some time during supper. The whole city was in flames by dusk." His next question was shocking and definitely not simple. "Where were you?" My gaze jumped to Merlin. What Merlin did was the same. "She was with us the whole night." Arthur went still. I could see the cogs moving. "Who was the first person you saw when you came back to the village?" Finally, a simple question. "A stranger on horseback." "Could you see him well? Was anything unique about him or his clothing." I closed my eyes. The only thing I could see was a nightmare, a hellish black horse with fire in its eyes. "The horse was in the way." "How about the next person?" That brought up something strange. All I could see was Equuleus nuzzling his head into my basket. And then I heard a man. “I’ll get on that as soon as possible.” “The man at the market,” I mumbled. “Excuse me?” Arthur said.

“There was a stranger in town before the fire. He talked with her. He was in the fire?” “No, no. Maybe. But he wasn’t the next guy. But the crest. They had the same cross and ribbons and feathers.” “And a griffin?” Arthur asked. I stared at him and I guess he got what I was saying. “A lion with wings.” “Yes,” I sighed, “ the man in the market had two.” “That sounds like the kingdom of Éadrom,” Merlin explained.

“Yes.”

They continued to mumble but all I could do was stare at Arthur’s crest on his armor. “But the man in the fire,” I interrupted them, “he had dragons like you.”


I spoke to Perdita for maybe another ten minutes or so, however I remembered little of the conversation. I tried to talk about her life and the life of the blue-clothed workers, but my mind was far too distracted to process any of it all. Tamsyn had a sister. Malcolm had another daughter. The revelation itself was not what haunted me, but the responsibility of knowing. On the slow walk back to the home, my mind went back and forth as to whether I should tell Malcolm and Tamsyn. I either stayed quiet and left them in ignorance or became a messenger of turmoil. The journey back to the house felt like a blur. I seemed to simply arrive back. My body on autopilot while my brain weighed the decision to be made. I walked through the door and into the living room where I kept my things. “How was the trip?” I turned to find Tamsyn standing behind me. I hadn't noticed her entering the room, and the moment of reorientation left me awkwardly hesitating. “It… it was good. Thank you for letting me go.” She stared at my face for a few seconds, trying to read me. Eventually, she succeeded. “You saw her didn’t you?” I wondered for a moment if I should deny it. But even that moment of contemplation meant it was too late. I nodded. “You knew she was there?” “I suspected,” she replied. She walked into the room and fell heavily on an armchair. She sat with her eyes facing the floor, clasping her hands tightly together. “I only saw her once. About four years back. It was evening and... I was walking through the town when I caught the glimpse of what was like looking into a mirror. But the sun was setting, there were shadows across her face, and I was fifteen, you know, at that age where you’re never quite sure what you can trust? But…” she looked up to me with a grimmaced smile, “I never forgot.” “So you never told Malcolm that he has another daughter?” She shook her head. I looked at the walls around us; all the portraits that kept watch over the home. All those years of history that Malcolm had purposefully hung up on display. “What do you think he would do if he found out?” I asked. She shrugged. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond myself, so we both sat in the silence for a few minutes. We were interrupted by the door opening and Malcolm bounding into the room with bluster. His eyes scanned our sullen faces. “What’s up with you two? You both look like death.” He chuckled with a large grin, that he seemed to assume would be contagious. I looked to Tamsyn to see what she would do. I don’t know if I was simply too cowardly to decide on the right course of action myself, or if I was right in deciding that it was Tamsyn’s decision to make. But I stayed quiet, waiting for Tamsyn to decide. Eventually the silence cracked. “Dad. Ferdinand went to the blue settlement by the northern cliffs today.” He tutted and with a quick nod walked into the room and sat down beside his daughter. “Well, I did warn you Ferdinand that it would be a disappointing experience. It’s not a jovial place over there…” “That’s not the point,” Tamsyn interrupted. “He…” She paused and closed her eyes. “When mum died. Did they ever tell you anything?” Malcolm’s eyes widened. “No.” “Did they even tell you anything about me?” She scrunched her eyelids tighter, fighting back the tear that threatened to leak. “You know the rules. They never tell you anything. For all I knew you died too. Why do you ask?” Malcolm’s eyes turned to me. “Ferdinand what did you do today to upset her so much?” I was trying to remain an observer in the room, and the sudden switching of the focus to me caught me off guard. I mustered some panicked muttering about it not being about me before Tamsyn interrupted. “I have a sister,” Tamsyn interrupted. “You have another daughter.” “How could you possibly know that?” Malcolm spluttered, with another laugh. “We’re twins. She’s a spitting image of me.” “You saw her?” Malcolm asked, his teeth gritted. Tamsyn’s eyes retreated to the cieling. Her voice was broken. “Once. I thought I did. Years back. But Ferdinand met her today.” Once more Malcolm’s eyes returned their gaze directly at me. That large round frame that usually seemed content and larger than life suddenly appeared dominating and threatening. “This true?” “Yes.” “And she is definitely my daughter. They look identical?” The words came quick and pointed. “She’s maybe a tiny bit paler. Her face a bit thinner…” “So it might be a coincidence,” Malcolm interrupted. “No” I returned the interruption, mustering some commitment. “Tamsyn is correct... She is your daughter. Definitely.” “I have a daughter who is a blue?” Malcolm kept his eyes fixed on mine. I nodded. He stood up and paced across the living room. “I have a daughter who is a blue?” he raised his face to the sky and asked. “She’s the same age as Tamsyn. She works at the settlement, so she barely leaves there. That’s probably why you’ve never seen her.” I don’t know why I thought more information may help, but somehow it was my instinct to try and fill the void. “We can’t have a blue in the family,” Malcolm muttered to himself. “Was this not always a possibility?” I asked. I immediately regretted pushing back, but as much as the revelation had shocked me too, everyone on this island had to know that the blues comprised of family. “I only had one daughter,” Malcolm replied, a renewed bite to his voice. “But, you must have had brothers or sisters, or uncles or aunts.” “Never.” Malcolm snarled. His frame seemed to grow wider as he stood over me. I felt I was only a question away from physical violence, so I kept silent. He retreated, muttering to himself. “There not in the family if they are a blue. They’re… they’re something else.” Tamsyn stood, and walked over to her father, placing a hand on his back. “Dad, come sit down. We’re going to have to think about this…” “No.” He shook his bowed head. I watched his broad chest breathe in and out, trying to vent off the emotion bubbling within. The breaths became more stuttered as the pressure built until his eyes winced, and broken words fell from his lips. “I need to go.” Malcolm marched out the room. I stood and went to follow him, but Tamsyn raised an arm between me and the doorway. “Let him go,” she said. “Give him some space.” I listened to the front door slam and through the window watched Malcolm march down the road towards the town. Both Tamsyn and I expected him to return fairly soon, but a few hours passed with no sign. The day had given way to night. The warmth had been drained from the air, and even inside it felt bitterly cold. Tamsyn kept watch by the window, waiting for her father to return. I tried my best to comfort her, repeating mantras that he would be home soon, that she had no reason to fear. However she couldn’t help but continue staring out the window, waiting. “Do you have any idea where he might have gone?” I asked. “He likes the western side of the island, says the dramatic cliffs are more beautiful. Maybe he went there. Or he might have gone for a drink at someone’s house. Or…” She trailed off. “Where?” I asked. “He’s gone to see for himself,” she shrugged. “You think he would do that?” “I don’t know,” she said, turning to me, her cheeks visibly damp. I am not quite sure how much time passed, but at some point, I fell asleep. I woke with my head dropped awkwardly on my chest, to the frenetic sound of Tamsyn’s voice. “He’s back. He’s here.” It took a few seconds for my mind to understand the message, and a few more for my eyes to open. However, my slow arrival to consciousness was interrupted as I heard Tamsyn shout, “What have you done?” The force of the shriek brought me into the room with a sudden jolt and I reflexively jumped to my feet. I looked to the doorway as Tamsyn walked in still shouting. “You can’t do this. Do you have any idea what they’ll do?” She was followed by a silent Malcolm, and then, by a very confused-looking Perdita. Malcolm dragged his new daughter into the room, his hand gripped around the loose fabric of her sleeve, exposing just how skinny the limb beneath was. “I am not letting my daughter be a blue,” he said. “You can’t decide that. You know that” Tamsyn pleaded, trying to get her father to look at her. Perdita’s small frame sat down on the chair where I had been. Her eyes instinctually remained lowered in deference. “They will find out,” Tamsyn shouted at her father. “Dad, you can’t do this.” “What would you have me do?” He shouted raising him arms to the air. “I don’t know,” she screeched, before quickly becoming more subdued. The next line was little more than a whisper. “I don’t know.” Malcolm took a deep breath before returning to face Perdita. “You can sleep in my room tonight. I will sleep down here with Ferdinand. Ferdinand, I’m sorry you find yourself in this situation, but we will have to make do.” I nodded. I only had one more night after this before my arranged pick up with Alessia. “Perdita, come, I’ll show you to your room,” Malcolm said. He left, and led his newfound daughter up the stairs. Tamsyn sat, slumped on the sofa. I walked over and sat beside her. “What do you think will happen?” I asked. “I don’t think this has ever happened before. Not in my lifetime anyway,” Tamsyn said. “But… they will find out. They will come.