The dimly lit sky brushed with faint pink streaks was nature’s sign for the kids to go home if their mothers or elder sisters haven’t made their siren’s call yet while ensuring that the steamed rice for dinner won’t be burned or mushy. It was the first day of the summer school holiday and the kids played the whole day like it was their last and couldn’t be bothered about the time.

‘Let’s play one last game before dinner time,’ said the skinny boy, panting from non-stop back and forth run. His cheeks flushed red from the heat of his body. The white towel placed by his mother on his back to absorb his sweat is now damp and warm.

‘Tin-tin, you are the ‘ it’

this time!’

‘Me again?’ Tin-tin asked in dissent as she rolled her eyes, arms akimbo.

‘Yeah! You lost in the last game!’ answered Jun, the skinny boy. ‘Hurry up, it’s getting dark.’

Tin-tin clicked her tongue and shrieked, ‘okay fine!’ She walked while making stomping noise, faced a tree, covered her eyes with both her palms, and started chanting the Hide and Seek song that prompted the other players to start hiding.

Tagu-taguan (Hide and seek)

Maliwanag ang buwan (The moon is bright)

Wala sa likod (Not behind)

Wala sa harap (Not infront)

Pagbilang kong sampu (When I count to ten)

Nakatago na kayo (You should be hidden already)

Isa, dalawa, tatlo, apat, lima, (One, two, three, four, five)

Anim, pito, walo, siyam, sampu. (Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.)

‘Game?’ Tin-tin screamed to the top of her lungs.

‘Wait not yet,’ shouted Blessie before she giggled. Her plump cheeks bounced as she ran towards a Narra tree about five meters away from where Tin-tin was standing. She held her rubber slippers on both hands and wore it as if it was meant for her palms rather than her soles and hid behind the whorled trunk of the Narra Tree. She saw an opening in between the twisted trunk and peeped to see if Tin-Tin started her hunt.

‘Game?’ Tin-tin screamed once again. This time, she was answered by a silence which means all the other five players have already found their hiding places.

Tin-tin removed her palms from her face, opened her eyes, and turned around. To her alarm, everything was pitch dark. She looked around and couldn’t see anything or anyone except shadows of trees that seemed even taller than before.

‘Blessie? Jun? Where are you?’ she called out with the loudest voice that the juvenile lungs inside her tiny body can produce. ‘Joshua? Inday? Kulot?’ she called everyone but she was, once again, answered by silence only this time in chorus with the crickets.

She walked slowly towards a path she couldn’t even see. Her steps, gentle so as not to trip on any protruding roots of ancient trees or rocks or twigs. She kept calling her friends but none responded. It’s the end of the game.

Something trickled her forehead. Her small body shivered. The moon in its brilliant fullness showed up as the thick clouds blanketing the sky moved. The chocolate-colored mud soil dried by the summer heat looked silver under the moonlight, it’s cracks made the road look like a never-ending jigsaw puzzle.

Slowly, she tilted her head up and saw the roots of an ancient banyan tree looming over her. ‘ Balete ’ she uttered in a soft, trembling voice, almost a whisper, as all the hairs in her arms, legs, and back stood up and chill ran down her spine.

Her grandpa would always tell her folk tales every night after dinner. Outside their hollow block-walled house enclosed with rusty iron roof, they would sit on a bench made of bamboo along with moths and mosquitoes.

‘Unworldly creatures love to hang around

balete

trees,’ he would start. ‘Legend says, a

kapre  lives there, so better not cross a

balete  at night.’ K apre  in Philippine folklore is a tree giant, described as a tall, dark, hairy creature with blood-shot eyes that sits on the branch of a tree while smoking. Sometimes they would also roam around. They can be felt through their slow steps that make the Earth tremble and followed by a smoky smell.

And if that’s not enough to scare a nine-year-old child, his grandpa would still add, ‘d wende -

dwarfs also dwell underneath the roots of the tree. These sensitive tiny creatures are too small for humans to see and they get furious if we accidentally step on them so you better say,

tabi-tabi po  to let them know that you are passing by. They like children. They play tricks on them and sometimes take them to the underworld.’

Her eyes would wander around, checking if she would see any

kapre  or

dwende  under the trees rooted a few meters away from where they were seated.

‘Why are you looking around?

Takot ka , are you scared?’ Her grandfather would ask and gently pinch her nose.

‘ Lolo , are you scared of them?’ she looked at him curiously as she caught whiffs of smoke from his cigarette combined with the menthol flavor that comes from that candy in a green wrapper he takes while smoking.

‘Of course not! I punched a

kapre  in the face once. He ran away and disappeared.’ His gap-toothed smile confused Tin-tin.

‘Eh!’ Tin-tin would protest in disbelief. ‘Are you telling the truth?’ He would just answer in giggles then move the menthol candy from his left cheek to the right before taking in another puff.

That night, alone in the dark, under a

balete  tree, she wished nothing but for her grandpa to be with her and punch whatever unworldly creature that would show up.

Crippled by her fear of all creatures lurking in her mind, she stood still under the tree and looked up, hoping she wouldn’t see a smoking

kapre . But instead of a dark furry giant, she saw something glowing, like tiny bulbs switching on and off, on and off, moving towards her.

‘Fireflies,’ she said in a voice, more amused than scared. She held her right-hand high, trying to reach them. The luminescent bugs magically swirled around her head, down to her waist. To her disbelief, her tiny body levitated, slowly, higher and higher until she was above the trees and sky-high. The moon so round in its fullness looked so close, she thought she could almost touch it.

She then slowly descended and once her dust-covered feet touched the Earth, the fireflies flew and swirled around a banana blossom, a purple-skinned flower, shaped like a tear that hangs at the end of the banana cluster. Bedazzled, Tin-tin touched the blossom and its tip slowly opened. A small diamond-like stone fell on her hand.

The fireflies disappeared and it was dark all over again. Large puffy clouds dominated the sky once again vanishing the moon into oblivion.

She looked at the stone on her hand wondering what it was. She held it close to her nose but she couldn’t figure out its scent. Instead, she perceived a burning smell. She looked around to see if there’s fire but there were only rows of banana trees. The smoky smell reminded her of the

kapre  once again and a chill ran down her spine. The faint smoky, minty scent grew stronger and stronger until it suffocated Tin-tin. She felt dizzy and the next thing she knew, she was lying on her sleeping mat, safe at home, away from unworldly creatures. She got up and walked out of the room and saw her father, rubbing the back of her crying mother.

‘ Nay , I’m hungry,’ her faint voice almost cracked.

Isabel, her mother, wiped her tears and went to the kitchen. She took rice from the cauldron to a red plastic plate. On the table covered with plastic flower-printed mantle was a bowl of green beans sautéed in soy sauce with ground pork. Tin-tin devoured the food laid in front of her and asked for another serving. Once done with her meal, she immediately asked for her grandfather as it was storytime.

‘Where’s

lolo ?’ she asked her mother and was answered by long silence followed by sobs.

Earlier that day, while Tin-tin was busy playing hide and seek, her grandfather collapsed due to heart failure and was rushed to the hospital by an owner-type jeepney owned by Jun’s father, the only vehicle available in their small village. It took them an hour to reach the nearest hospital and the patient didn’t make it alive.

Before Isabel and her husband left in a hurry, she asked Blessie’s mom to look after Tin-tin while they were away. When Blessie arrived home at half-past six, panting, she informed her mom that Tin-tin disappeared. They rushed to the

Barangay  Chairman’s office and informed them of the missing child. The whole neighborhood searched for her. Tin-tin was found unconscious under a banana tree. A huge brown Mariposa with white spots on its wings sat on her head as if guarding her, flew away as soon as the whole village with their brightly lit torches arrived.

Tin-tin shared her account of what happened that night and left the whole village in awe. Everyone was on the look for that diamond-like stone. The elders said it was a talisman given by the universe to chosen people. This amulet is said to protect the owner from harm, escape death several times over and live a very long life until the person is ready to hand it over to a worthy successor.

Years later, Tin-tin and her family moved to the city but they still visit the village from time to time.

Thirty years later, she went back to the village to attend the 9th birthday party of Blessie’s daughter. It was a hot and sticky summer day. Children’s laughter and shrieks filled the air as they kept running back and forth while the men of the village busied themselves by roasting a baby pig, stuck on a bamboo stick, its skin turning deep brown against the heat of fiery charcoal while drinking shots of local gin. The women prepared the buffet table laying several oval Tupperwares containing sweet spaghetti,

pancit bihon, chop suey,  fried chicken, and

puto ; the traditional menu for a birthday party.

Tin-tin noticed a plump boy who sat on a knee-high plastic chair, watching other kids play.

‘Why don’t you join them?’ she asked.

‘They don’t want me to play with them. They said I run too slow because I’m fat,’ the little boy shrugged.

Tin-tin quietly nodded as she has nothing to say about the poor child’s situation.

‘Are you new here?’ asked the plump boy, whose name Tin-tin later found out was the same as her grandfather, Fernando, son of a couple she wasn’t acquainted with. They probably moved to the village after Tin-tin and her family left.

‘Yup,’ she said, naughtily grinning. Fernando’s eyes glimmered as he excitedly told her the legend of the old war veteran, a survivor of the Philippine-Japanese War, who scared a

kapre

away and passed on his

anting-anting  to her granddaughter.

‘They said he survived the war because his

anting-anting  let him dodge bullets and escape death,’ the boy animatedly added.

Tin-tin who has enthralled with the new legend she just heard, just smiled and nodded once again.

Later in the afternoon, she bid goodbye to her childhood friend Blessie and headed towards the other side of the village where the terminal for buses routed to the city is. She walked on a concrete road that once was a chocolate-colored mud soil that hardens and cracks during summer, like an endless jigsaw puzzle. She heard heavy footsteps behind her. She stopped and looked back. The plump boy was following her.

‘Can I walk with you?’ he asked. ‘I live on the other side of the village. I think my mom forgot to pick me up.’ The chubby-cheeked boy pouted.

Tin-tin smiled, up-turned her right palm, and extended it towards the boy, prompting him to hold her hand. They walked and passed by the primitive

balete  tree, where she saw dancing fireflies once, thinking if that rare occurrence was real or just a dream or a product of her wild imagination. As she looked at the enchanted tree, she caught a whiff of smoke with a hint of mint. A big brown

Mariposa  swirled around the two and landed on Fernando’s head.

‘Lolo,’  she whispered and smiled. The big brown butterfly with white spots on its wings flew and landed on her nose, sat on it for a few seconds then flapped its wings and flew far, above and beyond the peak of the

balete

tree.

She thought of her grandfather’s legend and wondered if it was true. As a kid, she always wondered if her  lolo’s

story about scaring a

kapre

was true but she guessed she could never find out any more.

It’s been thirty years since the diamond-like stone fell from the banana blossom to her hand. And whether this talisman could let her escape death and live a long life, she is yet to find out.


(Trigger warning: Strong language, domestic violence, sexual content) "Do not sleep in my room tonight," he said to Cassie on his way out the door to see Melissa, who he claimed was "just a friend."

Before he downgraded Cassie and his relationship to what he called roommates, his room was her room. He was her first relationship and her first love; she dropped out of college to move in with him. Most nights, he wanted Cassie in his room, and, of course, she obliged. This proves he still loves me. This time will be different . A couple times, she worked up the courage to leave him. One time she moved back in with her parents, tail between her legs, as she explained to them he was cheating on her. Of course, they didn't know that he considered them roommates. How could she explain that? Another time she'd found a cheap apartment over an old farmhouse. She claimed the apartment was haunted, and the ghosts robbed her of sleep. But maybe she was just scared of being alone. She crashed at her friend Zoe's place several times. Zoe was the only person who knew everything about their farce of a relationship. But, she never judged, and she was always there for Cassie. “I have a spare bedroom when you’re ready for something more permanent than my couch," Zoe told Cassie more than once. "I know. Thank you," she'd say, but after a few days, he would beg for her to come back. Then he'd drop those three little words that were a magnet that pulled her back to him. This proves he still loves me. This time will be different . Faced with another night alone, Cassie ordered takeout and rented a movie. She needed to keep her mind off him, but her imagination ran wild with what he and Melissa actually did on their nights out. When she could no longer keep her eyes open, she went to her room, knowing it would be used against her if he thought she'd fallen asleep on the couch waiting up for him. Since she spent most nights in his room, her room felt more like a storage room than a bedroom. Behind her closed eyes, all she could see was him. The angry words he threw at her, his arrogant smile that said he knew she would do whatever he told her. Her mind would also flashback to their first few months together. Holding hands at the movie theater, laughing over dinner, cuddling on the couch, watching movies, making love all night. She knew she should stand up to him but thinking about it made her skin crawl with fear she would go too far, say the wrong thing, and lose him forever. She only wanted to show him the error of his ways, for him to realize she mattered, for them to be the couple they were in the beginning. Sooner or later, crying exhausted her enough to fall asleep. He shook her awake. “Get up. Come to my room.” She looked at her clock: 1:05 a.m. She sat up, rubbing her puffy eyes. He never wanted her after he went out with another girl even if she was just a friend. Has he realized I am the one he loves? Will this prove that he loves me? Will this time be different? He looked back at her from the doorway. "Brush your teeth first. I can smell your stank breath from here." Groggily, she put her hand over her mouth and breathed out, trying to catch a whiff as she padded to the bathroom. She gargled with mouthwash and brushed her teeth. She looked in the mirror at her mousy brown hair, her plump face, her swollen eyes. She tried to fluff her hair and sprayed the perfume he loved. “Hurry up,” he yelled from his bedroom. “I gotta work in the morning.” She found him in the bedroom, naked, spread eagle on the bed. He grinned at her, showing off that split between his teeth she thought was so adorable when they met. His green eyes sparkled. He’s happy to see me. He’s happy to be here with me ! This proves he still loves me. This time will be different . She smiled back as she removed her nightshirt and panties, trying to cover up the chubby parts he liked to point out, not daring to turn out the lights. He was a "lights on kinda guy" he always told her. “Don’t cover up,” he said. “I want to see you.” She closed her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth. When he pulled away, she took the moment to catch her breath. Her eyes flew open wide to see him staring down at her with the arrogant smile he wore so well. This was a brand-new hell. She never dreamed he could hurt her with a smell. He rubbed his fingers along his goatee and tried to push them in her mouth. She turned away in disgust as tears welled up. “Oh c'mon, Cas. I know you like it. Don’t you want to taste her like I did? I took care of her, now I need you to take care of me. C’mon baby, I love you, show me you love me.” She faced him and let him kiss her again. When he pulled her on top of him, she didn’t hesitate. After all, he said the magic words. Ten minutes later, he snored beside her, and she went to wash away the taste of his betrayal. She paused at the door of the bathroom, her head swinging from her room to his with indecision. Different but same, loneliness and sadness beckoned from both rooms. She climbed under the covers and cuddled up to his warm body. "Get off," he said, scrunching his body to push her away. “Sorry,” she whispered as she moved to the other side of the bed. “Just get out. I gotta get up early, and I don't need your snoring keeping me up all night." *** At the beginning of their relationship, this was a running joke. “You’re snoring is going to keep me up all night,” he’d tell her as he stroked her hair. She knew it was cliché, but that look from him made her feel like she had to be the luckiest woman in the world. "That's my plan," she'd say with a mischievous smile. So they'd make love all night, each teasing the other that they might as well since the snoring would keep them awake anyway. *** She smiled and stroked his back. “Well, if my snoring will keep you awake, why don’t we go for round two?” "I'm serious, Cassie. Get out." She sat up and looked at him. Her sadness turned into desperation and anger. "Why are you so mean to me?" “Not this again,” he said with a sigh. “Not this again? Not fucking this again? What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means the same damn thing it means all the time. Just because we screw once in a while doesn’t change that. I. DON’T. WANT. YOU. You’re fat, you’re ugly, you smell awful. That horrible perfume just makes it worse. How many times do I have to tell you that? Now get out.” “You told me you loved this perfume. You—” “I lied!” He yelled loud enough to make her jump. She threw back the covers and stomped out of his room, slamming the door shut. She went to her room, slammed her own door, then opened it and slammed it one more time, trying to slam the anger out. Anger emboldened her to leave; the red blocked out everything else. She would wait until he left for work to escape. For good this time. This time will be different. She was still awake when she heard him get up for work, and finally, the apartment door opened and shut. After he left, she climbed into his bed, inhaling his smell as she drifted off to sleep trying to hold onto one last good memory of him. He came home early as she took one last look around. It was rare for him to come home for lunch. Her heart stopped, but she steeled herself. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Leaving again? Don’t think I'll allow you to come back again.” She looked up at him, appalled at how arrogant he could be. She tossed her bag over her shoulder and reached for the doorknob, but then she hesitated. "Already changing your mind?" he asked. "That's fine. Why don't you go pick us up something to eat? Hurry up, I don’t have a long lunch." She turned and looked at him, cursing her tears for betraying her sadness. She had a note in her pocket she'd planned to leave for him, but she worked up the courage to tell him the words she mulled over all morning. She took a deep breath. “I can’t love you enough for both of us, and I can’t love me for you. But I can love myself enough to say goodbye. This time will be different.” “Oh, that's a good one. Best you have had in a---" She didn't hear the rest as she shut the door softly behind her.

We never forget our first love, and with Cassie, it was no different. She spent many years figuring out who she was and finding the confidence and self-worth that he attempted to rob from her. She sat at her desk, staring at his friend request on social media. She could hear him in her head, “You’re fat, you’re ugly, and you smell bad.” She remembered like it was yesterday: how she wanted to sink into the floor, how she cried herself to sleep, how he made her hate who she was even while she prayed that he would love her like she loved him. Her finger hovered over the delete button. He couldn’t hurt her anymore, but she still didn’t understand. Friends told her he was a narcissist. Her therapist told her that he verbally abused her. Intellectually, she understood, but closure and acceptance always felt just out of her grasp. She clicked accept. Almost immediately, her phone vibrated, signaling a private message from the social media app.                “Long time no talk. How ya been?” She stared at the message for a long time. Her hands shook as she looked through his photos and posts. She hadn't seen him in at least 15 years, yet there he was, showing off that same smile, the same split peeking out between his teeth, and those green eyes. Instead of an aging, miserable, middle-aged man, the pictures showed a happy, perfect family.

No one else could possibly put up with how mean he was. Or was he only mean to me?

Get a grip! He has no control over me. This time will be different. She responded to him: “Doing great. You?" They chatted for a few minutes. She emphasized how happy she was, and he told her about his wife, his children, his job, but one question plagued her mind. “Why were you so mean to me?” Ellipses showed, then stopped, then showed up again as she waited for his answer. Finally, several minutes later, his response came on the screen.                “Because I could.” She stared at his message, and she thought of all the wonderful memories she made after she left him. She smiled as she deleted, blocked, and unfriended him. Her life wasn’t always easy nor perfect, and while, on some level, she always knew, it finally clicked into place at that moment. This time was different. He no longer mattered. She was the one that mattered, and she'd never let anyone take that away from her again. Why? Because she could.


Desperate Remedies By Erika Sams After a week on a meditation retreat in the middle of nowhere Josephine had decided the Zen life was bullshit. Behind the smiles and high-pitched whispers of welcome was a rage barely contained with deep breathing and overdosing on lavender tea. Fuck, that tea was delicious though. Either way, she knew all these lost souls were one misfortune away from snapping. How was she so sure? Because the yoga instructor was dead in her trunk. In Josephine’s defense, she was feeling much better! The smell of lavender from the tea she drowned her instructor in was giving her a wonderful calm. An anxious person would have hurried to dump the body somewhere, but Josephine found herself pulling into the Home Depot parking lot. She didn’t even lock her car when she went into the store. Only an anxious person would worry about that. She knew no one would think to look into the trunk of a 2006 Ford Focus in the middle of a Home Depot parking lot on a Tuesday afternoon. Grabbing one of their long-bedded carts Josephine wandered to the garden center in search of that purple flower that was the answer to all her problems. Spotting what she needed, she buried her face into her new favorite flower and inhaled deeply like a crackhead taking their first line of cocaine. One by one she put every single lavender plant they had onto her cart and realized it would not be enough. For the first time since murdering her instructor Josephine grew desperate; she needed more! She made her way to the check out and before she could say anything the associate said, “Someone is getting their lavender on this year.” The rounded woman in an apron had a lighthearted attitude, but Josephine was not feeling lighthearted. “Well, I am trying to, but this is all I’m seeing. Do you have some more in the back?” she was unaware of how her eyes were bulging from her head as she said this. The associate began to fidget anxiously, “Sorry miss, everything we have is now on your cart.” “This isn’t enough, I need more!” “I—uh—” the associate stuttered, “I can order more for you. Set it up for delivery if you like! Let me see how fast I can get them to you, how many would you like?” Josephine thought for a minute, “Lets start with 500.” The associate looked at her for a moment thinking she was joking, “Uh…” typing into the computer she continued, “I hear this stuff is a miracle worker for stress.” “It is, now where are we on the 500?” Realizing Josephine was not calm, the associate went quickly to work, quoted her the price, and to her surprise Josephine paid for that order and the lavender on her cart without hesitation. “The 500 you ordered will get to you on Thursday. Our driver will give you a call when they are on the way.” Feeling calm again, Josephine thanked the associate, loaded the lavender she found in her car, cranked her music, rolled down her windows, and was finally headed home. Josephine lived in a gorgeous Victorian home on 24 acres of land she had inherited from her grandmother who died last year. It was a beautiful home, but empty and lonely. The same week her grandmother died she walked in on her boyfriend of two years fucking her best friend since kindergarten. Josephine fell into a deep depression, but her inheritance supported her newfound alcoholism. Locked away in self-isolation with only the ghosts that came out when she was drunk to haunt her. Eventually the cycle of alcohol and cake delivered to her front door by a delivery service while she sat in her pajamas having not showered in weeks, no longer served her. She was ready to move on. That is how she found herself at the retreat and is now driving home with a car full of lavender and a yoga instructor in her trunk. An anxious person would go as far away from their house as they could to bury the body, but someone who just found the magic of lavender, or perhaps just lost all their fucks, grabs a shovel, and starts to dig right behind the house. Six feed down is deep, they use machines to do that. Josephine digs about three feet down and is able to drag her instructor into the hole. Thankfully yoga instructors are always so tiny, she looked even smaller laying pale and lifeless in the dirt. As Josephine looked down from outside the makeshift grave, she found herself in a meditative state. Ironic, isn’t it? She thought. When the body was buried, she pulled out her lavender flowers and began to plant them side by side, first over the body, then continuing as far out as she could go until she had used up most of the bulbs. Satisfied for now, she took the lavender she had set aside into the house, some to hang upside down to dry for tea later, and the rest was laid into a bath with salts. Lighting candles, she sank beneath the water and coming back up breathed in the beautiful smell. For the first time in a year, she found quiet, and calm without alcohol, and all the demons that haunted her were silenced. An ick hit her nostrils and suddenly she needed lavender candles. She found what she needed on amazon which would arrive first thing in the morning. As desperate as she was, she was also tired and satisfied for now. Closing her eyes, she let herself fall to sleep in the lavender waters. Over the next few days Josephine’s garden grew 10 times the size it was the first day. Hundreds of lavender candles were delivered, and candlesticks she pressed lavender to before placing them all over her home. Lavender hung from her kitchen ceiling in bulks and was pressed between pages of books. The smell gave Josephine a calm, moving gracefully throughout the house taking in the flower and adding more. On Saturday she sat at the table sipping lavender tea when the sound of tires on gravel caught her attention. Moving to the window, she sees a black SUV pulling up to her front door. A man wearing a black suit with blackout shades exits the vehicle and buttons his suit in the front. He looks just like a detective out of one of those crime shows, she thought. The man came to the front door and knocked. Josephine was anxious as she set her tea down with a trembling hand, took a deep breath, and opened the front door with a welcoming smile, “Can I help you?” “Josephine Phillips?” the detective asked, revealing a badge. “That’s me.” “My name is Detective Branton, I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions?” “Absolutely,” Josephine said opening the door and gesturing the detective in, “I was just enjoying a cup of tea, would you like any?” “That’s very kind of you miss,” he accepted following her to the kitchen. The smell of lavender was overwhelming as he looked around seeing the candles and dried plant hanging all over the ceiling. Josephine heated up a bit of water dropping her lavender into the water and in the same motion she also poured a few drops of cyanide. She returned to the table with a sweet smile, offering the tea to the detective. He thanked her and took a sip, “Wow, that is delicious!” “You’re too kind,” Josephine feigned a blush, “now, what can I do for you, detective?” Detective Branton took another sip of his tea, “One of the instructors from a yoga retreat you just went to has been reported missing. No one has heard from her in five days. We are interviewing everyone who attended the retreat to make sure she is okay. Her family states this is unlike her.” The detective pauses to clear his throat looking rather pale. “Are you alright detective?” she asked with the gentleness of a saint on Sunday. “May I use your restroom?” the detective asked. “Yes, of course—” she gestured towards the bathroom and the detective slowly rose, then began to fall sideways into the floor. Josephine took another sip of her tea, enjoying the peace and quiet of the room. After a moment her eye caught the detective’s hand which had fallen to the floor beside him and a panic button, she was sure had already been pushed. Sighing, she brought her teacup back up to her lips, “Well that’s inconvenient,” she said aloud and took a sip. Once she was done with her cup of tea she washed it in the sink along with the detective’s cup. Shame he hadn’t been able to finish it, she thought. She felt some anxiety begin to creep into her, so she pulled out her phone and ordered some lavender soaps, more flowers, and candles to be delivered the next morning. Josephine drug the detective’s body into the middle of her large living room, laying him out on his back and folding his arms across his chest. Going outside, she picked some lavender from her garden and placed the bouquet in his hands. How peaceful he looked to her. With no hurry she walked throughout every room lighting her lavender candles which had already been placed. Once every room had candles going, she removed all the dried lavender from her kitchen and placed it into a circle like a ritual. Every spare candle she had was placed throughout the living room, on every piece of furniture, around the detective’s body, around the circle of dried lavender. It felt like a scene from one of those vampire movies which made her feel dangerous and powerful. Perhaps she was about to elevate. By the time she was satisfied the sun had set and the candles provided her only light. Sitting in the middle of the lavender circle, she entered a meditation pose, inhaling the lavender deeply, the detective’s body lay in front of her. The low rumble of helicopters could be heard in the distance, and gravel began to crack under the tires of countless vehicles pulling into her driveway. “They are coming for you, detective,” she said, “but don’t worry, they won’t be able to reach us.” Inhaling deeply, Josephine took one of the candlesticks and lit the dried lavender that surrounded her. Fire spread around her quickly engulfing the dry lavender. Fire began to escape the precariously laid candles around her and within moments the entire room was on fire, the flames spreading quickly throughout the entire house. Before the S.W.A.T. team could even break through the door, the entire mansion was engulfed in flames. Josephine’s circle enclosed around her, and her clothes caught fire, spreading quickly to her hair and skin. As though waking from a trance Josephine began to panic and scream in painful anguish. Jumping from where she had surrendered herself, she ran through the house covered in flames, her skin crumbling to black like a burned marshmallow. She ran out her back door and through her lavender garden, the flames that encapsulated her spreading to her garden of lavender. Falling to the ground in her garden Josephine gasped for air but only inhaled smoke. As officers called for fire trucks and tried to contain what they could, Josephine took her last breath in her garden of lavender.


The Old Man shuffled around his cabin, collecting papers he’d laid out the night before. Having found his writings, he moved to the back of the cabin and tossed them into the fire with a lazy flick of his wrist. In a few days, they wouldn’t matter anymore. His cabin wasn’t large, consisting mostly of counters and shelves stocked with curious objects he’d collected over time. An oak table stood in the middle of the room. Now that it was empty, it seemed to take up even more space than before. Standing in front of the fire, the Old Man spent a single, silent tear from his one good eye. “I wished to spend more time with them, but it seems they aren’t as accepting as I’d hoped.” The old man said to the fire. As it wrapped around the papers, erasing them, the fire crackled its response. “Thank you, old friend. I always enjoyed your company when visiting.” The Old Man murmured to the flame before becoming lost in thought. “Funny how you were one of the first, yet I still haven't grown tired of you. I only wish the others were as welcoming as you. You are respectively complex and simple, the villagers could learn a thing from you. Most of them believe you to be best suited for destruction, though you are meant for maintaining life.” His eye glazed over as his mind wandered, straining to grasp the nature of all the people he’d met. “It won't be long now.” The Old Man knew they would be coming for him since he had been chased out of the village hours before. He couldn't allow them to discover anything he had lying around here, for they wouldn't be prepared for the secrets they'd find. Healing them didn’t gain their trust, and sharing knowledge wouldn't gain their pacifism. Humans were like that. When something they don't understand approaches them, they are quick to deny, ignore, and even hate it. The Old Man had searched for a village that would understand him, even welcome him and his teachings. After all, he was a mentor, and what is a mentor without a student? One who's meant to guide others struggles when there is no one to guide. The flame did not respond. “Oh my, I am truly sorry.” The Old Man said to the ashes. He had lost track of time, the sun was now rising to burn in the sky. Left unattended for too long the fire burned through all it had, extinguishing its own life simply by living. There was something to be learned here, even for the Old Man who knew so much. Before he could grasp it and hold that lesson close, the sounds of shouting pulled it away from him. “Get out here!” Miss Ava screeched from outside. “You, you, and James get ready to go in there and get him if he wants to be difficult.” “Yes, Mistress.” James nodded. James was Miss Ava’s personal henchman, and plaything. He was a stocky butler who had served the family for years. Even before her husband's passing, Miss Ava was known to have the not too occasional affair, her favorite often rumored to be the butler. Now it was practically common knowledge, though no one was brave enough to bring it up. They had all been there when the executions took place. James had pulled the other end of the noose himself after throwing his weighted end over a tree branch. He pulled those men off the ground and held them there as they squirmed. Those were the lucky ones. The other two men were just part of the crowd Miss Ava had gathered in the square last night. She hadn’t expected such a large turnout, but mob mentality had its advantages. Even those who didn’t help with the dirty work, wouldn’t want to miss the execution. Miss Ava had been married to the late mayor. His sudden passing had left the seat of power empty, and though she was slow to mourning, she was quick to sit in that position. A woman mayor wasn’t unheard of, her husband’s grandmother Grace once ruled here. Miss Ava claimed she was always Grace’s favorite, a lie of course, and she had no problem taking advantage of the people's naiveness to gain her throne. The mayor's son was working to take his father's office, but shortly after his passing, the boy fell ill. He was too weak to rise from his bed, and the staff was forbidden to see him. Only his step-mother was allowed to treat him. Those who opposed her found the noose shortly after. She swore off the position of mayor, a Queen would rule here from now on she declared. Whispers of revolt hung from a tree, and hope burned shortly after. With nooses and torches in hand, the mob surrounded the cabin. Miss Ava made her way to the front, hands empty. “My boy was getting better.” She shouted. “You show up in My town and claim to be a healer, performing “miracles” trying to steal My people’s trust, and now look where you are. You wanted what was mine, well now you can have them.” Throwing her arms forward, the townspeople swept towards the cabin. The Old Man sat in the center of the cabin facing the door. His good eye was closed, and his composure seemed calm as three men burst into his cabin. Immediately, the villagers began sweating profusely. Their vision blurred as they attempted to stand on shaky legs. They all clutched their heads in pain, and James fell to the floor, convulsing. The two villagers ran from the cabin, fleeing the furnace, leaving their fellow man on the ground. Behind them, the Old Man closed his blind eye. “What are you two doing!” She screamed. The two men stumbled past her and back into the crowd. “Fine, remind me later that you two will be joining him.” Miss Ava strode towards the cabin. James stumbled out of the door, vomit covering his chest. He collided with Miss Ava nearly knocking her over. “Disgusting.” She snapped. “I'm sorry.” James managed to get out. “Move, you big idiot.” She turned to address the crowd. “Is there no one here competent enough to drag a crippled old man out of his cabin?” The crowd gazed past her. Startled by the imposing figure behind her. A man stood in the doorway, upright rather than hunched over. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and where a blind eye should have been, was a burning sun. “Crippled?” The Old Man asked from behind her. “I’m only missing one eye, and sure, my legs don't move quite as fast as they used to. These long years may have hunched my shoulders, but I’d still consider myself less damaged than you.” Miss Ava spun around. “How dare you speak to me like that.” She spit, and slapped the Old Man. “James, get yourself back up here and deal with this.” Having barely recovered, James gathered up some of the more willing villagers, most of whom were imprisoned by the previous mayor. Violence wasn’t common in this town, and crime was often punished with labor. However, it did have a small jail for crimes too harsh to be ignored. Together they dragged the Old Man from the cabin, forcing a noose around his neck. James tossed his weighted end over the limb of a nearby tree, and the gang hoisted the Old Man into the air. “Now, Now. This would be a far too easy end for a man like you.” Miss Ava said, walking with a chair in hand she grabbed from the cabin. She sat the chair just under the Old Man's feet, gesturing for the men to let him down far enough to stand on it. “This should be more fitting, you’ll hang yourself rather than let your feet burn. Everyone does.” With a snap, unseen by anyone else, she set the chair ablaze with a soft yellow flame. The Old Man didn’t cry out in pain. He stood in the fire wondering if this could have been avoided somehow. His thoughts wandered to earlier days, had Father known his creations would become so lost? Of course he did, Father had created his Keepers after all. Embers, such as Miss Ava drifted away from the Flame, and it was The Old Man's job to return them. As a Flame Keeper, he was expected to control the damage a drifting Ember could cause. Though, Embers weren’t an issue before Father left. Could it be Father’s fault their society had all but fallen apart? The Old Man focussed, he could not allow himself to doubt everything now. A boy, barely past his fifteenth year, pushed through the crowd. He woke up to an empty town and remembered The Old Man's last words to him. He’d been told that his step-mother would come by again tonight and that if he didn't trust the Old Man then he wouldn't live to see the next morning. All the heat had been taken from his body, he remembered growing cold, and suddenly aware of his own pulse slowing. Miss Ava had entered the room that night, shocked to find his heart already stopped. She’d been slowly raising the boy's fever through her control of The Flame, planning to make his death look like the result of an incurable illness. That morning, a comfortable heat had come back to his body, just as the Old Man promised. A heat that reminded him of winter nights by his grandmother's fireplace, when she would tell him stories of her travels. It was nothing like the miserable heat of his stepmothers. “Old Man!” He yelled. Miss Ava’s mouth hung open, speechless. She spun at the sound of the boy, and watched as the townspeople collectively wiped the sweat from their brow and collapsed. Except for the boy. The sound of screams turned her head towards James and her other henchman. They fell to the ground, rolling in the dirt as a golden flame roared around them. Their cries stopped, and the wind carried their remains over the collapsed villagers. “No.” She began to sweat, not from the heat, but from her nervousness. “I've been so careful not to be found.” “Your misuse of The Flame could not go unnoticed by me.” The Old man declared. “In our Father’s absence you know it is I who keeps you stray Embers in check. We are not meant to control humans like this. You've manipulated The Flame for too long, and it’s time you returned home.” “Come with me, young man,” Grace said, suddenly standing next to the boy. “you have much to learn about your grandfather and me. Just let him finish here.” The Old Man’s flame crawled up Miss Ava’s legs, turning her body to ash as it climbed. She wondered who was screaming as her voice filled her ears. Her gaze drifted up to the Old Man standing on the chair, and his blind eye burned bright.


It had been 15 long years since the last time they had seen each other. Everyone had gone in separate directions, they had all thought they would be together forever, but sometimes, that’s not how things work out. In 2020 we graduated and now it is 2035, it’s been so long, too long. Two remained together, they married and had a family, forgot the rest of us existed, except for when the fifteen year high school reunion was approaching.

They arrived at the school at separate times, but soon they ran into each other and the reunion couldn’t have been happier…… Storm was standing near the punch bowl, eagerly watching for someone she knew to appear, she turned around and almost ran smack into another person. “Storm, is that you?” a voice said. Storm broke into a grin, it was Amanda! They hadn’t changed very much, their hair was cut in a pixie style, instead of the long, golden locks they had in high school. “Amanda, it’s so good to see you!” she said, “What’ve you been up to?” “Well, I have a Masters Degree in Social Sciences and work here actually, as a guidance counselor.” Amanda said. “Oh, and I am non-binary, now that I don’t live with my mother, I can be whoever I want, no matter her opinions.” Storm smiled, “That’s great, I know how much you wanted her to accept you as you.” “What’ve you been doing, aside from getting married, that ring is beautiful!” Amanda said. “Yep, I married Prince, he’s around here somewhere, probably is looking for Jack, anyways,

we have a seven year old son named Alec. I am a 4th grade teacher at Garfield Elementary and I run a non-profit to support families in need.” Storm said, smiling. “That’s amazing Storm, I always thought Prince would end up with Leana though,” Amanda said. “Yeah, I know, but they broke up two years after high school, hey look over there, is that…” Storm said. “NO WAY, it is them, c’mon!” Amanda said, dragging Storm with her away. Carlos just walked into the gym when he saw someone very familiar standing near the stage, he immediately went over and tapped on their shoulder. “Jo is that you,” he said. The person turned around and their face lit up when they saw who was standing behind them. “Carlos, I can’t believe it’s you,” they said. “How’ve you been.” “Well I am a Sports Broadcaster at CNN and that’s about it,” Carlos said. “What’ve you been up to Jo?” Jo was still smiling, “Let’s see, I am an English teacher here, Amanda works here too by the way, and I am still genderqueer and straight, otherwise nothin else has changed.” “Your hair looks good, the chin-length suits you,” Carlos said. Jo laughed, “Thanks, yours hasn’t changed at all.” They both smiled at each other. “Soo,” Jo said. “Are you in a relationship?” Carlos’ smile faded a little, then it brightened again. “No actually.” he said. “I dated a coworker for a week four years ago, but my last serious relationship was you, what about you,” he said, making eye contact with Jo. “Nope, last time I dated was, well, you.” they said smiling shyly. Carlos looked around for a minute. He paused abruptly. “Hey, look over there, is that who I think it is?” he said. “Jo looked where Carlos was pointing and smiled. “I think it is, c’mon!” They smiled and grabbed Carlos’ hand and they hurried away.

Marcus was standing against the wall, watching the sea of people crowded into their high school gym. They thought about all of the memories here, all the people here, everything here that shaped their life. They smiled to themselves before walking over to a pair of people having a conversation a few feet away. It took them a moment to recognize the pair, the woman’s hair was longer and the man’s was very short, what seemed like a buzzcut. “Hey guys,” they said. The two figures stopped talking and broke into huge grins when they saw who had approached them. The woman spoke first, “Marcus, oh my gosh it’s so good to see you!” “Hey Marcus,” the man said. “Hi Kayla, hi Jay, it’s been too long, what are y’all up to nowadays?” they asked. Kayla smiled, “We got married two years into college and have two children, a nine year old girl named Joy and an eleven year old son named Matt. I am a lawyer and Jay over here can tell you what he does.” Jay smiled slyly, “I’m an FBI agent,” he said. Marcus laughed, “No way, seriously, who knew all those jokes about the FBI would make one of us become an actual FBI agent!” “So what do you do now Marcus?” Jay said. “Well, I am a teacher at a middle school nearby and I do some public speaking on the side for LGBTQ+ rights and recognition, after all I am non-binary and bisexual.” they said. “That’s amazing, I always knew you would do great things, oh, and did I mention I love your hair.” Kayla said. “Thanks, it hasn’t changed at all, same old pixie cut, and I always knew you two would end up together,” Marcus said. All of a sudden four excited voices came up on the group from all sides. After a moment of stunned silence, all eight embraced. The gang was back together again.

After a hug that seemed like forever they looked at each other, smiling, studying the faces of their friends from so long ago. They all started talking at once, asking how each other had been, what they were up to, who they were with. Carlos tapped Jo on the shoulder and motioned for them to follow. The two snuck away from their old friends, who barely noticed they had left, and went out into the hall. “I missed you,” Carlos said. “I missed you too,” Jo replied. They gazed into each other’s eyes. “Your eyes are still the same,” Jo said. “What do you mean?” Carlos asked. “They’re the same deep, brown eyes I gazed into in high school, the eyes of the man I fell in love with all those years ago.” Jo said, smiling. “Your eyes are the same too,” Carlos said. “How?” Jo asked. “They’re the same bright bluish, greenish, grayish, whatever color they are, anyways, they always made me smile and made me happy.” he said. They started staring deep into each other’s eyes again, remembering all of the times they spent together in high school and how much they loved and missed each other’s presence in their lives. Before they knew it, their lips were touching and their eyes were shut, grasping each other’s hands. That’s exactly how Storm, Amanda, Kayla, Jay, and Marcus found them a moment later. They finally pulled away and looked at their friends, smiling. “This is why we came back today, to see each other and mend old relationships.” Amanda said. Carlos looked at Jo, “Do you wanna try this again?” he asked. “Yeah, I do, but this time, we’ll do it right,” Jo said smiling. Carlos and Jo walked over to their friends, still holding hands and all eight embraced once again, this time they wouldn’t forget each other and miss out on being in each other’s lives. Two years later Carlos and Jo got married and lived out the rest of their days together, with their friends by their side the entire time.


Small waves lapped against the next contestant as she bobbed in the water. The game was called “Don’t shit a brick.” The goal was to see who could doggy paddle the longest while holding a brick. Juvenile, sure. Was it fun? You’re damn right it was. Jennifer had cried out with glee when she first entered the water, then her face squished in like a sponge when she was handed the brick. She momentarily grimaced as the red, clay brick scraped against her inner thigh. But she managed to hold onto it surrounded by the vibrantly colored speedboats of her classmates. Her red and blue bikini top was fastened tight around her neck, but the grasping texture of the brick threatened to expose her sun shaded breasts to the boys leaning off the sides of their boats, cheering wildly like she was crossing the finish line with each minor stroke. The coldness of Lake Holshire had sucked my breath away earlier in the afternoon, when the first round of tubing had begun. The coldness could be seen on Jennifer’s face, in the way she gasped for air and kept her eyes focused on one spot in the sky. Maybe if we had brought more than one brick, the contestant would have felt better about dropping it to the mossy bottom below. As it were, Jennifer struggled with the weight and the beers she had drank earlier. She managed to keep herself afloat as someone yelled, “She looks like she’s shitting a brick!” The three speedboats all had their engines killed and their anchor points tethered, leaving a triangular opening in the water. As Jennifer struggled with her clay weight, the boats sloshed and shimmied so that Jennifer was no longer in the center of the triangle, but closer to Davis’ boat, a shining red and black beast that could hit sixty miles an hour without blinking. I yelled to Davis, “Get her out, man. She’s finished.” He didn’t even look at me, but kept staring down at the top of her breasts that glistened just above the surface of the water. In the afternoon sun, the water was a navy blue, like the oppressive folds of storm clouds about to spit rain. Davis was now laying on the edge of his Mastiff, as he called the red and black racer, urging Jennifer to just give up and take her top off. She didn’t need to be weighed down by it. Her faux laugh filled her mouth with Lake water, which she spit out with squinting eyes. “Shut up, Dave,” was all she managed to mouth before slipping under water. Davis turned to Trev, “Did you hear what she said?” He didn’t see her submerge into the triangle of darkness, like a pole searching for the bottom of Lake Holshire. The water rippled outwards where the crown of her head had gone under, breaking symmetry on the side of the Mastiff. One, two, three seconds pass. No sign of her. She’s not coming up. I search the black water to see if I can find her, but cannot. I glance at the others. There’s more than a dozen people and not one of them seems concerned that Jennifer has just taken the plunge to death. She’s a caught bobber and no one wants to reel her in. Alcohol does dumb shit to people. I dive in, momentarily wondering if I should have jumped in feet first rather than swan dive into the water. But I don’t hit her. I open my eyes and am amazed at how bright it is underwater. The boats cast long shadows down a corridor of the lake, but there’s wide expanses receiving bright sunlight now. I can see Jennifer with her eyes closed about ten feet below. She is drifting there like a person caught between a dream and waking. She’s let go of the brick but her hands still hold it near her chest. Something in the water brushes against my eyelids causing them to close momentarily. I fear she’ll be dead when I get her in my arms. Will she drift away when I’m back? I reach her, grab her underneath her arms and start kicking for the surface. I can see the long angular shadows from the boats spread wider and wider, until I’m panting above the dark expanse of the black triangle.


Everyone attended the baptism of Baby Johnson.  That is, everyone residing at 24 th  and High Street did.  And why wouldn’t they?  Baby Johnson was the new light to all of their busy lives.  Each tenet at 24 th  and High Street knew the importance of celebrating and supporting the proud parents after the loss of their beloved three-year old.  Through death and new life, they surrounded each other in grief and happiness.

During the service everyone gazed in wonder and smiles at the couple and their child.  Miss Parks, in her motherly way, glanced at her tenets from across the aisle.  She wondered how long each of them had been in her life and under her watchful eye.  Eleven of her children, even though two were her senior.  One was a veteran who had lost his arm at the battle of Antietam.  “Yes,” she thought to herself.  “This is my family.” The splattering of rain had surprised the small congregation as they exited the church and made their way down 24 th  Street.  Three quick blocks before they came to the brick flat they called home.

“24 th  and High Street, please,” he mumbled to the cab driver as he slipped into the backseat from the pouring rain.  It was almost morning and he had to get home and to bed to sober up before work in a few hours.  He nodded off for maybe a brief second before the driver awoke him notifying him of his destination.

As he climbed the steps he felt happy to be home.  “Yes,” he thought to himself.  This is my home.”  He mounted the steps and using the railing, pulled himself to his apartment door.  He knew everyone in the building was asleep, but what did he care?  He barely knew his landlord, or anyone in the building for that matter.  Paying his rent and submitting work orders for his one room apartment was all done online.  He was happy he did not have to communicate with anyone in person.

Reg closed the door, bolted it shut, and made for the bed.  Staring at the ceiling, he half blamed himself for getting thrown out of the girl’s apartment.  Maybe he moved too quickly.  Maybe it was the booze in his system.  Either way, he would never see her again and he was ok with that thought.

Not seeing his family and friends in over seven years, he cut everyone out of his life.  He moved to the city on a whim and a promise of a high-end job that would pay him well.  An ambitious job that he dreamt about all through college.  Now that he has the job, where is he?  The tiger clawed his way to the top of the cage, leaving the carcasses of those he had loved to rot below him.  And he knew it.  Reg closed his eyes and the room spun.  Opening them, he caught the inevitable flashing of neon lights through the cracks of the curtain.  His eyes closed again, then opened.  Head under the pillow, Reg fell into a deep sleep.

Miss Parks had a nice reception in the parlor for her tenets that afternoon.  There was laughing and loud chatter.  She fluttered from group to group ensuring everyone was content, while listening in on each conversation.  She felt it was her obligation to keep tranquility at her boarding house.

A young man had just stepped away from one of the gatherings when Miss Parks rushed over to him at the sideboard.  “I’ve been meaning to ask Mr. McGuire how you’re liking your stay here.” “Oh, just fine, just fine.  Thank you, Miss Parks.”

“These past three months have flown by, but I suppose that’s life.  Just whoosh and it’s done and gone.” “I suppose it is,” said the young man who to Miss Parks appeared like a small boy blushing.

“And are you adjusting to city life?” “I must admit it is quite the adjustment.  This is the furthest and longest I have been away from my family.” “Well, I hope you get to see them soon.  Maybe they can make a trip down here and see their son all grown up,” Miss Parks accidentally stepped on his foot while saying this.  She had a clumsy way about her while she conversed with those she attempted to care about.

“Thank you, Miss Parks, but I doubt anytime soon.  Father is busy with the mill and mother has the children to look after.  In the meantime, I have all of you to keep me company.” “That does a body good to hear that you find all of us good company to keep with.  I see everyone here as my family.”  At this she was called over to another duty to care for another member of her supposed family.

The blushing young Mr. McGuire turned around to the sideboard and made himself appear busy, at least in thought.

At last, the day was through.  Reg returned home from a morning of spinning walls followed by immense hunger that was barely satisfied with his ham sandwich, which he ate alone.

Alone.  That was how Reg always found himself.  He would often tell himself he was happier being alone, but who was he kidding?

Passing through the front door to 24 th  and High Street, he attempted to quickly collect his mail.  The whitewashed walls made the entrance seem even smaller than it already was.  He stared at the wall across from the mailboxes.  Apparently, from what he was told, there used to be a parlor.  He considered what it may have looked like and pondered its use.  Yet, it too was walled up.  Just like everything in his life.  Not knowing what was on the other side of that wall, he began dreaming about the possibilities.  Maybe it’s a spacious bedroom for his landlord?  Perhaps a billiards room for invisible guests of his landlord?  Or maybe it is still the same old parlor that greeted past tenets with old, rotting furniture covered in white cloth.  Suddenly, the front door opened, awakening Reg from his dreams.  Mumbling hello to the older man, he scurried up the stairs without pausing for a reply.

This was not the first time he pondered about what laid behind the white wall downstairs.  It’s not the first time he pondered about possible friends he could have.  But he tried having friends before, and chose to cut them out of his life.  Or at least he told himself that it chose to do so.  It was less effort on his part.  He could find just as much happiness in television and on his phone or computer.

Cracking open a beer, the sound interrupted the silence in the room.  Then, the television reverberated the room with sound and Reg felt the warmth of being nestled in his room by the cold, sixty-two-inch glow.  Even if he tried to tell himself that he was happy in life, somehow truth leaked through those walls.

Mr. McGuire kept busy regularly.  Whether it was with work, evenings at the lodge, or going for a walk around the block, he kept himself busy.  Seeing this made Miss Parks happy.  She would sit up late in the parlor waiting for her flock to come home.  One of the last to arrive home would be Mr. McGuire.  She knew his schedule better than he knew it himself, and he discovered himself hating that fact. One cold night the front door blew open with a rush of frigid air.  Mr. McGuire stepped in.  Looking up, he expected to see Miss Parks sitting by the fireplace with a pot of hot coffee waiting for him.  There was no one, and the fire was out.  The gas lights flickered alone, patiently waiting for someone.  Half saddened, but half pleased, he trudged up the steps to his haven.

The following morning, he was awoken to silence in the building.  He headed downstairs for Miss Parks’ usual breakfast.  The parlor was filled with the other tenets.  Dread and horror were on all their faces.  A physician stepped out of her bedroom into the parlor.

Mrs. Johnson approached Mr. McGuire, “Oh Ted, it’s terrible.  Miss Parks.” Mr. McGuire stood motionless.  The physician broke the silence, “It appears she’s been dead for some time.  Who found her?”  Mr. McGuire observed one of the older tenets raise her trembling hand.  He looked around the room in disbelief. Never again would he look at that parlor the same way again.  Each time he entered the front door, he would try to look past the room to his right and head directly up the stairs.

Another evening wasted in front of the television.  Reg awoke, thinking it was midnight.  Reaching for his phone he saw that it was only seven.  Was he happy that it was still early?  He was unsure of this question.  He was unsure about many things in his life.  There was one aspect of his dreary existence that he was certain of.  Loneliness.  He was certain that he was lonely and was past the point of no return.

He reached out next to the couch in pulled open a drawer.  He pushed past broken pens and other odds and ends.  At first, he hesitated, but then he found it.  A small plastic bottle of pills.  He held it up to the light.  Twenty or so pills.  He knew that was all he had to do.  A couple quick gulps and his miserable existence would be over.

Turning the bottle in his hands, he listened to the rattle of the pills.  They were egging him on.  Or were they asking to be placed back in the drawer?  Stored away until another day.  Yet, who would find him?  His landlord?  A man he had met less than the bartender down the street.  Who would notify his family?  His family.  He wondered what they were up to.  Staring back at his phone he saw that only two minutes had slugged by.  He thought about picking up the phone and calling his mother.  How would she sound?  Would she be happy to hear his voice? He picked up the phone, while tumbling the pills in the bottle.  Just then, a knock on the door.  Startling himself, he dropped the bottle to the floor.  Shamefully he shoved it back in the drawer and answered the door.  Standing in front of him was the girl from the other evening.

“What? How?”  Fumbling as he had done with the bottle, Reg couldn’t make a coherent sentence.

Half smiling, the young girl spoke up, “Don’t you remember?  You showed me your apartment building the other night.  Your landlord showed me up to your door.” Beaming, Reg welcomed her into his room.  “I must remember to thank my landlord,” he thought to himself.


The mirror regards me coolly, telling me bluntly what I already know: The dress is too big. Nevertheless I push on, determined to look somewhat tasteful on my impromptu wedding day, and continue stuffing crumpled towels from the dispenser into the bodice that was cut too generously for someone my size. My friend, who was not selected as a bridesmaid and will be sitting in the crowd, finally declares that unless I want the horror of wearing a bra under my strapless dress I should plaster my arms to my sides and just get on with the whole mess. I agree with her, and pause only once to glance at the card that reminds me that You, Karen, are the bride, before I'm exiting the room and parading down to my carpet-and-stained glass venue where my groom will be. But I am not the only one garbed in silk and favoritism today; there is another bride. And lucky for her, her dress has straps. Upon seeing me my bridal escort offers congratulations, compliments, and confused glances-- two brides? --but no seeded questions have time to sprout answers, as the music bursts forth and the troops tromp out to the front lines. I am last, and alone, because Bride B took the fatherly escort. I lock eyes with the groom, my boyfriend, who was too indecisive to pick just one girl to vow himself to. Oh, and those dastardly vows--I expected to be repeating the standards ones but suddenly I'm fumbling over something improvised, so embarrassed that I find my eyes wavering more towards the view outside of the stained glass rather than the man I'm supposed to be vowing myself to.  The moment my lips falter can't seem to come soon enough, and inwardly I'm grateful when his vows seem as awkward as mine. We kiss--something that stirs our audience and minister--before the process repeats with a different woman in white. Their vows are only sealed with a hug, and for a brief moment my title as Bride A seems secured. Then we had pictures done while guests migrated towards the food. We assembled quite well, our bride-groom-bride sandwich, balanced in tiers on the steps up to the venue that were flanked by stout brick planters. I believe that to be that last sane moment of my wedding. My groom began to flirt voraciously with every woman, I had no seat at the bridal table to eat, the father-daughter dance was really no more than a horrid three person imitation of ring around the rosy, where one of the three dancers was constantly plagued by the looming threat of loosing ones grip on ones bodice and effectively marring all guests by the sight of the topless bride and the cascading paper towels that once served to hold the dress aloft. My period of solitary confinement, forlorn and placid at the edge of the dance floor, is only interrupted once when the friend who once helped me stuff my dress now offers a dance out of sympathy. My fate, as far as I was concerned, was utterly and irrevocably sealed as the Martha of my new marriage to Mary and Jesus. The groom is suddenly wearing nothing more than boxers as pale as my ivory silk blotted by crimson hearts; an omen of the roguish color that was to be my demise in spreading across my gown. We cut the cake--and by we, I mean Bride A and the groom; Bride B was busy sitting on the dance floor wasted. We three newlyweds finally get on with our first dance, even as the groom would constantly interchange his brides for other women who came to spectate, not get hitched. Bride B suddenly starts wandering off with another man, making me question everything this wedding was to stand for. Did the groom want his brides? Did the brides even want the groom? Who knows! Who cares! There was cake and alcohol and that's all that mattered! Well, there was a gun too. Bride B, her mystery man, and the groom immerse themselves in an argument that makes even the poor, drunken minister put down her seventh drink to listen. And yet, it wasn't one of those three instigators that tasted the tart note of repercussion upon their lips as a consequence of their dispute. No, it was me. That stupid, wasted, stunt double of a bride shot me. I could so clearly see the scarlet stains searing themselves into my expensive one day only flesh as I laid prone and destitute on the floor. I can only speculate to how pathetic the whole ordeal must have appeared to any passing bachelor or bachelorette. Through the haze that was my fading consciousness I could hear the wedding-goers, almost all paired up with someone else (somehow that list included that bridely father and mother who somehow managed to get a divorce between dinner courses), making their way past the brick planters and towards the door that ushered me a mortifyingly short marriage the minute I stepped through. I was horridly alone, or so I thought, until I heard the laugh of someone who had yet to speak throughout the entire ceremony. She was laughing at the sight of me bleeding out on the floor, which, if you ask me, is a pretty rude thing to do. "Class is almost over," my theater teacher tells me, bidding me to resurrect myself and shed the imaginary mortal wound. She had a look in her eyes that spoke to how proud she was of the cast she selected--from her card proclaiming You, Karen, are the bride, to her wicked selection of both groom and secondary bride. And as I swapped back into clothes designed for someone my size, thinking of perhaps the day some years ahead when my boyfriend and I would return as bride and groom (this time, for real), I couldn't help but laugh at the new private joke my teacher had given to me, one that would allow me to start my next set of vows with the words, Second time's a charm . . .


-WE NEED TO TALK!- Adley read the text as she walked through her cousin, Bronwyn’s front door. “How could you?” Bronwyn’s voice bellowed through the hallway. “I only got your text a minute ago. What’s going on?” Adley placed her handbag on the console table. “Oh don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” “But I don’t know what you are talking about.” Her confusion seeped through her tone. “How long have you been sleeping with Theo?” Bronwyn spat out. “What?” “God, you are not that great of an actress, Adley.” “You are accusing me of sleeping with your fiancé and I’m not supposed to be shocked?” She crossed her arms defensively. “Not if you’re innocent, which clearly you are not. Unless you are shocked because I found out, which only confirms I am right.” “You are not making any sense. Bronwyn are you okay?” “Don’t pretend to care about me or my feelings. You should have thought about that before you slept with my fiancé.” “Where are you getting this from? Did Theo tell you this?” “No, Theo didn’t tell me. Why would he, when he can keep you his dirty little secret?” “Bronwyn, you are not being fair right now and you’re hurting my feelings.” “Oh, I’M hurting YOUR feelings. That’s classic.” “Do you honestly think that I would do that to you? That I would deliberately hurt you that way? You are my family, my only family. I love you and I would never hurt you like that. Where did you get this idea in your head from?” “Jesse.” Bronwyn mumbled after a few seconds. “Jesse?” Adley raised her eyebrows in disbelieve. “You listened to backstabbing, skirt-chasing, compulsive liar, egocentric Jesse Thompson?” “What? He is one of my best friends . . .” She shuffled from one foot to the other. “And he is as reliable and trustworthy as a jackal. I can’t believe YOU.” Adley threw her hands in the air, pacing back and forth as a habit to calm herself. “You believe that good for nothing finks over me, your flesh and blood?” “Blood isn’t always thicker than water.” “That’s your comeback?” Adley retorted in disbelief. “You know, if I didn’t know you for the bright and intelligent woman you are, I would have said you are making some dumb remarks.” From Bronwyn’s silence, Adley grabbed the opportunity to clear up any more confusion. “We have been through so much together. I was there when you lost your first tooth. You were there for me when I broke my leg and needed help to get up from the couch and when I had to take a shower. When our parents died in that plane crash, we only had each other to lean on. I was there when you cried yourself to sleep every night and when you woke up screaming from bad nightmares. It has been you and me for the longest time. We don’t have anyone else but the two of us, so why would you want to risk our relationship making these very hurtful and absurd assumptions?” “I don’t know. I’m sorry, okay. I don’t know what came over me. I know you would never hurt me that way. I guess Jesse got into my head and when he showed me those pictures, I lost it.” “What pictures?” “It’s nothing. Let’s forget about it. I’m sorry I accused you . . .” “What pictures, Bronwyn?” Adley insisted. “It’s truly nothing. He was at a club the other night and saw you and Theo dancing together. And I didn’t believe him at first when he told me, but then with the picture and all . . .” “Where are the pictures?” “On my phone.” “Can I see it?” Bronwyn turned around, made her way to the living room where she reached over the armchair to pick up her phone laying on the sofa. She scrolled through her library until she found what she was looking for and gave the phone to Adley. A frown appeared between Adley’s face as she zoomed in and out of the picture. “Bronwyn, how closely did you look at this photo?” “Uhm, I don’t know. Close enough to see you with your arms around my fiancé.” She replied with a little bite. “That’s not Theo.” Adley flipped the phone around for Bronwyn to look at the picture again. “What do you mean, ‘that’s not Theo’?” “Exactly what I’m saying.” “But that is you.” “Yes, and that is Dario.” She pointed to the guy in the picture. “Oh.” Bronwyn breathed. “Which brings me to my next point; why the hell would I cheat on my husband with your fiancé?” “This makes so much more sense.” Bronwyn mumbled to herself, barely acknowledging Adley’s statement. “Bronwyn!” “What?” She jumped at the mention of her name. “It’s not bad enough that you think I am having an affair with Theo, but you think I’m cheating on Dario.” “No, that’s not what I meant at all.” Bronwyn realized her mistake. “I’m sorry, Ads. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve been so stressed at work and planning the wedding has been so overwhelming.” She slumped onto the sofa with her head falling into her hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “You have enough on your plate as it is. I didn’t want to bother you with my stuff.” “I don’t mind helping you out. You know I would do anything for you.” “I know, and that’s what makes it so hard for me. You have always been there when I needed you; always put my needs before yours and it’s not fair to you. I don’t want to be a burden anymore.” “You are not a burden. I want to help you and I like it to be needed. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you were a burden.” “No, you haven’t. It’s me. I’m the terrible person.” “You are not terrible and I forgive you for believing your ‘friend’ over me.” “Adley, I need to tell you something and I don’t think you will ever forgive me for it.” Bronwyn’s face sunk as she stared into Adley’s face. “It can’t be as bad as what just happened.” When Bronwyn said nothing, Adley went to sit next to her, placing her hand over hers. “Bee, you’re scaring me. What is it?” “Ads, I don’t know how to tell you. It was never meant to go this far. I . . .” The front door opening interrupted her confession. “Hey, babe.” The male voice filled the room. “Shit.” Bronwyn’s eyes widened as she scrambled to her feet. “Adley won’t be home till late so I got us some dinner and wine and thought we could take a bubble bath . . .” Dario stepped into the living room and stopped in his tracks when he saw Adley standing next to Bronwyn. “Adley . . . What are . . . I thought you were out with friends.” Shock, anxiousness and guilt swept across his face. “Bronwyn texted me so I came here first.” Adley slowly articulated looking from one to the other in confusion. “But it seems I am . . .” Her eyes moved between the two of them as realization sunk in. “It seems,” she started again, “I am interrupting something.” “Adley, this is not what it looks like.” Bronwyn stepped toward her, but she recoiled in betrayal. “No. Don’t you dare! You have been bad mouthing me and accusing ME of sleeping with Theo when YOU are the one who has been sleeping with MY husband. You have been feeling so guilty for what you have been doing to me behind my back, that you thought, why not make me the bad person so you don’t have to feel so terrible about what you are doing yourself.” “Adley.” Dario voiced. “Don’t you even.” She pointed an accusing finger his way before turning back to Bronwyn. “You don’t care about me or my feelings. You are the dirty little secret and obviously, blood means nothing to you.” “I’m sorry.” Bronwyn apologized through sobs. “Don’t even bother. I can forgive many things, but this, this . . .” she shook her head in disbelief and disappointment. “I hope you are happy together because you just lost the only family member you have left. “Adley, please don’t walk away. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. It just happened.” Bronwyn wailed after her as she brushed past Dario to the front door. “I’m sorry, Ads,” Bronwyn whispered collapsing into Dario’s arms as she heard the front door closed. “I’m sorry . . .”


I was nervous. My hands kept tensing up and my legs would go cold. This was my first job interview and I needed this job. I needed the money. I sat there for 15 minutes when a girl around my age, walked in and sat in the chair next to me. She had brown curly hair and was holding a black folder just like mine. She looked over at me and smiled, I simply nodded my head. “Are you here for the job interview too?” “Yes”. “This is my first job interview, I thought I would be nervous but i actually feel relaxed”. I just nodded. “My name is Jackie, by the way”.  	“Alexander”. A lady with long dark hair walked out and called for the girl. “Well then Alexander, wish me luck”. I saw the girl walk away as I sat in my chair, thinking about how I have never met a girl like her. I waited for about 20 minutes until I saw Jackie and the Lady walk out. “We’ll give you a call when we make our decision”. “Okay, Thank you very much”. “Mr. McClain, Mr.Jefferson will see you now”. I stood up from my chair and walked over to the door. Jackie tapped my shoulder and smiled at me. “Goodluck Alex”. I nodded and followed the lady to the interview. As I was walking to Mr. Jefferson’s office I thought about how I suddenly don't feel nervous anymore. It's like all the anxious and nervous feeling left my body out of nowhere. My hands weren’t tense anymore and I didn’t feel like I was going to vomit anymore. “Just wait here for a bit, Mr. Jefferson needed a couple of minutes to set up again for another interview”. I nodded and sat in the chair outside Mr. Jefferson’s office. As i sat there, i tried to think about all the reasons that could have made me calm down. The only thing that i could think of is Jackie. “Mr. McClain, Mr. Jefferson is ready to see you”. I nodded and walked into the large office. The office was grey and gloomy. I sat in the chair right in front of Mr. Jefferson’s desk. He looked at me and gave me a small smile. He stood up and offered me a hand shake. I took his offer and shook his hand. “So Mr. McClain, what type of job are you looking for in this facility”. “I was interested in having a profession in data work and i noticed that there was an opening in this position”.

Mr. Jefferson nodded and wrote what I said down. “What are you three best qualities?”. “I am hardworking, I am focused, and I can type on a computer”. Mr. Jefferson nodded and continued to write what I said on the sheet of paper on his desk. Mr. Jefferson continued to ask me questions for about 20 minutes until he stood up. “Alright Mr. McClain, I think I have the information I need to make my decision. I will give you a call when my decision is made”. “Okay thank you very much sir”. Mr. Jefferson offered me another handshake and I accepted and shook his hand. “I have to say Mr. McClain, your resume is very impressive. I only knew very few people who already knew how to type”. “It's the 70’s, the world is continuing to evolve, I suppose we need to evolve as well”. Mr. Jefferson chuckled and nodded his head. “I suppose we do need to evolve Mr. McClain”. Mr. Jefferson led me to the way out. When I got outside, it started to rain. I ran to my car and started the engine. I drove out of the parking lot and made my way to the stoplight. The stoplight changed to red, I stopped and looked over to my right. I saw a girl waiting at the bus stop for a bus. I looked closer and realized it was Jackie. She was standing there in the rain with no umbrella. The light turned green and I made a U-turn. I pulled up near the bus stop and rolled down my window.

“Hey do you need a ride?” “Oh hello Alexander, don’t worry I'm fine”. “Are you sure, I don’t think the bus is coming anytime soon and your pouring wet”. “No im fine, don't worry, thanks for the offer”. “You are going to get sick if you stay out there in the rain”. Jackie looked like she was debating trying to get in, but after a very short moment the look on her face implied that she gave in and decided to get in the car. She got in the car and told me where she lived at, It wasn’t very far away from where I lived. The drive there was nice, we talked and got know more about each other, It went on like that for about 7 minutes. I parked in front of her house when we got there. “Thank you so much, I could never know how to repay you”. “Don’t worry about”. Jackie grabbed her stuff and opened the door.

“Wait, Would you like to hangout another time”. Jackie smiled and nodded. “Sure, I would like to hang out with you. Here’s my number so that we can call each other and set up a date and other stuff”. She wrote down her number on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

“See you around Alexander, and thanks again for the ride to my house”. A few days passed by and I finally decided to call Jackie. I called her and we set up everything we needed to meet up again. After our first date, we ended up going on many other dates. On each date, I learned more and more about Jackie. She has lived a pretty crazy life. After our seventh date, i finally got the courage to ask her to be my girlfriend. We dated for seven more years and eventually got married. I always think about how the most important person in life came into my life at a sucky waiting room. I fell in love for the first time because of a sucky interview.


Every year people make resolutions for the New Year that they plan to carry out but never do. Things that may just be out of their reach or things that get sidelined by other obligations. They say to themselves that next year will be the year that they finally follow through and that tends to be pushed back as time goes on. Whether it be something like losing weight or saving money instead of spending it all. New Year’s resolutions are hard to accomplish.

For several years Greta had put off applying for college thinking she was not good enough or that she never pulled down good enough grades in high school to be admitted. On her way to work, every day at the small bookstore named Carol’s books after the owner’s late grandmother, she saw the campus that she one day wanted to attend. Two days after New Year’s Day in 2005, she once again passed by that campus. Knowing that this was the year that she would get up the nerves to actually apply.

The University of York was a charming school, one that she had grown up by all of her life. York itself was also charming, so much so that she couldn’t conceive of living anywhere else. Although there were other universities she could apply to, she had her heart set on the University of York. A place where many of her friends had attended just after secondary school. Finally, she felt like she couldn’t put it off any longer.

As she walked dutifully two miles from her small family home cottage, she told herself that she would apply for the fall term. Knowing that she could save money by living with her parents and two older sisters. During her four years of working at the bookstore, she saved up some of her earnings to help her follow her dream of becoming a teacher. So that she could use her love of literature to teach. This was a dream that she had had for years.

After her shift that day, she rushed home to tell her mother that she decided that this year was the year. At first, her mother rolled her eyes and told her that this is what she always said. Greta took the time to convince her of her drive to apply. Her father, Henry was a professor at the university and had been trying to encourage her to go through with applying ever since she got her diploma five years prior. He knew she was scared of rejection but he still believed in her.

After dinner that evening and after Greta had expressed that she was motivated to apply this time. Her father told her that he would do whatever he could to prepare her for the entrance exam. Although Greta was a smart woman, her grades could have been better. Never the less, she knew she could test in if she studied hard. The next day at the bookstore, she gathered up a few books that would help her on the entrance exam.

Once she got home and cracked open a book about mathematics, her worst subject in school. She came to realize how hard it truly was going to be for her. Her father offered to help her with it. Every night she studied the grueling subjects, the English ones being the easiest. She had read every book back in secondary school that was required and spent time reading for pleasure. Her knowledge of historical writing was astounding and contemporary works were her strong point. It was the other subjects that she struggled with and she needed all the help she could get.

After studying for months the day of the exam came. She showed up almost shaking with nervousness and proceeded to sit down to be handed the entrance exam. The first section was mathematics and although it took her the longest, she felt that she had done well. Next was the section on history, one that she knew very well and completed faster than the math section. After that was the science section and although this was something that she had struggled with before, the studying she did had prepared her well. Lastly, she came to the literature section and went through that quickly, leaving her five minutes before the end of the allotted time.

Greta waited impatiently for a few weeks hoping that she did well enough to get into the university. Her parents and the bookstore owner encouraged her, reminding her that she had taken the first step towards her dream. That nothing would stand in her way. Greta felt good about the fact that she had carried out her resolution of applying for university so far and hoped that she would be able to make it all the way. Teaching is all she ever wanted to do and as the release of the tests, results grew near she was ripe with anticipation.

Finally, Greta was sent the results of her entrance exam and her scores were even greater than she expected. All of her studying paid off and her parents were so proud of her. Next came the application process, something that her father assisted her with. She had to gather all of the information needed for the application and was able to fill it out in a matter of days. She sent it off hoping that she would be admitted. If she were to be denied entrance, she didn’t know what she would do.

After careful consideration, Greta got an acceptance letter and was given instructions on how to sign up for classes. She was also given an overview of the entire pathway to fulfilling the requirements for her degree. However, Greta knew that graduation from York University would not be the end of the road. For she would have to go on to get her master’s degree as well and she vowed that nothing would stand in her way.

As soon as she got the news her friends and family planned a surprise party to celebrate her achievement. After work one day, she came home to find that the lights were off in the house. As soon as she walked through the door, she heard the words, “surprise.” She was so happily surprised that she was given so much praise after waiting years to apply to the university. Greta really felt that she could do this and knew after celebrating with her family and friends that she had the love and support she needed to see through her dream. The road to earning her degrees was going to be a long journey but she was not discouraged. She had finally made one of her New Year’s resolutions come true.


He grabbed a ghost pepper, ate it in one bite. Soft and sweet with a slight bite at first, he chewed it and quickly swallowed. He stared at the other man in his eyes. He made no move. The other man grabbed another ghost and jammed it into his own mouth; they stared as the other man chewed. A crowd had gathered around them and watched in fascination and silence. Something was wrong, the heat was beginning to warm up his mouth, the pain spread through his tongue like water flowing across a dry plain. The water quickly turned to molten lead and his tongue was quickly engulfed in flames. Still he did not move. He could feel his face getting hot now. It felt like needles were stabbing him in the gums, on his tongue, in his throat. Every square inch of his mouth burned. The other man stared at him. His teeth were clenched. The other man’s face became red and small twitches appeared on the man’s jaw. His nostrils flared. Then he realized his own nostrils were flared, open like parachutes, as if he could will the heat through his nostrils like a dragon. His eyes watered. He stared at the other man with eyes full of drops and furrowed his brow. The other man did the same. They leaned in until their noses were only a few inches apart. A tear fell down his face, and the other man’s eyes followed it down his face, until the other man's own eyes sprung a leak. He looked at the other man’s tear. He couldn’t help but blink hard and a few tears rolled down his face. The other man looked and pointed. He pointed at the other man’s tear. Suddenly the other man also blinked a heavy blink and tears flowed freely down his cheeks. The other man was still pointing at his face. The other man snorted. He snorted as well. The other man chuckled and pointed at his own tears and then back at his. He chuckled and pointed at the other man’s face. They stood there with dumb grins, tears streaming down their red faces, each with a finger held lazily up at the other's grimace. At once they both broke out in laughter, pointing at the other man's stupid face. Both in excruciating pain for reasons that were now long in the past and unknown. They doubled down in laughter and then began choking. Their mouths were both furnaces of pain and suffering and hate. They clasped hands as they screamed out in pain together. He looked around, “Where’s the fucking MILK?!” Someone passed him a gallon. He ripped off the cap with his teeth and chugged. His hands shook as the sweet white nectar blessed his tongue and spilled out onto his jaw and dripped down his chin. The other man grabbed his arm and yelled out, “you son of a bitch!” He held out the gallon to the other man who let go of his hand and the other man grabbed the milk gallon with both hands and held it an inch above his head. He tilted his head back and opened his mouth and the milk waterfalled into his hellscape of a mouth. He let out a moan as the milk spilled around his face. “Ahhh.” By this time his own mouth caught fire again, and he extended his hand to receive the milk jug back from the other man. The other man wagged his finger and drank more. His tongue burned. His entire head burned. He snatched the other man’s arm and the other man looked at him. He furrowed his brow. The other man did the same. The milk jug hit the floor as they squared up one more time.


Eliza lay awake in bed. She couldn’t fall asleep. Tomorrow was her Silencing ceremony, and she was beyond excited, but, well, also nervous. Once she returned from the clinic, she would have lost the power of speech. Of course, it was partially symbolic, she would still be able to communicate through writing and typing, obviously. And she would still go to school, become educated and have a career- in fact her occupation profile was finalized- she would become a software engineer, and as of next term, she would be studying programming almost exclusively. Occupational profiles had to be finalized before the Silencing, in case there were women with exceptional singing voices who would be allowed to keep their vocal chords and join the entertainment industry. All the others were Silenced. Today had been full of celebrations and joy. Her mom and older sisters had spent months planning it. She had the most beautiful dress – everybody had been dressed beautifully, as a matter of fact, the food had been amazing, and a special group of Singers had been hired for live entertainment. It had been a truly incredible experience. What with Dad’s high-paid job as Teacher, money had never been an issue for them. Eliza had wanted to become a Teacher, like her Dad. She had grown up watching him prepare lesson plans, grade assignments with his thick chunky red pens, discussing course content and pedagogy with his colleagues loudly and passionately. She was enthralled by it all and knew, as indeed her Dad told her, there was actually nothing more noble and worthwhile than teaching and shaping the mind of the young. No wonder only men were entrusted to be Teachers. She remembered her mom laughing until the tears ran down her face when she had first mentioned wanting to become like Teacher “Just like Daddy”. Then mom had gathered her in her arms and sobbed as if her heart had broken. Eliza was told about the Silencing a short while after that. She was ready for it. She understood why it was necessary. Dad had explained it all carefully: the history, the benefits to society, the evolution from a symbolic tattoo along the throat, to an actual, painless clinical procedure which disabled the vocal chords of women permanently. She was lucky she had a Teacher Dad who took the time to explain things so beautifully to her- others would usually just get an official brochure with the date and time of their Silencing appointment, although schools sometimes included educational material on Silencing. However, as Dad said, it was very important that it was taught correctly, with proper context, otherwise it wouldn’t be understood properly. That’s why Teaching was such an important job. It didn’t used to be like that, in the bad old days, when women jabbered, chattered, gossiped, wheedled, manipulated men and told stories and yammered and protested and wanted this and that and the other- society had been always in chaos then. Eliza was so happy she lived now, and not in those old days.


Soup A butterfly flew right into Nancy’s pot of roast beef soup. Its wings instantly dissolved into slime of membranes. The pigments of the wings could be seen flowing into the murky soup. Unaware of the tragedy, Nancy picked up a ladle and gave the soup one last stir before turning down the heat. She put the ladle right on top of the butterfly carcass. The metal crushed down on the butterfly remaining body and partially ruptured it, releasing yellow guts and other liquefied organs. After finished stirring, she tasted the soup with a clean spoon. She scooped up the surface of the soup bringing up carrots, peas, and a piece of celery. Nancy put the hot spoon close to her mouth and gently blew on it to cool down. The soup tasted as she had hoped. That night, the family was taking dinner together. Nancy hd an uneasy feeling. But the delight of the soup kept her destructed. She took a bite of another piece of celery and unlike during the preparation, it was still quite crispy and aromatic. Now she wondered why the piece she had tasted earlier was soft, juicy and bitter.