"I want to throw a mud pie at Valentine's Day!" "Yes, that's me talking. I won't reveal my name. Just think of me as the "Little Red-Haired Girl" that Charlie Brown stares at from across the school yard. He drives me crazy with his wishy-washy personality. Why doesn't he just come over and say "Hi" to me? He is always looking down at the ground. He is gloomy and I absolutely refuse to send him a Valentine's Day card EVER! I won't give my name because I am adored by the ever dreamy-eyed, sickly-sweet Charlie Brown. I will have none of that because boys are "yucky" and especially Charlie Brown is "sickly-sweet". I am a true Anti-Valentine Heart! I am also a cartoonish kind of girl, so call me "Anti-Sweet". Anything but sickly sweet please! I am starting my own Anti-Valentine Conversation Heart Stand at school to protest this Valentine's Day nonsense. Conversation hearts are small heart-shaped candies in pastel colors that have silly messages on them. They taste as sickly sweet as they sound. I want to make my own version. Instead of sweet, why not sour? Just like I am feeling. Sour and green with envy. Let's throw a mud pie on all that sweet milk toast type of fluff and start saying what we really are thinking about Valentine's Day? First of all, I will need a staff to help me carry out a successful Anti-Valentine's Day Conversation Heart. We will have a "think tank" to come up with some real doozies! My "staff" consists of Schroeder, Pig Pen, Sally, Violet, Linus, Peppermint Patty, Marcie, Lucy and Franklin. The first meeting is this afternoon. We will meet at the bleachers after school I figure we have at least an hour to coordinate our objective: to make shocking Anti-Valentine's Day Conversation Hearts. We can also decide on a price. My staff files into the gym. "Okay "think tank" give me some ideas!" Pig Pen: My heart will say, "Eat dirt" Sally: How about, "You are ugly" Violet: I like, "You stink" Schroeder: My heart will say, "Never you" Linus, giggling: "Put a bag over your face" Peppermint Patty: I will simply say, "You are my Anti Valentine" Marcie: "I hate you" Lucy: "Sour puss" Franklin: "Mama's Boy" "Great ideas. Can you describe what flavors you want the hearts to be? Keep in mind that we want to put people off, so use your imagination and be so Anti-Sweet and as ghoulish as you want! Have fun with it!" Pig Pen: "How about Brussels Sprouts? My Mom always makes me clean my plate. Yuck!" Sally: "Sour" Violet: "Hot Sauce" Schroeder: "Liver" Linus: "Farts?" Everyone laughed at Linus, but they all rejected that one. "Linus, that is too far out. We will get someone really sick if we attempt that one." "Okay, okay. How about "Pickle?" "Much better." Peppermint Patty: "Bologna" Lucy: "Fireballs" Marcie: "Tomato" Franklin: "Goulash?" "Let's nix the goulash, Franklin." Franklin: "Okay, how about corn on the cob?" Little Red-Haired Girl: "Not bad." Okay, we have a good idea of the messages and the flavors. Now where can we sell our Anti-Valentine's Day Conversation Hearts. We can sell them in front of the school. We can ask for permission but leave out the part where it is an Anti-Valentine's Day Conversation Hearts. What they don't know won't hurt them. I am sure they will find out soon enough. Kids have a way of ratting us out fast. "Let's all put our money together and go to the art supply store and buy some poster board and markers so we can advertise our mutual contempt for Valentine's Day Sickly Sweet Message. We now have our own stand. We can call it "Anti-Valentine's Day Conversations!" That will be a surprise, especially when they taste our concoctions!" The whole group laughs. "We must keep this to ourselves for now. It will spoil the surprise for those sickly sweet lovers of Valentine's Day. "Oh how I want to throw a mud pie at those dreamy-eyed fools!" Sally: "Calm down, you are overreacting. It's just a day, like any other day. You are letting this Hallmark holiday get to you just like Charlie Brown. Besides, Charlie Brown is my brother!", Sally remarks. Little Red-Haired Girl: "Okay, I'll try to remain calm." ------------------------------------- A few weeks later Little Red-Hair Girl: We set up a few tables and put up our Anti-Valentine's Day posters all over the school. We kept quiet. We didn't even tell our parents or siblings! We arranged our Anti-Valentine's Day Conversation Hearts by Color and degree of remarks. The price of the hearts are ten for a dollar. Don't want to make it too much or it might just backfire on us. "Don't give out samples because it will destroy our message for Anti-Valentines Day. Just sell, sell, sell. Got it?" "Got it?" Marcie and Lucy sold ten bags of hearts. Linus sold one bag. Pig Pen and Schroeder sold the most, ten bags. Violet sold two bags. Peppermint Patty sold four bags. About a half hour later, there was one really weird looking kid waiting in line and approaching the Anti-Valentine table. He seems almost like a comic book character. Charlie Brown: "I love Valentine's Day so very much. I am sickly-sweet about this day. It comes in the middle of winter and Valentine's Day brightens my hope for a new love life. Maybe, just maybe, the Little Red-Haired Girl will say "Hi" to me." Little Red-Haired Girl: "Oh brother, Charlie Brown, will you go away! Charlie Brown: "Not until I try one of these delicious new Valentine's Day Conversation Hearts. It must be delicious because the line is so very long. I will close my eyes and pick the one my finger lands on." Charlie Brown's finger lands on the heart that says, "Put a bag over your face." Charlie Brown: "I demand my money back!" Little Red-Haired Girl: "Sorry, no returns and no refunds. Didn't you read our sign? "Happy Anti-Valentine's Day, you sickly sweet fool!", said a mysterious sweet and sour kind of voice that seemed rather familiar to Charlie Brown. The staff was amused and have been watching this exchange for about ten minutes and wanted to see how it would all unfold." The voice behind the remark is a girl, rather cartoonish looking, almost like a comic strip character, she has red hair, which she was always fussing with and a smart mouth. She thinks highly of herself and she definitely hates Valentine's Day. She gets annoyed with her customer, Charlie Brown for being so sickly sweet and laughs at him when he reads his candy heart message but the worst part was when he remarked about the taste of the heart. "I know that voice.", Charlie Brown remarked "This heart is pickle flavor!", Charlie Brown yells. Charlie Brown: "I'm going to sue you all for your Anti-Valentine's Day Conversation Heart disappointment. I know that voice! It's you Little Red-Hair Girl. I don't even know your real name. You know I have watched you from the other side of the school yard all year. You never say "Hi" to me. Nothing! My eyes are open now and I will put a bag over my face and walk away." The Little Red-Haired Girl: "I don't want to tell you my name. Why should I?" Charlie Brown: "You are busted. I am going to the Principal's Office NOW!" Little Red-Haired Girl: "No!, Don't do that, Charlie Brown! I will cry and ruin my makeup and the texture of my naturally curly red hair! The Principal doesn't care what we do here at our Anti-Valentine stand because because he is a pickle puss!" Charlie Brown starts to laugh. He reaches over and takes a bag of Anti-Valentine hearts and swallows the whole bag. He puts his hand over his mouth and dashes to the restroom where he gets sick. I think we need to shut down our Anti-Valentine's Day stand now before we get into any real trouble. Charlie Brown is sick in the bathroom and who knows who else got sick. We don't need any more collateral damages. We can't afford a lawyer. It was fun while it lasted but Valentine's Day is over. Little Red-Haired Girl: "Happy Anti-Valentine's Day, we had fun throwing a mud pie in the eye of you sickly sweet Valentines!"


Once upon a time there was a dog. He was born in the time of plenty, in days of sunshine and warmth, and he grew from puppyhood towards full growth in happy barking and playful fellowship with his litter mates under the loving and watchful care of his elders.

But as the days passed, he became aware of an emptiness inside him. And gradually the pack saw that while he has space inside him big enough to carry a heart the size of a mountain,his own heart was small. It was no smaller than most dogs carried, but too small for the space allotted him. Although no one knew why this was, it was agreed that he of all the dogs must be intended for great deeds requiring a heart of mountainous proportions. So he must find a way to grow his heart to size.

And slowly, time moved from the days of plenty to the time of tides. Rumors of wild winds and high seas never seen before began to circulate. And soon shadows played across the days of sun.

And the pack knew that a time was coming when a special guide and leader would be needed . And the elders gathered and determined that the dog with space inside him for a heart the size of a mountain must be the one and he was sent out to live with people in the land of houses in the hope that there his heart would grow.

So the dog came to a house in a town by the sea. And the people in the house loved him, their own hearts swelling each time they saw the dog. And they made him a bed beneath the roof, with a glass window above his bed, which he could see through to the sky. And the dog loved the people too. But still his heart could not fill the space inside him.

One day, as the dog lay on his bed, he heard a sound above him. The dog looked up. There, above him, through the glass, he saw two feet, yellow, webbed, self satisfied, well planted feet and above them a white, soft rump. He looked away.  A gull. No more than a gull , and the dog, as were his humans, was dismissive of gulls. But as he did, he heard the call; soft, like a child’s call, faintly Russian, like the cry of a Siamese cat. Insistent and rising in pitch it clutched and held him tight, and he felt himself rising, lifted through the room and the glass above him and out into the glowing air beyond . He was alarmed at first, bed and bowl were below, and his rugs and comforters, but he was powerless to resist the upward pull and soon he found himself ecstatic; ears pulled back, tail extended, paws no longer paddling but stretching out like wings into the rosy future. Looking around the dog saw gulls around him, swooping, diving, soaring - calling him on. People walked below him, two dimensional, unseeing, unobserving, used, he supposed, to seagulls in the skies above them. And now the dog saw that the white and yellow birds were shedding their feathers - feet of gold, now clawed not webbed, stretching back below a thrashing tail, their beaks curving into golden scimitars.

And on they flew - beyond the rooves of the peoples’ towns to the seas; wild, grey, foaming into gold topped blue. The waves reached up for them, almost touching, almost tearing them down from the weightless sky. But up they rose, leaving the grasping fingers of the spray, and soaring on until , finally, they reached land, a dry and safe land, beyond. And the birds, that had been birds, the winged creatures that surrounded him and that had brought him with them to this place, now seemed to settle and he felt his body lower, quite gently, into soft, green landings. He looked around. There, in a trough, half covered in leaves - red and crisp and pointed on the gound - he saw a gleam. More than a twinkle or a sparkle, it was a strong metallic gleam that attracted him, as might in his other self, a bone. He approached it, sniffed and pounced. And suddenly he knew. It was his grail, he realised, his gift, his own. And seizing it in his mouth, he swallowed it. Immediately it swelled. And his heart grew to the size of a mountain inside him. And he was mightier, more himself than before. He didn’t remember the return. But there he was at last, on his bed, in his people’s house, looking upwards through the glass at yellow feet. Webbed feet. But the dog knew then that the birds above him were much more than gulls. They were the guides appointed for him in his quest and they would be the guardians, in the times of shadow, not only for the people, although they were feared and mistrusted by them, but also for his alter-pack, the dogs. And so, with his heart now as big as a mountain, and with the guardians around him, the dog left the people in the house by the sea, an avatar in place to comfort them, and went back to his own pack. The shadows had spread there and the seas were wilder, and the pups were growing now, not in a time of happy barking but through whines of fear. So, the dog with the heart the size of a mountain flew through the shadow with his cohort of guardians. And the golden claws tore into the shadows. And the wild tails thrashed at the waves till they whimpered and subsided into foam. And the scimitar beaks opened wide to swallow the winds. And the days of sunshine

and the days of plenty were returned to the pack . And the pack, with the dog with the heart the size of a mountain, lived out their days in a new time of plenty, in days of sunshine and warmth and happy barking.


The accident occurred three weeks after my 22nd birthday and two days before I left home for my new job in Boston. I had been out with the boys celebrating - after all - I was the first person from my town to make it to celebrity status …well, almost. I had been hired as an intern reporter with WCVB Channel 5, the first step in my dream to be the next Anderson Cooper. Around 8PM that Thursday, Jimmy, Sean, Michael and I met up at Stu’s Pub and Pool House to shoot a few games, and of course, have a few shots as well. I didn’t have that much to drink; at least, I don’t think I did. A couple beers and a Jack or two in between …I’d handled worse. In truth the guys would never have let me leave if they thought I’d been too drunk to drive. Yet somewhere along the fifteen miles of highway between the pubhouse and home I’d had apparently drifted off to sleep, and dad’s Ram smashed into a giant old sycamore. I did make it onto the WCVB news the next day, a small voiceover piece about how a promising new intern lost his life in a road traffic accident. I watched the news on the TV at home, standing next to my distraught father who was slumped on his favorite armchair in the living room. Mom was in the bedroom upstairs, she had eventually cried herself to sleep. A small handful of relatives were in the house, and so were the guys. Of course, no one could see me. I mean, I was dead. Well, at least my body had died. I don’t know what this was. The last thing I remember after the accident was sitting on my own bed. I spent a frantic and crazy few minutes trying to speak to my parents and wondering why they were acting like I wasn’t there. Even when Deputy Bradford came to the house to tell them about the accident I still thought it was all a joke, a going-away prank. Until mom broke down. You couldn’t fake that kind of pain. My body was buried on Saturday morning. I didn’t see the funeral, because for some reason I couldn’t leave the house. But later that evening I saw the light for the first time. I was just trudging to the kitchen to eavesdrop on my parents when I caught a glare in my peripheral vision. It was covering the front door. I knew exactly what it was, it was there for me. I felt the pull, the yearning as it seemed to call out to me. I knew there was peace in that light, but stubbornly I refused to go. I just could not bear to leave my parents. In the end, they left me. About two months after the accident my parents sold the house and moved out. My mother was having a hard time coping with my death, and was suffering terrible mental anguish. I tried on several occasions to contact them, but it was useless, and as frustrating as it was to be confined to the house I resisted the light on two other occasions. However, each time it reappeared there seemed to be something different about it, it seemed dimmer somehow, and the time in between when it appeared grew longer. The worst day was watching them move out. I cried, I yelled and tried to touch them, but they were oblivious to my existence – whatever strange existence this was. For a long time after I just lay on the bare living room floor, praying for the light to appear. But the light did not come. I drifted in and out of darkness, and time passed, how much time I had no idea, and then one day, the front door opened. My first thought was that an intruder was trying to get in, until I remembered. Until it all came painfully back. The accident. The funeral. My parents leaving. “This place will need some cleaning.” It was a woman’s voice. I jumped up as they came through the front door. I was angry. Who were these intruders, and how dare they come into my house? As I grew angrier the small chandelier started to vibrate. Then I saw her. She was petite but with a firmness of body that came from dedicated workouts. She could not be more than five feet two inches tall, with black hair, neatly pulled back falling just above her waist. She had a smile that made her brown eyes twinkle, and crow’s feet which meant that she used that smile quite a lot. He lips were full, and pink despite the fact that she wore no lipstick, and hardly any make up at all. Her perfume was subtle, and I could even catch a whiff of the shampoo in her hair. Funny how even now I retained some of these senses. She looked around and for a moment I could have sworn she looked right at me, locked eyes with mine, and then the moment was gone, and her eyes drifted over the now dusty, empty living room. She glanced up at the chandelier, which was still shaking slightly, shrugged and made way for the man behind her. He was about half a foot taller than she was, fit looking and well dressed. He wore spectacles and sported short brown hair. He was dragging a suitcase behind him, and further back I could see guys bustling around the moving truck that was parked in the front yard. “Oh shit,” I thought, ‘just flipping great!” Their names were Jessie Parker and Ryan Steadman. They were engaged and Ryan had just gotten a job as head of the local bank. It seems three months had passed while I ‘lay’ on the living room floor, and in that time they had purchased the house. I had no idea why I was still here, and it was with regret and some fear that I realised the light had not appeared for some time. Did I miss my chance I wondered, and if I did, what would become of me now. I still could not leave the house, there was an invisible barrier at every opening, but something had changed. In the six months or so since the accident, particularly after my three month ‘sleep’, I realised that I could now interact with the living world, although very subtlety, and only with extreme effort. There were times when I stared intently at Jessie and she’d look up, look in my direction, and then shrug it off. Jessie. It didn’t take much for me to fall in love with Jessie. She was an artist and set up her studio in my old bedroom. I’d spend hours watching her paint, and I’d smile when she’d make silly jokes with herself. She enjoyed listening to music from people like Elton John, Rod Stewart or Phil Collins when she painted, and she always sang along and danced. She loved a cup of hot vanilla latte, and she always smelled liked flowers and paint. She was a romantic and would often recite pieces of her favorite poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning: *“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.* *I love thee to the depth and breadth and height* *My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight…”* But then there were the other times. The times I’d cringe when I heard them making love. They seemed content. Ryan turned out to be a bit of a workaholic and was more interested in Bloomberg than Bacciarelli. Jessie spent long hours on her paintings, and I spent long hours in there with her. Sometime after they moved in a friend of hers from Boston came down for the weekend. After dinner Ryan remained downstairs watching TV, while Jessie and Lauren lounged in her studio drinking red wine and gossiping. At one point I heard Jessie say, “You know something Lauren, you’ll probably think I’m crazy, but sometimes when I’m up here I could swear someone else is in here with me.” Of course Lauren just laughed and poured them both some more wine. “I think this small town vibe is getting the better of you hun, I warned you about watching all those ghost hunting shows.” Jessie laughed in response, “I know it sounds silly, but it feels so real. The thing is that although it makes me nervous, I never feel threatened, never scared you know. Just that sensation that someone is there. I dunno, it probably is just the new house vibe.” They talked for a while longer reminiscing about Boston days and I drifted off again, like I often do. Suddenly I was jolted awake by a powerful humming sound. I was still in Jessie’s studio and it had to be late because all had gone quiet, all except for that throbbing, crackling sound coming from downstairs. I rushed down to find that the light had come back, finally, but it was different. It was not by the front door, this time it was covering the door leading to the basement. It was shimmering now and there appeared to be small lightning bolts around the edges. The middle seemed darker somehow and I swore I could make out a shape in it; a dark shape of something staring out at me. I started to walk toward the light when something told me to stop. I was just meters away from it when I heard the growl, low and guttural. It came from the light and I realised that this was not what I had seen before. This was something else. I panicked and tried walking away, but I felt a strong magnetic pull, pulling me toward the tainted light, toward that growl. Oh God, I can’t get away, I screamed and fought with all my might. Three meters, two and I saw a black hand slowly start to emerge, reaching for me, sharp claws on the end…. “Who is there? Is there someone there?” The light disappeared. It was Jessie. She stood at the top of the stairs staring down. She held a baseball bat in one hand – I don’t know whether that made her brave or crazy – but she was willing to take on whoever she thought might be in her house. I smiled despite the terror of moments before. Something had awoken her. “What the hell is going on babe?” It was a groggy looking Ryan, still rubbing his eyes, “its two a.m.” “I swore I heard someone down here Ryan. I-I think someone’s in the house.” To his credit Ryan took the bat from her, moved her behind him and slowly descended. Of course, he found nothing, and 30 minutes later they were both back in their bedroom, my parent’s old room and one that I could never bring myself to enter. My mind soon drifted back to what had just happened and a feeling of terror fell over me. Was I paying for ignoring the light? Did I miss my chance to go to what felt like a better place? And did that now make me fair game for whatever else inhabits this afterlife? The thoughts were terrifying, too much to bear, and I slumped to the floor head in my hands. I had Jessie to thank for my, my what? Reprieve? Because I feared that whatever it was, was going to come again. The next day, or maybe it was the next week - time passed differently for me - I was in Jessie’s studio once more. She was working on a landscape covering a huge canvas some five feet tall and maybe four feet across. Suddenly she stopped. “I know you’re there you know, despite what Lauren might say.” She turned and looked almost right at me. “If you are there, then can you let me know? Can you speak? Can you move something, or even touch me?” I was stunned and for a moment did not know what to do. She felt me. Felt my presence. “Or maybe I am going a little crazy after all,’ she sighed, and the way she pouted made my spectral heart skip a beat. “I’m here. I’m HERE!” I shouted, to no avail. I focused hard on the brushes in front of here. “Move dammit!” I came up to her side and with every ounce of effort pushed at the brushes, until finally ….I sat back exhausted. I couldn’t do it. I had never felt such disappointment, such hurt. I had girlfriends before, but never serious relationships. What I felt for Jessie these last few weeks I had never felt before. “I’m losing my mind,” I heard her whisper and a small tear rolled down the left side of her face. My heart broke, and gently I reached over to touch that tear – and she practically jumped! “Oh my God,” she exclaimed, looking around wildly, “was that you? Did you just touch my face?” My mouth was open as I stared at her in wonder. She actually felt me. Jessie stood now, slowly moving in a circle, “can you do something else? Who are you?” I reached for her again, but my hand just went right through. I tried to recapture whatever made it work but it was hard. “Please, let me know who you are?” I heard her say. I stood in front of her now, inches away and stared into those eyes I had come to adore, I wished more than anything to be able to kiss those lips. I too sighed and slowly wrapped my arms around her. She froze and inhaled deeply. Her eyes grew wide for a moment and then she slowly relaxed, and she smiled. “That’s you isn’t it? I can feel you.” Her smile grew wider, “Who are you? What do you want with me?” I tried speaking, but I knew it was useless. She could sense me, but communication seemed impossible. I didn’t know how much time I had left with her, and I wanted to tell her how I felt about her. But it was useless, and I faded away in frustration…. “Hello, are you here?” I came alert. I had drifted in the blackness again, and I’m not sure how much time had passed. I shook my head to clear away the dark and found myself still in Jessie’s studio. She was sitting at her small desk and there was something in front of her. Oh shit, she had gotten herself one of those spirit boards. My mom always said to avoid stuff like that. She said they were chinks that could let bad stuff in. “Can you speak to me, try using this.” I stood opposite her staring down at the board, and truth be told, there was something vibrant about it. I reached out for the planchette and felt a jolt of electricity sting my fingertips. My spectral heart beat faster. This just might work. With great effort I tried pushing the planchette …and finally, it moved. I saw Jessie start a bit as she felt it move under her fingers… C-A-L-V-I-N… “Calvin? That’s your name? Oh my gosh it’s great to finally meet you Calvin. What are you doing here?” Spelling out my name had left me drained. I didn’t realise how hard this was. I wasn’t sure if I could answer her. But somehow I managed to spell out ‘H-O-M-E.’ “Oh wow, this was your home? Wait a minute…” she said, ‘the family that owned the home before were the Richards, Calvin Richards, is that your name?” I was exhausted. After waiting for a few minutes Jessie pulled out her phone opened Google and typed in ‘Calvin Richards’ in the search bar. A lot of hits came up, none about me. There sure were a lot of Calvin Richards out there. She finally refined the search, down to the town and hit the ‘News’ icon, and there it was. *“Promising Journalist Killed in Accident”.* The story wasn’t long, there was a picture of me at the top and by the time Jessie had finished reading it her eyes were red. “I’m so sorry Cal, “she shortened my name naturally, adding “I can’t imagine what it’s like. And you’ve been trapped here all this time?” She reached out and touched my photo. “Such a handsome young man too.” I smiled when she said young man; she couldn’t have been older than twenty-five herself. “Oh Cal, why haven’t you moved on? Is this what happens after we die? Is there something that’s keeping you back?” Too many questions Jessie, and I barely have the energy to move that planchette again, but I did manage to spell out ‘Y-O-U”. “Me? What about me Cal? Are you saying that you’re here because of me? I don’t know what that means…” She looked a bit disturbed now, and I thought maybe I’d made a mistake. Slowly she packed away the spirit board and left the room, pausing once at the door, “Good night Cal.” My exhaustion caused me to lose myself again, and into the blackness I went. Jessie was in the studio again. She was working intently on her painting. There was something different about her attitude, I wondered if I had scared her. Dammit Calvin, you’re such an ass! I walked over to her and stood by her side, she turned then, and walked right through me to go pick up some more paint. I may not have had a physical body, but there was a cold, sinking feeling in this one. I don’t know if you have ever been in love, and if you ever did anything to hurt that person. It leaves a pit of ice in your stomach and suddenly all other thoughts are swept away other than how you can make it right. “Oh Jessie, Jessie …I’m such a fool, I’m so, so sorry.” “I know you are Cal.” What the hell! Did she just respond to me? Oh my God! “You…you can hear me?” I stuttered. She smiled and shook her head, “Not physically no, it’s more like a whisper, in my head, and I don’t catch every word, but lately I do catch bits and pieces here and there. Ever since we used the spirit board …I’ve been listening to you beat yourself up for the past half hour.” And then she did laugh out loud! We talked for hours, and while she didn’t get it all, I was able to tell her about myself, and how I felt about her. Her face did go flush, but she didn’t seem too put off to have a ghost fall for her. Overs the next couple of days Jessie opened up a lot more about herself. She grew up in Georgia in a devoutly Christian family. Jessie was inquisitive though, and would often question parents, relatives and teachers about everything from life after death to the existence of alien life. She also had an innate and tremendous talent for painting. Throughout her life Jessie was always searching for answers, even as she pursued her career as an artist in New York, where she met Ryan. She was obsessed with trying to find out if there was something more. So when Jessie walked into the house that first day, she knew that there was something different about it, and when I contacted her using the spirit board it helped shed light on things she had desperately sought to know since she was a girl, even though it meant that a million new questions now had to be asked. But before she could ask any more we heard the door slam downstairs. Ryan was home. “Gotta run Cal, catch you later,” she said and blew a kiss in my direction with her right hand. For some reason I felt jealous, and angry. I knew it was silly, but I couldn’t help myself. I thought of him holding her and it made me sick. I heard them talking and laughing, and I got angrier. This wasn’t like me. I needed to calm down. I closed my eyes, tried to lose myself in the blackness, but it would not come. “Damn you! Damn whatever is out there that has left me in this hell!” I shouted. I looked to the heavens, “God, are you there? Why am I here? Is this some sort of punishment?” There was no response. Of course not. I dropped my eyes. Now frustration added to my anger. I stood up and ran at the window …and slammed into an invisible wall. It actually hurt. I shouldn’t feel pain; I’m dead …so what the hell was this? “Purgatory Cal!” The voice boomed into my head. “What?” I spun around scanning the room, “Who …whose there? What do you want? God?” I heard a familiar chuckle, ‘No, no son, not God at all, just someone else who cares about you.” There stood my grandfather Max Richards …short for Maximillian. He had died when I was just 16, however we had been extremely close, and his death hurt me deeply. He looked exactly as I remembered him. Max was tall, over six feet, and had a pronounced paunch. His full head of grey hair was always neatly combed with a side part, and he wore a blue striped shirt and khaki pants. He had lines all over his face, lines that were borne out of hard work, but also left there by years of joy and happiness. My grandmother had died just a couple years before Max, and we all believed his eventual demise was as a result of a broken heart. “Grandpa Max? Is it …is it really you?” ‘Well yes and no Cal. It is who I was, although this is no longer who I am. I was, er, requested to have a word with you, and this will be the one, and only time you will ever see me here Cal, so listen up boy, and pay good attention.” “You are stuck here because you have grounded yourself boy. First it was your parents. The door opened three times, and three times you refused to go through. Now that your parents have gone, you have found a new anchor …that pretty little lady downstairs. You have to let go Cal, it’s a choice, and if you don’t then you will be stuck here for all eternity. Physical death comes for us whether we like it or not son. But death is simply a transition, you have things to do on the other side boy, and they are piling up the more you linger here like Hamlet’s ghost.” “The door will open once more Cal, but only when you’ve ended your unnatural affair with the young lady. She is not of your existence, and you need to let her get on with life. You should not have communicated with her, but what’s done is done. Try to forget her Cal. It’s time to move on.” He spoke with that severe grandfather look he always put on whenever he corrected me as a kid. I shook my head. This was all too much to bear, but I have no doubt he spoke the truth. ‘It sounds weird, but I really love her grandpa. You remember what love is don’t you, like you loved grandma? I never got to experience that, not until now.” He shook his head. His eyes looked sad, “I’m so sorry Cal, so sorry, but that’s different son. We were both alive, and what we had was natural. This isn’t.” “And what of the other door?” I asked, “The one with the dark shape inside?” If a specter could grow pale then my grandfather’s did just that. His eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped opened. “What other door Cal? I told him about the terrifying experience I had, and how I was being drawn into the door with the lightning. I could see it shook him, shook him to whatever disembodied core he now possessed. “Then they know you are here Cal. They know you have lingered. Your very soul is at risk boy. You end this now with that girl, end it and you go through the light, because if they get you Cal, there are no words to describe what they will do to you.” ‘They? Who the hell are they grandpa?” ‘They are the things that dwell in the darkness son. Existence is about balance; yin and yang, dark and light, good and evil, and nothing is so precious to them as to get their filthy claws on a soul bound for the light.” He sounded desperate. “I must go now Cal, my time is over, but you heed me boy. I’ll be waiting on the other side. Oh and Cal, one last thing. These beings will let nothing or no one prevent them from getting at you, and that includes your little friend downstairs. The longer you linger, the more peril you put them in Cal. Your presence is what allows those things to access this house. The best thing you can do to keep her safe, is to leave.” And he was gone. I was terrified. This had just gotten real. Some metaphysical game was afoot, and I was the pawn. But all I could think of was Jessie. How do I let go of Jessie, just when I found her, just when we found each other. But if my grandfather was right, then that very love was going to condemn me to something terrible, something infernally terrible! Sometime later she opened the studio door and popped her head in. “Cal?” I didn’t answer. “Guess you’re tired,’ she smiled, ‘can’t wait to talk to you tomorrow. Good night.” And she shut the door. But I didn’t talk with Jessie the next day, or the next week despite all her efforts. She even brought back out the spirit board a couple times, but I just ignored it, I ignored her, and we both suffered. The days came and went, and I could see that Jessie wasn’t sleeping. Her eyes were red and she had stopped eating. She’d argue with Ryan – I can’t say I was too sorry about that one – but I could see she was in pain. She even stopped painting. It took every ounce of will to stop myself from responding to her, even when she begged. I was quiet, and I wept bitterly. One day she came into the studio and sat down, eerily looking at just the spot where I stood. “I don’t know what’s going on Cal, or why you’re treating me this way because I know you’re still here, I still feel you. If it’s Ryan then there isn’t much I can do about that. Cal, you’re a ghost. I mean, this entire freaking thing is crazy. I guess men are all the same though huh? Dead or alive? Maybe I’ve lost my mind, for heaven’s sake I’m sitting here talking to a frigging ghost. But for my entire life I have searched for answers Cal, and when I found you, well, I’d found more than answers. It’s stupid, but really connected with you.” I closed my eyes, rivers of fire running inside me, but still I held my tongue. I’m doing this for you too Jessie. I couldn’t bear being the cause of any harm that would come to her, and the best way to keep her out of danger was to go through my door. The only way that would happen was to break this connection. I drifted, but still I could hear her small sobs, and I wept with her. Time passed on again, how much time I’m never sure, but I found myself in the living room again. The house was empty. I drifted up to Jessie’s studio, she had started painting again. I did not recognise it at first, but then it hit me with a jolt. The painting was of a huge door, a door I had seen before. It was surrounded by light, with lightning crackling around the edges, and a dark shape inside. There was a hand reaching out from it. A hand I recognised with a feeling of trepidation. Oh my God! What did this mean? Where would she have gotten those images from? I looked around and with dismay I saw the spirit board on the floor in front of the painting. It seemed Jessie may have tried to contact me again, but God alone knows what she actually made contact with. Did that account for the strange sketch? Jessie! I felt panic coming on when the front door opened. It was her, I knew it, and relief washed over me. I ran downstairs. She was just taking off her coat, a grocery bag on the ground in front of her. She paused briefly as I stared at her, but then carried on with what she was doing. As Jessie pushed the door shut however …it came back! It was the door of light. Thank you God I thought. I turned to look over my left shoulder. Jessie was now in the kitchen packing away the groceries. I was overcome with bitterness and sadness, but even as I felt those things the door flickered. I had to leave her, I had to go, and I could not even say goodbye. I sighed dejectedly and started walking toward the light, when I heard something else, something that sent a chill through me; a buzzing sound. Wide-eyed I paused and slowly turned to where the entrance to the basement was. The other door was also back, and now there appeared to be countless dark shapes swirling around in there. The light seemed sickly somehow; contaminated, stained. The growls were back too, seeming to come from dozens of different throats. I hastened my pace, but then I heard a voice come from that other door. It was a heavy, growling voice, with an accent I could not determine. It was a foul voice, and simply hearing it made me feel dirty. “Go through that door and we will take her instead. She will take your place here with us Calvin Richards.” It laughed, and the laugh was of a thousand entities mixed together. An icy hand gripped the centre of my being. No, no. no, this couldn’t be happening. This thing had threatened Jessie. “Cal,’ it was a whisper, from in front of me this time. Grandpa. “Cal, son, move now! You have to hurry son.” He sounded terrified as well, “they will take your soul and they will shred it Cal. Come now!” My soul. My soul or the soul of the woman I loved. I had to make a decision. But deep down at the very core of my existence I already knew.


The door let out a screech as I bolted through running towards my bike. Behind me, I heard the furious cries of the owner. “Come back here Reggie!” I was stumbling all over the place yet somehow I made it to my bike. My keys were an unsolvable puzzle in that moment, I started to jam every one of them into the ignition till one of them worked. The rumble of the engine gave me sweet relief. I switched the lights on in perfect time to see the parked car in front of me as I zoomed onto the highway; if you cut me up reckon there would be more adrenaline than blood inside of me. I went from left to right from left to right across the road similar to the slither of a snake. I felt completely out of control and ironically enough it felt liberating. I woke up to my white sheets now crimson red. I saw the tears that covered my clothing as I tried to lift my head that was deeply buried in my pillow. “Yer late for your job again, get out of bed!” The bed latched onto me as I tried to get up. “Did ya not hear me, get out of bed!” I heaved my body out of the bed. In the mirror I saw myself, it looked like I had been thrown into the middle of a dog fight. Every time I took a step I felt an earthquake in my head. I heard Dad once more from downstairs. “Yer embarrassed everyone after that bloody disgrace you pulled last night, I hope you're ashamed to have survived.” I didn’t bother bandaging up my wounds. I wasn’t going to work, hadn’t for a while. I didn’t know when my Dad was going to find out that I was finally fired. It was a small town, just a matter of time. I walked down the old timber stairs, along the wall there were outlines of dust where photos once hung. Down the stairs a big dust outline where one of Mum’s blankets hung and the distinct outline of a cross right above the tele. “Okay Dad, I’m off.” “Hopefully for good this time.” Once upon a time, Dad was happy, me as well. All that is gone now though. I walked outside and looked for my bike. A wave of distress rushed through my body like an electric shock until I remembered the crash last night, couldn’t help but laugh. Instead of driving to the usual pub I walked to the local one. I was already the disgrace of the town right? What did it matter everyone seeing me there at this time? “Reggie Beacon, ya father know you here son?” “Can’t say he does, just give us something strong ye?” He poured my drink and I felt a burn down my throat as I sculled down the sweet poison. Around half an hour in I heard the slam of the rickety pub door, by then I was proper drunk. I turned to see my dad stampeding through the pub making anything in his path appear weightless. “You’re a disappointment Reggie and a disgrace and a prick and an embarrassment upon my family and your mother!” He started tearing up yet I struggled to show any sort of emotion back. Nothing really mattered anymore. No job, no bike, no family, nothing. As I went to finish my drink my dad seized hold of a pool cue and lashed it over my head. The splinters of wood rooted themselves deep into my head. I was like a lion at a circus being forced into its place. My body was powerless against gravity. I crashed against the floor feeling blood drain out my head and watching it drip into the cracks between the floorboards in front of me. The alcohol made it all feel surreal not just my body but my mind was numb. “Why couldn’t you be like your brother Reggie!” The other men tried to stop my Dad from falling over as I just laid there. I was ready to sink through the floor and into the hands of death, it was just a matter of time.


Matthew has very little to offer.

He is a starving artist who lives in a van.

He is often late to everything and when he gets there he smells of weed covered with patchouli.

Although we grew up together, we are complete opposites and the five years between us further the divide. I am often early.

I never drink or smoke and I definitely don’t live in my car.

I live in a three bedroom condo in New York by the Hudson River.

My home is immaculate, my wife is beautiful, I drive a Mercedes - Benz, and my job is high paying. I take after my mom.

She was an amazing woman.

She traveled the world making deals and raking in the money so my father, my brother, and I could live well.

When she was home we would go to the spa or fancy meals or take my brother to the amusement parks. My brother takes after my father.

Always late, always dreaming, always taking the long way home even though they knew I had dinner waiting.

Those two lived on a whole other planet. I will never understand how my parents got together.

How does a hard working, driven woman even notice such a lazy, unfocused man?

My mother said it was at college but what courses could they have possibly met in?

My mother studied economics and business and my father was all art and communications. I was worried about my father now.

My brother, too.

Mother was no longer the bolt that could hold those nuts together.

Her departure was swift.

She had barely gotten the diagnosis and she was already gone. Of course, she had arranged everything for her funeral ahead of time.

My father couldn’t manage it.

He was lost without her before she was even gone.

When I picked the two of them up for the funeral neither was ready.

It was like they had forgotten how to function.

I got there early, of course, so I was able to help them.

I picked out their clothes and tied their ties and found their shoes.

I put my fear and sorrow aside.

I had to focus on moving us forward. After the funeral, I stayed. My wife flew home but I feared they weren't ready to be alone.

It took about a week to get them back on track.

My sorrow was replaced by exasperation,

my fear by frustration.

It was late the night before I was scheduled to fly out when brother came to me offering a ride to the airport.

Every ounce of me wanted to say no but this gesture was all my brother had to offer and I knew that.

Even though I did not want to miss my flight I couldn't take that away from him. I woke him early the next morning with a tap on his van door and some very dark coffee.

The windshield was cracked and I worried I would break it.

He had lived in this van for years on our parents’ property.

Both of them so proud of this derelict as he floundered about ‘creating’. I prodded him forward into his routine.

I checked my watch one hundred times. When it was time to leave I hugged my father.

I made

promises to return that I wasn't sure I would or could keep.

My heart ached for his loss.

My mind worried about his ability to care for himself and my reckless brother. Surprisingly we got on the road on time.

It was about an hours drive for my brother.

I would have done it in 40.

The radio played.

We were quiet.

I was thinking about everything I had to do when I got home.

I was thinking about all the meetings and appointments and chores that awaited me. My brother, without a word, pulled over to the side of the highway and turned off the radio.

Smoked billowed from under the hood.

I jumped out of the van grabbing at my things.

My brother sat in his seat immobile.

I yelled at him to get the hell out but he didnt move.

I threw my stuff to the ground and grabbed at him. “Move, Matthew, MOVE!”

I could see tears streaming down his face.

I unclicked his belt and ran to the other side of the van.

“Matthew, you have to help me!

Help me, Matthew, please!”

His eyes met mine and he fell onto me.

We moved slowly to the back of the van and onto the shoulder. He fell to the ground openly sobbing.

“I couldn’t fix it, I couldn’t save her!

I can’t even get you to the airport!

I’m so sorry.”

My heart broke then.

Emotions I was not able to manage before came pouring out.

I choked and gasped for air.

It felt like every part of my body would crumble into pieces. His sobbing was silenced as mine hit a crescendo.

My lungs heaving with every breath, he held me while I exorcized the pain from my body.

He held me until I stopped shaking, until I could breathe again. He held me until I felt my pieces coming back together. We sat on the shoulder of the highway, leaning into each other.

We remembered our childhood and laughed about our father’s antics.

Time passed and my plane surely flew away as we remembered my mother.

My brother told wild stories I had forgotten about.

We laughed about our father’s antics and cried some more about our loss. I looked at my brother and I understood the love my mother had for my father.

The adoration for someone so wildly different.

The comfort in someone who can offer so much more than you are able to give yourself and who does this with no expectation. I knew then that we would be okay. I realized that my brother had offered me so much more than a ride to the airport: he offered me the opportunity to break and become whole again.


The first proper short story i’ve ever written, would love to get some criticism and feedback on it. thank you so much for taking the time to read it! Who am I? What am I? What is my purpose? I stare deep into my soul, and I see a dark mist, surrounding me from every direction, feasting on my doubts and loneliness, giving it power to grow and yet its hunger can never be quenched, for it wants my soul. And it grins at me, mocking my absence of purpose, and envelopes me in an illusion, as I felt myself floating as small waves of water lightly push me around, for I have nowhere to go, unable to swim as other people may, always tossed and dragged around by the ocean that represents life, as other people playfully swim and create ripples on the ocean, I only float, devoid of any ability to swim and nothing to swim for. Is this my destiny? what I was born for? to simply stare at the blue sky as I felt other people’s ripples gently hit me, unable to create my own, unable to leave my ripple, my mark, in this world? No. This is not who I am. Even though I was born without a purpose, forgot my dreams for an office job without any friends, even though I am a drop of water compared to the endless ocean, I will create a ripple, I will leave my mark, I will die a person who mattered, who lived for what he believed in, and I raised my hands and filled them with power, fed them with my desire of becoming a person that mattered, and brought them crashing down onto the ocean, and in a second that felt like a year, I felt true joy, the feeling of being a person who lived for something, as I felt my hands, filled with purpose, forcefully descent so close to hitting the surface of the ocean. So close…. The sound of my phone alarm pulled me out of my daydream and back into reality. I was motionless for a second, trying to slip back into the veil of thoughts and finish striking the ocean, yet it was a futile attempt. I snapped out of my imagination and stared at my phone, realising it was time to work, and got ready, feeling desolate and struck back to reality, pondering the alluring illusion of creating my mark in this world. Nothing eventful happened at work, just the daily struggle of trying to make it out without lashing out at my boss who told me I had to work overtime because Jimmy the Entitled felt like he had the right to call in sick an hour after his shift started. And so I worked, subconsciously glancing at the clock every few minutes, convinced that the speed of time varies on how much enjoyment you’re having, for every single second I spent at work felt like an entire minute. For me, this was hell. To be forced to live an uneventful life, work an unfulfilling job, just for the sake of staying alive and being able to have your essential needs met, closing off all the potential you had inside you, just because the stars didn’t align your way and chasing the goals you set for yourself as a child felt like an impossible task. As my shift finally ended, I got up and started walking to my car, letting out a sigh of relief as I congratulated myself for surviving another day. I started to drive home, as my arms ached from all the typing I had to do today, and felt my eyes slightly water and glanced at the side mirror and saw they were bloodshot, and I realised just how exhausted I was. As I drove on, I saw something on the road that caught my attention, a person talking to a homeless person. This was weird, since nobody usually talked to them, let alone at 12am. I slowed down and saw that the person standing seemed to be messing around with the homeless person, as he kicked his things around and started taunting him, but he just remained silent and looked at him with sad, pleading eyes. And then, the person took out a knife, and the homeless person started shaking his head, begging him to stop with tears in his eyes. My eyes grew wide at the sight of that knife and tons of scenarios flew by my head as I tried to figure out what I should do. Should I drive on? Should I stop and help? I thought about calling the police, but by then, who knows what would’ve happened to the homeless person. I made up my mind and pulled over next to them. If anything were to happen to me, at least it would be while doing something brave. “What’s going on?” I asked them both. “None of your business, fuck off.” To which the knifed person replied. “You shouldn’t be messing around with him, he’s just minding his own business.” I told him, glancing at the homeless person who now had a look of terror in his face. “We’re also minding our business, you got a problem?” He replied, stepping up towards me, brandishing his knife. What should I do? This was the perfect moment to tell the homeless person to make a run for it, yet I’d put myself in danger if I did that. And in a split second, vivid images came crashing down onto my thoughts, of the dark mist surrounding my soul, staring at me as a predator stalking its prey, and how helpless I felt in the ocean, nothing but another insignificant human who would never leave a ripple in the ocean. This was the time to prove myself I could live by my ideals and create my own ripple. “Run!” I told the homeless person, who immediately got up and started fleeing as the knifed person looked at me with pure anger, and raised his knife, and my body was filled with anger, wondering why do people like this exist, where the only ripples they create were about suffering and terror, and I grabbed his wrist before he could strike. He tried to resist, but in the next second, I felt no resistance at all. I let go of his hand and stared at him, a look of terror and confusion tainted all across his face. “Wh-what did you do to me?!” He yelled, frozen with his hand up, posing like he was about to stab me, as he kept staring at me, then at his hand, then back at me. I didn’t know what was happening until I stared at his wrist. A grey-coloured patch was there where I had touched him, and began to expand to his hand and arm, and confusion flooded through my mind as gravity started pulling me to the ground and I struggled to stay up, unsure of what I was seeing, and stepped back as the grey patch consumed his entire arm, clothes and all, and started to expand to his neck and chest, as he struggled to breathe, tears reflecting the moonlight welling up in his eyes as he stared at his arm, evidently trying to move it to no avail. My body started to shudder as my vision became dizzy and I dropped down, my breathing becoming unnatural as I stared at him, his whole torso now nothing but an unmoving grey sculpture, and saw the grey matter expand to his arms and legs, until finally, I was staring at not a person, but a grey statue. It took me a while to fully comprehend what was happening as I stood down on the streets, staring at what was human a minute ago, now an unmoving, unbreathing grey statue. I stared at different parts of his body, trying to see a bit of colour, yet found none. My stomach lurched as I felt my dinner finding its way up to my throat, and I vomited onto the sidewalk. I tried my best to regain my composure after that, and tried to push the extremely heavy statue, and stuffed it inside my car, thinking it would be better if I held onto it for now rather than leaving it on the sidewalk. I was sure I broke all speeding rules that night. I rushed home, only focusing on not being seen by anyone and keeping the questions for later. Scenes of what I just witnessed, or what I had just done, flashed through my mind like a slideshow. His look of terror, the spreading mass of grey from his hands to his body, like poison spreading out and consuming his body whole, as he finally caught up to what was happening and started crying, too shocked to say anything, his eyes gushing down tears as he traced the spreading corruption. I arrived home before long, and immediately took out the statue, and spent half an hour trying to move it into my attic, as I became progressively more exhausted, sweat dripping from my eyebrows and my breaths uncontrollable. As I stood him up in my attic, I sat down and stared at it, wondering what had just happened. I grabbed his wrist, and thirty seconds later, He was a statue. Did I gain a power? Did my emotions, rage and inability to accept the existence of evil in this world trigger it? Am I a monster? One thing that I knew for sure was, at that moment, I had gotten rid of an evil person. He was about to do something bad to that homeless person, and I saved him, killing another person in the process. A million thoughts swam across my head. Is this who I am now? A person blessed with a curse? Can I control this power for good? As my thoughts and vision became heavy, my vision started blurring and blacking out, and I took one last look at the statue before drifting away. I opened my eyes to be surrounded by the dark mist once again. I instantly felt desolate, remembering that this is the form of my own hopelessness, my inability to live with a purpose, and yet, I could make out a small, hissing noise, high-pitched yet barely audible, and all of a sudden, the mist spoke out to me. “Hello, Dante.” The voice belonged to a woman, high-pitched and almost whispering, carrying the same hissing as the one I heard. “Who are you?” “I am Medusa. I have come to give your life purpose.” “You.. did you give me that power?” I asked with a trembling voice. “Yes.” It replied, and a wave of both terror and anger filled me. “Why?? Why me? You just made me take a person’s life! Am I not going to be able to touch anyone now?” I yelled, to which the deity across me sighed, a silent, hissing sigh. “I have given you purpose. The person whose life you took was about to take the life of that homeless person you saved. You have gotten rid of an evil human, and this is how you thank me? I have given you a divine power, filled those purposeless veins of yours with meaning, the ability to get rid of evil, to be Judgement itself.” I thought about how people have done me wrong, how much i’ve had to suffer, how many times other people’s lives have been ruined because of bad people, and for once, I could change that. I could make other people’s lives better. For once, I could make a ripple in the ocean. “I..I… The power you gave me.. Will I be able to control it?” I said slowly, unsure of my capabilities. “My child, you are special. You are a blank slate, that means it is free for you to draw whatever you want in that soul of yours. You mistook me for desolation and despair, when in reality, I am your saviour, I have given you my forbidden fruit. No human should ever take a bite from it, yet it granted Adam and Eve consciousness, a chance to be different. Now, tell me, don’t you want to be different? don’t you want to leave your mark? don’t you want to matter? You can be a king among humans, use your power to rid the world of all evil, to be the saviour of this corrupted world.” As it said those words, I felt something new awaken in me. I smiled as I felt a surge of pride run through my whole body, and thought about my newfound power. All those people who make the world an ugly place, I can now exterminate. Those vermins that place themselves above other humans will be my prey. One touch was all it took to turn them into stone. I stared at my hands, as a slight shock ran through my head and down to my legs. Is this what it felt like to have purpose? I am now out of my shell, a new person, destined to make the world a better place. “Can I control this power?” I asked Medusa. “Yes. It only takes effect if you will it.” It replied. “Then I will use this power.” “Good.” Medusa replied, and she laughed, a creepy laugh mixed with a delightful hiss, and I woke up in my attic, staring at what was once a vile insect of a human, now a lifeless statue, and I went to bed and slept soundly, knowing that I have the power to rob someone’s life in my hands. When I woke up, I called sick for work, and when my boss told me to come in or else he’ll cut my pay, I hung up the phone. He has no idea I can take his life. He has no idea who I am now, nobody does. I have the freedom to turn anyone into stone and nobody would question the quiet, lonely, timid person. I. Am. Free. That day I drove around, trying to find my next victim, who will quench my hunger for justice. I scanned through the faces of people all around me, living their life as normal without knowing that they were in the presence of a human with godly power. When the sun settled, I found a person who was dealing drugs with a minor. I smiled slyly and studied both of them, and when the buyer had left, I got out of my car and made my way towards him. “Hey man” I said, with a confused look in my face. “Sup?” “You got gas?” I said, and he looked at me cautiously. “Who’s asking?” “A person filled with purpose.” I replied. He looked puzzled and studied me for a moment. “Nah.” He said finally. “Then I’ll see you in hell.” I said, and summoning my anger towards all the wrongdoers in life, touched his temple. “What the fu-“ He blurted, but was stopped as my power spread through him and took over his head. The process took much faster than last time, when it took about thirty seconds, but now, it was barely even five seconds. I stared at my magnificent creation, a statue of a person with long, wavy hair, with a look of anger in him, reaching towards me with his hands outstretched. I smiled and spoke to the statue. “Do not show me your anger, it pales compared to mine.” I said silently, and then took the statue to my car, and drove home with a sense of satisfaction painted all over my face. After I got home and stored the second statue in my attic, I stared at them both, smiling broadly in contrast to their terrified, angry, ugly faces. “You two are the first of many. I will not stop until every person that has done evil in this world is nothing more than a statue, and nobody can stop me.” I said, my eyes dreamy. The prospect of being a king among humans, to wield the power no human has ever seen before, it was bliss. I used to float about in the ocean, powerless, yet now, I had the power to create a tsunami. As the days went by, I made sure to keep busy. I worked normally, though with a brighter face that threw everyone off guard, yet they appreciated my newfound confidence and never questioned it. But when nighttime came, I went hunting, scouring the empty, dark streets for prey, making sure I brought back a statue with me every night, and soon, my attic became filled with statues of people who had an ugly soul, and I would sit there for hours at end, marvelling at my gorgeous statues, whose sight did nothing but make me even hungrier, and I would stare at their facial expressions, some of terror, anger, confusion, sadness, and I laughed at them and their foolishness thinking their bad deeds would not go unpunished, that they would escape from the grips of justice. I researched police records and eavesdropped conversations to find victims, and it paid off well. I caught a murderer who got away free, a corrupt businessman, a registered sex offender on probation, and many more, and even as the dissapearances were starting to get attention, nobody has suspected me. For once, my life felt whole. I finally knew my purpose. I had opened the Pandora’s Box I had inside me, and the beast within weeps at the world, and commands me to free the world from evil. It was hard trying not to reveal myself when my abilities would put the world in shock. I wanted credit for what I’ve done, I wanted people to know that I’ve been doing god’s work, I wanted people to worship me. But now was not the time. When the time comes, I will emerge from the ground as a king, a God among men, and show the world their saviour has arrived. One day, I will create a wave in the ocean so big it’ll make others seem like merely a drop of water in calm, resting waters. Today was a usual day in my new life. I woke up, made some coffee, and went up to my windowless attic to enjoy the morning with my unliving companions. I took in the smell of all the stone from the statues mixed in with dust, and enjoyed my coffee. Then I went to work with a beaming smile my coworkers are still not used to, and worked passionately, knowing that my true job awaits me later. I stopped watching the time, and instead thought of every second spent as another second of mercy for my next victim before I strike and morph them into stone. When the clock struck nine I got up and left my office, and got a call from my mom. She wanted to see me, and said she missed me. I figured I had time to spare, since the streets would be more deserted by the time I was done. And so I drove over to her house. When I arrived at her front door, she welcomed me and told me to come inside, and made me tea. Afterwards we talked a lot, about my job, how I’ve been living, If I’m seeing anyone at the moment. It was a great time. “You seem much brighter these days, Dante.” my Mom said, smiling. “I’ve found something to live for.” I replied, a wide smile etched in my face. “Of yeah? What is it?” She asked. “All in good time, Ma.” I said, and she didn’t pursue the subject, and instead asked another question. “Have you heard about the disappearances lately? It’s pretty scary.” She asked me, and my eyes grew wide for a moment. She was talking about my victims. “Yeah, What about it?” I replied, trying to regain my coolness. “It’s just scary, how a person can do these things to another person. with no guilt at all.” “Did you read it correctly? The people that disappeared were all bad people, Mom. They deserved it.” I said, slightly annoyed. Why is she doubting my judgement? I wondered. “That’s not the way to go. Fighting violence with violence changes nothing. The amount of violence stays the same.” My mum explained, and I felt a rising heat at my heart, the one you feel when you suddenly feel a lot of anger. Is she opposing me? I have been doing God’s work, and she thinks I’m wrong? How dare she? “One of them was a murderer, the other a sex offender! The person who did this wasn’t wrong, the person only gave them justice! The person gave those bad people judgement!” I started yelling, and my Mom was taken aback. “Dante, that isn't judgement. Judgement also counts in all the good that people do, and weighs both of them in a scale, and decides which one outweighs the other. That is judgement. What this person is doing, is wrong. Nobody is wholly evil, nor is anyone wholly good, for that would be just as unnatural. Such is life. We have free will and consciousness, and both good and evil live inside us. It doesn’t matter what they did, what matters is what they do with it. I bet some of the people that disappeared was a reformed person who changed his ways.” My Mom said. At that time, I suddenly doubted myself. Was she right? Instead of being a God, a Judge, who rained judgement on other people, had I only been a serial killer? I killed bad people, did that make me a bad person as well? Am I part of the evil I tried to eradicate? I stood up and left instantly, and my Mom ran after me. “Dante, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bro-“ She was abruptly cut off, and I turned around to see why. At that time, Both of us froze. She tried to grab my hand to stop me from leaving, and in a fit of rage and confusion, my power showed up and took my Mom victim. She stared at her hand, which was now nothing but a bloodless grey hand, as it ran and spread to her arm rapidly like a fire, sucking out the life out of her body slowly. She stared at me with tears in her eyes, her bright, grey eyes now bloodshot and despairing as she uttered her final word and took her last breath. “Dante…” And then, she was nothing but a statue. My Mother, who raised me and gave birth to me, was consumed by my powers. I tried to move, but my body felt incredibly stiff and shuddered uncontrollably, as I slowly walked towards what was once my Mom and hugged her tight. As tears streamed down my eyes and dripped on to the statue I hugged, I slowly opened my mouth to speak. “I’m sorry..” And then, I shook uncontrollably and lost my balance, and the statue fell. I yelled and took a step back, my creation now stood in smithereens as dust spread through the floor, and amidst the rubbles, I saw a gleaming, yellow light. I moved away pieces of stone and picked it up. It was a small, fist sized, golden little ball. I stared at it and wondered what it was, until a realization came over me and I cried even harder. It was her heart. Made out of pure gold, a small golden heart among bits of stone and dust, lay her heart. I drove home instantly after that, went straight up to the attic, and saw the tens of pairs of eyes staring back at me, and I saw them in a different way. As humans. I walked over to the statue of my first victim, the person who nearly assaulted a homeless man, and knocked it over. Another golden heart. Then I went to the drug dealer’s. Again, a golden heart. Murderer, a golden heart. Sex offender, a golden heart. Corrupt businessman, a golden heart. And soon I had knocked over all the statues, and held all 17 golden hearts, including my Mother’s. I cried silently as I hugged all those hearts, and apologized to my victims. I always thought that evil was unnatural, when in reality, it was a part of being human. I was so caught up in exterminating all wrongdoers in life I failed to realize I had become the vilest monster of them all. I never brought judgement, only evil. I desired purpose for so long I failed to see the fact that my purpose was inhuman. Maybe the hearts of my victims when they were alive were made out of stone once, but who am I to say it would’ve stayed as a stone forever? What if they had what it took to change that stone into gold? I thought about what my mum had said. “Fighting violence with violence changes nothing. The amount of violence stays the same.” “Nobody is wholly evil, nor is anyone wholly good, for that would be just as unnatural.” I was so caught up in trying to make the world purely full of good I failed to realise, evil is required for good to exist, just as a shadow is required for a light to be cast. Evil will live on as long as I force the world to be full of good, achieving nothing but adding more statues. I realized that this power of mine, what I thought was a blessing and would bring my life meaning, was nothing but a curse, dooming me to turn into a murderer. I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself this was a nightmare, that I’d wake up and get back my absurdly beautiful, innocent, purposeless life. Yet, In the distance, I could hear a strange hissing noise. I opened my eyes to see the dark mist envelop me once again, and I yelled at the being that gave me this power. “Medusa!” “You have become a monster, dante.” She replied. “Take my power away from me! I don’t want it anymore!” I yelled, with tears running down my eyes. “What about being a king among humans? What about your purpose?” She asked, her high pitched hissing voice mocking me. “I don’t want it anymore! Let me be ordinary!” I yelled desperately. “I can’t do that. You’ve stared at me, and I stared back at you. The bond we have cannot be broken. Look at your heart.” She said. And as I lowered my head and looked at my left chest, there was a grey patch, but unlike my victims, it was unmoving. My heart was made out of stone. I was the true evil. “You will live like this until you die, Dante.” Medusa said. I dropped down to all fours and weeped, grabbing my chest and feeling the rough texture of stone, remembering all my victims and the unimaginable fate I put them through, and yelled. After I yelled, I raised my head to see I was back at my attic, surrounded by debris, dust, and large chunks of broken stone all over the place while I was surrounded by the golden hearts. I thought about how I used to float at the ocean, purposeless, drifting about. That fate would’ve been better than this one, where instead of fresh seawater, my ripples, my mark on this earth, was made out of tears. I stared at my hand, and I realized what I must do. Filling my thoughts with the hate I have for myself, the will to eradicate all evil from this world, I eradicated one last evil. I touched my head, and took a look at my attic for the last time, once filling me with pride and sense of justice, now only hopelessness and desolation. I closed my eyes. And in the distance, I could hear a faint hissing sound.


I remember the urgency that I and the rest of the boys felt. We needed this shipment out by the morning and each second that passed midnight was another drop of sweat on our brow. There was a tenseness whenever you’d have to deal with this much product. White powder stacked three kilos high laid out like bricks from each end of the table. One bump of it would mean my ass if the boss found out. I’d rather be out there on the streets with an automatic than have to suppress my urges like this. I set aside another kilo of the product from off the scale and picked up my radio. Holding it up to my ear I heard the faint mechanical static that disappeared when I signalled to the poor sap who was surveying the perimeter out in the cold. “Hey, slick? How we looking?” Static. I waited for any kind of response, but each moment just put me on edge. “Hey, you there?” There was nothing. He was new to the job, nearly scared stiff the last time I saw him, I wanted to give him a few extra moments, but we were all just hoping to be out of here as soon as possible. Though as those moments passed and my finger itched towards the radio once more, that’s when it all began. From across the warehouse, I heard the sounds of a scuffle. A pattering of feet that was inhumanly quick. My ears pricked as to better deduce what it could have been, but that only lulled me into being startled when I heard the hollow smash of a lightbulb against the concrete. That, and the ricocheting sound of machine gunfire. My chair scraped backwards as I rocketed to my feet, it clattered against the floor and my hand immediately went towards my hip. I revealed my iron and idly kept my shoulder cocked and the barrel pointed to the ceiling. “Hey! What the fuck are you guys doing?!” No answer. I reached for my radio and switched channels. I echoed my same anxious sentiment into it and was once again met with silence. Quickly nearing the west side of the warehouse, my feet crept up the metal staircase. I tried my best to get in contact with the others over the radio who were definitely in the same boat as me. I hoped they weren’t twitchy as to avoid catching a bullet on accident. “Get your head in the game,” I screamed into the speaker. “We got a live one.” A shaky voice finally replied. “W-w-we got the ground floor, cover us on the second.” “Copy that.” My feet shook and so did the steel causeway as a result of it. The sights of my pistol were drawn out by my shoulders and I was ready to fire away at anyone who crossed my path. Though I began by heading towards where the bulb had broken. I could tell by the huge patch of darkness that was at the other end. With each less meter that separated me from *it* was another escalation of my ever-increasing heart rate. To combat this, I attempted to get in contact with the others. “You still there?” “Ya we’re both still here, but I’m not seeing anyth—” His voice cut off and I whipped around to the sound of an air cutting scream from the bottom floor followed by the scattered shots of a sidearm. As a result, my gun went off on accident and a shot hit the ceiling and was met with the slow trickle of dust above me. I fumbled to see what had happened. “What the fuck is going on?” The other voice picked up where the other man had left off. “It’s him.” “What are you talking about?!” “The one that they’re all talking about. The one that hit Kaminski’s place just the other day. The one all over the news. He found us!” My blood froze. I knew who he was talking about because that’s all we ever had for the past few weeks. “You’re talking nonsense rookie!” I tried to rationalize with him but even I knew the kind of shit we’d fallen into. It was a myth, but we saw him plastered all over the headlines, so we expected some sort of truth. A phantom in the night that stalked us and all our criminality. He’d finally sniffed us out and was now picking us off one by one. My vision scattered along the walls as I walked back towards the bulb’s dark spot. I saw the automatic on the ground from where the first man had dropped it. God knows where he ended up now. Where that ghoul had taken him. My spine chilled and my gun brazenly aimed around the entirety of the warehouse’s interior, just hoping to catch a glimpse of him. “See anything?” I spoke. “No nothing, but he’s coming for us and I’m not ending up in a body bag. Screw the product, I’d rather be out of here with my life than stick my neck out for those shitbag higher-ups. Meet me at the front, you understand?” I wanted to say yes, but something kept me there on the second floor. I couldn’t quite explain what it was when I first felt the creeping feeling that washed over me. Why had I become so paralyzed, was it just my fear or was it something else? I found the answer to be the latter as I looked to the outside of my periphery. Two gloved hands coming around my neck. Warm breath washing over my shoulders. “Pal! Are you with me or not?” I dropped my gun. “Please don’t kill me,” I whimpered. He didn’t respond, only drawing closer to me. I could feel the terror wash over and how despicable it felt to know that it was what he wanted this whole time. He wanted us to scramble, to separate. It was apart of his tactics and we’d all fell right into them. “Don’t do anything stupid no—” The grip tightened and his forearm pounced around my chest. He forcefully pulled me at an alarming speed into the darkness. My radio fell and clattered against the ground. All that I heard before his hand swiftly struck my head was the sound of that rookie. “Hello! Are you there? Ah, to hell with you I’m outta here.


Strange shadows flickered in the empty streets after the New York skyline lowered. The neon lights tripped on, one after the other as the city sky glittered in land born stars.

It was a late evening in Spring and I had just started off as a writer at Vogue Magazine this month. The leaves crumbled under my heel as I walked downtown. The shops were closing down, and the mannequins stooped at me from shop fronts in ghastly glares of the new fashionable era. A large billboard of Jennifer Aniston-my favorite, hung right in front of my apartment. I was a huge fan. I looked up at it and smiled to myself as I worked my way up the stairway. It was an exhausting day at work. So many written assignments due and clarifications for all the more you need. My article was published yesterday and so it was a little rejoicing at the local club with my gang before we dispersed off for the evening.

I threw my coat over the telephone chair and the keys in the holder and flicked the lights on. I had a quick wash and came back to grab up on some dinner and wine before heading to get some sleep in. I switched on the television and sat down with the bowl of spaghetti and wine.

I soothed into the comfort and watched as I gulped a mouth full with saucy threads still blobbing out of the mouth. I took the glass and swirled it in and took a sip of the delicate red wine.

I was at a gala. The name read it at a far corner. I looked down the railing at the red carpet. It was one streaming with reporters on one side and all known on the other. How could this be. Could this be any more real? The biggest stars of Hollywood were just flowing in. Oh my goodness! Who thought where this job could lead me to. They were filling into the hall across the red carpet. Posing and glowing as they entered. And here I was just staring and standing glass in my hand- swirling.

Why swirl champagne?

I just stood watching as long as I can. Then looked around to the most appropriate figure out and approach stance.

Suddenly I feel myself being pushed to the center and then a round of applause. I never know what I was being applauded for as I cannot hear right. I feel myself in extreme awe of excitement and also my heart pumping out in a sudden blood chase. Just as the glasses raise and applauds rise again, all different stars come at me, hugging me and sending me into fireworks of excitement as I recognize each one by one with their genuine congratulations. Right now, I am blushing in the middle of a hall I don’t know, surrounded by my list of I-love-them-so-much but they-never-know-me prominent people all glancing and smiling as if they knew me forever. I keep on swirling and smiling. My heart out in my hand. Then suddenly I see her. There she stands in one of my favorite colored dresses by a prominent designer whose name I don’t recall suddenly. Ms. Aniston standing in the center of the hall giving all her love to her friends and all knowns. Wow! That’s how she looks, I just couldn’t believe my eyes. And the next second she is walking towards me. I feel myself stargazed. I’ve never seen her before and now she was right there in front of me, smiling and sending her lovely wave as she makes her way through the crowds towards me. The first time ever and I am in bits and pieces and my hand starts shaking. Tears are gathering in my eyes; I just feel a blobbing in the eyes. She walks over, ‘Hi! so nice to meet you! I was awaiting my turn’ She says as she hugs me out.

I am lost in words as I gaze at her. I smile so hard that my face muscles ache. ‘You are an angel in heaven! You look so beautiful in person! I just can’t believe meeting you! Wow! You are so beautiful...’I continue as she keeps patting me in appreciation and asking me more. Words keep flowing out as we converse and I suddenly ‘I am your greatest fan’ -She raises her brow and smiles ‘I know’ My glass slips and crashes. Suddenly, I feel my hands wet and I jerk forward. I open my eyes slowly. I feel tears streaming down my face and my mouth agape. The lights keep me blinking a few seconds, before I realize I’m looking at the ceiling. I am at the apartment, and my hand are wet. I straighten up and look around. A glass lies shattered at my feet, and I smell wine in my hands. A half-eaten bowl of spaghetti lies on the sofa next to me and the television is blaring in details of a gala. I strain my eyes and there she was on TV waving at the crowds as she enters the hall on the red carpet. I was there just now. She was wearing the same dress I saw. I look around once again. It was half past eleven. I am at the apartment. I am dreaming. It was just a dream. I smile. I get up and clean up the mess I’ve made and after watching the telecast for a few minutes I switch it off once and for all. I make up my bed, brush my teeth and look at the New York skyline once again before getting behind the sheets. I just met my favorite star all even in a dream. I check on some writing for the next day, before I shut my laptop. I shut my eyes. A loud blaring sends me off. I clap my hands to knock it off. My mom, suddenly appears shouting in high pitch, ‘Get up! you are late to college!’ I look up at the ceiling. The fan keeps rotating with a creak. I look around. Where am I? The room is different from how I slept in. I walk in towards the window.

I look out. No New York skyline anymore. I look back at the room. Good senses start pouring back and I slap myself. What was that? I look in the mirror and here I was back. This was real after all. What a long day it was. What a New York dream. I smile. One inside another. I recall Inception. And I smile once more. I finally had my dreams come live in a dream. And then… ‘College’- I was late for college.