*I don’t want this. I don’t want this.* I despair silently. As my days turn into weeks. As I watch him come in and out of the apartment. As I cry myself to sleep. *How can I make you love me? What can I do?? What if I am sweeter? More adoring?* I consider. *I could give him more kisses and hugs, then he’ll have to understand.* I resolve to try. *What more could I possibly lose?* I am sitting at the kitchen table when he gets home. He settles in not making eye contact only giving me a brief greeting. He’s not ignoring me exactly, just not dying to chat. I keep staring. *Look at me.* My gaze pleads but it’s not working. I walk up to him and stand in his way. “Look at me.” I manage to whisper. This is painful. He hesitates but stops and looks. *Can you understand how desperate I am to fix this?* My eyes start to collect tears but before they spill I hug him tightly and breath deeply. He stiffens slightly, but let’s me hug him. After a while of his nonreaction I admit defeat and let go slowly. “I love you.” I say. *How do I fix this?* I want to ask. “I love you too.” He says back, stilted. Technically we’re not broken up. The official words have not been spoken. He simply put the gun on the table and backed away slowly, refusing to pull the trigger. I am aghast and anxious for him to shoot. Instead he checked out. All I have is a shadow of a person as I scramble for something that will give me back the relationship I had. *Maybe I am just not lovable enough.* I start to wonder. *Maybe there’s nothing I can do.* For weeks after the initial conversation he walks in and out of our apartment barely acknowledging me. He gives me short answers, he doesn’t smile. Our home has become a frozen tundra and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stand it. I wallow in anxiety. Wondering what’s going to happen and why on earth it hasn’t yet. I don’t want this. Breaking up was the furthest thing from my mind. But something needs to happen. I am starting to think he’s too scared to do it. Just because it hasn’t been declared doesn’t mean we’re not already living it. I hate admitting that. I guess it’s on me. **Me: Hey…** I decide to text him. Mainly out of cowardice **What if we did a trial break up? We can live as if we are broken up for a while, and if we don’t like it, we can go back to normal.** **Kevin: That’s a good idea** I want to give him an out. I want it to be clear it doesn’t have to be permanent. *You can change your minds.* *Please change your mind*. He comes home that night more receptive to me. I make us dinner and for the first time he makes idle chit chat. “I’ll sleep in the living room.” He states once we get into the particulars of the arrangement. “No, we can take turns.” I am quick to refute. “We both bought that huge bed we should both sleep on it sometimes. “ Don’t worry about it.” he insists. “You take the room.” I shrug. He seems lighter. Taking this step was the right move, I acknowledge begrudgingly. After dinner I watch as he pushes the couches in the living room together to make a spacious bed. Just a few months ago we were shopping for those dreaming about what our apartment might become. We roamed that store for hours finally deciding on the two comfiest couches we’d ever sat on, that were also luckily in the clearance section. The memory brings a small smile to my face that is quickly wiped away when he asks where we keep the extra set of comforters. I go and get them, and grab his pillow from our bed. That night I cry quietly wondering if I will ever run out of tears. I didn’t know it was possible to cry this much. I wish he would come into the room and lay with me. I could ask him... I realize. *Would he say no? Do I have that much courage?* I don’t. I decided, after going back and forth for an hour. My ego is bruised plenty I won’t risk more rejection. I am startled awake by my alarm unsure when I stopped crying long enough to fall asleep. *I am alone*. I think as I look around the room. *The first of many to come.* And the tears start up again. A few weeks later he hasn’t asked to go back to how things were. My hoping that he was going to change his mind starts to turn into a panic that he won’t. I dread coming home to see those couches pushed together day after day. Outside of the apartment, it doesn’t seem so bad. I even catch myself smiling from time to time. But when I come home the inescapable truth hits me. *It’s really over.* I try not to look into the living room and head straight to the room but it doesn’t matter, I already know what’s there. My lungs start to feel like they are shrinking and I am breathing through a straw. I can’t see straight. There are spots everywhere. I make it to the door of my room, throw my bag down and lay with it on the carpet still wearing my winter coat. He finds me on the floor like that minutes later. Hyperventilating and sobbing. I didn’t even hear him come through the door. “Maria…?” He whispers and kneels down next to me. “What’s going on?” I don’t respond. I can’t. And his voice fills with more concern. “What do you need?” I try to shake my head, it's hard to since I can’t pick it up off the ground. “I. Can’t. Breath.” I manage to croak. He has been privy to my panic attacks he knows the drill. “Here.” He kneels down, helps me take my coat off and lays on the floor. His face next to mine on the carpet watches me intently. “Do you want to talk to me?” He is using his sweetest voice. It penetrates my heart and only makes me sob harder. “It’s okay baby.” He soothes and gently rubs my back. If only I could lie here forever. It takes about 10 more minutes but with enough focused attention I calm down enough to bring air into my lungs with ease. I start to sit up. He stares at me wide eyed and concerned getting up with me. “I am not doing okay.” I say in a shaky voice wiping away tears. “I want to be.” I add and shrug. “Is there anything I can do?” He asks with genuine concern. “No.” I say and sigh deeply. *“*I’ll manage this.” I promise, to both him and myself. I go run the shower. I need to get away from him, his concern only makes the pain worse. *I can’t sulk in grief for the next 9 months.* *I need to start accepting this.* But I immediately reject the idea. *Admit defeat?* *This break up is wrong*. *It doesn’t make sense. How can I accept it?* The comfort of the hot water envelopes me and I start to feel better. Physically, at least. *My future. The beautiful home we were building. Am I just supposed to let it go?* It feels like I was having a gourmet meal when the table cloth was yanked and everything went flying off the table, leaving me with a terrible mess to clean. *What choice do I have?* I need to make sense of this breakup. There’s a small voice in my head that gets louder everyday. It’s not very nice, but it rings true. *Of course Kevin broke up with you.* It says. *You thought the man of your dreams was madly in love with you? Get serious*. *Of course he’s leaving, he never wanted to be here. The universe has finally realized it’s mistake*. The idea hurts but I can see it. I can make peace with it. *That’s okay then*. *I can accept that.* I start to think. I share the idea with Kevin. I’d like him to confirm it. “What? No Maria. What are you talking about?” Kevin reacts. “Of course I still like you, and love you, and want you and always have.” He speaks with admonishment that I would believe the opposite. I stare perplexed. I was expecting the opposite. He was going to come clean and own the fact that he never really wanted to be with me. it was going to hurt but letting go was going to be easier from now on. “Um… You do?” I respond, unsure why he feels the need to lie to me. “Yes!” He insists. “Then why are we breaking up!?” I shout. Frustrated that what was finally making sense makes no sense again. “I told you. We weren’t affectionate, we weren’t romantic. We turned into friends. That’s not the kind of relationship I want to have.” I shake my head. I hate that answer. “We can change that. If we both agree we still have feelings for one another there are things we can do!” I yell, starting the argument we’ve had several times already. “We’ve tried before.” He replies, calmly, dejected, and on cue. “Not like this. Not knowing breaking up was the result of failing.” “I don’t want it to be forced.” He repeats, slowly pronouncing every word. Hoping I will finally understand. “What’s wrong with trying?” I ask but I’ve lost my vigor. I know his mind is made up. I know there is no reasonable argument that can change his mind. I hear the determination of his decision increase every time we have this argument. “Maybe at another point in our lives. Maybe once we have some space and time we can come back and have the relationship we were supposed to have. I just can’t make you any promises.” I sit back and close my eyes. *The relationship we were supposed to have.* That’s hilarious. He holds just as much responsibility in creating this dynamic as I do. More actually. We were doing just fine until he decided to withdraw affection from me for the sake of protecting his delicate heart all those years ago. But I know I am just as guilty for letting it happen. *We made it this way and we can also unmake it.* I believe wholeheartedly. I just don’t know how to show him. I don’t want to be bitter, but it’s getting difficult not to. I love Kevin so much, I want to be friendly, kind and understanding. But he gave up, and the anger I hold for his decision starts to leak through in our interactions. I become short and snappy. My own annoyed reactions to his simple inquiries catch me by surprise. I don’t recognize this person. He doesn’t comment on my hostility. I think he feels guilty. I am acting like the victim to a crime he has committed. I am convinced I am. *Kevin made a choice. I just happen to be affected*. I try to talk myself out of it when I feel the subtle indignation peaks. *Nothing has been done to you. You are not a victim.* I want to be rational, but the anger is intense. *Kevin obviously did hurt you!* I argue back*. The ache in your chest proves it. It’s his fault you feel like this!* My thoughts spiral. *You wouldn’t be in pain if it wasn’t for him. But I want to be above it*. I remind myself. Living with him has made it imperative we get along. I don’t want to live in a hostile environment. *He didn’t ruin my life. My life isn’t ruined. I am going to be okay, blame is not necessary. Blame does nothing.* I practice believing that whenever I feel the hot anger overcome me. I picture myself calm and loving towards him. It’s not difficult it’s what I most want. Slowly I start to stip away the anger. I want to be his friend, I miss him. Being kind is first and foremost. “Hope is a problem. “She says through the headphones in my ear. “Hoping for something to happen does not motivate action. Hope makes you passive. It’s dreaming about a circumstance that you have no control over. It’s exchanging this current moment for a future better one. Hope sounds lovely. But that is deceptive. If you want something, you have to take action. You have to decide. It is up to you.” I turn off the podcast and stare at my ceiling. I’ve been staring at my ceiling a lot lately. For the first time just listening to the thoughts in my head. They’re so loud. “I am living on hope.*”* I admit outloud to the ceiling. Hope is all I eat, sleep and drink lately. It sustains me. “I want him to change his mind. I hope he changes his mind.” I mumble. Saying the thoughts I hold dear. “I am just not ready to let go. All I have left is hope*.”* But her words strike me. She’s right, hoping is keeping me helpless. *So how do I force myself not to want him? How do you stop wanting what you want?* I throw the pillow I am gripping against the wall. This is frustrating. I lay back down and stare at the ceiling some more, maybe the answer is in one of the crevasses up there. A half hour later I get up. *I don’t want to be helpless or at his whim*. I know that much. I have no control over what he does or decides and I don’t know what to do about this desire. But I can do something. I can focus on the few things I have control over. For the next 6 months I go into serious self improvement mode. My life has been turned on its head and instead of sitting around being at it’s mercy I make some decisions. I start to put back together my gourmet meal, one broken dish at a time. I reluctantly accept the reality of the situation. I start to imagine what life is going to require of me without Kevin. For one, I need to get my finances on track. I don’t know anything about credit, I don’t have an ounce of savings and I could probably be making more money than I am. I dive deep into all things self help. I learn about the power of meditation. The pain from the heartbreak is so unbelievably heavy and constant, I learn quickly meditating helps me process the pain in a way I’ve never experienced. Eventually I get up feeling a little less melancholy. A little more at ease. I read a book on nutrition, decide to cut out processed foods and lose a bunch of weight. I join a crossfit class since I’ve always wanted to be someone that exercises regularly. I become vegetarian after spending a lonely fourth of July weekend watching vegan documentaries on Netflix. Distracting myself from the fact that Kevin was going to tell his family that we were over. I learn about investing and open a savings account and a Roth IRA. I quit my job with crap hours and get a better paying one that is 9 to 5. It’s as if the pain from the breakup motivates me to do things I never would have. I am taking ownership of my life. I start dreaming and making plans for myself years down the road. I feel a sense of control again. I ask myself what I truly want, if I could have anything? Who do I want to become? *Confident. Thriving. Independent.* I dare to believe what might be possible. You could say I start to hope, but better, I start to plan. During these months Kevin and I grew close again. The immediate pain of being broken up receded and we spent our afternoons together. We cherished the time knowing we would soon be apart. We no longer played mind games, we weren’t afraid to be vulnerable and real. All of the issues we had, any resentment that we held, dissipated. None of it seemed to matter. We showed up authentically without agendas and expectations. We were still intimate on occasion, but it became less frequent over time. We were slowly letting go of each other. Counting down the days until the end of our lease. Once in awhile I would check in and wonder why we were breaking up. Seeing if maybe he’d rethought the decision. Considering how great we were getting along it made no sense. “If you say that maybe someday we can make it work, why can’t we break up with the intention of coming back to each other?” I asked one morning as he ironed his clothes and I journaled at the kitchen table. “Because I don’t want us to put our lives on hold for each other, that’s not fair to either of us.” “I would. If you asked me to.” I proclaimed “I wouldn’t ask you to.” “But you want to stay friends. You don’t think that’s unfair to ask?” “I don’t want to lose you from my life Maria.” he says passionately. “Maybe we aren’t meant to be together but I do think we belong in each other’s life. Don’t you?” *Well of course I do. I am in love with you.* I think but ignore it and keep writing instead to hide my frustration. Kevin’s insistence that we stay friends was both amazing and awful. Certainly the joy of still having his company keeps me interested. But what if being his friend keeps me pinning? That sounds like a nightmare. He thinks we can make it work that everything will be fine. I am not as confident. Kevin informs me that he has been looking for apartments a few months before our lease is set to end. I put it off, I still have plenty of time. Also, what if we miraculously somehow end up staying together? A little hope lingers in the background. That’s not why I am waiting. I tell myself. I am just too busy and it’s still too soon. A week later it’s official. “I signed a new lease.” He says. “I got the confirmation yesterday.” *Fuck*. “Oh.” I say quietly. Feeling a tight knot in my stomach. *Wait no.* I never told my coworkers my ex and I were living together, I said he was still my boyfriend. It seemed easier than explaining the situation at the time. And for a few hours in my day I got to live as if it were true. As I walk into work red faced and sniffling I decide it’s time to come clean. I go straight to my manager so I can explain why I’ll be on the verge of tears today. “It’s been a long time coming.” I say “But it’s official, he signed a new lease.” She nods in sympathy. “We’re here for you, whatever you need.” She says giving me a warm look. “Start with the onions.” she suggests with a smile. “That way no one has to wonder about the tears.” I laugh, what a sweet offer. *Will I ever get over this?* I wonder. *This feels like the longest breakup in history. I just want to be better already.* No matter what I do my heart feels splintered into pieces. I can’t think about anything but this. My emotions sway from heartbroken to angry to bargaining to grief. I stay at anger for a long time that day. I hate Kevin for asking me to stay his friend. I can’t fathom not being in love with him. *How can I watch him move on with his life like that?* It is difficult for me to say no to Kevin, that’s part of the hesitation. I wish I could give him whatever he wants but this. “I need to say something.” I declare as we sit down for dinner. “I’d like to hear it.” *I doubt that.* “I know that you’re very adamant that we need to continue a friendship after this. And I get it. In a perfect world so would I. The thing is I can’t see myself being able to move on while we’re friends. I just can’t imagine it. I really think I am going to need space to really mourn this before I can just have you in my life like that.” “Really?” He says sadness in his voice. “How long?” “ I dunno.” I shrug and look away. “A year?” “A YEAR!?” he shouts. “Maybe.” “That’s so long.” “I don’t know I am just guessing.” He stays quiet. And finally nods. “Okay Maria. I know I’ve been incredibly selfish to ask you in the first place, so of course I’ll respect that. Take the time you need.” “ Thank you.” I say relieved. “But if you could shorten it to a couple of months for me that’d be real swell.” He says and smiles. I roll my eyes. I can’t keep putting it off, it’s time for me to find my own apartment. I start my internet search and soon realize I won't be able to really look and choose if I want to get into a place in time of this lease ending. I waited too long, my options are limited. A voice in my head tells me I could just ask to room with Kevin so I can get more time to look but I scoff in refusal. That will not be happening. I imagine what that conversation would look like anyway. Kevin’s disapproving look at my continued unacceptance of this breakup. His reluctant yes at having to keep living with his ex girlfriend, unable to start his new life. I pick the cheapest closest place I find and sign the lease without the option of looking at it first. *Ah well.* I think. *That’s what hope costs you.* I decide that we will cut off contact once we are fully moved into our respective apartments. It’s my decision to do this and yet I dread it. Seeing as I’ve been kicking and screaming throughout all of this, keeping him around as my friend would be an easier middle ground. But I am proud of this decision. I am taking the harder less pleasant option for my ultimate well being. All the literature on breakups say that cutting ties is best so you can fully ‘withdraw’ from your partner and lose dependency. Kevin definitely feels like a drug. Apparently being with him even lights up similar parts of the brain. I am choosing the painful deliberate process of moving on. Although partially out of a fear that not doing means staying stuck for the rest of my life. At the moment I can’t fathom a reality where I am not in love and desperate to be with him. I remind myself that there are enough examples of people getting over the ‘love of their lives’ to believe it’s possible for me. I’d do anything to know their secret. *Time.* Everyone tells me. *It’s time*. But I loathe that answer, I don’t buy it. *Of course it’s time, but what do I DO in that time?* I implore*.* That no one seems to know. *Just live your life?* There are certainly people who kept themselves pinning even after decades of time. I vividly remember a podcast of a man who pines for his high school love into his old age. “I thought about you everyday since I last saw you.” He told her once they were reunited. *EVERYDAY*. I can’t have this with me everyday. That is unacceptable. Does that not prove that it isn’t just time that will work magic? I won’t say that to anyone though. Doing so will reveal the hidden fear that I will be stuck in love unable to move on. Instead I nod and try no to let them see my annoyance at their clichéd answer. *How do I heal? How??* I plead the universe to give me an answer. Finally it’s the night that I am fully moved into my apartment. Our lease has ended our new leases are signed and if there was any hope left within me it was wiped away when he helped me move the couch in. We plan for him to spend the night, our final rendezvous. As expected It’s lovely and sad. I am divided into the me that wants it to be over so I can start to heal and the me that wants it to never end. He is gone when I wake up. I search frantically for my phone and see a text: Kevin: **I love you. I’ll miss you so very much. You were my best friend and I'm so very sad to see us go our separate ways… I wish you the best of luck and I’ll always be thinking about you.** Here it is. I’ve been imagining this, writing this goodbye text in my head for months. **Kevin I love you. My heart aches from your absence. I can only hope time and distance does it’s job and makes it so we can once more be in each others life. I thoroughly look forward to that day. Until then I hope you find joy. Thank you for loving me.** He replies **Thank you for loving me. Goodbye Maria.** It’s beautiful and succinct. I close the phone and cry more endless tears. I’ve stopped wondering when they’ll stop, it’s a fruitless question. I look around my new apartment, life feels empty and hollow, like the pain in my chest. I can’t imagine how I will fill the gap he left. *I need to create something out of this* I think and take a deep breath, owning the weight of that responsibility *maybe* I dare *something amazing.


Warning: Deals with heavy topics. I'd prefer not to say more. \ Darren's car shuddered a bit every few seconds. He was concerned about it, but he figured he'd deal with it when it broke. The neighborhood was getting dark and grey as the sun went down and front lights got turned on. It was mostly porch lights that have that orange haze and the bugs always get stuck in. A hard turn into the driveway, but there was only room enough for one car in the garage and that one was Mom's. Mom had moved in with Darren a few years ago. She wanted company and he wasn't very good at telling her no. The car shuddered to a stop and he shifted it into park. There was something satisfying about that moment when the car finds itself a stationary object due to your hands. It was about as good as the feeling of starting a car up. As he stepped through the grass onto the front porch, he could hear the TV in the house. It was playing the usual evening drama. Probably some crime-show. The door would be locked, so he pulled out the keys. He knew the keys by their shape but also by the scratches on them. It gave them a unique look that always caught his eye even before the shape or color. The door handle was loose when he unlocked it. He told himself he would put it on a list of things to fix, if he ever made one. The little dog started barking. It was Mom's. Not that he disliked it. It would lick his face on occasion and he would laugh at it rolling on the ground. Its damn bark, however, every time a noise happened in the house did make him imagine punting it across the room. He'd never do that, of course, and anytime he imagined it he felt bad afterwards. Mom didn't get up, but he could see the light brown curls of her hair peaking up over the top of the lazy-boy chair. He always had to shoo the dog when he closed the door or it would try and run out. The damn dog never ran too far, but it was a hassle running around half bent over trying to catch it, especially in the dark. He'd never admit it, but it kind of made the dog endearing to him. He always felt rather satisfied once he caught the dog and it was something he had accomplished on his own which no one else would ever have a claim to. There wasn't much in life he could say that about. Deadbolt behind him, not just for safety but to keep the electric bill down by making the seal on the door pull tight. He didn't say anything to Mom, but just turned and headed to the kitchen. She was probably asleep, he figured. There was only a lamp on in the house, beyond the red light of the clocks in the bedroom and the microwave in the kitchen. But, upon a flick of the switch, let there be light. It was so bright it momentarily dazzled. The bugs stuck in the light fixture gave the light almost a spotted look, like a dalmatian. If only those silhouettes didn't have legs sticking up showing their true dead-bug nature. He opened the door and got a glass of orange juice. He was working on his health, he told himself. But he also figured the chemicals from the meat plant he worked at would get to him early anyways. Thats just how things were. The dog barked and ran out the dog flap on the back door, making him chuckle a bit in the middle of a gulp of orange juice. It amused him how the dog seemed to just change thoughts in a split second and suddenly it's entire existence could only be satisfied by jumping at a bird or barking at a person passing on a bike. He envied that a little. He opened the dishwasher, which was half full, and made sure to put the glass on the top towards the back like his mom always lectured him on. He never tried to do the opposite on purpose. He merely got tired sometimes and it slipped his mind. He remembered tonight. He wore gloves at the plant, and they left a bit of a stench on his hands. He didn't like the smell. So he squirted a bit of lavender scented soap on his hands and gave them a good washing. While there were letters and newspapers on the tables, him and his mom kept things pretty clean. They just got so much in their mailbox they sorted through at a slow pace that things got covered over again fast. With a sigh he walked around to where his mom had drifted off. The TV was on a commercial break which was louder than the show itself. Due to this, his hearing didn't catch the silence. But he might not have noticed it anyways. He was awfully tired. Darren didn't consider himself particularly strong, but he could pick up an older woman like his mother. And he liked it better when she slept in her bed rather than out here. That was his priority. Getting her to bed. So the TV and the dog and the lights would come later. He reached under her knees and behind her back, making sure to cradle her gently and support her head. Keep in mind, she wasn't particularly light, but it was his mom. The heavier she was, the more he felt like a dutiful son. He walked at an angle, carrying her into the second bedroom. He made sure her head didn't hit the wall along the way. He moved at a slow gentle pace, but he didn't notice how still she was in his arms. It had been a long day. He was tired. His focus was on making sure she stayed healthy and getting her back into her bed which, as she said, was better for her back. He set her down on top of the bed before heading back to turn on the light. Now that he could see a bit better, he returned and pulled back the covers. She had been wearing depends for a while now, so he didn't notice anything unusual with respect to that either. Not that he would've said anything. It was always an awkward subject for him, and he never quite knew how to handle it. But he'd bashfully get what she needed from the store. They argued sometimes, and as he lifted her legs under the covers, he thought of their last fight. He thinks it was about his eating habits. He never ate too well, and his mom always seemed to nag him about it. He knew it was because she cared, but he still had a bit of pride, which he asserted by being slightly slovenly. It was a paradox, but it worked for him. And if his mom ever got really angry about something he would do his best to change things up. An example being the orange juice earlier. The room was cool enough that he thought she'd be fine under the blankets. They were pretty light. But he turned the fan on in her room for some extra noise cancellation in case some asshole's muffler was broken when they tore through the neighborhood at 3 am. He turned off the lights, noting a little how gaunt her face was. But only seeing her from the light reflected off the hallway wall, all the way from the kitchen, it was far less obvious. He walked over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. He knew she loved when he gave her kisses, and even if she wasn't awake, she had trained him well in it so it made him feel like his task wasn't complete until he gave her a kiss on the cheek, or when she was in bed, on the forehead. She had done that when he was little. He walked to the doorway and looked in, his body partially blocking the pale yellow light from the hallway. It made him think of the trips they had gone on when he was younger, riding in the car, the streetlights shining their lights across the window in a hypnotic rhythm. He liked to pretend he was asleep so Mom or Dad would carry him inside. Most kids probably did that. But it still meant something to him. He wondered if she did that lately. He was pretty sure she had. But that was fine too. He didn't think she was doing it tonight though. And he was correct on that point. He closed the door most of the way but left it cracked. Then he returned and shut off the TV and put up her glass from the table, getting it to the dishwasher. He considered putting it in the sink, but he was already here so might as well. The shifts were brutal to him. His eyes felt dazed from the glaring white walls and the bright lights that gave the perfect amount of light so that the slices of meat could be checked from all sides as they came down the conveyor belt. Another glass of orange juice. It had been growing on him lately, though he definitely needed to pick up the low acid kind or he'd get acid reflux before bed. Kitchen light went off... Then he had to get the dog in. He called it, and like usual it didn't come for a few seconds. Then it bounded in. He shut the door behind it and locked the doggy door. Mom had watched too many of those criminal shows. Didn't like the idea of just a flap keeping the outdoors and in separated. He thought it was funny that she cared about that when she was asleep but not when she was awake, as he knew she fell asleep without planning on it anyways. He brought it up once, but regretted it and she ignored the conversation. Now the living room lamp went off. He sighed and headed to his bedroom. He wished he had more time to relax after work, but exhaustion hit hard. The door to mom's room was open a bit further as the little dog had shoved it's way in and had already gotten up, snuggling next in the covers on the inside of the bed. Which meant the dog was in the middle, like she owned the place. Well perhaps she did. Mom doted on the little dog. And he told himself he didn't, but he did. He gave it the end pieces of hotdogs and would chase it outside sometimes. It almost gave him the thrill of trying to catch the dog, without the worry of it running into the road. Almost. There was still light, however, in the hallway. A small lamp from an outlet low to the ground, just to make sure everyone could make it to the bathroom or kitchen without stumbling, no matter their eyesight or how awake they were. He used the restroom, stripped down a bit, then got under his own covers. Later during that night he would realize he had gotten a bit hotter under the covers and so he kicked them off. This, however, made him concerned for his mom so he went in and pulled the heavier covers off of her, except her feet. That way her body could be at the temperature it needed. The dog didn't like this, running around in circles, and he shushed it to stay quiet. But the dog settled. He was still very tired. He half noticed she hadn't shifted positions from when he laid her down, which a bit unusual. But he was still very tired. In the coming days, the little dog would mean everything to him. Sure, others were shoulders to cry on or hug. Close family friends meant a lot. But the little dog was a bit more special to Darren because it had been mom's. And it had slept with her every night. It still slept on her bed, so he still went in some nights and turned on the fan to make sure it was cool enough. He wished he hadn't been so tired that night that he hadn't noticed. It wouldn't have made a difference. She was gone hours before he got home. But for Darren she was there for at least a little longer. \ Its not particularly original, but I though it might be worth sharing. Its repetitious, but perhaps that gives it a bit of charm.


Above the chatter, a woman gritted her teeth and pushed, her screams partly silencing the crowd around her. On the horizon, no one seemed to notice, maybe there was another birth going on there right now, or maybe a conception. The woman near me hung on to the shoulders of the women and men around her, I could make out one of her hands squeezing another woman’s shoulder, her bright red hand clenching so tight that the skin on the shoulder was pale, she’d probably leave a bruise. I made out the smell of her birth, even through the many other unwashed people between us. She pushed again, this time shoving those around her so hard that I felt the energy ripple through the crowd. A few of the men around me sighed as the ripple of shoving hit them. A light misting rain began to fall and muffled the air. The clouds had hung low all day, and now they had finally broke. The horizon went out of sight, but I could still see the woman. Her face was pointed calmly towards the sky, the rain indistinguishable from the sweat on her face. I could see her nostrils flaring as she sucked in air. Rain always quieted people down, it softened the tensions between neighbors, and lessened the body heat constantly caused by the brushing of our bodies against one another. Other people raised their open mouths to taste the air and quench their throat. They moaned and sighed as they gulped, contrasting to the painful noises of the mother. The rain picked up and began to disturb members of the mass. People pushed and shuffled through the crowd, agitated by the weather. Was it instinctual to be so resistant and uncomfortable in the rain, does the body naturally seek shelter? The agitated began to flow together in concise paths through the mass of bodies and in turn causing more people to move, swear, and grow angry. Nobody ever liked when too many people moved, such as this uneasiness. Resolute old men were known to swear by their stature, hardly moving from their spot for years or decades. All should be done in their spot. It was safest not to move, lessen the chance of losing a family member or nice neighbor. I had moved once like those moving now to avoid the rain, and I regret it. The slamming of bodies, the pushing of strangers, the trampling. The mother had been pushed to the opposite side of the river of people. I wasn’t sure if her neighbors had carried her out of the way or if she had moved of her own accord. It made the air feel more anxious than usual, her birth and the rain. The rain got worse and the puddles grew larger. The flow of people widened and slowed. They sloughed through the mud that their trampling feet had created when mixed with rain and the usual filth. The mother wasn’t audible anymore from this distance with the angry noise of the movement and the increasing slamming of the rain. I could feel the oil running from my hair now, as it trickled around my nose. I could taste my sweat and dust, watery in the rain. I licked the roof of my mouth and blinked my eyes rapidly. It was becoming too much. So I closed my eyes, trying to forget the world. I breathed in. I breathed out. I focused on my breathing. *Breath in.* *Breath out.* *Breath in, breath out.* The rain was running all over my body. Soaking my hair and clothes. Tiny streams of it ran around my neck and down between my chest, another down the spine of my back, each vertebrae slightly tickled. I raised my head and my closed eyes fluttered and winced at the falling rain. My body jostled from the outside, but I swayed with the flow. I patted my toes in the puddles, wiggled my knees ever so slightly. I could feel the warm darkness inside the cavity of my body growing closer, richer, soon it would reach my eyes and my brain. And it did, until my head felt like balloon carrying the light weight of my body, and my eyes felt like oiled marbles, like bearings rolling idly in a wheel. I became unaware of my breathing, yet felt the rhythm of the skin on my chest sliding over my ribs. I moved my eyes under their lids. Life and light emerged in the void, colors swirled and children’s laughter echoed. Children running around in a circle holding hands. I can still feel the breeze. Then the mother screamed, her highest note. The baby had come, “The baby has come!”, “The baby has come”, “The baby is here!”, “The baby is with us. “Baby, baby baby!” I opened my eyes, though they still winced in the smashing rain. The flow of moving bodies had grown larger, yet now it began to circle around the mother. The woman and her new girl in the eye of the spiraling mass. They all chanted, “Baby!” The woman brought the girl to her chest to suck. The rain washed the babe clean in a few moments, revealing her thin black hair and brown skin.


You know those nights, right? The wild ones. Raucous. Chaotic. Intoxicating. Or intoxicated, at least. For the life of me I don’t know how I got here. My mind is foggy. My head is pounding. It feels like my brain is literally trying to escape from my skull by beating its nonexistent fists against my temples, against my eyes. Screaming to be let out. At first my vision was blurry, lights and shapes swimming in and out of focus. In and out. Up and down. All around. Swirling about me like a nauseating, whirlwind carousel of sensory hell. It’s starting to come in to focus now, but the lights in this room are making my eyes sing with pain. It’s making the headache much worse. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hung over. My mouth. Jesus. It’s not just cotton mouth. This isn’t like cotton balls between my teeth. It’s a whole field of cotton. Rows and rows of it, springing to existence inside my lips, blooming and growing wild. Out of control. My tongue is shrieking for water. It feels as though it will shrivel up and turn to dust inside my mouth. It feels as though I’ve never had water in my entire life. And it’s not just the desert dryness, the taste! Oh god, the taste. It’s unbearable. Imagine if somebody if somebody took a whole bottle of cheap ass vodka, glass and all, a pack of cigarettes, whatever mess you scrape off of the bottom of your shoes, and a full, filthy ass diaper. Take all those things and put them in blender. Turn it on high and make a smoothie out of that rancid shit. Then drink it. That’s what it tastes like. Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck. What is this shit?!? What is this metal thing on my wrist?!? Oh shit balls, there’s a chain… A fucking chain! Am I chained to a wall?!? Oh god no. No no no no no no… There’s a manacle encapsulating my left wrist. I’m in literal chains! Oh god…shit, don’t cry. Don’t cry. You’re fine. Ah, FUCK! What the holy hell is this?!? Where am I? What is this place?!? I’m in deep, deep shit this time. Why is this happening? Why am I even here? Think. Think think think, you stupid bastard! Oh hell. Just breathe. Focus. What happened last night? Go back. Go back. Ok, well, I know I was at Barry’s last night. Barry’s is what you would call a dive. Yeah, a dumpster dive. A classic little shithole of a bar. Downtown, smack dab in the middle of the seediest part of my city. I go there because it’s close. Close to work. Close to home. That’s why I go there. So I don’t have to drive drunk. Not that I could anymore. I lost my license not too long ago because of that fucking DUI. About a month ago. So I couldn’t drive any more. Even if I wanted to. That was a bad fucking night. But this is worse. So much worse. Oh my god. Help! Fucking help! Somebody fucking help me, oh god, oh Jesus Christ, help!!! Oh fuck me. Fuck me fuck me fuck me. Oh god no. This isn’t right. What am I doing here?!? The lights. Ah, man, my fucking eyes! Ok, the lights are fluorescent. Bright. Blinking like somebody having a god damn seizure. Shitty. But bright. And the walls…oh my fucking god! Is that…blood? That’s fucking blood! Ok, fuck. So I’m crying. That’s ok. That’s ok. You’re chained to a fucking wall that’s covered in blood. Anybody would cry over that. Right. Right. Ooooooook…deep breath. The chain is bolted into the wall. I’m not going to be able to pull it out and there’s no way I can get it off of my wrist. There’s a ratty twin size mattress on the floor. And, oh wow, ha ha ha ha… That’s just great. I’m betting those stains are blood too. What the hell is going on in this place? What was that noise? Shit. There’s a door over there. Heavy, metal, no windows. Rusted to shit like it’s seen better days but still impenetrable. Oh my god. It’s opening! Hey, help me! Over fucking here! Wait… A man just entered the room. Tall, lanky. A spindly ass string bean of a guy. And he’s wearing a black balaclava. Great. Classic. The only part of his face I can see are his eyes. Shining and glinting in the fluorescent light like two nasty blue gems set deep in his covered face. He’s not going to let me out of here. He’s the one who put me here. And he’s coming closer! Look, man! I shout. You’ve got the wrong guy I promise you! Ok. Ok. Maybe you don’t. What did I do to you? Did I fuck your girl? Oh wait… oh no. Man… did I… did I fucking run somebody over?!? A hit and run? Did I kill your girl? Your kid? Hey, hey, hey. Hey, man. We can talk about this ok? I’ve got money! I can pay you! Please just let me out of here! Fucking please! He’s…he’s laughing. He’s fucking laughing at me! Ok, bro. You got me. Ok. I don’t have any fucking money! I’m sorry, alright! I don’t have any money. I can’t pay you. But I’m sorry! I’m really fucking sorry! I’m so fucking sorry. Just please, please let me go. He’s still coming closer. He’s so close I could reach out and touch him if I wasn’t chained to this fucking wall! Oh shit this is bad. I slump down the wall, sliding my ass against the dark brown stains, as if sliding my ass against old, dried shit. Crumpling on top of the no doubt bug-infested, blood stained, pinnacle of DNA evidence that is the twin sized mattress. He’s still fucking laughing at me. It’s starting to piss me off. He’s shaking and shaking and shaking with delight and mirth. So hard that his skeletal frame just might shake itself to pieces right here and now. He lifts up a single, slender finger and wipes away tears from his eyes. Oh, that’s rich! He says. A big inhale inflates his rib cage and he lets out an entertained, satisfied sigh. He’s crouching down now on the balls of his feet, arms resting on his knees as he brings himself to my level. He thinks I’m funny. He just said so. He also says he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know me? What the fuck? Then why the hell am I even here? I ask him. Oh, he says, I just like killing people.


I was really looking forward to visiting the Kurseong hill station in India. My friends Arjun, Sunita, Vijay and I had been planning this trip for quite some time. We had heard all about the haunted Dow Hill forest and wanted to see it for ourselves. Being the city dwellers we were, we made fun of the local superstitions and beliefs associated with that place and assumed that it was probably harmless. Just a spooky looking forest that had earned a bad reputation due to the overactive imagination of human beings. The myth that intrigued me the most was about the apparition of a headless child in Dow Hill forest. The local legend was that when walking along the path in the woods, you would sense a presence right behind you. But you mustn’t turn around. Because if you do, you would see the aforementioned headless child. And once you had seen him, your fate would be sealed. If you didn’t die of fright right there, the headless child would follow you for the rest of your life. It would either drive you insane or would compel you to kill yourself. The story goes that the boy was taken from his home and murdered. His head was chopped off. Since then he wanders the forest and attaches himself to anyone who sees him. This is what a fellow patron told us at the hotel where we were staying. He was probably over seventy and had been born and raised in Kurseong. He was visiting his home town and when he heard our conversation about wanting to go to Dow Hill forest, he politely asked if he could tell us a few things about it. I suppose he was trying to dissuade us from going, but his friendly warning only fed our curiosity and made us even more determined to go to Dow Hill forest and walk down that path. At night, of course. We thanked the kind old man for all the info and decided to head into town. We visited a few local tourist attractions but the thought of going into the forest is what made us salivate. I think we saw it a challenge. To be able to go to the Dow Hill forest, walk the “forbidden” path and prove that the local legends were balderdash. That night, after we had had dinner, we decided to head into the forest. We were walking along the path that cut through the middle of the forest and led to a road on the other side. Just a few hundred feet from there was a bus station. We would be there in time to catch the bus back to town. The night wasn’t especially dark. The full moon illuminated our path and we could see our surroundings quite clearly. We did carry flashlights, but they were unnecessary. The four of us walked together, telling stories , laughing at each other’s jokes. As we ventured deeper and deeper into the forest, we began to hear strange noises. Granted they seemed to be coming form a distance and we had to strain our ears to hear them, but they were there. I mean , we all heard them. Surely four people could not have the same hallucination. It sounded like someone wailing in despair and agony. This was followed by the sound of laughter. The natural flow of our conversation was gone. And it seemed we just talked out of necessity to prevent silence from engulfing us. I’m sure that each of us had begun to feel that the legends about the forests may not be so baseless after all. Arjun tried to lighten the mood. He began to share with us an anecdote involving him and a one night stand. He was facing us and walking backwards. Sunita was just telling him to be careful when he tripped over a rock and fell. He had sprained his ankle badly. We all cursed under our breaths. But Sunita was prepared as always. She pulled out a pain relief spray and a length of bandage from her back pack. Essentials that the rest of us geniuses had forgotten to pack. She sprayed Arjun’s ankle and wrapped it up. Vijay was bent down watching Sunita attend to our friend and made a few light hearted joke at Arjun’s expense. As they were occupied, I felt like something, or someone was right behind me. I turned around and there he was! The headless child. He was there for a fraction of a second before disappearing. He didn’t evaporate or anything, the way ghosts do in bad horror movies. He was there one instant and was gone the next. I let out a gasp. Vijay asked me what was wrong. I remained silent and kept on staring at the place where I had seen the apparition. He asked again. This time Sunita and Arjun too were on their feet. Arjun with a little help from Sunita. I decided not to say anything. Because I honestly didn’t know if I had actually seen the headless child or if my mind was playing tricks on me. I had been thinking about what the old man had told us all day. Maybe this was something my subconscious mind had just conjured up. Especially since I was already a bit nervous, what with all the distorted sounds we kept hearing. I told my friends it was nothing. We slowly made our way to the narrow stretch of road on the other side of the forest. We reached the bus station, caught a bus and by midnight, we were back at the hotel. Now that were back in familiar surroundings, the trepidation we had felt in the forest seemed silly. We joked about it and patted ourselves on the back for having “conquered” Dow Hill forest. I decided to put any thoughts of the headless child out of my mind as we went to bed. I was in my hotel room, in the middle of my nightly skin care routine when I felt like I heard the pitter patter of little feet. The sound seemed to be coming from the bathroom. My heart racing, I rushed to the bathroom and turned on the light. There was nothing there. It must have been some kid in the adjacent room, is what I told myself. I went to bed and tried to force myself to sleep, telling myself again and again that there was nothing in Dow Hill and that what I had seen was a figment of my own imagination. We stayed in Kurseong for another two days and the whole time, I kept hearing things. If it wasn’t the sound of little feet running around in my room, it was the sound of a child’s laughter right next to my ear in the lobby. The looming sense of dread I felt became all too real when we were about to check out and I offhandedly asked the front desk manager if there was a child in the room next to mine and he told me that room had been vacant for several days. I told myself once again that I was just letting the rumors about the forest get to me. After we landed in New Delhi, I went to my parents’ house to pick up my dog, Nova and then went back home with her. I had missed my good girl. Once I was in my own home, I was sure I would stop imagining weird things. But that was not to be. What had followed me to New Delhi wasted little time in making it’s presence known. That night as I cooked dinner, Nova sat in the hallway playing with her chew toy and watching me work. As I listened to music and chopped veggies, I felt what I thought was Nova pawing at my calve. But then I looked up and saw her still sitting just outside the kitchen. I jumped back in shock and fear. I would have dismissed this too as a product of my imagination, had I not heard the same pitter patter of tiny feet in the hallway and Nova barking her head off in the sound’s direction. The strange occurrences soon became a part of my life. One evening, I was in my study trying to get some work done, when my pen inexplicably fell off the desk. When I reached down to pick it up, I heard the sound of tiny, bare feet running out of the study, accompanied by a child’s giggle. As if a toddler had just played a prank. Nova, once again began to bark like crazy. I petted her, more for my own comfort than for hers. She looked into my eyes as if to tell me that something was very, very wrong. As the days went by, the activity only escalated. I was terrified of being alone in my own house. I made sure Nova was by my side at all times. In the shower, I could see through the steam, the silhouette of a small child right outside. And of course, Nova’s growling would confirm that something really was there. When I went to sleep at night, I could sense someone standing right next to my bed. I have a few friends who have kids. They’ve often told me how they’ve been scared shitless when they woke up in the middle of the night to find their kid silently standing next to them. Now I could relate. Except, unlike them, the kid next to my bed was missing his head. When I cooked, did my laundry, got some office work done etc I could see something just at the edge of my field of vision. Objects that I *knew* I hadn’t touched Nova couldn’t reach would be moved. Sometimes, when I got ready for work in the morning, I could see little hand prints on the mirror. At first I tried to ignore it and didn’t show any kind of reaction when it appeared or moved something. I thought if it didn’t get some kind of reaction out of me, it would lose interest and might go away. I was wrong. The spirit was in no mood to be ignored. One evening I was in my study and the thing was running around as it usually did. I heard a thug as if someone had bumped into my reading chair. I didn’t even look up. The child didn’t like that. In the next second, I saw the antique clock I kept on the fireplace mantle levitate, then come flying at me as if someone had thrown it. I ducked out of the way just in time and the clock crashed into the wall behind me. Not only did the spirit refuse to be ignored, it had shown me that it could cause harm if it didn’t get it’s way. It was like a child throwing a tantrum at being denied a toy. Only this was even more terrifying. I could hardly get any sleep, as on most nights, I would be lying awake in bed. I was constantly paranoid and looking over my shoulders. As a result of this stress, my performance at work began to suffer. My social life too had taken a beating, as I wasn’t exactly the most fun person to be around. I considered moving, but I knew that the headless child would only follow me. I didn’t want to tell anyone for fear of being thought of as insane. One evening, my best friend, Sunita came over. She said she had noticed that ever since we got back from our trip to Kurseong, I wasn’t acting like myself. That I seemed constantly stressed. She asked me to tell her what was wrong. I felt a huge weight being lifted from my chest as I told her everything. Sunita listened patiently and told me that she believed me. She said that that night in the Dow Hill forest, she too had felt a presence behind us, but she didn’t look. Sunita has an aunt, Rekha, who calls herself a medium. She claims to have had encounters with spirits and has helped them move on. When I had first heard about this, I laughed it off. I called these stories ridiculous and suggested that Sunita’s aunt see a psychologist. But now, when Sunita suggested that we ask her for help, I agreed. Rekha and I spoke on the phone and she agreed to come to my place and see what she could do. The following Saturday, Rekha walked around the house, examining every nook and corner. She seemed deep in contemplation. Finally, after about 30 minutes, she told me there definitely was a presence in the house, that of a little boy, but she sensed no malice from it. Only sadness. I let out a harsh chuckle and told her about the incident with the clock. I asked her why someone who had no malice in them would do such a thing. Rekha replied that prolonged grief can often give way to anger. The spirit was probably in great pain. She repeated that she sensed no malice. She also said that she couldn’t just make spirits move on without finding out what they want. I thanked her and she left. I didn’t know about the spirit, but now I felt anger rising in me. This “child” had made my life hell and he’s the one who was in pain? I was a prisoner in my own home while he had free reign! What more could he possibly want? It was now after dark and I decided to do some reading. I sat in my reading chair and tried to focus on the book. And that’s when I saw it. A tiny headless form in the corner of my eye. I think my annoyance overcame my fear and I instantly turned my head and looked at it. Standing just a few feet from me was a toddler, in a pair of brown pants and a white shirt and with no head. I just stared in awe and terror. Then I noticed something. His fingers. They were so tiny and looked so delicate. His size and the way he stumbled when he walked suggested that he was no more than three years old. How did a child so young lose his head? Who would have the heart to do such a thing? As these thoughts crept into my mind, I began to feel sympathy. I held out a hand towards the little boy, even as my body shook with nervous energy. The child walked towards me and touched my hand with his. And as he did, I was engulfed in a bright white light. I opened my eyes to find myself back in Kurseong. I was sitting on the grass next to a huge house. I looked down at my hands. Only they were not *my* hands. They were the hands of a toddler. I saw my hand, or should I say the toddlers hand, reach out for a stuffed bunny and play with it. From the house, a woman emerged. She had a bright, warm smile. Her clothes were very old fashioned. She picked me up and kissed my cheeks. She called me her little bear and asked if I was having fun. I heard a small child say “yes, mamma”. Then I heard another voice, a man’s voice from the house. He was asking the woman to come look at something. “Mamma” put me down and went back in. I saw myself continue to play, look at the squirrels, hear the birds. I felt safe and happy. Then suddenly, a pair of strong hands grabbed me by my arms. I was being carried off in a hurry with a hand place over my mouth to keep me from making a sound. I felt the stuffed bunny slip out of my hands. I was placed inside a sack and I couldn’t see what was going on. I felt myself being pushed around harshly and heard angry voices talk in a language that I did not understand. I felt tears pour out of my eyes. Finally I was taken out of the sack and saw myself surrounded by trees and a bunch of scary looking people. I realized this was the Dow Hill forest. I was right next to the path that my friends and I had walked. The men talked amongst themselves, but when one of them heard me whimper, he slapped me so hard I fell down. They continued to speak in the same angry awful tone. They would often look at me or point towards me and I knew that I was the subject of discussion. I then saw one of them pick up a large knife, like a machete. He lifted it high above his head and then brought it down on me. I was once again engulfed in a white light and his time when I opened my eyes, I was back in my study. The child was gone. I felt sobs shake my body. This is what had happened to that poor child. Some dastardly sub humans took him from his home and killed him. But why? Was he kidnapped for ransom and killed when the parents couldn’t pay? Or were the men extracting some kind of sick retribution? Whatever the case may have been, this child was brutally killed and was now unable to move on. Nova had heard me sobbing and came close to me. I hugged her as I cried. I remembered the woman who called him “little bear”. She must have been his mother. I could *feel* the innocent, tender emotions this child felt for her, even as he showed me what had happened to him. I realized that I wasn’t dealing with a demon, but with a lonely little boy. One who had been snatched away from loving care and then deprived of life. I decided I would not try to rid this house of him. If he wanted to stay, he could. I tried to do some research onto his murder, but I haven’t found much. It appears that his killers were never brought to justice. I wasn’t able to get used to the child’s presence in my home immediately. That took a while. But slowly, I accepted him as a part of my life. I even brought some toys home. Soft plushies - bears, dogs and bunnies, just like the one he had. I kept his toys in a small spare bedroom I had. Soon after, the child’s activities became very mellow. I can still hear his little feet running around but it no longer feels menacing. Just the sound of a toddler playing. And his activities usually remain confined to and around the room where I’ve kept his toys. Even Nova seems to be getting along with our little guest. Sometimes, I can see her wagging her tail at empty space, or lying on her back with a doggy smile on her face and pawing at something and I know that he’s there. I guess he likes playing with my dog too. I’m optimistic that having a home, a place where he no longer has to wander, where he isn’t feared or reviled will help him heal. And then maybe someday he’ll be able to move on. But until then, I share my home with a little boy with no head.


( Part one ) I was born different from the others. I was born with an inability to lie. I was born in the main village of my tribe. Everyone is born in the main village. But my thirteenth birthday is approaching, which means I may not be able to live in this village any longer.

Let me explain. My world, K’setra is ruled by one High King. He governs six smaller tribes, including mine, the mountain tribe, Sikhra.

Every year there comes a day which we have come to call, Cira, where all the children who turn thirteen that year are brought to a ceremony where the King’s representatives come and inspect and interview them.

Then they might be sent to a different sector, or even a different tribe. Some are taken away and never seen again. Only the luckiest, and the richest are allowed to remain in our beloved village.

There are several different sectors to every tribe. Agriculture, fishing, hunting, military, healing, philosophy, factory, and construction. Whatever the Inspectors see in you, they’ll send you to a sector where you’ll be mentored for a few years, and then maybe sent on missions, or deported, and so on. It is a cruel system, and many curse the High King behind his back. But those who are too outspoken are killed. My thirteenth birthday arrives, and with it a sense of dread among the villagers, because my birthday happens to be the day before Cira. My friends visit me. There is determined Chase, who is basically my brother, loyal Storm, who would never leave anyone behind, and sweet Hazel, who can think the best of anyone. We wish each other luck for the following day, where afterwards we may never see each other again. We reminisce about old adventures. We reassure each other with empty words.

That night we all sleep in my small house. They are the only family I have, and I want to spend every second of my remaining time with them. The next morning dawns bright and cold, and I wake abruptly. I turn and I see little Hazel cuddled up next to me, her soft brown hair fanning out behind her. I raise myself up a little on my bed to see across the room to where I had set up a few blankets on the couch for Chase and Storm. I only see Storm splayed out across the blankets, her mouth gaping. I frown, and get up carefully, trying not to disturb Hazel.

I wrap my simple grey cloak around me and step outside, closing the door behind me. I shiver slightly and head to where I know Chase will have gone.

My little house happens to be near the cliff edge of the mountain our village is on. It is a little cabin-like house with wooden rafters, and chipped doorway. A little farther down is a large jumble of boulders at the very edge of the cliff that we call Rockfall. The cliff faces another mountain which is usually capped with snow. It is a beautiful sight, especially early in the morning when we can see the sun rise and sparkle on the fresh frost.

I spot Chase sitting on a large boulder farther down the Rockfall, staring at the sun rising beyond the mountains. I clamber down, and perch myself beside him, watching our breath billow into a single cloud in the chilled mountain air. He looks at me, his blue eyes filled with tears. I suddenly realize how young we actually are. How undready we are to face the world on our own. I hug him very close, each of our sorrows melting into a cloud that flows around us, and obscures the sun.

I pull away from him. He whispers to me “ I don’t think I’ll ever see you again. They’ll tear us apart. I can’t do it. I can’t live without you guys. “ Hot tears burn my eyes and my breath shakes. I take his hand and say quietly “ I’ll find a way, Chase. I’ll find a way to keep us together. I promise. “

Hours later I find myself standing in a long line of thirteen year olds in the old marble pavilion in the center of the village where the Cira takes place every year.

A silent crowd faces us, the families and friends of those who stand pale beside me. We wait for the King’s inspector to arrive, my long black hair whipping around me in a cold breeze. I nervously catch Hazel's eye, my stomach churning with apprehension. Suddenly our tribe leader, Neta steps onto the pavilion. She observes us with sad eyes. She takes a deep breath and begins her usual speech. “ Each and every one of you have spent thirteen good years here with us in Sikhra village. You have made us all proud, and though you may move on, your memories will linger here. We will not forget your triumphs, nor will we forget your laughter….”

The speech drones on, and I can feel my nails digging into my palms, and my heart thumps loudly in my ears, drowning out even the others' quiet breathing. I shut my eyes, trying not to believe that this is happening.

I open my eyes, unnerved by the sudden hush of the crowd.

My heart leaps up into my throat as I see the inspector walk onto the stage.

He wears an elaborate red uniform laced with gold thread in intricate designs, and tall leather boots. He has cold eyes, pale skin, and high cheekbones. His hair is streaked with grey and combed back on his head.

He surveys us silently for a moment before he speaks. “ As you know, I am here to inspect you for placement by order of the High King. We shall start with--” He glanced down at a long list that Neta gave him. “ Abraxhi, Nikola. Step forward, boy. “

I felt a surge of sympathy for Nikola. I was never really friends with him, but I cannot help but feel sorry for him, as he steps forward, shaking from head to foot. After a careful interview, Nikola is sent to farming. Not bad. I know Nikola comes from a family of good farmers. I silently wish him the best as he walks off of the stage. The Inspector continues down the list. They all walk up and give the interview, some I know well, and some I do not. I feel terribly sorry for each of them. Finally: “ Hakahn, Storm “

Storm gives a small whimper, and her hands tremble. She steps forward and suddenly a voice shouts “ Storm! Stop! “ We all turn. It’s Chase. He’s stepped out of line, and is holding tight to Storm’s arm. She shakes her head at him, almost imperceptibly, her amber eyes wide. Chase looks up into the Inspector’s face and yells “ You are not taking her away! I won’t let you imprison and enslave her like you’ve done to the others! We’ll never serve you and your dictator!”

Chase turns to us and screams “ FOR FREEDOM!!! FIGHT THE OPPRESSION!!! FIGHT THE KING!!! “

Nobody moves.

Despite the peril of the situation, I find myself awed by Chase’s incredible bravery and loyalty. The Inspector’s face is impassive. Suddenly he turns to me and says “ Vera. “

My breath catches in my throat. I forget about everything. “ Do you feel the same as your friend Chase, here? “ My breaths are fast and shallow. I know that I cannot lie. I know that I will not be able to protect my friends.

I take a deep breath and open my mouth.

“ I do. “ The Inspector's face hardens slightly. And he speaks now with a sharp bite in his voice. “ Yes, Vera, I’ve heard all about you of course, darling, the only Truthsik here in a century. The girl who is unable to tell a lie, yes very dramatic, I know. “

My heart flutters like a caged bird, sensing what is about to happen. “ Too bad “ says the Inspector “ That being truthful cannot save you. “ Suddenly he lunges for the sword hanging at his belt. I scream, a terrible fear blossoming inside me and I leap toward Chase and Storm, knocking them aside a second before the sword slices through the air where our heads had been. We land hard on the marble floor. I am only dimly aware of Hazel’s distant screams and the chaos that explodes in the rest of the pavilion. All my attention is on the Inspector who walks calmly toward us, dragging the tip of his sword on the floor, leaving a single delicate cut in the marble. Without warning he swings the sword up and screeches “ IT’S TIME TO DIE, TRAITORS!!!” I kick up at him, hard, my mind filling with panic. I grab Storm and Chase and we roll sideways, and again we only just miss the sword as it smashes down. I’m on my feet again, and I pull Storm with me. I scream at Chase “ GET HAZEL!!! “ I drag Storm to the edge of the pavilion and my eyes fly through the terrified crowd, searching for a sign of Chase and Hazel. Suddenly they appear running toward us. I grab Chase’s hand and we sprint out of the crazed pavilion.


My heels spoke with every step. Thoughts bounced off the walls as I ran, reflecting back onto me. I halted in front of the cage and pounded on the small black button like a barbarian. To anyone else at any other time I would have looked insane, but this was a far from sane time. Come on...come on.. God! Just open! *Ding* Ugh finally! A small can of pepper spray in one hand, along with stacks of paper in the other. My heart was hammering out of my chest. I stuck my left foot through the door, almost tripping on my other. Then I heard distant yelling of what sounded like someone racing almost as fast as I was to get to the second floor. The door closed. I was safe. For now. *Ding* 9... *Ding* 8... *Ding* 7... *Ding* 7... Wait. *Ding* 7.. *Ding* 7.. huh? The dinging ceased a few seconds later as I was just about to cover my ears from the incessant noise. I felt the cage stop with a loud thud. No! No! No no no no! This isn't happening. Not now. Not with him battering against my mind. I searched the numerous buttons lined against each other and my eyes eventually landed on an button outlined in red, with what appeared to have a small phone on it. My finger rapped against it. No answer. Of course! This had to happen now! I thought with disdain. After a few more minutes I eventually gave up. My feet were already sore from what seemed like miles of running. I came to the conclusion that I was going to be here for awhile, and might as well get comfy. My papers floated to the ground and I pocketed the small can. *Ticktock* *Ticktock* I looked around the cage and searched for the sound. *Ticktock* *Ticktock* As I was starting to tire from the din. I nodded my head up, closed my eyes and heaved a long awaited sigh. A slight shine of white gripped my eyes. My eyelids fluttered open. A clock on the top? I pondered. What is this? The Ritz-Carlton? I clocked my head and peered at the two arrows. 11:22 PM. 38 minutes is fine. I stepped to the side of the cramped cage and crouched down. It felt surprisingly soft. Carpet. Carpet? Strange. Well I suppose that's the least of my worries. It was a shade of light purple, adorned with a seductive gold trim. I plopped down once more with my knees against my chest, I wrapped my willowy arms around and began to contemplate what to do next. Let's go over what we know. I was running. I was waiting. I was stuck. I buried my head into my small frame and dug my nails, well more like claws, into the carpet. Just then a thundering *Boom!* shattered through the floor. I've always hated rain. At least the lights remained. Claps of thunder and lightning could be heard from the south wall. I glanced to the door hoping someone. Anyone. Would somehow magically pry open the doors. However, I knew deep inside the only thing prying those metal doors was that wretched creature. My spine crept over as I brushed a loose strand of hair from my face. Exhaustion was holding my hand, I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to escape this prison. God knows how long it's been. I glanced up at the oval timepiece. 11:37 PM. I took a glimpse of the entrance of the enclosure. A small vent caught my eye. I crawled over to it, careful not to send my papers sprawling, and perched in front of it. My eyes skimmed over the uneven surface, I trailed my delicate fingers across it. It was opened, but only just enough to hear sound, not to see anything other than the tan panels. I gently put both hands on it and pushed. Other than the slight creak it made, it was silent. Good. Silent is good. I pushed with more force, but nothing. I pushed a final time as another creak escaped its lips. It wasn't giving anytime soon. I took my hands off feeling a bit defeated, but was soon cut off by a *Pitter patter* The rain lightened up, a gleam of hope ran rampant across my vision. This way I can hear his steps. I took my hands up to the wall and stood up feebly. Fatigue consumed my body. A sudden high-pitched scream echoed through my bones. The walls started to rattle, causing the small clock to come crashing down. I yelped, but quickly covered my mouth with my hand. Afraid to cause any more ruckus. I hoped the previous noise was enough to dull my own commotion. He’s getting closer. I bent down and carefully picked up the shards. Once I had picked up almost all of them -the others to small to see- I set them down in the corner opposite the vent. Afraid to cut myself, I looked down and cautiously crossed the floor to the other side. At first it was barely noticeable but then it started to rock me. The rattling was back. From what you ask? Well, it could be an earthquake, but I had an inkling it was much worse than any natural disaster. I squatted down and laid my body there as best as I could. The elevator being quite small -even for me- was a challenging task to do. The rattling stopped. Then the two lights at the entrance burst. My hand reached up to my face to block it. I felt glass piercing my fragile skin. A piece dug into my leg and through my navy blue jeans. I clenched my jaw and waves of agony rolled out from under it, across my entire head, and even down my neck. There were multiple small shards stuck in it. A few even managed to catch on my cheek. As an unearthly cry filled the room, I let out my own cry of dread. I was too terrified to care if he had heard. Just as sudden as the cry the rattling begun once more, but this time I felt the elevator start to drop. He was climbing the ropes. Each tug could be felt across my entire being. I started to count each one. At about fourteen I heard a what sounded like faint breathing. I held my breath terror-stricken. At nineteen he stopped. A breeze shifted through the room, and with that sent a bitter shiver up my spine. He was here, and there was no denying it.


I live alone, I've lived alone for many years. Most of my family has passed away, and when they was alive I was the black sheep in my family. I was the outsider in school, always being tormented about my fuzzy hair, my yellow teeth,my ''poor'' clothes. I got use to it. I've gotten use to people being horrible to me. Just like I've gotten use to being alone. The rain on my roof keeps me sane, I relate to the rain with how it grows slowly and steady and becomes heavier, how it pours and sounds angry, the way the sounds knock on my roof and home don't scare me anymore. I use to be so scared of the rain and thunder. But I now relate because like the rain I use to be sad and pour and pour tears, and like thunder I use to howl of anger and want to knock on people's roofs and keep them awake, like they made me. I relate to the sun with how bright and hot it feels, at times I've been happy in my life, that at times I wanted to be bright and smother other's with my heat of happiness like the sun. And the moon is a peaceful reminder, that a new day awaits me, and I don't feel so lonely anymore because I found comfort in the weather. Even when a tornado and hurricane hit my side of the world, I don't feel sadness anymore because, like tornado and hurricanes I too have wanted to be one and destroy things. I relate to nature in many ways. My cat Lonnie, understands me better than most and curls up to me at night after a long day at the restaurant, and having people curse and throw their food at me. Lonnie is a reminder that animals are sometimes better than us humans. But I also have some human friends, their names are Daniel, Molly, and Billy, they bring me comfort, they come over often... we have tea and sometimes eat shitty frozen pizza and gossip. Daniel likes green tea and often tells me how pretty I am and gives me hugs.. he's a nice guy. I'd love to be with him but I think he kind of likes someone else more. Molly is the prettiest and nicest girl I've met, she and I do each other's makeup, we chit chat about guys her favorite food is cookies and we often make them together. And then there's Billy he's the group's comedian, he's always making me laugh after a long work at the restaurant. He's a cutie and loves pizza. We normally hang out after I get home from work, their waiting usually at my house. They comfort me and tell me to keep hanging on, even when I've become so depressed. Besides Lonnie their my best friends.. but I don't tell anyone about them because I'm afraid other people would take them away from me, and be their best friends... I don't wanna lose my best friends. ''Mrs. Love I'm afraid you have schizophrenia, I'm gonna refer you to a specialist.'' The doctor spoke. ''But doc, please don't take away my friends , I swear there is no voices in my head.. they're the only people I've ever loved, you're the crazy one. *I'm afraid to live without my ''friends'' doctor...


The Machine “Turn that off, Billy, it’s time for bed.” Billy turned away from the hologram projection on the wall, still showing a clip of a cheetah running through tall grass, to see his mother. She wore a grey nightgown, her hair disheveled. Billy thought she looked exhausted. But he wasn’t tired at all. He didn’t know why she always insisted he go to bed so early. There was nothing to wake up for in the morning anyway. “Fine, mom. But first I’m going to go see dad in his work room.” “I don’t know why he’s still wasting time in there with that stupid machine. But okay, you can go see him, and then after that it’s straight to bed.” “You got it. Goodnight, mom.” Billy clicked off the projector and began to move toward the hallway, a long narrow passage leading away from the living room with doors on each side. He could have reached his dad’s work room with his eyes closed, he spent so much time pacing back and forth through the apartment. He hasn’t been allowed to leave in more than four years, ever since the epidemic broke out. His mom always told him he was lucky to be healthy. But stuck in this one-floor apartment, 20 stories above ground with no windows to the outside world, he didn’t feel lucky. The one window they had before gave him a view of the city. He used to look out and see hundreds of grey buildings shooting out of the dark surface like spikes. He would imagine the thousands of other kids sitting there looking back at him. He looked toward where the window used to be, but now it was filled with a large, black box that protruded into the apartment. It was where the drones would drop off food and other necessities. The city had installed this drone delivery system after the epidemic began, because it was no longer safe for people to go outside without hazmat suits. The virus that spread throughout the city was fatal not only to humans, millions of whom had died, but it killed all of plants and animals it touched, leaving the city a barren wasteland. Billy barely had any memory left of the grass and flowers and trees that had once filled the city. He was still able to watch nature scenes in his projections, but it wasn’t the same. Looking through the half-open door into his dad’s room, he envied the man. As part of the engineering team tasked with maintaining the drone delivery system, his dad was allowed to go outside. He had to wear a bulky, full-body hazmat suit, but it would still be worth it. Billy imagined the excitement of walking around somewhere other than his apartment. “What are you doing there buddy?” his dad turned around to see Billy looking in through the door. The short boy standing in the doorway showed boredom in his face, with a hint of sadness. “Just watching you work,” Billy mumbled. “It’s better than going to sleep.” “Well it is time for bed, Billy.” “I know. But I’m not tired. Can’t I watch you work for just a few minutes?” “I guess a few minutes won’t hurt anyone. Besides, I think I’ve had a breakthrough with the machine.” An excited smile crept onto his dad’s face as he looked back at the machine, a hulking metal box the size of a refrigerator with a large opening in the front. Flashing blue lights inside the box lit up the tangle of thin wires lining its walls. Suddenly Billy perked up, with an unusual tinge of excitement in his voice. “Really? Does it work now? Can you travel back in time?” “Well, it’s still too dangerous for a human test, but I think I may have solved an issue that was preventing the wormhole from staying open. I still need to perform a series of diagnostics to test out its stability, but if all goes well I think I should be able to give it a try by next month.” “Next month? But that’s so far away.” “It’s worth taking my time Billy. This may be my only chance. If it malfunctions, I could get stuck in the wormhole, or trapped back in time.” “Where in time would you be trapped?” “I’m only planning to go back five years, to 2055. That way I can kill the virus at its source before it spread into an epidemic. That could save millions of lives.” “But couldn’t you go back farther if you wanted? To see what the world used to look like in the old days?” “Well, theoretically, yes. If it works for 2055 it should work for whatever year I plug into the controller.” He glanced at a black remote sitting on his work table with a series of buttons and a dimly lit blue display screen. “But for now my only goal is to stop the epidemic so things can go back to the way they were before. Anyway, that’s enough questions Billy. It’s time for bed.” “Ugh, fine.” Billy sighed, dejected. The machine had momentarily excited him with a curiosity he seldom feels. Everything else in the apartment was old and boring, with no opportunity for any sort of adventure. But he knew his dad wouldn’t let him use the machine. He would say it was too dangerous. Billy dragged his feet back out the door, his dad following him and flicking the switch to turn off the light in the work room. “I should be going to bed too,” his dad said under his breath. “I need to sleep on this. Need to consider what the breakthrough could mean before I move to the testing phase.” Wanting to ask another question but deciding against it, Billy shuffled through the hallway into his room, one door down from his dad’s work room. He closed the door, turned off the lights and plopped into his bed. It was pitch black in his room as he stared up at the ceiling, but Billy couldn’t fall asleep. He wasn’t even tired before, and now his mind raced with thoughts of the machine. Could it really take you back in time? Where could you go? What would the world look like? Minutes passed, and then hours. Billy had no idea what time it was, but he still couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep. His imagination soared with all of the people and places he could see if he tried using the machine. His dad said he had a breakthrough and solved the issue, so shouldn’t it work now? Billy’s curiosity became too much for him to bear. He crept out of bed and pulled on his slippers. Then he quietly opened the door and tiptoed over to the door of his dad’s workroom. Slowly, he turned the doorknob, careful not to let it make a sound. Then he cracked the door open just enough for him to squeeze inside and gently closed it behind him. The room was dark except for lights from the machine, still flashing bright blue. He used the dim glow to find the switch and turn on the main overhead light. It lit up the whole room, but Billy’s eyes remained fixed on the machine. Staring at it now without his dad working on it, the rectangular box didn’t look so complicated anymore. All he needed to do was grab the remote, get into the machine and press a few buttons. But what if his dad was right and it didn’t work? What if he got stuck somewhere? Billy felt a moment of hesitation. Then he thought about the last four years, trapped in his apartment, no one to talk to and no where to go, and realized it couldn’t be much worse. He gathered his courage and grabbed the remote from the table. Grasping the remote with his left hand, he took three steps forward until he was face to face with the machine. Before stepping in, he looked down at the watch on his hand. It read 2:00. It was two in the morning. Billy knew his dad wakes up at six, so he had to make sure that wherever he went, he got back before then. He lifted up his left foot and placed it into the machine. Holding onto the side with his right hand, he pulled himself into the refrigerator-sized box. It was cramped, but his fully body fit inside. He took a quick glance around at the wires and lights before looking down at the remote. There were ten buttons with small white numbers, a green button that read ‘GO,’ a red button that read ‘RETURN,’ a spinning dial and the display screen. With his fingers he tapped the buttons 2-0-2-0. Then spun the dial, not sure what it was for, and pressed the green button. Suddenly, the lights and wires disappeared. For a second, everything was black. And then he began to spin. As he rotated faster and faster, he saw flashes of blue light, then green and yellow. Billy closed his eyes and screamed, not knowing where he was or where he was going. The next thing Billy knew, he had been dropped outside somewhere onto a concrete sidewalk, landing hard on his feet. The bright light blinded him. “WATCH OUT!!!” Just as Billy turned to where the shout came from, a bicycle crashed into him. It knocked Billy to the ground, and the remote flew out of his hand onto the sidewalk. He looked up from where he lay on the ground and saw a boy who looked around his age, but with darker skin and shorter hair, had fallen off the bicycle. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you! I tried to stop!” The boy stood up and walked over to examine Billy. “Are you okay?” “Yeah … yeah I’m fine.” Billy touched his arms and legs and nodded back at the boy. “Where did you come from anyway? I could have sworn you just appeared out of nowhere.” “Uh … I … I don’t know. Where am I?” “What do you mean where are you? You’re in D.C., stupid.” “D.C.?” Billy looked around, and with his eyes adjusting to the light, suddenly he saw the world around him clearly for the first time. He was awestruck. The sidewalk where he sat stood on the edge of a wide field of bright green grass. He had never seen anything like the vast, green field that lay before him. Tall, bushy trees lined the field, and he could see groups of people walking on sidewalks on both sides. He followed the grass into the distance and his eyes came upon a large, white obelisk shooting into the sky. “What’s that?” Billy asked “Uh, the Washington Monument,” the boy studied Billy. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “I told you, I’m fine.” Suddenly Billy remembered the remote and shot up, running over to where it had fallen. He picked it up, and it appeared to still be intact, nothing broken. “What’s that thing?” the boy asked him. “Just a toy I dropped. Don’t worry about it.” Billy tucked it into his pocket and thought for a second. “This is my first time here. Can you show me around?” “Sure, I guess so. I was just riding around, I’ve still got some time before my curfew. What do you want to see?” Billy looked around, unsure of what else there was to see but amazed at the color green he saw everywhere. “All of the grass,” he said. “And the trees.” The boy looked puzzled. “All of the grass? Well I suppose I can take you to see this whole area, this is called the National Mall. Here, hop on these pegs on the back of my bike.” As the boy pulled up his bike and got on, he pointed to two short poles that jutted out of each side of the back wheel. Billy put his feet on the pegs and grabbed the boy by the shoulders. “What’s your name, anyway?” the boy asked him. “Billy. My names Billy.” “Nice to meet you Billy. I’m Michael. Now hold on tight while I take us around the mall.” Michael began to pedal. They started off slowly and then sped up as Michael pedaled faster. Billy felt the wind blowing his hair back and he squinted his eyes and smiled. He looked around at the green grass. He saw people sitting and reading. Two kids with gloves on their hands threw a ball back and forth. He saw a bird fly by and looked up at the bright blue sky. He felt a rush of excitement run through his body. “This place is incredible!” Billy shouted. “Eh, it’s okay. It gets too hot and humid sometimes, and there are lots of mosquitoes.” “But you have all of this grass! And the wind! I can’t believe you get to live here!” “Sure, whatever you say,” Michael responded. “Here come look at this.” Michael slowed down and stopped the bike next to the edge of a wide pool of water. Billy looked down and the pool stretched a long distance down to a rectangular, stone monument with columns across the front. Kneeling down to the water, Michael plunged his hand in and then quickly splashed the water so it sprayed all over Billy. “Hey!” Billy was surprised but laughing. He reached his own hand down into the water and pulled it back out. As the pool settled he saw a reflection of his face looking back at him, pale, round and smiling. Then a noise came from Michael’s pocket. He pulled out a small device and looked at it. “It’s my mom. She says I have to come home now. If you ever want to find me, I live near the corner of 10th Street and Franklin Street, Northeast. I usually hang out in the park there. It was nice to meet you Billy.” Michael got back on his bike and pedaled off, leaving Billy alone by the water. He wasn’t sure where to go. He walked back over to the grass and sat down. Crossing his legs in front of him, he picked blades of grass and put them in his lap. Minutes passed as Billy played with the grass, and then he remembered to check his watch. It read 3:00. It had only been one hour. But still, Billy thought he had enough excitement for one night and decided he should try to get home and back in bed before his dad wakes up. Pulling the remote out of his pocket, Billy paused for a second before pressing the red “RETURN” button with his thumb. Suddenly, Billy vanished from the grass. Thrust back into the spinning vortex that had brought him there, Billy felt unsettled, but not as scared as before. He closed his eyes so it would go by quicker. The next thing he knew, he was dropped back into the machine with a force so great that he fell out and toppled onto the floor, landing with a thud. “What was that noise?” He heard his dad shout from his room. His heart pounding, Billy quickly returned the remote to the table, snuck out the door and closed it behind him. “Just me, sorry dad! I was going to the bathroom and tripped on my way back.” “It sounded loud. Are you okay?” his dad’s voice coming from his room sounded calmer but still slightly concerned. “Yes, I’m fine. Goodnight dad.” “Okay, goodnight Billy.” Feeling relieved, he opened the door and returned to his room. As he laid down, his heartbeat slowed and his mouth rested into a soft grin. Exhausted, Billy fell right to sleep.


In the year 2140, humanity had received our first message from the stars. It was an accidental message, a leaked signal from the beginning of the radio era from an up and coming civilization. Humanity had begun using direct signals instead of less efficient broad signals, so this planet would never see us unless we called out to them. We learned that they called themselves the Dukra, and they were so full of hope for their future. Their solar system had 7 planets, 4 of which were rocky, and 2 of which showed signs of liquid water. Being that they were 110 light years away, our first message would not reach them for 110 years, and it would take 220 years before we would hear a response. Researchers developed a message that would be easy for a younger civilization to translate, and then, using a powerful radio beam, our message was sent in their direction. Humanity sat by, waiting for a reply while they watched this new civilization grow. They listened to the transmissions, which weren't always peaceful, but it was clear this species was doing the best they could. The news was regularly flooded with images from this new world, amazing sights with glowing blue animals, purple plants, and a red sun which appeared large in their light orange sky. Their people were also much different from humans. They had tentacles reaching out from all sides which would allow them to roll instead of walking like a human, and the tip of each tentacle had a fluff of fur which protected their skin from the ground. We don't know much about their senses, but our researchers know that they can see and hear because their transmissions include audio, video, and another stream of data which hasn't yet been decoded. Some believe we haven't decoded this data, because we lack a sense that this data carries, we don’t know what that sense could be, so the researchers are unsure how to translate it. After watching their civilization grow for 98 years, their high pitch guinea pig-like voices became normal to us, and it felt as though they were already close friends. We knew much about them and their civilization, and we saw a lot of similarities between us and them, but we also saw a gradual increase in their hostility. It seemed that many in this civilization disagreed with the aggression, but a tipping point had been reached, and a few that held power were determined to fight. The dam of peace had been broken, and with it, the waters of war rushed forth. With the vastness of space on their doorstep, instead of claiming land on other worlds, the Dukra chose to fight their own kind for small patches of land on their planet. With the signal delay, this war had happened 110 years before we were seeing it, so our scientists could do nothing to help them. As we waited and watched, the radio signals from this planet rapidly lit up with images of our fluffy tentacle friends lying on the ground in pools of their own dark green blood. The organic buildings they constructed lay in piles of rubble while explosions blast around them. Chaos was now all that they knew. We wanted to tell them that this universe held more than they could possibly imagine, we wanted to guide them to reignite the hope that we once saw in them, but our message would need 12 more years to reach them. Their weapons grew stronger as their population weakened. It was clear that they had fallen far from hope. Three years after the chaos began, it ended. There were a few more passing signals until 2243, but they contained only audio, no more video or third signal. The spectral imaging of their atmosphere showed that the elements they exhale had vanished. They were gone now, and in 2250, our message fell on a dead world. Once again, humanity was alone in the cosmic darkness. We had stored all of the recordings from that time, and although our friends were gone, human researchers continued to study this data. They learned that the Dukra would vibrate a certain frequency depending on their emotions. The third signal contained this emotion vibration data. They would gently shake with joy, and vibrate faster with fear. In the end, when the bombs were being dropped, they were all very afraid. The only ones without fear were their leaders. They had undoubtedly seen the videos of their wars, and felt the fear of their people. And although they had seen the pain and destruction they were causing, they still chose to continue. The emotional signals from their leaders showed greed, lust, and confidence. They continued to fight, because they believed there was a chance they could win, but it's impossible to win when you're fighting yourself.