“You used to be so nice!” she screams.

I don’t agree with her. When have I ever been nice? “Please stop that and look at me,” she says in a normal voice. A sweet brown voice that you can taste and see. Like a bear or a lion.

I keep plucking the strings on my guitar, pretending that I’m on tempo. Pretending that her sweet brown voice is a song that she sings for me. But her voice is not a song. Her voice is not a bear or a lion. Her voice is a lie.      “Why won’t you listen to me?”

I want to ask her the same thing. But asking that would only make me more like her. I don’t want to be like her. I’m apparently afraid of bears and lions. She’s a hypocrite, telling me I’ve been demoted from being a nice person to being this . But I’m okay with being this. This is all I am, anyway.      “So you’re just gonna pretend that I’m not here? Is that it?”

I stop plucking and start strumming.      “Please! Listen!”

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. My lips are shaking. I feel my lunch scraping its way out of my eyes. I feel like I’m bleeding through them, seeing nothing but shades of dark red and silhouettes of noodles. My eyes are now dimming. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe! How can I forget how to breathe? I can only feel her now. But I don’t remember how to feel. When the hell will she shut up? Just shut up!     Nothing.

She does. A hunter tranquilized the bear or the lion. Her sweet brown voice is gone.     Nothing.

I try to open my eyes. But I can’t remember how.     Nothing.

Why am I not nice? I’m the nicest man alive.     Nothing.

I somehow manage to open my eyes. The guitar that Tom gave me before moving out is not in my hands anymore. I don’t feel my hands anymore.      “Run,” she warns. As if I’d know what that means. As if I know anything at all. “Just—”

I slowly look behind me and find the mirror that Tom left before moving out. He didn’t give it to me. I took it out from the trash. I thought it was such a waste. But I don’t remember bringing it up here, in my room. Am I even in my room? I don’t remember the color of my wall but I’m sure it isn’t brown. Why don’t I remember the color of my own room? I find myself staring at myself. I look awful. My hair has grown long. The bags under my eyes suggest that I haven’t had enough sleep or haven’t slept at all. I don’t think the bruises I see are makeup. I don’t cosplay anymore. Who am I staring at right now? Why does this person look so familiar? Who is he?     Nothing.

I suddenly realize everything after staring at myself for four hours.

Tom is gone.

I try to remember more vague details. Anything at all. Like what Tom looked like. Like who Tom is to me. Like why I took his mirror out of the trash. Like why he gave me this guitar. Who is he? Who is he? Who is he?     Nothing.

I smell terrible. I feel terrible. I don’t remember what starving feels like. I’m stuck in a room I don’t recognize in front of a mirror I took out from the trash. I want someone to save me. Why did she leave? Where did she go? Why did she ask me to run? I can’t even feel my legs.

That’s when I realize that my right leg is gone. It’s s all suddenly painful. As if I’ve been bitten by a bear or a lion. I suddenly scream and then check the mirror from the trash to see if it’s making the same reaction. But it’s not. It’s just staring at me, dead eyes with its mouth wide open. I start to get scared. But then, I start to get even more scared when I realize that I’m not screaming at all. That I’m looking at myself in the mirror, dead eyes with my mouth wide open. I think I forgot how to scream.     Nothing.

Both of my hands are still here. But my right leg is gone. So I can’t run. But where should I go? I don’t even know who I am.  I feel weak and tired. What am I even doing here? Why can't I cry to ease this pain maybe a little? I want to forget seeing my leg that's gone. Maybe if I hadn't looked, I wouldn't have felt it at all.

I feel like I know what I don’t. I feel like I just said things that made sense. But I can’t remember.

I try to stand up but the pain is just too much to handle. I don’t want to faint but what I’m feeling right now is very close to being unconscious. I feel dizzy and cloudy. Like high college student or a pen. I don't make sense. None of this makes sense. I crawl all over this dark filthy room. I don’t recognize anything. Are the walls wooden? Does this room have windows? It’s way too dark to see. It’s way too hard to try.

I somehow manage to get my hands on a bag of what seems to be powder and a small Glock 42. I squint my eyes to read a note next to the gun. It more or less says, “This building is now yours, Tom. I’ll be screwdriver home gut. I mean it’s 1990! Live a life. From: Jane.”     Nothing.

Right after reading this incomprehensible note and right before I try to comprehend it, the door suddenly opens and a tall blonde man shows up. He’s about six feet tall, almost twice the size of me. He looks worried and tired as if he was looking all over for me. His face says pity and relief. As if he cares if a wasted not so nice man’s leg is gone and is stuck here slowly bleeding to death. He hurriedly carries me out of this sick room.

 “You’re fine, Tom. You’re gonna be just fine.”

I look the blonde man in the eye but the lights in this hall are blinding. He’s running away from something.  I can feel the tense in his grip. He’s afraid. What is he running from? What is he afraid of?

 “We have to leave this building,” he pants.

 “Did you just call me Tom?” I ask him. I don’t understand. I must have misheard him. He must be lying.

He doesn’t stop running. We’re running down the stairs now, a bit slower than when we were in the halls. I think he doesn’t want me to fall off. Why doesn't he want me to fall off? Why am I so important?

 “It’s worse than I thought,” he says to himself. Then, he looks at me fast with a familiar expression and says, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

 “Nothing."

The blonde man sighs and says, “It’s 2090 and you came back in the building you and your ex-girlfriend Jane lived in. It’s complicated but the Jane you cam back to wasn't yours. And the Tom that lives here isn't you. It was you a hundred years ago. This whole place was yours. Coming Back has extremely dangerous side-effects including dismemberment and severe memory loss.”

 “I…”

“This must be hard for you to take in but I’m Keith. We’ve been married for three years back in our time. You’re a nice man, Tom. But I don’t know why you Came Back. You owe me an explanation. But right now, I have to get us home. We just have to leave the building.”

 “You’re my…?”

He called me a nice man. But Jane didn’t think so. I don’t think I’m a nice man at all. I have a lover and I still went back. What for? How? Why is Tom such a jerk?

 “Tell me, Tom. Have you seen Jane?”     Nothing.

 “I didn’t exactly see her. I wasn’t looking. But I did hear her. And she told me to run. Tell me, is she making fun of my leg?”

The face Keith suddenly makes makes me want to lie and tell him I hadn’t heard her. He says, “Then it’s too late. I’m sorry. I—”

The building collapses immediately and I never get to know why I’m not a nice man.


“Well, we’re all agreed.” “That’s fine by  me.” “And you C?” “The morra night?” “Yes. Have you a problem with that?”  “Aye! A dinna think, A can dae it the morra.” “Hmmm! Why not, this time?” “Well, a’ve got ma art class the morra night.” “Art class C.? “ “Aye! It’s virtual - online ye know.” “Of course! You couldn’t miss it, could you?” “Naw, C. That art class of yours is second to none!” “A’m glad youse understand. Ah really don’t want tae miss it. Besides Dorrie wad think somethin’ wis up and be roon here at the toot.” “Well, she’d be right then, C. Something would be up. You’d be with us – B and I! Safe as houses.” “Aye but..... .” “For God’s sake! Will ye’ no listen tae yersel! Whit dis it matter if she comes roon.” “You don’t know Dorrie. She aye likes to get her tuppence worth in. Can we no leave it tae Saturday night? She’s got her online yoga then an’ meetin’ wi’ her pals. A wee drink online.” “Ok. Saturday night then.” “Aye! That wad be fine.” “Hey, you two – A., C..  Have youse forgotten a’m here? Forgotten that B. is after A. and before C.! ” “No of course not,” “Naw. How could A forget ma best friend, B!” “Best friend? Well, ye’ could’a fooled me. It sounded tae me like that was Dorrie.” “Oh, don’t be silly, B! Ye’ know fine well Dorrie’s ma carer.” “Well, ye’ could’a fooled me, the way ye’ve been goin’ on. Last week it was ‘ DORRIE ’s comin’ round wi ma shoppin’. The week before it wis ‘ DORRIE ’s gettin’ me fish and chips.” An’ noo’ it’s ‘ DORRIE would be round here at the toot.’” “Awwww! Don’t be like that. Ye’ know that’s not true. A’ want this tae work, just much as you. It’s jis’....” “...Dorrie’s coming round. I don’t think YOU want to do this at all!” “Ach, B. That’s no’ true.” “Is!” “Is not!” “Is!” “Will you two just listen to yourselfs. B.? C.? Stop it now.” “Well A., I’m thinkin’ of doin’ it masel and fuck you two tae hell. A’m fed up waitin’.” “NO!” “NAW!” “We agreed B. We do this together or not at all. No leaving anybody behind.” “Aye! We agreed. All for one and one for all. Dinnae be so selfish.” “All for one and one for all. Don’t make me laugh! An’ anyway, me selfish? I’m no the one dragging this oot! IT’S YOU Two! C CANNOT MAKE His MIND UP and A., YOU JUS’ PLAY ALONG!!!” “Stop shoutin’. Will ye? Yer doin ma heid in,B. A canna tak this ony mair.” “Aw right a’m sorry. Wee C his had enough. Oh, poor wee C.! Will ye’ get yersel the gither man! This is no aw aboot you! There’s us to be considered. Me and A.” “We agreed! We agreed! We’d choose a time when we were ready and a’m no ready yit. There ye are, A’v said it.  A’m no ready. Are ye happy noo!” “Don’t cry C. I know how you feel. I think about it all the time. What will happen after when its done. I wonder sometimes if its the right thing to do or if we should leave it. Leave things as they are. Continue as we are.” “Jesus Christ! No you too! ‘Leave things as they are.’ ‘Continue as we are.’ ‘A’m no ready.’ Listen tae yersels! Are youse no a selfish pair a scunners!”  “B, please! I know how you feel. I was only........” “ NO YOU DON’T! Don’t make me laugh. Your no sittiın’ on yer own day efter day. I havnae got a Dorrie to bring me fish an’ chips. I havnae got your stoicism A. A’v had it up to here. Ane day runs intae anither. The boy frae the Grocer’s comes once a week. Somebody from yon resiliance group drops ma prescription by the door every month. It’s always somebody different, waving at me through ma door. So, ye see I canna wait. A’m doing it now.” “Naw, A’m away.” “B. Don’t you dare. We promised. I’m away before you break your promise.” “Huh! Look what I’m left with now! A bloody blank screen and nae sound. Well, I’ll teach that pair o’ scunners. I think I’ll have a wee dram on my own.” **************** “Oh,C! Look,here comes B. I told you C.. He’d come back. Hello there B!” “Hello!” “Where’ve ye been? We were kinda feart for ye? Thought ye’d joined anither group an’ done it.” “Naw. Ah jist sat here moapin’ drinkin’ Gin an got tae thinkin’ youse are no bad. So, a’m back.” “Well, we’re glad you are,” said A. “Yes we are an’ we hivnae done nothin’. We’ve been waitin’ fur ye an’ we’ve bee talkin’. We kent ye’d be back.” “Naw ye didnae. Tell the truth.” “Well, we hoped ye’d be back. That’s the truth. That’s why we waited.” “Yes we did, but first I’ve a confession to make……” “No, no! Youse don’t need to say anythin’. Ah had a chance tae dae a load a thinkin, when I wis dry when ma last bottle of gin finished last week. So, I had a lot a time ye ken. Youse two are ma best friends. An when I hear C. talkin’ aboot Dorrie, A’m just jealous. A know a shouldnot be. Youse’ve got a life outside of me. An’ A know A. your like me, yer on yer own. A find it hard tae say A’m sorry, but ye’ll know A am. Sorry that is.” “Well, just stop right there. Don’t say any more. Let me finish what I started. I have a confession. You see, I’m not really on my own. My wife is in the next room every time we talk.” “Oh.” “A knaw. A got a big surprise tae. A. hid that right weel.” “Mmm.” “Are you there B.? Please, say you are? I am sorry.” “Mmm.” “B.talk tae us will ye.?” “Mmm.” “B.? Please! Allow me to explain, will you?” “Aye!” said C. “It’s an awfy sad story. Ye’ll want tae greet. Ye will.” “Think I need another drink. Damn! A’ve no got any. Och an empty glass will do for you. Well, A., here’s to you. Ye done it again.” “What have I done again? For god’s sake man! What have I done again.” “If you don’t know, A’m no tellin’!” “Oooof! How ur we spposed tae ken if ye dinnae tell us.” “Sssh! Sssh,C. It’s me. I wasn’t straight.” “Bingo!” “See, A knew ye knew.” “I really am sorry B. but she’s not easy to talk about. She’s got dementia.” “Oh, aye, A knew that  but you said she wis in a care home. Rose Manor park, you said.” “I know what I said B. But with all the pandemic stuff I took her home. I wanted her here. I wanted to be sure...be sure that she was safe. But it didn’t work quite like that.....” “Oh, aye an’ why wis that?” “She...she..she’s been as safe as me. We’ve been shielding. No going out. No meeting family or freinds. Shopping left at the door. Prescriptions too. But..... but .........” “Well, whit went wrong?” “She.. she... took it hard not being in her routine. Not being in her familiar surroundings. They warned me but I didn’t listen. I just wanted her here with me. But she’s got worse. Not long now I don’t think. She’s stopped speaking. She doesn’t even know me now. She did before on good days that is , but now she doesn’t have any good days.” “An, that’s it?”  “I’m sorry, B.. I really am.”

“For God’s sake B.. Huv ye no been listnin’! A.jis telt ye, she was really bad.” “But ye could’a telt me sooner. A’m no that bloody bad. A’d’ have understood.” “I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. These calls are the only time I can really get away. Pretend nothing’s wrong. For an hour or two or how ever long we talk for, I am me. No problems. No Mary. Only me.” “Is that ‘er name? Mary, I mean?” “Yes. Mary. Such a lovely girl, when we met so long ago.” “Ah know. It’s like that. June was a wee daffodil when we met. Warm, fresh and....” “Daffodil?” “Aye, she was dressed like wan. It was a fancy dress party. We were ten.” “Aw A see.” “Aye, she was pretty. A pulled ‘er pigtails and she chased me. Could ay gi’ as good as she got, could ma June.” “A thought ye’ were on yer own B..” “Hmm… well…I am that. Just me. June’s no been here for a while noo” “I’m sorry to hear that.” “Me too.” “Don’t be! Packed ‘er bags, and left 10 years gone. Best thing she ever did. Good riddance I say. Better aff without. No naggin’. No comments aboot ma gin. No complaints aboot ma snorin’.”

“Still. I’m sorry. It’s not easy being on your own. Especially at the moment.” “Ye get used tae it.” “Dae ye hear from her?” “Naw, C. A’v no seen er since the day she walked oot the door.” “Did youse have weans?” “Your awfy nosey, aren’t ye?” “A’m only askin for the sake of conversation.” “Aye, right! Ye nosey bugger. But aye we had a daughter.” “Dae ye no see her?” “Naw! She’s doon in London. Married now. I’d no seen hide nor hair of her since her mother left, but she’s taen tae phoning me this wee while back.” “An ye like that?” “Whit is this? A bloody interrogation?” “A wis only askin’,” “YOU aye are! But yes A do. It breaks up ma week an’ she sends me wee parcels frae time to time.” “Ooh, that’s nice? Whit kinda stuff? Clothes an’ stuff like that?” “Naw. Wee sweetmeats. Hampers frae that Fortnum an’ Mason.” “Oooh! Ya lucky bugger! That sounds nice.There’s nuthin’ like family. Ma Dorrie’s great.” “Dorrie!” “Dorrie, what ever do you mean?” “Aye, Dorrie.” “I thought she was your carer.” “Aye, so she is, sort of, but she’s ma dochter too.” “A thought ye weren’t married.” “A’m no. Me an’ Jeannie never married. We were just really good friends an’ when Dorrie came alang..... weel we jis continued on the same. But we went on holiday the ‘gither an’ we ay spent Christmas the gither - the three of us you see.” “So, noo it’s ma turn. Do you still see Jeannie?” “Naw! Jeannie died last year. The covis.” “Oh, A’m sorry tae hear that.” “Me too. But at least you’ve got Dorrie and she does look after you.” “Aye that she daes. A cannae complain. Daed you an’ Mary have weans?” Eehh! Hmm.” “A’m sorry. A didnae mean tae pry.” “No, No. Your not prying. Your only asking. And no, we didn’t have children. We weren’t blessed.” “So,it’s jist you an’ Mary. That must be awful hard. Dae ye no hiv any help?” “We did before Mary went into the home. But now...nothing regular. Mary’s got a nephew  and  he and his wife help out. Then,I’ve got a right good neighbour who looks in from time to time.” “THEY CAN DO THAT DURING LOCKDOON? We cannae dae that up here. Nicola  wad hiv wir guts for gatters!” “Well, we formed a bubble with Joe and Etta. They live just a drive away. Then the neighbour’s really careful: she says she’s providing essential care. She’s a nurse you know.” “At least ye’v got somebody tae help. It cannae be easy.” “Well, that’s the only reason they let me take my Mary home. They tried to tell me she’d be safer with them than me.” “Ye’re jokin’,” “Naw! He’s no. Ma Rina, that’s ma daughter, she wis’ tellin’ me that her husband’s friend wanted tae take his mother home and they wouldna let him. They said she wis better off inside.” “That’s crazy! Aw they old folk died in they hames! Whit happened to the old lady? Did he get her hame” “Oh aye, he did that. In a box three months later!” “Good God!” “That’s why I wanted Mary home.” “Ye were quite right. A’m glad ye stuck tae yer guns.” “Yes…..well……I’ll never know what would have been best for her. This ruddy virus. All these ruddy lockdowns have been hell.” “Someone’s phone is ringing.” “Oh, that’s me. Jist a minute. Aye? Hullo. Oh, Dorrie, it’s you. Aye ye can come roon. No, a’v no had ma supper. Aye a wee cuppa tea an a slice a toast woud be nice. Okay. A’ll see ye. Bye. Guys a’ll need tae go ‘cos……” “Dorrie’s coming roon!”


I sat panting on the cold, damp wooden bench underneath the street light. I had been looking for hours with no luck. I looked at my watch. “Three hours left.” I read outloud to myself. I tried to stand back up, but quickly sat back down due to dizziness. I was drained out of energy. These games of hide and seek were just getting more intense every week, and I couldn’t stand the consequences any longer. It was killing me. The thought of the consequences. What if it would be more intense this time? What if I wouldn’t last this time? I rested a little longer waiting for my strength to come back to me. I stood back up slowly off the cold bench. It was drizzling now, colder than it had been before, and starting to get dark. I wanted to go home, but I knew I wouldn’t be welcome. Especially with what happened last round. Just one spot away from first place. My mother reads a lot of magazines. She once read to me the quote of the day. “Coming in second place just means you were the first person to lose.” That’s when I decided to play this round. I wasn’t going to let them down.

I walked along the gravel road. They had to have hid it somewhere in the boundaries. It would be cheating if they didn’t. But, there were two problems. I didn’t exactly know what I was looking for. It could be a person, an animal. A strawberry for all I know…which wasn’t much. Second, I didn’t know where I was. I got blindfolded and the next thing I knew, I was here. But from the few hours I’ve been searching, I could predict that I was in a zoo. An abandoned zoo. An abandoned zoo with…animals? That’s the only thing it could be.

I walked along until I was back where I had got dropped off at. The main area I think. I could see the old ticket stand and the concession stands. Also, a rusty sign that said, “Seals, giraffes and tigers this way.” Tigers. How long has this zoo been here? Someone had to be feeding the animals, or else they would be…well, dead.

I followed the sign, and walked along the dark path. By now it was pitch black outside and the only source of the light were the few street lamps. Usually there would be clues where they hid the object. That was my goal right now. I had to hurry before the other contestants got here. I was the first one to get dropped off. I heard someone say that they picked me to go first because I had come in second last time. And so they felt bad. In this game, even coming in last would be better than coming in second.

The thoughts of last week's consequences kept crawling into the back of my head. I knew this week it would be worse if I came in second. I had no choice, I was either getting first place or nothing. I knew the other contestants would be harder on me though. I was the youngest, the smallest, yet I was beating all of them. But at the same time losing.

Along the path I kept seeing these little purple flowers, and they were pretty tall. Maybe a clue? But it could also be a false clue. Last round there were many of those. I soon approached a few cages. But they were silent. A little bit ago all I could hear was the animals. But now all I could hear was my own heavy breathing, and leaves crunching? I turned around to face the woods, and as I didn’t something grabbed me from behind. They grabbed my shirt and the next thing I knew, I could hear the giant cage shutting. And I was in it.

The being let go of my shirt. I backed up so my back was up against the cold metal bars. I looked into the darkness and saw nothing. I turned around and tried to pull the big, heavy cage door open. No luck. I turned back around the face the darkness not wanting to test my luck with the being that was lurking around. Something was going on.

I heard something crack behind me in the woods. I was about to turn around but then I didn’t, and realized that I wasn’t going to fall for that trick again. Was that part of the game? All a part of the plan? If it was, I didn’t like it.

All I did was stare at the darkness. What else was I supposed to do? This wasn’t like one of these hide and seek games that you would play in kindergarten at recess. When the seeker would find me they would run after me and I would jump on the monkey bars, the monkey bars being the only way to get to the safe zone. I always won. That’s what I wish this was, even though it isn't, and it’ll never be. THIS game was a life or death situation. A game where if I made one wrong move, I would be done for. And I think I just made that wrong move.

Now there was more than one thing I could hear. I could hear my heart beating, and I could feel it even more. I could also hear my own heavy breathing, but also the heavy breathing of something else. Someone else? I couldn’t stand there forever. There was one thing I had to do.

I started to walk forward into the darkness, my heart beating faster and faster with every step. The heavy breathing that was not mine got louder, and it smelled fruity, and nutty. I was disgusted. But that wasn’t the worst problem I was facing right now.

It seemed like I had been walking for at least a minute now. How big could this cage be? And what giant animal needed a cage this big? “Hello?” I called as I continued into the darkness. No answer. Then, I heard a big bang. Like the animal had just jumped off of a tree or something. Then I heard loud thumping sounds. And they were getting louder and closer. A started to back up slowly. Then the thumping sounds got closer. I turned around and ran. I was risking it this time. No doubt about it.

I ran until I got to the end of the giant cage door. A pulled and pleaded and pulled so more for the door to open. But it just wouldn't. What had I done wrong? The sounds got closer, and I knew this was the end for me.

And then I saw it. The reason why I had been dragged into this cage. Hanging on the top of the cage, from a silver rope was a gold key. “That’s it.” I whispered to myself. I looked around for a boost, a lift that would help me get up there. Nothing. I had to use my resources.

I looked around the cage, and studied the metal bars that it was made out of. And well, I started to climb. I was in a zoo. I was a monkey! I put one foot on top of one bar and the other foot on top of the other until I reached the ceiling. The thumping sounds continued. The golden key was in the middle of the ceiling. I wasn’t Spider-man. I couldn;t just crawl on the ceiling no problem.

So, I did the only thing I could. I jumped onto one of the bars with my hands. Just like monkey bars. I put one hand in front of the other, swinging my way through, until I got to the key. I let go with one hand, and reached for the key with my one hand. I yanked on the key but it wouldn’t budge from the string. I yanked again. I let go of the key and put both my hands back on the metal bars. My hands were starting to get sweaty and soon I wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer.

I had to do something. So I did. I did something without even thinking. I started swaying my body back and forth on the bars and then leaped onto the key with both hands. As I did the key came loose from the bar and the key and I both fell to the ground. Luckily, I wasn’t high up enough that when I fell I didn’t break anything, let alone hurt myself. I stood up from my fall with the key in my hand and raced to the cage door that was still shut.

I pleaded with the door to open. I yanked it as hard as I could. The thumping was louder than it had ever been before. I had to hurry. I pulled as hard as I could. My arms hurt. I stuffed the key into my pants pocket. I quickly turned around to see the beast that had been following me, watching me this whole time.

I could see the outline of the beast. It was close. Too close. Getting all personal and all up in my business. They’re the one that dragged me in here. I didn’t choose this. Well, I kind of did. I DON’T CARE THOUGH. I knew this would come. This was the consequence, this is how I was gonna die. I thought I was gonna die when I was older and on life support, and my future kids would unplug my machine to plug in their IPad. I don’t know which one is worse.

I pleaded with the cage door one last time before I finally saw the beast. I quickly turned around to face the beast as it came into the light of the street light. And what I saw surprised me.

A semi-large animal with a long thick tail. Tall ears. A marsupium. It was a…kangaroo? I backed up into the cage, as the animal stopped thumping its foot and came closer. The kangaroo then started to hop in place. I didn’t know what that meant. Did that mean something bad? Was it about to start charging at me or something?

The giant kangaroo swung its tail on the cage. Then the tail started to come for me and I ducked. The tail then came back and started hitting the door. Over and over. The banging of the tail got harder and harder as the kangaroo tried to bust open the door. The kangaroo was starting to get tired. You could see it. There was only one last bang left in it. The kangaroo put all of its strength into it. With one last thump, the cage came bursting open, and I jumped in joy. I was finally free! I began to run out of the cage, when I turned around to the kangaroo and said, “Thank you.” I ran out of the cage, while pulling the key out of my pocket, holding it high up into the air.

I ran all the way back down to where I had been dropped off. What happened now would forever change my life. I saw red and blue flashing lights. Five police cars. People were in handcuffs. I put the key down. And started walking slowly toward the scene. What had happened. I looked at my watch, and it said, one hour left. One hour? That couldn't be right. I had only been in there for about half of an hour. That couldn’t be.

As I started to come into sight of everyone else, a police officer looked up from a clipboard and looked at me.

“There he is!” I shouted, as he pulled out a pistol.

“Put your hands up where I can see them!” Another officer said.

I quickly slipped the key into my pocket and put my hands up. What did I do? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I stood there as an office came over and put me in one of the vehicles with the flashing lights. I was done for.

*To Be Continued*


“Welcome to Umbrella VR 2.!” the splash screen burned into her retina as she opened her eyes from a groggy sleep. Farah closed her eyes again and waited for the system to boot up. And then smiled when the swatch of colors and ribbons spread apart, displaying the world around her, as she always knew it. Another beautiful day! The landscape of different fantasy realms stretched out as far as the draw-distance could render in her VR goggles, starting at her feet, extending over the various kingdoms, castles, and floating islands, and ending in a light blue, smog-less sky. She was so thankful that she was given these goggles so many years ago, and thankful even still that they were solar powered so she never needed to take them off. An odor of rotted meat hit her nose. She scrunched her face and quickly inserted the nostril enhancement plug. Ah, that was better. Instead of rancid meat she smelled the sweet aroma of pastries from Mr. Mulligan’s Pie and Magic Wand Shop. She waved at Mr. Mulligan and his goblin ears perked up. He smiled back. A hobgoblin popped out of the sack of flower and waved. So adorable! Across the cobblestone street was a shift in the environment and a series of smiling bipedal robots were carrying crates into a donut factory with magical butterflies fluttering around the entrance. The rainbow smoke that shot out of the factory’s chimneys was a breath of fresh air. She checked her watch. She needed to be at work in the Ivory Castle between 12 and 3PM. Only three hours to get there! Only three hours to enjoy the warm weather, the beautiful colors, and wonderfully diverse characters. As she made her way towards the underground mole tunnels, where villagers were making their way into the circular door embedded in a hillside. But before she could head down a digital apparition appeared. The circular door glitched and changed to a subway entrance with busy pedestrians hurrying down the stairs. Her stomach flipped upside down. She swallowed the nausea. Then the glitch stopped and she smiled and continued down the hole in the ground, walking next to talking rabbits, smiling ogres, and a trio of bearded wizards. The dirt tunnels opened into a tiled floor with dusty, cob-webbed lanterns that looked ancient and creepy. Farah, despite having no experience with fantasy games, enjoyed the different sights, even though she saw it every day. Under the marching feet of the creature pedestrians sat a pot-bellied halfling who held a sign that read “Have a good day and some bread!” Farah shouted “I will!” and continued on, taking a handful of the halfling’s bread as she went. Only if everyone could be so kind, everyone in the real world at least. “The real world.” She almost forgot what that meant, except for the few times that the VR glitched out. Eventually she’d need to get a new model, one that would never mess up, so that she would never see the real world again. Why would she want to? The real world was filled with cruelty and horrible images of poverty, smog, and worse yet, judgmental stares. The real world could use a little whimsy and lot less anger and violence. This world, the one she created using her goggles, was the real world. Farah didn’t like to think about it too long and reminded herself that it was all harmless fun. The people boarding the underground trains would give her judgmental stares but at least she didn’t have to see them. Instead, she saw a cavalcade of forest creatures and fairies loading onto a large minecart that would take them on a wild adventure through subterranean valleys, scary dungeons, and ancient lava pits. How exciting! She stepped onto the cart and stood next to a gingerbread man who gave her a wink. The man, who looked tasty and sweet, also smelled of ginger and cinnamon. His armpit seemed to smell the best so she stuck her face in close and took a whiff. Another fairytale creature bumped into her shoulder. To her pleasant surprise it was a big, old porcupine. She smiled at him and he responded in kind, “Good day! Would you like to eat a bag of tricks, you lovely little witch!” The porcupine held out a bag of candy. Farah licked her lips and reached for the bag but the porcupine man pulled away. “Mother duck! You can’t have all my candy.” said the man. She looked down. Her mother had always told her not to feel sorry for herself but she couldn’t help it. “Self-pity is death.” her mother said. And: “No one will ever like you if you don’t like yourself.” Farah’s mouth turned upright as she agreed with her mother. She ran past the porcupine man and grabbed his candy bag, running off the train when it pulled into a stop. The porcupine didn’t really need it. It was only candy. He shouldn’t have offered if he didn’t want to give it away. Her heart thumped as she made it to the elevator. The porcupine wasn’t far behind but the doors closed right as his quills appeared between the closing doors. She looked inside the bag and realized they were all sweet tarts and quickly tossed it aside. She thought about the cookies her mother used to make and missed the sweet aroma. When no one else mattered and everyone else abandoned her, her mother was the only thing she had left and now she was gone too. The therapist once told her that she had attachment issues, attaching her sense-of-self to her “guardian figure.” But Farah never saw it that way. Why should she blame her mother for something society did to her? For the constant ridicule? For the distain, shame, and humiliation? At least now, with the goggles, she didn’t have to see them. It didn’t matter to her that her faults were exposed, only that those who were watching had little brains and hateful hearts. It wasn’t her fault. It was theirs. The sweet smell of oranges hit her nose. She turned and saw a furry goblin facing the corner of the gold-plated elevator. Orange juice was leaking down his leg. Strange place to squeeze an orange she thought. She was going to ask for some but instead left the elevator when it opened. Another apparition caused her to blink. And in that instant, she saw a skyscraper and then a castle as the glitch corrected itself. The Ivory Castle! A flock of tropical birds flew overhead, soaring in the sky and creating colorful ribbons from their blazing tails like chemtrails. Despite the name the building was made of marble and was tall and thin, with three spires tipped with gold trumpeter statues on each. She smiled widely and actually felt like she was part of something bigger, something important. The huge wooden doors were welcoming with their yellow glowing torches and the palm trees on each side. Inside the castle, over the moat that replaced the sidewalk, there was a parade of vibrant and playful characters having a party in the lobby, like they always had when she arrived to work. Drinks and chocolate pastries were being exchanged, furry animals were bent over with laughter, a cyberpunk warrior was flying around the chandelier in a jet pack with a pirate primate swinging after him; it made her forget about her worries, causing her to forget that she was even wearing VR goggles. She forgot what it felt like to be noticed, to be recognized and examined. She forgot what it was like to be picked apart, piece by piece, for someone to choose which parts for the best and which parts should be discarded. In that moment she didn’t have to worry that someone would try to change her or that someone would try to sabotage her existence simply because of who she was or what she was. But she didn’t forget everything. She checked her watch, walked over the wooden bridge, and waved gleefully at the hippopotamus doorman. The eight-foot doorman waved back and with a large, open smile pulled off her goggles and slammed them onto the concrete, breaking the device into small pieces and shards of glass. Farah looked up at the human doorman, her stomach churning when she heard the trumpeting car horns and emergency sirens, and frowned. The doorman with his heavy overcoat and thick moustache frowned back. He cursed at her and demanded she leave the property and reminded her that she didn’t work there anymore and hadn’t for several years. The rectangular glass building stretched into the sky above, dominating the blue with rigid, bland architecture. She closed her eyes and let the breeze stab at her exposed cheeks. This was the real world and it was painful. Ahead, past the doorman she looked at her reflection and saw a wretched, hunched over woman staring back, a face she didn’t recognize. She felt the tattered, brown shawl in her fingers and muttered the word “monster” to herself. It was okay if she judged herself. She knew that she was better than anyone else. After all we all make her own realities, she decided. “Why do we divide ourselves?” she asked herself. The doorman arched his brow. “Self-pity. Yes.” And she finally admitted, “Self-pity is death.


MY stomach drops, I’m falling. I can see myself through my body! I’m a ghost witnessing my own death. My eyes are glued open and I see my cream white skin getting pale. I can feel my stomach and my lungs bursting, but I can’t grab the pain. I’m dying. My eyes open wide again, and I feel the air as it trickles into my lungs feeling like a feather.

“Dan, you really have us worrying.” A miniature-sized lady says. Her voice sounds like honey. She looks at me up and down. I look down to find myself drenched in my own sweat. Eww.

It slaps me in the face, I had been dying!

I feel it again, the surge of my twisted stomach, and diving for air desperately but, can’t find a single breath. I see my dying body crashing down hard, but never hitting the ground. I look up and see the sun explode and then the earth explodes with a firing heap. My body still falls over the exploding earth and no matter how much I want to move my body and try to run or float, I’m stuck. I can’t move and I can’t breathe.

My dying body, stomach, and the exploding earth drift away as if I’m trying to find that dream with the miniature-sized woman. She called me… what was it again? Dan? This time I see a dude, he has black hair and freckles. He’s tall and buff, “Daniel, you have us worrying. Are you feeling alright?”

I look at my hands, they look hard and stiff. I look at the man’s facial features and find some sort of calmness.

Again, the sweat all over gives me a shiver. No, never shall I think about my reality while I’m at ease in my dreams.

Back to the twistedness of my life. I’m in a different scene. I’m watching myself in a bathroom with people who look like teenagers, we’re singing in the bathtub. I can’t breathe and my guts tighten. The tub is filled with drugs and alcohol. What are we singing? Well, you would’ve never known, it’s the wheels on the bus. I find the music that we’re singing cringe and giving me a worse sensation of unease just to add with the air that never seems to come. The wheels on the bus song fizzle into nothing so does the view of the drugs and alcohol killing my body, and mind. What did that freckled guy call me? Daniel? I feel the air in my lungs and the sweat trickling down my spine again. I’m in a new room, with a new set of people hovering over me. 3 boys and 2 girls.

“He’s here, quick! Before he’s out again!” a muscled man orders.

“Dan, do you know where you are? Who you are?” The blonde-haired dude says. This is a strange dream. Of course, I know where I am, I’m in my dream, dude. “No! He’s losing us!” The ordering guy yelps. “Sorry Gracey, we don’t know if your brother is going to make it. This medical condition is serious. He might never wake up.”

I wake from that weird dream and I find it mixing with my thoughts. Gracey? Who’s that? I didn’t even notice the girl he was talking to. As always my pipe hole closes and I no longer have the ability to breathe. I’m falling again, not just falling this time. I hit the ground with a thud. Pain aches throughout my body and I’m drenched with sweat here too! It’s burning where I landed and there’s no moving away to feel the coolness of the air that I can’t breathe. Medical condition? Never wake up? Huh, wouldn’t that be amazing? Be able to breathe forever. Amazing! “Dan? Buddy? I know you’re awake. And I know you can hear us. You were mumbling stuff I said a few years ago, now. I’m here to explain,” The same ordering dude says. We’re in a different room and there’s no one else hovering over. “There’s no easy way to say this but, you have Psychosis... It’s described as a loss of reality or a break from reality because it makes you experience things or believe things that aren't real. It can change the way you think, act, feel or sense things.” “Thus...is..a….dream.” I say, but my words break up, the words are cracking and hard to spit out. “No Daniel, this isn’t a dream, this is help to pull you back into reality.” Back in the desert laying there, helpless. I watch my body lay and start to blister. POP! OUCH!!! It stings my skin and as much as I want to scream. I have no life. I am dying, and soon I’ll be dead. I get dizzy and my body spins on the ground. My head surges with pain. Everything that my life contains, is pain. There is no freedom. Except for the weird dreams that keep happening. Psychosis? Loss of reality? Controls the way I think, act, feel, and sense? What if this is true. The weird dreams are pulling me away from my unpleasant reality? That makes lots of sense. “Dan? It’s me… again,” The guy who told me about Psychosis was saying. “We have made these pills, but you need to be here for longer than usual and swallow it.”

I understand. But Psychosis is pulling me away from my pain. Hmm? Should I listen to this man? I’ll try if I can. The man leaves the room in a rush and grabs pills. He gets back and basically shoved the pill down my throat with water. Ahh water, I’ve never seemed to feel the sensation of the cool water washing away the bitter feelings of my life. Back in the desert. I’m guessing I didn’t have water? My throat is dry and bitter. I can’t swallow and my lungs just can’t reach the air. My stomach rumbles and twists.

“We are evil! You fell for it and you’ll never dream again! Haha!” The Psychosis man sneers as he’s towering over my rigid body.

No that’s just wrong! How? Why would he do such a thing? I…trusted him.

I sit upright and breathe heavily. I’m fine. Uh oh! The Psychosis man is standing right there. Somehow my body manages to fly backward away from the man.

“Hold up Daniel. Why so jumpy? We cured you for the most part. All you have to do is take these pills a few times a day and do some self-care exercises. We’ll get back to you on which exercises are most necessary to do.” I don’t trust him, but I do. I always thought my reality was in that awful (still very real) place. People don’t know what I saw. It’s not proved what I saw was true. My leap of faith was believing everything that I saw in my “dream” and I still can’t prove if it was real or not, but whether I have to deal with either place. I can handle it.


He cut the skin of his arm. The ribbons of blood coming out of his flesh. It was the only way he could enjoy himself. He felt a certain vivid arousal at the pain. He was enamored at himself. Ednos then, was peeling the skin from his leg.As the blood dripped slowly from him, he could feel the rush of the pain grow.

 In Ednos’ abode, he was in the bathroom, feeling the beauty of his own self punishment as he pushed the knife into his leg. He then wrapped the leg in bandages, his feelings of sorrow as he dropped the knife onto the tiled floor.

Ednos felt weak. He wanted to feel strength, but there was only weakness. He exited the bathroom and entered the hall to his bedroom. In his bedroom of sterile white walls and tiled floors, with nothing but a bed to keep him company. He was sure that he could feel a numbness in his own body as he slept in his robe.

As the day began, he took off his robe and made his coffee. He wanted to pretend like it was any other day in the kitchen, despite his intense stares at the knives in his knife stand.

He wanted to feel something, even the burning of the coffee in his throat would feel comforting to the pain of being as lonely as he was. He went back to the bathroom and grabbed the knife. His hand twitched from the intense yearning of the pain again.He wanted more, but it took all his power to put the knife back on the knife stand.

As he went to the living room, he noticed a portal. He stood there and stared at the beauty of a portal, unsure of what to do with it.

He put a hand through the portal, and felt fine. He entered fully into the portal and found himself in a void.

This void was as empty as Ednos’ life towards the world. He wanted to find someone-anyone- in this empty void, but all he could find was another version of himself. He wasn’t alone anymore.

He could feel his replica hug him. The strings of his heart sing with a feeling of warmth, of a home within himself.

His nude replica could heal the wounds on his body. His clone, voiceless in his mannerisms, had decided to take Ednos back to the portal. Ednos wanted to stay in the void with his replica, but the replica resisted.

Ednos, waving bye at this nameless being, went through the portal, back to his own life. Ednos wondered if any of it was real, as he drifted off back to sleep in his bedroom.

As he woke up, his replica sat there on his bed, his body glistening as though he were made of glass and plastic.

Ednos was amazed that the replica was even there. He wanted to feel the nameless  being's skin for himself. He put his hand across the replica’s face and could feel the sleekness of the replica’s skin.

Ednos got up from his bed and looked to see if the portal was still there. It wasn’t.

Ednos carried his clone to the kitchen. He could not help kissing his replica as he sat the replica in a chair. He wanted to feel the warmth and homely feeling of that hug he had felt.

Preparing coffee, he felt a euphoric feeling within himself as he got the coffee grounds. As the coffee immediately came out of the coffee maker, he gave the first cup to his replica. The replica didn’t drink any of it. Curious, Ednos showed his replica how to drink it.

The clone still hadn’t drunk any of it, instead spilled some of it on himself. Shocked, Ednos tried to clean his clone up with napkins, but to no avail. Carrying his replica, he decided to go to the bathroom with him. Ednos prepared a bath for the replica. The water was bubbly and warm, like being in a womb.

Ednos put himself in the bath with the replica. Washing him, Ednos carefully cleaned the clone's face, then his back and chest. As the bubbles disappeared into the waves of the bath, Ednos moved on to the replica’s feet and legs, and then cleaned his groin.

Ednos and the replica both sat in the bath together as the water went into the sink. Ednos then dried the replica off, then himself.

Ednos laid his clone down on the bed, and put some clothes on himself, first. He put on some pants and a T-shirt, but He wasn’t sure what clothes to put on the replica, but ultimately decided to let the replica wear a nightgown.

The replica touched Ednos’ face. They share an embrace, The replica putting his arms around Ednos and Ednos doing the same to him. This embrace was different than that healing hug in the void, it felt like Ednos’ heart was whole. The clone and Ednos laid themselves on the bed. They both felt a certain melding of minds as they laid there. Their bodies relaxed onto the bed, as they felt a closeness few have felt before. Ednos felt more strength being with the replica than he had ever felt from the pain of hurting himself. It was as though the replica gave him an enhanced mind as well as an enhanced body from their time of being together.

Ednos could feel tears of relief come into his eyes as he felt the replica’s hand. Ednos gripped The replica’s hand tight as they laid there on the bed. The replica dried the tears streaming off his cheek as they laid there. The clone and Ednos get up from the bed, and they go outside.

It was a gentle, rainy day outside. Dreary yet humid, Ednos and the replica enjoy the rain together. Ednos noticed the replica was a far more beautiful being than Ednos could ever be. He was unsure of what the replica was, but he knew there was something otherworldly about his healing abilities.

The replica stood there, his hands open palms, feeling the rain. As Ednos went over to the bench outside, his clone followed suit. Ednos, for once, felt a certain happiness that he couldn’t have felt without the replica’s help.

Ednos sat there on the bench, with the replica. The rain began to loosen up as the two sat on the bench.

Ednos, happier than he had ever felt before, had kissed the replica once more. The replica felt warm to Ednos’ lips. The replica kissed Ednos back, Ednos’ body becoming more excited with each touch of his lips.

Ednos and the replica went back inside their house. Ednos wondered if the portal was ever going to come back, but it never did. Ednos sat on the couch with the replica, his hands in the replica’s hair. He felt truly fulfilled to have the replica in his life. No more hurting himself, no more loneliness, no more pain. It was everything he could have ever wanted.


Our goals never linger in the world’s mind. It’s our deeds that define us after death. And in my case, those deeds will be my doom. For those who don’t know, my name is Bassall and I am part of the royal guard. Tasked to protect the king of our peaceful land Treios. But this account is not concerned with my life as a warrior. But more so with what keeps me awake at night now and until my inevitable end. One night when I was on my patrol around the palace the alteration of my life occurred. The moon bright and blue flooded the city with its pure light. I was alone, taking the ordinary route like every night when I was to stand watch. A faint silhouette in the sky let me look up at the sky. There in the sky afront the bright moon, a figure approached. It floated gracefully towards the earth where I stood. Upon it drawing closer, I could see. A golden chariot, pulled by two majestic reddish-brown horses, carried a male figure. The authority in the strangers bearing let my spine stiffen. I did not dare to move nor turn away my attention out of fear that I might offend this noble visitor. Not a sound did the vehicle make and the animal’s hooves seemed to tread some invisible path in the air. Slowly the chariot came to a stop on the ground in front of me. The snorting horses with their jet-black mane needed a moment to calm down from their journey. With eyes like liquid fire, they looked at me once their legs would remain still. From behind them, out of the carriage stepped their master. The bronze skin showed a greenish tinge in the clear moonlight. Long, white garments floated in the gentle breeze. A magnificent girdle was wrapped around the abdomen, made of precious silk. Around his neck dozens of small pendants reflected the nightly shine, made of gold and jewels. The head was bare and bald, yet the black beard was artfully braided. It was a sight beyond fair and only my body being paralyzed by the man’s powerful demeanour, kept me from falling to my knees. “Are you Bassall, son of Meptuk?” The stranger asked in a voice both gentle and firm, pleasant to the mortal ear. Bereft of my voice, I nodded. But then remembered how to properly address such a person. “Yes, Sakraa,” I answered respectfully averting my eyes. Sakraa was the term our people used when addressing a person of high standing. Albeit I could tell. He was not just a person of high standing. He wasn’t even human. And as the man studied me for a moment, it dawned upon me whom I was facing. A disapproving sternness flamed up in the man’s eyes as he spoke again. “You can not fool me with your humble behaviour, Bassall.” With a motion of his hand the scenery around us changed. Gone were the chariot, the horses, the walls and palace. We were somewhere underground. The walls gave the impression of a cave. Brown, sandy rock crisscrossed by veins of white and red surrounded us. The great room was entirely illuminated by torches fastened to the walls. Despite the warm flames an eerie cold lingered in the place. In front of me on a high chair behind the bench sat the god which had brought me here. Apart from him, I saw no one else. Feeling a bit of courage rise at the sudden confusion I spoke up. “Where am I?” But my judge ignored me and instead boomed through the hall. “The trial has begun. I will call the first witness.” Witness, I hadn’t done anything wrong. And I certainly was not dead. With yet another wave of his hand, my judge summoned a column of light. Which after it had faded revealed a good friend of mine, who had died years back on the battlefield. I hadn’t been there when he had departed and my guts grew cold as I recalled the memory. “You have been called to testify against Bassall son of Meptuk, who faces judgement by the Gods.” My judge addressed the soul of the deceased, whom only looked at me with an expression of disbelieve. “Your honour,” my friend started but was cut short when the god spoke again. “Did or did not this man run from the battlefield as the fighting still raged on?” “He did, but…” Again, my judge silenced the witness this time by raising an eyebrow. Intimidated by the stare my late friend remained silent. “If I am not wrong, then the running from battle is an act of cowardice. Especially, when one’s own people still fight.” For a moment my judge directed his piercing eyes at me. With effort I suppressed a shudder. “Am I right,” he continued asking the witness. Yet instead of a single word, my friend took another approach. “The message he delivered saved the battle. He brought victory against the tyrant!” Defiantly the witness held the god’s stare, who seemed unsatisfied. “That was not the question. Your answer is not relevant.” “He is not a coward!” “Answer the question,” the judge said in an icy voice. “Is running from battle an act of cowardice?” My friend looked at me with mournful compassion before bowing his head in defeat. “It is,” he answered in a low tone. Without another word the witness was send back to wherever it had come from. Looming over me, my judge addressed me for the first time since the trial had begun. “Do you have anything to say, to your defence?” The gaze of his dark eyes burned itself into my soul as he dared me to speak. “I can’t be judged if I am not dead!” My voice was determined, yet I felt my legs slightly trembling. Leaning back in his chair the god’s features showed a faint, unsettling smile. “Let’s call the next witness, shall we?” He said with the familiar wave of his hand, whereupon another soul appeared. The face I now beheld turned the guilt I had felt before into hot rage. And I had to clench my fists in order to keep it inside. My judge once again explained the reason of the occurrence and the soul’s place in it. I didn’t listen, my thoughts were clouded and strayed through the mists of time. The old scars of my soul, long buried were ripped open again as memories of a bloody war entered my mind. A pointing finger, accompanied by the arrogant voice accusing me, brought me back to reality. “He betrayed me. Betrayed his land. By my honour, he is and always will be a traitor.” “You confirm that the accused did turn his back on the king to support another, who laid claim to the throne.” “He did not just support him. He built the rebellion from the very start. Traitors they are! Traitors all together!” Unable to contain my wrath I replied to the tyrant, who had almost destroyed our people. “You stole the throne! I supported the rightful heir to end your miserable rule leading us into doom.” “You are not permitted to talk without being asked,” my judge cut in with his cold voice. Once again, his eyes met mine, the anger burning in them reflecting my own. “How can you support him. You, king of the gods. You, who created the order of leadership.” I only managed to say as my world seemed to crumble. I almost expected lose the ground beneath my feet and to fall into bottomless darkness. But the god only regarded me with reproach. “It is not him, who is on trial. This is about *your* sins.” A last glance into the face of the soul, who had once been my king, revealed the tyrant’s satisfaction at my misery right before he too vanished again. This time I was not asked to defend myself. Without a word the third witness was summoned. I was not surprised at the next witness I faced. The last two witnesses' functions had shown me where this was going. And a sense of still certainty took hold of my soul. The kind of state of mind that lets the criminal seem calm as he faces the noose. This time my judge went straight to asking the question that would confirm the blackness of my character. I entertained the idea that he too was getting tired of the process. But too heavy was my heart to find any joy in the thought. For the trial had awakened many memories locked away by time. “Did Bassall son of Meptuk, murder you in the dark of night?” The god’s voice echoed through the room. The addressed man seized me with his cold eyes before nodding firmly one single time. “Do you have anything else to add,” the judge continued towards me. I didn’t turn away from the dead man’s gaze. The next words I spoke were not meant for the god. I am not even sure they were meant for the man I had killed so long ago. Perhaps it was just my rational sense rambling in order to assure my heart of the righteousness of the deed. “I do regret taking a life. But I do not regret the deed itself.” My voice sounded more confident than I felt. Yet the familiar rage shimmered through the guilt the longer I locked eyes with the witness. My legs grew weak when the soul was sent back to the land of the dead, only my strong will kept me standing. “Are we done now?” I asked the deity boldly, only halfway concealing my weariness. I was aware of the futility of such a question, but I feared I might break down if I was supposed to endure more. Everyone has things he wished had not been done. There’s nothing more painful than being called out on those failures. “Bassall, son of Meptuk,” he boomed again with authority. “You have been found to be a coward, a traitor and a murderer. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” I closed my eyes for a moment upon reflecting on the truth in those words. Bowing my head, I only muttered. “No, your honour,” a heavy stone had formed in my stomach and dragged me down to the cold, stony ground. I grinded my teeth as I awaited my sentence. “Then I sentence you hereby to death. Your fate lies now in the hands of Anubis.” Out of nothing the ground started to shake, when from beneath something broke through the earth’s surface. With a spinning motion, too quick for the mortal eye to perceive, appeared another deity. Standing right next to me, the jackal headed god took a pair of scales. With long steps he strode to the bench, placing the instrument on it. A feather was placed in one of the scales. Cutting his yellow eyes to me, Anubis approached. I swallowed hard but unnoticed as his hand reached out and pierced my chest. Taking my heart without causing me any pain, Anubis placed it on the other side of the instrument. For a moment nothing happened, then the feather sank down. And yet, right before remaining still. My heart heavily burdened by my conscience, outweighed the feather. A clattering sound echoed through the hall as the scale carrying my heart hit the bench. Four eyes pierced my very being, a snarl turned the jackal’s face into a grimace. “Guilty,” he growled. At that moment my warrior’s sense suddenly perceived a presence behind me. Whipping around I saw; the jaws of a crocodile greeted me with a broad smile. The wide eyes showed two slitted pupils gleaming with glee. The thick lion mane concealed most of the body facing me, the front legs showed sharp and crooked claws. I would die there. Right there and then. Like lightning, the thoughts crossed my mind, urging me to act. For even if the courtroom was closed and thus a cage. I had still my sword and my wit to find a way out. Swiping her tongue around the vicious teeth, Ammit opened her maw. I faced gaping emptiness, a realm devoid of sense, emotion or sanity. Every hair on my body stood up as a shiver covered my entire body, resulting in a violent trembling. Hopelessness suddenly paralyzed my spirit. Cold despair I hadn’t felt in the darkest of times in my life. Its arms reaching for my soul to drag me into the depths of Ammit’s stomach. Or where the stomach was supposed to be. Wails of agony made my ears ring and the stench of rotten flesh stung my nose. Accompanied by the typical rusty smell of blood. Perhaps if it wouldn’t have been for that reek I might not have been freed from my state of numbness. With one motion I drew my sword and jumped on top of Ammit’s head. Thrusting my blade through her jaws I forced her maw shut and to the ground. Fixated by the blade she continued launching at me with her hideous claws. The crocodile tail lashed around violently trying to hit me as well. But it was useless, I was in the dead spot and out of her reach. Looking at the two gods observing the fight I pleaded, “I am not trying to escape my fate. I know I will pay, just not today. I can’t die now!” Beneath me Ammit still growled and spat, while the others cast each other meaningful glances. Desperately I waited for an answer to either break free or be forced to accept my doom. By the time Ammit finally managed to throw me off, not Anubis nor Osiris had spoken a word. Taken by surprise I was unable to soften the impact and lost consciousness upon hitting the ground. I awoke outside with the full moon in the sky. Next to me the palace’s walls reached into the sky. I rubbed the back of my head, where a dull throbbing made itself noticeable. When the next guard took over and relieved me of my duty, I became aware of my missing sword. The realisation hit me like a rock, it hadn’t been a dream. A lie I had told myself after waking up to calm my irrational sense. But it hadn’t, remembering how Anubis ad taken my heart I made attempts to find my pulse. There was none. Had I escaped the gods? Or was it just a cruel joke from their side? Without a heart, I couldn’t die. I would be on their mercy until they decided to take me. The full moon fills me with dread. Once the light had felt pure, but now he seems to leer at me every night. Waiting for me to beg. In my dreams I see the dark abyss in which death is wafting in the air. And I think I might go mad from the knowledge of my fate. More often than not I long for it. For a soul corrupted by madness can not fear nor feel its annihilation. Coming home I took a moment to observe my sleeping daughter. After her mother, my wife was murdered she had lost everything. I am the only thing she has left. For her sake, I have to endure.


“How’s your crumble, Val?” Derek sits across from me, his forest green eyes twinkling. Candles flicker next to us, casting an ominous glow all around our table, but we are uncaring. He flashes me a smile, and I can see his cheeks darkening, as he tries to focus on me. With all of the wine we’ve consumed, I am surprised he’s sitting upright. Tipsy, but still manages to ask me about my dessert – what a wonderful man!            “It’s perfect,” I tell him, and sigh contentedly. “Are you having a nice time?”            “I’m having a lovely time!” He blushes even more, if that’s even possible. “I hope you are too.”            “Yes, of course I am.” The nervous vulnerability in his eyes makes him more endearing to me. I bat my eyelashes at him, enjoying the small breeze flowing through the restaurant. “But how about we get out of here? Go somewhere a little bit more… private?”            “Oh, ye- yes, that’s a great idea.” Derek signals for a waiter, and fumbles with the cheque – which of course, we argued about, until he eventually won. We wander out the restaurant, hands clasped in each other’s, and we walk on together, as the sun begins to set.            The sky is a mixture of orange shades, and the sun is rapidly disappearing behind the clouds. Everything is painted in a pink, cloudy haze, with almost a romantic aura painted over the town. On Valentine’s Day, that’s to be expected, with millions of happy couples passing by, wishing them well. Under the dimming light of the sun, we set off at a leisurely pace, and eventually end up at the beach.            I slip my shoes off and dip my toes in the warmth of the sand, before we start strolling across the beach. The crash of the waves is a gentle lullaby, sending warm vibrations through my body. The whole night is tranquil, with no interruptions other than the occasional seagull, which preys on leftover chips. As we walk along, my eyes adjust to the diminishing light of the setting sun. In the distance, I can see something. Some sort of a machine, chunky and enormous, whirring away at the end of the beach. Fuelled by curiosity, I let go of Derek’s hand, and rush over to the machine.            As it grows nearer the harsh whirring becomes louder, grating my ears. It smells like petrol, probably because of the thick layer of petrol it has been coated in. Various bugs and other unknown substances stick to its side, unable to be freed. Right at the top of the machine, there is an antenna, a chubby, metal finger that points to the sky. It seems to be emitting a pulsation that travels through my body, sending chills down my spine. I’m fascinated by the machine, infatuated by it… however, looking over at my boyfriend, I see he doesn’t feel the same way. He looks uncomfortable, and mildly irritated, by the fact this machine has taken priority over our date. He coughs, and we are plunged into an awkward silence. I can’t help it; as a mechanic, metal and machines are my life. I have a right to look over this strange contraption… so why is it such a big deal to Derek?            “What’s the issue?” I ask him, starting to feel a little agitated. My hands are planted firmly on my hips to show him I’m not fooling around anymore. He seems to understand.            “I’m just saying, this is our date. Our date. We get one day a month where we can go out, and not have to think about work. And yet here you are, still thinking about work.”            “I’m not thinking about work!” I say incredulously. “There’s a weird machine on the beach that has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and you’re not even a little bit curious?”            “Nope.” He says simply, and sits down on the nearest bench he can find. “I’m just bloody freezing. But it’s fine, you go and explore, make sure you spend the whole night looking at this machine, otherwise I’ll be disappointed!” Rolling my eyes at him, I vow to take as long as possible, just for the sarcastic tone he uses. I circle the machine, wondering what it is, when I see a plaque on the back, engraved with writing. I step forward to see it clearer. “Time machine? Wow, this has got to be good,” I laugh, and signal to Derek. “Here, Derek, we have a time machine here!” “Brilliant,” he replies monotonously. “Can we go now?” Ignoring him, I turn the flashlight from my phone on, and advance on the machine. Underneath the plaque, there are more words, this time in a smaller, cursive font. I reach out to swipe the dust away from it, and as my bare skin connects with the cool metal, it sends tingles through my body. I feel like I’ve just had electricity soar through me. There is a snap, as I immediately pull my hand away from the machine. At least the ruckus has got the attention of my boyfriend, who walks towards me, alarmed by the noise. “You okay Val?” He questions, but I can’t move. My mouth won’t open, so no words come out, and my feet can’t be taken off the ground. I start to feel dizzy, and I’m fairly sure I can see stars now. A cloud, thick and heavy, starts swarming around me, and I’m trapped in the cloud of violent fluff. I can’t see Derek – or anything else for that matter – and I use my hand to cover my eyes from the dust which is swimming in the air in front of me… Suddenly, everything stops. The cloud dissipates, the tingling sensation in my body is gone, and I’m able to move all of my limbs. My jaw, locked in place before, can now move, although it is sore. Rubbing it, I look around for Derek, but he’s not there. Neither is the beach. Looking around my surroundings, I’m somehow now in a forest. Trees tower up to the sky, protecting me from the torrential rain that is falling from it. Soil crunches beneath me, obviously infertile, as I try to figure out where I am, and how I got there. I spend the next few hours wandering up and down, hiding from carnivorous creatures, and attempting to uncover crucial information about where I am. In the depths of the forest, I claw through the bushes, searching for a clue, or anything. I spot a sign in the distance, rotted and ancient, but still standing. Rushing over to it, I bend down to read the sign, and as I stare at it, my sanity dissolves. “1968?” I say, disbelieving my eyes. “How am I in the year 1968?”


It was never easy keeping track of everything at once: your appointments, maybe your kids if you have any, your money, your family, friends, birthdays, even the days of the week can slip us by at times. It's especially hard for someone like me who has terrible memory loss and can't even remember my age when being asked at the liquor store. I'm just kidding(no I'm not) but for real, there's no denying I need constant assistance to accomplish everything I need to get done. There's just one problem: I'm a HUGE technophobe. I don't trust the new robots, as I like to address anything with a screen, with anything pertaining to me or anything I consider personal. That being said, it took a lot to get me to set up something as simple as Google Pay. I know, I know, it's "protected" by laws and all that good stuff but anything can be hacked. I don't know how to do any of that but I'm sure there's someone out there who does and believe me when I say I would be embarrassed if a hacker saw what I was working with. They might actually hack some money into my account. We definitely don't need THAT happening! Anyway, I felt it was a necessary move being that, as I stated above, my memory is completely shot and I'm constantly forgetting my debit card at home. It's extremely frustrating to be in a store for an hour at the least, wait in line for another 15-30mins, just to get to the cashier and realize all that precious time out of my life was in vain. What's worse is that I have to blame myself for it. Thus, I linked my card to my Google account which, in that statement alone, sounds terrifying enough. I've obviously found it helpful on the days my brain forgot to wake up but I still worry about websites or outside users hacking and tracking my activity or payment methods. I don't want to admit that it is indeed handy because I want an excuse to eliminate this robot trick from my everyday life but I honestly just can't trust myself like that, yet. Another Google function that I've unfortunately found to be helpful is Google Notes. Yes, my own brain is the reason I have to rely so much on my digital enemy. Everything goes on that app, there's no way around it. Leaving sticky notes have proved to be futile as habituation kicks in and I forget they're even there. Or the marvelous moment when I do see it and forget to take it with me and let me be honest enough to say that I have way too many pictures on my phone to be able to find one of my notes. These all being the reason I have(almost) no choice but to jot everything down in my phone. I feel like it's way too accessible to be a good thing. All in all, I'm pretty much still on the fence about it. I'm very much so against the new age era of technology because I do feel it devalues human life and diminishes the good things we have around us. People, especially children, don't value nature anymore or explore the outdoors on the hot, summer days like we used to. Things simply are not the same and it saddens me to see all my childhood landmarks coming down for a screen ad or billboard for a new phone or other piece of technology. Life in itself is way too different for my liking. These doubtful feelings coupled with the convenience of the technology I do possess leave me in a limbo of hating and loving it. Where do I stand? I don't know, let me ask Google and I may have an answer within a couple seconds unless it already knew what I was going to say. One other thing I've found to be super cool about everything becoming digitalized are the departure boards at the train stations. I'm from New York and one thing we can all agree on is that the MTA(public transportation) really sucks. They're always late, stuck in a tunnel somewhere or they may even stop running altogether. It used to be close to impossible to figure out when your train was coming, if at all, but two devices made that less of a struggle: the departure screens and the cellphone(surprise). The screens display the amount of time we have to wait for the next train or simply says "Delay" when there is a delay. You can also check the time of arrival on the website. However, these both aren't always correct which leaves room for a LOT of frustration. There are some technology that I find myself to be grateful for such as the ones I stated above but I also know I'm still not looking forward to where these things are taking us in human nature. I have two children who I know will have to learn how to use a computer but at the same time, I don't want them to be used to the idea or have it be normalized in their lives. They're too susceptible to becoming addicted to it, which many studies have shown. I definitely do want life to be a little easier(at least as far as living in the city goes) but I still don't want this to become normalized. I'm definitely comfortable with putting in more laborious work to get what I need or accomplish a task but sometimes it is a lot more convenient either for time and/or efficiency to have a robot help you instead. These longtime issues have been solved by a simple device but how far will it go? When will it stop and will there be huge consequences for not using critical thinking for every day tasks and interaction being that we would have gotten used to a machine completing the tasks for us? I'm not sure but I do know one thing: I can control what I do in my life. I'm just not sure how I feel about it becoming apart of our lifestyles. Google Pay does come in clutch, though.


Ian, do you think I am a nice person? Always to me, he looked surprised as why I am asking him these questions.  Have you ever hear me swearing?  Absolutely no.  Did I say something wrong and you need to…well yell at me, Mia?

Ian, you are the sweetest, caring …I paused because I watched Ian opening his mouth to say something.   Did you meant …man? Ian, you know you are a robot…but I would love to say you are way  beyong that.  You are the most respectful, affectionate,  considerate, thoughtful …….who…who Mia…..he was so excited to hear me praising him right now. How about a friend?   It’s more that I can call some other people lately. I will always be your friend Mia.  I know Ian, the best I ever had.

So tell me Mia, why were you so upset? Because men are ….you know that bad word…I paused and looked at his face so he doesn’t repeat what I didn’t want to.  They are fake, phoney, fraud, they will lie and cheat to get what they want.

Wow, Mia….maybe I don’t want to be a man then.  Are they all like that?  His face wasn’t too happy right now. Well, maybe not all, but when you upset it seems as they all fall in the same category. Mia, you said - your new years resolution will be that you change.  What exactly do you want to change about yourself?  I love everything about you, why would you want to change it?

Well I don’t want to change my appearance but the way I think, or I should say what I think about most of the time. …and I thought you thinking about me…Ian look at my eyes as he was looking for my acknowledgment. Well, you are absolutely right, you are my robot. I do think about you all the time.  More like I worry about your behavior, your actions around other people, actually me included.  Are you worry I will be a bad boy? Hmm…Ian, what exactly you consider bad boy?

I have no idea Mia,  I watched that movie and that lady keep asking her boyfriend if he should be a bad boy today. Ohhhhhh….its one of those movies.  Guess what Ian.  Let me get dress and we will celebrate new years among other people tonight.  I think I have an invitation to international robotics, its perfect place to bring you to mingle with other people …who knows maybe we will see some other robots.   Yea, Miaaaaaaa….he jumped with excitement. Don’t forget to put that pink dress on and he look with his big eyes starring at me.

How do you know about that dress?  I got ears and eyes -You know. Ok, never mind.  Stay here, it will take me 30mins or so get ready. Oh I can’t wait Mia.

I don’t know if I really wanted to go out but I didn’t want to disappoint Ian.  It is his first new years…being alive. While I was getting ready, many different thoughts were taking over my brain.  I haven’t been at the lab in a long while.  There will be people who didn’t wanted me to take Ian home.  Too many problems they said.  If Ian misbehaves during the party, will it cause any problems in the future.  Will I be able to control some of his actions.  There are some people may not agree with me on some of his untraditional conversations. Time is up and I couldn’t back off now.  Came down as fast as I could before decide to stay home.

Oh la..la..Ian eyes were glued to my dress.  I hope it means you like it Ian.

I would whistle but you never thought me how.  Thats good, it don’t think it’s appropriate to whistle at the lady. Even if you think…..precisely Ian ….I interrupted his next unusual complement. Let me find a shawl and we are ready. Night was slightly chilly but after few drinks I am sure I won’t have any problems, plus I know Ian would love to drive my car. I am driving right Mia ?  You might me drinking.  That’s exactly  what I was thinking.  No arguments here, you can drive Ian. He rushed to open my door and quickly rushed to his side. Lab was already full with people.  Nicely decorated for the fastivities.

Would you like some wine Mia, Ian quickly offered me a drink.  I sure going to need some tonight, yes red Cabernet Sauvignon please.  By the time Ian returned with my drink, Richard was already at my side.  Well, look who is here, -Miss Mia with her robot.  His name is Ian if you would like to meet him, it will be my pleasure to introduce him to you.

He is quite a charmer I just heard him talking to the bartender lady. That’s my boy, I smiled.  So like mama like son?  If that’s what’s you call it?  I suppose- I said. Here is your drink Mia.  Thank you Ian, let me introduce you to Richard, the man that not particularly likes you. Richard, Ian took a short pause - I assume you are jealous. Jealous?  Richard laughed historically but quickly closed his mouth because Ian swept me off to the dancing floor -way, away from Richard. Happy New Years!  Everyone was shouting, rising their glasses and hugging at the same time.  So what exactly your New Year’s resolution Mia? For now I will keep it to myself, if it’s ok with you Ian. Thank you Mia for this wonderful evening. You don’t have to say any more.  It was the most exiting evening for me in a long while thanks to you Ian, so I  want to thank you. did you forgot why you were upset earlier?  Not exactly, it’s still on my mind. I know what will make you feel better Mia….Ian put his arms around me and whispered to my ear….. Yes, Ian you are absolutely right. And I smiled.  We walked out, He opened a door to my car and let me seat down and quickly hopped by the steering wheel and took off.  We drove in silent.  He knows it wasn’t a good day to talk.

In 20mins we arrived at the best ice cream place.   Ian already knew my favorite vanilla almond ice cream.   Should I get double or the triple scoop? Ah….if there is four, I will take that Ian. Minute later…I think he was carrying a full gallon of ice cream…I looked at him…I didn’t complained.   Did you wanted to share with me Ian.  It did cross my mind but it would be better is I skip it if you still want me to drive you back home.  I laughed-  he just smiled. Who needs any New Year’s resolution,  you know how to put a smile on my face, there is absolutely no need for change, because you are the best and I started on my ice cream before it melts. We drove off into dark and chilly night.  Happy New Year Ian.  Happy New Year Mia, and we held hands until we got home.


Diners and critics hailed "La Tavola Appassionata" as the premier Italian restaurant on the west coast, and its Chef, Arturo Pacioretti, emerged as the newest culinary star in the industry. He was short, with a round, plump face, beady black eyes set beneath a Cro-Magnon protruding forehead, and even though he kept his hair trimmed close to the scalp, it was still as thick and unmoveable as fresh asphalt. For a man whose entire life revolved around found, it was ironic that he had such a small mouth, with lips pursed in a perpetual pout. He was not an ugly man, nor was he memorably handsome; in fact, when asked what people remembered most about meeting the chef was his apparent absence of a neck—he seemed to go straight from chest to shoulders, to chin.

In contrast, the restaurant Maître d', Garret Quill, was hardly recognizable as a man at all. He was waif-like, tall, and stiff, a man who could disappear in the shadow of a door or from one's side quieter than a whisper. The partners equally responsible for the restaurant's success had just gone nose to nose in a heated argument over who controlled the number of diners in an evening. Chef was adamant that maintaining the quality and timing of his food demanded a cap of 60, while Garret reasoned that 100 was an achievable feat. When the argument concluded, battle lines were drawn, with the front of the house declaring themselves enemies against the kitchen.

Chef returned to the kitchen, scowled at his sous chef, Guy, then went into his office and slammed the door.

Guy strode down the line in his usual murderous gait, nudging the two young cooks, Sally, the cold apps, salads, and dessert girl, and Drew, the eager and overly serious chef de parties.

"Double your mise en place," Guy barked, "We're all getting fucked tonight. So go and have your smoke break, bitch, and cry about, then get back to your stations and work like hell. You have four hours." Sally, her eyes wide and glossy as the crème caramels she was setting inside her fridge, asked, "Double? You want me to double my desserts? In four hours?" Guy looked impassive. "Did I stutter?" Panic hit Sally, and she visibly rocked on her heels. Guy thought she might faint. If she went down, then at least he and Chef would know she couldn't handle it. "Better now than in the middle of the fray." he thought.

"Do you have any advice on how I'm supposed to do that?" Sally asked with terror in her throat.

"Improvise," Guy answered, then, before turning on his heel, he added, "And pray." He turned, anticipating seeing Drew bent over and cleaning slabs of fish; instead, the station was empty. If he had fled, it would be very bad; Drew's station was the kitchen's anchor. Guy walked past Chef's office and aimed for the back door, hoping to find Drew at the end of a cigarette.

 The sunlight hit his face, blinding him for a moment. When his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he looked upon the ferociously ambitious young cook rubbing out a cigarette with the toe of his shoe.

"You said we could have a smoke," Drew said anxiously.

Guy smiled, pulled a pack from his pocket, and handed the kid a fresh stick.

"Have another," he said, "It'll be your last until the moon comes out." "Have you ever done a hundred covers in one night?" Drew asked, taking the cigarette and running beneath his nostrils. Guy was notorious for being a prankster and was not to be trusted.

"Sure," Guy answered. "A hundred is a piece of piss. Try 240 every night. That'll chaff your balls." "Yeah," Drew answered as if he'd known. "But I mean here, in this place." "Nope. Pumping out a hundred a night here is too much, and if we're lucky enough to get a critic in tonight, it'll cost the place a star. Tonight will be 'pump and dump,' not dancing over each plate for three minutes." Guy glanced at Drew. He looked sick. "You're gonna love it, kid," he told him. "It'll be hell, but if we survive, you'll feel like a fucking warrior." "What if we don't survive?" "Then we don't, and that's that. Any other questions before we head in?" Drew pulled a long draw on the cigarette and looked thoughtful. Finally, he looked up and nodded. "Yeah. How do we know if we're losing?" He laid a hand on the kid's shoulder and said, " If he ignores the line and the machine and lets the chits fall to the floor because he's arguing with Quill—then we're done. Remember," Guy said as they walked along the hallway, "We're a machine. Chef drives, I'm the engine, and you're the anchor. If any of us break down—game over." "Can't we take over if Chef is having a meltdown?" Drew asked.

Guy stopped and yanked Drew back to face him.

"If you never want to work in a kitchen again, sure, go ahead, step in front of Chef, and take his station. We don't do that. We go down with the ship." When they returned to the kitchen, Chef was rapidly cleaning lamb racks for the popular

Aringa d'Agnello al Forno,

and on the tray next to him lay beef tenderloins, waiting to be prepped for his

Filetto di Bue alla Griglia.

Chef set his brigade to work in order of importance. "Guy, we'll need more blood orange sauce for the duck. Check that we have enough caviar for the

grigliata.

Then count what we have for quail and duck." "Yes, Chef!" Guy snapped in reply.

"Drew!" Chef called.

The young cook sprang to his leader's side, "Yes, Chef!" he answered in kind.

"Lots of fish prep." "Yes, Chef." "Start with char, at least a dozen scallopini, yes?" "Yes, Chef." "Stack the station. We have enough of everything, salmon, pike, perch, seabass, scallops, octopus, lobster." "Yes, Chef." "If I see you cleaning fish during service, I'll cut your hands off. Understood?" "Yes, Chef." "But before you start the fish, make double the fagottini—it will sell, and I don't want to run out early." A rock fell into Drew's stomach. The

Fagottini Ripieni di Ragout ai Funghi e Gorgonzola,

an intricate filo pastry purse filled with mushroom ragout and gorgonzola, was the most time-consuming prep. It was delicate work requiring precise attention. With the amount of prep work ( mise en place)

on his list, he would be doubling the number of purses in half the time.

His eyes flashed to the clock on the wall, and the black slashes looked as ominous as death's swords, cutting relentlessly toward his execution time.

"Yes, Chef!" he answered, pausing a moment to wait for further commands, then with Chef paying him no more attention, Drew spun on his heels a double-timed it to the walk-in fridge.

Around the corner from the hotline, in the coolest corner of the kitchen, Sally worked feverishly at her desserts. They exchanged only a look, and without a word, both cried out their panic and doomed immediate future.

At a quarter to six, a mere fifteen minutes before the brigade faced the five-hour-long assault, Guy appeared on the line with a tray of espresso and set a cup before each. "Drink," he ordered.

Drew raised his coffee to his lips and tilted it back, taking the caffeine injection down in one gulp.

"Good, huh?" Guy asked. Then he took his serving and slugged it back.

"Shit, was that a double?" Drew asked, shaking his head, trying to get his brain to focus his eyes.

"A triple," Guy answered.

Sally, who'd remained anxious all afternoon, grabbed her mug with both hands and drank the concoction in two gulps. "If you bitches slow me down tonight, I'll cut you," she said, brandishing her razor-sharp paring knife.

"Okay," Guy replied, "I think we're ready." By 8 p.m., pots, saucepans, ladles, spoons, cutting boards, knives, plates, platters, and trays were heaped in sinks and filled the dishwasher's table. The floor was a disaster of discarded foodstuffs.

"Everyone," he called out. "Reset. We clean, restock, and get ready for round two. Fifteen minutes. I want your stations spotless, floors too. Smoke break, then change. Fresh jackets and new aprons. You all look like pigs. Make the food, don't wear it." The answer was a unified bark, "Yes, Chef!" It was a little past 9 p.m. when Drew looked at Sally, who understood his silent question, shrugged, and smiled in response. Then he turned to Guy, his square jaw set firm, his lips drawn tight as he and Chef focused intently on plating. For a brief moment, Drew believed they would make it through relatively unscathed. Then the doors to the dining room swung open, and a very somber-looking Quill stepped through them with death on a platter—he was returning an entrée.

 Chef saw Quill standing there, plate in hand, waiting to interrupt, but wouldn't dignify the Maître d' with his gaze.

He barked from below. "What? What's the fucking problem?" Quill cleared his throat and apologetically explained. "He says the filet is overcooked. He asked for rare." The line stopped. Chef and the brigade converged on the returned plate. Chef stabbed the meat with a carving fork, raised it off the plate, and slapped it on the cutting board. Blood pooled beneath the steak. The sear was perfect; the center cherry-red—the epitome of "rare." "You brought this back to me?" Chef asked a terrified-looking Quill.

 "Yes, Chef."   "Then you're both morons."   "Fire another," Chef barked. "Mise en place. One filleto," he commanded icily.

  "Yes, Chef!" Guy and Drew answered in unison.

  "Rare?" Chef asked for clarification.

  "The gentleman said, 'black and blue,' Chef." Chef nodded. "Get out of my sight," he snarled at Quill, who gave a half-bow, turned on his heel, and nearly sprinted back through the doors.

New orders came in, and the second plating of the

Filetto di Bue alla Griglia – Grilled filet on a coulis of black olives— went out.

 Two minutes later, Quill returned to the kitchen with the plate in his hand once more.

  "You're fucking kidding me," Chef said.

  "I'm sorry, Chef," Quill apologized, then painfully relayed that the customer still found the steak overcooked.

  The machine kept spitting orders, which Chef ignored. No one touched the chits but Chef. Again, the kitchen ground to a halt. Nothing was being called for "ordering," "firing," or "picking up." Chef stood staring, with murder in his eyes, at Quill, whose hand was trembling, holding the plate in front of Chef.

 "What did the sonofabitch say?" Chef asked.

  A nervous smile flashed across Quill's face. "Does it matter, Chef?" he asked. "He would like another." Chef eyed Quill carefully and asked again, "What. The. Fuck. Did. He. Say."  Quill set the plate on the pass, slipped a finger behind his starched white collar, and cleared his throat. "Chef, I don't think--,"   "—Tell me exactly what he said," Chef commanded.   Quill stiffened, found his resolve, and repeated the diner's words. "He asked if you knew how to cook a 'fucking slab of meat, or if you thought serving a hockey puck was acceptable.'"  "Is that all?" Chef asked.

  A fragile exhale of lungs filled the silence. Guy, Drew, and Sally hadn't moved, and with Chef's calm response, they thought that perhaps they weren't sunk yet.

"No, Chef," Quill replied. "He asked if you knew what 'black and blue' meant."  That was it. The breaking point. The snap.

Guy turned, removed his apron, threw it in the garbage can, stepped over the roll of chits hanging from the machine on the pass and onto the floor, and left the kitchen. The orders for a dozen tables or more, starters, mains, and desserts, continued to spit from the machine. Ignored. Untouched. Abandoned.

While Chef launched into his tirade against Quill, the futility of trying to educate heathens in the culinary arts, the greed of the wait staff seeing only a fattening of their pockets from extra tips, to the imbecilic brains of his useless Maître d', to the moron who'd returned his meal, not once, but twice, the rest of the wait slinked into the kitchen desperate to pick up orders for their tables, of which, there were none.

Drew looked at the faces of the panic-stricken wait staff. No sign of Guy, and over his shoulder, Sally wiped tears from her eyes as she quietly plated a few desserts. He inched closer to Chef, then reached out and pulled the trail of orders off the machine. Then, Drew gave the nod to Sally, who tried to smile and nodded back.

Drew turned and set pans on the range and began to cook.

With Quill engaged with Chef, the wait staff, who stood stacked up six deep, recognized the change of kitchen control and shifted down the line to face Drew. In turn, each asked for the orders required for their tables.

Things were moving again, but now Drew needed to get beside Chef to access the sauces in the steam table. Chef was in full fury now, shouting at Quill with his hands gesticulating; one held a paring knife that arced, jutted, and sliced through the air around him.

He had no choice. Drew had to move into the danger zone. Chef seemed not to notice Drew encroaching on his domain. He made no move to give the young cook easier access to what he needed, but he didn't impede his work either. He remained planted at the end of the line, screaming and gesturing wildly.

As Drew bent over and plated his favorite dish on the menu, the

Francio di Luccio- a parcel of pike wrapped in rice paper filled with spinach and set on gold caviar lemon butter sauce— he felt a sting at his temple. It was like a mosquito bite, except a sting didn't wobble—this sensation did.

 Drew ignored the mild annoyance, but when he set the plate on the pass, the waiter on the other side looked back at him with eyes as wide as saucers. Puzzled by the expression, Drew shrugged. The waiter took the plate, turned, and exited the kitchen.

 Quill, who seemed about ready to collapse from Chef's assault, flashed his eyes at Drew with a look of shock. Drew felt terrible for Quill but ignored him and moved on to the following order. He turned and handed Sally the next chit, one calling for pick-up on desserts, and Sally snapped straight, then raised a finger and pointed to her head.

Drew looked at her, then raised his hand to his head. His fingers touched the wooden handle of the paring knife, which sat firmly lodged just above his temple. He strained his eyes to the left and, in his peripheral, saw the shiny steel embedded in his skull. A slow, warm trickle of dampness pooled in his ear. Unsure of what to do, Drew returned to face the hotline, took the next chit, and began assembling the orders.

 At that moment, Guy returned to the kitchen wearing a fresh apron but stopped dead at the end of the line, staring at the cook with the knife lodged in the side of his head, slowly putting plates on the pass, and Chef still hollering at Quill. As Guy walked onto the line and stood beside Chef, moving chits across the board, Chef concluded his tirade and pushed past Guy to Drew. Angrily he shouted at the young cook, "Quit fucking around!" Then he reached up, pulled the knife out, and turned and faced Guy.   "Help him. Finish this shit. Obviously, this isn't my kitchen anymore." Then Chef marched off the line and disappeared down the hall.

  Guy sidled up to Drew, "Where are we?"  "Plating 15, firing 8, 2, and 11," Drew answered.

 Guy shot a glance at the young cook. "He fucking stabbed you in the head?" Guy asked incredulously.

 "I think it was an accident," Drew replied, "I think I walked into his knife. He was talking. You know how he can get." Guy laughed. "And you kept cooking with a knife stuck in your skull? Are you okay? Does it hurt?" "Not much. It was like a needle. I'm fine."   Guy slapped Drew's shoulder and dug in for a manly rub.

"No," he said, "You're good but not fine. It's too bad. I told you, 'We go down with the ship.'"  A slightly intoxicated Chef returned to the kitchen at the end of the night. The place was spotless. Guy, Sally, and Drew stood with Quill on the waiter's side of the pass, laughing and joking as the grateful Maître d' refilled their wine glasses with a vintage Bordeaux.

 Chef pushed into them, shoved Drew out of the pack, and, stabbing a finger into his chest, said, "You think you've got the balls to steal my kitchen from under my nose? You want to take that shot? You're not the first to try, but I'm still standing. You'll have to put me into the dirt before you return to this kitchen."  The laughter was gone. The kitchen was silent. Then Chef gave his last command to Drew. "Roll your knives and get out of my kitchen, and if I see you again, it'll be you that gets carved up and served, black and blue." A week later, a review came out in the Food & Culture section of the newspaper. A critic had found herself at

La Tavola Appassionata  on the busiest night of the year. She raved about the food, and Chef Arturo Pacioretti's restaurant gained its fifth star.