A whirling whisk of rotor blades stirs the puffy batter of string-shaped clouds, its lifting force, a dragging weight to the metal rotaries that flap a pair of windswept wings. The skies sense a certain groan, unmistakable, in the wavering flight of unsteady airfoils that seem mistakable for unsuspecting onlookers who shall be left unnamed. Directionless, the angles bend at the swipe of a sudden gale , its drafts thieving the helpless craft amid tussling, tossing drafts of flowing current, brash and shaken, rattled and brazen.   The lonely sea reaches out, demanding that we part with our 3,000 feet of altitude, but we weren't given much of a choice on whether the height we drifted in was ours to cede, for the ruling of the higher spheres have always claimed the reigns up here and while we sway and steer, despair knows, somehow, exactly where to find us.

The hierarchy of control starts and ends at the hands of nature, whether we deem it true or not. There is no escape in the limits of mankind, but ─ we can damn sure try , at least... just not today.

We are stranded, standing beside the haplessly heart-clenching mound of a flying vessel ─ though now, it should be renamed a dying vessel , because the enkindled crate of scrap, and flickering heap of shredded junk, still latching on to its final moments of solidity before its vital signs on the heart-beat monitor flat-line into a dredged-up bed of chips and flakes strewed and dispersed, sunk and submerged by the granular and gritty shore, the field of grain stained forevermore; but the funny thing is, before it was swallowed by flame, and before it had crumbled to ash, the useless carrier seemed almost a sermon before the burial site of the soon-to-be-dead party of victims to Mother Nature , soothing us into a state of acceptance for our entombment. My only hope is that future explorers stumble upon my gravestone and really read its carving: "If I am found intact, make it so I am no longer that, and let me dip and meld and ebb away into the rolling quilt of salty foam so that it may envelop me whole, like the under-watery inhabitants of sea: the quiet offscourings." It'll be quite the lengthy message, so I ponder starting it now, scrawling the writings into stone before I lose my life and no one thinks to save me an urn … but desperate times call for desperate measures and so I'll have to settle for a jar.

Farallon, a member of the luckless team, extended his hand and broke my train of thoughts. See ─ I signed up to an air touring agency to be taken on a scenic flight around the world, and now the pilot is somewhere swathed by swelling waves and spilt cascades. The service allowed for a maximum of five sightseers at a time, to not bombard the weight of the chopper, but suppose it falls anyway? What are we to do now? I haven't even learned the names of the crew of people I'm now stuck with on an island just off the coast of whoknowswhere. But I know who takes charge of the situation. The 'leader' of a pitiful pack, shall we say. Even from having just met the guy, it wasn't hard to tell Farallon always had something to say ~and at times like these, a little speech of encouragement really goes a long way~ in tricking the band of dopey twits into thinking we will actually find a means out of here without the slightest trace of normalcy or state of things not quite so kindly enough to win in our favour; smack-dab, the test of patience wears me out faster than the dread that sprouts its set of roots across the loam and soil and clay that hides the bones that don't decay, while the layered sediments that shelter limbs and flesh and meat all meshed into one, the soil, a hoarding miser, relishing its handy traps and gimmick ploys to put stuck souls like me to bed, to rest, to croak a rushed finale of meaningless words in an attempt at wishing away the world with a proper adieu despite the soundless sigh that will arise and fall back to the floor without another ear to catch its drip and trip and limp and dip into the dust where it belongs.

Oh spare me the cruel net of catacombs clipped like a gentle, swaying pair of arms from Death herself, and so, bear me my load, I ask the crust of earth to brace itself a bassinet, in advance, for I must warn the heaviness of burdened minds, like that of mine, will otherwise surely capsize, thus I implore the sand and stones and dunes and bones to cushion up their cradle propped and build a bank that won't be flopped, a crib of slit that I can't topple over and dismantle, for who knows the damage I could cause? What more can the subsiding shore and tide take from the slumping weight of a sorry state and tempter of fate, and can it really last, provided, that the landmass left behind is blighted, for it isn't I that ends lopsided. Quivered breaths thrum out in prayers, in shaken soughs matched by the woeful, wafting wind, the mutterings of "hail mary's" unlike myself, the spells I cast existing by themselves; the sleepless night that drones us by has us getting ahead of ourselves. I used to scoff and scorn at hopeful speech givers like him ── but after facing what I had faced ──on the subsequent days of treachery and near-death experiences, the spear with which Farallon had used to strike the tirelessly thirsting tiger that fought its way through foliage and forestation to usurp its dominance in this meager isle, abandoned and stripped of delectable, writhing morsels such as I to take easy pickings off of and haul onto the rigidity dinner table of cobbled slabs on gravel mountains that protrude like pedestals, or totems, only beasts are fit to stand upon, for the ravening brutes of the brutal biomes, barbaric, bellicose, too busy brawling to buy into blessings of mercy or weak links to soft things that humans like too much: out here, the frail of hearts will blacken into steel-cold blood, without enough warmth ― the waning buds of fear, and doubt, and gloom, all close-knitted and matted and coiled, bodaciously, fittingly fueled and spoiled by the bleak feedings of an emptying mind, seemed… now … things of the past.

It was then, at the wisp's end of life, the threat of a flimsy thread coming apart in the silent snip of a split -scaring me stiff- in its fluttery flitter, almost slips from the sultry slick sweat of my soggy palms, the fluttering wire, not so thin anymore. A sense of powerlessness is plucked from out of my perpetual pit of pessimism. And I owe it all to Farallon. - - - - ~ poetic rendition ~ {specially composed format) - - A whirling whisk of rotor blades stirs the puffy batter

of string-shaped clouds, its lifting force, a dragging weight

to the metal rotaries that flap

a pair of windswept wings. The skies sense a certain groan, unmistakable, in the wavering flight of unsteady airfoils that seem mistakable for unsuspecting onlookers who shall be left unnamed. Directionless, the angles bend at the swipe of a sudden gale , its drafts thieving

the helpless craft amid tussling, tossing drafts of flowing current, brash and shaken, rattled and brazen. ~ ~ The lonely sea

reaches out, demanding that we part with our 3,000 feet of altitude, but we

weren't given much of a choice on whether the height we drifted in was ours to cede, for the ruling of the higher spheres have always claimed the reigns up here

and while we sway and steer, despair knows, somehow, exactly

where to find us. The hierarchy of control starts and ends at the hands of nature, whether we deem it true or not. There is no escaping the limits of mankind, but ─ we can damn sure try , at least. Just not today. ~ ~ We are stranded, standing beside the

haplessly heart-clinching mound of a flying vessel─ though now, it should be renamed a dying vessel , because

the enkindled crate of scrap, and flickering heap of shredded junk, still latching on to its final moments of solidity before its vital signs on the heart-beat monitor flat-line

into a dredged-up bed of

chips and flakes strewed and dispersed, sunk and submerged by the granular and gritty shore, the field of grain stained forevermore; but the funny thing is, before it was swallowed by flame, and before it had crumbled to ash, the useless carrier

seemed almost a sermon before the burial site of the soon-to-be-dead party of victims to

Mother Nature , soothing us into a state of acceptance

for our entombment. ~ ~ My only hope is that future explorers stumble upon my gravestone and really read its carving: "If I am found intact, make it so I am

no longer that, and let me dip and meld and ebb away into the rolling quilt of salty foam so that it may envelop me whole, like under- watery inhabitants of sea: the quiet offscourings." It'll be quite the

lengthy message, so I ponder starting it now, scrawling the writings into stone before I lose my life and no one thinks to save me an urn. ...but desperate times call for desperate measures and so I'll have to settle for a jar. ~ ~ Farallon,

a member of the luckless team, extended his hand and broke my

train of thoughts. See ─ I signed up to an air touring agency to be taken on

a scenic flight around the world, and now the pilot is somewhere swathed

by swelling waves, and split cascades. The service allowed for a maximum of five sightseers at a time, to not bombard the weight of the chopper, but suppose it

falls anyway? ~ ~ What are we to do now? I haven't even learned the names of the crew of people I'm now stuck with on an island just off the coast of ─ whoknowswhere ─ but I know who takes charge of the situation. The 'leader' of a pitiful pack, shall we say. ~ Even from having just met the guy, it wasn't hard to tell Farallon always had

something to say ~and at times like these, a little speech of encouragement really goes a long way~ in tricking the band of dopey twits into thinking

we will actually find a means out of here without the slightest trace of normalcy or state of things, not quite so kindly enough to be in our favour; smack-dab, the test of patience wears me out faster than the dread that sprouts its set of roots across the loam and soil and clay that hides the bones that don't decay, while the layered sediments sheltering limbs and flesh and meat all meshed into one, the soil, a hoarding miser, relishing its handy traps and gimmick ploys to put stuck souls like me to bed, to rest, to croak a rushed finale of meaningless words in an attempt at wishing away the world in a proper adieu despite the soundless sigh that will arise and fall back to the floor without another ear to catch its drip and trip and limp and dip into the dust where it belongs. ~ ~ Oh spare me the cruel net of catacombs clipped like a gentle, swaying pair of arms from Death herself, and so, bear me my load, I ask the crust of earth to brace itself a bassinet, in advance, for I must warn the heaviness of burdened minds, like that of mine, will otherwise surely capsize, thus I implore the sand and stones and dunes and bones to cushion up their cradle propped and build a bank that won't be flopped, a crib of slit that I can't top- -ple over and dismantle, for who knows the damage I could cause? What more can the subsiding shore and tide take from the slumping weight of a sorry state and tempter of fate, and can it really last, provided, that the landmass left is blighted and it isn't I that ends lopsided. ~ ~ Quivered breaths thrum out in prayers, in shaken soughs matched by the woeful, wafting wind, the mutterings of "hail mary's" unlike myself, the spells I cast existing by themselves; the sleepless night that drones us by has us getting ahead of ourselves. ~ I used to scoff and scorn at hopeful speech-givers like him, but after facing what I had faced, ── on the subsequent days of treachery and

near-death experiences, the spear with which Farallon had used to strike the tirelessly thirsting tiger that fought its way through foliage and forestation

to usurp its dominance in this meager isle, abandoned and stripped of delectable, writhing morsels

such as I to take easy pickings off of and haul onto the rigidity

dinner table of cobbled slabs on gravel mountains that protrude like pedestals, or totems, only beasts are fit to stand upon, for the ravening brutes of the brutal biomes, barbaric, bellicose, too busy brawling to buy into blessings of mercy or weak links to soft things that humans like too much: out here, the frail of hearts will blacken into steel-cold blood, without enough warmth ── the waning buds of fear, and doubt, and gloom, all close-knitted and matted and coiled, bodaciously, fittingly fueled and spoiled by the bleak feedings of an emptying mind, seemed, now, things of the past. ~ ~ It was then, at the wisp's end of life, the threat of a flimsy thread coming apart in the silent snip of a split, -scaring me stiff- in its fluttery flitter, almost slips from the sultry slick sweat of my soggy palms, the fluttering wire, not so thin anymore. A sense of powerlessness is plucked from out of my perpetual pit of pessimism. And I owe it all to Farallon. ─ ─ - ─ ── - ──


“Okay, alright, settle down everyone. Good afternoon students! Today’s lecture is on form versus content, which should come as no surprise if anyone referred to the timetables I sent out at the start of term. Some of you, the ones taking this seriously and hoping to turn their English Literature module into some sort of career, may even have worked their way through the additional reading list. Others may have spent three months in Bali hoping non-stop drugging and partying will transfer into ‘sociable’ and ‘thinks outside the box’ on their CVs. But like I was able to see through my husband, Professor John Edwards (whom some of you may know from the Radio and Television course this shell of an institution offers) claims that his late arrivals home were from losing himself to researching his novel was a blatant lie to cover up his ‘research’ into what lies between the legs of his favourite female students…well, intuitive employers will see through those masking of truths too. And so! We’re going to start with a poem. A poem by ‘Anonymous’, dated 1951, entitled ‘Birds That Lay Eggs in Another Bird’s Nest’. A rather clunky title, you may agree. Still, it’s a starting point. ‘Birds that lay eggs in another bird’s nest O, how I strive for such gumption! Selfish motherships made of beak and claw Caring not into what lives they tore Lives that will never get the chance to fully fledge Instead, laying dazed and broken in the belly of a hedge. Birds that lay eggs in another bird’s nest We all know them. We’ve all been there. The beady black eyes Trained on your swift demise Heeding not your angry words demanding an end To birds that lay eggs in another bird’s nest. They pillage and plunder Cast hopes and dreams asunder Because your home is their home (Not that it was ever yours to begin with) In doing so, not thinking it absurd How I yearn for such self-assuredness of mine And my progenies’ place in the world If you’d only thought to check with me first We could be sharing the warmth, the cradle, the nurse. Because sharing is caring. Stealing is daring. You were programmed to multiply But I see it as subtract.’ Well, what do we think? Comments? Yes, Joanne, share. Sharing is caring.” “I thought it was ugly, spiteful and…well, unimportant. The rhythm, the metre, it’s all over the place. It’s instantly forgettable. It evokes no emotion. The imagery – asides maybe from the belly of the hedge – could be much richer. It’s more a rant than a poem.” “It seems Joanne is not a fan. Now that Joanne has laid the corpse out on the table, perhaps someone else would like to dissect. Yes, Antoine, go.” “I liked it. It’s clearly coming from a place of passion. It’s definitely not about eggs. It’s rough, but then it sounds like the writer was going through a rough time too.” “Yes, Antoine. Exactly. The form may be shoddy but the content, when we dive beneath the surface layer, speaks of heartache. A sorrow for how a situation was handled. Regret about bonds that could have formed. Take, for instance, the many secret lives of Professor Edwards, or as I know him, ‘John’. Or as I now think of him, ‘cretin’. He could have explored his fetishes with his adventurous, caring, intelligent wife – AKA moi, yet he chose the form of an 18-year-old student slash bikini model. Take, for another instance, this lecture. Which will be the last I give here in Cornwall as I have my car loaded and ready to go as soon as I’ve delivered my parting gift to you all. A lesson to look below the surface. Don’t be distracted by shiny, overly made up yet fragile creations when you need to take a deep dive to benefit from the more nutritional value gained from extracting the core. No, I will not be taking questions, so you may as well lower your hand, Rachel. Enjoy the feeling of the blood returning to your fingers. I haven’t felt any sensation in weeks, it seems. Just numbness, occasionally pierced with needles of shock and shame. I don’t recommend it. I also can’t say I recommend trying to transfer those prickles to a voodoo doll. Yes, I keep an open mind and have open-minded friends but it doesn’t mean their ‘woo’ suggestions are going to work for me. So – and I know some of you pretending to be browsing your phones are recording this – Sally, if you’re watching, you can save your time stitching me any more dolls. Perhaps you should’ve made a life-size version for John to stick his dick into. Food for thought for next time, not that there’s going to be a next–” “Honey? Adam, dear? ADAM. Just take those headphones off a minute, wouldja?” “But Mum, this is amazing. So one of my lecturers quit today in the most insane way and I need to watch. Like, man, the one day I dodge a lecture and this shit goes down. Insane, I tell you.” “And I tell you: you gotta watch your language. You’re not with your friends now, Adam, you’re with your mother .” “Oh jeez, for fuc–” “ADAM” “ Okay , okay. What do you need me for anyway?” “A question I’ve been asking myself ever since you shot out of my womb…” “Thanks Mum, that’s real nice, I’ll send you my future therapy bill.” “I need you to run to the store and fetch me some eggs. We’re having omelettes tonight and your baby brother thought it would be fun to throw all the eggs out of the fridge and replace them with his stupid little Lego bits and bobs” “Well, eggs…Lego…they do sorta sound alike, I can see where he’s coming from.” “And I can see that English course of yours is really a great help.” “That’s such a coincidence, what with the clip I was just watching. It’s all about–” “I don’t care Adam, I just need some eggs!” “Hmm. Maybe it’s nothing to do with which bird it is at all, it’s all about the survival of the eggs.” “What are you mumbling about? I still don’t see any eggs here. Now go, go before your little brother starts eating his Lego. Go, before it gets dark.”


Memory is a fickle thing. It twists and turns and corrupts, changing others, ruining and breaking them. It can heal yet it can kill you, slowly and easily until you are nothing more than a husk of what you were. It can be your salvation, if you convince yourself it's real, or, ultimately, it can be your greatest nightmare. \- Some think there is a God; a ruler above, all-powerful and all-knowing and all-seeing - someone that will save them in times of need. A kind creature. A savior. No. That is all fake. I saw Him, once, back when I was eager and young and happy and free. I worshipped Him, not knowing what *He* truly was. I can't remember it now - He took my ability to remember from me, leaving me as a shell who can't even recall the voice or touch of his own mother. Now my dreams and waking moments are spent seeing Him. My memory is corrupted; mind changed and incinerated and burned with Him, only Him. He wished for me to be this way and now I am. \- I met Him in the forest. I can't remember where or when. I can't remember what the trees looked like or what I was wearing or how I even looked like. I only remember being in the woods, praying and singing songs prophesying His return. How foolish I was. I remember stopping my prayers suddenly, hearing noises in the greenwood; and like the curious lamb I was, I followed them, picking through the shrubbery and trees and stumbling upon a clearing. It was beautiful. I vaguely remember that. Full of flowers and grass and life and I, the inquisitive and wild creature that I once was, bravely walked through it. I stopped a couple of steps in, head cocked to the side as I noticed a large, hulking figure covered in an off-white sheet in the middle. The figure was swaying, left, right, left, right. I, not sensing or maybe not caring of the danger, walked towards it and ripped the sheet off. The figure seemed to fall and I sprang back on coltish limbs, transfixed and horrified and *curious.* It was humanoid, human-like but not - a strange mix of long limbs and even longer fingers and joints and *rot* to be human. It was spoilt, tainted and flyblown - sharp with protruding bones that strained across the decaying body. Its chest, skeletal and grey and unearthly, shook with every rattling breath and it twitched and convulsed and jerked and shuddered in every direction. I watched, spellbound and mesmerized as it breathed, unable to tear my gaze away from it. I called out to it, shouting and asking what it was - the greatest mistake of my now never-ending existence. I remember it slowly lifting up its head, skull ivory-yellow and eyes white and gleaming. I remember it focusing on me, distorted, split irises resting on my body as it moved its head to one side. I edged back, scared now but oh so curious, always so curious. A yellowed, blackened and gnarled hand spasmed, almost following after me; fingers shivering and bending and breaking and fracturing. The thing moved, standing up on impossibly long and gaunt limbs that nearly failed to support its weight and taking one trembling step towards me. It then opened its mouth, a long, jagged line - in place where lips and teeth and skin should be - and a black emptiness now remained. “*Come here, child*.” It rasped out, voice carrying across the now-silent, wind-blown clearing as it took another step, stronger and more sure of itself now. I didn't respond then. I couldn't. I was frozen and immobile and at its mercy. Another step and it was two feet away from me; back hunched and white eyes staring, staring, staring. It lifted its horrid hand again and rested it across my cheek - deathly cold and almost loving if not for the sharp nails that punctured my skin and tore into my face. It moved its head closer, now nose to nose and grinned, having more teeth than ever humanly possible that glistened white-yellow-black with its saliva. I trembled, both in fear and sick amazement as it stood above me, unable and unwilling to comprehend what was happening. I remember it grinning, wide and unchained, as its nails tore into my face. I remember the putrid mouth opening and revealing rows and rows and rows of teeth that seemed to stretch on for eternity, not seeming to have an end. “*I am God,”* it whispered to me and I believed it. I remember shutting my eyes and praying as its mouth opened even wider and it moved closer, I remember forcing my eyes closed as its teeth bit into my flesh, tearing the skin and muscle of my bones. It was torture. The worst pain I’ve ever experienced. I remember that. I woke up in the abyss. Dark and never-ending. I could not recall who or what I was, I could only remember *God* or whatever that gross imitation of *Him* was. An eternity has passed yet I still remember its eyes. They haunt me. They follow me. It still watches. He never left.


It was spring on the farm when all the craziness started. Rob just couldn't figure out how it was happening. He had installed CCTV, extra scarecrows, he and his dog had even stayed out on the porch all night listening out for any peculiar happenings. Yet the events still took place. He was loosing out on money fast, and his sanity. Every morning without fail, Rob would amble out to his yard, he would fed his chickens and pigs, turn hay out for the horses and let them out into the field for the day. He and his faithful dog, Pip would then make their way around the fences of the fields, checking for damages, or escapees. The new lambs would often tumble into little ditches or holes around the edge and get stuck. The first day it happened, Rob was rooted to the ground with shock. How could anyone do this? He had made his daily rounds with Pip, and just as he was finishing up, Pip had sensed something and ran off to explore. Rob heard her bark, and then whimpering. Thinking she had caught herself on some stray fence wire, Rob rushed over. There, lay on the grass, or should i say strewn about on the grass, was a pile of lambs. all dead. All with their inside trailing about around them. Their eyes were all removed and also in a pile next to them. The smell was horrendous, how could they smell so bad so quickly!? This was not done by an animal that was clear. This event kept happening, no matter how much Rob installed extra security measures, different animals repeated to turn up dead, their insides and eyes removed and piled up neatly next to them. He even went to the extreme of locking up all his animals in one barn, including the sheep! It was a squeeze but he needed to save them somehow, he had a farm to run and his animals kept being slaughtered. Even the attempt at locking them in the barn didn't work, Rob had fallen asleep on the porch whilst on guard, and woken up to his livestock wandering around his yard. Someone had let them out. They had smashed the lock on the barn and released them. The mortality rate rose. He found cows this time. Dragged around the back of the barn, each limb had been dismembered and a cross had been painted on their carcus. That night he had reached his peak of patience, he was scared of who was doing this, clearly they were not in the right mind. He reached out to a couple of his neighbours, who also had farms nearby. They had not been affected like this. They all agreed to come and guard Robs farm that night, to take it in turns. That way they could catch this horrific troublemaker and hand him over to the police. That evening, all on the porch with their dogs and guns, they waited. They watched the CCTV off a laptop they had brought with them. They also took shifts doing a perimeter check. Checking the locks on all the animals, checking the fences ect. It was 2.15am when it happened. There was a almighty bang. Waking the farmers and their dogs, they shot bolt upright listening out for anything else. They were scared. Out in the middle of nowhere with a crazy person wanting to kill their animals, obviously armed ready to dismember more livestock. Rob and his friends, loaded their guns and spread out around the farm searching and checking. Michael saw IT first. He had headed over to the chicken coops to check on them as they were making an almighty din. The lock was broken off. the door had been torn off its hinges. He shone his torch around inside. Feathers everywhere. He counted. SHIT. 4 chickens short. As he turned, he saw it. Jesus H Christ this thing must of been about 10 foot tall!! Towering over Michael as he stood there. He was ashamed to admit it but he pissed himself then and there. Rooted to the spot, he couldn't even move his arms to aim his gun, he felt like he was paralysed. It's red eyes staring. Just staring. It tilted its head almost in a confused way, trying to figure out who Michael was and why was he stood there. It was shaped like a human but definitely not. Its hands.. they weren't hands... they were weapons.. almost like knives. That's how it had cut all the animals up so precisely. It had skin like features for some of its body, and hair or fur in other parts. It grunted as it realised Michael was eyeing it up, The thing turned it's back. It was going to leave! and Michael couldn't move to stop it. BANG. It fell to the floor with an almighty thud, Shaking the chicken house Michael was stood in. Sending chickens and their feathers flying everywhere. There, on the other side of this hellish creature was Rob, and the rest of his friends. They had shot it. They had finally shot it. IT being they still had no idea, it was sort of humanoid, sort of animal, with knife like hands?? What in the world was this monstrosity?? They decided to keep it between them. They still had no idea why it had piled up limbs and eyes in neat piles and left them. Why did it not eat them? Why had it used paint on some of the animals? What was its purpose. It obviously had a complex brain to form decisions. The group of farmers did not want a whole shit show to go down with the press involved, trampling all over private land trying to get a glimpse of what it was, what had happened. So none of them spoke of this again, They dismembered the creature, and spread its part out all over their farms, Ironic really. Payback almost. Robs animals stopped dying. The chickens had starting laying their eggs again. He would have to wait until next year for more lambs to be born, but at least they were safe now.


During lunch hour Bryan made the trip through the network of corporate skyscraper office buildings up to the 9th floor of the Bankstreet building to visit Kyle. Kyle was sitting in his cubicle staring at his computer when Bryan rounded the corner. “Hey stranger,” Bryan said in an upbeat voice. Bryan always had a positive attitude in the office environment. “Hey man,” Kyle said as he smiled at seeing Bryan. “How’s your day going?” Bryan asked. “I’m bored as fuck. Just going through the motions this morning. I’ve got a bunch of calls to make that I haven’t made yet.” “You wanna talk about last week?” “I dunno man. I’m still trying to get my thoughts together. It still just doesn’t seem real. I can only get small flashes of memories but I can see them so clearly.” “Like a dream,” Bryan said, nodding in agreement. “Ya.” “Well if you ever wanna talk about it just let me know, I’m right around the corner. I’m always here for you. Let’s get a drink soon, don’t be a stranger eh.” Kyle nodded as Bryan tapped his cubicle and headed off back to his work. Last week Bryan and Kyle had returned from a spontaneous trip to a Pacific island with their 9-5er friends that worked in the same complex of skyscrapers. Some worked for law firms, banks, insurance companies, and they had all decided to take a trip that would break them from their bubble of monotony. They had flown out last week for the two week trip to the island resort. Two rows in front of Kyle was a crying baby that had not stopped vocalizing some sort of discomfort for the majority of the flight. Kyle already hated flying and the short lived efforts by his friends to distract him with cards or sudoku or crosswords only made him more self-conscious of his need to distract himself from flying on planes, particularly this small prop plane flying over the Pacific that to be honest was getting manhandled by the turbulence for most of the flight and Kyle questioned what feats of structural engineering could possibly hold this tin can together. He took off his glasses and put in his contacts in case they had to ditch in the water. He had unlaced his shoes and reminded himself of the location of the life jacket under his seat. Near the front of the plane he could see Fred and Mandy making out again, the clean cut suburban looking middle aged couple next to them looking uncomfortable, straining to keep their eyes in front of them or pretending to sleep - somehow you can always tell when people are pretending to sleep. Across the aisle, Bryan had returned from his long visit to the restroom to compose himself and throw up from the effects of the edibles he had taken before the flight. Next to him his recent girlfriend Breanna was seeming perfectly comfortable with her trip as she had been watching the Planet Earth series nonstop since reaching cruising altitude. A few weeks before the trip Kyle had started making an effort to find a girl on Tinder that would come on this trip, someone to have fun with. He had never travelled with a girlfriend, and didn’t want to be stuck with Nico who was the only other single guy. He could hear Nico behind him snoring. It would be better this way for Kyle, it was probably better to not spend two weeks with someone he just met. Jules and Michael were playing cards a few rows up to Kyle’s left, and he wondered if he should try joining in on the game. No one was talking on the plane and didn’t feel like breaking the silence. All the friends had booked this trip last minute, hence the scattered seating arrangements. They would have all liked to be next to each other on the single-aisled prop plane with only two seats on each side of the aisle. Fred had recently come upon a large sum of money and decided to invite the whole group of his friends to a small Pacific island resort for his birthday, and after the rather tragic year Fred had had and the lack of outings the group had made together no one felt like they could decline the offer and more or less felt obligated to come. They all had the luxury to work remotely or take large amounts of time off anyways, except for Nico who was always willing to quit his job on a moment’s notice for a good trip. The plane descended below the clouds and the small stretch of runway on a peninsula approached on perhaps the only flat piece of land in this mountain-covered part of the Pacific. After landing Bryan b-lined it for the washroom and spent some more time gathering himself. The group headed for the only bar in the airport to have some drinks before their boat would arrive in 30 minutes to take them to their resort. The group made a concerted effort to get shitfaced to kick off their trip. Bryan had returned from the washroom and the edibles were lasting a lot longer than he had expected and he was not sure if he could make the trip on the boat. After everyone had downed a couple of shots, Fred got the text on his phone notifying him that their boat had arrived, and the group sloppily made their way with their luggage out of the airport and down a palm tree lined path down to the water. The driver greeted them with a large smile as a grouping of storm clouds loomed over the water behind him, the driver seeming unphased by the elements his boat floated upon. Bryan told the group he would stay back and catch the next boat to the island, but was informed with a large smile from the driver that the incoming storm might prevent a boat from getting to the island for the next few days. Breanna then shut down his excuses and told him not to be a bitch and get on the damn boat so she wouldn’t be left alone. The boat was a long and thin canoe-shaped island hopping boat with a shelter in the middle propped on four posts, under which the driver stood as he looked out upon the ocean casually as he drove the boat. The motor putted along, and the group now regretted the post flight drinks now that they faced the chop of the Pacific, the ride being much longer than they anticipated and they could not get on solid land again soon enough. The sound of the motor rose and fell as it broke and reentered the water. The driver seemed to continually grin at their state. Bryan was huddled under the overhang, hoping that he would catch less chop in the center of the boat and that he would come down from his high soon, while the rest of the group sat along the benches on the rails of the boat, trying to hold their stomachs together as the rode past the lush mountainous islands wondering which one would be theirs. They rode past other islands with resorts and other establishments clinging to their beaches. Dusk was starting to fall and the beachside bars illuminated the coast and dark waters, with many string lights strung among the buildings and into the forest, looking like stars in the sky. People were partying and lounging on the beaches, and they could hear music emanating from the shores as it bounced off of the green mountains. In the distance they could see a group of people in hula skirts dancing around funnily on the beach. A couple dressed in 80s track suits tore by them on jet skis and gave them big smiles, heading to one of the islands the group had just passed. Most of the buildings were made of colourfully painted wood planks that the paint was now chipping off of due to the elements. It seemed that all that joined these island settlements was the water between them as the islands themselves were unnavigable and had no roads of any sort, the mountains rising quickly behind the beaches. These resorts were all like someone clinging to the edge of a boat in treacherous waters. Michael sat looking out at the scenery, physically the most composed and keeping-it-together of the group, but wondering if he was properly taking it all in and if it was all going too fast. Michael had issues with imposing expectations on his past trips which always cast a cloud of judgement over his trips. He never could fully be present on a trip but would be thinking of how the trip should be. Whether he was enjoying the trip enough or whether he was making the most out of it. He was already thinking of the return flight home and how quickly the trip would go and how he would be back at his job before he could even settle in and enjoy his trip. The driver pointed ahead in the distance at their island as they had rounded another island. It was lush and green, like the tip of a green thumb sticking out of the ocean. It was round all the way around and did not have many inlets or breaks in its shoreline. It was more a green mountain sticking out of the ocean, less an island with a mountain on it. As they approached the coast they could see the resort and its bungalow huts perched on the lower slope of the mountain. When they disembarked the driver took off immediately back into the ocean and they found their own way up to the resort. They checked in at the main building which had a lounge and kitchen, and they were given flashlights by the lady employee to find their way to their bungalows. They walked along the fresh concrete paths through the lush tropical forest to their rooms, the sounds of loud tropical bugs accompanying them the whole way. As they walked Fred was asking Mandy where they should screw, and he suggested they should go down to the beach tonight; he had never had sex on a beach. The resort seemed fairly new. Their rooms were perched on the downslope side of the path, the walls facing out to the water completely open to the air, the beds encircled by mosquito nets. The next morning Kyle was first to the beach. On his second corona he could see Nico trying to get laid, talking to a young girl in a bikini with a group of friends at the beach bar. They laughed. Nico shook her hand and looked pleased with himself and drunk, and he made his way back to Kyle laying on a beach chair under an umbrella in the tropical sun. They discussed what they should get up to on their first day on the island. Nico wanted to meet up with that girl later. Kyle insisted they should do some sightseeing and check out the island on foot. They made their way up to the main building to get more information on possible excursions. The same young lady that had checked them in was working behind the front desk, and it seemed like she was always there and never left. Whenever the others passed she was always there. Her English was surprisingly good. She was a very beautiful island girl, and she informed them that there weren’t many proper trails on the island, but there were some routes up the mountain and along the ridge that she could have one of the employees take them along, they would just let her know what time and she could arrange it, as long as it was before nightfall. She informed them that these were not moderate hiking trails, giggling, and that the group should be in relatively good shape and they should give themselves at least half a day if they wanted to complete the whole route. Nico was not in good shape but was confident in his ability, he had been taking spin classes at the new studio in his office building. They let the lady know that they should be able to handle it. The group decided at dinner that they would do the hike the next day. The next morning they had some drinks and lounged on the beach, some forgetting about their scheduled hike. Kyle started to round the group up and they went back to their rooms to get out of their bathing suits and into their most athletic wear, sliding into their most appropriate shoes for hiking. Michael had only packed flip-flops and somehow no one had noticed that he boarded the plane in flip-flops. They walked up to the main building where the young front desk lady was chatting with a fit man they assumed to be their guide. They introduced themselves and the guide scanned them. He told them he hoped they were ready and hadn’t been partying too much, followed by a cheesy laugh. Nico looked at the guide's calves and began to look at himself the way the guide had and was now doubting his level of fitness. They followed the guide to the edge of the resort, then entered the forest onto the thinly worn trail that was approximately one foot in width. Branches and other vegetation brushed them like reaching arms as they tried to push them aside. The forest was so thick they could only see as far as two or three people in front of them. But it began to thin out as they started uphill onto the steeper slope of the mountain After half an hour of hiking in the humid pacific air the group was sweaty and some were already beginning to tire. A couple in the group had already gone through all their water. The guide still trudged forward at a good pace while the group tried to keep up. The guide kept enforcing that they’d have to keep up if they wanted to return by dark. The guide stopped, realizing some were struggling to keep up, and suggested that if any wanted to turn back they should do it now before the hike got tougher. Nico decided to turn around and take the path back, as well as Fred and Mandy who wanted to screw, and the rest of the group would carry on. They could see it was still a good distance to the top of the mountain which kicked up steeply in front of them. The guide hacked down some coconuts with his machete and showed them to a fresh stream to replenish themselves for the rest of the hike. The conditions were muggy, all their shirts were drenched in sweat. They clawed their way through the hanging tropical plants. At some points when the trail got steeper they could get a view out from the tops of the trees of the pristine blue ocean, the waves looking like faint wrinkles, and the white beaches far below. Kyle, Michael, Jules, Bryan, and Breanna all began to feel their endurance tried now a couple of hours into the hike. “I think we should turn back,” Michael said, at the head of the group behind the guide. Bryan quickly brushed Michael aside and called for the guide to stop so they could talk it over. Jules and Breanna had gone off to take pees. When the girls returned and the group was debating whether to continue, a big explosive bang rang out across the islands and the forest floor shook under their feet, the group having to bend their knees and brace themselves against the nearest trees. “What the hell was that!” Jules yelled out. “Must have been an earthquake. Jesus,” Michael said. They could see some smoke rising over the top of the other side of the mountain and Michael and Bryan ran quickly to the top to get an eye on the situation. They could not see where the smoke was coming from in the distance, but as Bryan pointed out to Michael, there was a surge of water receding from the shore, almost all the way up the lower slope of the mountain. It must have been a tsunami. Some smaller waves followed, coming high onto the shore but not as high as the first they had seen, dismantling any docks and shoreline establishments. As it receded it pulled the structures and wooden debris with it out into the water. They could see some people in the water. When Michael and Bryan returned they asked where the guide was. Kyle gave a few calls for him but heard nothing. When he did not return the group began to search the area for him, peaking through the hanging vegetation trying to spot him. “He was literally standing right there with his machete before that big bang,” Bryan remarked, pointing at the spot he thought he last saw the guide. The group had quickly lost the trail in search of him. “No we came this way. I remember that spot,” Jules said, correcting the direction Michael was taking. “Either way it’s not a big island, let’s just head down and follow the shore back to our resort. We couldn’t see anything on this side of the mountain when we were up there,” Michael said. The group had been hiking for almost five hours now. Back at the resort Nico was trying to call the group about what had just happened, but there was no reception. The sun was now beginning to set as the group began to make their way down in some haste. As they clawed their way down, making no regard for the easiest route, Breanna rolled her ankle on a rock and got extremely frustrated at everyone and the whole situation. After some hiking she began to feel faint, and was having difficulty putting weight on her leg. Kyle and Bryan propped her up on each side of her, her arms around their shoulders so she could hop on her good leg. The group tried again to yell for their guide, but got no response. The clouds were now blocking out the moonlight and there was not much light left to go by. The group finally came across another resort higher up on the mountain after about an hour of hustling down. In the main pavilion of the resort there was an ongoing ayahuasca ceremony with the floor covered in cushions. There were people in a full frenzy, running around or hallucinating bad things while a couple of shamans scurried between them trying to calm them, only a couple of them remained lying down in the cushions. The group asked for help for their friend, and a shaman took a look at her ankle, pointing out two small fang marks on the outside of her ankle that the group could not have noticed, around which the skin was now starting to swell. The shamans said they could not help them at the moment as they were in a moment of crisis, but they could give them some natural rubs and herbs. The shamans seemed more stressed and less zen than they thought shamans should. Another shaman came to them and told them that they should get down to the shore and catch a boat to the mainland where she could get an anti-venom. She was beginning to feel more faint and they could see some bruising beginning to appear on her ankle. Kyle switched out with Bryan as the other crutch and they made their way from the resort down to the shore, having to almost fully carry Breanna at this point. On the beach there was one light off in the distance down the coast, but they did not recognize any of the coast and could not tell if it was their resort. They began to head towards it. Breanna was beginning to lose consciousness and her leg was getting worse. As they walked along they could hear the puttering of a motor approaching and the headlight of a boat was heading for them. The boat beached itself and a man greeted them, asking if they needed help. He told them that their resort was on the opposite side of the island, which they couldn’t understand since they hadn’t crossed the mountain at any point, but it meant that their friends might have been struck by the event and may have been a part of the debris Michael and Bryan had seen washed out. He said he had taken some resorters to the mainland already, and that he could take them there now. The group wanted to check on the resort and if their friends were ok, but Breanna needed medical attention. They pushed the boat off the beach and set out towards the mainland. The boat bumped and pushed aside bits of garbage and debris as they rounded the island to the side that was hit, the light of the boat shining on the dark water in front of them, the driver dodging what large pieces of debris he could see. As they rode along they could see the damage done to the other island resorts. Boats scurried between them trying to perform rescue efforts. A dot of light in the sky began to grow above them like a shooting star. It faintly lit up the night sky but began to illuminate the sea like the sun in broad daylight. The heat of the light grew and after a few seconds it had become so great and bright it blinded all around. The group was brought to their knees, covering their eyes with their arms while trying to keep their heads down. Jules lost her balance and fell from the boat. After a large splashing bang followed by a hissing sound, the night went dark again. They were still blinded and could not see anything, but could hear Jules calling for help in the water. After some time of laying blind in the boat, they regained some of their vision and were able to pull Jules from the water back into the boat. The group pulled themselves together amidst all that had happened, so startled and confused they could hardly think of what to do next, but the driver continued on to the mainland. Breanna was given an anti-venom and a hospital bed and was to make her recovery overnight. The others were sleeping on the ground or slouched halfway down chairs in the hospital room when Nico, Fred, and Mandy walked in and woke them up. A look of shock came across all of their faces, followed by sheer relief as the group embraced each other and shared tears as they were all finally back together. They would end their vacation and take the next flight home.


I went to bed at 11pm,was a little later than usual due to my work deadline, you know how those things can be,I set the clock to go forward at 12,just what I needed with a full day of editing in front of me, less sleep, I settled down, my eyes flitting In and out of sleep, my brain not really wanting to shut down, something woke me with a sudden thump,I couldn't quite understand it, I felt like I had only just dozed off, but there out side,the sun shone and the birds sang,I rubbed my eyes trying to focus,I looked at the clock beside my bed, the time said 7am,ok I thought may have been a restless night ,but let's get up and shower and face the day,at this point my brain hadn't quite woken up,so I did the things I always did, but a part of me had a feeling that something wasn't quite right,as I walked into the bathroom scrambling for my toothpaste and toothbrush,a strange buzzing happened in my ears,thinking it must just be my shower playing up as it does occasionally I took no notice,but as I looked into the mirror I stood back in shock,what had happened? this wasn't my bathroom? That was not me looking back at myself,yet as I looked down, there I was holding my toothpaste and toothbrush in my hands,I looked back up into the mirror and saw a robot, yes a robot staring back at me, but how did that happen? who pulled this prank? I hurried out of the bathroom in a blind panic,everything around me started to crumble and in its place stood a metal box,no windows just a TV screen,sounds of birds were being played from speakers in the courner,I turned to go downstairs to where I left my phone next to my computer,but there was no door, no stairs, "can someone help me" I screamed,the sound of birds halted,a buzzing occured over the speakers then a voice appears "do not worry Simon,you are safe,we apologize for this disruption,we intend to restore the program as soon as we can, please take a seat,your meal will be with you shortly" "but where am I?" "you are on board the SS Sampson,a survivor ship,for survivers of the great war" "what war? It's march 2020 there is no war," "much time has passed sir,the year is 2200",I collapsed on the bed,my hands on my head,"what about my face? What happened to me?" "Please stand by sir, all programs will return to normal,as soon as we can locate the problem" with that the sounds of birds resumed,I lay on my bed not being able to take any of this in,when the tapping that woke me in the first place began again, along with the strange buzzing I had heard earlier,yet this time the sounds made sense to me,the tapping was actually coming from beside my bed,from the wall next to me, the buzzing was a voice asking if anyone was there,I tried to answer but all that I could manage was a mechanical buzzing,why couldn't I speak,I wanted to cry,I wanted to scream, I needed to be able to reach out to someone,but nothing just buzzing and banging,I raised my hand to the wall and banged back hoping that the person would understand, " It's ok Simon I know this confusing,but promise me once they fix the problem you won't remember any of this" I banged again "My name is Cassy, you are one of the last to board this ship,woow I can't believe I'm actually talking to some that went through it,although you can't remember,I was only just born" I tried to speak again,this time a little sound like a sequel erupted. "Hey don't try to speak for now,your circuits are going to be a little rusty,they found you lying there amongst the ash they were looking for survivers,sadly this old girl is going the same way,she's been cruising for quite a while now" I banged on the wall twice in recognition of her explanation,I so badly wanted to ask,how did I become a robot? When yesterday I was typing up a report on global affairs and doing sceduals  for next week, "Look I tell you what how about I ask the questions that I think you want answers to and you reply with one bang for yes two for no,will that work? Ok I may not have the answers to everything but I'll try my best ok?" I bang twice, "ok first question,when did the war begin?" I bang once "Not the right questions,hmm ok,let's think,ooh wait listing to that annocement you have just woke up right?" I bang twice, "Ooh no,ok I get you,you can't understand why you look different am I right?" I knock twice "Ok this is gonna take some explanation,it's gonna blow your circuits,sit comfortably I'll begin" I hear a clearing of a throat,then a sigh then she begins in a sad tone. "If I remember from my history lessons or what my mother told me,visitors came to earth around April 2020,from where no one's knows,there was a mass panic,strange lights fell from the sky,people started getting sick and fell in the streets,some people survived the first wave grouped together in caves,discussing what to do next,many months later, starvation kicked in,the skies turned red, many more died, then around December of that year hope came in the form of the SS Sampson,aboard this ships were more visitors from a different world,they rescued those that were clinging onto life,fed them,clothed them,they decided to help with the shock that they would develop a program to restore some form.of normality for these people,of what they had before,they gave them quarters and laid them.into a deep sleep,they repaired those that were injured with parts they could find,and created a hologram program around them,when the people woke up,they all felt it was a bad dream and went about there buissnes as usual,they did a cool thing,I think pretty wacky, but still cool,many years passed,births,deaths,all the same as before no one knowing the reality,well not until now anyway,the ships hit a bit of a stumbling block,and well here you are,your true self,I guess you must of been one of the soilders, one of the last down there,lucky they found you really, as for why you've just woken up surprised me though,they said the program.didnt work on those below,I guess they were wrong." I couldn't believe what I was hearing,me a solider? how could I be,I was a reporter that's all,a consultant in my spare time nothing special,but wait ,if that was the case how was I having dreams about space ship,and astaroids,I thought it was because I watched to much syfy on my telly,after having to much wine and falling asleep during films,what if that wasn't the case,what if it was a glitch in the program and reality was reaching out to me,I banged on the wall twice to thank her. "It's alright,gives you a bit to think about till your circuits work again,heads up foods coming" A hatch opens up in the wall a tray of oil,nuts and bolts arrive and then closes again,I can't eat that I thought, but for one small second,in front of me I could see steak mushrooms and a glass of wine, suddenly ravinous I ate it all,I felt suddenly tired, I lay back on my bunk,all of what Cassy ringing in my head thinking I must never forget repeating it over and over to myself until I closed my eyes. I woke up to the sounds of birds singing,the sun shinning through my curtains,I look at the clock it says 7am,best get up and face the day I thought,I looked into the mirror,tooth brush and toothpaste in my hands,I had a strange feeling in my stomach as I brushed,I showered and went downstairs,picked up my phone,there was over twenty messages, I checked them,each one telling me to get under cover, something was out there, something was coming,I grabbed my armour,drank my coffee, picked up my gun and went about my daily buissnes,ready to fight.


I could not believe what I saw. It has been ten years, and I still cannot believe it. No one else will probably ever believe me either. The incident plagues me to this day, and I firmly believe it will for the rest of my life. Let me introduce myself. My name is Harold and I was just your ordinary house cat. Once full of life and vigor, I now spend my days, lurking through the remnants of a burned down barn in the dell, remembering. I went from a carefree cat to a troubled feline, destined for a life of being constantly haunted of the how and the why it all happened. Always wondering, why was I left behind. It was not always like this though. The lovely old couple that takes care of me found me as a kitten out in their barn. Abandoned. The rest of my litter and my mother gone. They told me that I was probably something they refer to as a “runt.” The man was a farmer, and his wife, a lovely homemaker. Every day she would fill a saucer of milk for me and put out a bowl of food. I would take a nap on the bed while she would clean and run errands. When I got bored of that I would chase the mice out of the kitchen. It was a farm house after all. They were there, and someone had to take care of them.

After dinner, when they would sit in the living room by the fireplace, listening to the radio, talking about the day, each working on their own little projects. I would chase balls of yarn around the room as the farmer’s wife tried to knit while the farmer would sneak me scraps of food in between the pages of the book he was reading. This would go on until the wife caught him. She would scold the farmer, they would pack up their stuff, and would head to bed for the night. Once they were all tucked in, I would climb up onto the foot of the bed and make myself comfortable. The next day, it would start all over again. I was living the life. Then one week, the old couples’ son came home for a visit. He brought his wife and baby with him. It was scary at first, but it was not long before I took a liking to this small human. She would throw things for me to chase. And, as it turns out, we both liked to play in the yarn basket. At meal times she dropped so many scraps from the table. I was eating like a king. The son and his wife were great too. They were always ready to pet me and offer me a lap to lounge upon. I was starting to hope that they would stay forever. That is, until that fateful day occurred. The old couple had left to town for the evening. Something about a church function. To this day, I still do not know what that is. I was left in the house with the son and his family. The son and his wife went into the kitchen to make lunch, leaving me in the living room with their child. We were happily playing with the basket of yarn, which had become our habit. She would through the yarn and I would chase and tackle it. She would crawl over, grab the yarn, and do it again. This had been going on for a good ten minutes when she threw it into the fire. At first, I was disappointed as this meant that our game was now over. I had learned the hard way as a kitten to not get too close to the fire. My singed tail served as a reminder of that for weeks. I saw that ball of yarn go into the fire and knew it was unreachable for me and I hoped that this child knew that it would be unreachable for her as well. I turned around and began to walk away, looking for something new to occupy my time. All of the sudden the room felt significantly warmer. I tuned around to look at the fire and was shocked to see that it had grown and was starting to leave the fireplace. It had never done this before. The fire seemed to have climbed along the tail of yarn leading out of the fireplace. It had climbed all the way to the basket of yarn and had set it aflame as well. I let out a loud meow and the child began to cry. Both of her parents ran into the room. They saw what was happening and began to yell. Almost simultaneously, the son grabbed his wife as his wife grabbed the child. I remember the son saying, “we need to get out, now!” They rushed out of the house. This is when all chaos ensued. And where my new life of hopeless abandonment began. It did not strike me as important at the time, but, as I reminisce, it seems to me to be an important detail to the story. When her mother picked her up, the child had a doll in her hand that her grandmother had made for her that morning to play with. It was a nurse and it was made of fresh hay. The child loved it. Why is this important? Well, as the family rushed out of the house, which was quickly becoming more engulfed in flames by the second, doll in hand, they ran pass the cow pen. The one of the cows caught the scent of the fresh hay that the doll was made out of. Apparently had to have it. He bust out of the pen and started to follow the family. The other cows looked up at the sound of the pen being busted open. When they looked up, they saw the flames coming out of the house. They got scared and followed the first cow. Pandemonium was beginning to arise. Now, while I was the only animal that the old couple had inside, they had several animals outside. And not just the cows. One such animal was the old coonhound. No longer able to go hunting, his job was to look after the cows. This old dog was in the barn when he heard the cows get out of their pen. When he stuck his head out of the barn door, he saw the cows breaking out. He turned to see what had happened and saw the house in flames. The old hound began to bark. He ran in the same direction as everyone else. I am not sure whether it was to try and round up the cows or to get away from the flames, but I am pretty sure it was a mixture of both. All of the dog’s barking got the attention of the barn cat who had been chasing a mouse in the barn. Apparently, this mouse had gone unnoticed in the house as I was playing with the child, and was able to sneak out into the barn with a hunk of cheese from the kitchen. This barn cat was an experienced hunter though. He was not going to let the mouse get away a second time. I had always admired him for that.  I believe he was about to finish the job when he heard the dog barking. He ran, spooked, out of the barn as well, mouse with cheese in mouth. The mouse dropped the cheese in all of the commotion as the cat ran off with it in the direction of everyone else. This image has been burned into my brain forever. The air around me is filling with smoke, curtains and beams were starting to fall. But all I can see is that cheese, standing alone. The cheese stands alone. Just like me. Left behind. Forgotten. Standing alone. It is getting nearly impossible to breathe. I begin to cough and it snaps me back into reality. I am able to find my way to the door and run out of the house. I try to run after the family, but I had inhaled so much smoke. I did my best to follow the path they took, wheezing the entire way. In a few minutes I see them in the distance. I continue to crawl along, trying to get to them. I attempt to meow, but I cannot. It turns out, the smoke had done irreversible damage to my lungs. I see the old couple come racing up to where the son, his family, and all of the animals have congregated. “Oh my goodness!  Is everyone okay?” the old woman asks. “What happened?” the farmer demanded, “did everyone get out?” “Everyone is okay. Everyone made it out. We are all here,” the son said. He begins to explain to what happened. There is a problem though. Everyone was not all there. I was not there. Apparently, it did not matter though. After the son finished telling the old couple what had happened, they all hugged and drove off in the car. A couple of days later, the farmer showed up with a big truck. I felt a pang of hope rise up in me. He had returned for me. All of the other animals were loaded up into the truck. I tried to make my way to the farmer from my hiding spot. But I was still weak, it was a struggle. I figured it would be okay. He would look for me, right? I was wrong. Once the last cow was loaded up, the farmer drove off. He did not even look for me. Again, like the cheese, I stood alone. I never saw any of them again. I slunk back to my hiding spot. Over time, I regained my strength. I returned back to the burned remnants of the barn. It was all that was left of the only home that I ever knew. Now, day after day I lurk around. I think. I hunt mice. I think some more. I keep going over that day in my head. How could they forget me? Why would they leave me behind? Do they miss me? Why did they never come back? These questions haunt me day in and day out. I have accepted the fact that I will probably never know. All I know is that, now, I stand alone.


I I cannot recall how I ended up in a small foreign town on Easter night. I do not even remember where this town was, what it was like, or what kind of people lived there. I only recall the Easter evening and the ritual with which the folks there celebrated Easter, or so I assumed. No one told me, nor did I ask anyone, if they believed in the same God as we did in my home country or if they had heard about the resurrection. I discovered everything later. I cannot recall how I ended up at the seaside. People were gathering there slowly. I joined them as well. I remember their hazy figures but not their faces. There were not many of them. I did not think there was any cruel ritual of execution or sacrifice left in the world, but that is what I witnessed that evening, for the first and probably last time. The death-sentenced person was a young, thin, black-haired woman. She was wearing a white gown. Her hair was down in front, and I could not see her face. All I could notice was her unusually pale skin. The young woman was walking toward the sea. I knew that once she embraced the waves, she would never return. It was impossible to read her emotions, but I got the impression that she was waiting for death indifferently, or maybe I was wrong and her hair was thrown down over her face so that we could not see fear or sadness in her eyes. The young woman entered the sea silently and began to carry out the punishment. It was bizarre. All of this seemed more like complicit suicide than execution or sacrifice. While she was suffering, people were just watching. Her agony lasted too long. From time to time, her thirst for life would overcome her. She would try to leave the water, only to continue battling with her hunger for life. At some point, I started observing the audience, and I noticed that everyone was crying quietly to themselves. Some of them were watching the young woman, who was on the verge of death, while others were looking down. But no one, none of us, attempted to save her. I used to think of such rites entirely differently. I assumed that everyone there was either there to watch the show or to execute the sentence. Here, it was different. They appeared to be offering the victim their support as they accompanied her on the final journey while sobbing in silence. When would the tortured soul, longing for life, depart the body? It was so distressing to watch the struggle between death and life. After some time, the woman vanished into the water. That is how it all came to an end. People stood with their heads bent for a while and then silently started moving toward the city. I remained there all alone for a while. It was getting dark, so I decided to go home. Suddenly, I realized that I did not know how to get there. Fear gripped my entire being. I was all alone on the outskirts of a completely foreign town. All of a sudden, something completely unexpected happened. The body was propelled out of the water and began to move in the air. I was so terrified looking at this scene. I wish I were in the world of dreams, but all of this was happening, and I never woke up. Slowly, the woman's body fell to the ground. Her entire body and face were purple. Suddenly, she opened her eyes and turned her face toward me. II Despite wanting to run away, I stayed for some reason. For me, she looked horrific. Now that I look back, she was not scary at all. She was stunningly beautiful, but I did not notice it as I saw a purple face for the first time in my life. I stood frozen, staring at the strange creature. Fear slowly vanished, but my curiosity did not. I could not wait to see what would happen. For a brief moment, the alien gave me a blank stare. It seemed like she was trying to recall who she was, where she was, and what had happened. Slowly, delight began to fill her large eyes, and all of a sudden, she smiled broadly at me. I was hesitant to respond with a smile. All I did was shake my head. A weird creature unexpectedly turned to me and said, 'We're going to your house'. Her voice was both commanding and extremely kind. I intended to reply that I would not bring her to my home. I loved living alone and did not want some ugly creature as my roommate. But then I remembered that I did not know how to get home. Meanwhile, the creature was confidently moving along the path. She would undoubtedly know how to get me home. There was no other option; I had to follow her. In the end, I decided to stay quiet for now and create an excuse to make her leave once we got home. We walked silently for a while. It was already getting dark when we left the town. One star at a time, then another, and eventually the entire sky was covered with stars. It was such a magnificent sight! The creature looked up when I pointed to the sky. She started staring at the stars with such amazement that I realized that she had never seen a starry sky before. Our brief nonverbal exchange gave me some confidence, and I finally found the courage to speak up. "How did you discover where I live?" I finally asked. "I do not know where you live. But the moment I saw you, I felt your longing for home. And now I am trying to reach the place where that feeling is coming from". I was not expecting such a response, but perhaps nothing would surprise me anymore. "Why don't you return to your town? Can you recall what happened? Or why do you keep following me?'' "I remember everything. This is why I am unable to return to my house. Let us agree. I will take you to your place, but you promise that you will shelter me". "I have a request too. You must tell me your story, but without hiding anything from me. If you tell me everything honestly and explain what I witnessed at the seaside, I will let you live with me". "Let's head over to your place and have coffee. And I swear I'll tell you everything afterward". "Deal! Do you have a name?" "I used to have one, but I think you should give me a new one''. "I will give it a thought''. Following that, we engaged in a lot of small conversations, and we learned that we were both huge fans of coffee. I promised to make her my favorite breakfast this morning. On our way, we passed numerous stunning lilacs. That was the creature's first encounter with flowers, and she was amazed. In her town, there were no flowers or yellow dots in the sky (she referred to stars as yellow dots). I decided to call her Aaina. III We walked until dawn. When I felt that I was too exhausted to move, Aaina turned to me and said, 'We have arrived.' I looked around and became confused. This was not my home. Or rather, it had once been, but it had been years since anyone lived here. "Why are we here? It's been a while since I've lived here''. “I've been honest with you about the fact that I have no idea where you live, but the feeling that I was following brought me here. Shall we enter or not?"  I nodded in agreement, and we walked inside. There was a silence, the kind of silence that exists in abandoned houses and has not been disturbed by the human voice in years. Everything was covered in dust. I decided to look around the house. I was even more confused when I entered the kitchen. The entire kitchen was covered in huge black stains as if they had been purposefully applied. Later, I discovered a dead bird in my bedroom that had already turned into a skeleton. It must have flown in through the hole and been unable to leave. So that is where the stains in the kitchen came from. We cleaned the whole house. After that, I bought some food and coffee at the market. While drinking coffee, we had a lot of small talks, and I could not wait for Aaina to start telling me her story. She kept her word and spoke up. "This ritual has been existing in our town for centuries. So much time has passed that even my people have forgotten where and how it all began. Every year, any of us can give ourselves up and transform into another form of being. However, this happens much more rarely, as only a few people dare to give up their own present lives on purpose. It is neither punishment nor sacrifice. You chose this path yourself. People do not have the authority to name a "Chosen One'', and even if they did, I am sure they would not sacrifice anyone. My people love each other far too much. Usually, almost no one manages to transform. Everyone who chooses this path probably believes that he is an exception and has the power to do so. You may have noticed that only a few people attended today's ritual. Most people are unable to watch such a sight with their own eyes and prefer not to attend. When the inhabitants are certain that the soul of The Chosen One has left the body, they return to the town and come back to the seaside at dawn. If the body was not carried to the shore by the waves, it means that he was able to transform. But much more often, once every few years or perhaps once every century, one sunrise is incredibly tragic for us. When we see a lifeless body brought by the waves to the shore, it is as if we lose faith in the miraculous and think we are all responsible for what happened. The thought that this sunrise will not be like that for my people gives me immense joy. I would like to ask you something. Do not forget that I will gradually fade and weaken so that I can become part of eternity. Be prepared for it and try not to get too used to me''. IV That is how Aaina and I met and started living together. So far, I had no idea how long I would stay in my hometown and had not gotten in touch with anyone yet. I knew that Aaina's stay was temporary and that her body would eventually fade away and merge with eternity. I was not sure what was going on with her or what the transformation meant. What I knew was that my human mind would never be able to comprehend this. We used to walk around and talk a lot. She would tell me about her town, and I would show her mine. There were no flowers or stars in her town, but many things were going on that I had never heard of, and she would ask me not to tell anyone anything. I remember the moment we became aware that Aaina's body had begun to vanish. I went shopping on my own and bought her a stunning floral dress. She loved the dress and immediately changed into it. While watching herself in the mirror, she became confused all of a sudden and looked at her hands. I also looked and saw that her purple body was paler than usual. For a moment, sadness seemed to settle in her eyes, but it quickly turned into joy. Two weeks after our meeting, Aaina was already feeling very weak, and I could see her slowly fading away. She was no longer able to take walks with me in the sunshine, but as soon as the sun rose, I would open the windows, and the entire house would be brightened. She enjoyed sitting by the window. She would stare at the sunset without looking away, but as soon as the sun went down, I could see the sadness in her eyes. Every night she would go to bed with the hope that the sun would rise again the next morning. I was not sure how many more sunsets I would see with Aaina, but I slowly realized that I did not want her to fade away. She was so weak after one month of our first encounter that one morning she was unable to get out of bed. However, she soon discovered other small pleasures. As soon as the sun rose, I would raise the curtains in her room and bring her hot coffee. Once, on my way home, I passed a flower shop and saw numerous flower pots for sale. I chose lilac since I recalled Aaina's very first reaction to it. When I got home that evening, I found Aaina extremely sad. When she heard my footsteps, she looked at me, and I saw that her eyes were full of tears. She burst into tears as soon as she saw me. I got concerned and sat next to her, waiting for her to calm down. "Today I realized how much I miss my town'', she said at the end, after she had finally calmed down. " More precisely, I have already been missing it a lot, but today I had the strongest desire to go home. And it makes me extremely sad to know that I can't go back there. More importantly, that was my choice; nobody pushed it. I was aware of the price, but I naively believed that I would not look back. You know, these days I am thinking that even if I am really weak, such a longing would certainly give me the strength to return home, but I am afraid of what would happen there. The Chosen One is never seen again by our folks. This is the rule, and nobody has ever broken it. Our people have no right to take back The Chosen One. But does the fact that something has never happened before truly mean that it will never happen in the future? Perhaps I will be the first among the transformed ones to head back home. Maybe my people, like me, will break the rule and accept me joyfully. Furthermore, I have a feeling that these are my final days and I will soon be gone, which makes me desire to return home even more. Is it, however, a true transformation? The transformed ones have no desire to go back home. They do not fantasize about transforming back into their original form of existence. Still, from time to time, this longing vanishes, and I am once again overcome with delight that I have been enlightened". One day, Aaina attempted to leave the house, but she could not cross the yard. She felt embarrassed when I found her lying in the yard. She assured me and herself that she did not want to return home sufficiently; otherwise, she would be able to. V On the fortieth morning, as soon as I woke up, I sprang up to make coffee for Aaina and raise the curtains in her room. I was hoping to find her in a nice mood. I entered her room, and she was not there anymore. I got so nervous. I had no idea what to do. I opened the closet, checked under the bed, and went out to the balcony, but she was nowhere to be seen. Then I quickly put on my robe and rushed outdoors, hoping to find her. I looked for her for a long time but could not find her. I went back home in the hopes of finding her letter. I looked around the entire house but did not find anything. I never found out what happened to Aaina. Did she succeed in entering eternity, or did her homesickness grow stronger and give her the strength to return home? Did her society welcome her or reject her? I would never know. Maybe someday I will come up with the final chapter of her story, but not yet.


I don't remember the time before the ocean. I don't recall a time when the waves weren't tossing weights across my body threatening to pull me to the gentle foreboding of the earth's watery depths. All I know now is hold on tight to the fragmented raft I was upon and pray for land. I don't remember who told me that though. I don't know how long I have been here, the sun comes and goes. I can't remember to remind myself to keep count of the sun. Before... who was I before? My thoughts race and I feel my blistered lips. I can remember the feeling of fresh cool water traveling past my lips and splashing down my throat but I don't remember who I am. I can remember music but not the dances. I still hear it when the moon is reflected into the water, the reminiscing haunting sounds of the voices I once knew. If I ever even knew them. I pretend I do. It makes the exhaustion I feel in my bones easier to bear. My legs feel like they've become part of the ocean, my trousers no longer heavy on my body. Sometimes I feel something brush against me but I tell myself it's only fish. I can barely hold my head up anymore, my stomach stopped growling days ago.

He gazes up at the poor soaked creature and wonders if it's injured. He would rise to the surface and brush against it to check for movement. Waiting until nightfall to push the creature to the rocky shoreline of where he called home. Home for as long as he could remember. There was a ship some moons ago, he watched it catch flame as the men with loud noises ripped it apart. He retreated further into his home and begged they would not come to his island. He stayed curled and trembling, hidden under the safety of the jagged shoreline and waited. Waiting for dawn was a winning game for someone with no memory and nothing to lose. After the sunlight spilled over the horizon and hit his bare skin he knew it was safe. Slipping himself out from between the rocks he braced himself against the waves and began swimming towards the cadaverous remains of the ship.

He took rope and tied together some remains, that was when he heard the crying. He swam tentatively towards the sound and saw them. A mess of wet brown curly hair and dark skin, the fabric of their shirt clinging to their body.

Someone told him a story about salty tears and salty oceans but now he couldn't remember how it went as he swam closer. It was a person to be sure, so he ducked underwater and swam a bit closer. Long dark legs and ripped trousers and their shirt exposing their midriff floated along the top of the sea. The legs kicked when he reached a hand out and startled him away back to his cove.

He waited a moon to return to the wreckage, and when he did he saw the person again. This time he decided that if it's still alive tomorrow he would drag it to shore and see what it did. He took back to the wreckage and perused about seeing what caught his interest. He took back his findings and waited until daylight the next day. He repeated his journey to the floating body and found it still kicked when he touched their legs. This settled it.  He pulled down.

Water burns. It burns in my lungs as it's all I consume as it envelops me. It burns in my chest and I reach for anything, kicking my legs, thrashing my arms and I know something is holding me. Water burns in an oxymoronic way that there are endless hours and the sweet sorrow of goodbyes. My head breaks the surface and I inhale the blinding atmosphere and then I'm plunged back into the sea. My hair swamps my face and I feel weaker and weaker. The weight of the water fills my body and I find myself thinking this isn't so bad. Then I feel the sand under my toes.

Then my calves

Then I'm thrown onto the soft sand. My eyes flutter open and shut and I see a face hovering over mine. A life giving kiss. They push air into my lungs and compress my chest until I feel the water backtrack out of my body and I lean over and throw up the ocean I had inhaled. Falling on my back, I see hair the color of the sand and eyes such a vivid color, I scramble my mind to remember the name. My vision spots out and my last thought before the darkness consumes me is: green.

It's pretty, he mused. His fingertips grazing over the creature, their hair was coiled about their face in the sand like a halo. He hoped they would wake up. He dragged them up higher from the tide and left them in the shade of a tree. He waited. He dribbled coconut water on their blistered pink lips. Waiting would reward his curiosity in time, this he knew.

I was awake by the time the sky was streaked with orange and pink. Sleep had never felt so delicious. I knew Green Eyes was next to me without opening my eyes, he pushed water through my lips and traced my face with his fingertips. A man. I felt him lower water to me again and I opened my eyes slowly. His green eyes freeze in fear and he scrambles away from me, dropping the water in the sand. I slowly push myself towards a seated position, resting on the base of a tree, my muscles unfamiliar with gravity from floating in the sea for who knows how long. My eyes readjust to the dimming light and I see him. He's close to the ground , his muscular arms holding him up.

“Hello,” I croaked out, my voice unused. My body aches all over. I try a smile, but my head feels hazy. I close my eyes again.

He pulls himself closer to me, I slump into his shoulder unwillingly, my body just gives out.

It spoke! Their voice drier than the lips from which the greeting fell from, but they spoke! He pondered what to say to them when they awoke but decided to wait until the moment was right. He left them against the tree and retreated into the sea, his body was unexplainably hot from the person against him. He sinks into the sea hoping to quell his nerves. He hadn't spoken out loud in quite some time, he had sung of course, every night. He tasted the greeting in his mouth, he then remembered their mouth. The curl of their lashes. The way their nose sloped and the way their dark cheekbones were blushed with sunburn. He shook his head and looked towards shore. They were standing! He anxiously swam to shore and felt the waves roll against him softly.

“ Hello! “ he called out to them, his voice resonating in his chest. He waved. He watches as the realization strikes on their face. He watches them stumble towards the shoreline and stand a few feet away. The sun is slowly sinking now, the same way they are as they fall into their knees. The sudden flashing memory of a woman comes across his mind, the heaving chest, the curve of her waist the way her hips filled his hands. He found these similarities in the person now staring at his posed form. The creature he saved was a woman.

He pulled himself closer, so she pulled away. “Hello there,” he murmurs, a hidden melody dancing in his throat. Somewhere in him inching and her inching away, she stopped moving. He inched closer and closer and the sky covered them in a gentle blanket of inky blue. He pushed her onto her back and watched her brown skin grow hotter under his touch.

He was almost on top of me. His strong arms caging me in and his green eyes peering into my soul. His tail pressed against my bare calf, and I could feel the cool wet scales dragging against me. His tail was so long it stretched beyond my feet. His tail. His tail. This is factual. His hand trails up my bare stomach and he pushes my hair out of the way. He lowers his head and places a single kiss on my collarbone, I stretch my neck exposing more skin for him. My eyes flutter up to the stars, they twinkle gently and unchanging. They are the last thing I see before I feel his teeth sink into my stupidly exposed neck and he kills me.

Sirens.