Whistling at the dark He stood in the blackness, his lips pursed together in a defiant sneer against the night. A soft sound escaped his lips, a pliant, fleeting tone that slipped through the night like the soft cries of a cornered prey. But it was with that sole musicless tone that he fought the night. It was like a dirge to him, a requim to be repeated over and over lest a chaotic fate take his life, some form of protection. The night carried dangers, of course. The night always carried danger, slow predators, fast prey, the ever present spiral of life and death. The forest in the distance was a trap. A slow death for those found within, pressed by others who would take their life for sustenance, and by the slow grind of the human machine which presses in on the trees like a vice, both metaphorical and not. The roads nearby hummed with motorcycle engines and the low drum of tractor trailers. The night was barely audible. The trees' rustle was sorrowful, as though they were aware of the sparse environment in which they grew. Perhaps they knew that their seeds, their children, would find pavement and poison. Perhaps plants were aware of the damage we did them. Perhaps not. These were not the questions that He pondered as his tones and scales passed into the night. The question he pondered was a simple one. Does the night threaten, or protect? If a man finds his way into the forest at night, can he use the night as another tool, like a hammer to be weilded against the nails of the world? Humans were so good with tools. They used their world and changed their world and were positively okay with changing with their own alterations. Each new hell we press upon the world is one which we will pay for. We are punished by our sins, not for them. The tone changed. The man's face twitched, like he had caught the odor of something wistfully foul in the enveloping black. The whistling was a bit faster now, more of a plaintive groan than a playful twist of wind. The man had made a realization. His mind had pierced the slow gloam of humanity to find a small point of universality. 'We are all trees' he breathed softly through his pursed lips. Then the meteor struck. The large rock flying through the universe had picked his small backwater planet and found his small backwater field where he stood whistling in the night. It was so massive, he had no chance of escape. By the time the news had reported the scientist's findings, the blast radius covered his entire nation. No vehicle could bear him from the damage now. He and his family would be lost, his home burned beyond even molecular recognition, with a force like an atomic bomb striking so close. He would be lost. But life would not be. The meteor was a predator, a cosmic wolf with gnashing teeth and cracked claws. But prey could be clever. Humans were so good with tools. Inside a small black box buried feet under the ground lay a seed. A small seed, a tiny oak rock filled with all of the DNA and potential and history of life on Earth. The box was cracked, and water from the new storm clouds forming over the planet found its way to the cushioning around the seed. It took time. The little life had to crack its way out of its own shell; then the shell of the man, the little black box designed to handle even the force of an atomic bomb. It found its way out. Through the ashey dirt it fled, past the atoms of He and his family and their home and the ashphalt and chaos of humanity. Past humanity it fled, reaching towards light, unsure if the earth above it would bury it. But humans were so good with tools. A sharp metal stab rang out near the plants' new growth. It could feel the earth above it rended, torn from its roots and sent flying into the air. But its roots were strong, buried in humanity. The rending stopped. Above the plant, a small something opened up. It could not tell what it was; had never seen sunlight before. But there was a mass there, a white shining mass of hydrocarbons and polycarbonates. It was a human, come to sample the soil from the strike. 'Hello' said the plant in its own indiscernible language. 'and thank you.' Later, a mighty oak grew in that spot. The small metal box rose to the surface over the years, and was discovered years after the tree was fully grown. On it, it said; “Humanity does not refer to human beings' selfish nature for self preservation. It refers to the quality within us which protects all life, both ours and others.


Linda Dear Diary, I'm in the bathroom at the party, and nothing seems to be going right. Nothing seems Nothing is ok. Justin kissed Katlynn, not me. Trixie spilled her cola on my dress on purpose. I must- The door swinging open causes me to stop and look up from my journal. I can see just a little from the stall I'm in, and Justin had Kat against a wall. He's holding something sharp. A knife. I rush up to save her, but I stop in my tracks. Not a knife. A pen. Stupid. Stupid. Why would he have a knife? I've read too many horror stories. I sit back down on the toilet, beaten down. I've turned to a mess. Dear Justin. I know you like Kat and not me any more. I'm fine with that. I not mad. But why didn't you tell me? I hope you are doing fine. -Linda I think Justin's gone. I look out, and see nothing. I unlock the door and wash my hands, my journal in my purse. The grey walls are starting to spin, and are mocking me. I need to get out. I open the door, and head back out to prom. Everyone is dancing to a pop song, the girls swinging their hips with the boys sitting at the tables watching or eating. I head outside. Nobody wants me here. I don't know any of these people. Dear Kat, I know you must feel horrible about tonight, at least you will in the morning, when you aren't with him, but I know you love him more than I do. I just want to say okay. It's fine. Forget about me, okay? I'll be fine. I'll find someone else who I can turn to. Yours Truly, Linda. I sit in the car as rain pummels down, smashing onto the windows. The party continues, without me. I see the flashing lights through the steely darkness. My car feels warm, and I settle down, my feet on the seat, curled into a cold ball, like a cat. And I dream. "Hello?" No answer. The dark creeps up to me. "Help me!" Everyone's gone. They don't need me. They don't waste a breath on me. "Anyone!" Nobody's here. Give up.

"Anyone." They all left me. Gone in the wind. "Wake" Wake up. Wake up. I startle awake to the sounds of screaming. I hunker down in my car, eager to avoid whatever is making them scream. Everyone is running out now, except one person. I count the people that line up along the edge, watching through the window. I wait for the familiar face. It doesn't come. I know he doesn't love me anymore, and vice versa, but these people are cowards. I mean, a life is on the line. It's either me or no one. I fling open my door and run through the wet grass, determined to save Justin. Dear Linda, May, 13

I found this in your purse. I saw you run to save Justin, and I wanted to say I think you are very brave. Are we still friends? -Kat Darkness creeps in the building. I can feel the Evil it contains. But it has a purpose. To defeat the enemy. This time, the prey's name is Justin. The halls are empty as I run through them. All the teachers and adults had run out. Nobody tried to stop me from running towards the danger. That's fine. Justin screams from somewhere nearby. Lockers swing towards the sound, pointing me towards my wish to save a life. Kat Dear Dairy, May 12 I have had the worst day ever. I put on a brave face every single day, but I've had enough. Mom left me when I was eleven. Six years ago. I cried for hours. The police found out I was living on my own yesterday, and gave me a stepmom. How thoughtful. Not. All this time I've been doing it for everyone else, but nobody cares. Why would they? But nobody questions it. If you wear a smile they assume you're fine. Then they tell you about their problems. Kat's calling. Guess I'll talk to her, and talk to you later. Everyone had heard how Linda's mom abandoned her, but everyone saw how brave she was, and how she didn't care what others thought about her. I looked up to her. And here I am being selfish and leaving her a letter. Not going in to help her. Not calling the police. Nothing. And all the while that demon was devouring the whole school. Trixie came up behind me. "Oh my god. Are you looking at Linda's things? Are you, like, going to take her Kate Spade purse? I'll totally join you! You know, we should mess up her car! That'll show her!" I turn to Trixie. "What is wrong with you? What do you have against her!?," I shout into the night. "You don't know what she's been through, she's been putting on a brave smile, while she's hurting inside! You're just pathetic!" Trixie stumbles back. Justin All of a sudden I regret it. Cheating on Linda. It was the wrong thing to do. And now I was paying the price. My blood splattered the walls into writing I couldn't make out. The sick scent of blood filled the room, devouring every soul inside, including me. I do what I can. I run. Trixie I knew she was sad, depressed even, but when Kat admitted it, I backed away in silence. It was my hob to keep her happy, and I had failed. I tumble over Kat's purse, pretending it's an accident, and I kick it under the car. "I'll get it!", I cry, jumping down to reach it like I'm her best friend. But I grab Linda's journal instead. "I can't reach it, sorry!," I shout, and run to my Chevy a few yards away. I hop in, rev the engine, and sit in silence, touching the book. They wanted me to play the bad guy, but I was there. Helping her all along.  It's now or never. I need to find out why her demon came so early. I take a breath, and open the book. *To be continued?*


Alaric sat on a hard stone park bench across from an old man. He’d never seen the man before when he roamed the park and Alaric roamed the park often enough to recognize regulars. Like the woman who walked her beagle while wearing heels every night like clockwork. He hadn’t seen her this night but had shrugged it off to greedily accept the old man’s offer of a game. Alaric hadn’t had real friends in years, perhaps in his whole life, and actual companionship in his position was so hard to come by that he had never willingly passed it up. So there he sat, contemplating his move in the middle of central park. For a late summer evening, the park was completely empty besides the two of them. He thought about the lady in heels or the man who played saxophone under one of the bridges. He bit his lip, wondering why the park was empty, before reaching out to put his coin into the connect-four slot, listening to it ping against the plastic. He grinned at his partner. “You’re not going to win.” “Perhaps I do not want to win, young man.” The old man, he never learned his name, winked at him as he contemplated his moves. Alaric studied his companion, taking in the soft wrinkly skin that drooped from his face and the milky color of his blue eyes. Small puffs of white hair nestled on his head like a crown. It gave the man the appearance of an old forgotten king. Not for the first time, he wondered why the old man was playing connect four at a park bench in New York City. He shrugged off his questions as the man dropped his puck into a slot. Darn. The two of them were squared off across the board and the old man hadn’t left him any useable moves. If he placed his coin into any of the slots, it wasn’t likely he’d hit the four blue circles of victory. At least, not that he could see. Alaric raked a tan hand through his amber waves. “What are you waiting for?” The old man asked, peering through the holes of the game board at Alaric. The rings of the game circled his eyes perfectly, forcing him to stifle a chuckle at the old man with blue glasses. “I’m waiting for the right move to come to me.” Alaric gave the man a strong nod as he finally made his decision and then slipped his blue coin into the farthest slot. It ruined his companion’s ability to finish his straight line of blue and if he managed to convince the old man to put his puck into the open slot a few rows over, he might have a chance of winning. “What’re you waiting for?” The old man sighed. His whole body heaved with it and Alaric thought the man might fall over. Do I have to call the cops if he passes out from my question? “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I’m fine just playing with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve just sat and played a game. Don’t got many friends.” Alaric gave the man a weak smile. He brushed away the thoughts of his haunted childhood, the lonely teenage nights, and most recently, the alcohol-filled nights where he pretended to have friends who in reality didn’t care for him. He just had people who fueled his addictions at his expense. That’s what had brought him to the park in the first place. Alaric just wanted to be close to nature. At least, as close as one could get to nature when they didn’t have a car and lived in the city that never sleeps. He used the word lived loosely since most people didn’t consider living in a cardboard box under the Brooklyn Bridge ‘living’. “It is fine, dear boy. I have lived a very long life and I am just waiting…” He trailed off as he dropped the red puck into the slot a few rows over. Alaric grinned and whooped before reaching out and dropping his blue coin above it. He eyed the blue line happily. It was the first achievement, abate a small one, that he’d had in years. Offering his hand out for a shake, Alaric tilted his head at his curious companion. “Thanks for the game, sir. This was fun.” The old man shook his hand as he stood up. The man was a good foot taller than Alaric and he gaped at the frailty that was stretched so tall. A small voice wondered if the man would fly away at the first real big wind gust. Wind or rain were usually what caused him to lose his home, he thought bitterly. “Do you still wish to know what I am waiting for?” His partner pulled him out of his dark thoughts and gave him a toothy grin. “Sure, but then I really need to get going. It’s almost dinner time.” He peeked behind the man to see the orangey hue of late evening. Alaric couldn’t be late to the soup kitchen or there wouldn’t be food left. How did it get so late? “I have been waiting centuries for someone to beat me so that I could do this.” The old man reached behind him and pulled out a long scythe. “Congratulations. You are the new reaper. Good luck.” He thrust the weapon into Alaric’s hand and poofed out of sight. Spinning around, Alaric realized that he wasn’t in Central Park but was standing next to colossal gates that separated him from a large expanse of black rolling hills and dead trees. A small woman with long blond hair stood to his right. She gave him a broad smile and wrinkled her nose in delight. Karen gestured at the gates which started to creak open. “Hello, Master Alaric. I’m Persephone’s personal assistant – Karen. I’m here to welcome to hell, sir… We’ve been waiting for you.


Ink’s Sorrow October 21st, 2021. Month 12 Week 52 Day 365 9:37 AM “Claire, today is the day… I heard you’re getting that promotion at the diner you’ve been trying at?! Head chef! Congratulations! You really do ” No, he shook his head as he made a line through the word, “did deserve it. I bet ya Shawn Sean wasn’t too happy to hear that. He’d been cooking there for a few years and you surpassed him in three months! Your dad called yesterday just to check on how things were going with school and the new move. He’s He was really proud of you and all that you’ve done and says your mother is too. They were out on a business trip to Washington. We all know “business trip” is was another way of saying vacation for them two. Don was excited he has had the whole house to himself while they’re out. He’ll probably throw some high school party and get busted for breaking a door or something. Don’t let them find out alcohol was most likely the cause, then he’ll really get it. I just wish it was something as simple as a door that had been broken… Anyways, ‘Hey beautiful, I woke up late today and didn’t see you on your way out this morning. I know you’re working and I don’t want to hold you for too long so I hope you have a great day Head Chef! Call me and/or text me when you can. I love you!’” “12:37 PM” “I had gone into work at 10:41. Late by eleven minutes. My phone says that you read my good morning message at 12:35 PM and responded saying ‘Hey love! It’s alright, I gave you a kiss on your head after putting some breakfast in the microwave for you. How’d you know I got my promotion today?! Are you secretly in on this? I love you :). Sean actually quit when Ms. Rose told us. I feel bad but if he wasn’t leaving us with one less cook every other day then maybe he could’ve gotten it. Just saying. I hope your day is going well at the store! I’ll talk to you soon! I love you!!!’ I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and my heart skipped a beat like it does did every time you’ve texted. I wasn’t able to read it immediately because I was checking out a customer. A strawberry lemonade store brand and a party size bag of classic potato chips. I had earlier found the breakfast you left me and you were right, I was in on your promotion. I’ve got I had my connections and made sure you would move up sooner or later. I always said I would do all that I could to make sure you were happy. And I did. Or at least, I tried. “ 12:59 PM” “‘No wonder I had such a good dream! My nose led me straight to the microwave when I woke up too. Thank you :). I’m so happy for you and proud of your promotion! They couldn’t have chosen a better head chef! The day you showed up, Shawn or Sean, however you spell his name, didn’t stand a chance at your position! We celebrate tonight with a movie and rootbeer float or three? The store is really slow today. I mean it’s a gas station. What else should I expect I guess. I get off at 7, I’m covering for Angela. Can’t wait to see you! Time literally couldn’t move any slower. I love you!’ I sent my response just as the bell jingled to a man in his late twenties walking in and heading straight for the back. “1:05 PM” “Adam Letterway 2115 Sedgein LN DOB: 04/23/1994 DL#: **-***-**** EXP: 5/03/2022 Eye: BRO HGT: 6 ft’ I remember all the details from his drivers license. He bought eight packs of cigarettes and three twelve packs of beer. A party ? .It was Friday and his birthday was is tomorrow. I didn’t think much of it, if anything at all. Not until he left and handed it all to five teens. I should’ve done something. I should’ve gone out and said something. What was there I could’ve said or done though? Maybe I should’ve called the cops? Maybe I should’ve screamed and shouted and made a huge scene? Anything. I could’ve done anything. But I didn’t. I’m sorry Claire. Adam disappeared and the five teens jumped into a Gold Honda Accord. A much older edition. License plate: JAJ-E61. Claire. Please forgive me.” “1:46 PM” “I didn’t think of it much after that. Now, it’s all that I can think about. ‘ROOTBEER FLOATS?!? I WOULD LOVE YOU FOREVER!!! I get off at 7:30 so you have time to set the mood in the apartment ;) Pick out a horror movie okay?’ Two separate messages both sent in the same minute. You’re You were always quick at typing, especially when you were excited. I wrote back, ‘You can’t even handle scary movies. Just want to snuggle in close with me huh? I don’t mind :) I’ll see you soon!’ The rest of my shift went by with nothing special happening. Customers came and went. ‘Fifty on pump 8.’ ‘Ten on pump 3.’ ‘I’ll take one of those down there. The pineapple flavor.’ All the usual stuff. I can could can only wish today was just as usual as… Well... As usual I guess. How could I have known that nothing would be ‘as usual’ today? Nothing was or would ever be as usual anymore. I’m sorry Claire. I love you. And I love you forever.” A tear wetted the letter mixing ink and sorrow. Two ingredients so often found brewed, “I love you forever.” “6:54 PM” “Dave came in for his shift early and allowed me to go home. I want(ed) everything to be perfect tonight. ‘Hey beautiful, I’m heading home now. Must be busy at the diner, haven’t heard from you in awhile. I hope you’re not working too hard. I love you! I’ll see you soon :)’ I texted you while sitting in the car. A red 2003 Buick Regal. Nothing fancy. Just enough to get me from A to C. From anywhere to Claire. Yet, where you’ve gone now—I can’t reach. I drove to the store and bought two 2 liter bottles of Rootbeer along with two 48 fl oz of cookie dough ice cream. I put everything away when I made it to our new apartment, 7410 E Callan Ave, apartment 203. I chose The Conjuring for us to watch tonight that night and set two blankets with three pillows neatly on the floor in front of our TV. My heart skipped a beat at the buzz of my phone. ‘I got dinner!!! Heading home now my love.’ I smiled to myself, ‘I’m looking forward to you :)’” “7:48 PM” “You came home… God, why does the night all seem to be a blur. You came home and there was food, there was laughter, there was happiness and Rootbeer floats and there were cozy snuggles and there was love and love we made and there was us and… There we were. And just as it came, so it ended. From what or who or why it fled, my memory for the first time has done the same. There was frustration and there were tears in your eyes. There was yelling and there were questions with no answers and then there was nothing. You left our apartment and I—I closed the door behind you… What happened? Why didn’t we just talk? Why did you leave and why did I let you? I promised to come after you no matter how far you ran but Claire… I let you go. And you…” His hand shook uncontrollably as he wrote the last words, “You didn’t come home.” “9:35 PM” “‘Claire?’” “9:38 PM” “‘I’m sorry. Where did you go?’” “9:41 PM” “‘Please come home. Forgive me or don’t just come home and we can talk. I love you.’ You never read that message. You never knew I forgave you. We never talked. I was never able to tell you one last time that I loved and I still love you.” “11:53 PM” “My heart skipped a beat when there was a knock on the door. I jumped up ready to accept you. Ready to embrace you and kiss you and tell you that we would make it through this too. There I stood in an open doorway and there you weren’t on the other side. ‘Ashton Coppen?’ How I wish I could be anyone else… ‘There’s been an accident.’” “12:33 AM” “At 10:21 PM, a gold 2000 Honda Accord ran into the driver side of a red 2003 Buick Regal. The driver and all the passengers of the Honda were visibly drunk and tried to make it through a red light. It was the Buick’s green light. It was the Buick’s turn to go. It was your turn to go and you went. It wasn’t your time to go… But you went.” 10:17 AM “It has been a year since today, that day. How much I wish I could’ve done. So much I wish I would’ve and should’ve done. I could have said something at the gas station. I would have held you close all night long as you slept in my arms like every night then. I should’ve never closed the door behind you. Claire, I beg that you have forgiven me. I’ve questioned it every lonely passing night. I hope we will one day meet again with hearts renewed and the memory of the love that I have had and always will have for you. Thank you for our time. Goodnight my love and sleep well. I will be dreaming about you. Ashton Coppen.” Ashton looked up towards the waters surrounding his small boat. A sorrow lightened but a weight nonetheless. He held the bottle he rolled his letter into and plugged it with a cork. He checked the time from the old swiss pocket watch Claire had given him on his 23rd birthday, it had been her grandfather's. “10:21” The hands pointed at the Roman numerals. He stepped off the edge of the boat and into the endless waters. To the bottom of the sea he was pulled, nothing but sorrow as the weight.


I had a dream that I was being chased by a huge chocolate croissant, but just before I woke up I managed to take a huge bite out of it and scare it off. I had nothing much on that day so I decided I would go to my favourite bakery in Manchester and get myself a chocolate croissant - a further act of revenge on the jumbo croissant in the dream. Blue Moth Bakery was part of a row of box-shaped, glass-fronted businesses facing onto the canal in New Islington. When I got there, it was about to rain and everything was grey; the sky, the surface of the water, the flimsy-looking apartment blocks that enclosed the whole scene.

I walked into Blue Moth and instantly felt better about the world. Quite often these days I found myself doing things to make me feel that way.

The bakery was practically empty because I was there so early. It was just me and one older woman of Chinese origin wearing a beanie hat even though they’d racheted the heating up in there. She was drinking a cup of coffee and using a fork to attack some kind of round cake with a mountain of icing on it like shaving foam. When she looked up, I immediately looked away. I wasn't there to chat. It started raining heavily outside and for some strange reason, this causd the old woman to drop her fork, gather up her things and leave. Perhaps she’d left her washing on the line. I drank my coffee slowly, sitting by a window that looked out onto the canal. The rain was rippling the surface of the water in a way that I found mesmerising. There was an old bike chained to a lamppost and the rain hammered it with such force that I wanted to run over and move it to more sheltered spot. To avoid having to think about the fragility of this bike, I looked at the barista behind the coffee machine, which was right by my table. He was staring out of the same window, perhaps he was thinking about saving the bike too. He was remarkably good looking, blonde hair down to his shoulders, eyes so blue that they were cartoonish, and one of those square jaws that male superheroes tended to have, to match their perfectly ripped bodies. Because of the way he looked, I was intimidated when he broke out of his daze and said: ‘Doing anything for Mothers’ Day? Mother's Day? Was it Mothers’ Day? ‘No.’ I’d sounded more surly then I'd meant to. The combination of the rain and the sky made it seem as if the whole bakery had been wrapped in a sopping grey sheet. I ordered another coffee, extra hot please. ‘I’m taking my mum out,’ he said, ‘I love Mother's Day. Love my mum. She's my biggest fan. She does everything for me.’ Part of me wanted to laugh; such soppy thoughts from such a macho-looking guy. But another part of me was distracted with thinking about my own mother. How long had it been? Eighteen months? nineteen months maybe? I wanted to turn over the situation with Mum over in my mind so to avoid having to talk to the Adonis, I looked out of the window again. A woman in a egg-yolk yellow raincoat with the hood up was walking a small white dog with twitching ears. A terrier maybe? I knew nothing about dogs despite having photographed far too many of people’s ‘beloved canine pals’ over the years. This woman was walking her beloved canine pal right into the full force of the rain. That’s dedication, I thought, taking him for his exercise on a day like this. ‘Why don’t you like Mothers Day? What does your mum have to say about that?’ The Adonis laughed. Was there no end to this guy’s perkiness? ‘I don't want to talk about it,’ I said, ‘well, I haven't spoken to my mum in a while.’ As I’d expected, the Adonis made a distressed face. ‘It's complicated,’ I said. The rain showed no sign of letting up even a little, it was like toothpicks coming down out there. ‘It goes back to my childhood. A longstanding argument.’ He nodded, sympathetic now. ‘It was about my dad. We fell out over my dad. Who's dead now.’ Was I going to go into the whole story? ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Child abuse.’ That ought to put an end to his questions. ‘Oh that's…really sad. Can I make you a coffee? On the house?’ His kindness made me feel self-conscious. ‘No, I've got to get going.’ I hadn't planned to leave so quickly, the last thing I wanted to do was go out in that rain. Five minutes’ later I was walking along the concrete path alongside the wide canal, towards the main road. The rain stopped suddenly and the sky brighted and turned milky. What a relief, I could hold my head up again rather than walking hunched over. A few minutes later I wished I’d stayed with my head down, because there on the road was the body of the small white dog, blood melting across the tarmac’s wet surface. The woman in the yellow coat was crying into a tall man’s shoulder, he had the uncomfortable gait of someone who has a complete stranger going to pieces in his arms. When I got nearer, I thought, shall I look away? But, like but most ordinary human beings approaching the scene of an accident, you cannot help but have a good old gape. That poor dog, its body was twisted like tissue paper and there was a poignancy in the way its nose was pointing into the air like it had just caught the scent of a cat that needed chasing. Twenty minutes ago it had nothing to battle against but the rain and now it had to battle with eternal nothingness. I had little concept of death, it wasn't something I thought about much. Probably because I’d been so unaffected by my own fucking bastard father's death three years earlier. But looking at that dog, and its owner standing next to it, sobbing as if her insides had been ripped out of her too, I thought, death comes to us all. There's no escape. And when it's over it's over. They’re cliches but they’re true.

By the time the dog was so far behind me that I could no longer see it on the road, I’d made my decision. I would phone Mum. Wish her happy Mothers Day. Keep it bright and breezy. Not even refer to my unexplained eighteen (nineteen?) months of silence. When I got home it took me a while to change out of my damp clothes, have a shower and put on my most comforting dressing gown and fluffy slippers, which were shaped like big cuddly dog faces. The more I thought about the call the more I needed comfort to prepare me for it. I couldn't believe how scared I was, and this made me annoyed with myself. But, if my sessions with Imelda had taught me anything, it was the importance of being kind and gentle to myself. With this in mind, I carefully prepared for the call. I sat on my sofa with all its velvety pillows in colours chosen because they uplifted me. I covered myself with my duvet and my summer flowers patchwork quilt. There were lit candles placed all along the mantlepiece and I’d switched on the fairy lights that were woven amongst the the leaves of the indoor tree next to the fireplace. In front of me was a cup of hot chocolate made with nuggets of Lindt chocolate dropped into boiling milk and stirred. If anything feels like going back to the womb, then this is it, I joked out loud. Hang on, it was the womb, and more specifically the woman who it belonged to, that got me into this mess in the first place. I looked around me, took a deep breath, and dialled The Sunrise Old People's Home. I'd always thought ‘Sunset Old People’s Home’ would’ve been a more appropriate name. Or maybe that would be too close to the bone? ‘Hello I'd like to speak to Judith Saffer? It’s her daughter, Lettice.’ The woman at the end of the phone sounded irritable and overworked. ‘Hold on, I'll get someone for you.’ ‘Someone?’ I said, but she'd gone. She must have left the handset lying on its side because I could hear sounds in the background that took me back to when I was at primary school and they were serving school dinners. Doors closing. Trolleys being wheeled along cheap lino. Bossy staff calling out instructions to their juniors. I looked at the round station clock I had above my mantlepiece. 12 pm. It had been a mistake to call at lunch time. Mum took her food very seriously and wouldn't want to be disturbed while she was eating it. I smiled at the memory of her describing the politics of Sunrise dining room to me. ‘You have to get there early so you can get a place at one of the tables near the back, the ones at the front near the serving line are ridiculously noisy. You have to bring a novel with you, and when Harriet, or Joan T or Joan F come into the dining hall, you sure as hell make sure you’re busy reading that novel, and you don't look up until they've walked past you and have sat themselves down to torture some other poor sod.’ Mum liked to refer to the Sunrise residents who she had a problem with - and boy, were there a lot of them - as cretins. I was still waiting for someone to come and deal with my call. After Dad died, I decided to tell Mum everything that he’d done. Me and her had been sitting in The Flowerbowl, this vegan café in Chorlton, god knows why I’d chosen that as the place to tell her. I never went there again, afterwards. When she stormed out, she left three quarters of her gluten free brownie and I remember thinking that she was probably grateful that our argument had given her the chance to abandon it. I’d been waiting on the line for almost ten minutes. In my experience with old age homes, you had to expect everything to take much longer than normal. But maybe I’d been forgotten about, with the staff caught up in the lunchtime chaos. Just as I was about to hang up, a deep female voice picked up the receiver and practically sang ‘hello?’ The jolliness of her tone threw me. I used my ‘dealing with clients’ voice and said: ‘I’d like to speak to Judith Saffer, please. It's her daughter, Lettice.’ ‘Yes,’ said the voice, ‘you’re Lettice Saffer? Judith Saffer’s daughter?’ The tone had become gentle and no longer cheerful, this immediately put me on my guard. I felt like I was about to be told how miserable my mother had been over the past eighteen months because of my silence. How much she’d talked about me. How much she'd missed me. I was all ready to be contrite. Not because I felt contrite (or did I?) but to get this woman off my back. ‘Is my mum available? If she's having lunch. I don't mind-‘ The woman interrupted me. ‘I'm so sorry. So very sorry. Your mother, she died five months ago.’ Without thinking what I was doing, I hung up. I pictured the jolly big bosomed woman, properly a senior figure in the home, standing there, listening to burrrr of a line that had gone dead. And she’d be wondering ‘What on earth? What on earth kind of person could this Lettice Saffer possibly be?’


The day after he graduated from high school, Christopher got in the sedan he had purchased – with no help from his father – and pulled away from his childhood home. He had already said his goodbyes to everyone he cared to say goodbye to. His anatomy teacher, Mrs. Senecal, had wished him luck and reminded him of her offer to call a colleague in Boston about a job. “No, you have done so much for me already. Thank you, Mrs. Senecal. I will never forget you!” The conversation played over in his head as he drove down the familiar streets, not looking back at the house he had spent most of his life in. He stopped at the intersection that marked the boundary that his mother had set for him so many years ago. “You can ride your bike all the way over to here!” She had told him once he had proven to her that he could navigate around the block without her following. “Just don’t ride past Cummings Street. It is very busy, and it can be very dangerous.” “Okay, mommy!” Christopher remembered how excited he had been, how grown he had felt, at the idea of having so much of the world to explore. Looking back now, he had no idea how small the little neighborhood really was. He finally looked back in his rear-view mirror, not able to see his father’s house any longer. With one last heavy sigh, he turned onto Cummings Street and made his way to the freeway.

The drive from Henderson, Nevada to Duluth, Minnesota takes about 26 hours. Christopher had planned his route carefully, made sure that he would have time to stop and train, and that each hotel he was staying in had a gym. He couldn’t afford to fly, but he also couldn’t afford to let the excruciating drive weaken him. He had promised his mother that he would win. “You don’t have to do this for me,” she had told him. “This was my dream, not yours.” She had looked so weak, then. Her skin was paper-thin and her eyes were almost always unfocused and cloudy. Every word sounded like it took more strength than she had to produce. “I’m going to win the race for you, mama. No matter what.” He had been eleven at the time, and had lived with his mother for two years in Duluth after she had found out about her husband’s second family and moved back to her home town. She had always talked about winning Grandma’s Marathon, especially after becoming a single mother and going back to the workforce with no real job history, taking a job at a local bookstore for just over minimum wage. The cancer hit her hard and fast, though, and she never got to run the race. Christopher didn’t realize the commitment he was making then, but he had learned from years of training. He had pushed himself as hard as he could, committed to winning in his mother’s honor. As he drove down Interstate 70, he listened to songs that they had enjoyed together, sometimes crying, and sometimes laughing at the memories; sometimes, he did both. The various small towns and cities he passed blurred by, barely registering to him as he continued north and east. He had planned his trip with plenty of time to spare, so he did not feel rushed. He stopped along the way at various places he remembered stopping with his mother, places that she had wanted to visit. He went to Arches National Park, stretching his legs and breathing in the mountain air that his mother told him reminded her of her childhood. He spent a few days in the White River National Forest, eating hot dogs and jogging through the trees and around the lake. His mother told him it was the most beautiful place that she had ever seen, and he agreed. In Omaha, Nebraska, Christopher jogged across the Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge, something his mother had wanted to do but never made the time to. He stood in the center of the bridge, ignoring the irritated looks of some of the other pedestrians, and felt as though his mother was standing with him looking around, soaking in the impressive view. He stayed at Lake of Three Fires in Iowa, amazed at the stars at night. His mother had told him that she went once as a child, but her description didn’t begin to cover the beauty that he saw. He tried to take pictures, but even that didn’t fully showcase the vastness of the night sky, or how insignificant it made him feel. When he crossed the state line into Minnesota, he drove straight through, not feeling the need to spend much time in Minneapolis or any of the other towns and attractions on the way. He would be staying, after all, and would have plenty of time to enjoy all that the state had to offer. When he arrived in Duluth, he drove first to the small house that his mother had shown him a few times. “This is where I grew up. My best friend lived about a block away. We would ride our bikes together to the bay and watch the boats off in the distance.” She had loved her town but had married her father in college and moved away. Her parents sold the house and retired, but they passed away when Christopher was young. She came back here with him after the divorce, but never got to enjoy it or to truly start her new life there. He jogged down to the lakefront and watched the boats off in the distance. After several moments, he realized that the sun was going down and that he still had to make the three-mile trek back to his car. He wiped the tears that he didn’t realize had been rolling down his cheek and felt the warmth of his mother’s presence. The prize money for the race brought people from all over to the small lakeside town. He had been in Duluth for about four days and had already gotten a part-time job at the same bookstore his mother had worked at, as well as a room for rent in a house overlooking the lake. He felt his mother everywhere in the town, could imagine her riding her bicycle and swimming in the lake on warm days. He felt anxious, knowing that it would be near impossible to keep his promise to win the race, but was finally looking past the race for the first time since his mother had died. Win or lose, he finally felt at peace, at home. As he took his position at the starting line on the day of the race, he could not see anyone else – not the other runners, or the people who had come out to cheer, not the reporters or the volunteers. He only saw his mother smiling at him, all of the signs of her suffering gone. He smiled, stretching his legs, and feeling the warmth of his mother’s memory spread over him. As the starting pistol went off, he knew that he had kept his promise.


Hear ye, hear ye; swearing, violence, battle and death follow, and some nudity if that helps? Sir Danielle Longbow had her hands one hand on Lupita Smith’s cheek, the other groping the witch’s backside. The knight’s teeth nibbled playfully at her lover’s ear as they writhed on their four poster bed. The contrast of Danielle’s snow white skin against Lupita’s was stark in the orange firelight.             The muscles of the knight’s arms were matched only by the witch’s thighs. Both were muscular but Lupita had left her youth of swinging a hammer at her father’s forge behind. Danielle closed her eyes as the sorceress’ head rested on her chest. They dragged a woolen blanket over themselves.             “I can hear your heartbeat,” Lupita smiled with the soldier’s hand in her hair.             “I can’t hear anything but the fire. I like it. This was what the night sounded like when I was a child. Sometimes there was an owl. That was it. Leonor is never quiet.”             “I was used to the city. Voices. Singing. It’s so quiet here I can’t sleep sometimes.” Lupita blew on her lover’s nipple, giggling when the mighty warrior shivered. Her shrieks as revenge tickling caused her body to jerk about reverberated off the stone walls. “Stop. Stop! I surrender.” The fire died with a ghostly whisper. Only moonlight through the window broke through the darkness.             Lupita sat up, legs around Danielle as the witch looked around the room, covering her nudity with her hand. “Did you hear that?”             “What?” The knight sat up, abs heaving as she lifted their weight combined.             “That was magic. I heard a spell as the fire died.”             “I didn’t hear it. Let’s get dressed.” The bells of Leonor rang in the north-west. Throwing on their shifts, the two donned their uniforms. Danielle struggled with the straps of her gambison. When Lupita had tied her green Royal Coven robes, she helped her partner into armour.             They rushed from their room to the landing. Nettle, their adopted daughter, looked at them with concern in her eyes. Heavily pregnant, the former knight had a dagger in her hand.             “The bells,” said Nettle. “Leonor is under attack.” Though it was a long walk to the city, the mighty bells of the capital watch towers could be heard for miles.             “Bar the door to your room, load your crossbow,” Danielle said as her commander, not her mother. “We’ll see to the security of the house.” She pointed from her daughter to the door of the room at the end of the landing. A painting of Danielle by King Consort Carl hung on the wall, watching them.             “Yes, sir,” said the mother-to-be. She retreated through her door, holding her stomach with her free hand. The sound of a bar slamming down over the door echoed off the granite walls.             Lupita was already down the stairs with her sword belted at her waist. Danielle’s feet hammered down the pine stairs. A knight guarding her door outside bowed his head.             “What’s going on?” Sir Longbow asked him.             “I don’t know, sir.” The guard shrugged, pauldrons rising and falling with the gesture.             “Guard this door with your life.”             “Yes, sir.” He unsheathed his sword and raised his shield. The deep green of his tabard had a golden oak tree across it, the symbol of Crann Kingdom.             Nameless Knights ran to Longbow House. Some wore full armour. Others had been caught off guard like Danielle and wore only their thick padded gambesons and swords.             “Pair up. Man the walls and guard the gaps.” Her barked order was obeyed immediately. Fisher’s Gasp had risen from the ruins of a raided fishing village into the home of the Nameless Knights. Longbow House stood at the heart of the new settlement. Without windows at ground level, it was a three story fortress within the walled village.             “You,” said Danielle, pointing to a man she knew. “Walk the perimeter and check the soldiers are spaced evenly, with no gaps in the defense.” He nodded, his black curly locks dancing with the movement. The tabard over his armour flapped in the wind as he ran to his duty.             “Can I get you your bow, sir?” asked her squire, Hamish. At ten, he was a gangly boy with the blue eyes of the north and the brown skin of the incomers from the east. As someone who had advocated for the waves of immigration to the decimated Kingdom of Crann, it was up to her to lead by example.             “Yes, Hamish, thank you.” Her eyes followed the lad as he waved his way past the guard on the door of the house.             “We should have bells on the walls,” said Lupita. “I don’t hear anything. Do you?”             “No,” said Sir Longbow.             Hamish was at her side the next moment with her bow and quiver. Throwing the strap of her quiver over her head and shoulder, she had him run for her horse.             “You should wait and have him put your armour on,” Lupita told her lover.             “I want to be around the village as soon as possible. I need to know what’s happening.” Another squire ran from the tower where the Nameless Knights kept messenger pigeons. Merridah wheezed, catching her breath. “Sir Longbow,” the girl wheezed, wincing. “Word from Leonor. The magic was the work of the Royal Coven. It was a test.”             “A test of what?” Danielle raged. “How much we could shit ourselves while they fucked around without warning us?”             The girl shrank back as if struck. Danielle scolded herself mentally for taking her anger out on the messenger. “Thank you, Merridah.”             “We should tell the knights,” said Lupita.             “Let them run about a little longer. We’ve not had a test of their readiness defending Fisher’s Gasp. It will be good to see how they cope with it.” Sir Longbow’s brown eyes caught those of the runner. “Merridah, run and get my horse. I’m going to shout at some witches.”             Nodding, the pink flushed girl set off, clutching her side.             “She’s a wreck,” said Lupita as the girl disappeared.             “She’ll have to learn to run in full armour, this will be good for her. Hamish, inform Nettle that she doesn’t need to worry. Tell her I’ll be back soon. Don’t tell anyone else.” He nodded, smiling to be the bearer of good news.             On her horse, Danielle toured the perimeter. Nameless Knights stood at the ready, not all in full armour, but all with a weapon in hand. After a full circuit of the walls, she told them the good news. Groans and curses for the witches at Leonor Castle passed between the warriors as they went back to their duties, or to bed. They all knew Lupita was technically one of the coven, but her association with Sir Longbow gave the witch a free pass among the Nameless Knights. A year later, Danielle sat on the same horse, watching a tent city in the distance. A blue moon hung in the black sky. Cold winds blew in off the sea to the east. The canvas tents fluttered in the light of hundreds of fires. The invaders had come from the sea in their thousands. Bobbing on the waves to the east were a hundred ships at anchor.             “Our border is too long now,” Sir Danielle said to Lupita, who wore full armour beneath the uniform of a War Witch. The robes of the coven had been merged with the armour of the Nameless Knights for the new unit of warriors who supported Crann’s warriors with their magic.             “That army won’t know what hit them,” said the witch, pulling the fur collar of her cloak tighter around her.             “Are all of the troops assembled?” Sir Longbow asked Lord Fabian Castel.             The leader of Crann’s elite knights smirked, his handsome features showing his age with every new line on the face Danielle had known since they were children. “Mine are ready. I don’t know about your rabble.”He adjusted his helmet as he spoke, testing the hinges on the visor.             “I hoped we would never have to battle humans again,” Danielle said. Monsters were her speciality and preference. She never felt guilty about putting a beast down. In the middle of Crann’s forces, the coven of War Witches and Warlocks were preparing the same spell that had put out every flame in Crann a year before. Once more the kingdom would be plunged into darkness, this time for its own defense.             “They have cannons set up at the perimeter of the camp,” said a scout.             “Point out the positions to our own cannon teams,” Lord Fabian commanded. “We strike those positions first when the fires go out.” Crystals of snow glided down from the clouds above. “Just what we need, soldiers slipping on fresh snow as they charge into gunfire.”             “They’re here to retake the monopoly on gunpowder.” Danielle voiced the thought aloud. None responded. She had been one of the fellowship sent to buy or steal guns from Quin Shi, across the sea and far to the east. The mission had furnished them with more advanced weapons than those Crann had. Danielle ended up murdering a local governor in the process. When the lights flickered out, cries of shock echoed across the snowy ground from the enemy camp. Explosions from Crann’s cannons signaled the attack.             Musketeers rode at the head of the charge, waiting until they saw the whites in the eyes of the Quin Shi soldiers. Crann had duplicated the cloth armour that the eastern soldiers wore for protection against gunfire. Green jackets marked the specialist cavalry riflemen who rode at the front to break the lines of the enemy. Nameless Knights rode behind the riflemen with their matchlock pistols. Crackling shots along the jagged lines of cavalry were tiny sparks in the night. All of the army had been ready to light their torches the moment the spell left the enemy in the dark. Despite outnumbering the Quin Shi forces and having surprise on their side, Crann’s warriors fell to the gunners in the camp. A rifleman by Danielle’s side fell from his horse. The thundering steed charged on, caught up in the charge.             The match of Sir Longbow’s pistol flickered orange in the blue-black of the night. A shape moved between the tents before her. Trying to find the rhythm of her horse’s hooves, she fired. With no idea whether her shot had done anything, she holstered the gun and drew her sword.             Crann’s cavalry crashing into the camp were waves washing over the hull of a ship in a storm. Danielle swung her sword, hitting leather helmets studded with steel. Some fell, others would live to take another blade or be shot. Riflemen in their gunner’s jackets turned back, giving themselves time to reload before they charged back in. Nameless Knights and Sir Castel’s elites carried on, switching to swords or bows and arrows.             A row of spears stopped Danielle dead, along with other riders. The invaders in their brown cloth armour had regrouped. The beautiful horse beneath Sir Longbow reared up as a blast hit it in the chest. Thrown down into the sharp grass of the dunes, she landed hard, tumbling.             Thick headed cavaliers charged into the spears, lost in the adrenaline rush of the moment. They were lost forever as spears pierced their armour or they were stabbed to death.             Guns fired another volley from behind the line of spears. Scattered shots answered from Crann’s soldiers who had not had time to form up against the invaders. Tripping over the corpse of a knight in armour, she fell upon the body of an invader. His weak moans as he bled to death brought the taste of vomit to her tongue. She finished him with her sword and crawled through snow on sand, red with streaks of blood.             Knights of Crann regrouped at the edge of the camp as she crawled through the no man’s land of corpses. Men and women writhed in their dying moments or pleaded for mercy in their native tongues.             Crann’s magic was not done with the invaders. The greatest weapon of the kingdom were its red arrows. Danielle wished she had them instead of the puny guns that fired once and took too long to reload. Black shadows whistled through the sky above her, arcing down into the foreigners who had come to kill.             Screams answered the arrows that struck home. A familiar horror followed. Campfires relit since the spell of the War Witches made the nightmare a silhouette. Trees sprung from the corpses of those pierced by the red arrows. Curaduile trees fed on blood to grow at supernatural speeds. Once more the lines of the enemy were broken as they fled from the monsters growing all around them.             Defenders of the kingdom closed in. Infantry with long guns closed in, firing volleys in perfect bursts. As one line ducked to reload, the next stepped forward, aimed and fired. A few steps at a time, the noose around the invaders closed. Another round of arrows rained down upon men fleeing for their ships.             The mercenary vessels anchored out at sea would never take those warriors home. Flames danced on the boats that had carried the men from Quin Shi, twenty at a time. Some waded out into the water, dropping their weapons to swim away.             Many had no choice but to fight as corpses piled up around them. Commanders in red or purple armour fought with more skill than the pawns send out as cannon fodder. With gunmen and archers moving past her, Danielle watched in horror. Her kingdom had been on the wrong end of the same kind of slaughter. Crann had promised itself that it would never face such a massacre again. It hadn’t stopped them from committing their own.             As a last surprise, a handful of Quin Shi warriors dressed in blue lit powder kegs as swords were raised to kill them them. Using their own magic, they guided the blast at head height. A ring of fiery death spread out, flattening anyone a ship’s length from the blast. All cheer from the decisive victory was taken from the defenders in a moment. Sacrificing themselves, seven mages of Quin Shi had taken two hundred souls with them.             Looking for survivors among the bodies of the camp, she found soldiers clinging to their wounds as blood fled from their veins and arteries. Some she could save by cauterising the holes. For others, all she could do was hold their hand as they faded away.             Though it was the battles that gave her nightmares, it was the aftermath that made her sick. Bodies of the enemy were stripped and burnt in pyramids taller than her. Crann’s dead were taken away on carts that would carry them to their graves. Weapons and armour of the enemy were sorted.             Black mounds smoked as snow fell on red ground. The sea bashed and caressed the shore. Salty air nipped at Danielle’s ruddy cheeks. All of the ships had fled in the night. Their captains would live to tell the tale.             No matter the loot, nothing was ever worth the loss of battle. Assembled to ride and march home, the Nameless Knights were short of a hundred warriors. It hadn’t been their worst battle, nor their best.             On a horse offered by one of her knights, Sir Longbow rode back to Fisher’s Gasp with tears in her eyes. Sunrise shed unwelcome light on the scene of the slaughter. Darkness would have been a mercy. Curaduile trees had grown into a new grove at the heart of the destroyed camp. Just as they marked the inland borders of the kingdom, the magical trees would stand guard over that patch of ground for generations to come.             Lupita rode to Danielle’s side, leaving the War Witches behind her. “At least those soldiers wont be preying upon unarmed famers, pillaging their way south to Leonor.” Lupita’s voice was soothing.             Sir Longbow nodded, deep in her usual guilt and disgust for humanity. “I just want to get back to Fisher’s Gasp to see Nettle and Fergus.”             “I love you,” Lupita whispered so that only they could hear.             The slightest flicker of a smile crossed Danielle’s lips. She mouthed

I love you too . They rode down the coast towards grey mountains.


“Why are you such a pessimistic asshole?” My date asks once the words leave my mouth. I look at her with my “are you actually asking me that?” face. “You’re the one who accepted the blind date honey, you knew exactly what was going to happen because I know for a fact Johnny (My good friend) doesn’t skimp on the details when describing me to people.” “All he said to me was you were Jewish (I’m not, I just don’t tip or waste money) and funny but so far all you’ve been is just a melancholy prick over some girl who doesn’t bother talking to you anymore.” She leaves her mouth agape and stares at me in utter awe. Not the amorous awe but the awe of someone who can’t believe who they’re talking to. “Ok first off, I’m not Jewish but I have no problem with them, and second off this girl broke my heart and I’m just trying to tell you what to avoid.” The minute that last sentence left my mouth I knew I was in for it. This was it. She was going to destroy me with words just like that. Instead she grabbed her twenty dollar glass of wine and threw it into my face leaving my designer shirt in a purple mess along with staining my suit. “Fuck. You.” She says before stammering off out of the restaurant. I raise my finger for the waiter who drops the check. I grab my wallet from my inside pocket and grab the money and put the exact change on the table and walk out. “I see your date didn’t go well monsieur.” Says the receptionist. I look at him and shake my head. “No shit monsieur. Vous ne parlez pas francais. So don’t fucking try.” The receptionist motions for two goons to get me out but I place my hand in front of them. “I’ve got this ok?” I put my hands down and turn around towards the door but before I could get another step I feel four hand close down on me and pick me up, keep in mind I’m only a hundred twenty pounds and five foot six, and throw me out hitting my nose on the pavement and sending my glasses flying. After walking for what seemed like an eternity back to my studio apartment. I slowly make my way to the couch and fall face first. Another plunder I thought in my head. I lift myself up and walk to my bathroom, my intention to take my medications which two of the three I’m out of. Only one I have left is the ones for my allergies. Anxiety and depression will have to wait until the pharmacist is opened tomorrow morning. I sat back on my couch and grab my phone and called Johnny. “Ethan I didn’t expect a call this early. I’m with my wife right now at the supermarket. We’re picking up diapers for little Kevin” Oh poor Johnny I think; stuck with a woman who’s cheating on him. “What did you say about cheating?” Fuck… “Um….” I really messed up this time. This isn’t the first time this happened but I’ll make something up first before I tell you more stories from my life. “You see the girl you set me up with is a big cheater.” “She’s the most catholic girl I’ve met in my entire life…” I could already hear the confusion in his voice. I couldn’t think of anything else so I went to the next big thing. “She’s an anti-Semite.” I already knew it would backfire on me. “It went bad huh?” That was pretty much my whole life summed up in a sentence the books over folks you can pretty much stop reading here I die at the end. I’m just joking please keep reading. “Yeah very bad, she called me a melancholy asshole and threw wine on me. Twenty dollar wine too!” According to my mother my father’s family was full of Jewish heritage but I seriously doubted that since she hated his guts and was too an anti-Semite. “Look man; meet me at the bar tomorrow we’ll talk all about it ok?” “Alright Johnny I’ll talk to you then.” I put the phone face down on my table and lay back in my couch. I close my eyes and rub them. After a moment of silence the T.V. flutters to life with a press of a button. Then my feet drag me to the kitchen where I look upon the emptiness of my refrigerator. A lone Chinese carton full of rice, vegetables, and chicken that then suddenly is put into the microwave set for two minutes. I watch it slowly turn and turn inside for the remainder while listening to the latest celebrity scandals playing on the T.V. I grab the carton and plop down on the couch. It only seemed like a month ago when she was sitting right next to me. Her beautiful dyed hair with her big soulful eyes, her supple bosom that seemed to never be at home inside a shirt, her arms around me and mine around her playing with the piercings that she had put it in herself during high school in southern Texas. It had taken her nearly three years for her to finally see me in a romantic relationship and not just best friends anymore. It was the greatest two years of my life. She was the best I ever had but in a flash she was gone. Gone from my life when a man walked up to her and said those god damned words. “I’m sorry I cheated on you.” No not those… “I love you.” Those “I Love You.” Is fucking bullshit, especially when it comes from a man who cheated on you and repeatedly does it and you listen to it. When I said to her all those other times she didn’t fall head over heels for me. All she ever did was just look at me and smile and say “I love you too Ethan, you’re my best friend.” BUT TO HIM?! “I love you so damn much babe.” YEAH BULLSHIT I wake up from my fever dream and see the T.V. on the fritz and my carton of Chinese empty. Just like my will of continuing to date while the love of my life is with a cheating bastard who’s just a carbon copy of all the other boyfriends she’s had throughout her entire life. Some lowlife piece of shi- A knock from my door? Who would want to visit me? The mail slot slowly opens letting the light from the hallway cut through the darkness of my apartment and letter is handed to me. “Rent due by next week.” Oh of course. None of my friends but the damned landlord Takanewa or something like that. I open the letter and see twelve thousand dollars in finances listed. I grimace and put the letter on my coffee table and walk to my bed and try to forget things for a while. It didn’t work “I had a dream where I was being eaten by a woman who looked eerily similar to my ex. Then once she had eaten me I was in her stomach and inside I could only see a bunch of digested me’s.” Johnny raises his hand and takes a swig from his beer and just a tiny bit of foam stays in his mustache which he wipes off with his cloth jacket. “That’s some freaky shit, but look man… you’ve got to forget about Sarah ok?” I nod and my head and grab my glass of wine and take a swig. “I try but I’ve known her for ten years of my life and she still finds ways to appear at the oddest of times.” I rub my head and take another swig. “Look you just got to be honest with her ok? Her leading you on and staying in your life for god knows how long isn’t going to do either of you any good. Maybe for her because she obviously enjoys watching you suffer.” In a sense he was right and I knew deep down that he was. That’ why the moment he finished I pulled out of my phone and clicked her contact info and pressed down on the little green phone symbol. “Wait are you calling her right now?” I nod my head yes and Johnny cheers and orders another beer and glass of wine for me. I take the call in a small nook where two bathrooms meet. “Hello?” I hear her sweet Latina voice over the line and for a moment I smile as the all the good memories of me and her come flooding back. The times in high school we would be lying in our beds and just be laughing at some stupid video she sent to me, or be showing me the cute outfits she would want to wear. Then it all comes crashing back around me when all the bad memories which far outweigh the good come also flooding back. “Sarah it’s Ethan and we need to talk.” I tried to sound serious but it was quite hard to do. Especially since this was the day I never looked forwards to having to do. Leave her behind and not have her in my life anymore. “Look Ethan I’ve told you before what’s happening between us and I’m afraid we can’t be together.” Just like the icy knife in my heart that I remembered. Fucking Bitch “I know and that’s why I’m telling you I’m done with you.” If I had a dollar for every time I’ve said that to her I wouldn’t be living in a studio apartment. “I can’t keep doing this to myself and I don’t want you in my life anymore.” If I had a full bottle of anti-depressants for every time I said that to her I would have a life time supply and enough for my great grandchildren. “What do you mean? Are you finally done with me?” No shit bitch is the first words that pop into my brain. “Yes Sarah. This is my final goodbye to you.” If I had a dog for every time I’ve said that I would have a dog waiting for me at home. “Can we at least have one more dinner together? For old time’s sake?” “No Sarah… no more dinners, meetings in the park, no more anything.” “So this is really it between me and you?” “Yes…” “It was fun while it lasted.” “Not for me you sociopathic bitch.” I pressed end call and deleted her as a contact. I take a deep sigh of relief and immediately regret everything I just did. What am I supposed to do without her in my life? Jesus I have to get her back. Somehow I have to… In my eyes, masturbating to your ex girlfriend’s pictures isn’t a necessarily bad thing. Morally no it is but it’s justified in this instance. It’s been nearly two weeks since I left her behind in my life and at this point I just want another female in my life. Just to hold someone and feel like I belong. Though it’s going to take a little while since I’ve been ordering nothing but take-out and pizza and the only reason I’ve left is to get some more alcohol. I’m glad my work let me have this month long vacation. Suddenly a cool fan is blowing on my face and I’m asking myself now. When did I get to my therapist’s office? “So how have you been Ethan? Anything happen recently?” My doctor says looking at me with an inquisitive look. I think for a moment and I wonder for a moment. Pondering. Questioning. What the fuck is the point of living. “Well I finally got rid of Sarah from my life…” My therapist nods and jots something down. Probably something along the lines of ‘fucking retarded why would he give her up? His best friend.’ “How are you feeling because of this huge change in your life? You’ve known her for ten or so years and now.” I didn’t know what to feel. I admit I did somewhat lie. Her boyfriend is new and I don’t know him at all. Maybe I was wrong? Honestly I don’t have any feelings for her anymore, at least not right now since I haven’t been talking to her… “I don’t feel sad about it, but I don’t feel good either. Just stuck in some gray zone I haven’t been able to leave. My vacation is nearly over so at least I can have work to keep my mind off of it for the most part but still. I miss her but I know she’ll just bring pain or maybe something else for a change… I really don’t know.” At this moment I can see him continue writing notes. “I think you should keep your distance for good. Especially sense you haven’t talked to her in what? Two, three weeks?” This is another lie I told him, in reality I did take her offer for one last meeting. It was four days ago and I haven’t been able to get it off my mind. Four Days Ago I walk to the restaurant that me and her agreed to meet at and as I walk I start to second guess my decision I’m making. I close my eyes and take off my glasses and just let my feet walk towards the direction I feel they should go. I picture myself walking to my apartment using the main road but when I reopen my eyes I see myself standing in front of the restaurant. I sigh but a smile goes across my face as I see her car park across the street between a pink Chevrolet and a black… I couldn’t tell what the other one was but she quickly crossed the street with a smile on her face. The both of us were half tempted to embrace and possibly even kiss but before either could take place we just have a light hug and let go after a few more seconds. “I’m glad you came here Ethan. I was a little worried you would just leave me for good without proper closure.” I see a smile forming on the corner of her lips and I smile back. “I’m glad you didn’t completely ignore my message.” Her smile is completed on her face and it’s a masterpiece before me. She brushes her hair behind her ear as the waiter comes to take our order. It’s almost like all the other times we went on a date together. She ordered some pasta dish and so did I. I can’t exactly remember our conversation we were having though but it was sweet. Once the night ended we embraced and she kissed me. I told her to call me later which she agreed to. Present “My friend Johnny also got into a bit of trouble and he isn’t talking to me anymore.” “What happened between the two of you? From what you’ve told me the two of you were very close.” “So are me and his wife.” Yeah… I fucked her. It was during a time where Sarah left me and me and his wife were decent acquaintances. “It was during a rough patch with Sarah and he was on a business trip. She comforted me and it grew deeper than just friends. He was gone for eight days and we made love six of those days.” “And you’ve kept this a secret from him?” “Yes and so has she. Up until two days ago when Johnny’s life came to a brief stop.” “What do you mean exactly?” “Guess I’ll start from start.” Three Days ago I decided to keep the dinner rendezvous with Sarah a secret from Johnny as me and him met at the bar later that day. As we walked inside the bad and sat in our usual space in the corner of the bar in a small booth I could tell there was something wrong with him but I didn’t want to ask him just yet. “Two beers.” Johnny finally says after ten minutes of silence. He raises his hand when the bartender looks around who nods and brings two mugs of beer. Frankly I’m mostly a wine person but I felt like a beer would be alright for now. “So what’s happening Johnny?” I ask. He looks at me and sighs. I can tell its bad news and I’m afraid to hear it. Could it be about his wife and her trail of pool boys? Or possibly he wal- “I had sex with a hooker last night.” Oh no is the first words that come to mind. “It was the best sex I’ve ever had.” He said still with an almost traumatized look on his face. “But she was sixteen.” I pause for a moment and so does he in order to let this to properly process. “This has to be some kind of joke…” I say slowly. He shakes his head. “Afterwards she showed me her license because I didn’t believe her either.” A tear started running down his face and ran into his mustache. “I have to pay her and her dip shit boyfriend or something like that two thousand dollars or else they’ll find and tell my wife and the police and oh Christ Ethan.” He says nearly breaking down and swigging from his mug. “I can’t just get that kind of money without anyone knowing.” “Sell your car.” I say almost immediately. He pauses and thinks about it. The inner workings of our minds start to work. “Do you know if they have any proof you did it?” “Boyfriend recorded it… who can I sell it to this short notice?” “Me.” I say getting my checkbook from my inside pocket. “Look man don’t worry I promise I’ll pay you back.” I nod and hand him the life saving check. He grabs the beer and gulps the remainder down and walks out of the bar with his marriage still somewhat intact. I wanted to tell him of his wife’s affair but I honestly didn’t have the heart just then. Good news is I have a car at the very least. Present “So he cheated on his wife with an underage prostitute who had her boyfriend record the whole ordeal.” “Yeah that’s what happened. He ended up paying her but she still told his wife.” “I assume her reaction was less than perfect.” He says with a smile. I couldn’t help but crack up at his face. “You son of a bitch Jules. This is supposed to be a therapy session not you fucking around.” He laughs too and we just take a moment to stop. “Maybe I should find a therapist who isn’t my friend?” “No no tell me what happened.” I sigh and continue with the story. Yesterday The day before all I did was be on the phone with Sarah. From nine a.m. to eleven p.m. Jumping topic to topic, watching movies, talking about some books, and talking about the relationship she’s in now. It was all very sweet and we agreed to talk again another time. Then I get a call from Johnny’s wife, Ashley at twelve. “Ethan I need you to come here as fast as possible. It’s about Johnny…” I can hear tears through the phone and her stuttering. “I’ll be in there in just a few minutes I have a car now, okay?” I wait a moment for her response but all I hear are tears. “Ashley?” “I’ll be here.” I get up from my couch and grab my coat as I walk out and down to the street below. After hopping into my new car I drive along the busy streets. All the while I’m wondering what could have happened. I’m honestly scared out of my mind at this point. It didn’t help when I finally drove up the driveway I entered the house and was immediately embraced by Ashley. “What happened?” “Johnny fucked a minor…” Fuck. I didn’t know what to say to this until I turned around and saw Johnny standing there with a tire iron. “Johnny?” “You’re not taking my son.” He says. Ashley nods and pushes me behind her. I panic and grab a small ashtray and hold it behind my back as Johnny goes into the kid’s room. I step in front of Ashley and pray to whatever god would listen to me at the moment. Johnny then walks out with his one month old baby in arm. As he turns around to leave the house I jump to action and smash the ceramic ashtray over his head. Present “Ok well I think I know why he isn’t talking to you anymore.” Jules says writing something down. “Yeah… Ashley is making me stay with her and Kevin just in case he ever returns.” I say this while thinking to myself “Kevin is her son correct?” “Yeah he’s her son… he’s also mine too. At least me and Ashley aren’t too sure. We’re supposed to go to the doctor sometime this week.” “That must be rough on you, your possible baby being taken away by a deranged man.” “I think that’s why I acted up. I think he was last seen in somewhere in San Francisco but I’m not too sure.” “At least he’s two states away.” “Yeah thankful for that but still, you’ve got to wonder what he’s doing.” Here at the Golden Gate Bridge I’m reflecting on my life now. Police have a warrant out for me for attempted kidnapping, soliciting sex with a minor, having sex with a minor, and for manslaughter of a man I hit on my drive down here. All I’ve got left now is this bridge… always wanted to take my son Kevin down here just like my father brought me. Now I’m here alone. What have I done to deserve this? It was my wife who drove me to this. She never wanted to have sex and never wanted to satisfy me after those two business trips. I’m glad I did that actually. Glad I fucked that little teen bitch. Showed her a damn good time. Fuck it. I step onto the ledge on the bridge and let Kevin’s face be the last thing I remember as I tilted off the edge. It was a week after they recovered Johnny’s body from the San Francisco bay. With his body already covered in filth and somewhat already decomposing we decided to cremate him. I’ve moved into Ashley’s home when the tests to see if I was the father came in. It turns out I am and Ashley didn’t want her son to be without a father but she didn’t want me like that at least not at that point with Johnny dying. I let her have all the time she needed to heal from her loss and when she needed me I was there to comfort her. It was a rough year after his suicide. My dating life evaporated and Sarah finally left on her own terms. Last I heard she had overdosed on cocaine and lost one of her legs to diabetes. It felt good to hear that though I knew it was wrong of me to not feel bad for her but after all she had put me through? It was well deserved. It wasn’t until the year after Johnny died where Ashley slowly started to want me and it was on February Fifteenth Two-Thousand and Seventeen we were married. I was glad I finally found another person. After years of being tormented by constant stream of girls who didn’t want anything serious I finally had someone. As I look at Kevin run around the yard with his friends I can’t help but look at my life before I meet Ashley, before I had him. The few weeks before he was a part of my life, dating person after person, being miserable and struggling to scrape together enough cash for rent, and now I have a family of my own. Though it wasn’t always mine, I’m living in another man’s dream that I’m very much enjoying. “What are you thinking about?” Ashley asks wrapping her arms around my shoulder as we watch Kevin play in the snow with his friends. “How far we’ve come, and how much that little kid changed my life.” “Our lives.” She says I smile when I hear those words. “Our Lives.


Amidst the austere landscape he sat, watching and waiting as the sun slipped past the shore. In the deepening darkness, his mind sought refuge from the demons. Thrice they had traveled to his home. Thrice they have trespassed against his people. Screams shattered the peace of Ulrich’s meditations with their savage fury. He rose to his feet and ran towards The raucous din of battle. Light flashed. Along the ground, green flame burned and snaked its way towards the walls. With a barbarous bellow, Ulrich lunged at the closest demon to him, a meaty paw shoved into the mage’s maw, choking off the prayer of power it attempted to cast. Ulrich tore the jaw from the invader, blood bathing his chest in a crimson coat. The throes of death where loud, but they failed to mask the mob surrounding him. “Thane!” a voice from the crowd called. “Surrender and save your life. We demand only five bushels of grain plus ten silver for the mage you slew.” “I am Ulrich! Son of Ulfinn! I am the champion of Tyr! Thrice I have slain your kind. Thrice I have killed Pictusing pirates. Who are you to make demands of me?” “I am Galan, who raided the city of Celcamoth, who razed the fortress of Alba. Your village is nothing to me but supplies. Do not barter your breath for bread.” Ulrich sneered at the crowd before him. “Bold words for one who hides like a sheep in the flock when facing the wolf. Wrestle me like a man!” Galan stepped forth and dropped his hammer to the ground. The earth shook from its weight. “As you wish Ulrich, son of Ulfinn. Die as you see fit.” The two men circled and stalked, each sizing the other, studying how the other moved. When they embraced, the clap of hand on flesh was thunder. The two men stayed locked, frozen in effort. The moon rose with silvery light while neither man was able to oppress their opponent’s strength, each holding the other still. Ulrich smiled suddenly, slipping an arm low. Galan was caught by surprise as he was lifted into the air. With a mighty heave, Ulrich threw the Pictusing into the village wall ten feet away. Dust and debris drifted down. Ulrich ran forward and straddled Galan. His formidable forearm fell onto Galan’s chest. The crack of bone Broke through the falling stones. Galan wheezed with weak effort to seize Ulrich, but the harder he struggled, the deeper forearm and bone shards drove. With a spasm of pain and a racking cough, the speck of blood on pursed lips heralded the end. Ulrich rose and turned to face the remaining Pictusings. “Go now, and tell of the fall of Galan. A mighty mountain thrown to the earth. Mourn his passing at my hand. Warn your brethren to leave this village alone.” The Pictusings fled Tyr’s favored fighter. Ulrich turned to the village gates and entered as the scriba came out to inventory the fallen foe for Lord Caesarium’s tax. The Romulean would see to the administration while the Thane would see to a bath.


He was feeling particularly miserable that day. Who wanted to get up before dawn for that appointment? What had the world turned into? It had been building over the years little by little, another rule, another regulation, another appointment. Who did these people think they were trying to control every single aspect of our lives? Where did it end?

Guzzling down his morning coffee he grimaced as the bitterness hit his empty stomach. What if he just decided not to go? Returning to the crumpled bed sheets that were no doubt still warm would be incredibly easy. Taking it one step further why not unplug the alarm clock and stop being at the mercy of schedules and society’s demands on him. He could live off the grid, fish for dinner, cook over an open fire. Looking around at his conveniences he admitted to himself it was just easier to stick a frozen dinner in the microwave and call it a night. Still dark after the dreaded appointment he stopped at the local 24 hour convenience store for some breakfast and beers as a little pick me up. He couldn’t drink at work, he knew that. There was the breathalyzer test just waiting to be used. Huh? What’s that smell? Have you been drinking? Step right over here for your test, sir. Let’s see. We just need your breath. No big deal, sir. Just your breath. The checkout line was a painful slow-motion nightmare. “Some convenience store,” he thought. What’s so convenient about waiting? He watched the incompetence of the cashier. That kid didn’t know his ass from his elbow. How did he even get the job? Must be the boss’s son or something. Who else would hire him? Finally his turn and the cashier looked at him angrily, stared at him right in the eye with contempt. Was he imagining it? Why did he deserve such a look when he was just standing there minding his own business? Probably his purchase of beer so early in the morning. The kid must think he’s on a bender drinking all night into the light of day. Getting into his car in the parking lot he put the beer in the back seat to save for later, unwrapped his egg sandwich, and started the car. A young woman walked past carrying milk and bread. She was attractive, too young for him, but a man can look. What’s the expression you can look but you can’t touch. Well, no one was going to stop him from looking and thinking, even imagining. She met his gaze. “Forget about it.” She surprised him by speaking, got in her sleek sports car and drove off. Was he that obvious? He thought he was playing it cool. “What a day,” he thought, although the day had barely started. Forcing down the dry eggs, thinking of the beer in the back seat, he started the drive to the office. It all started going to crap with that appointment, forcing him up and out at an unreasonable hour. Downhill ever since. Damn appointment. What did they want from him? What will they think of next? Finally arriving at work, he greeted his coworkers. “Good morning. Good morning.”  Making sure to acknowledge everyone as he passed through the maze of cubicles. What a group to be stuck working with day in and day out. “How’s the baby? Sleeping through the night?” Who cares about the baby honestly. Eight hours a day he had to keep up the niceties. “Looking good. Have you been working out? It shows.” Who was he kidding? No one there worked out. They were all out of shape. Standing at his desk he looked up to find the boss standing behind the glass wall upstairs looking down at him. Smiling, he did a fake salute and sat down. What a joke. The guy thinks he’s Mr. Hot Shit sitting at his desk looking down at his employees from his ivory tower. He sat watching them while he himself did what? Went online? Texted friends? “Get a real life,” he thought. Not to mention a haircut. Are you a man or a little boy? Who dressed you this morning? Mommy? Maybe get some clothes that actually fit. The day went from bad to worse. Was he imagining the dirty looks he was receiving from his coworkers? Not that he cared what those losers thought of him. He was there to do the bare minimum for his lousy paycheck. He was just another cog in the wheel, and a small one at that. Knowing he could easily be replaced by the next guy on the list, he crossed his T’s and dotted his I’s to keep the status quo. Showing up for the same shit show every day was easier than looking for a new one. Pushing papers around his desk throughout the day made him appear productive. The little cat nap went unnoticed during the closed door staff meeting that he was not invited to, and that shut eye got him through the midafternoon slump. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” he thought as the workers filed out of the conference room back to their work stations like good little boys and girls. Finally, the eight hours passed like they do day after day, week after week. Making it to quitting time was the object of the game. At 5:00 on the dot he logged off his computer and put the papers back in the folder where they would wait to be pushed around his desk the following day. He stood, ready to walk out when the manager approached him with a question. “Did you have your appointment with the Thinking Committee this morning?” How did she know that? They were not a matter of public record, those intrusive appointments. Who would believe society got to that point where he had to have his innermost thoughts out on display to be examined. Was he a criminal or a citizen? Hard to tell these days. Sitting in that straight back chair across from the guard took every drop of energy he had. The lack of a decent night’s sleep didn’t help matters. Did they set these appointments so early in the morning to aggravate the already frazzled public hoping to provoke a reaction?

“Yes, as a matter of fact I did.” He replied annoyed. “Well, you forgot to change your settings.” The manager continued. “Your thought bubble is set to public. You might want to switch it back to private.” She let that sink in and then continued. “And the boss would like to see you in his office. You know the way to Mr. Hot Shit’s office I assume?” She turned on her heel and walked away.


Stardate: no clue. Warp drive is fucked. Life support systems are on life support. Best I can figure, electromagnetic something or other must have flared up. Whatever that means. This area is totally empty of any stars, planets, comets, asteroids, or any other names we've come up with for rocks floating in space. I'm only realizing at this moment what a terrible idea it was of society to start letting dumbasses like me pilot these metal death traps. Looking out, I can see another ship drifting by and I guess it got hit by the same wave of bullshit. I have to assume the other poor bastard in there is as hopelessly unintelligent as me. The only plan I've got is to see if I can jump across the void to the other ship. I've got nothing to change my direction once I take that leap. I am not scared, yet, because I have not convinced my brain that this is real. When I was a kid, we hadn't even made it to Mars. And here I am, with a flat tire in as close to nowhere as one can be. There's no way any of this is real. My mind is racing, and I'm trying to keep it that way. If it settles down, it will start to feel what it has already realized: I'm fucked. I'm thinking back to my younger days playing pool in my friend's basement. I never paid attention in physics or geometry and they say pool is all geometry. I'm not sure if I'm the cue or the cue ball, though. I'm pretty sure that other ship is the pocket. So I guess I'm trying to scratch? The analogy is falling apart. I never played pool by the numbers anyway. Always went by feeling. I open the hatch and the little air pressure left in the cabin rushes out. I lucked out and the angle to the other ship seems pretty well lined up with the hatch. I'm trying to picture everything in such a way that the leap seems easiest. Only my ship is moving, I decide. The other one is stationary. A metal island in the dark cosmic ocean. My mind is starting to slow. The reality is starting to take hold. If I don't jump know, I'll be a huddled mess in the corner of my ship until I asphyxiate. I get my mind racing again thinking about the odds that I am even within sight of another ship. It's got to mean something. Maybe I've got a guardian angel that looked away from the controls for a bit and is trying to rectify the situation without giving himself away. No way that's true, I think, but I trick myself into feeling it just enough that I am ready. I don't think of my wife. I don't think of my kids. There will be plenty of time for those thoughts if I miss. Dammit, I shouldn't have thought that. It's now or never. I jump.


“His name is Benny.” Samantha explained to her great-grandson, little Sammy. The toddler’s small fingers poked the side of the faded, mangled stuff animal. As much as Samantha tried to repair Benny over the years, time, and the affection of her children and grandchildren, had taken a toll on the beloved toy. “My mother, your great-great-grandmother, passed away a few weeks before I started high school. I was lost in the months that followed. Then my dear friend Benny came into my life, and I knew I wasn’t alone.” She smiled sadly. She had told some variation of the story to members of the family over decades and generations. “When you feel sad about your daddy, just give Benny a tight squeeze, and Benny will help you.” Samantha touched the toddler’s cheek lightly. Little Sammy did not say anything in reply, he just squeezed the stuffed animal tightly and nodded to his great-grandmother. “Memaw, are you sure? Sam might not be gentle with Benny.” Beth vocalized her concerns. Samantha smiled at her granddaughter. “Benny has already served me well. Now there’s a new child who could use his help.” Samantha responded. The grandmother and granddaughter exchanged a knowing look. The change in little Sammy’s demeanor since his father left was noticeable. Beth had done her best to play the role of both parents, and Walter had stepped in to help them both, but some things were difficult to explain to a child. Little Sammy smacked the plush against the side of Samantha’s chair. Beth looked to her grandmother as if to say, “are you really, really sure?” Samantha just smiled and nodded. Beth had not been gentle either when she used to play with Benny during visits, nor had Walter. Seeing how little Sammy smacked the plush against the chair made Samantha think about how she would love to beat Beth’s no-good-deadbeat-ex to a pulp, but alas, the man was difficult to find. Even if she could find the scoundrel, she wasn’t exactly in a fighting condition at her age. “Little Sammy, do you want to hear a secret?” Samantha asked. Little Sammy nodded yes. Samantha had Beth pick up the boy and set him in her lap. Samantha whispered into little Sammy’s ear. “I used to have a real pet dragon.” As she whispered the words, the boy’s eyes went wide. Ah, the wonders of childhood, she thought, a time when the mind is not yet closed to the possibility of fantastic truths. Samantha smiled, knowing only she and her late father knew it was true. She thought back to those days. The sound of Hound Dog by Elvis Presley blared on the radio. Samantha danced around in her room, Benvolio stood up on two legs, swaying with the music and swishing his tail. He was getting bigger, having more than doubled his size in the last three months. At 18 inches long, he was too big for his old enclosure. The wings on his back were becoming more pronounced. Samantha’s dad shrugged and attributed it to some sort of deformation or mutation, but the truth was becoming harder to ignore. Samantha’s dad rapped on the door and asked her to quiet down. Samantha turned off the music and walked over to the dresser where she had a book on standby. “I have a new book for us today; we are going to read *The Hobbit*.” She lifted the book. “I haven’t read it yet, but everyone says it’s really good.” Benvolio lifted his wings in interest. Samantha picked him up and plopped down on the bed. She sat with one arm around Benvolio and the book propped up on some pillows. They began the journey to Middle-earth together. Over the last few months together Samantha had noticed a change in Benvolio when she read. When Benvolio first came home with her, he seemed to react only to the pitch and tone of her voice. Lately, he seemed to recognize the words she spoke, reacting to them. Benvolio swished his tail joyfully as Samantha read the scene where the Dwarves showed up unexpectedly at Bilbo’s home. She chuckled and lightly bopped his snout with her finger. As the story progressed Benvolio’s mood changed. When the characters in the story began to talk about slaying the dragon, Benvolio snarled and shook his head in protest, as though angered by the events in the story. Samantha stopped reading, realizing too late how the subject matter might be offensive to Benvolio. Benvolio’s scales felt hot to the touch, causing Samantha to loosen her hold on him. That is when it happened. As if by a sneeze or cough, a tiny ball of flame erupted from Benvolio’s mouth and ignited the pages of the book. Samantha yelped in fright as a fire spread to the pillow beneath the book. She jumped up, instinctively scooping up Benvolio who was still hot to the touch. Samantha’s father barged into her room to find her furiously trying to put out the fire with a blanket. He ran out of the room and then returned with a bucket of water, extinguishing the flames and dousing Samantha’s bed. A startled Samantha and Benvolio both looked at the scorch marks on the bed. Samantha’s skin was red and blistering where she had handled the hot little dragon. Samantha’s dad fetched the first aid kit. He looked at Benvolio and then turned his eyes to Samantha. The look in his eyes was somber. “Sweetie, we need to talk.


Wahh Wahh Wahhh! Bills alarm rips him quickly from his light slumber. He squints his eyes to read the time on the clock. 6:00AM. He fumbles around for a few seconds before he is able to silence his dreadful alarm. With each pulse of sound Bill winces from the sharp pain in his head. Eventually he finds his mark and his room is filled with silence once more. Finally, with the alarm silenced and his head becoming more clear, he starts about his daily routine. First he chugs the glass of water sitting by his bedside. Next he opens up his night stand drawer and picks out a small black case that he deftly opens spreading out its contents on the nightstand next to his bed. He lays out a bottle cap and empties the contents of a small baggy into it. He stares down and sees the familiar sight of crystals ready to be crushed, mixed, and injected directly into his bloodstream. This is Bills daily routine and he goes about it with as much fluidity and grace as a machine. He draws up some water into a syringe and then shoots it into the bottle cap mixing the contents until the crystals are completely dissolved. Bill draws up the liquid into a fresh syringe and begins to ready himself. The water he drank earlier is now making its way into his bloodstream which Bill is hopeful will puff his veins up giving him a bigger target. Just to be safe he grabs the makeshift dumbbell he created (a small carrier bag filled with a few textbooks) and does a few arm curls to pump his arms up some. Thoroughly worked Bill sits down in his chair and prepares the area, wiping his arm with multiple alcohol pads. Bill is a bit of a clean freak when it comes to his routine but thats how he justifies doing one of the most dangerous things a person can do. Without further hesitation Bill picks up the syringe takes off the cap and positions the needle next to his skin. He takes a few deep breaths and sinks the syringe into his arm. He pulls back to see if he has found his mark. A glorious sight fills Bills vision as he sees a plume of blood pull back into the syringe. He’s found his mark. Slowly he begins to push the plunger down. Before he is even halfway through he is starting to feel the effects. It starts as a tingly warm feeling in his tongue. Then he gets a metallic taste in his mouth and throat. Soon his entire head is flushed and warm feeling as if he is getting a hot blast of air to the face. Before long the feeling sinks through his entire body down and out his feet. Now Bill is off and running. His day can begin as he feels the energy buzzing through his body like there is electricity coursing through his veins. A big smile washes over his face and all his cares are gone. He is content, he is ok, nothing can hurt him, not on this day.