“I love you,” Allison Carter said to the girl holding a knife to her neck in the gray alleys of the subway station. Underneath the sun, the towering buildings and the gleam off the windows in the reflection of Allison’s sunglasses, there was the caricature of what she thought New York was like. People bellowed on their phones, paced past her without looking up, shouted in the corners, talked to the wall, and fell asleep on the floor.

Every time while getting on the subway, ready to act confident and careless like she’s done this her entire life, Allison prepared for the worst. Of course in her last few hours in the city, that’s when she ends up against the wall with the demand she empties her pockets, and all she said was, “I love you.” The girl recoiled, “What.” “I…love you?” She scraped the knife further along Allison’s neck, “That’s a weird thing to say.” She tried to keep her eyebrows furrowed, but she was trembling. The veins in her neck twitched and her hands shook as they brushed Aliison’s face.

“Are you ok?” “I’m fine. Are you ok?” Allison shrugged, “I’ve been better.” “Yeah, that was kinda the point.” “You’re not very good at this,” Allison noted. It was not the best thing to say to someone threatening to stab her. She could’ve also mentioned how she only had twenty dollars on her, but she figured this wasn’t exactly one of her high points.

The girl in front of her dropped her knife, “Well neither are you.” “So we’re in the same boat then. I’ll continue my day and you can continue yours,” Allison creeped backwards. “I need to catch a train in…” she checked her watch, ”six hours.” “Six hours? And you’re just waiting down here?” “Yeah. I don't have anything else to do.” She packed up her apartment, the one she shared with two other students who replaced her the minute all her boxes were packed. Her parents sped to collect her belongings, and gave her one last day in the city to say goodbye. She had nothing left to do but eat a bagel, walk through the streets and feel anonymous for the last time. The girl rolled her eyes, “Ok, come with me.” “Wow, what a good idea.” “But my darling, I thought you loved me,” she challenged as she walked away without looking back. They ended up at a coffee shop with matching mugs of watery coffee in front of them. Allison put enough cream and sugar that she wouldn’t have to taste the bitterness. The girl on the other hand sucked black coffee through her teeth before asking, “So what’s your deal?” “What’s my deal?” “Isn’t that what I asked?”  Allison studied her like she was inside a test tube: wiry thin black hair, eyes the color of iron, gray and hollow skin, “What does that mean?” “It means who are you? Who is the girl who confessed her love to me?” Her words felt detached and mocking, and her movements were labored.

Allison folded her hands on the table, “I don’t even know your name.” “Gianna,” she said. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” “Does it matter?” “Wouldn’t you like to know who you’re talking to?” Without talking, ‘Gianna’ dug into her pocket and handed Allison her ID. Her name was right there: Gianna Monroe underneath a fatigued picture. She was from New York City, born and raised. Gianna took back her card and raised her eyebrows, “Your turn.” “Allison.” “That’s the truth?” “Do you want to see my license?” She shook her head, “So, Ally, what’s your deal?” “Don't call me that.” “Why not?” “Well aren’t you so inquisitive?” Allison said, sighing before answering the question. “No one calls me that.” “What should I call you instead? Lover?” Allison laughed, “Sure.” “Well then, my angel, why are you here?” Why was Allison there? She followed a girl who threatened to kill her and let her buy a coffee. She would either get a death powdered in snow, or entertainment other than the mass market paperback and pre packaged sandwich stuffed into her backpack.

But why was she in the city? Why did she crawl away from Wisconsin to a jungle gym for academic exploration:“Columbia.” Gianna quirked an eyebrow, “You go to Columbia?” “I went to Columbia. It was my dream school.” “And it wasn’t all it turned out to be?” “I dropped out. I went there because I got in, and that’s where all great people go. All people that do something with their lives outside of rural Wisconsin.” “What’s so bad about Wisconsin?” “You ask a lot of questions.” “I want to get to know you darling,” she said, a smile curling up her lips. “But please, if you want to interrogate me, I’m sure Miss. Columbia has wisdom to offer.” Allison was a criminal law major. They were supposed to teach her how to get the truth out of people, how to weave herself an entire new skin that no one could penetrate. If she stayed there then maybe she wouldn’t be ripping out her skull to display for a girl with concrete eyes.

“Why are you taking interest in me?” “I plead the fifth” “Why did you try to mug me?” “Next question.” “You’re not very good at this,” the words were deja vu on her tongue. Gianna smirked, “I grew up here, and I don't want to leave. That’s the truth.” “I don’t believe you.” “Oh? What can I do to convince you?” “Don’t lie to me; You don’t have any reason to.” “Fine, since you know me so well sweetheart, you tell me what’s wrong with me.” “Fine,” Allison said. “You’re desperate for something. You’re disheveled and defensive. You don’t like to be anything but a mystery.” “Good, but you forgot the ecstasy addiction.” Allison coughed. She didn’t know how to react. “Not anymore. I’ve been clean for,” she counted on her fingers, “one and a half months, but my parents want to send me to rehab, and I…I can’t. I’m cut off right now, and I need to get my life together or…I don't know. Did that satisfy your curiosity?” “You’re not going to get back on your feet by stealing from someone.” “Not someone with Columbia level of student debt.” “I’m not gonna try to give you advice--” “Good. I never claim to get you, you never claim to get me.” “Are you always this hostile?” Gianned shrugged. “Do you think you have to fight all the time?” “Touche.” “No, answer my question,” Allison said. “After today I’m gone. I won’t lie to you if you don’t lie to me. I do love you, remember.” Allison got the impossible concrete girl to smile as she said, “My love, I will give to you what you give to me.” “What should I give to you?” “Your everything.” She reached out her hand. Allison took it, “Let’s pretend we’re lovers for today. I’ll pretend my life is grand as long as you’re in it.” “Deal.” Gianna said. “Have you ever been in love before?” Allison shook her head. She was in love with her future once: all the kids saw her as impossible, and she saw them as useless. She thought about how delighted they all would be when she returned with a backpack full of nothing.

“I haven’t either,” Gianna said. She studied the table, tracing stains with her fingers. Allison hated to admit it, but the words were smooth as honey. She thought of Gianna’s raspy voice whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and a tangible feeling of infatuation. She could have these solemn moments, instead of a rapidly approaching date with her hometown where everyone knew her name. Population: 15000.

Allison felt the brick walls close in on her. She couldn’t escape being underground, “I’m suffocated,” she said. The concrete girl looked at her, “Then let’s leave.” She grabbed Allison’s hand and began to lead her out. “Wait, but don’t we need-” “I’m taking you to the top of the world,” Gianna said. “When you think back to this moment, you’re not going to remember the bill you didn’t pay.” The entire city was laid out in front of them. They were above the clouds, above the sprinkles of snow. The people were ants they could crush between their forefingers, and cars looked comical speeding along. All the yelling, the beeping, the wind, the chatter, the white noise they learned to dance to faded into they could only hear their own breath. “I’ve never been this high before,” Allison said. “What does it feel like?” Gianna was leaning against the metal wall in the center of the terrace, the one with the entrance to emergency stairs they ran up minutes earlier.

“This is the reason I came to the city,” Allison said. “I wanted to be on top of it. I wanted to know the buildings and the streets. I wanted,” she could see the horizon away from the city, the bridge that connected it to the rest of the world, she could see the sun gleaming into her eyes, “all of this.” Gianna came up next to her, putting her elbows on the safety rail, “You could’ve had it, you know.” “I can’t go back to that place.” “Do you think you can stay here?” Allison searched for an answer, searched for anything that yelled into her face. She waited for the sun to give her an answer. She waited for her concrete girl to stop asking questions, for silence to fall over them. “I don’t know.”

“That’s hard for you to admit.” “What about you?” “I almost jumped off this building when I was high.” “What?”

She stared off into the distance. The sky was bright with the foreshadowing of afternoon. “I was eighteen and I dropped out of community college. It wasn’t for me. I couldn’t sit still in a classroom, I couldn’t see myself working a 9-5, I spent all my money on molly. I kept walking until I found myself here, and I thought it was a sign that I should give up while I still have my dignity.” “So why didn’t you?” “I was sitting here in this exact spot, looking at everything. I felt like I was a part of an indescribable chaos, and I could burrow myself in it long enough to find some sort of meaning.” “Ah yes, by mugging someone to avoid rehab.” Gianna laughed and looked at her, “I’m fine with being a fuck-up, as long as I can sleep at night and be somewhat fulfilled.” “You’re not a fuck up.” “Tell that to my parents.” “My parents would love for me to be a fuck-up. They don’t want an extraordinary kid, they want someone they don't have to worry about. They were overjoyed when I told them I was going home. I couldn’t take the pressure so I gave up. How pathetic does that make me?” “You’re not pathetic. You’re nineteen. You’re not going to end up anywhere you don’t want to be,” she said. Allison wiped her eyes to make sure there were no tears; She never let herself cry. “What did you want to do?” “I wanted to go to culinary school.” “Why didn’t you try?” “Nothing in my life mattered except my addiction. I have to take it second by second to get through the day. Finding my place in the world, listening to my thoughts, trying to believe in something was so much work. That stupid euphoric feeling was so much easier.” Allison weaved her fingers around Gianna’s. There was nothing she could say to make her feel better, but she could be there. “How did I make you feel when I pointed a knife at you?” “Sharp.” She thought back to that moment. She could only think about the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“I mean, how does vulnerability feel?” Allison replicated Gianna’s elbows on the railing, “I couldn’t die like that, in the middle of a place where no one knew me.” “You have a weird way of getting people to know you” Allison grinned, “It worked.” “Do you trust me?” She held out her hand: a sacred promise.

“Should I?” Gianna only grinned at her. Allison, against better judgment, took her hand.

“Ok, close your eyes” Allison shut her eyes and the rest of her senses consumed her. She could hear a plane in the distance, feel the wind through her hair, taste the sweetness of afternoon. She tightened her hands against the safety rail. “Let yourself trust me.” She took Allison, squeezed her fingers and led her up until they were both standing on the safety rail. Allison could hear the city underneath her feet. She went to peek open one eye, but Gianna put a hand over her eyes. She wrapped her other arm around Allison’s waist. “Now let go of me,” she whispered into Allison’s ear.

“What?” “You’re not going to fall. Hold out your hands.” Allison took a deep breath and began to crawl her trembling hands until they were reaching out on either side of her. She filtered the breeze, feeling the ecstasy of the top of the world. She felt Gianna behind her, her grip loose enough to let Allison float, but not fall. The air was sweeter, untouched by pollutants or tobacco or the stench of the throngs. She could fall at any moment, or the stranger behind her could drop her, but

she wasn’t thinking about that. Gianna pulled her back into they were both lying on the ground of the terrace, and they were laughing. They were at the brink of being corpses that fell from the sky like a forbidden snowflake. Allison looked at the hollow gray skin of her concrete girl, her eyes bright and wild and her thin lips open wide and vulnerable. She looked more real than she had all day. “Thank you,” Allison exhaled. She grabbed Gianna’s face between her hands and kissed her.

Gianna jerked away, “Why would you do that?” “I’ve never felt like that before.” “You’re leaving in a couple of hours.” “Yeah, it was just a kiss.” “ Just a kiss.” “Fine, it was a thank you. It was my first time I ever felt that…free.” “I’m not your savior, Allison.” Allison furrowed her brow, “I never said you were. I thought we were having a moment. The whole ‘pretend we love each other’ thing.” “ Pretending . You can’t do that to someone. You can’t …nevermind. I don't think the girl who dropped out of an ivy league when her grades dropped a little understands consequences” Allison imagined something physical: a strike of lighting, a crack forming in the pavement, a knife stabbing her neck, but there was only empty space lingering in between them.. When someone cuts deep like that, there’s nothing left to do but cut deeper. “You’re right. I hope you get the help you need. God, it will feel good to get out of a place filled with lunatics.”

Allison hiked her backpack up her shoulder and ran to the subway station.

Allison was back where she started, which she chose not to think of as metaphorical. She held onto her backpack strap in one hand, her ticket in the other hand. In a matter of hours she would be hugging her parents and sleeping in her childhood bedroom.

She shouldn’t have been so willing to put her life in someone's hands. She shouldn’t have let herself kiss someone she didn’t know. She still didn’t know who Gianna was besides her concrete girl who hated being kissed and loved getting inside people's heads. It was all so pointless and Allison shouldn’t have let herself get invested in a fantasy.

She should’ve suspected it when a voice yelled her name running down the stairs into the station, “Allison!” “You’ve come to apologize?” Allison asked; she wasn’t going to. “No,” Gianna said. “I’ve come to do this.” Gianna's hands were cold and familiar, trembling against her face when she kissed her. Allison promised herself she wouldn’t change her mind by looking at her, but she still let herself taste cracked lips. She would let herself bring her hands to Gianna’s face, down her neck, her collarbones, the curve of her waist to memorize this impossible girl, but she would not let herself think it could be anything. Allison pulled away and reached into her wallet, “Here. Please, get better.”

Gianna pushed her hand away, “I’m not taking your money. And I think…I think I should go to rehab.” Allison bit her lip. She didn’t know how to be proud of her. All she could do was smile and say, “Didn’t want to give up so easily?” “I don’t care if you don’t forgive me for insulting you. Don’t forgive me, hate me even, but don’t ever think of me as a stranger.” “Stranger? You’re my lover.” They both smile, and Allison hated them for it. “Do me a favor,” Gianna said. “If you ever want to come back here, don’t do it until you make something of yourself.” Allison doesn’t say anything. She saw the subway lights approaching, lighting up the gray hallway. Instead, she kissed her again. And again and again and again.

After she entered the subway car, and watched Gianna, after she got on her plane and got home, and after she became a lawyer and opened her own firm, she would think about Gianna. She would close her eyes like she was still on the edge. She would still let herself believe that she hated her, and she still would want them to meet again, so she could hold her close, kiss her again and again, and whisper “Thank you” to her concrete girl.


There once was a man with a flower garden. There were all kinds of flowers, but he obsessed over one. The highlight of his achievement, the lone of its kind among many others. It was him. His life was to take care of the flower. Morning, noon, and night he looked after it. The plant grew tall at first, becoming the crown jewel of the scene.  Upon one afternoon inspection of the flower, he noticed a brown spot on one of the petals. Hardly fretting, he poured some water onto the base of the plant and decided to check back after dinner. After a relaxing meal, the man came back outside at sundown to reinspect the flower. The brown spot remained. A bit miffed, the man grabbed some potting soil and stuffed it around the base of the plant, and then added some more water to the soil. The water splashed and trickled down the fresh pile of soil.  Much to the man's dismay, the brown spot was still there in the morning. In fact, it seemed slightly larger than before. Or was that his imagination? Still, it needed fixed. He added more soil and doused an even larger helping of water onto the plant. After lunch, the spot remained unchanged. He stood over it pondering what to do, that brown spot stubbornly remaining on the petal of the flower. Hours he stood over it, pondering about how to fix his once perfect plant. A plan came to mind.  After dinner, he took a shovel to the dirt around the plant and uprooted the flower. He moved the entire thing to the highest point in the garden, gave it a fresh pile of potting soil, and brought the hose out to water the flower. The ground now seeped through the ground around the plant, making a muddy slosh around it. Satisfied he had solved the problem, the man went to bed.  Morning came soon enough and he jumped out of bed to inspect the flower. It was even worse than before! An entire section of the plant had turned to that dastardly shade of brown. The top of the plant began to droop over and wilt. Incensed at this development, he uprooted the plant again to find a new location for the plant. What to his great surprise when he saw the roots rotting and covered in slime! He grabbed the hose, laid his thumb over part of the nozzle, and pressure sprayed the roots to rid his prized flower of the slime. After much spraying, he laid down fresh soil in a new location, and planted his beleaguered flower. One last time, he grabbed the hose and doused it until the entire area was a muddy lake.  He tried not to think about it all day. The anticipation was turning his insides, but the pain of seeing the flower in such sorry shape kept him from making further inspections that day. He went to bed hoping for the best. What he saw the next morning was death. The once beautiful flower had rotten to the core. The once vibrant crown jewel of his garden now lay dead, brown and toppled like a fallen statue. Wondering what he did to deserve such sorrow, the man looked upon the rest of his garden with despair. Nothing in his eyes could ever measure up again.


The moon never set anymore. All day and all night it hung above the red sky, flecks of its shattered surface breaking off into the cosmos. There was always just enough light from it. Just enough. Enough light to see, enough for plans to grow, enough for things to feel almost alright. Almost. Things were almost normal. The dust storms were no longer a daily catastrophe. Meager crops could be grown from the soil, and it rained just enough to make wells a backup instead of a primary source of water. Wild beasts with a taste for people roamed the wasteland, but they never rolled into town anymore. They stayed outside most of the time. Trade was almost regular again. Men from other places came and went, selling their wares. Men with different skin and different faces. Men and women who weren’t human but were close enough. Polite enough. They’d come selling food and crafts and machines, they sold things that one would expect to be sold in market stalls. It was almost normal. Almost. The killings had started again, just like before. First it was a pet, a dog found wrapped in silk. Then it was a vagrant, the fluids drained from his body. Then another and another until people were being found in packs of six or seven, all of them sucked dry, all of them wrapped in the same silk with care, stuck up in the alleyways and the back lots. Hidden. Saved for later. There was no longer any doubt about it. People lived in fear once more, after 7 long years. The Queen of Spiders had returned. Everybody knew who they should ask. He got rid of her the first time, they would all whisper in secret, he could do it again, couldn’t he? He drove her away last time, drove her away every time. But that was just it. He only drove her away. People doubted him because that was all he could ever do was drive her away, push her out for a few years. Every time she came back. Eventually she always came back. Men in bars bragged that they could do a better job, but in secret they admitted they never could. They were afraid of her. They knew he had to be the one to do it. Nobody dared ask him to go do it, though. They all knew he was already on it. Donnie went though the same motions he always did. Find the bullets, not the normal ones, the ones made of tungsten. Count them out, seven is enough, bring an extra just in case. Find the gun, oil it, and make sure all the parts still work. Load it, test it, and make sure the safety is on when it gets holstered. Find the vest, find the hat, get dressed and go get a drink before you head out there. Don’t get pissed when they call you The Dawn. The man behind the bar was elated to see him. “Well if it isn’t The Dawn himself! How ya been, Donnie?” Donnie gave a half hearted thumbs up before asking for a bottle of the usual. “Judging by the gun, I take it you’re headed out there to deal with her again? Give the spider a run for her money?” “Yep” Donnie grumbled, not wishing to have the same conversation for what felt like the hundredth time. His monosyllabic response left the man working the bar at an awkward loss for words, allowing Donnie to finish his drink in peace. He eventually stood up, payed his tab and began to head for the door when the barman grabbed him by the shoulder. “Listen man…I gotta know. How are you gonna find her? I mean I know you’re gonna find her and you’re gonna drive her back but…but how ya gonna find her? We never find her when we go out looking!” the barman stammered, just a hint of fear in his eyes. “Finding her ain’t the hard part. Doing what needs done is the hard part,” Donnie replied before heading back out the door. The moon hung above the town in the red sky, casting almost enough light for things to be normal. Almost. Visibility didn’t matter much though. He knew where he was going. She always waited for him in the same spot. He started the long march to the edge of town, past the people in the streets, past the children clutching their mother’s skirts. Past row after row of dirty wooden homes and paddocks full of livestock eating scrub grass with both their heads, three eyed dogs and saber tooth rats tied to posts nearby to keep guard. He had done this a hundred times. He knew the path. He knew what to say to get her to leave. What to do to make sure she left these poor people alone. The house was easy to miss. The windows were broken and the door hung lazy off the hinges from being kicked in too many times. The vibrant paint had long ago been blasted off by the sand storms, leaving behind the dull, blackened timber. A faint smell of sex and alcohol lingered in the air, the ghost of former inhabitants. She was here. Walking the halls brought back the same awful memories it always did. The laughter. The drinking. The kissing. The embraces. Floorboards creaked in agony at being forced to bear weight again. Paintings followed every move as he went deeper into the house. The sex. The love. It was all coming back, back in waves like the tide. The anger. The betrayal. The beckoning to come back and the reluctant agreement to do so. It was all here. All those years were pent up here. A wretched archive. The Sex. The Venom. The Addiction. It was all here. She was in the same spot she always was, an old love seat, draped in spider silks to the point of being unrecognizable. A throne fit for a queen to recline on, and recline she did, sprawled out as if she had not a care in the world. Lying naked in repose as if there weren’t corpses on the floor. As if the past hadn’t walked in the front door with every intention of bringing her harm. She was still beautiful in that horrible twisted way. The long blonde hair, the shining blue eyes, the curvaceous figure with perfect breasts and a pudgy belly that bore a red and black hour glass mark. Long, thin spider legs extended from her back, toying idly with lengths of silk. Fangs could be seen as she opened her mouth for the occasional sigh. “I’m sick of this Jeannie.” Donnie snarled as he finally entered her room. The Spider Queen sat up, smiling coyly at him but making no move to stand up. “Aw, you came back. Come here Dawn, talk to me. Tell me what you’ve been up to, let me take your pains away…” She sang, beckoning with an outstretched hand. “It’s Donnie. And No, I’m not here for that. It’s time for you to go. You’ve done enough.” She frowned at his response, pouting like a child before standing up on her arachnid legs and moving to him. “I don’t wanna go. I’m not done with you this time Donnie,” she gasped, grabbing at his jacket, “I’m so lonely out here and I need you. I need somebody to play with.” “I’m not playing this anymore, I’m done, you hear me,” he snapped, placing a hand on the gun. “I don’t need you anymore, I’m walking away. It’s over. Leave these people alone.” Her playful expression faded entirely. Now her face spoke of anger and mockery. “Oh but you do need me. You need me because deep down you know I’m all you’ve got. Because no matter how much you get hurt you’ll come back. Because admit it, Donnie, You like this. You ENJOY it. You know deep down that whenever I call you’re gonna come crawling right back here because you NEED me. Because deep down, you and I both know you’ll never let go because you love m-“ BANG A casing and a body hit the floor. Both could be heard from miles off. For the rest of the night, the town was quiet. It was finally over. The Spider Queen was gone, and she was never coming back. The moon still shined with almost enough light. There was still just enough rain, and the sky was still blood red. People were living with what was almost a sense of normalcy. And if you walked out to the edge of town, and stood by the old farm house, you could almost hear somebody crying. Almost.


It was a sunny and beautiful weekend morning. The kind of weather that suits this kind of lovely towns where things and traditions remain the same. Everything in the right place! The house’s walls were salmon-colored and decorated exquisitely. The front garden plants were selected carefully to always paint the home’s atmosphere with endless colors. You were also able to see the backyard fruit flowering trees from the 4 points of the compass, what a view! All neighbors envied how the garden was built, perfectly balanced. Outside, some kids were playing hide and seek, some others were riding their bicycles. Some women were chatting about their house expenses and criticizing the Government for their bad economic and social policies… and how corrupted the Government members were, astute politicians but not real rulers nor good leaders. Some of them were preparing lunch. Some others were doing household chores. Some men were mowing the lawn. Some of them were helping their wives. Some others were just keeping the home maintenance. Inside the salmon-colored house, an intimate conversation was taking place. “Oh honey, I love you deeply.” “Yes, darling. I’m sure of that, I’ve never doubted your love. And you know I do love you, too, right?!” “You’re my sweetheart, I know… Always have. Since we were kids.” “Yeah! We were 2 of the kind!” “Come on, honey, don’t you start, please!” “I know, I know… I’m sorry, so sorry!” “What I meant was that we’ve been together for always!” “Yes, you’re right. How many people can say that, right?” “Our love can overcome everything. You’ll see…” “I have always counted on you, and you only!” “We were regular neighborhood kids going to school, swimming in the lake, fighting others when the ball game was not fair…” “Do you remember Kimberly used to take her baseball when she was mad because her team was losing? Ha, ha. She was just funny!” “And she’s not changed at all!” Both laughed for a while. Childhood memories are always sweet and funny, aren’t they? “What I remember the most is THE LOOK!” “Oh yeah, honey, it was our beginning! How sweet!” “You were always my crush. However, you never paid attention to me! You were…” “An idiot! I know… I was just too young. I didn’t know how to feel, what to feel. Love was confusing at that time! And I wasn’t exactly a love expert…” “I was teasing you… our first look, the look! I remember it was a day when we all (neighborhood kids) were riding our bikes all the way to the lake, and you fell off your bike. Poor darling! Your knee was bleeding lots.” “But there he was… my knight in shining armor came to rescue me and then I knew! I realized I was in love… with… you!!! How romantic it was!” Both of them were in love, sincerely in love. A love that just a few people have ever gained. A love that surpassed the limits. A love to remember… For a moment, there was silence, only silence… endless silence. Matt was terrified outside the bathroom. Suddenly, the wail of the Fire Engine's siren riveted Matt’s attention. He reacted. “Honey, are you still with me?”, Matt asked. “Sure, sweetheart; here I am… the rest of me, what’s left!” “Please don’t say so”, Matt begged. “You still don’t get it, darling?!” “How can I?” Matt reflected. “It’s time to put an end to this relationship.” “I don’t understand, we were so happy together, we are…”, Matt cried out. “Yeah, I know that, for sure. But I already told you, that’s not enough for them… is it?” One door separating two worlds of the same love. One door that was shut between them. Some more seconds without hearing anything from inside the bathroom. What an agony! Police patrols’ and fire engines’ sirens were loudly heard in front of the salmon-colored house at this point. Some neighbors have approached, too. They wondered, maliciously, what was going on. Matt rapidly ran into the front door, he opened it. Two police officers and 3 firefighters were standing there. “Is this Mr. Matthew O’Brian’s house?” A police officer interrogated.  “Yes, it is. I’m Matt. Come in. He is in the bathroom! He doesn’t want to open the door. I’ve tried but…” The firefighters were already breaking the bathroom door down. “We came as soon as we could.” The other police officer explained. “I know…”, Matt told him as an automatic response, almost a reflex reaction since his mind was somewhere else. Matt was paying close attention to the firefighters’ rescuing fight. He was praying to God they could make it to save his loved one. After a couple of minutes of being in the rescue mission, one of the firefighters explained: “it was too late, I’m sorry to say…” “Your friend bled out completely”, another firefighter added. Matt wasn’t able to stand, his legs just couldn’t keep him on his feet. He kneeled. He began sobbing. “Listen, I know it’s a bad time. But, before we can take the man´s body to the hospital, may I ask you some questions?” A police officer asked gently. Matt didn’t answer back this time. Both police officers looked at each other, then, they helped Matt up to have him sitting on the sofa. They walked him slowly back to the living room. Some neighbors, who never talked to Matt and Joe, were trying to find out any detail about what was going on inside the salmon-colored house, as they all called it to differentiate it from theirs. A couple of them even walked all the way to the front door to get a better look, not to help. Strangers in the same neighborhood, even though Matt and Joe were born and raised there. “Sir, may I have the name of the suicide victim?” The other police officer stared at the first one in disapproval and added: “I’m sorry for your loss, I can see you were close… but may I have the victim’s name please? We need to know some personal information of his… as you may understand.” Matt had so many things in his mind… so many! After considering his situation, all of the sudden, Matt’s mind was clear. My husband’s name is… was Joseph Harrison…” “I see…”, the police officers continued interrogating. The firefighters were back to their station and the ambulance EMTs took Joe’s corpse to the local hospital’s morgue.


I stood there with anger in my eyes, pain in my heart. My brave soldiers lay lifeless across the ground, pools of blood littered across the ground like rose petals. The people who were able to get to safety were brought underground, mainly elderly and children. Any able bodied man was ordered to help fight. We outnumbered them two to one, but we still stood no chance. I have no idea who they are, where they came from, but I know why. I had been having this dream off and on for a long time now. I remember walking through this field of grass, sun high in the sky, breeze dancing across my face. Such a serene moment. I ask myself, is this what life on the ground was like? Then the sun high in the sky starts getting closer and larger. The closer it gets, the more the field around me starts to evaporate and burn alive. Eventually the light gets too bright to look at and I look away. The white light surrounds me until all around me is white, and the next thing I know I’m in a hallway, a long pristine white hallway, and at the end is a door. I make my way all the way down the hallway to the door. I open it, walk through the door and step out onto a charred, burnt ground. It is so unbelievably hot here.The sky is a permanent orange color. As far as my eyes can see is a broken and destroyed city, people lay dead all over the ground. To my right is my family, to my left are my closest friends and associates. This immense feeling of dread and hopelessness is overwhelming. I look down, in my hand is the relic given to me by my father, and his father before him, and his father before him going back to the time of the grounders. The relic starts to glow and the same white light from before erupts from it, encompassing everything like before. The light surrounds me, next thing I know i'm awake and laying in the same bed I sleep in every night, relic hanging around my neck. I think to myself, reflecting on what I just saw, Is this a warning? A flashback of what happened to the grounders? Seeing my city in ruins before my eyes, the dream starts to make sense, I know what I must do. I ordered the rest of my staff and any person I could find along the way to go underground with the rest of them and stay there until it was safe to come out. There weren't many of us left. I head down stairs towards a secret tunnel that leads out of the palace, in case of a situation like this. Based on the report I received from commander Dahlk, right before I told him and the others to head down stairs, I have about 15 minutes before they break through the wall and storm the palace. Just enough time to get into position. I ran the fastest I’ve ever ran in my life, through the old, damp, abandoned tunnel. Eventually after about ten minutes I make my way out of the tunnel, and come out behind an old, abandoned Bakery. As a boy I would always sneak out after dark, through this same tunnel. Running around the city after dark, not a soul in sight. Something about walking around the city at night when no one was around. I remember feeling like I was able to escape my life of royalty, even if it were for only an hour. I felt like a normal person, someone who didn’t have to keep up with his studies, someone who didn’t have to do training exercises everyday before pointless diplomatic meetings between people who would never know what it was like to sympathize with normal people. I remember this place I used to go to when I would sneak out. The top of the memorial for the grounders, right in the heart of the city. It’s the perfect place to lure the demons to, and away from the palace. I make my way to the top of the memorial, with seconds to spare. I sprint up to the edge of the building, looking down I’m about 100 feet up in the air. I inhale, taking the biggest breath I’ve ever taken in my life and scream, HEY, YOU DEMON ASSHOLES. I HAVE THE RELIC. COME GET ME. By the time the last word came out of my mouth, I heard this guttural screech, followed by the sound of a stampede of wild animals, based on the historical videos we watched in school from the time of the grounders. A few seconds later I see the first few demons making their way towards the memorial where I stand. As soon as I see this I look down at the relic in my hand, close my eyes tight for a few seconds. I open them, and the first thing I see is the city my family worked so hard to build over time, the city that gave humanity a second chance at survival. I mutter under my breath, goodbye, friends. It has been an honor to serve you. And I start to chant the phrase my father told me NEVER under any circumstance repeat, unless humanities destruction is imminent, in the ancient language from a time before the grounders ruined the planet, Orbitalis percutiens me locus. As soon as I finish the phrase, this burst of energy erupts out from the relic, and the once ancient piece of history I held in my hand, cracked into tens of pieces. I look up to the sky and see a familiar blindingly bright, white light, which looks to be getting bigger and bigger, closer and closer. I look away because of the sheer brightness, the demons once flooding the street begin to turn to ash and get swept away in the wind. I look up again and the same white light as my dream swallows me. The next thing I know I’m in the same pristine, white hallway as I saw once before. Utterly confused, I make my way down the hallway once again. I reach the door, scared and nervous to see what's behind it, hoping it's not the same as the dream. I turn the knob and open the door. It’s another pristine, white room, with a white chair, and a man who looks to be in his 70’s standing there, cane in hand, He looks distinguished, like someone who knows what to do. I take two steps into the room and he says “Valdour, it’s good to see you made the right choice” What do you mean “right” choice? “In the dream I’ve been showing you, the destroyed city, your city, that would have been your reality if you had used the relic for selfish, greedy reasons, much like the grounders” I’m having a hard time understanding what’s going on. Where am I? “Well, we are inside of the relic, theoretically. For I am the creator of the relic and someone who has the capabilities to bend space and time. I have been waiting a very, very long time for someone to use it. It seems you used it for the right reasons. I created the relic back in the early years of the grounders, seeing how humanity struggled to accept people of the same kind as themselves, abuse the power of deadly weapons. I knew humans would destroy the very essence of their own livelihood one day, so I created this device to give humans a second chance, for one day, if in the face of existence, there was a second chance for whoever held the relic, and those around him or her. I knew there was a chance that whoever had the relic could use it for selfish, evil intentions, so I created two possible outcomes. Both I’ve already shown you, without you knowing it.” What happens now? What happens to my people at home? “Well nothing changes. Life moves on as usual, same as it always has. The beauty of humanity, Valdour, is that humans always overcome, always find a way to rebuild, and come back bigger and stronger than before.” What does that mean?! Please, don’t leave me here. At that moment the figure started to fade away, into nothingness, as if he never existed. “Goodbye Valdour, I’m very tired and would like to finally rest.” And right before he completely faded away, he snapped his fingers and that all too familiar white light surrounds me again. I regain consciousness, opening my eyes to a familiar ceiling as I remember in my bedroom. I look to my right and my wife lay next to me, beautiful as the first day I met her. I sit up in bed, rub my eyes and think to myself, Wow, what a dream. I stand up and head to the bathroom. I approach the sink and turn on the cold water, hoping to shock me awake a bit so I can understand what’s going on. I cup my hands and fill them with cold water, splashing my face right before the water spills out the sides of my hands. I wipe off my face with the towel and look up into the mirror. Normally the relic lay draped across my neck, as a reminder of the power and responsibility I hold. It’s not there. It not being there sends me into this state of overwhelming panic and nervousness. I start to think what if it got into the hands of someone who does not know the power it holds, this is not good. I run into the room and leap into the bed. I immediately shake my wife awake, Kahlia, have you seen the relic?! She looks at me with her normally, big & beautiful, green eyes, but these eyes are the ones of someone who's half asleep still, but more than that, someone who looks utterly confused and puzzled by the question I asked her.


“Lizzy?”

The familiar voice that still haunted her in her sleep jabbed into the side of Liz’s face. A ripple of excited tingling tickled her spine as her eyes widened in alarm. The guests she was chatting with looked equally stricken. All eyes turned to the all too familiar voice.

“Aden?!” Liz could not believe it.

“After all these years..” he mumbled.

Something was still not making sense. The realization struck Liz hard; he was a guest at her daughter’s wedding.

“But..who..how?” She was not making any sense.  “Come on Liz. Get a hold of yourself!”

Her friends along with Aden were waiting to see what she had to say. Swallowing, she tried again.  “How are you here? I mean, who invited you?” Aden smiled.

Liz could not help but cringe at the butterflies in her stomach. Why was she still having all these stupid feelings after nearly thirty years? And, who still looked hot at their age? Apparently, Aden did. One of her answers was revealed; she already knew the reasons behind the other too.

“I’m Phil’s uncle.”

Now the butterflies turned into butter balls. Liz was convinced she was going to get sick.

“Phil..as in the groom ?” She choked.

“Yeah. Does that come as a surprise to you?” His amused expression wavered.

Why was she being this way? Even back in high school, Liz was always so confident; so sure of herself. Had time really changed her that much?

Gulping back tears, Liz whispered, “do you know who the bride is?” Now Aden looked genuinely perplexed.  “Um...I don’t know her personally. I’ve heard some about her but-” Liz’s hand flicked into the air halting in a “no need to say more,” gesture.

She realized the day she had feared for twenty-six years had finally landed at its destination. Squaring her shoulders, she scratched at a tear sneaking down her cheek.  “We need to talk.” With a flourish, she made her way to a private corner in the back of the room aware Aden was at her heels.

Laura could not help but notice her mom’s alertness. Every few moments she chewed down on her bottom lip, her eyes darting around the room. Usually, she was so calm; unnerved.

“Mom!” Laura’s voice came out a bit louder than she intended-some of the nearby guests shot her quizzical looks. The uneasiness her mother was showing was rubbing off on her.

“Mom,” Laura repeated- this time making sure her voice was less jarring. Liz whom all her friends referred to as Lizzy darted her eyes to meet her daughter’s worried ones.

“What’s the matter, dear?” Her voice was distant and she broke eye contact only to briskly scan the room once more.

“You ok?” Laura placed her hand on Liz’s arm. Jumping with a start, her mother’s attention finally focused on her.

“Honey, what’s the matter? You look worried. Are you regretting this decision?” Frustrated Laura let out a sigh. Why was her mother throwing the question back at her? She was obviously hiding something.

“I’m fine mom. And no, I do not regret getting married to Phil twenty minutes ago.”

Studying her mom’s face, Laura desperately tried to read what was being hidden behind the worried frown. An image she could not place before suddenly hit her. Mascara. Smudged under the eye and streaked down the cheek. As if Liz had been crying before hurriedly trying to wipe the stain off her face with a napkin.

“Mom? Were you crying? I can still see smeared mascara on your cheeks so, there is no need in denying it.”

Perhaps Laura was being harsh towards her mom. She was a bit stressed out from all the wedding commotion and bridal responsibilities herself. Her mom had always served as the anchor holding everybody grounded and at ease. Her capability in keeping her head in stressful situations had really helped with all the pre-wedding and day of commotion. What could have all of a sudden knocked the confidence out of her? There was definitely something Laura was missing out on and she was not about to let it slide during her wedding. Liz drew in a breath.

“Honey, nothing is wrong. It’s just all the excitement and commotion-I mean, what can I say: my baby girl is getting married! It’s a bit overwhelming that’s all. Are you having a good time?”

Lies. Digging her manicured nails into her palms, Laura let in a deep breath. What had happened? A little wedding itself could not faze Liz. She had become a single mom at the age of eighteen after having just graduated from high school, was broke at the time with no family to turn to for help, had a newborn baby to feed, and nothing but the high school transcript to show the world. Averting her gaze, Liz began picking at her bracelet; she knew her daughter was not buying the sappy nonsense as much as she knew the truth would be revealed sooner than later. Laura was a stubborn girl, a quality she took after her mother and would investigate further into the secret until she figured it out. Something Liz herself had too always struggled with.

Sighing, Liz began “have you ever met Phil’s uncle Aiden?”

Frowning Laura shook her head “no. I have heard some about him..I did see his name on the guest list but, I never questioned which family member’s he invited and didn’t. It’s his personal life, not mine.”

“Not anymore.” Thought Liz focusing her gaze on the wedding ring sitting daintily on Laura’s finger.

Noticing her mom eyeing the ring, Laura bit the inside of her cheek. She was not getting good vibes from the story so far.  “Mom. Is there something about this man I should know?”

Slowly, Liz lifted her gaze to look at her expectant and naive daughter’s worried face.  “He’s your father.”

What?!?!

An invisible hand grasped Laura’s throat blocking the airway, her heart punching at her chest. She did not know whether to laugh, cry, scream, or even believe her mother for that matter. Remaining silent and noiselessly demanding an explanation was what she settled with. Liz continued.

“Remember the story of how you came to be?”

Of course, she did. Her mom went crazy while drunk and did not remember who the guy was she smashed with since by the time she woke up in the morning he was long gone. Gasping, Laura realized the “story” she had grown up believing to be true was anything but that. Not having the strength to say anything, she nodded in response.

“Well, your father, aka Phil’s uncle, aka my high school sweetheart ended not being a great guy.

“He did not?” Laura managed.

Suddenly looking as if she were about to cry, Liz bowed her head.

“He was a player. Always was. I just never noticed. He was all the girls’ best friend, so flirty; I thought nothing of it at the time...the day after he made me pregnant, I was supposed to go the movies with him. I ended up arriving early only to witness him making out with another girl right by the entrance! I felt so angry I stormed up to the cashier and asked if they had bought a ticket. He shrugged stating that Aiden, your father, was a “usual” always showing up with some other girl. When I had asked him how long this had been happening, he said about four years! I was enraged! And you know what’s the worst of it? That girl he was making out with was my sister.” Before Laura had a chance to fully take the information in, Liz pointed at someone behind her.

“That’s him.” she plainly stated.


“Thanks for the lift, Robin.

It saved me some trouble” “This is weird-you haven’t taken any time off since I’ve known you.

And you’re really going to buy this car? ” “Already bought, now I’m driving it off the lot.

Look, take care of things for me.

I know you’ll be great.

Don’t call me-just do what you think is best.

Time to fly.” He waved as the younger man drove off, then walked into Larsen BMW, scratched his name on the line and turned his new 740i into traffic.

Fifteen minutes later he stepped through the door of his apartment and called for his best friend.

“Boggle!!

Come on boy!!!”

The flop-eared beagle came promptly, but didn’t run.

That would have been out of character.

Greetings were exchanged then the packing began. He filled his briefcase with everything he needed, including the papers for his newest treasure.

Next he packed everything for his buddy.

When it was all ready to go he loaded the car and glanced back one more time. “Looks good.” Three miles outside of town he stopped at Flint’s Fine Tobacco.

He spoke with the silver haired man behind the counter, asking for recommendations.

He came back to the car with a few things and they were on their way. Boggle the Beagle sat happily in the leather co-pilot’s seat, bobbing his beagle head to Freddie Hubbard and his quintet.

The man kept focussed on the road ahead but grinned as his soul dived and rose with each phrase. Three hours later, the poor dog had endured one too

many Coltrane solos and barked for a rest.

They sat at a picnic stop along old US 35 and ate and drank.

The late morning sun refreshed them both.

The man pulled a card out of his briefcase and made a brief call, nodding his head at the responses he got.

Arrangements made, and back on the road. Through the mountain tunnels of the turnpike, the jazz was replaced with Southern driving music, he thought about the times before and the many things done and seen.

A rueful smile crossed his face when he turned to Boggle for sympathy only to find that his friend had gone to sleep.

“I guess that means that Molly Hatchet isn’t loud enough.

Oh hell, let a sleeping dog lie.”

He laughed at his own joke and turned his eyes back to the road. The dognap was deep and peaceful, so the driver pressed his advantage and put several hundred miles on the new engine before it was time to stop again.

Some high grade buffalo jerky appeared from the doggy bag and Boggle refreshed himself gratefully.

They improvised a game of fetch in the grassy picnic area and then back on the road.

They crossed into Virginia when he decided it was time for his treat.

He was glad the guy at Flint’s reminded him that the new car would not likely have a lighter; the kitchen match made a satisfying scratch as he lit up the Cohiba.

The road was familiar, but he pulled over anyway.

He thought his first cigar deserved his full attention.

It shocked his throat at first, but soon the aroma consoled him and he drew slowly until it was nearly gone.

Boggle the beagle was bothered by the smoke, so they stepped off the shoulder into the grass for a little exercise.

He looked across the median at the wildflowers that coursed along the winding highway.

Red and yellow and orange and blue.

Blue-Kind of Blue-Miles Davis-Miles to go.

Back to the car-back on the road. The sky was graying when they pulled into the coastal town that was their destination.

He deployed bowls of food and water for his best friend when they unpacked at the motel several blocks from the beach.

He showered, and dressed, then said, “Listen boy, I’m going out for awhile now.

I’ll put the TV on for you-see, Ice Road Truckers, your favorite.

Be good and I will see you soon!!”

He checked the address on the card and figured he would make it with a few minutes to spare. She was waiting for him as arranged.

A hand on each shoulder and a kiss on the cheek was all the greeting they needed.

Drinks and dinner came; they chatted softly, laughing now and then.

He rebooted old stories and she answered with the replies he both expected and enjoyed.

Other guests came and went, but they stayed on.

When the savvy old bartender at last blinked the lights, he sighed and asked if she was all right to drive.

She blinked, not having expected to hear that.

“But, don’t you want to-?” His eyes gleamed as he replied, “No, this was much, much better.”

He pulled the envelope from his jacket and handed it to her.

“I had a lovely evening.

Thank you Angela.”

Their farewell was identical to their greeting. Back at the room, he sat at the desk and

wrote on the scratch pad provided.

Boggle watched the TV, but snuggled deeper into the quilt knowing his friend was back.

He muted the TV and continued writing to the sound of Trane’s Equinox.

He wanted a nap afterward, but it suddenly felt like it was the wrong time.

“Come on Boggle beagle-just a small trip this time.”

They drove down until he found the entrance to the beach and he turned off the lights and eased the BMN down the deserted stretch.

He parked facing the waves, and brought his dog near.

Back to the music, the last thing he heard was Herbie-Maiden Voyage. “Ok Sarge-what’s up?” The young patrol officer looked up-”We found it about thirty minutes ago-still running.

Can’t wake the guy or the dog-thought we’d better call you.” Detective Michael Steen snorted.

“How they hell did nobody notice he was here until now-don’t you patrol through here every two hours?”

He got no answer.

“Hey Andy, hurry up and pop this thing!!”

Detective Andy Rosewood was already on it.

He reached over and felt for a pulse.

“Nah Mike, he’s gone.

Shit.”

Boggle the beagle woke just then and looked at his best friend, then began to whimper.

Steen barked at the sergeant, “Somebody get this dog out of the way, but not far away-he might have evidence.” Andy switched off the motor.

“Temp tags on the vehicle-this thing is shiny new. “

He asked the patrol officer, who had the dog on a leash, to call it in.

Steen looked in the back seat and saw the briefcase.

He went for his pocket knife to spring it, but Andy stopped him.

“Don’t bother-look!” The folded piece of scratch paper stuck out of Wyatt’s shirt pocket.

Steen read the barely legible scrawl out loud List-forgot the bucket Drive a luxury car-check Smoke a Cuban cigar-double check Spend the night with a beautiful stranger-Close but no cigar ha ha! End my life where and how I chose-check To whom it may concern-you will find all the particulars in the briefcase.

The code is 1314.

Please call my cousin Jenny at 919-867-5309.

Yeah-really!

She lives in Lumberton-she will take care of my buddy Boggle.

Burton and Ayers here in town has been contracted for the arrangements.

Malignant melanoma mastered me at last.

Time to fly. Wyatt Ehrmann Steen chuckled in relief-”Well, thank God it ain’t a murder, anyway.”

Andy,

you and the uniform go ahead.”

He took the leash and looked quietly at the dog.

Then he saw it before he felt or heard it.

The sand began to darken as the sky, haltingly at first, then more urgently, began to empty on the car, the cops, and the canine.

“Let’s go find Cousin Jenny, boy, come on!”


The teacher's lounge had a lot of scars on the wall. It served many functions. It was a sanctuary, a stress reliever, a boxing ring, and even a bunker. There was a gun threat one year, and the entire support staff locked themselves in the teacher's lounge. The walls were painted a pale white that had begun to peel. There was an old leather sofa, a microwave, and a round table in the middle with three chairs, two of which rocked side to side because the legs were uneven. In front of the sofa was a coffee table with coffee cup ring stains, and across from the sofa was a makeshift stand with an old TV with rabbit ears. The teacher's lounge even had its smell, clean over old. The cleaning crew cleaned it every day, but you could still smell the old leather from the couch, burnt popcorn, the smell of burnt coffee from being left on the burner, and the smell from the rug beneath the coffee table.  "Why do we do this, Harry?" Said Jessica, the sixth-grade English teacher of five years. She just walked into the lounge and flopped onto the old leather couch peeling at the armrest with cracks on the seat cushions that made it look like a relief map of the Rockies. "Well, Jessica, I don't know about you, but I do it because I want to make a difference." Jessica was in her late twenties; she wore her long blond hair in a ponytail, and her glasses made her look like an old-fashioned librarian. Despite the button-up look, you could tell she was an attractive lady.

"Harry, Harry, Harry, you know as well as I do that we aren't making a difference. Test scores are down, many of these kids suffer from attention disorders, and all they want to do is play games. How the hell can I make a difference with that?" Harry, a black man in his early forties, had nothing special about his physique. His readers sat low on his nose, so he always looked over the frames when talking with somebody. He had a folded piece of newspaper in his hands because he loved doing the crossword puzzle. Jessica reminded him of when he started teaching. Fresh out of college, he was ready to take on the world, and soon after, the reality that hit Jessica smacked him in the face.

He sat on the other end of the worn couch with his neat and clean blue cardigan, looked into her defeated eyes, and said. "Never give up! Sometimes I wanted to call it quits, but I hung in there and am glad I did." Harry taught fifth and sixth-grade science and was recognized as one of the best teachers in the state. He had a unique way of using a hands-on approach that always engaged his students.

Jessica removed her glasses and sat them on the table atop a teacher's joke etched into the wood. Why were the teacher's eyes crossed? Because she couldn't control her pupils! That joke had been there for years.

"Harry, I'm trying, but today, I caught two kids cheating on their test, and I gave them both an F. Do you know what they said to me? I was an incompetent teacher who did not know what I was doing. One kid said he would bring his parent up to the school, who, by the way, works at the governor's office. How do you deal with that?" Jessica began to cry. "I wanted to slap that kid!" Harry said, "Fifty years ago, you could get away with that. My dad said in some schools, that actually happened. It is a different time now. We must watch what we do and say to kids these days. You know, cheating has been around even back then, so even though the children have changed, their bad habits have not. We must learn how to adapt to the kids." "How do I do that, Harry?" "By keeping them engaged, challenging them against each other and you. Make it fun, don't be afraid to be yourself, and have fun; the most important thing you can do is find the one. There is always that one student or two that accepts your challenges. That student is usually confident and wants to impress you and the other students. That student will buy into your plan, and the others will soon follow. Jessica wiped the tears from her eyes and started to feel better about herself. Harry was right; she could do this because she was a determined teacher who wanted to make a difference. "Thanks, Harry; I feel much better now. I guess I just needed someone to talk to." "Anytime, Jessica, I am always available to you." Jessica left the room, and five minutes later, in came Felicia Jones. "I hate this place!" She said. "Whoa, Whoa," Harry raised his paper as if it were a glove used to catch her words, "those are powerful words, you know. Having a bad day?" "Yeah, a couple of my kids threw a ball around the room every time I turned to write on the chalkboard. Their game was to see who got caught first. I made the kid I caught tell me all who were involved, and I sent all three down to the principal's office." Their parents had to come and pick them up, and one parent confronted me about it like it was my fault. It's hard enough dealing with these kids, Harry; now we have to deal with their parents too. I'm not cut out for this!" Felicia turned and sat on the old couch and began to cry. Harry could tell she was upset because her hands were shaking.

"I can't do this anymore, Harry. I came into this profession to teach, not babysit, and now when you discipline one of them, you have to answer to their parents; it's not fair!" Felicia was a tall black lady with short hair cut to perfection. At age thirty, she had been teaching for seven years. She wore very little makeup because her natural beauty stood out; you could tell she cared for herself. She went to the gym thrice a week, always ate healthily, and looked like she had just graduated from college. "Felicia, you know this job is a lot more than teaching. It has always been that way. I remember when I had a student living on the streets with his mom, and I went to find adequate housing for them and got her a job with the school. That was more than teaching because the boy on the street was a promising student who went on to college and is now head of engineering with a large company. This is why we do it, Felicia." "I know, Harry; I just needed someone to talk to. "Thank you for listening." Felicia rose from the couch and left the room feeling much better. Yes, the Teacher's Lounge was many things, but it was mostly known for free therapy sessions by the professor, Dr. Harry Porter. Harry was considered an unsung hero by many because, for the last 12 years, he has been saving teachers' careers right there in his office, the old, dingy, smelly teacher's lounge.


It was a quiet afternoon in early October; the forecast called for rain, but there was only the occasional wayward cloud drifting across a pale blue sky. I sat and listened to summer’s dying breath whispering through the trees, lightly splashed with red and orange at the tips. Aside from the clicking of a leaf skipping down the sidewalk on a cool breeze, it was quiet. I noticed thin strings of smoke twisting and whipping from the top of my hookah, and it reminded me of...well, nothing. I wasn’t thinking, just noticing. No thoughts of love and loss, no life and death, no yesterdays and tomorrows, just silent awareness of the here and now. I sip my tea and smile, treasuring these rare few moments where I can take the time to recognize life happening around me, not to me. It’s a sort of stillness that feels like it’s deep within the soul, not resonating, but just calmly sitting. No fidgeting, no impulsive need to check my phone, just...there. It brings on a sense of true appreciation for the world around you, and I guess you could say that’s valuable in times like these, where uncertainty and chaos loom on the horizon. Stepping away from the constant screeching of shock value and sensationalism is almost like stepping into another world - a world where the wind blows through your hair, your lungs fill with the smell of grass and leaves, and you just feel whole. I stop thinking of myself, of my worries and anxieties, of couldas and wouldas and shouldas. It’s like they just don’t exist out here on the porch, like I’m on the other side of life in this faded and chipped Adirondack chair, looking at it through a clear pane of glass. The smokescreens and sleight-of-hand that televisions and the internet throw don’t apply here, it’s just the wind, the trees, and the buzzing of cicadas calling out for one last hoorah before their time is up. I find myself admiring the stoic wisdom of the trees as I watch their branches sway gently in the breeze. Occasionally a leaf will flip and tumble gently toward the ground, but it isn’t thrown or dropped. It’s as if the tree just opens it’s hand and lets the leaf go where it may without a thought for where and how, unconcerned with the loss of it’s companion, maybe just quietly appreciative of the time they spent together. There’s a metaphor there somewhere, something noble and graceful about how we approach life, or at least how we should. I couldn’t be bothered to think too deeply on it though. Maybe it will come to me eventually, maybe I already know, maybe it’s nothing at all; for now, I’ll just sip my tea and admire.


Edit: Ok, sorry about the wall of text. I have pretty much no clue on how to format on reddit. Sorry. I'd grown sick and tired of explaining frank to every teacher in her school when she walked in with him. Every trimester it was the same "What in the world is that?" "I don't think you're allowed to have that in school." So, that's why I have Frank explain it instead. So, the situation is the same, first day of school, and I need to have Frank explain himself to the teachers. "You see, sir, Anna's father is a very busy man. A very rich and powerful man. He doesn't have time to care for something like a child, so that's why he made me. I am a T-7390. A personal care bot. I ensure Anna is safe from harm." Mr. Sampson looked at the floor, thinking. "Hmm... Well, is this even within school protocols? What does the handbook say about this?" "Mr. Sampson." Frank said. "Do you truly believe there would be any rules about robots in your handbook?" "Perhaps there would be a-" "I ensure you, there is not." Frank interrupted. "I have repeated scanned your handbook. There are no rules against me. If you wish to take it up with the principle, you may. However I do not... Recommend it." Mr. Sampson sighed. "Very well, you may stay." I walked over to my seat and plopped down in it. Frank always positioned himself in the corner of the room and scanned it. "Ever vigilant." He always said. "You never know, a school shooter, a plastic explosive, hell, even wild animals could find it's way into this room." Class was boring as usual. Nothing changes from 10th to 11th grade. I was pretty popular I suppose for the girl who had a robot servant. I'd get invited to more parties than others do. The senior parties. Normally, I'd be afraid of going to them, but with Frank, he's always kept me safe from harm at them. He told me of one time he had to beat a boy to near death because he wouldn't take his hands off of me. I'm far too drunk to remember most of it though. I suppose I was a bit spoiled. Going out, getting drunk, never having to face the consequences. Having a deadly robot by your side just makes everything so easy. Did I mention he has several deadly weapons hidden in his arms and chest? He's also proficient in handling heavy weapons. Anyway, that's all in the past. Now I find myself in a sticky situation. The world has recently ended, and I've sort of... Lost Frank. I've never felt so... Unprotected and naked without him. I need to find him now, but that means I need to leave the rubble of my home. I suppose it's time to take a step out of my house then. Walking out into the bright open world was strange. At first I couldn't see, then I noticed how dry it was. When I looked around, it was devastating. My entire neighborhood destroyed. Who knows who could be lurking around here. Bandits, rapists, wild animals, murders! I suppose I'll need to walk around to find Frank then. I began slowly walking down the street, taking in the destruction around me. It was just such a shock. I look in the distance, and I see someone. I wasn't sure if I should approach them, or keep my distance. I figured it might be worth a shot to try and say hi, I mean, I'm going to need friends to survive out here without Frank, and if it happens to be a psycho rapist murderer, I figure I'm in shape enough to outrun them. "Hey! Over here! Don't shoot!" I yelled, waving to them. They turned around and saw me, then waved back. "Well hello there, what's your name?" He said, smiling. He seemed friendly enough, so I told him. "I'm Anna. Uh, have you seen anyone else out here?" "No, I haven't. You're the first person I've seen. Might I say, you're rather pretty. How old'r you?" Now I was kind of creeped out, so I started backing up a little. "I-I'm 19 sir." Before I got too far away, he reached out and grabbed me by the arm. "Where do you think you're going? What are you running from?" Now I was panicking. I had never gotten into a situation like this where Frank couldn't save me. I started to jerk and resist. "Let go of me! Help! Someone help me!" He pulled me in close and leaned in to kiss me on the lips. I tried to jerk away, but I couldn't. Suddenly, I heard a loud pop, and something warm was dripping down my cheek. I opened my eyes, and the man collapsed on the ground. He had a bullet shot the the head. I looked around in panic, and then I saw a man reveal himself from a nearby alleyway with a rifle. He waved. "Are you okay there young lady?" I looked down at myself, then back at him. "Yeah, I think so. Thank you." "It was nothing really, I heard the commotion, then quickly ran over to see this man who was clearly trying to rape you. What do you think you're doing out here by yourself?" "Well..." I said, looking at the ground. "I usually travel with my robot. Frank. But, I sort of lost him..." "Well, you're in safe hands. I know a safe place near here. The military set it up after the bombs dropped." "O-ok..." I said, nervously. How did I know I could trust him? Well, I didn't. But it was the best bet I had, and considering he just saved me, I was probably safer with him than alone. So, I followed him. We talked about our lives before the bombs dropped. I told him about my robot Frank and how he'd been with me my whole life. He told me his name was Ed. He seemed pretty likable. He led me into this fenced in parking lot. It looked like a safe house from the outside, however, when I got in, the gate slammed shut, and someone grabbed me from behind. "Agh! What are you doing!? Let go of me! Help me! Ed, help me!" I yelled. Ed slowly turned around, and gave me a menacing smile. "Anna, Anna, Anna. First, you stupidly try to talk to a stranger in these times, that man could have been anyone. Then, you decide to follow a stranger to a fenced in parking lot. Your dependency on that robot truly shows." He said, pacing back and forth. I struggled to free myself before they dragged me over to a table and tied me down. "Wha-What're you going to do to me? Please don't hurt me." Ed sharpened a knife on a sharpening stone. "You get the honor of being our cults last... Sacrifice. We have almost completed the ritual." I tried to free myself from the bindings, but all I did was tip the table over. "Well, look at what you have done." Ed said, "You can stay like that until it's time for the sacrifice." I continued to try and free myself, but to no avail. Then, someone flipped the table right side up. Ed was looking down on me. "Brothers. We have gathered here to summon our lord the Deep One. He has never been seen before by mortal eyes. We are the chosen ones. We are his children. Now, brothers, let the ceremony commence. We shall drink the blood of the non-chosen ones!" He said, slowly lowering the blade to slit my wrists. Suddenly, machine gun fire was heard in the distance, and Ed went flying back. I looked, and I saw him. It was Frank! He stood on top of the fence with a heavy machine gun in his hands. Ed groaned on the ground. "Kill him... Kill him! The ceremony must be... Complete." The other men around me drew weapons. Handguns, rifles, sub-machine guns. Frank began peppering them with machine gun fire. A few of them were hit, diving to cover, while others continued to stand and fire. Frank jumped down off the fence and began going to town, firing an entire magazine into them, and the cover they cowered behind. He dropped the gun, and opened his wrist rocket, firing it into the cover that the last four men crouched behind. "Frank! Oh my god Frank!" I yelled to him. "Anna!?" He yelled, quickly walking over. "Anna, I- I thought you had died. I thought I had failed my mission..." "If course not silly. Let's go. Cut me free." Frank cut me loose, and I stood up stretching. "Alright, let's go, it feels like it's been ages." Frank looked at the ground. "Anna... When your house was destroyed, so was my comm center..." "Yeah, so what?" I asked. "So... I'm going to go haywire eventually. I have very little control over myself..." I gave him a funny look. He explained that the communication tower was what mainly controlled him. It was what kept him from going all out and just killing everyone. He said eventually he would go completely haywire and left to be a robot that simply killed anything that moved. "I... I understand..." I said sadly. Frank extended a handgun to me. "Please, take this. Keep yourself safe. Now, you better get out of here, before any raiders or bandits come by. Good luck." I ran off crying. I've never seen him since. Sometimes I still feel like he's watching over me, but I know it's just an illusion.


Written by M. Cosper The man turned off his car and sat silently. He stared out the front of his small car not looking at anything. Not thinking about anything. He had sat in this same parking spot many times. Something about having a moment of nothingness to himself before work helped. Before bosses and customers would interrupt the silence he so enjoyed. He cleared his throat, got out of his car, and went to work. The man did not have a very impressive job, he was a janitor of sorts. Mostly cleaning bathrooms and sweeping the floor of the department store. He would occasionally help load furniture in a customer’s van. He loved doing that the most because it meant he could be outside the building for a few minutes. Today was no different from the rest. He started out by sweeping the entire store floor with an old, gross floor duster. He went up and down every aisle and alley. He would always say “pardon me” as he passed customers. Most would never acknowledge him. After the floors, he would move on to the bathrooms. He came in later in the afternoons to start so the bathrooms had already appeared as if apes had been using it all day, which is not far from the truth. He wiped every sink and toilet till he could see is the emotionless face staring back at him. As he was mopping the floor, he saw it. The spot. A spot that had been there since he was hired. His bosses would always point it out, for awhile he would say “I’ll get to it soon”. After a while, he would just say “Oh yeah, that thing”. He rubbed his mop over it. Nothing changed. The man tried again. Nothing. The man rolled his eyes, put the mop back in its bucket and when about the rest of his cleaning. The man finished the rest of his duties, mostly to the bare minimum he could get away with. He walked to his car, the mist in the air felt like little fangs of ice in the cold. As he drove home, he did not put on music. Just silence. He drove the entire way like this until he reached his house. It was a small little house; his wife had made it into a fine home though. He came into the home and saw his wife making dinner. “Hey honey, how was work today?” She asked gently. “Fine I guess, you?” he said loudly from the bedroom where he was changing clothes. “It was busy, had more patients than I think we have ever had… Food will be done shortly babe” The man did not respond. After he changed, he went into the kitchen to help finish the food and make his plate. “Oh, go sit down, I got it.” His wife said playfully. He obeyed, and went to sit on the couch, while he waited, he started looking for a show for them to watch. They did this most nights. Eat, watch some tv, talk for a bit, go to bed, repeat after work the next day. He was fine with this arrangement. After all, he was too tired from work to ever feel like going out. After their meal and cleaning up, he went and sat at his laptop. He opened it up to see the screen exactly where he left it. A white, blank, empty page with the courser blinking at him. He stared at it for thirty minutes, then played on his phone. After about an hour he and his wife went to bed to sleep. Well, she was sleeping, the man was just staring up at the ceiling, not looking at anything. He couldn’t keep his eyes closed. This went on for what felt like years until he finally fell asleep. The next day went the same as the last. Sweeping up and down the aisle and alleys of the store. He could hear customers chatting or arguing with a manager about if an item is or isn’t on sale. He went to the bathrooms wiped the mirrors of their grease and muck. Then began mopping again. There it was still, that spot. The big ugly spot that looks as if someone crapped on the floor and left it there for days without a soul noticing it. The man barely even brushed over it with his mop. He drove home in silence, again. He did the same routine he always did and after dinner, he found himself at his laptop. It must have weighed a hundred pounds because it took the man minutes to lift the screen. Once he did, he was met by the same white screen, same blinking courser, like it was laughing at him with every blink. The man’s eyes were out of focus as he stared at the screen. His wife's hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder. “Can’t think of anything?” She questioned. “I have plenty of ideas… I just am not good at writing them down.” He said scoffing at himself. “How do you know that?” “Because I would already have a book written by now.” “But you haven’t even written anything. How can you get better at writing your ideas down if you don’t practice?” She said softly. The man paused briefly, “I have about five different ideas, I have the first page written and that’s it. Once I get to that point I don’t know where to go. All the great ideas I have fled from my mind and I am left with nothing but a bunch of dribbling words on a paper than mean nothing to anyone but myself!” The man’s face turned a fiery red, “Who would want to read my pointless garbage anyways? I barely want to read the first page myself.” The man slammed his laptop shut and sat there. Not looking at anything. His wife put her arms around him, he turned his so she couldn’t see his eyes tearing up. “You know what the hardest part about going to work is? Leaving the house, once you start something all you need do is see it through. Getting started and leaving your comfortable place can be the biggest hurdle.” She kissed him on the cheek, and they both went to sleep. The next day the man went into work. Before he could even clock in his boss stopped him. “Hey, are you ever going to get that spot in the men’s bathroom cleaned? It looks terrible.” The man stopped, looked at his boss and said, “I’ll clean it… today.” He went about his usual business sweeping and wiping things down. Finally, he got to the bathroom. He began to mop the greasy floors, he saw it. He stared at it for minutes. That damn spot, laughing at him. He looked right at the spot. Then he walked away. He went to the cleaning closet and got every floor cleaning chemical he could find. Most of the bottles had mountains of dust on them. The man grabbed gloves and a rough brush. He poured one after the other onto to spot. Probably not the safest way to do it but he did not care. He got on his hands and knees and began scrubbing. He scrubbed until the tile started to chip and he could see the foundation of the building. Twenty-five minutes later and he stood up, wiped the sweat from his brow and stared at the floor. Not looking at anything. The spot was gone. The man finished the workday with a big grin on his face. He went beyond his duties on every task he was given. On the way home he turned the music in his car as loud as his ears could stand it! He swerved into the driveway of his house fast, almost to a screeching stop! He walked inside with confidence he had not had in years. His wife wasn’t home yet, so he cooked her dinner and placed it in the microwave for when she came home. The man could not stop smiling. After he finished making his wife’s dinner he sat at his desk. He stared at his laptop for just a moment. Then he flipped open the screen so fast it almost broke off! He stared at the white screen. The saw the courser blinking… He closed his eyes. He did not think about a thing. Then he opened them and began to type.


“I didn’t do it because I didn’t love him. I mean, I didn’t love him, but that’s not why I did what I did. I did what I did because, well – actually, let me go back a bit. So, it was the year two-thousand-and-nineteen when it happened. See, I left my fiancé at my wedding. I know it seems like some cliché, corny movie, but it’s true. What happened is, as my dad walked me down the aisle, he whispered to me, “I’ll never stop loving you, my girl, but I’ll have something now that I’ve never had before: a court family.” See, both my parents worked in court. My older brother, Juan, was a bailiff. My older sister, Sierra (who is slightly younger than Juan) was currently in law-school, studying to become a lawyer. And, the guy I was going to marry, Gabriel, was an attorney. And, everyone always thought I would be a lawyer, too. I can’t recall actually saying that that’s what I wanted to do with my life, but I guess it was kind of assumed, the rest of my family working in court. And I have absolutely nothing against people who work in court. I don’t think anything negatively about the profession. The thing is that I just never saw myself doing that. I don’t know, that’s just how I saw it.

“Gabriel was someone from my sister’s university, actually. Gabriel and Sierra were close friends and he came to her birthday party back home. He and I, well, I guess we sorta just clicked then. I made sure with Sierra that they had a strictly friendship-py relationship, before I interfered. And, as I suspected, she said that they were just friends. Gabriel took me on a few dates, and then, two years later, we got engaged. We started going out when I was in high school, then, the night I graduated, he took me to a basketball match, and I got proposed to on the big screen. It was so exciting. And the thing is, I always thought I loved him. I really did. But then, my father held my hand so tightly and I just felt like I was crossing to the other side…and I didn’t want to. So then, as I was standing there, facing him, running through all my thoughts, I felt unsure. When the pastor said the words, “Andrea Camila Lòpez, do you take thee Gabriel Coleman to be your lawfully wedded husband until death do you part?”, I finally heard him for the first time in his speech. And all I could think was ‘I can’t.’ So that’s what I said. There was a rumble of gasps going through the crowd of people, dramatizing those two words. ‘ I can’t .’ And suddenly, I panicked, unsure what to do but then all of a sudden, I felt my feet lifting and my legs moving, and so I went with them. I ran and ran, kicking my heels of in the process to get away faster. I jerked of my veil and felt my hair, which was initially braided onto my head, fall to my shoulders. While I was running I knew people were getting up out of their seats, attempting to stop me, but I was stopping for no one. It was the craziest day of my life. Easily. And to this day I still can’t think why I ran out. I know I did, and I know I didn’t want to marry Gabriel, but the running part came naturally. It seems so dramatic, right? But to me it didn’t feel like that. And I know I wasn’t just running away from Gabriel, - who did certainly not wrong me but I him – I was running away from the life that was assigned to me. The life given to me without any choice of my own. I was very embarrassed by what I did. I felt ashamed of myself. I felt sorry for Gabriel, who must’ve been even more embarrassed, me having run out on him.

That night after I had talked to family over and over about the whole story, they asked me, “What do you want to do with your life?” I was afraid to answer, to be entirely honest. I may not have believed myself if I heard myself say it. “I -I,” I stuttered. But when I finally said it, I knew it felt right. “I want to clean.”

“That must have been a weird sentence to hear. I might have sounded just about insane. ‘ And why is that ?’ I asked myself. And I think the answer would be that nobody wanted the job of cleaning if they could help it. Children with strict parents are given chores to do at home. Adults clean streets and buildings because they need the money. But it’s no one’s first choice. And then I thought, ‘ What if it was? What if someone chose to have a job that people only have because they can’t afford better?’

I used to, and still do, look at the earth as a beautiful place that humans are blessed with. Our world is natural, green, alive…but it was dying. The industrial revolution was a good thing for many, but not for Mother Nature. All these changes that the world had to go through…bad changes. And littering isn’t helping this conundrum. So I thought that by starting with cleaning, we could save the earth, little by little. So, that’s what I decided to do. I’ve always wanted to do something, not specifically cleaning, but something to save our planet. Lucky for me, I came from a family with money. So I didn’t need to work for payment, and worry about buying for myself. Once my family understood my idea, they were very supportive. Even Gabriel. After a few weeks, I forced myself to see him again. Although he was definitely humiliated, he also said that he realized that we weren’t meant for one another. We grew to be friends again, after time healed the wounds, and he supported me like a sister. I was actually alright with finding my own money, caring for myself but my family always went the extra mile when I needed it. I decided not to go to college, at least for the time being, so that I could work on what I wanted to do. My family bought plane tickets for me to travel to places where it’s especially grimy. And though I didn’t like the physical work, I grew to love it. I loved my broom which fitted so perfectly in my hand. I carved little pictures in my water buckets. I made my job mine. And it really wasn’t the labour that I cared for. It was the after picture. Each month I would tackle a little village. I would help educate the people of the village I cleaned and soon, they started to help me, too. Then, after I finished my work, I’d make sure the people who lived there knew how to maintain the clean state. Slowly, I grew a team. People from villages I cleaned started to follow me, and came with me when I traveled. After two years I already had a team of more than five-hundred members. People also started tipping us, and we decided to build headquarters around the world, for us to stay in when we visited a specific place. And to this day, I have never regretted my decision. At first it seemed hopeless and tiring, and even needless, but my family motived me and I was encouraged to go further. Gabriel traveled with me the first couple of times to help me, and then, when I got onto my feet, he left again to continue his job. For me, the best part was to see the end picture. The picture of a cleaner world, green and alive, as it should be. I always made sure that I left a village in satisfaction. I knew I was satisfied when this warm sensation started to grow inside my chest, a feeling of pleasure and accomplishment after long hours of work. I loved that feeling dearly. And I hope that others felt it, too. After years of working on this, I realized that I wasn’t going to study anymore. But I didn’t care. I did something I loved so much and going to university would never be able to replace that. And I didn’t think I was ever going to benefit from it, because I wanted to continue what I was doing. I didn’t want to stop cleaning. There was something else I liked about my job, and I do think it is rather obvious. Traveling was such an amazing thing that I was blessed with. I was able to visit more than a hundred different countries in a matter of years. I’ve been to countless cities and villages, and I could learn a lot from all the different cultures. I even learned a little French, Spanish and Zulu, and I can say ‘hello’ in over twenty languages! What I’ve been able to do has really been a blessing. I don’t think I would’ve ever done it if I hadn’t made the decision of cleaning in my early life. I even met my present husband on one of my travels to Austria. Now we have three beautiful children (who have children of their own now) that I could not love more!

“Like I’ve said before, I have never ever regretted my decision in any point of my life. It’s the year two-thousand-and-seventy-eight, and I could not be more proud of the earth’s evolution. I miss the times of my travels but now I am able to just rest on our stunning planet. The earth, even though very much urbanized, is very green again. I rarely spot someone litter or do anything negative to this earth. And climate change isn’t as much of a problem anymore. The ozone layer is on its way to repair itself, and modern-day scientists predict that if we keep going on like this it will be entirely mended in a matter of a few decades. Rising temperatures and inconsistent precipitation seldom occur now. People who live on small islands don’t have to worry about their homes disappearing into the sea now. So, my message to you is, whoever and whenever you are, keep cleaning. The world is in a pretty good state right now so I suggest you keep it like that. In case of any similar troubles, just do what we did. Clean. I’m leaving this message to the ones in trouble. You won’t find me in any other interviews, so this is what you need to listen to. Please. And with that, I hope you got my message. Keep the world beautiful and pure, you future generations, this message is for you. I’m Andrea Camila Steyner. Stay safe, and keep clean.” “There, all ready to go,” Amelie smiles, closing the camera. Amelie is Andrea’s granddaughter, who knows more about the modern technology they have today. “Is it off?” Andrea made sure, unable to tell that the absence of the red light indicates that the camera is no longer filming. “Yes, Oma,” the young girl reassures. Andrea beams at her. She is too beautiful. “Oma, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question,” Amelie confesses. “Sure, my child, what is it?” Andrea watches as her granddaughter fiddles with her hands. “Well, at the end of the month I’m graduating school, and well I was wondering if, well, I should skip latter-education , or ‘university’ as you call it, like you did…?” Andrea takes a seat next to Amelia, who is still distracted with her nails. “Well, my child, it depends what you want to do with your life, what do you?” the lady asks. “I…I want to change the world, like you did,” answers Amelie. “Then change it,” replies her grandmother. “But how?” Amelie wonders aloud. Andrea puts her hand on her descendant’s lap. “Well, to change the world you need to identify a problem. What is the world struggling with right now?” Amelie thinks for a second. “Uneducated children? I don’t know-,” she suggests, but her grandma interrupts. “Yes, my child, yes! You do know! You have, since a young age, been given the gift of sharing knowledge, helping others. Why don’t you do that, change the world that way?” Amelie takes a second to respond, then says, “As in, teaching those in poverty?” Amelie’s grandma lifts her shoulders and nods, “If you find pleasure in that. But if not, there are many ways to change the world.”