Another. Of course. What was it again? Whiskey. Any particular brand? Couldn’t care less, top shelf, well, all those shelves in between. Just grab whatever’s in reach. As you like. ————\- Excuse me? Another. Of the “whatever’s in reach”, I presume? Hey, you remembered! How about that. Well it’s not my first day on the job. Here you go. Hey! Don’t run off, how long you been working here? A while, at this point. How long is a “while”? Enough time that I probably should have quit a while ago. Well hold on a second now. If you’ve been working here a while now, and you should’ve quit a while ago, by that reasoning you should’ve quit on your first day. Thank you for the correction. I have to get back to work, more customers. Yeah, alright. Just watch your word choice from now on, don’t want to make a mistake like that again or you’ll just end up looking silly. I’ll keep that in mind. —————— Hey! Another. At this rate, you’re going to clear me out of whatever’s in reach. Yeah, and then you’ll have to go slightly out of your way to be able to reach drinks for other customers. I imagine that’ll end up being quite the burden. You should tell me now whether this is going to be a frequent occurrence, cause in that case I’ll make sure to order more of whatever’s in reach. I don’t expect it to be, but you never know. Yeah, you really don’t. You should try it, it’s definitely the best whiskey you have here. Have a glass with me. I’m working. Does that matter? I suppose it does. Come on, the place is hardly full. Most have moved on already. Sure, but there are some I need to serve still. Fine, suit yourself. Go off and work. I will. ———\- Another! Should I just go ahead and leave the whole bottle in your reach then? Seems like it’ll save me some of the hassle. I’m not saying that isn’t a great idea in theory, but I like it better this way. Bartender, bar patron, good service. There’s a certain romance to it that I can’t put my finger on. It’s a classic, it’s simple. No uncertainty, no questions, nothing. It’s just the way the world works. I can’t really explain it. But whatever it is, it would definitely be ruined\* by you just putting the bottle within my reach, blatantly and woefully disrespecting the natural order of things. Funny, I’d never considered bars to be natural at all. I bet there’s plenty of things you’ve yet to consider. Are they all as ridiculous as natural bars? Only the good ones. Right. I’ll tell you about some, if you’d like. There are people waiting for drinks. Well damn, you better take care of that quick! Yeah, I better. ————————— Another, right here! This is a rough place to be drunk alone. This is a perfect place to be drunk alone! Do you have a way to get home later? Oh, I’ll think I’ll manage. Wouldn’t have a drop if I didn’t. Here you go then. Thanks for just giving me whatever was in reach. Real classy of you. Thanks for expecting me to go out of my way, real demanding of you. As punishment for lazy service, you have to do a shot with me. There are other people in this bar. None of whom you’ve wronged like me! There are people waiting for drinks. Then you’d better take it quickly, you have work to do. Fine. Woh wait, hang on! We have to toast to something! What even would we toast to? How about…to right now? To this moment? You want to toast to the moment when we are toasting? Yeah, it seems oddly appropriate. Maybe to you. To right here and now! To right here and now. —————————————— Last call. Another? Do you even have to ask? Apparently not. Make it a double. Double it is. Thanks much! Time to close your tab. Sit down with me, have one drink before you have to close up. I have to… No you don’t. There’s only one table left in here, and they’ve already paid. There’s no use in you being unable to relax just because their drunken conversation is going on too long. You’re persistent. In a good way? In a persistent way. Good, I aim to be tautological whenever possible. Fine, one drink. It was a long shift, I might as well. Wonderful! I highly recommend whatever’s in reach. Somehow I thought you would. I think I’ll take you up on that offer. Somehow I thought you would. So, what’s your story? Just someone who likes a drink and some company. Not much company, you’re here alone. I’m not alone. No I guess you’re not. So what’s your story then? Already told it. I work here. There’s no more than that? How boring. Pretty much. Well since your story is so boring, let’s play a game. What game? What am I thinking of right now? Haven’t a clue. Well guess, otherwise it’s no fun. Whiskey. Nope! Guess I lost. Don’t be annoying, guess again. How you’re going to get home. Not even close! Guess again. This could go on for a while. Especially if you keep sucking. Your boyfriend. Don’t have one. How about a hint? How about a better guess? Your pet poodle. Existentialism. Whatever witty response you’re going to use next. This really isn’t your game. I wasn’t the one who suggested we play it. Oh well, I guess we should just talk about something else then. Well that’s not fair, you have to tell me what you were thinking of. Since when was that part of the rules? I assumed it was a rule from the beginning. You also assumed I was thinking about whiskey and my pet poodle. So you’re not going to tell me? No, probably not. I need more whiskey for this if I’m going to keep losing games. How convenient, losers have to take a shot. And look at that, it’s in reach. Me too please! You’ve done a decent job on this bottle. Why thank you. I might as well close your tab while I’m here. Yeah so I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. What about it? I noticed around 3 drinks in that I sort of forgot my wallet. Of course you did. Hey, to be fair it would never have been a problem if you’d remembered to card me. I would’ve noticed I didn’t have it long before ever ordering my first drink. Looks like it’s actually your fault. I don’t think it works like that. Besides, you looked 21. I’m actually 19. Fuck. 19 plus 4 years. You enjoy fucking with me, don’t you? I hope I will. As forward as that was, unfortunately that isn’t an accepted form of payment here. Don’t worry, that wasn’t how I planned on paying. And how is that? Do you like music? No I hate it. How are you paying? You hate music?! How does that even happen? I love music. I also love getting paid for drinks. Ok good. For a second there, I thought you were beyond hope. For a second there, I thought you were intentionally trying to change the subject. How many drinks was it? Half of whatever was in reach. You had some. Slightly less than half of whatever was in reach. Have a little more and then we can try and work out a deal. If every customer did this, I’d be drunk twenty minutes into my shift. If every customer did this, you’d like your job. Pass whatever’s in reach. My pleasure. Thanks. Fill me up while you’re at it. You can’t even pay for what you’ve already had. I told you we’d work out a deal over another drink. Can’t do that if I have an empty glass, now can we? Pour it yourself then. Terrible service in this place. Yeah well we don’t get paid well. So what kind of music do you like? Weren’t we supposed to be working out a deal? Fine, if you’re going to be all nagging about it. So how are you planning on paying? How about I give you the world? I don’t know what that means. What’s not to get? You gave me drinks, I’ll give you the world. What would I do with the world? Well, that’s up to you now isn’t it? I guess it would be. How do you even have the world to give? Oh I won it off of a guy a while back. I’m not much of a gambler, but he sure was. He bet the world? In a game of poker. Poor guy, never would’ve guessed I had pocket Aces. Gave me an quick three of a kind once the turn came. What’d he have? After the river, you mean? Pair of 4’s. Risky bet for a couple of 4’s. If you bet the world, you’ve gotta be ready to lose it. Was he ready? Fuck if I know, he was quite drunk. Alright, well how he’d get the world in the first place then? He mentioned it at some point. Rambling on the whole game, hand after hand he went on about the whole thing. I would’ve left the table if it weren’t for the cards being completely in my favor that night. I was sweeping the table for hours, sucking everyone dry until he was the last one, not a chip left to call his own. Why didn’t he just walk at that point? Cause he still had something left to bet. A gambling man, through and through, and who was I not to take that bet? You didn’t answer my question. Why he didn’t walk? How did he get the world? According to him, he won it in some sort of contest. I’ve never seen a contest with the world as a prize before. And that’s probably why you’re not the one with the world. Another drink? My turn for a double. So what was the contest? Oh it wasn’t anything grand or daring. Just a small contest amongst friends from the sounds of it. Something about a few bottles of bourbon and the last one still conscious. And the world was up as a prize for the winner? Each person put something into the pot to enter the contest. One guy put in $20, another offered to do a free tattoo on the winner. And someone put the world into the pot? Yup, and she ended up passing out about 4 shots in. Hence why she didn’t win, I assume. According to the gambler, she was never much of a drinker. So why’d she enter the contest? Apparently the contest was her idea to begin with. Seems like a bad idea for her to have. How so? Well, starting a drinking contest when you know you’re a lightweight seems pretty silly, let alone throwing the world into the pot. She must’ve known she couldn’t win. What’s winning got to do with it? Winning the prize, usually. But more importantly in her case, not losing the world. She wasn’t too careful with it. You’re exaggerating. It’s not like losing a contest is the end of the world or anything. Right. Anyhow, the gambling man was still casually sipping his drink while everyone else was out on the floor. If they were all passed out, how could anyone know who had actually won? Easy, he just told them the next morning. They were all terribly hungover, of course. What if he lied? Why would he do that? I would think that’s rather obvious. I disagree, and I wouldn’t know about whether he lied or not. She believed him without question. That’s how he ended up with the world, that is until I beat him with that three of a kind. Of course you did. Wanna pour me another? Wanna pour it yourself? The bottle’s right by you. I told you, that’s just not the way the world works. Who are we to go against it? You seem like the only person that potentially could if you wanted to. Just pour my drink already. As you wish. That was quite the heavy pour. I have more questions. I may have more answers. How did she get the world then? How did who? The one who lost it to the gambler. How am I supposed to know? It sounded like the gambler was quite the talker. Oh he was, but he never mentioned how she came by the world. Was there anything else he told you? Well sure, he brought up all sorts of random things Anything else about the world? He told me the story of the first one who had the world. Do tell. Or we could play another game! You could guess how the first person got the world. I’d rather not. You’re really not much fun. Fine. She made a deal with the devil for it. Hah, wrong! She was born with it. She was special. Couldn’t be more wrong! She bought it. She lied and stole and cheated and killed for it. WRONG! You’re enjoying this too much. Is it wrong to have a good time? Pass me the bottle. Fill mine while you’re at it. Fine. Guess again! I give up. You win the game. Just tell me. You lost! How sad for me. Losers have to take a shot. If I take this shot, will you tell me what the answer was? Probably. There. Now, tell me. The answer is…she found it! She found it. Yup! Where? How would I know? You’re the one telling the story. Well I never asked the gambler. She just came across it one day. How fortunate for her. Yeah, until she sold it years later. Why’d she sell it? In exchange for a good or service, I’d imagine. Helpful. And apparently the man who bought it died not too long after. From what? Someone cut his throat open. Not surprising. How is that not surprising?! He was killed for the world. Why would someone kill for the world? You wouldn’t? I already have it. I suppose you do. Sad thing is, the killer just ended up losing it a few weeks later. How’d he lose it? How anyone loses something. He forget where he left it. Of course he did. Anyway, you want it? Want what? The world, what else? I don’t know, can I pay rent with it? Don’t know, never tried. Well, how do you pay rent then? A check, usually. How silly of me. You’re weird, you know that? I’m not even sure what to say at this point. See? Weird. Alright, tell me this then. Tell you what? You have the world. What the hell are doing here? What do you mean “here”? You come in here, you sit at the bar alone. You ask for whatever is in reach, and you spend all night trying to talk to me. Why are you here? Where else would I be? I don’t have an answer to that. Well, there’s your answer then! Let’s play a game. Oh, now you want to play games! We never finished our older game. I never got a turn. Which game? What am I thinking of right now? I love that game! What’s your answer? How many guesses do I get? Three. You’re thinking of…whiskey! That was my guess, and no. Darn. Two more. Your…boyfriend. Don’t have one. Final guess. Shit. Umm…excuses to get out of this conversation? Wrong. Thank god. Here’s your shot. What? A girl once told me losers have to take a shot. A girl was right. Last shot of the bottle. I knew you’d lose. You trying to get me drunk? I’m trying to get you drunker. It’s working. One more game? We’re out of alcohol. And that was the only thing in reach. We’re fucked! There are other things to bet. What’d you have in mind? If I win, you have to let me walk you home. What a terrible thought. And what if I win? I forgive your tab. You don’t want the world? Is it a bet or not? Alright fine, it’s a bet! You choose the game. You didn’t have a game in mind already? Hadn’t thought that far ahead. Well neither had I! Alright, I’ve thought of one. What is it? A simple game. I’m ready. What do I have to do? On the count of three… Yes? We leave the world behind. Are you crazy? How would we even do that? Simple. You set it down on the bar, and we walk away. Someone will take it. Bar is empty silly. How will we determine a winner? This time, we’re a team. We will win or lose together. A team… Are you ready or not? I’m ready.


“You think he went crazy?” Most of our staff was gathered outside his door. “My god I’ve never smelled anything like this before in my life!” “Do we kick it in?” “Well there really isn’t any other way to get in, is there?” “I mean seriously. There’s gotta be a body in there or something.” “I feel like we should ask the guy one more time.” “Well it hasn’t gotten us very far yet. I bet he’s asleep.” “What do we do once we’re in?” “We take care of whatever that smell is. I hope it’s just some old food.” “Just kick the damn door in.” The crusty old door collapsed with a thud. The entire group shouldered their way in to see the mess they assumed had been made. As soon as we entered however, we were stopped dead in our tracks by the utter stench that reaked throughout the area. The man on the bed stirred awake. He turned to us and rested one elbow on his sheets, while the other arm lay limp at his side as he spoke. “Hey everybody. Where did Mary go?” He spoke in a lethargic manner due to his recent awakening. “Where did Mary go?” He looked around the room casually. “And where’s my only cigarette?” Annoyed by the lack of response, he employed a sarcastic tone. “Please think for me, I can’t bear to.” He layed back down and stared at the ceiling. He seemed unaffected by the fact that there were a dozen strangers in his room. A few more filtered in and began to search the suite for the cause of the odor. “I’ll just lie here for awhile. Wet myself. Wet my bed.” he continued to antagonize. “I’ve readied it all for her you know? Clean sheets, incense, and lots of fluffy pillows. Now soiled.” He had sat up straight now, with his legs out to the end of the bed. He stretched his back, and then he looked back at us again. “Hey, where’s my cigarette?” As we began to understand the severity of the situation we encircled him, but he still sat there unphased, as if nothing were the matter. He noticed the rest of the group that had been scouring his room, looking for any signs of life or death, and so he shouted out “Did you check the bathroom? The bathtub? She sleeps there sometimes.” He looked back at us and lowered his voice as he mockingly said “Water cleanses you know? Washes dirt away… makes new.” He began to seize in a fit of laughter. Our staff manager grabbed him by the collar of his white tee, and said “What did you do? What is all of this?” He simply continued to laugh. He tried to straighten his face as he said “Maybe she... maybe she… maybe she…” Another fit of laughter struck him rapidly. In the other room, there was a shriek. “What’s so funny?” the manager probed.


My neighbors are aliens. No, not the foreigners from Mexico or Germany but from somewhere else. Somewhere that we've never been. The Gordon family moved in next door in my junior year of college. I think I was twenty-three then. Tommy and I went over to see if we could lend a hand. That was the first time that I met Carla. Being fresh off of a break-up I didn.t believe in love at first sight until that very moment. She was a natural beauty with thick auburn hair, mesmerizing eyes and a laugh that was contagious. As we unloaded the U-Haul truck, I got the feeling that she could and would work circles around me. This being a big college town I was happy to see that the kids were all around my own age. We lived a short ten-minute drive from the gates of the state university and Saturday night was an important event in tiger-town. I worked up the courage to invite Carla out to the game on Saturday night and the pregame foodfest that we call tailgating. I had open seating with my school I.D. to allow us to sit in the student section. I liked to get to the game early to enjoy the tailgating that I thought was the best part of the evening. I was attracted to Carla because of her big brown "cow eyes". I had never seen anybody with such beautiful eyes. She was twenty-one years old, smart and funny. When I went to pick her up on Saturday, I noticed that the whole family had the same beautiful large eyes. I chalked it up to genetics and we went to join the tailgaters for the game. As we walked around the tailgating area, we sampled some of the best Cajun food that Louisiana had to offer, and it was all free. I asked her about Orius where she was from. I just thought it was some small mid=western town. She said I will tell you all about where I came from but not tonight. Tonight, I am an adopted Louisiana girl having the time of my life. I said you know we can do this every Saturday. She said that would be great. I was so excited about our standing date that I felt like the luckiest guy in the world. At halftime we made our way to our seats in the middle of the purple and gold jerseys of the student section and cheered our tigers to a decisive victory. It was a great first date. The next morning while I was trying to sleep in Tommy banged on my door. He said he was going next door to shoot some hoops and asked me if I wanted to play. No thanks I said I'm sleeping in but maybe later on around five we can start a new game. I told him to give Carla a hug for me and that I would see them later. Now Tommy who was twenty-one and in his prime was very good at basketball. He came back in a couple of hours banged on my door again, "Richard wake up, we have to talk." What I said, noticing how worn out he looked. He said "I'm pretty good at basketball, right? I always practiced and in high school they called me champ. Yes, Tommy I said, thinking his ego needed stroking, you're the best. Then he told me how Lisa, Carlas little sister, had just whooped his butt at basketball. I just laughed. No, no Tommy said! She really did outdo me today and I think she was holding back too. You know what I think Tommy, I need coffee that's what I think. Let's go down and get some coffee and a slice of pie. Mom will get her feelings hurt if we don't cut into that pie. This year flew by and before I knew it finals were right around the corner. As I stayed up cramming for my biology final Carla came over to bring me a plate of food. I took a break to eat. I couldn't help but realize how much our love had grown. Then she sat on the sofa, and I laid my head on her lap and closed my eyes. She stroked my head and said that maybe I was stressing too much. She might be right I thought. Maybe my retention problem was just a fatigue problem. I asked her to wake me in an hour. When I woke, I picked up my notes and began to read and study. Much to my surprise I seemed to have a photographic memory. I needed to test this suspicion so I grabbed a magazine and read a random article. Carla said your memory will never fail you again. It's a gift from me to you. How did you do that? I asked her. It's magic she said, and a magician never tells her secrets. She said I have another de stressor. I said that sounds good to me and I can be done studying right now. She said read your notes over just one last time and I will meet you upstairs. Before too long Carla came in and sat on a chair that I had on the side of the bed. She asked me to sit up and stare into her eyes and no matter what just keep looking into her eyes. O.K. I said because I was always going to keep an open mind but admittedly thought that this seemed odd. Just when I blinked I felt a currant run through my entire body. It entered through my eyes and traveled down and exited through the soles of my feet. It was like having sex without even touching each other. I lay there shaking. Carla said now we can do it your way. I said I don't think I can right now. Then it just fell out of my mouth. Will you marry me? Take your finals and then we will talk about it she said. I'm going home. You get some sleep and don't forget to set your alarm clock. I love you too she said. I finished the semester with my highest-grade point ever. Having aced all of my tests I decided to take the summer semester off. Carla and I both wanted to plan a trip and just enjoy the time we had together. We were upstairs one day planning our vacation when Mom and Dad told us to come downstairs to the dining room table. They said they had something for me. It's a gift Mom said. Dad said it is for all your hard work. I opened the small box and it was a wallet with my initials embossed on it. I told them thanks and I really appreciate it and I would treasure it forever. Mom laughed out loud and said "Richard, whenever someone gives you a wallet you should always look under the flap. O.K. I said and I looked and found a check. Five Thousand dollars I said. This is too much, I can't take this much money. Dad said it is not up for discussion. So, I just said thank you and gave them hugs. The next week Carla and I packed our bags and flew to Ireland. We were struck by the beauty of this enchanted place. Lush green hills with castles on top. There were pubs that we enjoyed immensely. I carried the ring in my pocket everywhere we went looking for just the right time to pop the question. On the last night of our trip when we returned to our room, I got down on one knee to ask her once again. This time with the ring in my hand, I thought it was very romantic. Carlas' answer was unexpected. She said Richard I love you, but I can't marry you. She said I have to tell you and it's not easy for me either. So, I picked myself up and just listened to her. Maybe it was only a case of cold feet. Have you ever heard that youth is wasted on the young? she began. Sure, I said. She continued. well, where I come from it is not. Orius is not a small town in Somewhere, USA. It is a planet located two galaxies away. There we are born old and age backwards. We get younger. When we reach zero days we are simply gone. Are you telling me that Lisa is your older sister, I asked. Yes, she said, Lisa is older, but she is not my sister. She is a best friend, and you Richard are the love of my life and also my best friend. Trust my judgement here Richard. In twenty years, I will be just a baby, but you will have a happy and full life ahead. And when twenty years has gone by, do not be sad for me. Think back and remember the time and love we shared and know that I lived a very long and happy life. We will be moving at the end of the month. I leave you with a heavy heart she said. I will tell you that the gifts that I have given you will always be yours to keep, along with one other gift that you don't know about yet. It's a surprise from me to you. I happen to know that you will soon find love again. When that happens give her my ring. Just one more thing when you have that little baby, do me a favor and name her Carla. the end


Derrick Martin’s shoes clicked rhythmically down the stairs of the Park Street subway entrance in downtown Boston. He knew every step, every brick out of place in every wall, he viewed the imperfections as checkpoints; this place was an extension of the office that had become his true home. He was later than usual. Hours earlier he had discreetly glanced at his watch as his clients mulled over details that didn’t need to be mulled over. He would have stopped them if he wasn’t being paid so handsomely in six-minute increments. He usually left the office around eight-thirty. Today, he reached his subway stop at ten-fifteen. He was starving, but the Dunkin Donuts that was usually bustling with customers had pulled its gates shut. In fact, the whole station seemed incredibly quiet. There were only two or three other people in sight at the other end of the underground terminal. The footsteps of his Italian Faragamo shoes echoed through the underground terminal. The grit on the tile floor sounded like sandpaper as his feet swept to a stop. His train wasn’t due for four minute so he decided to sit on the worn wooden bench facing the tracks. The streets and subways of Boston were much neater than those of New York, Chicago, and definitely LA. This was one of the reasons Derrick had decided on Boston when he uprooted his family from the home they had loved in rural North Carolina. It was simple, the money was better in the bigger city. He felt he was wasting his Ivy League law degree on the petty cases he’d been working on at his father’s firm. He felt out of place at his Yale reunions. “But, we’re happy here, the kids are happy here,” she had said. He checked his watch. He loved checking his watch because it reminded him how much he had paid for it, which in turn reminded him how successful he was. Ten-seventeen, two more minutes. He wondered if the racket coming down the stairwell only seemed loud because the subway stop was so quiet. The old shoes coming down the stairs squeaked with every other step. A ragged looking man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Don’t come this way. Don’t come this way. Derrick thought. The homeless man looked left, towards the long, dark tunnel where the train would soon appear, and right, towards Derrick. He began to shuffle towards Derrick. Derrick pulled out his iPhone and began to scroll through emails he knew he had already read. Fires he had already put out. He pulled his briefcase closer. He could feel the man looking at him. Giving in, he looked up and found the man standing directly in front of him. “Look, I don’t have any money, okay? I’m sorry. Move along.” Derrick attempted to sweep the man’s existence away with the brushing motion of his right hand. He looked back down at his emails. “Well how’s a man with no money got his ass sitting in an Armani suit?” The homeless man countered, showing a victorious grin with only a spattering of teeth. Derrick had to forfeit a smirk, it was kind of clever. “What makes you think this suit is Armani?” It was, but Derrick was curious. “What makes you think I didn’t used to own one, son?” The man quickly countered, and Derrick felt his heartbeat quicken. “I’m sorry, it’s not that…never mind. I didn’t mean to assume. Here, I think I have some change.” The man wasn’t moving. “Now Why’d you go and do that?” He asked. His patchy beard moved with the contours of his face. Bits of dried food were visible. Derrick was annoyed now. He stopped digging for change. “Why did I do what?” “Y’Got all tense when I was just tryin’na make a joke.” He began to move towards the bench, he was going to sit down. He smelled like the sewer. Derrick quickly thought of the day in the gun shop when he decided he didn’t really need a gun in Boston and walked out empty handed. “I didn’t mean to get tense. Don’t sit. I’m just trying to get home, alright?” Derrick tried to hide the nervousness in his voice and thought he had done a pretty good job. He pulled his briefcase against his side. The man laughed. “Boy, you must not be from around here.” He continued to laugh as he pushed up from the bench. He walked closely alongside the tracks away from Derrick. He was singing now. A song Derrick had never heard. Why was he so fucking happy? Derrick felt at ease as the man’s singing became more and more distant. Just then, more noise came from the long staircase the first man had come from. These footsteps were lighter, softer. “Julian! Where in the hell’d you get off to now?” It was a woman’s voice. Raspy. She was smiling as she turned the corner, as if life was some kind of joke. Her teeth were yellow, rotting. She looked much like the first man, who Derrick now realized was the Julian she was after. She was filthy, her hair was matted. The lining was falling out of the bottom corner of her stained winter coat. As she approached Derrick, he once again wrapped his arm over his briefcase. She didn’t even look in his direction. Julian was what she was after. Derrick wished the train would hurry. “Baby, come back!” She yelled after him. Julian was still singing, happy as ever. She caught up with him, wrapped her arm around his waist and began to sing along with him. Their song filled the terminal. The lights of the train began to illuminate the tunnel. Derrick checked his watch, ten-nineteen, right on time. His hair fluttered as the train pushed a wall of air into the open expanse of the terminal, he fixed it right away. The brakes screeched loudly as the long train came to a stop. Derrick got on and chose a window seat. He sat down making sure he didn’t touch the railings or the handles on the seats, no need to waste Purel. He put his briefcase on the chair next to him so that no one would sit there, even though the car was practically empty. As the train began to pull away from the Park Street stop, Derrick looked back at Julian and the woman. There they were, still singing, blissful ignorance Derrick thought. Derrick walked up to his house, his black Lexus was just where he had left it in the driveway, such a beautiful car, he thought. He wouldn’t dare drive it into the city and risk having it stolen or vandalized. He punched his randomly generated six-digit code into the panel on the door. He always scoffed at people who used their kids’ birthdays for passwords and codes. Derrick walked into the quiet, breathtaking complex he called home. He left his shoes neatly by the door. The kitchen was immaculate, almost untouched. The state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances were more for decoration now than anything. He grabbed the cold styrofoam take-out container from the top shelf of the fridge and walked upstairs. He passed his son’s room on the right, and then his daughter’s on the left, their bed frames sat in the darkness. He entered his room, and turned on his mounted plasma television. He didn’t care what was on, he needed the company. He sat at the foot of his bed and put the takeout on the floor in front of him. He sunk slowly into the custom-made, specialty fit, king-size bed he had ordered when they moved in. As he began unbuttoning his tailored dress shirt, he smirked at the idea that Julian and his filthy girlfriend would never know such luxuries.


Sylvia pushed her cart down the frozen food aisle. She was looking for the same pizza that she bought last week. Some frozen pizzas were better than others and this one had that rare combination of crisp yet chewy crust. She turned her head a fraction to study the pizzas to the left and caught a glimpse of an older woman. Sylvia didn't want to stare but she thought she recognized her. Where had she seen her before? Try as she might, she couldn't come up with an answer.  The frozen pizza was in a stack to her right. Sylvia added it to her cart and proceeded to the paper aisle. She added toilet paper and paper towels to her cart before turning to go to the checkout. Sylvia managed to contain her surprise when she noticed the same older lady. Surreptitiously, she examined the woman. She didn't have a shopping cart or even one of those baskets that you use to carry purchases. This was very odd, but Sylvia didn't have time to worry about an elderly woman.  	Grocery shopping finished, Sylvia drove to the gas station. She filled the tank and went inside to pay, but was distracted by an older woman studying the snack selection. This time Sylvia allowed herself to stare and commit the woman's appearance to memory. The lady had short, curly hair; much like Sylvia's except her hair was gray. Sylvia's hair was a rich auburn. She was the same height as Sylvia and even wore the same style shoes. Sylvia loved her clogs and evidently, the woman found them to be comfortable as well. She also wore jeans, similar to Sylvia's and a red hoodie. "We could be twins, except for the age difference," Sylvia told herself. She thought about introducing herself but she still needed to go to the bank. Besides, Sylvia was an introvert and was nervous around other people.                The bank was less crowded than usual and Sylvia found herself talking to the teller without waiting in line. She made a deposit and turned to leave, glancing at the line that had formed behind her. Another coincidence! The elderly lady was in line.                "Very odd, but she must be eighty years old and harmless," Sylvia reassured herself. She didn't think about the lady once she was home.

The next day, Sylvia met a friend at the movie theater. They were seeing a popular romantic comedy and the line was rather long.

               "Do we have time to get some popcorn and a drink?" Sylvia's friend, Tammy asked.

               "Sure, that line isn't as long," Sylvia lead the way to the refreshment stand. She could see the customers behind her in the overhead mirror and gasped. The older lady she saw yesterday was standing behind her friend.  "I said, what will you have? If you don't know step aside and let me serve the customers behind you." The teenager behind the counter was getting frustrated. Sylvia hurried to order popcorn and a bottle of water. Sylvia took her order and paid then stepped to the side while Tammy ordered popcorn and cola. Sylvia spent the next minute looking at the woman that she saw so many times the day before.                The lady wore a red sweater, identical to Sylvia's and the same pair of clogs. "Lots of people like to wear red." Sylvia didn't realize that she said it out loud until Tammy replied.                "What are you talking about? Who likes to wear red?" Tammy was wearing a blue silk shirt.  "Nothing, I was just talking to myself. I think the movie is about to start." Sylvia avoided discussing the matter, by marching into the theater. Sylvia and Tammy sat in the back and enjoyed the movie. They waited until the lights came on at the end to file out with the rest of the audience.                "She came to the same movie," Sylvia said once they were in the lobby. She noticed the lady sitting towards the front, waiting to exit.                "Who came to the same movie? Don't tell me that you were just talking to yourself; I know there is more to the story." Tammy insisted.                Sylvia explained, "There is an older lady that came to the movie."                "Really," Tammy was full of sarcasm.                Sylvia gave Tammy the details, "I saw her three times yesterday. First I saw her at the grocery store, but I didn't see her buy anything. Then I saw her at the gas station but I didn't see her buy gas. Finally, I saw her at the bank."  "Did you stay so you could see what she purchased at the store? Were you watching so you knew how much gas she bought?" Tammy cross-examined.

 Sylvia answered honestly, "No, I didn't wait around to see what she bought. I had my errands of my own, and I didn't have time to watch her."  "Sylvia, the lady probably lives in this neighborhood. Yesterday, she probably had to go to the store, get gas, and go to the bank just like the rest of us. Today she went to see a popular movie, just like hundreds of others. The theater was full. Lots of people came to this movie. You need to get out more!" Tammy gave Sylvia a perfectly logical explanation.  Sylvia looked around for the lady. She wanted to know if Tammy thought she looked familiar but the woman was nowhere in sight. "You're right. I thought she looked familiar but that's probably because she lives near me. She likely shops at the same places."                Having made her point, Tammy talked about the movie. "It was good, wasn't it? I read that it got five stars out of five."                Sylvia agreed and added," I think the leading man should get an Oscar. Let's see another movie next week."

Sylvia woke the next morning thinking about Tammy's advice. She did need to get out more often. As a copywriter, she usually worked from home so her social interaction was limited. "Today, I'll get a hammer and nail so I can hang a picture in the hallway. When I asked if I need any help, I'll make an effort to talk to the salesperson. "                As predicted a salesman asked Sylvia if she needed help as soon as she walked into the hardware store.                "He's got a gun!" A loud shout interrupted Sylvia's conversation.

               The salesclerk grabbed Sophia and threw her to the floor, landing on top of her. Sylvia was able to see the shooter when she looked from under the clerk's arm. The shooter was waving his gun hand frantically then pointed the gun towards Sylvia.                Suddenly, a lady dashed towards the shooter and tackled him. Sylvia recognized the woman because she had committed her appearance to memory. It was the older woman that she had seen around town. The gun went off. Customers screamed. The older lady started bleeding from her shoulder.                Sirens filled the air. The police came and the shooter was arrested. An ambulance took the heroic woman away. Paramedics urged Sylvia and the salesclerk to go to the hospital, just to be certain that they were alright.

When Sylvia was released she looked for the salesman. "The man that you arrived with? He's been taken to have his wrist x-rayed. Why don't you read a magazine while you wait." The nurse pointed to a stack of magazines that were crumpled and torn.                "Is it alright if I visit the lady who was shot in the shoulder?" Sylvia asked.                "She's been taken to the second floor." The nurse pointed to the elevators.

The antiseptic smell on the second floor was comparable to every hospital that Sylvia had ever visited. She wasn't sure if they would let her visit the older lady because she wasn't family and she didn't even know her name. However, the nurse at the desk gave Sylvia the room number without hesitation.  "Hello," Sylvia timidly approached the woman in the hospital bed. "I want to thank you for saving my life. The gunman was aiming at me when you intervened."                "Well. . . I was saving my own life and the life of my children." The lady replied.                "What?" Sylvia approached the bed.                "Stop! Don't come any closer."  Sylvia stopped mid-stride and gave the woman a puzzled look.                "You haven't figured it out, so I'll explain. I am you or you are me when I was younger."  Now Sylvia was puzzled. "How can that be?" She couldn't think of anything else to ask.                "Four nights ago I dreamt that I was shot. I was young as if it were fifty-five years ago. My husband left the house to get coffee and I stepped outside to wave as he backed out of the driveway. I looked around and our neighborhood looked different. The trees were smaller and the neighbors' cars were models that were made fifty or sixty years ago. I was going to call my husband but I looked at the date on my phone before I dialed. The year was fifty-five years off. Then I remembered my dream. The house where I used to live was just a few blocks away so I walked over. I thought about knocking on the door and warning you of the danger, but I realized that you, the younger me, would not believe me. I followed you around that day. The strange thing is that I was able to walk fast enough to keep up with you, even though you were driving and I was walking."                "I thought you were following me!" Sylvia was so happy to know that she wasn't imagining the older woman stalking her that she didn't even question the reason.                "I am you, only older. Come close enough to look at my eyes, but don't touch me. I don't know what would happen if we touched each other and I don't want to take that chance." The older woman opened her eyes wide so Sylvia could get a good look at the color.                Sylvia gasped, the woman's eyes were just like hers. They both had eyes that were an unusual shade of dark blue. Then the woman uncovered her left foot. She had an identical scar on her big toe. Sylvia had cut herself when she just a year old and a ragged remained.  "I found myself back in my own time when I walked out of the bank. The next day, I was back in your time so I followed you to the movie. I left the theater and found myself in my time. It has been very confusing, but there was nothing I could do. Today, the same thing happened. I walked out of my house and it was fifty-five years ago. I followed you to the hardware store and saw the crazed shooter. I rushed him and he put a bullet in my shoulder."                "That's what you meant when you said that you were saving yourself. You also mentioned children; when will I get married and who will be my husband?" Sylvia wasn't ready to believe everything her older self told her.  "Let me say this when the salesman asks you for a date you should say yes. Now you should go see if he broke his wrist when he threw you both to the floor."

The salesman was just coming into the lobby when Sophia returned to the emergency room. A wide smile split his face when he saw Sylvia. "It was just a sprain," he held up his bandaged wrist. "The doctors told me that you were fine. Did I hurt you when I threw you to the floor?"                "I don't even have a scratch. I've just been waiting to hear if you were hurt."                "Let me introduce myself. My name is Christopher and I think we should go out for lunch to celebrate our close brush with disaster."                "That would be wonderful, but first let me check on the woman who saved our lives."                Christopher gave her a puzzled look, "I don't know what you're talking about."                "I mean the lady who moved the shooter's arm and got shot in the process," Sylvia explained.  "I don't remember a woman moving the shooter's arm. I thought he tripped and the shot went wild, but I was distracted at the time. Is this woman here in the hospital? Lead the way so I can thank her," Christopher said.                When they arrived on the second floor the same nurse was at the information desk. "I don't know what you're talking about and I would never let you visit a patient unless you are a relative or close friend. You don't even know her name so you can't be very close."                "How many gunshot wounds do you get in a day. The lady was here because she had a bullet in her shoulder." Sylvia marched to the woman's room and threw open the door. Christopher and the nurse hurried to follow.

The room was empty. "She was here, I spoke to her for over half an hour," Sylvia insisted.                "Please leave or I will have to call security," The nurse told Sylvia.  "Let's get some lunch," Christopher reached for Sylvia's hand. "This morning has to have rattled both of our nerves. I think some food will help us see things more clearly."

Sylvia read everything she could about the incident in the next few days. Eyewitness accounts reported that a crazed shoot came into the hardware store waving a gun. Fortunately for all those inside, he tripped before he could get off a shot. Sylvia pushed the incident to the back of her mind.  Christopher took her to lunch again and asked her to go dancing the next Saturday. He was charming and handsome, naturally, Sylvia accepted the date.


"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Kid Quarterstaff asked. "Well, I'm trying to decrypt the directions from a secure message, using only a pencil and paper, and writing on the dashboard of tricked out RV. I'm good at math, but these are not the best conditions for trigonometric decoding," Miller's Son said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "So, no. I'm not sure if we're going the right way." "Why don't you just use the car-phone and call them?" Will Stoutly asked. "It's a secret safe house in the middle of nowhere. No phone, no internet, no electricity. Completely off the grid, Will." "So?" "So that means we can’t call, Will," Alain-a-Gale said kindly. "I would love to study your brain," Reyna Greenleaf said with a smirk. "Exponential strength. Below average intelligence." "Hey, Miller's Son is the brains," Will Stoutly said. "He solves the puzzles; I punch the bad guys." "Okay, enough talking guys. Help me look for the turn-off," Kid Quarterstaff said from the driver's seat. "It's a right turn. Either next to a big blue barn, or a split spruce tree," Miller's Son said, erasing a line of calculations and starting again. All five fell into silence as they stared out the windows of the RV into the dark winter night. The five teenagers called themselves the Merry Crusaders. None were yet old enough to become Church sponsored heroes, but that didn't stop them from doing their part to fight crime, protect their nation, and uphold the ideals of their faith. Each aspiring hero had been taken under the wing of first-generation hero, Guy of Gizbourne. The famous inventor and decorated crime-fighter had provided them with a high tech and fortified RV that acted as the team's mobile headquarters. The Merry Crusaders traveled around the United Catholicity of the Americas, helping communities that were too small to have their own Church sponsored hero. They fought against threats and criminal elements that were deemed too small or insignificant for the Church's official heroes to handle. Such problems were normally left to Peace Officers, but their resources were already stretched incredibly thin. The Merry Crusaders were glad that they could do their part to lift some of the Peace Officer Service's burden and to help out those in need. Guy of Gizbourne occasionally passed leads or missions along to the Merry Crusaders. Such was the case on this night, and the reason they were driving down an icy country road. They were on their way to give aid to another veteran hero. Members of the Vindices Catholicus of the United Americas, the premier team of Church sponsored heroes, had been escorting a witness named Ekram across the country when they'd been attacked by a group of assassins known as the Houri. The Houri had attacked Ekram's transport, drawing the heroes of the VCUA into a fierce battle. During the fray, the hero Colonel Chaplain had snuck Ekram aboard a plane. They had been on their way to the United Catholicity capital city when the Houri found them and shot down their plane. Colonel Chaplain was an expert pilot and managed to bring the plane down in the midwestern portion of the country. He rigged the plane to explode upon landing, before bailing out at the last moment with Ekram. Afterward, they had disappeared, presumably unable to contact anyone without risking the message being intercepted by the Houri. Based on the area where the plane went down, Guy of Gizbourne surmised that Colonel Chaplain had taken Ekram to an old safehouse near the crash site. Guy of Gizbourne then sent the Merry Crusaders to find the safehouse and offer whatever aid or protection they could to Ekram and Colonel Chaplain. For security reasons, Guy of Gizbourne had encrypted the message, encoding the directions to the cabin. As such, even with Miller's Son's advanced intellect, the Merry Crusaders were having trouble finding the safehouse. "Do we even know why we're going to this safehouse?" Will Stoutly asked. "Why, yes. I have managed to decode that portion of Gizbourne's message. " Miller's Son answered, happy for a break from scribbling equations on his notepad. "The VCUA has long suspected that the Ayatollah of Guinea is responsible for a major drug smuggling operation that has been flooding our country's streets with narcotics for decades. This would obviously violate the International Doctrine of Peace, but so far, the Church has been unable to prove it."

"The other Ayatollahs of the Coalition of Islamic Oligarchs deny knowledge of the operation and refuse to help investigate. Luckily, a cleric named Ekram has agreed to testify against the Ayatollah of Guinea. That is, if he survives to make it to the official hearing. The Houri aren't known for easily giving up on their targets. Once we find the safehouse, we'll need to be ready for anything." "Hooray, we get to face the Houri!" Kid Quarterstaff said with a chuckle. "This is our chance to prove ourselves to the Church. Maybe they'll make an exception and let us join the Junior-VCUA before we turn twenty." "Clever wordplay and dreams of future heroics aside, how much do we know about the Houri? What exactly are we going to be facing if we go up against them?" Reyna Greenleaf asked. "There's not much information about them in the database Gizbourne compiled for us," Miller's Son said, as he manipulated a cursor on a screen set into the center of the dashboard. "I assume that’s because not much is known about the assassins or their organization." "Can you at least give us an idea of what we can expect?" Alain-a-Gale asked. "The Houri always attack in groups," Miller's Son read off the screen. "They are a covert unit, and there's evidence that they may possess some sort of cloaking ability. Reports seem to vary as to if they have superpowers or advanced technology. There’s even some evidence to suggest the Houri are clones and each has been genetically modified." "Deadly and an affront to God. Sounds like your kind of enemy, Kid," Reyna Greenleaf said, rolling her eyes. "If we face them, I'm sure you'll be the first one I have to patch up. As usual." "I may rush into fights, but I get results," Kid Quarterstaff said with a shrug. "I won't become a renowned hero if I don't challenge myself and --" "There's a blue barn!" Will Stoutly yelled, cutting Kid Quarterstaff off. He pointed toward the windshield and asked, "Is this where we're supposed to turn." "Good eyes, Will," Miller's Son said, as Kid Quarterstaff turned the RV onto a poorly maintained dirt road. "As far as I can tell, this road dead ends. The driveway that leads to the safehouse should be the only turn off we come across. They drove along for several minutes. The tires of the RV crunched through densely packed snow that covered a road pock marked with potholes. The RV bounced along, the armor plating attached to the vehicle’s sides shaking with every pothole and dip in road’s surface. The RV's headlights lit a large swath in front of the vehicle, but the view from the side windows was obscured by deep shadow. It was hard for Alain-a-Gale, Will Stoutly, and Reyna Greenleaf to make out what they were passing. The combination of darkness and falling snow made it look like the world fell off into nothing at the sides of the road. After nearly ten minutes, Kid Quarterstaff spotted the turn off. The cabin stood perpendicular to the road, surrounded by thick woods. Kid Quarterstaff turned into the driveway and slowly pulled up in front of the cabin. Suddenly, he saw a pair of eyes staring at him. The eyes were jet black, and it was only because of their contrast to the headlight beams' reflection on the snow that he noticed them. Squinting, he could make out a figure standing in the snow a few feet in front of the RV. Kid Quarterstaff could only see a vague outline of the person, their edges seemed to shimmer in the bright light. The figure raised an arm and a dark cylindrical object slid from between their fingers. Realizing it was a gun barrel, Kid Quarterstaff acted on instinct. He pressed the accelerator to the floor and the RV shot forward, ramming into the figure, preventing them from firing and sending them sailing backward several feet. Kid Quarterstaff slammed on the brakes and the RV slid to a stop. "What the heck, man?" Will Stoutly asked, annoyed. "Tell me you saw that, Mills," Kid Quarterstaff said. "I saw it," Miller's Son replied. "I guess we know the rumors of the Houri possessing cloaking abilities are true." The Houri assassin Kid Quarterstaff had struck with the RV stepped back into the area illuminated by the headlights and began to fire at the vehicle. Seconds later, more gunfire erupted from the woods to the right, the bullets ricocheting off the reinforced panels and bullet proof windows of the RV. "Everyone out," Kid Quarterstaff said, killing the engine and opening his door. "Stay on the left side and use the RV for cover." The Merry Crusaders climbed out of the RV just as the first Houri assassin stepped around to their side of the vehicle. As the assassin fired, Will Stoutly sprinted forward. The bullet bounced off Will Stoutly's body and he acted as a shield for his friends as ran across the snowy ground. Will Stoutly reached the assassin and punched her in the face. He threw three more punches, and the Houri dodged the first two and blocked the third. The Merry Crusaders did not kill and so Will Stoutly was used to holding back his full super strength. Yet, he quickly realized that the Houri were not ordinary enemies and he would need to put more force into his punches. Blocking the Houri's counterstrikes, Will Stoutly punched her in the gut, doubling her over. Then, using close to the full extent of his strength, he brought his fist down on the back of her head, knocking her unconscious. The gunfire stopped and the Merry Crusaders heard multiple sets of footsteps crunching through the snow and moving toward their position. Unlike the other three members of the Merry Crusaders, neither Miller's Son nor Kid Quarterstaff had superpowers. Miller's Son compensated for this fact by creating gadgets that aided him in his crime fighting endeavors. Miller's Son pulled three motorized drones out of a large duffel bag and turned on their battery powered floodlights. Then he activated the drones and their spinning turbines lifted the machines into the air. The drones spread out in a wide triangle and floated ten feet over head, their floodlights illuminating the area in front of the cabin. Peeking around the sides of the RV, the Merry Crusaders could clearly see a group of eleven Houri walking toward them. Each Houri was pale white, nearly translucent. The light seemed to bend around them, rendering them practically invisible. The only feature that stood out were their jet-black pupils that seemed to fill the entirety of their eyes. Each Houri was nearly identical to the others and all were obviously female. None of them was wearing clothes, yet they seemed impervious to the cold. Five of the Houri split off and began to fire at the cabin as the other six moved toward the Merry Crusader's position behind the RV. As the Houri's bullets tore through the walls and windows of the cabin, Kid Quarterstaff took charge. "Mills, you're on containment. Alain-a-Gale, you handle the shooters. Everyone else on me. The priority is keeping the Houri from reaching the cabin." The Merry Crusaders split off and leapt into action. Miller's Son pulled out a fourth drone and sent it hovering into the air above. This drone possessed a powerful magnet that pulled the Houri's bullets toward it, rendering their guns useless. Alain-a-Gale's superpower allowed her to generate and control wind. She created a whirlwind around the five Houri with gun barrels extending from their arms. The swirling vortex of wind slammed the Houri together, pinning them within the center of the whirlwind. Miller's Son pulled a launcher out of his bag and fired a canister into the center of the whirlwind. The canister released knock-out gas and soon all five Houri had fallen unconscious. Alain-a-Gale moved closer to the cabin, in case any of the remaining Houri made it past her friends. Miller's Son grabbed several sets of handcuffs and began putting them around the wrists and ankles of the unconscious Houri. The other three Merry Crusaders ran around the side of the RV and engaged the remaining Houri. The Houri stopped their advance and each took on a defensive stance. The fingers on their left hands lengthened into talons. The index and middle fingers on their right hands split apart from their pinky and ring fingers and long blades extended from within their hands. The Merry Crusaders moved into a triangular formation, with Will Stoutly in front. He burst through the Houri's formation, creating distance between them. Then all three Merry Crusaders picked a target and engaged. Reyna Greenleaf's superpower allowed her to absorb energy. During the day, her body absorbed and stored energy from the sun. Just like a plant pulling water out of the soil, she could also drain energy from living beings, just by touching them. She could then use the stored energy to heal herself or her teammates. Reyna Greenleaf caught the clawed hand of one of the Houri and held on, slowing draining the assassin's energy. When another Houri flanked her. She leapt back, dodging the Houri's blade, and waited for an opening to place a hand on the assassin and drain her energy. Kid Quarterstaff was a master of martial arts who he specialized in fighting with pole weapons. He sprinted forward and then slid on his knees through the snow, passing between two of the Houri. As he slid past, he struck one of the Houri in the back of the knee, knocking her off her feet. He then spun around and struck the second Houri in the back of the head. Unfazed by the blow she turned around and slashed at Kid Quarterstaff with her blade. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and the Houri in front of Kid Quarterstaff crumpled to the ground. Another shot and one of the Houri Reyna Greenleaf was fighting was knocked back as a rubber bullet slammed into her chest. The Merry Crusaders quickly realized that someone was firing from inside the cabin. Will Stoutly knocked out the two Houri he was facing. Then he and Alain-a-Gale converged on the last two assassins and helped Reyna Greenleaf and Kid Quarterstaff take them out. With all of the Houri assassins defeated and restrained by handcuffs, the Merry Crusaders cautiously approached the cabin. The cabin door opened, and Colonel Chaplain stepped out. He looked over the heads of the Merry Crusaders, scanning the forest for signs of more Houri, all the while keeping his rifle at the ready. Satisfied that the coast was clear for the moment, he asked in a gruff voice, "Who are you?" "We're the Merry Crusaders," Will Stoutly said. When Colonel Chaplain only gave them a blank look, Miller's Son clarified, "Guy of Gizbourne sent us to assist you. So you know we're legit, the call sign is fruit basket." Colonel Chaplain, satisfied by Miller's Son's response, motioned to the RV with a jerk of his head. "That thing fortified and ready to roll?" "Yes, sir," Kid Quarterstaff replied. "Then climb in, and let's move out. There's bound to be more Houri on their way here," Colonel Chaplain said to the Merry Crusaders. Then he turned back toward the cabin and called, "Come on, Ekram. We're moving to a new location." Ekram, a short man of Arabic descent, quickly exited the cabin and scrambled toward the RV. He looked rattled and had obviously been shaken by the multiple attempts on his life. Alain-a-Gale offered him comfort as they climbed into the back of the RV. Colonel Chaplain took the front seat and Kid Quarterstaff got behind the wheel. Turning the RV around, the group drove back down the dirt road. When they reached the main road, Colonel Chaplain told them to head West. They drove for twelve hours straight, Kid Quarterstaff, Miller's Son, and Reyna Greenleaf all taking turns behind the wheel. Colonel Chaplain stayed in the front seat, never resting, his eyes switching between the windshield and the side mirrors as he scanned the area around them for enemies. They made it to the St. Augustonne military base without further incident. Ekram was escorted inside to await the hearing where he would give his testimony against the Ayatollah of Guinea. Colonel Chaplain thanked the Merry Crusaders for their help and the Church commended them for their exemplary service to the faith. After resting for a few days, the Merry Crusaders returned to the road, in search of their next adventure. "I'm proud of you guys. Few can say they faced off against the Houri and survived. Let alone triumphed," Kid Quarterstaff said. "I'd say we're truly on our way to becoming the kind of heroes we all dream of being one day."


Fieri walked into her room after a hard day at work. She was sick of people mistreating her. As a waitress working for a classy and expensive restaurant, it was to be expected. But she’d grown tired of it rather quickly. It was always some elderly man or teenage boy harassing her or drooling over her. She knew she was pretty, with her long dark chocolate hair curled and pinned up elegantly, and equally stunning dark eyes.

She wore glasses and thought they made her seem mature, but a lot of the female customers that came into the restaurant deemed them a pointless distraction atop her curvy tattooed body. As if they thought it was an attempt to draw the customers’ attention away from her tattoos with them. An older religious woman had come in once and refused to be seated by Fieri, claiming she was the face of sin simply because she had them. After starting her job, she tried to cover her tattoos to save the face of the restaurant she worked for. She’d even swapped to contacts. But she eventually grew tired of that, too.

She was exhausted. Mentally and physically. Fieri often worked fifty hour weeks and never had much to show for it. She’d grown disgusted by the treatment she received at work and had even begun therapy to relieve some of the stress and anger she’d built up and buried.

Her therapist had instructed her to start a journal on her phone, and after every terrible occurrence she had at work, or even at the end of every day, she was to document it and express what she felt should’ve happened, or what she wished would happen instead. The therapist had said it would be a good outlet for her, and could add some positivity in her life amidst the poor treatment. She’d even suggested a specific app. So Fieri had downloaded the journal app on her phone, but she’d never touched it. She thought it was silly, as if she were a little girl keeping a diary. She often thought to give it a try, but never actually did. Today was especially bad, though. And she decided to at least give it a chance. She opened the app and labeled a folder, “Change”. She started a fresh note in the folder and began typing:

Day 1 A woman in her mid forties poured her drink on me today because it had too much ice. She said she asked for light ice, but she didn’t and we both know she didn’t. One thing I wished could change is that people be a little more reasonable.

Fieri saved the note and closed the app. She then plugged her phone up on her nightstand to charge, took a shower, and went to bed for work the next morning.

This next work day hadn’t gone as particularly bad for Fieri, but not better, either. She’d had two notable experiences today.

One had been a family of three. And when they’d arrived, she offered the parents a booster seat for their two-year-old, but they’d declined. They had said he was advanced enough to eat without one. But their time spent at the restaurant had proved them to be wrong. The little boy spent the entirety of their meal screaming and throwing food at her every time she approached their table. The other experience had been strange. Fieri led an older woman to a table. She was perhaps in her early fifties. She’d been to the restaurant a few times, always in a foul mood. Fieri asked the woman what she’d like to drink and the woman told her. She retrieved the drink, but upon reaching the table, she bumped it slightly, spilling some of the drink onto the table, and splashing a few drops onto the woman’s shirt. Fieri panicked and immediately started apologizing in remorse for the accident. She watched the customer’s face contort into anger, then stop and completely change into something more calm.

“It’s alright, dear.” The woman had told her. “It’ll wash out.” Fieri had frozen, dumbfounded. She’d never expected such a response out of the woman. The woman had reacted reasonably to the accident, rather than demanding to see her manager or pelting her with threats. Now home, she opened the journal app on her phone and clicked the “Change” folder. Starting an additional note, she began to type: Day 2 A family of three came in. The parents had a two-year-old son and refused a booster seat. The boy spent the whole time screaming and once full; he started throwing his food at me when I tried to refill their drinks or ask if they needed anything. One thing I wished could change is bringing untrained children into higher-end restaurants such as ours. Or hire a babysitter if you want to spend the evening out, I suppose. The next day, Fieri got home feeling just as tired as usual. She plopped down tiredly on her bed, kicking her heels off lazily. She recalled a few things from her day. One worthy of documenting in her app. And the other, just strange.

An elderly man had come in, and she’d taken him to one of the few remaining booths at the back of the restaurant. He’d begun talking about his deceased wife and how lonely he was from the moment she hosted him. He took a seat, and she placed a menu down and asked for his drink order. He told her he wanted water, so she nodded and left to fill his drink. Upon returning, she placed his drink on the table. Before she could ask him what he would like to eat, he reached out and clasped her hand around his, and kissed it. The elderly man told Fieri she was too stunning to be working as a waitress, making minimum wage and that he could subsidise her easily.

Fieri retracted her hand carefully and declined respectfully. This had enraged the old man, and he blurted obscenities at her and left the restaurant in a fit. The strange occurrence had been a family of four; two parents, a toddler and a newborn. Fieri had seen them come in and had frowned, having dealt with this the day before. But she put on a smile and went to greet them. The woman was distressed and was talking to the father. ”Chad, I know you made reservations. But I really don’t think we need to be bringing the kids in here just because the babysitter canceled.” She told him. ”But you’ve been waiting all week. It’ll be alright.” The father responded. ”I just don’t want to ruin other people’s dinners, honey. It’ll be hard enough to keep them quiet. They haven’t even napped.” ”Oh, come on Sarah. It’s our anniversary.” Chad said. Fieri greeted them and offered them a booster. She watched Sarah look at Chad, pleading for an answer. But Chad’s face had completely changed. He looked Fieri in the eyes and said, “Actually, no. It looks busy here and our babysitter canceled. We’ll just reschedule. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” Sarah looked just as shocked as Fieri did, but she smiled and mouthed the word ‘sorry’ to Fieri. Then the family had rescheduled left. Sighing to herself, Fieri opened her journal app to the “Change” folder and started typing the day into it: Day 3 Today was very weird. An old man I seated flirted with me and asked if he could financially support me. I declined, of course. But he marched out of the restaurant angrily. One thing I’d change is respect. People are so openly disrespectful to not only hosts but just in general.

Fieri plugged her phone up to charge and went to shower, while puzzling about the things she put into the app and the incidents that followed. It was as if things were actually changing.

The following day, Fieri had actually had a good day, aside from the people who’d tipped only a few dollars. She decided she’d put that into the app since she didn’t have anything really terrible come out of the day. Day 4 Today wasn’t actually too bad. Just small tips. I guess one thing I’d change is that people should understand that I rely on tips as much as my hourly rate. It’s just rude to tip poorly when the waitress is consistently catering to multiple customers, and somehow doing it well. The next day, Fieri was actually excited to document her day in the app. She couldn’t explain what was happening, but she knew it had something to do with her notes app. It was like the things she typed were coming true. Today, a kind younger gentleman had made her day when he tipped her fifty dollars for doing such a splendid job. She insisted he didn’t, but the man had refused to take it back and claimed she deserved it for her hard work. He told her his girlfriend was a waitress and that he understood the struggle. A different couple had come in, however, and the girl did nothing but complain about her entire meal. About the steak not being to her liking and how the sides weren’t cooked how’d she’d specifically ask. Then she mumbled something about an allergy. Fieri had felt bad for her boyfriend. He’d sat there quietly, red with pure embarrassment. Then he’d quietly paid for the meal and tipped accordingly. She opened her journal app to the “Change” folder. Day 5 Today was splendid and slightly miserable at the same time. A young man tipped me 50 bucks! On the other hand, a young couple came in and the girl whined over everything imaginable. Her boyfriend was so embarrassed.

One thing I would change is the public decency some people have. There’s no reason to go out in public with those types of manners, let alone a classy restaurant. Fieri laid her phone down and grabbed some clothes, then routinely went to shower before heading to bed. The following morning, Fieri sat on her bed after getting dressed for work. The weekend had flown by too quickly for her. All she’d managed to do was clean and do her laundry, after being called in to work a few hours both days. She barely ever made time for herself with how much she worked. She hadn’t even had time to document anything in her journal. Fieri thought about her journal app and smiled, an idea forming. If the things she’d typed had come true, surely this would work too. She opened it up to her “Change” folder. Day 6 I’ve been called in on my days off now for several weeks in a row, and it’s exhausting me. One thing I’d change is my manager giving me days off or maybe some PTO. Fieri smiled, sure of herself. She stood and grabbed her purse and keys, ready to get to work. She was excited about the outcome her notes would bring her this time. Walking through the restaurant, Fieri smiled slightly. She was on her way to inform the cook she needed a steak to replace the one he’d prepared for an order. A woman had come in a short while ago and had ordered a steak. Upon receiving it, she had stopped Fieri to explain to her she preferred her steak to be cooked a little longer.

But she’d done so in a mannerly fashion. It had pleased Fieri, as she thought back to the note she’d written previously about manners and decency. However, she’d crossed paths with her boss a few times, without him so much as glancing her way, as if she didn’t exist. She waited until he was about to leave and caught him on his way out. ”Um, excuse me, sir? Tony?“ she asked. He turned around while digging in the pockets of his long name brand trench coat. “Yes, can I help you? I’m kind of in a hurry.” Fieri talked quickly to hold his attention. “So sir, I’ve been working a lot of overtime here recently and-“ Tony didn’t even look her in the eyes as moved to dig in the front pockets of his dress pants. “Yeah, yeah. You and everyone else, Fiery. Oh, have you seen my keys? They’re not in my pockets.“ Fieri frowned and held her tongue. Instead, she continued. “Anyway, I was thinking it would be nice to have some time off. Since I’ve not had as much time to do the things I need to do in my little spare time.” Tony sighed in frustration. “You know you’re not the only one to come in on their days off. Everyone else does too. I don’t know why you even bothered asking me such a question. I’ve got to find my keys.” He said as he brushed past Fieri, pausing for one last comment. “Oh, and don’t ask again. We need the extra help.” Fieri bit back tears as she rushed to the employee’s restroom to take a minute to recompose herself. The note she’d written hadn’t worked the way she’d thought it would. Later that night, Fieri laid in bed, still in her work attire. She had come home and flopped down on the bed, sad. She’d held her tears back all day and now she was tired of holding them back.

Her dark mascara ran down the side of her flushed cheeks. “He called me Fiery. And only two of us actually come in when called cause we’re all they have. Maybe if they hired more people…” Her voice trailed off as she sat up and wiped her face. Fieri knew it was no use. That talking about it wouldn’t make her feel any better. She laid her phone down on the nightstand without plugging it up to charge and went to take a long, hot shower.

Fieri didn’t touch her phone at all that night, didn’t even bother with the notes app. She’d simply gone to bed right after her shower. The next morning, Fieri moved slowly around the restaurant, having no motivation. It was only after she’d seated her therapist and asked for her drink order that she realized who it was. Her therapist didn’t respond as she looked Fieri in the eyes. “Fieri? Is everything alright?” Fieri snapped from her daze, ashamed. “Oh, Dr. Williams! Um, yes. Everything is fine. What would you like to drink? I think I missed your response.“ The therapist looked deep into her eyes and then clicked her tongue. “You abused the power, didn’t you?” ”I’m sorry,?” Fieri asked, confused. ”Oh, nothing. Nevermind that. How are things? With work, I mean. Has journaling helped?” Fieri frowned. “Things were okay, I guess, until they weren’t. I’ve stopped using my journal app. The one you suggested was great. I just, I don’t know.” “I see. I made that app, you know. Though, I’m glad to see you at least gave it a try. Makes me proud.” “I’m sorry, Dr. Williams. Did you say you made the app? The one you suggested to me?” Fieri said, appalled. ”That’s right. Oh, and I said a coffee would be wonderful.” She answered with a wink. Fieri couldn’t speak. Her heart was lodged in her throat and she could feel her pulse all over her body. She nodded at her therapist and fled to get her a coffee.

From a distance, she kept watch on the therapist, refilling her coffee without another spoken word between them. Fieri had somehow convinced herself that she’d heard wrong or possibly misunderstood. She told herself there was no way her therapist would lie to her about such a thing. But how had she done it? The app was almost like magic, bringing her wishes to life. While cleaning a table on the other side of the restaurant from her therapist, Fieri hadn’t noticed when Dr. Williams got up, paid, or even left.

She went to clean the table and upon lifting the napkin under the therapist’s coffee cup, Fieri found a folded twenty-dollar bill and a scribble on the back of one of Dr. Williams’ business cards. The note read: Keep journaling. Things will only get better! Fieri only smiled and tucked the note and the twenty-dollar bill away into her pocket.


I entered the main lobby of Sparrow Hospital at a near-sprint, and nearly crashed into a surly looking nurse who was stationed at the front door next to a big metal sign that read “All visitors must be screened for COVID19.” “Hold still while I take your temperature,” she said through gritted teeth. Displaying a forced smile, she rubbed the tip of a small digital thermometer against my forehead. “Thanks, now don’t forget to pick up a mask.” I followed her gaze to a box of masks which was located on a nearby table. I pulled one and put it on. “Can you tell me the fastest way to the ER?” “Yes, down the hall and to your left. You can’t miss it.” “Thanks.” I finished adjusting my mask, and started down the hallway. It had been a crazy morning so far which had started when my friend, Wendy, called me to tell me that she had been released from jail and transferred to the local ER. I knew she was going to be attending a protest in front of the state capitol, but never expected that she would be arrested. Around one o’clock in the morning,, my phone began buzzing with the text messages she was sending. “Being detained, currently in a minivan surrounded by men with guns, fml,” it read. Then, forty minutes later, “We’re pulling in front of a police station. Dunno if I’ll be able to keep my phone.” I made arrangements with work to take a half day, then worked on a project and attended an important Zoom call with a client. By eleven thirty I had wrapped up everything I needed to get done for the morning, and I left home right at twelve o’clock. I stepped through a set of double doors and found myself standing inside the waiting room for Sparrow Hospital’s ER. To my right was a window through which patients could talk to a receptionist. On the left were rows of chairs, some which ran along the wall, and one row which ran down the middle of the room. About half of the chairs were occupied, although it was hard to tell if this was due to the current load of patients or COVID19. I was getting comfortable in a chair next to a table full of dusty magazines when the door next to the receptionist’s window opened, and Wendy appeared alongside a nurse. I could see that there was a bandage on her left arm. She was scanning the room with her blue eyes as the nurse was talking to her, but before I could catch her attention she was distracted by an older couple who were stepping into the waiting room from the hallway. “Wendy, dear, are you alright?” The stout, grey-haired woman was asking her. I assumed that this must be her mother, and the dapper gentleman in the suit and tie could have been her father. Although we had known each other for nearly three months, I realized as I watched the three interact that I really didn’t know much about her family, other than she had one which included two siblings, a cat, and two dogs. I often sensed that she was reluctant to say too much about her father, and just let her share as much as she was comfortable with. I silently watched from my seat as her parents fired a multitude of questions at her, many of which she deflected with a wave of her hand or rolling of eyes. I had always appreciated her self-confidence, and willingness to speak her mind no matter what. I felt uncomfortable, as though I had crashed somebody’s party. I thought about getting up and slipping out of the waiting room. But, Wendy had called me too, and it was a whole hour long drive back to Alma. My hunch was that she was counting on me to drive her home. Finally, she spotted me. Even the mask couldn’t hide the smile that spread across her face. I recognized the creases of skin which peaked around the edges. She waved me over. “Scott, you came!” She said, reaching out and giving me a quick hug. I hugged her back, but tried to keep it as nonchalant as possible considering that every person in the room including her parents were watching. “I had to come. I’ve been worrying about you all morning,” I said, sounding far more sappy than I had intended. I motioned towards her arm. “What happened?” “It’s a cut, it only needed, like, twelve stitches,” Wendy said. “Oh my God,” her mom exclaimed. “I fell as those guys were pushing me into their van, and cut myself.” “What guys?” her dad asked. Apparently, Wendy had not shared her experiences with her parents via text like she had with me. “Policemen, Daddy,” she said. “I was arrested. Well, not arrested so much as detained for questioning. When they were done, they let me go. I asked if someone could take a look at my arm, because it hadn’t stopped bleeding.” A red haired nurse stepped to the circle we had formed around Wendy. “Here is the prescription for the antibiotics,” she said, glancing at each of us. We seemed to all take this as a signal for us to take our conversation elsewhere. Wendy’s parents followed us out into the hallway. This when her parents shifted their focus to me. “And, who are you?” her dad asked. “This is Scott McLean,” Wendy interjected. “We’ve been friends since May.” “Oh,” Her dad said, extending his hand. I accepted, and shook it. “I’m Alan, Wendy’s father of course. This is her mom, Eleanor.” “Good to meet both of you,” I said. “How did the two of you meet?” Eleanor asked. I hesitated, as I tried to think of the best way to explain how we happened to become friends. “We ran into each other at Meijer,” I said, hoping that would be enough to satisfy them. “Scott is being modest,” Wendy added. As soon as her parents weren’t looking, I began making the “cut it out” gesture in front of my throat, but it was completely in vain. “There was this guy who refused to wear a mask while he was returning bottles inside the bottle return area. I asked him to either leave or put on a mask, and he refused. Scott stood up for me.” I held my breath as I waited for her to reveal the most embarrassing part of this story. “Or, at least, he tried to. The asshole turned around and punched him in the stomach.” I winced from the memory of that evening. Her mom muttered “oh dear.” “I offered to buy him dinner as a thank you, and we’ve gone on a few more dates since then,” Wendy shared. I made a double take when I heard her reference our nights together as “dates.” I thought we were just hanging out. “Are you a student at Alma College?” Alan asked, snapping me back to the conversation. “No, Central Michigan.” I answered. “Oh, I see. What are you studying?” “I’m undecided right now, but I’m considering Communications as a major.” “He’s the co-owner of a tech support business,” Wendy said, with a wry smile. “Called ‘Nerd Corps.’” “That’s certainly . . . different.” Her dad said. We had drifted out to the hospital’s main lobby, and it was beginning to look like we were about to part ways. “Do you need a ride back home?” Her mom asked. “No, I asked Scott to drive me home. It would be too far out of your way.” It didn’t seem to bother Alan, but her mom seemed a little dejected when she answered, “Oh.” “Just drive safely, and make sure you call us when you get home,” Alan told her. He looked at me. “Good to meet you Scott.” “Thanks, likewise,” I said. We exited the hospital as a group, but her parents split off to find their vehicle. I guided Wendy towards the center of the parking lot where I had parked my blue Cobalt. “Thanks for giving me a ride home,” Wendy said. “I didn’t know who else to call.” “What happened to the friend you rode down with?” I asked. “Stacy texted me while I was in a holding cell. I told her she could go back home. There wasn’t anything she could do to help me, and I knew I was going to be there for a while.” I paused before I climbed into the car. “It all sounds so scary,” I said. “I can’t imagine what that was like.” “Not anything I”d want to do again,” she said. I fastened my seatbelt and started the car, and removed the mask I had been wearing. Wendy had already removed hers. “Are you hungry?” “Starving,” Wendy said. “I’ll buy you lunch.” “No, that’s okay.” “No, seriously...it can be my thank you for driving me home.” “You don’t need to do anything,” I said, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Wendy told me more about her experiences during our drive north. Things between the protesters and police had gotten a little heated, but it never seemed to escalate very much. The two had actually been heading back towards Stacy’s car when a van had pulled up. Four armed men dressed in army uniforms poured out of the van, grabbed Wendy and then drove away. She was taken to a city jail, processed, but never really charged for anything at all. They asked her questions and searched her purse, but didn’t find a reason to keep her. As we neared Alma, I brought up her parents for the first time since leaving Lansing. “Your parents seem nice,” I said. “Yeah, well, with the way they treat me you’d think I was still twelve.” “I’m sure my parents wouldn’t drive three hours to come see me in the hospital,” I admitted. “And, if they did, it would be to also lecture me on all of the things I’m doing wrong.” “Don’t worry, I’ll hear a comment or two about being arrested the next time I’m home. Probably over Christmas dinner. ‘Uncle Frank, please pass the cranberries and also were you aware that our twenty-year-old daughter is a convict?’” She chuckled. “Seriously, though, I know mom and dad love me, but sometimes they look at me like I’m Peter Pan, or something.” “You’re definitely not Peter Pan,” I said. She turned to me and scowled. “Really? Who do I remind you of?” “Hermione, minus the frizzy hair.” “I was always partial to Ginny,” Wendy said wistfully. “Only with brown instead of ginger hair.” I pulled off of the expressway, and turned left towards Alma. “Does that make me Ron Weasley?” I asked. Wendy was quiet as she thought for a bit. She looked away from me, out her window. When she faced me, I could see that she was blushing. “No, if I was Ginny, you’d have to be Harry Potter.” “And why?” I thought she might say it was because I was too short, or not smart enough.. “Because Ginny and Ronald are brother and sister, silly.” She said, adding quickly, “I hoped we could be more than that.” It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon, and my stomach was growling so loudly that I was pretty sure that Wendy could hear it. As we cruised down Alma’s business section towards Wendy’s apartment, I thought back to our conversation about Harry Potter. I had only invited Wendy to ride with me to the nature preserve because I had such a good time eating dinner with her that day I got punched in the gut. And, almost everybody had gone home for the summer, so I didn’t have very many other people who I could ask. But, my first impressions of her were that she was strong, compassionate, smart, and funny. I started to appreciate these traits of hers even more when we went on our walk, and now during a drive that should have felt stressful she helped me to feel more at ease, just by having her seated next to me in my car. “Do you want to pick up food from Applebee’s and bring it back to my place?” Wendy asked.

“Sounds good.” I made a left hand turn into the restaurant’s parking lot and pulled into a parking lot. It looked open, but there was a big sign which announced that they were accepting take out orders only. Not a surprise. Wendy pulled up her Applebee’s app, and we placed an order. It was while we were waiting for our order that Wendy’s cell phone rang. She picked it up to answer it and, while I could only hear her responses and bits of words from the other end, it became clear after a while that she was receiving some bad news. She hung up her phone and clutched it firmly against her chest. I waited for her to say something, but she remained silent. Tears dribbled down her cheek. “What’s wrong?” I asked. She looked at me. “That was a nurse at Sparrow hospital. One of the protesters that were detained last night was diagnosed this morning with COVID19. She said I need to quarantine myself for fourteen days, and watch for any symptoms of COVID.” “Oh, I’m sure it’s just a precaution,” I said. “Everybody was probably wearing masks, so there’s a chance you didn’t catch it.” “Yes, but I was with my mom and dad, and I’ve been spending time with you.” “Your mom and dad wore masks,” I pointed out. She looked up at me with wide eyes, then glanced at the mask I had taken off before we left Lansing. “If I have to go into quarantine, it’s not a big deal,” I pointed out. “I work from home anyways.” “That’s the other thing,” Wendy said.”I can’t quarantine inside my apartment, because I’d be contaminating the apartment.” I thought for a bit. It seemed pretty obvious that the best solution was for her to stay with me, so we could quarantine together. Besides, there was no way that I would let her quarantine alone. I was about to tell her when a notification popped up on her phone saying that our food was ready. “Listen,” I said. “How about if we swing by your place to pick up some of your things, and you could stay with me for the couple of weeks?” “No, Scott, I couldn’t--” “It makes total sense, Wendy,” I insisted. “We’ve both been exposed, and we can ride this out together. It keeps your roommate safe, and if anything happens we can take care of each other.” “Well . . .” “Please,” I said. “Think about it until I get back with the food.” When I returned with our order, Wendy told me that she thought my idea was a good one. “If it becomes too much of a bother, I could always move back in with my parents for the remaining days,” she said. “We can hold on to that as an option, but I doubt it’ll come to that,” I said, then smiled. We stopped by Wendy’s apartment. She texted her roommate, Carolyn, with a list of the things that she would need, and then I went inside to help pack and then carry everything out to the car. Wendy stayed in the car to avoid contaminating anybody. I drove the rest of the way to my apartment in Shepherd, and then we ate our dinner. I gave Wendy a quick tour of the one bathroom, two bedroom apartment before I carried her things inside. Wendy called her parents from the kitchen to let them know that she had made it home safely. She didn’t mention anything about being in quarantine, or temporarily moving in with me. When I asked her about it, she shrugged it off. “There’s no need for them to worry if I don’t get sick,” she said. “And, the rest is none of their business.” Next, she called her manager at Meijer to let them know. They asked a lot of questions, but seemed appreciative of the head’s up. Always the gentleman, I offered to sleep on the couch so that she could have the bed, but she insisted on taking the couch instead. I knew that it wasn’t going to be worth my trouble to change her mind. The first four days were pretty uneventful. Even when I was in my office working, I was comforted by the idea that she was somewhere in the apartment with me. Then, on the fifth day she developed a persistent cough, and definitely had less energy. She was eating less, and complained once or twice that the spaghetti I made tasted weird. She was sleeping a lot, and on Sunday she developed breathing problems. I called 911, and then I called her parents after she had been admitted to the hospital in Alma. Tears running down my cheek, I listened to doctors as they told Wendy that she had tested positive for COVID19. I stayed at the hospital until her parents arrived before I headed backt o my apartment. It occurred to me that I was still under quarantine for another six days, only now I’d be totally by myself. I thought a lot about that day when we met. I did want to support Wendy, but only because that guy was a douchebag, and I really just wanted to take back my empty bottles so I could go back home. It was only a coincidence that Wendy was also kind and attractive, or at least that was what I had repeated to myself for days after that happened. Thinking about Wendy laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a ventilator, I realized that I might have discovered too late that our friendship was the beginning of something that could be really special and long lasting.


(IP) The Door to Doom  The windows of the ancient, crumbling castles were aglow with light and life, and it brought the boy to a halt. All these years, he’d been told that the stories he was so fond of chasing were just that: pretty stories told to children at bedtime. But he was standing right here, the proof right before his eyes.  The buildings felt haunted to the explorer, and for a moment, just one, he was rooted to the spot, unsure on whether or not to go in. But he could almost hear his ancestors’ voices on the wind, urging him on. After all, he hadn’t come all this way just to turn tail and run home. Despite his unease, he went forward, and he held the reins of his mare, making soothing noises. She followed him, nickering nervously.  What secrets hid within these ancient dwellings? It was so odd to see them in real time, instead of illustrations or photographs in books. A cold wind brushed across his face, making his horse’s mane ruffle. It felt like an omen, a portent of what was to come. He raised his head and he could’ve sworn he heard faint music.  Were there people inside? Even now, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He could feel eyes on him, and it made it hard to breathe. He tied his horse’s reins to the remnants of an iron gate, and he reached into the pocket of his tunic, reassuring himself that his weapons were still there.  Despite the fear he felt, his curiosity was that much stronger, even if it meant risking his life.  \*\*  He ducked inside the first entrance he saw, and he bit back a gasp. It appeared that he’d stumbled upon what used to be the castle’s armory, there were weapons still within their sheaths, and somehow, they weren’t rusted or corroded. In fact, they looked freshly sharpened. That creeping feeling of unease reared its ugly head again, and he spun around, certain that there was someone or something behind him. For a moment, his imagination conjured endless possibilities: a restless spirit, a vicious, angry banshee, a winged beast who would rip his heart out of his chest--  But he could hear the music, as well as a soft voice, somehow male and female, ancient and childlike.  “Do you know what you’ve stumbled upon, boy?” The voice asked, its voice booming in the cavernous room. “If you break the seal, it will mean doom for us all!”  “What seal?” The explorer asked, and the voice sighed, stirring his hair with the breeze it created.  “It is a long story, boy. It would take an age for me to tell it all.”  To the explorer, the voice sounded tired, annoyed, but cultured, as if the spirit had been a noble when it was alive.  “But you mustn’t break it, or it would mean doom for not just this old kingdom, but the entire land. You’re lucky it was I who came across you, and not any of my brothers and sisters.”  “But why?”  “Because, you dear, foolish human boy, they would kill you.