Cold winter’s night; in a “Castle Rock,” known Haunted Castle as Whispering Falls.

All you can hear is the whistling of the trees, and the sounds of the low growling but also the soft betting of drums… I was about to settle down for the night when at that moment, in the living room, there was the sound of a crash, it broke the silence, but before I looked someone was looking down upon me and then it was gone. The lights flicked, well I was walking down the hallway, the halls were little chilly, as soon as I reached my room, I needed to put more wood in the fireplace and rolling down the covers something was chilling through my bones! I knew what that meant “I was not Alone?” trying to ignore it, the phone rang! My voice was shaking as I was trying to find the words to say, {Hello}, listening for a while, there was a crackle and then the phone went dead. Putting that all aside, shutting my eyes, finely falling asleep, was quickly woken by scratching sounds and now sitting straight up piercing into darkness shadows started appearing? Standing right in front of me was a door to another realm! Confused but also interested my mind is very curious... Putting my hand around the doorknob, my heart beats rabidly, to having sweet dripping down and walking through a wave of mysterious hit me hard. Dark figures started appearing, a hush fills the air as I go forward a cloud suddenly appears? Then I was sitting back in little cabin in Transylvanian, adding more wood to the fire, you see I never thought I belonged here, and I never claimed to human! According to this website; https://www.history.com/topics/folklore/vampire-history Vlad Dracul was born in Transylvania, Romania. He ruled Wallachia, Romania, off and on from 1456-1462. Some historians describe him as a just—yet brutally cruel—ruler who valiantly fought off the Ottoman Empire. So, do vampires really exist? Throughout this site, I have tried to explain exactly what the modern vampire is (and what it is not) but remember that there are different descriptions of various "vampiric" or vampire-like creatures throughout mythologies around the world . While we struggle to produce a fixed definition of what a vampire is, we may be leaving out various mysterious and unexplainable creatures around the world that have fed into vampire mythology. At the same time, it is exactly the fact that every culture around the world has independently identified vampire creatures that makes us ask the question - do vampires really exist? Slowly waking up realizing it is morning, that was one weird dream and now I walk down the stairs to the kitchen to start my daily routine with coffee. While I was waiting for the kettle to boil, I started drifting off to sleep, in a foggy state I was seeing shadows of “Creatures” from the forgotten realms! Slowly getting to my feet, I heard the whistle from the kettle and then was shaken when the phone rang. The voice on the other end in a thick accent said {Get Out!} Have you ever had a dream within a dream? That is what is going on here! In Transylvania, I took my coffee, and started walking around the grounds. Transylvania; https://www.britannica.com/summary/Transylvania https://www.transylvaniacounty.org/our-history The history of this place really speaks to me!

I know that I am only a visitor, but I wish this were my home! Okay, back to reality, it started feeling chilly so back to the study and attending to the fireplace. Getting up to see what that nose was, a dark figure appeared out of nowhere! Leading me out of the study room on searching for where that nose came from. Then I was woken up to see that others were looking at in shock to see that I was changed to a “Creature of the Night!” Now I was woken again seeing that I am just as I was when I went to bed. What is going on here? If this a dream, what am I to learn! Surrounded by vampires, flicking lights, walking down a deep damp staircase, surrounded by a coven and the leader of the pack speaking softly {welcome lost Child!} Thunder and lightning made a crash I woke to being in my own home in Spirit Falls. Startled, from a dream or a nightmare, that is the question? Well since it is evening time, checking on the fire, I decided to make a cup of coffee, in doing so it felt like someone or something was around me and a chill came over me. Guess you could it was a premonition, oh right I should share with you little background on myself you see I never said, “I was Human!” I felt that I did not belong on this planet! {I not saying that I am an alien ! Just I was in a word Different .} New Chapter in my life. Archangel Raziel’s name translates into “Secrets of God.” Raziel is known as the angel of mysteries. Raziel reveals holy secrets when God gives him permission to do so. Many believe that Raziel reveals the divine wisdom that is contained in ancient scriptures. People sometimes ask for Raziel’s help to hear God’s guidance more clearly, gain deeper spiritual insights, and understand esoteric information. {Raziel’s name means “Secret of God” because he works so closely with the Creator that he knows all the secrets of the Universe and how it operates. It is said that Raziel can help you understand esoteric material, manifestation principles, sacred geometry, quantum physics, and other forms of high-level information. He can also open you up to higher levels of psychic abilities and increase your ability to see, hear, know, and feel Divine guidance. Raziel is very loving, kind, and intelligent. His presence can seem subtle, but as you invoke him over time, you will become aware of his positive influence in your spiritual practices.} “Raven-Wolf,” I was known to have had long Firey-blue/green hair, porcelain white skin, dark purple eyes, graceful, and to have appeared cold, aloof, and imperious. When outsiders and other non-dark elves first met me for the first time was in a word weird. Whispers, hush words are spoken behind locked doors and now I am considered an outsider or in other words a lone wolf! Leaving the town, just to think I wandered so far into the forest, had to be around 4pm in the evening and the further I went into the forest the creeper it became. Walking the streets alone, I come across a group of individuals, like “a mage {Raistlin}, minitour {Taz}, druid {Gold-Moon}, thief {Tasslehoff} and warrior {Kitiara!} Leaving the town, just to think I wandered so far into the forest, had to be around 4pm in the evening and the further I went into the forest the creeper it became. I only knew their names through working at a little inn off the seashore and just what the rumors that were shared throughout the town! As I arrived at a little creak to take a drink of water, {Raistlin} walked up behind me and said, “Excuse me, but can I ask what you think you're doing here?” I just had to get away from the rubbish that was being exchanged in my name and the false statements about me! Camp was already set up, when I finished getting my fill of water, it was super time and I asked if they could spare a little for someone who is taking the next chapter in my life! Sitting by the campfire, talking about life in general, it was my time to share, I shared enough to turn in for the night and I was the last to fall asleep. In the dream state, I found myself wandering around what looked like a grave site, and then the scenery changed once again. To someone, or something was lurking around the campsite, and it was so foggy on the ground that I was falling. Some would say that if you fall while sleeping and hit the ground you die! Again, the scenery changed once more to me settling down by the firepit, calling out someone's name and then I was woken by “Raistlin” saying are you okay? I found myself “ time traveling ,” to the year 2227–2247: Pluto will be closer to the Sun than Neptune for the first time since the year 1999. It was like the forgotten realms in the darkest wooded area and full of dark elves running wild. I was explaining to “Raistlin” that I am from the {Elves, Bloodline,} and some would say I am running away from the lies!

In conclusion, I am sitting in cabin in “Spirit Falls,” drafting this little novel from an old memory, or a flashback that I was here before and now I end my life story by saying {You can choose to believe me or not ?} It was the summer of 2023, sitting on the beach side, sun blaming upon my skin and a cool breeze an old friend blocked the sun. Saying “hello Raven-Moon,” funny seeing you back in old {KRYNN!} Oh hi, “Raistlin,” how have you been? since we last met you were in {Sorcery School?} Raistlin said, “doing very well, past on the Honer roll ," and how have you been since were banished ! Laughing, guess were rebels!

Catching up on old times, so have you heard from the others? Answering no , we just live our lives heathy and incredibly happy. Something in his voice was not convincing. Well, I must go, {Raistlin} said. Places go, people to see all that good stuff. Parting ways, I went in because it was going on in the evening, and the chill in the air was settling because a storm was brewing.


It’s been a long few weeks. I’ve been a writer for as long as I can remember, well a wannabe writer that is. I promised my wife when we got married I’d pursue my dream of writing. She’s always had faith in me. She was never afraid to pursue dreams, even if it wasn’t always the most practical of things to do. I grew up listening to The Beatles and much like Paul said: I wanna be a paperback writer. The thrill of getting something published sounded amazing to me, but I guess I’ve never been very good. Well, I guess a lot has changed since the day we got married though. I haven’t followed through with my promise yet, so today seems as good a day as any. I’ve been working at this small manufacturing plant for a few years now. The pay is decent but the monotony of it is excruciating. I work a conveyor line. Much like the monotony of my job, my life feels the same way, more-so now than ever. These past few weeks I’ve felt like my body is on a conveyor belt. I feel like I’ve just been dragged from one thing to the next with no end in sight. I haven’t had a chance to even think about what’s actually going on in my life, I just keep moving. Well, like any other day, today was no different. I had just gotten home from a really long day at work. My wife wasn’t home, I really wish she was ‘cause today just sucked. Things just hit a little different today. I never did live much a life of luxury. Anyone who says living in New York is amazing clearly never lived in these tiny little run down apartments. Not that I’m complaining, honestly of all the things in my life right now, my crappy little single bedroom apartment isn’t even close to the top of the list, though I could stand to see less of the medical bills on the table but what are you gonna do? Honestly, There’s not much in this house that I do care about aside from a picture in my kitchen of my wife and I together on our honeymoon. We were both smiling in it. Funny, I haven't smiled much since that day. I’ve found myself trying to read a lot more than usual lately. I find it therapeutic to the mind, not to mention it gets me into the creative thoughts mood. . I’ve been experiencing a bit of an extended writer’s block for the past year or so and just couldn’t find the inspiration to start writing until recently. I just wish I knew what I wanted to write about. I’ve been sitting at my computer every day trying to just start typing but nothing comes out. I’ve been trying to figure out where to start. I’ve had this urge… this hunger to write but just can’t think of what to say. I’ve always prided myself on the fact that words came so easy to me. Not today though. Nothing’s been coming easy today. ‘Well, here goes nothing’ I say to myself again, sitting at the kitchen table, my laptop open to a blank MS Word page. My hands lay on the keyboard but nothing comes. My fingers remain motionless as the screen stays blank. The silence is deafening. ‘Write’ I tell myself again. Nothing changes. My mind begins to focus on the humming of the refrigerator. The buzzing makes me forget everything going on in the world as I blankly stare at my laptop forgetting what I was doing. “You’ve been so negative lately. Maybe you should try to write something a little more positive.” a voice came seemingly out of nowhere. "How the hell can I write something positive when there's nothing good in my life" I continued to stare at my screen, catching a glimmer of my wifes reflection in my computer screen. "I mean look at me, I live in a shit hole, the bills are starting to pile up… What do you want from me!?!" I snapped, my hand balls into a fist, slamming onto the table. “Well there’s always me isn’t there?” She says but I abruptly cut her off. “Don’t even get me started” my eyes roll “You know I’m always here for you. Whether you like it or not…” She says. I can see her smile from the reflection in my computer as she attempts to comfort me. But it doesn’t work.“You’re quite the comedian.” I chuckle a little and begin to type ‘She’s always there for me no matter what.’ “There ya go” I say. “Is that something happy and positive enough for you?” "It's not about me, is it happy for you?" Her voice gets louder. I can't tell if it's because she's moving closer to me or just getting more passionate about the topic. “It is… errr it would be if it were true. Unfortunately you and I both know that it’s not.” “YOU KNOW I’M SORRY” her voice grows, echoing through our house, I’m surprised the neighbors don’t hear it. “You know I would be! You know I WANT to be. It’s not like I Chose…” “I KNOW” I cut her off matching her volume as my hands slam on the table again. A tear slowly begins to flow down the side of my cheek, and I calm my tone. “I know. But none the less you did. And that’s just something I have to live with.” I haven’t turned away from my computer screen yet. I can’t bear to look behind me. Her hand reaches out to touch my shoulder. How I’ve desperately wanted to feel her warmth today “I’m sorry” she says. “I really truly am sorry. I want to be here for you.” “Yeah, me too” I let up on holding it in, as my sobs now become vocal. The sound grows as it can be heard throughout the complex. There's been a lot of crying coming from my apartment lately. The neighbors are probably going crazy with all the fights we've had this week. It's weird, we never fight, in fact our minds have always been so well connected. We knew everything about one another, and always seemed like those cliched perfect T.V. couples. It always seemed like the two of us were perfect for eachother, so why now? Why can't I write something positive like she's always wanted me to do? ‘'The future is not set by the pains of the past' I type exhaling heavily as I do. “How's that for a start? That can be positive right?” I say. My tears stop but my head lowers as I regain my breath. I remove my hands from my keyboard and place it on my shoulder where I felt her touch but nothing’s there. I go back to listening to the buzzing of the refrigerator as I start to remember where I am. I sigh “I Miss you” I say as my tears begin to flow again.


Where I come from, strippers are prostitutes; dirty women who are all addicted to drugs and love easy money. No one in my family would have ever associated me as one. They think strippers might have a disease or worse try stealing your man. Pretty Silly. Little did they know, they had a family member who worked as a stripper. They would never understand the amount of pain that was endured during every shift. Working at a strip club was agonizing but paid for my survival. If they ever found out, I would no longer have a family to reach out to. My family is very judgmental about certain topics. According to them, strippers are the lowest of the low. Women who worked to support themselves and their families? No, dirty women who would do anything for money. Hearing family members and friends speaking with so much disgust about strippers hurt me profoundly. It is easy to judge someone without knowing their entire story. My family's religious beliefs prevent them from being empathetic while my friends just thought those women are whores.

I quickly realized my job title would define me in front of the world. It would represent my values in life. It was a label I wasn't willing to admit to. I faced personal inner conflict and tried not to allow the negative labels to define me. However, during moments of great sadness, I accepted a brutal reality. Slowly, religious beliefs developed at a young age became compromised. Stripping became a part of my life and contradicted the ideologies I was supposed to live by. This became a moral dilemma that would eventually consume me with guilt. For the first three months, crying every night after work feeling worthless became my self-destructive pattern. It was challenging to show up to the club and perform a show. Makeup became a mask hiding my pain.

Growing up with eczema breakouts along with being bullied all my childhood already accustomed me to dealing with pain. I built up tolerance but this was completely different. Exploitation is dehumanizing and traumatizing. I was exposing the most intimate parts of my body and offering it up like products. According to the Bible my body was my temple not a sexual object but now it was displayed in front of men like merchandise. All my body's imperfections are on display to be judged, or admired in this case. In an environment like this, my body was my only source of income. It put a lot of pressure on me physically and emotionally.

I attended college in simple clothes during the day. During the night my face was full of glitter, wearing a revealing bikini and trying to appear happy while repeating the same question all night long; “Would you like a dance?” There will never be a rich young girl stripping. Why? Answer is simple: no woman wants to be groped by hundreds of men a night for a living. The amount of shame that comes with that label alone is enough to have to find a way to hide it from society. Having strangers too close to me was more than just uncomfortable but violating. It's just a living nightmare. Some men smell like the sewer. Every dance I would just close my eyes and pray for it to end but sometimes giving a dance was more complicated than I had anticipated. Being alone with a strange man under those circumstances was incredibly volatile. For the “nicer” customers, when they crossed the line, I could tell them stop and that was that. However, some men would get really aggressive and they either didn’t realize how inappropriate it was or didn’t care. They saw an object unworthy of their respect. Taking their penis out, shoving their fingers inside me and rag dolling me were things they expected me to be OK with.

Working at a strip club shows you the dark sides of men. Consent goes out the window in their minds. Learning to trust men after numerous alarming experiences takes a long time. My therapist said something I’ll never forget. You were in an over-sexualized environment. Does that excuse their animalistic behavior? No.

So why stay? Why would a young woman endure so much pain? Maybe lack of opportunities but mostly financial strain. Or maybe you start to feel like there’s nothing else for you to do. You never get used to it and yet you believe it becomes all you're capable of. My shift would end and I could push my body out the door by mentally I could never escape. It became somewhat of a paradox. The most vile place in my life became a source of monetary security I wasn’t prepared to give up. The anguish from this place put suicidal thoughts in my head and still I struggled for years to leave. Rinsing my body with scorching hot water trying to burn off the filth that I would collect throughout the night was the ending to every terrible shift. This became a routine despite the pain caused by hot water for a person suffering from eczema. Under no other circumstances, then or now, would a person who suffers from this type of severe skin disorder mutilate their body this way. Someone with eczema showering with hot water would get red, dry, scaly skin causing a lot of itching which would lead to open wounds.

Soon depression would take over. Life felt like it had no meaning. After being seen and treated as a sex object it took a toll on my psyche. The only reason I would get out of my soft comfortable bed was to walk my dog. He was my only source of light. I could not vent to anyone about the disturbing customers I had to deal with. My inner peace was gone. After being followed home and stalked frequently. I learned to always look at the rearview mirror to make sure it is safe to go home. There's a reason for stage names. My stage name was Emily. Believe it or not it is a form of protection. Obsessive customers would try to figure out where I lived and what college I attended. There's no guide on how to deal with psychological trauma stripping would cause not to mention trying to manage a romantic relationship without telling my boyfriend the truth.

I became a great professional liar, until the man I was dating said let me visit you at work. Those were terrifying words for me to hear from my boyfriend. There was always a risk when dating. Once he knew his dream girl was a stripper on the weekends, my relationship status instantly became single. It is a dark secret that must be hidden from everyone. No one could know. There is a stigma that the label carries with it. That's where the plan of living a double life comes into play. Living a double life might seem fun in the movies but my reality was quite different. The movies tend to glorify everything. My double life was extremely draining. Lying to everyone I knew was difficult; trying to hide the heels/outfits that took up so much space in the trunk of my car, trying to hide the single dollar bills. The hard part was lying to my mom who is my world. It's a very isolating world full of stigma. There was always one question that made me extremely nervous. No matter what occasion or setting it was, it was always asked. “So, where do you WORK?’’ Even though I don't sweat because of my eczema, this question made me sweat, my heart beat fast, and turned my face pale like a ghost. The lies would just roll off my tongue as if my life depended on it. After meeting strippers from all walks of life, I realized something. Each one was unique, but we all had one thing in common; the inner conflict we were battling while performing a job that destroys us psychologically, a job with a lot of monetary benefits but a lifetime of devastating psychological effects. My advice is to save, save, and walk away. Everyone has a past. Unfortunately, my mind hasn’t healed completely from my jaded past. My wounds are still healing. By sharing my story, I hope people have a different perspective on strippers. Hopefully, this could help minimize the stigma around the label.


Aug 1995 Hi Dad, Mom told me we are going somewhere. She didn’t look happy like before. I think she is tired. She dressed me up and was mad because I was dressing up slow. When I was dressed, Mom put me in the back seat with some boxes. My toys are sticking out of the boxes beside me and I see some of the pots and pans are inside the box too. There’s a lot more boxes in the back with different stuff like Christmas decorations and other home stuff. Are we moving? Will the house be nice like this house? Are we going to have a swimming pool in our new house?? Can we let the fishes swim in our swimming pool? How come TJ is in the front seat? He always sits beside me and mom sits in front with you. When will I get to sit in the front seat? Mom is taking so long to get ready for our trip. Why is she bringing more boxes to the car? I’m getting squished with all the boxes beside me! It’s not fair that TJ gets to sit in front. Mom is making the car go backwards now. Dad, do you know where the bike and the jeep is? It’s not here in the car or in the garage. How come the other car is gone? I saw the car was outside of the house when mom put me in the backseat. Where are you dad? Did you bring the fish tank and the fishes with you? I don’t want them to be left behind. How come you’re not in the car with us? Where are you? I only see TJ’s, Mom’s, and my stuff in the car.


“That’s the thing about this city.”

Two Years Earlier Andrew Maye smiled as he stared out of the bus window at every attraction that the city of Fantasy had to offer. The children, treated like adults. The trees, completely naked even though it was Spring. Andrew didn’t see a single frown the whole way to his hotel. Andrew stopped and exhaled calmly in front of his room door when he arrived. A maid helped him unload his bags as she opened the door for him. “This place is amazing,” Andrew said. “How can y’all live here? This is such a vacation spot.” “All tourists say the same thing. Then they end up coming back to live here.”  “I don’t blame them.”  "Tea? It’s our city’s favorite drink.”  “Sure.” Andrew reached for the cup of tea and smiled before he took a drink. His pupils widened and everything he imagined was happening right in front of him like a hallucination. Andrew’s heart sped up for a few minutes and he heard whispering voices in his brain. They were repeating his own thoughts back to him over and over. “Everything alright?” His temporary high had been blown after hearing the maid's voice.  “Where does this tea come from?”  “From here. This is the only place on Earth where you can find original Fantasy tea.”  “I’d like to be left alone for the afternoon.”  “Yes, sir.”  “Where else I can get this?”  “We have some hot tea brewing in your room and some bottled ones in the fridge."  “Thank you.”  Andrew shut his room door as fast as he could. He didn’t even get a chance to look around the room before running over to the refrigerator for a bottle of Fantasy tea. The Next Day “Hello?,” a man’s voice said. “Mr. Maye? Are you in there?” “Hello?” Andrew responded. “Who is that?”  “This Is Fo, your personal tour guide.” “Shoot,” Andrew mumbled. “I’m coming out in a sec.”

“And this is where the first school was built. I wish I had a chance to go there.”  “What’s so special about it?”  “The best doctors and lawyers went to this school. Rumor has it they closed it to prevent everyone from having the same level of education.” “Not to interrupt this boring tour, but I didn’t come to France to see some school that’s been turned into a museum.”  “What would you like to see? I will take you to go see it.”  “Right now I just need some Fantasy tea. Can you show me where to get that?”  “Yes, sir. Right this way.” Fo led Andrew to the first shop he’d ever seen that served more tea than coffee. “Here we are, sir.”  “Thank you. I’m going to have my drink alone. We can pick the tour back up later.”  “Yes, sir.” Fo bowed before walking away. Andrew decided to sit outside since it was such a nice day out. He looked up and saw a woman staring at him. He thought it was just a coincidence and looked away. He looked up again and she was gone. Andrew scrolled through phone when a child ran over to his table and knocked his tea out of his hand as she slammed her hands down on the table.  “Please, make it stop. Stop!”  “What is wrong with you, demoness?”  “Make it stop.”  “Rebecca!” A woman yelled angrily. She walked over to the table and grabbed Rebecca by her arm, snatching her away. “I’m so sorry,” the woman said to Andrew. “Here’s some money for your tea. My daughter gets out of hand sometimes.” “I see.” Rebecca kicked and screamed. “Don’t let her take me away. She’s not my mom. You have to help me.”

 “People,” Andrew murmured before rolling his eyes. His waitress walked over to the table and smiled as she picked up his menu. “Have you made a decision yet?”  “Um ... yes. I’m sorry, I actually had a question.”  “Yes?”  “The pasta salad, how is it?”  “The best you’ll ever taste.” “Excellent. What’s, where’s ...?”  “You seem a little jumpy. Is everything alright?”  “Where’s my waitress, the other lady?”  “What lady?”  “She was slim with dark brown hair. Her pants were blue and she looked like a younger girl.”  “We don’t have anyone here like that.”  “Yes, you do. I was just talking to her.”  “What were you talking about? I could probably answer any questions you have.”  “No, it was a personal conversation. Thanks anyway.”  “I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”  “It’s okay. I’ll have the bouillabaisse.”  “And a refill on your tea?”  “Absolutely.”

Andrew had no idea how he wounded up at a table in a casino when he opened his eyes. He had stacks of poker chips in front of him and the sound of the dice hitting the side of the table is what brought him to reality. “Whoa!” He said as he backed up frantically. “I can’t afford this. How did I get here?” Everyone around the table looked at Andrew like he was crazy. “I gotta get out of here.” Andrew hadn’t even walked five steps before he got hit in the head by a wine glass; he fell flat on the floor. “Where’s the money?” A voice behind him yelled. “I’m sorry! I don’t have a thousand dollars to give you.”  “A thousand? You just made a ten thousand dollar debt for yourself in twenty minutes and I’m gettin’ my money.”  “Ten thousand? I don’t even have one thousand.”  “You made the bets and now you pay up.” “I don’t have it.”

The man standing over Andrew looked over at a few guys and said, “let’s take this outside.” All four of them followed each other outside while one of them dragged Andrew out. The men took a turn on Andrew, punching him in the face every chance they got. He was too drunk to defend himself. They started kicking him when he fell to the ground and didn’t stop until they saw flashing blue lights. They left and so did the cops after they ensured that Andrew was okay. Andrew stood to his feet with bloodied clothes. He walked out of the ally that he was in and saw her again. The woman who he thought was just glancing at him at the cafe was now staring at him in front of the casino. Her blond hair was as messy as it was before. She looked as if she didn’t take care of herself. Her clothes were dirty and so was her face. Andrew walked a few steps closer to her and she started walking away. “Hey!” He yelled at her. She never slowed down. She just sped up. Andrew ended up following her into another ally that turned out to be a dead end. There’s no way possible, he thought.

He found his way back to his hotel. The woman at the front desk greeted him on his way in, but he ignored her. He had a lousy look on his face as he entered the elevator. He finally poured himself into bed as soon as he finished a cold bottle of Fantasy tea.

Fo knocked on Andrew’s door and Andrew opened it in his underwear and a an opened robe. “Yes?”  “I hope you’re ready for a day of excitement.”  “What are you doing here? It’s like ten in the morning.”  “It’s actually 4:12 in the afternoon and, you asked me to come.”  “What?”  “Here’s the text message.”  “I sent that?”  “You sent this to me last Friday.”  “I don’t remember.”  “I figured you’d seen it all but I guess not. I don’t mind. You hired me to show you around and that’s just what I’m doing.”

Andrew’s vision was shaky with every step he took. He walked a lot slower than usual and barely kept his balance. “This is the best place to eat in Fantasy.” Andrew was too distracted by outside noises to focus on what Fo was saying. He couldn’t even look at him as Fo spoke to him. “Stop! Stop!” Andrew said.

“Is everything alright?”  “No! Everything's not alright.”  “Can I get you some tea?”  “Not unless you have some in that bag of yours.” It so happened that Fo did have a bottle of Fantasy tea in his bag.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong.”  “There is something going on here. What's wrong with this place?”  “Come again.” “What's going on here?” “Specify?” “For starters, it seems like everything is directed towards me. And also, my waitress disappeared the other day and she’s the only person I’ve been able to have a regular conversation with. There’s this crazy lady that keeps following me and every time I almost catch her she gets away.” “Are you okay?”  “Yes, and I keep blacking out. I've never blacked out in my life. I’ve probably done it twenty times since I’ve been here and then I wake up in strange places wondering how I got there.”  “I wish I could help you, but you’re confusing me. I’ve never heard of such.” “Fine. I’ll take a picture of the crazy lady next time I see her.” “Make sure you have her consent. It’s a felony here to take a picture of someone else without their consent. Most of us just abstain from using cellphones.” “This place is crazy. You people are crazy. One more crazy thing and I’m packing my bags and leaving.”  “We really enjoyed your company, but we respect your choice.” Andrew finished the bottle of tea in his hand. “Why is this tea so addictive?” “I'm not sure.” “It was rhetorical, smarty. I’m going to get some more. Show me the nearest place around here to get some.” “Yes, sir.”

Andrew and Fo walked through a crowd of people. Every person that Andrew walked past stopped and stared at him. He didn’t have to look back at them to feel their eyes piercing him. He kept his head forward and tried to avoid eye contact with anyone. He walked into the shop and refused to move forward after everyone was already staring at him. “Is there somewhere else we can go?” “This is the last shop open for the night.”

“Fine. I'll wait while you go get it.” “Yes, sir.”

The staring got worse as Andrew stood outside waiting for Fo. Some looked away when he caught them while others continued to stare. Andrew decided to go inside after all and instantly regretted it. Everyone had scary smiles that creeped him out. Not only did they stare, but they whispered amongst themselves about him without breaking their focus. “Just grab the tea and let’s go. I don’t feel good.”  “Yes, sir.”

Andrew kept to himself for a while. He had to. When he walked down the street, he was stared at. When he opened the door to the balcony, he was stared at. There was nothing he could do to escape.

As usual, Andrew drunk a bottle of Fantasy tea and fell asleep wherever he was.

There was a noise in Andrew’s room that even he couldn’t ignore through his deep sleep. He opened his eyes and looked around. There was nothing. He laid his head back down and closed his eyes again. Before Andrew could even question himself about the noise, he opened his eyes and saw blond hair right before he got his mouth tied up. The woman leaned closer to him and whispered, “Make a sound and you will regret it for the rest of your life.” She removed the cloth from Andrew’s mouth and he sat up. His heart was beating so fast he thought he was experiencing a heart attack. He didn’t know what to do besides breath. “Don’t look so alarmed. I’m not going to hurt you.” “Who are you and what do you want?” “I want to help you. I know I look like I live on the streets but that’s only because I do for right now. But, I’m not homeless. I have a home. I just don’t live there anymore because my husband checked me into a mental institution.” “What does that have to do with me?” “He told the cops he wanted to have me admitted because I was telling crazy stories about this city, but I know for sure that he only did it to make room for that college girl that’s only with him for money and status.” “What crazy stories?” “As you know, I’ve been following you. I try to get through to someone every time someone comes here. You’ve seen crazy things and, they all have answers to them.” “Please help me understand this place.” “Your waitress, she never disappeared without a trace. They locked her up because she was trying to ask you for help without actually asking you. That’s probably why you were so into the conversation, because it made sense. That little girl that ran over to your table is a prisoner. Most of the children work in Fantasy tea factories when they’re little.” “Why?” “That’s just how it is. Children are treated like adults here. That tea that you love so much is made by children making less than a dollar a day. They don’t have safe working environments either. The tea also makes you loopy. That’s why you pass out so much. You do so much while under the influence of that tea and don’t even realize it. You made a fool of yourself a few times. That’s why it’s offered to you so much. They want you to keep drinking so you don’t have a straight head.” “If half of what you’re saying is true, then why are you the only one that has a grip on reality?” “I used to be one of you. I was a tourist that went to parties every night and I drunk myself crazy. After I caught my husband cheating I started drinking the tea a lot more. It made me realize that the tea was the reason I blacked out so much. That’s why I stopped and it made me realize that things around me weren’t normal. I’m not the only person in Fantasy that has a straight head. Most people aren’t open about it because they know the consequences. You need to get out of here and don’t come back.” “No, you need to get out of here.” “I’m trying to help you.” “I’ve been recording this whole time and the cops are on their way.” “No!” Angelina shrieked. “Please, don’t do this. This may be your last chance. You are ruining your life. You have to call it off.” “Get away from me.” “Please, don’t let them take me away.” The cops came storming through the door. They recognized her instantly and pinned her to the ground as she screamed. They dragged her out of the hotel room in handcuffs. The head officer stopped by Andrew on the way out and said, “You don’t know how much you’ve helped. We’ve been looking for this one for a long time.” “Wow. I should’ve called a long time ago. This wacko’s been following me since I got here.” “Thanks. You really don’t know how appreciative we are.” “Goodnight, officer. I’m glad I could help.” Andrew closed the door and took a seat in the nearest chair. He may have sent the only sane person in that city to jail and the thought stuck with him for the whole night, tearing him apart.

Andrew looked at everything in a different way. He heard Fo’s voice in the background but didn’t care to listen. “Tea?” Fo said to him. “No.” “Why the sad face?” “You need to tell me what’s going on in this crazy city.”

“What’s going on?” “That’s what you need to tell me. I had a few crazy things explained to me, but I need to know more. I saw a woman get tased in front of me last night.” “What kind of crazy things?” “You didn’t tell me that kids make this tea. They treat them like slaves. What is in this tea that makes it so addictive?” “Look around.” “What am I looking at?” “The trees. The leaves are the main ingredient. Now that your eyes are open, we don’t have to treat you like an outsider anymore.” “Yes, you do. I'm not a part of this society.”

“You were the one that accepted our invitations. You came to our parties. You even came to the one that we threw for you on the night of your arrival. That was for you, Andrew.” “So, people just come here, lose their minds, and then join the way of life?” “It appears so.” “I won’t be a part of it. I’m leaving here tonight.” “I fully support you.” “You don’t think I can do it?” “I know you can. I’ve seen you do it.” “What are you talking about?” “You’ve left here five times in the past two years. You keep coming back.” “Two years? I haven’t even been here one year.” “How much of that tea did you drink? You’ve been here for two years. You’ve also left multiple times, but you keep coming back.” “Why? What have you people done to me?” “It’s not us. It’s you. No matter how far you go, no matter where you go, you’ll always find your way back to Fantasy.” “I’m stuck here?” “No. You could sober up, but it takes five years to sober up, almost impossible.” “Why is this legal? Y’all are poisoning people.” “Yes, we gave you the tea, but we’re not making you come back. As long as you’re under the influence of Fantasy tea, you’re going to come back. Tipsy equals trippy. Trippy equals risky. Risky equals dummies and dummies are what keeps this place busy. That’s the thing about this city.”


Once upon a time a small girl named Ariana was cleaning her room before going to bed. She took her toys one by one and carefully placed them on the shelves and in the boxes she had under her bed. She knew that Mister Blue Rose didn’t really agree with Misses Bottle-Nose so she made sure the teddy bear and the truck weren’t sitting side by side. The last toy she took was her Bunny, the toy she had been sleeping with since forever. Bunny was a small, well, bunny. He had superpowers and always kept her safe, even in the dark room, after her mom would shut the lights off. Bunny was a small toy so she could carry him to the kindergarten and play with him whenever. Bunny was a dirty bunny, but she would never let him be washed in the washing machine, because, what if he drowned? Ariana’s mother would take Bunny away and wash him once a week, when Ariana was asleep and she would tell the little girl that she saw Bunny going through a portal that was under her desk and when he came back, he was clean! Ariana believed her every time and wondered how do the toys open that portal and where do they go? Well, this is the story that will answer those questions and many more you didn’t know you had. One night, Ariana fell asleep earlier than the usual. Her mother was surprised to see how the toys were in their places and the girl fell asleep with the lights on. Of course, she was holding Bunny really tight as she was, probably, dreaming of the portal. After her mother left, Mister Blue Rose got up from the third shelf and jumped off right on Misses Bottle-Nose. She woke up and angrily yelled at him: - Can you watch it?! Every single night we live the same story! You are a heavy bear, you’re hurting me! Mister Blue Rose replied like he couldn’t care less: - It is NOT my fault you’re just standing there when we’re supposed to go! What would you rather me doing? Jump on Ariana and wake her up? They fought all the way to the desk, as the other toys were waking up and stretching their legs and paws and wheels. Bunny woke up and tried to slowly move away from Ariana’s embrace and after so many “ohs” and ufs”, he finally got away! As soon as he reached the desk, the magical portal opened and all the toys jumped in.

Behind the portal there was a toys’ world and every toy in all of the corners of the Earth would meet there every night to play together and talk about their human friends. In this special night, they are having the autumn picnic for the toys that will be donated at the Autumn Fair. They are really sad they have to leave their houses and their human friends, but also really excited to move on to the next child that will love them and play with them again. Usually, the toys that go the Autumn Fair are toys that teenagers forget in boxes who-knows-where and haven’t played with them in ages. So, now there’s their chance to be played with again. Bunny is really happy he didn’t go to the Fair in over forty years! Ariana’s mom used to play with him when she was little and she kept him in her bed until Ariana was born and then he got to sleep with baby too. Now she’s big enough to play with him and his favorite game is “tea time”, when the little girl arranges her room like a restaurant and invites all sorts of toys to drink her special tea. It’s the same game he used to play with her mom when she was little, a long time ago. Around 5 AM, when parents wake up to go for a run or to go to work, the toys go through the portals again and place themselves back in the places they have been left the night before. But in this special night, they all forgot to check the time and when one of them finally did… it was half by six in the morning! What a terrible thing had occurred! What if one of the parents went in their child’s room to kiss him or her good bye and there were no toys in the room? They all ran right back to their places and as Mister Blue Rose was trying to get to the third shelve, Ariana’s father stepped into her room to kiss her good bye so the teddy bear froze and fell right on Ariana’s sleeping face. She woke up in terror because Mister Blue Rose was, indeed, a really big bear, but her father sat next to her and held her until she calmed down and went back to sleep. He took the teddy bear and placed him in a box under the bed and slowly left the room. Mister Blue Rose came out of the box and whispered: - That was close! Misses Bottle-Neck started laughing and exclaimed: - Now you can fall on me no more! Welcome under the bed, you big blue bear! After Ariana woke up the day went by as it usually does but, at dinner time, when she and her parents were eating, she asked: - How did Mister Blue Rose fall all of a sudden? - I don’t know, her dad replied. Did you place him safely on the shelf, like I taught you? - Yes, I did, the girl responded. - Maybe he didn’t manage to get back up there after he came from the toys world, her mother added. You should keep him in one of the boxes under the bed; it will be easier for him to come back in time. - I agree, said her father. - I will do that tonight, Ariana said after she took the last piece of broccoli and ate it. The dinner continued with the family laughing about the unfortunate moment and before Ariana went to bed her dad checked all of the toys to make sure no one will fall on his daughter again. As the night came, the toys started going towards the portal. Around 1 AM, Ariana woke up because she was thirsty and she saw a light coming from under the desk. She crawled towards it and noticed her cars weren’t parked on the side of the room. She also saw the toys were no longer on the shelves and she thought that it was the doing of the magical portal her mother had told her about. She decided to go through and, lucky her, she was small enough to fit in! When she crossed over to the other side of the portal, all of the animals that were playing, running around, laughing and talking had stopped. She was scared and happy at the same time and then she saw Bunny and ran towards him. She was upset he had left her alone in the dark and asked him if he went there every night. Bunny unfroze and took her hand. He explained that since the toys were created, they would have this space to enjoy playing with other toys. But they could only do it at night, so the grown-ups wouldn’t find out about their magic. They would freeze during the day as the children would play with them and, after everyone’s asleep, they would come here, in the toys’ magical world. He asked her to keep this secret like he had asked her mother when she has had followed him there a long time ago. Ariana realized that her mom wasn’t just telling a story - she was there! Bunny took Ariana back through the portal and tucked her in. He sang her favorite lullaby and went back to the toys world where he decided, together with all of the other toys, to install an alarm in the houses so they would know when somebody is about to wake up. If so, they could run home in time. When Ariana woke up, she went to her parents’ room and told her mother she went through the portal. That day, they drew together this magical world of toys on all of Ariana’s walls because she wanted her toys to feel at home even when they’re not in their own world. At night, after tucking Ariana to sleep, her mother went back to her room to write this story about her daughter and Bunny and the portal under the desk .


A response to the following prompt: *You are stuck living in the void with a banished immortal. You don’t know why they were banished, but you try your best to make their days less lonesome.* \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ You don't walk in the void, you really can't do much of anything. You would think that when existence gets stripped of its fancy clothes it would become more simple, an unloading of sorts, but it is quite the opposite. Existence is one of those really funny things that becomes more confusing the more time you spend with it. I'm beginning to feel that society as a whole is just one big attempt at running away from the enigma of living. I don't remember how I ended up in the void, nor does my neighbor. It's the type of thing you forget after a while, a physical fact that ethers away with the rest of the things that you could once grab. "How long have we been here?" I asked the phantom once. "I can't remember." "I think about this a lot," replied it. "I think that's an impossible question." We often dance these type of conversations together, utterly meaningless in all senses of the word, but we too want to forget we exist, even if that's all we have. "How did you come to that conclusion?" "I propose two pieces of evidence. The first being that we have both forgotten about time, so proof inside of tangible evidence, and the other being that time requires things to stick itself to. Time is like the ripples in a pond or lake, following things that misbehave inside of the water's still beauty." "Are we not doing such now?" "I think we are the water." Then we disappear into silence again, questions and answers followed by deep quite. I would tell you for long we'd be quite for, but I think we just established that such a question is beyond me personally. Sometimes I struggle to recall what I was before the oblivion. In my frustration I ask my friend, who I've become quite dear to, about theirs. "What were you before this?" "That's a little complicated." "I think we could use a little bit of that now." "Well, I still am what I was, so I can't tell you without being bare." "That's not true, everything changes. What were you?" "You change, even in a place where time finds a hiding spot, you are changing more than you know. But me? No, I don't change. I suppose you could call it my curse, among other things." It didn't sound like a curse to me, but I understood that my apparitional friend probably knew more about such subjects than myself. I was feeling less and less competent with every conversation, as void moved to void and time spun with hands I did feel quite different. I knew one thing though, this poor spirit had been here longer than me, and that made me sad. As I changed, in whatever way I did, I took it upon my duty to try and keep my friend company. That was all they had. "Hey, have you ever lost anything special to you?" "Anything?" "Well, it could be a person too I guess. Just anything that left its mark on you." "Too many to count." "And that hasn't changed you?" "... Can I tell you something?" I was excited at this prospect, it felt like theatre in a dark room. Granted, I was feeling very very strange at this point, and was having trouble focusing on my neighbor, but I gave it my all. "Please." "I don't know if you've ever thought about this, but what would you say if I told you life was like the rain. Pulled down from those abundant clouds and splattered onto the ground in violent, unpredictable ways. Not because it needs to rain, or because something is making it rain, but merely because water let loose will fall. What would you think about that?" I was in a weird trance, a strange dizzy that felt like thick fog, but I still heard. "I'd say... I'd ask how life came back to the clouds." "Well, there's a sun. A sun that soaks them back up to be used again. Not killing the rain, you can't do that. But just turning it back to mist, so that it can fall once again." Dizzy, "Wha... What?" "I'm sorry, this is confusing, but I like you a lot. You've given me such good company. Just do me a favor and next time you see the sun, remember how sad it is that it has to melt even the most lovely snowflakes back into air..." I lost sound of my friend. Strange feeling of dizzy, not scary. I'm not scared. I'm not... I need to talk to my friend. He'll be lonely, poor soul... Dizzy... Was I? Was I helping him? No... Dizzy... I feel... Cloudy...


They will ask me where I was when this happened, thought Mira. Some day, if I am blessed with them, my grandchildren, and even my great grandchildren will ask me, and I will tell them I saw it all unfold on a television screen, and that I turned it on just for a bit of background, just for “wallpaper”, and wondered why they were showing a horror film on a news channel at that hour in the morning. She sat transfixed and terrified as those two great towers turned into pillars of flame, and a scar was cut through them that would never heal. She sat and trembled and wept as a glorious autumn day turned into a day that would be remembered for centuries. She was not sure if she could actually hear the sirens or if she only heard them on her TV screen. She didn’t think she was in any actual danger herself, but she knew that thousands were in the most terrible danger, and thousands would not survive that September morning, only just over a year into that new Millennium that had dawned with such brightness and promise, after old barriers had come down. Tina had phoned her first, as she was on her way to work. Mira wasn’t exactly a mother figure to her, as she was barely old enough and her own mother was still very much alive, but she sometimes turned to her for advice, or just, as she termed it, to vent . And Mira knew that she and Ralf had been having their issues. But when Tina spoke, she was not in a temper. “Mira, I was out of order,” she said, “I was just determined to pick a quarrel and find fault, I said things I shouldn’t have done and didn’t listen to what he had to say. I totally over-reacted to him leaving his laundry lying around rather than putting it in the basket. It’s true what he says. I’m even more of a neat freak than my mother, and that takes some doing!” Mira knew Tina’s mother, and liked her well enough, but couldn’t disagree with that. She was a tidy woman herself, but Joan took it to extremes. She sometimes thought her husband Hal had the patience of a saint. But she hurriedly reminded herself Joan was a good-hearted woman, and though she was Mira’s confidante, she wasn’t going to start running down her mother. “We’re all made differently,” she said, well aware that it came across as more of a platitude than a masterpiece of diplomacy. “And lots of people get annoyed by laundry lying around.” “But I said things I shouldn’t have done, Mira.” There were things Mira knew not to say. She would not say that when both halves of a couple had high-pressure jobs and they didn’t have any domestic help – she knew Hal had suggested a cleaning lady, but Mira had said she much preferred to do her own – then no matter how much you totally approved of women having just the same chances as men, there were going to be some problems and fraught mornings, and not just mornings. And she also knew this wasn’t just about the laundry. Though Tina had inherited her mother’s neat freak tendencies, she could also be very self-aware and realise her own quirks and not necessarily take herself seriously. Only a few months ago she would probably have playfully thrown one of the offending articles at him and it might have landed on his head, and they would both have laughed at how droll he looked and how unimportant it really was. Though at times it could undeniably be convenient, perhaps it was a shame they worked in the same building, even if it was one of massive proportions. But she said, “Get together for lunch, Tina. And try to make it a longer one, or at least longer than usual. No sandwiches at the desk!” “I don’t know if it’s that simple, Mira,” Tina sighed. “I’m sure it isn’t. But it’s no bad start.” “I guess not. And – I do love him, you know. So very, very much.” “Sweetheart, nobody would ever doubt that!” And Mira herself certainly didn’t, but she also knew that in the real world, that wasn’t always necessarily enough. Ralf phoned ten minutes later. Mira had always got on with him, liking his wry sense of humour and laidback ways, though she could also understand why the latter sometimes got on Tina’s nerves. “Oh, Mira, it was all just so stupid,” he said, “So stupid and trivial. And I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was just so sarcastic about her treating some laundry lying on the floor as if it was the end of the world or at any rate a major catastrophe. And it was meant as a joke when I said one day she might remember that I like my eggs hard and not runny, even though I do , but I could have fixed my own.” “Well, you do your fair share in the household,” Mira said, though she couldn’t help remembering that Tina had once said that she could never quite make out if he was willing but genuinely less than competent, or whether the shows of incompetence were a not so subtle attack to get out of doing his fair share. “And I don’t MEAN to be untidy,” he said, “Truly I don’t, but saying that makes me sound like a spoilt little kid, doesn’t it? Sorry, Mira, I’m putting you in an impossible position with that question.” “Some folk find it easier than others,” she said, well aware that it came across as a platitude rather than a masterpiece of diplomacy. She wondered whether to tell Ralf that she had already spoken to Tina, but thought better of it. It was for Tina to tell him if she wanted to. “Why don’t the two of you have lunch together?” she proposed, thinking that if advice were good (and she had no reason to believe it wasn’t) then it did no harm to offer it twice instead of struggling for originality for the sake of it. “Go to the restaurant. At any rate get outside – it’s a lovely day – and take things more at your leisure.” “Do you think that will help?” he asked, trying hard to sound casual and not succeeding. “I’m not saying it’s a miracle cure. But I think it will most definitely do no harm.” “I do love her, Mira. I love her so dearly and can’t bear to think about us splitting up.” “Anyone can see that, Ralf. Listen, the two of you have lunch together today, and if you like, come round to my place for supper tonight.” “Yes – yes, thanks, Mira.” Well, I suppose I should think about making something they both like, thought Mira, when she had put the phone down, reminding herself that Tina couldn’t stand olives and mushrooms, and Ralf couldn’t stand garlic and seafood. But that lunch would come first. She fervently hoped that both of them would be true to their word about making the time to have a proper lunch and a proper chat, and to laugh about the quarrel that morning, and give each other a hug. And now she sat there, staring at her television screen, and realising that this would a day that would change the world and reverberate down the decades, and she felt the weight and the awfulness of it like a burden that would never leave her shoulders and her soul. But she knew that if anyone asked her why, at that precise moment, she was weeping great heaving sobs, she would have had to reply that it was because two young people, their whole lives before them, who loved each other so very dearly, would not be having lunch together that day, and maybe never again.


Be Warned This Story Contains Nearly 15,000 Dead Bodies. Even though Demann Nebraska was only abandoned a few decades ago, its existence and history have completely vanished from living memory. You can no longer find it on any maps or signs. No one talks about Susan’s iconic Baked Nebraska, or her diner anymore. No one remembers the famous family-owned inn located on Gertrude road. Route 61 has fallen silent, no longer do you hear the church bells, the traffic, or the chatter from the gas station rest stop. The radio station has ceased its broadcasting, its mast dark and dead. The typewriter in the newspaper office no longer rings with each typed line. The old computer in Miguel’s wood shop no longer keeps orders. You can no longer hear children laughing and playing during recess, or hear Mrs. Pearson teaching freshmen history. June 12th, 2018 Tony was driving down Nebraska Route 61 on his way to see a relative near Rapid City, South Dakota. He was jamming to some tunes on his phone when the music stopped. He looked at the screen, it had one alert displayed… “I can see you Tony.” “What on Earth? Is this some sort of sick joke?” He continued along until his engine chugged, started knocking, backfired, and then stalled. It sounded like it was coming apart and might explode. “What the heck! Are you kidding me? What just happened?” He coasted to a stop on the shoulder. As Tony sat trying to process what had happened, his phone dinged. Checking it showed a new alert… “We are watching you, we see you, we hear you.” Tony scoffed and cleared it. A few moments later, the camera opened and changed to selfie mode. His eyes widened and he reached for the door handle. Another alert chimed… “Please don’t open that door. We need you to save us.” The doors locked. “Uh! What? Help! Help! Help!” As he struggled with the lock, his radio came on. There was a bunch of static, then it started scrolling through stations before stopping. “This is KDMN 950 live from Demann, your source for all things Nebraska news. Today’s date is Tuesday, March 17th, 1992. Up next at 12 o’clock noon, a woman who went missing while walking her dog has been found. But first, weather and traffic.” The radio returned to static as Tony tried to turn it off. 1992? Demann? His phone rang. The caller ID read ‘Demann City Hall’ He sighed and answered. “What do you want?” A female replied cheerfully. “Is this Tony Mason?” “Yeah? What do you want from me?” “I just called to confirm you’re still attending the meeting with the permit office that you scheduled for today, March 17th at noon.” “I never scheduled that.” “Great! We’ll see you there! Safe travels!” There was silence. The other end had disconnected. After a moment, the engine started by itself. Tony restarted his directions and started driving to his aunt’s house, hoping that he was just tired. It has been a long journey, and that hotel bed was uncomfortable. I’m probably just going crazy from the long trip. “Recalculating. Recalculating.” His GPS told him. “Faster route detected. New arrival time is negative 9-5-8-3 days. In 1,000 feet, turn right, Gertrude Road.” Tony ignored his GPS. There was no way it could be accurate. As he was about to pass the turn, the car whined and started smoking. He turned onto Gertrude road and was about to stop when the vehicle quit having problems. He sighed as he understood there was no escape. He continued down the rutted overgrown road that had clearly not seen use in years. What is Demann? It can’t be a town, the nearest town is miles away. He pulled into a driveway and stopped. His phone chimed, an alert read, “Save us please. Explore Demann, free us. I beg you.” The car doors unlocked, so Tony parked, shut off the engine and got out. He was not doing this willingly, but had realized he had no choice. The building in front of him was large and two stories tall. There was a sign above the door that read ‘Bradson Family Inn’. There were no lights on in the lobby, and the place had clearly seen better days. As Tony approached, he saw someone pass by him wheeling a luggage cart with suitcases on it. He looked back at the building and noticed the lights were on, the decay was gone, and the parking lot neat, maintained, and crowded. A bell tolled somewhere in the distance, chiming 7:00. There was something about the people and cars, they seemed to be strangely translucent. He turned around and surveyed the area, brow furrowed in confusion. Cars drove past on a road that was free of ruts and grass. He turned back to the front door, a guy in some sort of bellhop uniform had exited and was helping someone. The image flickered back to its current dilapidated state. A rusty luggage cart lay on its side next to an abandoned car. He walked over to it, on the dash was a wallet. He tried the driver’s side door and found it was unlatched, so he reached in and grabbed it. There was an ID in it from a Joseph Nidwald, he stashed the ID in the wallet and left it on the dash. He headed towards the building and looked through the front windows, everything seemed to have been left behind. A thick layer of dust now coated the lobby. He noticed a person wearing ripped jeans, a flannel shirt, and a backwards baseball cap, slumped on a couch. Shuddering, Tony turned and returned to his car. Unfortunately, his car keys were no longer there. His phone showed a todo list, there were two items. “Investigate the Bradson. Uncover the past. Put our souls to rest.” and, “Check in, Francis Brooks.” Tony sighed and returned to the front door. When he arrived, the lights flickered and came on, he now saw guests roaming around. They were no longer translucent. However, everything had become slightly overexposed. A bell in the distance faintly called out the hour, 8:00. The sliding door opened and Tony entered, he looked at himself and realized he was wearing a suit and bow tie. In his hand was now a briefcase. He went to the front desk, but saw no staff. There was a bell, so he rang it. Moments later, an employee appeared from the back, his nametag despite being hard to make out read, “Joseph Bradson” “Hello! Welcome to the Bradson Family Inn! Are you checking in?” “Yes.” Tony’s voice was now fairly gravely, a significant difference from his normal one. “Alright! Can I get a name?” “Francis Brooks.” “Alright! How many nights are you staying?” “Just one.” “Alright! That’ll be 34 dollars.” Tony, or Francis as he is currently, checked his pockets and found a wallet. He paid with cash. Joseph smiled again. “Thank you! Enjoy your stay. You are room 113. Go right at the fork, and to the end of the hall.” He handed Francis a card. “Thank you.” Francis walked to his room and let himself in. He set his briefcase on the desk and sat. Everything flickered and faded. Suddenly he was Tony again, standing at reception. He noticed Joseph crumpled behind the desk, he then saw his car keys next to the bell and grabbed them. Once headed back outside and to his car, Tony saw that his phone showed a new message. “Now that you’ve seen the Bradson in its former glory, you are closer to understanding our story and helping our souls rest. Head into downtown, please.” Tony let out a small sigh and started his car. He checked his fuel and noticed it was now reading full. He put it in drive and exited the parking lot. His GPS guided him deeper into the woods. He passed a few derelict homes until his GPS finally told him his destination was on his left. He saw an old sign that read “Susan’s Diner”. He turned into the parking lot and parked. He shut off his engine and as he was about to take his keys out, they vanished. He sighed, now understanding the drill. He checked his phone, his to-do list had changed. There was a new uncrossed item, “Trevor’s visit to Susan’s Diner.” He got out and headed to the door, once again the lights flickered on and everything turned slightly overexposed. Tony looked at himself. He was wearing jeans, and a hoodie. He looked back, his car was gone, but everything looked neat and maintained. He entered the diner and found a free booth. A woman came over and handed him a menu. “Hello again, Mr. Murphy! Would you like your usual coffee?” “Yes, please. Thank you.” Trevor said. Tony didn’t seem to have much control over events, but that made sense since this seemed to be an echo of the past or something. He could look, but not act. The clock on the wall read 8:45. The bell on the door chimed and Tony recognized Francis Brooks. His drink arrived and he ordered pancakes. Cars drove past, it was peaceful, serene even. He heard a noise and looked up, it was the clock tower. After a short melody, it sounded 9:00. Tony continued to wait and listen to the rock and roll music playing over the speakers. He heard a lady yell, “Let there be fire !” He turned in time to see a woman brandishing a plumbing torch wildly before blasting a dessert. Other patrons cheered and clapped, Trevor did too. She brought the still-smoking dessert to someone and proudly announced “Here’s your Baked Nebraska! Enjoy! Careful, she’s still hot.” The lady went back into the kitchen and resumed cooking. Once again everything flickered and faded. He was Tony once more, standing at the counter. He saw the woman deceased, fallen backward away from an open safe. He assumed she must be the owner, Susan. Next to her was a plumbing torch with a faded label: “Susan’s Beloved Torch, Marlene.” Tony bowed his head and stood there silent for a moment. As he surveyed the diner, he saw several patrons still seated at their booths, and one waitress propped against the side wall. The booth Trevor Murphy had once occupied, now sat an elderly couple. Tony noticed his car keys on the counter and grabbed them. He returned to his car and noticed several abandoned vehicles. Once safely back in, he started the engine. “Can you hear me?” He called, uncertain. His phone chimed with a text from an unknown number. All it said was, “Yes.” “What happened here? Can I ask who is leading me?” There were bubbles on his phone, indicating the other end was typing. After a moment, he got a reply. “I do not know. We had no warning. My name was Raymond Young. I was the senior advisor to Mayor Henston.” “I'm sorry for how I've acted, I had no idea this town even existed. Does anyone besides me know about these people?” More typing. “Based on your reaction and the general state of our town, I’d say no.” “Where do I go next?” “3 stops remain. Go to the community center.” “Lead the way.” His GPS started giving him more directions. As he drove, he entered the heart of town. The device directed him through the residential area. He passed decaying old homes, their yards overgrown. There was an abandoned car that had crashed into a tree. Tony thought he saw what remained of a bicycle under the front end. Once he arrived at the community center, he parked and shut off the engine. His keys vanished and he got out and walked to the entrance. Once he arrived, the colors changed and he was once again in the past, at least visually. He wasn’t sure if he actually was or if it was a vision. Nor did he care. As he stepped in, he heard roller skates and looked around before heading inside. Again, his, or at least the person he was viewing’s, legs guided him through the building. He passed a roller skating area, a door labeled “Squash Racquet Court, 11 AM to 5 PM. Appointment Only.”, and the gym. He finally entered a small bakery and got a couple cookies and a coffee. The little old lady behind the counter handed him his stuff. “Enjoy. Thank you,” she said smiling. As he sat down in a small seating area, a clock struck 10. He looked around, listening to the noises of people enjoying themselves. He was wearing a uniform from “Joe’s Boiler Works”, his nametag read ‘Kevin’. After a few minutes, he checked his watch and quickly stood before heading towards the exit. His vision flickered once more and there he stood in the crumbling building, dead bodies littered the floor, the once joyful lively rollerblading rink now had a caved-in ceiling, and dead people everywhere, still in their skates. The sounds of dripping water echoed through the building. As he turned, he saw his keys on the table where Kevin sat earlier. Now, there was a man and woman. The woman was crumpled on the floor holding an open box containing a ring, the male facing her. His eyes welled up with tears. What happened to Demann? He thought as he grabbed his keys and returned to his car. His phone showed the next location. As he drove to Demann High School, he thought about what he had seen. He had to tell someone, but who? How? Finally, he pulled into the parking lot and found a spot near an abandoned station wagon. Tony parked and watched as his keys vanished. He got out and headed inside. As he passed the main office, everything returned to its former glory. He was now a teenager. A bell echoed through the halls and he walked to room 109 before taking a seat. As he looked around, he saw other students and a name on the board, ‘Pearson’. He unpacked his bag and pulled out a battered notebook, and a pencil. The teacher entered and set down a stack of papers. “Sorry I’m late, class. The copier was having a mental breakdown. But, aren’t we all?” The class chuckled. After sitting for a while as she taught history, the bell rang and everyone stood. “Don’t forget! No homework, but the test is on Thursday. Please study, I know you can do…!” She gasped and collapsed to the floor. As everyone stared in concern, everything went black and he stood by the main office, Tony again. He noticed several students, likely dead. It never smelled like decay, just musty. He realized he was holding his keys and left the building before getting in the car. His GPS guided him to the town square. He parked along the curb, near several abandoned cars, a few had their doors open, and others had crashed. As Tony got out, his keys vanished. He walked into the park. Then the bell of the clock tower nearby tolled. It played the Westminster Chime, then chimed 11 times, as he watched, birds sat in midair, mid-flap. As he watched, they began flying backward. The clock began doing the same, the hands grew faster, the sun began moving as well. As he stood there, the town around him began to show signs that it was repairing itself, as he watched, snow unmelted and went back up, and leaves rejoined the trees. Another summer passed, another spring, another winter, another year. It eventually stopped back at noon and the clock tolled 12 again. People roamed around. A radio played the news. He was free to wander now. Though, no one seemed to notice him. As he wandered, he suddenly saw a bright flash of light over the trees in the distance. As it approached, he saw several people slump over. A car crashed into a pole. Someone down the block ran, only to collapse like the rest. Tony finally understood as he realized he was back in his car. “What is in the woods outside of Demann?” He finally asked as he pieced everything together. “Not much, a radio station and a laboratory doing vaccine testing.” Came the reply from Raymond. After alerting the authorities about the mass grave, he continued on his way. He couldn’t stop thinking though, so once he was done visiting, he did some digging. To his surprise, he found almost nothing. No records. Just a small map, and several expertly missing pages. It was like it had been erased from history.


The early morning sun glowed orange in the distance, and tall pine trees casted shadows that stretched across the forest. The only sounds were those of chirping birds and rustling tree branches that swayed in the lazy wind above. Morning dew that condensed on the forest floor speckled like twinkling stars in the morning light. The ground was covered in pine needles, mosses, ferns, and shrubs, and in one of these shrubs, an animal stirred. A snouted face poked out through the underbrush, and after deeming her surroundings devoid of any danger, emerged from her hideaway. Her plumage was mottled with browns and greys, camouflaging her in the forested environment. Her long tail ended with a fan of splayed feathers, and her small claw-tipped wings drooped below her body. Nestled in her narrow skull were two large yellow eyes and hidden in her mouth were a profusion of curved teeth. Supporting her thin legs were a pair of feet tipped with menacing-looking claws. She stood at about three feet tall, and was almost completely covered in feathers, save for her scaly legs and muzzle. She was a *Saurornithoides*, a dinosaurian predator of the ancient Mongolian forests. Her kind are typically social animals, living in clans of related individuals. However, this particular female lived a solitary lifestyle. She was dwarfed by the contemporary giants that shared these forests with her, and she often found herself avoiding their attention. Her avian-like gracile body also made her fairly frail, and it was generally in her best interest to steer clear of any danger. However, the forest has been lacking in animal life in recent times, allowing the female to behave less cautiously than when in an environment more abundant with large predators, but it has also been lacking in much of her prey. She enjoyed her last meal three days prior, and her hunger was emerging as pain in her gut. Stretching her wings out after the night’s sleep, the female began preening her feathers, straightening crooked plumes and picking out parasites. Once the irritants were dealt with, she immediately began walking off. Despite the day still being young, the hungry female was quick to start her day of hunting. She trotted amongst the green and brown foliage of the forest, always attentive to the slightest sound and faintest smell of potential prey. Following her typical routine, she made her way downhill towards a slow moving creek, the place where she has made most of her kills. The small mammals, birds, and reptiles that made up her usual diet often congregate here, to drink, bathe, or hunt their own prey. She hoped that the creek would reward her as it has done in the past. The creek was shallow. Mossy rocks protruded just above the water’s surface, forming waves of ripples in the redirected current. Dead leaves of trees and ferns were carried along the moving water, sometimes lodging themselves on the stones. Arriving at the bank, the female sniffed the crisp air for any sign of an animal. There was none. Determined to find a meal, the female began walking southward along the creek’s edge, traveling upwind to hide her scent from any noses up ahead. High above in the canopy, chirping birds darted from tree to tree. Any one of them could easily have been killed and swiftly eaten, if only they were in reach. She could only hope that a careless individual would come down to drink or bathe in the creek’s water. Alas, they kept to their tree branches. As the sun rose higher, the female’s frustration did so too. Nevertheless, she continued walking. After hours passed, it was almost midday, and the female still found nothing. Her hunger pains were growing more intense, coming in waves. Though she grew more and more tiresome, she kept on moving. She was not willing to stop. Suddenly, her nostrils flared as they picked up a faint, but recognizable scent. It was what she has been searching for. Prey. The prospect of food greatly excited her, and her pace quickened. The source was perhaps a few miles away, but the wind in her face quickly intensified the scent. As the scent grew more distinct, her hunger pains grew in anticipation. Then, her eagle-like eyes spotted movement up ahead. She immediately froze, disappearing in the dense underbrush. The animal was about the size of a cat. Its grey pelt was spotted white, and rounded ears sat on its long whiskered face. It stood at the edge of the creek, lapping up water with its pink tongue. It was a *Dorgobaatar*, acceptable prey for a predator such as her. Obviously unaware of the female’s presence, the animal’s focus was directed towards its hydration. The hunt began. With every step, the female was careful not to make a sound. Her light feet avoided the twigs and leaves that littered the ground. Despite the thick matrix of bushes and vines, she never broke visual contact with the *Dorgobaatar*. She stalked her prey at an agonizingly slow pace, but she remained patient. One false step could cost her the meal. She could not attack from behind, as the animal could easily escape. Instead, she would have to attack from the side, hopefully throwing it off balance. But *Dorgobaatar* are quick on their feet, and she would have to close as much distance as possible before making her attack, remaining completely undetected while doing so. As the distance between the female and the animal shortened, her movements became even slower, even as the pain in her gut grew stronger. An eternity later, the female was as close to her prey as possible without revealing her presence. She stopped. She was completely motionless, a mere shadow in the forest. A pair of ghostly yellow eyes in the underbrush. The animal was still drinking the water, only a few feet away. Still upwind, the scent of mammalian flesh filled her nostrils, teasing her. Suddenly, her prey lifted its head. If she did not move now, she could lose her chance. Crouching, her legs were a wound mechanical spring. The animal turned from the creek bank and met eyes with the female, suddenly regretting its carelessness. The spring was released. The female exploded from her cover, dashing at impossible speeds in less than a second. In a blur of fur and feathers, she was upon the *Dorgobaatar*. The animal shrieked and writhed as talons dug into its flesh, blood quickly staining its pelt. Toothy jaws then closed around the throat, cutting off the trachea’s oxygen supply. In only a few seconds the animal ceased squirming, blood trickling out of its open mouth, eyes still open. The hunt was over. The female was quick to begin feasting on her kill. Using her talons and teeth, the belly was gutted. Blood and organs pooled out, and she began ripping out chunks of flesh. The taste of meat sent a rush of joy and relief in her starved body. But just as she began reaping her reward, an intruder presented itself. Like a phantom, the animal appeared out of seemingly nothing. It was another dinosaurian hunter, perhaps a foot taller than the female. Its plumage was black with white streaks stretching down its body. Its bald snout was brown, and its head and neck were solid white, except for a pair black stripes running over each bright red eye. It was an *Adasaurus*. Normally, these predators lived out on the open plains, but this individual must have had similar shortages with its hunting grounds, driving it to try its luck elsewhere. The *Adasaurus* approached the female and her kill, loudly cawing and shrieking in an attempt to intimidate her. The female, however, was having none of it. She stepped in front of the carcass, not allowing the *Adasaurus* near it. She ruffled her feathers in an attempt to appear larger, though she was still significantly smaller than her competitor. The *Adasaurus* began circling the female and the carcass, never breaking eye contact. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve fled the scene away from the larger predator, but she could not afford to lose this. It continued its piercing calls, but the female was not deterred. After several minutes of this taunting, the *Adasaurus* finally struck. Lurching forward, it attempted to grab the carcass in its jaws, but the female was quick to throw a clawed foot in the attacker’s face. It stepped back, a little dazed, but it did not give up. She let out a screech, asserting her resilience. The *Adasaurus* attacked again, this time pulling a chunk of flesh along with it. The steal was quickly swallowed, but the attacker was far from satisfied. It continued its circling, looking for an opening. Again, the *Adasaurus* dove and stole another chunk, this time ripping off part of a leg. The female was getting frustrated. She was already tired from the kill, and now she was losing it to a scavenger. She finally made her attack. Pouncing forward, she latched onto the *Adasaurus’* side and began digging her teeth and talons into its hide. It yelped in pain, but it was not defenseless. Swinging its head towards the female, the *Adasaurus* snapped its toothy jaws, pulling out feathers and sometimes slicing flesh, but she held on. Eventually the *Adasaurus* grabbed onto the female’s leg. Teeth ripping into her calf muscles, she was violently pulled away and was thrown several feet into the air. She landed on her side in the creek, splashing water. During her disoriented state, the *Adasaurus* sprinted towards the carcass. Scooping it up in its jaws, the *Adasaurus* sped off into the forest with the kill. After regaining her balance, the female did not hesitate into giving chase. Navigating through dense vegetation and tree trunks, she was determined to recapture her prize. But the *Adasaurus* was both stronger and faster, and the female was injured from the fight. Eventually, the thief disappeared amongst the trees, along with her kill. The female was forced to give up, and she slowed to a limping halt. Lowering her body to sit in the leaf litter, she sprawled her wounded leg out and began licking the bleeding gash. Looking up, the female saw the sun leaning towards the horizon. With only a few hours left in the day, she forced her aching legs to stand. She continued searching for prey along the creek, though her perseverance would prove to be unrewarding. As the sun fell out of sight and the sky began to darken, she turned back and made her way to her nest, limping and still hungry. It was her gurgling stomach that woke her, and she was quickly greeted with the pain. The gash on her leg had stopped bleeding, but the leaves and soil on which she slept were stained with dried blood. She again emerged from her hideaway and out into the orange light of the early morning. She limped out into the forest, preparing to make the same journey she did before. Her wound would hinder her search, but she must continue. After her habitual preening, she began her quest. Arriving at the creek, she dipped her jaw into the water and threw her head back, the water trickling down her throat. Once her thirst was quenched, she began trotting along the bank. Not soon after, she detected a faint smell that hung in the air. It was flesh. It wasn’t a *Dorgobaatar*, but it was just as enticing. Perhaps this day could bring a successful hunt. The scent was coming from the north, upriver, and so the female made her away in that direction. During her search, she came across a large beetle and was able to catch it. The insect was quickly devoured, but it did little to satisfy her intense hunger. It was late afternoon when the female’s nostrils were greeted with more scents. There was the odor of soot and smoke in the air, and it was accompanied by a strange, but distinctly mammalian smell. The female, however, was not perturbed by the unusual scents, and continued on. Not long after, she heard sounds completely foreign to her ears. There was the crackling of a fire, but also there were low pitched complex calls of an unseen animal. She had never heard such strange sounds, but still, her hunger drove her on. As she approached, she spotted a small fire. A skinned carcass of a bird-like animal was skewered by a sharp stick and was suspended above the fire. A dead tree trunk laid on the ground, and upon it sat the absolute most alien thing the female had ever seen. Her nose told her that it was a mammal, but no mammal has ever been as large as this creature, about as tall as she was long. Its torso was positioned vertically towards the sky and its tailless rear sat on the log with its long legs bent and feet flat on the ground. Its long arms had hands tipped with dexterous, clawless fingers, which manipulated chunks of the roasted meat. The meat was then brought to a small mouth that positioned itself on a flat, snoutless face, so flat it almost appeared as if it were crushed. Its body seemed to be hairless, but most of the skin was obstructed by leathery cloth that it wore on its body. If the female’s mind permitted such thoughts, perhaps she would have been fascinated by the strange creature, but her attention was focused on the roasting corpse that allured her just over a dozen feet in front of her. Slowly, she approached the scene, eyeing the thing. She heard a strange grunt, and she looked up and met eyes with the mammal. She froze. Judging by its size, this creature could overpower her with ease, but her aching gut would not let her leave. She stood her ground, but did not know what to do. She chose to let this mammal make the first move. It grunted some more, and the female did not know what this meant. After a few moments, she decided to continue approaching the meat, very slowly. The mammal cackled, and using its manipulative hands, tore off a chunk of the meat’s flesh and tossed it towards the female. She could not restrain herself and she dove to it. It was devoured, giving some relief to her starved body. The mammal almost seemed amused by this, and threw more meat. The female complied. As this continued, her comfort grew, and she approached closer and closer. The mammal again cackled, baring its blunt teeth. Eventually they both finished their meals, and the female was more than satisfied. The sky was turning dark, and instinct told her it was time to go. She turned her back to the mammal and its fire and began her journey back to her hideaway. Before disappearing into the forest, she looked back. The mammal raised one of its arms above its head and swung it side to side, again baring its teeth. What a peculiar creature this was.


I have often thought of this moment. I don't know how this is possible. At first, I thought I was dreaming. But I am not. I am here. I pinched myself, slapped my face and tried to yell myself awake as I stumbled through the woods leading to this house. I recognize this house. How can this be? I can't be here. This is not possible. But I am here. My leg confirms this, the familiar ache of a foot broken 15 years ago both comforting and alarming. It is May 24, 1988. My mom, the best person I know, dies tonight. More accurately, she is killed by a drunk driver. The driver comes around a bend in the road on the wrong side, causing a head on collision. My mom and her friend are killed. The driver has not a scratch on him. There is 10 year old me, begging her to not go on this ride with her friend. I remember, 28 years ago, having a bad feeling about her leaving. I remember begging her not go. I remember her assurances all would be well, Rob, and that she'd be home shortly. How often have I missed her? Every day of my life. I've never been mad at her. Never once have I raged against her for leaving. It's not her fault. The driver of the truck? That's a different story. I hated him for years at the same time I grieved for my mother. He went to prison and I made the decision to stop following his story at some point as a teenager. I do get the urge to look him up now but have resisted. What's there to know, to say? Nothing he could say would change the past and I have no need nor desire for an apology. But here I am. From my trek through the forest, I have been able to interact with this world. I have come to the edge of the property and I can see my young self and my mom...there she is, so beautiful and young and ALIVE! I can see her! I know that all I need to do is yell out, get their attention, delay her from departing for even two minutes and everything will change. That's how this works, right? I draw a deep breath and open my mouth to yell out...and I cannot. My voice dies before I can give warning or alert to my presence. For I have held a life I helped create in my arms. I was there for her birth. I loved her from the moment my wife told me she was pregnant and growing inside her. I taught her to laugh, to walk, to play. She has fallen asleep in my arms countless times, moments I would not give back the universe. I will not - cannot - give her back. How many times have I wished my mom could meet my daughter? I know they would love one another. Every time I think of this, I grieve anew. If I yell, if I say just one word, to catch the attention of the little boy and his mother, I can right a grevious wrong. I can spare him years of heartache. I can spare her the pain she endured. But the cost. The cost would be another life, the best thing I have ever done. The best person I know now. If I call out, I undo the chain of events that brings her into the world. I undo her first steps, her first words. I undo her. There, the mother...my mom...reaches over and kisses my forehead. I know, I remember, I have seconds before she pulls away. This is the last time I will ever see her. The injuries she suffered were too great to allow her children to see her, I will be later told. Besides, they said, she wouldn't recognize you due to the extensive damage to her brain. I see the little boy nod. I can't see his tears but I know they are there. I know he is feeling scared. He knows she should not go but her assurances have calmed him. I have but one more moment to act. They've started the motorcycle. There, she waves at him. At me. They are pulling away. I have seconds to act. I must act. But, my child, my daughter. I cannot act. What choice is this? What impossible force has brought me here to make this decision? Was there ever a choice? I stand here, tears in my eyes, as my mother rides away. Edit: a few more details and flow. Author's comment: every day, I see my mom in my daughter. I've often thought about, "If I could go back and change things, would I?" This story is my answer.


As the earth embraces my flesh, I can’t help but recall the moment of your birth.

( I’m writing this letter as I lie dead. Of course, this cannot be a physical letter, but rather a metaphysical one. You’ve always had a penchant for the abstract. I only hope you can read my handwriting. Please understand— it is rather difficult to maintain good penmanship when one no longer has a sentient body. )

I’ve always derived a certain sense of satisfaction from living my life in multiples of three. You were born at exactly three past seven— but seven is such an ugly number. Brazen and obtrusive, unfitting for my perfect girl. Six hours and sixty-three minutes; much neater, rolling delectably off the tongue. When you were three years old and would still cry over things like spilled milk, I’d tell you that if you wanted to cry, you could do it outside. You must have thought I lacked compassion, if toddlers have any awareness for such things.

This perception that you may or may not have had was wholly inaccurate. Your wails did not exasperate me. My heart was not hardened to your laments. If I told you to go conduct your crying in private, it was so you could understand that the majority of those you encounter will have no sympathy. The world does not wait for you to dry your tears.

( My narcissism compels me to wonder if you’ve shed a tear for me. If you have, I truly hope someone will gently sweep it from your cheek. I do.)

At nine you were running wild, and I’d have to leash your hair into neatly woven braids. I’d begun to be afraid. I was frightened that you’d become me at your age, that you becoming me would mean that I’d become the same hand that had been wielded against me.

I was right to be apprehensive. It’s an inevitability, this cycle. Tears were spilled over arithmetic homework. I warned you away from children I disapproved of. Weekends were spent indoors. My heart had hardened into an iron fist.

By the time you were eighteen, you’d lost your softness and had learned how to argue. We’d clash over everything: the holes in your jeans; the boy down the street whom you’d started seeing with the messy hair and tattoo on his collarbone; the major you’d decided upon— philosophy, of all things, which I saw as the waste of a mind that had the potential to do more than dwell on ambiguous nonsense.

But I lost my grip the moment I taught you not to fight with tears. You’d learned to channel your anger instead, and you’d push and you’d push, until overflowing with frustration, I’d blurt, “Is this the hill you want to die on?”

( It was. It always was. You would never back down once your heart was set. Now that I am buried in a hill, and dead, I wish I would have told you this instead: Tell me which hill you want to die on, and I’ll meet you there.

I’ll lay down beside you in the grass. We’ll bask in our own hubris and gulp down the stars, and the gods will laugh down at us with envious scorn.) Milestones came and went. Graduation. Wedding. First child of your own. In each block of time lay nestled a single moment, when I looked at you, and you looked at me, and you waited. I opened my mouth. I closed it. I smoothed your hair away from your face silently. Your eyes shuttered.

Here was my fatal flaw, the thing you must have despised me for: In my eyes, I had always sacrificed everything for you. Each fight made you stronger, each bitter disagreement a hard earned lesson. There was no need for words beyond that. It happened gradually. The fire had always been there, I had just chosen not to see it. My eyes slowly began to clear, to cut through the smoke, but I was aging, and you were living, and it was too late. Burning anger, burning sadness, burning silence.

( Things that burn:

- Pancakes hastily cooked on the morning of your twelfth birthday, flipped a minute too late. You eat them anyway. - The handle of the car door on a sweltering day. I tell you to wait, but you’re always so eager to act, and you singe your palm on blistering metal.

- Eyes, holding back tears. - Bridges.

- My mouth, holding back three words; an ember smolders beneath my tongue, and pain renders me mute.) And then I was dying. Slowly, not all at once. I almost wish it had been sudden, if only so I could have an excuse. You were there throughout it all. I can’t imagine why.

The end came. My heart was a skipping stone losing its momentum. Each beat felt like a plunging weight in my chest.

You took my hand in yours. I counted every last second, all sixty-three of them. A full minute and some change to spare. Three extra seconds: a blip in time, a space where only the two of us were allowed to exist. In that shredded moment, the universe convulsed and compressed itself into only you: your face looking down, your body hovering over my bed. As your sheer magnitude suddenly struck me, I wondered if you had always been so much larger of a person than I.

It is now, in this lonely sleep, that I wish I’d used those three extra seconds more wisely. Within them were unsaid lifetimes.

If someone offered me the chance to do over my entire life, I’d say, “No need.” I have no regrets over the things I did or the things I said; only what I didn’t. Mistakes are made to prove we are human, a necessary evil. My only true sin was what I did not allow myself to give. No, I don’t want my life. All I need are those three seconds with you. (I love you. I love you. I love you.)