Friday, October 18, 2019. Fort Hill Cemetery. Montauk, New York. There was a bitter chill in the air. As the wind whistled through the dying leaves of autumn, Nick Cappotelli could feel the cold enveloping him. Though he wondered how much of that chill was external and how much of it was internal. He secretly wondered if he was the only one who felt it. A shiver danced down his spine. Cemeteries always gave Nick the creeps. It was a bleak, gloomy setting, and he knew he wasn’t alone in feeling that way. But this was different. The feeling Nick had that day wasn’t akin to fear; it was remorse. It was just past noon, but the sun had refused to make an appearance all day. Grey storm clouds loomed overhead, threatening rain at any minute. It was as if even the sky was mourning the loss of Francesca Cappotelli. Paul Cappotelli, Nick’s father, had put a temporary halt on the services, as they were still waiting for a few family members to arrive. Nick scanned some of the faces in the crowd as he tried to distract himself, tried to shake off the chill. A lot of people had turned out to pay their respects. They were all huddled around the casket in rows, shoulder-to-shoulder, close enough to smell everyone’s perfume or cologne or cheap aftershave. All the men were clean shaven. Everyone was clad in the same respectable black attire. And everyone wore the same somber expression on their face. Nick could hear their muffled cries, their moans and whispers, their muted conversations. “This hurts more than I could have imagined,” he heard his Uncle Pete say. “I’ll never forget the smell of her sweet perfume,” whispered his Aunt Linda. “She was such a kind woman, so sweet,” he heard another woman whisper to a man Nick could only assume was her husband. He didn’t recognize either one of them. “What’s going to happen to all her stuff?” he heard his Aunt Janice inquire. He knew she was just fishing for free stuff. *Never change, Janice,* Nick thought. *She was the sweetest.* *The kindest.* *The best.* *I’ll never forget her.* *I’ll miss her so much.* Distant relatives from all across the country had flocked to the Hamptons to say their goodbyes, all red eyed and teary, all acting like they hadn’t seen this coming. Francesca Cappotelli was eighty-seven-years-old, and her health had been in rapid decline. So, when Fran died suddenly of a heart attack, nobody was truly surprised. And nobody suspected a thing. Nick had gone to great lengths to avoid his brother, Gino, and his sister, Carmella. It was only a matter of time before they brought up the elephant in the room, their inheritance. His father was a whole different story. That man was poison to Nick. Persona non grata. Nick didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to speak to him. He just wanted to get through this taxing day. And Nick’s mother had done an excellent job of avoiding him all day. And Nick happily returned the favor. He couldn’t bear to face her, couldn’t stand to see that accusatory glare. *I know what you did.* That’s what that look said to Nick. Like she was anyone to judge. Nick knew all their dirty little secrets. In fact, there were no secrets in the Cappotelli family. Sure, they all had skeletons in their closets, but the closet doors were wide open in the Cappotelli household. While attempting to avoid his immediate family, he wound up brushing shoulders with his cousins, Bobby and Stefanie. “I’ll miss her,” Stef said, dabbing away tears with a handkerchief, her dark makeup smeared and running down her cheeks. “I’ll miss her too,” Nick said. “She was one of a kind.” “Remember when we all used to sleepover?” Stef asked. “Grandpa had the Nintendo set up for us. We’d play Mario Brothers for hours and grandma would surprise us with cookies or Rice Krispie treats.” “I have some of her recipes,” Nick mentioned, just trying to make conversation. It had been a while since he’d seen his cousins. “Of course, you do, Mr. Chef,” Stef teased and tried to smile, but her eyes still gleamed with tears. “You’ll have to show us how to make those Rice Krispies one day.” “You got it,” Nick promised. “Yo, man, my condolences, bro,” Bobby muttered. Nick could smell marijuana on him and his eyes were bloodshot. Nick didn’t take too kindly to Bobby showing up under the influence at their grandmother’s funeral. But he had no right to judge. So he decided to let it slide. “I know how close you and grams were. You going to be alright?” “I’m hanging in there,” Nick sighed. “Hit me up if you ever need to talk. I’m always there for you, man.” “Thank you,” Nick feigned gratitude. “I really appreciate that.” Nick tried to remember the good times. Bobby’s recollection of Nintendo had sparked his memory. Nick, his brother and sister, and his cousins used to sit in front of the television for hours, taking turns playing games like Zelda and Super Mario, getting frustrated whenever they lost or couldn’t complete a game. But what a celebration it was when they did finally triumph over Bowser or the evil wizard in Zelda. And Francesca was there for all those victory celebrations with brownies or ice cream sundaes or whatever their hearts desired. If he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could almost smell his grandma’s baccala frying in a pan of hot oil on Christmas morning. Like every grandmother, Francesca couldn’t bear to see anyone go on an empty stomach. Pasta, meatballs, peppers and onions, fried fish, salted cod, broiled chicken with lemon and garlic. Francesca was the closest thing the family had to a professional chef. Her artichokes were critically acclaimed in Montauk. It's what inspired Nick to become a chef. Francesca had ignited a passion that Nick had transformed into a successful career. He worked for five-star restaurants across the tri state area. And he owed it all to his grandmother. But that wasn’t all she did for him. His grandmother taught him how to read, how to do laundry and fold clothes. She taught him the importance of religion and prayer. Had taught him how to speak Italian, which came in handy when he met Isabella one summer. He was 13, maybe 14 at the time. He’d taken a trip back to the old country. She barely spoke a word of English, but if she spoke Italian slowly enough, Nick could keep up with her in conversation. In hindsight, that was probably the greatest summer of his life, he just didn’t realize it back then. He often found himself thinking about Isabella and what might’ve been. He wondered if Isabella ever thought about him too. His sister, Carmella, was in attendance with her boyfriend. What was his name? Toby? Tim? Maybe it was Thomas? Nick was sure it started with a T, but that was all he could remember. As much as he tried to distance himself from her, he was only delaying the inevitable. Eventually, he saw her approaching with her lapdog boyfriend in tow, and he took a deep breath and braced himself. In typical Carmella fashion, she made sure to stand out with her hair, makeup, acrylic nails, and short black dress that ended just above the knees. She had a tanning booth glow to match her glowing white teeth. Nick was waiting for her to start posing for Instagram pictures. “Funeral selfies are very popular nowadays,” Nick quipped. “Be sure to get one right next to the casket.” “Nick the dick,” Carmella whispered. “You never miss a chance to be a prick.” “It’s in my nature,” he smiled. His first smile of the day. “How are you holding up?” “I’ve seen better days.” “We all have. Have you seen mom. She’s a hot mess.” “I haven’t talked to her since this morning.” “Trying to avoid the family?” “I can certainly try.” “That reminds me, Gino was asking about you.” “Tell him I’ll be okay.” “Tell him yourself. Oh, Nick, you remember Tony, right?” *Tony,* Nick thought. *I knew it started with a T.* “Of course,” Nick said, feigning remembrance. They exchanged nods and awkward handshakes, and Tony offered his condolences. “Has anyone talked to dad about…you know?” Carmella asked vaguely at first. “Did he speak with grandma’s attorney? Was her will finalized?” “It was finalized,” Nick whispered, certain of the fact. Then he excused himself. Nick ran away from one sibling and ended up running straight into the other. He supposed it was best to just get it over with. Rip the Band-Aid off. Gino was straight out of *The Jersey Shore*. Tape up haircut, spray tan, gold chain tucked into his shirt, rings on every other finger. Nick was surprised he didn’t show up wearing sunglasses. Gino could be annoying at times, and he had no filter and said whatever came to mind, but his heart was always in the right place. Gino was the youngest of the three. And even though Nick was the oldest, he’d always gotten along better with Gino than he had with Carmella. “Did you see who showed up to pay their respects?” Gino asked. Then he told him before Nick could even take a guess. “Jenny Washburn. Man, she was a looker back in high school. Now, look at her. Girl, are you a pinata? Because I’m going to need a blindfold before I hit that.” “We’re at our grandmother’s funeral,” Nick whispered. “Try and conduct yourself with a modicum of dignity.” “Sorry, you’re right. She doesn’t kook that bad, anyway. I’d hit it…with a truck.” “Gino,” was all Nick said under his breath. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll knock it off.” As annoying and irritating as Gino was, he didn’t mind talking to him that day as much as he did talking to Carmella. He could feel Carmella’s accusing eyes all over him, judging him, just like his mother. *I know what you did.* Like she had any right to judge. Like any of them did. But he knew he’d get no judgment from Gino. In the days since their grandmother’s passing, Gino had constantly tried to console him, patting him on the back, assuring him that it would be okay, that their grandma was in a better place now. But Nick was inconsolable. “Have you talked to dad?” “I’ve been avoiding him like the plague.” “Well, did you hear anything about grandma’s will?” “I know we’re all included in it, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t know how much you’re getting. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s ample.” “You’re right. I shouldn’t be worrying about that right now, anyway. It’s silly. Forget it. How are you doing?” “This is one of the hardest days of my life,” Nick said, feeling he could be more open and honest with Gino than he could with his other family members. “It’ll be alright,” Gino told him. “At least she’s not suffering anymore. She was sick. It was going to happen sooner or later.” “Excuse me,” Nick said, feeling quite ill himself. At least he had ripped the Band-Aid off by talking to his siblings. Now it was time to take the stitches out and talk to his mother. He saw her excuse herself from his Uncle Pete and Aunt Linda and start walking towards him. Sofia Cappotelli didn’t take her eyes off her son the entire time. Those eyes, that stare, it gave a clear impression of her thoughts. *I know what you did.* “How are you doing?” Sofia asked. “I could be worse. You?” “I’m managing,” she said. Then she added, “You look nice.” “Thank you,” Nick said. “Gino looks...presentable. I’m grateful for that. Carmella looks–” “Like a streetwalker?” “You said it, not me. Have you spoken to your father?” “I haven’t talked to Paul since we got the news about grandma.” “Maybe you should. I know he wants to talk to you. Life is short, you know.” He didn’t appreciate that last little dig she threw in there. But he let her have the last word. He was just grateful the conversation was over. The last of his family members had started to arrive. Soon, the priest would say a few words, recite a few prayers, then they would lower Francesca into the ground, and she would become one with the earth. Nick was shocked to see Isabella there. But her dark shoulder-length hair, caramel skin, and hypnotic brown eyes were impossible to forget. He spotted her easily in a sea of family members and close friends and approached her slowly and gently. “Isabella?” he asked, acting as if he barely even remembered her. “Isabella Argento? Is that you?” “Hello, Nick,” she smiled. “How many years has it been?” “Too many.” “I still remember that summer in Italy.” “It was beautiful,” Nick said, referring to something entirely different. Isabella blushed. “It’s good to see you again. But I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances.” “You and me both.” “Oh, and by the way, it’s Isabella Resnick now.” “And is Mr. Resnick in attendance?” “*Doctor* Resnick is in Atlanta, performing open heart surgery.” “Lovely,” Nick said, feeling slightly let down. Though he tried not to show it. “So, what brings you all the way here?” “I was in New York on business when I heard the news from my mom. So, I decided to come out here and pay my respects. Your grandmother was always so kind to me and my family. We never forget kindness. It’s a rarity nowadays.” “How long have you been living in the US?” “A while now. I should have reached out earlier. I left Italy after I graduated college. By then, I was fluent in English. I took an accounting job in Atlanta. And that’s when I met William.” “Any kids?” Nick asked. “Not yet, but William and I have discussed it. How about you? Is there a Mrs. Cappotelli in your life?” Nick flashed his bare hands, no wedding band. “One day, if I’m lucky.” “Girlfriend?” “Not at moment. What can I say?” Nick shrugged. “I’m not as popular as Carmella.” “Nobody’s as popular as Carmella,” she said, her accent still thick. They shared a laugh, and she offered her condolences again. Then she walked out of his life just as fast as she had walked back into it. When the crowd dispersed and Francesca had been lowered into the cold, cold ground, Nick took a moment to pay his respects and say his final goodbyes, alone. He stood over her grave, arms folded in front of him, and took a deep breath. His father walked over quietly, and Nick flinched as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “It had to be done,” Paul Cappotelli whispered. Yes, it had to be done. And Nick was the unfortunate one to do it. He was the only one Francesca Cappotelli still trusted. She hadn’t given the family much of a choice, at least from their point of view. She was holding out on them. Rumor had it she was looking to adjust her will and cut them all out of it. They had to act fast, before she had the chance to do anything drastic. Nick was the only one who could still get close to her. The only one of her grandchildren she trusted and respected. Carmella had no drive, no focus. She avoided working like it was her actual job and depended on her parents or her boyfriends to fund her lifestyle. Francesca wasn’t a fan of her granddaughter using her looks in order to get by. And to Francesca, Gino was an utter buffoon, wasting his life away, bouncing from one meaningless job to the next. But Nick was smart, bright, promising, a hard worker, intelligent, trustworthy, loyal. Or so Francesca had believed. Paul Cappotelli procured the poison. But Nick was the one who had administered it. His father assured him that it was untraceable, that it would show up as a heart attack on any autopsy report. And at her age, with her declining health, nobody would have a reason to question it. Nick was the culprit. But none of their hands were clean. They all had their reasons. Paul’s construction business was failing, and he was in debt to the bank, struggling to pay back his loans. The IRS was breathing down his neck. His employees were threatening to walk out on him. He needed money, and he needed it fast. He had pleaded with Francesca for financial relief, swore he would pay back every penny with interest. But Francesca refused to lend a helping hand. She’d grown weary of her family, of their greediness and recklessness, of their neglectful and selfish ways. The way she saw it, she wasn’t responsible for their irresponsibility. Her son would have to find a way to save his own business. The same went for her daughter-in-law. Nick’s mother had sunk all her money into her own business venture, a clothing boutique. While she did have an eye for fashion, she was barely covering the rent. Needless to say, the store wasn’t doing well, and she didn’t even own the property. Her only choice was to try and stay afloat or pack up and admit defeat. And Sofia Cappotelli was not one to lie down and admit defeat. She was stubborn and never liked to admit when she was wrong or made a mistake. And the love Sofia had for her mother-in-law was paper thin, if it ever really existed in the first place. Gino needed money to fund his selfish lifestyle. Carmella was the same story. But they were the only ones that weren’t quite in on it. Sure, they assumed the passing of their grandma meant they would be receiving their inheritance, but they weren’t aware of the circumstances that had brought them to this point. Paul felt it was for the best. But he also didn’t have a lot of hope for his daughter and youngest son. And between trying to fund his business and care for his children, he was going broke. This money would alleviate so much pressure, solve so many problems. And then there was Nick. The good son, Nick the saint, or Nick the dick, depending on who you asked. In his heart, he wanted to believe he was a good person. But he needed money, just like anyone else. Chefs, as talented as they may be, work long hours for very low wages. Most restaurants don’t even offer benefits or health insurance. But that wasn’t the problem. Gambling was Nick’s vice. And his debts were enough to scare even the most notorious gambling addict sober. Nick was in debt to some very unsavory individuals, and they were going to take more than a couple of fingers if he didn’t pay up soon. But Francesca was stubborn. She wouldn’t budge. She wanted her family to work for what they had. So, they had to take drastic measures. His father was the one who had suggested it, but Nick was the one who went through with it. And he’d have to face that for the rest of his life.  \*\*\*  Monday, October 21, 2019. Early morning. Nick was summoned to the office of Herman Winesap, his grandmother’s attorney. He assumed it was in regards to their inheritance and how it would be divided up among the family. He also assumed everyone else would be there. So, he was bemused to see that his mom and dad were not present. Neither were Gino or Carmella. He walked in alone to Winesap’s office and shook Herman’s cold, dry hand. “Have a seat,” Winesap said. Nick accepted his invitation and made himself at home. He looked around at his otherwise empty office. “Are we waiting for anyone else?” “No, Mr. Cappotelli. Just you.” “What’s this all about?” Nick asked. “Just a formality? You need me to sign something?” “Well, yes and no. Mr. Cappotelli, your grandmother made extensive changes to her will prior to her death. Were you aware of these changes?” *That bitch,* Nick thought. *She was one step ahead. She must’ve figured out we were plotting behind her back and took us out of her will before we made our move.* “No, I was not aware,” he said quietly. “I was under the impression that the whole family was to be included in her will.” “That was indeed the case, as of last Monday, a day before your grandmother’s unfortunate passing. My sincerest condolences, by the way. On that day last week, Francesca amended her will and listed you as the sole beneficiary.” Nick was stunned, floored, speechless. He couldn’t utter a word. But internally, he was beyond elated. Every single penny of Francesca’s vast fortune would go straight to him. Not to Gino or Carmella or his parents, but him. The rest of his family wouldn’t see a cent. He was rich; rich beyond his wildest imagination. “I’m going to need your signature on a few documents before we can proceed,” Winesap said, shuffling papers around on his cluttered desk. Nick was more than happy to scribble his name on the dotted line. Once the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed, Winesap opened the top drawer of his desk. “Oh, this is for you,” he said, handing Nick a sealed envelope. “Your grandmother insisted I give this to you in the event of her death. As her attorney, she also insisted that I not read it.” Nick opened the envelope and his smile suddenly dissipated. As he read his grandmother’s words, the grim, harsh reality of the situation began to dawn on him. He was now the sole beneficiary of his grandmother’s fortune. The same fortune his family had been plotting to secure. *Dearest Nick,* *I never expected it to be you. Your father, sure. That no good son of mine has been waiting me out for years to get his hands on my fortune. But I thought you were different. I thought I could trust you.* *You were always my favorite, Nick. Which is why it almost hurts me to write this. In the event of my demise, I’ve amended my will to have all my money and assets transferred to you.* *I hope you understand what this really means, Nick. You all wanted me out of the way in your greedy pursuit of my money. Well, if you’re reading this, you succeeded.* *You can have it all, now. Everything I have. It all goes to you. Now they will be gunning for you instead of me. I hope the thought keeps you awake at night. I hope you won’t be able to focus, to sleep. I hope you spend every waking minute looking over your shoulder, wondering who is going to stab you in the back, figuratively or literally.* *Who is it going to be, Nick?* *Gino? Carmella? Your mother and father? Who can you really trust?* This was Francesca’s final revenge. She knew her time was coming to an end. She knew her family was conspiring against her, and she knew it would be the one closest to her to plunge the dagger into her heart. And now, she was returning the favor. Francesca Cappotelli was gone. But Nick wasn’t too far behind.


I sit at my window sill, my palms sweaty, face tense, hands clutched tight. The only thing keeping me physically stable is the repetitive chant in my mind; “I am okay”. Though I am in complete terror, I am no amateur to an anxious mind. In truth I have experienced this very feeling before, and before, is an understatement. I am pretty much know as the anxious kid everywhere I go. At school, where I scurry out of my seat in the middle of the lesson, and pace around the classroom. At home, where my room is filled with stress balls, fidget spinners, and all other kinds of weird gadgets. And even at the supermarket where I once got to go to the “Cashier Lounge” when a panic attack quickly arose during our grocery shopping disaster. I always get aggravated having that label stuck to me, but yet I continue to be anxious. Not by choice of course. But more by habit. Unfortunately, having anxiety is like riding a bike, learn it once and you don’t seem to forget how to do it.                My relentlessly anxious mind wakes me up night by night, at that phase where your just drifting off to the magical world of dreams. However, my brain doesn’t allow me to feel free in the joyous dream realm, instead it awakes me with haunting secrets that I have shielded to myself. So, I have gotten into the habit of jumping out of bed, almost as quickly as my racing mind, and sitting at the tall window sill beside my bed. There, I try to find peace in the things around me like the tall buildings that seem to go a mile high, or the blinding city lights that twinkle like stars in the dark city air.  Night by night I turn to my window sill for comfort, but more importantly as an escape.                But this particular night when searching for various things I have overlooked or ignored I see a small cop car zoom by. Suddenly another follows it, playing the horrendous tune that shakes your bones. As the grating feeling of anxiety, circles around me, I am reminded of that unbearable scene. The devastating memory of flashing blue and red lights storm throughout my mind, and I hear the sirens echo throughout my brain. Tonight the window sill did not let me escape, but instead forced me to be reminded, forced me to replay the scene that I had been avoiding all this time. I felt my heart race, and my eyes grow watery. I felt my legs and arms go numb. Without the very thing that gave me comfort how was I supposed to get past the thoughts that were stuck to my brain like glue. That’s when I resorted to the repetitive chant in my mind. Tightly hugging my legs, and controlling my sobs, I decided to give the cop car one last look. As hard as it was, I made contact with the automobile. Though, I could not see well through the thick city air, and the tears crowding my vision I was able to just barely make out the vehicle. I watched it park and a police officer open the drivers door. That speedy driver than raced out of the car and disappeared behind the local café.                Though he disappeared the memories did not. Instead they were enlarged. They felt so real that I could almost feel all the things I felt that day. Like the heavy scent of cigars that stuffed up our living room that afternoon. Or the sight of  two bottles of alcohol that were empty and shoved into the corner of our kitchen. Or The strange man that my so called father was speaking to, as he handed him loads of cash at the corner of the block. I saw all those things happen but only gave it a small ponder. I didn’t pay attention to the signs. I wondered if I could of prevented all of what happened, and if I did, would things look different for me? That thought alone has troubled me since the moment the cops arrived, and took me to the home I reside in now. To the family I now call my own. I know living with my father any longer would have not been the right environment for me, but I do wish there could have been a better chance for him. Maybe not with me, but I do wish he could of outdone his wrongs, and we could both live in the worlds we deserve. But instead he is locked up for good, and I must live knowing that he wasted his life, cause of his silly obsessions. He wasted his life, and jeopardized his daughter’s. Strangely enough remembering that day in such detail felt like the ticket I needed to get past the dark road I had been struggling on.                Something changed inside me at that moment. I realized that by my father being out of my life, he was controlling it more than before. And I didn’t want that. I want to live my own life, with my family, and with nothing but positivity around me. My father had his chance, now it’s my turn. I also decided that reliving the tough days is okay. The way we look at memories, is the way we see those memories and I needed to rewrite some of mine. Memories can be carried with much sorrow and pain or as tribute to the strength, perseverance, and bravery exhibited. The police man then came around the corner and jumped back into his car. He drove off as suddenly as he came. Watching the police car leave, I vowed that I wouldn’t be so afraid to look at something that remind me. As after all what harm did it do. Yes I saw and slightly relived the pain, but I was also reminded of how strong I was that night, and all the nights that followed. So, don’t be afraid to watch your memories, get past the pain, and look out your window. Who knows what you can overcome.


The branches of the trees creaked and whined as the wind swept across the moor. Twisters of leaves flung wildly about. Upon a hill stood a man gazing absently over the valley. The man’s clothing was ill fitting on his thinning frame. His face was gaunt and his hair fell unkempt. His body trembled with weakness and exhaustion. His once bright blue eyes were now clouded and bleary. It was his first time in the outside world from his manor in as any months. His home had fallen silent. The floor was littered with leaves, dust coated every surface and he had ordered for all the windows to be shuttered and the drapes closed. It was once a warm and welcoming place. Dances and other entertainment were frequently hosted there. The expansive hall was often ornamented with fine porcelain china and exotic vases. The banquet room was perfumed with oriental teas and rich fat from roasted meats. For some who had the taste for it, Opium was imported from the Silk Road. At these parties Edmond’s wife insisted on greeting the guests and escorted them into the designated room. Performers and musicians serenaded them as they indulged. Wine flowed in abundance into crystal glasses. As inebriation took hold, gentlemen shed their jackets. Their women flushed and giggled. Some were more blatant than others as their primal nature was revealed. Later they would take coffee and cigars in the parlor. Edmond would further entertain as his wife served delicacies. The haze of smoke lowered the inhibitions of their friends. Kissing and groping would take place on the couches. Make-up was smeared and hair was ruffled. Some sat awkwardly, witnessing these displays while maintaining decorum. On occasion a couple would sneak into one of the upstairs bedrooms. The sounds of their whooping coitus caused riotous laughter. When the night drew late the guests filed out of the home and into their carriages. The servants bustled here and there, clearing the tables. Edmond took his wife’s hand and escorted her up the stairs. He could hardly wait to bed her after the party. He had been starving for her all evening. As soon as the bedroom door closed, he reached to pull her to him. Her hunger matched his. With fumbling hands, she unbuttoned his trousers. Slowly her fingers traveled downward to tease him ever so gently. A mischievous smile graced her lips as her husband’s breath began to hitch. He disrobed himself unceremoniously and cast his clothing in a pile upon the floor. Angelique rushed to undo the laces of her bodice. Her face flushed red and her skin was exposed before him. He reached for the pin that held her hair up into a braided bun. Her golden locks slipped down to curtain her breasts that had so pleased him. He gripped a fistful of her hair and crashed his lips down upon hers. The days of virginal restraint and care had long since passed. Yes, still he made love to her, but now was not the time. No. Now they would devour each other in simple lust. Roughly he pressed her into the bed. He nipped at her collar bones and shoulders and she trembled beneath him. Desperately, she clung to him, raking her nails down his back breaking the last of Edmond’s resolve. He eagerly shifted Angelique’s skirts and placed his mouth upon her breast. Her body accepted him and she cried out from his touch. They plummeted from the edge of self-control and submitted to their carnal wants. In an act of boldness, Angelique crossed her legs around his waist, urging him on.  A low moan rose from the depths of his chest and he bared his weight upon her. Pinning her wrists, he seized control. They began to sweat and their breathing grew ragged. Their rutting became erratic and all sense of the world around them disappeared. Soon now. The last dredges of their intercourse came with a strangled grunt and his lower belly clenched. With his release the tight coil that had been building inside Angelique’s core finally broke. With a few more twitches and spasms, the couple lie still. In the afterglow of their love he took her hand in his and she began to weep. He smiled knowingly. She always cried with joy when he was with her like this. Sapped by exhaustion they began to fade from consciousness. With what little will she had left, Angelique rose onto shaky legs and managed to make it to her own room. Edmond’s slumber used to be so sweet knowing his love was not far away. Just a few doors down his wife lie peacefully. Now he tossed and turned…if he slept at all. When he did sleep, he dreamt of her. He would reach out for her and her hand would be icy cold. Her hair was wet and stringy, skin pale and blood drenched the bodice of her gown. Mud and leaves were matted in her hair. Angelique’s eyes were sharp and accusing. Edmond trembled and wept as he leaned in to kiss her. No sooner that his lips brushed hers a shriek ripped through the air. Her mouth curled in a sneer. A voice like venom roared. “Your fault! Your fault!” Edmonds throat tightened and a pathetic cry struggled from his mouth. “I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. Please forgive me my love.” Again, she bellowed. “Your fault! Your fault!” The wind howled and she began to fade. Leaves appeared in a whirlwind where she once stood. A gale forced the leaves to engulf him. They were razor sharp, tattering his clothes and slashing his skin. He would wake in a cold sweat. After such dreams he would slip into fits of rage. His wailing dirge would echo all the way to the servant’s quarters. As the weeks drug on he dismissed them. He couldn’t bear the whisperings and the way they avoided looking him in the eye. Edmond despised the way they pitied him. A malignant resentment built in him from the falsity of their sorrow. As they left, he shut himself away. He wallowed in his solitude. His guilt riddled thoughts were all that kept him company.


After four full months of careful planning and diligent preparation, the Apple Festival of the city of Georgia has finally begun and it will be a fun day and as the son of the owner of the most important pastry shop in the city we are on the foot and leg to finish the preparations and it is baking all the apple pies that will. The festival is very large, I see it is bigger than last year, there are more than 300 vendors and exhibitions and includes stalls selling candles, handicrafts, wood, and food items and exhibitions of metal and glassworks. Fried and baked apple pies and other apple recipes are also the faces of the festival in Georgia. On the day of the holiday is all dedicated to the competition for the best apple pie and you find a lot and a lot of stalls and you have to be careful not to mix your shop with another and put and display your goods in it instead of your store at your stalls must be distinguished from others as a sign. Everything was going well and ready for the show for Lucas 'father to call out," Lucas, Lucas, is it already, son?" "Yes, dad things are fine" Lucas's father was very worried. He desperately wants to win this year over his rival, Mr. Sharma. Lucas, a boy at the young age of 23, blond hair, green eyes, and light brown hair. average height and worked as a director for sugar and flavoring specialized in making sweets and all kinds of bread, which is owned by his father, but retired after fats became responsible adores profession even though he studied architecture at the University. ##### Lucas went to the center of the festival and started to display their Apple products of all varieties of pies, baked goods, cakes, tart, jam, and everything related to apples, and it resonated if the audience gathered in front of his booth and he is in the midst of the fun of selling and displaying the products noticed that the booth of their competitor Mr. Sharma And it looks like the competition between them is going to be fierce, and Lucas should have acted to draw more attention to our products. Made a girl from the store, and asked Apple Pie test I ate a piece and said " yummy already soggy state meet I was curious to know how to bake "

Lucas " it's a family secret, this is my grandmother's recipe, my grandmother's grandmother, my father's grandmother's from Switzerland and I've mastered cooking apple pies with a secret ingredient "

Lucas admirably looked at the girl, contemplating the details of her face and the agility of her figure.  It's cool. it goes smoothly in your mouth, Mira.

 Thank you. may I meet you, Lucas. Meera Sharma is Mr. Sharma's daughter. "Mr. Sharma's daughter, but I've never seen you, I know him very well," Lucas said. "Yeah, I was studying at University and finished it this year," Mira "And what did you study? "Lucas.  Myra's " tax lawyer ". Good. good. I studied architecture, Lucas.  Are you Mr. Perry's son, Mira? " Yeah, Lucas ". Lucas. "But I don't understand why all this competition between my father and your father," Mira track. "Doesn't it look kind of silly to you," Mira said. "Not! Whoever makes the best pie wins and gets the award and good customers all year, and I'm keen to win this year. "Lucas. So you're endorsing your father for this competition, Mira. "Yeah, you're talking to the CEO of a sugar and spice shop, and we're the one winning the competition this year."Lucas

"Do you think so! We are the ones who will win, " Mira replied confidently as she looked at Lucas and surprised her heart palpitations every time she looked into his eyes. Mira is twenty-five years old, a smart and Funny Girl with long curly hair, brunette skin, and blue eyes, and since she is mixed-race from an African mother and an Indian father and her grandmother to her Dutch mother, making an apple pie is very easy for her. #### The sweet confrontation between the two bakeries raged and Lucas and Mira decided to raise the level of confrontation by giving a gift to everyone who stumbles and buys a pie. And at midday and it was time to rest, and in the next garden Mira headed for a comfortable lunch, and while she was away from the right patch to sit, I bumped into someone, and as soon as she turned around the uncle of the silence in the place, and the eyes converged, and he sailed, too, in the blue and green of their eyes, and "watch out for you in front of me" and his cheeks are very red. Mira stammered and surprised herself she experiences a new beautiful feeling on her not felt before she shook her heart and ignited a fuse for Lucas and he also, but they remembered the competition of course and it seemed clear the desire of one of them to kiss the other and melt it has developed rapidly. "You have to hold on, Mira, hold on, please. oh, your good-looking Lucas, like I've known you for decades, and I haven't seen you for two hours. damn, I wish I could eat your lips," Mira said.  "It's Okay I was just looking for a special patch to sit down and see I didn't find it, I'd better go home."  I'll show you a beautiful place that you're surprised to find here, that no one knows, Lucas. He held her hand gently and her heartbeat rapidly. "I know exactly what's going on with me when I'm sweating and I'm not running," Mira said. And then they penetrated between two bushes, and if a hidden place between them seemed charming, with a small waterfall and a distinctive green and a small pool of water, it was charming, and Mira was amazed at its splendor. " "Where Are you going to sit, I think it's right here, or it's not right, Mira." "Lucas, wait, mind you, you show me the place, you walk away and you leave me alone here," Mira. I thought you wanted to be alone here, Lucas. "I was really planning it, but now that you're there, things might be different," Lucas replied, then sat down and the silence between them again, and they talked together, "thank you for " Mira and Lucas at the same time. "Calm down, Mira, hold on. relax you. oh, my God, what's happening to them ". "What's wrong with you, Lucas? did thee cat eat your tongue for all this hesitation?" Lucas in himself looked at each other with endless passion and adoration, realizing that they had fallen in love with each other.  Well, how about you try our apple pie, Mira. Taste Luke's piece of the pie and marvel at the splendor of her " Mmmmm delicious, really delicious, but how do you tell they felt a little bit of cinnamon with the tart taste I think of ginger and..... "Lucas. "The secret of my family won't move arrival, my maternal grandmother, a Belgian original art recipe from her family after they migrate to America. "Really good taste. that's why you beat us last year, Lucas. "Did we win over you last year, imagine I don't know about it, but when did the competition between our bakeries start?". "I think since'  maybe four years.". "Since we moved in, it's weird, I haven't seen you for once, and we live in the same neighborhood," Mira said.  I've seen all your family members, Your Mother, your father, your twin sisters, your brother, even your aunt, who visits you now and then, and I'm completely unaware that you're there, Lucas. "I also didn't even hint at you by mistake and I know almost all of your family and also by name John, Harry, Tara and Melanie, I even walked into your bakery and bought two delicious chocolate cupcakes and didn't see you." "Isn't that weird! ..؟؟……." Said Mira. "But why are you surprised not to recognize me after all this time! " Lucas. Mira was surprised by Lucas ' question, which they gave her a quick kiss, and she answered.

"Did you know the answer now, we have to go now it's time to announce the winner," she said. They walked away together and their families bragged about their harmony. "It is now time to announce the winner of the best apple pie award at the festival after a fierce competition in which two contenders for the title reached a sugar and spice bakery for Mr. Perry's family and Mr. Sharma's family with their Indian bakery," said the festival presenter. "This year's winner ...!!!!! A tie is a tie for the bakers this year and the winner will be distributed equally between them and thanks to everyone's participation in this festival for the weekend. The competition ended with the bakery tied and Mr. Sharma and Mr. Perry shaking hands after Meera and Lucas convinced them to end the competition. Mira and Lucas befriended, got engaged, and finally got married. It was love and bread.


A Bit of a Traveller The year was 1969, and the graduating class had decided to put objects into a time capsule, which was buried on in the far corner of the property owned by the high school. It was where some of the students went to go to smoke. There was a large bush that they could hide behind, and not get caught. The plan was to dig the time capsule up and revisit it every ten years, to give it a look, maybe laugh. However, 10, then 20, 30 and even 40 years later, there had been no such activity, even though about half of those class members had come to the first two reunions, and a substantial minority to the last two. Some had even gone to the corner to have a smoke, ‘for old times sake’.  But they barely mentioned what they were standing on when they puffed away, although one or two would remark that there looked like there had been a little digging there recently, nothing much, just a little.. Most of the class had brought in fairly predictable things – vinyl records now worth quite a bit of money, fashion magazines, pictures taken at key events, like when the basketball team won the city championship, and a few snaps of people smoking behind the bush beside where the time capsule lay buried, that kind of thing. Larry Places a Mysterious Object in the Time Capsule But Larry had carefully placed inside the capsule something quite different. He had put it inside a wooden box before he brought it to the ‘incapsulating session’ as some smarty-pants student called it. A few were curious about what it was he had placed in the freshly dug hole, but no one thought to ask him about it. Although everyone knew of Larry, and they recognized him by sight as he had grown up alongside them year after year, no one really knew him at all.

He was a bit of a ‘Traveller’, to use the British expression. His parents had come from eastern Europe and it was rumoured that they had lived in a caravan or trailer, along with others of their kind. They had made a little money telling fortunes, and selling shiny goods on the street, enough to pay for their fare over the Atlantic. No one’s parents knew them, not even neighbours. And this despite the fact that Larry’s father eventually came to earn a decent living as a sales manager for a big box chain store, and they lived in a ‘nice neighbourhood.’ The Fiftieth Anniversary            It was 2019, the year of the 50 th anniversary of the class of 1969. Around twenty of them showed up, and some who had remained close friends over the years had decided that this would be their last chance to have a look at the time capsule. The reunion was on a Saturday, and they were going to do the digging at 3:00 p.m., the time when class usually got out. Larry left early, to arrive well before the starting time. He had something to do, and did not want to be seen doing it. He parked his car on the road beside the short path that led straight to the time capsule.            He still managed to get to the front door about the same time as most of the others did. There were people there from classes all over the years, but he had his eyes set for those who graduated with him. He had particular people in mind.            He saw Rick Jamieson first. He walked over to him. After the initial ‘hi Rick’ he jumped straight into a conversation, not something they had often engaged in when they were students, other than asking questions about homework: “How’s your wife Sally? And your sons, Bob, and Frank? They work at the factory where you used to work before your retirement, don’t they”

           Rick was stunned by this, as he did not expect what he was hearing. Once his suspicions settled, he got truly engaged in conversation. It wasn’t long before the two of them grabbed a coffee each, sat down on chairs nearby and talked about their lives over the last 50 years. To watch and to listen to them, you would think that had been the best of friends in school. After about fifteen minutes of conversation, they gave each other their cell phone numbers and e-mail addresses, both thinking that they might forget to do so later. Both then made jokes about how their capacity to forget was ever-growing.            Rick had to go to the bathroom. When he mentioned that, they exchanged one-liner jokes about a capacity that was ever shrinking.            As soon as Rick entered the ‘Boys Washroom’, Larry saw another classmate, ‘Stan the Man’ Martin and demonstrated a similar knowledge of what had happened in Stan’s life since graduation. Stan was just as surprised as Rick had been. He and Larry had never been friends, even though they had been in the same class several times. And Larry knew some personal details that were not part of general public knowledge, facts known to very few.            When three o’clock approached, Larry walked with the others from his graduating class, as well as a group of interested others who had graduated later, but had not created a time capsule and were regretting it now. Some of those celebrating their 50 th reunion were carrying shovels that had been supplied by the school for the occasion. When they arrived there, some noticed, but did not comment, that it looked like someone had already  done a little digging on their own. They did mention that the bush beside it had grown some since they used to hide behind it to have a smoke without getting caught.            When the box containing Larry’s item came to the surface, he quickly picked it up, hoping that no one was paying any attention to what he was doing. However, Rick and Stan both spoke up, saying as if they had one mind between them, “What’s in the box Larry?”            Just before Larry could complete his reply of “You wouldn’t find it interesting at all”, Rick grabbed the box right out of his hands. He opened it up quickly, then he and Stan flashed a surprized, and slightly shocked look on their faces.            Knowing that the cat was out of the bag, or more literally the crystal ball was out of the box, Larry winked at his new-old friends and said, “Give the crystal ball to me. We will walk around behind the bush where no one can see us, and I will show you something.”            Rick quickly handed the crystal ball over to Larry., and they walked full pace around the corner, where the bush shielded them from curious eyes. They stood together in a three person circle, around the ball that Larry held out in front of him with both hands. There was a cloudy swirling in the crystal ball, but that was as nothing compared to what appeared when Larry said “Rick Jamieson.” Pictures of Rick’s life literally flashed before all three of them. And there were sounds, barely audible but still heard, that added much to understanding what was going on in the scenes being shown.            After about five minutes of this spectacle passed by, Rick pronounced a telling phrase that they would later use often, “It is kind of like a supernatural Google search.”            Larry put the crystal ball inside one of the deep pockets of his brown leather jacket. The three former classmates, now on the road to becoming close friends, had something to share, the lives of their classmates over the years. Stan picked up a rock, put it into the briefly empty box. Then he handed the rock-in-a box over to Larry, who walked over to the newly-dug hole, and buried the box where it had once been.  But the past would not be so buried. It would be visited by a bit of a Traveller, and his curious friends.


It was a gorgeous day outside, and I was enjoying a wonderful lunch with my best friend in the entire world. We had known each other all our lives, considering she was my sister. However, there was no one else I would rather spend an afternoon with. Here lately it was a rare occurrence because I worked all the time, and she had three kids and a husband who commanded her attention. I worked for a big cosmetics firm, and traveled a lot for my job. Which brought us to our current conversation. She had the usual concerns, such as when was I going to settle down and have a family, aka husband and children. My usual go to answer was I love my work, and at the moment it was all I wanted. But add in the fact that she was five years older, and practically helped raise me, she didn’t believe my answer. After lunch we usually went shopping, but this time she told me she had a surprise for me. She drove, and we parked in front of this Victorian looking mansion with huge stone pillars. It looked like it was a remnant of the 1860’s southern plantation. “I am not dressed for a fancy lunch!” I told her. She just smiled and told me to follow her. We walked up the impressive stone stairs, and read the sign on the old oak wooden door that stated to come in. We entered a long hallway, and there were three doors on each side. The first one said lawyer’s office. She motioned for me to follow her. The last door on the right read: Madame Helena- Palm Reader and Fortune Teller. I looked at my sister in disbelief. She knew how I felt about these kinds of utter fantasy. “Hear me out. You have been miserable since your break-up a YEAR ago. You need a new prospective, a new direction. Maybe she can open your eyes to different possibilities.”. My sister said compellingly. “Also, I already paid, and there’s no refunds”. She looked at me and held her hands in a prayer like fashion, and whispered please. “Fine, let’s do this. But then you owe me lunch!” She laughed and knocked on the door. It was a very dark room with heavy, velvet purple, blackout curtains on the windows. There was a card table in the middle of the room, with a red tablecloth covering it. On the table there was a crystal ball, and a deck of cards. The lighting above the table were three different colored globes in various sizes. There was a large painting of a black cat with green eyes on the wall behind the table. An old woman came out of the back room carrying a silver and red candle. She was dressed in what looked like a silk red bathrobe. She had long gray hair, covered by a black cap. She spoke in a deep voice and told me to sit. My sister walked the other way out the door! Wow! I was alone with this odd woman. She picked up the crystal ball and set it on the floor behind her. She said, “give me your hands”. She took my hands in hers, they smelled like jasmine. She held them for which seemed like forever, but in reality, it was more like 30 seconds. She spoke again in her deep voice. “I will reveal to you three cards, one from the past, one from the present, and one from the future. Are you ready?” I nodded, and she turned over the first card, on it were two small girls playing outside with a bunny. It looked like my childhood backyard, our pet bunny and my sister and me. I was super impressed and creeped out at the same time. I wondered how much information my sister had shared with her. She looked up at me and nodded yes. I nodded in return. She put that card to the side and turned over the second card. On it were one image over another. The first image was a man and a woman silhouette holding hands in front of a church. The one below was the same couple, but they were facing away from one another, and the woman was crying. It looked a lot like my ex and I, except it escaped the red mark on his face for being a two-timing piece of garbage. I was actually feeling sadness from seeing this image. She spoke up and said, “it's time to move on. He’s not the one for you, and he doesn’t deserve your sadness, or tears.” Yikes! She nailed it. “Are you ready for your future?” I nodded yes and she chose the third card. On it were three images. On the upper left-hand part, there was a woman standing at a podium with woman cheering for her, she has a check in her hand. The upper-right hand was a picture of a man and woman holding hands, and smiling at one another. The final picture was the couple standing in front of a house with a sold sign in the yard, and the woman looks to be very pregnant. The woman picks up all three cards, puts them in her robe and takes my hands again. She tells me, “I see much happiness in your future. Be open to it.” Then she gets up, and walks to the back room. I get up and go out the door to my sister, who is looking at a magazine. “How did it go? Did she have good news?” my sister asked. I replied hesitantly because I didn’t want to argue with her, but she needed to hear this. “My life is my private business, and I do not appreciate you sharing my history, or my aspirations for my future with her. From now on, please refrain from giving my personal information out to anyone!” She looked at me in disbelief and shock! “Hun, I set the appointment up and paid online. The only information I relinquished was my credit card information.” I just stared at her in shock. “She knew so much about me. This is a tad freaky. Let’s go to lunch at that new place downtown. We’ll talk then.” We walked into the new place, got seated and I told her everything the fortune teller told me. She agreed that it was a bit unnerving. We had finished our lunch, and were enjoying our wine when a man who identified himself as the manager/owner asked if everything was good. I looked up into the blue/green eyes of one of the handsomest men I had ever seen. He also looked like the man in the future picture. I smiled and said, “it was perfect, I believe we just found our new favorite restaurant.” He smiled back.


*Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time* Once upon a time, two races ruled over earth: Humans & Monsters. One day, war broke out between the two races. After a long battle.. the humans were victorious. The humans tasked seven of their strongest mages to seal the monsters underground with a magic spell. The only way the spell could be broken was if a force equal to seven human souls attacked the barrier keeping the monsters there. With no hope of escape, the king, Asgore Dreemurr, bore a son with his wife, Toriel. They named him Asriel. For ten years they lived happily, but that was due to change. *Chapter 2: Fallen Down* Chara lay on a flowerbed, their back in agony. they found the strength to turn on heir belly and look around. It was a cold, empty room, but sunbeams shone through, lighting the golden flowerbed with a warm kiss. Chara felt numb. But strangely... alive. It couldn't be. They had just fallen from about a thousand feet. But they had to be sure. "Hello?" They called. No response. "Hello?" They repeated, this time louder.Nothing again. At least, for a few seconds. "Uh.. howdy!" said a voice. Chara couldn't believe their eyes. Walking towards them was what looked like a child, but instead of a human look, he was.. a goat. So they screamed. "Shhhh!" said the goat-boy, gently picking Chara up and tossing their arm over his shoulder. "I'm not supposed to be here. You're human, right?" Chara nodded, petrified. "By the way, what's your name? I'm Asriel! Asriel Dreemurr!" said the goat-boy cheerfully. "A-am I in.. in hell?" squeaked Chara. "No, silly! You're in the Underground!" said Asriel. *Chapter 3: My New Parents* Asriel continued to walk Chara until they reached a little house. Surrounding them were well-trimmed bushes. The pictures they formed made Chara grin. "That's Dad's work," said Asriel, "he's the king." "The king?" enquired Chara. "Yep! You're about to meet him!" replied Asriel, knocking on the house's door. A kind-looking goat-woman in a purple dress answered the door, and looked quite shocked when they saw Chara. "Oh dear! Poor thing..." she said, kneeling down to Chara's level, gazing into their face with striking red eyes. "A human?" Asriel nodded. "Sorry, Mom-" "No, no, dear, it's fine, Asriel," she turned to Chara. "I am Queen Toriel. What is your name?" "Chara..." "Chara, huh?" asked Asriel. "That's a nice name." "I'll call Asgore," said Toriel. "Asgore! Asriel has brought home a human!" *Chapter 3: King of the Mountain* If anybody's personality was both underwhelming and relieving, it was King Asgore's. He came down the stairs in jeans that struggled to contain his snow-white legs and a flowered pink polo shirt. He looked like your typical hedge-trimming father until you reached his head. He had a golden beard and long horns that neatly curled upwards at the end, with friendly heterochromic orange-and-blue eyes and a warm, gentle smile. Chara could see a lot of Asriel in him, like their new young goat acquaintance would grow up to be identical to his father. He turned regally to Chara, who instinctively took a bow. The king chuckled and said, "At ease." he spoke in a kind but deep voice that made Chara smile. Chara's smile must have been contagious because Asgore gave Chara an amused grin. "Now come inside," said Asgore, grabbing Chara's shoulders lightly. "Toriel will make some butterscotch-cinnamon pie." *Chapter 4: Home* The Dreemurr household was not what Chara expected. It was small for a royal family, certainly. Yet it shone with a welcoming aura that you'd get from a little cottage on the surface. Chara walked down the hall, lined with plants, past rooms that they guessed were the two bedrooms and the toilet. At the end of the hall, there was a mirror. Chara gazed into the mirror, as a strong feeling overcame them. *Despite everything, it's still you.* They thought, when their brain was cut off by Toriel's motherly call. "Dinner is ready!" Chara took their time walking to the dinner table, taking in the sights of the kindly house. Asriel and Asgore were both at the table when they arrived, licking their lips excitedly. "This'll cheer you up," said Asriel, giving Chara a nudge. "Mom makes the best pies in the Underground." Just then, Toriel entered the room with a plate of pie. The smell wrapped a pair of arms around Chara's nose and locked it in a tight bearhug. "Smell's good, but it tastes even better!" claimed Asriel. Chara nervously took a bite out of their slice. Asriel was right. The pie was delicious in such an amazing way that Chara made a point of complimenting Toriel on how good it was, something they wouldn't be caught dead doing on the surface. She simply nodded and said "I get that a lot." "What did I tell ya?" asked Asriel playfully. "Well, you were right." responded Chara. Chara turned to look at Asgore, who was simply wolfing down his slice of pie, with his eyes closed and an expression of pure joy plastered across his face. "Toriel, you always make the best pie," he said. "What's your secret?" "A magician never reveals her secrets." said Toriel with a wink, and she began clearing everyone's plates. While she did this, Chara wanted to ask Asgore some questions. "Your Highness-" they began, before Asgore shook his head. "Please, Chara, call me Dad." *Chapter 5: Memory* For two years, Chara lived happily with the royal family, and the Underground accepted them. A human was a rare sight to them, but they lived with it. Then Chara fell ill. And it could not be cured. Their dying wish was made to Asriel: To see the golden flowers in their village, just one last time. So the prince took his best friend's soul, crossed the barrier, then carried Chara's body to their village. But the people noticed this. They treated Asriel with extreme prejudice, thinking he had killed Chara, and stuck a spear in his side. Asriel dropped Chara and stumbled back towards the mountain, clutching his ribs. He could have easily slaughtered them like lambs. He chose not to. Once he reached the Underground, he collapsed and transformed into a pile of dust. Enraged, the king decreed that all humans who fell would be killed. The queen disagreed. Shocked at Asgore's actions, she fled to the Ruins that were once her home, leaving Asgore alone in this prison disguised as a castle.


It was his favorite part, twisting the knob, the small rush of air bordering on a whistle as the gas began to escape. Then the anticipation of the flame. The scrape of the matchstick against the box, and the fire crackling to life, a whoosh when the stovetop burner caught. It reminded him of the beginning of Mission: Impossible . Except this was better because it was real. And he knew what was coming.

“When do I get to light it?” Walter asked, settling into the kitchen stool.

“When you’re a little bit bigger,” his grandmother Midge answered. “I’m almost as big as you are,” Walter protested. It was true. At 4’11” Walter’s Grandma Midge wasn’t even three inches taller than her 10-year-old grandson. She compensated by having step stools strategically positioned around her kitchen. One in front of the stove, one at the sink, and a three-step model in her pantry.

“When you’re older then”, Grandma Midge said with a nod and the confidence of a long retired elementary school teacher, firm but gentle. And that was the end of any further discussion. Walter understood it. He didn’t like it. But he understood. “Now what you can do,” Grandma Midge said, scooping a dollop of Crisco into the cast iron pan she slid atop the burner, “Go into the pantry and bring me the flour.” Walter hopped down off the stool. In three steps, the kitchen small like everything in his grandparents’ house, he was in the pantry, which compared to the general size of things, was really quite large. The flour container was on the third shelf. He needed the stool to reach it. Just like his grandmother. The flour container sat next to its matching sugar counterpart. A foot tall and half-a-foot deep, Walter’s distorted reflection shimmered in the chrome of the art deco containers. His grandmother had received them as a gift when she and his grandfather had “set up housekeeping” as it was referred to long ago, shortly after they were married in 1932. No one remembered exactly who had given them the containers. Grandma Midge thought it was one of her husband’s, sisters. Heddy probably. Grandpa Wil thought it was Midge’s sister Mae. No one ever took credit. Or blame depending on the point of view. The mystery remained unsolved. What was agreed upon was that they were useful for as much as Midge baked. For as much as Midge baked, they could have even been larger, but they didn’t make larger sizes and Midge thought they were ideal, regardless. Walter wrapped his arms around the flour container, and with a grunt and careful footing, worked down the step. He lost his balance on the last one, but only slightly, and managed to catch himself on the pantry door frame without spilling. He sighed deeply. Relieved.

Early on, a year and four inches before, he’d tried the same maneuver and lost half the flour across the linoleum floor. He felt a certain sense of pride that offset the definite sense of the previous year’s shame, when he delivered the flour container unmolested to his grandmother. “Thank you,” Grandma Midge said, carefully measuring out the the flour and whisking it into the pan. Walter loved the sound of the spoon on the cast iron, the sizzle of the Crisco, the scraping of the pan across the stovetop. The sounds, he’d come to learn at an early age, portended even more rewarding senses. The next was the scent. The aroma. Delicate, at first. The crumble being formed. A tease before the spices. Nutmeg, allspice and cinnamon. Intertwined in the dough. Still roughly subtle. Until the apples. Like the matches, Walter was still forbidden from slicing the apples, peeling them. He sat on the kitchen stool, watching his grandmother patiently coax the skin off each of the six with the skill of a surgeon, coring the seeds away and slicing the rest in almost identical pieces.

Another sprinkle of cinnamon on the apples, and they went into the mix. Along with four slices of cold unsalted butter.

The butter was one of the most important ingredients, by Grandma Midge’s reckoning. She would use only one brand. Ashcombe Farms. Twenty minutes outside Harrisburg by most reckoning. Thirty-five by Grandma Midge’s driving. Walter didn’t mind. He enjoyed riding with her. The Pennsylvania countryside just outside Harrisburg seemed timeless. From an early age, Walter could sense the history. It wouldn’t have surprised him to see Union cavalry ride out of the hickories along the single lane highway . “Nothing around here ever changes,” he said to no one in particular. Just a thought he felt strongly enough to share. “Now what’s the one thing we need still?” Grandma Midge asked, her teaching instincts still guiding her even in her relationship with her grandson long after her retirement. Ask rather than tell. Teach to fish rather than give a fish.

Walter knew the answer straight away. “Sugar,” he said, bordering on shouting. Confidence but not arrogance. That wouldn’t be proper. “What was that?” someone shouted in from the other room. Walter ignored it. “Good,” Grandma Midge said. “Go get that for me, please.” Walter was in the pantry before he recognized he was in the pantry. “Sugar,” he said to himself. “Third shelf.” And then he noticed something wasn’t quite right. Where was the step stool? He looked left and right and then into the doorway behind him. It was a big pantry but not that big. Not big enough to hide a step stool. The stool was definitely gone. And equally perplexing, the stool was unnecessary. The sugar container was on the shelf directly in front of him. It had just been there on the shelf next to the flour. He had just seen it. It didn’t make sense. Grandma Midge was a creature of habit. Pennsylvania Dutch. She ran things neatly. Methodically. Everything in her house arranged just so. Everything had its place. Nothing ever changed. Walter found it comforting. As things changed around the rest of his life, his Grandmother’s house remained the same. Until now. “Why did you move the sugar here?” Walter shouted. “It’s supposed to be up on the third shelf.” “Walter,” someone called from the living room just outside the kitchen. “Please come back and join us.” The voice was familiar. But it wasn’t Grandma Midge’s. “Do you need the sugar still?” Walter called back. Somebody might have said something but he didn’t quite hear it and didn’t quite care that he didn’t. He leaned close to the sugar container. He’d retrieved it for his grandmother as many times as he could remember. It was as familiar to him as she was. As his own reflection. A reflection he saw distorted now in the chrome of the sugar container. Distorted like in the mirrors of the funhouses from the boardwalk in Ocean City. He raised his head up and down, watching his forehead stretch, his eyes widen, his nose grow as he leaned in. His brow crease and wrinkle. His hair recede and gray. His eyes cloud. If he didn’t know the reflection was him, he never would have guessed it was. “Walter, please come out,” the voice called again.

Then the pantry door widened, and a graying-haired woman who was familiar but wasn’t his Grandma Midge smiled and extended her hand. “Come on now, darling,” she said. “I was getting the sugar for Grandma,” he said . The woman nodded and smiled, but the smile didn’t extend to her eyes. “She’s making apple crisp,” he said. “I’m helping.” “I know, Walter,” the woman said, taking Walter by the hand and leading him back into the living room. Back to his chair. Lowering him into it. She pulled an afghan up over him. “Grandma needs the sugar,” Walter said. “Someone moved it.” “I know,” the woman said, patting his hand gently, handing him the remote control for the television set. “Why don’t you rest here a bit first. I’ll get it for her.” “Okay,” he said, his eyelids growing heavy. “You stay here and enjoy your program,” she said, turning up the volume. “We’ll be done soon and all have some apple crisp together.” “Okay,”Walter said again. The familiar theme music began again and the lit match and the twentieth time Walter had seen this episode of the original Mission: Impossible series began again. But it was all new to Walter.


It’s been years since I set foot in this place, the ominous halls, the old ceiling caving in, I can still picture that fateful day. Back when I was just a girl, walkin’ to this school with a smile on my face and dreams in my heart, but it was gone all too soon. The dreams turned to nightmares on that day, none of hardly anything or anyone survived; except for one thing. I searched the halls in sight for something I could salvage, after all, they were going to demolish and replace this place with a new school, though it will never get rid of the memories that still send chills down my spine.  I got down to the cafeteria, the mainly devastated area, the walls only reached up to my knees, and you couldn’t see the floor past the rubble. I went to piles of rubble and pushed away at it, looking for something to salvage, nothing. I made my way to the exact class I was in that day, it was all normal, perfect, though notes of suspense lingered in the hallways, it all seemed fine. Nothing was out of the ordinary, there was a plane flying from above, and the room was silent; until we heard a loud crash, and a chorus of screams, the ground shook and we fell to the ground. Fire arose from where the bomb had hit, and smoke filled the halls. Teachers joined in a panic as they started evacuating children, I was following the crowd when I looked back and saw the cafeteria gone, and half the school in flames. When we had escaped, I heard the sirens of fire trucks and ambulances in the distance, mixed with the voices of teachers reassuring the weeping children. My head started to get fuzzy, and I looked around in what felt like slow motion, and my mind went silent, my sight became dark, that's all I can remember.  I searched the room and memories came flooding back, it raced through my mind and I started getting dizzy, “not this time” I thought to myself as I clung to an old desk for support, and slowly pulled myself up. I scrambled to find something, anything, that could have survived the misfortune of this room. Brushing on the crumpled blackboard, I could feel all the feelings I felt then, the lack of hope that soon swept my mind; but then I saw it. I knelt down and brushed a pile of ash and rubble away to reveal a cracked porcelain music box, painted with flowers and vines. I turned the rusty knob on the side and it opened to reveal a beautiful dancer, flowers in hand. Music started to emanate from the box, I closed my eyes and started swaying to the soft tune. This was the only way my mind could escape those harrowing memories, I sat there listening, until I started to drift off and my worries began to fade. I dreamt of bright blue skies, adolescent me walking to school happier than ever. If only life could actually really be this perfect, only in my dreams. The years have passed me by, imagining this all never happened, like I never lost so much so soon. “They’d never understand,” my conscience whispered; it’s true, and it’s unjust, no matter how many times I've looked back and feared this place, it can’t leave me, I can’t leave it, not yet. I awoke with a jolt, rubbing my head and huffing, while I looked up through the broken ceiling at the now night sky. I lay motionless, staring up, continuously toying with the music box still perched in my hands. I finally started to stumble my way out of the unlit room, walking in a daze towards the exit, but I felt an urge to stay, like there was more to be seen. I wandered down the halls in sight for somewhere I could have missed, and I saw it, a mysterious darkly-lit library that looked completely untouched. I stepped in cautiously, clutching onto my music box; “It’s freezing in here,” I thought to myself, hugging my arms for warmth. I ran my fingers on the books sticking out of the shelves, deals of dust and ash stuck to my fingers and I wiped it on my already dusty pants. I squinted to the far side of the library, stacks of books untouched, I crept over to the stacks and searched for something I could have forgotten. Copies of fairytale books stacked almost like building-blocks on the floor turned me back to the memories I missed greatly. I spotted a filing cabinet, papers overflowing through the top of the drawers, and a stack of more papers on the top. I slowly walked over to it, holding out my hand, careful to not bump into anything, and gently swept my hand over the paper on the top; “The Water Creek School Devastation,” was printed on the top of the paper, it must be a newspaper. I read the description, it was written by a person who could never understand how it actually felt, I could tell by how under dramatic it was. I read further, names and pictures of victims who were killed, but then I saw something that made my blood run cold; “Harper Perkins” was another name on the list, my name. I dropped the music box, which caused it to start playing music, I walked backwards, gasping for air, finally reaching the wall I slouched down, the silence in the room was deafening and my surroundings were dancing. Different memories started to fill my mind, instead of already being outside of the building I was inside, clutching my music box and singing the tune while keeping my eyes shut, I was the only one there, they forgot me. “Wrong” I thought, there was no possible way that I could have died, I'm still here aren’t I? And how could they have just left me to die Alone? I jumped up in fear and raced to the exit, I ran, and ran, and ran. I finally reached the door and pushed through with all the strength in my body, causing me to slip and fall. I braced for the ground but was warmed by a surrounding bright white light, Floating around in circles in what seemed like a version of heaven. Then it all went cold, silent, and dark. I was placed at the front doors once again, daylight crossed my view, “it’s been years since I set foot in this place” I recited, just like a script.


Hey guys, potential for more if you enjoy. First time really writing a story, hope you like it. If you would prefer to hear it as an audio narration, I've added links here  Some people say they have skeletons in their closets. Others may guess, rarely correctly I’ll add, that their house is haunted. I’ve even found myself having to hold back a laugh when a friend once told me he had 'inner demons'. Until you've smelt an actual demon, you have no sense of what one truly is. The smell touches all of your senses simultaneously; it smothers your skin, sticks to the back of your mouth like mustard, and sounds like the hum of electricity, an uncomfortable and thick buzz you want to scrub off. A werewolf is even worse. The smell of flesh simultaneously dying and being reborn is unlike anything else I have experienced. I could close my eyes. I could plug my ears. But that smell. That smell took weeks to wash away. Since birth, for unknown reasons, I have had the ability to see the supernatural, and them, I. To be honest… looking back, it had all become far too overwhelming. I could see monsters, but I couldn't touch them, or fight them away. Instead, I was helpless, left for them to pray on me from a distance. I couldn't go to bed without Wendigos howling at my door, and even when I did finally drift off, sandmen would feed off my dreams and lock me in their realm. I was often paralysed for days on end, pleading for them to hunt elsewhere. My body had also been drained by psychic vampires to the point that I was a shadow of my former self, as weak in body as in mind. For many years now, this curse caused me not just emotional, but physical damage. There appeared only one way out. I had picked the perfect spot, a bridge overlooking a river far below that opened out to the sea. Lilies grew amongst the reeves, and the water was always teeming with life. It seemed as good a place as any to die. I had prepared two cheese and onion sandwiches as a form of last supper, and made my way through town. I was followed by the usual gaggle of ghosts, each moaning and babbling behind me. The fresh spring-time air, as normal, was overpowered by the faint stench of a werewolf, perhaps two or three kilometres away, and a high-pitched shriek in the distance suggested it was accompanied by a banshee, a personal favourite of mine due to their sulky, self-absorbed nature and complete lack of personal space. Finally the bridge appeared in sight, calmly overlooking the river below. It was built from red bricks and white, triangular wooden beams that had withstood the weather for over a one hundred years. I perched myself on the edge of the rail, and looked out towards the sea. With my feet hanging over, I unwrapped the sandwich and began tucking into my last meal before jumping to my peace. It was genuinely delicious, and for a brief moment, it was as though I was tasting food for the first time. The smell of flesh seemed to disappear with each bite, and I was suddenly hit by the overwhelming, and admittedly welcoming scent of lavender, fresh bread and cut grass. I was also increasingly becoming aware of the fact the smell was getting stronger, and was not my imagination. I started to panic, worried perhaps a siren had marked me, or worse, an imp trickster. And yet, as quickly as the panic arrived... it was gone. Drawn from me like poison from a wound. I decided to ignore it, someone else’s problem now. I was here for a single purpose. I closed my eyes and in one motion, rocked forward, over the edge of the bridge and down towards the beckoning water below. It was not the river however, that engulfed me, but something else; not unlike water, calm but altogether warmer. Pure light seemed to surround me, and when I finally opened my eyes, and the brightness settled, I was back on the bridge. A small boy, no older than five, was sitting next to me. We were both holding sandwiches. His eyes were astonishing, seemingly brown, blue and green all at once, whilst a deeper, more curious colour I had not quite seen before swirled within them. They seemed ageless, and the most beautiful things I have ever seen. In an instant, they met mine and whilst his mouth remained still, I heard his voice. 'Do not be afraid, old friend. There will come a time when you are ready to go. On that day, I will take you gladly, and we shall both finally return home. But not today. Today, war begins.' The boy winked, and was gone. I was, again, alone. Bewildered by the experience, I stumbled home. The sun’s rays seemed to have intensified in the recent hours, and looking up made me nauseous. I felt literally drained. Psychic connections had left me tired in the past, but I had never experienced more than a distant whisper, a scratch against armour. This was different. What I felt was indescribable, and I felt it… awaken something in me. As I passed the local park and turned towards my house, I suddenly realised how quiet it was. Much quieter than usual. Looking behind, I saw why. My ghosts had gone. I expected it to settle me, but instead threw up next to a park bench. After two more incidents, I gratefully made it home, although my sight still hadn’t recovered. My dad had left me the place before he disappeared, and it had seen better days. A pile of greying books by the door nearly made me trip as I essentially felt my way to the kitchen. I quickly downed a glass of water, and then my body crashed onto the sofa. As I drifted off, I could have sworn I heard the distant voices of men, arguing between themselves and gradually approaching.   *My eyes open. It’s freezing, and I’m bare chested. Deep, blue waves of sand crash into a pink ice field, stretching as far as the eye can see. Huge icebergs climb out towards the horizon, glowing like rubies within great diamonds. The sand rises in a hundred foot wave, before crashing against the icy shore. The sky is empty, an endless, distant void. In the centre, a crater overflows with enormous skeletons of strange, tusked beasts. Two thrones, carved in ice, sit in the centre, and appear to have grown out of the ground over many years. I am sitting in one. My skin feels like it’s on fire. I try to move, but realise my skin is frozen to the chair and let out a scream in pain. The second throne sits empty before me.* *‘Can you hear me? Hello? Can you understand what I’m saying?’* *For a moment, I’m confused. Then quickly I arrive at the truth; the sandmen are feeding on me again, and someone is trying to wake me up. I shake myself, trying to ignore the very real agony I’m in. You’re in a dream, I think loudly. Wake up! This is the sandmen. Don’t let them get inside your head!* *‘Ah fantastic. Although, let’s face it… that ship has sailed, my Lord. Mark, get over here. I told you something was different! He even calls us ‘Sandmen’!’* *Before I have time to react, the sand begins to rise around the second throne, kicking up a great blue storm and swirling up into the sky, before rocketing against the throne twice. When the clouds finally disperse, two short, fat men are revealed in silk cloaks, one perching awkwardly on each arm. They have pale, translucent skin and a large, trunk-like nose that curves around their mouth, before hanging freely off their jaw. I have never seen a sandman in this form before, and it completely throws me. The one on the left, slightly shorter and slightly wider, pulls a note from his pocket and clears his throat, as well as his trunk.* *‘Greetings, Almighty Key! Welcome to my humble Sand. My name is Gus, and this is my fellow sandman, comrade and long-term lover, Mark.’* *The second sandman waves slightly and smiles... I assume. The surrounding icebergs start to glow in unison, turning a pale shade of lilac.* *‘I would first like to deeply, and dark-heartedly apologise for consuming you for so long. In our nature and all that jazz. We had very conflicting emotions about the whole thing, if I’m being honest. Emotions we’re only now beginning to understand. Therefore, to the Almighty Key, we are truly sorry. Next, we would like… well I would personally like to say how thrilled we both are that you personally got in touch, and how excited we are to finally die! I mean, four thousand years is plenty of time to be stuck on Earth for us, and I for one will be happy to finally be at peace, especially with the war looking the way it does. I mean, I didn’t even know this was an option until today, and Floyd said... sorry. I’m rambling. Anyway, we graciously accept your offer, and await your further command, Almighty Key.’* *The second sandman bursts into applause, before shaking his comrade/lover’s hand passionately. Suddenly they embrace and their trunks begin to intertwine, before almost realising where they are and, somewhat reluctantly, stopping. They then turn towards me eagerly. Another great wave of sand rises behind them in apprehension.* *I blink. What is happening? The key to what?* *‘Well… Purgatory of course?!’* *The sandman responds to my thoughts immediately. I open my mouth instinctively to ask another question, but at once the sky flashes and turns a sickening yellow. The wave breaks upon me, tossing aside bone and shattering the throne upon impact, throwing me backwards. I can hear the sandmen scream out in the distance, terrified. The ice begins to catch fire, and I’m taken away by the sand. A deeper, commanding voice swallows me.* *‘You will free me! Together, we will rise!’* *The sand tightens around me, twisting and turning my body. Razor quick, it slashes out at me, leaving a deep cut in my right cheek. I raise my hands to cover my face. A sandman is still screaming, or maybe grieving, and as the storm begins to deafen me, the sand starts to take form. Now a deep, black stone, six great fingers curl into a fist, flying towards me and striking me head on...*   I was brought back to reality with a jolt. I struggled for breath as I attempted to figure out what I had just experienced. Was that a sandman, or something else? Sweat streamed down my face and as I went to wipe it away, a large and very real cut across my right cheek suggested the latter.


Daniel watched as the train left without him, leaving him stranded until the next day in the town that used to be his hometown. The warmth of summer still bravely flickered far into the fall, the reds and yellows of the leaves bringing their own kind of warmth, but he could feel the cold seeping in. There wasn’t much left for him here except for a few friends, acquaintances, and old memories. His brothers and sisters had long since scattered to other parts of the country, and his parents had moved someplace sunnier. But maybe she still lived here. He still felt terrible about the way they had parted seven years ago, so he hadn’t tried to reach out to her during his short visit. But deep down, he knew he had secretly wished they would randomly bump into each other. His hometown was along the way to the city where he was scheduled to present his most ambitious architectural plans for a building. That was why he had decided to stop by. Now he had to hurriedly call his company to tell them that things had to be delayed. It was a bit embarrassing. Once that was done, he shuffled over to the service desk to reschedule his ticket for the next day. Then he felt like grabbing a quick bite to eat. There were a few restaurants in the train station, including a pizza restaurant with a big round pizza sign, which was the one he chose. Perhaps it was because they would always eat pizza together back in the old days. He was lost in his thoughts as he was seated at the restaurant and was handed a menu by the waiter. Then as he read the menu without really reading it, he sensed a familiar presence nearby. There was a playful and excited energy as someone came and sat down right across from him at his table. He didn't deserve this. It couldn’t be! Daniel looked up from his menu to see Helen's expressive eyes and her wide grin, looking as though this was a surprise party for him. And it was. "Where I come from, I used to have this boyfriend named Daniel, and we liked to order Hawaiian pizza together," she said, winking at him. “It's great to see you again, Helen. I'm so glad I ran into you.” “It is a nice surprise. I'm happy you finally came back, Daniel,” Helen said, making him feel the old regret, but her look of forgiveness made it feel more sweet than bitter. Daniel stared at her black cat earrings for a moment. “Oh, these? I got them for Halloween. Don’t you think they’re cute?” she asked, touching them. “They look good on you, Helen.” “Aww, thanks, Daniel. You were always so sweet," she said, giving him goosebumps. "But I’m dying to know what you've been up to all these years,” she continued. “Well, I’m a successful architect now, just like my father always dreamed of,” Daniel said, digging up the building plans from his suitcase and showing them to her. “They look nice, but I know you, Daniel… and you don’t seem excited about this. Why is that?” “I could never hide anything from you, Helen. They’re good plans, but frankly, my heart hasn’t been in my work for a while.” “When I look at these, I see a fine building that people would be happy to use. But if you say your heart’s not in it, then what is your heart in, Daniel?” “I’ve always wanted to be an artist, but my father never approved. He always said I should apply my artistic skills to something more serious. That’s why I went into architecture instead.” “Of course, I remember. You always talked about making art for video games and stuff like that. You were pretty good at it too!” Daniel became excited. “I’ve been working on a graphic novel. Here, let me show you some of it,” he said, reaching over to show her on his phone, and their hands touched. Helen looked his work over appreciatively. “Oh, this is very nice, even better than I remember. What an imagination you have, Daniel! You should totally pursue this!” Helen said, her hand touching his elbow as she spoke enthusiastically. “It’s hard to do at the same time as my work, though.” “But these are so amazing. It would truly be a shame if you stopped, Daniel.” “I guess it is up to me. You know, it's time I faced my past in order to move forward. I shouldn't blame my father anymore. He did his best to give me a good life. But I'm in control now, so if I'm not happy, the fact is that this is all my fault.” “That’s a good way to think, Daniel.” Daniel saw the shadow of someone waiting patiently behind him. He turned around and saw the waiter; it seemed like he had something to say. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. I hope it’s not intruding too much, but I wanted to let you know I’m taking a big leap too. Everyone at the restaurant is celebrating my leaving party today. I’m going back to school to study psychology, just like I’ve always dreamed of. I think you should take a chance too. Just my two cents. I’ll stop talking about it now.” “No, it’s fine. That’s an encouraging story. Thank you,” Daniel told him. “You probably need more time to think about it, but what are you thinking about right now, Daniel?” Helen asked after the waiter had left. “I'm just adding up the expenses in my head, and I think I've saved enough to come back here and live with minimal income for some time. It's risking everything, but maybe I can give my dream a try for at least a year or two.” “That's awesome, Daniel!” Helen said, looking genuinely happy for him. “Helen, may I ask you something?” “Sure, Daniel.” “Are you seeing anyone right now?” “As a matter of fact, I’m not,” she answered coyly. “You know, I’ve always regretted leaving you behind when I went to study across the country.” “Oh, Daniel. I’m not going to lie. It was very hard, and I hated you for a long time. But now I’m over that.” “I know it sounds a bit like a silly rom-com, but I’d like to reconnect with you.” “I’d like that very much. And if you come back to live around here, maybe we can…” she said. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking, too,” Daniel said, and she smiled and held his hand. Daniel paid the bill and gave a large tip to the waiter. Then they went to wish him luck in his studies before leaving the restaurant. “Helen, I missed my train, so I’m going to have to spend the night at a hotel,” Daniel said when they reached the tall double doors of the train station. “There's no sense in you going to a hotel alone. Why don't you come to my place, Daniel?” “Thanks for the offer, Helen," he said with a smile. "Hey, look, it’s starting to rain outside. We better get to your car quickly." “Who cares? We used to love the rain when we were younger,” she said, taking him by the hand and pulling him after her into the rain shower. “Remember when we used to go down to the lake together every day, rain or shine?” Helen said as they danced in the warm rain, feeling like kids again. Daniel snapped out of his daydream during the morning team meeting, but there was a smile on his lips as he thought of Helen. I really should reach out to her and see how she’s doing, he thought.