As Colin contemplated his life, his sanity, and the nature of reality; the psychiatrist on duty exited the door. He was overheard muttering to himself by a sanguine rhododendron standing proudly in the corner of the corridor, near the blue door with the numbers 203 written in bold white letters. “Just two more years, Richard and you can retire and spend every day relaxing at the cabin with no crazy people around you at all… Just two more years”. Most people would say that a person talking about being transported to another dimension where aliens seemed to be what could only be described as an intergalactic fishing trip was pretty damn crazy, cuckoo even; but Colin was far from insane. He was in fact very lucky to be alive and no crazier than the lot of us. He was however, locked up in a psychiatric facility where he would spend at least seventy-two hours before the state had to release him. It had been a hell of a day. The day started off near perfect. The sun was shining, the alarm clock had respected his late-night binge drinking activities and surprisingly the hangover was not as bad as he thought it would be. He definitely needed some fatty fast food in his system, but other than the delicious thought of a double cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate shake rumbling through his mind; he was in near perfect form. He quickly put on some comfortable clothes, not even bothering to check himself in the mirror. He was on the prowl for sustenance and appearances did not matter. He could always shower later. He went out of the apartment, almost giddy as his mouth was watering over anticipating the sweet perfume of perfectly cut potatoes immersed in boiling oil. As he stood on the sidewalk, he made the fatal mistake of going for McDonalds. Not due to the fact that the particular restaurant in question had severe issues with the hygienic routines or anything, but because the McDonalds joint nearest to him, for today only, was part of a relaxing afternoon to some strange beings from a galaxy far away from our own. The place looked almost identical to the real one, but if Colin had not been hungover (He was not in the fine form he thought he was), he would perhaps have taken off his sunglasses as he walked up to the cashier and if he had done just that he would probably have observed that the people around him were behaving as if their humanity had been turned down by ten to twenty percent. For those among us who are quite sober, the weird conversation between a group of ladies in their late twenties seemed to be written by a computer trying it’s very best to pass off as human and it would hopefully set something off deep within our brain. You know, the part which deals with pure survival; giving us the creeps and gets us fuck off somewhere else. Amongst the other things that one could notice were that some of the patrons ate their burgers sideways, while one man sat with his mouth full of fries, staring distantly towards the entrance. Also, there was no smell in the entire place, even though burgers were sizzling, and fries were being bathed in hot oil. Colin didn’t think too much about the lack of smell in the restaurant. He was far to busy trying to decide what to get and how much of it he could chow down before slipping into blissful post meal coma. After ordering twice the amount he had planned for, he didn’t have to wait long and as he sat down, he thought to himself that he was blessed to be living in a country where fast food was not only allowed but could be found anywhere. Biting down on the burger, his taste buds cried out in surprise and agony as there was nothing to taste at all. *What the fu-?* He wasn’t able to complete the though before suddenly feeling as if he was at the dentist’s office being given a local anaesthetic. The pain was sharp and a moment later he could feel a tug before he was transported through space and time, his mind not keeping up with what was happening whilst his heart kept a steady but up-tempo beat. Falling out of the wormhole he was met with a sight that was so surreal, his mind imploded. Here were two alien creatures, covered with viridian skin, spikes and multiple eyes darting back and forth: only two of them actually looking at Colin. The air was so thick that he could not breathe and as he was unhooked by one of the creatures’ tentacles he started squirming like a maggot in heat. They had both an orifice resembling a mouth but even though it kept moving he heard absolutely nothing. He heard nothing because these creatures spoke in a frequency range much higher than the human ear can perceive. If a dog had somehow managed to get into that particular McDonalds restaurant, ordered a cheeseburger and got transported into space he could easily hear the conversation going on, even though understanding any of it was as likely as Colin understanding it having ears as finely tuned as a dog. “Oh my, this is the biggest one yet! They come in a lot of sizes and shapes, huh?” He did not know it, but Colin should have been glad he could not perceive the sounds that were being made. The language of these creatures sounded like a crow being blended in reverse mixed in with some chalk being slowly dragged against a blackboard. The other creature, let’s call him Bob, looked intently towards his fellow alien. “Yes, these carbon-based entities vary in size depending on geographic location, age, diet and genetic markers. At least, that’s what my dad told me when I was a kid. He studied a lot of alien life, but none taste as well as these biped ones. It’s kind of strange really, because other bipeds usually do nothing for me, but these are fantastic. Their skin sizzle nicely when you apply some heat to it, which gives off the loveliest aroma and when caught wild they are usually more nutritious than the farmed ones.” Steve nodded, looking back at Colin with all of his eyes. As panic fully took its dark hold of him, Colin started screaming until his vocal cords were raw and bloody. The creatures seemed to scrutinize him thoroughly and as he was put on something that could only be a weight, he saw something that made his skin crawl. At least twenty other people were lying in a glass box writhing in agony, some of them dead with vacant eyes staring into nothingness. *Why are they doing this? Do they enjoy hurting us or are they just conducting experiments? If they were scientists they’d probably just make contact with us, right? I mean, we’re a highly intelligent species with an array of impressive technologies available. I can look at porn while being underneath water for fuck’s sake! You don’t have to do this! We got Wi-fi, radar, sonar, all kinds of communication shit. Please just let me go. Please.* Colin was dumbfounded by his ability to actually construct coherent thoughts. The experience of suffocating was absolutely dreadful and even though he did not want to die, the thought of suffering through this any longer made him want nothing more than silent unconscious existence. “By the way, do you think that they can feel pain? I mean it’s opening it’s mouth and moving around a lot but is that because it’s experiencing agony right now?” Steve’s question made Bob smirk. “No, they don’t. Clearly they have a nervous system, but they are a primitive species which reacts to certain stimuli and they mostly rely on instinct from our observations. They are more evolved than other animal life on the planet, but not by much. I mean they kill each other all the time which would not make any sense if they truly experienced pain. I know that you and others can feel it so I would never think about hurting any of us. Hell, their brains only stand for 20% of the total energy consumption. That’s nothing!” He let out a bellowing laugh. Steve relaxed a little, his tentacles moving slower. “Well, that’s good to hear. I wouldn’t want them to suffer, you know. I mean, yes, of course I’d still eat them, but I’d kill them quickly like you did with the first one.” He paused for a second, reliving the moment. “Oh man, I did not like the sight of all the blood. Not at all.” The thought made him queasy again. “Yeah it’s better to let them lie down until they stop moving. No mess, no pain, no problem.” As Bob moved Colin closer to his body as to get a better look at the fattest catch yet of the day, he grimaced. “Do you smell that? It smells just as horrible as that first one we got.” Steve moved in closer before mimicking Bob’s facial expression. “I’ll taste him quickly to confirm. If he has alcohol still in his body then just throw him back out. Even if the first one died really quickly, at least this one can go back poisoning his body if it so wishes to do so.” Bob looked at him with disgust. As he felt himself slipping into the void, the world becoming darker by the second, a tongue-like protrusion suddenly swiped across his body. His mind instantly reacted, awakened a bit by the sheer absurdity. *Wait… Did that thing just lick me?* He no longer thought they were scientists, but hey, maybe alien scientists test everything with their “tongue”. A few seconds later he could see that the creature which had tasted him was flailing more than before, the mouth moving rapidly, and he was pretty sure he could see liquid coming out of some of the eyes. *Was it crying??* “Oh, he tastes like shit. Throw him back out, this is horrifying. We got more than enough for dinner, let’s get out of here before I lose my appetite.” Colin was as close to dying as he would ever be until the day he turned ninety-two and forty-four days, so he did not really understand what was happening as he was thrown through space for the second time that day. He woke up in an alley by the restaurant and his throat felt as if it was torn to pieces. For a second, he thought that he had dreamt it all, that he had ingested way more alcohol than he remembered before passing out in the alley. He had experienced wild dreams like that after drinking a lot before, so it wasn’t that farfetched, but as he coughed, drops of blood was sprayed against his fist. He quickly felt around his mouth with his tongue, his eyes widening when he located the wound where the hook had caught him. As everything rushed back into his mind, he began screaming. This time, someone heard him.


For a short while I lived in a state hospital. Hospital is perhaps not the right word. There were doctors and all of us were certainly patients, but it was, strictly speaking, a long-term facility for the mentally ill. My time there was so surreal, waking moments blending with the world of dreams. I’d still like to blame it on the various drugs pumped through my body, but deep down I know I was peering out from the murky depths of my subconscious mind. Psychosis had fully taken hold of me. A truly mind opening experience that was both exhilarating and absolutely frightening.  After a few weeks, I was allowed to go outside to the courtyard in the center of the facility for some fresh air. I bumped into a man who sold cigarettes for a dollar a piece. I didn’t have any money but shared one with him. I don’t know if he just liked telling stories, or was simply pulling my leg, but as we smoked, he told me of a patient he once knew, who had escaped from the hospital. The patient’s name was Earl and what made his escape all the more impressive was the dire nature of his mental disorder. Earl could no longer make any new memories. He lived in ten-minute increments. Only ten minutes to gather his thoughts before once again slipping back and starting from the beginning again. The cigarette man said that he had once snuck into Earl’s room and found little notes and pictures taped all over the walls. Little reminders to himself. Earl may have been cursed in a way, but he hadn’t given up, he had instead created a system of communication that enabled him to not only live but move forward with his life. The cigarette had burned down to the filter and me and the man parted ways. I did a few laps around the paved sidewalk, stopping every so often to pick at the grass from the center of the courtyard. The clouds slowly drifted across the sky blocking out the warmth from the sun. Goosebumps prickled up my arms as I heard a man calling for me to come inside. I’m not sure what you call the men who work at these facilities. They’re surely not nurses or doctors, but more like guards. Inside these places they’re the people who provide most of the care to the patients. And from what I’ve read they’re also the people who end up abusing the patients. If you look for it, there is a plethora of horror stories about what goes on in state hospitals.  I slowly sauntered back towards the door that led into my section of the facility. A large common room with hallways going off in all directions, leading to individual bedrooms. There were large tables and uncomfortable chairs spread around the common area. There wasn’t much to do except wait for meal and med time. I did make a friend though. A middle-aged woman. I can’t remember her name. Maybe Katrina? We’ll call her Katrina. Katrina seemed out of place compared to the rest of us at the hospital, at least to me she did. She was calm, serene, and seemed at peace. I never saw her in a moment of complete disarray. She mostly spoke of her son. It was apparent she cared greatly for him and longed to be reunited with him. I never quite figured out what had landed her here, but I got the impression something serious had gone down with her husband, or ex-husband, you know, the father.  We would mostly spend time talking over meals. The food was pretty awful, maybe not as bad as jail food, but terrible all the same. And this is coming from someone who will eat mostly anything. I do remember enjoying the small square of coffee cake that was offered some mornings. It was moist and had a sweet syrupy drizzle on top. Over the years I have learned to appreciate the little things in life. You’re kind of forced to when you feel like a dog in a shelter. Locked up most of the day, walking in circles, waiting for the rare visitor. Each passing day so similar to the last. You hold steady to the last drops of hope left in your cup. It was a friend and sweet savory coffee cake that helped me hold on. But it was also the story of Earl, the ten-minute man, that helped me believe that I could make it out of this place. Make it out of this facility, but also push through my delusions, my psychosis, and make a plan for my life.  I sat up nights thinking about Earl. In that little bedroom, if you can call it that. Pretty much just a thin mattress with hospital blankets, you know the ones, and a little night stand next to the bed. I’m not even sure I remember a window. I’d lay in bed staring at the ceiling tiles, wondering how Earl had managed. It occurred to me that maybe my curse was somehow worse than Earl’s. This man had lost time, but he must have still had his wits about him. And he still had that drive. That will to push on, that will to live.  It’s a strange thing being told by a doctor that you have a mental illness. At least for me it was. Perhaps some folks just take it in stride. But for me it was difficult. You mean I’m crazy? No, you have a mental disorder, a chemical imbalance in the brain. Your specific diagnoses is bipolar 1 with psychosis. Oh, right.  What made it even more difficult was that I was in one of my many episodes at the time of being diagnosed. I hadn’t even met the doc; he just came in and told me. To me there seems as if there could have been a better way to handle the situation. To make sure that I trusted the information and the people I was dealing with. Some of the symptoms of my diagnoses are delusions of grandeur, paranoia, anxiety, and full-on psychosis. I think you can imagine how the diagnoses itself sent me down a whole new rabbit hole full of confusion and doubt.  That’s really why I ended up staying up nights in that place thinking about Earl. I never was able to fully grasp my dismal diagnoses until the ten-minute man. Never met him. Shit, I’m not even sure he actually exists. But his story gave me something to grapple on to. Sent me down a rabbit hole that left me feeling as if there was still hope for me.


Chapter 1 Harriet Olson was a stellar pixie. She loved looking up at the stars at night. They were particularly beautiful tonight. They were her ancestors and she loved them with all her heart. They told her, everything would be ok, if she just followed her destiny. But Harriet didn’t know what her destiny was yet. One day her friend Takeshi Trescothik, came with grave news. Takeshi was an elf and Harriet’s best and only friend. He was blonde and loved archery. He was also in Harriet’s opinion not all that bad looking. “The troll king had declared war on the stellar pixies” he told her. Why you may ask? Because he looked directly at the sun and was now blind. (Trolls are very sensitive to daylight you see, that’s why they live under bridges). Harriet was scared. The trolls were one of the toughest of all creatures and if they wanted to start a war with the stellar pixies, Harriet was in BIG trouble. She had previously escaped from the troll kings’ dungeons. Where they had forced her to clean the troll kings’ lavatory After that she had to change her name and looks. She didn’t want to go back ever! Noticing the horrified look on Harriet’s face an idea stuck him. “Why not come to my place? I have a spare room that you might be able to hide in at the back of the house. No one ever really goes down that end so you won’t be found,” he suggested. Harriet wasn’t sure, Takeshi liked having parties and if she was spotted it would be back to the troll kings’ dungeons for her. The troll king would probably have Takeshi executed for hiding an undesirable. Harriet did not want that to happen. Not to her best friend. Not to anyone. “no, it’s okay Takeshi you don’t need to go into all that trouble. I will be perfectly fine. You go home and forget you ever knew me. I don’t want you getting killed,” Harriet All of a sudden there was a thunderous knock on the door. “it’s the trolls. They’ve come to take me away. You must go. Forget you ever met me. Go now before they see you.” But Takeshi did not leave. “if we go down then we go down together. None of this go and forget you rubbish. That’s the last thing I want.” Harriet looked down sheepishly. She didn’t know what to do say. Takeshi gave Harriet a look she didn’t quite understand. It was angry yet there was a hidden softness in his gaze. Gazing in his eyes Harriet’s resolve melted away. “Oi! Open this bloody door now or someone is going to get hurt.” Harriet almost jumped out of her skin. She had completely forgotten about their unwanted visitor. “Okay, no need to get your knickers in a knot,” replied Takeshi. “Quick go hide in the backyard and I will come get you when their gone” he whispered to her and kissed her on the cheek. Harriet stopped. A thousand feelings running through her mind at once. Why did he do that? Does he like her? Her mind ran alongside her body.  “You have until the count of three.” Went the troll at the door. “Go, now.” Harriet looked into his eyes one last time and the turned. Why did he look so sad? Was there something he wasn’t telling her? “One,” Harriet ran out the back door. It didn’t feel right leaving Takeshi behind. Lost in her thoughts and oblivious to her surroundings, she ran into something. She was thrown back onto the pebble path, leading to the garden shed. Lights popped behind her eyelids. Slowly she raised herself up to look at what it was that knocked her over. As soon as she opened them she wished she didn’t. right there in front of her was the very thing she was trying to run away from. A troll. 6-foot tall and smelling of manure. This was one of the many devils of earth. Looking around Harriet saw that there was 3 of them. The one she bumped into was leaning forward, reaching out to grab her with its’ enormous hand Harriet tried to scream but it was as though something was tightening around her neck, cutting off her air. As she was lifted from the ground she finally managed to make an ear splitting scream. Startled by the sudden noise, the troll dropped her and she fell on her ankle. “ahhhhh!” she screamed. It felt as though someone had shoved a red hot dagger through her foot. The troll had already recovered from the noise and was advancing on Harriet. “You hurt my ears. You’re a horrid little pixie,” said the one nearest to her “I’m gonna enjoy ripping off those scrawny little arms of yours.” Panicking Harriet tried to run away but her ankle would not hold her weight. she collapsed and with more jeers from the trolls, was swept from the ground. She bit the hand holding her and She was flung backwards into the garden shed, once again there were lights popping behind her eyes. She felt a trickle of blood drip from her nose Chapter 2 “TAKESHI,” she screamed. “Takeshi, he…” but she didn’t have the energy to finish. She was fighting to stay conscious. There was a loud crash from the house and out came Takeshi with a long silver sword. “Get the fuck away from her or I will make you wish you were never goddamn born.” The trolls looked at each other and laughed. “Aww does the ity bity elfie wants to fight all the big bad trolls?” Harriet tried to stand up and help Takeshi but the pain was unbearable. She let out a moan. Attracting the attention of her dear friend. “What the fuck did you do to her?” he asked the trolls. No one said a thing. “I said what did you do to her! Someone better start talking or you will all be in a lot of pain.” Takeshi was madder than Harriet had ever seen him. How had the trolls not sensed it yet? “Why does it matter? Buzz off and mind your own business.” She had said the wrong thing. (Harriet knew that this one was a female because its’ voice was higher pitched). Like a bolt of lightning Takeshi swung his sword and sliced open its’ leg. “AAARRGGHH. MY LEG YOU LITTLE FUCKING ASSHOLE.” The two other trolls turned their attention to their injured comrade. In the commotion Takeshi managed to sneak over to the garden shed and tried to get Harriet to stand “Come on. we need to get moving. They won’t stay sympathetic it each other for long and trust me you don’t want to be around a troll on a search for revenge.” He tried to help Harriet up but as soon as she put pressure on her foot she collapsed in a heap on the ground, moaning in pain. “I can’t stand. I think I might have broken it when one of them dropped me.” Harriet wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater, for a moment she was surprised to see blood, then she remembered. “oh yeah, and then I was thrown into the side of the shed. I think I might have hit my head or something. I dunno can’t really remember.” She said looking up at her friend and saviour his outline blurred. “Ugh I think I’m gonna puke,” and then she emptied her stomach onto the stones. “delicious” she said sarcastically with a look of pure disgust on her face. “Okay, put your arm around my neck and I’ll help you up.” So with a little help from her friend Harriet finally managed to get up. White faced and stony, Harriet and Takeshi sneak through the back gate and into the dark woods beyond. After 2 hours of walking Harriet began to get light headed. “I need to stop Takeshi. I can’t keep walking,” “Please Harriet there isn’t too far left to go. I’ve been here before, there’s a cave just up ahead.” Harriet tried to nod her head but just a small movement sent her whole head spinning. After another five minutes though it was nightfall and not even takeshi wanted Harriet to keep walking. She was unstable and kept tripping over roots and branches. “Let’s just rest here for now.” Glad for the rest Harriet laid on the ground next to where her friend was sitting. Harriet lay gazing at Takeshi. He was sitting there not saying a word. After a while Harriet broke the silence. “come lay down,” she said pushing herself up onto her elbows. “you need to rest. Please?” With a small smile he laid down and put his arm under Harriet’s head. She laid back down and he wrapped his other arm around her waist. A feeling of comfort spread through Harriet, she knew as long as she was with Takeshi everything would be okay. As she lay she looked up at the stars. The really were beautiful.


I saw her beneath the starry skies, her little figure glistening against the gently kissed moonlight. She stood across the street from me gently sobbing to herself, wiping back the tears that were rapidly moistening her eyes, and disturbing her mascara. I could hear her gentle little wimps, "sob.." as she tried to hold back her tears. As I cut across the road to reach her a car passes by me, it's black and white imagery nearly taking me down as it swipes across, barely missing me. I glance back at 'her', the only object that shone with colour, the light of my life, the apple of my eye, as her bright red dress swept against the sultry wind. A narrow focus on her, took over my eyes as everything around faded to a grayscale. As I reach the other side as I see her pale skin revealing her beauty, all her mysteries, her inconsistencies, her beauties and faults. "Where were you all this time?" …she asks in a deep voice almost lost in time. Lost for an answer, I close her eyes “Shh!” As the world danced around us, I held her face and drew her close, kissing her passionately on her gentle rosy lips. “I’m never going anywhere again!”.. I smiled, beaming at her beauty.


Elyse Hardy couldn’t remember quite clearly the first time her mother had turned into the monster. After all, it had been happening long before she was born, and there were stories she had to hear second hand, from her much older siblings. Her siblings had described to her how she had been a tiny baby when her mother had turned into the monster while driving them to the store, and her siblings had jumped into action, pushing their mother to the side as she snarled and bit, and they managed to get the car to the side of the road, brother steering the car and sister pressing the brake. They had snatched Elyse from her car seat and whisked her out, where they all three stood sadly watching as their mother tore the inside of the car apart. Her fur standing on end, wiry like a porcupine’s, her snout wrinkled as her teeth bared, ripping apart the seats, mangling the steering wheel, and finally pawing at the windows, claws tapping frantically while the children backed up slowly.

Her sister Myra had also told Elyse about an incident when she had been a baby, and would not stop crying. Maybe she had been hungry, or needed love, who knows. But her nonstop crying had triggered the change and their mother had become the monster. Myra had seen their mother change, the feet elongating and snapping to bend the wrong direction, the wiry black and brown fur sprouting from every inch of her skin. Her eyes becoming beady and black, her normally small, thin nose turning into a long snout. The teeth growing and showing as she drew her lips back in a snarl. The monster had stalked towards the baby Elyse, who was crying and thrashing on the couch. How the monster had opened her jaws wide, about to bite down. Myra recounted how she had run to her baby sister in a panic, sweeping her into her arms before the jaws closed, and how she had run into her room and barred the door, holding Elyse tightly while the monster thrashed at the door.

There came a time when Elyse’s two siblings escaped for good. As soon as her brother was able to, he got accepted into college, and left home. Her sister escaped by moving in with friends. That left Elyse and her father, a quiet, timid man, when she was eleven years old.

The first memories Elyse had of her mother turning into the monster were from early on in childhood. She could remember being strapped to the back of her mother’s bike, and her turning into the monster mid-ride, feeling herself and the bike falling over to the side, feeling helpless as she sat strapped into the bike seat, knowing she was falling, feeling the ground come up and meet her.

She could remember once waking her mother up in the morning before school, terrified because she had not completed her math homework, and had no idea how to do it, and had no one to help her. She reached up and tentatively shook her mother’s shoulder, asking for help on the homework assignment. Her mother had immediately transformed, the bedclothes stretching over her as her body enlarged, claws growing out of her hands. She had whipped a claw into Elyse’s arm and dragged her onto the bed, snarling and snapping her teeth in her face. Hitting her with huge paws.

It felt like almost as soon as it had begun, the monster had retreated back inside her mother, and her mother had simply let her go, and rolled over to go back to sleep, as if nothing at all had occurred.

Elyse eventually grew up and was able to escape herself, finding a small apartment for herself, a job in a local factory. Life wasn’t good exactly, but it was something. She was away from the monster.

Then one day her mother texted her, saying that she had gotten into a fight with her father and she wanted to come stay with her. Elyse knew from experience that it was likely her mother who had instigated the fight, that she had probably morphed into the monster, maybe even hurt her father, and now was trying to run from the scene. Now her mother was asking to stay with her.

Elyse ignored the text and ignored her calls, hoping she would just give up and go terrorize someone else.

Then she saw out her window a familiar vehicle pull into her apartment parking lot. Her mother’s Expedition. Her mother parked the vehicle and sat inside. Elyse was crouched below the window, peeking out and hoping her mother hadn’t seen her.

The texts and calls continued.

Elyse stayed hidden until a knocking began on her door.

“Elyse? I know you’re in there, open up!” Bang bang bang bang. “You’re really going to ignore your own mother who is in need?!” BANG BANG BANG. Elyse could hear the change happening behind the door, and the banging turned into bashing. The doorknob shook. The walls rattled.

Elyse cowered in fear, fingers grabbing hold of the carpet beneath her. Then suddenly she felt something shift inside her. It felt like her heart was exploding in a fiery wave. Heat spread throughout her torso and arms. Skin turning into scales, a spiked tail growing out of her tailbone. She rose in height until she almost hit her spiked head on the ceiling. She looked down at her hands that had become dragon claws. She huffed a smoky breath and moved to wrench the door open.

Her mother stood before her, one-third of Elyse’s new height and size. She looked like a pitiful dog with mange to Elyse’s new, glowing orange eyes. Her mother snarled and bit at her legs, but Elyse hardly felt a thing. More like an annoying house fly than anything else.

She kicked a huge scaly leg and sent her mother flying down the hallway, whimpering. Elyse stomped over to where she lay, a pile of fur.

“Get away from here and don’t ever come back.” Elyse growled low in her throat and then shot a spray of fire just above her mother’s head, singeing tips of fur.

Her mother returned to human form long enough to stare up at Elyse with tears in her eyes. She looked so pitiful and small in that moment that Elyse almost felt pity for her, but then she remembered the monster who had tried to attack her so many times in her life, who continued to terrorize her and her loved ones, and the pity disappeared. She watched her mother get up slowly and leave the apartment complex, walk to her vehicle, get inside and drive away.


He still remembered how the strong timber of the Louisville Slugger felt in his palm. He remembered the special grip he had practiced for it. He remembered the first time he learned what he could do with just his thick arm muscles and a flick of the wrist, and he remembered how it made him fell. The memories swirled through his mind has he approached the plate with the soft, lifeless plastic toy bat in his hands. He thought back to the countless excited feminine shouts from his college days, the swelling of excitement whenever he approached home plate. Part of him knew those days were long passed, and part of him refused to believe it. As he got himself ready for his chance at bat he went through the same little rituals he had when he was 20. The same steps, the same routines. He grabbed the base, feeling how much different it felt then he remembered. He had been told the wiffleball bat would be smaller then he was used to from when he was young, but he didn't want to believe it. When he felt he was ready, or felt he must have been ready, he looked to his wife. A look of excitement crossed her face like a wild carnality as she let lose a wanton shout. The man she had loved was the confident man with a control in the field. She had often commented on how it felt to see him swing, making the ball go where ever he wanted, however he wanted. When she saw him wielding the thick, heavy wooden bat, when she felt the joy and pleasure it gave her to see him in control, that is what made her fall in love with him. He knew these things to be true. He waited for the pitcher to do his part. The ball came to him fast, he swung, and missed. He felt a flash of anger raising through his middle-aged frame, then embarrassment. He hid his shame and anger behind a joke, a teasing shrug, as he eyed the crowd again for his wife. She smiled at him, caring but he could read how deflated she was. He clearly saw the grin on her lips; as plastic as it was supportive. He looked up, and through his smile his eyes pleaded: "I don't know what happened. But it won't happen again. Trust me." He told himself it wasn't his fault. That it was the bat, the empty, souless chuck of plastic that was to blame. He glared at it, his distain expressing itself through his jokes. His smile as hollow as the bat he was carrying. He did what he could to shake it off. It was perfectly natural and happened to everybody at some point, but still a haunting, cold knot was growing in his stomach. A worry was growing, festering under the surface of his mind. He swallowed hard to ignore it, tried again, swung and missed. He didn't joke. He wasn't angry. And he didn't look around at first. He couldn't blame the ball, the bat or the pitch. He could only blame himself. He knew in his heart that he was the problem, that he wasn't the man he was anymore, and if he wasn't bat-swinger, the star hitter, the man who could knock it out of the park every night, then what was he? Was he even a man at all? He didn't know, and he didn't want to find out. He wanted to hide. He felt shame. He felt ashamed and enraged at himself for making himself ashamed and he wished desperately his shame wasn't a public shame. Again he looked to his wife. He tried to read the look on her face, but he couldn't see her. The more he looked for her, the more he saw a petite brunette staring at her feet. Her hair dangled in front of her, and his heart sank when he could see a hint of a blush. She was ashamed of him, he knew she was, and he couldn't blame her. Her friends would ask how she was doing, and she would tell him. They would discuss his failure with the sly, cool detachment that they discussed everything else. She would laugh with her friends in an amused, ironic way then, but for now she seemed crestfallen. He knew she remembered how he used to be, and he wished more then anything she didn't have to see him like this. He stood frozen in his own thoughts, when a voice broke his trance. First one then several people shouted to continue the game; that he was taking to long. He had to continue now or admit the truth, to himself and everyone. To admit that he was a failure. To admit that he wasn't what he pretended to be. He didn't want to continue, he didn't want to try again. He wanted to curl up for a long time by himself. Suddenly he thought of his father. He knew his Father would be ashamed of him too. He knew his father would already have made it all around the bases by now. His father would have made everybody cheer. His father would have made his wife happy. The crowd was turning sour. They had been whipped into a frenzy and demanded satisfaction. The pleas to continue had become stern shouts to finish his turn at bat, or to get off the field. He sighed to himself, and took his position again. He didn't believe it would work, but he knew what was expected of him. He went through the same motions he always did. He did his part; the thing that defined him. The little dances that made him what he was, even though he was still doubting his own abilities. He lifted the soft bat in his hands, his fingers wrapped around it, hoping that maybe a new stance or trick would suddenly turn him back into the man he was before. He swung, he missed. He expected boos from the crowd. He expected not to be allowed back into the safety of the dugout. As he left home plate, he dragged the bat behind it, wanting nothing more than to drop it and never have to look at it again. But he still dragged it behind him, like it was somehow attached to him. When he looked up, he looked for his wife, only to see her giggling as she spoke to her friend's nephew. She smiled at the 19 year old college football player, her lips pulled back as she softly squeezed his arm. The younger man, for his part, all buffed chest and bravado seemed excited by the attention. She didn't look back at him the entire trip to the little chain-link trench where his teammates were. He sat down in a slump, but felt better in the dark of the bench. His teammates, the ones he felt would be the hardest on him, were all very polite, and friendly. The fear he had of their disapproval disappeared. They told him they understood. It had been a long time, after all, and that it happens to everyone, sometimes. They didn't reject him, they accepted him. They had something they could commiserate over.


I stared at the lottery ticket all morning, it had gotten ashy from the dust it gathered during the week, untouched. In the bin sat several scrunched up pieces of paper, each of them containing a few different number combinations, none of which I felt confident enough to use. I wondered why I got it in the first place. At first, I thought it’d be a lucky week, my lucky week, which turned into a lucky Friday with every piece of paper that landed in the trash. It was 8 o’clock. I knew that because the alarm had rung exactly 12 times since I woke up. I looked at the lottery ticket once more but gave up halfway. I figured I could just think about it during the day, perhaps a lucky charm would give me some insight into the secret behind the lottery and I’d feel it, right before the draw took place. So, I put it in my jacket’s inner pocket and left for work. The street was livelier than usual, perhaps it was the sun we hadn’t seen in a couple of days, announcing itself as the lucky break I wished for, although I was convinced it was because it was a Friday, everyone loves Fridays. Just in front of me, a mime pretended to be stuck on a box, pretty convincingly too. I wondered how you discover you have such a talent. At the end of the block, a crowd formed around a young girl singing. I couldn’t quite make out what she was singing because of the crowd’s roar but the melody somewhat resembled The Turtles’ classic Happy Together . The first customers started to flood the stores along the streets, half of which had big red leaflets advertising their “50% off” deals. *** The sun shone on the building’s marble façade, almost quintessentially so, drying away the layer of rain that had laid there the previous night. People in suits funnelled into the building. You could always tell apart the staff from the customers by the smile on their faces, for staff had that hopefully-I-can-leave-an-hour-early smile that brought them to work early on a Friday morning, whereas customers showed no emotion, sometimes letting off little tics of annoyance and hastiness. A funny observation, I thou—. “Hey, Jacob!” A cheerful voice interrupted my train of thought. I turned around. “Oh, hey, Charlotte.” She was wearing her burgundy tight-cut dress that morning, I like that dress. “Early too, huh ?” “Can’t help it, it’s a Friday.” I laughed, she giggled back. We walked through the broad hallway, greeting everyone with a slight nod as we moved past them. I thought that might increase my chances, in hopes that if the balance of good and evil was perfectly even, luck would befall me that day. “You going up too?” Charlotte asked. “Yeah, 20th floor.” “I guess we’re saving the elevator a round trip today then.” “Meetings straight away, is it?” “That obvious, huh ?” She laughed. Charlotte squirmed in place, twisting the tip of her hairs around her fingers into curls as the platform rose from the ground floor — nervousness for her meetings, I assumed. The elevator radio had finally started working again, blasting away with the best elevator music one could ask for, occasionally stopping to run the important announcements of the day—mostly company propaganda reminding us of how lucky we were to spend our days at the office. And just like that, on a beautiful, sunny Friday, everything just works again, all I needed now was those dammed numbers. The doors opened at the apex of some jazz song, likely by Louis Armstrong or Ray Charles, I should probably know the difference, maybe I’ll get around to it, with a piñacolada on my left hand by a beach in the Bahamas once I win that lottery, sipping from one of those swirly straws as the waves crash in tune with the song—. An arm appeared from behind as we left the elevator, forcing me out of my own thoughts. I didn’t even need to turn my head to know who it was. “Hey, Chris,” I said as I struggled to unwrap the deathtrap around my neck. “Jacob, my man!” He yelled, louder than he should’ve. He looked over my shoulder, “Charlotte! Beautiful as ever in that red dress,” he said just as loud. “It’s burgundy,” I pointed out but was blissfully ignored. “Alright Charlie-boo, I’m gonna take this one now,” He locked me under his cologne-full armpit and pulled me away, “come on, man, when are you gonna hit that?” “Hit wha—” “Charlotte, man, if she was anymore over you, she’d be sitting on your lap.” “Shut up.” He spun me around and we faced Charlotte, probably dislocating some of my neck vertebrae. “Just look at her.” He whispered. She was still standing by the elevator, looking around before she spotted us. She probably thought we looked like creeps and I can’t blame her. She looked cute, but I’d already established that so I didn’t really know what he wanted me to be seeing. He stared at my confused face before finally speaking. “Alright, see the way she plays around with her hair? Or the way she smiles at you like you’re some kind of unicorn? Or maybe how she laughs at every dumb thing your say or do? Those are all signs, man.” I smiled back at her and gave one of those I-will-probably-see-you-around-the-office waves. “I think I’d see it if there were any signs,” I told Chris. “Whatever, man, just tryna help you score here.” “How about you help me score something else?” I proposed. His eyes lit up, clearly waiting for something else, “I like where you’re going with this.” I took the lottery ticket out of my jacket pocket, now clearly worn out, with its corners slightly bent, probably a sign I should use it as soon as possible. “What numbers will get me to win this?” “You’re no fun,” he sighed. “Whatever. So?” “So what?” He asked, clearly oblivious of what I’d asked him. “The numbers, which ones?” “I must’ve forgotten to take my fortune cookie costume out, dammit!” He teased. “Whatever, I’ll just win without you.” “You do you, man. Just don’t forget me when you’re rich, eh?” He laughed, “gotta go now, give Charlotte a smooch for me, will ya?” “Yeah, yeah, see you around.” We walked together for a short second before parting ways. Chris had an office, a synonym of when people work for you, which basically meant that he’d probably be able to leave just in time to enjoy his Friday, no doubt teasing me for staying late in the process. I walked exactly 32 steps to get to my cubicle, a relevant detail considering it was 1 less than the usual, probably a result of a lucky day like this one. The desk was just as boring, though, same old Victorian computer, mouse, keyboard, plastic plant, a mountain of papers (no doubt gently laid down by my generous boss) and several sticky notes hanging from the monitor. I let out an exasperated sigh and started flipping through the papers, hoping one of them would contain the secret key to riches. *** The crimson afternoon sun decorated the cubicle in warm tones, its splendour only slightly dimmed by the bright office lights. I glanced resentfully at the flurry of emails on the computer screen, one of those things that can either take a few minutes or a few millennia, wondering how sick I’d need to look if I wanted to get out earlier. A soft knock bounced around the thin walls of the cubicle, startling me. Charlotte’s head popped up on the side. “Sorry,” she said, in a voice even softer, “didn’t mean to.” “That’s fine, I was looking for an excuse not to think about it anyway. You done for the day, are you?” “Yeah, just finished, you?” “Yeah.” “Okay then.” At the far end of the office, Chris flailed his arms around, trying to get my attention. Once he got it, he started kissing his hand, passionately, awkwardly even and then pointed at Charlotte before resuming the make-out session with his hand. Charlotte turned around to leave and the light started flickering above me. Once I looked back, Chris was already gone. I glanced at the computer screen once again, then at the flickering light in the ceiling, it was doing so 2 times, maybe 3, yes, 3 times a second, I wondered if it meant something, maybe some weird kind of morse code. I looked one last time at the email inbox before it became clear that I couldn’t work like that, it was clearly fate for it to flicker like that, or maybe I just didn’t want to. “Tell you what,” I told her just before she left, “wanna grab something to eat? What time is it anyway?” Flustered, she looked at her right hand looking for a watch, before falling back to her left once she realized, “6-6 o’clock.” “Exactly, about time we grab a bite, what do you say?” “Y-yeah, of course.” The sun had set even further when we left the building but the streets were no less lively than when we got in. We barely walked before going into the convenience store on the other side of the street. I walked alongside Charlotte, a double-bacon sandwich on my left hand and barbecue-flavoured chips on my right, as she patrolled the aisles looking for something to eat. “What are your plans for tonight?” She asked, the uncertainty in her voice made it seem as though she’d been thinking about that question for a while. “Shi-sorry-crap, I completely forgot about it!” I took the lottery ticket out once again, it was now folded in half, its corners white. She laughed. “What’s the time?” She exaggerated her motion, making sure I saw she’d taken the right arm this time around, “6:40,” she said. “Dammit. I’ll meet you at the till.” I said before storming off. I could hear her laughing behind me, masked in between the sound of chips bags being crushed. It didn’t take long to get to the till, I’m sure it didn’t, although it certainly felt as though the tore had gotten bigger since we got in. I put the worn ticket on the counter, “Could you give me a pen, please? I’d like to fill this in.” The cashier looked at the clock above the door, it marked 6.42 p.m, then looked at me as if I were a madman. She was a brash-looking woman in her forties, maybe fifties, I couldn’t tell, Margaret was her name according to the name tag on her uniform, clearly too tired to have any sense of urgency. She began scrambling behind the desk for a pen, slowly, very slowly. A few seconds went by, maybe minutes, at that point it felt just the same. A hand approached my field of vision, Charlotte’s hand, holding a blue pen with a daisy on top stuck together by a small spring. “Any ideas?” I asked Charlotte. She raised her shoulders, “I don’t know, just put the first numbers that pop up in your head.” I looked at the clock one last time, there were but a few seconds left. I began scribbling on the ticket, numbers that if anyone asked me, I wouldn’t be able to say where they came from, but they did. I took one last glance at it before handing it to the cashier, it read 8-12-50-20-32-3-6 . Margaret, I hope she wouldn’t mind for me to address her that way, put the ticket onto the machine and began tapping on a computer screen much better than the one in my cubicle. I looked at the clock, unwillingly tapping my finger against the counter, it was past 6:45 p.m, just by a few seconds, the limit to enter the draw, but Margaret didn’t look too phased. “Don’t worry, it’s ahead by a minute.” She said in a single, uninterested, tone. I grabbed Charlotte’s left hand. Her watch showed just past 6:44 p.m. That’s it, if any signs had shown me how and when to deposit the ticket, that was the one that proved to me I’d just entered the draw with the lucky numbers. I could feel the smile widen on my face, I’m sure I looked like an idiot, soon-to-be a rich idiot. The till beeped and a receipt came out, it was official. We walked along with the energetic crowd before turning onto a quieter alley. We sat down to enjoy our food, for me, the last piece of food that wasn’t caviar. “So,” she said before taking her first bite, “any plans?” “I’ll probably spend the night writing my resignation letter and picking a new limousine.” She laughed, “And what is it gonna look like, the limousine?” “Black, obviously, everyone has a black one. Maybe I should get a white one too, I’ll add it to the list.” “Got space for one more in that limousine of yours?” I nodded up and down as I chewed my bacon-filled sandwich. She kept looking at me, inquisitively. I wondered if she was expecting me to add something more, or maybe an entirely different answer. The all-encompassing ringtone of the church bell, albeit muddied by the sound of street chatter, started to announce the time once we got up from the small bench we’d installed ourselves on. As we resumed our walk through the busy streets, the sun now completely gone from the skyline, the theme song of the lottery caught our attention. It came from a small tech store displaying a few TV screens, all of which had the same program on. “So,” Charlotte started, softly, “do you want to celebrate your win somewhere afterwards?” I didn’t answer even though I heard every word for my eyes were glued to the TV screen. The draw lady, whatever her name was, wore a blue dress with white vertical stripes, one I hadn’t seen before. I wondered if someone like her could just get a new dress every time, and whether or not I’d be able to do so as well. Small numbered balls bumped against each other as the lady turned the transparent wheel. A broad smile escaped my poker face as the number 32 ball fell from the wheel, I could already see the black and white limousines parked by my new mansion. But then, one by one, as the balls fell onto the display plate, the smile on my face diminished until it was no more. In the end, the 32 ball was the only one that corresponded to what I’d predicted. “Next time, eh?” Charlotte said, cheerfully. I wondered if I’d misread any of the signs given to me, or if there were no signs at all in the first place. I wondered if the perfect conditions I’d encountered that day would replicate themselves at some point and if I’d be bold enough to try again once they did— Charlotte got closer, “Oh you…” She said before glueing her lips against mine. It took a few seconds for me to realize what had happened, and a few seconds longer to understand how we’d gotten there— and even then I wouldn’t be able to say how. My stomach flourished, I hadn’t felt that in a long while. She took a step back. Her face looked brighter than usual, prettier than usual. I glanced behind there, at the TV screens, the result of the draw still lingered on them. I wondered why, even though I’d lost, despite what I thought were obvious signs, I still felt like I’d won. “Tell you what, how about that celebration?” I said.


Restaurant The Phenomenal View "Are we almost there?" Tom wearily pushed aside a branch. We had been walking around the forest for a few hours. It was our last destination. "I hope it's worth it," I muttered to myself. Tom had been in a bad mood all day. The journey had been long. I knew he wouldn't admit it, but he was homesick. And I understood it. We had been traveling for six months and not all destinations had been worth it. I'm just more of a traveler than he is, by now that was clear. I straightened up, pulled on the strap of my backpack and walked on. Tom rumbled behind me in his bag. "I checked the map again." I sighed. "We are almost there. We have followed all the steps. Let's go through for half an hour, okay?" I stopped to catch his eye. "If we don't find it, we'll go back." Tom nodded. He folded the map back up, but didn't put it away. We walked on, he kept the map in his hand. My watch indicated that it was half past three. If we walked too long, we wouldn't be back at the car before dark. We had been seduced by the travel stories. A bright spot in the middle of the forest, it sounded so beautiful. After hours of walking you would arrive at a lake. A lake where all the animals from the forest came together peacefully. A lake that immediately took you into an unreal feeling. As if you stepped into a fairytale. I definitely wanted to be the first one to photograph the location. That's why I brought Tom, he was the photographer. I took care of the beautiful locations and the texts. The only footage that existed of the location was some drawings of missing travelers. A few descriptions. I did not understand why there were no photos. What I did know is that this would change today. In good spirits I stepped on quickly. We were going to take the picture. Suddenly I felt Tom standing still behind me. Irritated, I turned around. I expected him to be looking at the map again, but he was staring at something to his right. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth hung slightly open. Slowly I walked back and stood beside him. 'What is it?' I followed his gaze. // Newspaper article: Restaurant The Phenomenal View Tom and Anna. They would return last week, only they have announced that they will extend their trip. Anna has contacted her family through short messages and let them know what Restaurant The Phenomenal View looks like and that they are safe. A quote: "Tom and I are happy here and have decided to extend our trip." The traveling couple's families and fans were looking forward to their return home. Their grief and disbelief can be felt. "We expected them to come home on Monday. They never arrive later than discussed, so we were all very worried. Fortunately we heard three days later that they were safe, but we regret that we no longer can listen to all the adventures." So Anna's father spoke. // It was phenomenal. I stared at the huge lake in front of me. Twilight had started around us. Tom and I automatically walked to the only light we saw. There were large letters at the top of the building: The Phenomenal View. We walked over the strip of sand. Tom carefully opened the door. "Welcome, Tom and Anna!" A woman with a purple flower in her hair came running up. Her arms were spread, a warm welcome. "We've been waiting for you for dinner. Come on in, put your bag aside." Her red dress swung around her as she turned and indicated the filled table. We heard all kinds of languages mixed together. In disbelief, we walked to the filled table. The smells of dishes from all over the world came to me. One by one, the guests at the table looked at us. Each with a smile on their face. I quickly looked at Tom to see if he had seen it.


July 15th, 1821 Oh how the sun was shining! Everything its light touched was illuminated in a cast of gold and silver. The blue sky stretched endlessly over the scattered cottages which made up the quaint little town of Newbay. Newbay was a small little town nestled in the middle of a large thick forest. Almost everyone in the town knew each other, and everyone lived harmoniously and happily. Each working to better himself, and help his neighbors. “C’mon Sarah!” Austin Harrington, a handsome young man yelled as his eyes sparkled with joy. His auburn hair glowing like fire in the late afternoon sun. “Austin!” A laughing young woman with bright blue eyes said as she walked up to Austin. Sarah Obrien, was beautiful today, her caramel hair falling in spirals down the back of her butter yellow frock. Austin smiled, his green eyes reflecting the colours of the trees around them. And taking her soft hand in his, the two walked side by side “Where are we going?” Sarah asked joyously as she brushed a stray string of her hair off of her freckled face. Austin looked up into the azure sky and smiled. Sarah tilted her head curiously and awaited his response. “Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” Austin asked, his lips spreading into a smile across his face. Sarah let her face fill with happiness as she remembered that wonderful moment. The feeling of his soft lips pressed against hers, his warm breath against her face, his strong arms wrapping her up in his warm embrace. Yes, she remembered, almost too well. Sarah nodded, letting the joyous sounds of the forest envelope them. The sound of the mid summer breeze blowing through the boughs of the trees. The mockingbirds’ happy chatter as they fluttered just above them. “Yes, I remember, and I always will.” Sarah said; still her hand in his as they continued to walk through the forest. How enchanting that day was, everything was perfect. How the sunrays sifted through the overhanging leaves, and fell onto the forest floor in intricate designs and shapes was beautiful. The two continued to walk, passing through thickets and little clear patches of forest. The sights and sounds of the wood transporting them to pure a land of pure bliss. Then, as suddenly as they had started walking, Austin came abruptly to a stop. “What’s wrong Austin?” Sarah said, slight concern flashing across her face. Though she reassured herself that nothing could be that bad as to ruin their perfect day. A smile spread across Austin’s handsome face as he turned to her. “Close your eyes.” He said barely above a whisper, mischief glittering in his bright green eyes. Sarah laughed softly, and let her eyelids fall over eyes, thrusting her into darkness. Though, she could still feel the warm sunshine on her face. Sarah felt Austin slip his hand into hers, and with a tug; led her forward. Sarah could still feel the bumps of stones under her shoes, and sometimes worried she would trip. “Almost there.” Austin said, his strong hands leading her on through her temporary world of darkness. “Almost where?” Sarah asked her eyebrows down pointing in curiosity. “You’ll see.” Was all Austin replied, pure joy hidden behind his not-so secretive response. “Ahh, here we are! Now, when I tell you; open your eyes.” Austin said, gripping Sarah’s hand, and leading her a few steps farther he stopped her once more. Sarah smiled, feeling his hand slip out of hers; and awaiting what would happen next, bit her bottom lip. Austin stepped away from Sarah, and stood looking at her standing in the clearing. Her yellow dress fluttering gracefully in the summer breeze, her caramel hair brushed carelessly over her shoulder. How enchanting his soon- to be bride looked. Then, walking up to her, Austin bent his head down and kissed her. Time seemed to stop, slowing everything down around them to a blur. The wind was no more than a far distant ocean wave, the birds; no louder than a kittens soft purr. “You can open your eyes now.” Austin whispered; pulling away from her. Sarah’s eyes fluttered open moments later, and then widened in surprise. “You found it!” Sarah exclaimed, a wave of tender joy escaped her heart. It swept in a warm flood up her arteries, like the fire of a million stars. Then, breaking into a run; Sarah ran up underneath an enormous oak tree. That spouted from the ground like a fountain. “Of course I found it! How could I ever forget?” Austin said catching up to her. The two stood silent for a couple hours, or maybe seconds. They could not tell. “I remember when we came here together,” Sarah said her eyes glazed in wistful memory, “you told me you loved me, and we carved our names into this tree.” Sarah turned to Austin who shook his head smiling. “And, the carving is still here.” Austin walked up closer to the great tree. And, in the middle of the rough bark sat a crude carving of a heart; bearing two names and a date. Austin Harrington and Sarah Obrien April 23rd, 1820 The two laughed, remembering their first moments of their life together, that would forever be illuminated in the bark of this tree; and carved in their hearts. Austin sighed contentedly, and turned to Sarah. He took her hand in his. They stood facing each other hand in hand, while the great vibrant life they were now touching so closely filled their hearts and eyes, and left them faint. They stood there, spirit-hushed, ecstatic. And from that moment on, they would get married but a day later. Raise a large, prosperous family, and live happily ever after. July 15th, 1981 “Alright kids, gather ‘round.” A tall middle aged man said as he gathered his children on a big grassy clearing; the only shade provided by a huge oak tree that towered above them. “Hey, Franklin quite messing with Annie.” The man intervened as two of his children began to quarrel. “Now, do you all know why I have gathered us here?” He asked looking his wife who was standing beside him, and all of his children in the eye. “No daddy.” Was the answer his children gave back to him. And with a smile, he began to tell a tale. “Long ago, my Great, Great Grandpa Austin, bought these fifty acres of land,” The man gestured to the land around him, “for he was to be married very soon, to a pretty little lady who went by the name of Sarah. She was my Great, Great Grandma. Anyway, he bought this land and came here with Sarah, and they carved their names into the bark of this tree.” Surprised gasps came from the little group, as they all rushed up to the tree; each trying to see the carving. One by one, the children were lifted up and got to touch carving. After everyone had gotten a chance to see the marking, their father addressed them again. “Now, your ma and I have decided that to farther honor your Great, Great, Great Grandpa and Grandma’s memory, we are to build a tree house in this here tree!” Cheers and shouts came from the little group as they set to work, building the little tree house. ~~~~ Two weeks later… “I now present to you, the Harrington family tree house!” The father shouted as he made room for all eight of his children to climb up the sturdy ladder that he had built, so that they could reach the tree house. The house, was nestled safely among the strongest, thickest branches of the tree. Its structure woven around the trunk, so that it would sway with the tree if a storm came. “This was a wonderful idea, Dan.” Dan’s wife said as she stood beside him; the two watching their children race around the safe, sturdy tree house. Dan put his arm around the back of his wife, and pulled her close to him. “It felt, right Mary. To honor them this way.” Dan smiled wistfully, how he loved his family. He wanted to make sure their life was perfect; he wanted to make sure they had nothing to fear, he wanted them to know he loved them. Mary looked up at him, and smiled.

Author's note: Thank you to all who read this! Please be brutally honest about what you like and don't like! I am planning on adding more at some future time! I hope you enjoyed it!;)


My old leather belt I wake up another day to hear my rattling alarm, it's an absolutely dreadful ringing. Everytime i hear the abominable sound I cover both of my ears with my pillow. When I finally get the energy to wake up and move to the bathroom, I brush my teeth and stare into the mirror. Wondering why I’m why I’m still here, why I even try anymore. Nothing seems worth it anymore. I take a completely cold shower because I can't afford hot water at the moment. I’ve been laid off from my Nine to five job, working down at a supermarket making Eight fifty an hour. I could barely survive off of that cash, But now it's gone. I have no money, Every cent I had went towards the cheapest liquor i could find. Just so I could feed my crippling addiction. I go to the cabinet around eight thirty in the morning, I then proceed to take anywhere from two to three shots. The only way I can make it through the day is those shots. I’m done living like that. I want away from that life, I want to be better. But I simply can't. I have one shot left. I take my final drink and head for my bedroom. I went into my closet to find my belt, it was an old belt that my father wore when he was still alive. I held that belt in my hands and cried, more tears than ever before. I took that belt into my living room, and set it down on my old, worn out couch. I reached over my small dining table to grab a chair. The same dining table given to me from my sister, She had no use for it when she moved out of her studio apartment in California. She made it big with some guy she mooches off of. She’s always had it easy in life. I take that chair into the living room, and place it directly underneath a ceiling fan that was lousily installed by the maintenance crew. I then decided what I would do. I looped my fathers leather, worn out belt around my neck. I put the belt into a loop on the fan, while standing on top of my barstool. I stared into space and cried. I closed my eyes and said. “Dad, i’m finally coming to see you..” The chair wobbled out from underneath me. I feel as the belt tightens and clogs my airway. I realized what was happening. I didn't want this. I could be better. As that thought crossed my mind. I hear the chair hit the floor with a loud thump. Breaking my glass that I used for liquor. I began to panic, I didn't want to die yet, I was screaming but nothing would come out, I choked on my words and began to fall black. This is it, that would be my end; Hanging from my ceiling fan. Just as I accepted my fate, I heard a shout from my apartment door. I choked and gurgled trying to scream for them. The woman slowly opened the door, and with a loud scream. She ran over to me and threw the chair underneath me. She forced my lifeless, completely wasted body up to the chair. She then stood on it and released the belt from my red, bruising throat. I blacked out for a good thirty seconds or so, She had 911 on the way and was trying everything she could to save me. As I started to cut in and out of reality, She sat next to me and cried. She hugged my lifeless body, As I floated away. I felt as my soul, my spirit. My life, Leave my body. I was dead.


The button stood like an unhammered nail, a flourish of red amongst the blues and grays of the sleek console; an itchy mosquito bite unscratched. I looked around the cabin for a clue—some diagram or schematic that would, even tangentially, give me an excuse to push the button—but all I found was interlocking machinery patterning the walls, flush and smooth, a seamless mosaic of maddeningly unlabeled blinking lights and dimensionally-conflicting optical illusions that made my legs wobbly. I wanted to sit, but, lacking anything even remotely resembling a chair, I didn’t. It wasn’t supposed to be complicated, this temporary manning of the ship, and, to be fair, it wasn’t. Complicated. In theory. In practice, however, I needed to push the button. That was—I mean, that was it. The odds of getting a favourable outcome were slim, I knew, but what if it was a chair-button? What if I could sit at the controls of this spaceship like an adult while Captain Sleepyhead got his eight-to-ten hours of shuteye instead of pacing back and forth wildly wearing an anguished mask of indecision before slumping to the ground in a pile of jittery exhaustion? Or what if it was a button that *didn’t* immediately jettison me unprotected into the dark reaches of space, instead opening an unseen door behind which hid a fully-stocked kitchenette complete with overflowing jugs of crisp, hydrating lemonade? Wouldn’t I feel foolish if, instead of blowing up us up from the inside, the button only provided the gentle, breezy comfort of some much-needed air-conditioning? As I hovered over the button and pondered these, to me, increasingly plausible scenarios, the video-screen descended and dimmed all the cabin lights with its gravitas, leaving me to sweat silently in the crackle of flickering disconnect evident on the screen. ‘*yzzrt przzk zik kzuttin*’ My reflection flashed back at me in the interstitial moments of black between choppy almost-images before resolving into footage of me proper, leering at the camera with that smirk I use when I’m really trying to get under someone’s skin. Man—that is irritating. ‘*yzour pruzz ze bzuttin*’ I don’t look too happy on the screen. Oh, I’m smiling, in a way, but I know how it feels under that nasty grin—I’ve never made that face when I’m feeling, say, generous. Or compassionate. Or, you know, good. And I’m clearly saying something about the button, but beyond the static and interference obscuring whatever nuances the words contain, I must also necessarily decipher what’s coming out of the screen with a codex of my own idiosyncrasies. *You press the button*, question mark? *You pressed the button*, past tense? *You press the button*, command? He wants me to suffer, that me up there, but how far have I thought this through? I want me to stop looking at me like that, but I want me to push the button, don’t I? What happened to me up there that put me in that position? What if I wait it out—the captain will wake up eventually, right? Right? ‘*yzou prezkl the buttonzk*’ It wasn’t supposed to be complicated, this temporary manning of the ship, and, to be fair, it wasn’t. I would just wait. I would totally just wait and not press the button; I would stare back into my unforgiving eyes with confidence and not read too much into my subtle shifts in body language and demeanour and wait.


“I was relaxing on the sofa when she called. When I picked up, she asked me if I would make it to the party that night. I gave a generic excuse about needing to get sleep for an early morning at work the next day. Maybe I said I wasn’t feeling well. I don’t remember, but Jackie said something in response before the line cut out. It was the last time I spoke to her-” I paused before adding, “It didn’t seem unusual for the phone to give out like that. I would have called back if I had thought something might have happened.” “I knew I sounded pathetic justifying myself like that, but I was so nervous up on the stand that I couldn’t stop to think about the words I was saying before they poured out of me. I felt I was witnessing a child pull at a loose string on a knit sweater. With each tug, there was a little less of me. I felt after only a few seconds that the damage was irreparable. It was that quick. Each question I was asked pulled on a loose thread. Please state your name for the record. Tug. What was your relation to Ms. Jackie Issacson? Tug. What was your relation to Mr. Leonard Bentson? Tug. Were you aware that Ms. Issacson had the predisposition to commit financial identity fraud, extortion, and distribution of nonconsensual pornography? Tug.” “It all made a little more sense when, years later in therapy, I was told that certain events can trigger psychotic episodes in individuals, even those without any previous mental health conditions,” I closed my eyes and pretended to yawn. I was ready to change the conversation to something else. My throat was tight and my mind was congested. “And when you talked to her again, what did she say?” you asked. “She said she had done it for me,” I answered. “That’s terrible, babe. Come here, let me hold you,” you said as you pulled me into your chest. I could smell the coffee on you still. Your skin was sticky against my face. I recalled when we first started seeing each other in the fall: I would wait at the store until your shift ended and we would go back to my apartment to spend hours kissing on my sofa. Your body always tasted of salt then. You would always offer to shower and I told you I liked you better with the smell of life on you. You would apologize for spills and spots on your clothes and I told you it wouldn’t matter if we took them off. Now lying with my head burrowed into your body surrounded by the smell of life, and dried sweat, I wondered why you hadn’t showered after work today as you usually did. I was going to ask why, but sleep filled me before the words slipped from my lips. You left a note on the counter the next morning: Thanks for sharing with me last night about your ex-friend. That must have been a very tough situation for you to go through. It got me thinking it might be a good idea to invest in some more security on our computers. Maybe we can do some research together tonight. See you then. -Caleb I felt alone in the world for the next few hours. It was all-encompassing loneliness that is not demanding. I didn’t feel lacking as if I needed to be connected to the outside world, I was simply very conscious that I was not. It was a feeling that can only be brought on by the absence of any obligations and any company. I’d felt it many times before. I filled the tea kettle and turned the stove on, but when the water boiled I turned the flame off and decided to go back to bed instead. As I lay on top of the covers, I began thinking about your note, Caleb, and decided to write one in response: You really missed the point. I am not afraid of being out of control or losing my identity. Control is not something you can find once you lose it. I have lost it and there is no getting it back. Leo had lost control and pushed me down under him. Leo had forced himself in between my lips. Jackie had lost control and stolen bank account information from Leo’s desktop. And I lost control of myself on the stand. It wasn’t about home security, or computer security, or even Jackie. It was about the lawyer pulling on the string of a sweater. It was the questioning on the stand. It was about the answers that I couldn't refuse to give. It was about how I felt everything all the time as everyone does until I was nothing anymore. It was about the tugging that turned my life into lines on pages in a file in a box in a building. It was about people turning my life into sentences about legal actions and sentencing. Your note was a tug on a string of a sweater I no longer wear. I’m naked now, Caleb. Or better yet I have no body any longer. My attacker is no longer an attacker because I am no longer a victim. I am no longer anything. I can’t research identity theft protection plans with you tonight because there is no identity for me to guard. The tugging has taken the last substance from my existence this morning. I hate lawyers and I hate computers. Always and forever,

I wasn't sure how to sign it. I figured I would decide on something catchy, but never did. I walked back into the kitchen and considered making something for breakfast. I touched my fingers to my lips. They were chapped and cracked. My lower lip burned in a spot I knew must be bleeding. Now I have blood, sweat, and saliva on my lips and nothing left to say.


I love my family beyond anything else in the whole world, but I’ve always wondered why my grandma never got married. She was pregnant with my mother while she was dating my grandpa a few decades ago, and he had proposed to her many times since then, but she always said no. He loved her very much so he decided to stay with her and help with the baby anyway. My mom got older, and my grandpa decided to marry someone else. He moved near our house with his beautiful bride, Elise, but he never abandoned my grandma. Elise knew how much he loved my grandma, but she also knew that even though their relationship was over, they still had a child together. She was kind and understanding about their complicated situation, and she managed to welcome my grandma into their family. Soon she became best friends with my grandma and they have stayed that way ever since. One day, as we were walking home from school, I asked my grandmother why she never wanted to get married. “Who told you I didn’t want to get married?” she let out a little laugh, then added, “Let me tell you a story, love bug.” “A love story?” “Maybe,” she said dreamily. She bought me an ice cream and we sat down on a bench under the most magnificent cherry tree. The sun looked down on her wrinkled face and big, soft eyes. Her silky white hair was glowing in the sunshine and her thin lips were slowly moving as I was listening to her sweet voice. “It might be hard for you to imagine this, buttercup, but I was your age once. I wasn’t pretty like you, but I was just pretty enough to be asked out by this crazy boy from my high school.  We didn’t have any classes together, and I’d only talked to him once on my way to school. He wasn’t very handsome, his ears were huge and you could see his crocked teeth every time he smiled. But there was something with his eyes, I don’t know what it was, but I always felt this wave of reassurance and safety. But I didn’t say yes,” she paused. “What did you say?” “I said no, because I thought I was better than him. And trust me, buttercup, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Anyway, he didn’t give up, and we became friends. We went to school together, hung out after classes, went to dates together. I knew he liked me, but I kept treating him as a friend. In four years he had told me so many times that he had feelings for me and I had turned him down again and again, until he started seeing someone. That was the moment I realized I wanted to be with him. I felt angry at myself for not seeing it earlier. I have liked this boy from the moment we met, and I didn’t even know it. I knew it was too late but I still went over to tell him how I felt, because a part of me still hoped he would choose me, but he didn’t. He told me he was sorry, and that he wants to continue being friends after we finish high school. And that was the last time we ever talked to each other. High school ended and so did our friendship. I focused on university, and he got married. I haven’t heard from him since he had asked me to come to the wedding, but I was too embarrassed to go. I have always wondered what would have happened if I had said yes the first time he had asked me to be his girlfriend or whether or not it would have made a difference if I had gone to the wedding. And I have never gotten over that little boy who turned my life around and then broke my heart without me realizing that I even gave it to him. Funny like that, love bug, when you love someone, even if you’ve never even kissed them, you don’t stop loving them. You just wish them happiness and go on with your life.” “Wow, grandma… I had no idea. And what happened when you started dating grandpa?” “Oh, I loved your grandpa. I still do. But I couldn’t marry him when I kept wishing I was marrying someone else instead. That wouldn’t have been fair to anyone. But I’m glad he has found someone good.” “What was his name?” I asked her. “George Timothey,” she whispered, but I could hear perfectly. I opened my mouth in disbelief. That was my classmate’s grandfather, but I didn’t say anything. We went home, and I kept thinking about the story. I called Marc, my classmate and one of my best friends, and I told him everything. At the end, I told him the name. “Are you serious? Wait, why did you tell me all this?” “I wanted you to know. Do you think your grandfather still remembers my grandma?” I was afraid to hear the answer. “I know he does,” he said quietly. “He got diagnosed with schizophrenia five years ago. He didn’t remember who grandma was and he kept calling her Julie. Now I know why.” “Why didn’t you say anything? How is he doing now?” “He’s better. The doctor says he’s recovering slowly. Thank God.” “I’m glad. I’m sorry I’ve never asked you about him.” “It’s fine,” he said. “Anyway, grandma couldn’t take care of him by herself, so he sent him to live with us, and she didn’t live much longer after that.” “God… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.” “You didn’t. I know why you told me, and maybe you two can come over tomorrow after school. Hopefully, he will remember her.” The following day, I didn’t tell my grandma where we were going or who was the boy walking with us. For all she new, he was just a colleague. Marc had warned me that his grandfather might not remember her, but at least my grandma would get to see him again. We walked in and Marc told us to wait in the living room. My grandma had stopped asking what we were planning and was simply looking at the bookshelf. She dropped the book she was holding when she saw George walk in after Marc. His ears were really huge, but not as huge as his smile had been. “Julie,” he said softly. “It’s really you.” My grandma was crying as he went in for a hug. She told me later that in that moment, she thought she had completely lost her mind. They looked at each other as if they were still teenagers, and they finally kissed. After almost a lifetime, they had had their magical moment. Their age didn’t matter a bit. Marc and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. We helped them sit down on the couch, and me and Marc left them alone for a while. His dark eyes were glowing and he was very excited. “It was unbelievable! He REMEMBERED her! And he was so happy! I am so happy! I love you, Anne.” Our eyes met and before I knew it, I kissed him. We went back inside and found my grandma and Marc’s grandpa laughing so hard, they might as well have been little kids. We stayed there until midnight and while they were talking about everything they had missed for the last half century, George realized that talking to my grandma was improving his memory. He was telling her stories and jokes and he couldn’t believe that was him. We came over everyday for the next few months. One December evening, after dinner, George asked my grandma to walk with him in the garden. It was freezing cold, when suddenly, Marc’s grandpa sits down on his knee in the snow and asks my grandma to turn around. She was so unbelievably happy she almost fell off her feet. “Julie Moore, I never should have stopped fighting for you. I don’t have a time machine to change the past, but you are here now and I’m not letting you go again. Will you do me the honor of marrying this old man?” “YES!!” she cried as she was helping him get up. “Let’s get you inside, old man” Both of our families got together to celebrate them. In the end, my grandma was right: when you love someone, nothing can make you stop loving them. And when you belong together, not even the Universe can keep you apart.


...Any who found this. I know not why you are here. Perhaps it is chance, or perhaps you followed the same signal we did. If you are reading this... ***Illegible*** ...Our response was the same. When the signal reached us from across the stars, we went. This was not the first such message we had received, protocols were in place and we followed them. It was the year 4,257, by our standard, when this particular signal was detected. Like always it wasn't a communication to the cosmos. It was the species' first attempts at communicating among themselves. Even so it was an indication of intelligent life; our ships were launched. Each time we detected a civilization, we were hopeful. Optimistic that we were not alone in the void of space. Unfortunately, we have always been disappointed. The signals, electromagnetic waves, travel slowly through space. When such signals reach our sensors they are millions of years old, if not older. Still, we have respond to every signal thus far. The first ones we couldn't hunt down. Our receptor technology advanced faster than our spacefaring. History has told us we tried to respond, but received no answer. It wasn't until the year 2,874 that we had reliable space travel and not until 3,752 that we had faster than... ***Illegible. Tablet broken, proceeding to next section.*** ...We made no neighbors. All we found were broken worlds devoid of life. Some wracked by war, others famine, many pestilence. Desolate world after desolate world filled with the bones or carapaces of its former inhabitants. Only fading signs left of the once glorious civilizations that were built there. This led the signals we received to take on a rather morbid epithet. We called them Wails. Which leads to me. Who I am is not important. I am the captain of the ship that followed the Wail here. To a small world in a small galaxy. It is my responsibility to leave this memoriam. As we have left them on so many other worlds. A sign that life once flourished here, and that it still does in another part of the cosmos. Our scientists say this world was once green and blue. That life, carbon based, thrived here. The dominant species was a group of bipedal primates. They called themselves Humans. Their world, wracked by pollution, eventually gave out. It had almost happened to us. We were too late to save them. They were a noble species. Studies indicate strong familial bonds as well as robust communities. They were just beginning to leave their planet... ***Illegible*** ...So we leave this marker. Carved into element number 22, atomic weight 47.867, on this world it is called titanium. The most robust material we could mine from its geography. This record, written in our language, and as many of theirs as we can translate is left for others who might come here; as we have. You are not alone. This universe holds more than death. You are not alone. Coordinates to our... ***Illegible. Tablet broken.*** *Note: This tablet was recovered on an uninhabitable world orbiting a small yellow star in a spiral galaxy on the edge of Sector 215-648-329. The tablet was recovered in pieces. This was recreated with the pieces found. No other portions or whole tablets located. Location of the tablets creator not found. No other signs of life or civilization were found on this world. This remains the only sign of interstellar life outside of our own species.


Your flesh. The thing that holds us together. It is the story of yourself. It is the lines of your finger, you hold their stories. The words that you have, I seek. The courage you put out, I crave. It is how you thrive with others, I desire. But the layers of my flesh have grown thick, making it unimaginable to reach others. It is the matte tone of my shadowed skin that has letters within its wrinkles. The thousands of words throughout my body, hope to arise in the air. Your words defy gravity, while mine sprout and dissolve. These little buds are dying in stacks. The other flowers I have seen, have magnificent detail, all within its colors. The luminous, pristine petals that radiate light, offer beauty to others. While I am a drying bud, just waiting for the water to set me alive. The cool touch of something so light. The water is the life that purifies us. As others absorb these streams, I sit there and watch as it crashes against me. I would rather stay in the shadows of the great oceans. These waves are made by the fields of wildflowers. These are the unique voices that help the buds bloom. The sea of thoughts provide all the others with their growth. I, the dehydrated, am stuck within the white stained desert. A single flower stranded. I try my best to survive but rays of light dry me out. And I start to crumble within the heat. As I cannot hold on to my shape any longer, I turn to a little brown pile of ash. I have lots of these piles all over my flesh. They are the little doubts of myself that trail my body. My nose holds them dear as they shield my eyes. But I have evolved to use them as guidance. With the bits of my nature, I was able to grow these dots into my own creation. It does not power with water like the rest, but able to live on its own. It functions off of my power, my belief. It is built on my motivations. I can construct huge mountains. Through little bumps that line my skin, nature is able to leak throughout the hills. All the tiny pieces of glazed string come together to create crowds of people. I now have all these voice screaming. They all want to be heard. All their own thoughts. All their imperfections. They're human. I herd these populations, preparing them for the wild. The growing groups fill me. They build until I can barely contain myself. The pushing pressure is grinding trenches into me. The cracks of my desert are now huge valleys. My extending growth is peeling me open. As my layers slowly break away. My flesh stretches out, trying to keep my words in. As my thinner layer sticks to me, tiny holes break open, and few amounts of words fall out. These words surprise me. They surprise others. They soak up the air becoming balloons. The idea pops and my words linger above our heads. My letters are drizzling into peoples minds. I impacted them, I created a reaction. The mist of my words is joined by the rivers of the others. Condensation coats everyone as we stir waves, exchanging thoughts. A waterfall of words splash up upon my mind and my body shivers with a numbness. I know I created this new sea. A new map of unsearched territory. A question that expands the people's understanding of their own thoughts. The drops of words sink into my flesh. I absorb the knowledge. My flesh is hydrated. My body thirsts for more information. Bruises are being healed. These words give me strength. Cuts in my skin are being pulled back together, by the stories that created them. I am healing. The scars they leave within my flesh, hold the most letters. If only I could get my flesh to form the right words. The stories could have the power to sway minds. I can hit people with my own words. As I grow, so do my words. I let them go purposely now. I can create clouds without fear. I have grown to water others. Let the other dried blossoms take in some of the moisture. My skins punctures leak, becoming the spout of water for the others. Whenever I spill, I get the overwhelming feeling of peace. I create my own ideas. I have the ability to share them with others. I let my flesh peel open and bring emotion to others. I am hit with the fact that I affect others. I have a part in this world. The greatness my words can achieve, lift me. I am the creator of storms. The trickle of rain is taken over by the tsunami on its way. I can make things fall from the sky. I can water tons of flowers. As our flowers lay there, soaking, you question my scars. What has happened? Why are you like this? Are you okay? My water inside is shaken, for I have so much to say. My flesh has the potential to become great weights of art, but I don't want to be a burden to you. But you say it's fine. Through your words, I can feel the stillness of your sea, of your safe presence. I sense your shadow warming me. My blanket of coldness is melting. I drip away, until I have no barrier. I pour myself out. And my skin falls off. My voice. My words are free. This is my poem.