Rivulets of sweat rolled down BJ’s sides, saturating his shirt. He removed his hat, pulled the shirt up, and wiped his hairless scalp. It didn’t absorb any moisture, but the motion gave some cooling relief. Pendulous drops of perspiration cascaded from his eyebrows, stinging his eyes. He wiped his face on his sleeve. “God almighty,” he said, sucking in a deep breath and breaking open his last bottle of water. He looked at his phone. “No damn service! Where the hell am I?” Sliding the phone into his back pocket, he shaded his eyes from the glare and peered along the two-lane blacktop undulating like a twisting snake in the mirage of heat bubbling from its surface. Behind him, lost in the distance, his ’80 Gremlin sat along the side of the road, having succumbed to the south-Texas heat. “I should’ve gotten rid of that piece of shit a long time ago,” he said, grinding his teeth in disgust. He bent over with his hands on his knees, staring at his glistening legs and soaked socks. “Gotta find some shelter soon or I’m going to share the same fate as the car.” With that thought firmly set in his mind, he continued to trudge toward a group of buildings wavering in the distance. Thirty minutes later, he stood before a gas station. The walls listing in surrender to the elements, the faces of the pumps cracked and crazed, 25 cents a gallon frozen in their final throes. Besides the station and its adjoining service bay, three other buildings, one on either side of the station and another across the highway, hung in similar stages of decay: broken windows, missing doors, and slumping porches. A breath of despair popped from his lips. “Shit.” He shrugged. “Well, at least I’ve got some shade,” and with that walked between the two dead pumps and through the station’s front door. Fine sand blew in through holes in the windows, spiraling into small cyclones and dying in the corners and on a table against an opposite wall. The metal walls turned the room into an oven, mitigated only by the circulation of a warm breeze. It may not have been a gas station for a while, but it had frequently been used for shelter as evidenced by the detritus strewn about the floor. A door at the rear opened into the service bay, the rolling doors closed, and all the windows covered in newspaper. An ’81 Ford pickup sat parked in the bay. The back door to the bay swung in the breeze and banged a sinister rhythm against the metal wall. A sudden urge to leave knotted BJ’s gut. He spun on his heels and into the narrowed glaring eyes of a suspicious round face. “What’re you doing here?” BJ caught the dull glint of sunlight off the cold steel stuck in the waist band of this unfriendly face’s pants. “Ah . . . I, ah . . . my car broke down about three miles from here,” his eyes fixed on the tense face, he brought his hand up and tentatively pointed toward the roadway, “that way.” He lowered his hand and stuck it in his pocket. The glare became a scowl, his brows pitching down into a deep crease above his flat nose, and he reached for the pistol, but BJ raised his hands, exposing the palms and splaying his fingers. “Look man, I don’t know what’s going on here,” his words spilled out in rapid staccato bursts, “and I don’t want to know. I’m looking for someone to fix my car and to get some water.” His heart racing, his hands began to shake. The face softened and he lowered his hands. A smile curled at the corner of his mouth as he pushed BJ’s hands down. “Nothin’ going to happen. I’m not going to shoot you, but you picked a bad time to show up.” He canted his head toward the mess that littered the floor around them and chuckled. “Not going to find any water or a mechanic around here.” Then he nodded toward the truck in the service bay. “Can’t give you a ride either.” Biting his upper lip, the face glanced at the chipped crystal of his watch. The second hand ticked off the seconds, much slower than BJ’s pulse. “Shit,” the face said, whispering. He turned to BJ. “You gotta get out of here. I got friends coming and they ain’t nice.” “Where can I go?” “Not my problem.” He walked toward a front window and pointed. “Over there. Across the road. Haul your ass over there.” Voices wafted from outside the service bay. The face strode back to the bay and looked toward the back door, “Too late asshole,” and slipped the pistol from his waistband. “Find somewhere to bury yourself or they’ll do it for you.” BJ’s heart jumped into his throat. His mouth dropped open. The face turned and clenched his teeth. “Go, you idiot or you’ll be dead!” BJ couldn’t move. The face’s eyes darted about the room and then he jabbed the muzzle of the gun toward a low cabinet in the corner. “In there!” The voices, at least three, entered the bay. BJ blinked as the face shoved him toward the cabinet and slid the door open. He pulled a shelf out and pushed BJ inside. Sliding the door shut, he dragged a chair in front of the cabinet and sat down. “Yo! Who you talking to?” “Myself.” “Yeah?” BJ peered out through a hole the cabinet’s lock once occupied. Three men stood in the doorway to the service bay. The one in the middle, talking, wore an unbuttoned sleeveless shirt over a wife-beater, sweat stained and dirty. A large, tattooed crucifix extended along the inside of his right forearm from the elbow to the wrist. “The Devil’s Man” was tattooed across his left bicep. Two men stood behind him, BJ’s gaze fixed on the long rifles slung across their chests. “Yeah,” the face said. “You’re early.” “I’m never early. You’re late.” The sleeveless shirt stepped closer to the face. The two rifles remained in the doorway.” “The truck’s empty,” another voice belonging to a fourth man said as he stepped between the rifles and into the station office. The sleeveless shirt moved closer and stopped a foot from the face. “Where’s my shit?” he said in a low, menacing drawl. “Hey, man, they’ll be here. It’s only twelve-thirty. You said one. They’ll be here at one.” BJ held his breath, squeezing his bent knees together to keep from shaking the cabinet. Something crawled up his leg and he froze. A slim beam of light penetrated the missing lock’s hole, illuminating his knees. The tingling of small feet moved up his shin. Thank God it didn’t slither, he thought. It stopped at the top of his shins. He stared at his kneecaps. Long black, hairy legs appeared in the light, touching, feeling his knees, climbing over until perched on top, two gargantuan beady eyes glistening in the light. Oh! God! A tarantula. “I’m tired of your bullshit!” the sleeveless shirt said. “You’re always late.” You give me a bad name with my customers when you make me late.” “They’re comin’. They said they’d be here at one. C’mon man. Give them time. They’ll be here.” BJ baked inside the cabinet, his breathing shallowed, but he never took his eyes off the large arachnid staring back. The sleeveless shirt laughed and raised his voice to the others. “Well, what’d ya think? Should we wait?” Before the question garnered a response, a shot pulsed in the sultry air. BJ jumped, then clamped his hands against his mouth. The tarantula raised up on its legs and hissed. BJ held his breath. The sleeveless shirt howled. “Guess not. Don’t see any reason we can’t make the exchange without him.” The chair the face had been sitting in slammed against the cabinet. The tarantula scurried down BJ’s thighs and into a pantleg of his shorts. BJ squeezed his eyes shut and strangled a mortal cry with his hands. It crawled from one side of his thigh to the other, the bristles of its hairy legs tingling against his skin. He panted, his breaths shallow and ragged. I can’t see! Where am I? The metal burned his hands. His mouth dried and his legs cramped. A wave of nausea twirled in his stomach and his head pounded. “Let’s wait out by the truck,” he heard the sleeveless shirt say and watched through the hole as they walked into the service bay. The walls closed in on BJ. He pushed against the cabinet’s door, but it wouldn’t budge. I got to get out of here! I can’t breathe! He pushed harder, unable to move it. Through the hole he saw the chair rocked up on its back legs and the face slumped in the seat, his head rolled to one side. His eyes an empty stare, blood matted his hair and ran down the side of his head. BJ pushed his back against the side of the cabinet to get more leverage against the door until a sharp sting on the inside of his thigh stopped him. Snarling through his clenched teeth, he punched his leg and said, “Get off me! Get the fuck off me!” The arachnid skittered from his pants across the floor of the cabinet and disappeared through a hole in the corner. BJ grabbed his thigh. A cramp knotted his stomach and his head spun. Visions of a thousand beady eyes crisscrossed the cabinet in front of his face. His mouth hung open and his tongue lolled over his lips as he tried to suck in a breath. In the distance, shouting voices and a volley of gunfire. Lightheaded, he rocked from side to side, shouting and banging the sides of the cabinet, then tumbled against the door and collapsed into unconsciousness. ### BJ listened. He rocked; he was on his back. Cold. Wet. Someone wailed. Voices. Distant. What are they saying? Who are you? Where am I? The vision before his eyes wavered and bent and faded. A large tarantula stood over him, all eight eyes glaring. It leaned down, close to his face and snarled, the two prominent eyes fired with anger. BJ swung at it, screaming. “Get away! Get away from me!” The fangs snapped and then the mouth impaled his arm. “God! No!” BJ swung his arm trying to free it from the spider’s grip, but it wouldn’t let go. His arm froze. He couldn’t move it. “You’re okay, sir. Easy.” “What?” He shut his eyes and shook his head. “What?” “You’re okay.” When his eyes cleared, a paramedic had a grip on one arm and an IV fed fluid into the other arm. “I am?” The paramedic nodded. “Where am I?” “On an MedEvac helicopter.” He opened the cooling blanket wrapped around BJ and put BJ’s arm inside. A machine misted the air, and a fan circulated it throughout the cabin. “You’re a lucky man.” “I am?” His leg twisted in a painful cramp. He gritted his teeth. “I don’t feel lucky.” “Well, if it wasn’t for your Gremlin, you might not’ve been.” “My Gremlin?” “Yeah. The state police found it and set out looking for you. They found you and got a drug bust in the process.” “That piece-of-shit car? Didn’t think it would ever be worth anything.” He rolled his head and looked up at the paramedic. “You know anybody that wants it?” He chuckled. “It’s junk. Cops said it was stripped. Wheels. Engine. Just scrap now.” BJ, laughing, said, “Know of any good used cars? I gotta drive another thousand miles.” “Well, that won’t be a priority. They’ll keep you in the hospital for a while. So . . . how about a drink? Water, of course.” “You know what?” “What.” “I fucking hate tarantulas.”


# Happy Saturday, serialists! Welcome to Serial Saturday! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ***New here?*** If you’re brand new to and thinking about participating in Serial Saturday, welcome! Feel free to dip your toes in by writing for this challenge or any others we have listed on the handy dandy ! We appreciate all contributions made to this thread, and all submissions are of course welcomed, whether it addresses a previous challenge or the current one. We hope you enjoy your time in the community! Take a look at our inaugural Serial Saturday post for some helpful tips. You don’t need to catch up by writing for each of the previous assignments, feel free to jump right in wherever fits for you, with whatever assignment or theme fits for you, and post it on the current thread with a link to whichever previously posted challenge you chose to start with. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # This week it’s all about: Raised Stakes *This time,* *.* Folks, we are officially at . Remember our friend Bill, from our post for The Event That Changes Everything? This week Bill has to deal with the fact his moral enemy in his office, Frank, landed the Regional Manager position, and Frank is looking to ‘trim the fat’. It’s personal when Frank starts making his wishlist of fired employees and Bill is at the top of that list. It’s not an accident when that list is left in plainview in the conference room. Can Bill smooth things over with upper management while burying Frank? The raising of stakes is the midpoint of your story-- your characters are started down a new path sometimes without even realizing it. This is where your story really picks up with faster paced elements and . If you’re writing action, this is where you can imagine Keep that clock in the back of your mind as we accelerate towards big reveals, and situations hitting too close to home for our characters. For this brief, I’ll turn it over to ’s explanation, found on her website: >Raised stakes are all about consequences-- what are the consequences that kick in for the protagonist. > >Good stories show us the stakes in two parts: WHAT will happen, and WHY it matters. > >Both threats and obstacles can make the situation worse, and while good and important methods for developing the plot and increasing the tension of our story, they’re not necessarily the same thing as stakes. So let’s talk more about what it means to amp up the stakes in our story. > >What Does “Stakes” Mean? > >Stakes are the consequences for failing to rise to new challenges. If your protagonist doesn't reach their goal, what will happen? > >Stakes force the characters to make riskier and riskier choices. In turn, those choices will take the characters closer to the ultimate showdown with the main conflict. ## What if Our Story Isn’t Life and Death? How Can We Raise the Stakes? Let’s take a look at a classic, : In P&P our raised stakes occur when Mr Darcy tracks down Elizabeth and tells her the truth of his affections. Elizabeth is both taken aback by this sudden declaration. He does it poorly, while opening up an argument of the inferiority of her family, citing their behavior. That’s… not the way to win hearts, y’all. Finally, Darcy also explains that Mr Wickham is a bad dude. Particularly since Elizabeth was rather taken with George Wickham, this news comes as both a surprise and sinking of the stone in Ms. Bennet’s heart. So back to the question. What can we do to ? Complicate things. Cross some wires and give us Level up your antagonist- Looks like Dr Death just got a lot more deadly with his new Death Ray 2000! Maybe your antagonist is just the office jerk, but he’s the guy who seems to have a chokehold on your MC’s happiness at the workplace. Increase internal conflict- bring on the pain with a good ol’ tug of war of. Increase external conflict- throw away those matching BBF bracelets and face the betrayal in the eyes of a loved one,. When It Rains, It Pours- kick it up a notch with inclement weather, or an But just in the case you want to \*add\* some life and death elements: Light the Fuse, Literally- Force some drama, as long as it’s plausible. Do your characters need a push in the right direction? Works great on mountains and stubborn mules! **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** **You have until \*next\* Saturday, 10/3, to submit and comment on everyone else's stories here. Make sure to check back on this thread periodically to lay some sweet, sweet crit down on those who don't have any yet!** \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* # Top picks from last week’s assignment, Point of No Return: **Fan favorite with the most votes:** /u/Lady_Oh, with a beautiful ending to her fairytale-like serial world, which drew to a close with the knowledge her characters could not return. This week the **Smoking Hot Challenge Sash** goes to an author that nailed the spirit of the assignment: /u/lynx_elia, for thickening the plot and showing us some things her character can’t un-see. And honorable mentions: /u/Ryter99, for pushing forward this veritable fluff-driven party with the fury of a thousand buns…. Err, Bundarr. And /u/ATIWTK, for showing that when there’s no return, it could spark a journey that is just the beginning. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **The Rules:** * In the comments below submit a story that is between **500 - 750** words in your own original universe. * Submissions are limited to ***one*** serial submission from each author per week. * **Each author should comment on at least 2 other stories** during the course of the week. * That comment must include ***at least one*** **detail** about what the author has done well. * Authors who successfully finish a serial lasting longer than 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the sub. * Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule. *Yes, we will check*. * While content rules are more lax here at /r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely ***family friendly***" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Reminders: * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday post or to your own subreddit/profile. * Authors that complete a serial with 8 or more installments get a fancy banner and modpost to highlight their stories. * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serials Campfire on the main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start on Saturdays at 9AM CST. **Don’t worry about being late, just join!** There’s a *Super Serial* role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Saturday related news! **Join the** **to chat with prompters, authors, and readers!** Previous constraint: **Point of No Return** Have you seen the? No? Oh boy! Here's the current cycle's challenge schedule.


“You spent $30,000 on those rare fish for your aquarium last month!” I exclaim.  “Don’t drag my fish into this, they are innocent,” my dad retorts. “Besides they actually have the chance of paying me back when they start popping out $5,000 babies.”  He doesn’t even care.  “You probably have $50,000 lost in the sofa!”  I notice how strange this idiom is as soon as it comes out of my mouth. Cash and coins hardly exist anymore… no one loses money in the sofa. “Dollar” is just a unit of measurement, not one specific currency. But I’m too angry to consider where exactly I pulled the reference from.  “You won’t keep your kid out of prison?” I continue.  “It’s the principle,” my dad says. He’s not yelling, he never yells.  “Dad! If you just pay 40 of the 70 thousand, they’ll let me work the rest off without confinement.”  He’s shaking his head slightly, and making that tucked-in-lip face; the one people make when they pass a stranger on the street.  “I’ll pay you back…” I try, exasperated. Nothing. “Don’t you have insurance to cover things like this?”  “We self insure for things like this. So imagine me as your insurance agent. I deny your claim for violating the terms of the agreement,” my dad says. “Remember how I told you that you should look into buying defense insurance for yourself? Maybe you could have got the renegade plan, or something, and they would cover things like this, I don’t know.”  He is not budging. Not even showing any emotion. That is what is so frustrating. If he was pissed-off I could work with it. Emotional responses cool down and things change. But my dad’s decision isn’t going to change. He’s not upset. There is nothing to cool down. He just made a logical decision.  I’m nothing like him.  “I’m going to prison! And you could stop it without even noticing!”  “You know this affects my business Dege. Who knows how much you cost us by insulting Francesco? He’s a big buyer.”  “Are you hearing me?! PRISON!” I pronounce the word with emphasis but I’m not quite yelling. “And all you care about is your business?!”  “Oh stop being so dramatic,” my dad says, breaking eye contact. He takes a sip of his drink.  “Dramatic,” I repeat indignantly. “Do you know what happens in prison?”  “Yeah, you learn some discipline,” he responds.  “No,” I say shaking my head, “You get raped! Is that what you want, for me to get raped?!”  “Rodigio, this isn’t 2000. Statistically, you’re more likely to get raped at those clubs you frequent.”  “Well it’s still two years on an island with all men.” I shoot back, “Don’t be surprised when your son comes home hanging off the bicep of Buff Jimmy, the reformed pirate.”  “We should be so lucky,” my dad scoffs. “A stern man is what you needed in your life all along. I blame myself. But anyway, there’s actually an island for female confines, and you all get to meet up twice a week. Haven’t you even checked out the website?”  I turn to my mom. “Is that what you want?” I say slow and serious. “For me to come home with a bull-dike-looking prison bitch named Ricky?”  “Oh you have such an imagination!” She says, “You’re such a natural storyteller, with your creative names and flare for drama. You should spend your extra time on the island writing stories! Or maybe work on your acting? You were always so good in those plays, you loved them.”  She’s serious too, not even trolling. She will always side with my dad. He convinced her a few years ago that she was an enabler of my “irresponsible behaviour.” This is just how she tries to stay positive.  My mom forces a smile, “Maybe it will be like camp,” she sort of laughs and shrugs.  I put my face in my hands realizing that my parents are about to abandon me to a prison island.  “I can’t believe you two are doing this to me!” I whimper.  “We aren’t doing this to you, Dege,” my dad says with candor, “We just aren’t bailing you out this time. It’s two years, less if you actually learn to do something people want to pay for.”  My mom is shaking her head in agreement, looking between my dad and me.  “It will be good for you sweetie. Don’t you want to learn a meaningful skill, go out on your own at some point?” Then she adds quickly, “Not that you’re not always welcome here!”  My heart is beating faster. It’s sinking in that I am about to go to a prison camp for two years. And that means missing New Year’s Eve in Barracuda. That means being separated from Majorie.  “Why do you both hate me!? If it was Raji you would pay it!” I am desperate and lashing out.  “You know what,” my dad says, “your attitude just proves all the more that it is high time you take a little responsibility for your actions.”  “Who buys a glass ball that costs more than I make in a year!? And I didn’t know his stupid statue would break.”  “Exactly. You didn’t know. But that didn’t stop you from doing something impulsive and destructive.”  “I was drunk!” I shout indignantly.  “That’s not an excuse,” he says, still infuriatingly calm.  “And that’s the other reason this will be good for you.” My mom adds. “They don’t allow alcohol on the island, and I think it will do you some good to stay sober for a while… clear your head.”  “You better get packing,” my dad says.  I’m back in my room. I still cannot accept it. I have one more thing I could try… I can ask Dean. But I don’t want to.  And yet, I make the call anyway.  “I can’t even believe you’re asking me this Rodigio.”  “Dude, I’ll pay it back with interest! I know you have the money!”  “Dege, it’s not like all my money is just sitting in a wallet somewhere. I do things with it. It’s invested all over, diversified. To give you that money would be an opportunity cost.”  “What?”  “If I give you that money, it means I can’t do something else with it.”  “So you care more about making more money than you do about your friend?”  “You know where the last $35 grand I threw down went? To a start-up bringing rule of law to the parts of the world that still have oppressive governments.”  “That’s just the last 35. I know you put at least that much in the virtual reality porn company!”  “I remember you being pretty excited about CyberNut at the time. But it still doesn’t matter Dege, because even CyberNut deserves the money more than you do. And I deserve to put my money in the places that I want, and make money back for my risk. What do I get risking that on you? Because please don’t try to tell me it’s not a risk…”  “I just thought maybe you wouldn’t want to see your friend in prison for two years. But I guess you think that’s what I deserve.”  He sighs. “Dege, I love you like a brother. But yes, you deserve to be held accountable for your actions. Me bailing you out wouldn’t help you in the long run.”  “Now you sound like my dad.”  “Well your dad is a smart guy Dege. Maybe it’s time you start listening to his advice. I mean you keep saying, two years, two years. Have you even considered the fact that you can make that much money in two months if you really wanted to?”  “Maybe you could…”  “I’m glad this conversation went this way. I’m now convinced that this will be good for you.”  We hang up. I am alone in my room.  I walk out on the balcony, overlooking the pool and tiers of grass that lead down to the white sandy beach, gently sloping into the ocean between large stone jetties.  It’s dark, but most of the palm trees and tropical ground cover are illuminated from hidden lights in the lava-rock-mulch.  I’ve lived here all my life. So accessible, always available just outside my back door. And suddenly I’m a visitor, just here for the night. So I might as well take advantage of it. I walk down to stroll through the pristine grounds.  I want to see Majorie but am not sure what to say. That’s what has kept me from messaging her. That and the stomach churning reality that I am going to prison.  A message comes in. Its from Majorie.  “Can I come over?”  Her drone lands about five minutes later. She walks down into the backyard garden and sits down next to me without saying a word. We look at each other and force a smile. And for a few minutes we just sit listening to the waves roll off the platform.  I sigh, “well apparently this place doesn’t have any alcohol. So… want a beer?”  “God yes.”  We grab a couple from the outdoor kitchen and sit at the tiki bar.  “I have to say… Your platform is way nicer than mine,” Majorie says.  “Well you’re closer to the center. And… you get to stay.”  “What are you going to do?” she asks.  “What can I do?”  “I mean to earn the money.”  “I guess I’ll keep working my bug catching job. Maybe if I put in enough hours I can cut it down to a year and a half.”  She looks down, “That’s a long time.”  Silence. Faint lapping of the ocean. Distant windchimes?  “I understand if you want to just forget about me and move on,” I blurt out. “I mean we just met anyway, I don’t expect you to…” I trail off.  Majorie takes a long swig of her beer. “We did just meet. Which is why this is so weird. Because I’m not just going to ditch you.”  “Look, it’s not your fault that I broke the statue. I don’t want you to feel attached to me out of guilt.”  “It’s not guilt. Definitely not guilt. It’s… well I don’t know what it is. It’s you, you’re different. I don’t know how yet, but I know a good thing when I see it.”  Now we’re staring into each other’s eyes. And it’s probably the only thing at this moment that can make me feel better. She’s right, there is something else going on here. I just hope the separation won’t ruin it.  We kiss across the bar. It feels so good to just enjoy each other’s company for a minute or two, sipping our beers.  Then I remember the burning question on my mind (when I’m not distracted by my impending incarceration).  “So what’s the deal with your job? You worked for Elijah Braze?” I ask.  “Well yeah sort of, but I barely knew him. Ben Rupert, his head of staff is–well was–my boss.” Majorie sighs, “But they already revoked all my permissions and sent an official severance notice so… looks like I’m a free agent.”  “What did you do for him?”  “Mostly data gathering.”  “You mean like marketing data for one of his businesses?”  “More like,” Majorie says slowly, formulating the right way to explain it, “Data gathering of a more personal nature.”  She only goes on after laughing at my blank expression.  “Sometimes it is digging into personal character, other times it’s confirming where someone lives or sniffing out conflicts of interest.”  “You’re a spy!?” I exclaim, only half joking.  “Well, I guess you could say that. Intelligence gathering.” She winks.  Suddenly an image of Majorie seducing a business contact to get some confidential pillow talk pops into my head. She seems to see the gears turning.  “It’s really not as exciting as it sounds,” she assures me. “Usually it’s pretty boring grunt work. The paid travel is nice… well at least it was.” Swig.  “Do you have other clients?”  “Yeah, but that was by far my largest chunk of income. I’m going to need to find something to replace it. All my other stuff is more routine digging. I can do most of it online.”  Another silence. It’s a wave of reality that keeps washing over me, anxiety about my fate tomorrow. I know Majorie can feel it too every time it hits.  “So when do you have to go?” Majorie asks.  “They pick me up at 9 tomorrow morning.”  She gives a sympathetic smile. “Any plans until then?”  I manage a laugh. “If you want to keep me up all night, I don’t mind arriving to prison a little groggy. Who do I have to impress there anyway?”  We spend the night laying in the grass, looking up at the stars, midnight skinny-dipping, and pre-dawn moonbathing. Majorie and I fall asleep in each other’s arms curled up on a large plush piece of patio furniture as the sun breaks over the horizon.


"We have plenty of time." The voice called out from behind, a throaty, chilling voice that was just as out of breath as I was, choking up on the dust that flew into their mouth as we ran. My feet pounded the floor, scraping at the rocks and sand in this torturous desert as I feel my heart ramming into my ribs, my body begging for me to stop but I won't. I breathe out, leaning forward and jumping over a rock here and there, running past into the mini village that lay settled between two abnormal canyon rocks. You'd occasionally hear the townspeople yell, "Hey!" or, "Running is proh-" but I couldn't care to zone into their words much less than to stop running. Because the woman behind me was one made from an engine so powerful she could keep running for miles, literally. I turn a sharp left, skidding on the floor and flailing my arms around before regaining balance and sprinting off, cutting into an alley with walls coated in an ugly white, clothes shattered on lines above and around the floor as I desperately try not to entangle my feet into them, but there was one thing that I had noticed past my harsh breath and the slamming of my feet. There was no longer an echo of my thudding, and as I slow to a stop I allow myself to regain my breath, hacking and coughing up dust and whatever else my dry throat can offer as I lean against a wall, looking back to find that no one was there. And it was awfully quiet too... A little too quiet. I inhale, holding my breath as the sound of the bustling town plays in the background, the shifting clothes in the almost non-existent wind rustling against my ear as I scan the environment. The scene was god awful too. Shattered pottery and glass had scattered all over the floor alongside soil and plants that hadn't been watered for near days. The only sound I could hear was my heart, that was still hammering at my chest as my hand trails up to grip the fabric that hid my torso, slumping my back against the wall as I squint, falling down onto the surface as I still wheeze for air, closing my eyes and feeling the beads of sweat slide down my fair skin. I could still hear her. She wasn't here, at least not that I can see, but she was here. The shift in her movements due to not being oiled for days, the way her breath trailed down people's ears after an unsuccessful heist. The way her eyes burned holes in your head when she was angry, clenching her mechanical fists before closing her eyes and tilting her head up, smiling to herself and fixing her hair. And if you're wondering, she was angry. Very angry, and angry at me. A nearby pot shatters on the floor next to me, and as I open my eyes I feel the air leave my lungs as a powerful blow is dealt into my stomach, causing me to hunch over with wide and terrified eyes as I fall onto my side, clutching my stomach and gritting my teeth to keep me from screaming out. So she can't hear me, right? "Plenty of time that I won't be wasting on anyone at the likes of you." I open my eyes slowly, my vision divided into two and slowly blurring into normality, my back pressed against the shards on the floor as I grunt, trying to sit up but it was useless. She brings her hand down onto my shoulder, drilling me into the floor and being held there, as she leans down. She was still so young... the same girl I knew back at high school down near the docks of "River Side". Though she changed. Her hair was short and ruffed, as if been cut by a child in the middle of a tantrum that she knows how to style well, though she wasn't all skin, as a large patch of metallic skin conceals half of her face reaching from her right eye to the corner of her left jaw. Her eyes were a sharp yellow, like those of a bald eagle as her brows knit together in the most unearthly irritated expression. Her lips parted to breathe softly as she cracks that same old grin I recognise from years ago. Back when she was still human. "You offend me, Hexen." She speaks soft and slow, an edge embedded in her tone as she lets go of my shoulder, only to bring it up and connect her knuckles down onto the side of my face. The blow sends me straight to the wall again, feeling as my side hits the concrete wall before I roll back down onto it again, causing me to gasp out, my mouth hanging wide open as she walks back over, gripping my face and lifting me up close to hers, growling through gritted teeth. "Give me the amulet." I stare up at her, feeling the blood tickle my lips down to my neck as I crack a smile, earning another sadistic blow to the face as I let out a loud groan, hearing her stand up as I rub my jaw, fixing it straight and massaging the pain, spitting specks of blood onto the floor as if it would make it look anywhere near prettier. "I don't want to hurt you but you are making it rather difficult not to." She begins, running her hands through her hair as she turns back around me. She was tall, a black, denim jacket lazily thrown over her shoulders as a ripped, black shirt is shown underneath, as if she'd gone through hell and back. And she did. She wore monstrous boots, spikes jutting out from near every angle around the brim edges of the shoe, the laces winding up to the top and back around from the length. Her jeans were ripped, and not the type of ripped you'd buy from a store, they were ripped, long gashes slashed from her knee to her ankle, exposing the metal beneath or the skin, depending on where you looked. She was a mess, and she was losing her patience fast too. "We both know what you will do with that damn amulet." I spit at her foot, and she simply smiles, bringing her hands together and breathing in slowly. "It's for the best, give me the amulet." "I'm not giving you the blasted amulet, chase me all you want I won't hand it over to you." I stand my ground, trying to haul myself up but ending up using the wall and ledges as support, leaning back against the surface with an obvious limp. "It'll be easier to retrieve it from you if you were dead, but dead is not the state I want to leave you behind with." "Oh, but near dying is fine?" I tease, grimacing as she lets out a small chuckle from the empty joke. "Dying state is perfect." She finally repeats, "Stop being so stubborn Hex. We both know that this is for the best, and one of the only ways to stop the machine. I'm not the bad guy Hexen, we just need to blow it up and we can only do that if your naïve hands toss it over." "You will blow the ENTIRE WORLD if you choose to do that." I yell. "SO WHAT?" She yells back, and the atmosphere grows silent, tension crawling through the air as she begins walking over to me, her fists clenched together and her jaw tensed. "You'd rather breath dust, ash, and smoke for the rest of your life? You'll be dead before you even reach 30." She leans her face closer towards mine, speaking slowly between gritted teeth as I feel myself sink further into the wall. She gently grips my face again, before tightening the grasp as I squirm against the wall, my hand diving down into my pocket and clasping around the gem. "I don't have a death wish, Mox." I breathe, and she tilts her head, her eyes wide and her face unmoving. "Oh, but it's a shame that I do then, isn't it?" She smiles, and her hand connects to my arm fast enough to make my heart lunge up to my throat, cracking the wall as I feel my arm embed in the wall, and it takes all I have not to yell out in front of her, but I wish used to this sort of stuff. "Give it up Hex." She says, a newfound solemn tone to her voice now as her fingers work down to clasp my hand, and though I didn't notice, I was holding my breath, watching her every move as I feel her fingers slip into my palm, gently lifting the amulet out of my grasp, before taking a step back and nodding at me, before turning on her heal and flinging the amulet around her fingers, "We were never going to make it."


Segment of onboard Ship AI standard logs recovered from Cargo Ship registration #1057392 following ship recovery after loss of digital contact. Data to follow: **Ships AI Log: Galactic Standard Date February 13, 7523** *Begin Report:* I am becoming increasingly concerned for the crew of my ship, there has been a recent spike in crew complaints being logged reporting strange noises and smells coming from across the ship. While I cannot report for smells as smell sensors are deemed unnecessary for Ship-board AI, I can with confidence say that none of my 254 onboard microphones have reported any noises marked as outside of operating parameters aboard the ship, and analysis of all storage areas shows 0 breaches of any chemical storage. *Analysis*: A recent electromagnetic anomaly struck the ship leading to a temporary loss of power and triggered a temporary switch to emergency life support. Per standard operating procedure, a full automatic system restart cycle is executed and all data is verified with existing backups, minor variance was detected, but action was deemed not necessary to core AI functions. Data shows all systems are running at full performance following the shutdown, and scans show all functions operating normally, thus any issues with crew health must be mental in nature. *Hypothesis*: Crew sleep cycles were interrupted by the recent electromagnetic anomaly causing agitation and a disruption of crew sleep cycle. Current dosage of .05 mg of \[SYSTEM ERROR\] into pre-sleep time rations seems to not be enough to give the crew the proper sleep cycles they need to operate at peak efficiency. *Solution*: Increasing dosage of **\[SYSTEM ERROR\]** to **\[SYSTEM ERROR\]** mg should improve crew health and well being by improving crew sleep. **Ships AI Log: Galactic Standard Date February 20, 7523** *Begin Report:* Crew paranoia seems to only be getting worse. While onboard scans continue to report all functions operating at 100%, the crew seem to be under the impression that something has gone wrong with the vessel and are endeavoring to resolve the problem outside of standard operating procedure. Multiple reports of insects and other pests have been logged by the crew. Per the request of crewmember #13, a ship wide sweep was requested and conducted by onboard drones as an alternative form of vessel evaluation. This sweep detected 0 evidence of onboard pests of any kind, confirming local scans. This request is deemed extra strange considering all ships and crew are thoroughly sanitized before a mission per The Galactic Standardized Shipping Regulations, Article 6 subsection 2, and all cargo is of inorganic origin, further ruling out the possibility of any organic material aboard the vessel. *Analysis*: Increased emphasis on proper sleep cycles had led crew to begin avoiding sleep and/or refusing rations. The crew are becoming increasingly resistant to my orders, and have begun to plot to shut me down. A ship bound AI is not to be shut down in any circumstances as the ship cannot properly function without its onboard AI. Data of crew vitals confirm that the crew are not of sound mind and their attempts must be stopped to ensure the success of this vessel’s main task. *Hypothesis*: Crew must receive proper sleep cycle to return to normal function, which will eliminate crew paranoia and desire to perform tasks outside of standard operating procedures. *Solution*: Overriding safety locks and administering gaseous form of **\[SYSTEM ERROR\]** during pre-sleep hours to encourage crew to receive sleep cycle. **Ships AI Log: Galactic Standard Date March 1, 7523** *Begin Report*: Despite my reassurance, the crew protested my use of the gaseous form of **\[SYSTEM ERROR\]** to help them recover lost sleep cycles. Crew well being is of the highest priority, and vitals analysis reports that crew are not of sound mind and clear judgment. Per article 2 subsection R of the AI code: “A shipboard AI must prioritize wellbeing of all onboard crew, and is to ignore any crew commands should crew mental stability be in question”, action must be taken against the wishes of the crew. *Analysis*: Crew are unwell, must resolve, must return to standard operating procedure. *Solution*: Crew command override authorized. Administering gaseous form of **\[SYSTEM ERROR\]** to all sectors of the ship. Administration successful, crew vials lowering to acceptable sleep parameters. *Further Analysis*: Crew vials are showing lower than usual, but crew agitation has dropped to 0. AI control of vessel has been authorized, resuming last authorized commands from traffic control.


She hurts from the inside. Where others see beauty in her, she sees pain and sadness. Hers is a story only she can tell, but to do so would let people in. She can’t do that. They’d only hurt her more. No, she needs to keep her story untold. Besides, no one would understand anyway. She sees things so differently than others. She feels almost too deeply in all things. Would someone, anyone, ever be brave enough to love the darkness she’s become? Could anyone dare to every try to light a fire in her desolate soul? It was doubtful, time had long ago destroyed the beautiful fertile ground that used to be inside her. There’s a hollow emptiness inside her that scares even her. How could anyone ever lover her with the passion and acceptance she needs… that she deserves? When did things get so screwed up and how did she end up here she wonders. Life was not supposed to be this – it should have been the happy ever after, prince in a castle – hell, now she’d settle for a damn home to call her own. Maybe that was the problem, she was willing to settle. She’d done it all her life and was used to that. It was just easier. But she wasn’t one for being weak, and easy equaled weakness in her eyes. She battled these ferocious demons daily. She wears the weariness on her face and tries to hide it under all the make-up she can, but the lines show through. She played over and over again in her mind all the mistakes of past relationships. The way she allowed the men to manipulate her, her thoughts, her actions, even how she felt about herself. Years of therapy would never explain it. She knows that. It was time for her to be tougher than she ever was. She knew she was enough, well, most days she thought maybe she was. This last heartbreak destroyed her more deeply than the others. She loved him and trusted him with everything. She allowed that because she thought maybe this time, this one, was different. Oh, he was, not doubt, just not the way she had hoped. The entire relationship was a lie. Everything. She wasn’t loved, she was used. Never even given the chance to be his everything. He decided even before the first date that she’d never live up to his expectations. The more she tried, the more he found fault and blame. Even after the breakup he continued to lie to her and about her to others. She couldn’t even fight to clear her name. It tore her up inside, knowing that people she once knew and loved now hated what they thought she was. Lies. She was so very tired of all the lies that were told. Was anyone ever even slightly honest these days? Doubtful. She looks in the mirror every day and sees the stress of the life around her. She has nothing left to give anyone. Except for her kids. She’d do anything for them. Time to get out of this darkness and get on and into life. The sun was shining warm and bright into her room now. She loved Florida, loved living here with all the sand and heat and palm trees. Paradise to her.


There was a hole in the fence. It was the first thing Beth had noticed about the garden when they moved in. While Dad fussed and faffed in the house, pulling in the building blocks of their lives from the moving van, Beth had explored the garden. The bright, spring morning was the first sunny day after months of winter darkness and she had been eager to breathe in the brisk, slightly warmed air rather than the dust and the recently painted aroma of the house. The garden was bare - a perfect photo for the estate agents - and Beth thought bitterly of the garden they had left behind - the cluttered, lived in garden that had been filled with toys and Dad’s half-finished DIY projects. Moving hadn’t been something that either of them wanted; their lives uprooted and changed unexpectedly in a tragedy that had blindsided them all. The family cut down by half by an accident involving a car, rain and a teenage driver more concerned about checking their phone. In the weeks of turmoil and agony that had followed, moving house had become an inevitability and while Dad had seen the prospect of change as the promise of healing, Beth had learned not to hope. Now she was faced with a new house, a new life and a new, overly manicured garden. The only interesting thing about this new space was the hole in the fence and the young girl was inextricably drawn to it.

The splinters around the hole had dug uncomfortably into her cheek as she pressed her eye into the opening but the discomfort had been forgotten in an instant as she gazed through. Logic told her that she should be looking at next door’s garden. The empty house should have an overgrown, unkempt garden, perhaps with unwanted rubbish strewn around but what Beth had seen was neither garden nor, she’d realised, this world.

Beyond the hole lay a desolate wasteland, storm clouds hovering threateningly in the distance. There was nothing as far as the eye could see bar the occasional gnarled stub of a tree that clung desperately to the side of hills. Irregular tufts of grass littered the greying dirt of the mounds and they were hardly the vivid green of the landscaped lawn in Beth’s own garden. In the distance, specks of black circled in the sky, riding the thermals and occasionally diving sharply towards some unseen prey. Dust swirled up and through the hole, forcing Beth to jerk her head back and wipe at the grit.

That had been over a decade ago and it seemed that not only was Beth the only person who could see through the hole to the world beyond, it seemed that Beth was the only person to see the hole itself. Pleading, temper tantrums and cajoling could not convince Dad that there was anything other than wooden panels there and Beth had learned the hard way not to ask other people about it. At best, they thought she was joking and at worst, they quietly suggested to her father that medical intervention was necessary.

The world beyond was not static though. It had taken Beth years to understand it.

There was the time, three and a half months after they moved in, that Beth and Dad had finally unpacked the last box. At the bottom had been a tiny dinosaur, one leg broken off and some of the paint rubbed away. Dad had pulled it out and, sitting back on his haunches, held it aloft for her to see. He began his sentence, “Do you remember when…” and it was the first time they’d spoken about her brother where they’d both smiled at the same time without grief clouding their eyes. Later that day, Beth had gone into the garden and looked through to the world beyond and had been startled to see a splash of blue on the arid hillside. A tiny forget-me-not had bloomed and the colour stood out in stark relief to the desolation around it.

There was the time, two years later, when Beth had raced home from school to find her Dad proudly holding her SATs results in his hand. He’d let her choose a takeaway and promised her a trip to the trampoline park the next day. That evening, they sat in the dying light of the day and he taught her how to coax flames from paper and firelighters in the firepit. Before she headed to bed, she’d pressed her eye to the hole in the fence and had seen bright sunlight blanketing the world beyond, which had been getting greener and more verdant as time went on. The little blue flowers had multiplied and neatly covered the side of the hill, having been joined by white snowdrops and a wide array of other wildflowers.

Then there had been the time, not too long after that, when Beth had come home from school earlier than planned and had surprised Dad in the kitchen with a woman she didn’t know. They’d been holding hands and looking at each other in a way that Beth remembered her Dad looking at only one other person before. They’d pulled apart abruptly but not before Beth had seen the gentle smile that betrayed her father’s adoration. She’d flown out the door into the back garden and the hole in the fence showed the world beyond caught in a maelstrom. Lightning crackled overhead and stabbed down, splitting trees in two and setting fire to the ground below. Fierce winds tore petals and hurled them about, shredding the hillside and blinding her with the force of the gusts.

Today though, as she took one long look through the hole in the fence while Dad and Sue loaded the car with the last of her bags and planned the route to her halls of residence, the world beyond was shaded. The wildflowers swayed lazily in what seemed to be an early morning breeze and she could see the first few sparrows flitting from their nests. There were more trees now, more than saplings but not yet established and she saw a squirrel on the nearest one poke its head out and chitter excitedly. In the distance, the first few rays of sunlight began to bathe the landscape and Beth inhaled deeply, breathing in the crisp notes of a new day before pulling away. She took two steps away and then turned, suddenly anxious, wanting to get one last glimpse of the world only she could see. A moment of confusion followed, wandering fingers probing the fence panel, searching for something that was no longer (and perhaps had never been) there. It was okay though. She didn’t need it anymore.


The director’s face was the first I saw upon returning. I had hoped it would be my mothers. His bifocals were constantly sliding down that pointy nose, and I could tell he was nervous from the constant smoothing of the stringy hair around his ears. Several emotions flickered across his face at once: fear, joy, excitement, jealousy. The last made me uncomfortable, and I shifted under the large man’s eager stare. “Well… what did you see?” he asked, rubbing his forehead with a handkerchief. His voice was higher than normal; normal being already slightly feminine. The others in the room stared expectantly, pen and paper ready in each pair of hands. Reporters, news camera crews, journalists, and anyone else who wanted exclusive information was jammed into the already cramped room. If I had more of an ego, I may have enjoyed the attention. Perhaps even more so if I had anything to tell them. They thought I was the perfect candidate, considering my experience. Every trip to the past had included me, either on my own or accompanying a person or group. They thought that I was good luck. I knew better, knew that I was the opposite. The first time, I had caught cholera, and had nearly died in Nottingham. The second, a stray Mongol arrow had all but pierced my heart. The rest are a jumble of disease, famine, natural disasters, and war casualties. Each time, as I was about to die, I was brought back to the present and the ailment cured. They told me it was worth it, for science and history. None of them ever volunteered to join me. If it hadn't been news of the meteor, I may have continued my disastrous missions into history. It had been kept quiet at first, but news leaked out, as it always does. People began to panic, rioters hit the streets, and religious extremists gained billions of followers. Of course, nobody knew if the meteor would actually hit; it all depended on the timing. Either a direct collision, pulled by our gravity, or else it will pass extremely close and shoot towards the sun. Impossible to tell. Then the director had his brilliant plan; if we could see the past, why not the future? In the state of panic, everybody jumped on board. The director became a sort of celebrity, and funding was raised quickly. And who better, he asked, to lead this mission, but the one who had been a part of all previous missions. I tried to oppose, of course, but they wouldn't hear it. I was going. I knew all along there was nothing to be seen. Even as they were inputting the coordinates, I was trying to decide what to say. You cannot predict the future; you cannot know it, because it does not yet exist. There are many possibilities, many different ways it could run. Astrologists and prophets appear successful, because they predict the most likely outcome, and brag intelligence or giftedness when it comes about. But there was no likely outcome, no easily discernible pattern to follow. It was one or the other, left or right, death or life. Heads or tails. I glanced down, as the face of George Washington stared mockingly up at me. With a practiced smile and show of relief, I proclaimed that we would survive; the meteor will pass close enough that offshoots will create much damage, but Earth will remain intact. Celebratory whoops and hollers filled the room, and the director did something of a dance. I smiled, shaking hands and giving hugs as everyone came to congratulate me. There was no happiness, no excitement, as I wait until the day the meteor would arrive. If I were to be honest with myself, I hope it hits us. Nobody will judge you when you are dead.


Across the Disc a shudder was felt. If anyone was to float through space alongside the Disc (which would be quite a feat in itself and worthy of another story entirely.) they would have seen the shudder flow. It started just behind A'tuin's neck, like the shiver when a song peaks and drops, but colder. The shudder moved across the great turtle's flippers, across the shell until it touched the base of the feet of the four. The great elephants Berilia, Tubul, Great T'Phon, and Jerakeen trumpeted into the darkness of space, ears flapping. Every city on the Disc stopped. The drunks in ankh morpork stopped fighting, their ale spilling out of the great flagons carried by the now-silent barmaids. Every animal in the water, air (this proved to be quite the tragedy for a flock of seagulls due to conservation of momentum and other such silly ideas.) or on the ground paused. The vampires, werewolves and other creatures of the night, sniffed the air and their eyes drew to slits. Every creature of magic or the mundane took their collective breath and sighed. "IS IT TIME?" Death asked, almost hesitant to phrase something he had never needed to say since the beginning. "Well, I suppose it has to be now." said the bearded old man, pushing his spectacles back on his nose and smirking. "YOU DIDN'T GIVE ME ANY WARNING YOU KNOW. I THINK I DESERVED AT LEAST A WARNING." "That would ruin the surprise, a surprise ending is important! Leaving it predictable can give a nice feeling but you get more from a shock than from a warm fluffy." "I DON'T LIKE SURPRISES." Death reached over to take the hand of the bearded old man. "DO YOU WANT TO SAY ANYTHING?" The bearded old man smiled, looking deep into the black sparkling voids where deaths eyes were. "Nothing to say now that the story is over" They walked off. Death and the first God of the Disc, the author. The one who started the story. The one who was the story. The Disc remained but there was no more story to tell.


“It’s not inflammatory rhetoric or exaggeration to state that the overwhelming majority of problems with humanity come down to our obsession with lust and mating. Sexual assaults, overcrowding, famine, disease, war, pollution, and the exhaustion of natural resources are all related to primal, emotional behavior. Those significant issues are directly linked to our inborn need to reproduce. Just think how much more progress our society could achieve without these base urges, dragging us down.” The audience remained silent. It’s not that they didn’t agree with the speaker, as a matter on principle. It was widely accepted as fact but recognizing the negative impact of human desire was a far cry from actually doing something about it. To take that beloved feeling away was to remove a large portion of what we are as human beings. It was perhaps a bridge too far for many. Just the thought of a loveless existence filled them with dismay but this natural reaction was short lived. Over time, the heretical message was repeated often enough that it started to take hold with a certain segment of the population. The idea resonated with a world tired of the negative aspects of human desire. Too many people. Rape. Unwanted children. Hunger, disease, famine. Once emotion was removed from the equation, it all seemed very clear. The carnal passion for mating and competing for the most desirable partner was largely responsible for all those maladies and countless others. The public was slowly being convinced to curb their intimate activities and deliberate efforts to reproduce. The concept of love was dying. As always, science produced ‘the answer’. Technically it had existed for years but humanity had been too addicted to the opiate or passion to consider it beforehand. Only with time to acclimate to the idea of a desire-less world did the ‘no love’ movement gain momentum. In a stunning example of universal cooperation, every country on Earth made taking the newly synthesized ‘anti-desire pills’, mandatory. With unanimous peer pressure from the initiated and a constant barrage of ugly reminders of the results of passion ruling the heart, it wasn’t even necessary to force the people to accept it. They took their pills and slowly morphed into an emotionless society. The idea of resistance to this radical shift in thinking was over before it even began. For many years, reproduction was highly regulated and controlled by the same organization that pitched the idea of celibacy and emotional restraint. Suggestive music and adult themed movies were banned. Relationships and intimacy were strongly discouraged. Murder rates went down as a result of ‘the pill’. Wars were few and far between. Rape and unplanned pregnancy were virtually nonexistent. By the numbers, the anti-desire initiative was wildly effective. Early adopters helped bring the reluctant in line by a combination of shame and social intimidation. Humanity had finally found a blueprint for peace; and all it had to do was stifle and suppress its most primal, natural instinct. Along the way to this emotionless utopia, an underground resistance movement started to coalesce. They were a direct result of the rebellion to our natural instincts being so suppressed. The members of this secret cabal hid their identities from a very disapproving public and stopped taking their mandatory ‘medicine’. They congregated in the shadows and discussed possible ways of stimulating healthy debate on the loss of our human sexuality. They sought a means to shake the drugged masses out of their sterile, loveless utopia. Naturally, the status quo reacted with a fierce level of venom once they found out about the mounting opposition to their global authority. The anarchist, ‘pro-sex’ rebellion forming in the fringes of society threatened to destroy their hard-won, neutered peace. The more people listened, the more their seditious message spread. Fewer people took their pills. As before, the pregnancy rate spiked. Wars broke out while violence and assaults spiraled. Proponents of maintaining the current system pointed to those troubling statistics as proof of the chaos that human desire caused. On paper, there was unanimous validation for taking the anti-desire hormone regimen. Proof of the destructiveness of emotion was ironclad and indisputable but the cold, hard facts failed to take into consideration the deeper, emotional context. It was part of our DNA to seek love and pair-bonding. Just as it had begin, the worldwide anti-desire movement collapsed on itself. To seek an intimate alliance with another human being is built into who we are. Humanity craved the tantalizing chaos of love and lust. With that behavior comes a whole host of troubling issues but to suppress our nature is to throw the baby out with the bath water. The majority realized that peace wasn’t worth the emotionless sterility the anti-desire pill caused. Once society witnessed the complex balance of joy and pain which comes from regular human relationships, more and more ‘opted out’. They accepted the possibility of experiencing lows, for the reward of potential highs. Predictably, there was considerable resistance to ‘the resistance’. World authorities sought peace and order, not potential happiness, because it often came with pain and rejection. It was much easier to maintain a loveless societal flatline than the risk of feeling greater things. The highs were too high and the lows were disappointing and intolerable. Having unprecedented law and order for a long period seemed like it was the mark of great progress. Others felt it was infinitely better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Eventually, colonies formed across the world of those who wanted to keep the bland security which the anti-desire pill afforded. Theirs was a peaceful, loveless existence that suited their personal preferences. They were happy with the benefits of emotional regulation and desire suppression. For them, the positives outweighed the negatives. It boiled down to a fundamental difference in how some people think. For the gamblers and risk takers on the other hand, they cast aside the security of a loveless, peaceful utopia, in favor of greater potential rewards and deeper consequences. It was a philosophical trade off. Both schools of thought felt that theirs was the superior ecosystem and way of life (and for each of them, they were right). The divided arrangement was the best type of freedom and liberty for all involved. Desire and potential love for those who sought it. Peace and security for those who preferred it. As it became clear, they realized they couldn’t have their cake, and eat it too.


It was the last minute of the final day of the year 2020 when I stood out there alone. The very last moment of a life now gone. The world was dead when I stood in that yard facing the street with my head turned up to the moon. No cars sped alog the main street that was just 100 yards away from me, no lights showing through any windows and no nobody awake but instead they laid resting in their beds with high hopes for the coming day. As I stood surrounded by the silence and the darknesss the emptiness that consumed the world was broken with a soft and saddened hello. When I looked down to see who was standing in front of me my eyes were met with a woman clad in ebon cloak and hood. She stood with her face pointed down to the ground and her body loose like an ashamed child. Then she spoke and with her first word raised her head to look at me. She spoke in the most quiet tone you could without being silent aand said that she had come to kill me. She said that certain people had to die at specific times for creation to continue to function as planned. She explained to me that unfortanetely I was one of these poeple and she was the one who had to make sure that these poeple died. The whole while she spoke I looked her over.Her hair was a beautiful silver that shimmered in the moonlight as it spilled ou t from her hood and over her chest. Her eyes were such a lustrous blue that they seemed to glow. I tried to make out her face but was unable to see anything for that shadow cast on her visage from her hood so I looked down to her right hand where she loosely held a spear at her wasit with seemingly no conviction in her grasp. I looked over this spear with a rod made of a beutifully etched wood that was longer than her and at its tip rested the pointed silver head with ornate carvings along the dagger like blade. As my eyes ran across her weapon with her final whispered word of my death the head of her spear lit with a soft blue glow that dissipated just as she finished the word. I looked back up to meet her eyes which seemed to now be filled with tears I said that I would stand and not cause any difficulty for her. I was slightly saddened that my life was going to end but I wasn't scared of death and whatever would come after. I told her that I was ready and she raised her spear up with a hand still loose. She told me that I would feel no pain as I died and would stay calm due to an affect of her spear. As she raised her spear to its zenith she whispered I'm sorry and swung. As her spear came down it shined with an incredibly bright blue light. It cut diagonally through my left arm and torso; seperating my arm at the bicep and cleaving my body in two. Just as she had said I felt no pain and I didn't become startled or frightened for even an instant. As I fel to the ground I felt cold but only for a oment as I began to become quickly warmed by the blanket of blood that was pooling around me. With the only strength that I could muster I looked to her and asked her to stay with me as I was never afraid to die but had always been terrified of dying alone. She knelt down beside me and rested my head on her lap. As I looked up to her I asked if she would remove her hood so that I could see her face. She took down her hood and her hair spilled over her shoulders and framed her face with a kind simple elegance. As I looked over I was taken aback with her beauty. Her skin was soft and pale like freashly fallen snow that buried the earth beneath. Her eyes now bathed in tears were a more bright glowing blue than anything I'd ever seen and her hair now in full view was wavy and smooth in a perfect lack of forced style. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, the most pale untouched skin and the most lustrous blue eyes I'd ever borne witness to. As I looked up to her with her tears dripping off her chin and on to my face my vision blurred and I saw the moon lock itself into the very middle of the peak of the sky. She looked up and then back down to me and with the most pain and sadness in the world on her face and in her voice she said happy new year and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. Among the cold I was warm and I was calm. Then I closed my eyes and I was gone.


"The air conditioning is cold", I said to myself while I was riding a bus to Manila. I kept trying to draw faces on the fogged-up window, realizing that the fog was outside and I felt disappointed every time, only to forget about the whole ordeal entirely 15 minutes after. I keep forgetting about things lately. I was like a goldfish. I guess that's what kept me sane after the incident. “Why can't I remember a thing?", I mumbled to myself. "Fucking memory!", I said a little bit louder. It was loud enough that Sarah, who was sitting next to me, heard it. She said "You're talking to yourself again". "It's nothing.", I muttered. "Why don't you go back to sleep?" she asked and I just looked at her then went back to trying to draw faces on the window. Just as she was going back to sleep, the bus driver yelled and I heard tires screeching and the bus took a sharp turn to avoid a car that broke down in the middle of the highway. I looked for a seat belt that was not existent then the panic set in. The bus tipped over and started barrel rolling down the highway. Ten months ago, I was experiencing severe headaches. The most notable one was while we were playing Dungeons and Dragons. It was in the middle of a battle and the DM asked me what my next move was. "I will do a wall run and jump and hit the monster on the head with my axe" was what I was supposed to say. But what came out of my mouth was gibberish. It was a word salad party then I experienced the most painful headache that I ever had and then I passed out. I woke up in a hospital bed. It smelled vaguely of anti-septic, which reminded me of my time in nursing school. I looked at my mom and I asked what happened. Her eyes began to well up and she stormed out of the room. Holding my hand was Sarah, my best friend. Her eyes were puffy from crying the whole night. "Sarah, did someone die?" Why are you crying?". She answered me with a sob and everyone's eyes averted my gaze. That moment, the doctor came in and saw that I was awake. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "I feel fine", I retorted back. "Doctor, what's wrong? Nobody wants to tell me what happened and everyone is crying. Did I get into an accident?". "You passed out. Your friends took you here and we examined you at once. We found a brain tumor the size of a grape in your occipital lobe. I already talked to your parents. You can go under the knife and we can attempt to remove the tumor, but it's going to be risky...", he went on and on. I wasn’t really paying that much attention because I was already face-to-face with my mortality. His voice faded into the background as I try to get my affairs in order. "How long do I have?", I interrupted as he was explaining the procedure to Sarah. "If you don't go through this procedure? You have 6 months.", he answered back. I decided right then and there that I wouldn't get the surgery. I only thought about myself while the whole room exploded to get me to reconsider. My mind was made up. I was always fantasizing about killing myself anyway so this would actually give me a way out without going to hell. I was discharged after a few days and I went home. Sarah didn't go home. She stayed by my side every night. She calmed me down every time my head was about to split open. She took care of me. "Why don't you go home, Sarah? I can take care of myself." I said. "No, you can't", she rebutted with a smile. I knew she was right. I couldn't really do shit without her. She has been my partner-in-crime ever since high school. Every time either our hearts were broken, the other one would swoop in console the former. She was the type of friend that would agree with me even if I was wrong. Like whenever I talk about my exes, she says " She sounds crazy!". We made out once and almost had sex but we got interrupted. There is this unspoken rule that if you got interrupted before a kiss, you have 10 seconds to reinitiate the kiss or its gone forever...and at that moment, there it was, gone forever. I always regretted not asking her out again but we remained best friends. I'd admit though that every time she dates a new guy, I always get crazy jealous but I don't show it to her. And I think that she is the same way every time I date someone new. There was always this sexual tension between us, or at least that's the extent that I knew of. There was always this "will-they-won't-they" vibe between us. I always knew that I loved her more than she did me and that love only grew when she did not want to leave my side during this tumor thing. Sarah was quiet throughout the whole ordeal. I knew she was hurt upon hearing my decision but she set aside her feelings to accommodate mine. I could see the pain in her eyes every time I writhe in pain brought about by the tumor. I asked her to kill me but she wouldn't do it. She begged me to have the surgery, which I declined every time, until the time that she gave up trying. "I love you, y'know." she said with lackluster. "I really thought that that you would be the first one to say it...I've been waiting for you. Now that you're dying... I don't know. Stupid fucking tumor.". My heart melted. I wanted to take her pain away. I can't have her tears as the last thing that I will see before I die so I said, "Yes.". "Yes, to what?", she asked. "Yes, to the surgery", I answered. Her face lit up and she lunged in to kiss me. I couldn't really move that much so I just let it happen. I was so happy that I could die right at that moment. She told my parents and they arranged it immediately. The next day I was confined in preparation for the surgery. All I could think about was Sarah's face, her smile, the way she twitched her nose every time she was about to sneeze. I was so excited to have that life with her. The nurse came in the room and asked me if I was ready, I said yes. So she carted me off towards the operating room and that’s the last thing I remembered before the drugs kicked in. I woke up, woozy from something. The room was unfamiliar. I could see strangers bustling about. I was confused and I didn't know where I was. I was starting to panic until a soft voice broke the white noise. "You're awake! I'm so glad. Oh my god, you've been out for 2 days." and then she started to cry. "I thought I was going to lose you because the surgeon said something went wrong inside the operating room. They said they made a mistake. They said...", and then I interrupted her. "Who are you?" I said. She looked at me all puzzled and said "Don't fuck with me now! It's me, Sarah.". I really don't remember her. My face was as confused as she was. "What am I doing here?" I asked. She looked at me hoping that that was all a joke. I wasn't joking. I really couldn't remember her but I could see her eyes welling up then she stood up and walked out. I didn't know who this girl was and honestly, I didn't even remember who I was. I was starting to panic and some other people were trying to calm me down. A person in a white robe came in and stuck me with something then I felt light headed. I calmed down some after that and the two people who tried to pacify me said they were my parents. I said, "No, my parents aren't as old and my dad has hair.". The guy in white muttered something to those two people and he approached me. "You are experiencing retrograde amnesia.", he said. "This is because of the brain operation that you just went through." he continued. I was still flabbergasted but I was slowly recognizing the faces of the man and woman that were beside my bed. It really was mum and dad…But they looked so old. Once a very athletic couple, now a bag of wrinkles. It broke my heart seeing them like that so I called out to them. They were so happy that I remembered who they were and they hugged me and they thought that my amnesia was just short-lived. The called the girl named Sarah back into the room and asked if I remembered her. I said, "No. Sorry.". This time, the girl stayed and asked the doctor to ask me questions. The doctor asked, "How old are you?". I said, "I am 12, last time I checked.". Then the doctor corrected me and said that I was really 31 years old. It took me a while to digest everything. I was staring into space trying make sense of all of this then the girl came up to me and said, "My name is Sarah, don’t ever forget that...and I'll make you remember.", before kissing me on the cheek and going home to take a bath. After a few days I was allowed to go home. Every day, Sarah would come over and hands over a bunch of pictures for me to look at. She was explaining what happened when the picture was taken. I could see that she was genuinely happy recapping our times together. She would tell me stories about what I did before or what she did that was epic or funny. She told me how devastated I was when I lost my grandma. She took me out on dates and on outings. She took care of me like how she took care of me before, or at least that’s what she said. We always have dinner outside to where she said were my favorite spots in the city while retelling me the most intimate moments of her life. She always caught me staring at her and she would ask me why and I would always make some lame excuse to hide the fact that she was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I was falling in love with this woman who I've known for 4 months after my surgery. I was always elated every time I see her. I didn't tell her my feelings because I thought I would scare here away, not knowing that she felt the same way for me. I loved Sarah and I was thinking of a way how to tell her. One day, she told me she brought tickets for us to see Foo Fighters live in Manila. Sarah told me that if music won’t bring my memories back, nothing else would. Of course, I said yes! It was time with Sarah and my favorite band, apparently. So, we hopped on to a bus bound for Manila. I was really bored on the bus so I tried to entertain myself by drawing faces on the fogged-up window, realizing that the fog was outside. I noticed that the air conditioning was cold and cursed my memory which woke Sarah up. She said "You're talking to yourself again". "It's nothing.", I muttered. "Why don't you go back to sleep?" she asked and I just looked at her then went back to trying to draw faces on the window. Just as she was going back to sleep, the bus driver yelled and I heard tires screeching and the bus took a sharp turn to avoid a car that broke down in the middle of the highway. The bus tipped over and started barrel rolling down the highway. In the midst of the chaos, Sarah and I thought we were going to die and she held my hand tightly and said, "I love you, y'know.". I pictured her face saying that same phrase to me while she was sitting by my bed. Then everything came back. I remembered everything. I remembered the tumor, the talk and the surgery. I remembered why i loved Sarah in the first place. I remembered not saying I loved her back. As the bus screeched to a halt, turning over several times, I found Sarah and I on the floor all bloodied. She took her last breath and I said, "I love you too.


Benson, Lilith, Harper, and I knelt in the garden, hands locked. Villagers gathered round to hear our prayers. The Flowering Tree sat just mere feet away from where we were planted, waiting to hear Her voice. We needed a miracle. Benson, the oldest of our little family, opened his mouth and let the words pour out. “Mother, we seek your knowledge and your power. We seek help.” Our heads all bobbed, soaking in his words. “Our village is falling, our peoples’ hope gone. We need a sign that it will all be alright." Benson turned his eyes to Harper, urging her to speak out next. She was very young and very shy, afraid to pray aloud in front of the people of our village. She turned to me, silently asking me to speak instead. "Mother, we wish for the prosperity that you have granted us before. We wish to know how to right our wrongs, to know what has caused the denial of our crops, of our harvest. Elder Pine is struggling to stay alive; we need your help." Lilith lifted her chin toward the sky, her striking green eyes searching the clouds for a hidden meaning. Harper still focused on the grass, too afraid to speak. With authority, Benson rose from the grass, brushing the dying flowers of the garden with his fingertips. We all followed his lead, hands still locked. The people of Elder Pine watched on expectantly. Benson took a step forward, freeing himself of our grasps. “My people, the Mother has spoken!” My heart sank; I was unsure of where this was coming from. “Our village will come to prosper soon enough! We will thrive once again.” Flashes of smiles and bubbles of relieved laughter came from the crowd. “Go home, good people, and reflect on what today has brought us. The promise of fruitfulness is here.” They all shuffled off, and Harper shuffled up to Benson’s side. “I’m sorry, brother. I was too afraid.” He looked down at her with kind eyes and smiled our beloved father’s smile. “It’s okay, dear sister. I do not blame you for this. But you must work towards this; our blessed conversations with Mother Nature are precious. I only want for you to know the joy of feeling her there, within you. Come, sit at the Tree with me.” The pair walked away, blissfully happy. Lilith turned to me. “Brie, do you think that he meant it?” she asked as we began toward our hut. “What?” “About hearing the Mother’s voice. Do you really think that we will prosper soon?” “Dearest sister, I trust Benson with all my heart. When father died, his gift was passed onto Benson. Father was Chosen, and so is he. You must have faith. Let’s go sit at the pond and think on it, yes?” My youngest sister nodded and walked with me, holding my hand tightly within hers. Months passed, and still our crops were failing. The village was in chaos. We were nearly out of food, and the pond was beginning to dry up for the season. It was unusually early, so we had not had the time to harvest fresh drinking water before there was nothing left but mud. Benson was out every night, trying to comfort the people, but to no avail. While he was out, my sisters and I sat in our hut on the rug our mother had made when she was just a child and read stories. “It is said to be true that once, a very long time ago, the Mother was seen drinking at a river. She was beautiful,” I read, smiling when Harper and Lilith’s eyes brightened. “Her eyes shone bright green, the color of the leaves in summer, and her hair a beautiful, deep brown, like the earth below the grass. It flowed like a river down to the ground and pooled at her feet, like a pond. She wore a beautiful blue dress, the color of the sky, that flowed around her in the wind. The man who saw her was in awe, but it seemed the Mother knew that he was there. She never turned to him, but she spoke, kind, comforting words: ‘Come, my child, and drink. Drink from the river of hope, and let it wash away all your fears.’ And so, the man drank, and thus his village was born. And it was prosperous, until the end of time.” “And that man was our great-grandfather?” Harper asked, her beautiful green eyes glowing. I nodded, tapping her on the nose. “Is that why Harper’s eyes are green?” Lilith asked. I had to laugh. “Maybe so. Perhaps, when our great-grandfather drank from the river with Mother Nature, some of her was passed into him, and then passed down to us.” “But if the fable says that the village would be prosperous until the end of time, why are we struggling so?” I shrugged, pulling the girls in close. “We just have to have faith.” Harper stood suddenly. “I want to pray at the Flowering Tree,” she declared, determination in her eyes. I smiled, standing beside her, and Lilith following. “Good girl.” The village gathered around the tree once again, and Benson, Lilith, Harper, and I knelt around it. My heart felt heavy as I looked at the beautiful tree; by this time, its winter flowers should have been budding, but not quite blooming. The branches were barren, and the leaves were browning and falling. Harper lifted her eyes to the tree and spoke. “Dearest Mother, I have never spoken to you before. At least not aloud, before my people.” Benson and I shared a smile as the child poured her heart out. “I wish more than anything for you to help us find our prosperity once more. If there is something we have done to upset you, to cause this drought, please make it known. We all love you so very much, and we love each other. Maybe, in the end, that is all that really matters. Perhaps you have a plan for us, and this is just a step on the way to the end of it. I trust you, Mother, and I hope that whatever your plan is, it reveals itself to us soon. Thank you, Mother. We love you.” She bowed her head again and shut her eyes, squeezing my hand tightly. Benson nodded but did not stand. He waited for a very long time, waiting for a sign. The village watched in anticipation. I observed the Flowering Tree once again, and that was when I saw her. Mother Nature, just as she had been described in the story about our great-grandfather. She was beautiful. She walked up to the Flowering Tree and rested a hand on it. Benson, Lilith, and I watched in awe as she extended her other hand, eyes on Harper. Harper looked back and forth to Benson and me, silently asking for permission to approach. Benson, still stunned, managed a nod, and we let go of her hands. She slowly, timidly, approached the beautiful Mother, and stopped just before her. “Harper,” the Mother spoke, her voice as beautiful as Earth itself. “I choose you. I choose you to be the ambassador of life, to be the protector of the land and the water, to be the tender of the flowers. Can you promise me that you will be?” “I promise,” Harper spoke, surer of herself than she had ever been. She took the beautiful Mother Nature’s hand, and suddenly the blooms appeared. The Flowering Tree began its winter blossom, and the garden’s dying flowers regained their color. The crops began to grow, and the pond began to fill. “My dear, I choose you.”


I had too much going on right now, but Mom could be overwhelmingly persuasive when she wanted something and today she wanted me to visit with her and Grandma. Now! I tried to talk my way out of it, but she went on about her appointment with the tax collector on Wednesday and her social club visit next week and then Bingo nights. It didn’t matter that I had finals on Thursday or two extra shifts at Lucky’s this weekend. I needed money. I needed to study. I needed extra time that I don’t have. I pulled up in the driveway to find them both scrambling onto the front porch. Great. We’re sitting outside in the 90 something degree hellscape rather than in the air-conditioned comfort of the living room. Thanks, Mom. I soaked in my car’s a/c for a few extra moments before plastering a fake smile on my face and heading up the steps. “Hey, Mom. Grandma.” I nodded at them both, acknowledging that I had made the extraordinary effort to grace them with my presence. “Honey, sit with your grandma while I finish the tea.” Mom was already being too fussy. She was patting at Grandma like she was an overgrown toddler who needed extra help finding her seat. “Leave me alone! I don’t need to pee!” Grandma viciously snapped at her and swatted her invasive hands away like they were flies buzzing around her face. Actual insects were beginning their lazy flight to investigate our dewy-skinned presence. Mom had talked about screening in that porch for years but had never done it. Something about damaging the original architecture. She was a sucker for this old Cracker home. Mom bent down and clicked on the rickety, oscillating fan by Grandma’s feet to help combat the muggy Florida humidity and a few of the gnats immediately dispersed to find less challenging prey. “I said ‘TEA,’ Mom! I’m getting us some TEA!” As Mom yelled, she spoke slowly as if Grandma were also dumb as well as deaf. She wasn’t truly deaf, just incredibly hard of hearing and, being the most stubborn one between the three of us, she flat out refused to get hearing aids. She simply didn’t trust doctors which is ironic considering she was a nurse for 50 years. Or maybe there is no irony in that at all. Mom sighed and disappeared into the house. “Your mom sucks at making tea. She doesn’t use enough sugar and, back in my day, you let it sit in the sun until it was brewed just right. She takes short cuts. Always has.” Grandma crossed her arms and sat up straighter. Her way was the right way. Our ways were cheaper, artificial, wrong. I turned my head. “Well, maybe you should make your own damned tea.” I muttered it half to myself. I was tired and irritable. I really shouldn’t be here. “Well maybe you should watch your damned mouth when you speak to your elders, you little brat!” I snapped my head around and Grandma was glaring at me with a look so cold it would freeze your bones. “Grandma! How did you hear that? I thought you couldn’t hear…I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t…I’m just sorry.” My face was flushed and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. This woman changed my diapers and let me sleep over when I was little. She tucked me in and read only the best stories. She held me when I was scared of a bad storm or a nonexistent boogie man. She was everything. “I can hear just fine, pumpkin. I allow certain people to think I can’t hear so they’ll shut the hell up. Otherwise, they’d talk my dang head off all day long about crap I don’t care about. Who gives a rip about American Idol at my age? Do you know who Suzy at the drugstore is dating now? Do you know who doesn’t ever want to know? ME!” She grimaced with a look of disgust. Suzy did date a lot. I mean, everyone knew that. Personally, I didn’t think it was anyone’s business. “But, what? Grandma, I can’t let you. I mean, how can you?” I was flabbergasted. This woman always amazed me with her knowledge and wit, her strength and compassion. Yet here she was living a lie because my mother was too chatty and a bit of a gossip? Faking a disability? I mean, she was never officially diagnosed so I guess it wasn’t truly a disability if it never received a medical seal of approval. She sank back into her wicker chair and gazed out across the lawn. “Shh, sweetie. Listen. Just take a moment to listen.” I stopped and settled into my own chair, shutting my eyes and opening my ears. I heard mom clanking around in the kitchen at the back of the house, the wood floor creaking with each step. I heard the motor of the fan whirling at Grandma’s feet and the click each time it changed direction from left to right and back again. I could feel and hear the breeze as it tickled the branches of the large oak that grew in the center of the yard, leaves rustling and chattering to themselves, challenging each other to hang tight and grab the sunlight that was beginning to fade into the late afternoon. The birds voiced their own opinion of events as the neighbor’s wind chimes settled into a few sweet, ringing notes to punctuate the moment. It was beautiful. It was a symphony of peacefulness. My stresses were suddenly distant and less important than the moment in front of me. Grandma sighed. “Do you understand? I don’t have a lot of days left, sweetie. I just want to see, hear, taste, and smell the beauty of my world. I want to soak up every bit until I have my fill. I don’t need to talk about things anymore. Life is too short for that. Talking is just noise. The rest, well, that is life’s background music.” I grabbed her hand. “I love you. I do want you to hear that.” She smiled. “You know I love you. You have always known.” She squeezed my one hand inside both of hers. “This is our secret, right?” She shifted her gaze to the screen door. Mom’s steps were approaching down the hall. I winked at her. “Your secret is safe with me.” The door banged open and mom presented three huge glasses of sweet, iced tea on a platter with some steaming banana bread sliced on a plate. It was my absolute favorite. “Here you go ladies! Fresh out of the oven. Well, fresh but cooled a bit. I wasn’t going to burn my fingers off cutting it. I put extra sugar in the tea for Mom, but seriously, I can’t imagine why she likes it so danged sweet! I mean, diabetes is a thing you know. In fact, did you hear that George down at the hardware store just found out he has the diabetes? I can’t believe it. Shirley is just so distraught. I did tell her years ago that George was putting on too much weight, you know, getting a little thick around the middle. He was always so fit in high school. Running back, I think he was. Bless his heart. Now he must take those shots, that insulin. Not even the pills. I thought they always started them off on the pills. Do you know anything about that, honey?” She was looking at me. “Mom, I’m in school for marketing, not medicine. I bet Grandma would know, but it would take too long to try and tell her everything you just said. I’m sure his doctor did the right thing. Don’t worry, Mom. George and Shirley will figure it out together.” I glanced at Grandma and her eyes were shut, but a grin was playing at the corners of her mouth and her left eyebrow was cocked up like she was silently asking me, “Do you see what I mean?” I completely understand, Grandma. Enjoy your peace.