I first heard the Whispers long ago, when I was just a young boy. I had been exploring a nearby forest, I a well renowned adventurer in this kingdom of imagination, when I heard them. They were distant, quiet, following the nature of a Whisper, which is what led me to title them as such, or perhaps it was because at such a young age I had not known what they truly were. For quite some time, I could never find out where the whispers came from, but nearing my 9th birthday celebration, they along with the winds grew louder, and more restless, almost beckoning me into the forest, calling me deep within. I resisted for some time, but childish curiosity eventually overpowered my wavering resolve. One morning, once my father had gone to the fields to plough, and my mother had begun her almost ritual-like tidying of the house, I ventured into the wood. My mother wished me luck on my “big adventure” and I was off. You see, she was quite used to me “Journeying” into the small wood, and she needn't worry about losing me, for it was entirely surrounded on all sides by golden, flowing fields of grain. One of the men working would sooner catch me before I would wander off. However, what she did not expect was that I would be venturing forth brandishing a small knife. I felt no need to tell her of this, for fear of my daily expeditions being severely limited, and of receiving a rather large reprimand from my father. Besides, I needed protection from the Whispers, or as I called them as a child, “The Whisper Monster”. It was nothing more than a figment of my childlike wonder and imagination, however. Those are very powerful things to young’uns. Thus, I ventured forth, my dagger clutched firmly in hand, a security line back to reality. As I entered the forest, my ear caught the sound of the whispers once more, every step ushering them slightly louder. As I bounced playfully from tree trunk to tree trunk, leaping over roots, and shifting aside fallen branches, I felt the undertones of the whispers telling me where to go. Eventually, I found myself in a small clearing, and the voices finally fell silent. In the center was the broken stump of a large, silver birch tree. It must have been felled during a recent storm, because the wood was still fresh. I stared at it, the white bark glittering in the few rays of sunlight that pierced the woods’ thick canopy. Finally the Whispers spoke again, or rather, I should say whisper, because there was only one voice now. It sounded ancient and raspy, yet it was kind and had undertones of softness. It said one word: “Create.” I didn’t know what else to do, but follow the odd and ambiguous command, in fact, I felt compelled to comply. So I did what little I could with my small knife, and childish imagination. I began by carving out a small hollow, maybe size of a small basket. To my surprise what I thought of as hard work at first became as easy as peeling a potato, before I knew it, I could hear my mother calling, and the last lights of sunset were just barely visible through the trunks of the trees. I left the knife and the shavings there, in the recess I had created, and headed on home. When I finally made it back, the sun was well past setting, and the cold of night was beginning to set in. “Did you enjoy your adventure, Dorai?” My mother asked. “I had lots of fun!” “So, did you discover anything new?” I hesitated a moment before answering. “No… But I did fight a toad monster!” In my mind, I apologized to mama for lying. I’d show her once I was done. That I promised myself. “Oh dear, how terrifying. I do hope you let it go in the end.” “Of course mama, like you said: ‘Treat life with respect, but not to your wallet’” It was a saying my grandmother had come up with. I’d heard much about my grandmother, but she had passed before I was born. She was allegedly one of the first settlers of the town, She and Pop-pop were disliked at first, but slowly, they won the townsfolk over with small talk, and the brutal way they dispatched of thieves and the uncouth. According to Mama, she had thrown a purse snatcher clear across town square when Mama was my age. The town became surprisingly peaceful after that. “That’s my cute little boy.” She said smiling, and ruffling my hair a bit. Then, we heard a knock on the door. *Rat tat . . . tat rat tat* That was Papa’s knock! My face must’ve lit up with joy, because mama said: “Go on... or are you going to make him come through the window?” I rushed over to the door, and struggled to pull the heavy oaken door open with my small frame. When I finally pulled it open, there he was, a full parcel of food in his hands. “Honey, I’m home! That’s odd, where’s Dorai?” Not realizing the joke, I called out. “I’m right here, papa!” “Dorai, is that you? Where’d you go?” “I’m down here!” Finally placing the ingredients on the table, he looked down at me again, now without anything to block his vision. “So that’s where you’ve gone, you little devil!” He lifted me into the air, beaming at me. “How’s my special one today?” “I’m feeling pretty high up, papa!” He chuckled, and put me down before breaking out laughing. “You know, he got his wit from you”, Mother interjected. “Aye, that he did, but let us hope he inherited your cooking. It’d be a shame if no one ate anything like you make ever again.” “Oh you... Speaking of, we have something special tonight, in lieu of little Dorai’s birthday.” “What is it mama?” “You’ll just have to wait until after dinner to see, won’t you?” She replied coyly, picking up the ingredients for tonight’s dinner from off the table, and moved them closer to the fire. I was clearly disappointed, but I knew nothing I could do would make mama tell me, so I sat down at the table with papa. There was a soft sizzle as mama put the meat in a pan to cook, and no one spoke for a while. I was the first to break the silence. “How was work, Papa?” “It was wonderful, Dorai. You’ve just got to see how much wheat you can fit onto a single cart. You know, we could use a pair of strong hands like yours.” “Really!?” Mama Spoke once more. “Now you know what we agreed on, Haelsich.” The atmosphere of the room grew deathly cold. She only ever called papa by his first name when she was especially serious, and I could feel the tension, at least until papa opened his mouth. “Yes ma'am. No working the fields together until he’s at least of 12 years.” “Good boy.” “Thank y- what am I, a dog!?” “At times, you might as well be.” “Hey, Muria, not in front of the kid.” papa said shyly, before laughing. I just laughed along, happy they both were there, happy that we were a family. I don’t remember much else from that night, other than the fact that I couldn’t sit still through dinner, anticipation had too much of a hold over me. When my long awaited “surprise” finally came, it was the best fruit tart I’d ever had, or have had since. The next morning I awoke to papa leaving, it was the crack of dawn, but I waved goodbye to him on his way out the door. I sat in bed groggily before reality hit me: My carving! That snapped me wide awake, and I leapt from my bed, quickly scarfed down a bread roll, and made my way out the door. Mama barely had time to wave goodbye before I was under the cover of treeline. It took me much less time to make it to the birch stump this time, I knew the path now. The whispers were still there, growing louder as I drew nearer. They weren’t necessarily scary anymore, I didn’t fear them, at least. They drew me in, pulling me back to the clearing I already knew. There it was, my hollow, with the knife, and shavings still there. It was time to finish my carving. I had an idea, abstract and almost unnoticed, yet as I worked, I almost could hear the material itself telling me where to cut, where to hack away at the material. It felt like such a short time, yet when I finally wiped my brow, the woods were dark, the sun had already set. I could hear mama calling ushering me back, yet I couldn’t find my way back. I didn’t know which way to go in the dark, so I called back “Mama! Help me!” and like that, she was there, holding a lantern, seeing me holding a knife, crying in the dark. At first she couldn’t hold her concern back. “Are you okay?” “Are you hurt?” “You poor thing.” Finally she saw the hollow. I could tell she was furious, but I couldn’t tell why. We had a moment of silence before she finally asked the dreaded question, her voice wavering. “Dorai, did you make this?” “Huh?” “Dorai, did you carve this?” It wasn’t necessarily a masterpiece, but I made it, so naturally I responded. “Yes mama. I was going to show you, I promise.” She looked back at me, tears streaming down her face. “How did you know… she always wanted to see faeries?” “Mama?” I didn’t hear anything else from her that night. She broke down crying right there. When we got back home, she rushed to papa as soon as she saw him, and hugged him tight. I could tell, even at such a young age, that it would be best not to say anything. That night we ate in silence. I didn’t go near the woods anytime soon, not until Mother and Father said we were going to a big city to talk trade at the guild. I walked through those woods, the wonders it once held, now gone to me, and I had only one destination in mind. I made my way to that very stump I had carved years ago, and as I knelt before my little carving, a tiny faerie only a child’s hands and mind could’ve made, I heard those ancient whispers once more. They spoke for the second, and last time in my life. “Thank you” The words made me shiver, not out of fright, but from pride. I had done this. I had been thanked for my work. “Goodbye, Grandma.” my voice was quiet, but I could tell that it had been heard. I lifted myself from the ground, and stood upright. As I left, my knife stayed behind, planted half blade deep in the soil, a headstone of my childhood, and the closing of the first act of my life.


Nannette answered the door with a smile Kathie wanted to slap off her face. She probably had good news, but not for Kathie; it never was. Rather, Nannette would tell her that she’d gotten a raise, that she’d planned another vacation at a posh resort in the Bahamas or Hawaii, that she’d managed to snag one of the now-sold-out new iPhones, or any of the other infinite number of perks of her unearned station. Kathie would have to sit there as she gushed, simmering with a heat all too familiar, and that became more caustic each time it struck.            Nannette backed up, allowing her into the foyer, a two-story cavern offering high ceilings, white marble floors, and a crystal chandelier that twinkled in the light spilling through the French windows, all framing a polished ebony staircase. Kathie remembered how she’d beamed the first time she’d brought her here—as if she hadn’t had this, like everything else, handed to her on a silver platter. Kathie had forced herself to proclaim it a “lovely” home and congratulate her, reminding herself that she didn’t deserve censure, that anyone in her position, including Kathie, would have taken and devoured what lay on that platter. Her head knew this, yet heat continued to crackle in her chest. She didn’t know how much longer she could take it. She hated herself for it—she didn’t want to think herself so immature as to reject someone who’d treated her well just because she had it better than she—but each meeting with Nannette chipped a little bit more off her soul.            Nannette ushered her into the living room, where she took a seat on one of the sharp suede couches positioned in an “L” around a polished oak table holding only a snickerdoodle-scented candle and the remote controls to the sixty-inch flat screen on the wall opposite.            “I’d offer you something to eat,” Nannette said, “but we’re about to have lunch.”            “We are?”            “Yup,” she said, smile intensifying the heat as she dropped onto the other couch. “First, though, how’re you doing?”            She knew that telling her the truth would prove useless—she couldn’t possibly understand. And, yet, she found herself babbling about the interview she’d had that morning. They’d sent in three HR managers to grill her— three —as if their boss thought interrogating and intimidating candidates too difficult for one slime ball to handle. They’d fired off questions, some job-related, some not. Their eyes had dulled as she detailed her previous gigs—a server at McDonald’s, a “sandwich artist” at Subway, a babysitter, a camp counselor, a waitress—and dulled still more when she informed them that, no, she didn’t have sales experience, but she was willing and eager to learn. She didn’t know why she’d bothered adding that. They didn’t care. Experience, experience, experience—an aphrodisiac to headhunters, without which they wouldn’t give a candidate a second glance. Never mind the fact that this excluded an entire generation of otherwise-ideal hires. How could one get experience if no one would hire them without their already having it?            And the stupid questions. Where had she grown up? What did she do in her spare time? What did “teamwork” mean to her? What did she consider her worst quality? Questions supposedly meant to “feel her out,” to determine whether she “fit in” with the company culture. However, of course, no one with an IQ higher than their birth weight answered such inquiries honestly, and these players knew it. They just enjoyed seeing the fear in their interviewees’ eyes when one of these questions sent their unprepared mind scrambling for the best response, as a hunter would in those of his prey.            Nannette nodded, expression sympathetic but distant. As expected—She’d had her path cleared for her since she’d dropped, screaming, into this world. No need to burden oneself with the squalor given to peons when Daddy set you on goose feather pillows. She pushed back the heat trying to claw its way into her gullet. Nannette smiled, leaning forward. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”            Kathie braced herself.            “My dad’s company’s got an opening in sales. I invited him to have lunch with us so you could talk to him about the position, if you’re interested.”            “Yeah. Yeah, of course I’m interested,” Kathie blurted, eyes widening. She hadn’t dared hope for an offer from Fontaine Sprinkler Systems, but, if given, it would be an answer to her prayers.

Don’t count your chickens before they hatch . She still had to impress the boss—a man she’d never met, and about whom Nannette had said oddly little. If she couldn’t ace the interviews she’d already endured, what made her think that she could convince Nannette’s father to give her a chance?            The doorbell rang. Nannette sprang to her feet, strode to the door, and opened it. Though clad in relatively casual attire—khakis and a chartreuse polo shirt with the name of his company, tastefully small, stitched on the right breast—the sixty-something man on the porch carried the air of a king. Nannette greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek and ushered him inside. Kathie had, by this time, joined them, so Nannette introduced them—“Daddy, Kathie”; “Kathie, my father, Anderson.” He offered Kathie a firm handshake, his fingers’ short, clear-polished nails winking in the light of the chandelier.            Then, he turned to his daughter, expression dropping. “Your sales are down this month, Nannette. Any reason why?”            Nannette shifted. “There’s a drought, Daddy.”            “Doesn’t matter. There’s always a reason people don’t wanna spend their money. Your job is to get past it. Capeesh?”            “Yeah, okay.” “Did you see the memo?”            “Yeah. No more dirty dishes in the break room. Got it.”            “What about our new sales quota? I’ve projected we can nearly double our growth if we—“            “Yes, I saw that, too.”            He nodded. “Good. Now, have you decided on who you wanna work with on Friday?”            “Not yet.”            “Well, you’d better get on it, or else you’re gonna get last pick.”            “Yeah, I know.”            “How’re we doing with the new model? Do people like it better than the old one?”            Kathie could see a well-earned sigh building in Nannette’s chest, but Nannette tamped it down. “Yeah, I think they like the improvements.” Before he could speak again, she nodded toward the dining room and said, “Come on. Let’s have lunch.” She led them to her dark cherry table and, as they took seats, brought out the meal she’d prepared: salad and green bean casserole. She set the food down, the fine china on which she’d served it clinking. She took a seat, and they served themselves. Kathie skewered a piece of lettuce on her salad fork, turning it around and around as if trying to commit its spindly veins to memory. She told herself to say something pleasant, something witty, anything that would give Anderson a positive impression, but her mind responded only with white noise.            Anderson took a bite of the casserole, chewed, swallowed, and scowled. “Could’ve gone a little easier on the salt, Nan.”            Nannette’s expression froze; she barely opened her mouth to say, “Got it.”            “And this cheese,” Anderson continued. “What brand did you use?”            “Velveeta.”            Anderson shook his head as one would at a child who’d pressed a button whose sound effects had scared her moments before. “You know that’s garbage, Nannette. You see this color?” He scooped up a bite and held it, as if Nannette wouldn’t have done so otherwise. “Nothing that’s not pumped with dyes and artificial flavors looks like this.”            Nannette swallowed, pinkness blotting her cheeks. “I said, I got it.”            “I don’t think you do. You never pay attention to the quality of your ingredients.”            A corner of Nannette’s lips twitched. “Sometimes, you just need to get in and out of the store.”            “At the price of what you’re putting in your body? That’s poor priorities, Nannette.”            “You don’t do your own shopping,” Nannette pointed out. “You don’t understand—“            “I got where I am because I go the extra mile—because I always make sure what I’m getting and what I’m putting out is the best product possible.”

Goody two-shoes for you, Kathie thought. She gripped her fork so tightly that her knuckles blanched and, to staunch the words coming up, shoveled a huge bite of casserole into her mouth.            Even through the blunting of emotion, it tasted delicious.            Anderson moved on to the salad, eyes rising in thought like those of a professional food critic as he chewed. “Is this organic?”            “Organic’s expensive, Daddy.”            “You get what you pay for.”            Nannette’s face had grown as red as a shallot, veins swollen and pulsing in her temples. “Why don’t we just eat at your place, then, next time?”            “You’ve gotta learn to do this yourself.”            “Well, you’re not exactly encouraging me.”            “My job isn’t to encourage. It’s to teach.”            Nannette’s face flushed so deeply that Kathie feared it would burst into flames. “You know what? Fine.” She jumped to her feet. Reached across the table. Snatched his plates. Shards of lettuce, cheese, and tomato rained onto the table. “You can starve.”            Anderson’s face reddened. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”            Nannette lashed him with a glare that could have cut down Hercules—but, apparently, not Anderson Fontaine. “I’ll talk to you however I want.”            His eyes narrowed, his fists clenching so tightly that his palms wrinkled like raisins. “All right, then. I didn’t wanna do this, especially not in front of your friend here, but you’ve given me no choice. You’re fired.”            Kathie’s jaw nearly hit her chest. She looked from Nannette to Anderson and back at Nannette, aftershocks wracking her. She wanted to deny what she’d seen and heard, for even the heat that had preceded it beat this. Anderson jumped to his feet. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Katherine,” he said in a tone that would’ve convinced her, had she no common sense. Retorts tingled on her tongue, but her lips refused to part to allow them out. Instead, they festered, just like those that had built up during her job interviews, just like those that had built up for Nannette before she’d known the truth. Nannette, too, had frozen, face now as white as coconut, eyes bulging. Kathie wanted to run to her, but her legs, like her mouth, wouldn’t budge. Anderson snorted. Turned. Marched out of the dining room, to the foyer, to and out the door, and slammed it. The bang rattled Kathie to her core.            Hands trembling like kicked doorstops, Nannette set the plates on the table and grabbed the back of the nearest chair; Kathie didn’t have to look at her knees to know that they would otherwise collapse. The sight pressed her heart in a place Nannette had never pressed before, and she found herself springing forward and flinging her arms around her. “I’m sorry, Kathie,” she said, clutching her as if to prevent gale-force gusts from blowing her away. “I really wanted to help you.” “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find something else.” The last thing she wanted to do was make her feel bad about not getting her the job. She no longer wanted it.


The Pond: Chapter 1 People never use to talk about Atkins Falls, hell hardly anyone could have told you it existed save for the folks that lived there. That is until the summer of '72. Locals, well local, me, Sheriff Tom Lauderdeen, the only one left in these parts. I called it P-Day, our spineless leaders and the media called it "responsible action", as if nuking a small town on the outskirts of nowheresville, The Athabasca Sand Dunes, was responsible. "*What a sight eh Stew? Quite a show, who woulda thunk Canada, the friendly North, just up and spread the whole king's ransom on their own?*" Stew didn't respond, although Tom might start to actually worry if he did. Stewart P. Shodden or Stew as Tom called him, was an hemit crab. A reticent yet cantankerous little scoundrel that Tom found still alive inside his tank at the local pet store. Like most wildlife still in Atkins Falls, Stew had his own "foible". Tom remembered reading that word in a comic book so that's what he called them. An oddity of sorts, foibles were mutations that surviving insects, plants and wildlife had gained. Not Tom though, nope, but he had Gertrude, his 12G, so he thought the odds were fairly even. unlike some of the scarier things he'd seen, Stew only seemed to glow brighter and brighter the angrier he got. The little fella was quite tempered. "*Remember the time you pinched my ear so hard I fainted stew! All because I ate the last can of pickled asparagus hah!*" Stew didn't answer, he never answered but that was a good thing. Tom couldn't go crazy, not in Atkins Falls, not after P-Day. As far as Tom knew, none of the critters could talk. He only spoke with Stew so he could fill the silence. Tom had always felt uncomfortable with silence, even before P-Day. "*Silence is the absence of action, that's what I always say, eh Stew*?" At the third mention of his name the little hermit crab popped it's beady little eyes out of his shell, which had begun to faintly glow. "*Getting antsy are ya little buddy? Don't worry we're almost there*" The hermit crab glowed the slightest bit brighter but Tom paid it no heed. Stew had a short temper afterall, being woken up before lunch usually made him glow brighter than a hot iron. This was nothing to fret over. Besides they were maybe an hour from chopped mutton with a side of perfidy soup. He called it that because it was just boiled water and mushrooms he found growing around a mutated pig's pen. Usually they made him feel great but they had given him a few bad nights as well. He'd waited a whole month to do this batch, it was a full moon, Stew had just molted and there was a woolyback to be skinned and chopped. "*Oh yes Stew, tonight we eat and drink and let the fungus guide our dreams*" He looked at the slain animal over his shoulder thinking "this was one of those breeding ones I reckon." "They just fuck and eat, eh Stew? You ever seen a woolyback that just goes and goes until they die? Glad we bagged this one early, I've seen them destroy entire lives with their carelessness. Just destroy while farmers fields!" The hermit crab was now sitting on Tom's Head. He liked to perch up there and keep watch. Tim didn't mind, Stew usually picked the bugs out of his hair, foibles and lice...how can an entire race of creepy crawlies gain the same foible. Not just lice either. It seemed all insects had taken on the hive mind. Each controlled by a large King or Queen. Tom avoided their areas. Giant ants, bees, hornets, the million eyed spiders, mudcrabs...he needed none of them. He stuck to the hills around the falls, always avoiding the sand dunes directly. He feared scorpions, he didn't need to see them with foibles. He hunted woolybacks, kept goats, grew what he could and kept the pond clean. Not the water itself, though. Since P-Day all algae in the pond had formed together into a massive blob. It patrolled the ponds waters consuming everything that entered. Ol' Tom only snuck a bottle or 2 weekly. He checked his traps, nothing unusual, a few legs without bodies, gotta be quick in these parts. Tom wasn't too upset, he already had a whoolyback and he didn't fancy being there much longer. The pond was the only fresh water source left and his supply from the gas station cooler was out. He couldn't make perfidy soup without some fresh water. Plus all the animals seemed to come drink here, why shouldn't he? Tom carefully tied two glass bottles on the end of his walking stick, uncorked their tops, then proceeded to hesitantly but slowly creep up one of the large rocks near the edge of the pond. He could see what appeared to be the shambling mass of algae off on the far side, probably eating a deer too slow to escape while drinking. The water was crystal clear as always. Tom lowered his stick gently, ensuring to disturb the water's surface with the smallest of force. The mass could feel movements in the water, this was a quick in and out but a safe one. This was the only time Tom liked silence. The 23 seconds it took to fill his bottles felt like years for Tom. Each moment dragging it's heels before the next but finally as the smallest of bubbles escaped his bottles Tom sighed a breath of relief, raised them gently and crept back down the rock. Once back down Tom corked the bottles, turned on his toes and was face to face with his worst nightmare...a Mother Greentip Scorpion, 10 meters wide at least. Tom unskung Gurtrude from his back, muttered "*ah shit, here we go again Stew*" As 1000's of tiny little eyes opened across the scorpions back. The screech if the horde, this was a full brood.


Amy sits on a park bench across the street from The Sisterhood of the Perpetually Hungry, a diet organization that her sister joined over six months ago. Amy is suspicious as she observes individuals come and go with some sort of prescription. The issue is that her sister, Kerri, joined the organization and then subsequently devoted her entire life to them. Kerri had separated entirely from her life, disowning her family, blowing off her friends, and spending long periods of time working for the Sisterhood. Amy had a sneaking suspicion that the Sisterhood of the Perpetually Hungry was a cult. Amy spotted Kerri walking down the street a few weeks ago; when Amy approached her, Kerri brushed her off, calling her a "sabotager." To the organization's credit, Kerri looks great; she's shed about 50 pounds, is healthy, and even appears younger! But Amy can't get her mind off the feeling that something isn't quite right with that organization. In her research, she discovered other stories similar to her sister's: of people who wanted to lose weight but ended up disowning everyone in their lives and now work for the diet organization. Amy devised a plan and spent the last few weeks bingeing on cheesecake, burgers, and pizza, gaining over ten pounds in the process. She was going to The Sisterhood of the Perpetually Hungry to gather the dirt she needed to persuade her sister to leave. Amy walks into the building; encounters the sound of soothing music, and is met by a young, skinny, supermodel-looking woman. "Welcome to The Sisterhood of the Perpetually Hungry; how may we assist you today?" The receptionist says. "I'd want to join your weight loss program," Amy adds, looking around for Kerri, who isn't there. "Of course, we provide a free evaluation of your mental, physical, and metaphysical health. I'll have one of our sisters bring you back for a closer look," she says as two more supermodel women accompany Amy into the back. Amy waits in one of the most luxurious exam rooms she's ever seen. Another supermodel appears, this time a doctor. Amy was subjected to a battery of examinations, including a physical examination, a psychiatric evaluation, and, for some reason, an algebra exam. They give her a complimentary bottle of their supplements at the end of the examination; this is the prescription she'd seen folks leave the facility with the other day. As she walks back to her apartment, she mulls about whether she should take the supplements. All she could think about was Kerri; if she wanted to find out what was going on, she needed to join the cult. Amy took the prescription as directed, and the pills tasted just like her favorite foods. Amy began to lose weight, eliminate wrinkles and other symptoms of aging, and develop abs, which was surprising given that she hadn't exercised since the Clinton administration. Amy remained determined, and the moment had come to gather some dirt on this group. She needed to refill her prescription, so she had to return to the office. This time, to refill her prescription, she had to participate in a group discussion with other organization members. They used no names, like Alcoholics Anonymous, members had to resign themselves to a higher authority; in this case, The Sisterhood of the Perpetually Hungry was that higher power. Finally, Amy saw a hint that this was indeed a cult, and her suspicions became confirmed. Amy feigned she needed to use the restroom before darting out into the on-site dormitories, where she knew her sister might be. She kicks down the doors one by one. Every room has a supermodel, but none of them are Kerri. An alarm can be heard as Amy goes on a rampage, but she isn't getting anywhere. Amy resorts to her final option and pulls out a gun as security closes in. "I need to see my sister, Kerri, right now!" Amy insists. Three supermodel physicians appear and attempt to calm her down. "Of course, we'll get your sister Kerri right away," one of the supermodel doctors offers. "...and, give me some more of those pills, they made my underarm fat disappear, and they were delicious," Amy states. "I'll get you some right away," offers another supermodel doctor. Amy needed to validate her concerns; she knew this was a cult and that brainwashing took place. "Hey you, Brooklyn Decker's twin sister doctor," Amy remarked to the last remaining supermodel doctor, "show me to where you keep the files." "Of course, follow me," the supermodel doctor replies as she walks Amy to the main office. Amy sifts through their files, looking for the proof she needs to persuade her sister to leave this place for good. Unfortunately for Amy, the only thing she discovered was that The Sisterhood of the Perpetually Hungry was a highly benevolent organization. They created a fitness schedule for orphans, gave celluloid cream to veterans, and sent exercise equipment to Africa for overweight elephants. Amy had about finished going through every file in the office and had discovered nothing when her sister Kerri arrived. "Amy, what are you doing?" Kerri asks as she walks into the now-trashed office. "This is a cult, and you must escape. I know that evil is going on here," Amy tries to convince. "What are you talking about? It's just a weight-loss clinic; everyone here is polite, friendly, and looks like they belong on the cover of a swimsuit magazine," Kerri elaborates. "I miss you, Kerri; why did you abandon me?" Amy inquires. "Every time I came over to your place, you just offered me junk food, sugary drinks, or sweets. I couldn't be around you anymore; you are what does Sisterhood of the Perpetually Hungry call a sabotager," Kerri explains. "But I miss you; I'm always unhappy because you're not here," Amy explains. "Why don't you join us? You can join my team; we stand outside TGI Fridays, Applebee's, and Denny's and hand out cards to people who ordered too much," Kerri explains. "Do they really want me?" Amy inquires. "Without a doubt. Not to mention that if you work here, you get free prescription refills. We're going to all have six-pack abs!" Kerri exclaims with zeal. Amy and her sister hug as the supermodels around them applaud the touching moment. Two supermodels are hidden behind one-way glass, opposite the main office mirror. "Look at that, another soldier in our army," exclaims one supermodel. "Yes, it's only a matter of time before we take over the world. Hail Satan," the other supermodel says.


“May, this is a bit of a random question, but do you ever wonder what’s up with that guy on our street who only goes out at nighttime?” It was a bright Saturday afternoon, and May Farrowday was eating lunch in the park with her best friend, Casey Collins. “Well, yeah, of course I do. He’s real strange, isn’t he? He avoids sunlight like the plague. That’s like, something only vampires do.” May gave out a little snicker. Casey stared off into the distance, letting her blonde hair flutter in the wind for just a moment. “You don’t think that man’s an actual vampire, do you?” May instantly burst out in a fit of laughter on the spot upon hearing that. She found the thought absolutely absurd. “Of course not! Vampires are obviously fake. Let’s suppose they are real for a second. So they die if they’re hit with sunlight? Well, moonlight’s just light from the sun reflected off the moon, so that should kill them as well!” May gleamed with pride after stating that fact. Casey nodded in agreement, and then asked, “So then what do you think the deal is with that guy?” May thought to herself for a moment. She thought of multiple reasons and scenarios, but they all just were illogical to her. “Hm. What a good question. I’ve never seen the guy really interact with anyone, so I doubt anybody else knows why. Maybe I might just go meet up with him later this night and ask about it. Could prove to be interesting.” “Yeah! Go solve that mystery! I sure hope you get good results from your interrogation.” And on that note, the two finished their lunches together and both went home to continue on with the rest of the day like normal. After a long day, nighttime finally fell. May’s entire neighborhood was quiet, except for one house which finally opened up its door that day. A man in a light beige shirt with extremely pale skin came out. Unbeknownst to the man, May was silently watching him come out from behind a bush.

“This man…” she thought to herself. “ He has the color palette of a vanilla ice cream cone!” She carefully watched him slowly walk down onto the street, and made her move. “Hey.” As she came out of the bush, the man jumped. “Who are you?” He asked, startled. “Name’s May Farrowday. I wanted to ask you some questions about your… unique behavior.” “Unique behavior? I’m the one with unique behavior? You were the one who jumped out of a bush! Why couldn’t you just walk up and start a conversation with me like normal?” May looked away in embarrassment. How in the world had she not thought of that? “Look, that’s not important. The main point is that I just need you to answer a simple question for me. That’s it.”

“Well... I have no clue who you are, but I can sense that you have no malicious intent. So, I guess I can give you my permission. What about me do you find so very odd?” “I just wanted to ask… why don’t you go out during the day? “Oh, that? Well, you see…” May was waiting for the man’s answer with great anticipation. She just stood there gazing at him awkwardly. The man took an unreasonable amount of time to finish his sentence; he took over thirty whole seconds to do it. After that perplexing interaction, he finally spoke. “I have a really bad allergy to sunlight. Even just slightly being hit by it would probably kill me.” May’s jaw dropped to the ground. She could not believe what she had just heard. She knew that having an allergic reaction was entirely possible, but with how extreme he made it out to be, she just could not accept that. “If it’s really that bad, then how do you know that for a fact?” The man simply smiled at that. May was completely unprepared for what he said next. “Just a gut feeling.” May was completely and utterly blindsided by the man’s simple statement, and she was unable to not let it show. “Just a gut feeling? Really just a gut feeling? How in the entire universe does that prove a thing?!” “Well, you can’t prove that I’m wrong.” At that moment, she wanted to scream. She could not comprehend the man’s logic one bit. Her mind was furiously racing around at the sheer absurdity of it all. “I literally can prove it wrong! Moonlight is sunlight reflected off of the moon, so if your allergy is that extreme, you shouldn’t be able to go out at all !” “Well... can you prove that that fact is true?” Every single interaction with the man made May feel closer to exploding each time. Every single sentence by him existed solely to infuriate her. Every single word that the man said was uttered purely to leave her hopelessly perplexed. She was speechless for the next ten seconds, which made the man continue on. “You have no argument, therefore I can conclude that that statement is false.” ‘BUT WHAT’S YOUR ARGUMENT FOR BELIEVING YOU’RE ALLERGIC TO THE SUN?!” She was unable to resist shouting there. Because of that, she ended up grabbing the attention of a few others living on the street. The man did not, in fact, answer the question that she had asked. Instead, he just stood there, smiling forcefully. For an extended period of time, the two were silent. Everyone spectating watched with great interest. Suddenly, the man started once more. “Oh! I just realized I haven’t told you yet! My name is Peter Arkins.” “WHAT. DOES. THAT. HAVE. TO. DO. WITH. ANYTHING?!” She had legitimately stomped her foot with every single syllable there, unable to contain her unbridled rage towards him. “Well, I sure am hungry. I definitely could use something to eat just about now.” “DON’T JUST TRY TO AVOID THE ENTIRE DISCUSSION AND ACT LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED!” She verbally protested with all her might, but the man had pretended to not hear a thing and simply walked away. She was infuriated with the entire situation, however she did not attempt to further continue the debate. She realized that it was ultimately all futile, and that she should not have even attempted to try in the first place. As everything was starting to dissipate, she suddenly heard the man cry out. She did not see the event it its entirety, but she immediately knew what had happened. The man had simply tripped over a rock, fallen, and was now lying face first on the ground, without movement. A small crowd of seven people had been watching it all play out without even the slightest bit of interference, but after the man’s fall, one of them finally spoke. A small eleven year old boy with red glasses had asked, “Is he dead?” Silence. “I think he is,” replied a young, dark-haired teenage girl besides him. A tall, brown-haired adult proceeded to walk up towards him and check for his heartbeat. “Nope. He’s still hangin’ on.” The teenager let out a disappointed sigh, then quickly realized that she had done that out loud, looked at all of the others in the crowd nervously and scuttled away. At this point, nobody really knew what to do now, so they all started to leave one by one quietly. May was the only one left now. She felt a bit reluctant to leave him there without doing anything, but she was still mad about the previous discussion, so she had decided to go home in the end. The man was unconscious for the entire night. When he finally woke up, it was 6 AM, and the sun was shining right in his face for the first time ever. May and Casey happened to be walking along the street at the same time he woke up, and May smugly smiled when her and the man locked eyes. “So, are you sure you’re so allergic to the sun now?” The pale skinned man was now being fully basked in the rays of sunlight that had traveled all the way through space solely to spite him and all of his previous beliefs. May was confident that the man could do nothing but accept the cold, hard truth right in front of him. The man gazed down at the path beneath his feet for a couple of seconds, and had finally answered. “This light probably comes from a fake sun.” May had passed out on the spot.


The touches between their lips burn. He woke up in sweat and horror. The things in his dream had never happened in real life, which was more of the reason to feel terrified over. You dreamt what you had thought of, but he could swear to all gods he hadn’t thought of anything alike for quite a long while. He then realized he was not lying down on his own bed staring at the ceiling like it was supposed to be when waking up from a nightmare, instead he was sitting at a table by himself. Drowsiness and stupefaction of his mind prevented him from processing any more thoughts beyond the thirst for water. He waved his hand, a waitress came for him, and he asked for the icy waters. The ice water cleared the mind, he could finally observe his surroundings. It was the bar downtown, he realized, and soon enough he remembered he came here by himself just for some drinks, but then fell asleep at the table, succumbing to his sleep deprivations that had been pestering him for the last few weeks. One could only imagine his exhaustion if his little nap had dreams horrifying enough for him to wake up amidst it. The lady’s voice on stage sounded like silver bells. These round tables surrounding the stage were mostly empty. No one would come to a bar on a work day afternoon. Well besides him. He walked out the bar, and the sun almost blinded him in an instance. The street looked exotic, so did everyone that walked past him, but it might just be the effect of his slumbering mental state. Bilious, agitated, he wanted to do something, but there was nothing for him to do. The classes were all done and needed no more attention, besides, sitting back at his desk and starting doing work would be the last thing he wanted to do at this moment. He had a train he had to get on this evening, but that just seemed so far away right now, he wouldn’t want to entertain the idea of doing nothing until then. The phone came in. He picked it up. “Yo! Dawdler! I would imagine you having nothing to do right now.” “Yes. I have nothing to do.” “Come over to my apartment. Rand and I are heading out, you want to come?” “Heading out for what? “I don’t know. Christmas is coming my dude. You don’t want to make a proper meal together before going back home?” That sounded like a decent enough idea, but that meant he would be stuck with Reynolds and Rand for the next few hours. “Sure… I am coming.” The sun was relentless, and there were no clouds in the sky, so it blasted the land with all its might and wills, scorching the tarmac roads with thundering heat. Stepping on it, he could feel the ground hitting back up his feet, and his skin grinding against the bottom of his shoes. Their apartment was quite far away from his, and although they both belong to the school, one was far more superior than the other. He would normally be able to tell which was which, but right now the vivid dream and the numbness of his limbs had disabled him from making any judgment on anything, and nor could he remember what he thought of their apartments before today. All he could think of properly right now, was to walk. Walk to their apartment. Just walk under the screaming sun. The blocks looked all the same. Building after building climbing on top of each other, stacking layers upon layers like some kind of foreign dishes of which he forgot the name of. Since the surroundings were so monotonous, there was really no way of telling north west east south. But somehow, as if there were a mental map in his brain, he simply just kept walking, and his feet would just follow an invisible trail, heading towards an unknown destination. “Goddamn, I would expect you to be late for forty minutes or so.” Reynolds blurted when opening the door. “I was nearby.” “For what?” “I don’t know.” That wasn’t a lie. “Well, let's go then. Rand!” “Yea. I am ready.” Indeed he was with all his backpack and hiking shoes and such. “Would you keep it down, by the way, Not everyone has gone home you know.” “Thought it was just you two in the apartment.” He asked, not knowing why he would ask such a question. Seemed rather specific. “He meant our neighbors,” Reynold answered. They headed out. Rand suggested heading back to school, which was a few miles away. Reynold chided him for being such a nerd that even though they had all finished their courses the school was still the one destination he had in mind, but he did agree with the suggestion. The school’s market was quite cheap, and their goal of the day was to get food after all. Him, walking alongside the two, or to be more accurate following the two, since he just couldn’t pick up the pace of his steps, and the two sometimes had to stop their steps to wait for him. He didn’t voice any opinion about the suggestion, simply because he knew that even if Rand had suggested them all jump out of a bridge and off themselves, he would still think of it as a good idea. He felt dehydrated, dizzy, tiresome, and every time his feet stepped on the dirt or some rough surface, his entire body shuddered. Their school was on top of the hill, so the few miles that usually would be pretty easy for casual hikers like them were a lot more difficult this time. The uphills were almost torturous. Reynold joked about them all should just head back home right now and bored their brains out while at it, Rand laughed, while he, again, remained silent. He was a talkative person, for sure, but not right now, as he couldn’t construct a complete sentence in his head and continuously finding the act of listening to their conversations to be progressively burdensome, so he toned out, and focused himself on walking and seeing. “Say, Francis would have hated to be here.” “We need to do this with him next time. Walk to our school from the apartment.” “That moron probably wouldn’t be able to last ten minutes. I could laugh by just imagining his expression.” “I couldn’t. Mainly because my feet hurt.” “Yeah the uphill was quite the tribulation, but hey we had done it before right?” “Right, I am not saying we can’t do this.” “I know what you meant.” “Sure you do.” “Hey, I got you. We should do an even longer hike after this one.” “Of course you wouldn’t stop until my shoes are completely whacked.” “I got you, man. Don’t worry about those trivia details.” A farm. Amidst the esoteric, recondite conversation between the two, the corner of his eyes spotted something. A farm right next to the tarmac road they were walking on. He voiced: “We should check out the farm.” “What?” “We should check out the farm.” “Isn’t the farm a restricted area?” Rand asked Reynold. “Right… I don’t think we are allowed to enter the place.” Directed toward him. The sudden urge in his heart of visiting the farm was overwhelming, and it seethed in his chest, pumping and quickening his breath. He needed to see the farm. He felt. The need was a necessity, comparable to the matters of life and death and the basic need of human beings, like water and food. His arms and legs froze over, even with the boiling air surrounding him, he could feel the chill spreading from his spine to the outer skins and organs. It was the chill of desperation. If he gave up right there, there might be never again a chance of entering the farm with his friends, and the farm would forever be cloaked in mystery, and every time he walked past it would be mental torture from now on. So he must insist. The two standing in front of him would follow as well, and he would make sure of that. “Say, you are an adventurous person.” He blurted. “It is gonna be fine, alright? Trust me on this. I am circumspect enough of a person, won’t you agree?” “Yeah…” Reynold uttered slowly beneath his breath. “So then, what else is the problem. They don’t have guards, they don’t have security cameras, they have nothing. It is just a detour. Again, thought you are an adventurous person.” “Sure I am.” Reynold was properly convinced. He headed to the farm right away. The farm was not big, just a small field of a prairie. The wheat was still pretty young, so the colors of the place were mostly green instead of the usual bright yellow of a wheat field. The heat was magnified by whatever was in the field, maybe from the reflection of the road. The sun was right above them, with nothing between, he could feel his hair gradually heating up. He walked around the place aimlessly, but suddenly he found something. A small barn, in it, laid a few containers. The two followed him in here. He opened one of the containers, it was filled with rice grains. “Huh. So here are the foods the school dining hall uses?” “Why would there be no one guarding these will be my question.” Reynold looked around. He reached out his hand, grabbed a handful of it. The rice, though uncooked, looked extremely appetizing. For some unknown reasons, he could smell the delectable taste of a bowl of perfectly cooked, fluffy white rice. He was salivating, like a dog. He swallowed a lump down his throat, but his stomach was now growling as if it was protesting the long absence of food, which he would admit to. He hadn’t eaten for at least a day or two by now, but still, even himself found the fact of him hungering over raw rice to be disturbing. He suddenly made the decision. He pulled out a plastic bag and stuffed some handfuls of rice in it. “Hey! What are you doing?” Rand said, with certain panic and anger in his voice. “Woah there!” Reynold, less agitated but still with noticeable vexation. He just kept on stuffing. His hand that kept reaching out to grab the grains had slowly gone numb, and cold. He considered switching hands, so his left hand would be the one that held the bag and the right would be the one that purloined, but switching hands right now would be looking really weird, and his friends were watching him, so he gave up the idea, and kept moving his arms with muscle memories. Finally, the small plastic bag was filled with rice grains. “There is no one around.” He said, addressing himself to Reynold. “Nor are there any cameras. Look around. This little barn is not capable of having any sort of security alright? There are no fences around this place either. They don’t sell jasmine rice up there, and damn it I haven't had a good meal in way too long of a while. There are at least a few bushels of rice in each of the containers, a bag from it would be less noticeable than a needle under the ocean.” “Why would you go out of your way to do things… with all these illegalities…” He didn’t know why either. He could feel the fume burning, and the urge of doing something outrageous, something outlandish, something that no one else would have done just wouldn’t stop its hissing trails all over his body. He didn’t know the source nor the cause of such wants, and he didn’t question it either, he just obeyed. “Hey! I don’t care. Do what you want, I am getting these myself if you want to wash all your hands and walk away clean.” He appeared more insolent than normal as well. He normally wouldn’t talk to a friend like that. “Alright!” Reynold slapped his knees, “If the prudent living, overly-paranoid and cautious friend said it is alright, why not right?” He pulled out a small plastic bag and stuff and a few handfuls of rice in it as well. “Reynold!” Rand cried. “Dude! We are not doing the right things right now! This is stealing.” “Hey, it is fine.” Reynold gave Rand a few comforting pads on the shoulder, “Don’t worry alright? He does that. We said we are gonna make a proper meal tonight, and yeah like he said, they don’t sell these good rice up there in the supermarket. There are still tons lying around here. A few bowls of it, no one would notice.” “Nor would anyone care.” He followed up Reynold’s sentence even though it needed no follow up. “Let's go.” The dusk had come for them. On the way back, walking downhill, he could see the sun slowly drown beneath the horizon, as the bright yellow light slowly turned into a deep and crimson red. The heat was gone, and replacing it was the breezes and the chill that crept under people’s sleeves when they were not noticing. They had shopped quite a lot, and it seemed they really planned to have a proper meal in their apartment. Him, on the other hand, bought very little, just a stick of celery, some chocolate for the way back, and that one bag of rice sitting at the bottom of the pocket of his coat. He could feel the weight of it. And as the heat of the day died off, his rational minds had seemed to come back alive. His hand felt cold, and his brain was scrambling for a good justification for being a larcener, and no doubt not one was satisfying enough. What’s more, was the fear. The fear of being caught. The rebellion of the act was far greater than he had expected, and the anxiety and the nerve such rebellious intention brought were weighing in far harsher than he could take. There is no way to be sure. He told himself. How could one be so stupid that they thought their act of crime will not be caught. It was a strictly forbidden area, beyond any doubts that trespassing would be punished. He didn’t see any fences, or any guards, or anyone, and the barn was barren and empty enough for him to observe all over without an untrodden corner, and for sure there could be no security camera there. Something might have already gone wrong, but he was just ignorant of it. Maybe the authorities were heading their way already. Maybe someone who accidentally walked by saw them, and they would become the witness of their crime. Maybe that someone remembered their faces. Then he checked the watch, an even more intense but significantly more mundane kind of anxiety took over. He needed a proper hour to get to the train station, but right now, by their pace, he would miss his train which was also the last one of the day. He had to make home before tomorrow. When they reached their apartment, the stress had finally taken his toll. As they walked in their apartment, he voiced: “I can’t stay, guys.” “What?” Reynold turned and asked, just about to step in the door. “You stay for dinner at least right? We bought all this stuff.” “No… I can’t… I have a train to catch, I already bought the ticket. I have to go.” He put down the few things he bought in the shop, along with that heavy bag of rice. “They are all yours. Just enjoy your meal alright? Happy holiday…” Suspiration could be heard, presumably made by Rand since it was coming from behind Reynold, though he couldn’t really see the inside of the apartment, it was unlit, and he had his head down and couldn’t raise it back up. He was just staring at Reynold’s shoes. They were new, and shiny, seemed expensive. “You sure. You can still have your stuff you know, we got quite enough.” “No just… have them, I need to go… put more water in that rice cooker… last time I ate here the rice tasted dry…” “That was what? Two or three years ago?” “Right… I must be going.” The road leading to the train station meandered around the hills and the city as if it was consciously expanding to agitate him even more than he already was. He needed to get to the train station. The ticket was not cheap, and missing the train would be a huge loss on his and his family’s behalf. He rushed through streets after streets, blocks after blocks, until finally, the thought of giving up had caught up to him: The train station was still a mile or more away, yet the train was leaving in twenty minutes. If he makes haste, he might still be able to catch it, but there was no point in doing that. His lungs were already burning with exhaustion, so did his limbs shaking from starvation and dehydration. He gave up. He would go back home the next day. Right now something more urgent must be done: eat and rest. But both his and the two’s apartment was really far away from him now. The dining hall it is. He thought to himself. The food there was absolute trash, and he enjoyed no bits from knowing the fact that the meal he was about to consume would barely be tolerable, but he needed to eat, and rest, fast. He headed back uphill towards the school dining hall. 。。。 The morning. A very early morning. Not even seven o’clock yet. The sun had just come out, and the light it emitted was still mellow and somber, shining on the church’s wall appearing as different shades of blue and white. Some people were gathering at the front door. He just came back from home, and he had heard the news: the two friends of his had died, cause of death remained undisclosed. The church in the school was having a memoir right now, and he had just caught it. He rushed here immediately after he stepped off the train. It was the start of another quarter, and coming back from winter break, not a lot of classmates of his could handle such tragic news. He could, and fear and distraught overwhelmed him as he stepped into the church. The church was still relatively empty. No priest could be seen, just some classmates and friends of theirs sitting on the benches, weeping or whispering over the death, he couldn’t tell. No other sound could be heard. The people at the front door were greeted by a front desk set up temporarily to deal with the guests coming from outside the school. At the very front, there were flowers sent by people everywhere giving their condolences sitting on the altar and ambo, along with some words of prayers, but he couldn’t see the expected portraits of the two friends of his. He was glad about it, since he wasn’t sure about his ability to hold it together if he saw the two’s faces again. He saw a girl sitting on the very front bench, he walked down the nave to her. “Viola.” He whispered since the surroundings were all so quiet. “Oh, you are here.” She clearly had wept. but she still had her composure, with that ever-lasting stoic expression of hers, “Oh god, I wish we would have met under better circumstances…” “Where is the principle?” He asked. If Viola was not knee-deep in the water of grief and affliction, she would definitely be able to spot the irregularity: there was no anguish, or sadness over a close friends’ death on his face; his pallid skin and pale lips were all the expression of horror and utter fear; he looked as if someone was chasing him, as all his limbs shudder noticeably like care branches amidst a snowstorm.; his eyes wide open, and the trembling mind could be seen through his almost diluted iris. She didn’t notice all these however, as she was, indeed, overwhelmed by the sadness of losing two of her close friends. “Where is the principle?” He asked again, this time bellowing yet remained the low volume. “I need to speak with him.” “He is sitting at the front desk…” She replied, quite bewildered, yet again having not enough of vigor or strength to question his behavior. He turned his head and confirmed her answer. Strangely he had just walked past the front desk and didn’t notice the principle sitting there. “Mr. Principle.” “Oh, lad…” The principle was a man in his middle age, with a bald spot on top of his head and a pair of unpleasant looking specs, “You have my utmost condolences. I know you all are close friends...” “I need to talk to you, in private.” “Aye, just give me a few minutes to settle down the guests…” “It is urgent.” The principle paused for a moment. “Let's go to the quad.” The quad, not really a quad, but a football field, with running tracks circling it. There were some students on the field practicing sports, and some running on the track. Not by any means a lot of them, but still enough to scatter all around the field. “We can talk while walking.” The principle uttered. “This needs to be in private.” “It is private. We walk along the track and talk, no one would have heard.” They got down there and started strolling along the running track. “So. What’s the matter?” The news reached his house a week or so ago during the middle of winter break and holiday, and he could feel nothing but fear ever since. The trepidation he had experienced for the past few days must certainly be something beyond anyone’s comprehension: it had mastered him, as he was unable to fall asleep without feeling the sensation of those grains of rice slipping through his finger. He checked all his clothes and bags for any shreds of evidence of him ever been to that farm, any traces of soil or grains of rice he hadn’t noticed before. Naturally, there was nothing, he was all clean. He then got a fever, though he had never heard of anyone getting themselves physically ill not of outside factors but of inner turmoil. The fear of getting caught, coated his jacket, followed him every second of the day. He laid in bed for a few days, sinking down to the bottom of near unconsciousness, and during those days when he encumbered himself in the dusty bed sheets shaking and shivering, speculations and educated guesses muddled his mind even further. He could no longer believe in the blissful lies he had before. There must be a reason why a farm would be such a heavily restricted area, and there must be a reason why such classified and prohibited places so lacking in security. After a few days of bed-ridding, he finally felt better, physically. For the rest of the holidays, he suddenly became more polite, more timid to others, as he would never greet or welcome those relatives of his normally, but this time he was acting like a sycophant, smiling and treating them all like the most up class guests. Those around him noticed the differences, figured he was changing for the better. But he knew, because every night, when he stared at the ceiling, it looked like that metallic surface of the rice containers, pale white, staring right back at him. He needed to sort this out, and even though the principle wasn’t a person he had the most trust in, he was the highest official he could easily get to. He recounted everything to him, everything that happened that afternoon, even down to the details like the feeling of rice running through his hand like water. “Do you know what is in those farms around the hills, sir?” “No.” The principle answered solemnly. They strolled along the running tracks, occasionally passed through by some students having their morning run. “I am just managing the school, so does every school official, we don’t own the place you know. This is a public school, owned by the government. They got those farms. Even we are prohibited from entering.” “So they are of even higher-ups?” “Yeah… oh boyo, I wouldn’t trade places with you right now for all the whiskey in Ireland…” “I know why they are dead! The official record for their cause of death was unknown right now, but I know why!” As he was about to say something, some runner ran right past them. He recognized the kid, he was from the same class as theirs, the known juvenile, often breaking rules and disobeying the authority, someone on a completely different spectrum than his. He was a good student, well, decent enough, well-liked by teachers. He then noticed the runners running around the tracks all belong to that category, then the terrifying potential hit him: they were eavesdropping. For what reason, might simply be out of curiosity. Nosey cur, like a sewing circle in the back of the class, whispering rumors and conspiracies. “I know why they are dead. The rice was laced.” “Why would you think that?” “That is the only reason that is possible, I had thought of this through and through. There is beyond doubt they had eaten those rice we stole. I haven’t voiced my concern then…” “Why is that?” “I was partly intoxicated…” He scratched his head embarrassingly. “Those rice looked irregular. They were glistening. I had seen enough rice, and that is not something rice grain would do. The glitter was not a coincidence, and that also explained why there is no guard or fences. They knew. Whatever purposes the rice, or heck any other foods coming out of those farms serve, they must have a special procedure to wash off the substances before using.” “The soviet.” The principle suddenly voiced. “What?” “My guesses. These products are for the soviets. Or their organizations in the state. Or something along the lines. These poisonous lacing of anti-theft tactics also fits with their normal doings.” “Thought you said the farms belong to the federal government?” “It could be spies working there, or some other reasons, secret alliances, anything. I had done some digging of my own before in regards to these farms, out of sheer curiosity, and just some amount of spikes that I, as the principal and general managers of the school, were still not allowed to walk into those places, which are under my management! A lot of papers pertaining to the crops were written in a language I can’t understand. Russians. I have seen tags around the necks of those cows. These all add up.” “So, those farms…” “You guys touched the wrong stuff. Basically.” They had stopped their steps, standing in the far side of the track, looking at the football field. By then he had already determined that those runners were eavesdropping their conversation and feeding it back to the class. They were looking through the corner of their eyes every time they ran past them, and their ears were all erected and tall standing. Eyes and ears everywhere. “I think you should head home. I don’t think it’s safe for you to remain in school, my lad.” “You think that is appropriate?” “There must be further aftermath. I would contact you after the things blow over, right now you must head home. Nobody can know what we had spoken of here, boyo?” They had already known. He thought but he simply nodded. The way heading the train station was long, and numbing. After finally divulging his thoughts to someone else, certain clearances had finally visited his mind, the long yearned clearance, but yet still, the damage was done. He now no longer felt the overwhelming dread, instead, he felt nothing. Numbness and emptiness occupied his brain, and they were long-awaited. Like a drywall or an empty canvas, he sauntered to the train station and bought the most recent tickets. He hadn’t been this calm in a long while, not since that afternoon. He felt no relief, yet it was already good enough for him to not crack and cross the last line of defense and sanity. The train came, modern and refreshing. The cart was quite large and tall, so the inside really didn’t feel crowded even though there were plenty of people up there. The train looked more like a good modern subway now he looked at it more closely. The windows were all huge so there was no need for lights, for the sunlight had lit up the train more than anything else could. People standing around even though there were still seats available, most of them staring at their phone or taking a nap, all seemed like business people attending to work. He found a seat and sat down, put his head in his hands as if his nails would drill through his skull. Tears. He didn’t weep a single drop of tear through all these days. He hadn’t even considered the impact of their death, in fact, after all these days of isolation and apprehension, he had already kind of forgotten the appearances of theirs, how they looked, how they acted, how they talked. Fear and dread were so overbearing, no sorrow or sadness could compare to it, but now that those paranoia had slipped back a little, the regret and the remorse finally came crashing through the gate. They were his close friends, and he could never see them ever again. Such cold hard fact pounded his chest harder than his breath. He had led them to their death. He was the one who decidedly wanted to do an outrageous ordeal. He was the one encouraging them the unlawful acts. He was the one that practically killed. He wept like a baby, wanting to wail yet trying his best to hold back seeing he was in public on a train. There was not a trace of pride or ego of himself anymore, and the crushing sense of guilt gripped him by the spine. He cried into his hands, for the loss of his friends. The trains ran further into the horizon, and there was no return.


Benvolio tilted his head, lowering his snout next to Walter. His amber eyes fixed on the photograph of Walter’s family. “Is that your treasure?” He inquired, his eyes studying the photo intently. Walter nodded in return. “My daughter, Beth and my grandson, Sam.” Walter looked at the photo. In the photo they were all smiles, surrounded by a field of pumpkins. He remembered that day. When Beth first moved back home, she was somber, defeated. Sam’s father had left them both. Beth wasn’t sure how she could pick up the pieces. She had been so strong in the face of it all. Then, the day at the pumpkin patch was the first day in several months that he saw Beth smile again. It hadn’t always been easy opening his home after years of being an empty nester, but they managed, and in time Walter couldn’t remember what it was like to live alone. “I see, from what I have learned the gateways are tricky, wavering in and out of existence. Let us consult my treasure to see what we can learn.” Benvolio proceeded back into the cavern. Walter followed. They walked through the chambers, back to the large cavern room where Walter had seen the gold and gems. Benvolio’s eyes darted back to Walter, carefully examining Walter’s face as they passed the sparkling pile of riches. Yes, Walter took a glance, as he did before, but the moment of temptation was fleeting. “I am a bit confused,” Walter admitted, recalling Benvolio’s comment, “How is the treasure helpful for my situation?” Walter wondered if it was simply one of the idiosyncrasies of dragons. He had always heard the tale of dragons hoarding gold. “Oh, that’s not my treasure.” Benvolio chuckled. Benvolio stretched forth his wing, gesturing to several yards beyond the piles of gold. His wing pointed in the direction of rows and rows of tall, sturdy wooden bookshelves overflowing with books and scrolls. “Ah,” Walter smiled, “I am a bit of an avid reader myself.” He thought back to his own collection. King, Grisham, Christie, Tolkien, and more. Lately that collection had expanded to Suess, Sendak, and Carle. “I believe I have just the tome, authored by my favorite mage. I found a lovely spell in there once to jettison a pesky, misguided Knight out of my realm. Though, admittedly, I haven’t mastered controlling the destination and I don’t want to simply maroon you in some strange place.” Benvolio carefully navigated alongside the bookshelves, Walter walking beside him. “Yes, I would like to avoid winding up in another random location.” Walter acknowledged. He glanced up at the shelves, his eyes drifting between Benvolio’s massive form and the comparatively small books. “This might be rude, but how do you manage handling the books and scrolls?” “Alas, my size is a dreadful inconvenience most days. And, I do have to be extra cautious about sneezing while reading, as accidentally igniting the rather flammable material is never fun. I developed my reading habit when I was just a hatchling and have been hooked ever since. I am always happy on the rare occasion in which I have a visitor with hands such as yours that are more suited for handling my treasure. Would it be an imposition to ask you to fetch the blue, leather-bound volume on that shelf there, titled, ‘Incantations of Time and Space, Volume I by Andromeda Chronos’?” Walter walked over to the shelf and began reaching for the book when Benvolio’s head suddenly shot in another direction. Walter paused and listened, hearing the echo of footsteps coming down the passageways of the cavern. “Up ahead!” A man’s voice could be heard in the distance. “Oh bother,” Benvolio groaned, “this again. Walter, take the book and hide. I will handle this. Do not be afraid.” Walter was confused but did as he was instructed. He picked up the book and slid it into the backpack he kept his hiking gear in. Benvolio moved out from the area of the bookshelves, towards the front of the room. “Hark, the monster!” The man’s voice could be heard, louder. Four people wearing armor and carrying weapons entered the main cavern area. Benvolio rolled his eyes and swished his tail, missing them by a yard or two. “Begone adventurers! Give up your folly and I shall spare your lives.” Benvolio rose, stretching to his full height, which practically touched the ceiling of the cavern. He extended his wings out, giving them a single flap, creating a gale that pushed the adventurers back a few feet. “Nay terrible beast. Your reign of terror is over!” The leader of the group proclaimed. The other three adventurers nodded in unison. Walter watched the exchange from the shadows. Walter pondered, what had Benvolio done? The dragon had been nothing but cordial with him. Benvolio sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. He snorted, two small jets of flames shot out of his nostrils, resulting in two plumes of smoke rising to the cavern roof. “As you wish, then.” Benvolio bowed and then let out a roar that shook the stone walls, some of the books rattled off the shelves. The quartet of adventurers lunged toward him with spears and swords, save one adventurer who was armed only with a lute which they strummed furiously. Benvolio batted them away effortlessly. One of the adventurers chanted something, summoning flame from their hands. They shot a fireball at Benvolio. The attack of flame merely glanced off Benvolio’s scales ineffectively. Benvolio chuckled, but then they threw another fireball, which landed a few yards from the bookshelves. Benvolio’s eyes darted to the books, then back to the adventurers.


THE PROBLEM WITH CREATIVE PEOPLE            I happen to be one of those type people. Right now it is 2:15 AM…..yeah, I am one of those guys. For the past few weeks I have been working on a painting and hitting the sack at 4 or 5 AM with my dog Luther, he sticks around when I do this stuff. I also play the guitar and will start playing at midnight and go until I fall asleep on the instrument. Normally this is not a problem until I keep my wife Janice awake. She already has a problem where she gets up a couple of times a night to pee. Thank God that is not me; tomorrow she is going to get a cat scan to check that out.            Anyway I will stay up until the wee hours of the morning working on something like this story. For a few weeks I was working on a fake receipt to return a stereo to Target. This was an attempt to get over on them. I finally gave that idea up and dumped it at a store where I got a tax credit. When I get going though, I will put on some quiet music and type or paint. When I was working on the painting I would put on a cheap boom box which also I had gotten from Target. This worked well; I would put in something like Segovia or some classical music and keep going. When I was working on the painting this was the result of a photo I had taken in Key West about five or six years ago. The original painting had been printed out on and 8 ½ X 11 piece of paper and looked me in the face for several years. I finally decided to try to do this with watercolors. I have never been too good with that medium and the few good ones got sold off immediately. I had done that one using a photograph and carbon paper. I traced the design onto a piece of watercolor paper and then used watercolors and India ink to pull off the card. I have a friend who makes custom greeting cards by cutting out designs and pasting them to make 3D cards. Very cool stuff, her name is Janice just like my wife.            I have always been a creative type as my twin brother John. He is mentally retarded but the man makes the best abstract art work I have ever seen, he makes mine look like crap even though I have an art teaching degree. I can kick his ass with realistic work. I will stay up working on a website, or an idea for a painting or a piece of music. The only problem with the music is that it sometimes gets stuck in my head and I have problems getting rid of it. I have sort of solved that problem by taking deep breaths and thinking of good looking women at the same time. I am sure these women would feel a bit put off if they knew I was doing this. Right now I am in the back bedroom doing this; normally I would type on the laptop in the front bedroom but the LED bulbs kill any chance of Janice getting any sleep so most times she is back here.            When I had my first home in Beechwood NJ it was a small place 26 feet square and I am not a TV watcher. This is why we don’t have cable. When I lived there the reception was bad so when Lorraine moved out the TV went in the attic and I lived without it for the next two years by playing guitar all night or painting or doing some other kind of  artwork. Now I don’t really need money from artwork but I have a ton of old hardware that I am working with to make abstract sculptures that I am gonna put into art and craft shows or online stuff. It is a matter of getting rid of this stuff and at least making a few bucks while blowing off some creative juices. I had a friend of mine who used to do art work her name was Rose Brancati. I met her in college and dated her for a few weeks until I started with Lorraine. She turned out some incredible ink work and many times at night she would call me at midnight to talk about artwork, her problem is that she had gotten MS which left her with only the use of her left arm and her head. She was like that for at least 25 years and I would visit her and help her put work into senior art shows. The last thing she did was a drawing for calendars I still have this in my music books.            Speaking of music books I have played guitar since I was 11 and I am almost 76. I taught it for 45 years and have a bunch of videos on Youtube. I was doing that before and came up to the bed rooms and found Janice in the front one because I was being too noisy. In recent times I have built a PVC fence from fittings; and a stained glass window that went into the front of my home. Even when I was home I was always fooling around with some type of creative or technical work. When I was in high school I was into model trains. I have the set under my Christmas tree right now and in the next week or so that is coming down. I am also in a writing group this is not the first one I have been in. When I was in college I used to drag a guitar around so in between classes I could get in practice time.            I get this bit from people that I don’t get enough sleep. I am wide awake right now and I don’t see that is gonna change in the next five or six hours. From what I can see I will be here typing until the sun comes up.


A Regenerating Dream. Picked up by her mother, young Andrea was placed onto her mattress. Bedtime was never easy for Andrea, who whined endlessly each night. Sitting up with her arms and legs crossed, she moaned “mom, why do I need to sleep? I'm an android!” The phrase 'recharging your batteries' was not intended to be taken literally; however, it was accurate regarding Andrea. Hidden under her left thigh was a small door with a battery. Impossible to remove, the battery was what kept Andrea alive. If she spent too long 'uncharged' she would indeed 'die' for real. She sat beside her daughter and briefly paused. Attempting to control her temper became increasingly difficult with each passing night. Weary of hearing the same complaints, yet having no legitimate reason to give her, Andrea's mother frankly stated,

“Why? Because I said so! Your father and I have been teaching you about 'blending in' with the rest of humans, and sleeping is something we do. Sleeping is a task all living creatures partake in. Getting tired is often bothersome and many consider sleep a waste of time. Yet when they do not sleep, their behavior and general functionality grows significantly worse. Eventually, something malfunctions without sleep. Extreme deprivation could result in death.” Andrea recalled her past as she laid down. Like a cellphone running on low power, she would indeed malfunction. Trial and error over several previous outings as a young child revealed 'lack of battery power' was partially responsible for the disasters of the day. She knew her mother was right, although she swore she would never tell her. “So you're saying I will 'malfunction' without enough sleep? Funny, I thought you did not believe I am a machine, yet you are using words which often reference machines. 'Malfunctioning' humans indeed. What are you saying mother,” Andrea sarcastically replied. “I am saying you must go to sleep! GOOD NIGHT! End of discussion,” Andrea's mother shouted as she slammed the bedroom door with such force the door cracked slightly. Noticing the crack, yet also intending to sleep, she made note of the issue. She would have her husband buy and replace the door the following day.

Reflecting on her creation, Dr. Rosalina James wondered why Andrea needed sleep too. As a Technical Engineering PhD, upon learning she could not have children, decided she would create her own. She was shocked to realize although she designed Andrea with numerous physical and intellectual enhancements, she forgot about adding 'no sleep required.' With an enormous investment of time, money and love placed into her creation, why not design the best? Perhaps she was running on a low battery the night she programmed certain sections of Andrea. 'Nothing is perfect,' whether specially built or developed between people. She and her whole family would learn how true the statement was throughout their lives. Young Andrea finally gave into sleep. Laying still and closing her eyes activated the regeneration cycle. Her last thoughts were regarding her parent's reminding her constantly about 'blending in.' She was often forced to hide her unique enchantments to prevent undesired consequences, such as being taken away and experimented on. Whether an android's regeneration cycle and a human's bedtime are similar enough to compare is up for interpretation. What could not be disputed was eight hours of hell was forced upon Andrea each night. Her body laid motionless on her bed, yet the gears in her head literally turned. Smashing into each other, each wire in her body unraveled and hid behind the destructive gears. Similar to how a spider weaves her web, the wires connected and wrapped around each gear one by one. Shocking each gear back into it's proper location is what Andrea imagined being bit by a black-widow spider would feel like. Thankfully, her programming prevented feeling pain or any other physical sensation. Her mother was not 'malfunctioning' the night she installed that enhancement. Her disobedience caused her nightmares. The few times she willingly slept she had dreams filled with ocean waves flowing throughout her entire body. Each of the millions of gears were sea creatures or coral reefs. Jellyfish and electric eel wires hugged each other and other sea creatures. Fictional mermaids could be seen gazing at the fish jumping over each gear when they turned. Andrea, like the fictional mermaids, also dreamed of being fully human at times. Yes, they suffered from nightmares and experienced pleasant dreams too. However, the differences were evident if remembered. Apparently humans often did not remember their nighttime experiences unless they were spectacularly vivid. Forgetting the crashing and exploding of each element in her body would be a blessing.

Halfway through her regeneration cycle, she started remembering a lesson on bears. The relevant point was learning they hibernated during the winter. Winter had arrived on Lush Island, although telling the differences between the seasons was difficult on a beach. Andrea was grateful bears were not present near her home. They were however, present in her nightmares tonight. Her body was a bear pit, the gears became stepping stones. When they connected with the internal wiring cords, a bridge was created. 'Quiet,' she thought. 'Slow and steady wins the race' Andrea recalled her father saying and in her dreams she took the advice.

Steeping lightly she continued her quest to reach her thigh. If she could reach the battery perhaps her irrational dreams would stop with her being fully charged. Only a few more gears left she noticed as she proceeded. Throughout her journey she dodged bears of all different species. Waking up a bear out of hibernation in real life would probably result in death. Many humans, such as her father, were equally as dangerous as wild animals when woken up too early. She hated sleep; ironically she was a wild animal when being woken up.

Surpassing the obstacles of the bear cubs, unusually rare bear species and polar bears proved difficult. The cubs seemed to wake up; they did not. If they did the other bears would have been awoken. Occasionally loosing her balance Andrea would sway and fall off the gear/stepping stone, grabbing the internal wiring/bridge ropes for dear life. Perhaps she would be fortunate enough to reach her thigh and charge herself quickly without self harm. In nightmares, nothing was easy for humans or androids.

She stopped walking for a moment. Standing on one gear for too long was unwise she realized too late. A snap in half and an attempt at jumping away proved futile. The snap of the cord as the gear cracked into pieces, flying in all directions, was the last straw. If she had a heart it would have stopped. Breathing would have been impossible given what she was soon to behold.

The bears heard her pass, the snap waking them up quickly. Unaware of her presence they began fighting each other. Normally, this would have been a wonderful distraction. Unfortunately, the bear brawl was moving rapidly, growing more violent with each second. Blood filled in the gaps of her body and the pressure from their steps started breaking the surrounding cords and gears. Eternity seemed to pass and Andrea wondered why she had not yet woken up. Nothing could have prepared her for what she witnessed with the final two bears, the black and brown bears.

The Black Bear versus Brown Bear battle was taking place directly on the part of the thigh she was trying to reach all night. The brown bear was near death and the black bear was preparing his killing blow. Accepting there was nothing she could do for herself, she did the only logical task dream Andrea could do. “STOP! I'M THE ONE YOU'RE LOOKING FOR,” screaming loudly enough she hoped. Panicking as she waved for them, “ I woke you up! I'm sorry...” Both bears stopped and set their eyes upon her. Both blood soaked, they raced towards her and she found herself uncertain about what should be done next. Some bears can be outwitted by playing dead, others you needed to flee before they caught and killed you she recalled. As she was considering her options... “Good morning Andrea! I trust you had pleasant dreams?” Her mother shook her awake, noticing that she was tossing and turning in bed instead of motionless. A seven hour regeneration cycle was close enough. They had no plans for the day; being slightly tired would not cause significant trouble.

“Mom! You'll never believe what I dreamed last night! Oh, and good morning to you too,” Andrea replied still panicked from the previous night. “What time is it? Have eight hours passed already,” she asked sitting up. She stared deeply into her mother's eyes. Looking underneath, clearly her mother got enough sleep; no dark circles could be seen. Trying to calm her down, Andrea's mother remarked, “Well, only seven hours passed. Your tossing and turning made me wake you. For today, seven is close enough.”

“NO! I need that one more hour! You're right,” Andrea cried. Setting a timer for one more hour was pointless in Dr. James opinion. However, she humored Andrea and set it for one more hour. Dr. James knew she was right, yet adored when Andrea finally agreed. A smile stretched across her face. As intelligent as her little girl was, she was unaware her mother knew more about her regeneration cycle beyond the science and purpose. Regardless of the topic, any night they had a fight, the next morning she would report bad dreams. At least there were a few nights each week she had pleasant dreams. Perhaps there would be more in the future.

An hour later, Andrea woke up without help and found her mother sitting in the living room. “Good morning mother. I'm glad I received the extra hour.” “Better dreams I assume?” “Yes. I do have a specific request however; never take me camping. I hate bears.” Nodding her head, she inquired “Why bears? Personally I hate camping yet have nothing against bears.” “Simple mother; bears hibernate,” Andrea replied. Making no sense to her mother, she took Andrea aside and they watched TV, fully attentive to the cartoons playing on screen.


"... then Suzie comes in, starts screaming at him and tells him to pack his bags! Can you believe it!? He told me himself, from man to man." "Holy moly! This is like... wow!" "Yeah, right! This just happened!" "Oh, my God!" "I know!" is his instinctive response. "Loren, you should call your sister. Loren ... call your sister. Now." She picks up her phone nervously and types in her sister's number. Riing...Riing... "Hey, Suzie! Your big sis' here. How are you? Have you got a minute?... aha ... aha ... oh, really? ... aha ... no way! ... aha ... did he? ... and what did she say? ... oh, I see ... ok, no no no that's absolutely fine. ... I'll call you tomorrow. Ok then. Byyyye!" "What did she say?" "Fred came home late apparently. He was due to be back from his team building weekend last night but only got home a few hours ago and-" "- She smelled someone else's perfume on him!" "I don't know about that. She didn't say. But she is furious. The neighbours came in to calm her down. They have just left her house." "So, what happened?" "Well, it sounds like he was the only one who had got home late. The only one beside his boss. You know, the new guy from Paris... uhm... Jonn Pawl ... John-Paul-" "- You mean, Jean-Paul. So, what about Jean-Paul?" Matt was getting nowhere close to hearing the full story. "Well, come on, then! What happened next, Loren?!!!" "Okayyyy!", she yells back. She stands up from the sofa to distance herself from him and heads for the fridge where she pours herself a glass of white wine. She returns the half-empty bottle in the fridge, closes it carefully and takes a deep breath in. "It sounds like he was having an affair..." "What! Jean-Paul and him?!" Matt asks incredulously. "No way!!" His right hand combs through his hair before falling flat onto his lap. "There is no way in the world that your brother-in-law is having an affair with Jean-Paul! No way! Not in a million years!" Loren watches Matt pacing their living-room. "My sister does not actually HAVE any real proof other than the fact that he came home a day after the training. He said that he had spent the night at Jean-Paul's and-" "- and that's why they must have slept together! That's it?!" Matt scratches his face. "There could be hundreds of other reasons why he did not come home last night", Matt suggests tentatively. "Maybe they had to finish off important business that could not wait until Monday", he interjects. "Or maybe... maybe Jean-Paul needed someone to talk to and Fred volunteered his time." Dead silence. "I don't know! They could have been involved in something after the two-day training..." he ventures. "Suzie said to me that Fred had come home wearing a suit that did not belong to him. She seems to vaguely remember Jean-Paul wearing one very similar to the one Fred was dressed in." Matt's pupils are moving left, right, then left and right again, as if trying to make sense of what has just been implied. He is now staring at his wife in disbelief. "Your sister has got it wrong, Loren. He loves her. He has always loved her so much. This weekend was their only weekend apart since they got married. This is not right..." He sits down on the sofa again, facing the TV on mute. From the open kitchen, she can see his head going down. He is now massaging his neck. "Matt? Maaat...? Is there something that you have not told me?" She is now standing in front of the TV, facing a man who seems to be avoiding her gaze. "What were you two talking about over the phone? ... You said you had talked to Fred." "Fred had come to see me just before the training weekend. He came to ask me for money to buy himself a new suit." "Aha..." "He wanted it to make a good impression. He wanted to impress his boss to... to get a promotion. He had it in his head that the start of this new year would be the start of a new him. He had made plans for a better future." "Go on..." "Fred told me that he was onto something good that would allow him to be the man he had always wanted to be and ..." "And...?" "He didn't go home last night because he... because he..." Matt buries his face in his hands, tears flowing through his fingers. "He didn't go home last night because he was scared." "Scared!? ... Of who?! Of what?!" Loren goes back to the fridge resigned to finish the bottle of wine. " Somehow during the training, someone left an envelope addressed to him. In it, he found some official documents. He told me that he had looked at them on the way home, at the end of the training but he could not TELL me what it was about. He stayed at Jean-Paul's because he could not face his wife." "And that's why you asked me to call my sister..." It all made sense. "But guess what? She has thrown him out of the house so we'll never know..." Ping! Matt searches for his phone and finds a message from Fred. He reads the message out loud: " 'Sorry I didn't get to say goodbye or explain. Tell Loren I love her. And tell her to look after Suzie. I need some time to process what I have just found out.' " Both Matt and Loren are puzzled by the mystery behind these words. Ping! Matt reads out the second message: " 'Whoever did this for me did us all a favour... I guess. Can I come for a sec? I am in front of your house.' " Matt and Loren stare at each other. Fred is here... Just as Loren prepares to open the door, another message comes through. "No message" Matt says. "Just two attachments." He opens the first one, a screenshot of a letter: "Hi Fred, upon checking the validity of the documents you received, I can confirm that they are authentic. The content has been checked by my lawyer friend who can be contacted on 0453231547 should you wish to discuss the implications of your recent findings. Take care, Jean-Paul." "The second one is a printscreen. Something about DNA tests... " Matt meets his wife's eyes. "Loren, you need to sit down. This DNA test confirms that Fred and Suzie are.... related... According to this picture, they are... they are siblings..." "He is my brother..." Loren's glass hits the ground, she runs through the main door and hugs Fred who falls apart at her sight. For the pain is real. The hurt, agonising. Change, daunting. A new man this year, Fred will be.