Hunters canvassing a swampy, low-lying area in the woods beside the highway reported a suspicious item. They discovered what they thought was a partially decomposed body. Being aware of the need to preserve the integrity of crime scenes, they waded out within a few yards of it and then remained nearby until we arrived. I had my team cordon off the perimeter and we went in slowly to confirm the details. As it turns out, it was a false alarm. The ‘body’ was in fact, just a department store mannequin. The hunters could be forgiven for their reasonable mistake. From a distance it really did look like a human form, and we had a number of missing persons cases in the area. They were just trying to help. We need more concerned citizens like them doing their civic duty. I gathered up the lifelike debris and removed the crime scene tape from the bog. The other hunters had a good laugh at the one who spotted the ‘corpse’. He seemed to take it good naturedly. Frankly it was going to be a relief to turn in the official code for ‘false alarm’. Those missing persons were hopefully still alive somewhere. I returned back to the office and filed my report. My supervisor asked about the call. We had a good laugh at the thought of my pants and shoes getting muddy to retrieve a plastic dummy. It was “all in the line of duty”, I shrugged; but then I told him I was going to turn in a cleaning bill on my ‘expense report’. That elicited an even greater laugh. We don’t receive any compensation for damaged clothing in performing our work duties. Carrying a scantily-clad, waterlogged store mannequin out of the swamp must have been hilarious to witness. Even though I was glad it wasn’t a real corpse, it did mean that some family remained in the dark about the whereabouts of their loved one. I vowed to keep searching for them. There were a number of leads that trickled in but after working them to their natural conclusion, I wasn’t any closer to finding the missing folks. A few days later we received another call about a suspected body floating in the bog. It was apparently at the same location, just off the highway. At first I thought it was only a delayed report of the original incident but the eyewitness insisted he'd saw it earlier that morning. I wanted to be skeptical but knew the caller. He wasn't the sort of guy to be confused about what day it was. He was as sharp as a tack so I knew he'd definitely witnessed something suspicious. I figured I'd just accidentally left some pieces of the damned dummy in the water. I stopped by a sporting goods store to buy waterproof waders. I didn't want to ruin another pair of shoes and pants retrieving it from the swamp. This time was different. There was a strong decomposition odor present. Even from the road, I smelled it. The object was in almost the exact same location as before but this one wasn't plastic or fiberglass. It was definitely human remains. I called headquarters. My investigation team brought their forensic tools and cordoned off the investigation grid. The corpse was an adult female in a fairly advanced state of decay. There were no obvious signs of trauma but I'd leave the deeper analysis to the medical examiner. It was my job to preserve the scene and retrieve her body. By my estimation, the body had been there for quite some time. It was waterlogged and had possibly been weighed down by something to expedite the process. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize it was weighed down by the mannequin. Besides underscoring my admittedly subpar earlier investigative work, it also suggested a clever culprit. They had to have realize that eventually the real corpse would rise to the surface. What better place to hide a real body than underneath a fake one? It was bound to make the investigator dismiss it as a false alarm. The idea was as clever as it was daring. That afternoon I mulled over what we knew. The victim was a young adult caucasian female, previously in good health; and her cause of death was definitely a homicide. Her fingers were badly degraded from submersion in the murky swamp water but the medical examiner did his best to get usable prints using a few advanced forensic techniques he knew. We'd hopefully get results back from the state crime lab soon. Her general features matched one of our missing persons cases but the prints and dental records would conclusively verify what we suspected. Then would come the difficult task of informing the relatives, figuring out what happened, and who was responsible. She deserved justice. I was troubled over the bizarre method of disposing the body. The killer had hundreds of square miles of inconspicuous places to hide his violent deed, yet the culprit choose to almost 'flag' her corpse for us to find. It was an incredibly risky decision. Why draw our attention to her rural dumping spot? An old log or nearby river stones placed atop the body would've possibly held it down, indefinitely. Honestly, the odds of finding a well-hidden victim are pretty slim but we don't advertise that to the public. Crime shows and movies imply that no crime goes unpunished and that misnomer hopefully serves to discourage some premeditated crimes. Usually though, most murders are solved by hard work of the investigator, dumb luck, and accidentally incriminating behavior by the culprit. Strangely, this murderer actually took deliberate steps to help us find her body. On the surface it didn't make sense. Once the victim's identity was determined, we'd interview her known associates. It's almost always someone they knew, but in this case it seemed like the killer was daring us to catch them. Either that or they were so cocksure of their mental superiority that they hoped the plastic marker was so distinctive we'd never look there again. It was clever, ironic, AND cocky. I admit my first instinct was to discount there being a real body at the crime scene, after retrieving the mannequin earlier. The killer may have also realized escaping decomposition gasses would eventually cause it to rise. They may have hoped we'd assume it was just another false alarm and leave it there, unmolested. Those theories and others even more bizarre floated in my head as I awaited to final lab report. When it came in, I had the unpleasant task of informing the young lady's parents. It wasn't the news they wanted to hear but it hopefully offered them closure. Not knowing can lead to a false sense of hope. I vowed to uncover the truth and bring her killer to justice. Then I asked if they could give me a list of her known friends and associates. Up until that point, they had been appreciative, and forthright. As soon as I asked whom she hung around with, they grew immediately silent. It wasn't just my investigator paranoia thinking that either. My partner noticed their reaction too. Normally when people clam up like that, it suggests a greater awareness of the truth, or outright culpability. I wasn't sure what the case was, but they were definitely hiding something. He went on a fact-finding mission and spoke with several of her friends. They projected an air of conspiracy or suspicion too. A little background digging unveiled something we were not ready for. The details of which possibly explained their mutual lack of transparency. The deceased had an intimate relationship with my supervisor’s college-age son. He hadn’t come forward to speak with us about finding her, and a number of their social media posts had been deleted since her disappearance. It looked very bad. Worse, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. It wasn’t easy to question family members of law enforcement. Officially they was just ordinary citizens like anyone else but the unspoken truth was often different. They were sometimes insulated from equal justice by their family ties. As a paramilitary organization, we had a rank-and-file system of doing things that protects our own. It was deemed ‘professional courtesy’ to extend them extra ‘consideration’; and that always stuck in my craw. My partner was thinking the same thing I was. We had to bring him in for questioning ASAP but that wasn’t going to be easy. His father was fiercely loyal to those he cared about. He would definitely try to obstruct our investigation if given the opportunity. I though back to our conversation about wrangling the mannequin out of the swamp and ruining my shoes. He and I went days without taking about any of my cases. It was pretty unusual for him to take interest in them so early on, but I knew that alone wasn’t proof of wrongdoing. Obviously I couldn’t yet connect his son to the crime, nor did it suggest he knew anything about the murder, but my suspicions were growing. I started to share my hypothetical idea with my partner but he just shook his head. We were both thinking the same thing but were afraid to express it out loud. That was the very definition of dangerous. Strategically I knew I had to plan out my next course of action carefully. One wrong step could be disastrous. If I brought in the state police as a backup and his son turned out to be innocent, I’d burn my career and my relationship with him. If I confided my ugly suspicions to him discreetly and they were actually true, he might bury the evidence, or worse. Much worse. I didn’t want to believe he would cover up a crime or commit one himself but parental love is a powerful thing. I couldn’t afford to be blindsided by assumptions or coworker loyalty. Later that afternoon, Frank stopped me in the hallway to ask if there had been any further advancements in the case. I wanted to stonewall him until I could decide how to handle the issue but it was too hard to ignore. I decided to just come right out, man-to-man and confront him directly. “We spoke to Miss Yates friends and family. Among other things, they mentioned that she had an intimate relationship with ...Joey. I’m going to need to talk to him ASAP, Frank; and I’ll need you to fully recuse yourself from any further involvement in my investigation, going forward. Do you understand? It’s the only way this can go down and maintain the necessary level of impartiality.” I studied his face but there was no hint of surprise or shock. There was none. He definitely knew Joey had been involved with the victim, and he already realized he would be a prime suspect in the murder case. The only question was, did he realize his son’s freedom was on the line AFTER she was positively identified, or BEFORE. I didn’t really want to know at that point. It was definitely becoming uncomfortable. Frank sighed. He was obviously relieved that the truth about their connection came out but I still couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t try to run interference to save his son. I’d revealed my hand for the benefit of seeing how he would react. The gamble paid off but it also changed how I needed to conduct the investigation from that point on. He would surely inform Joey of my intentions. That could make things go sideways rapidly. “I’ll have him in your office first thing tomorrow morning. You have my word, Mike.” One thing he didn’t do, was proclaim his innocence. It was a very telling reaction; and as an officer himself, he had to realize I’d notice. That certainly didn’t help me feel like I was overreacting to my suspicions. An innocent man would want to step forward immediately and clear his name once reasonable suspicions arose. Instead his; ‘I was unaware but I’ll fully cooperate’ act, was unbecoming for a highly-competent law-enforcement veteran. I nodded and thanked Frank for the promise and understanding. Afterward I advised my partner of the sudden development. It was going to be an interesting few days. I hoped he knew better than to ask me to go easy on Joey. It was highly deceptive and unethical. Frank had stood beside me a hundred times when we pressed other suspects for answers over the years. Sometimes we pressed them hard. That's how detectives bring the truth to light. The fact that it would be his own son sweating in the interview chair this time shouldn't make any difference. Regardless, he probably hoped I would extend some ambiguous 'professional courtesy'. Human nature being what it is in most people, devotion to justice takes a back seat to protecting our loved ones. I understood the sentiment on principle but I had an official job to do. Even if Joey was innocent of the crime and coverup, Frank knew he would be a prime suspect once we connected him directly to the victim. Only after I made a formal request to talk with him did Frank acknowledge what we both already knew. He was using his authority to glean details of my ongoing investigation, in order to shield his son from suspicion. I put my partner on stakeout duty that night to make sure ‘Little Joey’ didn't run. We no longer had the element of surprise. If he fled, we'd unfortunately have to work against our own organization to bring him in because some of our fellow officers would help him out of misguided loyalty. I also reminded Jessie that Frank knew we'd stake out his son's home. As a highly-experienced veteran, he was familiar with every trick in the book to evade detection. Ordinary fugitives blindly react. The as-yet uncharged son of a high ranking police captain would be able to plan out an effective escape, using the vicarious knowledge he possessed by being so connected to the law-enforcement world. Jesse would have to keep his eyes peeled. To my surprise, Joey arrived at my office door right on time the next morning. On one hand, it was a big relief to get on with the process and avoid dealing with drama and complications. Almost immediately however I got the impression he'd been coached on exactly what to say, and what not to say. That part wasn't so surprising. It didn't take having a chief detective for a father to realize that being interviewed in a murder investigation was going to be intense. Even innocent people sweat during the prolonged heat of interrogations. I wasn't so jaded that I believed it was impossible for the innocent to look guilty when they were not. Plenty of innocent folks fall apart because they are nervous and it makes sense to organize what they plan to say, but that also makes it more difficult for investigators like me to determine their culpability. There's an ebb and flow to these things and appearances matter. Joey was way too well-coached for ordinary techniques to be effective. Up until that point, he'd passed 'the sniff test' of my run-of-the-mill questions with flying colors. I could feel his father's eyes monitoring the proceedings through the one-way mirror. Clearly Frank was making sure his son followed the script the'd rehearsed the night before. So much so that his answers came off the tongue too quickly. I knew I had to switch gears if I was going to have any success but that would be tricky too. It had to be quick and highly convincing. Ordinarily having Frank witness the interrogation wasn't a big detail at all. He would observe the suspect's reaction and behavior while my partner and I hammered them with questions. In this case however, I knew it was me he was watching. If I rattled Joey too much, he'd swoop in and put a stop to the interrogation. I wasn't sure what pretext Frank would use to silence him, but Joey would clam up and any reasonable hope of a confession would go out the window. After three predictable 'softball' questions in a row, I did a dramatic about-face to throw him off-guard. Previously my questions were not accusatory at all. They just dealt with verifying his whereabouts from the time period of her last known eyewitness appearance, up until her body was discovered submerged in the swamp. I came out and asked Joey point-blank if it was his idea to use a mannequin on top of her real body, as a 'false flag' to confuse us. He actually grinned. He was visibly proud of how clever he'd been to use it to weigh her body down and delay the investigation. It was the first natural reaction I'd witnessed from him all morning. I knew his father was just about to end things. I had to dangle one more tempting hook in front of him before it was over. "Neither of you thought I'd go back into that nasty ol’ bog water, did you? You thought I was so particular about my clothes and shoes that I'd just ignore it if her real body ever floated to the surface. While the idea is both clever and daring, I'm insulted you thought I wouldn't follow up on 'another mannequin' sighting. I might grumble a little bit about it but I'd go back into that swamp a dozen more times if it was necessary to do my job. Your father owes me a dry cleaning bill!" "Oh man, you wouldn’t believe it! He and I had a bet. He didn't think you'd go back in after it, but I did. I swear! I knew you’re a hard ass. I told Dad that drawing attention to the scene was a huge mistake. I..." Frank angrily burst into the room and yelled at Joey to shut his mouth. Then he raced over to the interview camera and erased the video. Not to be foiled by the 'undo' feature, he permanently deleted to file in the trash folder so there was no way it could be recovered. That seemed to greatly satisfied him. He sneered and warned me that it would be my word against theirs; and that it would also amount to professional suicide to accuse them without any proof. They both left the station in a self-important huff. Meanwhile I went back to my office to review something of paramount importance. Anticipating a similar scenario to what actually transpired, I'd set up a backup camera in the interrogation room to document everything and capture evidence. I decided to let the FBI know I had not extended my colleague with the 'professional courtesy' he wanted. Instead I’d let them be the ones to inform him about the extra video camera at their trial.


She was electric. Her feet shuffled in a clumsy glide to the beat of the song, her hands rising to clap along with the singer. The stale beer she had found lodged between two wooden planks sat on the dusty bar, half of it drank and now sloshing around on her empty stomach. I hear the secrets that you keep When you’re talkin’ in your sleep The speaker was crackling as “Talking In Your Sleep” by The Romantics desperately tried to keep playing. The joy that she felt listening to music was a refreshing change from the hellscape she was trapped in. In this moment she didn’t have to run away from the decaying bodies of someone’s loved one, she didn’t have to fight back against other survivors who wanted to rob her. The bar was a safe haven she never expected to find; having a working radio capable of playing its melody above a soft whisper was a luxury. Her hands wrapped around the warm beverage and took a swig. You tell me that you want me She uses the bottle as a microphone as she slides across the wrecked floor, a sticky mixture of old liquor and sawdust making her feet stumble.

You tell me that you need me Her eyes flash over to the old band poster that was half visible and she points at the mysterious singer as if serenading him. The man had kind eyes and lips that weren’t calloused and cracked, with soft hair that she ached to feel between her nimble fingers. You tell me that you love me If only that poster would wink back at her, better yet if he would materialize out of the poster and wrap his arms around her waist. The feeling of another person holding you close and the warmth of their body was a mere memory that she couldn’t even find the energy to recall.

And I know that I’m right There is a lull in the music as the speaker steadily becomes more garbled and her own singing is louder than the radio’s.

‘Cause I hear it in the night As if it was planned, Ramona’s moment of normalcy was jeopardized by the sound of shotguns and raised voices in the distance. Not wasting a moment, she quickly moved towards the collection of rubble, beer still in hand, as she tucked her frail body as far back and hidden as she could. She positioned herself in a way where she could lift her head up to view the entirety of the room or lower it to remain unseen. The bar looked as if it had been abandoned for around the same amount of time since the apocalypse had occurred. It reflected the chaos of the day that it happened, when an unknown virus spread throughout the U.S. after a failed experiment, infecting over half of the population and leaving survivors to fend for themselves. The virus would infect the body over 72 hours. First came the restlessness within the first 24 hours, progressively worsening until your veins glowed with a deep purple hue during the final hours. She had seen hundreds of bodies during her journey and it soon became difficult to tell the difference between those alive and dead. So, when she found relics of the past that used to provide joy and entertainment, she clung to them in an attempt to escape the current reality. But, like all good things, they come to an end. The door flew open, the hinges creaking in protest and drowning out the music for a moment.

I hear the secrets that you keep “I haven’t heard this song in so long,” a raspy voice chuckled. “Makes you remember those nights bent over a bottle.” A more lively and crispy voice laughed at the comment, their boots causing the floor to groan. “Honestly, I feel like I’m back in the city with my buddies.” Ramona bit back a gasp as the two individuals’ faces revealed themselves. There was a dark coating of dust and grime that coated their faces, their eyes devoid of life, as they shuffled around the room just like she had when she first came in.

“How in the Hell do they have working speakers?” The raspy one asked in awe. “More importantly,” the younger one spoke as his eyes scaled the room slowly, “Who was playing music?” Sweat rolled down the side of her face as she held her breath, breathing shallowly through her nose. She should’ve been more cautious, she should’ve known people would find the building, but she lost her reason to care.

“Hello?” One of the voices called, their eyes flickering to her hiding spot. Before he could move closer to inspect, the gruff one grabbed the man’s shoulder in a small warning. “If,” he began slowly, “someone was here before us, I highly doubt they would be eager to let us live. There ain’t nothing here except for the music and we’re wasting time trying to prove otherwise,” he gave the room a lookover. “The only reason a person would be here is if they got a death wish.” Ramona flushed her back against the corner and shut her eyes, the sound of her blood roaring in her ears. The two men had gone quiet, save for the creak of their boots as they moved across the floor back to the entrance. As soon as the door slammed shut, she poked her head out and cautiously moved forward.

I hear the secrets that you keep Her hand was in a crushing grip around the coolness of the bottle as she shakily raised it to her lips. The amber liquid flowed down her throat, the bitterness a welcomed sensation against her dry tongue.

When you’re talkin’ in your sleep Immediately, a cough racked through her body as she attempted to swallow more and she pressed her hand against her mouth. The rattling in her chest subsided as she pulled her hand away. The red splatter that covered her hand only made her sigh in defeat. She let her gaze wander past her hand and onto her arm, purple veins extending up towards her shoulder.

I hear the secrets that you keep She let the tears fall as she placed the bottle back onto the bar. Her feet were still moving and she looked down at her legs. The jeans that she had found months back were ripped to shreds and her pale skin shone brightly through its cracks, more purple lines etched across her thighs. It was her final day, and she knew that the moment she let the speaker play. But what better way to die than to live in the beat of the music.


First Day at School

I kept telling myself to be brave but it wasn’t working. In fact, I was shaking in my shoes as I watched the scruffy looking kid with dirty blonde hair and a snotty nose get ever closer. I’d been watching him for more than a minute, making his way along the queue of primary school students, many of them first-timers, like me. He looked mean and, by the way he shouted at the other kids and roughed up the smaller ones, I could tell he was a nasty piece of work. I was petrified. It was a quarter to nine and there must have been well over a hundred kids all in various degrees of slouch as they waited in an untidy line for access into the playground of St. Joseph’s Primary School. Some bounced balls against the black stone wall, a couple of girls played hop scotch and others raced around playing tag. Most just stood around chattering noisily and eyeing off the newcomers, those for whom this was a painful first day at school. I watched nervously as Snotty Nose grabbed a younger kid by the shirt front and demanded he hand over any sweets he had. The kid protested saying he had none and got a rough slap across the ears for his trouble. I could feel my knees tremble as the bully drew level and turned his sneering face towards me. Although I wasn’t aware of it at the time, I was probably an outstanding target for anyone wanting to vent their spleen on a lesser mortal. With scrawny body and skinny legs to match, I was wearing a maroon beret than mum insisted made me look ‘intelligent.’ My white, matchstick legs poked out of grey flannel shorts and ended in black wooden clogs which, when I walked,  gave the impression that they were about to pull my poor legs from their sockets! “Gimme yer chewy,” he demanded, seeing that I had chewing gum in my mouth and that I was chomping on it vigorously to alleviate my nerves. As a six year old in a new country, I was totally in awe of all the older local kids. My family had arrived in Northern England just two weeks before Christmas and we were living with my grandma and grandad, mum’s parents. Today was to be my first day of schools after the Christmas break. Everything was so strange apart from the lousy weather which was depressingly similar to what we’d left behind in County Mayo! The bully had me completely frozen with fear as he was bigger and older than me and pushed his ugly face into mine, demanding a response. I opened my mouth to say something but could scarcely form the words. When I did manage to babble something about not having any more chewing gum, he erupted in a scream of derision. “Hahaha, we got a bloody foreigner ‘ere – can’t even speak proper English, he can’t. Say that again, kid! Where you from, you bloody foreigner?” I could understand his heavy Lancashire accent no better than he could understand my thick Irish brogue and that wasn’t going to be any help in this situation. I tried to say something again but found myself blabbering incoherently. Then, to my horror, the bully reached into his trouser pocket and produced a shiny red pocket knife which he proceeded to open with a flourish. I almost wet myself! “You’re probably hiding a packet of chewy under that stupid looking beret,” he sneered and reached out, grabbing the little wick on top of my beret between the thumb and finger of one hand while he deftly sliced it off with the penknife in the other! “OK, that’s enough!” The girl’s voice was strong and harsh and I recognised it immediately. Moira, my older sister, stepped in from behind me and gave Snotty Nose a rough push in the chest which was strong enough to send him staggering backwards. A cheer went up from all the kids standing close by. Moira was 3 years older than me, about the same age as my assailant, but she was tall for her age. “You leave my brother alone or you’ll have me to deal with!” I could hardly believe my ears but here was my big brave sister sticking up for me in front of the whole school! The bully’s face turned scarlet with rage and embarrassment – embarrassment at being humiliated by a mere girl! He regained his balance and made a lunge at Moira but was stopped in his tracks as she swung her school satchel in a wide arc and caught him fair across the face. That blow sent him flat on his back and he was obviously seeing stars. Just then the school bell rang and the sea of kids surged forward through the gate and headed for their classes. Talk about ‘Saved by the bell…’ Moira turned briefly towards me and gave me a wink. “See you at lunch time kid,” was all she said and disappeared into the crowd. I shuffled along with a score or more other first timers towards the principal’s office, as previously instructed, and it was here that we were given the induction speech by a bespectacled Mr. Grimsby, a large, imposing man in a grey double breasted suit. The speech basically consisted of a list of does and don’ts and the corresponding punishments for anyone foolish enough to disregard them. We were then marched down the corridor to our new classroom where we were introduced to Miss Snape, the teacher charged with our education for the next twelve months. Miss Snape reminded me of a stork with wire rimmed spectacles on the end of its beak. She walked like a stork, too, seeming to be pulled along by an invisible string attached to the end of her long beaky nose. Our new teacher allocated us seats at the old oak desks which smelled of plasticine and glue. Next came her little speech which was almost a repeat of Grimsby’s but with a few embellishments. The message was the same though – do as you’re told, don’t step out of line, talk out of turn or think outside the box. That was how things were done in 1950. The first lesson of the day and for countless days hence, was Religious Instruction. It was through these classes that we learnt of the omnipotence of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, the mystery of three gods in one – Father, Son and Holy Ghost and how god the father sent his only son to redeem us, the wicked, evil human race from our sins and the power of Satan. At least RI wasn’t too taxing on the brain since we weren’t expected to understand these holy mysteries – we just had to accept them as true and without question. The next lesson, Maths or Arithmetic as it was called then, was all together different. We were actually expected to learn something and come up with answers which were either right or wrong – no ‘maybes’ where numbers were concerned. I hated this subject and never did well in it though a good memory came to my rescue on many occasions. It was towards the much-anticipated end of the Arithmetic lesson that Miss Snape, preceded by her beak, made a beeline towards where I was sitting. “Stand up child,” she spat. Already traumatised by the events earlier that morning, I could scarcely believe that I was in the firing line again. ‘ This is really not my day ,’ was the thought that shot through my mind as I squirmed up from my seat. “Am I mistaken or are you actually chewing gum in my class?” she demanded.    “Ye-yes, miss,” I stammered. “Get out here in front of the class,” she ordered “and throw that filthy gum in the waste basket!” I did as instructed. “What’s your name, boy?” “Kevin Hogan, Miss,” “Well, Kevin Hogan,” – she mouthed my name as if she were eating a turd – “the next time I catch you with gum or anything else in your mouth, you’ll get six of the best. And that goes for the rest of you lot,” she whirled around pointing the ruler she was wielding at the class who sat there wide-eyed in terror. I started to edge my way back to the relative safety of my desk when she turned on me again. “Where do you think you’re going?” The bespectacled beak stabbed the air in my direction then, before I could muster an answer, “Get into the corner behind the blackboard and put your hands on your head. You can stay there for the rest of the lesson.” For the next forty minutes I endured the discomfort of having to keep my hands clasped on my head but I smiled to myself at having escaped the greater torture of unfathomable numbers. Finally, the school bell rang to herald the midday lunch break. Having learnt my lesson, I stayed put until the stork gave me permission to join the other students exiting the classroom. Once in the playground, we all congregated on a low stone wall under an old sycamore tree and unpacked our lunches. Mum had done corned beef and mustard pickle which she knew I liked and, as a special treat, a slice of Christmas cake that had survived the Festive Season. I was chuffed to realise that my run-in with Miss Snape had conferred something of a badge of honour on me: the first kid to cop a punishment in the new term and I wallowed in the notoriety. But at the same time, I was as nervous as a bandit in a barroom and kept my eyes peeled for the snot-nosed bully in case he came looking for me. I breathed a silent sigh of relief when I noticed my brave sister Moira just a few yards away chatting and laughing with her own classmates and knew she was keeping an eye out for me.

Though not completely unscathed, I had survived my first morning at school. Then the bell rang again signalling the end of lunch recess. As we traipsed back to class I wondered, what would the afternoon bring?


Batman looked out the empty window to see an empty chair in a field full of pansies all up staring up at him with their little faces. Some were a deep dark purple and others were varying shades from sky to royal blue. There were also some yellow and white ones which were only just yellow or white. This year was unseasonably warm but the flowers didn't seem to mind. If they were asked they would say they really enjoyed the warm weather, each others' company and the extra lifespan given that the lawn hadn't been mowed in over two months. Batman simply stared out the window in a typical Batman-grimace way as he was unable to appreciate the pansies. He was actually upset the lawn hadn't been mowed. The pansies didn't mind. The chair probably didn't mind either since it was just a chair and not pansies or Batman or any kind of flower at all. -- I really like pansies. For most of this year I had forgotten what they were called until I asked my mom "What are the ones with the faces?". There was a lot of them in my yard this summer. Then one day my dad came over and mowed the lawn.


Tragedy had come upon the kingdom of Utrecht .The kind, beautiful Princess Diana had been cursed by an evil witch! The whole kingdom mourned the loss of their wonderful princess. Everyone wore black and cried. Prince Adam was shown into Diana's room. He saw her asleep on her bed , unresponsive.' A witch ,' one of the servants told Adam, ' came in during the night and put a curse on her . It looks like she is sleeping but the truth is her body is frozen . Nothing , not even time , can touch or wake her. She will remain like this forever .'Prince Adam fell to her side and cried while he kissed her hand . ' She was mad at me last night, she said I never showed her that I cared enough. I was too stubborn to apologize. I can't let it be the last thing she ever said to me . I won't . I promise Diana I will find a cure for you . Even if it takes me my whole life . '' it's impossible Adam,' the advisor told him ' you must forget about her and rule over the kingdom without her. It would take you two lifetimes to find a cure .''Then I'll spend an eternity if I have to in order to find it .' And with that Adam left the kingdom to find a cure .Years passed and no one heard of Prince Adam again . They forgot about him and eventually they forgot about their princess too as life went back to normal and someone else took her place in ruling the kingdom .Thousands of years passed . Generations came and went and society grew far more advance. Skyscrapers, as high as the clouds, were built in the city and cars flew in the sky. It was impossible that Prince Adam could even still be alive after all these centuries . He was presumed long dead .However, one day a robot came to the large city of Utrecht. It was very advanced and people began to gather around it.When the robot was asked who it was it said, 'My name is Robot-2938377. I come from a far away land with a cure for your princess. 'The people didn't understand what princess the robot meant. No princess had ruled over them for many years . Nonetheless , the robot led the way to an old, abandoned castle. Inside , just as she had been thousands of years ago , lay princess Diana on her bed , as peaceful and still as always . The robot carefully took out a bottle of a golden liquid and poured it into the mouth of Diana. With a start she woke up and everyone gasped !' My goodness !' Diana exclaimed .' I feel like I have been asleep for hundreds of years .' She then looked around the room, confused . She looked at the robot. ' What are you?' she asked it.' My name is Robot-2938377. Long ago, I once was a human by the name of Adam. I am all that is left of him . His body became weak as he grew old and decrepit. He replaced parts of himself with robot parts so he could continue his mission of finding a cure for you until nothing was left of him but the robot you see now . My only purpose in living is a memory as a human I once had and a desire to find a cure for my princess , after an evil witch put a curse on you . Now that my purpose is done , I am no longer needed and will shortly turn off forever . 'Diana realized all that had happened and cried for everything that she had lost and how long she had been asleep. Everyone and everything she had ever known was gone now , everything except Adam's desire to cure her , which had long outlived him . All the people in the room were moved by her crying.' Is there nothing that can be done for you ? ' Diana asked the robot as she hugged his metal body .Just for a moment the robot remembered what it was like to be human again from the warmth of her arms around him . 'There is one last thing you must do, yes, please . ' He said . ' I traveled thousands of miles to bring that cure to you, but during my travels I came upon one other thing in a very advance civilization. ' The robot handed her a stone .' This is a magic stone . Once you use it , you will go back and return to your time forever . Once you go back in time , you must stop that witch from cursing you , and live your life happily with your family and prince Adam.' Diana cried but she understood . She took the stone. She kissed the robot on its head and thanked it. The kiss gave the robot one last memory of love and what it was like to be a human before it ran out of energy and shut off for the rest of time.Diana looked at the stone in her hand and closed her eyes . When she opened them again she was back in her room but it was the day before the curse was put on her , just as she remembered it!She looked out her window and the kingdom was there, just like before. Into the room came prince Adam, human and all!' Is everything all right ?' he asked her .' I thought I heard something . 'Diana couldn't contain her excitement and hugged and kissed Adam. He was surprised but very happy . " I thought u were mad at me ." Adam wondered." Shut up and kiss me u fool ." She laughed .The next day the evil witch was caught and captured before she could curse Diana. She was kept in jail for her crimes . When the witch asked how they knew of her crimes before she even committed them, Diana told her she knew because of love which is the answer to everything , as it can know anything.Diana and Adam ruled over the kingdom and after that day never had another problem . They lived happily ever after.


HEAVEN SENT.       Kali was walking past Jessup’s store on Croydon High Street when she was approached  by a sales assistant handing out free samples of perfume.      “Go on take it” said the young sales assistant with the glowing smile.      “It will do you good.”      “Thank you” said Kali.      The perfume was called Heaven Scent it made Kali think of fresh flowers growing in a beautiful garden. Kali closed her eyes taking in the aroma of rose and jasmine, as she rubbed the perfume on her wrist. Kali tried not to think about the perfume as she went about her job caring for elderly people their own homes. Mr Biggs would not stand still while he ate his breakfast. Mrs Mills screamed during the day over the loss of her son and her spectacles when Kali called to visit.      During her lunch break Kali found herself walking along the high street towards  Jessop’s store. There was no one on the perfume counter maybe the staff had gone to lunch? Kali reached out taking the bottle of Heaven Scent from the display cabinet  putting it into her shoulder bag. What had she done? Kali wasn’t a dishonest person, she was trusted with the keys other to people’s houses.     Kali sat down in the small café two streets away from Jessop’s store. So that was what having an addiction did to you? She thought that it was like drugs or alcohol once you had tried it you wanted more. Kali stirred her coffee she must take the bottle of Heaven Scent back to Jessop’s store. What would have happened if she, had been stopped by a security guard outside the store or caught on the CTV cameras. Kali would explain to the sales assistant that she had accidently taken the perfume by mistake.      The sales lady did not smile or understand what had happened when Kali returned the bottle of perfume. She had said “You took the perfume from the display cabinet without paying for it”. “You came back because you felt guilty, I do not know if you borrowed the perfume and then thought you would return it because you did not like the smell”. “I’ve seen your sort before.     “No,” said Kali.      “You have it all wrong I am very sorry for what I did.”     The sales assistant then rang a bell for security; a man appeared in a black uniform. She said “This woman has taken a bottle of perfume from the display cabinet worth a total of seventy-two pounds. We shall see what Mr Beech as to say about this.” Kali was led up a back staircase by the security guard followed by Miss Campbell, the sales assistant from the perfume counter.  Kali felt the tears prick the back of her eyes. What would happen to her job and the people that she cared for? The perfume did not feel sensual to wear any more. There was the money that she had promised to send home each month to her help her disabled mother and six younger brothers and sisters in Africa. Would she lose her work permit to work in this country? How could she face the shame and humiliation of being labelled a thief?        Mr Beech a small distinctive a man in a grey suit got up from his desk and looked through his office window at the skyscrapers listening to what was being said. When he turned around Kali was crying and shaking. He asked her to sit down on the chair opposite him and offered her a glass of water from a decanter on his desk. Kali thought that he was considerate. She wished that they had met under different circumstances.     Mr Beech said, “Do you enjoy your job helping people Kali?”    “Yes.”   “Then you won’t make this mistake, again will you?”   “No Sir,” replied Kali.   “Good then I won’t see you in this office again.” “You returned the perfume, so no further action will be taken”. Kali thanked Mr Beech and they shook hands. Kali was in a state of shock and surprise over the incident. She still had her carers job with Care and Motivation. Kali thought that god had given her  a chance to redeem herself. He had guided her away from temptation she would say a prayer to the lord god and one for kind Mr Beech.    She had heard all about angels watching over people from the people that she cared for old Ellie often praised the angels and thanked them for the good things that  came into her life. People had seen angels before they had died? Maybe the lord god had sent an angel to watch over Kali and guide her away from temptation? Kali would study the work of angels from some of the books in the local library. The flat where she lived was not perfect. She had lots of good things in life to be thankful for food on the table, warmth and love from those around her.      The pastor at the church often talked about the way of the lord Kali would talk to him about her experience she would not disappoint the lord again by becoming vain and greedy. When she gave praise to the lord for the good things around her. She hoped that the lord and his guardian angels would hear her.      After Kali had left his office Mr Beech sat with his hands on his desk thinking about the incident with Kali. It had taken courage for the girl to return the item. He thought about how scared she had been when she looked at him with those big brown eyes. He was sure that he had made the right decision. She had known that it was wrong to take the perfume it was just a moment of madness on her part and she would not be making that mistake again.     Over the years he had seen lots of people in similar situations’ and he knew if people were genuine or dishonest. She could have just thrown the bottle of perfume, away rather than return it to the store. He was glad that Barnardo’s and his tutors had given him a chance in life all those years ago. This had given him the knowledge to deal with others less fortunate than himself.        A decade had passed by the store had to adapt to many changes to keep up with other High Street outlets. Mr Beech was still at the helm of Jessop’s. One day he had received a phone call from the hospital about his wife Beatrice. She  had been admitted to hospital with colon cancer. How was he going to break ,the news of Beatrice’s condition their son William who resided in America? Harold Beech thought back to how he had progressed in his chosen career. The Beeches had always wanted more children but it did not happen. It was a miracle when Beatrice had given birth to their William in her late thirties.         After visiting Beatrice in hospital Harold down sat on a bench in the hospital grounds taking in the peace and tranquillity. He was deep in thought when he was approached by a woman who sat down beside him.  ” You”, don’t remember me do you Mr Beech? The incident with the bottle of perfume. You showed compassion and understanding.”  “I did what? “ “After that incident with the bottle of Heaven Scent at Jessop’s store I thought that there was something missing from my life and that god had a purpose for me.” “Well it’s strange both of us meeting like this after all these years” replied Harold. “Yes, isn’t it” said Kali. One of the nurses told me about your wife I thought that I could help you?”  “It really is a miracle the way that we have met today” said Harold. “I help people in crisis” replied Kali putting her hand over Harold’s as they made their way to the hospital chapel to pray for Beatrice. On his way home that evening Harold thought about the young Kali and the mature woman dressed in the nuns  black habit.   Life goes on and sometimes even at my age it can take you completely by surprise. How shall I explain this to my friends and work colleagues that Kali just turned up at the hospital when I needed her. I will tell Beatrice about this when she wakes up from her operation. “Very strange indeed “said Harold as he turned the key in his front door lock, the phone rang in the hallway. “William” said Harold you hear  about these things happening to other people a sign from god. Today I met up  with a woman who had returned something to the store some years back, she was dressed in a nun’s habit and we went into the hospital chapel to say a prayer for your Mother. I felt better and more positive as I came out of the chapel.”


# Jägers They were getting closer, the time was fast approaching. I can hear the gentle rumble of their tanks in the distance, I can smell the fumes of the exhaust. Through the gloom and haze of the early morning, I can see them in the distance approaching the edge of the village. I never would have been able to do this before I was turned. I don’t remember who I was before I was turned or why, all that matters now is that the Sound told me and my brothers to be here and to wait. They have no idea we are here, my brothers lurk nearby, waiting. They don’t know it yet, but they are walking into a trap. We are that trap. From atop a building overlooking the narrow streets below, I let out a low growl to inform my brothers to make ready, they reply in kind and I hear them begin to edge closer to the roadside. I hear my brother's hearts begin to beat faster in preparation, another growl tells them to calm themselves, that the time isn’t right, that we must wait. I can see them more clearly now, there were nearly 50 of them, a number of tanks and other vehicles, slowly advancing towards us, checking each building. Were they looking for us, or something else? It must be something else, no way they could know we were here. One smell cuts through the smell of the exhaust from the tanks, I can smell their fear, I can hear their racing pulses, they are all scared, they had good reason to be. I hear their voices now, it's not a language that I was familiar with, but I remember some of the words, I remember hearing them before I was turned. “Buildings all clear Captain!” said one. “Where the fuck are these Krauts?” replied another. One of the men was looking at a map by torchlight, gesturing to other nearby buildings, instructing the men where to go. His heart was steady, with no smell of fear. He was in charge, he was my prey I can feel my brothers becoming impatient, I sympathise with them, why are we still waiting, they were right there, ripe for slaughter. Yet the Sound hadn't told us to attack, it kept us waiting. The tiles began to crack under my claws as my muscle tensed, my anticipation becoming unbearable. They were directly below us now, the men following the tank as it entered the narrow street out of the town. We had to go now or we would miss our chance, now was the time. The moment finally came. The Sound pinged, at last, my fur bristled as it passed through me. With a thunderous howl, I signaled to my brothers to attack, to unleash their fury on these invaders, and unleash it they did. “Wolves!” roared one of the men below, panic rippled through the rest of them as they scrambled for cover and protection, trying to find us in the gloom with torches and searchlights. They were too late, we had sprung our trap. I pounced off of my rooftop, landing on top of the lead tank directly below me. As I looked up, I was staring directly into the face of a terrified crewman, I snarled at him as he tried to turn his weapon on me. One swipe of my claw was enough to nearly remove his head from his shoulders. Blood erupted from the wound as his body fell back into the tank. The smell of iron filled my nose, awakening something inside of me, I searched around for who would be next. Before I could pounce on my next victim the Sound pinged again. This time a deeper tone, I remembered what I must do. I reached for the pouch hanging from my belt, tore off the cord, and pushed it through the open hatch, past the corpse of the crewman deep into the belly of the tank. As I let go, I could hear panicked voices from inside the metal shell, I leapt from the tank through the window of a nearby house. A deep explosion erupted from the tank, launching the turret into the air, narrowly missing a group of men as it landed. Our surprise was beginning to fade now, a cacophony of gunfire began, the smell of gunpowder filling the air, drowning out all other smells, as the men began to try to defend themselves. What little good it would do. A second explosion roared from down the street, back towards the square. They were trapped now. Now it was just a matter of time before they would all be dead. As I lumbered back through the shattered window, letting out another deafening howl, and looked for my next victim, it didn’t take long. As I tore out throats with my fangs and disemboweled with my claws, I could hear the snarls and roars of my brothers doing the same, and slowly but surely the gunfire became less and less. I was drenched with blood and viscera by the time I heard a different sound, a yelp, and a whimper. One of my brothers had been injured, how badly I couldn’t know, that would have to wait, I had to hunt. As the last of the gunfire ceased and the smell of gunpowder faded, the air was thick with the smell of iron and that of those soldiers who had soiled themselves as they died, I searched for one smell, one smell that had stood out. The one man who didn’t smell of fear, even now nothing but calm, he was who we were after. He was why all these men had to die. He was who the Sound wanted. My brothers and I regrouped as the slaughter finished. My wounded brother limped over, he would survive, the injury was minor. We found the man without fear taking shelter in one of the houses lining the street. He heard us sniffing and padding up the stairs shouting at us as we closed in. “You stay away from me you fuckers, I’ll send you straight back to hell!” firing a few shots from his weapon through the closed door as we approached. One inaudible growl was enough to tell one of my brothers to retrieve him unharmed, just as the Sound wanted. We tore the door from its hinges and before the man could react his cries were cut short as he was dragged back on the street my brother grasping him by the throat, he still struggled and flailed at my brother, he had no hope of escape now. Our ears all pricked as we heard it, a door being bashed open and frantic footsteps fading away somewhere down the street. The Sound had told us to leave none alive and we must always obey the Sound. one of my brothers chased him down as we dragged the man back with us to where the Dark was. The sun was rising as we arrived back, the blood had dried on my snout and claws. My brother threw the human down in front of the Sound, he smiled as he instructed other men to drag him away. The Sound pinged again, telling us to return to the Dark. He spoke to the humans around us. “Get the poles, we must get them back to their cages, we will deal with the wounds later” Men approached with the poles, jabbing my brothers, light, and sparks erupted as they did. One of my brothers snarled and snapped at the human as they jabbed him again, prompting more humans to jab at my brother, coaxing him towards the Dark. I growled at my brother to calm him, but to no avail. With a roar he snatched at one of the humans and launched him at a nearby building, he landed with a crunch as the humans' bones shattered on impact. More humans now came with poles and other weapons and jabbed at us all, driving us into the dark. The Sound’s pinged with a continuous ear-splitting note, we all ran into the Dark to escape it. As we entered the Dark, the door behind us was shut with a heavy clang, only then did the Sound stop. Eventually, we would be fed, eventually, we would hunt again. Until then, here is where we would stay, in the Dark.


I open my eyes to the light streaming through the lace curtains, it must be morning. My shaved head is cold again, the hoodie I sleep in has slipped down to my neck bunching with the scarf I wear everywhere, a gift from a good friend. Extracting my arm out from under the pillow where it sleeps I pull the hoodie back over my head and snuggle deep into my blankets. Its been getting colder the last few weeks, I don't really like the cold, I am probably a lizard. At some point after dozing and mentally going over my day I realise that I need to actually figure out the time; I need to check my social media for updates; I need to check the news for any interesting developments. Scratch that, they are useless time wasters in this never ending waste of time I occupy these days, somewhere between lazy, procrastinate, and cancer side effects, the cancer side effects being the lesser of the three. I roll over and fumble for my phone, it is in the usual spot on my bed, attached to the charging cable, good! I have batteries. The teenage cat, Atticus, that sleeps next to me has long since woken up to chase imaginary creatures around the house. I Reorient myself, press buttons, swipe patterns, open the browser. Screen glare in the morning is unpleasant, and so is the lack of new information since I grudgingly put my phone down hours before. What did I expect? refresh. refresh. Didn't I want the time? oh yeah. its early, and I don't need to get up. I roll over and snuggle the blankets. At some point, either when I reach peak boredom, get a pang of hunger, feel my bladder, hear the sounds of house-mates(preferably accompanied by the sounds of a kettle) or just because, I pull the blanket off my body, rotate ninety degrees and melt off the exceptionally high bed into a standing position. With the change in orientation comes the sensation of my organs pressing up against my bladder, time to find the loo, is my genitalia appropriately covered? My friends don't care, I could probably walk out naked and they would wink and tease me in good nature. Like a morning zombie looking for brains in a mug of coffee I stumble forwards bleary eyed into the kitchen, a pink nightgown is at the bench facing away from me, I mutter good morning before moving towards the loo. I'm wearing my fisherman's pants, so a little re-arrangement and I'm focused on the stream and the sensation of relief, so practised over so many years, of making as little noise as possible, pondering to myself how so many times at work there is piss all over the floor, what are they doing? do I even want to know? Fisherman's pants don't always cooperate with me when it comes to re-arranging and I may need to undo and re-do them entirely, juggling my hoodie out of the way, it's an awkward dance. The blue hand wash is almost empty. The zombie feeling persists, I stumble out of the loo looking for the pink dressing gown, It will be sitting at the kitchen table, at the kitchen bench, in the study. I reach out and embrace it, hugs are an important part of our morning ritual, a grey tracksuit appears, another hug, a pair of underwear, another hug. each one with its own special style, each one with its own need for affection to bring us back from the dead of unconsciousness. one more person exists in the house, with a large smile like Totoro, I don't know this person well enough for a morning hug. "Anyone for a coffee" the underwear asks, "yep", "yes please", "yes thanks babe" come the answers, soon I will not be a zombie, the feeling is already fading, the coffee will remove the last vestiges of the undead, like decapitating it after beating it and filling it full of gunshots. While I wait for my doom, I'm going to just lay down on this couch and enjoy the voices of the humans. More mundane stuff happens, some arrangements are made. I've just sat on the couch again, dressed in comfortable clothing, laptop and drugs in bag, "Alright, time to go!" my best friend Annie says with a smile. Up I hop walk down the corridor, give the fluff monster Atticus a race, and then a cuddle before picking up the sunglasses and helmet from Annie who waits at the front door for me. We talk constantly to each other but about normal every day things. She re-arranges the bike as I put the sunglasses on and pull on the open faced bike helmet, I swing a leg over, grab her backpack and put it on, secure belongings around myself, my feet are on the back forks and my hands are around her waist. she gives the engine a little rev and we lift off from the driveway into the street, I feel the rush of g-forces as we lurch forwards, I feel the vertigo of sideways motion as we corner around the car park making our way to Prospect Road, and as we merge with traffic the chill of the air on my face as we pick up speed. Annie's warm body in front of me is comforting the chill air is refreshing, the speed up and slow down of traffic exhilarating. I'm not sure it would be as fun if I was by myself on the bike. The wind finds its way easily behind the sunglasses making my eyes water. it's the best way to travel to chemo. I stride through the entryway with my confident swagger learned from years of dancing, chest out, chin high, after all, today is the best of the days I have left. Up the elevator I wait, walk with confidence to the cancer day centre, I've been here many times before, and am lucky to have not been here too many times like the people I see around the ward, years into treatment. At the main counter I greet the staff with a cheeky smile, and get my wristband attached for the party ahead. 5 minutes in the waiting room, the TV is off, maybe they listened to me? a random staff member calls my name and greets me as the person who will be taking care of me today. I try to remember their names, it's not easy. I make small talk, I want this person to like me, I want them to feel good about their job, I hope they aren't too stressed or distracted. We choose a chair for me to occupy for the hours I will be here, I sit down, plug in my laptop power, arrange my equipment and take off my shoes, it's important to be comfortable. My nurse brings over a little tray, a strap and some other bits and bobs to insert the cannula, she explain that blood results take 40 minutes, and we need to test before starting treatment, we check my name tag multiple times, and then comes the apology for the stinging. The insertion of the cannula is interesting in that I truly feel that the nurses are always upset that they need to stick you with needles, they are always gentle and over my time have only messed up once, the pain from the needle is entirely intellectual it hurts, but it's not dangerous. They hold my hand, strap my arm and ask me to clench my fist a few times before relaxing in a fist, they touch my arm gently inspecting the veins, able to detect things i can only imagine, they settle on a spot to insert the device, and then swab the area. I ask them about their week, how their schedules are tracking today, try to find some way to interact, often time I feel they keep themselves at arms length for good reason. They apologise and with a sharp intake in breath I indicate that what they are doing hurts, and then it's done, they connect tubes like its lego, extract some blood and then hook up a drip of saline before attending to other people. I spend the next hour on my laptop browsing the internet again, being bored, wanting to study but unable to concentrate, oh well, sometimes I get in 10 minutes of productivity. A friendly and familiar nurse named Shafi walks past and says hi. Then Lou, Peter, Jess and more I can't remember. The volunteer staff ask me whether I would like some soup, what flavour? tomato, chicken and corn, beef, vegetable. I refuse most days, and ask for apple juice instead, it helps with the taste of the chemo drugs. During the whole thing friends and family visit and sit next to me, we converse, it's good to have company, it's a blur. My bloods come back good, and within a few minutes the chemo drugs are here, being hooked up to the pump stand, the tubes all being connected together like some weird irrigation system, maybe I will grow into a nice ripe fruit? begin the pumps, refrigerated liquid pumped into my arm at too high a rate is uncomfortable, so I ask the nurse to slow it down. The taste in the back of my throat is like the back of a chemical cupboard in the shed, so I sip on apple juice, I try to keep myself busy on my laptop, browsing things, trying to program, talking to staff, talking to visitors. Did they stick the tubes into my bladder? extracting myself from blankets, laptop cables etc, I take my robotic companion pump to the loo with me, several times a day. Clickity clack, clickety clack, the pumps talk to each other plotting their eventual take over of the human race for world dominance. I browse the room, looking into the windows of other people's lives who are also touched by cancer, mums and dads, sisters and brothers, families are there, mostly old people, there's nobody I can relate to, no friends to make. The time wears on, my pump suddenly gets all huffy and starts beeping, the nurse comes over and calms it down with some caressing of its face. My body bulges from the extra two litres pumped into my veins, it's not as intense as the first time. It doesn't take long, between 2-4 hours I am finished and I can escape the robotic pump overlords. they pack up the chemo bags and tubes and throw them in a purple bin, they untape and slide out the cannula, and always press too hard on the cotton wool bud intended to stop the flow of blood from my veins, seriously calm down. and then i'm free to go. I stumble back to reality, down the lift, out the doors and into the street. Tomorrow its likely I will get a lift home, but when I go to work, or when I catch a bus home I have a surreal experience of having quite serious medical shit going on and the world being completely oblivious to me, like if you were a super hero, nobody would know or care for everyday shit, I guess clark kent had it right with the glasses.


The scream came from upstairs. Matt snapped from his Netflix stupor and bolted up. The sound had come from his daughters room. Bursting through the door, Matt was confronted with the sight of his young daughter Kelly being dragged out of her bedroom window by a man made of black mist. Matt launched himself towards his daughter but was too slow. He watched on helplessly as she was whisked off into the darkness of night. He screamed out in angst and fear as she faded from his view. Manic, Matt’s mind raced. What happened? What was that thing? He knew immediately what to do. He raced downstairs grabbed up his phone from between the couch cushions and dialed his Mum. “MUM! MUM! KELLY IS GONE!” Matt screamed. “What? Matt, ok. Calm down. What do you mean Kelly is gone? What happened?” Martha replied. “I don’t know. I was on the couch then I heard a scream from her room and I ran to her but there was some thing. Like a man but not a man. He....No it.. It took her.” “I knew this day would come. Ok Matt. I need you to listen to me very closely. Don’t touch anything. Don’t go in the room. Your father and I will be right over.” “What do you mean this day would come? Mum? What is going on?” “Matt it will be ok. We will get Kelly back. Just stay where you are. We will be there soon and we will explain everything.” Twenty minutes pass. Matt lays curled up in the living room crying. The front door swings open. Martha and Albert make there way into the house. “Oh god he’s crying” Albert starts. “Leave him alone he's scared. And you would be too if your child was taken by the dark powers and you didn’t know what they were.” Martha snaps back. “Well he would know if you had let me have the talk with him when he was young. We could have prepared him for something like this.” “I wanted him to have a normal life. One without demons and sorcerers messing everything up all the time. Was that so wrong?” “Ok ok, no need to get upset. Anyway what has happened has happened let’s get on with it.” By now Matt has sat up. With a face wet from tears he asks “What are you two talking about? Mum? Dad? What do you mean demons? Is that what took Kelly? Some sort of demon?” “Either that or some sort of evil sorcerer” Albert tells him matter-of-factly. “A sorcerer?!” Matt wails, beginning to sob all over again. Martha leans down and hugs her son “It’s alright baby, It’s ok. Mummy is here and she is going to fix everything.” She turns to Albert and says “Can’t you be a bit more gentle?” “Oh for Christ’s sake Martha he’s a grown man.” Albert protests. “He’s a grown man who’s daughter has been stolen away. Why don’t you do something useful and grab my crystals from the car.” Martha scolds. Albert simply grunts in reply heading back out to the car. Matt sits at the end of Kelly’s bed with a blanket draped over his shoulders. He sips from the hot chocolate that his Mum made him (Double marshmallow just like when he was a kid). Albert finishes setting up for the ritual. There are an assortment of rare minerals scattered spread across the floor set in a swirl. Martha enters the room donning a set of strange golden robes. In her hand is an ancient rolled up piece of parchment. “It’s ready dear” Albert confirms. With a nod Martha stands above the mineral swirl and unrolls the parchment. She squints at it for a moment then says “Oh I can’t read this. Al have you got my reading glasses?” “Right here dear.” Albert replies handing them across to her. “Thank you darling” Martha places on her glasses and stands herself up straight and tall. She begins to read aloud from the ancient scripture. Matt looks on nervously as his mother begins to speak in what sounds to him like animal noises. The night breeze picks up as the light in the room begins to dim. Martha continues reading, slowly growing louder. She begins to sway left and right as she reads. The sounds coming from her change, becoming bizarre and otherworldly. It begins to rain heavily outside. The sounds of the storm raise the ambient noise in the room. Martha gets louder and louder until she is yelling over the storm. Matt and Albert watch on as Martha picks up off of the ground beginning to levitate. Then as the crescendo of the chant and storm begin to climax a clap like thunder erupts in the centre of the room. Matt drops his drink as he leaps away from the cataclysm, hiding his head deep into his daughters Peppa Pig pillow. “Good evening” begins a deep voice. “Good evening” Martha and Albert reply in unison. Matt turns back to see a red half-goat half-man monster standing upright at the end of his daughters bed. The creature glances at him with it’s satanic eyes before turning towards Martha. “Is this your boy then?” the demon begins. “Yes this is my Matthew.” Martha replies with a proud smile. “He is very handsome, not like his father.” The beast flirts. “Hey I’m right here!” Albert exclaims “Oh, hi Al, sorry I didn’t see you there. I must have been distracted by the foxy lady who summoned me” The beast replied winking at Martha. With a chuckle Martha says “Oh you stop that.” Giving a half chuckle himself the beast gets straight down to business “So why have I been summoned then?” “Well my Matty’s young girl Kelly has been snatched up by one of your lot tonight and he is very upset about it. So I was hoping you might be able to help us work out who has taken her so that we can go and retrieve her.” Martha explains. “Young girl you say? Hmm I don’t remember hearing anything about any young girls lately. If only there was something that could jog my memory.” The beast answers. Martha sighs at the beast then nods to Albert. Albert reaches down into the bag of crystals and pulls out a ten pack of cheap cigars handing them over to the beast. “Oh yes I remember now,” the beast says with a smile “There’s this new bozo, calls himself ‘Basotho’. He’s been out snatching up the blood relatives of all sorts of you witch types. He’s got a place down near the River Styx.” “Up or downstream from Devil’s Gate?” Albert asks. “Downstream, I think” The beast replies “Well, thank you very much then. You have been very useful” Martha says with a smile. “Anything for a babe like you Martha” The beast replies. Before he stands upright, stomps twice and poof! Disappears in a cloud of red smoke. Down in the kitchen Matt and Albert sit around the table talking. Martha busies herself fixing Matt a new hot chocolate. “And well I eventually promised to your mother that I wouldn’t tell you. I mean a man can only go so long living as a candle stick before caving to pressure. I guess that’s about all there is to it.” Albert says finishing up his explanation about the dark side, Martha being a witch and why they kept it from him. “Honestly Matt, I always wanted to tell you” Matt sits jaw to the floor staring at his father stunned by disbelief. His mother is a witch? Demons were real? An evil sorcerer has taken his daughter? His father lived for three months as a candle stick? None of this felt real to him. “I must be dreaming. I need to wake up. I need to wake up!” Matt mutters to himself. Martha comes over and places the new hot chocolate in front of her son. “I wish you were dreaming baby, but this is real and we really need to get Kelly back before thing’s get out of hand.” Martha reassures him. “Well… Well… What do we do?” Matt asks. “We? We do nothing. You stay here and drink your hot chocolate. Your father and I will create a portal to the underworld, find this Basotho guy, sort him out and bring Kelly back to you. Ok?” Martha orders to Matt, in that way mother’s do. Matt nods dumbly and takes a long sip from his drink. A pentagram of goats blood isn’t a hard symbol to create, especially not for Albert whose been at this for years. But stacking the shrunken heads takes a steady hand and real concentration. Which is why Al always leaves it for Martha to do. With the skull-stack complete the duo take up their positions either side of the pentagram. They stare into each others eyes and begin chanting. “Esaelp ,dlrowrednu eht ot latrop a ekil dluow ew.” They recite the phrase in unison thirteen times. As they finish the chant the shrunken skulls float up making the corners of a misty blood red triangle. “We’ll be back before you know it” Martha reassures Matt as her and Albert step through the portal. The pair arrive through the Devil’s Gate. They are greeted by Mordecai, the haunted twelve foot tall set of Armour who manages new arrivals. Seeing they are regulars Mordecai gives Martha and Albert a quick bow and returns to his duties. “He said downstream didn’t he?” Albert asks to Martha. “Yes dear” Martha answers. “I hope it’s not too far, my hips are killing me after going up and down those stairs.” “Oh don’t be such a big baby, now come on. Let’s go save our grand daughter.” After about forty minutes of walking (and Albert complaining), the husband and wife combo arrive at a skull shaped mountain. Hanging near mouth shaped cave entrance is a sign reading ‘Lair of Basotho the Brutal’. “I suppose this is the place then?” Martha says. “I suppose it is, what a wanker! Who lives in a skull lair these days? Jimmity Cricket this guy is trying to hard” Albert begins to rant. “Well let’s get this over with” “After you dear” The two walked up to the large door making up the mouth of the skull. Martha moves to the cheap intercom next to the door and gives a single long buzz. “Hello? Who is this?” A voice from the intercom asks. “This is Martha the Magnificent. I’m here with my husband Albert." Albert waves to the intercom camera from behind Martha. “We are here to retrieve our grand daughter Kelly.” “Martha the who? I don’t know you go away.” “Sir I will happily go away, if you hand over Kelly, we will leave you to your weekend.” “There is no girl here leave me alone.” The intercom voice snaps. Martha turns to Albert shaking her head. “Looks like we’ll have to do this the hard way then.” Albert moves away from the door giving Martha some space to work. Martha moves to the centre of the door placing one hand firmly on either side. She takes in a deep breath and recites a short spell under her breath. The large iron doors slowly swing open revealing a modern but messy apartment inside. “WHAT?! How did you do that?” Screams Basotho. A chubby, middle aged man, he is caught standing in the middle of the lounge room wearing nothing but a towel. “I want my grand daughter.” Demands an irritated Martha. Basotho screws up his face and spits the word “Ildkugle!” A huge fireball shoots from his mouth hurtling toward Martha. Martha quickly rolls left behind a stack of dirty cauldrons. As the flame dissipate, she pops her head up from behind the cauldron. Aiming at Basotho she throws forward her hands and yells “Knogle Spyd!” A long spear made of thick bone shoots from her hands and hurtles towards the dark sorcerer. Basotho drops his towel and leaps down behind his cheap faux-leather couch. As Basotho and Martha began their magic duel Albert decides to sneak in to the apartment. Careful not to get caught up in the fighting he heads downstairs. Over his years Albert had fought through enough dark lairs to know that if Kelly was here; she would be caged up in the basement. Traveling down the dank corridors to the basement Albert begins to shout “Kelly! Kelly! It’s your Poppa! Are you down here?” “Poppa Al! I am here! I am here! Come save me.” Kelly yells in reply. Albert makes his way down to the cellar. Arriving downstairs Al finds Kelly hanging in some sort of bone cage. He finds the release lever and brings the cage to the ground releasing Kelly from her captivity. The poor girl is crying as she comes out of the cage and rushes to give her Poppa a big warm cuddle. Al scoops the girl up in his arms and begins the trek back up to the lounge room. Meanwhile upstairs Basotho and Martha continue to fight. Both taking turns to fire off magic projectiles or dash and roll to avoid incoming shots. Albert, still carrying the terrified Kelly, pops his head up into the lounge room and gives Martha a quick nod. Martha answers with a nod and a smile. Seeing Martha's momentary lapse in concentration, Basotho takes his opportunity. He casts a spell transforming himself into a gigantic Golem. He then begins launching his furniture at Martha. First he throws the couch which Martha zaps into dust. Then he catapults the fridge at her. Martha barely dodges away in time. Seeing this fiend getting the better of his wife, Albert decides to take action. He places Kelly down and tells her to stay back and stay still. He then bravely runs out into the lounge room and faces up at the Goliath. Basotho looks down at the little old man and swings an arm to swat him away. Before Basotho can hit him, Albert uses the only magic he knows, at the top of his lungs he yells; “What do you call a magic owl? HOO-DINI! What do you call a short fortune-teller who escaped from prison? A small medium at large!” Hearing this the Golem stops his arm mid-swing and begins to cringe. The cringe hits him hard and his powers drain away. Basotho transforms back into his usual pudgy self and yells “Oh god stop! Fine, take the girl, but please PLEASE! No more puns” *I was trying to use more dialogue in this story compared to many of my others. Also had a lot of trouble keeping consistent with my tense. Either way, hope you guys enjoy the read.


It has been 163 days since I have seen outside these walls. The white that surrounds me is something like a jail.

It is, however, a contrast to the darkness of Before, when she rarely flipped on the lights, the curtains pulled tight to lock out the sunshine. Food was scattered across countertops on our best days, competing with my brothers on every other one for each morsel that sustained us. Sound had hummed from the box with the moving humans on it, unknown voices filling the space around us. That was where she spent most of her time, with the people we never knew, but whose voices we came to recognize over time. The humans in the Humming Box didn’t know us. To the contrary, they seemed terribly inept at paying attention to anything but themselves, but we got to know them and their drama, their voices becoming a soundtrack to our days. When she spent her time there, on the couch as she watched the Humming Box, she usually had food with her, more than what she gave the rest of us. She did not like to share. Neither did my brothers. The days had passed by, each running into the other, until one day there was a knock at the door. Somehow, people were on the other side. I couldn’t understand, at first, how they escaped the Humming Box, or what made them see outside of their own lives to bring them to the front stoop. I eyed the brightness outside warily at first, peeking out from behind the sofa, until I heard an unfamiliar chirp that made my entire body stand at attention.

The new humans closed the door after my youngest brother tried to run out to find the source of the chirping noise. That day, with their serious faces on, they had loaded each of us into a moving jail. Until finally, we arrived here, at the White Wall Place. “I think today’s the day, Charley,” Alanna says in a singsong voice, breaking the otherwise monotonous loop of my confinement. Alanna is the name on the tag that she wears every time she visits me in the White Wall Place, and the other humans here, who also wear name tags, call her that too. Names are a weird phenomenon I don’t quite understand. Maybe they wear them on tags so they don’t forget their names. I’ve looked before and was unable to find one on my body, however, there is one affixed to the outside of my cell. Before I arrived here, the human that sat in front of the Humming Box never called me anything. I’m not sure why Alanna calls me Charley now, or how she dicovered that is my name, but she says it with a brightness that lures me closer to the edge of the cage.I sit dutifully on the other side, eyes fixed on her as I wait. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, Alanna lets me roam outside in the room. I hear the metal lock slide out of place, and I tilt my head as I study her. Alanna smiles, scratching my head where I like it most. I can’t help myself and lean into her touch, greedily soaking up each morsel of affection she gives to me.

She steps back then, smacking her lips together. “You hungry?” What a ridiculous question , I think .

I jump down, following her to the other side of the room where I hear the sound that I crave most: the lid of a can peeling back. I know what it will reveal when Alanna sets it down; a gravy covered feast, just for me. I lap it up, savoring each and every swipe of my tongue. In my life, in the place Before, we had never eaten like this. Never a small feast just for me .

Usually this is the point where she cleans my jail, then moves on to whoever my newest neighbor is. They don’t typically last very long, especially the kittens. Sticky fingers of small humans point at their freshly cleaned cages, excited sounds coming from their mouths. The cycle continues on. The same thing happened to my brothers. One day they were here, the next they were loaded back into the moving jail. The strangest part about it all was they seemed happy to go, to leave the safety of the White Wall Place and its gravy-filled cans. I was sad to see them go, but I was too naive, at first, to realize they would never return. In the following months there would be countless smaller and considerably cuter tenants that occupied the space where they once existed. For a time, I lost interest, even where eating was concerned. I didn’t understand how the absence of someone you love could completely consume you, swallowing up every ounce of life you had to offer. That was before I knew who Alanna was. On one of the worst days that followed my brothers’ departures, I heard hushed tones. Before long, Alanna was in front of my cage. She wordlessly unlocked it, offering a few tentative pets before picking me up and taking me with her to her desk. She did it again the next day, petting me and talking to me until I began to eat again. Today, she takes me to a room I don’t recognize. There aren’t any other cats here either, which is strange. It’s just a couple of chairs, one already occupied by a human I don’t know. She has wire-rimmed eyes, hair a shade of gray that is a few shades lighter than my fur. A soft smile that somehow reminds me of Alanna. “Mama,” Alanna says, sitting in one of the empty seats, and petting me as she shifts me into her lap. “This is Charley.” “I've heard so much about you. I feel like I already know you.”

Well that makes one of us. “He’s a little shy, but he'll definitely warm up to you if he's given the chance. He’s been passed up a lot because of that, and because he's a little older.”

“Oh, don’t I understand that, Charley,” Mama says with a small shake of her head. “You can pet him if you want. He’s friendly.” Alanna looks down at me, continuing the soothing motion, not that I appreciate the open invitation for Mama to do the same. “Don’t let the grumpy face fool you.” “I don’t need to pet him to know. He’s stolen your heart and he’s been passed up over and over again, at no fault of his own. After the life he’s had, he deserves a home. I could certainly use someone to keep me company. Plus you can visit us any time you like.” Alanna tells Mama she needs a few minutes to get everything together, and she takes me with her to her desk, setting down a portable jail beside it which I eye with hesitance. Alanna reassures me with snuggles after she finishes the paperwork. “I can’t believe you’re getting adopted. Finally . You’re going to be so spoiled and have a beautiful life… even if Mama isn’t quite ready for how messy your life is.” She kisses the top of my head before moving me towards the portable jail, the one that I’ve been so fearful of.

I don’t know what many of the words mean, most of all what home is. However, the soothing cadence of Alanna’s tone sends me into a low purr. If she tells me I’m going to have a beautiful life with Mama, I believe it too.


Rajma curry and rice The landlady irritatingly called Chander to attend the phone. It was a call from his uncle Kiron Das. ' Are you coming tonight ? Uncle asked. Chander said, ' Yes, I couldn't last Saturday but I will be there tonight.' Uncle mildly said okay and closed the call. He perhaps knew the homeowner lady would not like long conversations on her landline telephone. The old widow was in fact irritated. She said, ' I get disturbed by phone calls...please tell your people to call here only in case of extreme emergency. ' Chander said, ' Yes, Madam ' and came back to his room. It was a hot and humid day in Calcutta in the summer of 1984. He knew, had to go to his uncle tonight to listen to stories of freedom fighters of India. It was a routine for almost a year to meet him on every Saturday night. Chander knew a new episode was boiling in uncle's mind. That night's story was how Kiron Das met his two old friends after over thirty years. These friends happened to be Chander's parents.

 Kiron Das, a freedom fighter, was a close witness to the activities of Indian freedom fighters from 1929 till the country's independence in August 1947. Now a Septuagenarian, he was younger brother of great Indian freedom fighter and martyr Jatin Das who laid down his life after fasting in Lahore jail for sixty three days. Kiron was a young boy then. He went to Lahore from Calcutta on getting the news of his brother's pledge of fasting till death unless British rulers stop treating freedom activists as criminals. In Lahore, which was a completely unknown city for him, Kiron Das met Chander's parents who along with other young activists were his support providers there. He was in Lahore for around two months and reached back to his hometown Calcutta in mid-September that year with the dead body of his brother. Apparently, demands of his fasting brother were not accepted by British authorities.

Kiron Das continued his connections with Lahore friends for some time. Independence in1947 came with a heavy price of partition of India and creation of an Islamic Pakistan. Hindus and Sikhs were forced to flee from their homes of generation to migrate to this side of India. Who migrated where, was not known. Families and friends were separated from each other. Similar was the story of Chander's parents. They settled down in a Himalayan town, known for the holy river Ganga and mythological importance of the place for Hindus. Time passed at its own pace. Kiron, an explorer and pilgrim now, happened to be in that Himalayan town. He, along with some others, was sitting on the bank of the holy river watching its flow from mountains to ground. He thought, how these mountains were silent witnesses of history. More people assembled there. As generally happens with senior explorers, Kiron started narrating stories of days he had spent with young freedom activists. He was narrating various events that happened in Lahore during his brother's fasting in jail there. Suddenly a lean and sick person who was listening carefully asked, ' Do you remember a couple there whose home you used to visit whenever feeling depressed ? ' How can I forget them... I had a vegetarian meal a number of times at their home... I very fondly remember the food and hospitality... and that Rajma curry with rice...' The gentleman now came closer and asked, ' Do you know where that couple went after the partition of the country ? Kiron did not reply but looked closely at him and after a few seconds got up and hugged him. Both were in tears. He, in fact, was Chander's father. They were meeting after thirty five years or so.

Kiron Das asked about his wife, ' How is Shanti ? I am going back tonight but how can I go without meeting her... now that I know that she is here... let's not waste time and go meet her...' They took a horse-drawn carriage called 'Tanga ' there. Her home was about three miles away. Shanti immediately recognised Kiron. It was a very emotional moment. Kiron said that he could never forget his days in Lahore. Time was limited, memories to share were unlimited. Kiron's train was to leave in four hours. He said to Shanti, ' I have no time today to enjoy the wonderful food you cook...by the way, do you still not allow meat in your kitchen ? Shanti smiled and said, ' Yes, meat is strictly not permitted in my kitchen...but I am sorry, I could not offer you any non-vegetarian dish in Lahore though I knew you were a fond meat and fish eater...I am really sorry.' Kiron laughed, ' It is okay...but I always remember your Rajma curry with rice...maybe next time...' Time passed quickly. Kiron took a 'Tanga' to go back to his hotel room to pack up for the return train journey to Calcutta. Trains in those days were running on steam engines and stopping at almost every station.

Kiron Das boarded the train and settled on his berth. Memories of Lahore and surprise meeting two old friends from there were running in his mind. He was also feeling sad for his friends and thousands of others who had to flee from their homes and suffer for political immaturity of leadership to divide the country to satisfy personal ego and lust for power.

Train was about to move when a co-passenger introduced himself and said, ' They call it an express train but it stops at every alternate station...in eight minutes the next station and it will stop there for five minutes...' Kiron Das did not say anything. He was not new to that route. He knew the next station- Jwalapur was quite near to Shanti's house where he was a little while ago. The train had a long whistle and slowly started moving. Kiron Das thought he would try to get a cup of tea from the Tea Stall of the next station. Train was not speeding up. It's diver knew that the next stop was not far away and there was no point speeding up and then slowing it down. Kiron Das went to the carriage's door to get down. He thought five minutes were enough to fetch a cup of tea. Train slowly stopped and he came down and looked around for a tea stall or any tea vendor. Suddenly he saw a couple rushing towards him. On coming closer, he was surprised to see Shanti with her husband. She was holding an aluminium food box. Her husband had an earthen water jug. Shanti was excited. She said, ' I could not serve you anything home, here it is for your train journey...' She handed that food box to him. Kiron Das felt extremely obliged. He said, ' It was not required...but you are the same...the country's division could not divide your love for others,' Soon the train started again. Kiron Das came back to his seat. He was affectionately holding the food box. It had three compartments. He thought Shanti must have given him Rajma (Kidney Beans) curry and steamed rice. He thought, should not have mentioned food to Shanti.

Excited, after some time, Kiron opened the food box. Shocked, there was no Rajma curry.. Instead it had mutton curry and steamed Basmati rice. He closed his eyes. Filled with tears, he thought, ' I should have told her that I was no longer a meat eater...left it the day my brother attained martyrdom for his motherland. Down with deep emotions, he thought of Shanti who all her life not touched and allowed meat in her kitchen, now cooking all this for him. Kiron Das was a non-meat eater all these years but for Shanti's love and respect, he ate meat curry and fish that day as it was Rajma curry with rice of Lahore of 1929.

Chander returned to his room. He was late that night and remained awake for a few hours. It was not a memoire that he listened to. It was an over fifty years long trip from Lahore to Himalayan town to Calcutta. It was a journey of friendship and care for each other.


“What have you got to lose?” asked Louise as she perused the menu. Wilma slumped back in her chair and stared at the concrete Jersey barrier that abutted their table. She preferred to eat indoors, but COVID had forced the restaurant’s owners to limit seating in the dining room and serve customers outside on a makeshift patio that now extended into the street. “My dignity.” Louise almost choked on her wine. “Your dignity!” Wilma tapped her calloused fingers on the base of her glass. “I don’t wanna move. My home’s here.” She took a long sip of her wine, relishing the citrusy tartness of the chilled Sauvignon Blanc that their waiter had recommended. “Didn’t your son just buy a big house on a golf course in Florida?” “Yeah.” “That sounds pretty nice to me.” “It’s too hot down there.” “I’m sure they have air conditioning.” Wilma rolled her eyes. Her son, a vice president at Carrier Corporation, had recently relocated from Connecticut to the company’s new headquarters in West Palm Beach. “I like it here.” “In Hartford?” “I live in Farmington.” “In a house that’s too big for you now.” “So why should I move into Jason’s big house in Florida?” Louise peered over her menu. “Winter. It gets cold here and it snows a lot.” Wilma shrugged. On this balmy July evening, it was easy to forget the gray slush piles and grimy snow mounds that buttressed the city’s sidewalks and buried its parking spaces every year from December to March. “And when you got COVID, I was really worried about you. I’m sure your son was too. The whole Northeast was on lockdown and you were living by yourself.” “Jason was working from home then and he’d stop by to check on me.” Louise set her menu down and shook her head.

“That’s not what you told me. You said he was busy with work, and Tina was happy to have him never leave the house.” A waiter wearing an N95 mask approached their table. “Are you two ready to order?” “We’ll start with the Italian meatballs,” Wilma replied. The waiter nodded and jotted down the order. “Can I get you ladies anything else?” Louise lifted her nearly empty wine glass. “We’ll be ready for another round when the food comes out.” As soon as the waiter left the table, Louise leaned in toward Wilma. “They’re still in the newlywed stage. Give it time.” Wilma snorted. “Tina’s eighteen years younger than Jason. And she’s a vegan. I swear that woman eats green peppers all day long.” “Green peppers?” “Yes, she’s decided they have some kind of nutritional healing power.” “Like kale.” “What the hell is kale?” “It’s a green vegetable that’s all the rage right now.” Wilma scoffed. “I’m seventy-five years old. I don’t need to be told to eat my vegetables.” Louise sighed. “Does Tina golf?” “Not very well.” “Maybe you could give her some tips. Does she know how far you could drive the ball when you were on tour?” “I don’t think she’s interested in her mother-in-law explaining how to hit a fade off the tee.” “What else does she do besides golf?” “Yoga. That’s where they met. She was a yoga instructor at Jason’s gym.” “I guess they’re both into downward dog,” Louise quipped. “Is that what it’s called now?” Wilma cocked an eyebrow and cast a saucy gaze at her old friend. They’d known each other for decades, ever since they had played together at the inaugural Dinah Shore Pro-Am Golf Tournament. Back then, 23-year-old Wilma, a rising star on the LPGA tour, had been paired with Louise, the 20-year-old daughter of an executive vice president at Colgate Palmolive, the tournament’s company sponsor. Wilma dreaded the thought of playing with an amateur whose father had bought her a tee time at the tournament. Expecting a tedious day on the links, she was stunned when Louise smoked the ball 220 yards off the first tee. She later learned that Louise had finished third at the collegiate women’s national golf championship. “Have you spoken with Jason recently? What’s he think?” “That I’m getting too old to live in my own house. That I should come live with him and Tina.” “Why don’t you?” “Because the last time I was there, I had to put up with Tina and her little yappy dog. I swear she treats that animal like it’s her child. I mean she chops up vegetables and pours sauce over it and heats it up in the microwave like she’s feeding a person.” Louise laughed. “Sounds like the dog’s got a pretty good life there.” “Ya think?” Wilma snatched a roll from the bread basket and broke it in two. As she slathered it with butter, her purse began to ring. She wiped her hands on a napkin then rifled through the leather satchel in her lap to retrieve her cell phone. “It’s my orthopedist.” As she listened to the automated voice confirming her upcoming appointment, she rubbed her left knee. All of those years on the LPGA circuit had taken their toll on her joints. “How’s it been feeling since your surgery?’” Louise asked. “It’s fine.” She turned in her chair, raised her left foot off the ground and made a slow kicking motion until her leg was parallel to the ground. Then she bent her knee and slid both legs back under the table. “Are you going to have the other knee replaced?” “Hell no.” “Why not?” “Because that’ll be another reason for Jason to want me to come live with them in Florida.” “On a golf course.” Wilma sighed. “Yeah, I know.” The waiter reappeared and placed the plate of meatballs on the table. “I’ll be right back with your wine.” Louise unwrapped her silverware from a white cloth napkin. Wilma sliced a meatball in half and swirled it in the tomato sauce before popping it in her mouth. She relished the spicy sweet taste that she’d tried to replicate with her own homemade meatballs, but they were never quite as tasty as the ones they served here. “Have you been to their house?” Louise asked. “Yes, last Thanksgiving.” “How’d that go?” “I nearly starved!” “How does someone starve on Thanksgiving?” “When the host is a vegan!” Louise stifled a laugh. “OK, what does a vegan serve on Thanksgiving?” Wilma dabbed the other half of her meatball in the tomato sauce. “Nothing I wanted to eat.”