Every superhero story that you have seen or read about has two distinct roles: the Hero and the Villain. The Hero is viewed as hope, security, loyalty, and love, and stands as a symbol of protection against those that wish to bring harm. The Villain is regarded as evil, tricky, rude, irresponsible, and violent, and creates an environment meant to be hostile for everyone. Yet, the one detail nobody ever considers, is what if there are Heroes and Villains with the opposite qualities? Are they still considered “good” or “evil”, or does it become something different entirely? When Lady Phoenix (otherwise known as Ellie) arose from the ashes to become the city’s new Hero, people were hesitant at first. To have a superhero that controls a destructive element was considered odd and frightening. She proved herself worthy, however, when an arsonist attacked the city’s public library. People were trapped inside as wooden bookshelves began to fall, closing off any exits and chances to escape. Ellie had been walking the streets when she heard the screams and saw the smoke rising in the distance. She took a deep breath and turned down one of the many alleyways. Her heart pounded as she took off her civilian clothes and revealed her ‘costume’. It was a red, low-cut one-piece with orange sleeves and orange flames on her shoulders. Over her face, she wore a mask that covered everything except her eyes. Time was of the essence so she quickly hid her backpack and ran toward the scene. Firetrucks and other medical personnel were surrounding the building as she ran past them and into the awaiting fire. She assessed the damage and was able to locate the origin of the fire on the top floor. One of the perks of Ellie’s powers was her ability to see heat signatures meaning that the people were trapped on the third floor while the fire had started on the fifth. “Hey,” She called out towards the police who looked over at her in confusion, “Mind if I step in?” “Uh- “ Except, she didn’t wait for an answer. Walking confidently up the stairs, she burst open the door, and immediately her sight was covered in haze. She continued to sprint up the stairs until she was on the third floor where a group of people was huddled. They were coughing and the moment one person saw her, they all rushed forward. “Please! Please help us, the fire is getting stronger!” A woman cried out, a child crying next to her. “It’s fine, when I went up the stairs I extinguished the flames, you’re safe.” Lady Pheonix told them with a smile. “Now, go!” They all nodded and ran off as Ellie went directly towards where a mass of flames was raging on, books and window curtains ablaze. The thermal shock from the rapid heating of the building was causing the windows to begin to crack. As Ellie was weakening the flames, she ignored the frightened cries of the civilians as they were making their way down slowly (even though she told them to run). Ellie had told them to be quick but she didn’t have the time or energy to give them comfort right now. What would she say? That everything was going to be okay? She didn’t know if someone would perish or if the entire building would fold in on itself. Besides, these people knew that any generic Hero would say that line even if they are lying through their teeth. If there was a part of her that actually cared about the livelihood of these people, then of course she would be comforting them and placing their lives as a priority. Her train of thought was broken when she looked up and saw a young man racing towards one of the windows. She swore that everyone had left. “WAIT!” She yelled out as she sprinted towards him. As soon as he pulled the window up, it triggered a backdraft. Without thinking, she flung herself at the man as they went crashing through the window, the sudden change in air pressure causing the floor to explode into flames once again. She held onto him as her other hand will a rope to be formed from the flames in the building. Grasping onto the flames, she swung them down to the ground and gingerly let go of him. “Now,” She began calmly, watching as paramedics began to run towards them. “That was incredibly stupid and if anybody else was up there, they would be dead. I’m surprised I even took you out of the building after that. You need to think before you act, do you understand?” The man seemed to be in shock but simply nodded as she scoffed and ran back into the building. After quenching the fire on the lower floors, Lady Phoenix was able to rescue every human in the building. It was easy to become a Hero if you had the abilities to match it and that was exactly what happened with Ellie. The months following were filled with merchandise campaigns, public speaking events, planned rescue operations, and similar events meant to capitalize on the mutants that had appeared in the city. Nobody could pinpoint the precise reason as to why some individuals were granted powers and why others weren’t, but for those that were lucky enough to have these abilities, it was up to them as to what they wanted to do with them. Meanwhile, in a nearby borough, a Villain had been running from the scene with tears running down his face. He had been the one to light the place ablaze but couldn’t ignore the screams of terror from the people in the library. His name was Tendril, otherwise known as Carter, born with the ability to sprout vines from his arms and will poisonous thorns to grow as a protective layer. He hadn’t wanted to become a Villain but that was what life handed him, and that was what he was going to do. Tendril had joined a particular group of Villains simply known as The Devil’s Advocate (TDA). He had left home at the ripe age of 16 after paralyzing another student at his high school. He hadn’t meant to do it, but the victim was pushing him around in the hallways when Carter’s anger got the best of him. His tendrils had whipped out and wrapped around his waist, the thorns puncturing the lower part of his spinal column. The school was not happy, as expected, and he was expelled. The downside of being with the TDA had nothing to do with them, but rather with Tendril’s weakness. No matter what mission he was sent on, he would freeze up. Something within him cared about the people that he was assigned to get rid of and the moment he saw their faces, it felt as though he was being held at gunpoint. It would typically end with his colleague finishing the job, scoffing a ‘you’ve got to be kidding me', and then the two of them running to the awaiting getaway car. Carter wasn’t a bad kid; he was a good kid in a bad situation. This particular mission was to go to their weapon’s warehouse which was hidden in the back of a deli. The TDA got wind that some detectives got word of their operation and they needed to buy time to smuggle out the weapons. In order to ‘buy time’, Tendril was to immobilize any person at the deli and use them as hostages. The police would need to communicate agreements and set up perimeters giving them ample time to sneak out. Now, Tendril was standing above six citizens who were temporarily paralyzed on the floor. He was crying softly and the people were watching him with wide eyes, their mouths duct taped shut. Tendril had no idea what was to come. “Lady Phoenix do you copy?” A voice rang from Ellie’s phone, “We need you to check out something.” She glanced over at the phone on the couch and sighed as she picked it up. “Where’s the fire?” There was silence on the other end before the device was turned on again. “This isn’t regarding fire, actually. We need you to check someone out, an individual that may be involved with the weapon smuggling going on. You should be receiving an image through your tablet of the target. His name is Tendril, not too much is known about him except that he can use vines that have thorns attached to immobilize his victims. He hasn’t had a history of appearing on the front cover of news stories so I am assuming he is relatively harmless.” “Yeah, well, you never know.” She began as she reached for her tablet. There was a chuckle over the phone, “Yes it is still a worry, I’m surprised you didn’t ask if there were hostages.” Heat flooded her face as she began to feel flustered. “I was going to ask that but I figured you would just tell me.” “I’m just teasing you, Ellie,” There was typing on the other line before he let out a sigh. “But there are hostages, at least six of them. When you infiltrate, you’ll have to worry about whether or not they have the hostages at gunpoint, or in this case, wrapped in vines.” “Gotcha, I’m assuming you want their weapons gone?” She smiled as she formed a flame to dance around her fingers. “Yes, but try not to be too destructive. We still have to pay for any damages done.” He grumbled the last part. Ellie knew that time was of the essence and all she wanted to do, was finish up this mission and go back home. She got to the scene quickly, noticing that the police had yet to arrive. Slamming open the door to the deli; she instantly threw two fireballs at a man guarding the back door. He slumped to the ground and she grumbled about how pathetic he was before bursting through the next one. There, in the center of the room, was her target. His legs were shaking slightly and he was quite tall, towering above the six victims on the floor cowering. Looking a little closer, she noticed that Tendril had various vines wrapped around them with thorns sticking into their lower backs.  “So, you’re the vine guy,” Lady Phoenix remarked, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m assuming that this is the first room of many for your little weapon situation?” “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carter thought that would sound tougher out loud but he was wrong. “Right,” She said as a flame erupted in her hand, “If you don’t want to chat then I won’t bother.” Before Tendril had a moment to react, she threw the flames into the far walls where there were hidden doors leading to the rest of the warehouse. They didn’t have much money so the makeshift wall immediately began to burn before crumbling down. “What are you doing?” Carter questioned, his voice almost a whisper to his own ears. “Why are you lighting everything on fire?” Lady Pheonix turned around to look at him fully. “Your little boy band has been manufacturing illegal weaponry and there’s the whole hostage thing so you guys lost warehouse privileges.” The flames began to spread quickly, the wooden paneling fueling the fire. “But the hostages are still here!” Tendril squeaked, “I infected them with my venom. They won’t be able to stand for 24 hours. We need to get them out first.” Ellie shook her head as she formed a fireball in her hand. “Look, this was my priority and I can’t factor in the idea that they won’t wake up sometime soon so it’s being set ablaze right now before you start calling in backup.” “We can’t leave them, are you kidding me?!” Tendril nearly screamed, the flames growing with every passing second. “I can carry three and you can carry three, it’ll be fine.” “No,” Ellie repeated, “The fire is spreading quickly and there is no way I can save these people in time. Sacrifices have to happen, I said I would destroy the warehouse, and here I am destroying the warehouse. I’ll just say that I was fighting you the entire time and barely made it out with my life,” Lady Phoenix let out a dramatic sigh before smirking at the man, “You should be happy; you’ll get a reputation.” “I’m not leaving without them.” Tendril growled out firmly. Tendril stood up and gingerly helped one of the young men up. His knees instantly buckled, the venom in the thorns making it impossible for any of them to stand up. Carter hoisted the man over his one shoulder and motioned for one of the women to reach out. “This is ridiculous,” Pheonix scoffed. “The ceiling is starting to fall apart.” Tendril whirled around; his eyes furious. “Then why don’t you be useful and help me out here instead of accepting the fact that we won’t make it?” Ellie scanned his face and something within her ached to have that need to save someone, to have the drive to protect another human being. But all her head could do is view them as weak. Their fragile bodies and minds were drastically inferior to that of her own and the most they would get out of their lives would be marriage, a job that they most likely hate, and screaming children that you must answer to every second. Tendril began to cough, the smoke stinging his eyes as he desperately tried to wipe them with his bloody shirt. “The smoke is getting really bad; we have to move faster.” The fear had settled into a pit in his stomach as he looked around the room. Nothing could help them get these people out and if they die, it’s on him. “Cover your mouth and nose,” Ellie barked at Tendril as she took out a canister and rolled it towards the six people who were laying on the ground. They didn’t seem to notice it as the smoke had made the room quite hazy. Tendril watched in shock as they went unconscious, the smoke fizzling out. “You… you knocked them out? How is that going to help us at all?” “Well, if you were worried about being caught, that problem has been solved. They won’t remember this whole ordeal.” Phoenix calmly explained. Tendril glared at her as he poked her in the chest, “That wasn’t the problem you imbecile! The issue is getting them out alive not knocking them out so they can’t say anything. I’m getting these people out with or without your help.” He grasped onto one of the young ladies and hoisted her into her arms. In response, Lady Phoenix let out a low chuckle. “What’s so funny? They’re going to die!” Tendril croaked out, the smoke beginning to hurt his lungs. “Why do you care so much? You’re the Villain don’t forget, nobody is going to be thanking you outside of here,” She took a step closer to the man. “How did you even get to this point? I figured the other Villains would’ve eaten you alive by now.” His eyes narrowed as she smirked at him. “I’m good at what I do but I still give a shit when it comes to people’s lives, something you don’t seem very comfortable with. I would’ve saved them in a second if I was in your shoes.” She was silent for a moment as if she was analyzing him with a magnifying glass. Before Tendril was able to berate her further, she turned towards the flames and began to extinguish him. He watched in awe as the fire dwindled down to a spark. The smoke was still quite thick as Tendril let out a cough and stared at the woman in bewilderment. “You mean to tell me you could’ve done this the whole time?” She shrugged as she picked up two strangers and threw them over her shoulder. Ellie grasped one of the smaller ladies and held her bridal style. “I wanted to see what you would do, what lengths you would take to save them. Turns out, it didn’t take much. If I walked out of here without any of the hostages, my reputation would be through, and as much as being a Villain sounds tempting, I got bills to pay.” Carter was at a loss for words. Her whole inspiration to save them wasn’t because he had wanted to get them out of here, but rather for the persona she provides to the people. “I’d hurry if I were you, though,” she began, “The fire is still raging in the back and I can only carry these three so either you follow me with the rest of them or we’ll have to have a public funeral to remember the lives lost at your little warehouse.” The moment that the duo left the warehouse, several police cars and ambulances were waiting. The fire looked a lot worse from the outside and Tendril knew the moment he got back to the TDA he would be in hot water. Calmly laying the people down, he looked around a few times before sprinting away, ignoring the shouts of the police officers. Lady Phoenix watched as the Villain ran off, a small part of her wishing to have his empathy, not knowing that Tendril longed for the day he wouldn’t have to care anymore.


My fingers were tapping against the study table. My eyes kept stealing glances at the laptop’s clock- five more minutes. This was agony. I let out a restless sigh. The house was quiet, except for the soft pitter-patter of the rain outside. The scent of burning Eucalyptus and mint drafted through the room from our open kitchen; her new favorite. It was definitely helping with my anxiety. I tried getting back to my thesis but in vain. Two more minutes now. I could take it no more so I get up and walk around the bedroom. I fluff up the pillows on the bedroom and cradle Genie, our tabby. He wiggles a little bit but suddenly settles in my arms. It’s time. I sit on the edge of the bed as I hear the tranquil piano break the silence of the house. This was my favorite part of the night. She warms up with some arpeggios- something technical she taught me which I still don’t get. I just know it sounds beautiful. I hear the creak of the peddle as her foot presses onto it. It’s a melody now. Soft, sweet and slightly melancholic. It was the first song she ever learnt to play on her own, and quite honestly a classic in my opinion. Like her, I never get tired of hearing her play it. The atmosphere suddenly shifts to something moody, eccentric. I know it’s something on the black keys. Oh, she’s feeling adventurous today! The last time she played that tune, we ended up baking a pizza at 3 am, almost started a fire, and then ended up falling asleep on the couch in each other’s arms. I wonder what will happen tonight. Genie purrs against me, and I gently stroke him. He’s feeling it too, the anticipation that comes with her playing. We never know what song she’s going to end with. The tone is a bit more uplifting now, hopeful. It’s happier than anything she’s played in a while. I’m thrilled; it’s a new song. It takes me a couple minutes to grasp the soft, hesitant voice suddenly accompanying the music. Genie lifts his head for a second, he’s surprised too. She’s singing! It’s the song she’s been listening to on repeat for the past couple days now, I’ve heard her try to sing it in the shower. This sounds more melodic, more feely. She’s unsure, I can tell, but she’s not about to stop. I softly place my tabby on the bed, causing him to utter a sound of displeasure. I quietly pad out to the living room, and hide in the shadows in the hallway. Her body was rhythmically swinging with the music. I could tell her eyes were closed based on the way her head was tilted back ever so slightly. She hummed the high pitched portions of the song, and sang out loud the verses. All of a sudden her back stiffens a little bit, oh no. She knows I’m behind her. Her voice lowers in volume and her playing gets choppy. Well, no use standing back here now. I walk up to her just as she hits the final chord, and releases the peddle with a loud clack. “That was beautiful.” She turns around on the seat to face me. I kneel down in front of her, and hold her tiny hand in mine. “Not really, I can’t hit the high notes.” She mutters shyly, looking down at our tangled hands. “So what, still sounded absolutely spectacular.” I look into her wide brown eyes. She smiles her half embarrassed, half proud smile. It was a private smile, reserved just for us alone. I raise our hands, and press a gentle kiss to the top of her hand. Her smile widens, and she leans down to plant a kiss on my cheek. “I love you.” I cradle her face with my free hand, and gently press my lips to hers. “I love you too, my dear.


“We do not know what these creatures are, but they are wreaking absolute havoc on the United States. We’re umm also getting reports that other countries are experiencing this same phenomenon.” Wolfe looked so...mortified. My grandma watched CNN when he was on, and he always seemed so professional, and said his words so matter-of-factly, and here he seemed like he really didn’t want to be where he was. But hey you can’t blame the guy, I still had a few tears running down my cheek. “The US military has been put at DEFCON 1, and the government has issued instructions for all civilians to stay in their homes, and to stay off the streets if at all possible.” Yeah no shit Wolfe. But then he stopped talking. Well I should say he was more listening into his little earpiece and trying to focus on what the person on the other end was telling him. Wolfe muttered a small “are you serious?” And shortly afterwards, he looked back at the camera, appearing more horrified than ever. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have just received word that a-“ Wolfe cut out. The screen went black and was followed by that ear-splitting ringing of the Emergency Broadcast System. After a few seconds of the beeping, a voice came on, saying “this message has been transmitted at the request of the United States Office Of Civil Defense. At this time, the United States government is launching multiple nuclear ICBMs at targets within the continental United States. Areas of impact include Boston, Manhattan, Philadelphia, and Indianapolis. If you are in any of these areas you are advised to get out now. If fleeing is not possible, go to any underground shelter. Impacts will occur within the next fifteen minutes.” The beeping began again, and then the broadcast was over. Wolfe Blitzer didn’t return to the screen. Instead the live coverage was now nothing but the CNN logo plastered on the screen. I bet Wolfe was getting the hell out of there, along with everyone else. “What do we do now?” Someone in the back asked. 11 Months Later You know those zombie or alien invasion movies where world governments topple like a house of cards when things go to hell? Well, this isn’t that kind of movie. The creatures caused some pretty hard hits, and most third and second world countries did fall. But America didn’t. The biggest cities were left abandoned when the creatures took over, and the last few millions of Americans moved into smaller regions of the country. Small towns became large communities of people. The new house of government was in a small town in Kansas. Most military bases were still up and running, which was good, and every able-bodied man and woman seventeen and over were drafted into the United States military to help the war effort. Yes, these creatures could be killed, but not by our bullets or explosives. The reason cities were overrun is because the bullets wouldn’t even penetrate their skin, and explosions only seemed to make them wince. But that’s when our luck changed. We survivors started hearing a rumor that an old lady somewhere in western America was able to kill one of these things with an antique fork. This woman earned herself the nickname “Lady Of The West”. It turns out that the story was true, and people wondered why a fork could kill them, but not bullets. Well, turns out that it’s because the fork was made of silver. Silver seems to be their goddamn Kryptonite, and anything silver that touches them makes them howl in pain. And when we started making our bullets out of silver, oh man it was REALLY over for them. We began taking back cities. Small at first, like Little Rock and Oklahoma City, but now the military’s got their sights set on a bigger city. We were gonna take back Seattle. Now I, having turned seventeen three months ago, had to go on this mission. I had killed quite a few of them up till now, but Jesus they still scared the shit out of me. “Hey Phobia, you want one?” My platoon buddy, Mark, called out to me, holding a peppermint in his hand. We were on a plane headed to the outskirts of Seattle, where we’d parachute down, along with hundreds of other soldiers, and try to take back the city. Phobia was my nickname, given to me due to my extreme fear of these creatures, whom we now nicknamed “Demons”. We soared thirty-five thousand feet above the ground. The hum of the engines actually kinda soothed me for some reason. I played with the safety setting on my rifle, which I was holding in my lap, while we flew. There were about forty other people in this plane, ranging from seventeen to somewhere in their thirties. I didn’t have many friends now. I left all of my friends in my past life, before this hell. Even Mark, who I would say I’m closest to, I wouldn’t really consider a “friend”. On the way there I thought about my past life. Both of my parents died at the hands of the Demons, and I was left an orphan. I miss them. I miss my old school. I miss Ethan, who I haven’t seen since I left the school that day. I don’t even know if he’s alive. A voice came over the sound system in the plane. “Two miles outside of the drop-point.” The pilot said. “Alright ladies, we’re almost there, get the hell ready!” Our platoon sergeant said. About thirty seconds later, the back of the plane opened up, revealing a dark, windy night sky. “On my mark!” Serg said. “Three...two...one!” And he jumped. Everyone else followed, one by one. Eventually it was my turn, and I jumped. The wind on my body was so cold. I formed my body into a diving position as to fall faster, and I caught up with the other soldiers that had jumped. Not long after, our parachutes opened, mine yanking me back, giving me slight whiplash on my neck. We landed on an abandoned interstate littered with cars. I could hear the faint sound of other planes above us, dropping more and more soldiers. We were instructed to not have any light at all, and we were instead supplied with night-vision goggles. I strapped mine around my head and turned them on. I could see everything now, the cars in front of me, lined for miles. There were also dead bodies in the road that had been rotting for a while, and when I looked up, I could see hundreds of men parachuting down onto the ground. Each unit that joined the assault was given their own orders, their own route to take into the city. We were gonna try to surround the city, boxing the Demons in. “Stay low, follow my lead.” Serg said, and we all followed him. The only sounds were our footsteps, animals and small critters near us, and the occasional sound of someone bumping into a car or stepping on a body. I could see the city, it’s buildings were all mostly intact, but there were small plums of smoke rising from some of the buildings. When we reached the inner city, we walked quietly and were told to wait until all the other units were in position before we rose hell. There was a sound from behind us. We all aimed our weapons in unison, almost as if we had practiced for it. We were standing in an alley on the outskirts of the city, and we really didn’t wanna start shooting yer unless we had to. Then, a dog appeared. A big, mange-ridden dog who was digging in a dumpster at the end of the alley. I was about to be relieved it was just a dog, before I heard a gasp and then a BOOM!, and the dog fell over dead in a spray of blood. “Oh shit.” I whispered to myself. Some dumbass in the group panicked and shot the damn dog, and just like we all expected, the sounds of flapping wings and deep growls closed in on our position. Serg could only speak three words by that point. “This isn’t good”.


The man on the bench had a cigarette dangling from his lips and held a phone in his hands. The smell of smoke filled the air, and a visible cloud hung over him. He was laughing at something on his phone - a video, perhaps, or a cleverly captioned photo. Something hilarious. A rat ran out from beneath the bench and climbed into the overflowing trash bin behind him. He saw nothing but whatever was on his phone, and his laughter grew louder every minute, punctuated more often than not by a cough from the depths of his blackened lungs. Above him, some crows looked down curiously, perched on street lamps that were turned on and humming despite the late afternoon sun. The man’s face was drenched in sweat, and purple veins throbbed against his forehead like little asthmatic worms.The way he gasped for air before each laugh; the way he had to really suck it in before shoving it right back out with a convulsive guffaw that shook the bench. People walked toward him on the sidewalk, but instead of smiling at what might have been contagious laughter were the circumstances slightly tilted, they stopped and crossed the road before continuing in their set direction. The heat was suffocating. The news had said today was one of the hottest days on record. The pavement simmered. The video - it was definitely a video, people could hear the music and the quickly morphing voices - continued on, and the screen of his phone was moist with perspiration from both his brow and fingers. His laugh was so loud, now, that shopkeepers were watching from their windows, the air-conditioning just barely keeping them cool, the suspicious rattle of these summertime machines keeping them fearful that the heat might get them yet. A crow cawed, and more came to join them perched atop the streetlight, which shimmered in the blinding sun. A dozen or so crows; a murder. The video played on, and the laughing grew and grew, his body vibrating with it, and the harsh miasma of cigarette smoke traveled down the nearest sidewalk, through winding alleys, into an apartment building where a couple had been fighting through sweat and violence, shouting about how they needed to get the fuck out, now, l*et’s go somewhere before we have no choice, no, it’s too late, smell the decay, we’re as good as dead.* And then, just like that, a loud pop and the man’s laughter stop.s The sound of his phone hits the pavement and breaks the short silence. From the ice cream parlor across the street, a woman licking the side of a dripping cone opens the door and looks outside, screams. Around the bench, gore litters the street and sidewalk: an ear here, an ear there. Blood like water from a tangled hose: drip, drip.The man remains on the bench, slouched now, hands to his sides. His neck, open and exposed, raw nerve and tendon. On the ground next to his phone, his eyes, both eyes, lay still and sad, trailed behind by crimson rectus. From the dumpster emerges the rat. It crawls down the metallic surface to the floor, picks up an eye and runs off. The street is silent, the sun is hot, and the crows fly off in search of cooler trees.


“So…what do you do for fun?” he asked awkwardly. She just laughed. “You’ve never been on a date before, have you?” He copied her laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not much of a people person, you know?” “I get that. It’s okay, I’m just messing with you.” They continued on their date, laughing and bantering with each other. There were moments of awkward silences, or as they called them, “silences.” These two were normally quiet people. But they were okay with that. The silences were just that. Silences. There was no awkwardness in them. Were they awkward people? By society’s standards, yes they were. But when they were with each other, they could be themselves. No longer were either of them wearing masks, hiding the quiet, sad people they truly were. That said, they weren’t quiet or sad with each other. They were free. They could be who they truly were. More importantly, they could be who they were meant to be. The silences, and their comfort in those silences, showed that they were comfortable with each other. And, even though it was never said, it was understood that if they weren’t saying anything, the company was still appreciated. It was more about being with each other than what they were doing or saying. That mattered more to them than anything else. Having someone who understood. They had gone most their lives without someone who truly understood them. People try to understand, at least the good ones do. But no one ever really does. But none of that mattered now. They had each other. They were together, united, working for one another. A month went by and nothing had really changed. A lot of relationships tend to lose that initial bit of spark after a while. They both knew it was coming, but it hadn’t yet. They didn’t focus on that though. Instead, they kept hanging out with each other, going to dinners, going to movies, spending time with one another in any way they could. Some days they talked more than others. But still, it never mattered what was said or how much was said. There’s a common quote that “Actions speak louder than words” and their relationship was proof of it. They knew what they had was love, even if it was never said it. By being there for each, by showing they cared, they proved how they loved each other. How could people who had met just a month or two ago be in love though? Well, it’s simple. It depends on one’s definition of love. For them, love was being able to care for someone more than oneself. Having someone in one’s life who gives meaning. Gives purpose. For so long in their lives, they were surviving, not living. Now, they each had something, someone, to live for. They knew how much they meant to each other and, because of their own past, knew not to take that for granted. They were two souls truly destined for each other. They were spending the night, her laying in his arms as they watched a movie. He kissed her on the head, something he had never done before. Neither were really the “physical” type. That wasn’t what made them work. She took special notice to that. “What was that for?” she asked blissfully. “I never really say it, but you mean so much to me.” She blushed, but didn’t say anything. “You’ve given me something that I never really had before.” “Oh yeah,” she replied with some snark. “What’s that?” “Happiness.


Hi peoples! So, I'm relatively new here, but I've recently started writing short stories to deal with my anxiety, and this was the first story I wrote. I can't say that my anxiety is gone, but I feel like life is beautiful again and that I've found my purpose. Better late than never, right? Why do you write? I'm sharing it here as I would love to hear your feedback. Cheers! \ In a green-lit forest that’s buzzing with all kinds of life, under a strangely shaped birch tree that’s 125 years old, on a forest floor that no human has ever set foot before, grew an *Amanita Muscaria* mushroom with red skin and white warts distributed more or less evenly across its surface. 🍄 This was no ordinary mushroom. It was sentient, and it went by the name Anita. She was different from all other mushrooms in her community as she was the only one who was aware. All other fellow mushrooms had no idea of what world existed outside of their little stems. She would give living things around her a name to make them more sentient, even though she couldn’t communicate with anyone. Mimmy and Emmy were the mushrooms closest to her. They were mushrooms of a different kind, a special kind considered to be one of the most beautiful: *Laccaria Amethystina* or *The Amethyst Deceiver*. When young, these mushrooms would have a distinctive deep purple color, a color so vibrant and alluring that Anita would often wonder if they were really a Terran species or something brought to Earth by aliens. 👽 Anita liked to imagine how her life would have been like if she was a mushroom of a different kind, a more unique kind like Mimmy and Emmy, or even like Dea and Lea, who grew two trees down and were of a dazzling kind called *Phallus Indusiatus* or also known as *The Veiled Lady*. Dea and Lea rose from the ground a few weeks ago as the most ordinary mushrooms. Very unassuming at first, they soon grew a net-like skirt that made them look very gracious and elaborate. “Why is everyone more impressive than I?” Anita would often wonder. 😔 Days in the forest went by very monotonously. Everything was happening as it was supposed to, each thing casually interacting with other things in its surrounding as if they had been programmed in advance to live in perfect balance with each other. The tree that was giving her shade from the sun was thin but with a rich crown, its slender branches swaying on a windy day, and delicate leaves changing colors with the passing of the seasons. The tree was host to many insects Anita wasn’t fond of; there were ants, spiders, wasps, and even moth and butterfly caterpillars. The abundance of insects also meant the tree was often visited by insect-eating birds like woodpeckers. 🌲 “What if the woodpecker gets tired of eating moths and develops an appetite for some mushrooms? What would I do if he decides to expand his menu? And how come he doesn’t get a concussion from so much pecking?” Anita would wonder. Not to mention how terribly annoying these woodpeckers were. Anita was a night owl, and she would often get lost in thought while gazing at the stars above her, contemplating the meaning of life and her place in the vastness of the Universe, only to get awoken by the maddening pecking of the irritating bird. This bird seemed to peck for all kinds of reasons — to establish territory, excavate a nesting hole, and find insects. Anita would often worry, “What if this pecking fool eats his tasty meal and then poops on top of me?” 💩 Anxious, Anita would look up at every pecking sound coming from the old birch tree. When she wasn’t annoyed by the woodpecker, she would be overwhelmed with melancholic thoughts. “I’m just a FUNGUS, and there’s nothing FUN about it. You’re doomed to remain grounded in one place, your destiny depending on the mercy of woodpeckers, insects, birch trees, rain, the wind, and other things the Universe seems to like more than mushrooms.” She believed someone was playing a weird joke on her, making her sentient but unmovable. She was becoming increasingly anxious about the future, knowing that if danger ever came, she would have no choice but to fade into non-existence without having accomplished anything meaningful. Time flew by as she jumped from one thought to another, blaming the Universe for her uneventful existence. It hadn’t rained for three weeks, but one summer night, on July 17, the rain finally came, and it came in abundance. It would rain uninterruptedly for seven whole days. 🌧 There were times when only a few drops would fall on her cap and nights when she would be completely immersed underwater. On one occasion, a slimy snail climbed on her cap, trying to avoid the incoming water. Anita didn’t worry that she could drown; she could actually hold her breath for several hours. What she worried about was rotting away. “Finally, my greatest fear will come to be: dying slowly in solitude by rotting.” She tried to deal with her overwhelming anxiety by shifting her thoughts to some other things. She started thinking about rain and how all the hydrogen and oxygen atoms bound in each water molecule have been here for eons. “It’s the same water molecules changing from water to vapor to water again. The only way we can get new hydrogen or oxygen atoms is if a meteor containing water crashes on Earth.” 💧 “Does that mean that some of this water passed through the kidneys of humans? Was this water once part of the Aegean sea? Have some of these drops fallen on a mushroom that’s as sad as me?” Wondering about random things tired her. She rarely slept, but that night, she drifted slowly to sleep. When she woke up, she was 2 cm taller and had a friend: a new mushroom rose from the ground right next to her. “Just another fungus that does nothing,” Anita complained about her new friend she considered to be very ugly-looking. “He’s not even a day old, and he already looks like a badly aged mushroom.” “That’s not a nice way to make friends,” the new fungus said with a sharp-witted voice that only someone who has lived through thousands of years and witnessed the rise and fall of species would have. Anita had been waiting for someone to speak to for weeks, and she’s imagined the conversation multiple times in her head, but now she was lost for words. 😨 The wind came and went, seventeen butterflies flew by, and the crescent moon appeared and disappeared from the sky by the time Anita uttered her first words. “Do you have a name?” she asked. “You can call me Myo.” “Do you know what’s wrong with me”? she asked Myo. “The thing that made you sentient made me sentient as well. We call it the mycelial network. We don’t know its origins, but we know it’s been here for a billion years. We’re all part of it. You’re not the only one who’s sentient. We all are. Mimmy and Emmy. Lea and Dea. Everyone. You’re just the one who’s trying to detach herself from the mycelium.” “The mycelial network?” “The mycelium we’re part of is 2,200 years old and has given life to hundreds of thousands of mushrooms over the ages. The mycelium senses everything that’s happening above ground; leaves falling, insects crawling, the wind blowing. Nothing passes unnoticed. Recently, it sensed you. Your anxiety, to be precise. Your anxiety is untangling you from the network, and it’s making your symptoms worse. And so it sent me to act as your mentor mushroom and tell you our story .” 📚 “What do you mean our story?” “We, fungi, came to Earth some 1.3 billion years ago. We were here even before plants. There was a period of a few million years when giant fungi existed. Can you imagine that? Huge fungi a few meters tall; we were the tallest thing that existed for a time. It was we who made life on Earth possible. All the life you see around you in this forest exists because of us. We prepared everything so that other life can exist. Today, we keep a lower profile, but our goal is still the same: maintain life on Earth. That is your purpose, too. Your purpose is not to exist for yourself. It’s to exist for others. You will grow and die, and new life will grow out of you. And so on for billions of years until the Sun consumes the planet.” 🌎 “But I want a different purpose. There must be something more than that,” Anita rebelled. “What higher purpose is there than existing in perfect harmony and balance with other organisms in order to support all kinds of life?” “My wish is to leave this forest and see what else is out there.” “I knew a mushroom just like you once. We called him Bebel the Rebel. Every five hundred years or so, a mushroom like you and Bebel appears. We believe it’s due to some kind of an error in the mycelial network. You want to detach and exist on your own.” “What happened to Bebel?” asked Anita. “We had to let him go. He was trying to detach from the mycelium by force, risking to poison every fungi and plant in his local area.” “Did he find happiness?” “He didn’t find anything; it found him.” “What do you mean?” “The mycelium is also like a messaging system. We use it to send signals to each other; look at it as an early warning system to protect us from things like pests. That week when Bebel detached from the network, we had a terrible aphid attack. Aphids are these creepy-looking, sap-sucking insects that can infect us with viruses that are deadly to us. A few of us died in the attack but managed to send a signal. Unfortunately, no one was able to warn Bebel as he was no longer attached to the network. He died three days after becoming an independent mushroom.” 🐛 Myo’s words slowly turned into an echo. Anita was now having an internal conversation with herself. “Should I trust this weird mushroom? Could he be telling the truth, or was the story about Bebel only that, a story?” But the more Myo talked, the more she grew to believe his words. It was a too-detailed story not to be true. Anita was about to ask Myo to tell her more stories about fungi when she heard a voice she had never heard before. A few seconds later, she would also see something she had never seen before. Humans. And not just any humans: tiny humans. 🧒🏻🧒🏽🧒🏾 The approaching humans seemed to be a group of ear-splitting children accompanied by an oddly-tall grownup who was their teacher. They were on a field trip, looking for curious things that grow in the forest. One of the children shouted, “Miss Day, we found one. Oh, it’s so beautiful.” Before she could activate her defense mechanism, a group of a dozen five-year-olds surrounded Anita and stared at her with curious eyes. No one had ever looked at Anita the way these five-year-olds did. At first, she felt slightly uncomfortable, but soon, that discomfort transformed into enjoyment. She was heartened by their zest for knowledge and adorable nosiness. Truth be told, she felt flattered they were taking such a keen interest in her. 👀 “Can I touch it, Miss Day?” one of the students asked. “Go ahead, Penny, but be gentle.” Anita felt a chubby and squishy finger touching her red cap. It touched her a few times before it retreated. “What you’re looking at here is an Amanita mushroom, which is part of the fungi kingdom. Do you want to hear a fun fact? The mushroom you see here is just the fruiting body of the fungus. The rest of it is buried underground, and it’s part of a larger organism we call the mycelium.” “Why is it hiding from us?” asked Tommy. “It’s not hiding from anyone. That’s how this mushroom connects with other mushrooms and plants around it. They need the soil to be able to cooperate more effectively.” “Do they go to sleep when they’re tired?” Jojo asked. “That’s such a good question,” Miss Day laughed in excitement. “They don’t experience sleepiness like we do when we’re tired from learning new things at school. They never take a break from keeping this planet alive.” “Does the mushroom know we’re here?” “It knows. It can sense us. The entire mycelium network below us knows we’re here. It’s very sensitive to vibrations.” At that moment, the tiny humans started jumping and thumping on the ground. “Let’s make the mycelium network dizzy.” “And that’s why it hides from people,” Miss Day thought to herself. “Take a look at the Amanita mushroom. Do you know that we wouldn’t have been here today if it wasn’t for mushrooms?” “We would have been at school?” asked Jojo. “No, I mean we wouldn’t have existed at all. Not me, not you, not Tommy, not Penny, not your parents, not your grandparents, not your brother or sister. We wouldn’t even have forests or flowers. Mushrooms made life possible.” 🌱 “Mushrooms are superheroes. They should make movies about them,” Penny said. “They surely don’t get the credit they deserve. But they’ve always been fascinating to me, and I hope you find them too. Now, shall we get going? We have so many things to explore in this forest. Follow me; let us go look for some woodpeckers.” The children left, but Anita would hear them in the distance for a few more hours. She even felt a bit heartsick when they left. “I can tell you’re sad the humans are gone. They tend to have that effect on you. Such a remarkable species”, said Myo. “They seemed fascinated by fungi. I had no idea people thought that of us. But how can I now exist with all this immense knowledge contained in me?” To that, Myo said, “Learn to appreciate the little things and the world you shaped. Start looking at things through a deeper lens, knowing that a small part of this world exists because of you. You’re a creator of life. And such a beautiful life you’ve created. This birch tree that imposes itself above you? It’s here because of you. That annoying woodpecker? He’s pecking on that poor tree because of you. Wouldn’t you rather be a part of something grander than yourself? Don’t detach from the network Anita; your place is among us.” 🥺 It suddenly seemed like ages ago when Anita would dream of being something more than a mushroom. Now, she couldn’t imagine herself being anything else. It seemed like Myo’s storytelling aged her considerably and transferred some billion-year-old wisdom to her. She knew that her inner voice was telling the truth: she was destined to do something great. Only not alone but in connection with others. Together, they will protect the age-old tradition of maintaining life on Earth. Kingdoms will fall, and civilizations will come and go, but she and the other fungi will be working secretly from underground without anyone noticing. They will be the imperceptible weavers of life, silently pulling the strings from behind the scenes. There was a pecking sound coming from the birch tree, and she looked up. It was the annoying woodpecker. The only difference was she didn’t find him annoying anymore. On the contrary, she was fascinated by his untiring persistence to find a tasty meal and survive. She glimpsed at Mimmy and Emmy, and instead of feeling jealous, she was in awe of the beauty of her species. Even the wind felt differently. Only a few days ago, she found the wind to be an inconvenience, disturbing her comfort and de-focusing her from her deep thoughts. Now she felt its power and importance, trying so hard to make Earth habitable. She even heard a voice, as if the wind was speaking to her as it passed. She didn’t capture every word, but to her, it sounded like it was saying: “You and I are very similar, Anita, whoosh. We both bring balance to this world, whoosh. Your power lies underground and mine above. Accept your role. Whoosh. The planet needs you.” 🌬 The wind and its whispers disappeared unannounced as they arrived. Anita looked at Myo and said, “I’ve existed for three and a half months, but I’ve never had a friend. Would you be interested in becoming my friend?” To that, Myo smiled and said, “Gladly. Now let me tell you the story about how our Universe began.” 🌌 “Our Universe?” “Yes, there are many universes, each different from the other. But that’s a story for another day.” Myo started talking with that wise voice that made Anita a little bit uncomfortable and suspicious when she first met him. She looked up to the cloudy sky, as she often would every night since the day she grew from underground. Suddenly, the clouds cleared, and a bright star appeared. At that moment, she knew: it was going to be a beautiful night.


The vibrant red of the paint looked violent against the bumpy white canvas surface. Xavier grimaced. He'd never intended to make the painting so violent. But art had a mind of its own and so did magick. He sat in the chair for hours ignoring the pain that cemented itself in the muscles of his bottom. For hours he did the slow work of creating something. And as was with all his art he had no idea what was going to be made when he'd first begun. He got up once. To turn on the small lantern that sat next to his easel. Then again, he returned, glued to his uncomfortable wooden stool as hunger gnawed at his insides and thirst scratched at his throat. An orange glow filled the room. The rising sun had decided to make an appearance in his large attic window. He raced against the nuisance, and finally, he placed his brush on his easel and sat back taking in his creation. The scene had come together beautifully. Xavier raised a brow. It was odd how mundane the painting was. He'd never expected such a quiet scene. Not when the underpainting had been so red, so violent. The image had come together to form a small cafe. Where the lighting was a soft orange. He saw the small version of himself. In the image, he'd looked identical to now. His foot was outstretched and a small woman tripped over his pointed leather shoe. He sighed as the colors bled from the painting, coming to terms with what he knew the Gods had required him to do. His surroundings shifted and he was there, in the dull scene he had painted. The air was warm and filled with the smell of fresh coffee beans. In front of him was a porcelain mug of steaming black coffee.  He took the warm mug in his hands bringing it to his lips. And there was the woman. Her brown hair was sleeked back into a bun. She had an aura of respect that seeped from her. Xavier watched as the poor woman attempted to balance two layers of cupholders containing coffee. A pang of guilt burrowed itself in the pit of his stomach as the woman got closer. He stuck out his foot. The woman's black stiletto heel connected with his worn leather shoes and she lurched forward. The scene seemed to slow. And Xavier pictured how it had looked from the safety of his attic room. Coffee reaching out like tentacles. The sharpness of the woman's shock across her face. He saw how he looked in the painting. Peaking over his mug, face obscure by steam. Hot coffee splashed on his jeans and he hissed. Hot coffee splashed on the woman's arms and she yelped in pain. A couple nearby samaritans rushed forward to help the woman. In the commotion, Xavier got up from his chair and walked toward the bathroom. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again. He was back in the safety of his attic room. The sun cast a glowing light on the painting. It emphasized the different-sized brush strokes. The paint on the canvas shifted. The scene changed of its own accord. The brush strokes swirled around each other like living tendrils. It changed to the white walls of a hospital room. Where the woman lay, her arms wrapped in plaster. Xavier shook his head sadly. He'd never wanted to cause a stranger harm but he found that this occupation often led to just that. The woman held in her hand a pink slip. Her head was bowed, her expression concealed. The painting changed again. The young woman looked wistfully out the windows of a house. An older woman sat across from her, her features similar to that of the young lady but her face was slightly wrinkled. Xavier presumed it was an older relative, maybe her mother. The older woman held a book in her hands. Hues of blues and grays colored the painting. Xavier's face pinched in confusion. He ground his teeth together. Had the Gods meant to punish the young lady? Had he had a role in the orchestrating of the destruction of her life? The scene shifted again. The image was dark. Except for the small glow that emanated from a computer screen. The glow reflected off the woman's face which held an unfiltered grin. He looked over the painting finding the subject of the painting's fingers excitedly pressing keys. He smiled at her, although she'd never see it. The scene shifted once more. Its colors were vibrant. Oranges, and pinks, jumped from the image. The woman stood behind a podium. Smiling at an object held tight in her hands. Xavier grinned as the color leaked from the painting once more. He found himself in a seat. And again he felt the dominating aura of the woman. Claps reigned around him. And as is human nature he clapped too. "Any questions?" The woman asked. Hands shot up from every corner. The woman chuckled. She pointed to one of the older women sitting towards the front. "I'm somewhat of a writer myself, so I guess what I'm wondering is how did you find the courage to publish your first book." She asked. The young woman smiled. "It's not the happiest story. After a particularly nasty burn accident. I had lost everything. And when you have nothing to lose, it's easier to take chances. Sorry, that's probably not what you were hoping for." The crowd chuckled. The older woman shrugged. Xavier caught the eye of the woman. She tilted her head. Her eyes widened in recognition. He blinked at her. Unsure of what to do. And then he was back. In his isolating attic. He sighed and mumbled to himself grabbing the canvas. He made his way down to the ground floor, rolling his neck. He stretched and opened the door to his spare room. Paintings filled the area. Each picturing its own unique scene. He tossed the finished painting into the room uncaring of where it would land and shut the door behind him. Quietly he wondered if somewhere there was an artist who would bend the wheels of fate to bring him some company. His doorbell rang, the sound echoed throughout his empty house. He pinched his brows together as he was beckoned toward the front door. He opened the door. Xavier immediately recognized the woman in front of him because he'd seen her only moments before. Except gray hair had begun to weave its way through her dark curls and smile lines had kissed the space between her lips and cheeks. She held a package in her hand. "I think this was delivered to-" She looked up catching his eye. "You." She whispered, a mix of awe and anger.


Ellie examined herself in the mirror. Her long, blonde hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail, and her eyes were sunken in from stress. She sighed, tightened her ponytail even more, and exited the small bathroom. She trudged down the long hallway and re-entered the head master’s office, where her mother and father were waiting for her.

“Hello, Miss Elaina,” The headmaster greeted, sitting straight up with her hands folded on her desk. “Hello, Mrs..” Ellie glanced at her name plaque. “Rothschild.” “Ms,” She was corrected. She nodded awkwardly and sank into the giant, pleather chair in front of Ms. Rothschild. “So,” The headmaster began. “Elaina will be enrolled into our seventh grade gifted program, and she will be on the third floor of the boarding house. Her extracurricular activities will include soccer, French, and pottery. She will be on fall break in October, and it will be two weeks long. She is expected to complete all of the homework given for that break. Any questions?”

Ellie’s parents looked stunned. They shook their heads, and Ms. Rothschild smiled. “Great! Well, we’ll get her to her room then. Say your goodbyes, and I will have my assistant walk her to the boarding house.” Ellie looked at her mom and dad, and gave them reluctant hugs. They had tears in their eyes, and she wondered why. They were the reason this was happening, they could stop it at any time. Once the goodbyes were over, Ellie followed a small woman named Miss Scotts out of the building and into another, taller one. They walked up two flights of stairs, and got to a room with the number 83 carved into a metal plaque.

“Here is your room,” The woman squeaked. Ellie nodded at her, and entered the small dorm room. It had two creaky metal beds, and a small window in between. Off to the side, there was an old, particle board desk and dresser set, and a tiny closet. Ellie unpacked her small suitcase, and then sat on the left bed to read a book. She hadn’t even been reading for five minutes when the door to the room flew open. In bounced a petite, redheaded girl.

“Hello!” The girl chirped. “I’m Shelby!” “Hello, Shelby,” Ellie responded, and introduced herself.

“Well, I guess we’re roommates,” Shelby smiled. Ellie smiled back, in spite of herself. Shelby’s attitude was infectious. For the next few hours, Shelby and Ellie lounged in their room. At about 5 o’clock, they decided to go explore. But, when they left the room, they couldn’t find the stairwell. They brushed it off, and went back to their room.  Later that evening, they were called down for dinner. They headed down the stairs, and went across the courtyard into the cafeteria. They sat down at the tables, and ate ravenously, exhausted and hungry from the long travel to St. Mary’s. Ellie was so hungry, she almost didn’t notice the teachers whispering amongst themselves. But she did, and pointed it out to Shelby. Shelby shrugged it off.

“They’re probably just gossiping about something.” Ellie nodded, not completely convinced.

They went to bed at 9 o’clock, because that was their curfew. Ellie laid in bed, not tired at all. She could hear Shelby snoring, and it made her giggle. Suddenly, she heard loud creaking. She listened hard. It sounded almost like the building was.. Moving. But Ellie knew that wasn’t possible. After about three minutes, the creaking stopped. Ellie was confused, but decided not to question it. She flipped over, and finally fell asleep.

In the morning, they woke up at 7 o’clock. They got ready for their lessons, and went into the cafeteria. They all entered at the same time, and noticed none of the teachers were there. They sat down at the tables, and suddenly food appeared on the table. The girls gasped. Where did it come from? Ms. Rothschild appeared at the front of the room. “Hello, girls. I am sure you’re all confused; let me explain. There are 300 of you, all young women. Now, this might come as a surprise, but you are all beginning witches.” The girls looked at each other in disbelief. She was joking, right? “No, I am not joking. You all have a very rare blood type. That blood type is F positive, and it ensures that you are descendants of Merlin. A lot of people don’t believe in him, but you girls.. You ARE him. Now, of course you will still learn the normal school subjects. But you will also be learning how to hone your powers.”

The girls were shocked. This was NOT what they were expecting when they arrived at the St. Mary’s. Girls started trying to use their powers, making things float and bounce around the entire cafeteria. Ms. Rothschild watched, laughing slightly at their delight. Ellie looked over at Shelby. Ellie concentrated hard, and Shelby’s ice water floated into the air, before dropping back down onto the table. They grinned widely at each other. They could get used to this whole ‘witch’ thing.

After breakfast, the horde of girls rushed to their first classes, excited to learn. Ellie and Shelby had a potion-making class first, and they chose two large, plush seats to sit in. They held hands, and listened intently as the teacher explained the ‘level one’ potion that they were going to practice making. It was meant to turn a teenager into a toddler for five minutes. The girls worked hard; mixing together cinnamon with frog tongues and tree roots. Once they were all done, the teacher looked into all of their cauldrons, nodding. Then she turned to the students. “Drink them,” She demanded. The girls were shocked, but did as they were told. Suddenly, they were all little toddlers! They could think like girls their age, but appeared to be three years old. After the potions wore off, their teacher smiled. “Well done, girls. You are dismissed.” Shelby and Ellie joined hands, hurrying to their next class and chattering excitedly. This was going to be a fun school year.


Tim leaves city hall taking his frustration out on the ground with every step. A few people reach out to introduce themselves and comfort him, but he ignores them and pushes forward. He throws open the door outside and sits on the steps. Between tears, he looks at Bass Creek, the town that is alive. People are walking are laughing. A father is carrying his child on his shoulders. A car passes by with a young couple laughing in the front street. "Why can't you just accept this place, Stephen," Tim says. "Tim?" he hears Velma's voice. He rolls his eyes. She always likes being the peacekeeper. "Velma, please don't try to persuade me to go back inside. I cannot handle Stephen's pretentious bullshit anymore," Tim says. Velma sits next to him. "No, I actually agree with you," she smiles. "You do," Tim narrows his eyes at her. "Yes, this town is amazing, and Stephen is way too far up his ass to realize it," she says. "Oh, great," Tim stumbles over his words. He was prepared to be mad at her, and he is left confused. "Come on, let's explore this place further," Velma takes his hand and start to run through the town. People wave at them as they run. Tim is quick to wave back at every person they see. They pass by a diner, a general store, and a gas station, and at every spot, they stop and stare. After running for several moments, Velma stops in front of a library. "Wait," she steps closer to the doors. "Really, you choose a library?" Tim looks around for alternative locations, and Velma enters behind him. Tim shrugs and enters. No one else is in the library, and Velma has already made her way to the middle of the shelves. Tim goes to the aisle that has a sign on the edge with a random set of numbers. Velma is looking at a collection of books on historical events. "How much do you know about the world before the war?" Velma asks. "Uh, I don't know. I have picked up things from other travelers and random scraps, but outside of that, I guess little." "Humanity did so much that I bet that this shelf doesn't even cover a fraction of a percent, and it could all easily be forgotten in a few generations." "Not if I can help it," Tim and Velma strike defensive poses to a middle-aged woman with glasses who jumps back in shock, "Sorry, you two must be new. I should know better than to sneak up on people." "No, we are sorry," Tim relaxes. "Do you get new people a lot around here?" Velma asks. "Not really, but they tend to have similar behavior," she holds out her hand, "I am Barbara, and I run this library. I understand your fear of humanity losing its knowledge, but if I have my way, this library will not go the way of Alexandria," she brings her hand up to her face, "I am sorry you two probably haven't heard of Alexandria. It is a library that got burned." "Uh, you are correct. I have never heard of this library," Tim rubs his neck, "I am Tim." "I'm Velma. What other books do you have here?" Velma asks. "Oh so many, follow me," Barbara guides them through the shelves, "We have biographies, cook books, fantasy, romance, mystery, comic books, science books," she turns to them, "We do have some science fiction books, but we tend to keep those restricted because people tend to have averse reactions to the stories." "I am going to be honest. I understood little of what you said," Tim replies. Barbara laughs. "Don't worry. If you decide to stay, you can immerse yourself in the literary world," Barbara replies. "I would like that," Velma says. "Same," Tim says. A beeping noise comes from the front of the library. "Don't panic. It is just my coffee. Have either of you ever had coffee?" both shake their heads, "I will bring you a cup." After she walks away, a book falls on the ground. Tim walks over and picks up the book. "What is a yearbook?" he asks. "It is usually something that a school makes to show who attended that year," Velma stands next to him, "I have never seen one." Barbara slaps the book out of Tim's hands with a panicked look on her face, "Don't open that book." "What?!" Tim holds his hands in the air as if accused of a crime. "That is how it starts," Barbara scratches her face, "Find your friend and leave now." Barbara slams her head against the shelves. Tim and Velma take that as a sign to run out of the library. When they reach the street, they see the entire town is slamming into buildings. Two cars get into an accident before them. "What the hell is going on?" Velma asks. "I don't know, but we have to find Stephen," Tim says.


There is a theory that exists called Liebovitz’s Law (sometimes known as Lieb’s Lawbovitz), coined in dis-honor of the famous gem-synthesizer Brinn Liebovitz. Liebovitz’s Law states that when one feels too strongly that they are going to produce a masterpiece or the greatest thing that’s ever been made, that is often the time when the world’s most towering, irredeemable pieces of trash are birthed. There’s some tendon within the human mind that, if greatness and importance are too consciously and strenuously reached for, snaps under the strain. Liebovitz’s Law has led to almost all of the world’s great disasters, and after what Mr. Liebovitz did, he became the shining symbol of this phenomenon. Mr. Brinn Liebovitz was, by all measures, a very great man. He started as a chemist, and soon became the only man on planet Earth who could make a perfect diamond with a microwave oven, create a ruby with a few household chemicals, and figure out a way to form a sparkling amethyst while stranded on a desert island. He fabricated stones that were combinations of all sorts of gems--diarubys and emeropals and sapphiamonds--and he was generous too, giving these incredible creations to jewelers and common folks alike. All of his work was built on a love of beauty and quality. He shared all of his recipes, and soon the people of the earth were able to create unspeakably beautiful stones whenever they chose. The only thing Mr. Liebovitz did not share was his home, and not by choice. Brinn Liebovitz was “*2034’s Ugliest Man in the World*”, as voted by People magazine shortly before the poll was erased and the magazine recalled for being “too cruel.” Mr. Liebovitz tried to shrug this off, but the truth was indisputable--his nose touched his bottom lip, his boils were infinite, his skin was a ghastly greenish blue, and despite his vast kindness and his not insignificant wealth, he could not find anyone who would love him. He had no family, either. The female members of his family died long ago from a series of tragic toxic shock syndrome accidents that resulted in the largest civil suit against a feminine hygiene product manufacturer in history, and his father was struck in the temple by a tragically mis-thrown bowling ball. Thus, Mr. Liebovitz had lived alone for 25 years, and this was the great burden of his existence. He was celebrating his 52nd birthday with five male colleagues in his palatial home near the Connecticut coast when he had the idea--the idea that would banish his loneliness for good. He explained to his colleagues that if the complex chemical makeup of a gemstone could be synthesized with his patented 10-step program, surely he was only about 10 *more* steps away from being able to synthesize real, genuine life. 20 steps, and he would be able to turn some household chemicals into a gemstone, and then turn that gemstone into a human woman who would love him forever. His colleagues were naturally skeptical. They pointed him to a variety of literature in which a reckless scientist attempts to play God, and is destroyed by his own creation. They also pointed him to the fact that this was completely, ridiculously impossible. Liebovitz, in his signature voice that sounded like a turkey drowning in a closed can of soup, rebuked them all. “With this 20 step plan, I will not play God, and I will not defy him--I have simply asked him to show me his methods, and he has passed his torch to me. He speaks to me, you see.” Having made his point, he wobbled into the kitchen like a month-old leg of ham. His colleagues would often beg him not to walk anywhere before they had a chance to look away--but now, as Liebovitz worked his magic, the five men who had gathered for his birthday found themselves unable to look away, despite their revulsion. First, Liebovitz used his 10-step process to create an emerald, the process of which is now heavily copyrighted and protected by Mr. Liebovitz’s estate, and cannot legally be printed, but suffice it to say it was a lot of pouring things into other things, microwaving, stomping, stirring, and the final step, which is common knowledge: **10.** Pour the mixture into your nose, let it filter through your sinuses, and when you open your mouth, *there the gem shall be*. Liebovitz did the whole process with the speed and precision of a Nascar pit crew, and when he opened his mouth his colleagues could not help but applaud, so giant and flawless was the emerald sitting on Liebovitz’s greenish, pickle-looking tongue. Liebovitz smiled and told them God was now communicating with him in visions, and that he had only begun to work. The next 10 steps are the stuff of legends. Liebovitz throughout the process is reported to have broken several previously established laws of both chemistry and physics, and the steps resulted in the death of four of his five colleagues. The actual machinations of the process are now highly classified and possession of them can result in incarceration for a mandatory minimum of 15 years. What is not classified is what Liebovitz said, over and over, throughout the three-hour process of turning this flawless emerald into his lover. “This will be my masterpiece. This shall be the culmination of my life’s work.” The one colleague who survived the experiment, a tiny man named Stillwaller, made it a point to recount that these phrases were gargled by Liebovitz hundreds of times throughout the night, at increasing speed and volume until they were burned into the cortex of everyone unfortunate enough to attend his birthday party. After the three hours were complete, and four of five of his only earthly friends lay dead, Liebovitz stood in the kitchen staring into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, created from one tiny emerald and hundreds of chemicals. For the first time in his entire life, a woman’s eyes did not flee from him in shock or fear. Her deep green eyes traveled up and down his body and lingered. Stillwaller stared from the corner in horror. Liebovitz was entranced. She looked at Brinn Liebovitz as no one had ever had--with love. He collapsed to his knees and she followed him with her eyes, and her face creased with genuine concern. Liebovitz began to cry, which was a sound so unholy that Stillwaller jumped through the bay window out into the hedges. The emerald woman did not. She crouched down and lowered herself to his height, and stared at him with great compassion. She spoke, and her voice was so soft and smooth that it sounded as if it had always existed in the air and she was merely drawing it out. “Are you okay?” “Yes, dear--I just never expected this to work. I was receiving visions from God, guiding me in what to do--but I never imagined they would be truthful. I never imagined that He would let me have this.” “Have what?” “Have you. Do you have a name?” “Emily.” Liebovitz’s mind was racing. This was a fully sentient being with an idea of its own name, a command of the English language with no teaching--he had not just created life. He had birthed something that not even God had birthed. He vibrated with excitement. He whispered to himself one more time--”this is my masterpiece.” He stood to his full height and looked at Emily, who stood at the perfect height for him and who looked at him like he was something of worth, and he wanted to melt even though he had always been told that he looked as if his face and body were already melting. He shook off thoughts of past abuse and looked into a future of love. “May I kiss you?” “Of course.” He strode to Emily with as much confidence as he could muster and stood before her, inches away, her energy reaching out to him and his to her, crackling with tension, the attraction physical and fiery. He looked deep into her endless green eyes, and then he closed his, hoping she was closing hers too. He lifted up his nose out of the way of his mouth, and then he leaned forward, heart in his throat. Time seemed to freeze and watch them. His lips touched hers and instantly there was an intense, scorching heat which Brinn Liebovitz at first thought was just what a kiss really felt like, but he then realized there was no way a kiss could feel like this, and then every single chemical he had used to create Emily rapidly decomposed and rearranged and reacted to the body heat and moisture he was emitting through his gaping mouth, and the only woman who had ever loved Brinn Liebovitz turned into a giant gaseous fireball that destroyed 500 square kilometers of Connecticut coastline, including 3,459 civilians and several small businesses and chain restaurants. The bodies of the people hit by the fireball were reported to be “melted and swollen, blackened, their noses hanging to their lips and their flesh filled with voluminous boils.” Brinn Liebovitz himself was never found, his ashes presumed to have been scattered into the atmosphere by the force of the explosion. The only person who survived in the surrounding area was Stillwaller, Brinn’s colleague who had knocked himself out when he jumped out the bay window. He incurred the severe physical disfigurement observed in the other victims, but the soft earth he laid in insulated him just enough to survive after a few months in the ICU. Later, as journalists attempted to piece together what happened on that fateful night, they interviewed Stillwaller, who said two things of note during the interview. The first was to coin the “Liebovitz’s Law” term, which has gained a great amount of popularity in recent years. The second thing he said, which was also popular, was that he now knew what it was like to be Brinn Liebovitz due to his physical disfigurement, that his wife had divorced him--and that he had figured out where Liebovitz had gone wrong in the 20-step procedure of how to make a woman that loves you out of a simple gemstone. Stillwaller published a paper online with distinct instructions of how to do it, including a thorough dissection of exactly where Liebovitz had gone wrong and how his new 20 step process would fix the fatal error. 3 hours later a 750 square kilometer chunk of Connecticut was destroyed by a fireball even larger and more violent than the last. Stillwaller’s document was downloaded millions of times before the government could take it down, and within a few hours every English-speaking country in the world was rocked by a series of massive explosions that left billions dead and the economy, infrastructure, and the human race as a whole crippled for several decades. Scholars would observe later how odd it was that the greatest disaster in recorded human history was caused not by a desire for destruction, or power, or resources, but out of a need for love, manifested by thousands of lonely people across the world. A quote from the novelist and journalist Fredrick Shulzmann sums it up best: “Let us be humble, and tend to our lonely as we tend to our sick--for without the love of one’s fellow man, the lonely turn to the pursuit of greatness for solace--and those in the pursuit of greatness may invent a 20-step process that turns a gemstone into a massive chemical bomb disguised as a beautiful woman.” Brinn Liebovitz did not know about any of this. All he knew was that he was floating somewhere high above the Earth, finally freed from his body, and that he had spent the last moments of his life knowing he was truly loved.


Lee lands on the frozen ocean, hard, creating a medium-sized wave as he lands. Lee sits up and looks at the wave he sorta made. "Talk about making *waves,*" said Lee. "Funny," said Michael, "Not!" Lee turned around to see Michael suspended in the air. A black and pink card floats from behind Michael and turns into a well-dressed man with a fancy watch for a face. "\**Ahem*\* Ladies & Gentlemen," said the watch man, "Boy & girls, children of all ages, do we have a fight for you tonight!" The watch man walks behind Michael, disappearing. "Thaaaaats right, Grand-Z-" Lee jumps as Grand-Z appears behind him, rubbing his shoulders. "-We have Lee Blanchard, master of the Apex Beasts-" Grand-Z flies back over to Michael. "-versus Michael 'The Dude' Vice!" "Nice to see you again Grand-Z," said Lee "always a displeasure to feel your voice in my head." The hands on Grand-Z's clock face point at 8 and 4'o clock, forming a frown. "Hey don't listen to him, bro," said Michael, "You bring the hype!" "Thanks, bro," said Grand-Z. Lee stands, dusting the water off of his shoulders. "Same old, same old," said Lee. "***High Rise Hopper, Kick Strike!***" Lee leaps into the air, kicking at Michael. Grand-Z screams as he and Michael fly in different directions, dodging the kick. "**Time Burst!*****"*** Said Michael as he dives after Lee. The two collide mid-air, creating a massive sonic boom that freezes mid-motion. Two cards fly into both of Lee's arms. "***Blazing Tiger + Rapid Hedge-***" "**TIME BURST!***"* said Michael as he knocks Lee back into the water. "**TIME BREAK!**" "*Start,"* said Grand-Z. Pink energy explodes from Michael as time resumes. A card flies from behind Lee before he begins to sink. "**TIME BURST!**" said Michael as he shot down, right into Lee, going deeper into the ocean. A few seconds pass then an object shoots through the water back onto the beach. Lee walks onto land, shaking the water off of him. "Give it up, Michael," said Lee, "Unless you want a first-class ticket back to wherever you came from." Michael gets up and smiles. A card flies in front of both Lee and Michael. "**TIME BUR-"** "***Swarm!"*** said Lee. A swarm of hornets fly from the card and consume Michael. Once fully consumes a bolt of lightning strikes the swarm. The swarm dissipates as a now charred Michael drops to his knees. Grand-Z kneels next to Michael. "Chill out, he's been through worse." "Guess another round goes to you," said Grand-Z, "Enjoy the rest of your night." In a flash of light, Grand-Z and Michael disappear. Lee leans over, holding his side as he hobbles back to the pier. "Couldn't have zipped me back this time, huh," said Lee. \*Click\* Lee turns around, surveying his surroundings. Seeing nothing, he continues his walk. *The world of magic is one of mystery and change, some for the better and some for the worst. Some fight that change, some embrace it, wholeheartedly, but at the end of the day no one knows what that change will bring. That change starts...


Last night I went to a party in Depot Town with Steve. The whole event was promoted by the tenants as a house show for local bands, although equally devoted to everyone's thirst for cheap beer and vigorous ego stroking. I changed my outfit about seven times before deciding on a pale pink dress and black cardigan. It was clear mere minutes after arriving that my little pink number didn't stand a chance. I was simply not punk enough to be here. Not even my tactfully applied black eyeshadow could fool this crowd into thinking I had any shred of underground grit to me. The sentiment of disconnect was only exaggerated by several forehead tattoos, ironic leather booty shorts, and 40-something skinheads with gray chest hair popping out of Black Flag v-necks. But for the sake of this recount, let me set aside my own ego and admit that I was probably just invisible. And so I did as I always do when subjected to totally normal social functions. I threw back three beers, fidgeted fervently and embraced my anonymity. The first person I spoke to aside from Steve was this guy named Kristov. I had met Kristov a few weeks earlier at a bar called Sidetracks. I remembered only his name and our brief acknowledgement of each others' self-deprecating humor. Kristov wears a grey wool trench coat and gaudy septum ring. Kristov has pale skin and black irises. Kristov likes Joy Division and writes slam poetry. He gave me this breathy confession that he'd recently subscribed to a life of sobriety, and that parties like this were becoming a burden. I nodded my head and smiled, said nothing. I guess it just seemed the kind of topic that ought to be sustained by the initiator. But for the sake of this recount, let me say that over my dead body was I about to politely endure any straightedge superiority propaganda. But Kristov ultimately concluded that I was most definitely interested as to why he now so nobly abstains from Pabst Blue Ribbon. Or maybe he just if he felt like talking about it. "I get angry. I get really fucking angry when I drink. I get angry because I'm sad, I'm so sad, all of the time. But the last time I got drunk I threw a metal folding chair at someone's head. And then I punched him. I punched him until I watched two teeth pop out of his jaw. I didn't even know his name. I can't remember if he even did anything to upset me. When I woke up the next morning, I looked down at my knuckles and cried. I cried for hours. I felt like dying. I felt like dying for weeks." He had broken eye contact with me halfway through his monologue but my eyes were locked on his face. My heart was pounding like an addict with an itch. These kinds of interactions with people had always been my raison d'etre. I wanted so badly to relate to this person. I wanted so badly to share with him the last time that I felt like dying, and that I thought his exposition was gorgeous in the same way I fall in love with stories of passionate criminals, and that I felt this great, misplaced privilege to be the one who was listening to him in that moment. And so began the manic panic for an encapsulating reply. But I did as I always do when subjected to totally normal social functions. I miraculously rematerialized into a fucking stone. I offered this person a sentiment so vapid I swear to god it felt like cheap plastic sliding past my teeth. "You made a mistake and then you made a change, based on how you felt about your mistake. That's really good.". I could feel us both wince at my reply. His discomfort was almost audible. My fingers pinched the base of my wrist. My teeth bit the inside of my cheek as another opportunity for me to authentically interact with another human being passed, just as quickly as it came. We exchanged "Yeah"'s and returned to our posts. Mine being at Steve's side, his in the kitchen.


I don't think it should be mandatory, but it would be interesting to add a system of flairs that could show what genre of short story it is. Here are some ideas I had in mind: Sci-Fi: Basically Science Fiction, robots, advanced space travel, extraterrestrials, etce. Fantasy: A story with fantasy elements such as mythical beings, magic, etc. Realist. Fict.: Realistic Fiction. Hist. Fict.: Historical fiction. Other: For stories that don't pertain Meta: For meta posts. Those are just a few suggestions I had in mind. You could also add a system for certain flairs to be filtered or only certain flairs to be allowed so users could read more stories that pertain to their literary interests.


I was cave diving, like I did every summer. My brother was with me, but he stayed up top. He kept an eye on my lines. He never liked caves, or swimming. I took after our dad. There was a tug on the rope in my hand and I tugged back, letting him know I was still alive. It was tied around my wrist. If I didn’t respond, my brother would reeling me back in. It wasn’t the right way to handle stuff like this, but we’d come up with a system that worked for us. These caves were new to me. I’d done all of our local ones, water caves and dry. I’d managed to convince my brother to come with me to the next state so I could explore here. He was still grumbling when we got to the entrance this morning. He’d settle down once I surfaced and we could head home. The rope tugged again and I pulled a little harder this time, thinking that maybe my tugs hadn’t gone all the way to the end. The line stilled after that. I rolled my eyes and swam a little deeper. It was like another world. The only light was from the waterproof headlamp I had strapped to my forehead. I had a hand flashlight on my belt if I needed it. But I liked to keep my hands free so I could run my hands over the rocks like I was doing now. Again, the rope tugged at my wrist. I gritted my teeth and pulled hard twice. Why the hell was my brother tugging so often? Was he really just not getting my responses? If I wasn’t careful, he’d start reeling me in. And I really didn’t want to start again in these caves. I’d gotten really far in. I waited for the tug to come again. Or for him to start pulling me through the caves. But there was nothing. I counted, reaching sixty twice before I turned and started heading deeper. My harder tugs must have reached, or I had pulled him into the water. I grinned. I’d gotten maybe ten metres further before there was another tug on my wrist. I could have sworn. I gripped the rope and placed my feet on the walls, using some small outcroppings as a platform. I reefed on the rope. There was no tension in it. There was way too much slack. There was something wrong. I started swimming back, keeping my hands off the rope. I didn’t want to pull it all the way down with me. Not if it had broken somewhere. It was my guide out of here. I’d gotten too arrogant. It had been years since I’d stopped mind mapping when I dived. Oh! I knew that clump of plant. It wasn’t often that plants grew in underwater caves, and yet here it was. I was about halfway up. The rope still trailed away around the corner, hidden by the plant. I swam closer. The rope was cut. The end floated in front of me. I grabbed it, fumbling for my flashlight. The beam of light bobbed through the water, bouncing off rocks. But the other end of the rope wasn’t here. My brother must have reeled it in. Or it might be around a corner. I just had to look. I tried to kick off and went nowhere. Glancing down at my feet, I found that the plant had wrapped itself around me. I kicked hard. Pain shot through my ankle and I saw red leaking from under the plant. It had cut me! I kicked again but there was more pain. A tendril lashed out, wrapping around my wrist. I tried to pull away, but the edges of its leaves cut into my flesh. More and more tendrils wrapped around me, dragging me closer to its centre. And with every tendril, there was more red, and I grew weaker.


Lucy sat alone staring out at Stanley’s bird feeders. She had been married to Stanley for what felt like many years, but in reality it had only been three. They dated for six months before Stanley proposed after a chicken dinner that Lucy had made. Lucy had always pictured a movie type proposal, the ring in her champagne glass at a fancy restaurant, or on top of the Empire State Building with a crowd of onlookers cheering when she said yes. Being home alone was also nice Lucy thought. She didn’t have to worry about getting dressed up or crying in public. Surprisingly, she didn’t cry after Stanley’s proposal. The two of them kissed and Stanley asked if she would mind if he watched the evening news. Lucy cleared and washed the dinner plates. Lucy and Stanley were married in a small church service surrounded by close family and friends. They kept the reception simple at Stanley’s suggestion. He didn’t want anything elaborate so they opted for a small luncheon at home that Lucy’s mother helped prepare. They served a light menu of salads, sandwiches, wedding cake and champagne. As a little girl Lucy would daydream about a big wedding, with lots of dancing and music. She pictured a fancy wedding cake with many tiers and fresh flowers adorning it, possibly blue hydrangeas for a summer wedding. Her actual wedding reception was on the quiet side. No one danced. The jazz music Stanley put on the record player was so low no one could hear it. Their wedding cake was pretty; one tier, vanilla cake with vanilla icing and pale yellow silk flowers. It was not the day Lucy had daydreamed about, but at least it was stress free. Lucy and Stanley settled into married life and their day to day routine quickly. The alarm went off at 6:30am followed by showers and breakfast. Breakfast was always the same; orange juice, tea and oatmeal for Lucy, coffee, white toast and half a grapefruit for Stanley. After breakfast Lucy would drop Stanley off at the train station so he could catch the 7:50 train into the city. Stanley worked in advertising at a large firm in NYC. He did accounting for the agency, not the actual advertising campaigns or clever jingles. Lucy was the clever one in the couple, always coming up with catchy tag-lines and slogans in her head. After dropping Stanley off, Lucy continued to her job five minutes up the road. She worked at the local library Monday thru Friday, and the occasional Saturday if her colleague Susan needed the day off. Susan was an aspiring actress and would go to open auditions in the city in hopes of being discovered. Lucy was happy to help Susan run lines for her auditions. Susan’s life seemed very exciting to Lucy. Lucy had a passion for reading and was always up to date on the latest murder mystery novels. She would display her book reviews in the library on a colorful bulletin board she made. Library patrons would come in just to read them. She had a way with words and her reviews were exciting, without giving too much away. There would quickly be a wait-list for a novel Lucy gave a five star review to. The head librarian suggested Lucy start a monthly mystery book club. The get togethers quickly became the most popular event at the library. Lucy would have everyone deeply enthralled during their “whodunit” discussions. She made lots of friends through the library and suggested to Stanley they host a dinner party so he could meet everyone, but Stanley was not much into entertaining. Lucy pressed the issue offering an early weekend dinner, but Stanley said he liked to keep to his weekend routine. On Saturdays Stanley would wake up at 7:30. Lucy would have his coffee, white toast and half a grapefruit ready when he came downstairs. She surprised him one Saturday morning with blueberry pancakes, but Stanley told her, “I do not care to have dessert for breakfast”. Lucy sectioned a grapefruit for him and ate the pancakes herself.

Stanley would check on his bird feeders after breakfast. He had one for blue jays, finches, cardinals and sparrows. The smaller, red bird feeder was for hummingbirds. He filled it with a simple syrup mixture he would make himself. The feeder’s label said it was “guaranteed to attract hummingbirds”. Stanley never once saw a hummingbird. He would spend the better part of his weekend mornings either watching his bird feeders, refilling them, or reading about birds in his monthly issue of BirdWatching Magazine .

Lucy would make lunch ahead of time and leave it in the refrigerator for Stanley if she was filling in for Susan at the library. Stanley always had a ham and cheese sandwich on Pepperidge Farm white bread with a tiny amount of Gulden’s mustard. After lunch, Stanley would read a book, or work on the NYTimes crossword puzzle. Lucy would come home full of stories from her day, but Stanley would put his index finger to his mouth indicating “quiet” while he working on his crossword puzzle.

On Saturday evenings Lucy would make herself a cocktail to make the night feel a little special. She would make herself a Tom Collins or a Pink Lady. Stanley had a Schwepps ginger ale, no ice. Saturday night dinner was either pork chops or lamb chops depending on what the butcher had available. Sundays were pretty much the same as Saturdays except Lucy made a roast chicken dinner. Lucy had bought all the ingredients to make lasagna one Sunday when they first started dating, but Stanley told her his mother had made the same Sunday night chicken dinner for as long as he could remember and he couldn’t imagine having anything else. Lucy hated roast chicken. Currently, there was an exhibit at The Metropolitan Museum of Art that Lucy had read about in the New York Times . It was called Treasures of Tutankhamun and Lucy very much wanted to see it. She had read a lot about King Tut over the years and studied him in school. Susan said the Met was the last stop of the two year tour of the exhibit. She had two tickets to the exhibit through her museum membership and asked Lucy if she wanted to go. Lucy said yes without hesitation. She could not pass up such an exciting opportunity. Stanley would be fine home alone for one evening. She would leave a chicken prepped and ready for him to pop in the oven for his Sunday night dinner. It was the perfect plan Lucy thought to herself. The city was magnificent! The Met was magnificent! Lucy had a wonderful day in the city. After seeing the exhibit they decided to have lunch in the museum cafe. Afterwards, they walked around the museum and enjoyed two more exhibits that were on permanent display. Lucy suggested they walk down 5th Avenue to do some window shopping. It was a warm summer day. “Let’s have a glass of wine outside at a restaurant on Madison Avenue” Lucy said with excitement in her voice. She was in no rush to get home. Susan looked at the train schedule and they could catch the 6:10 train. The women ended up ordering delicious pasta dinners and Lucy enjoyed a second glass of wine. “I am so happy you are out and having some fun" Susan remarked. “You do not have enough fun in your life”. Lucy agreed, and with that she suggested they order the tiramisu to share. As Lucy sat watching the taxis and people pass by she thought to herself, “Today is the perfect day, a perfect Sunday”. Everything felt exciting and different from her normal, dull routine. Lucy felt exhilarated for the first time in three years. Lucy and Susan missed their train and the one after that. By the time Susan dropped Lucy off at her house it was past 9:00. She had called Stanley once from a pay phone at the museum to let him know she would be a little late, which he was not happy about. Lucy changed out of her dress and into a pair of pajamas she had left in the laundry room. She slept downstairs in the guest room. She fell asleep going over the day again and again in her head with a smile on her face.

The next morning Lucy woke up early feeling eager to clean up the remnants of Stanley’s dinner. What a mess he had left in the kitchen. He had only eaten half of the breast and a drumstick, but that was plenty Lucy thought. She discarded the remnants of uneaten carcass and put it out for the morning trash pick-up. When Stanley did not come downstairs at the usual time Lucy went upstairs. Their bed was untouched and still perfectly made from the day before. Light was coming from under their bathroom door. Lucy cautiously opened the door and was immediately hit with a very strong, putrid smell. There was poor Stanley, slumped over and motionless on the pinwheel dot black and white mosaic tile Lucy had picked out.

Lucy went back downstairs and saw Stanley’s cold coffee, toast and grapefruit. She had made his breakfast out of habit she guessed. Lucy made herself waffles using the waffle iron that had still been in the box from their wedding. She topped the waffles with strawberries and maple syrup. As she ate, she anxiously flipped through the morning newspaper looking for the exhibit that would be replacing King Tut at the Met. Lucy got up to make herself a cup of coffee for a change and she looked outside the kitchen window. There was a beautiful ruby-throated hummingbird at the red bird feeder. Lucy grinned, “what a day”.