Here I am sitting once again, my bare back against the rough concrete wall in this small, dark room. I feel a dampness under me, it reminds me of when I was younger and would play in puddles after a storm; the only difference is now I am a middle aged adult and I don’t have any shoes. Chills race through my body as my weak heart pushes me through another cold night. I can hear pain-driven moans of other middle aged men in other rooms much like my own. I haven’t been able to keep a meal down for days and I think my body is finally giving up on me. It smells like a high school bathroom that hasn’t been washed in weeks, but I have become immune to the putrid smells that would sting the nose of a hog. All I wish for in these hopeful final hours is a room mate, someone I could talk to and tell my final secrets to; someone to tell my story to, or at least make up a story. The moans are getting louder. I could try and lay in my mattress, but I don’t want to die laying on something that isn’t mine. This isn’t the jail life that is romanticized on TV and in books, this is the real jail life of Sector 858. It all started in the year 2024 when the government started telling everyone of the wonderful life that could be possible if we accept a few changes in how society is. That should have been the first indication of hell; we should have known from the beginning that nothing good comes when people try to change what feels natural. We embraced it though, we trusted them, we thought the people behind the locked doors knew what was good for us. They told us the only sacrifice we would make is breaking a few friendships and that this would only be a sacrifice for a closer society and a closer web of companions. Their big plan in a nutshell was to organize people like files in a computer. We would be organized by occupation, and further organized into a bureaucracy of social status. The people never really changes, the only change was a mass feeling of loneliness; that was our second chance to realize this couldn’t work, we ignored it trusting them. Within two years, everyone was moved into cities, sectors as they became known as. There was a business sector, a factory sector, an art sector, a sector for just about every occupation, or at least somewhere every occupation would fit into. The worst of these sectors was Sector 213; this was where they sent everyone that could not work or was not willing to work. I was never there, I only heard stories, rumors. Nobody left their sector, there was a commitment that was needed in the new society. The only way information was spread between sectors was through the internet, but the internet turned out to be as honest as the men that set up our new lives. Sector 213 consisted of everyone from drug dealers to hitmen to the mentally handicapped to the mentally insane. The types of people varied drastically, and this led to chaos. At first, stories on the internet were trustable, they seemed realistic for the people living in Sector 213. Everyone knew what types of people lived here from the handbook given to every citizen of the new society, which listed all 914 sectors and what group of people belonged to them. Sector 213 consisted of “noncontributing individuals.” The details of Sector 213 are not important to the grand scheme of what ended up being this nation by the year 2031, present time. Times were alright after awhile; people were feeling connected and sector life became centered around what people actually did with their lives, which looked like it would make life more bearable. Problems started coming with the children. Children could not be born into an occupation; as much as the they wished we could be computers, we weren’t. They found a solution. They promised happiness and wellbeing to our children. This was our third and final chance to see where this was all leading, we missed it. They took away our children to Sector 864, “schooling and developing.” Our lives became more and more centered around work, less and less around relationships and family. People began to forget what having a family even was. Stories of pain and chaos stopped showing up on the internet, replaced by stories of success and happiness in other sectors. I thought my sector was special, I thought maybe this sadness was special to me and my brothers and sisters, that’s what we called each other in my sector. We wrote manuals, manuals for putting things together, taking things apart, pretty much anything that needed a manual. I thought maybe my sector was sad because there was no advances to be made in our occupation, nothing new ever; it was always the same, typing steps to putting together and taking apart things made by other sectors. Honestly, I never minded it, it was easy and relaxing. I had a few close friends that I worked with and got drunk with occasionally. It was one night in particular that really got my thoughts changing. We were drinking beers and sitting in my friend Mark’s living room. We were laughing and making fun of some of the things we were writing manuals for, it was a fun night. Then Dan, a friend of mine from before all the changes happened, brought up something from before the change. He started talking about this book that people would write in and it would help others understand what you do for a living; you would write in as much depth as you chose about your job and what you do. There was obviously no need for it anymore after all the changes, but Dan bringing this up brought up a rush of nostalgia. I felt myself sink into the couch I was sitting in as my mind began to wander into memories of my family. I had a brother and two sisters, they were twins. Luckily they ended up in the same sector because they were exceptional athletes. I felt my heat sinking a little into my chest and I began to miss my life from before the change. The change that struck me at that moment that I never realized before was the lack of curiosity. There was nothing new, nothing to wonder about because there was nobody else besides yourself. Everyone in a sector was almost an exact clone of each other. I began to feel more lonely than I did ever before that moment. Every day after that dreadful night felt like a repeat of the day before, but every day got worse in some way. I felt my hair getting longer, my sighs getting longer and my body getting weaker as I began to lose hope in a life that meant anything. I wanted to matter, I wanted more than anything to not be a clone in some sector where everyone is the same and just another gear pushing this nation along. I decide it was time for change. I began working out a way to escape my sector. I looked through the handbook and found which sectors I wanted to go to: Sector 213, “artists,” Sector 457, “scientists,” Sector 110, “psychologists,” and Sector 54, “weapon experts.” My final location would be Sector 1. Sector 1 was where the leaders were living; nobody knew anything about it. I had no idea how I would even get out of my sector, it took more planning and surveying of the wall that confined my sector. I planned on leaving and heading east, looking for any sector to see if I could find a pattern or organization of the sectors. I finally left in 2030. I found a hole in the wall that I could crawl through. Outside of this hole, I saw sunlight like I have never seen before, it burned my eyes. Freedom, an open land that people could not even dream of anymore. I smelled trees and nature, it smelled like a park I went to as a child, I felt a smile slowly overtake my face, then tears leaking from my eyes. I stepped out of the bubble that help my life for a few long years. I forgot what real weather was like, I felt a frigid cold begin to climb up my legs. I took a few steps, it felt like hours, I was overcome by happiness and this new feeling of freedom. I was about twenty feet from the wall when I heard a loud, high-pitched noise pierce through my skull. An alarm. There was an alarm going off in my sector, time slowed down even more as I turned around to look. I felt every muscle in my body begin to tense up and every hair on my arms and legs raise, this made the cold air feel even crisper. I saw a tall tower that I somehow missed while living in the sector, and in this tower was a few men staring at me. I could see the look in their eyes, they looked like leopards that just saw a deer that walked away from its pack. The look that burned into my brain and felt like hours as I saw the man raise a gun, I was frozen. There was nothing I could do anymore, I waited for whatever was in that gun to pierce my skin and take me away. I was unaware of what happened next, but I woke up in a dark cell; my new room. This is where I am now. My life lasted another year I estimate it to be. After everything that happened, after everything I wanted to change, all that resulted was me sitting in my own sweat, slowly dying as alone as I was in Sector 858. I don’t know any of the other men in this jail, all I know is they are men I may or may not have worked with. I never learned about any other sectors, I can’t even be sure there are other sectors anymore. I can’t be sure there are other people besides the ones I hear moaning every day. I guess you can never be certain of anything that isn’t you. I realized the only truth I ever knew what what I felt inside. I wish I had realized what was happening from the beginning, I wish I had trusted myself instead of the people trying to change what I knew was natural. I don’t regret anything I did, I only regret what I didn’t do sooner.


You’re walking down a dirt road. You can hear the shore in the dark distance. Somewhere, in the back of your mind you know the ex boyfriend of your newly estranged wife is realizing you’ve disappeared from the rager he invited you to. The thought of his concern for your safety sends you into a fit. He’s trying to be your friend. To help you through a hard time because he’s a Marine and so are you. You’ve all fucked each other’s wives and sisters and mothers and gods. It’s all the same. It’s all so ridiculous. This world. Your life. There’s nothing special about any of the things you have built or destroyed. You wonder if Rett will be able to find you. You wonder if he’ll be able to find you before you find the ocean. Because this is the first time. The first time you got in your head to kill yourself. It’s pretty special in a way. First times always are. The dreadful amount of rum in your blood must have left you open to possession by some pirate spirit still lingering on the Carolina coasts. His spiced whispers thread their way through some cortex or another, inspiring you to leave the festival of pity that drinking marines are wont to host. Crashing waves in the distance sing the lyrics of a siren song, beckoning to the black of night. And something, perhaps, a bit darker. In any case, the urge to run has narrowly saved you from receiving an ill-advised tattoo of a Mayan calendar on the whole of your back. In the apartment you just left behind, a perplexed marine is sitting with a homemade tattoo gun buzzing in one hand a handle of vodka in the other. He’s wondering if you’ll forget to come back for the hundred dollars of cash in the morning. As you traverse the road, you discover there’s lightning in your chest so you tear your shirt a bit to let it out. The sound of the fabric ripping sounds like electricity in your hands, so you continue to conjure imaginary sparks as you flex every muscle you’ve had worked into you over the last few years. Laughter sounds from atop a grassy knoll. Three men holding beers in their hands are watching with eager eyes as you devolve into human litter. “Behold!” you shout at them, stepping into the glow of a streetlight. You let out a howl, envisioning Frankenstein’s monster discovering fire. You feel hot tears on your cheeks. The laughter stops. The men retreat. You scratch at your chest and cry out more, curiously satisfied by the sensation it leaves in your throat. You smell drunken cliche on your skin. It’s all so predictable. So mundane. So unoriginal. Beyond the knoll the laughing men had just been standing upon, you find the beach you were quested to find by the ghost of The Pirate King . There is no moon this night. You are too pathetic for its company. And yet, like a fool you mutter, “Goodnight moon,” to yourself, hiccuping hot liquor into the back of your throat. You are a romantic to the end. A fool through and through. The tattered shreds of your shirt fall to the sand as you begin to make your way. You feel strong. Ready to fight the tide until it overpowers you like everything else in this world has been able. Every feeling. Every desire. Every impulse. Losing yourself to a force of nature should be easy. You’ve been practicing all your life. Dutifully, you continue your fateful march, considering how fortunate it is to be one of the few Marines in the world who has somehow managed not to learn how to swim. Then your phone vibrates in the pocket of your denim and you realize how unfortunate it is you are one of the most consistently lucky people in the world. You answer the phone and things start to move fast. “Where are you?” she asks. “Rett is looking for you.” “No.” You’re looking at the sea. “I’m looking for you, asshole! Where are you?” “No.” You’re so very tired. “Do not make me drive around aimlessly all night. Let me bring you home.” “Okay.” You hate the ocean anyway. Now you are balled up in the passenger seat with your arms wrapped around your legs, sullen as a child caught sneaking treats. The pirate spirit has abandoned you, disgusted with your lack of commitment. He seems to have taken the rum with him. This plotline is overwrought and you would like the show to wrap up. The characters have no teeth. Elizabeth’s shitty car climbs the highway like she knows where she’s going. But you’ve been living in this town for a couple of years now and have yet to meet a soul who knows a goddamn thing about it. It shifts and moves and hates its inhabitants. This swamp is Purgatory. This swamp is Tarturas. This swamp is Jacksonville. Behold! “What the fuck were you doing out there? And since when do you hang out with Rettidal?!” You give her questions good thought and decide to be as forthcoming as possible: “Everything hurts.” You hear her baptist lips mutter “Jesus Christ” under her breath and spring into action, pounding your fist into the window. There are no worse days than when that fucker sticks his nose in your marriage. The impact of your knuckles on the tempered glass feels like the sort of pain you’ve come to find particularly attractive since puberty and 80’s action flicks wrought havoc on your physiology. You wonder if you can break it. You wonder how mighty you’ll feel as you complete the tableau of the “The Last Cowboy” you’ve always envisioned for yourself. Which ballad will play over your tragic denouement? You hit it again, smiling. Maybe the pirate left you some of his bloody rum, after all. “Hey! Hey, Motherfucker! What are you doing?!” “I’ll pay for it,” you whisper as you hit the window again. “I WILL LEAVE YOU ON THE SIDE OF THIS ROAD!” she bellows, almost losing control of the car. “I JUST WANT TO BE LOVED!” you scream as you recoil back into a ball. The car sits idle on the highway and it occurs to you she might be waiting for you to get out. Just before you reach for the door handle, the car slowly begins to continue on down the highway in silence. You squeeze your eyes shut and wonder if she can still see you. “I should’ve gone to college,” you say, eyes still closed. “This is too much for a nineteen year old.” “You’re twenty-two, Miles.” “Exactly.” A silence follows. Then a reluctant chuckle escapes her throat in search of your quiet smile. Then another. You both fill the car with laugher and suddenly the roads drop all labyrinthian pretenses. She’s got teeth after all, whispers The Pirate God. “Aye, Cap’n!” you say, talking with the ghosts in your head like you have since childhood. Elizabeth is asking you to repeat yourself but you’re already feeling yourself sinking into a slumber that will leave all the high tides of the night behind. All the better. You’re pretty sure if you made it into her apartment conscious you’d make a good show of rummaging through the kitchen for a steak knife to dig into your arm. You’d never done such a thing before but tonight feels like a night for dying, so long as everything is forgiven in the morning.


HE WAS LATE FOR THAT APPOINTMENT TOO Terrence had always been a latecomer. His schoolmates, from elementary school, remembered that there had been no a day that he didn’t arrive in class, out of breath, all in a hurry, always after the lessons had already begun. Even when he was no longer a child, Terrence continued to be regularly late. He arrived late not only to appointments with doctor, with dentist, but even with girls   to whom he cared a lot,  with whom he had to insist very much because they agreed to meet him. Not to mention his delays at job interviews when he had started looking for a job. Since he was always late, he had to wait a long time before he could find a job, which he soon lost because he kept arriving late every day at his job. But even when he had fixed to meet with friends for a soccer match or a dinner, it happened that he always arrived when  the match or dinner had already started without him. Sometimes he arrived when they were over.. So those , who knew him for his inveterate habit of arriving late , used to say, jokingly: “ Ah, Terrence…you will see that even death will get tired of waiting for him” Those who mocked him like that certainly could not know what would have happened several years later  to that chronic latecomer of Terrence.  Many years had passed when something happened that no one would have ever expected, that no one could have ever imagined. Terrence, now a mature man, was satisfied with his work____he had set up a major travel agency. He was also happy with his family. After a first marriage, which had lasted a few months, he had married Helen, with whom he had three children, now teenagers. His life was a satisfying, comfortable and also peaceful life.  What a pleasant surprise had been for him to receive that phone call from Charles, a friend of his teenage years, when they had been neighbors. Terrence had not known anything about him for years, since Charles had been living abroad for a long time. Charles was back in their town and he wanted to see him, he wanted to meet him as soon as possible. Of course, they had to meet. They had so many things to tell each other , not to mention the memories they had of their time together as teenagers. Terrence, enthusiastic, had invited Charles to dinner at his house, so he would know his family. And also, it must be added, Terrence would not have risked being late for their appointment. But Charles, after thanking for that invitation, had said that he preferred to meet him alone, at least for the first time they would see each other again. Of course he, Charles, would be happy to know his family later.  So they had agreed to meet at the bar, Arlecchino, which was next the stadium. Terrence and Charles had frequented the Arlecchino as boys, after watching a football match or after a friendly game between boys. “ I’ll be waiting for you in front of the bar at five o’clock. We’ll go into the bar together ”Charles said him.. Charles perhaps, after so many years, didn’t remember that Terrence was always late. But of the two, the one who ignored something very important about the other was Terrence, as Charles couldn’t really tell him the true raison why he had called him and why he was so eager, indeed impatient to meet him. Eh, it had been a long time since they had been boys and had played on the soccer field. Then they had been friends, although, how can we say?( how to say?), friends in the lightness and in the heartedness of that green age, friends to have fun together. So, who knows if they had been really friends. He, Charles, thinking back to those times, he had a faded memory of Terrence. Indeed he remembered that Terrence was ( had been) often quite annoying and even snooty. If he was happy to see him again after so long? Well, to tell the truth, Charles didn’t ask himself the question. As soon as he had been again in the town, he had looked for Terrence , since he absolutely had to see him. It was a simple business matter. If he had not been able to see Terrence, to meet him, Charles couldn’t fulfill the assignment which had been entrusted to him. He had therefore considered it appropriate, indeed necessary to give him an appointment to be sure he would see him again, instead of relying  on chance that in that town, sooner or later, he would meet him again. Charles was in a certain hurry to accomplish the task that had been entrusted to him. Therefore the day after his phone call,  Charles at five in the afternoon, but rather a few minutes earlier, was in front of the Arlecchino bat , waiting for Terrence. As soon as Charles arrived, he sat at a table outside the bar and asked for a coffee. Among those who came in and out the bar there was more than one that ( who) he recognized, despite all the time that had passed since he had not seen them. But no one seemed to recognize him. Indeed no one seemed to pay attention to him. To the left of the bar, beyond the bend in ( of) the street, there was the stadium, with its soccer field, from where shouted words arrived to him. “ On, hurry up! On, get the ball!” ….” Warning: shot on goal!” Probably a football match ( game) was taking place , perhaps between boys, as then, when Charles and Terrence were ( had been) teenagers. Twenty minutes ( had) passed and Terrence did not arrive. Charles got up from the table in front of the Arlecchino bar and started to wait for Terrence , standing on the sidewalk.  Anyway, when Terrence had arrived, oh they would take something into the bar, but then… Charles knew that  , they , he and Terrence. would have to get away from there. He should have to get Terrence into his car and to take him to a….a suitable place. Well, maybe in the park next the station, which was just the right place. Time passed and not even the shadow of Terrence….Charles called him on the phone, but no one answered. He began to doubt that Terrence would come. A bad trouble for him ( it would be a bad trouble for him) , who could not wait to complete the task that had been entrusted to him. Not that Terrence had forgotten the appointment with Charles, but, as usual, he was late. He had started in time towards the bar where he would meet Charles. But, on the way, he had had so many unexpected events that had led him elsewhere. It had been about two hours since five o’clock. Charles, who had continued to wait for Terrence, going up and down  the sidewalk, and ( going) up and down from the sidewalk to the bar, was about to leave, to stop of waiting for him, when he was arrested. He was wanted on an international arrest warrant. If Terrence had arrived on time for the appointment, Charles would have killed him, as he had instructed to do.


“I’m worried about Annabelle.” The matter-of-fact statement was discharged into an otherwise silent room. Its recipient, a salt-n-pepper-haired gentleman in his early forties, was intently glued to the computer screen before him.

“Yeah…” came his slow reply. “Yeah. She’s had to leave all of her friends. She knows no one here. She has very little interest in getting to know anyone. She has very little interests for that matter--” The woman, clearly Annabelle’s mother, stopped her pacing and ranting to stare directly at her husband. “Parker! Are you even listening to me? I’m talking about your daughter here. Aren’t you concerned?” “Yes, honey,” he responded, pulling his glasses down to the tip of his nose to peer intently at his computer screen.

“Yes…what?” “Yes???” “Ugh! You are so frustrating!” “Melanie, honey, don’t you think you are being a little dramatic?” “Dramatic? Annabelle is a ten-year-old with no friends. She needs friends, Parker!”

“You need friends,” Parker muttered quietly behind his wife’s back. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing, Honey. I hear you. Annabelle needs friends. What do you propose?”

Parker had been a participant in these conversations before. He snapped his laptop shut and looked at his wife. It would do no good to explain that they had just moved to the area and Annabelle needed time to make friends. That the start of the new school year was still over a month away. Reasonable Melanie knew all of these things. This was not reasonable Melanie. This was “I already have a solution” Melanie. The only way to end this type of conversation was to get his wife to tell him what she had already decided. It was a matter of practicality. All he had to do now was listen and agree.

“Well, now that you ask. I do have an idea. You remember me telling you about my friend Amanda? You remember, surely. She teaches drama. We used to be pretty good friends back in high school. Did you know she was a real-life beauty queen? I told you that. I’m sure I did. Anyway, she made it all the way to Miss Georgia several years in a row. That was always her thing. Beauty pageants. In fact, the first thing I remember about Amanda was how all the girls in our class, this was back in middle school, didn’t really like Amanda because she was always winning all these beauty pageants. Can you believe anyone could dislike someone because they won too many beauty pageants? How silly! Teenage girls can be so ridiculous, and it really was ridiculous because Amanda was always such a nice person. But don’t ask my friend Cecily about that because evidently they ended up having some falling out about a beauty pageant after high school. It’s ironic though because they might never have even become close enough to have a falling out about a beauty pageant if I hadn’t had to move schools during my eighth-grade year. Of course, I moved back during my ninth-grade year… But that’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Parker blinked. Twice. He really didn’t know what his wife was talking about anymore. He would wait. If you don’t follow, just wait. After too many years of marriage, he knew that this really was the best way--the precursor to enlightenment. So, he waited until his wife gave the signal. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long. After about twenty seconds, his wife gave him “the look.” The look of exasperation. The look that said, “you must be an idiot.”  It was a look Parker knew quite well. But, it was also a look that indicated his wife would spill soon, and then he could go back to doing what he really wanted--searching for obscure baseball cards on eBay.

Sure enough, Melanie didn’t disappoint.

“About Annabelle. Moving! It’s hard to make new friends. She needs something to help her meet people her age.” “And your friend--Amanda--she plays a role how?” Parker asked, hoping this would sound like interest and not confusion. “Well, every summer Amanda comes back to town and helps direct a youth theater camp. I told you, that’s what she teaches. Drama. Theater. The Stage.” “And you want Annabelle to participate?” Parker asked, almost positive he had gotten it right. “Yep.” “Okay.” “Okay?” “Okay! Wonderful! Annabelle is going to have a blast. She just loves all of that drama stuff. Really, Parker, I don’t know why you always make things so difficult.” “I don’t know, honey, men just suck like that sometimes. Love you though.” “Love you too,” Melanie responded sweetly, brushing the top of Parker’s forehead with her lips. “Okay, babe, I’m going to go tell Annabelle the good news.”

“Wonderful. I’m sure she will be thrilled.” Thrilled might have been a bit of an overstatement, but Melanie had high hopes. If anyone could get Annabelle out of her shell it was Amanda.

*** “Okay, so you have your snacks and extra water bottle?” “Yep.” “Are you feeling excited?’” Shoulder shrug. “Come on. Give it a chance. You’ll like it. For me?” Melanie looked at her daughter who stared at the floorboard of their Chevy Traverse. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry to move.

“Come on. I have to sign you in any way. Let’s walk together.” At her mother’s insistence, Annabelle schlumped her way out of the car. Once inside, she looked timidly around at the group of kids already gathered. No one approached her.

Melanie signed her daughter into camp and gave her a quick once-over. She wore a baggy hoodie, dark leggings, and a pair of old beat-up black Converse shoes. The shoes were scuffed and worn, and the shoestrings were carelessly tied and dragging the ground. Melanie started to feel nervous. What if Annabelle doesn’t make friends? What if Amanda can’t help her? It had been over a decade since Melanie had seen Amanda in person. Throughout the years, she had followed her mostly on Facebook, occasionally sending a message or posting a “Happy Birthday” meme to her page. Amanda didn’t seem like she had changed a bit since high school, at least not according to social media. Melanie just hoped she still remembered what it was like to not quite fit in. Maybe she could use that to help her daughter bridge this new culture gap she had moved into.

“Mom?” “Yeah, baby?” “Is that your friend?” Annabelle pointed to a tall, slender brunette with dark-rimmed glasses and a huge, beauty pageant smile. That was Amanda all right. Melanie smiled and nodded at her old friend. As she did so, Amanda bent down to talk to two children. They looked over to where Melanie stood with Annabelle. Within moments, Amanda disappeared behind a wall partition and the two children ran over to greet them.

“Hi! My name’s Cal.” “I’m Alyssa. You’re Annabelle. Our mom told us your mom was a friend of hers. We’ll take you back to the theater stage. Follow us.” “Okay,” Annabelle agreed, shrugging as if this were the most normal thing she had done that day.

Melanie watched as the three young thespians ran off to meet up with the rest of the campers, disappearing in the same direction as Amanda had. Melanie smiled. She knew this would be good for Annabelle. She couldn’t wait to hear how her day would go.

She was not disappointed.

Melanie arrived to pick Annabelle up about six hours later. Her daughter was full of smiles and tales about Cal and Alyssa. Evidently, the three had been thick as thieves, which was great, but Melanie had really hoped Annabelle would make local friends. Ultimately, though, she guessed even camp-only friends were better than no friends. Besides, she hadn’t seen Annabelle this excited about anything in months.

As she listened to her daughter’s prattling, Melanie’s cell phone pinged with a message. Amanda: Hey, girl. We should catch dinner while I’m down. Melanie sent a quick reply indicating that she would enjoy that, and she thanked her for looking out for Annabelle. Amanda responded immediately with an emoji and a text reading “The kids loved her!” Each day afterward, Melanie took an eager Annabelle to camp. She was loving it. She had decided to try out for a speaking part, but what she liked most was that she and Cal had been pretty much allowed to write their skit by themselves. Melanie was really excited for her daughter. She was excited, but it also reminded her of what she had missed out on as an adult. Melanie used to love the theater. In fact, it was Amanda who talked her into her own theatrical debut. Thinking about losing that part of her younger self made her a little sad now. Perhaps she should check out the local theater opportunities once the family was completely settled. She just didn’t know if she would still have what it takes to get up in front of an audience.

For now, she would just celebrate her daughter’s success. Everything was going according to plan. Everything except catching up with her old friend. Every time Melanie went to pick Annabelle up, Amanda was nowhere to be found. And she still hadn’t received a follow-up message about her earlier dinner invitation. .

“Honey, do you think Amanda is blowing me off?” “How would I know?” “You wouldn’t know . I just want your opinion.” “Ye…no?” “Oh, my god! You are never any help. It’s just weird. She was the one who brought up going out to dinner. She won’t be in town forever. I’m sure she will be going back home after the kids' camp. I don’t know. It’s kind of rude. Don’t you think it’s rude?” “Melanie, I don’t have friends.” Melanie’s husband made the statement as if it were an answer to everything. It was her turn to just stare and blink. Unlike Melanie, however, Parker didn’t expound on his statement. “Whatever,” she finally responded, clearly irritated. “Honey, don’t be that way. I don’t know. And does it matter? Has Annabelle had a great time?” Melanie thought about this and nodded. It was true. The whole point of the camp was to help Annabelle transition to their move and to help her break out of her shell. It had not been about her catching up with old friends. Even with this logic, the brushoff still stung a bit. Melanie was used to having friends close by to catch a movie or drink with. Like her daughter, she had left pretty much all of her friends (at least adulthood friends) behind in a state two thousand miles away. She missed them. “No, you’re right. And I am really excited about Annabelle’s performance.” To Melanie’s delight, Annabelle’s performance stole the show. All of their extended family showed up to support Annabelle’s theatrical debut. It was even better than her own. Annabelle was animated. She was confident. And she performed as a male character. The juxtaposition of her appearance in male attire (complete with beard and mustache) with her slight feminine frame was hilarious. No one could believe it when she doffed her hat during closing credits. This girl could do anything. In one performance, all of Melanie’s concerns about Annabelle acclimating to a new school and home state were relieved.

“You did such a great job!” Melanie exclaimed as Annabelle exited the theater.

Annabelle responded by deftly side-swiping her mother’s hug attempt. At least I can count on some things, Melanie thought, smiling harder at her daughter’s rebellious independence. “Hey, can we go over to Cal’s grandparent’s house today? They are grilling and have invited us to swim.” “They have?” “Yep. Mrs. Rogers said she would text you.” As if on cue, Melanie’s phone pinged. Sure enough, there it was. “Whatcha think, Parker? Up for a swim?” “Well, I feel like I have to meet this Amanda chick. I probably won’t swim, but sure, I’ll go.” “Yay! Let’s go!” Annabelle shouted, more excited than she had been in weeks. “Okay, swimsuits and let’s head on over!” Despite Annabelle’s insistence to “hurry up” as they grabbed what they needed from home, Melanie still managed to arrive a little late to the cookout. Pride had gotten the better of her. Although it had been twenty years since Melanie had visited Amanda’s parent’s house, she was sure she could get them there from memory. As it turns out, pretty much remembering where someone lives will not get you to where someone exactly lives. She ended up having to text Amanda for the address. When they arrived, the children were in the pool, and the burgers were already on the grill. “Annabelle!!!” Both Cal and Alyssa greeted Annabelle enthusiastically as she exited the family SUV.

“Hey, Melanie!” Mr. Larry called from the grill. “Long time, no see!” “Too long,” Melanie replied. She had always enjoyed talking with Amanda’s dad, and the site of him now made her think of her own father who had passed the year before. She choked back a little sob that threatened to surface and turned to where Amanda’s kids were already pulling Annabelle into the pool. “Where’s Amanda?” Melanie asked pulling up a chair. “Oh, I think she is with her youngest, Mabel.” From the back porch, Melanie could hear Amanda bartering with the small child. “No, mama. I don't wanna ‘wim,” Mabel whined as she tried to pull her mother back through the door.

“Mabel, you just said you did.” “I’m scared.” “No, you’re not.” “I am.” Melanie watched as her friend argued with her three-year-old daughter. She was clearly frustrated and exhausted. “Can I help?” Melanie asked. “Oh, hi. I don’t think so. She’s just really tired.” “I don’t wanna nap!” Mabel wailed at her mom’s words. “I see,” Melanie observed. “That’s a tough age.” “You’re telling me.”   As Melanie watched her high school friend wrestle with her daughter, the two attempted to catch up. Small talk included the usual: Jobs are great. Kids are great. Husbands are great. Everything is great. Soon, Melanie and Amanda ran out of things to say. In fact, it was almost a blessing that Amanda fought with Mabel, as it helped break their awkward silence.  Luckily for Melanie, Mr. Larry was full of conversation. He was a great storyteller, and some of his tales even included Melanie’s parents or her brother-in-law. It really was a small world when you were from a small town. Melanie was enjoying the walk down memory lane with her host. At one point, Mr. Larry even showed her the pool house shower curtain that had been made from plays Amanda had starred in. Several were plays in which Melanie had also been cast. In fact, she was so absorbed in her conversation with Amanda’s dad that she hadn’t seen Amanda slip off herself.

“Where did Amanda go?” Melanie asked when realization set in. “I think she finally went to lay Mabel down.” Melanie nodded.

When it was time to eat, Amanda did not return.

It wasn’t until after everyone had tired of swimming and the food had been put away that Amanda surfaced again. Her greeting this time was a goodbye. “It was so good of you to come by, Melanie. The kids really love your daughter. I think she has a lot of talent on stage, too.” “Oh, yeah?” “Yeah. You’ll have to get Annabelle involved in something throughout the year. I can’t wait to see her at camp again next year.”  “Absolutely. Well, thanks for having us. I think that’s our cue.” “Oh, I’m not running you off. Stay as long as you’d like.” “No, that's okay. We need to get back.” “Well let’s get together again sometime.” “Absolutely.” Melanie and her husband said their final goodbyes and they packed up their things, practically dragging Annabelle away. Their daughter had found kindred spirits in Amanda’s children. Much like Melanie used to feel toward Amanda. Today, she realize that perhaps they weren’t such kindred spirits after all. Some people you can go years without seeing, and when you do see them, it’s like no time has passed.

It had not been like this with Amanda.

It made Melanie a little sad. She wondered what her husband thought of her former friend. “So, what did you think of Amanda?” “The verdict is still out. She wasn’t around much though.” “Nope.” “Is that typical Amanda behavior?” ‘Who knows.I feel like I don’t know anything anymore. I feel like everything is changing.” “I could tell something was bothering you. You looked sad when Mr. Larry showed you that t-shirt curtain from your old plays. Is that what is bothering you?” “Ugh! I guess it is just everything. It was sad to see those old t-shirts. I used to love acting.” “You still could.” “I know. I thought about community theater, but honestly, I don’t have the confidence or skill anymore. I’m just becoming an old woman. Not just an old woman. An old woman with an expanding waistline and thinning hair no less! Did you see Amanda? Still just as skinny as ever. But it wasn’t just that. I miss my friends. I’ve been so focused on Annabelle that I hadn’t allowed myself to think about how hard this has been on me. Like I said, I guess I’m just struggling because everything is changing.” Parker looked at his wife. “First, I’ve never cared for curveless women, so I’m thankful for that expanding waistline. Second, you can do whatever you set out to do. If that’s community theater, great. Double great because it’s something you can now share with Annabelle. Third, you’re right. Everything is changing. But today you had to know that it was changing in a good way.”

As Parker said this, Melanie followed her husband's gaze to their daughter. Annabelle had crashed in the backseat. She had crashed from a day of activity and hard play. This would not have happened weeks ago. Everything was changing. And that was a good thing.


By Chuck Hustmyre "I get kidnapped all the time," Lumpy said. I didn't say anything. Just took a swallow of beer, hoping he wasn't about to go off on one of his stories. "I'm serious," he insisted. "I've been getting kidnapped since I was a teenager. Maybe even back before that. I just can't remember. I got some memory issues. Used to be, I thought it was aliens." "Aliens," I said. "Yeah. You remember, they were big back in the day. Lots of books and movies. Whole bunch of abduction stories. And they weren't talking about E.T. types. These were big, ugly, scary aliens, the kind that strap you to a table and stick a fork up your ass." I glanced up at the clock. Almost ten. Then I pointed to Lumpy's near-empty pint glass. "You ready for another?" But he just kept right on. "After it happens, I don't remember it, not exactly. Just a few flashes of what it was like. Then when I wake up, it's always morning. I'm always somewhere else. And I'm always naked." "Wait a minute," I said, knowing that by responding I was just encouraging him, but unable to help myself. That's how Lumpy's stories were, like some crazy vortex. Without you even noticing, they pulled you in. "You're telling me that not only have you been kidnapped several times -- " "A lot more than several," he said. "Okay, a bunch of times," I conceded. "And after, you wake up naked?" He nodded. "Where? Where have you woken up naked?" "All kinds of places." "Name one," I said. "Last time was behind the old library. I came to inside a Dumpster." "What'd you do?" "I found an old sack, wrapped it around myself, walked home." "From the old library? What is that, like four miles to your place? Wrapped in nothing but a sack?" "What else was I supposed to do?" he said. I waved to Stelly, the bartender, and held up two fingers. He nodded. "When I was nineteen," Lumpy said, "I woke up in Hammond." "Naked?" He nodded. "What happened?" I asked. "What do you think happened? A nineteen-year-old stumbling around a college town early in the morning, buck-ass naked? I got arrested. My parents had to come bail me out." "Jesus," I said. Momentarily forgetting that this story, like almost all of Lumpy's stories, was pure bullshit. "What are you guys talking about?" Stelly asked. I hadn't even seen him carrying over our two fresh pints. "Nothing really," I said. "Lump was just telling me ... " I let it trail off, not sure what else to say. Stelly laughed. "One of his famous stories?" I smiled and nodded. "Yeah. This one's a doozy," meaning to say it kind of light-hearted, but thinking it came out with more edge than I had intended. Lumpy chugged half of his beer. Stelly looked at me. "Six bucks." Lumpy rarely had money. Reason being he couldn't keep a job. I kind of figured he was dragging this kidnapping story out so he could mooch a couple of beers off me. I laid a five and two singles on the bar. As soon as Stelly walked away, Lumpy said, "After that, after what happened in Hammond, I got kind of -- " "After aliens left you naked, wandering around a town fifty miles from home." He looked at me dead serious. "Not aliens." "But you said -- " "I said I used to think it was aliens." I took a sip of beer, feeling less enthralled with Lump's tall tale after buying the first two rounds and not seeing a dime come out of his pocket. "Anyways," he said, "after Hammond, I got kind of religious." "You?" He smiled. "Believe it or not. I met this pastor. Not the TV kind, more of a regular preacher. I told him about my ... problem. And he pretty much convinced me that what was happening to me was the work of demons." I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could he pressed on. "Yeah, demons. Like The Exorcist except without ... " He made a stabbing motion toward his groin. "That stuff with the cross. And no vomiting. But, yeah, demons." "I didn't know demons kidnapped people," I said. "See, that was my problem with Pastor Mike's explanation too. But he said it weren't no kidnapping, per se. I wasn't taken anywhere, at least not by someone else. I got myself there on account of the demon possessing me. I just didn't remember it." "And you thought that made more sense than aliens?" Lumpy nodded. "I know, I know. At first I did, yeah. But after a while and after it happened a couple more times, I realized Pastor Mike's idea was even crazier than mine. What would a demon even want with me, right? What would be the point?" "Okay, let me stop you right there," I said. "What would aliens want with you?" "I figured we were more or less guinea pigs to them. Human guinea pigs. And that maybe I just got chose random like. But I figured a demon, once they was inside your head and all, would know a lot about you. So this demon, whoever he was, would probably figure out pretty quick that there ain't a whole lot special about me, and he would've moved on to someone else. But he didn't. Or it didn't. Or whatever. Because it's still happening." I shot another look at the clock. Now it was ten minutes after ten. I had to be at work at eight. About time to wrap this up. "Yeah, so this weekend," I said, "your sister wanted me to ask if you're interested in coming with us to the Beer Fest at the Rural Life Museum. She won four tickets on a radio station contest. Maybe you can bring a girl." Lumpy drained the rest of his pint in a single gulp. Burped. Then looked me straight in the eye. "I'm not going to be around this weekend." "Why not?" I asked. "Look, this thing I been telling you about, these kidnappings, they happen at regular times." He glanced up at the clock behind the bar. "Like clockwork. Next one's due to happen tonight." Engaged to his sister or not, the dude was starting to freak me out. He was racing from eccentric to bizarro and was one turn from straight-up mental case. "Tonight?" I said. "You're going to get kidnapped tonight?" He nodded. "Why don't you come stay with us, then. Bren would love to cook breakfast for you. She's always saying you don't look like you eat enough. We'll lock the house up tight. And the fold-out is not that bad." Forcing a laugh that I really didn't feel, I added, "I've slept on it once or twice myself." "You don't understand," he said. "Locks don't stop them. Not regular locks, anyway. I've tried. Once, I even chained myself to my bed. Didn't matter. I woke up the next morning in somebody's flowerbed. I have three arrests on my record for public nudity." "Hey, man, that's getting into the T.M.I. zone -- too much information." "This time, though, I have a plan." For some reason I got goosebumps and the hair stood up on my arms. "What kind of plan?" Lumpy's hands were down at the bottom of his shirt. I hadn't noticed him move them from the bar, but there they were. He lifted his shirt and flashed a gun. A black-handled silver revolver of some kind. "Holy shit!" I said. "Ssshhh." He pressed a finger to his lips. I looked down the bar. Stelly was looking at me. "What?" he said. "Nothing," I said. "Just finally got to the end of Lumpy's story." "A good one, finally?" Stelly said. I glanced at Lumpy. He was staring at me. Back to Stelly, I said, "Yeah, a good one." The bartender turned to the beer tap and pulled a pint for another customer. The gun was back out of sight under Lumpy's shirt. "What the hell are you doing with a gun?" I whispered. "Look," he said, "I've thought this out. This is the only way." "Only way to what?" He took a deep breath. "I need to be somewhere they can't get to me." "And?" "Jail. They can't get to me in jail." "I don't even understand what you're saying." I shifted in my seat, suddenly very uncomfortable. "Why are you carrying a gun?" He reached down again. I jumped. "Relax," he said, his hand reaching around to his back pocket, then tossing a folded letter-sized envelope on the bar. Despite the fold, I could see the first letters of my name scrawled across the front. "What's that?" I said. "A thousand dollars ... and a letter." My future brother-in-law barely ever had two nickels to rub together. "Where'd you get a thousand dollars?" I asked. "I been saving it. Since the last time." "Last time what?" "Last time they took me. That's when I came up with this plan." "Tell me what the plan is, Lumpy." "Okay, first let me just say this." He patted the revolver under his shirt. "It ain't loaded. I mean it is, but the shells are empty. I shot 'em over in the creek. I put the empties back in because when you're looking straight at it, from the barrel end, you could tell if there was nothing in the cylinders. I had to make it look real." I just stared at him, not knowing what to say. "So," he said, "here's the plan. I'm going to rob the bar." "Are you nuts!" I glanced down at Stelly, but he was too busy to notice my outburst. "Do you hear yourself? You're going to rob ... Wait just a damn minute." I nodded to the envelope. "You just told me you had a thousand bucks." "And a letter," he added. "What's the letter say?" I felt so much like I was dreaming that I actually pinched myself. But I didn't wake up. Lumpy didn't notice. "In the letter," he said, "I explain everything about the ... kidnappings, disappearances, abductions, whatever you want to call them. And that I'm only doing this to get locked up before midnight. See, it's always right after midnight when they come for me." "Lumpy, you don't need to get locked up. All you need is some help. You ever think that maybe this is all in your head? Something left over from that car wreck or ... Hell, I don't know. Maybe something happened to you when you were a kid." "The kidnappings started when I was a kid. I don't remember the first one. Not exactly, but I know that's when they started." "No. I mean maybe you're not really being kidnapped. That you're just ..." "Crazy?" he said. "Yeah, I thought of that. I wish I was crazy. But they leave marks -- bruises, scrapes, even punctures. One time they peeled off one of my toenails. I only remember little bits, but what I remember is that it hurts. Like hell." I pointed to the envelope. "What's the money for?" "Bond." When I didn't respond he continued. "I got this all worked out. For armed robbery there probably wouldn't be a bond. But once the cops realize my gun was unloaded, and that I left a thousand bucks with you, plus the explanation in that letter, I figure they'll -- " "You can't possibly expect the police to believe you're being abducted by aliens." "No. No. Not at all. And it's not aliens, by the way." "So what do you think they're going to think? The cops, I mean." "It doesn't matter, but they'll probably only charge me with first-degree robbery. I figure even a crappy public defender can get my bond down to ten thousand." He pushed the envelope closer to me. "And that's what the thousand's for. A bondsman charges ten percent." "And you want me to bail you out of jail?" He nodded. "With my money." "I'm not doing it." I stood up. He grabbed my arm. "I really need this." "You need a shrink is what you need." I tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. I saw him look over at the clock. It was ten thirty. Stelly was walking toward us. "Here goes nothing," Lumpy said. Stelly stopped in front of us. "You guys want a couple more?" Lumpy let go of my arm and pulled the revolver. He shoved it in Stelly's face, an inch from his nose. The bartender's eyes got wide. "Hey, what the -- " Lumpy cocked the hammer. "I'm robbing you, Stell." I looked past Lumpy and Stelly. Everybody else in the bar heard the hammer ratchet back. They were all looking at us. "Give me everything in the till," Lumpy said in a loud voice. Stelly cut his eyes toward me. "How about you? You part of this too?" I shook my head. "He's gone crazy, Stell. I don't know what he's doing. Just give him the money and he'll be gone." Stelly nodded. "All right, Lumpy. You can have the money." Lumpy sprang over the bar. He walked Stelly to the cash register and stuffed the bills into his pockets. While everyone watched them, I slipped the envelope off the bar and into my jeans. Lumpy crawled back over the bar, keeping the revolver pointed at Stelly. "I'm sorry," he said. Stelly's face was like stone. But you could still read the hurt in it. Lumpy and I had been meeting up for beers here for three years, ever since I started seeing Lumpy's sister. "All right," Stelly said. "We're finished, right?" Lumpy nodded. I swear I saw a tear in his eye. Then he just ran. Right past me and out the door. Stelly let out a big sigh. He pointed at me. "I'm calling the cops. Don't you go anywhere." The police found Lumpy fifteen minutes later, sitting at an all-night diner two blocks from the bar. Sipping coffee. At the police station he invoked his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination and refused to answer questions. The cops told him they'd get him a lawyer, a public defender, but not until morning. They put him in a holding cell just before midnight. The next morning I went to check on him. The desk sergeant said Lumpy had escaped. "How?" I asked. "We think he must have slicked himself up with soap and water," the sergeant said, "then somehow slipped through the bars. One thing I can't figure, though." "What's that?" I asked. "Why he left all his clothes.


Two lifelong friends just trying to get by in life get the opportunity to make a big score and move up in the drug ring they work in. Johnny the older of the two and more aggressive plays front man for the two of them with the heavy hitters of the drug ring and sets up a money drop for some product they had received recently. The next day Johnny shows up at Poppy’s house to give him the good news, but he doesn’t seem to be happy for the opportunity to make some money and make Bull The Animal happy. Bull has run the ring for a year now since his father was caught and sent to prison and he is a bit crazy. “We can make a lot of money dude, and all you have to do is have my back, I’ll do all the talking,” Johnny says. “I’m tired of the drug life, it’s too dangerous Johnny, I want more.” “That P O of yours has been putting ideas in your head, ideas that people like us will never get to have! Stop letting them make you think you can be anything more than a street rat because that is what you are Poppy!” Johnny screams. “Dude why are you so mad!” “I got a lot riding on this Poppy, don’t let me down, I need you.” Johnny pleads. “All right Dude I will be there for you, but this is the last time. Please Johnny I need to change something, I can’t live like this anymore.” Poppy begs. “Don’t let me down…” Johnny says as he walks out and drives away. The day of the delivery Johnny drives to get his friend Poppy and is troubled when his stepsister says he is not home. She tells him he had a meeting with his parole officer, but why didn’t he say something last night when he said he would go? He calls Poppy to confirm what he has been told because that bitch doesn’t like him or Poppy. He reaches him on the phone, but immediately he makes excuses for not being there, his freaking Parole officer wanted to see him right away, but he promises to make it up on the next one. “Fucking P O, I ought to cap his ass for Poppy!” He says raising his gun from his waistband. Earlier in the day Poppy had gotten the call from his PO but not because of anything bad, His Parole officer told him about a good job upstate that he had put him in for and he got it. He didn’t want to say anything and get his hopes up, especially with a baby on the way with his girl Krissy. Poppy hated the idea of a parole officer when he got out of prison, but when he let down his guard and let him help, they became quick friends, which troubled Johnny why he kept it from him. Poppy rushes to his girl’s house and tells her about the job, but he feels bad for not being there for his friend. As the day turns to night, he is worried that Johnny hasn’t called, so he makes an excuse and leaves. He knows where the drop is going to be, he knows everything about how Johnny does a deal he has seen it many times. He even knows that Johnny hides money and drugs in a false bottom in the trunk of his Buick in case he gets pulled over by the cops. He walks a few miles to the junkyard where the deal was supposed to go down and he can see right away that something went down here. There are brass shells everywhere and even a few bodies left behind. Worried Poppy searches the junkyard and finds his friend shot multiple times in his car, a 1984 Buick Regal. He rushes to his side and Johnny is still alive, he is shot up bad and probably will not make it even if he does get to a hospital. Johnny cries out that he doesn’t want to die, but the only thought going through Poppy’s mind is that if he takes him to the hospital his P O will know he has been around other criminals and that may affect his new job. “I don’t know what to do Johnny?” Poppy screams. “Take me to the fucking hospital!” Johnny screams back thinking he is talking about him, but he is torn between helping his friend and helping himself. He remembers the money in the car’s trunk and his face turns from panic to stone cold, even Johnny sees the difference and it worries him. It sickens Poppy to think this way, but he pries his friend’s hand from his walks to the back of the car and looks in the already open trunk. Johnny’s attackers had ransacked the trunk looking for something, then shot him when they thought they had been double-crossed. He moves the junk and trash and lifts the lid to the false bottom to reveal a large duffle bag full of cash and heroin, he uses a rag to remove the drugs out of the bag and then returns to his friend. He cries because he knows he is betraying his friend. He knows if he doesn’t leave, he will get pulled back into a life he hates and ruin his chance to be a husband to his girl Krissy, and father to his unborn child. He holds his friend’s hand and tells him an ambulance is on the way but knows it will never come. Johnny cries out that he doesn’t want to die, he sees the bag hanging from his shoulder. The sting of betrayal hits him hard, and he feels for his gun at his side. Then the sting of his love for the man before him makes him let go of not only the gun but of his life. “Poppy you are the best thing in my life dude don’t do this…” He says spitting up blood. Poppy turns away to leave but Johnny reaches out and takes his hand. “I love you Poppy, my brother, don’t…” Poppy couldn’t feel worse, his betrayal is like torture, but he needs more than anything to get away from this life. He pries away his friend’s hand and stares as he suffers in pain. He wants desperately to say something to ease his friend’s pain but knows nothing will but death. He turns quickly and leaves as Johnny calls out into the night for him to return. Krissy is playing in the front yard of a little house with her year-old baby when Poppy walks through the gate. “Hey, Daddy!” Krissy calls out as she waves with little Johnny’s hand. “How was work?” She asks. Before he can speak, they hear the beat of a song being played loud as a car goes by, and they turn to see. An older Buick Regal drives by and Poppy’s heart sinks in his chest expecting a bullet for his betrayal, then he sees the young girl driving and is relieved. “Hey, didn’t your friend Johnny have a car like that?” she asks. “Yea” “Whatever happened to him?” And that sinking feeling in his chest returns, and he learns to smile begrudgingly to hide his painful secret.


“I am not going to stay here for another second.” She stomped out of the dark tunnel and through dimly lighted the staircase, arrived at the underground opening of the neighbourhood backyard. The soft curls playfully fell on her flushed cheeks as she struggled to raise herself on the lawn. The long white skirt and suede boots, all soiled up, added the fuel to her irritation. Her apron appeared loosened at the right shoulder and the black blouse underneath crumpled up.  After a few minutes of puffing and pushing, she placed herself on the soft grass of the well-trimmed lawn with a sigh of relief. Tiara closed her emerald green eyes and inhaled the fresh air under the clear blue spring sky. Her soft, rose pink lips curved into a smile filled with contentment and the tiny dimple emerged on her ivory pink cheek. “Tia, oh my my! I was looking around for you and here you are basking in the sunshine glory. Where the hell have you been? Look at your clothes!” Anna’s eyes popped out with concern while scrutinizing her from head to toe. “Oh…mmm, err, I just slipped and fell. No injury, just the clothes got a bit soiled. I will take care of the dishes soon, Anna.” Tiara managed to mumble out nervously. She hurried past Anna and went into the pantry. The aroma of freshly baked cookies made her feel home. Though, far away from her secret land, this felt like a home away from home. Anna was the best baker in Dunstand, a quaint town having around a hundred households. A cosy town place, where everyone knew each other’s family tree. The only exception was Tiara, who happened to arrive here a couple of months ago. Initially a tourist and now an assistant baker, storekeeper and one-stop solution for Anna's every trouble. Tiara glanced at the sink filled with recently used utensils and baking trays in the sink. She wanted to clean those, the way she did them, every day; with a scrubber and lots of soapy foam. She loved the way the tender bubbles formed in the whole act. However, the latest tiff with Aunt Kimiya left her feeling drained. She just gave a look the tap and with a gush of water, the utensils began to dance in the sink back and forth. The soap tumbled down from the case and rubbed them well. In a jiffy, the pots and pans placed themselves in the rack in a neat manner, all shiny and squeaky clean. All this while, Tiara kept looking outside the window, gazing at the pink and blue hues of the sky. The pretty sunset made her miss ‘him’ even more. Tiara had the power to move things at her whims and fancy; the superpower to make things act according to her wish. But it was not the things which wanted to move only. “Oh! Why those hearts not moving underneath the soft lawn of the backyard.” She murmured to herself. “Tiara, you are a magician! You cleaned up the place within moments.” Anna’s words jostled her out of her thoughts.  I know,” Tiara spoke aloud. “Is everything ok, Tia?” Anna held her face by the chin. “I have to go back.” With a loud sob, Tiara fled out leaving Anna in a state of wonder. In the evening, the guests began to arrive. Anna’s friends and family all were there to wish her luck. It was the beginning of a new journey for Anna as an entrepreneur. Her new bakery shop was the talk of the town. This little party at the new store was arranged by Josh, her best buddy in her honour. The music, the aroma of chocolate delicacies and exotic drinks…everything seemed perfectly in place. Tiara simply gazed at the food table and before anyone could notice, it was neatly arranged for the dinner. Her eyes were constantly drifting towards the main door. Her hopes pinned high for his arrival. But there was no sign of Harry. Harry was a fan of Anna’s bakery products. His visits increased after the arrival of Tiara. He would specifically wait for Tia to deliver him the order, after winding up all other customers. Tia found him attractive with the tuft of dark and silky hair. He was gentle, shy and a good listener. Anna had noticed the sparks and one fine day set up a date for these two youngsters. There was no looking back since then. Harry and Tia began to Date each other. Tiara forgot all about her secret world. She baked and cooked for harry. She would not use her magical superpowers, because she loved to do things from scratch for him, pouring all her heart and soul into it. The Guardian Angel, Kimiya got a hint of this. “You need to respect our gifts, Tiara. This is what makes you special. What are you without the superpowers?” “Aunt, I am Tia…a girl who has madly fallen in love with Harry. He loves me for being Tia, and not the one with deep emerald pair of eyes that can move anything. I shall be happy without the powers if it allows me to stay here with him, forever.” “Tiara, you can stay here forever. But he can’t. He will die one day, as all humans do. And, then you shall be left all alone. Come back, my child to your own world. You will definitely find a wizard of your match.” “I won’t be left alone. I shall have his memories to carry on.” Tiara’s eyes swelled up with tears. It was that car accident which made Harry to think about Tia as someone extraordinary. Since that day he was not coming to the bakery. He didn’t even call her. But today, Anna visited him personally and invited him for the inauguration of her shop. He couldn’t refuse. Is he scared of me? I know he definitely saw me making the car move the other day. But, what else could have I done? He was standing there. If had I have not averted it with my eyes, he could have been crushed to death. My powers must have had terrified him. He just couldn't accept me as someone from a faraway fantasy land with superpowers. Does he think I am a witch or someone to be afraid of? She withdrew herself from the crowd and walked on the soft lawn under the moonlight. A soft touch on her back and she froze there. Have they come to take her back at this instant? Slowly she turned around, only to find herself under the gaze of his sparkling blue eyes. “Why are you hiding here? You are the only reason I am here tonight.” He drew her closer. “Harry, you still like me?” “No, I don’t like you.” There was an unbearable pause. “I love you, you stupid woman.” He continued as he pressed his lips against hers. His fingers began to run into her soft curls and moved slowly on her bare shoulders, through her silky strapless short dress. The kiss was long and soothing. With his arms still wrapped around her waist, he looked deep into her emerald green eyes. “Tell me, Tia…what do you have in them? I saw the other day, very clearly. It was not the way you normally look at things. You saved my life, but you were someone different. A girl, whom I couldn’t recognize. Who are you, honey?” “I am an old soul. I belong to some other world where each one of us has some kind of special power. My eyes have the power to make things move. But the more I stay here, the more I lose this energy. I have lost more than half of my energy in the past three years. But I don’t feel like going back and recharge those powers in my world. I feel energetic looking at you. The way you smile at me gives me a sense of completion. With those powers, I could move anything, but not my own heart. This love of ours makes me smile, giggle and feel alive. For me, your love is the superpower to live.” “Oh, man! I was dating a SuperGirl, who doesn’t have her own fancy costume." Harry squeezed her tightly.” “But now, they want me to come back. I was a naughty one and to teach me a lesson I was left here by Angel Kimiya to learn a hard lesson of life. They wanted me to understand the power and responsibility of magic. But I now know, there is something more magical…and that is love and true happiness. There is a kind of happiness and satisfaction in doing things with all your honest efforts sans any privilege of superpowers. Today I was summoned by the Guard of Emerald Powers and asked to return to the World beneath immediately.” “What if I don’t let you go?” Harry held her hand tightly. “If I don’t leave by tomorrow, I shall be stuck here for another hundred years, without my superpowers. You might not accept the way I am or you might even leave me for some reason, and I will be left all alone. I was about to leave, sweetheart." "100 years, living sans superpowers. That will be a feat. But look at the brighter side; you can enjoy a lifetime with our great-grandsons, even when I am not there. There is no way I can live for another hundred years. Miss Tiara, will you be my wife for the rest of your life, till the death do us apart, knowing well that I might leave you in midway?" Looking earnestly into her eyes, Harry kneeled down, holding her hand. And she said, “Yes”. Superpower is in embracing the choices you make, well aware that someday things might be different. It is the power to hold on to the one you love, come what may. The next day she was standing in front of the huge pile of dishes in the sink. She looked at them. The plates didn’t budge. She smiled and arranged them into the dishwasher and sat on the couch by the window. “Aunt Kimiya, don’t you worry. No powers, but these humans have created miracles out of science. Life is still beautiful here. I don’t feel the need to move things when I can move the emotions of the hearts ” She thought to herself as a content smiled played on her lips. Harry and Tiara lived happily for the next fifty-one years until one day Harry left this World because of old age. Tiara is still the most beautiful Granny in the town of Dunstan with around six sons and daughters and 18 grandchildren. Her superpower to love abundantly gives them the strength to stay together as a close-knit family, full of warmth and magic.


Adam Daedalus Rocket was not born with the middle name Daedalus, or the last name Rocket. He chose his own names. The kids in the orphanage taunted him relentlessly. “You’re a moron to dream you can go to the stars, the shortest kid in the class. Elton John’s

Rocket Man  is not even a real astronaut, but some character in a dumb song!” The jeering that stung the most? “ Your parents didn’t even care enough to keep you. You were unloved.” There was no time for anything but school as far as he was concerned. He made no friends and kept to himself. “He’s an odd one,” his classmates would say. “His eyes are more on a comet 50 light years away, an asteroid belt 100, or a galaxy. He’s a joke.” But even the meanest students had to admit, if only to themselves, Adam was obsessed with astronauts to his bones. He worked not just hard, but singularly driven, and he’d make it to NASA Space Academy. By the time he was thirty, he’d blasted off the blue marble of earth more times than anyone. He was the genuine article, streaking away in the early dawn, the curvature of the earth shimmering in the sun. Assigned missions for his skill, but also because he had no one to leave behind, his only ambition was to travel in space, alone. And now he was on a mission with more risk than ever before. When he reached Mars, it would be 500 years into the future and take less than a day. A special engine with never used technology lay waiting in the belly of his bullet shaped spacecraft,

Icarus.

At first, he ripped through the sky as usual, the rocket fuel roaring behind him, his body riding a bunking bronco. But this bronco was powered by Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, and he was the first man to chase time. Once the fuel engines played out, an unproven gravity control engaged, and the new engine woke.

Icarus  reared up and howled. She leaped to her stride. With his chest compressed in G forces sucking his breath, he launched into the future at what felt to him like a million-million miles per hour. But he wasn’t scared. He laughed as the first years in minutes distanced behind him. On earth, time moved fast as well. At first, his heart stirred at the miracle of life; perfect blue oceans, swirling clouds of weather systems, and the shimmering lights from the cities of the eastern seaboard of the United States. The earth was in its supreme glory that early morning. But then the sight of earth pierced his stomach as if stabbed by a Satan’s herald. This terrified him with a grief he didn’t know, his blood rushing like his heart was on fire and would soon burst from his throat.

Just a few years had passed compressed into the first hours after launch, and the earth had flashed a different kind of glory. Behind his spacecraft, malevolent evil rose in mushroomed clouds, the lost hope of a nuclear insanity. What would take weeks, or years, or decades on earth, for him was just a few hours, and ended in a hulking dead planet, the last gasping breath of a sorrowful and smoldering wasteland, leaving only debris and death.

Ahead of him loomed ever closer the colony of Mars. But as he approached, 500 years unfolded. The colony transformed into a vast metropolis. What looked like clear domes fabricated by giant honey bees covered towers of high rises, their sparkling lights reminding him of London, New York, or Hong Kong. In an instant, he felt the deck beneath him shudder as his ship went into orbit, guided by an unseen force. His communications consul sounded out with what the Commander first thought was the voice of God. “Welcome to Mars, Commander. We’ve been waiting for you.” *** “You were the first sent and the last to arrive,” Dr. Felix Fitzwalter said. A scientist, he had rumpled white hair, an old man. In the earth weeks that the Commander had spent on Mars, from what he could tell, the city stood near exhaustion, trash blowing in the streets, empty buildings, and collapsed schools with Martian sand drifting in doorways. When he saw people, they gathered together like aging denizens of Greece, dressed in robes, and talking in groups like chittering sparrows. “And you’re our last hope,” interrupted Chairman Mathews, his face like a politician, sycophant, and beady eyed. The Doctor glanced at the Chairman, scowling with his white eyebrows, his forehead furrowed. But Commander Rocket’s questions never stopped. “Why the last to arrive? Who came first? And why am I the last hope?”

Dr. Fitzwalter chuckled. As he did, his formidable belly jiggled. He wore a scarlet Mars Federation logo on his white robe. “Let me explain.” Again, Chairman Mathews stared down the doctor. “A travesty. This is what happens when humanity has the power to destroy. It’s human nature. Earth is just one more example.” He snapped his fingers. “Gone... But it’s fate and messing with time that’s a sin. Earth paid the price, Commander.” The doctor stood up and towered over Mathews from behind him. “What you don’t know, Commander, is your fellow astronauts came after you and died hundreds of years ago. But they told us about you, the speed of your ship fast enough to come well after them. It’s only you, Commander, who arrived over 500 years from earth’s catastrophe. You’re the last.” Commander Rocket nodded. He’d guessed if he could reach Mars in a few months, others could also. He wasn’t surprised he was the fastest. “Why is everyone on Mars so old? The streets are empty? Where is everybody?” “That’s why you’re the last hope, some of the misguided say,” said Chairman Mathews. “But you can’t mess with fate. Half our population thinks you’re the Messiah. There’s a better place ahead of us.” “You see, Commander,” said the Doctor. “We can’t procreate. We can’t conceive. It seems the DNA alterations we used to extend our lives modified us. A sad irony, given we were pursuing life extension.” “Modified!” Mathews declared. “Just like earth, we’re dying also! We live until 200, but our youngest are nearly 100! It's blasphemy and there’s nothing we can do.”

The Doctor took a seat next to the Commander and leaned in towards him. He gripped the Commander’s eyes with his own. “We can’t seem to complete artificial insemination because of the DNA infection. We’ve concluded we need an uninfected man and a natural birth.

YOU

don’t have damaged DNA, and we assume, can perform naturally.” The Commander put his hand on his own head as he realized. “So you want me to have a baby? Who with?” The doctor smiled. *** The woman, Evelyn, chosen for the Commander, was over 100 years old, looked 30, and embraced the excitement of life like a sixteen-year-old. She was having no nonsense from Adam. If they were going to do this, they would do it her way, and by golly they were going to have a baby post haste. “You’re doing a heroic service for the continuance of life on Mars,” Evelyn said, snuggling down next to the Commander. They were outside the Mars Interstellar Research Center (MIRC). She scanned the Commander up and down while he fidgeted. “I’m not really sure how this works,” he said. Evelyn laughed. “You’re not sure how sex works?” The Commander turned red. “It’s not that, it’s…it’s...” And so began to everyone’s observation, a love affair. And it worked. After the entire Mars community held their collective breath, Adam, Jr. was born, a bawling blue-eyed boy. The Commander, to everyone’s surprise, became a doting father.

Mars City glowed like first time grandparents while he pushed the baby carriage (which he insisted on doing). The gossiping matrons passed him, pretending it wasn’t on purpose. “Good afternoon, Commander. Your boy is quite the handsome young man!” The Commander would light up with the broadest ‘proud poppa’ smile imaginable. “He is, isn’t he?” It wasn’t just Adam Jr. that captured his father’s eye. The Commander and Evelyn were inseparable. He would sneak looks at his wife doing the simplest of tasks, preparing dinner (he cleaned up), painting at her easel with her delicate fingers (she was an artist), and laying out his manuals to help him study the new science. His heart would break just at the sight of her. Dr. Fitzwalter was beyond delighted. “You realize, Mathews, where this is headed?” “Yes. You want this Rocket Man to be a very busy man,” replied Mathews. “It’s a sin is what it is.” The Doctor flicked his forefinger at Mathews, dismissing him. “We’ll marry each of them off if that makes you happy, but there’s an issue. I’ve never seen a man more in love with one woman. How will it go with another woman?” He placed his hand on his chin and his mind on the repercussions. But neither man knew ‘the repercussions’ would shortly become unnecessary. *** The Commander knew something was up when Dr. Fitzwalter and Matthews brought him and Evelyn in. Dr. Fitzwalter stood with his back to the Commander as he gazed out the conference room window, fifty stories high, a purple gray overcast day above the sheen of the clear domes. Behind the glass of each building were fewer and fewer people. The city was dying. “We’ve had our hopes, Commander, but tests show Evelyn has, for lack of a better term, infected you. There’ll be no more babies.” “And you were the last hope, remember?” Mathews said, smirking. “The last DNA from earth. This is written as I expected and caused by our own sin. We will all surely die.” “So what now?” The Commander asked. Dr. Fitzwalter turned. “Now you live your life — you, Evelyn, and your son.” So the Commander did live his life, and what a life it was. For the next fifteen years he was a husband and father. The Martians accepted the inevitable death of the race, not with sadness, but with a celebration of life. Festivals were commonplace, fireworks flared the sky with blues and reds as only the Martians could do. Bursting into space itself was a man-made Martian aurora borealis like the tides of heaven flowing forth. And why not? They were living, and living is about life, not death. But within those rising beacons in the sky were also messages for any civilization to hear.

‘Is anyone there? We are alone and dying. Help us.’ Adam Jr. was sixteen before his father knew it. They both learned together the Martian science of rocket propulsion. With a dying race, the mission was more about building a library of knowledge for whoever might come to a dead planet. The actual engineers with the knowledge of advanced science became ever scarcer. As the Commander aged, he turned gray. He was surprised when Dr. Fitzwalter called him in once again to the MIRC Facility. After small talk, the Doctor said, “We’ve had a turn, an unlikely possibility, but our scientists are telling us you may have one more mission. If you’re willing, that is.” The Commander’s radar tickled the crook of his neck.

Why was the Doctor so shy about getting to the point?  “I’m pretty old for missions, Doctor. I’m not the man I used to be.” “Here’s the thing Commander.” The Doctor spoke quietly, but his eyes glinted with excitement. “Our remaining engineers say they’ve possibly rewritten the rules of spaceflight—not to mention completely defying conventional physics. An impossible drive, they call it the EmDrive.” In his gut, the Commander knew his life on Mars was going to end. “So how does this affect me?” “We can send you back Commander, back to the actual day, 24 earth hours

AFTER  you blasted off earth. NASA will think you were only gone one day. But after decades, you will return nine weeks and three days before the beginning of the nuclear war. As you know, relativity has been proven to take us forward in time as we approach the speed of light, but going

BACK  in time is thought of as impossible. Einstein, over 500 years ago, predicted it was impossible. But our people are hoping to bend, if you will, the space-time continuum. Unfortunately, if we send our own Mars spacecraft back and the future changes just from the simple observation of what we’re doing, our spacecraft won’t make it. We might never exist once the past changes. The only chance for success is to send objects that actually came from the past. You, and your spacecraft, certainly qualify. And we’re hoping, desperately hoping, your memories on Mars will also stay intact.” The Commander hesitated, the pit of his stomach soured as he thought of Evelyn, his son Adam. “That means by returning to Earth I can change the future. But if I’m successful, will everything that I experienced on Mars never happen?” “Precisely. At least not in our plane of reality. We surmise infinite planes, each with their own past and future.” The Commander’s eyes glistened. “Why go back Doctor? To die with everyone else on earth?” “No Commander. Not to die in a nuclear blast. To prevent it. And if possible, send another type of message.” *** Harnessed in the command seat of

Icarus,

feeling the adrenaline spike in his chest, the Commander guided his spacecraft through space. Mars receded as the centuries unraveled over three years of flight to return to earth. The clear globes covering the planet’s cities faded. Mars slowly turned into the red planet with only a colony remaining. Two photos, the only objects from Mars he brought with him, were taped to the rear monitor. His loneliness grew in the silence of space, and he couldn’t help willing himself back. He couldn’t help weeping for his own death, for a false hope of return. Space turned a cold shoulder as he

burned out his fuse, alone in the emptiness . He pressed his hands white against the bulkhead, his forehead pressed against the monitor next to the photos, pleading against the reversal of time. Ahead of him, the dead planet of earth turned from the darkest agony to an aqua blue beneath living clouds of swirling white. It was now three years since he’d left Mars. He was back 500. As the re-entry through the earth’s atmosphere scorched around him, Icarus’ wings were aflame, he rode a comet ablaze in the sky.

No, you haven’t gone too close to the sun,  he thought.

You have lived, and loved.

Touchdown on earth occurred in exactly the three years he was scheduled.

I’m old, but not too old , he thought.

I’m still a Rocket Man after all. *** “You have about three months, Madam President.” The Commander petitioned his case, spilling his memory to those gathered in the oval office. The President, Secretary of State Forsyth, three others.

Why won’t these people believe me? The President shook her head dismissively. “Again, Commander, you’re telling me you

SAW  earth destroyed by nuclear war? This seems preposterous, you must admit.” Secretary of State Forsyth, dressed in a slick black suit, the party logo of a black taloned hawk on his lapel, chimed in to the President as if the Commander wasn’t there. “The enemy has ways of injecting disinformation into our people. This man has no background in anything but spacecraft. No world view.” The Commander was ready to give up. Exhausted, he was tired of explaining what he saw when he left earth the day before, but also what he found on Mars 500 years ahead; the dying of life, the infections, Evelyn and Adam. In final frustration, he thrust to the front of his seat, spilling his coffee. “I left one day ago, Madam President. Look at me! I’ve aged at least thirty years.” Secretary Forsyth stared only at the President as he spoke. “You can’t travel

BACK  in time. This spaceman could be some sort of double agent for all we know. But for the look of his supposed aging, he’s only been gone one day. That can be faked. Worse, we’d be violating our Preemptive Policy. This could mean your impeachment Madam President, losing the coming election. This is not a time for naïve olive branches, but peace through strength.” “Walk with me Commander,” The President said. The two of them strolled to the Rose Garden. Snow flurries were falling in the early evening but The President ignored the cold. “I can try, Commander,” she said. “I’ll tell your story. But I can’t promise anything. You know Commander, if you’re right, have you thought of what happens if we contact the Mars Colony

NOW  with what you’ve told us about their DNA?” *** The Commander approached security in a brisk walk, like he always did. At the desk, a young woman called out to him. “Hey Space Cowboy,” she said. A tiny brunette, her eyes sparkled. “Rocket Man,” the Commander said, correcting her. “You look more like a space cowboy to me. You need to slow down. The world isn’t going anywhere.” The Commander laughed. “Yes, I suppose not,” he said. As he stepped outside the White House, the stars were out. It had stopped snowing, and the night was clear and brisk. I’ve seen two worlds die, he thought. Does that have something to do with why haven’t we seen anybody? Reaching into his pocket, he took out the photos of Evelyn and his son, Adam. The photos began to

BLUR,  then crystalize in bright yellow fireflies of flakes rising in the air. He grasped but realized he couldn’t hold a piece of light, a story, a memory. The sparks were soon gone as no more than a dream. Mars rose on the east horizon, a reddish speck of light — the only life a fledgling colony.


"I died in 2021. I lived a decent life. At least, I think I did. I was born February 19th, 1995. I lived in Georgia. We had a small house in an old town in the middle of nowhere. My parents ran a small convenience store that brought in just enough money to pay the bills. I had a brother and a sister. "In school, I didn't make many friends. I was awkward and quiet. Some of teachers recognized my last name, since my brother was in their classes before I was. I was always teased, so I ended up taking it out on my little sister. I made fun of her, and a couple times she even cried. "I loved my parents but sometimes I was a brat to them. Times like when other kids were getting cars and licenses, but my parents didn't have the money. I remember saying that they weren't doing it because they didn't care about me. And I made snide comments for a couple weeks after that. "I never went to college. Instead, I got a job as a grocery store assistant manager. My parents were pretty upset that I didn't go to college, but even more upset that I didn't carry on their business. "My brother was in a car accident when I was 17 and my sister and I grew apart. I stayed in Georgia with my comfortable job, while she moved away, got a degree, and became some kind of designer. Interior Decoration, mom said. "I did meet a girl when I was 22. She was pretty. And she was nice, I guess. But mainly pretty. She and I were together for a while. Then I found out that she was pregnant. The kid was mine, but I wasn't ready to be a parent. I stopped seeing her, but I did send her child support every month. "My parents passed away and their shop was torn down. They built some fast food place on the lot to replace it. My sister didn't come to the funeral and only a few people showed to grieve. "I developed a bad cough shortly after the funeral. My breathing started to get short and strained. My chest was constantly stinging. They found out that the chemicals in my vape were damaging my lungs. Eventually, I died. And now, I'm here." "Do you know where you are?" "I'm assuming this is heaven? Or purgatory... I'm being judged, right?" "You are being judged, yes. But this isn't Purgatory. This is real. Most of the time our patients forget, so I'll explain. You've been in a simulation for 48 hours. You are 18 years old. The year is 2036. Due to overpopulation, we have decided to test individuals through a simulation of life. We observe your actions and take note of your skills and accomplishments. When it is over, we decide if you are worthy." "Worthy of what?" "A space in this world. We've decided that you are not." "You... Wait, you what?" "Based on what you've shown us, you do not have anything to add to our world. No social skills, no drive, no pride... You did not even parent your own child. We've decided that you don't deserve a life in our world.


Frank woke up and rose from his station with a sore head and no memory of yesterday. He checked the roster. Frank and Annie were the last ones on the ship. They didn’t quite know where they were. They knew they were floating deep in space, but since they’d lost the navigator they had no idea where the ship was. Frank was just the ship’s maintenance officer anyway – the crew called Frank the janitor – what would Frank know of star charts and deep space navigation? They had been on the mission so long Frank had forgotten what it was all about anyway. Frank’s memory had been fuzzy since they had gone through that nebula – Frank had tried to tell the rest of the crew about it but they never listened to the janitor. Except Annie – she was nice to Frank. Although sometimes it felt like Annie was mistrustful of Frank. It was hard for Frank to process emotions. Although he was quite sophisticated and intelligent for his kind, he was still an android with a positronic brain. And even quantum computers still required electrons and protons and neutrons and all that stuff he didn’t really understand to function. He couldn't be sure, but he suspected the nebula changed him and, to use an antiquated term, rewired him. He tried to run a diagnosis on himself, but the crew wouldn’t listen and it would take years to contact Earth. So he tried to continue with his duties until one day, the blackouts started… Frank struggled to remember how it happened, but since the nebula incident he was prone to blacking out. That was when it started. First the radio officer was lost in the airlock incident. Then the captain with that unfortunate fall down the cooling duct. Then the navigator, engineer, doctor… all suddenly and tragically taken from the ship. He heard a beep in his ear. It was time for his daily cleaning rounds. A voice in his ear reminded him: “…Order 1: remove all sources of dirt and waste from the ship…” Frank felt a sharp pain and a flash… Another blackout was coming. His vision faded out, and when it faded in he was kneeling over Annie with his arms tightly around her throat. Annie had tried to stop him but he was too strong for her. As the life faded away and the colour drained from her face, she gave him a look and whispered “it…was…you…who…did…it…” Frank wanted to cry, but he was unable to process complicated human emotions such as sadness. Then he heard the beep and the voice in his ear again: “Order #2: every part of the ship must be kept clean at all times.” Frank went to work right away. He took Annie’s body and put it in the incinerator. Then he cleaned the floors with his vacuum cleaner where she had laid, and continued around the rest of the ship. Frank felt another flash and blacked out again. When he woke up again he was in his station with a sore head and no memory of yesterday.