“The sun’s shining and my balls are fucking itchy,” Lenslo said. “What makes this day any different from the God’s damn rest of ‘em?” El-Dot turned its head and barked just once. “Don’t play games with me, El-Dot. Use your voice like a good boy.” “Master, I find this entire situation very perturbing,” El-Dot said, turning his head almost entirely sideways. “What makes today different?” “Absolutely nothing. We stand here in the middle of nowhere, doing fucking nothing. Everything I went through, all of that bloody pain and suffering. For this. For solitude.” “For peace though, Lenslo. And survival.” “I don’t think my fucking loneliness has been worth any of this. I fucked up bad, El-Dot. I have to fix this. Come on, let’s go back. Let’s restore order. My life for all of theirs.” “If that is what you desire, Master.” Lenslo turned West and from the middle of a dusty wasteland started walking back to where it all began. * The sun was fucking harsh and too God’s damn hot. Why on Earth he had thought that walking halfway across Australia through the sunlight hours was a good idea was anyone’s guess. “El-Dot?” Lenslo sighed. “Yes, Master?” El-Dot asked effortlessly. The heat did not matter to this fucking robot. “Where are we in this endless desert?” “At our current pace we are six hundred hours from the Eastern edge of the Red Centre.” “Six hundred? Fuck me blind. I’m gonna die out here, El-Dot.” “You’re welcome to ride, Master.” El-Dot wiggled his hind quarters. “Hey, El-Dot. Fuck you. I will not ride you.” “Using alternate methods of transport would get us to our destination in four hundred hours. It is not a judgement of your abilities, but a helpful proposal.” “Still, El-Dot,” Lenslo grunted. “I’ll fucking walk.” * Jesus fucking Christ, kangaroos. A million of them if there was one. A great big roaming herd, bounding across literally out of nowhere. Lenslo froze and just watched as twilight dwindled and the majestic creatures made their way from one horizon to the next. “That brings a tear to my eye, El-Dot.” “It is rather impressive that so many have survived and thrived out here, Master.” “Never thought I’d see the day. El-Dot, get me a straggler.” El-Dot bounded off gleefully, chasing down a stray kangaroo. It took one down like a lion mauling a zebra and they tangled until El-Dot snapped its neck in its mechanised jaws. It dragged the limp animal back to Lenslo and dropped it at its feet. “As you requested, Master.” “Start a fire, El-Dot. It’s time to have ourselves a feast.” * “Six hundred hours,” Lenslo laughed, thrusting his hands into the air as he collapsed to his knees in red sand. “Six hundred fucking hours, El-Dot.” “We made it in five hundred and eighty six hours, Master,” El-Dot said, ever so casually. “Fuck me, I don’t rightly care. We’re so close now I can taste it. This beautiful red sand is gonna lead us home.” “Home is thousands of kilometres South-East, Master.” “Argh, damn it, El-Dot, I meant home in a figurative sense. Home to people. Home away from all of this fucking emptiness.” “Of course, Master. Your destination is now forty two hours away.” Lenslo slowly rose from the dirt without even bothering to dust himself off. It was just another layer to his filth. He put one foot in front of the other and trudged onwards. Home sweet mother fucking home, just days away. * “Master, are you alright?” El-Dot inquired, pushing against Lenslo’s leg as he staggered ever onwards. “Huh?” Lenso stammered. “You’re collapsing, Master.” Lenslo fell to his knees and collapsed forwards, draping over El-Dot’s back as it quickly moved in front of him. A tube snaked out of El-Dot’s torso and forced into Lenslo’s mouth. Clean, fresh water filled Lenslo’s mouth and he greedily swallowed it down. He hadn’t suffered from low hydration throughout their journey, but wow did water taste good. Something else had made Lenslo collapse, and he had no idea what the fuck it was. All he felt was an overpowering lack of energy, and this when he was just hours away. He tried to lift himself up and take his own weight. Instead he slid sideways and slammed into the sand. Everything was heavy, so damn heavy. He slid into the dark. * “Wake up, Lenslo.” “Who the fuck?” Lenslo said sleepily, opening his eyes to blinding light. Someone was holding his head off the ground, pressing his cheeks in. “Who do you think? Didn’t you come all this way to see me?” Lenslo blinked and the faint outline of a man resolved in the harsh light. “Me?” “You’ve almost got it.” “Olsen?” “There you go. That didn’t take you long.” “How? Where are we?” Lenslo tried to work out how the hell he was looking into the face of his clone. “You don’t remember? You walked all the way out here to see me and you’ve forgotten.” “I was trying to do something. No idea what the fuck that was.” “Is that true?” Olsen asked, ratcheting up the pressure on Lenslo’s skull. “Or are you just messing with me so that you can flip the advantage?” “Fucking ouch!” Lenslo cried. “Let me go, ya bastard.” “Tell me what you’re doing back here, Lenslo. Or I’ll crush your skull.” “I have no idea, Olsen. Now get the fuck off me.” He shoved upwards, hoping to break his head free, but met only strong resistance. “El-Dot, why are you here?” Olsen asked. “Master?” El-Dot asked. “Should I tell Olsen your goal?” “Fucked if I know,” Lenslo growled. “I don’t have any clue what we’re doing back here. I swore to never return.” “That is not permission, Master. Please clarify.” “Tell me why I’m here.” “You returned in order to restore humanity. You want to undo your actions.” “Oh fuck,” Lenslo said, remembering everything he intended to do as Olsen slammed his head into the ground. “I don’t think so, Lenslo,” Olsen said, pounding Lenslo’s head until he lost consciousness. * *Lenslo coughed, hacking up blood and spitting it into the red sand. “Almost there, Pup,” he groaned, “Just a few more moments and we’ll be healed.” Pup barked happily and nuzzled Lenslo’s leg. Lenslo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then grasped the football-sized glowing emerald gem atop the concrete pedestal with both hands. They stood at the bottom of a crater impact site that was nearly fifty metres deep. “Is this really what you want, Lenslo?” Olsen asked, staring into the gem from the other side of the pedestal. “You’ll throw away everyone in order to live?” Lenslo ignored his clone. Who did he think he was to question his creator? His job was simply to protect this sacred site in case the ritual wasn’t a complete success. Not that there was any doubt in his mind that he would succeed. The sun reached its apex as Lenslo leaned over the gem and let blood trickle from his mouth and splash on its surface. “By and by. Dust to Dust,” he recited. “I lend you my core to satisfy your lust. Take what is ours and make it yours. Give me the strength and vitality to see through the years-” “Stop,” Olsen demanded and pointed a gun at Lenslo’s head. Now, where on Earth had he found that? “Don’t do this, Olsen,” Lenso seethed. “I created you for this purpose. I have given you life and I will give you eternity. Lower the gun.” Oslen fired, grazing Lenslo’s cheek and drawing a line of blood. “I will not allow this,” he yelled and shot Lenslo in the leg. Lenslo screamed in unbridled agony, leaning his full weight into the gem. “You fuckhead. How dare you. Fuck that smarts.” “Step away from the gemstone or I’ll aim for something more vital.” Lenslo couldn’t step away, but he slid to the ground and lost contact with the gem. Black spots peppered his vision and he could feel his veins throbbing. Olsen stepped around as he put his back to the pedestal and stretched out his leg, forcing his palm against the wound. Olsen kept the gun aimed at Lenslo’s chest, but he didn’t fire the killing shot. “Why?” Lenslo cried. “Why would you throw away immortality?” “It isn’t up to you to decide the fate of all human life. I will not let you. Abandon your plans, Lenslo.” “What right do you think you, a clone, has to make decisions about who lives and dies. You’re a construct.” “I never chose to live. But I can choose not to take away life.” “You’ll come to see things differently as you start to die.” “I don’t think so. We are not Gods.”* * “Wake up, Lenslo.” Warm water splashed over Lenslo’s face and he groggily came awake. Olsen was crouched before him and his hands were tied behind his back around some solid object. “The fuck, Olsen?” “I brought you the rest of the way, Lenslo,” Olsen said, looking around the enormous crater around them. “It was the least I could do for drugging you out there.” Lenslo realised that he was tied to the pedestal that had once held the gemstone. The pedestal that had been part of the ritual that had set everything into motion. “Why am I tied up, Olsen?” “You came to undo everything. I cannot allow that to happen.” Lenso burst into laughter. “What did I tell you? I said that you would come to see things differently. That at one point you would be the one to defend everything that happened.” “Well, you were right, Lenslo. I will not let you undo this. You will not take my life away.” “What life? What do you have out here, but fuck all? What’s the point of going on if we’re destined to be alone. At least if people return we’ll have someone to talk to before we die.” “I won’t let you do this,” Olsen said, tapping the barrel of a gun against his temple. “I said it last time and you changed my mind. This time I won’t be swayed. Goodbye, brother.” He placed the gun against Lenslo’s forehead and pulled the trigger. Click. * *“Okay, brother, I won’t do this,” Lenso said. “You’re lying,” Olsen recognised, keeping a safe distance with the gun aimed at Lenslo’s chest, his hands shaking from what he had done. “I’m not. Now help me patch this wound before I bleed out. If I’m going to die from this I don’t want to do it so close to my failure.” Olsen slowly lowered the gun and then tucked it into the back of his waistband. He rushed forward and knelt near Lenslo’s legs. He reached forward tentatively towards the outpouring blood with shaky hands. Lenslo reached forward in a flash and dragged Olsen towards him. He slammed his head into the pedestal once, twice, three times and then threw his unconscious body to the ground. As quickly as he could he tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt and tied it around his leg. He knew nothing about gunshot wounds, but was sure that it would do nothing for him. All he could do was complete the ritual and hope that with immortality came healing. Using the pedestal he pulled himself to his feet and placed his hands back onto the emerald gem. Time to finish before Olsen rose and got in his way again.* * Lenslo cackled as the gun failed to fire. Olsen turned the gun in his hands to inspect it as Lenslo slid a blade down the length of his sleeve and used it to slice through his bindings. Olsen really should have done a thorough job of searching him for weapons and checking that his own still worked after all these years. As the ropes fell away Lenslo slammed the blade into the side of Olsen’s neck and powered him sideways into the ground. Blood burbled and pooled around his hand as Olsen drowned. “You really shouldn’t have stood in my way, Olsen.” Olsen tried to speak, but only made wet sucking sounds. “Shh, don’t talk. Just accept your fate.” He had never intended to kill Olsen, but he was the sacrifice he needed to make to bring humanity back. Getting to his feet he looked at the pedestal for the first time and screamed an avalanche of obscenities. The gemstone, the key to everything, was gone. “El-Dot, do you have any idea where Olsen hid the fucking gemstone?” “It is gone, Master,” El-Dot said. “He destroyed it two days after you departed.” Lenslo turned and shot scorching hot daggers at his companion. “He fucking what? Why the hell didn’t you tell me this at any of the one billion opportunities we’ve had since then?” “You never asked, Master.” If El-Dot could shrug its dog-like shoulders, that would have been the time. “I didn’t think I would need to ask something so fucking obvious. You should have told me before I walked all the way here and killed the only other living soul on this God’s forsaken planet to achieve my goals.” Cackling laughter bubbled up out of Olsen’s mouth. “What the fuck?” Lenslo cried as Olsen moved like a liquid, standing up and pressing the barrel of the gun against the side of Lenslo’s head. “This seems oddly familiar, doesn’t it?” * *Cackling laughter bubbled up out of Olsen’s mouth. “What the fuck?” Lenslo cried as Olsen stood up and pressed the barrel of the gun against the side of Lenslo’s head. “Step away from the gemstone, or I put a bullet through your head.”* * “Take it easy, Olsen,” Lenslo said, turning to face Olsen and putting the barrel against the centre of his forehead. “We both know that your gun won’t fire. Put it down and let's talk about this. Man to man.” “Man?” Olsen asked uncertainly. “I was never a man and you ceased to be one when you gave yourself immortality.” “Fine, let’s talk clone to fucking monster. Better?” Olsen lowered the gun and took a step back to stay out of his reach. “What you are trying to do is not okay, Lenslo.” “I’m fixing my mistake. I never should have wiped out humanity just to live. You know that. You fucking argued that exact point before I did it and I didn’t God damn listen.” “I was right then…” Lenslo threw his arms up in disgust. “And I’m right now.” “You can’t be both, asshole,” Lenslo argued. “I can because I’m a subject of your misdeeds and I hate it,” Olsen roared. “You gave me life and made me a fucking bodyguard to the altar of humanity’s destruction. I watched as you used whatever that gemstone was to kill every living being and I will not watch you attempt to play God again. It is not your right to give, as it was not your right to take away.” “But, I’m-” “No, shut up and listen! You played your cards and you won the grand prize. You got the immortality that you wanted. You even dragged me along and made me suffer through this pitiful existence. Now, sixteen hundred years later you change your mind and you march back here expecting that you can just flick a switch and put things right. No. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. I will not abide your Machiavellian tactics. You, Lenslo, are not the man who gets to decide.” “And you are?” Lenso screamed. “Who the fuck are you to stand in my way? To destroy the one true chance humanity had.” “I did what needed to be done,” Olsen said. “I obeyed your orders and guarded the site, but in the immediate aftermath I knew that I couldn’t allow you to wield that unjustified power again. So yes, I destroyed your precious gemstone because if you didn’t know I’m the side of you that instantly regretted your actions.” “You’re playing at being a God yourself, fuckwad. If you had just left that gem alone all of this could have been put back to normal.” “All of this and none of it. The Earth cannot handle people just reappearing.” Lenslo screamed and pointed a finger at Olsen. “I will not spend another day in this endless bullshit. Where the fuck is my gemstone?” “I destroyed it. Wasn’t that clear?” “You can’t lie to me, Olsen. I know all of your tells. Now, where the fuck is it?” * *“Olsen,” Lenslo said, holding his hands down with his palms showing. “Come on, Olsen. You don’t want to kill your mirror. Don’t you want your new life to last more than a few decades?” “That is irrelevant, Lenslo,” Olsen said, waving the gun side to side to get Lenslo away from the pedestal. “What matters here and now is that you are not a God. You cannot abandon humanity just to give yourself a future. Die with dignity.” “I fucking won’t. I made this happen. I will see it through.” “How? I can stand here all day. You on the other hand look a little worse for wear.” “You’re going to give me a chance,” Lenslo grinned. “Belvedova.” Olsen froze in place, all of his muscles going rigid, not even his eyelids fluttered. “You see, Olsen. I was smart enough to build several failsafes into you. Now stand there and watch as I save us.” Lenslo hobbled back to the pedestal and grabbed the gemstone with both hands. “By and by. Dust to Dust. I lend you my core to satisfy your lust. Take what is ours and…”* * Olsen waved his hands around the crater, taking in all of their surroundings. “It’s all around us,” he said. “I exploded it into a million pieces.” “You fucking moron!” Lenslo yelled, stepping towards Olsen and laying him out with a solid punch to the jaw. “How could you?” He bent down and picked up the gun that fell out of Olsen’s hand. He pointed it at Olsen’s chest and screamed as he pulled the trigger over and over. It was the first time he had ever held a gun, let alone tried to kill someone. Every time the gun failed to fire. He dropped the gun as he collapsed to his knees and started to cry. He had come and he had failed. Humanity would never return. He would have to live forever with that guilt. “I’m sorry, Lenslo,” Olsen said, standing up and dusting himself off. “This is why Man should never play God.” * *Lenslo stepped back from the pedestal, raising his hands from the gemstone. He had done it. He had played God and oh boy did it feel good. Somewhere out there, far from this Red Centre people would be dropping like flies. Here in the middle of the crater he felt strong. His leg was limbering up and he could breathe a little clearer. He turned to face Olsen and smiled. “You, my little pet project are going to stay right here, within shouting distance of this crater at all times. You will guard the pedestal from anyone who might have survived this ritual. I doubt anyone will come, but regardless you’ll stand over this until you die. Blessingdona.” Olsen could not move and he also couldn’t do anything other than fall into line. When Lenslo finally relinquished his hold over his clone it wouldn’t do anything other than follow his orders. “Take care, Olsen,” Lenso said. “You’re one of only two men left alive on this miserable planet. Belvedova.” Lenslo walked past Olsen, patting him on the shoulder as he went to leave the crater. He turned his head from the pedestal. He would never look back.* * “What do you want me to say?” Lenslo asked. “I was fucking wrong. Now, if there’s any part of you that wants to do some good, come with me. Help me find another crater. There must be other gemstones out there somewhere. I can fix the Earth. I can make it okay for billions of people to return. Fuck, Olsen, this cannot be how this ends.” “Why don’t you just force me to follow you?” Olsen asked. “Use your code words to alter my behaviour.” “I don’t want to do that. I want you to decide to do the right thing. Just like I wish I had done back then. I was a fool and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” “What happened to you out there, Lenslo?” Olsen asked, crouching just out of reach of Lenslo’s legs. “How did you suddenly change after sixteen hundred years alone?” “I… I just woke the fuck up,” Lenslo laughed. “I thought I could just wander back here and set things right. God I’m an idiot.” “You’re just a man who stumbled upon a power that was beyond his belief. I don’t think anyone could judge you for what you wanted to attain. There might have been a better way to do it, however. I’m sorry it had to end this way.” “It’s not over, brother. I know that I’ll find a way to put things right. Are you coming with me?” “No. I’ll leave this up to you and El-Dot. If it’s alright with you I’d like to go out there and give this life thing a chance.” “Olsen, there is nothing I would like better. Go and have yourself a merry old life, Blessingdona.” “Thank you, Lenslo. Good luck out there.” Lenso waved goodbye as one last time he walked towards the edge of the crater. “Come on, El-Dot. Let’s find us another gemstone and fix this fucking Earth.


(Inspired by the Twilight Zone story "Cradle of Darkness" and Alfred Bester's short story "The Men Who Murdered Muhammad") I am glad this still works. Using this laptop for the first time in five years, and probably also for the last time, as there are likely no ways of reloading the battery for many more decades. Not to mention that I won't be there anyway. Many people asked what happens if we kill Baby Hitler. I did it. I killed Baby Hitler. I wish I didn't. Dear God, I wish I didn't! You might have heard of those studies about quantum mechanics. Sending information into the past. Altering the past. I did it. I sent something very specific into the past. Baby Hitler has died. Or not. It is too complicated. In one possible past, Baby Hitler was killed. In one possible past, we don't exist because history afterwards went different. Or rather because time there is just written now. There it still is the 19th century now. If you can read this, you are from the 21st century. It is 20 April 1894 here. It is exactly five years now since it happened. I still can connect to my old work. I don't know why or how. Somehow I still can send those messages into the future. Or what was the future. I don't know if it will collapse. I don't know if it will still exist and my reality exists as a new probability. There are many great things happening, the same as were in your timeline. I don't know what will change here. I don't know what the future will be like. I still exist on the original timeline. But I also exist here. I don't know how this is even possible. It should not be. Am I myself there? Will I be myself there when I die here? Will I disappear here and just be there again one day? I don't know. I can only give you a small history of how I did it. There is really not much else to talk about. But I am afraid that what I did might actually change something else. It was 18 March 2024. It should be around 18 March 2029 now in your timeline. So, shortly after the President was elected in 2024 - by the way, hopefully hereby I can send congratulations from here again about the re-election in 2028! I mean, he was re-elected, I hope? "Bring the joy again!", as the slogan went! - but I digress. So shortly afterwards I had finished this experiment to send inforamtion into the past. I tried specific time persiods, just small amounts of information, but continued experimenting for weeks. The thing was, while I was able to see the information going there, nothing seemed to have changed in the future. Days seemed to fly by as I was experimenting. Really, stuff that felt like it took a few minutes actually took an hour or two sometimes. Once I even went to a doctor to have my time perception checked, but he didn't find anything. Silly me! So at that day, 18 March 2024, an accident happened. I still don't know what happened. Well, it went horribly right, I guess. I sent some folders back in time to Hitler's birthday, to Vienna. I sent the information back on where he was born, what he will become, etc. - just trying to see if the past will change. If someone will at least report about those strange informations after the fact. But I somehow traveled with them into the past. I decided that, as I was now stranded there, I would take the opportunity to change the past myself. Of course, everyone was talking about my strange clothes, and after I got a bag for my laptop from a dumpster I had to actually hire somewhere for badly paid work, cash, to afford a ride to Braunau. Luckily cleaning shoes and feeding horses is something people were willing to pay for. At least after giving me a beating or two for not also applying shoe cream to the shoes. So with my bag with this laptop and the folder with newspaper articles I went to Braunau in a "Fiaker", a horse carriage. I went there and killed Baby Hitler. Gettting to the address at night, just entering through the window when nobody was looking. Doing it. Leaving. And of course, if you kill a baby, people don't look very favorable at you. There was a big investigation. The strange guy in town was noticed easily - what with all the modern clothing I had. So I got arrested because just that made me suspicious. Then the evidence was found, the newspapers. After inspecting my bag, I was allowed to keep what is inside. Well, "keep" in the sense that it was locked away. That is, it was locked away until after the trial. They used symbolism. Five years after the birth of my victim I should die. I was locked away. Last night, I received my bag with the newspapers and the laptop. Guards are watching me right now. I convinced them that this is a typewriter, self-made, with a lamp. I convinced them that sometimes I just write my thoughts on it even without paper. I don't know how I pulled it off. But I can use it now. Just for a few more minutes. The few time I had broke my heart. Nothing seems to have changed. And then I understood that this is a parallel timeline. I did not change what happened originally but I created a new future that yet is to be made. Did I always create new futures when sending information into the past? Was it too insignificant, and only this time it branched off? I don't know. I really don't. I don't have much time left. My execution starts in a few minutes. I don't know why I still can connect to the internet. It should not be. But it seems to connect me ten years ago? It is 2019 there. It should be 2029. I don't know. I came up with a theory about thermodynamics. How they influence parallel timelimes. But I don't have enough time left to write it down. I must almost go. But if that theory is true, then your future is evaporating as my future comes into existence. I don't know what will be in September 1956 when the timelines overlap. Or if it will go on like this forever. Or if your timeline is normal and only my laptop connects to the past for that reason. I also don't know what will be when I must send this now, time is up.


(WP) Tithes to the Dead King Doran was named The Ghost King for the way he’d turned the tides of the war. The spirits, enraged at their death, had tried to storm the castle and possess all of the humans inside. But Doran negotiated for peace, with but one law. “When a spirit walks the land of the living, bring not pain nor plague, only gifts.” It turned out, though, that the dead were often rather imaginative with their gifts. They started out simply at first: a loaf of bread, the last fruit of the harvest, a few spare coins, a bolt of cloth. But then the offerings they gave only grew in magnitude, given to them by emissaries both alive, dead, and somewhere in between: precious stones that shone like bright eyes, heaping chests of treasures, collections of bones adorned with finery, even in death. King Doran’s bride, Queen Jazira, accepted all of the offerings at his side, but she wondered privately if this was too much, even for peace with the restless and the dead. After all, they were royal; they had no need of such pageantry. But she knew how much it had cost her husband, to barter for this tentative peace. She knew that nightmares from the war still haunted him; more than once, she’d awoken to his screams, full of agony, his face cold and clammy with sweat. The bodies of his battalion had been taken by the ghosts, vessels for his enemies, and he could do nothing but watch while his men slaughtered each other. Wraiths, revenants, the undead, all were summoned from the other side of the void, and blood had flowed freely on both sides of the war. It had felt like the longest two decades of Jazira’s life; she’d been sent to Doran’s court as a child, brought up in the ways of her fiancée’s land. They’d married on the eve of her seventeenth birthday, and the day after their wedding, her king announced that he would be making an effort to live in peace with the spirits, on the condition that both armies agreed to a surrender. And that mattered now more than ever; unconsciously, she put a hand on her stomach, trying not to show her nerves. Her husband smiled at her, squeezing her hand, and she relaxed somewhat. He’d been fighting for peace even before his father had died and he’d inherited the crown, and at long last, it was finally happening. “It pleases the crown that we have reached an agreement,” Doran said, his voice booming in the cavernous throne room. “Is there anything you would ask of us, other than our most sincere apologies for the bloodshed?” His inquiry was answered by a series of quiet whispers, in a language that Jazira couldn’t understand. “We wish to continue making our offerings to you, if you’re amenable to it,” Someone said in the crowd. “What will we give you in return? Let it not be said that King Doran is a greedy monarch.” “You’ve already given us peace, Your Majesty. How could we possibly ask for more?” Relief doused the rest of Jazira’s worries, and she was glad that her heir would live in a world where spirits, the undead, and the living coexisted in peace.


Age 4: Anna ran beneath the dreamy, dangling branches of her favorite tree she affectionately called Willa. She loved jumping up to try to grab the willows as the wind blew them around. The sound of her giggles echoed across the prairie grasses surrounding the tree, and the birds happily chirped back at her.

Anna had been visiting this tree from the time she could walk. Nearly every day her mom would sit on the back porch and watch her wander down the hill, disappearing beneath the willows. Anna treated the tree like it was her favorite pet, gently talking to it, petting its branches and leaves. After tiring herself out from trying to catch the swaying limbs, she would lean her little body against the big trunk where there was a perfect notch for her. She would close her eyes, listening to the breeze passing through, and her imagination would take her to magical places filled with adventures, transporting her from her simple childhood to a land of dreams.

Today, as she sat there with Willa, she rode a unicorn named Bluebell across the sky, lightly floating among the pillowy clouds. Bluebell’s sparkling mane tickled her neck as they danced on the endless blue horizon. They sang a song about rainbows and princesses, Anna belting the words out from her spot beneath the tree, so engrossed in her whimsical world that she forgot about the real world around her. Her mom smiled from the deck as she listened to her daughter sing loudly and confidently. Anna finished her song and opened her eyes, turning to give WIlla a hug as if thanking her for the beautiful escape today.

Age 15: Anna carried her backpack heavily on her back. As she ducked under Willa’s branches she let her bag fall to the ground as she sat against the strong, reassuring body of her favorite tree. She didn’t even stop to say hi to her mom when she got off the bus, she came straight here. Sometimes Willa could comfort her more than the people around her. Today was one of those days. School sucked. Her friends sucked. Her parents sucked. Life sucked.

She sat there hugging her knees thinking about the embarrassment of the day. At lunch her friends talked her into going over to Dylan, the boy who everyone secretly and not-so-secretly wanted to date. She sat behind him in math class one semester so he actually did know her name, and she swore he would occasionally smile at her in the hallway.

She was feeling confident in her cute skirt and jean jacket today, so she bravely left the comfort of her friends and walked toward him. As she got closer, his eyes met hers and she lifted up her hand to give him a cute wave. Her hand got caught on her purse that was draped across her body, dumping everything out for all the world to see. She stood there mortified as she saw tampons scatter across the lunch room floor including one that landed right next to Dylan’s shoe. She quickly picked them up and ran out the doors, watching her friends and the rest of the school laugh at her as she passed them.

She felt her stomach churn as she relived the horrifying day. Wanting to escape, she did the only thing she could think to do. She leaned back against Willa, closing her eyes, listening to the willow branches flutter, the breeze gently caressing her face. The sensation was so peaceful her mind was immediately carried to an enchanting place.

She was in an art gallery surrounded by giant canvases adorned with explosively colorful, lively paintings that were the result of her brilliant mind. She stood tall in the middle of the room, center of attention, dressed in a glamorous red silk dress, her hair pulled tightly back in a chignon. Her soul felt full of fiery passion and confidence as she modestly celebrated her own artwork. Admirers greeted her with the trepidation of approaching a celebrity, but she received them with kindness and poise leaving them dazzled by her eloquence. There was no one, no criticism, no rejection that could dull her inner glow, instead it was quite the opposite. Her beautiful bright light from within her radiated to all those around her, illuminating them with joy.

As the 15-year-old Anna basked in the warmth of the self-confidence she had cultivated with the help of Willa, she gently opened her eyes, taking in her current place and time. She patted her hands down her body, hoping to be wearing that silk dress, but instead feeling the rough jean jacket. She wasn’t disappointed though. Someday that would be her. She wrapped her arms around Willa, placing her cheek against the cool bark before heading back to her house.

Age 35: Anna pushed away the branches of the willow tree so she could find her way toward the trunk, carrying her bag of art supplies over her shoulder. She was desperate for inspiration, feeling so deep in a creative lull she thought she should give up on this crazy dream. Five years ago she got a big break when one of her paintings snuck into the background of a TV show that was being filmed across the city. People found out her name and she commissioned pieces left and right for over three years. That wave had passed, and now she was back to teaching art at a community college. Her parents still lived in the same house, so when she came by to check on them she always spent time with Willa knowing everything in life was escapable under the whimsical branches of her friend.

She smiled as she saw the worn out patch of bark from years of sitting in the same spot, daydreaming. She sat down, feeling the familiarity of it, running her hands through the dirt around her legs, ruts from where she had done this so many times before. She dug out her paints and brushes, laying her blank canvas on her lap hoping time with Willa would stir her creative spirit. She watched the branches dance with the wind, closing her eyes as she allowed her body to sway like the willows, floating her into a different world.

It was always somewhere unexpected, and today she was opening the patio doors of her seaside bungalow in Italy, smelling the salty Mediterranean air as the sunshine warmed her face. She walked back into her bedroom there, putting her favorite summer hat on. It was the perfect accompaniment to her lovely blue and white floral dress that fit her body just so. She put her purse on her shoulder as she slipped on her sunny yellow shoes and headed out the door. She strolled down the cobblestone streets with no plans except to do the things she loved. She opened the door to her favorite cafe, smiling as the bells jingled to greet her. Maria handed her a croissant and cafe au lait with the familiarity of having this same interaction millions of times before. They warmly chatted about life for a few minutes before another customer arrived.

Anna sipped her favorite drink as she left the cafe, roaming the streets, entranced by the pastel colors of each building she passed. She found her favorite bench right by the harbor and savored her croissant as she stared at the beautiful blue sky, speckled with gorgeous white clouds. She thrived on slow living, finding joy in simplicity, fully at peace with her croissant, perfect coffee, and dear friends.

Her hands gripped her paintbrush as she opened her eyes, still tasting the flaky pastry in her mouth. She could easily feel the direction she was supposed to take with her art, and she affectionately patted one of WIlla’s low branches as she started painting the perfectly imperfect lines of a cobblestone street.

Age 103: Anna’s wooden cane swept back the bright green willows so she could enter the sacred space of her oldest friend. It took some convincing, but her family had eventually agreed to fly her from Italy to this small town in Georgia they had never been to. Anna had been there hundreds of times of course, but her family’s connection to this town ended with her stories of her life beneath the willows. To her grown kids and grandkids, her tales about Willa seemed like fables from an active imagination, but that was just because they were too young to experience the magic of this willow tree before they moved overseas many years ago.

Now, as she slowly lowered her fragile body into the nook made specially for her, she knew she was right where she was supposed to be, everything felt exactly as she imagined it would. She let a handful of dirt fall through her fingers, rubbed the bark of her dear companion, and listened as the willows whispered with the wind. As the gentle breeze caressed her face, she closed her eyes, feeling the enchantment swirl through her body.

She was lifted onto a cloud, looking over all the things she loved, pieces of her life dotted throughout the world below. She watched a newly married couple hang a painting of Italian cobblestone above their fireplace, smiling at each other with love in their eyes.

Her granddaughter Nadia pulled a red silk dress from her closet, holding it up to her petite body. Anna saw a snapshot of herself wearing that dress when she was younger in the corner of Nadia’s mirror. Nadia picked up the picture, holding it next to her heart as if feeling her grandmother watching her in this moment.

She saw her family walking down her favorite cobblestone streets outside their villa. The kids played in the piazza as they savored the croissants Maria’s grandson made them from the cafe they all visited every day.

As she let the joy of watching her family live the most beautiful life flow through her body, she felt someone take her hand. She looked over and her husband was smiling at her like the first time they met. She had been waiting for this moment for ten years. A tear gently fell down her cheek as she leaned her head on his shoulder, cupping his hand in hers, feeling at home.

“Thank you, Willa,” Anna said, filled with gratitude realizing that this was her final adventure, only this time she gets to stay here in this magic forever.


Man was walking and saw a beautiful spot that he chose for a garden. "this is the spot I will make my garden" he said " I don't wish to be a garden" said the Soil. "As you can see, man has been here before and promised me he would tend to me. Those men failed and I grew thorns. Rocks came to the surface where there were none before. Weeds took over and now I cannot grow what I used to. They took all the good and left all the bad. I do not want to be a garden." " Do not worry Soil, you have such beautiful fruit inside those thorns. I will remove those thorns and rocks and I will tend to you with my own two hands. I will show you that we can work together to make such a lovely garden place. You will see. Trust me" the Man said. Soil was hesitant. Others had made promises before. However, Man was persistent in showing Soil how he could tend a garden. Each day Man brought water to the soil. He lovingly removed thorns that had grown and the rocks at the surface. Soil grew to trust Man and the thorns were easier to remove and the rocks began to roll away. He talked to Soil about how lovely a garden would be and planted seeds with his words. Soil began to grow rich with the time and attention from Man. Soil began to bear fruit and a garden was made. Man was very happy with his labors in the garden and the sweet fruit it produced. Soil was happy that the fruit pleased the man and all the care that Man took to tend the garden and all the fruit Soil provided. All was well. This would be where a fairy tale would end with the Man and Soil enjoying the care they each needed, bearing the fruit of the time and attention they each received. However, this is not a fairy tale. Time goes by as it does and Man continues to come to the garden for his fruit. One day Soil says to Man "Man, it has been very hot and dry and I need water to continue to produce the fruit you love so much. Please bring me water." "Is it my fault it has not rained?" asked Man " It is hot and dry. I am tired and I do not want to bring water out here for you. If you want water, speak to the clouds to bring water. I am not responsible for your water" Soil said nothing. Man took his fruit and left Soil thirsty. The days continued to be hot and dry, the clouds gave no water and neither did Man. However, he did come to the garden each day for his fruit. "This fruit is not as good as it used to be" complained Man one day "It is smaller and more sour. Why is your fruit going bad?" " I need water for good fruit. I asked you to bring some but you said that you would not. Also, look at the corners of the garden, there are new thorns growing. Please take the thorns away and bring water. It will make the fruit as good as you remember" promised Soil "It is not my job to give you water!" Man shouted " I am hot and tired and I have better things to do than make sure you have water. How dare you grow thorns! I will not remove these. If they are in the garden, then you allowed it to grow. I will take my fruit and I will go." Man took the fruit and went away complaining of the small fruit and its sour taste. Seeds fell from his mouth onto the garden and thorns grew where they landed. Much time passes before Man returned for fruit. The fruit was not as sweet as it used to be and harder to harvest. Man was angry at Soil. Soil did not know its place! Soil was here to give the man fruit, not complain. Not to take time or attention. Man had many better things to do and could not tend to the garden. Soil should be doing that to make sure the fruit is good for him. More time passes and the next time Man comes to the garden thorns have taken over, planted from his harsh words and neglect. Weeds and rocks choked what little fruit was left. "What is this?" cried Man. " It is all I have. I asked for water to make good fruit but you were too busy. I asked to have the thorns removed but you planted more with your words. Rocks have came back to the surface without your attention to remove them." "This is no garden fit for me!" yelled Man. "I am here to take my fruit. What you choose to do with your weeds and thorns is your problem and not mine to solve. You have put these rocks here to make it difficult for me. All I want is my fruit." "This fruit is not for you" replied Soil "Oh yes it is" cried man " I planted it. I came here for it. It is mine" Kicking at a rock that did not move. "I will have what I am owed" "You are owed nothing" screamed Soil. "You will only harvest what you planted. Here are your thorns, rocks and weeds, but you will have no fruit!" "You cannot do this to me. I am Man." growled Man. Man reaches his hand out to take the fruit that he did not plant. The thorns that his words had planted shift their thorns to keep his hand away. Man does not care and continues to curse Soil and its ingratitude. Longer grow the thorns and new thorns grow before Mans eyes. Blood begins to weep from the wounds the thorns make to keep his undeserving hands away. "You will have no more fruit from this garden" says Soil. "you have reaped what you have sown and will have no more. Go and leave this place. I will produce for you no more. This place will return to what it was before. You are no longer welcome here. Angry Man jumps and shouts and only more thorns grow. Seeing this Man decided to change his words. "Please, I would like some fruit from my garden" he begs. "No" replied Soil. "This is no longer a garden. The fruit that is left is mine and no one else shall have it." "This is unfair" whined Man" I loved the garden." "Not enough to give it water, or to roll away the rocks and remove the thorns." reasoned Soil "That was you who grew the thorns" replied Man "It was you who planted them" said Soil "Now please leave and no not come here again. There is no fruit for you, only thorns. Do not bother me again" Man leaves telling all who pass how terrible Soil has treated him. He tells how Soil grew thorns and refused him fruit, forgetting all the times Soil asked to be tended. "Soil is wild" and "look what Soil did to my hand" he cried to all who would listen. Some took pity on Man. "How could Soil do such a thing" they asked and shook their heads. Soil took pity on Itself. "How could Man be so cruel?" it asked. "How could hands that once helped now hurt so much" and more thorns grew to cover the much smaller and sour fruit. This is where we part ways with Man and Soil.


My face was numb. "I...guess this is it." He said. The skies were dark. Eternal dawn without the Sun. With the only truth being pity and sadness that the truth will forever be beyond us. And our forever was about to begin. "Yes. Maybe it is." A mellow song played by the failing stereos. Both of us slacked on the floor, listening to what would probably be the last song. The ironic melody. "Was it worth the wait?" "I'm not sure. All I know is that the wait would be over soon." I sighed, reminiscing moments of my vain life. How free it was, how loved, lonely. But none of it mattered anymore. In fact, none of it mattered at all in the first place. But the memories of it do paint a smile on my face. Perhaps that's what he's chuckling about as well. "That's a nice thought." He said, weakly brushing the crumbs off his beard. "So, what happens now?" "The wait. It shouldn't be too long." I replied, taking gulps out of my beer. Eyes red and wet, his face struggled not to crumble into pieces. "I..." With his voice struggling to come out between breaths, he spoke. "I wish I married. Argh. I wish I lived some more! Laughed some more! Cried! Loved! I never thought...If I knew, I would've...hah!!" The song played on through his pleas. Pity, once again. I pitied him and him too, no one else. And that spoke volumes of how contradictory we were. Of how people, was. "...I guess that's all too late now." He added. We shared tears. It made no sense, all of this. But it felt that much more. "Maybe you did. Could've. But you'll still say the same things at this point." I saw his pain as our eyes met, I knew it. Because I also struggled with regrets. At the end of time At the end of the world. At the end of all things. There is truth and deceit. "But if it happened, it happened. Why does it have to mean anything?" I asked myself the same way I asked him. He seemed to understand despite the lack of context. Nonsense. It's the core of us all. —I watch them grow They'll learn much more Than I'll ever know— Terrible song. It's a waste listening to such a tune in the already rickety bass. Our silent weeping didn't play well with it too, but it was comforting in a sense. "Although, I am thankful. For most of it." "Some times, huh. At least we'll have the coolest way to go." Sorrow turned to laughter, but it was grief nonetheless. As pain sowed in both of us, there was little left to resist. I just wish it all ends before we break. "Makes you wonder. How long would we have lived?" He jests, opening another can from the pile we'd gathered. Like death-row inmates. "It'd suck. I'm sure. Old age is overrated, but the experience never fails. Except for beer. If you experience beer too much, you'll be stopped." We broke out in laughter once again. I am tired. Tired. My soul was exhausted from knowing too much. It made ignorance seem so luxurious, so sweet. If I didn't know that the world was about to end, would I have faired better? Stop it. "I don't think anyone's ever passed painlessly." He continued blabbering. Silence descended upon us as the song was interrupted by the power outage. Reality turned grey and cold, it felt alone. And it was fueling the madness consuming us. No. I closed my eyes and found myself praying with whatever semblance of faith I had. Save me from this nightmare. Save us, please. But saving, what is saving? What happens when we're saved? How is saving what stops this? Don't venture there. It's dangerous. The song blurs back on one last time. —what a wonderful world. I was stunned. Nothing came on after that. "As the songs of the dead fill the space of my mind." He sang, slowed, and tone-deaf. Or at least he tried to. But the following words never came out. Hope is a dirty thing. It's a drug. The most addictive one at that. Nothing could destroy and rebuild a person over and over more than hope, and it is not something that anyone can control. This is the byproduct of sentience. A side-effect of the wonderful. For the universe is not a machine. It is flawed, designed for oblivion. We are part of the aimless process and that makes us think of a relevant future. Of a higher purpose, a madness that's run rampant throughout history. How conceited. How meaningful. My thoughts stray towards happier times. Feelings that filled me with warmth. It drove my questions away. Though stupid as that may be, I was thankful from the bottom of my heart. Was this how he felt? My spirit was at peace once more. I was also startled by how easily I settled. "I suppose the whole of life is an act of letting go." I said, content. He grins. "Yeah. A wonderful world it is." My face felt numb at those words. A prickling feeling washed over me as a low hum could be heard from the distance. "Yes." I smiled, the happiest I've been.


“But you’re…” “You would have thought so.” “But.. How?” He smiled at her, his gorgeous crooked smile, she’d always loved. She was in too much shock to smile back. She just stood there doing an impression of a goldfish. Bob, Bob, Bob. “You’re going to catch a fly” He said, still grinning triumphantly. She fought to regain her senses. “You are going to explain, right?”She wanted to reach out to touch him, make sure he was really there and not just a dream. But, she was too afraid. He tilted his head and frowned, his face darkened for a second in memory. “I don’t know how to begin.” He said simply “The beginning.” She blurted “OK, well I got up to take a leak…” He began I got up to take a leak. It was so dark I could barely see. I always thought in the middle of no where with no light pollution the nights were supposed to be lighter. I was wrong. I put my hands out like a blind man feeling my way around. Then my foot hit a rock or a root, Something. I went A over T. Cut my bloody knee and face. Literally bloody hole in jeans and everything. That’s when I gave up and put the torch on my phone on. Night sight be damned!, I’m telling you, Pirates had the right idea with their eye patches. I hadn’t wanted to disturb you, before. So I left the torch off, I know how lightly you sleep. Anyways, I digress. I walked with my torch for awhile. I should have stayed nearer the tent, I know I should have now, but that’s what hindsight is for, I guess. Then I saw a road with bushes lining the other side so I went there. I shouldn’t have gone so far but I really didn’t want to disturb you. I can’t express that enough. I was zipping up when a jeep came along the road, It flashed me and I waved. It stopped, I thought they were just checking up on me, making sure I wasn’t lost or something. Then 2 guys got out, grabbed me and threw me into the back. I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. I was so scared Claire, more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. If I hadn’t of just had a slash, I would have had one in my jeans. They drove off with me to a warehouse. They threw me in a cage, just left me there for days, I think. I lost track of time. They gave me food and water, but that was the only kindness they showed me. Then I made a daring escape, just like in the movies. And, now I’m here ta-da!! “But you’ve been gone for months, declared dead! I grieved for you, Mat! I grieved and I cried, I went to 2 memorials for you, candle light vigils, search parties. The works.” Mat opened his mouth to speak but Claire held up a finger, now she had found her voice she needed to be heard. “You can’t just come back with a pretty little story and a ta-da, and expect everything to be OK, you can’t, you just can’t” Claire’s voice had gotten higher and higher during this speech and she broke down in tears at the end of it. Mat rushed over and held her, sobbing into his arms. They stood like that until Claire had calmed down, she looked up at his face, he really was back. “Tell me what happened for you?” Claire shook her head “Do you really want to know?” “Yes.” He said gently staring into her eyes. She closed her eyes and nodded “OK” I woke up and you weren’t there. I was scared. I lay in the dark, It was so quiet. I listened to faint hoots, I could hear things scurrying around. But, I couldn’t hear you. I must have fallen back asleep because then next thing I knew it was morning and you were still missing. I waited for over an hour, then I went looking. I found the blood. So much blood, it seemed to me. I ran to the nearest town and got help. They launched a search party. They found your phone near the road, it must have fallen out of your pocket. The police said you had been kidnapped or just left me behind and gone off, I knew you hadn’t. I stayed an extra week but my money was running out and the trail had gone cold. You had disappeared. I had to go home, without you. I’d gone on every search party while I was there. When I got home there were candle light vigils for you, the Church held a special service for your safe return. Everyone was worried about you, I got some odd looks and comments that some people thought I’d killed you! Then they found a burned out jeep with a body in it, your blood was in it too. They said the body was you! No one saw it, they wouldn’t send it here, we had an empty box funeral for you. Good turn out by the way. I was inconsolable. I wanted to join you. I ended up in hospital twice, I spent a week in the nutty hospital on suicide watch. I was a mess. I’ve only just got my med’s right to control myself. “And now you just stand there, like you just went to get the morning paper.” She smiled through her tears. The trauma of the past few months reflected in them. Mat held her close, tears in his eyes too. “Who know’s you are back?” Claire asked “I had to find you first.” He replied. She leaned against him again. “We should tell your mam, she’s been having a tough time of it too.” she felt him nod his head on top of hers. He was back. It was real. Miracles do happen


“Fly by the Seat of Your Pants and Write a Story Without a Plan.” -

Reedsy Reedsy, you don’t know what you are asking me to do. I don’t know what I am doing, which is a definite drawback to good writing. With no plan, I am like James Dean in “Rebel Without a Cause,” running around and getting into trouble. Well, you asked for it. Just remember, this was not my idea. The problem with flying by the seat of my pants and writing a story without a plan is I don’t know what to write about. It’s not that there is a lack of subjects. There are plenty of topics – too many of them. I will go through them in my mind, one by one. One by one, I reject every idea that comes into my head. This one requires too much research, so I won’t have time to write this story in the one week I am given. That one has already been covered by other writers, and I don’t have a fresh enough approach to make my version worth reading. Another one is not funny enough. Okay, this isn’t getting me anywhere. That’s obvious. So what do I do now? I know. I’ll watch TV. Maybe something there will inspire me. If not, I can at least be entertained while I put off sitting down and writing something. There must be a marathon of “Law and Order” on cable somewhere. If not “Law and Order,” “Criminal Minds” is a good bet. The problem with “Criminal Minds,” though, is that it grosses me out. I haven’t been able to handle the show since that episode where they were dealing with necrophilia. So “Criminal Minds” is out. “Law and Order: Special Victims Unit” is a possibility, but that deals with rape, another upsetting subject. I settle on watching old sitcoms on the Antenna TV channel. It’s tedious but safe. I think about the sink and stove full of dishes left over from when I was cooking my dinner. Now there’s something to write about – the awful, unpleasant chore of washing dishes by hand because you don’t have a dishwasher. I’ve found a perfect subject upon which to build an unplanned story. It’s full of frustration, mess, toil, and misery, and it doesn’t get any better. Unfortunately, both dirty pans are nonstick ones, and the one plate, one bowl, one cutting board, and a few pieces of silverware are equally easy to wash. In no time, with minimal effort, I am finished with the job, and my erstwhile dirty dishes are neatly stacked on the drying rack. So much for that. I go back to the computer and stare at the screen, hoping that something will appear on it that will inspire me to write a masterpiece. I click on a couple of things, and all I get are advertisements that stall the computer and force me to turn it off and back on again. This is a great way to consume time, but it doesn’t help me with my writing. It takes my old, slow computer several minutes to come back on and bring up everything that has to come up in the beginning. Instead of opening Word and trying to write something, I decide to play a game of Simple Word Search. This is one of those free games. I am a wet blanket when it comes to computer games, and I refuse to play anything that costs any money. I have played Simple Word Search so much that I have become an expert. I like games where I win most of the time, and this is one of them. Five games of Simple Word Search later, I decide to play a game of Simple Mahjong. Again, this is a free game; I have played it so much that I am pretty good at it. It’s one of those games that make the player feel smart. Sometimes I need to feel smart, this time being one of them. I play four games of Simple Mahjong, which convinces me that I am some kind of genius, even if I can’t even come up with a usable subject to write about. Life has a funny way of interjecting itself into our procrastination. My conscience bothers me, and I shut down the Mahjong game and bring up Word. The blank page taunts me. “You think you’re a writer?” it seems to say. “You’re a fake, an amateur. You’ll never win any contests and never get any books published. You’re a loser.” For a blank page on a computer screen, it’s pretty talkative. “Shut up!” I say to the blank page. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I have reached the point where I am talking to a computer screen. I heave a big sigh, sit back in my computer chair, hit the chair arms with my hands, and shake my head. I am determined to win this silly game of spiritual chicken with my mind, but I don’t yet have a strategy. I decide to take a nap, hoping that a good temporary sleep will rest my mind and help me in my endeavor to overcome its reluctance to think of something worthwhile. I set my iPhone alarm to ring an hour from now and lie down on my bed. The piercing alarm wakes me up an hour later. I was having a lively dream about being chased through the streets of my neighborhood by giant, bloodstained letters of the alphabet that refused to form into words. I am happy to wake up from that dream but as mentally barren as ever. I get up, walk to the computer, sit down, stare at the blank screen, and stick my tongue out. At that point, I have an epiphany. I have a story! Why didn’t I think of this before? I can write about my struggle to write! Why not? There are a beginning, a middle, and an end. If that isn’t a story, what is? I finally begin to type, and the words come tumbling out of my head like water in a waterfall. I’m a writer again! Blank page, you are no longer blank, and you no longer taunt me with your cruel words! The result is the story you just read. I hope you enjoyed it; it took a lot out of me.


For the first time in centuries, Eradon could not bring himself to clean the blood from his sword. He didn’t let the armorers stop him at the gate. A purple ooze dripped from his chest plate and onto the stone where he walked. The sunlight, limited to him, felt warm against his skin, and the air pure to breathe compared to the vileness of the Abyss. He filled his lungs as deep as he could with every breath, knowing soon he would have to go back.

He made his way to the Resting Point. His sword, a weapon forged from the stars, scraped against the stone behind him. It left a trail of ethereal sparks the color of celestial clouds. He dragged his sword until stopping at the three statues where he would soon become the fourth, resting for a decade, then waking after the years to fight once more. The other Starforged Knights who arrived before him now posed as statues. Tela had her arm raised, sword pointed toward the sky. Her skin glowed with the essence of the galaxy. It wouldn’t be possible to awake her until the creatures of the Abyss returned. Aiken stood beside her, frozen in time with his blade in mid-swing. His hair spilling out from his helmet changed from a garnet red to a cerulean blue. Along with his armor, it rotated through the aesthetic allure of the galaxies' colors. Wymond, behind the two, knelt with his sword held over his shoulder. Eradon approached. He would take his place among them and pose for the sake of the people, who would visit from across nations to see the statues that their saviors had become. Every ten years, when he returned from battle, there used to be thousands of visitors. They would bow, cheer, and parade for the Starforged. They would fill the town square, sitting on rooftops and crowding the streets as far as he could see. People would reach out for the Starforged Knights as they passed by. Rumors had it a touch from one could bring eternal luck. Now, apart from a few armorers, the town square didn’t hold a soul.

Eradon stopped before taking his place. No. He would not stand with them. He would not become a statue. This time he would finally be free. “Era,” a voice spoke behind him. He turned to face the fifth member of the Starforged. Kyoka stood with her armor shining, helmet held under her arm. Sunlight gleamed off of her silver hair. “You threatened the armorers. Why would you walk coated in the blood of our enemies? You will worry the people if you rest like that.” “I don’t see any now,” Eradon said. A pool of purple blood, as slick as oil, grew beneath him. He stared up at the statues as he spoke—he would not become one of them this time. “They stopped holding parades for us ages ago. They use us, Kyoka. We’re tools to them. We’re shackled in an endless war they refuse to aid us in.” “They are not shackles, brother,” she walked to approach him, her Starforged armor clicking against the stone. “We do what mankind can not. Cease this foolishness and remember your honor-” “I’m leaving, Kyoka.” She stopped. Her helmet slipped from her grasp and hit the stone. She turned to the other Starforged who couldn’t help her—they would be stuck in time until the next battle. In the abandoned town square, only the two sentient knights remained. “We were human once,” Eradon continued, “were we not? Over the thousands of our battles, I’ve forgotten who I was. I've forgotten why the Starforged chose me for this duty. Yet, I know now that I regret taking this blade." He held the sword in front of him and stared into its depth. An endless pattern of cosmic dust flowed across its surface. “I regret now the life I’ve chosen, being stuck in this endless loop of fighting and resting. I yearn for freedom. A stop to this madness. Today I take my leave and make my own choices.” “Era, if you renounce that blade you will wither away.” Kyoka placed a hand on his shoulder, “please, come rest. We will forget this conversation happened and we’ll continue in our duty of keeping mankind safe. It is not about the parades they throw us or the stories they’ll write, it is about honor-” “To damnation with honor! Tell me, Kyoka, are we saviors, or are we prisoners? Are we knights, or are we the pawns of humanity?” Eradon turned to her and removed his helmet. He dropped it to the stone. “Are we following the path of honor, or are we following the path of the insane?” She stepped back. A gust of wind blew past and hair flowed with it. “Speak none of this,” she said, “in time, humanity will find a way to purge the creatures of the Abyss. Our fight shall be over soon, my brother. We need to hold out until their research can end this war once and for all. They need time and we fight for it!” Eradon laughed. Broken noises of exasperated gasps. The first time he had laughed in centuries. “Don’t speak to me of time, for it has been an eternity .” He gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and brought it down against the stone. It broke into the rock with an explosion of astral light. Tremors shook the ground, and cracks in the earth trailed out in snaking patterns. Ethereal sparks flew off the sword until the patterns on it faded, becoming still, a static image of the stars. The Starforged blade rested in the stone, awaiting the next chosen. Eradon had renounced his bond. The strength imbued to him faded, his shoulder plates now heavy. His agility vanished, and he no longer felt light on his feet. His balance left him, and he swayed from side to side, falling his knees, waiting for his skin to wither to dust. He waited for the thousands of years he had laid dormant to catch up to him. Kyoka watched in horror, yet nothing happened other than the constant drip of the violet blood off of Eradon’s armor. He stood and he smiled. Freedom . A life he could pave as his own—one no longer stuck in an eternal loop of rest and battle.

“Eradon!” Kyoka called, “you can not leave us! We need you or we will fall in battle, the creatures will overwhelm us without you! Mankind will not last a day with your absence and it will cause an apocalypse!” “So be it,” he said. “They’ve had their chance to help and I’ve served my sentence. Nothing you say will convince me to pick up that dreaded blade once more. Either you let me walk, or you kill me, sister.” She turned to the Resting Point. “There’s no honor in murder,” she said, “you’ve abandoned and condemned us all.” For the first time in centuries, Eradon walked a free man. He turned back to see Kyoka take her place as a statue, her face a twisted look of fear. In a decade the Starforged would awake as four instead of five, and they would fight a battle they could not win. So be it.


A man begins filming with his phone. Dressed in security uniform, the night guard had a grumpy look on his face. "Oh sh\*t, it's recording." He exclaimed with an accent so Russian that almost every word he said sounded like vodka. He tries to fix the shot to capture himself, ultimately settling with his face covering the entire screen. "Every night. At this time of night. This office gets infested. What is infesting it? Rats? Insects? No, no." The Guard walks over to the Meeting Room. He pans the camera over as he approached the door, which violently swings open. "You see that?" He says, completely deadpan to what was certainly paranormal activity. He then enters and turns on the lights, revealing three women standing in the far corner. They were eerily pale. Bloody lips and hollow eyes stared directly at the man, still and silent. "What the f\*ck are you staring at? And how many times I tell you not to slam the door, huh?" The lights flicker. A moment later the women vanish. The Guard sighs, looking at all the floating chairs. "You see? This not my fault but I get paycut? Bullsh\*t!" He continued ranting as he fixed the chairs back down. The lights kept flickering but he seemed unconcerned, cursing under his breath. "I don't get paid for this." The Guard switches off the lights and closes the door as if it was all part of his routine. "And now I'll show you the Director's Office. Hey man, after I show you this, you better give me raise." This time, he opens the door and switches the lights on. Small shadows scattered back behind furniture, leaving behind absolute chaos in the room. Cabinets were open, files crumpled, and the pens were stuck on the wall. The matted floor was littered with tiny balls of excrement and piss that had a terrible stench. "Ahh, I know you see that. Messy but no burglars, sir. Just Gremlins. I am very professional security, no one can break-in." The recording captures everything. He sniffs around and retches, coughing a few times. A crowd of mischievous and high-pitched laughter could be heard. A number of tiny shadows with glowing eyes were peeking at the Guard. The room seemed to darken as they multiplied. "Oh, you think that's funny? How about I bring my cat here after burning you all with water?" He cackled in protest, mocking the tiny creatures. They flee. A round of screams and whispers of fear filled the room. "Oi! You clean all this sh\*t up. I give you all cookie. I know you like cookie. But if you don't fix this, I bring firehose." The Guard shuts the door, keeping the lights on. He checks the time before making sure that the phone was still recording. "Gremlins are not bad. But they are more annoying than my mother-in-law. They are the ones who keep hiding your credit cards mister Director, sir. If you give me higher raise, I guarantee they bother you no more." He had gone through his bag, retrieving a pack of Oreos. The Director's Office was quite loud when he'd arrived. Putting his hand on the handle, he silently counts while looking at his watch. Just before the mark, he enters. Spotless. The office was cleaner than it was after the janitors left. "Very good. Sometimes cookie don't work. Sometimes they want money like little hookers." He narrated to the camera while leaving a quarter on the desk. The Guard left the room with the lights on, double-checking the locks before he moved on. Then he stops on his tracks. "It's Thursday. That idiot will be here again." This time, he exits the building. Nothing was spoken for a while as he walked to the nearby shore. With a flashlight in hand, he arrives at a lifeguard post and finds a megaphone and a key. "I know I'm abandoning my post but that's temporary and you'll see why I have to do this." He pulls out a half-full bottle of vodka from underneath the bench. "I am not drinking on job because I am outside premises." The soft calm of the waves stopped and the streetlights dimmed. An eerie silence engulfs the beach as it was plunged into darkness. The water retreats. Loud and rhythmic hums caused patterns in the dancing sand. Followed by heavy thuds and the sound of waterfalls. Clouds parted and stars shifted to the colossus moving in the distance as if drawn by its presence. The megaphone whined. With the key, the Guard lazily turns on the spotlight that he'd set up especially for this occasion. And there it was. A monster of vaguely anthropoid outline, but with an octopus-like head whose face was a mass of feelers, a scaly, rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, narrow wings behind. The creature was so terrible to behold that it destroys the sanity of those who lay their eyes on its form. It was an eldritch god. "OI, SH\*THEAD! IF YOU FLOOD THE SHORES AGAIN WITH THAT SLEEPWALKING BULLSH\*T OF YOURS, I SWEAR TO F\*CKING GOD." The eldritch god flinched. It looked around, confused. And then it waved at the Guard. Seemingly embarrassed. As the Lovecraftian creature descended once more to the depths, the world returned to normal. Just as the Guard came down from the post, however, the waves came rushing in. That night, a flurry of curses that would've made the devil cry was heard. "As you can see, I have to do this so that you can still have an office and I would have a job. Pretty good, ah?" He explained to the camera, which was the only thing left dry. "My shift today is almost done. Later I need to get silver bullets for the full moon. Consider company insurance, please." He lights a cigar whilst getting out of his soaked garments, revealing a bear-like bod. "Oh, and my raise. I want raise. Give me raise. If you don't give me raise..." He puffs out a ring of smoke whilst checking if his gun was also wet, looking at the camera with his grumpy expression while cocking the pistol. "Enjoy the next 24 hours." The recording comes to an end.


“Don’t you remember?” Moon whispered, leaning against the wall of mirrors as he and Yujun stood alone in the corner of the room. Their bandmates were goofing off all over the rest of the dance studio space while their manager, Q, fiddled angrily with the stereo. It had been hiccuping all day long, keeping the boys from running their choreography properly for the three or four hours they had already spent there that day. The boys didn’t seem to mind though, taking the time to play cards, write, draw or, in Yujun’s case, read. (Although, if he hadn’t been so angry with Moon they probably would have been off doing something more … fun ). Yujun flipped a page in his book, pretending not to pay Moon much mind. The boy hated to ignore Moon, but he was far too stubborn to just let things go. He was still angry at the boy, and had been giving him little to no interaction for a couple of days at that point. But make no mistake, he was listening, and his curiosity as to what the boy was talking about got the better of him. “Remember what?” Yujun asked flippantly, not looking up from his novel. Moon knew exactly what game they were playing, and edged closer toward the boy, almost cornering him, to apply pressure to their conversation. He had gotten Yujun to acknowlege him at last, so his confidence was already rising. “Last year,” Moon explained in that low, husky voice he knew Yujun adored, “We kissed for the first time in this room. In fact, it’ll be exactly a year in three days.” Yujun tried to remain stonefaced but hearing the other boy admit he remembered exactly what day the two of them had gotten together made the sides of his mouth turn up into a smile. Moon saw this and smiled himself, inching even closer, knowing he had earned a point in their game of verbal ping pong. Yujun could feel Moon's breath against the side of his mouth, and turned his face slightly toward Moon against his better judgement. “There he is,” Moon muttered, in that same voice that made Yujun melt, their lips brushing as he spoke. Yujun immediately felt his stance start to crumble, and let his eyes flutter closed as he prepared himself for Moon to close the space between them. He didn’t though, instead he snatched the book out of Yujun’s hands and grinned like an overgrown child. Yujun hated to admit he loved this playful side of Moon, especially because he was still trying to be mad at him. “You must think I’m easy, Yu,” Moon practically giggled, dangling the book in front of a blushing Yujun. The boy promptly snagged his book back, rolling his eyes as he tried to mentally cool his face off. This never worked, of course, and Moon grinned with pride. “Not

easy , just

stupid ,” Yujun said coldly, sliding his back down the mirror wall to sit on the floor. He shook his head as he went back to his book, scooting away from Moon as he sat down next to where Yujun was reading as well. Q smacked his fist against the stereo in frustration, letting out a few swears while he was at it. The boys all stopped and looked up in the direction of the loud bang and string of explitives. Q sighed, giving into the plans of the broken stereo, and told them they were dismissed for an hour lunch. The other four boys stampeeded toward the door, their sneakers squeaking against the flooring as they went, a parade of gray sweats and perfectly done hair disappearing into the hallway. Kai, the eldest member of their group, paused at the door and looked toward Moon and Yujun. “You guys coming?” He asked with a smile, holding the door for a moment. Even though he knew the two boys probably wanted their alone time, he never hesitated to make sure they knew they were always invited to get lunch, or do really anything, with the group.

Moon shook his head, pointing to the two boys’ bags in the corner of the studio, “We brought our own. Thanks, though.” “Got it,” Kai said with a knowing look, giving Moon a subtle thumbs up (knowing he was in the dog house) as he bounded after the other boys down the hallway, the studio door closing behind him with a metallic thud. As Q went after the others, he grumbled something about the stereo, obviously irate that their day was pretty much shot.

Moon and Yujun were finally left alone. This was some of the only alone time they got together when they were preparing for a new release. When it wasn’t choreo practice, it was a photo shoot, or media training, or filming a music video. Which, Moon knew, was the root of Yujun’s disapproval. Moon brought their lunches out of their bags and set them out, turning to face the boy fully where they sat cross-legged on the floor. “You’re not still mad about the shoot are you?” Moon questioned in his serious voice, opening up his lunch box.

Yujun snapped his book shut and set it aside, avoiding Moon’s eyes as he opened up his lunch box as well. Where Yujun didn’t speak with words, he always spoke with actions. Moon had learned this quickly once the boys became an item. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Moon sighed meekly, taking a bite of some left over pizza the boys had ordered from the night before. He would have gotten a beautiful handmade lunch of rice and fixins, but when Yujun was mad he only packed lunch for himself. Moon didn’t much mind the pizza, but he loved when Yujun would pack his lunch. He would always write him notes and give him things like cucumbers punched from a heart shaped cookie cutter. It wasn’t the food itself, but the sentiment behind it that Moon always missed dearly when he was on Yujun’s bad side.

Yujun pushed around the rice in his box with a pair of chopsticks, staring down at the food with sad eyes, not feeling very hungry at all. He had eaten his own lunch this morning for breakfast. What sat in front of him was meant for Moon, love note taped to the bottom and all. Moon leaned forward and touched the boy’s knee warmly, seeing the emotion on his face even as he tried to hide it. “Just talk to me,” Moon whispered, squeezing Yujun’s leg affectionately. That’s all it took for Yujun to tumble like a tower of cards.

“You were

flirting  with her,” Yujun said quietly, embarrassed by his own jealousy, “The model they hired for the music video. You two were flirting the

whole time , and you didn’t have to be so touchy with her.”

Moon shook his head gently, “Yu, look at me.” Yujun reluctantly lifted his head, his cheeks freshly blushed again, his eyes glossy with tears he was ashamed to admit were close to falling. He was always the more emotional of the two, often crying when they would have arguments or disagree. Moon was much more rational and level-headed. They balanced one another out in a way. “Don’t cry,” Moon whispered, taking one of the boy’s hands into his own, “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I was just trying to be nice to her. I don’t even like girls like that.” “Well, you sure had me fooled. You were

certainly  being nice,” Yujun said as his bottom lip quivered and his voice began to waver. He sniffled to try and stifle his tears, looking down at their hands as Moon’s thumb gently carressed his skin. Even as he watched the boy hold onto his hand, the fear that one day he might not want to do that anymore swirled in Yujun’s head like a tornado, whisking all of his rational thinking up into his storm of emotions. “I’m sorry,” Moon repeated, his eyes soft as he looked at Yujun. “You know how I feel about you, don’t you?” Yujun nodded his head slowly. This was always what Moon said when he meant ‘I love you.’ Yujun assumed he just wasn’t ready to say it yet, and he tried to respect that. He was already worried enough about scaring the boy away, or somehow losing him. He didn’t want to pressure Moon into anything, even though his avoidance of the phrase sometimes made Yujun’s mind race with doubt. “Love you, too,” Yujun said softly, his voice stabalizing as a single tear dropped down his cheek. Moon pushed their lunches to the side and got up onto his knees, inching over to the boy. Yujun met him half way, wrapping his arms around Moon so they were flush chest to chest. They embraced, holding one another like fragile doves. Yujun’s fingers softly traced along Moon’s shoulder blade, and down his back through his t-shirt as they kneeled on the floor. As he calmed his tears, Yujun breathed in Moon’s familair rosemary and mint aroma. When Yujun pulled his head back from Moon's shoulder the boy leaned in to kiss him, and Yujun leaned back into his inviting warmth. Their lips moving together, they once again felt the air go stiff with electricity. Each time they kissed it reaffirmed what they already knew; this was special. Moon pulled back and started dusting kisses all over Yujun’s face, finally making the boy laugh. Yujun tried to fight him off to no avail, Moon wrestling him to the floor in the process. The boy pinned Yujun’s arms over his head, straddling his waist with ease. While the two boys were similar in size and stature, Moon was much stronger than the other boy, and held him down without struggle. “Have I ever told you how pretty you look like this?” Moon smirked, leaning down to nuzzle his face against Yujun’s neck. The boy squirmed, giggling as Moon’s warm breath and wet lips touched his skin.

“Get off of me!” Yujun protested through laughter, his face flushed pink, a smile spreading across his lips. “This is what you get for not making my lunch,” Moon warned playfully, planting a soft kiss against Yujun’s collarbone. Both boys gasped, their eyes snapping toward the door as they saw the bright white light of a camera flash go off in the studio. Only then did they notice the crack in the door. It had never quite closed flush. The two scrambled to their feet as they heard the footsteps of the voyeur retreat quickly down the hallway. Just as Moon reached the door, throwing it open, he saw the woman jog out of the building. She was wearing a badge that displayed a news outlet logo. Fuck. “A fan?” Yujun asked with an anxious expression on his face, standing just behind Moon as he stared down the hallway. “I don’t think so,” Moon sighed, his expression hard to read, “looked like she was a journalist.” --- It didn’t take but 12 hours for the footage and photos of them to surface online. Before the group knew it, the boys were headlining every major magazine and news outlet. Their private moment was out there for everyone to see. A strange, violated feeling crept over them and wouldn’t go away. Q sat down with the two the next day and spoke about where to go from there, especially since the entire group was going to be promoting their new album in just a few days time. They had two options; deny that the footage was them or that it meant anything, or tell the world what was really going on. The boys spoke almost exclusively about what they should do the days leading up to the release of their new music, which would also mean the beginning of their press run and promotions. Yujun just wanted to be honest. He knew lying wouldn’t make anybody’s accusations go away, anyway. They might as well just come out and say it, as scary as that seemed.

Moon wasn’t so sure of the whole situation. He flipped back and forth quite a lot over the course of the days they discussed the topic. This was definitely concerning for Yujun, although he could understand the hesitation because of the ramifications of what was to come if they told the truth. Their entire group could be shunned, ruining not only their own careers but the careers of their bandmates who over the years had become like family to them. Reassuringly, though, all of their team, including Q, were very supportive of them finally coming out if that’s what they chose to do. But at the end of the day, Yujun told Moon to do whatever he felt most comfortable with. He knew he would be able to deal with either outcome and, since Moon seemed to be the most troubled, wanted him to make the decision.

As they got ready for their first performance three days after the leaking of their studio kisses, Yujun could feel everyone was a bit on edge. Even their makeup artists and stylists were quieter than usual. He knew this was because Moon wasn’t himself. He hadn’t been since everything happened. While he was usually the one goofing around the most, cracking jokes and playing pranks, he sat on his own in their dressing room and stared off at the wall. Yujun thought about going over to see if he was okay, but didn’t want to put any extra stress onto him before their first performance. So, for the most part, everyone kept to themselves. It hadn’t been that silent before a show since their debut performance years and years earlier. Yujun couldn’t help but feel responsible. When they finally walked out onto the stage a little while later they were greeted by cheers from some of their fans, but an odd energy coming from the crowd overall. They seemed to be analyzing the boys much more than usual, waiting to see if any of them gave anything away. Their performance went off without a hitch though, and by the end of the song the vibe in the room had shifted for the better. Yujun felt a bit of relief wash over him, dabbing at the beads of sweat that had collected on his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. The bright stage lights shone down on the boys as the interviewer, a young man dressed in an ill-fitting suit, came out and met them on the stage. They all took a moment to catch their breath, and lined up in their usual formation. They always stood in three pairs of two, six members total, and typically Moon would be with Yujun. But that day, Moon had switched spots with Kai, who looked confused at the swap but quickly filled the space by Yujun without missing a beat. Yujun felt his heart sink a bit in his chest at this, but tried to keep his smile from drooping.

“Great performance, boys,” The interviewer started off by saying, organizing his cue cards. The group all responded by saying thank you, speaking as best as they could over the excitable crowd. Each time the audience cheered it reassured Yujun that what they had done hadn’t scared everyone away … but how would they react if they found out the truth? He tried not to think that way as the lights seemed to become hotter, and his heart continued to hammer like a drum in his chest. “Now, you’ve had to have seen the photos and footage that has surfaced recently,” the young man said, “What is going on between you and Moon, Yujun?”

He moved the mic into Yujun’s face and the boy froze, trying to swallow the growing lump in his throat. The crowd held their breath, the room suddenly much quieter than before. They were all on the edge of their seats. Kai put an encouraging hand on Yujun’s shoulder, noticing the boy was shaking. “Um-“ Yujun’s started, speaking softly into the mic. That is, before Moon stepped up and grabbed it out of the interviewer’s hand.

“Nothing,” Moon said simply, and Yujun’s head fell slightly at the confidence in his voice, and part of him wanted to cry. The crowd rustled softly, whispers rolling over the audience like a wave.

“Nothing that should get in the way of us doing what we love. We’ve both been a part of this group for five years, and making music is important to us,” Moon went on, making Yujun’s head snap up again, his glossy eyes sparkling under the bright stage lighting. “It’s unbelievably disrespectful that we were filmed and photographed without our consent, and I’m disappointed that the personal lives of two young guys like us can make the news the way that it did these past few days. Yujun and I are…” Moon turned then, meeting eyes with the other boy. Moon saw the tears beginning to form for Yujun and smiled reassuringly, so much love in his walnut colored eyes. “We’re together. But this shouldn’t make any difference in how you enjoy our music or interact with us. We’re just people, y’know?” Moon took Yujun’s hand into his own, lacing their fingers together. There was a moment of pause amongst the onlookers, but after a beat the majority started clapping and cheering. The other members of the group joined in, beaming proudly at their friends. Even the interviewer looked touched, taking the mic back from Moon with a gentle demeanor. “Thanks for clearing that up,” the young man said with admiration in his voice, moving onto his next question. As the crowd settled and Moon and Yujun still stood hand in hand, Moon leaned over and whispered into the other boy’s ear.

“You know

I love you , don’t you?” And Yujun did know. Finally, he knew for sure.


When I found love, it was not something I was searching for. It was 1970, and I was touring Redwood National Park for the first time. After growing up in the swamps of Florida, seeing all those tall trees was so out of place to me. I spent a lot of my youth wandering smaller parks with my mother, and once I was able to get a job that allowed me to travel, all I wanted to do was see what the world had to offer. From a young boy, I devoted my presence to finding new places, new things, and new people. It always brought me great interest to learn something about my environment which I had not previously known. I promised myself I would visit every state, and eventually, every country I could in my lifetime. Therefore, on my 24th birthday, I felt I should harbor this interest by leaving my hometown for travels. With my first stop being California--as I have so desperately wanted to see since I knew of the states' lush greenery--I headed to Redwood in hopes of scratching the deep itch I've longed to rid myself of. I walked the winding paths for hours, my gaze trapped on the puzzles of bark that seemed to never repeat with each tree I observed. The early morning mist that encapsulated my body seemed to grow stronger with each step I took further into the thickening wood. I felt warm and invited, drawn to the voices of the forest. In desperate need of a rest, I stopped for a rest at a small wooden bench and observed a plaque stating it was made from a fallen tree. While reading, I was interrupted by a crunching of leaves behind my sight. Turning my neck, I was surprised to find a small clearing in the wet fallen leaves and twigs that lined the forest floor. I stood and approached the peculiar sight, noticing the disheveled dirt, as if the Earth below had been hurriedly dug and repacked. Curiously, I reached my fingers beneath the damp soil and pulled. After digging a few handfuls, my hands reached a hard object. I uncovered the entirety of the object and found myself holding a similarly wooden chest to the bench I was just resting on. The chest was intricately crafted, and no bigger than the length of my forearm. I settled my legs in the dirt, and opened the chest. Inside, lay a small note and a wooden ring. I observed the ring and curiously put it on my finger, where it fit snugly and accurately as if it was made for the slight grooves of my bone. I opened the note, and instead of trying to explain what it said, I will transcribe it here for you. It read: *Keeper,* *You may not have found what you have sought. However, once love grasps your finger, you will never rid yourself of it. Try as you may, love will find a way to remain with you, no matter the challenges it brings. If you take love before you know the circumstances that come along with it, you will live with the consequences.* *From an empty heart.* Terrified, I desperately grasped at the ring to remove it from my young hand. Although it splintered into my skin at the repetitive motion, the ring remained as still as the trees it was made of. I was to live with this burden, regardless of my desperation to rid it from my being. In the years following, at every passing, I am confronted with people drawn towards me, desperate for something I have not to offer. I have grown into a cold, hollow individual that cannot create love within myself, but pull others in as if that is all I am. I feel nothing towards the ground I walk on, pitying its' stillness. I would've liked to have said I fear what I have become, but as if the roots of the woods have grown into my emotional brain, I feel nothing towards the people or places I find. Two years after the incident, I met a woman while at a cheap 24-hour diner in the northern parts of Arizona. It was roughly 4 am—nighttime travel being the best way to avoid most people—and I was stopping to eat (and sleep) while en route to another meaningless destination. My waitress approached, glinting her sparkling white teeth while questioning my order and twirling her fingers on her oily uniform skirt. I spat back at her, making it clear I was only interested in the eggs and bacon I was to order. She ignored my bitter demeanor while serving me, and continued to happily attend to my needs. While finishing eating the poorly made food, I observed as the server crossed the tacky colored tiles. She was wearing a different outfit, consisting of ripped sweatpants, old shoes, and a classic wife-beater tank top. The woman, who I later came to know as Jenny, sat down at my table, and began flirting viciously towards me. Despite my coldness, she persisted as if each word I said was translated into stoic, indulgent thoughts. Jenny was in fact, beautiful, regardless my lack of positive emotion towards her. I never told her so, but she clearly appeared as if I showered her with kind words and actions at every waking moment. No matter how many times I tried to harm her, to take away the intake of air into her weak lungs, she viewed my actions as acts of pure love. Eventually, we married, but with each day that past, my resentment towards her as well as this fate I've been chosen to carry continued to grow. I will not lie and say that I never tried to feel something, or remove myself of this burden of love I was given, in more ways than one. Shortly after Jenny and I began dating, (which I will point out, was not something I knowledgeably sent from my brain to my lips) I tried again to remove my body from the grasp of love. Desperate, I went to the local hardware store to remove the ring from my body with one of those mini circular handheld saws, not afraid of the loss of a finger or two. Once the machine was up and whirring, I raised it to my hand with the ring and began to cut. The saw broke through my flesh in less than the time I could have used to blink. However, upon contact with my bone, something felt wrong. Once my finger fell, I observed my bloody opening, expecting bone, but instead greeted with stiff timber. The bones of my hand had shifted into a trunk of the forest I visited years ago. I was not to remove myself of love, as it had made its' way into an encapsulating entity, consuming the body that I once knew. I stitched myself closed, and continued on. Fifty years after the incident, I am feeling rather withered. Jenny still follows me, longingly pouring her love into my being. She refuses to see the pain I inflict upon her, and those that surround me. Lately, I have been considering what will come of me upon my death. I don't know when I will die, but before I do, I have a note to deliver to the Redwood National Park, as well as a ring.