Trigger Warning: self harm, and suicide. There she lies. In a bathtub, with red water. An empty bottle of pills, and a red, blood stained blade falling out of her hands, onto the bathroom floor. It was over, Her body had reached the limit. Her emotional, state had reached the limit. This is how it ended. In a few hours, her mother would come home from her late shift at work, and wonder why her own child didnt come to greet her at the front door like she usually did. The house was silent. When her mother got home, she waited for Leslie to walk out with a faint smile, and welcome her home. Leslie always made her mother a warm cup of Chai tea. But the counter, was the same as how she left it. Dirty dishes everywhere, and no warm cup of tea with a spoon and honey by its side, waiting. She wondered if Leslie was just tired. Leslies mother called for her, however she did not answer, or come walking out. Leslies mother was getting worried, but still tried to look on the positive side. She turned on the burner of the stove and placed the tea pot on the warm, friendly flame. She got a coffee cup from the cabinet, and a tea bag from the jar on the counter. She grabbed a spoon from the lower cabinet, and the jar of smooth honey. She walked into the dark hallway, only lit up from the soft purple lights from Leslies room, under the crack of her door. Leslies mother knocked on the door and called out, “Leslie? Honey are you in there? Can I come in?” No reply. She slowly turned the nob on the door. When she walked in, and didnt see Leslie. Her worry grew. She checked under the blankets, under her bed, and around the rest of the room. Nothing. Nobody. Did she sneak out? No. Leslie would never do that. Leslie was a good kid, she never did anything bad in school, and tried her best. Her worry grew. This was not like Leslie. Wait! You didnt check the bathroom. She thought, turning to the door. She quickly walked over to the bathroom, calling out Leslies name. Her mind started racing, with different things that could have happened. Was she sick? Was she having a rough time? Or maybe- Leslies mother pushed the bad thought out of her head. She knocked. ”Leslie are you in there?“ No reply. “Leslie please answer me. It’s your mom. Leslie? Leslie!” She opened the door, with worry in her eyes. She let out a cry. There she lay, how her mother found her. Leslie Myers, dead in the bathtub.. full of blood stained water, cuts and scars up and down her body. She looked around, terrified. Then she saw it— A note. She snatched the note from Leslies cold, stiff hand. She opened it with tears rolling down her face. Just as she thought. The note she never wanted to get from Leslie. “Dear Mom, Im sorry I ended it this way. I never wanted you to go through pain like this, but I couldn’t take it anymore. This isn’t your fault. I dont want to blame anyone for this. This was my choice. I dont want you to be Sade, I want you to be glad for the time I stayed. I hope to see you one day in heaven mom. <3. -Your daughter, Leslie Myers.” The crying stopped. She wasnt going to cry over this. Leslie wouldn’t want her to cry. She wouldn’t want her mother to be sad. Not every story ends with something happy. When did this all start? Why did this all start. Who brought this upon her? There never will be a true answer. She had done this every night. She would cry, and cry every night.. along with running a blade across her arms and legs until they were numb. She needed desperately to talk to someone. Someone who she could trust. Someone who wouldnt walk out on her life. Someone who cared. She had nobody. Her trust issues had pushed everyone away. Her arms weren’t always like this though, before boys called her names like “fatty”, and “sick girl”. She was quiet, before this. With only one good friend. Her name was Kylie. Kylie Smith. Kylie and Leslie. Best friends until the 7th grade. That was until Kylie turned into a total bitch. Yes, its true that 7th grade turns a lot of girls into sneaky little bitches. But not all. Leslie kept to herself, she ate lunch in the library or bathroom, she read at recess, and she never spoke in class. Kylie knew everything about Leslie, she knew about her father abusing her and then hanging himself when she was only in the 4th grade. Kylie told her “new friends” everything. That’s when it started, the bullying began. They harassed her every. Single. Day. They would call her names from across the hall, and hit her. They would taunt her as if they were using a air blade and cutting there arms. She tried so hard to ignore these girls, but she just couldn’t take it anymore. She had “accomplished” so much during the 7th grade. She lost her best, and only friend. She ate in the bathroom to avoid the bullying, and she Started to think that she wasn’t worth it. She was ”to fat”. She wasnt “pretty enough”. The list went on, on. In the begging of 7th grade, she thought this was going to be the year, the year she gets more friends, the year she has her glow up. She didnt want to wait though. Sometimes Leslie would go for days without eating, to make herself skinnier. She tried makeup so many times, it just wasnt right looking. Soon enough she was so skinny you could see her ribs. Her arms were so thing, she could wrap her hand around them. Easily. She was weak. In gym she fell, and she could barely walk up stairs without running out of breath. Her teachers didnt notice. She wore baggy clothes. Her mother worker so much, to support her and Leslie that she was always gone until late at night. Leslie was starved of help. She needed to talk to someone. All she needed was a hug, and a simple “It’s going to be ok Leslie..”. That never happened. The people who could help her were to late. They waited to long to help her. They lost their only chanced to keep her on this earth. Her calls for help were never answered.


Altered Trajectories By Andy Pearson © 2024 “Brush strokes – drone drone drone”             “Shifted Perspective -buzz buzz buzz”             “Focal point rendering -  hum hum hum”             The drone from Charley Brown’s teacher filled my head as I followed along with the group. Taking a museum tour of the art of the Impressionist period was not my idea.

For me, art can be a diamond on a cloudless blue day. A diamond trimmed to perfection with the infield lines crisp against the grass of the outfield and laser straight untrampled white chalk lines. Baseball. A game of patience and grace played on a pool table smooth, painfully manicured lawn was the essence of summertime art. Inside the museum, the air conditioning dampened voices droning about contrasting shades of ochre in an oil skyline. Outside voices were calling for hotdogs and beer mingled with various interrogatives regarding eyesight and lineage. Inside was the click of heels on polished tile floors and round-topped brass stanchions holding red velvet ropes in graceful arcs.  Outside was harsh sunlight slamming into pale skin, long hidden by winter, unaccustomed to the onslaught.  Inside the museum was dim light from hidden sources.  My body was inside while my thoughts were being sunburned outside.  I shook my head and tried to focus on the lecture being delivered. “As you can see in this piece, Impression Sunrise by Monet. The openness and the qualities of the light shown in the light strokes highlight the ordinariness of the scene and bring it to life in a way that a more realistic form might lose, “ the tan-jacketed docent said as the group stopped in front of a blueish painting of a harbor with a small red sun hanging drearily in the middle. The group murmured small agreements as I hung in the back of the crowd. I looked at the tri-fold itinerary. This was painting seven of twenty-five that we would gather at. Twenty-five paintings to talk about color and composition. Looking at my watch, and doing some quick math, I figured ten minutes a painting multiplied by eighteen paintings would mean enough minutes to miss all of the Dodgers game. Oh well, there were highlight reels and tomorrow would be another game. Today, I was at the museum learning about art because Stephanie liked art and I thought Stephanie was art. Stephanie stood at the front of the group. She was always at the front of any group. She wore a grey wool pencil skirt, a knitted red and white striped top, a red scarf, and a matching beret like a character from a Cary Grant movie. A beret at an art museum. I thought it was pretentious. She insisted. I admit Stephanie makes pretentious look good. She had her small notebook and pen out taking notes as if this visit was for a college class.

The group moved away from the Monet piece in a cluster, like migrating amoeba. We faithfully followed Tan Jacket to a painting of ballerinas. I thought this one was pretty good. The four dancers were in blue and while their faces were just suggested, they appeared to be in movement. “The paintings by Degas relating to dancing are famous and infamous.  The color and emotion of the brushstrokes pull the viewer into the scenes making them some of the masterworks of the impressionistic period. Some say the paintings hint at a darker side of Parisian society. We will not focus on those ideas, but rather on the composition itself and the work of the painter, “ Tan Jacket said and I drifted further from the conversation. Skimming the paintings on the other walls, I circled the room. I found a small bench under a sign pointing to the exit and the bathrooms. I eased onto the bench and looked at Stephanie. She was enthralled by the lecture. A man in a black jacket and a dark scarf around his neck looked to be enthralled with her as they held a whispered conversation about the painting.

I leaned back against the wall and struck my head on a fire extinguisher hanging behind the bench. Rubbing my head, I wondered why I’d said yes to this trip. Stephanie wanted someone to go with her, and I was available. Since arriving at the museum, I’d faded into the background. Still rubbing the sore spot, I stared at her. I knew why I was there. She was amazing. In a museum, she was beautiful enough to be an exhibit. Smooth olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Her clothes fit in a way that suggested… well that was suggestive. She has a way of turning her head to look at me, that stops all rational thought. That’s another reason I’m here at the museum instead of the game.

Watching her from my seat at the fire extinguisher, I could see that she and the man in the scarf were engaged in some sort of discussion. I watched as she pushed her hair back and turned her head slightly to laugh. I’d seen this a thousand times, and each time the movement slowed my heart. From my perch, I could see it had the same effect on Black Jacket. I leaned my head back and again felt the fire extinguisher crease my scalp. How many times was I going to subject myself to this? I knew that once the trip to the museum was over, I was going be relegated to my normal place in the friend zone. The friend zone. It’s in the dictionary now.  Friend Zone –

A situation in which a friendship exists between two people, one of whom has an unreciprocated romantic or sexual interest in the other.  I knew which one of us was which in that definition. We’d known each other for two years. I spend my time trying to determine speeds and vectors to allow rockets to escape Earth’s grasp. Seriously, I help make rockets, big rockets. Stephanie spends her time on budgets and finances so we can make the big rockets that escape the atmosphere. We met at the ubiquitous business gatherings where we talked about vision and mission and ate tough prime rib. From that moment, I was in her orbit. We found we enjoyed each other’s company even if we didn’t both appreciate the same art.

The baseball game. Dodgers vs A’s. Stephanie enjoyed the game. Yelling, cheering, eating hot dogs, and drinking a beer. She hugged me when Freddie Freeman hit a home run. The feeling of her arms around me lasted two more innings. Maybe I would have taken the feeling home, but then the kiss cam found us and we appeared on the large screen. My heart skipped a beat as the crowd around us cheered for the kiss. The chaste peck on the cheek said everything to everyone, me included She found me safe. I was trustworthy. I was dependable. I was all of that and then some. I was also not date-worthy. I didn’t know why. This had been expressed in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. But still, instead of sweating in the bleacher seats with a hot dog and a scorecard, I was sitting in the friend zone in an air-conditioned museum. I knew when we left the museum, I’d remain in the trustworthy section of life, and my problem was, I’d do it again tomorrow.

I refocused on the group and saw Stephanie move closer to examine the Degas ballerinas. I saw just her profile. The grey skirt clung tightly to her waist. The red beret at an angle on her head with her dark hair curling on her neck in a braid. She was peering closely and her mouth was light with the pleasure of the moment. The missed ball game was forgotten, and instead of a batting order, a line from the Tempest came to mind,

I would not wish any companion in the world but you.

I’m not just a baseball fan. I watched her look closely at the pastel blue dancers on the wall as if she wanted to understand all Degas wanted to communicate at that moment. I realized I loved this part of her too.  The part of her that could be submerged fully in a moment.

Leaning back on the wall, this time careful of the red menace behind me, I watched her take notes and write thoughts in her notebooks. She always had a notebook. A place to write lists and details that needed follow-up. I knew she also wrote thoughts, dreams, and ideas. She’d read snippets of it to me when we bumped into each other at lunch. She started telling me about her writing when she learned I liked to read. I didn’t always understand her meanings, but her passion was undeniable. I continued my study of her, and in my reverie, I didn’t notice that she’d turned in my direction. When she cocked her head at me and smiled, my spell broke and I grinned sheepishly. The crowd began moving to another room with Tan Jacket walking backwards holding forth on the next artist to be visited. Stephanie stood still. The group flowed around her. Black Jacket stopped for a moment to see if she was accompanying the group, but she didn’t respond to him.  He shook his head in disappointment and joined the others. She continued to examine me from across the gallery with her head leaning to the side. She moved across the tile floor. Her soft flats made no noise as she glided in my direction.

“I saw you sitting here.., “ she said still watching me. “Well, I was just taking a break,” I said starting to push myself up. “and I wondered how long you’d been here,” she finished her sentence. “Just a few minutes,” I said looking up at her brown eyes and pausing in my rise. I settled back to the bench. “Not just now. How long have you been here?” she whispered. “Uh well, “I mumbled. “You were looking at me,” she said. “Well, I was looking that way,” I stuttered trying to save face. “From here, the painting takes on new, uh, new, uh, dimensions. The colors are more distinct.” “You were looking at me,” she repeated. I felt my face flush and realized that we were the only ones left in the gallery.  No Tan Jacket. No Black Jacket. No amoeba cluster. Just two people surrounded by paintings, all of whom seemed to be watching me from their canvas. Waiting. “Yes. I was,” I said quietly. “You know, I get that a lot. I’m not unaware that I’m … pretty” she said shaking her head slightly. “You’re beautiful,” I blurted and stopped. “Shhh. I’ve been looked at, leered at, and even ogled most of my life. I don’t choose to be and most of the time I don’t even notice. But you were looking at me differently,” she said quietly. “Uhh Well…,” I said with a blush turning to heat in my face. “You were looking at me as though I were the only thing beautiful in the room. The only thing beautiful in this room,” she said sweeping her arm around the gallery of watching oil eyes. I looked around the room. Sconces dotted the walls illuminating various pieces of precious art. Each piece illuminated by its own semi-circle of light. The rest of the room was lit by dim indirect light hidden in the ceiling. There were no shadows, but also no bright spots except the paintings.

“Not just an object of art, or beauty, I’ve seen that look and some other baser thoughts on people’s faces, but yours was-interest. I realized you’ve looked at me that way previously, haven’t you? And I’ve missed it haven’t I” she said. I didn’t know how to answer this. Do I admit my feelings, again?

I thought back to the one time I’d asked Stephanie on a real date. She’d been graceful with me, but clear. I was not someone she was interested in. Not interested in that way is what she’d said. She treasured our friendship. I remembered hearing those words as some of the harshest ever spoke to me.

Now though, I thought of Cyrano’s final line before his death,

…I’ll still have one thing intact, without a stain, something I’ll take with me in spite of you.. my white plume.

See, I told you I’m not just a mathematician - baseball fan. Cyrano died with his pride intact but his love unanswered. I could do the same safe thing.

But no. I would die with love answered and my plume soiled if need be. “I have been here. I have been here surrounded by art while watching a masterpiece, “ I said moving my arm around the room. ” I have been here watching. And loving.” “Yes..” she said now at a loss.  “You have been here.” “And I will stay here in this orbit, continually being pulled toward a spot, but always missing. Circling until and unless acted upon and then my course can alter.” “Always the engineer and the poet, “ she said with a smile and shake of her head. “Always in orbit,” I replied. “Unless acted upon,” she said looking down at me. “How much does it take to influence an orbit?” “Next to nothing. But the greater the act, the greater the effect.” She smiled and reached for my hand. With a slight pull, my orbit altered. She looked up at me and continued to study me intently.

She nodded and said,” You’ve been here the whole time.” And then with a slight rise, she kissed me. She kissed me and my orbit changed. I kissed her back and her orbit altered also.


I wiped off my forehead instinctively- more like a habit rather than a need. The stuffy old kitchen, which has bore years old stains of curry stains and sticky sweetness, was then filled with steam and humidness. I could sense the whiff of biryani from the counter, the punchy fragrance of rezala and all other dishes that I had hastily prepared. It smelled of routine tasks and paroles, like a worn-down laptop with dilapidated keys and dimming screen. To me, it was more a duty to be fulfilled, less a kingly meal. I always had this unique quality, that I could taste a food from just its fragrance. Chilly red gravy was swirling on the pot, and I could say that it would be excruciatingly spicy just from its seasoned smell of herbs and spices. Maybe it was too thick as well. Let me make it slightly less thick, and try to bring down the peppered essence. Burning, blue flames danced whimsically beneath the black coated iron pot. It sneered and hissed at me, not realizing the fact that I could control the knobs. Puffs of steam arose from the curry while I stirred. Clangs and clings of utensils, hissing flames, and constant humming of the ventilator were enough to block out the jovial aura out of the kitchen. Perhaps the better term would be “adequate.” Children were playing around the house. Ladies were engrossed in trivial rumors about a distant relative one had. Men were either out in the garden gossiping, or glued to the screens of whatever devices they could lay their hands upon. The whole world was up for festivity and happiness. Well, mostly everyone. Sweat drops paved their ways across my moist forehead, and I could feel my head slightly spinning. It was heat from the stove, I told myself, but I knew that it was fever. Not that it matters anyhow. My maa used to say, you should never feel any pain. Now that I think of it, she probably meant that you get numb to the afflictions you’re blessed with, but who knows? She told me only this much, but she never told me how was I supposed to do so? Thus I came up with my own strategy: Ignorance is the best solution when you cannot talk back. It might not be the "best", but it has helped me survive this far. The gravy was done, finally. I put off the stove; for some odd reason, it actually felt great to see those taunting blue flames die down. Like a mother carrying her child, I carefully held the handles of the steel utensil and put it gently on the dining table. I sprinkled some tiny coriander leaves on top. It looked beautiful, like an art. However, the only thing that mattered was that it should be appetizing. It was the last dish, so hurray, I was done. I quickly went for a shower and put on my red saree. It was my favorite- mesmerizing designs of green leaves were spread out across the whole fabric. I wanted to let my hair down, but….. No, I felt that tying it up would be better. So I pulled up my hair into a tight bun, and rushed back to the dining hall again.

“Neeta, are you done yet? The kids are complaining about food. It’s high time we should start the meal,” a lady complained. She wore an electrifying blue dress, which clasped her portly figure and contrasted with her red-dyed hair and deep red-tinted lips. I thought maybe she was hungry- the kids were merely an excuse. It is one universal truth, that I knew and believed, is that children could be anything but hungry when they all are busy playing. They would get hungry, eventually, but would never, ever want to get up from their games and gossip.

 “Yeah, I’m serving now,” I smiled politely. Poor thing must be devastatingly hungry. I swiftly set out the plates across the dining table, and a few extra plates so that people could also eat in the drawing room. I carefully put out the dishes on the table- not a single drop of soup nor a grain of rice should fall on the table. Each plate must get an equal amount of biryani, unless asked for more. The ceramic plates must not fall from my hand, and the rice is to be served from the corner of the glassware. I have done this for fifteen years of my married life, and yet every time I get extremely conscious while serving out food to the whole family. The elders sat on the dining table, while the rest took their plates and sat on the sofa. TV was on at full volume, as well as the speakers were blaring out some sort of popular music. Everything was in chaos, but everyone was still happy. That made me feel glad. “Neeta, the food is absolutely delicious!” A man cried out. He was licking his fingers- he might as well chew them. “Y’know, food’s the only reason I attend the parties.” Everyone roared out in laughter. I smiled inwardly. Great, the food was then appetizing. “And the presentation…. Wow. You should have become a chef, Neeta!” his wife chimed in. “It’s a bit too spicy for me, though,” the lady in blue commented,  “go easy on the peppers, dear.” The conversation went on and on. I never had a great sense of humor, but I was baffled why the whole table burst into laughter every now and then. I was glad that the topic soon shifted from my cooking to someone named something. It was …… confusing enough as it was. I silently served more rice and gravy to everyone, and checked upon the kids in the drawing room time and time again. Sometimes, they asked for more gravy, sometimes more biryani, and most of the time for another round of Pepsi or Sprite. The blue woman took a lot of gravy; I think she would probably have eaten the whole dish if there weren’t so many people eating together with her. After an eternity, everyone got up, gradually. They were still gossiping about random things plucked out from their universe. I followed up to clean the table. “Thanks for the meal, dear.” the lady in blue studied me from the opposite side of the table. She put emphasis on the word “dear,” perhaps. “You might be, well, not that brilliant. But, hey, it is as if you’re made for the kitchen.” Her voice was laced with mockery, but maybe I was over-analyzing.


The compact SUV is loaded down full of their bags with more than they need. Sawyer puts the car in reverse, looking at Vita. "You ready?" he asks. Vita takes a deep breath, assessing the situation. "Do we have everything?" Her eyes are full of panic as she fumbles through her purse. "You're always too worried about everything. Just enjoy the journey," Sawyer exclaims. They back out of the driveway, headed off to the west coast to escape a non-eventful summer in the Midwest. As they pull out of the neighborhood, a little voice erupts from the back seat. "Are we there yet?" Junior's four-year-old mouth yells out as he kicks the back of the passenger seat. Vita quickly turns around, pointing her finger while scorning him. "You are not going to do this the whole trip! Play with your tablet and be quiet!" The highway out of town sets a beautiful scenery as the blue skies are painted with puffy, white clouds. The bright, yellow sun blazes through the windshield of the car, warming up their skin. Sawyer turns the air conditioning to full blast as the cool air raises goosebumps across Vita's forearm, causing her to get upset. "Are you trying to make it an icebox in here? Turn it down," she yells. Sawyer shakes his head, letting out a sigh of frustration. "Dang, will you just take it easy!" Up the highway, he notices a restaurant that was featured on a television show. Excited, he blurts out, "Hey, look, it's..." As he tries to finish speaking, Junior flails his arms in the backseat, yelling over and over, "Are we there yet?" Vita's face turns beet red as she spins around in the front seat. "Shut your mouth now, or we will turn this car around and there will be no vacation!" Sawyer surrenders and gives up trying to grab lunch from their favorite television destination. Vita is far too focused on being upset with unruly Junior that she doesn't bother to take notice of anything outside the vehicle. The frustration of everyone in the car causes a quiet drive. Hours pass, and he gets tired of driving, so they pull over to let her drive. At the edge of eye's view, huge mountains emerge on the horizon as the sun slowly starts to tuck down and nestle behind the Rocky Mountain range. As Vita takes off driving, Sawyer buries his face deep in his phone, researching things to add to the itinerary of the trip. "Hey babe! I was just looking at maps and we can take this detour route to get a scenic view of the Grand Canyon in the morning! We have enough time to do it and reach our destination with time to spare." Vita shakes her head in anger. "We are not diverting from the primary plan. I'm not taking any chances, and I'm driving. Also, Junior is being a handful, and I'm starting to get really frustrated with you and him." Sawyer's emotions hit a boiling point. "Are you serious?! You didn't want to stop at the restaurant, you don't want to explore the mountains, and you probably aren't going to want to stop and enjoy the cosmos tonight either." Vita loudly agrees, "You're right! I'm not stopping for anything! We have to get there as quick as we can! Go to sleep, so I can wake you up when it's your turn to drive. We are on the clock, driving straight through!" She mashes the gas pedal, accelerating the car to get to the finish line quicker. Through the mountains, the car races down the two-lane highway. The moonlight peeks out, giving a soft white glow against the tall mountains cascading around them. The night sky looks like a Van Gogh painting as there is no light pollution from the city to drown it out. Sawyer and Junior are fast asleep to notice the natural beauty around them, and Vita is too focused on driving to soak it all in. The high beams of the car shine in the oncoming darkness. Suddenly, a deer jumps out onto the road, causing Vita to slam on the brakes and swerve! The brakes lock up, veering onto the shoulder as rocks and dust spray everywhere. Sawyer's eyes pop wide open as he grips his seat, while Junior wakes up screaming and crying! "This is why we should have stopped. You could have killed us! Get out of the driver's seat. I'm driving the rest of the way," he screams! Vita gets out of the driver's seat, slamming the car door. She walks around and slouches into the passenger seat, crossing her arms while Sawyer climbs over the center console into the driver's seat. The rest of the trip is eerily quiet as everyone is consumed by their own emotions. Arriving at the destination, everything changes as their faces light up like fireworks. "Swiishhh!" Waves of aqua-blue water leave a frothy appeal as it comes crashing onto the white sandy beaches! The beach is bustling with life as they park the car in excitement. Junior runs straight for the ocean, with Vita trailing behind, yelling, "Slow down!" Sawyer unpacks the towels and refreshments to enjoy the remaining day. The sun is already starting to drop down beyond the vast blue ocean as time passes by rather quickly. "Can we do something else now? I'm bored!" Junior blurts out as he runs up to Sawyer and Vita, laying on the beach towels trying to soak up that last bit of sunshine. Sawyer puts his hand up to block the sun out of his eyes. "Sure! I'm tired already and just want to go lay down." Vita seconds that motion, "Me too. I'm exhausted. Let's go get a hotel room and figure out something new to do tomorrow!" Often, our attention is so focused on the stress of small things that don't even matter, it takes us away from being in the moment with our loved ones. We miss out on truly spending time with those who matter the most. Often, we are blind to seeing the natural beauty life has to offer, rushing ourselves to some destination and forgetting to make memories along the way. Even as children, we rush things and are raised to always have to be here or there. So much time is spent worrying too much about the future or dwelling on the past that we never get to live in the present. It's a gift – seize every moment. Most of the time, our rushed determination to reach our destination leaves us unprepared when we get there, only to find out it's not even what it is cracked up to be. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the trip so we don't miss out on the little things in life that matter the most.


THE SECURITY GUARD

by Annie Hite   Thirty five year old Harold Crackwilder, otherwise known as “Bub”, short for “Bubba” due to his stocky physical development, became a security guard in a somewhat dilapidated well-known Catholic hospital.  It wasn’t what he really wanted to do.  He had started out as a police officer and was fired after two years for lying to a senior officer more than once.  The lies weren’t even very good. An example of one of his lousy lies was:  he fell asleep after a romantic entanglement and was very late for his shift.  When questioned about being late, he told his commanding officer that he had a flat tire.  The officer replied, “For eight hours???”      The hospital was desperate for security guards and hired him with the understanding that he would be on a probationary term for eighteen months as well as work the midnight shift for 4 years.  Not ideal but it was a job that provided some income and minimal benefits.  His uniform was pretty cool, too.  Black with yellow buttons and his name engraved on his front chest pocket, also in yellow.      Bub had issues with sleeping in the daylight.  He even researched ideas online and bought blackout curtains and earplugs.  Still he was prone to having nightmares and rare hallucinations due to lack of sleep, which caused him to doze off at work.      As a Security Guard, he enjoyed working with the computers and monitors needed to assess various areas of the hospital.  As a matter of fact, he became the “go to guy” when the computer system acted up, which seemed to happen frequently.  Another favorite part of his job was stopping people at the Emergency Room entrance and questioning them about who they were and where they were going.  And of course, he used his official deep policeman voice, which could be quite intimidating.  On rounds in the hospital, he would notice the pretty nurses and attempt to flirt with them without much of a response.  Oh, well, he’d keep trying.      On this particular November night, as Bub was driving to work, the weather was chilly and windy.  There was debris in the street which caused him to swerve several times.  He noticed the large full moon shining brightly, causing shadows to appear and fade as if someone was intentionally turning on and shutting off an intense spotlight.  This scene of the full moon, scattering debris, and shadows put him on edge.      He was a little shaken when he got to work.  He took a report of the last eight hours from Sam, the Guard working from 4pm to midnight.  Sam reported eerie conditions such as lights flickering, the computers and monitors going off and on and strange loud noises.  All this was due to the wind.  While the two Guards were talking, there was a large boom and the emergency generator came on so that there was minimal lighting and power.  “Better keep your flashlight handy tonight, Bub!” Sam said.  Sam also said that Bub’s partner, Charley, was going to be two hours late because he had a sick child at home.   Bub shrugged his shoulders since there was nothing he could do about it.  Sam left to go home and called out, “Good Luck!!”      Luckily, the hospital had low patient census and therefore reduced medical staff as well as ancillary staff.  This would help keep power at a minimum and hopefully not stress the generator.      The computers and monitors came back on after Bub finagled with the wires and poked around with the keyboards.  He poured a cup of the remaining hot coffee and sat down in the desk chair, sipping his java so he could stay awake.  Shortly after, he dozed off for about 15 minutes.      When Bub awoke, he saw something on the monitor in the hospital lobby.  He rubbed his eyes and blinked.  The monitor had low lighting but it looked as if Charley was in the lobby looking at the camera and was waving his arms about as though there was an emergency.

And then the monitor went blank.  Bub got his flashlight, baton, and pepper spray.  Then he started for the lobby, which was the furthest away from the Guard Department.      Security Guards have core values listed as:  Honesty, Integrity, Respect, Trust, and Courage.  Now Bub was lacking in some of those values, especially Honesty, Integrity, and Courage.  If there was an incident in the hospital, you can bet Bub was hanging out in the restroom until it had passed. And you can bet he had an elaborate lie about where he was.  He also lied a bit to his co-workers about his personal life, adding extras to make his life seem more exciting.

     As Bub traversed the darkened hallway to the lobby, using only his flashlight as guidance, he heard eerie silence.  He started trembling, not knowing what to expect.  As he approached the hospital lobby, he heard Charley screaming for help.  He stopped and wondered what he should do.  Go back to the office and call 911?  Run and hide in the restroom?  After a few minutes of thought, he decided to continue on.      When Bub reached the lobby, he saw Charley hanging upside down from the ceiling by a rope tied around his legs. A man dressed in black was wielding a large knife at Charley.  Bub hid in an alcove under a table.  He was terrified.  The unknown man had found a way into the hospital because the front doors were not locked.  This was Bub’s responsibility and he had not followed through.  Again.      The crazed man sought after Bub, calling out, “Bub, Bub!  I’ve been looking for you!  I know you are here!”  Bub wondered how the man knew his name!   “What lies have you told?” the man shouted.  “Remember when we were kids and you left me alone when we were running away from the police?  Remember when you left me to die when I cut my leg open on the fence?  Remember when you were supposed to marry my sister and you left her at the altar for someone else?  Remember when you scammed my parents for hundreds of dollars?   I want to avenge the dishonesty, the disrespect, and the cowardice that you brought upon me and my family!”  The man roared as his sharp crooked teeth looked creepy, like they wanted to bite something.      Bub figured out who this man was.  It was his best friend Grant from years ago.  What Grant had been saying made Bub realize how he had lived his life.  His parents had taught him that it’s better to lie, thieve, and disrespect. They did not do this verbally, but through their actions.  His parents had been raised by parents without morals, thus passing it to decades of family members. Bub knew something was wrong with his life but didn’t know how to correct it.  So it was easy to continue his lifestyle of dishonesty and disrespect and especially, cowardice and the blaming of others when he felt deficient.  Change is a difficult concept.  He didn’t know how to start changing because he didn’t really want to make the effort.  Too challenging.  But there was a part of him that felt guilty for all the “crimes” he had committed.   Who could forgive him?  Who would help him find his way?      Bub stayed hidden in the alcove, wondering what he would do to save Charley if he saved him at all.  Charley was a pretty decent guy.  He was married with 2 children and devoted to his family.  He was friendly and treated everyone with kindness and respect.  Bub was guilty of using Charley by calling in sick when he wasn’t sick, borrowed money from him, asked for favors, was sarcastic about Charley’s lifestyle, and would lie about situations to make himself look good.  Did Charley deserve to die from Bub’s selfish actions?  Bub went into deep thought about being afraid that he himself would get hurt or die if he decided to help Charlie.

     Meanwhile Madman Grant was becoming more angered as he continued his search for Bub.  He was swinging his knife while Charley was crying in pain and fear.

     Grant started to near Bub’s hiding place, becoming more intent on finding him by forcefully overturning furniture, vigorously throwing glassware, and loudly yelling Bub’s name.  Grant’s face was scowling with animosity.   His eyes were bloodshot and he was foaming at the mouth.  Bub had no desire to approach this angered being.  Finally, he left the alcove and quietly approached the man.  Grant closed in and Bub stopped.  Bub looked into the man’s bloodshot eyes and calmly said, “You are right.  I have wronged you and your family and I’m very sorry.  Please let my friend go because he has nothing to do with what’s going on between you and me.”  The angered man bellowed, “Saying ‘I’m sorry’ is the easy route.  It’s not enough!”  Bub was shocked.  “Wh-what would you like me to do?” he cried.   The man yelled the word “CHANGE!”  Bub shuddered- there was that word.  That word he didn’t want to think about.  The word that would make him work harder than he ever had in his life.      The man disappeared and Bub ran to cut down Charley from the ceiling.  But he was too late.  Charley was dead.  Bub started sobbing hysterically and apologizing to Charley.  He thought of Charley’s family and how devastated they would be without such a wonderful man.  Charley had no choice with what was occurring and solely depended on Bub for help.  And Bub didn’t pull through.  A man’s death was his responsibility and all he did was show cowardice.  He was more inclined to save his own skin rather than help someone else.      “Bub! Bub! Wake up!”  Bub slowly opened his eyes after recognizing a familiar voice.  He looked up and saw Charley’s smiling face.  They were both in the Guard Department with Bub sitting in the desk chair.  Bub was ecstatic and stood up and hugged Charley.  It was then that he realized he had been dreaming and hallucinating.  That nothing had happened.  He had never left the desk chair.  Due to lack of sleep and being unnerved by the weather, his mind had played tricks on him.      Full power had been activated and everything was working and online.  He apologized to Charley for being such a jerk and asked him how his sick child was doing.  Then Bub asked Charley for something he had never asked anyone before.  He asked for help.  Charley told him to seek counseling, seek Christ or a religion he believed in.  And that Bub could talk to him about anything, anytime.  That’s what friends are for.

     When Bub returned to the safety of his home, he realized something.  He never had a best friend.  He didn’t even have a friend named Grant.  He recognized that all the things Grant spoke of had actually happened but not to just one person and their family, but several people.  The shame overtook him, he got on his knees, cried, and he asked for forgiveness from whoever was listening.

     A few years after his incident with Grant, Bub had made several changes in his life.  Of course they were not easy but he persevered.  When Grant called Bub out on his sinful activities,  it made him understand the fear and pain those people had gone through because of him.  Just like Charley did when he was strung from the ceiling.

     Bub was now a Security Guard who followed the core values of Honesty, Integrity, Respect, Trust, and Courage.  When an incident occurred at the hospital (or anywhere for that matter), he was at the front of the line instead of hiding in the restroom.  He encouraged people, protected family and patients when necessary, and could think quickly.  He now greeted people entering the hospital through the Emergency Room instead of intimidating them.  When he made rounds, he no longer flirted with the nurses but respected their profession of patient care.  He worked as a teammate and had excellent leadership skills.  When he was up for a promotion, he turned it down and suggested that Charley would be a better candidate.

Although staring at monitors at night could be very boring, he embraced his career. Did he mess up sometimes?  Of course he did.  We all do.  But he would get back on that horse and do the right thing.  But the greatest thing that happened to him was he married a nurse who adored him.  They had a child and one on the way and were happy as bees making honey.  Bub was happy with his life and was thankful of the angered Grant, whoever he was.


Chapter 1—Who am I? As I awoke on that boat with the salty sea air sticking to my face, it was as if I returned to this material plane from an eternal slumber. I was beyond groggy and my body battleworn and barely moveable. I knew the bare minimum about my predicament and it only made matters worse. I forced myself out of that fishnet hammock despite every muscle of my being fighting against me. It was as if three owlbears were stacked upon my shoulders after someone bashed my legs with a blacksmiths’ tools. Who would have thought getting to the heavy seawater soaked doors would have been so difficult. As I breach the doors and find myself looking into the blinding sunlight I feel the many sets of eyes locked in my direction. I could feel every single set of eyes on that deck and it made my stomach churn. As my eyes adjusted, I began to shuffle backwards into the room I just left. Those sea dried men appeared as if a woman had never looked in their direction. Trying to swing the heavy door back shut I was interrupted by a raspy female voice. I was dumbfounded, for I know I hadn't seen a woman out there did I? Just as soon as I got the behemoth pulled shut, it swung open like a page getting turned in a book. Falling backwards onto the floor in disbelief a well dressed woman was standing over me. She was cheery yet terrifying all in the same. Scuttling backwards, terrified, she let out a forgiving hand with the most gentle words. My fear was wiped away the instant she spoke. Lifting me from the floor she started spewing out information, sentence after sentence, and I couldn't keep up. Assuming she saw my puzzled face she walked me over to a table built into the wall and had me take a seat. Slowing down her pace I began to understand what she was saying more and more. She was a bizarre woman for sure. After a few minutes of dumping info in my ears just calling me girl, she began to call me Marinth. Continuing to ramble on faster than I could keep up, she mentioned having a vision of a powerful being destined to change the fate of the world lying alone on a devastated beach. She set out immediately to the closest piece of land and found me among rubble still breathing. Absurdly thinking I must have been the “powerful” being of prophecy, she called me Marinth. A name deemed worthy of someone steadfast, powerful, and destined for greatness she said with great enthusiasm. Being in the position that I was, Marinth was a name that could keep me taken care of, so arguing was off the table. Wasn’t really sure if I could have argued though. When I awoke I couldn't remember anything before that, not even my name. This is my first attempt at ever wrong so please be gentle is possible but please critique my grammar and/or spelling if need be. Im dyslexic so writing and reading are both a bit difficult for me. I'm taking inspiration from a DND campaign that I run with my friends and I'm hoping this turns out well enough to show them.


This is my first story, so please tell me what I can improve on. It has boy x boy down the line, so if you're uncomfortable with this, don't read. There will be violence as well. Also, there are perspective changes. **Part 1: Overreaction** *\*Beep beep\** I opened my heavy eyelids, slowly rising out of bed. "What time is it?" I thought, checking my alarm clock. *11:00 am* I was late. I cursed, throwing on the closest clothes on to me. I didn't care that the clothes smelled like day-old unwashed feet, I had to go. I ran out of my house, panicked and out of breath. As I reached the abandoned station we all agreed to meet at, I saw my friends impatiently waiting for me. As I approached them, the most impatient of all noticed me and angrily stormed towards me. "Charlie", the name in quotation marks because we don't really know his real name. It's kind of a name we gave him. His hair was straight in most parts, until the end were they curl up slightly. Anyways, Charlie stormed up to me and started screaming his head off. "**WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU FUCKING BEEN?! THERE BETTER BE A GOOD EXPLANATION FOR WHY YOU WERE 5 FUCKING HOURS LATE!!**" "Jeez...." I thought. "He screamed so loudly his text turned bold." "ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION, DUMBASS!" "I overslept," I sheepishly replied. His face was pure anger. "How the FUCK did you sleep until 11:00 am?!" He yelled at me. "Now, now, Charlie, it's pretty rude for you to keep swearing, isn't it? I bet that if your mom found out she'd be pretty disappointed!" said Alex, one of my friends. Alex was almost the complete opposite of Charlie. He was tall, had wavy, sandy brown hair, and he usually wears a mischievous smirk. He's one of the most attractive guys in our group. He had multiple relationships since high school. However, all his relationships always ended within a week, with the girl often left crying and heartbroken. By the way, when I said complete opposite, I mean it. Charlie was the loyal friend who had near-perfect grades. Alex was the playboy who couldn't raise his grades for the life of him. However, while he has horrible grades, he's one of the smartest people I've ever met. And, Charlie was the super rich kid. Alex was the kid who'd be lucky to have something other than takeout for dinner. He's broke, and often borrows money from us. Plus, Charlie is an orphan. "....You bastard," Charlie whispered in a barely audible voice. "Take back what you said." "And what if I don't? What're you gonna do, huh? Go tell your mom?" Alex smirked. He liked making Charlie angry. It’s a hobby of his. Charlie screamed and launched himself at Alex, fist-first, and would've landed a hit on Alex if it wasn't for Nicholas, who grabbed his leg and pulled him back. "Woah, what the heck? Stop trying to attack people just because of jokes!" Nicholas laughed. "As if you can tell me that! You literally killed someone because they insulted you!" Charlie snarled. "Well, that jerk had it coming!" Nicholas pouted. Nicholas was, surprisingly enough, one of the oldest in our group, at 27 years old. He has long, wavy, soft whitish-silver hair that he ties into a braid. "By the way, where is Damian? We're leaving any minute," I mused. "Oh, real talk coming from you, Miss I-overslept-until-11:00am!" Charlie shot at me an angry look. "Hey!" I shouted. "Hey, I'm here..Sorry for being late.." Damian mumbled. Damian is a tall and thin man with raven-black hair, violet eyes, and pale skin. He’s 27 years old, like Nicholas. He ran up to us, embarrassed for making us wait for him. He quickly apologized. “But where are we going? I have to go in 5 hours,” He sighed. “Aw come on, Damian! Even though it’s cool to be friends with an international pop-star, you never have time for us anymore!” Nicholas whined, shaking Damian. Damian blushed slightly from the contact, then pushed Nicholas away. He cleared his throat and stopped blushing. “Ah, what a shame. Damian blushing was pretty pathetic and funny,” Alex mused. “Is it just me, or are you gay for-” “Shut it, Alex. You can finish that sentence when you get a girlfriend for more than a week. Or is that too hard of a task?” Damian smirked. Alex gritted his teeth and balled up his fists, but after a few seconds, relaxed and grinned. “Of course it’s too hard, Damian! All the girls here are dense! They can’t see anything beyond my bad days! How can I keep someone who doesn’t look beyond the surface?!” Alex’s smile turned into a mischievous smirk. “But how would you know? You’ve never had the guts to talk to anyone outside our group that aren’t in the rodent family. What’s so fascinating about hamsters and rats, anyways?” The air around the two of them turned cold. I couldn’t tell what Damian was feeling. His face was like a blank canvas. Suddenly everything went blank for half a second, and everything returned to normal, with the exception of Alex. He was on the floor, shivering, and his hands was grabbing his face. His eyes showed pure shock. We all looked at Damian. His eyes were blank, and his face was splattered with blood. His gloved hands were stained with blood. He dropped something. It was Alex’s nose and the skin around it\*.\* We all were in shock. Alex was silent for a few seconds, as the reality hit him. He started screaming in pain, and immediately Charlie ran to his side and tried to help him up. By this time, the floor where Alex’s head was had a pool of blood, Alex’s hair and clothes were stained with blood, and his face had blood. Blood was running down his arms, and now staining Charlie’s shirt a dark red. A minute of tension between us and Damian and Nicholas. Finally, Damian opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again. Eventually, the second time he opened it, words spilled out. “That bastard deserved it." “THE ONLY THING ALEX DID WAS JOKE ABOUT YOU NOT TALKING TO ANYONE OTHER THAN US AND RATS! WHAT ABOUT THAT DESERVED YOU RIPPING HIS FUCKING NOSE OFF?!” "SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND A THING, ANYWAYS!" Charlie opened his mouth, probably to scream at Damian again, but he stopped. I didn’t understand why until I noticed. Alex was weakly tugging at Charlie’s sleeve, and Alex looked like he was about to pass out soon. Charlie quickly picked him up and ran off to the direction of the closest hospital. All we could do was hope Alex survives long enough to reach the hospital. We all turned to Damian and Nicholas, enraged that Damian did this all for a simple joke. We charged him, but before we could get to close, Nicholas stepped in and shielded Damian. “Move aside, Nicholas. We don’t want to hurt you,” Cassandra said. “I know, but don’t hurt Damian. You’d understand why he did all this if you knew what happened to him,” Nicholas pleaded. We all stared at them for a solid 2 minutes. "Whatever," I finally said in a flat tone. "Let's go home, guys." While we were walking home, we all felt an odd way. “What was up with Damian, anyway?” Cassandra whined, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I bet he let the fame go to his head! He better not forget that he’s the weakest in our group!” Jay sighed. “He was always odd like that. He’s always been emotionally unstable, it was quite a surprise he became a celebrity.” “Whatever. Let’s talk about something else, okay?” I said, trying to break the ice. “Shut up,” they all snapped. We walked home in silence after that.


I'm playing with my dolls while it rains outside. I feel a little bit hungry but I know Mama will bring me dinner soon so I keep playing. I have two new dolls and pretty new clothes for them as well. I have made a giant castle for them to live in. They will be princesses with dragons and no one will ever hurt them. I hear Mama coming upstairs and I'm excited that I will get to eat. But when she arrives, she has no food. She is not happy and when I ask her what's wrong she says nothing and goes back down. So I go back to playing with my dolls but I can hear her walking back and forth downstairs like she is looking for something and I worry and try to think of what could be lost that I could help her with. Then she comes up again and she's wearing her jacket and boots. "Are we going out?" I ask. She doesn't answer me but gets my jacket and boots out and tells me to put them on. "Is Daddy home?" I ask, already knowing that he isn't, since I never heard his car arrive but I also know that whenever we go out in the evenings, it's always with Daddy. I wish I could take my words back because Mama looks so angry that I am scared. So I stop asking. She just says, "Hurry and get dressed." So I forget all about my dolls and try my hardest to put my boots on without asking Mama for help. When she sees I'm ready, she takes my hand and we walk down. I see that I wasn't able to tie my laces properly and they're slipping open but I don't want to make Mama late. So I keep walking. We go out. Mama has brought our umbrella which she opens, and we start walking. It is raining a lot. I would like to jump in the puddles but Mama is in a hurry. I try once more. "Where are we going Mama?" "To get your damned father home." I wish that I had stayed quiet. She keeps walking and when I struggle to keep up she picks me up. But it is a long way to wherever we are going and she has to keep putting me down for breaks. I am wet despite the umbrella. Mama is wet too and all her makeup is spoiled. I love Mama and she is very pretty but now she looks like an angry clown. We finally reach a big building like a castle and Mama stomps in. The people at the gate look at us but do not stop us. We head to the entrance. There is another man at the door. He tries to stop us and when she doesn't listen he says that she should leave me outside but she doesn't listen and pulls my arm so hard that it hurts and because I can't keep up I fall. The man helps me up and tries to tell her once more but she yells something at him and drags me again and I now know to run. It's a long corridor and Mama walks through, a bit slowly now. There are yellow lights but it is still not bright. I don't like it and I want to go home but I can't say it. So I walk along. Suddenly Mama stops at a door and pushes it open. Inside, there are some men huddled over a table playing cards. She looks in but then she decides this wasn't where she wanted to go. She doesn't close the door and for a second the men and I stare at each other before I am dragged along. Then she kicks open another door. I can see some men walking down the corridor to us, trying to reach us but she doesn't bother. Inside the screaming begins. I see my father. For a split second I see him happy and playing with his friends, like I have never seen him before but then he realizes that we are here and his face freezes over like ice. And Mama screams. I can't understand much of what she is saying but she keeps saying she is going to kill herself. She has let go of my hand so I step back to near the door because I don't think we are wanted here. I want to leave but I don't know where to go. Two ladies run out while I stand there. And then one by one, some of Daddy's friends also walk out. I recognize one of them and he pats me on the head as he walks out. My Daddy grabs Mama by her arm and walks her out. I follow them. She keeps yelling but walks. He is very angry. He's says something angry to the people at the main door. Then we walk to some cars and I see our car there and we all get in. We drive home. Daddy drives fast. Mama keeps screaming but Daddy doesn't answer. They keep doing the same when we get home so I quietly go up to my room and go to bed. I try to sleep through the noise below. I think of my dolls and the castle I was building for them. When I wake up Mama and Daddy are asleep so I sit and I build my castle. After a long time, I smell something delicious cooking downstairs. I tiptoe down and Mama sees me and cheerfully says, "Come, see. I made our favorite breakfast. Sit." And I sit. I am relieved. Maybe they have forgotten. Daddy also comes out soon, asking how the best girl in the world is doing. That is me. Maybe last night was not so bad and I imagined everything.


Little did I know that fateful day I switched into a new class the beginning of the year at the very last minute, that I made a decision that allowed me to meet the person that would dominate the next part of my life. I saw you every day – you were in half of my classes - and I will never forget the fateful day we were partners in class for an assignment; the way your eyes locked onto mine as you spoke to me with your faint southern-belle accent as we introduced ourselves and I learned the basics: major, name, hometown, goals. Your eyes were like a ray-gun, and there I was, caught in the tractor-beam. Those very same eyes would glimpse into me every day as we made it a routine to walk back from class to get coffee. And while we used to say we would spend less than half an hour chatting, before we knew it, it would be past an hour and we would wrap up the conversation, the both of late to our next class. We would profusely apologize, hurriedly exchange a last fleeting look, and be on our way, only to see each other at night, studying together, entertaining each other’s days, and trading life stories. The first time… *The rain increased its tempo, seeming to mirror the pitter patter of my racing heart, as you complained about how you couldn’t wait to leave the city and move to the countryside of Europe. I responded, having debated this endlessly with you whenever the weather was unfavorable, with the fact that the weather patterns were about identical, with the notable exception being the snow you so much adored. You gave a defeated and disgruntled sigh as we resumed basking in the hypnotic rainfall. I shivered as a brief gust of arctic wind blew through my open coat, out of place on this otherwise lukewarm autumn day.* Not too soon after that very autumn day I asked you out on our first date – we didn’t use that term, out of fear or out of naivety, but that is what it was - we had just finished working on our homework together when I asked if you had any plans and if you would want to be a part of mine. I wish you could’ve seen your face; you were so excited you nearly jumped out of your seat. In the traditional college student manner, we ended up getting fast food, ice cream, and stargazing, all during the first freeze-snap of the autumn. Every step we took, you complained about the weather and how you wished you were anywhere but here, but the comments dissipated as I ‘lent’ you my flannel shirt. With the crowded twinkling sky as my witness, I even think by the end of the night, I got you to admit you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here, in this moment, with- *A crashing thunderous clap emerged from the sky as the rain briefly lessened, bringing me back to reality – the reality of the situation. You were shivering, and I offered you my coat, not more than an afterthought before I departed my dorm, wearing it preemptively due to the overcast skies earlier. You used to joke about our contrasting clothing choices, with my muted and dark wardrobe juxtaposing your vibrant and colorful options. At this moment, you refrain as you cover up the brightly colored dress with the drab grey of my coat as you blended in with grey surrounding us. Despite the warmth my coat offered, I could see you struggle to warm yourself up as you blew into your hands. As I took your hands in my own in a futile attempt against the dropping temperatures and disappearing sun, I found myself remarking upon the softness of your hands compared to the calloused of my own. When was the last time I held your hand?* You hated public displays of affection, we both used to joke about how cheesy they were, out of place in the 21st century and a remnant from a simpler time. That was until we started doing them. And I won’t forget the first time you held my hand. I almost thought it was by accident, our hands were at our sides, and they found each other in the dark, walking back to our dorms. I could feel you stiffen up as I fit your hand into my palm and as we walked side by side, unafraid of those critics we once were, assessing us, just as we had done once before to others. Later you would tell me you were surprised that given all that I do, my hands were still soft; hands that did not seem to do laborious work, that did not have a hard life. You were self-conscious about your hands, with remnants of still-active callouses and eczema visible through touch and sight, and the history they represent. “You’re too soft”, you used to say whenever I used to complain about my minor inconveniences from the day, the rude comments I got, the person who shoved me in line, as I lay on your bedroom floor. Your kind words and love used to rebuild me from the days I had, from the loss of friends to family members, to failing in my endeavors and dreams. With you by my side, I never found the need to embrace tougher skin, you were there to heal my minor scrapes. As you told me your deepest and darkest secrets, from your troubled childhood and upbringing, to the horrors you had to deal with in high school and college, to the demons you still face to this day and the therapy you have yet to finish, you realized I was not as soft as you made me out to be or as I seemed, listening to your every word. I had faced my fair share of trauma, some of which haunt me to this day, and I related to you. “I know how you feel,” I used to say. These hands are not the same hands you remember. I try to remove my callouses to preserve the softness from a time past, but those callouses protect me from future injury. My hands have had to grow tougher to accommodate the changing demands of my life, the life I have had to live after you. *The wind proceeded to ramp up in intensity as a piercing splash of icy rain hit me in the face, taking me out of my thoughts. I for a moment lost the dialogue I was having internally, and I noticed you were transfixed on the growing river of runoff from the storm, creating murky brown streams running in front of us, carrying foreign matter, debris, and trash from elsewhere to our feet.* *It seems like we found each other, by luck, or by the changing tides of life. But despite this, you know that we weren’t perfect for each other. We have our differences, our conflicts, and our human disagreements. After all, then how could I explain the next semester any other way?* Our differences used to drive us apart, and we used to try to make it work despite the odds. We used to talk, but not listen, applying small patches to gaping holes. For some periods of time, these temporary band-aids used to work, and we would be happy. Gradually, those band aids ripped and revealed raw skin, sensitive, and fragile. We did this until you gave up. I held on hope longer, but I too, lost hope. *You’re looking at me now. I see your lips part as you look at me with those eyes. I hadn’t seen that look since we were in love all that while ago.* But then, how could I explain the next autumn, this autumn? I hadn’t spoken to you in months; the summer months were a reprieve. We hadn’t seen each other in longer, the last weeks of spring classes were cordial at best. But it was a like a day hadn’t passed as we resumed the rhythm we had done for so long. I missed you. And you missed me. Those conversations we had, they came without the arguments that followed and we were content. Finally, a relationship we felt could last the test of time. Ultimately, all good things come to an end, and our insecurities came out, and resulted in an argument to end all arguments, fueled by months of stability and lack of disagreement, that came as a product of the turmoil from earlier. We couldn’t erase the past, it was fundamental to our growth. We both are not the same people we once were. *Your mouth was moving, and I saw the development of a mischievous and peculiar smile. For a brief second, I forgot the past, and I wanted nothing more to pretend that our future was now. As the wind increased its ferocity, I failed to listen as you struggle to speak, and I moved closer, forming a barrier between you and the wind.* We tried. We did everything to make things work. I remember spending nights in your bed, convincing you to not lose hope for a better tomorrow as we used to contemplate the future after our arguments. Our vortex of emotions carried us this far, why give up? I never actually gave up. *As the rain reached a crescendo, and the distance between us closed in an instant, the lightning illuminated us as a decision had to be made or a crisis to be averted. I pause as your eyes begin to shut.* Our first kiss was under Andromeda’s twinkling glance. I remember seeing her starry eye wink as I leaned in on that cold autumn day and formed a connection that changed my life. *How did I get here?* It would have been a little over a year since you entered my life. *Is this what I want?* I knew it from the day we locked eyes, you’re worth it. I can feel your warm breath permeate the space between our faces. I remember squirming late at night due to the tickle of your breath on my face and neck. Is this what you want? You were hesitant in the beginning to say we were dating – I wore my heart on my sleeve, but you had it deep down, locked in your chest. But I possessed the key, and we had a good run while it lasted. I still have the key. *In the heat of the moment, anything could happen.* The spontaneity which led to us meeting in class, developing a relationship, and saying hurtful things all were due to the heat of the moment – this moment. *What do I do? I felt like I was drowning in the ocean of my emotions and memories, the history between us rivaling that of Antonius and Cleopatra.* Late at night, lying in bed, we used to talk about the future. Even before you told me you loved me, and that you haven’t said those words out loud to anyone before, we had already planned our future. *I fell in love with you all over again. You saw it in my eyes, and I saw that you never stopped. I felt your heart pound in my own, as I struggled to make my decision.* I remember early into our relationship we promised that no matter what, we would never leave each other’s lives. You later made me reaffirm that iron clad commitment. We were the keystone in each other’s lives, essential, unique, replaceable, but it just wouldn’t be the same with anyone else. *I love you.* I love you. *You love me.* You love me.


I lay there. Still. Staring at the bland white ceiling of the hospital room, where I lay. The stillness of the room is plucked by the gasps of air, the rush of oxygen filling my lungs, the beeps of the machines monitoring every beat and tick of my withered and frail shell. I close my eyes for but a moment, only to be awoken by the click of the door. My neck creaks, the joints popping to catch a glimpse of my visitor. Our eyes meet; Eyes like the ocean before a storm; dark, deep, blue; but full of life, they sparkle like precious gemstones. Her smile is like a full moon, able to dispel even the darkest of nights. Her lips are thin and deep red, seductive yet sweet. My heart swells and skips a beat as if I were a love struck teen again, memories of staring into those eyes hypnotized while the world passed around us. Memories of yearning for her lips, like a man on the cusp of death longs for a drop of water. Memories of the joy I felt, how my heart raced and rushed every time she smiled. Tears sting my eyes at the sight of her, and for the first time in a long while I feel my mouth arch into a grin. “hello, love” she smiles, my heart skips; her voice is angelic, her every word like a bell, the way she pronounces her L’s as if they were w’s, her S’s like f’s; It used to drive her insane, her little speech imperfection, but to me it was pure ecstasy, it’s what her unique, it’s the sound that’s haunted my dreams since she left. “Hey, Beautiful.” I manage to say, my words squeezed out like an old toy, now deflated. She comes closer, and takes my hand, her long fingers enveloped in mine. She holds firmly yet softly, like when we rode the Ferris wheel for the first time, and stopped at the top looking over the fairgrounds as the sun set; hope, fear, and love all mixed into one grasp. I can see her better now; her once brown curls are now thin and grey. Her skin is still pale as ivory, but was now showing her age. Her skin showed the story of a mother, a lover, a wife, a woman whom deserved silver and gold. But instead she settled for a fool who gave her messy diapers and mortgage payments. Would she have been happier had she never met me? Would her life have been better? Her words shatter my self-doubt and depression. “It’s time to go now”. A tone of chastisement lines her voice, like a mother talking to their child. I heard it many time, my mind darts back to our children. Peter; A tall strong man now, he did what I could never do, he went into business, he made a name for himself, a family, a home. Jessica; as beautiful as her mother, yet with my sense of humor, She’s a teacher now, just like her old man was. And John; my heart sinks, I haven’t thought of John since the pain numbed, since I lost him. I struggle to remind myself that he died a hero, that he knew the cost of fighting for his country. But the sense of failure still lingers the pain of losing a son still stabs like a hot knife. “I’m sorry” I say, my voice like it used to be, clear, loud, no longer weakened by the various tubes and gases. She simply smiles, knowing what I’m going to say, knowing my very thoughts, knowing the pain I’ve gone through, and fighting with me like she always has. She puts her finger to my lips, beckoning me to be quiet. She takes my other hand and lifts me up, as if we were dancing like we used to when we were kids. My body feels light now, as I stand up. My lungs fill with air without the need of any mask or tubes. My bones no longer creak or pain, my back straightens. I feel as if I were a young man again. I look at my hands, where there were once weak arthritis ridden hands that shook at every movement, too weak to even feed myself there now lies the hands of a young man, large, strong. The bland, grey skin that once covered my bones is now replaced by smooth tanned flesh. I touch my face, it is smooth. A top my head now lies a new crop of hair, wavy, soft, like the golden mane I cherished for many years. “How?” I say in astonishment, my voice shaking. My body shakes with a concoction of emotions; happiness, astonishment, joy, fear, sadness, amazement. I look up to see her. Time slows. There she stands her hair its dark chestnut, her face smooth, free of her wrinkles and blemish, her face full and full of life. Young and beautiful; just like I see her every night in my dreams, Tears fill up my eyes. “My god…” I manage to choke out. She smiles, her face lights up, her smile glowing like it did when we were kids. She smiles, and beckons me to come with her, a shimmering light glowing behind her. “Hey, Gorgeous! How about one last dance?” I say the old cockiness that I once held returning to my voice. She rolls her eyes, and looks at me with a look of faux-disappointment, a large smile plastered to her face. Frank Sinatra begins to play, and we dance. The light begins to grow, and I can see dancing around us every one I ever loved. Ma, Dad, Lil’ Sarah, John, Grandma, even my dog Skip. But she and I keep dancing, smiling laughing. This must be heaven; my wife and I dancing, laughing, and smiling, forever and ever. Amen.


The stress of our discovery left us with a calling to be somewhere that felt safe. The blustery winds and thoughts on our minds kept us up and it wasn’t until mid-afternoon the following day that we met up with the Deer Drum boat. By the time we met up with the refugees, we had been without sleep for a day and a half. My eyes were bloodshot, and my skin was pale. I could feel my brain being slow, parched of energy, and every sentence took that little bit longer to process. “You look like shit,” Xander said, laying eyes on me. I smiled as soon as I understood the statement. Unable to come up with a better response. “You need sleep. You both do. Our boat’s comfier than yours.” “We need to discuss Tima Voreef,” I slurred. “Will what you need to discuss still be the same in four hours?” Kurbani retorted. I offered no response. “Sleep. We can discuss it later.” Kurbani took us down to the hull of their ship to a spare couple of cots. I fell asleep quickly, but it was a light sleep, constant guilt sweating from my pores. A whole island was living the same lie I once lived under, and I couldn’t shake it. When I awoke I found Alessia had already headed up top. I emerged onto the deck to find an evening sky. The sun was hovering on the horizon, and the dying embers of the sun’s heat clung to the air. Alessia and a few of the Deer Drum refugees were sitting round in a circle in the middle of the boat. Behind them, near the helm, I could see Lachlann teaching guitar to Novak again. Novak’s fingers were slowly gaining confidence with the frets and strings. Chords were beginning to sound more consonant with each day. Next to them I could see Mirai with a fishing rod dangled over the side of the boat. Her face was steely, patient, prepared. Alessia spotted me. She shifted slightly on the crate she was sitting on and indicated to the empty space beside her. I walked round the group and sat down. “Alessia was telling us about Ruthogrey Landfall,” Xander said. “Very useful information. Should be able to get whatever we want from them now,” Eir added. “I don’t know what to do,” I said. “How do we tell the people of Tima Voreef and Ruthogrey the truth? How do we make them believe us?” “What do you mean ‘tell them the truth’?” Alessia replied, scrunching her face. “How do we tell them that the leaders of the island are the same person faking a war? It’s a big thing to break.” “You want to try and tell everyone?” Alessia replied, leaning away from me. “We have to. It’s the right thing to do.” “It’s the stupid thing to do.” Alessia scoffed. I gave a nervous uncertain laugh. “What would you rather do?” “Use the information to get what we want from Runar. Bribe him with our silence.” “And leave the entire population of both islands in fear of a perpetual war that will never come.” I could feel my voice rising. “I’m not happy about it, but... yes.” “You can’t be serious,” I stood up, the anger forcing my legs to stand. “You’re going to just turn your back on two whole islands of people.” “What’s your plan? Start a revolution and then leave them to an *actual* war?” Alessia said, raising her hands. I paused, my head bowing slightly. “I don’t know. But it’s not right.” “What have I been telling you? You stick by your actions. You want to go free Tima Voreef, you go ahead, but you stay there. And you fight with them. And maybe, you die with them. You don’t get to start shit and then bolt with your conscience clear.” Alessia paused, waiting for me to respond. I offered nothing, and so she struck again. “And if you go, you’re already turning your back on what you have committed to. To everyone here. You can’t keep thinking you can solve every island’s problems in a day.” I turned my head away from Alessia. “What do you all think?” Kurbani grimaced. “The truth has consequences. Sometimes unforeseen ones.” Sirad let out a small huff. “You have to pick your battles. Decide which fights you can’t win. And I’m not sure that’s one you can.” I closed my eyes, fighting back the swelling guilt in my words. “So we leave them.” Alessia dipped her head. “I know you don’t want to. I don’t want to either. But we have to do what we came here to do. Focus. Lose sometimes so we win further down the line.” “I know. I just…” I paused, taking a deep inhale. “You ever know that something can be right and yet *feel* so wrong?” Alessia smiled. She stood up and placed a sympathetic arm on my shoulder. “More often than I would like. But what we’re doing is right. I promise you that.” I bowed my head. “We’ll head over in the morning, speak to Runar, find out the truth, and be on our way to find whatever bastard did what they did to Deer Drum, okay?” Xander leaned forward, inserting himself into the conversation. “I’m coming too.” “What?” Alessia replied. “For this one. I’m coming too. We, or at least one of us, needs to hear it.” I raised an eyebrow. “Xander. I’ve…” I hesitated, trying to frame the words delicately. “I’ve seen you when you lose your temper. Are you going to be able to hear this?” Xander raised both hands. “I promise. We’ve discussed it already and agreed I’d go when you found out.” I looked at Alessia. “Someone who looks intimidating might not be a bad thing,” she shrugged. “Runar looks like he’d respond well to a raised fist.” “I can be intimidating,” I muttered. Alessia looked at me and cocked her head. “Okay,” I replied. “We’ll set off in the morning.” \ The next day, Alessia, Xander and I set off in Alessia’s boat back to Tima Voreef. The sail was short, and it didn’t take long till the full scope of the harbour came into view. Xander’s eyes widened as he saw the large town stretched out before us, and the constant bustle of activity. Then he blinked and his eyes focused once more. He began scanning the sights until his gaze caught the massive ship I had seen when we first entered. “That the boat you were telling me about?” he asked. I nodded. “How many people do you reckon that could hold.” I shrugged. “Alessia?” She turned her head from the helm, sizing up the boat. “Comfortably. As in, two to a room. Maybe fourty or so. Pack it full, few hundred probably. Need a good fifteen or more people though just to sail it.” “Could go anywhere you wanted in that thing,” Xander smiled. “Except between rocks,” Alessia muttered under her beath.“It’d be fast though. Boat that size will be pretty much the fastest in The Archipelago.” Xander turned back from the view as we drew closer to the harbour walls. Eventually, we found a good mooring and climbed up onto the shore of Tima Voreef. As we walked down the promenade I couldn’t help but lower my head. Each time I caught the eye of one of the islanders, I could feel my stomach turn with the uneasy secret. I wanted to whisper the truth in a passer’s ear. Speak it out loud, at least once. But I knew I couldn’t. So instead I clamped my lips shut and walked as quickly as I could, biting down on my tongue till the physical pain matched the shame I felty. Around us though, the pressure on the island was still there. The tension and fear were tightly wound, propelling busy frightened feet to their next mission. It felt wrong to not be afraid too, to not fear that at any second ships from Ruthogrey Landfall would be firing bombs upon the island. I wanted to be afraid, I wanted to conjure up that fake trepidation just to not feel like a fraud. We turned through the streets until we reached the offices where Runar had agreed to meet us. Inside, we were greeted by a guard who led us up a series of stairs and into a wide, open hallway. The room was surrounded in deep, rich colored wood. Around us there were maybe a dozen desks, at each sat a worker with their eyes glued to a large ledger in front of them. The walls were lined with shelves filled with thick green spines. At the far end, next to a large table, was Runar. He smiled upon seeing us. He leaned against the table, his hands stretched out, perched like an eagle. “I assume your trip was a success.” Alessia led us to the front. “Runar, this is Xander. He is from Deer Drum. The island that was wiped out. We want to know who did it. We did your favour.” Runar gave a wide smile, colorless teeth showing. “We appreciate your efforts. I’ve reviewed the records. The seller was called Sannaz, they came from Stetguttot Heath. I’m sure you will understand we can’t give you any more information than that.” “Show us the record,” Alessia said, a pause between each word. Xander took a step forward. Runar looked the imposing figure up-and-down. There was the briefest flinch before his demeanour returned. “You did a favour for us. We did a favour for you. The trade is done.” “We know your secret,” I responded. “I’m sorry?” Runar replied, a soft chuckle hidden in the undertones of his slow and cautious voice. “Joan Moreno. Philomena Rubio. Same person. That’s who we transported for you. Just sending the president between islands. There’s no war coming. No one’s in danger. You’re just spinning a lie.” Runar’s grin grew even wider. He let out a small cough. “And let’s say, that this accusation, were even true. What would you do about it? You’d be arrested before you left the room.” Alessia turned around, looking at the busy workers behind her. “We could shout it out in here. Really loudly. Yeah, sure, won’t change things today, and we’ll still be arrested, killed, whatever.” She turned and leaned in closer to Runar, staring into his eyes. “But people will have heard. That little doubt will be lodged in their minds. And they will talk and tell people. And those people will have that same nagging doubt. And slowly it’ll spread throughout the island until you aren’t in control anymore.” “That seems an unlikely story,” Runar replied, holding his ground. “Probably,” Alessia responded. “But that’s a risk you’d have to take. One you could nullify for the smallest of costs of giving up one of your buyers. I know which one you’ll take.” “Do you really consider yourselves capable of taking down an island?” Runar smirked. Alessia thought for a moment, her eyes trying to overpower him through staring alone. However I sensed a moment to aid our negotiations. “I imagine you used to get some of your coal from the Kadear Coalfields. I know your supplies will have stopped lately. Presumably you heard of what happened there.” “What happened at Kadear was unfortunate,” Runar said, his lips pursed. “However, we make do, and I hear it will be recovering soon. But what relevance is that?” “I’m from Kadear. It ended because of me. So I don’t consider myself capable of ending an island, I know I am. I’ve done so. And come imprisonment or death, one loud sentence in here can cause you more trouble than you know hiding that record is worth.” Alessia turned to me with a warm smile, but converting it to a smirk and drilling her eyes upon Runar. “Give us the record.” Runar stared back at her, holding her gaze. Alessia furrowed her brow that little bit more. They stared in silence, until for the briefest moment, Runar looked away. Alessia seized the moment. She tilted her head to her left, but keeping the eye contact. “Go on. Get the book. We’ll wait.” Runar let out a mumbled groan as he pushed himself from the desk and walked over to one of the shelves. He pulled out a large green ledger and placed it on the table in front of us, before opening the pages and flicking through until he found the correct page. He scanned the names on the left-hand side until he found the entry. “Here we have it,” he said, the resentment in his voice unhidden. “Sannaz Lytta from Stetguttot Heath. Purchased seventy handheld weapons with ammo, eighty-five heavy arms and thirty-four mercenaries.” “Mercenaries?” I replied. “Yes,” Runar replied plainly, his voice going through the motions, knowing the questions to follow. “You sell mercenaries? You can buy soldiers?” “Yes. It is a more expensive offering, rarely bought, but some people are in need of more specialist forces which we can provide.” Alessia shook her head. “It wasn’t a team that attacked Deer Drum. It was one person. And a team of hired murderers. One man.” “You hire out people to commit murders on civilians?” I said, trying to contain the volume of my voice. Runar took a step back. “Our mercenaries are only for conflicts. They are soldiers. Not maniacs.” “Tell that to the thousand people I buried who were killed by them,” Xander said. I could see his fists tighten. “You killed us.” Runar took another small step back. “As I say, our mercenaries are trained soldiers who are there to help in situations of war. They are not there for casual slaughter-” “And yet that’s exactly what they did,” I interrupted. “A few, a small number of rogue people who followed orders that they were trained - albeit wrongly - to follow. Now, we will of course look at our training to ensure that this doesn’t occur again.” “Nearly two thousand dead. None of them armed.” Xander replied, his head tilting forwards like a cornered bull. Runar took a deep breath. “Look, this clearly isn’t what any of us wanted. I am aware that you have lost people. But nothing will be gained by further violence right here, right now. So, I ask you, what will we need to ensure you leave here peacefully.” “You can’t buy my mercy,” Xander hissed. “No. I do not expect it,” the grin slowly returned to Runar’s lips. “But perhaps we can find a way to achieve clemency. You can leave here with worthless blood on your hands, or you can leave with something that will help you.” Xander lifted his head. He looked to the left and walked to a window at the side of the room that overlooked the harbour and out to sea. “I might have something,” “Yes?” Runar said, walking next to him. “You know this doesn’t change things. I still want to see your whole horrible island burn to the ground. And I would gladly have revenge upon you.” Runar let the hate in Xander’s words dissipate before responding. “What do you want?” “We came here on a boat. Purchased by those good people,” he said, pointing to us. “You’re going to buy it back from them. For the same amount of money they spent on it.” “How big is this boat?” “Three masts. Eighty metres or so,” Alessia added. Runar responded without hesitation. “Done. No problem.” “We’ll still need to leave too,” Xander replied. “So you are going to give us a boat in return. That one, at the end of the harbour.” He pointed to the giant four-masted behemoth at the end of the promenade. Runar paused, his jaw clenched. He nodded for a few seconds, going over the cost. “We would happily offer you a boat more suitable to your level of sailing experience.” “You give us that one,” Xander replied, his shoulders tightening once again. “Okay,” Runar replied as softly as he could. “You will also make alterations to the interiors as we instruct. Make it fit for living, not for war,” Xander added. “Provided you pay for those alterations-” “We’re not paying for them. You are.” Runar bowed in concession. “We will of course need to come up with a convincing story for our workers. Fake payment receipts, a story of who you are and what you are buying.” “You’re not going to paint us out to be war mongers,” Xander said. “No. That won’t be necessary,” Runar smiled. “Perhaps you are merely building a ship fit for a very rich, unknown island. The details can be worked out later. But importantly, you would agree to keep quiet as to how you truthfully acquired the ship.” Xander rocked his head, contemplating. “That we can do.” “And in return for all this, you leave here, not happy, but… peacefully.” “We won’t spill your secret, and I won’t spill your blood,” Xander said. “And you are both happy with this too?” Runar returned to face us. “As long as Xander is, we are,” Alessia said. Runar ordered a clerk to get the relevant paperwork. While much of the deal rested upon a trust in each other, I suspected the cost that we had driven from him was, in the grand scheme of things, so small that he gave it little worry. We took a small scratch out of his pride and the revenue of Tima Voreef, but otherwise, it cost him nothing. The two islands would continue just as they had done before. We walked outside of the office building an hour or so later. As soon as we were outside, Xander turned to gaze upon his new ship. “Why do you want it?” I asked. “We decided we quite liked the sea. There’s nowhere we wanted to go,” he said, looking out across the blue horizon. “So, we’re going to copy you for a bit. Go off. Sail. Explore. Meet other people. Become a travelling island.” “You’ll make a great crew,” Alessia smiled. “Thank you,” Xander replied. “We owe you both a massive debt. You saved us. We’ve lost a lot. But we have a future now, thanks to you both.” “Are you planning to go to Stetguttot Heath too?” I asked. Xander shook his head. “I want revenge. But that isn’t what we want to make the lives of the kids about. We’re just going to…” he paused, and raised his hand, before pointing out to the great expanse of blue to the north. “Point the ship at the horizon, and see what’s on the other side.” He let out a small chuckle that hid a glassy tint to his eyes. “Sounds like an excellent plan,” Alessia grinned. “You find him though,” Xander replied. “Pass on my feelings when you do.” Alessia smirked. “That I can do.” Over the next week we helped the islanders of Deer Drum with the renovation of their new ship. For seven straight days carpenters and metalsmiths from Tima Voreef could be seen walking back and forth on the gangway as the ship’s interiors slowly transformed. There was still a hull for transport. But portholes meant for guns had been ripped out and replaced with communal areas and kitchens. Cramped and dingy rooms meant to be full of bunks were replaced with apartments and family units. By the time they were complete, they had built a town. One ready to sail. The last few islanders set foot on their new home on the eighth day. Novak immediately decided to see how long it would take him to run the full length of the gargantuan boat, and set off tearing as far as his legs would carry him. Sirad walked over and inspected the fine, new ropes, testing their tautness with a pleased expression. Eir walked over to us and hugged us. “Thank you both. I hope our paths cross again.” “I’m sure they will,” Alessia replied. She departed, and headed down to the decks below. Xander and his family were the last to say goodbye. Novak was still sprinting across the deck, but Mirai stood by her family’s side. She leaned against Xander, one of his long arms draped across her shoulder. “Take care out there,” I said. “We will,” Kurbani said. Mirai looked up at me. “Thanks for teaching me how to fish,” I leant down slightly to meet her eye. “You’re the best this boat’s got. Don’t let them tell you otherwise. It’s good to know you’ll all be well-fed as long as you’re here.” Mirai broke from her father’s grasp, ran over and embraced me, leaning against my chest. I paused for a second before I returned the kindness. “Safe travels,” Xander said, turning from us. Back on the promenade we watched as the boats ropes were untied and the floating town of the Deer Drum refugees drifted out into the waters. No sooner had the ship left than I could hear Lachlann playing the guitar, singing his old song. *My friends, come along. Don’t you hear the fond song?* *The sweet notes where the nightingale flows?* *For to hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale,* *As she sings in the valley below,* Then, as he reached the last line, I could hear another voice - Kurbani’s - sing it back in unison. *As she sings in the valley below.* I couldn’t hear the second verse as Lachlann’s voice became overpowered by the waters lapping up against the harbour. But then, just as I began to turn and head away, I heard a chorus of voices from the boat, the whole island singing the final lines of the verse. *As she sings in the valley below.* *As she sings in the valley below.* I let the sounds reverberate in my ears, soaking them up in my soul. I knew I would likely see the Deer Drum refugees again, but for now, they were gone, and I would miss those voices. I turned and began slowly heading back along the promenade. Alessia walked alongside me, her gaze staring at the paved surface of the harbour wall. Eventually, she looked up. “I have something on the boat. For you.” “Oh yeah?” I chortled, unsure of what to expect. “I’ll show you,” she said, picking up her pace. We walked to the boat and climbed down the ladder onto the deck. Alessia led me to the entrance to her cabin, and down the steps into the ship’s hull. As we descended the smell of sawdust and fresh paint hit me. We climbed down the tight staircase, until at the bottom she turned and pointed towards a door that had never been there before. “I figured since we’re going to be travelling together, if you’re going to be crew, you deserved somewhere to sleep that wasn’t in the cargo hold.” I pushed open the door. The otherside was a tiny, small room - no more than three metres deep and two metres wide. But to the side there was a small bed, at the back there were drawers, and the walls were lined with shelves. Alessia spoke from behind me. “I know it’s small, but I had to cut it out the cargo hold, and still need space to store goods.” “Thank you, Alessia,” I said, turning to her. “I guess this makes us officially shipmates now, so… congratulations?” she shrugged. I laughed. “Seriously, thank you.” She turned and started heading back up the stairs. “Don’t be too thankful. You did pay for it.” “Sorry.” “I spent some of the money Tima Voreef gave us. Not a lot. Just a bit. But I guess it was technically your money,” she paused. “Money you stole. But yours I guess.” I followed her up to the deck, chuckling the whole way. “You know Sannaz Lytta won’t be on Stetguttot Heath anymore, right?” she said, the smile turning flat for a second. “I know. But, it’s a start. One clue after the next, right?” “Exactly,” she said. “So let’s get sailing?” I nodded. “Untie the ropes *crewmate*,” she said, her tongue sticking out between her teeth. “We got weeks of sailing ahead of us.”  \ Next chapter 9th September.