Silence is a fragile thing, but right then, silence seemed to be an insurmountable beast that had its claws around the car. Even the howling wind that was blowing snow outside was banished from the vacuum surrounding them. If it weren’t for her heater, which was working overtime because of the howling January snow, she would have sworn that she had lost her hearing. Even that wasn't fully penetrating this silence though. Ella had offered to drive her nephew to the airport. How could she not with him going away to boarding school? He had become quite a handful for her sister, who was a widow of three years and who had four other kids to worry about. Ella helped where she could, but her sister had always been very independent, and every time Ella came to visit, she would always find her sister doing something around the house, looking tired and worn out. Then she would smile a weary but sincere smile and Ella would tell her lovingly but firmly, "Go to bed Angie, you look like hell. I'll finish up here." Ella jumped out of her thoughts as she noticed their exit coming up. She tried to change as many lanes as she could, but still managed to miss it. She winced. Her nephew rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. She figured he must be texting one of his friends until a female voice came from his phone, giving directions.

Now it was Ella's turn to roll her eyes, "I know the way Rob." Her Nephew's given name was Robert, but he insisted that everyone call him by the nickname.

"Right," He smirked at her, "That's why we're going to be late to the airport." "Your flight doesn't leave for another hour and a half. We're five minutes away." "Not the way you're driving we're not." He muttered. "You know, you don't have to insult everyone around you. I know that you're upset that your mother is making you leave but --" “You just don’t get it. No one does, ” He snapped more defensively. Then added quietly, “Not anymore.” “What do you mean Rob?” Ella hadn’t heard Rob speak like this in a while. Actually, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard his words hold that much emotion. She’d known him quite well before his father had passed, but since then, he’d changed. He’d cut himself off from everyone, and whenever Ella or anyone else had tried to talk to him, he’d snap and say simply that he wanted to be alone. In that moment, Rob looked like he was trying to hold back a tidal wave. He probably was. As far as Ella could tell, he never gave himself any release. He was always working in his room, be it on school work, or fixing a broken computer someone at school was paying him for. Ella had never understood it, his fascination with computers. She supposed her brain just wasn’t wired that way. He and his father had always liked working together on little things like that. Her sister thought it was good that he was still working on computers, that maybe it was his way of dealing with his father’s death, but Ella suspected that it was just the opposite. That all he was doing was using the computers to keep himself busy. To never give himself a moment’s rest to think about anything. Finally, the dam that had been holding his feelings back broke, and tears began spilling down his cheeks. "You just don't get it, okay? The only person who ever understood me is dead, all right?" He gasped for air and looked frightened at his words. Ella thought it was something he'd been wanting to say for a while, but he hadn't let himself. "Everyone is acting like three years is a lifetime. Like I should have moved on by now, but I can't. It hurts all the time Ella. I feel empty and angry and sad every day. My mom thinks I'm acting out, but I don't know how to act normal anymore. I keep thinking that if I just get through one more day, then everything will be all right, but every day it just gets harder to get out of bed. I -- I haven't felt happy or even okay in three years." He slumped foreword in his seat, his head in his hands. He was crying in earnest now, sobs racking his body.

Ella didn't know what had made him break down. Maybe it was all just too much for him. Going to a new school far away from everything he knew while he was already feeling like this? She couldn't imagine. She paused for a moment. This one was not a suffocating silence as before. It was full of sorrow, but also of relief. Rob had been holding all of his feelings in for years, she could only imagine how hard it must have been for him to tell her. She laid a hand on his back, keeping the other on the steering wheel and making no move to go towards the airport. "Listen, I don't know how you're feeling right now,” Ella started, feeling rather clumsy and out of her depth. “But I'm glad you told me. I lost someone too when I was around your age. He was my best friend. We did everything together. I’d known him since 3 rd grade and I suspect that if he had survived, I may have even developed feelings for him.” She paused, feeling her emotions rub against a wound that she suspected would never fully heal. “He died in a car crash one summer, and after that, my life never felt the same. There was this absence, this hole in my heart that I couldn't even begin to fill. I tried to push people away too, thinking that I didn't deserve to be friends with anyone else, but do you know what I found helped? Talking to people. I thought that If I ever told anyone how I was feeling, it could only end badly, but I was so wrong. People tend to be much more understanding than they get credit for. "That's why I'm so glad you felt like you could come to me with this." She paused, trying to figure out what she was even trying to say. "I'll tell you what. What if, and I'll only do this if you want me to, we don't go to the airport? I could take you home and talk to your mother. You might not think it, but I'm really good at getting through to her. You don't have to feel like that Rob, the people around you can be much more helpful and willing to listen than you probably think." Ella waited. Rob had taken in her whole monologue with his head still in his hands. They sat once again in that strange comforting silence, but then Rob let out a quiet, "Yeah, okay. Let's do that." His voice was still croaky from crying and as he lifted his head from his hands. Ella saw that his eyes were still red and puffy from crying, but as she looked in his eyes, she thought that she saw the smallest spark of an emotion that she too had once nearly forsaken, hope. She felt as though they were stepping tentatively onto the frozen dam that his emotions had become, and somehow she knew that together, they would be able to thaw them out.


You're sitting at home on a late summer's night, when you hear the rain begin to patter on your roof. Turning on the weather channel you see that there is a Severe Thunderstorm Watch in your county. 'No big deal,' you think to yourself, 'a watch means nothing besides some rain and maybe two lightning strikes.' Bored, you turn off the TV, and head out to walk towards the bookstore around the corner, but turn around because it's raining a bit harder than anticipated and an umbrella might not be a bad idea. You look around you as you make your way down the sidewalk, 'not many people out tonight.' This was your idea of a perfect night, warm, but not too hot, rainy, with the sun having set not too long ago because it is still August. The crickets chirp loudly and remind you of home. A nice deep breath of cool rainy air brings back pleasant memories. You look at the ground while walking, watching the puddles dance as you walk through them and seeing the rain drops bead up on your shoes. Luckily this bookstore is open pretty late, it's already close to 9. Standing under the awning, you close your umbrella, and shake it out so you don't drip all over the store. Reaching for the handle you push on it with some force, old doors like these are much heavier than the flimsy things built today. A small bell jingles as it creaks open, and the friendly store owner turns his head to you, lowering his book, he says "Good evening Sasha," as he gives you a warm smile. "Hello Mr. Clauson," you answer. You've been coming here for years, and though you don't know him too well, you've had several lovely little talks with that man. A quiet older man, who retired from his day job years ago to take over his grandfather's bookstore. Now his own grandchildren stop in to sit with him and drink their coffee together. You've always loved to see that, it reminds you of when you were young. Walking alongside a tall bookcase, the wooden floorboards creak like the door, you step slowly. Mr Clauson has a very wide variety of books to choose from... romance, cookbooks, mysteries, humorous novels and more. Some of your favorites include the horror and mystery novels, poetry books and the classics. Oh, and the two rooms filled top to bottom with antique books, filling the room with the scent of hundred year old ink and yellowed pages. You decide to head to the mystery section first. Looking down a long row of books you pick out one that catches your eye, a royal blue hardcover, with gold letters spelling out its title, "Buried Under Cherry Trees." You flip it over to see what it's about. 'The story of a family who has picked up everything to move halfway across the country for their father's new job opportunity. Surprisingly everyone has taken the move well. A few weeks after settling in, a disturbing story pops up on the news. "Young teen murdered in coffee shop yesterday morning." Everyone is rattled but seems to move on, until another dies. And then another. Determined to find out what is happening in her new town, Susie, the oldest daughter conducts her own investigation since the police have been proven slightly corrupt. Pondering the cases under the cherry tree one afternoon, she slowly starts to grasp what is really happening, and why they moved here in the first place.' You hold the book a little tighter, intrigued by its description, and decide you'll purchase it, but not until you've looked around a little more. Wandering out of the mystery section, you walk towards the heavy maple bookshelves, holding hundreds of antique books. You run your fingers along the spines of one shelf and land on one. A dull red leather bound book, tough and cracking, showing its years quite beautifully. "The Little Irish Girl," it's titled. You flip through it noticing the tiny print and pages so brittle they snap instead of fold. You think that some books age like people, and some people age like books. You slide it back onto the shelf, talking yourself out of it since it looks a little too complex to get into right now, and you already need to add another bookcase to your living room since you've successfully filled two already. Still unsatisfied with only buying one book today, you pay a visit to the 'poetry and classics' section of the store. Immediately you get excited as you see two books that are absolutely calling to you. The first is "The Great Gatsby," by F. Scott Fitzgerald. One of your favorites, beautifully written, showing the dark side of love and money in an otherwise booming decade. You recall the first time you read it and how you fell in love with it after only a chapter or two. The second book was, "A Collection of Poems and Stories from Edgar Allen Poe." Edgar Allen Poe is one of your favorite poets, and authors for that matter. His strange and dark life pulling you into his deep and odd writings, The Raven of course being your personal favorite. You grab both and head to a corner and sit down in the rocking chair so you can get a little reading in before heading home for the night. After getting lost in Gatsby for nearly half an hour, you stand and yawn, gather your umbrella and walk back to the front of the store. "Find everything alright?" Mr. Clauson smiles, he loves when young people like you come in and pick out a few good books. "Of course I did," you say confidently. A soft rumble of thunder rolls over the roofs of neighboring buildings, exciting you. "Hmm, guess they might've been right about the storms tonight, do you smell the rain? Always puts me to sleep on nights like these," Mr. Clauson says. "Oh me too, I love it" "And that'll be $21.48 tonight dear." He slips a red bookmark into the mystery novel and tucks the books into a brown paper bag with your receipt printed off the outdated yet fitting register. Handing him $25.00, he hands you your change and say goodnight to each other as you walk outside, that little bell jingling behind you again. Once you're down the street a ways, you turn back to see him immersed in another book and chuckle. You don't hurry back, the rain is still pretty light and pleasant to walk in. Back home, you lock the door and head back to your room and sit on the big velvety arm chair in the corner by the window with the lacy curtains. You crack the window to listen to the wind and rain some more. The storm is finally picking up, a perfect time to read. So you light a candle and turn on your lamp, creating the perfect amount of warm light to start reading your Edgar Allen Poe book of collected poems. After an hour of reading you get up to make some tea, a relaxing blend to help you sleep. You begin to feel drowsy while waiting for the kettle to whistle. You've picked out a chamomile and hibiscus blend, and after it's steeped, you carefully carry it back to your room and set it in the porcelain coaster next to the lamp on the nightstand. The moon is bright, almost full, you think as you look at the clock in the other wall and realize it's been another hour of reading and it's almost midnight now. The rain continues but you leave the window open some because it's not enough to get anything wet. You grab a blanket off the back of your chair and slip into bed, and drift off to the sound of raindrops and the soft moonlight.


Part 2. But fate has fickle plans for all men. Even though it had not been eight years since i had last spoken to my father. Four years in service, two at war, and two on the road. Still, his words rang in my wars one morning as I lay in the gutter by the market. "Son, men are not worthy of merit, honor, or respect, by birth. All men must be worthy by deed, or nothing else matters. " I do not know why that morning of all mornings I would hear those words for the first time in two years. But as i lifted my head and looked out at the city starting its day. I could not shake the feeling that something was building in the air. I never thought to be worthy of anything again. Never thought to be useful to anyone, not as a cripple. But as the noon day sun bore down on the stalls and tables of the hawkers and merchant, I came to realize that a man must do what a man must. These past two years had seen the end of the war and the flooding of cities with hollow eyed veterans from countless battles. Unrest and crime filled the streets. Orphans and veterans alike stole and robbed. Neither have enough to live by after losing all to the war. I had long since ignored their deeds, so long as they left me alone. Then, a group of richly dressed young men, fresh from their military service. Began to harass the common folk who tried to earn a meager living. A tall, thin man with rusty red hair shoved an old farmer to the ground roughly. "A copper Filla for a handful of withered vegetables?! I should take them for free! You should be giving them to us for our service in defense of our nation!" He rudely barked. The old man cowered and whimpered in pain as the tall man stepped on his hands. "Disgusting commoners, you aren't worthy of my coin!" If he had thought to say more, I would never know. In that moment, as he lifted his foot to step down again, I was between him and the farmer. "Neither your birth nor your required service make you worthy of respect or honor." My voice was low and gravely from lack of use and lack of water. The two beside the tall man started as if stunned to see someone before them. I was not the man I once was, but I knew how to move. The tall man flushed, then reddened. He growled low in his chest and forced out, "Out of my way, you filthy beggar!" I cocked my head at his words and smiled lightly. From a pocket I'd sown into my waistband, I drew out the only piece of my past I had kept with me. "I am no mere beggar," I held up the small medallion, stamped with the coat of arms of my noble house. "I too an a nobles son." There was an immediate hush across the crowd. The red-haired man scoffed and began to laugh in derision. "Even if you were once, you are a beggar now. Go away filth." He made as if to step around me, but my hand caught him on his upper arm. His face went redder still. Before he could protest, I stated simply. "You've insulted me, sir. I demand satisfaction. Will you acquiesce, or does your family have no honor?" My hand was flung away, and he stepped back from me. Someone had pulled the old father to safety, and we now found ourselves surrounded by merchants and commoners alike. "Have at you then! Someone give him a sword!" There was no move from anyone, no sound. The red man laughed and said, "It seems like Noone thinks you are worthy of a sword, street filth!" A strong, firm, and resolute voice spoke from behind me. "Men are Worthy by Deeds Alone. He may have my sword." I stood straight and still. Time seemed nearly frozen as I turned to look into the deep Steele gray eyes of the only man I had ever feared. My father.


A Calling in Th'Abyss I Who are you... Where are we.... Do I belong here.... A voice scatters across the dark of Th'Abyss- a location unfamiliar to many who find themselves lost. Wandering souls often are caught up in their own misery. More times than naught, such souls fall into the darkest night. I cannot help but to wonder: Who are you? The soul crying cannot see me for my body camouflages in the darkness. Similarly, the beast behind the lost lamb cannot be seen. Yet, I know it is there- prowling. I shuffle my foot in the black mud. With my arm I draw a blade from my left hip. Don't move... I demand the lost soul. Confusion and fear permeate through the thick air: What do you mean? What's there? From behind the wandering soul, the beast begins to strike. We hear the strong limbs pounding against the ground. Despite the darkness, I can see the creature's eyes- red embers glow dimly as they target their prey. I raise my sword high. Swiftly, I maneuver around the lost lamb. The beast looks at me with rage. Regardless, it shall not be allowed to kill. Tonight the beast is vanquished with one fell swoop of my blade. The black steel is sharp and slices the fiendish head off of its shoulders. The head rolls into the mud. Alarmed by the shrieking beast, the wandering soul screams. Sharply so the soul releases fear and anguish: What's happening? Where are you- are you going to kill me? I place my sword back into the scabbard. With a gentle approach, I place my hand on the soul: I am not here to hurt you. If you are lost, then I can lend some advice. The soul readies their breathe. Calming one's mind helps alleviate confusion through creating room for clarity. After all, thoughts are as muddied as Th'Abyssian floor when rattled. A sigh of disbelief echoes from the soul. There is a sense of longing and closure. I reassure that I can help. Well, at least I know who can be of aid. How long have I been here, the lost soul begins to ask- Do you have the time? I laugh at their question: Forgive me, but time does not exist here in the same as it does on your earth. Th'Abyss is a location of enternal night. Although we may age, we grow at an extremely slow pace. The soul shakes their head. My response is not to their grasp. One cannot blame another for believing the words of a person they have just met. Especially, when the conversation circles around a place only mentioned in tales. How do I leave? The soul's voice sounds exasperated. Perhaps this place is draining to their spirit- that is a certain possibility. Not many human souls travel to Th'Abyss and leave unscathed. I place a hand on my jaw- looking into the darkness for an answer. Who can help this lost being? Then, an image forms in my mind of a possible solution. Yet, contacting them will prove difficult. At least, I have no means of getting their attention. The wandering soul, on the contrary, should be able to pique another's interest. You must connect with The Monkey, I begin to say while my solution is interrupted. The monkey? What the hell is a monkey going to do? Frustration rings louder than sorrow. The soul needs to commit to trust despite the circumstances. Please let me speak, I halt any further interjections- The Monkey is a powerful being. He is aligned with The Conquerer who steeped foot here long ago. Should you travel further into Th'Abyss, you will reach a pivotal point in which communication with Outerreagions is possible. You will know when you land there, your feet will step on stone. Once you reach this location, call out to The Monkey by his name. You may have to speak his name more than once. Yet, I assure you he will be able to free you from this void. My voice is ascertain and honest. Surely, the wandering soul puts faith in me despite previous disbelief. After all, when there is no one else lending advice, people tend to give another a chance. There is no doubt in my mind that The Monkey is able to provide assistance. Very well, the wandering soul sighs- I will do as you say. I just hope you're right. I smile and shake the lost lamb's hand- Everything will be alright. With that reassurance, I can feel a sense of relief. Further, I bid the soul bön nicht. As they walk in the distance, I cry out the name needed for release. Despite the darkness, I know that the soul nods in affirmation- repeating the true name of The Monkey. II Beneath a clear sky rests a vast valley. Vibrant fields of green contrast against the black mountains beyond. A river of azure glints in the sun- dazzling like jewels on the surface. Here resides a kingdom, a home to those who once were refugees. In this land, there are no humans. On the contrary, beings noted as Mystiques find their sanctuary from the devils of their past. The Mystiques compromise of humanoid people with extraordinary power. Not everyone holds supernatural abilities. Yet, everyone shares a common love of nature and freedom. In this world, discrimination no longer exists because the beings here had to flee from oppression and segregation. Freedom is not always free- as the saying goes. The people who congregate to the valley could not earn their salvation alone. In truth, a savior came to their calling. At first, they saw fear in the exploits of a single warrior. In time, they came to trust the great fighter as their Savior. As the clock ticks, and battles were won- the Savior collected four strong generals to help maintain order. In guard of the kingdom laying in the valley is the whimsical Monkey. He has earned much respect despite his carefree nature. The children of the kingdom especially regard him in earnest. After all, the Monkey is not too proud to play- unlike other generals. Peace and safety are the two main goals of the Savior's empire. Some may believe that living without conflict may be boring. On the contrary, the people of this kingdom enjoy their carefree lifestyle. They have the liberty to live the life given to them. Ultimately, after seeing their plight, the kingdom's Savior thought it best to provide everyone with the opportunity of peace. Sanctuary is a reward for those who have long suffered from hardships- oppression cannot be allowed to stay forever. Yet, what of one's sense of adventure? The Monkey can assure one that there comes a time when the need to move and act is hard to satiate. True, many can be happy with their daily routines- living amongst nature is enough to bring elation. The Monkey would never judge the people he is deemed to protect. Besides, everyone deserves the time to create, play, laugh, and grow with the land around them. Honestly, the Mystiques do not have the same occupational mentality as those of modern earth. There are neither large corporations to work aimlessly for, nor arbitrary tasks to tend. What is necessary to do is what will be done. Survival is not about excess, but appreciating the simplicity of life. Simplicity, the word crosses Monkey's mind. In the court yard, a great blossom tree provides him with a place to sit. The tree may not be his typical place for meditation. However, Monkey cannot help but to follow the flow of thought. His eyes are transfixed on the drifting clouds ahead while the mind wanders into deep contemplation. A booming voice interrupts all concentration: "Here you are Monkey, I've been looking all over the castle for you." The sound is deep and startles Monkey's balance. He fumbles from his branch. Fortunately, Monkey has a tail. With a quick SWISH, Monkey prevents his fall. "Watch yourself Dragon!" the embarrassed Monkey shouts- "You could've made me bust my head!" The Dragon cannot help but to laugh- "You're a monkey, you're not supposed to fall out of trees!" Monkey's face turns red. He swings from the branch and lands on his feet. With his hands on his hips, Monkey raises head high. The pouting Monkey is much smaller than the tall Dragon being. Even in his Mystique form, the Dragon measures seven feet. "So," the Monkey places his arms behind his head- "What brings you here from the black mountains?" Typically, the generals would plan in advance should they decide to visit another castle. After all, they must assign a top soldier to tend to their kingdom in their stead. Dragon is more anal than the other generals- perhaps that is because he is the eldest. A surprise visit is nothing within his personality. Nonetheless, something or someone may have urged the occasion. The thought passes through Monkey's mind. "Un piqua göttís told me that you needed counsel," the Dragon replies with an atypical blend of stern and playful. "Therefore, I flew by to see how you fare." The statement presents Monkey with confusion. Clearly, the Dragon forgot which tongue to use. The Mystique language has many dialects with various shifts in words. Seeing Monkey's head tilt, the old Mystique clarifies his meaning. "Oh! I see now," the Monkey laughs- "You should've said so from the beginning. Well, I'll let you in on a secret." Monkey motions for his tall friend to drop down a notch. With a hand covering his mouth from view, Monkey whispers: "I'm bored!" The Dragon gives a hardy laugh. His friend looks insulted. However, the Dragon raises a hand: "I'm not mocking you." The Monkey's eyes roll in an effort to suggest that he believes otherwise. After a moment of silence, even the Monkey cannot resist a bout of laughter. "It's insane!" The Monkey jeers- "I just feel useless right now. I know my place and role in maintaining this kingdom. However, I cannot help but to crave an adventure. Perhaps, there is someone that I don't know who needs me." With a wounded look in his eye, the Monkey looks to the ground below. Everyone wants to be able to help another. Yet, where to begin when one's duties seem full? Dragon places a hand on Monkey's shoulder- "I understand how you feel. That is why I was told to visit. There is a chance that somebody could use your skill." Monkey looks up into Dragon's eyes. He thinks to himself- does Dragon know something that I don't? The old Mystique can notice the change in Monkey's gaze. Clearly, he is suspicious about the other in the moment. "Be honest," Monkey demands- "What did the little goat tell you?" "Meditate," the Dragon begins to replay with an emphasis on the world- "Meditate and you will hear someone calling your name." Surely, the answer seems peculiar. Should another being tell Monkey to give into a transient state, he would not listen. After all, the notion implied is an adventure through projection. The Monkey looks perplexed and shakes his head: "What is your meaning now Dragon?" A quest found is more appealing than a quest given. Such an expression crosses Monkey's nature- he does not always enjoy being handed down tasks. "Take this mission as your own," continues the Dragon- "Go to your tree and listen for a voice. You will understand once you find the connection." "Is someone imprisoned?" Monkey raises the question with discomfort. How can he be expected to single handedly rescue a person from a castle? "I can say no more," the Dragon shakes his head- "It is an opportunity to alleviate your boredom at the benefit of helping another soul." The Monkey shrugs his shoulders- "Fine, I'll take the task. Thank you for letting me know. Tell the little goat that I will not fail." A beam strikes the Dragon's face- "I will. Take care Monkey." The two friends shake hands in departure. Jumping into the sky, Dragon transforms into his fierce form. A great black beast with powerful wings soars towards the direction of home. Monkey admires his friend's might and bids him well. The time is nigh for adventure to begin. Monkey proceeds to back flip excited by the task at hand. He looks to the sun, noticing the orb's descent behind the horizon. No need to fear, for Monkey, meditation works just as well in the night as in the day. With urgency, the Monkey makes haste to the beautiful fruit tree that lays past the kingdom. I do not know you, but I will come to your aid- the thought rings with confidence. III Breathe in and breathe out... Slow inhale, but with a deep exhale. Finding one's center is all about creating a sense of balance. Ying and yang are basic principles that have been taught in Eastern human religions. A thought that has elements of truth. There is light and darkness within the world. Yet, the idea of gender differences in their teachings is faulted. We are all living beings. We behave the way we are because of our own identity- rather than what society seeks to control between the male and female forms. I for one, respect my own society- equality and equity for all. These thoughts enter my mind as I sit beneath the golden peach tree. The wind blows calmly through the leaves. Gentle, the wind touches my face. Breathe in and breathe out... Slow inhale, but with a deep exhale.... What was the mission again? Answer the call. Who will speak my name? Where am I needed? There are too many questions and I will be rendered useless should I fail to find a moment of peace. I can feel the sun leave my face as he drops down behind the horizon. Matrá Lunestrá will truly prove to be an asset in this journey. In leaving one space to go into the darkness requires the light of her eyes. She is able to guide one in their dreams- therefore, she will be able to help me reach the lost soul. As long as Lunestrá is willing, I am grateful to her magika. Please help me, Mother Moon- I pray with my my heart. Suddenly, I can hear my name. The sound echoes through the air like windchimes. The time to act is coming. Since I'm still unsure as of where I will tarry- I achieve my highest form. Full concentration and spiritual power are key to success. Then my name strikes as hard as a gong: Doooon!!! The sound nearly shatters my wits. The urgency is nigh. Now I understand my mission. It is time to answer a calling in Th'Abyss.


"I'm sorry, your majesty. The dragon killed the princess before I could get to her. Do know that I have slayed the dragon, so no one else will fall victim to them ever again." "Thank you, Lilith. I do not blame you for Princess Kennedy's death. I wish you a fair evening." "Goodbye, your majesty." The cool spring breeze blows through Lilith's hair as she exits the palace. Another day, another threat to the city gone. Jade pops out from behind a tree, a folder labeled "741934" in her grip. She crosses her arms in disapproval and glares at Lilith. "Why'd you lie to the king?" "I didn't lie about anything, Jade. I don't know what you're talking about. The dragon killed the princess, and I killed the dragon. What about that is wrong?" "Then-" "Oh let me guess. You wanted to slay the dragon, so you're trying to take the credit for yourself. How pathetic. You know, Jade, if you want to be a better hero than me, you've got to try harder. Go find your own dragon to slay, because I'm not having it. I can give you the location of a few if you'd like. Wait no, you want to be a competent hero, you'll have to do the searching yourself as well." "Oh really? How did you slay the dragon?", Jade questions, as she takes a step closer to Lilith and straightens herself, as if to assert dominance. "I beheaded it with my sword, of course", Lilith replies. She takes her sheath off her sword and points it threateningly at Jade, who doesn't waver. "You should know that I work at Potions for Powers. The same company that you bought your power-giving potion from. Every customer is kept track of, so they can keep improving their potions. One way to improve-" "Just get to the point, Jade. Heroes that the city relies on, like me, don't have too much time to waste on people like you." Jade rolls her eyes. "Do you know what "cost powers" are?" "No, and what do they have to do with anything?" "Cost powers are powers that come temporarily in a time of need, but have a cost. For example, you can grow wings, but once you grow tired and retract your wings, you get vivid hallucinations for however long your wings were extended." Jade opens the folder that she's holding, and opens to a page labeled, "Side Effects". *"Side Effects:* *Cost Power: Can kill someone (Cost: Takes another life along with the intended target) (Limitation) Only works if another life in available to take along with the intended target)"* \*"\*No amount of stabbing or slashing, even with your super-strength, could've destroyed the dragon's core, which would be the only way to kill dragons like the one you fought today. Usually, they're dealt with teleporters and telekinetic who don't have to worry about the dragon's ribs, with are impossible to break through. The only way you could've killed the dragon is if you used your cost power, Lilith, and the only way your cost power would've worked, is if you took Kennedy down, not the dragon." Lilith dashes towards her home, her face hardened. She has worked too hard to become a hero with the amount of respect that she has now and she can't allow Jade's invasion of privacy take that all away from her. Sure, Lilith had signed a contract allowing Potions for Powers to gather data on her, but whatever, it's Jade's fault for being jealous. \ "Hey Archer, look at this puppy. Isn't it cute?" The puppy pants and runs up to Cato and licks him while Archer laughs. "It looks like he likes you. How sweet. Can we keep it? Please?" "Sure, I love puppies. Who's a good girl? You are. But what should we name it, Archer?" "I dunno. I was thinking Lilith, after one of the city's heroes. You know, before it became this wasteland?", Archer responds, waving at the ruined cityscape. "Nope, anything but that. Lilith's the reason why the city's like this in the first place." "Really? I was told that Lilith tried stopping an ex-hero named Jade from blowing everything up, but that story was fragile anyways? What did you hear happened." "Long story short, Jade threatened Lilith into killing the princess at the time, Kennedy, so Lilith held her brother captive. Or was it her father? I forgot. What matters is that Jade drank a potion that would allow her to self-destruct at will if needed, and went to save the hostage. Lilith used one of her powers on Jade the same time Jade decided to self-destruct, and boom, the city as we know it." "Wow, okay. I mean, I guess Jade was threatening Lilith, but maybe taking a hostage wasn't the best choice. Morally, at least. We should continue gathering supplies before the sun sets.


Dates are hard. But they're especially hard when your date is a 95 year old man who thinks he's 30. Don't ask me why I thought it was a smart idea to join a dating site, much less accept a date from someone who has their age description set as 'probably older than you.' Yeah, now looking back I see where I messed up. And I bet you're thinking why the hell I didn't pick up the clue that the man was probably in his 50s or so. Just read the story and maybe you'll understand! ------------------------------------- Shelby stared at her reflection in the mirror, dotting on the last touches of her makeup. Just a little more mascara... She swiped up on her lashes, leaving them a nightly black. Shelby smiled, finally pleased with her appearance. Tonight would be perfect. It had been three years since her last date, back when she had been 19, young and beautiful. Too bad that one hadn't lasted long. Shelby cringed at the terrible memory, and resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, for her mascara hadn't dried yet. That trainwreck of a date had been her second time. But this one would be her third. And as they say, 'third time's the charm.' Shelby grinned, positive that this date would be the one. This relationship is going to last forever! Shelby squealed in her mind, throwing herself onto her bed. Any minute now, her date would arrive. The clock that hung on Shelby's wall ticked by, the sound nailing into her brain. The night was beginning to ebb away, along with Shelby's patience. It wasn't until 12:30 am when the doorbell rang. Shelby bolted awake, and groggily stumbled to the front door, but not before briefly checking her reflection in the mirror. Her mascara had rubbed off, leaving black streaks under her eyelids. Her hair that was once in a tight bun, hung loose from her head, strands covering her face. She groaned, yet still went to the door. She twisted the doorknob, and it opened with a high pitched squeal. "Hey, hottie. Ya ready for our date?" Shelby had to stifle down a scream once she made eye contact with her 'date.' Wrinkles. There were so many wrinkles. Loose skin flapped around on her date's face and his eyes drooped in his eye sockets. Shelby swallowed her shock. "Who...who are you?!" "The name's John...or is it James? Anyways I'm your dream date honey cakes!" Shelby cringed at the man's words. There was no way on God's green earth that she was going to go on a date with that man. "Er...I'm sorry, but it's a bit late for a date right now, I mean like, nothing's open! Sorry..." Shelby began to close the door, thankful that she didn't have to go on the date. "WAIT!" The man stuck his foot in the crack of the door. Shelby huffed a frustrated breath. "What?" She tried to keep her voice calm and steady, but instead it came out shaky and rough. The man's eyes watered. "Won't ya just go on a walk with me, ma'am?" He pleaded, his voice sounding desperate. Shelby bit her lip. What could've happened to this man to make him so in need of a date? Shelby glanced at the man once more. The evil feeling of guilt formed a giant lump in Shelby's throat. This man needed a date. She could just go on the walk, and then never have to see him again... "Um... Sure, yeah, I'll go on a walk with you." The man's lips spread into a toothy grin. "Aw, thank ya, ma'am! This really makes my day!" At this this, the man held out a bony hand towards Shelby. She stared at it. Green veins the color of mold slithered down his fingers, and pruned skin drooped from the bone. The man frowned. "Well c'mon now baby girl! Take it !" Shelby gagged, but hesitantly took his hand. His skin felt like wax. The man grinned. And with a tank of his hand, he pulled her out of her house, and outside. "Where do ya wanna walk, ma'am?" The man said cheerfully. "Oh, we can just walk around my neighborhood." Shelby responded awkwardly. How could she be so stupid? She didn't even know this man's name, and now she was going on a walk with him? She was really starting to regret her decision. A tense silence weighed down the air, and Shelby often found herself rubbing her neck anxiously with her free hand. "So, umm...what do you like to do?" Shelby finally broke the silence, desperate for some conversation. The man gave her a sly grin, which only made him look constipated. "Well cutie pie, I don't think you want to know what I like to do for fun. Wouldn't want ya to be a witness if I ever gotta be on trial." Shelby raised an eyebrow. "What have you done that's so bad ?" Her date popped his knuckles, and Shelby had to choke down a laugh. He really looked pathetic. "Oh dearie, like I said, you don't wanna know." The man's voice hardened. A cold shiver fingered down Shelby's spine, but still, she decided to keep pushing. "What do you mean I don't wanna know?" She kept her voice steady, even though she was shaking inside. The man smirked. "What I mean is would you like to date a man who's a thief?" "A what?!" Shelby screamed, her face full of shock. She took a trembling step back, letting go of the man's hand. He smiled his toothy smile. "That's right, I stole bingo chips from the community centre." Bewilderment stunned Shelby. "You stole bingo chips?" She said the words slowly. He gave one of his constipated-sly grins. "Yeah, twice. And one time I stole them in broad daylight." Shelby had to laugh at that. She couldn't imagine this man, this old man that reminded her so much of a raisin, go into the community centre and take bingo chips. It was even funnier to know that he thought that was a serious crime. Laughs escaped her until she had doubled over, breathing heavily like she had just ran a marathon. The man grinned. "What, are you impressed? You scared of me?" Shelby giggled, snorts filling the spaces between them. Shelby finally pushed herself upward, and began to start her journey back to her house. "This was a lovely date, ma'am! When will I see you again?" The man called out over the hysterical sound of laughter. "Oh, I'm never going out with you again! Thanks for the laugh though!" Shelby yelled back. Happiness filled her up, like air in a balloon. That really had been the best date ever. She couldn't remember a time she had laughed that much.


\[Warning: use of language, allusion to torture, violence\] It had been decided that the machine must go. I didn't find myself agreeing with Major Milic very much these days. His methods were harsh, brutal and he had become a fanatic. I'd call him more of a terrorist than a freedom fighter. But he was right, the machine had to go. I didn't have any confidence we could do it, however. The resistance had changed in the last couple years. The Emperor's personal secret project was brought online. Though it was round, it wasn't like it the “Death Star.” This Empire was real, and it made smarter decisions. It spent its time and money on a brain. CyCLOPS- Cybernetic, Control, Law-enforcement, and Online Policing System- changed the rules of human nature more and more every day. It make it possible for a few people to effectively watch the entire human populace at once. It watched, it learned, it analyzed, it predicted, and it remembered with perfect clarity all at a single time. I had been surprised at first when Major Milic rescued me from my prison, but not when I figured out what he planned to do. He needed me for two reasons. One- I could fly helicopters, the old ones without autopilot. Two- I knew where CyCLOPS was. And I suppose a third reason too; I would never turn him into the Imperial Union. I agreed to help, not that I had a lot of choice when everything I knew was lost and there was a gun in my face. I left the prison behind, but all the while knowing I would die with them instead. \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~ CyCLOPS is not easy to get near. It was secret to begin with, but they knew better than to rely on that alone. Through torture, Major Milic's loyal team discovered a lot information about the facility. Though most work with it is done remotely, it has over 500 that work directly with the machine on-site. These are mostly fat technicians and overpaid civilians, not that Milic recognized civilians anymore. They wouldn't put up much of a fight when push came to shove. The security came from a reinforced, mixed-guard company made up of Sentinels and Assault Forces. One company of three platoons. Each platoon covered a 12-hour shift. One was on days, one on nights, one on recovery cycle at all times. They had six guard towers with heavy machine guns on the walled perimeter. The walls were made of carbonized concrete, the gate was heavy metal and automatic, and there was electrified razor wire across the top. Four roving patrols covered the exterior of the facility, rejecting any trespassers onto the "Navajo Sanctuary Reservation." At least one large armored vehicle was ready at all times for a quick reaction force. The rest of the on-shift platoon patrolled the inside of the compound and checked key points. If at any point the guards caught wind of our approach and intentions, the other platoons would be woken and activated as reserves. An entire company of heavily armed and armored Sentinels would be vastly too much to deal with, and we'd be slaughtered. We had to 1- approach undetected, 2- blind the guard towers so they could not shoot down our helicopters, 3- secure the barracks and take the reserves hostage before they could get to their arms room, 4- deal with the existing guards in the compound, 5- lock the gate to prevent the roving patrols from returning with more firepower, 6- break into and make our way into the facility, and at last, 7- blow CyCLOPS to high hell. None of the major processor banks can survive. No one knows the extent of its capabilities for certain, besides the Emperor and his chosen team, but it may likely begin to back up its data to external servers outside of the facility. The more we can destroy, the more we've set back the Empire, and the more time we’ve bought for a larger resistance to mobilize. They are dependent on the machine now. They will be weaker than they were before it's installation. But first, we had to get there. And I had a bad feeling. So many things could go wrong. \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~ I listened as intently as I could to Milic's briefing. He'd thought of everything. Even from his little bunker hidden away from the world, he'd managed to gather a lot of intelligence. From his position at the top of the map, he could point out every section of the base, where we would land, where the satellite communications were, where the barracks and arms rooms were, where we would enter the facility, and more. I wasn't sure how he knew all of this. I think I didn't want to know. "Sam, are you fuckin' paying attention!?" His eyes seemed to glow from the light reflected off the map in the otherwise dark bunker. "What? Yes. I know where to land." Truthfully I'd never been the same since that prison. I couldn't focus on anything too long. "But after that?" "What... what am I doing after that? That wasn't... I didn't agree to-" "I don't give a shit. You're with me. I'm not letting you out of my sight." "Who's going to stay with the helicopter?" "Jacob will keep it running." He pointed to Powell, next to me. Anyone who knew him called him Powell. Only people who pretended to know him called him Jake or Jacob. They'd had a long history, but that told me how close they weren't. Powell's eyes locked with mine for a moment then looked away. He was a hostage here, too. He was the man that taught me to fly. He was old now. So was I. "I'm not shooting anyone." "That's fine. You'll help carry explosives. You've got no problem blowing this thing up. That's what we agreed on, right?" "Okay... right. I'm with you." "You're attached to my hip. You go where I fuckin' tell you and nowhere else. Is that understood?" "I'm with you." I growled. "3rd squad, alpha-team's goals are the communications array..." he continued. But again, I already wasn't listening. A faint whining grew in my ears, and I faded out into one of my blackout spells. After coming all this way, and everything I've worked for- everything I did to fight the Empire- it was probably Milic that was going to kill me. \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~ During pre-flight checks with Powell, we talked a little bit. It was nice. I climbed up on top of the back of the bird to give the yoke a good look. "This piece of shit is not gonna fly." I interjected, looked at the rust near the blade hub. "It'll fly. I flew it yesterday." "The rotors are going to fall off before we get there." "No... but we're in for a bumpy ride. She definitely handles like a... heh heh, Sammy, you remember that old two-seater we flew up to that Appalachian relay station?" "Oh dear god, we almost died. On three separate occasions." I grinned. "We've been through tougher spots." Powell grinned too and climbed up the other side. His entire bald head wrinkled when he smiled. "Yeah... but we were younger men. And the Empire didn't rule the world yet." "Nothing lasts forever. Not youth, and not this crummy empire. They all fall down eventually. We're just giving it a good shove." "You really think we're going to win?" my grin faded. That old feeling returned. "I think so. Major Milic's got his plan down tight. He's resourced everything he needs. We have our opening. You don't think we can?" The yoke, despite several conditions I would normally reject, appeared okay. The blades were in surprisingly good condition. It would fly all the way to the scene of the crash. "I don't think so." "You need to give the guy more credit. I know you don't agree with his methods, but he's a warrior. This is what he was built for. You have that prison mindset still. The walls are all closed in around you." "Oh I don't think it's the prison that got to me," I looked out into the setting sun of the evening. The scenery from up here was incredible. "Is this about Lindsey?" "No. Lindsey's gone. This is about us. Now. Though I admit, it's hard to forget her face with a bullet in it. I'm glad she's not here to see this. This is going to be... a mess." Powell reached up and grabbed my hand and held it in both of his. "You've gotta have a little faith in this team. They know what they're doing." "I know. But this team never met the Emperor. I've met him, and... No one on earth knows what they're doing compared to him. He sees everything coming." "Sam, you have to believe we can win." "I know... there's a chance we can win. But we need to be ready. If it's not a trap now, it will be by the time we get there." The sun slipped from view, and we were left standing in the dark.


Title: A Virtual Tradition Author: Haripriya Authors Note: Hello everyone! I wish you all a happy Saturday! Other than the previous one, this story is a bit more traditional, yet still cheerful and happy. During these tough, challenging times, we might have a negative mindset. But please remember that this won't be permanent. Everyone is working together to solve this! But there are always other solutions we could do which are just as effective as being together, and this story teaches that. I hope you enjoy it! "Students! During your fall break, I want you to think of one new holiday, or tradition you can come up with during Thanksgiving. When we come back to school on the 30th, feel free to share what you and your family did! I look forward to hearing everyone's ideas." Naomi's teacher explained to the class. The poor girl kept pondering over what to come up with. She didn't really have an idea of what to say. What

new  tradition could she possibly come up with? She wasn't necessarily known as the creative one, but more of the quiet one.

She was more on the introvert side, though sometimes she was an ambivert. One of her main hobbies was to read, and write poems, or to be more specific, a haiku. They really challenge her to write short, yet beautiful poems. She normally does that on her own time. After homework, you may also find her painting flowers or drawing self-portraits. But coming up with new traditions wasn't on her to-do list. In fact, the teacher's assignment over the break puzzled everyone in her class. What if they come up with a tradition, but then realize it already existed? Or that other families already do it?

You couldn't blame anyone. It was a challenging thing to come up with. Especially considering the fact that thanksgiving won't be celebrated like how it used to be. No more groups together, no more traveling to another's house, and buying them presents. No more eating together, like a feast. It was too dangerous to go out like that. The virus has been getting even worse since the start, so going out wasn't even an option. So how could traditions be celebrated without seeing your family and friends? Without experiencing it with them? Without creating those precious, valuable moments with them? Naomi was really in a pickle. "Hey there Naomi...if you don't mind, can I sit here?" asked her friend in her science class, Clair. "Yeah! Sure, you can sit. Here, let me just scootch my backpack for you so that you can have more space." she said, and placed her heavy book bag between her feet. "Do you have more space now?" Naomi asked. "Oh yes, I do! Thanks, Naomi!" replied Clair cheerfully. "Hey... by any chance, do you have an idea about the traditions thing? It's almost like my brain switched off today because I don't seem to be getting any good ideas for it. I don't want to

steal  your idea, but just want to get inspired by it. It's fine if you don't have an idea though." said Naomi. "Well, I don't know if this idea is so good that you'll get inspired by it, but I'll tell you anyway. So I was planning to do a Thanksgiving game night. Usually, we won't have time to play games because we will be visiting family and doing other activities, but since we're not planning to go out anywhere this year, I was thinking of playing lots of games." Clair said and continued looking at the glass window.

"Actually that's a great idea! Though I am going to try and come up with something different, that tradition is a great start, Clair! Well... I wish we could talk more about this, but I have to go home. Anyways, have a great Thanksgiving break, and see you on Monday!" replied Naomi. The two friends waved a good-bye, and Naomi went out of the school and started strolling through the paved sidewalk, kicking the small pebbles and stones. Her hands were in her sweater's pockets, buried inside. She swayed left to right, still wondering about what new tradition she could make.

✻✻✻ After a long walk, she finally reached home. Still wandering, and hesitantly taking each step. She knocked on the door and saw her mother's face light up. Naomi fake-smiled, and placed her backpack on the couch, still thinking. She was in deep thought. Naomi wanted her tradition to be unique as well as something fun and exciting, something her family would actually enjoy for Thanksgiving. Considering all those factors, she still kept thinking about Clair's reply to what she was thinking of doing with her family.

She remembered her saying, "... but since we're not planning to go out anywhere this year... "

Suddenly, she got it. Yes, families couldn't physically be with each other due to the current circumstances, but good thing this isn't the 19th century, because the 21st century has something they didn't, and that is technology. They didn't have electronics, wi-fi, or the internet in general. Naomi was going to use that as an advantage.

Since no one can properly connect with their families and loved ones by meeting them in person, devices such as phones, ipads, tablets, and computers will come in really handy. She had a perfect idea: doing Thanksgiving virtually.

She thought that on the 26th her family could video call with her grandparents and cousins. After all, the whole purpose of Thanksgiving was thanking and being grateful for what we have, she thought that everyone could right one thing that they are grateful of! Showing love and affection towards family members by giving them proper respect and significance is also another part of Thanksgiving. Naomi thought of everyone doing a type of kindness craft together.

She knew that was going to be the perfect fun activity that would bring everyone closer together, and at the same time enjoy and cherish their time together virtually. So what if people can't go to their families' house to gather together? Fortunately, technology now exists and people can get together that way. She could just imagine her new activity was going to be such a huge hit. Picturing everyone's smiling faces and the amount of fun they were all going to have. Naomi couldn't wait any longer. She just HAD to share this exciting news with her family, for everything was going to be just perfect. She just couldn't believe her idea was actually going to work out! With a proud smile, she strode along the hallway, head up, and high.

~ The End ~


To some where we came from is just as important as where were are heading. The belief that those before us, those who fertilized our growth. Determine the nature of which one carries themselves through life. In this respect I suppose it could be determined that I myself must have had my growth stunted, but in reality this is a belief I have never shared. However even those attitudes could not explain my emotions upon opening the box. The house was old. I had told myself this mine a million times; and unsafe as well. No place for a family. These were the excuses I told others, the ones I tried to tell myself but within the crumbling walls of my heart I knew them to be false. I was leaving to escape the guilt, the pain and most of all the feeling that my own children would now feel what I felt in my half-childhood and there was nothing I could do now to change that. It was in my final sweep of the house, checking for any trivial objects that may have slipped through the cracks that I came across the rusting metal box. It was more of a tin really. A still frame of a moment of a life long ago lived. Forgotten and cast aside like rubbish to disappear into oblivion. However as it so happened this tin of rancid memories wormed its way back into my life. I knew looking inside would bore into my very sense of self but I couldn’t stop myself. My trembling hands slowly pried the rust stained lid from its casing and just as it did separate so did the jacket of emotionless casing I placed around my heart and the sobbing began once more. Inside were pictures; paper and ink, but really they were more than that. They were a reminder of the normal childhood that I was robbed of when she was taken. A newspaper clipping, “Father and Child Left Behind”. The title didn’t do justice, didn’t convey the loss, didn’t depict the sleepless nights and lifeless days struggling on without her. My father, my own hero, had been broken by this. Who was I to be stronger than he! Sinking deeper and deeper into the icy waters of self-pity and regret I let myself weep. “Daddy?” A familiar voice fished me out of the icy numbness and into back into the living world. At this moment, this rebirth I realized I had to be strong. It was not a matter of if I could, but simply that I had to be. For them to have a normal childhood. For them to be happy. I had to be strong. For them.


Author’s Note: I don’t know if anyone has noticed, but normally I don’t use dialogue tags. In this story, I am trying to use them every once in a while. Please let me know if it worked or not! Thanks! Joy Freeman put her silver Grand Cherokee in park, pulled the key out of ignition. After grabbing her purse, she opened the car door and stepped out. The cold breeze immediately hit her face--she pulled her jacket tighter around her. With a blank look on her face, Joy walked to the entrance doors of the cafe in front of her. An older man came sidling up to her with a gentle smile. “Hello, Joy.” He opened the door for her and she walked in, the man following close behind her. The glass door swung closed gently behind them. Once they walked in, they were met by a peppy young teenager who had a name tag that said “Sammy” in cursive writing. Joy immediately noticed that Sammy’s long, dirty blonde hair was ruined by bright blue streaks. Oh, how Joy hated young people who ruined their appearances. “Hi! I’m Sammy, here to serve you today. Will it be just the two of you?” Sammy smiled brightly and used hand gestures as she spoke. “Yes, miss. It will be just myself and cranky ol’ Joy here. Funny it is how her name is Joy, but she’s cranky all of the time!” Alan laughed. Waitress Sammy giggled along with him as she reached behind the lectern, pulling out two menus. “You’re funny, sir. Now, would you like a table or a booth?” Alan glanced at Joy, and she shrugged. “A table will be fine,”Alan replied. Nodding, Sammy beckoned for the customers to follow her. She led them past other people who were sipping coffee and eating bagels. Finally, they stopped at a small table with two chairs. Alan motioned for Joy to sit down and she did. Reluctantly. He glanced at her as he took the other seat. “Well, I’m going to be your server today!” The menus were sat down in front of both people. “What can I get ya’ to drink?”Sammy queried. Joy scanned her menu for a moment while Alan immediately answered. “I’ll have coffee, please.” Alan smiled again (would he ever stop?) at the teen while she scribbled down the word coffee.

“What are your new fall drinks?” Joy sat her menu down and looked at Sammy intently. “Well, we have a pumpkin spice latte, maple frappe, a ginger tea, and a marshmallow iced coffee. The pumpkin spice latte is my personal favorite,” Sammy stated. Her face seemed to be plastered with a smile, too. It disgusted Joy. How could she be happy? “I’ll have the ginger tea.” Joy eyed Sammy carefully while she slipped her winter coat off. “Those will be out in just a minute! And remember that we have lots of new flavors in our traditional food items.” With a slight bounce in her step, Sammy walked back to what seemed to be the kitchen. “Alright. Why in the heck did you invite me here? You know I’m busy. It’s New York for Heaven’s sake! I had to cancel five meetings at work just because I had to go to Starbucks with my father ,”Joy snarled. Her face displayed anger and frustration. Alan just sat there, holding back tears. “It’s good to know that you care more about your work than me. And I wanted to meet with you because I wanted to tell you what I heard about Ian. But I guess since you’re so upset, I’ll just leave.” Most would think that he was purposely trying to get Joy, but this was how he felt. This was how Alan Freeman spoke. And it didn’t do one thing to Joy. “Bye, then.” Joy watched as her father slowly got up from his chair and walked out the front door. She noticed that someone held the door open, and as soon as he walked in, Joy knew who that someone was. “Ian?! Oh, my gosh. Ian!”Joy yelled. She leaped from her chair and raced towards Ian. The moment she reached him, Joy wrapped her arms around him and squeezed as tight as she could. Ian squeezed back. “Hey, little sis.” He squeezed Joy one more time, then released her. She still stared at him, flabbergasted. “I just can’t believe it’s you.” Joy’s eyes filled with tears, but she pushed them back. There was no way she was about to cry in public. “Well, you would’ve known it was me if you let Dad talk. But I guess that doesn’t matter now. Let’s sit, shall we?”

There was something wrong. Joy could tell as she followed Ian back to the table that she and her father had been sitting at. Just the way that Ian walked--it wasn’t right. And his voice when he had talked--there was something off. But, Joy still followed him back to the table and sat down across from him. “Father probably completely hates me now. Even though he has always hated me. At least once I came here. You’re probably still his favorite, right? Out of all seven of us? I mean, you are the one that went to the Navy and helped win thirty-something battles. Right?”Joy sneered. Her eyes darted from Ian’s face to the way that he was fidgeting with his hands. Ian never did that. “Hey, just ‘cause I was in the Navy doesn’t mean that I’m his favorite. Anne is probably his favorite. She is rich, after all.” A nervous laugh escaped Ian. This wasn’t Ian. And that was a fact. “Ian, what year did Father graduate from college?” “1999, of course.” “And what was Mother’s favorite color?” “Pale yellow.” “Isn’t Anne long dead?” “What? No! Why are you asking me these awful questions?” Ian chuckled again, and his eyes were like lasers, looking at everything in the big dining room. “Wrong, wrong, and wrong. Father graduated in 2004, after he went back to school. Mother’s favorite color was dark green, and Anne has been dead for fifteen years. I don’t know who you are, but I sure as heck know that you aren’t Ian Freeman.” People around them were starting to notice the raising of voices, and were looking in the pair’s direction. Some were murmuring undetectable things. “Alright, alright. You got me. I’m not really Ian Freeman. But let’s be honest. You aren’t Joy Freeman, either. And I do know that we have the same intentions. So, let’s blow this popsicle stand--together.” And with that, both ‘Joy’ and ‘Ian’ stood up, reached into their jackets, pulled out pistols, and shot every one of those innocent customers.


She was an Egyptian goddess Aset. Many pronounce her name wrong. She is from long long ago. Times were different then. She can’t tell their secrets to life and death but offers clues and hints to me. She is one of my guardians. I have many of them. Old and new. Times are rapidly changing and One needs be on guard. There are many evils in this world trying to make the humans die faster. From what I gather the faster the evil kills you the longer the wait into heaven. If you call the afterlife that. It has many names and many different stories. They are all quite the same though these stories. I wonder if others notice this. Aset comes to my aid when I’m in severe danger. She is a powerful old sorcereress . Many evils attack me at times. They know I know they’re there. I’m dying like everyone else though. You can’t escape the evil. Protection is given to some who are worthy. Only God knows these people. Who is your God though? I’m asked at times. We’ll I say it every time, God is my best friend. I love him. He loves me. He can be very strict to me at times though this God of mine is ancient but also very new. Older than any of the gods and goddesses. Even Aset. Younger than any in this decade as well. For he is omnipotent. I say he but that’s just me. Makes me feel safe. Guides me through life. Helps me when I’m down and about to give up. I’m very blessed. Who am I? I am you. I am God. Who am I? Sometimes she tells me I’m her. How could that be. For she is so gifted and powerful. Knows things before they happen. Has telepathy with my witnesses. ( they are my dogs). So fun to talk to these creatures. One time my boy had to go to the bathroom and told me he was going to pee his pants. I never laughed so hard. You don’t have pants! So funny. Even dogs crack jokes. It gets us through the day I suppose. Being human is hard. Lots of pain, lots of hurt. There is happy though, peace inside. If you reach this peace don’t ever let it go. Aset told me that the sun is the most important element in this universe. Without it nothing would survive. That’s what the evil wants. Your sun. When I sit out in the beautiful sunny days. I feel peace. The sun gives off such happiness. Such energy. Makes me feel alive. It affects all us humans. Aset tells me that the ancients knew the sun was important. Many gods were named after the sun. Many gods are the sun. Such beauty is shown if you let it in. I am blessed to have the opportunity to sit out and enjoy the sun. We all are. Aset tells me the second most important thing to us and our survival is water. Water is God too. Many gods were named after the water as well. Water was worshipped back in ancient times. We take it for granted now. The evil poisons our water now too. My eyes burn from the chlorine when I cry. So much burning that it left a red scar on my cheek. It’ll never go away. A strike from the evil. I try not to cry often. It hurts me so. Aset tells me so many things about life. I’m am not worthy of this knowledge but I am ever so grateful. They tell me when all of this is over, they’re taking me home. She wraps me in her invisible arms and hugs me. Everything will be alright. Whoever you wish to come home with you will come. The sad part is I can’t take any animals. Animals have their own set of rules and quests. I’m assured they will all be well. Not assured if I’ll ever see them again. Aset won’t tell me if that is possible. So sad. My babies. I don’t know what I’d do without them. I’m scared for them days to come. Animals lovers know in their heart what I’m saying. Beautiful angels on this earth. They keep humans from completely slaughtering each other believe it or not. They have important jobs. Unfortunately there are still evil beings in human form that have no hearts and hurt these poor creatures. You know who you are. Your punishment will come to you in time. These creatures who are hurt will forever live in peace in their next life. This helps me sleep at night but makes me very angry still. I want to beat this evil. There is just too much of it now. We need to come together as one celestial family before it’s too late. I don’t know how to make this happen. I don’t know if I even can. I’m unsure of my destiny. Guardians don’t tell and can only help in certain times. They are not omnipotent in the animal kingdom. Which is what we’re in I’m told. Such simple knowledge most of us take for granted. I’m glad she tells me of these things. Helps me stay happy and humble. To be poor is to be rich. I love being poor. It has made me a better person. I treasure and take care of things more. I’m thankful for all I’m helped with and more. I’m not like all humans. I’m not all different either. I just function on different frequencies . The main frequency is speed, fast fast go go. Why would you want time to go so fast. How can you feel peace going like that all the time. Some of us can’t do that. Some of you get angry with us that can’t do it. We have different disabilities then you do. It’s a challenging world. Not all is perfect and yes things could be much better. That’s at the top of the food chain though. There poisoned with power and greed. Aset tells me they’re not even human anymore. They have no idea how to live they are possessed. That fucking evil again. Why can’t we rid the world of that. If we did could there be a utopia? Is utopia even possible being human? The best we can do is to find utopia within ourselves. That’s what Aset tells me at night when I’m curled up with my furry friends for the night. I am a child you see. I feel safer as a child. A child happily playing with her toys. Guided by love. Guided by Aset and others. That come and go. They are new to even Aset. She only entered my life in 2017. What happened that year. Did the windows shatter out into the universe when my heart screamed in pain. She came to help me come back to life. Teaches me how to live and enjoy again. It was a long three years. Yes, Love. Love is beautiful and pure. Aset tells me we are all loved. Even the ones that have too much evil attached to them. They are loved. Someday they’ll be at peace but they’ll have to keep coming back till there at the bottom and can see the real meaning in life. Which is what? She won’t tell me that ever. No one knows and never will. Infinity is endless even if it keeps fleeing farther away. Most beings destroy the life sustaining planets. That’s why there are so many without life. In the end it is all revealed and we all move on to the next. Leaving no trace of whats all happened here. Only a whisper from the Gods. A whisper from us. The end, written by Tiffany Anne Epstein (only fiction please don’t be offended)


Once upon a time, for this is a fairy tale, and that is how all fairy tales begin, there was a king who ruled over the city of Traskia. But this story is not about the king, but rather about a young man called Tang, who was as far from being a king as anyone could imagine. The sun was setting as Tang set up his camp for the night. He set his pack down beside the knarred oak. The tree had an inviting hollow at the base which was just right for his small body to curl into. He would sleep comfortably tonight, something that he often couldn’t take for granted. But first he needed to something warm in his stomach, so he set about gathering twigs and small branches to set up his cooking fire. Luckily it had not rained for a few days, so the kindling was dry and caught easily when he stuck his firestone. He set his small cooking pot over the fire, filled it with water from the stream he had discovered earlier, and started to prepare a stew from the meagre ingredients he had gathered – berries, some mushrooms, grana bark which would give the stew a tangy bitter flavour, but one he had grown accustomed to over the years. The wind picked up, swirling the leaves on the ground around him and singing a mournful song in the branches above. He settled down into the hollow and ate slowly. From this vantage point he had a good view of the valley spread out before him. In the distance, the fires from Traskia slowly winked into existence. When he observed it objectively, the sight was beautiful. He considered for a while how it must be to actually live there, to see the welcoming lights getting nearer, the anticipation of warmth and family. He shook his head, reprimanding himself for thinking so fancifully. He was hatha, an outcast, at best pitied, at worst shunned and ignored. It wasn’t always so. He had had family, a mother who loved him, an older brother who teased him but ultimately also cared deeply about him, and younger sister whom he cherished dearly. But he was also always aware from an early age of people who looked at him strangely, who crossed the street instead of passing him by. Later, as it became obvious what he was, he knew he could no longer stay. He didn’t want to bring shame on his family, so he had crept away one night, out into the dark and hostile forest, never again to return to his village. He cursed his sentimentality as he warmed his gnarled hands on the still warm pot. He was better off how he was, he didn’t need anyone else. He ignored the small voice which yearned for light and companionship, and settled down for the night, taking his threadbare blanket out of his backpack and setting it around his shoulders. The night was cool, so he put some more branches on the fire. They would see his fire from the town, of course, there wasn’t any avoiding that, but the townspeople would leave him alone, they wouldn’t make the effort so seek out the source of a single campfire. *** He awoke to the sound of voices not far off. It was still nighttime, the moon had set some time ago, so he pushed himself deeper into the tree and looked around carefully. He saw torches now, and they were coming his way. He thanked the stars his fire had gone out earlier. As quietly as he could, he shouldered his backpack and crept deeper into the undergrowth. The voices were nearer now, four maybe five men. And not just any men, these were the king’s own footmen. What the hell were they doing here in the dead of night? They were following the track he himself had used earlier, swinging their torches to the left and right. He praised his own presence of mind that he had chosen a campsite away from the track and deeper into the forest. He pushed himself deeper into the undergrowth, flattening his diminutive form low against the foliage. He knew what would happen to him if they found him. He had heard rumours of the king’s mines deep underneath Traskia, and of course he believed them. The voices and the lights faded, and Tang breathed a sigh of relief. It was stupid of him to come this close to the capitol of course, but somehow he always had to come back, drawn like a moth to a flame by the dream of companionship, of a comfortable chair by a fireside and a tankard of ale in his hand. He waited another few minutes until he was certain the men weren’t coming back, then he pushed himself up from the undergrowth and brushed himself off. What on earth were those footmen doing in this part of the forest? Had a prisoner escaped? He’d best be moving on, and this time he wouldn’t take the trail, he would stay deeper in the forest, where there was less chance of being surprised. He would move around the rim of the valley, keeping the lights of Traskia in his sight as orientation as it was still several hours till dawn. *** At first he thought it was his imagination, the wind playing tricks with his mind. It had picked up more, and now it was blowing a gale, bending the trees wildly, howling a ghostly lament in the treetops. But no, perhaps he hadn’t imagined it – there it was again. He stood still, trying to ignore the sound of the wind for that other small sound he was now sure he had heard. And now it came to him distinctly, a faint voice crying against the gale. It was hard to ascertain the direction it came from, but it seemed to be coming from somewhere to his left. He moved cautiously, stopping every few meters to listen for the sound. He heard it again, this time louder, so he was sure that he was going in the right direction. Why was he following this voice? Surely it would be better for him to ignore this and go his own way, keep himself safe? But something drew him on, perhaps it was the plaintive distress of another human and a desire to comfort that voice which led him on. He was close now, he was sure of it, and there was no mistaking the cry for help. With a lurch he suddenly found his feet slipping out from under him, and he grabbed wildly for a tree trunk to stop him from tumbling down the steep slope that had opened up before him. He cried out in surprise, and as he did so a voice cried up to him: “Who’s there? Please, help me!” Tang peered down into the darkness. It was a girl’s voice, it sounded quite young, and certainly scared. He called down to her: “My name’s Tang! Don’t be afraid, I’ll try and help.” “Please Tang, don’t leave me here, I’m so afraid!” Tang debated whether or not to remove his rucksack. It would easier to climb down without it, of course, but he might need its contents when he was down there. He decided to keep it on, calling down to the girl that he was coming to her, before slowly inching his way down, his body pressed against the steep slope, his hands and feet feeling for roots and branches to stop himself tumbling down. He prayed that he would find an easier way out of here when light returned. The gale had reached a fever pitch now, the howling of the wind and the groaning of the trees so loud that it seemed to Tang that he was descending into the jaws of Hell itself. He finally felt the slope become less steep, and he was able to stand. He called out to the girl once more to determine her location, then carefully made his way in her direction. When he found her, he reached out to comfort her, and heard the girl cry out in astonishment. But not fear, and that encouraged him to sit down beside her. He pulled out the blanket from his backpack and placed it carefully around her shoulders. “Who are you? Are you hurt? What are you doing down here?”. He fired the questions in quick succession, then, realizing his voice must have sounded harsh, fell silent and waited for the girl to answer. “My name is Tara”, the girl replied after a short silence. “I live in the city with my family. I left to go to the village of Dizar, I have a cousin there. I was walking in the forest when I lost my way. I didn’t see this slope, and now my leg hurts so badly, I’m not sure I can stand on it. I called and called, but the wind is so loud, I had almost given up hope of anyone finding me.” The girl fell silent again, and Tang regarded her thoughtfully. Dizar was ten leagues away, hardly a journey one would undertake before nightfall, and one would usually take the paths, rather than walk through the deep forest. And on a night like this too! Instead of questioning this, he simply said: “You’d better get some rest. You’re safe for now, and I’ll have a look at that leg in the morning. I can’t do anything before daybreak.” The girl seemed to acknowledge the wisdom of this, pulling the small blanket tighter around her and resting her head against Tang’s shoulder. Hesitantly, Tang put his arm around the girl and pulled her closer. She didn’t resist, and soon he heard the gentle and regular sound of her breathing against the wild frenzy of the gale. He lay awake a while, thinking. This was something he never thought he would experience again, a companionship and a closeness to another human being. The girl reminded him of his younger sister, of the times he had often comforted her when she had fallen down, or when she had woken in the night from a bad dream and had come to him for reassurance. Was this what he was secretly yearning for? Why he always drawn to the towns even though he was an outcast? Still, it would probably be different in the morning. The girl would wake and be afraid of him. And then? He couldn’t just leave her, she needed help. These thoughts swirled through his mind, until the incessant howling of the wind and the gentle breathing of the girl drew him into a fitful slumber. *** Tang awoke at daybreak. The girl was still sleeping, so he gently eased himself away from her and stretched to shake off the uncomfortable position in which he had slept. The girl was younger than he had thought, possibly twelve or thirteen, but of course already a good head taller than him. She was pretty, with fair skin and smooth hands, and long red hair tied back in a plait. She was wearing a simple travelling cloak and rough clothes. What on earth was she doing out here on her own? The girl awoke and met is gaze without flinching. “Thank you, Tang” she said simply, and he nodded. He gave her some food from his backpack, before setting about looking at her leg. It didn’t look broken, thank goodness, but she might well have twisted her ankle and it would be painful to walk. Still, they would have to try. He would find her a stick to lean on, and he could prop her up on the other side, and perhaps they would make progress. They would have to stick to the trail, of course, and take the direct route down into the valley. And then? Tang didn’t really want to enter the city itself, but what choice was there? He would figure out something when they had got that far, first they had to get out of this ditch. That proved easier than he would have thought, as they appeared to be in an old dried up riverbed. By walking along the bottom of the riverbed, they eventually came to a place which was shallow enough that they could climb out without too much difficulty. They walked till they reached the crest of a small hill, when Traskia itself came into view. From here it would be easy enough to find one of the trails leading down into the valley, and after a short while they came across one which Tang was sure would lead in the right direction. Progress was easier now, but it was still slow going, the girl resting her weight on his shoulders, and using the branch he had found to stabilize herself with the other hand. The girl said little on the journey and he fell to wondering how he was going to get her back to her family. The storm of last night had abated, but the wind was still blowing strongly. Above the sound of the wind he now heard a different sound, one that clenched his heart with fear. The steady thud of horse hooves, and by the sound of it they were on the path behind them, approaching fast. He could almost sense the steam of the horses’ breath on his back, feel the pounding of their hooves in his bones. Before he had time to react, they were upon him. The last thing he heard was the cry of the girl, before his world exploded into darkness. *** When he awoke, it was again dark. His head pounded – someone had obviously hit him very hard on the back of the head – and he had trouble focusing on where he was. As his vision cleared, it appeared he was in a small dark room, the only light filtering down from a tiny window high above. A heavy wooden door with a small window at the top told him all he needed to know – he was in a prison cell. He was free to move around, they hadn’t bothered to chain him up, so obviously he wasn’t a very important prisoner, for which Tang was grateful. But why had they brought him here at all? Why hadn’t they taken him to the mines directly? He cursed his own carelessness and stupidity. What had he been thinking, helping that girl? The girl! Tara! What had they done with her? He sank to the ground and groaned, rubbing his face in his hands. How was he going to get out of his one? Then he got up, went over to the door and banged as loudly as he could. “Hey, let me out” he shouted, knowing at the same time that that was a pretty pointless thing to say. It did attract attention though, and before long he heard footsteps approaching, before the small window has thrown open. “Look, the prisoner’s awake!” laughed a voice. Tang stepped back to look up at the face in the window. “Why am I here?” he cried, “I’ve done nothing wrong!” “Nothing wrong?” the voice laughed again. “I wouldn’t call kidnapping the king’s daughter nothing! You’re going to hang for that one. They’re preparing the gallows already!” The window slammed shut, and Tang fell back to the floor in astonishment. Tara, the king’s daughter? He couldn’t believe it! Why was the king’s daughter out in the middle of the forest at night? Had she run away? That would explain the footmen, of course – the king must have had half his men out looking for the girl. Why didn’t he think of that? There was a low bed covered in straw in the corner of the room. He went over and lay down, his head still pounding from the knock he had received, but now from the knowledge that he would almost certainly be hanged in the morning. He could tell the truth, of course, but who would believe him? He closed his eyes, and covered his face with his hands. A weariness overcame him, and he fell into another deep sleep. *** He awoke to the sound of the door being opened, and before he knew what was happening, he was enveloped in a warm embrace, the long red hair flowing over his face. Tara! She wasn’t wearing the rough clothes from the night before, but rather a flowing red dress to match her fiery hair. Her foot was bandaged, but she seemed to be walking a lot better today. “I’m so glad I found you!” she cried after she had released him from her firm embrace. “I tried to tell the guards, but they wouldn’t believe me. I told my father last night how stupid I was to run away, and all you had done for me. You must come with me now, he wants to meet you!” In a daze, Tang took the girl’s hand as she led him up out of the dungeon, through the streets of Traskia and up the hill to the castle. All along the way, people stared in astonishment at this strange scene. She took him through the main entrance and up many a winding staircase, until they came to a room with a roaring fire with comfortable chairs. The king himself stood up to greet him. “I owe you my thanks, Tang!” said the king, offering him a tankard of ale. “Let’s toast my daughter’s safe return” – at this point he cast an exasperated smile at his daughter – “and from this point on you are always welcome in my city”. And of course, for this is a fairy tale and how all fairy tales end, Tang lived happily ever after in the city that finally welcomed him home.


He can barely see the stars from his position on the bed, looking out the window in the middle of the night,and fighting sleep. He knows tomorrow is his last day.

He has to leave the one person that makes him happy.

The one that hung a wrecking ball in his gut and set it to the function of a pendulum. Its now a swinging weight, and has become the sole time keeping element of his life, keeping him stable.

Or like a hula hoop.

He's the hoop that's swinging around, even when he's exhausted at times and just wants to stop for a minute. He can't, because he knows that he would fall down if he stops. And that person, he has to let go. Tomorrow is his last chance.

The sun is gonna rise in a few hours, the day is gonna slip through his fingers like a fist full of sand, without him being able to do anything about it.

Sleep consumes him even as he struggles and refuses to let time jump ahead while he is asleep.

He doesn't want to go back to being temporarily dead.

He wants to stay awake, and alive, every second of the night and the day that follows, intertwining their fingers tightly, as if he can stop their hand from slipping away with his strength. The sun wakes him up through the window, and, having heard all his suffering and whining to stay awake during the night before, was probably expecting gratitude, but the second he opens his eyes, he resents the sun and wishes for the star to go start revolving for once and to get away from the earth. Or to revolve in correspondence to the earth so that it will forever be today. Maybe then, perhaps, he would be able to appreciate the day better. Because he does have them in their arms, right now, doing a better job at keeping him warm, than the blanket is.

And if he weren't so scared about the sudden coldness he'd have to deal with tomorrow, he could let the warmth reach his mind, and let the day make him some fond memories. The day is supposed to be his last happy day with the one, but he can already feel the adjective slipping out of the sentence. But no. He cannot let that happen. Cannot lose his present as well. So he gains strength, takes a deep breath,and wills himself to open his eyes again, which automatically darted towards them, like its as natural as blinking. Like that's what his eyes are supposed to be doing, when they're not blinking or sleeping, looking at them.

The one's occupied with their phone, the laughter in their eyes highlighted by the light from the screen. Some meme, probably.

So ignorant of the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He wants to stop time and appreciate them, or to slow it down, slow it down so much that he doesn't want to feel it move.

The crinkle at the corner of their eyes.

The loopsided smirk? probably for understanding a difficult pun.

And now, as they turn towards him, the dark grey in their eyes. He didn't know before, that darkness could be so full of light.

He didn't know that they could suck a person in like this. Like a blackhole. Like a void.

Except, he wants, or maybe needs, to be the victim. Bloody succubus! A huff escapes his lungs, as he closes his eyes.

"Grumpy, first thing in the morning?", he can hear the teasing in the voice. The sound of their phone being plugged in to charge, the squeak and the matress shift beside him makes him blink his eyes open.  Tender and smiling eyes, looking back at him. So lovely that they can bring a smile on his otherwise permanently frowned face.

So granted he took them, before. All those days when he didn't know what to do with them, he could've just done this.

Look at them. Listen to them. Breathe with them. Breathe for them.

"Excited about the day?" He asks, carefully, not saying last, the word that's screaming into his ears from inside his mind.

The visible excitement without a trace of worry as they sit up, plug out the phone and reopen the ticket picture for the hundredth time almost makes him glad because they don't deserve this pain that he's feeling. A theme park. A happy day.

So that's what he gives them. And that's what he tries to have.

And they both explore the meaning of bittersweet, like the reflections of them both in the society. Him bitter, them sweet.

And as they bid goodbye in the night, when he lies down, on the bed, with them by his side, them still slightly smiling at him, a hint of sadness now, though, but not so much as him,no, this is a bit like pity, like when the fairy has to bid a child goodbye.

Which is funny, because he thinks she is kind of like a child that he would adopt for the day.

But no, he is the child adopted for the day, to give him a taste of what he doesn't have the other days.

Only to take it back. And let him starve, for days, until he feels like he'd die. And then give it to him again, to make him live, for two days, but not really because the second day he starts deteriorating. And then ever so sweetly, making him look like the bitter one. Its like they're the perfect definition of a sadist, he thinks, as he subconsciously snuggles in, breathes them in, one last time. "Satan", he sighs. In reply, comes a smile that he can hear, and a moment later feel, against his lips.

Like the kiss of Judas.

To a bull left in a fight to it's death.

Or to a man left in his life to live the everlasting undeath. "Stay alive until next time, and we might go scuba diving!"