She didn’t think she would be defeated by a simple shaman. Her years of study and practice developing her powers had created a sorceress of great renown. She built her tower in the center of the Great Forest, drawing the magic from the land. She took a name and made it one to fear. Her art turned dark, and she began twisting the land to suit her needs. That’s when the forest called to me. I spent my life wandering the wilderness. Learning the ebb and flow of the energies of the wild. I didn’t know my family, but nature took their place. When she began twisting the Great Forest, I owed nature my life in defense. I hadn’t spent years training in the mystic arts, I didn’t know how to use spells and potions. I did know how to ask for help, and I had all the Great Forest aiding me. “Well, shaman, are you prepared to die?” She stood at the top of her tower, gazing at the twisting nether that had grown around it. Her voice carried down to my ear as if a whisper on the wind. I was close now, the foul nether stung my eyes and nose. I took a seat upon the ground, crossed my legs, and held my staff high above my head. I lifted my face to the clouds and asked for rain. I begged them to cleanse my path so I could do as I was asked. The clouds answered. Thunder peeled as lightning streaked along the sky. I sat, face upturned, eyes closed, until I could no longer smell the acrid sting of the nether. “That was clever,” her smoky voice whispered in my ear. “What will you do, little shaman, when I twist the whole of nature?” Her laughter echoed in my mind as I made my way to the now empty ring around the tower. “I really don’t think you’ll have the chance,” I said. The laughter stopped. I stood fast, waiting for her response. “I will swallow your soul, shaman. I will make you watch as I consume your precious wilderness.” Her voice was filling with fire and smoke. “I will let the nether twist your life as it twists your forest. Lock into that frail body for an eternity. This forest is mine, and I will do with it as I please.” “My dear sorceress,” I said, feeling pity at her misunderstanding, “the forest called me here. I have been chosen to protect it. Nature isn’t something to be owned, it’s to be protected. I do not want this fight.” “How noble and selfless.” Her voice seethed contempt. “I’m nothing of the kind, I just answered the call of an old friend. I’d gladly go back to my roaming if you would just stop with this corruption. I’m not a spell caster, and really have no magic to speak of. You will probably kill me or do all those horrible things to me you spoke of.” I could feel her drawing the energies beneath the forest to her tower. I could see the tower at the center of a darkened clearing now. “I wish we could have avoided this” I said. I quickly sat down, turned my face to the sky, held my staff high, and asked the earth for protection. The air began to feel charged, and then a blinding flash and deafening crash. I held fast, eyes closed, head and staff held high. The lightning she conjured shot straight for me, striking my staff and then directed to the ground. The earth redirected the energy along the ring, coming to crash at the base of the tower. My arm seared in pain from her onslaught, but she gave way as soon as she noticed her tower was taking the full force of it. “You truly are too clever for your own good, shaman.” Her grin dark, her eyes burned with intense hate. “No, I just have help,” I said watching as she descended from her tower. The hours slipped by as her attacks continued. I made no move against her, only used her rage against her. When she took to the skies on wings of flames, she was consumed by her own fire. Her tower, constructed and maintained by her will, collapsed to dust. I lowered my staff, looked upon the smoldering pile of ash, and wept. I had no desire to be a part of her death, but the forest needed it. As I turned back towards the way I came, I heard something stirring in the ash. I gripped my staff and turned, not sure what new trial she had for me. I was not expecting what stood before me. A small girl, scared and covered in ash, stood before me where the sorceress had fallen. I had never studied sorcery or spell casting, but I did understand nature. I understood now that when she had called on the power of the phoenix, she was drawing on the full spirit of it. She had taken on all its abilities, not just the power if its flames. When she was struck down, she rose again, but like a phoenix, as a child. “Who are you?” A child with no memories. “I am a shaman, do you remember your name?” “I can’t remember anything, where am I? What happened here?” The fear in her voice seemed real enough. “This will take some time to explain, but this was your home.” I struggled with myself on what to tell her next. I reached in my bag and covered her in one of my shirts. “You saw me as your enemy, and we fought.” “Am I your enemy?” She asked, her eyes scanning for a way to escape. “You were never my enemy, you just didn’t understand what you were doing.” I gestured to the empty ring around us. “I came to ask you stop destroying the forest. You didn’t seem to like that idea and attacked.” “Was I a bad person?” Confusion was replacing the fear. “Good and bad is a difference of opinion. What you were doing was harmful to nature, and the forest called to me.” “And you chose to fight?” “I owe my life to the wilderness, and I will always answer its call.” I looked at her, “Now, you have a decision.” She looked at me with suspicion. “You’ve done great harm to this forest,” I said, gesturing to the ring of devastation around us. “You can leave, find your power again, and start the cycle all over again.” “Or?” “Or you can help me heal this land. It will take a long time, even with the help of someone as powerful as you, but your debt to the forest will be paid.” We stared at each other for a long time. The grizzled shaman and the soot covered child. One whose debt has yet to be paid, and one that can never be repaid. I laughed, my head tilting back, as my chest echoed with the sound. She jumped back, not sure what to expect. I tried to control myself as I felt her drawing power from the earth. “I’ve told you, you’re not my enemy, you have nothing to fear from me,” I said. “I see your power is still strong.” The draw dissipates, leaving her staring at her hands. “I don’t know how I did that, I just felt this power around me, and I could touch it, and pull it.” Her voice was filled with excitement. “Yes, you were powerful, and deadly.” “You defeated me.” She seemed puzzled. “You defeated yourself. I used no violence against you.” I couldn’t survive another battle like the last. “Then why should I help you? If I saw you as my enemy, and you fought to stop me, why shouldn’t I run?”" “That is your choice, I cannot make it for you. I didn’t want this, but this is where we are. If you leave, I won’t follow, you will be free to live as you please. If you stay, we will repair the damage you’ve done, nothing more, nothing less.” She thought for a moment, looking older than her face, and began slowly walking around the clearing. I didn’t follow, just watched as she looked at her legacy. She reached the pile of dust that was her tower. She took a handful and let it slip between her fingers. When the last speck was carried away on the wind, she turned. “I will help,” She said, “for now.” I loosened my grip on the staff and let my heart slow. I hadn’t realized how worried I was until it was over. I walked towards her, took her by the hand. “Well child, are you ready to begin?” “Yes,” She said, and I could see that the fear had left her. I led her to the edge of the clearing and began looking for what we needed to start the healing. I showed her the different plants, and how to extract their seeds. We took what we gathered back to the clearing. I showed her how to drill holes in the earth with a stick, and then place the seeds at the right depth. “Careful now, you don’t want the seeds too deep, the seedling won’t break through the soil.” I knew she understood, even without my explanation. “Don’t plant them too close together, the trees need room to grow.” “I know,” Her face an almost comical mixture of youthful innocence and ancient experience. “It will take some time to heal this section of the forest, we should build a shelter before too much longer.” “hm,” She was fully engaged on the task at hand, not even looking up to see what I had said. “Do you still have the seeds from the ivy and brambles?” She handed them to me, and I took them to the dust mound where her tower once stood. I used my staff to draw out a large circle, a small section left on one end. Then, holding the seeds in my palms, I reached towards the sky and asked the forest for aid. I asked for our heads to be covered and protection from the storms. I placed the seeds along the circle, imploring them to grow. When the seeds where all sown, I sat in the center and held my staff in front of me. I placed it upright, touching the ground, held with both hands. I pushed all my life into the staff and begged the forest to hear me. It answered. The seeds began sprouting, seedlings rapidly taking hold. I could feel the roots burrow deep, and the vines begin to climb. I kept my eyes closed, visualizing the form I wanted the structure to take. I guided the brambles to form the frame, a simple dome with a small door. I divided my focus to the ivy, starting at the base and weaving through the bramble. I focused my will into my staff, forming two cots on the inside of the hut. I focused the ivy into a small cage suspended from the ceiling, fine meshed with a small door. I called to some lightning bugs and asked them to fill the cage. They did, and I formed a small flower with sweet nectar in the center of the cage and closed the door. I stayed seated for some time after, the weight of the day forcing itself upon me. I placed my head against my staff and felt for the pulse of the earth. I mixed my life with that of the earth, healing and replenishing my worn spirit. I did what little I could to heal the land, but I was interrupted by a stern voice. “Am I supposed to do this all myself?” She asked, such an adult edge to such a young voice. “You’ve been done for hours and have just been sitting here.” “You’ve only been standing there a moment. How do you know what I’ve been doing?” I asked, barely able to mask my amusement of the situation. “I felt you building the hut….” “I didn’t build the hut, the plants where kind enough to give us shelter,” I corrected her. “Are all shaman as annoying as you are?” I thought for a moment on this. “I’ve never known another shaman. I try to make it a point to avoid people in general,” I told her. “I was abandoned in the forest as a child.” “Aren’t you lonely?” “How can I be lonely? I have the whole of nature as my friend. I was raised by the forest, and if I get lonely I just talk to it.” “How can you be raised by a forest?” Genuine curiosity filled her face. “Well, step one is learning to listen to it. The ebb and flow of its energy, the heartbeat.” I scanned her face, making sure she understood. “Place your hand on the ground. Good, now sit and feel for the power you felt earlier.” She did as she was told. “That power you feel is the life of the forest, if you push deep enough you can find the pulse of the entire world. Now though, just feel for the forest.” “I feel it, but I can’t hear anything, it’s not talking to me.” I swallowed back a laugh at the image of her eyes closed in concentration, and her mouth in a stern frown. “It’s always talking to you. You just don’t understand it yet. Have patience, you found the pulse faster than I did when I first looked for it.” “How did you know how to find it? How did you know the forest was speaking to you?” I picked her up, placed her gently on the cot, and said, “I didn’t, but it’s been a very long day, even longer for you having to live it twice.” I winked as I pulled a hide from my pack and tucked it around her. “You’re foolish,” she grinned as her eyes drifted off to sleep. I went back to the center of the hut and asked the light to go to sleep, they did. I crawled into my cot, and my world went dark.


I don’t want to talk about the forest. I won’t go on about the way it creaks and howls as it fights with the wind, or how the leaves dance against another amidst this brawl. No, I won’t mention the beasts that reside there, nuzzling in bushes and making roofs from branches. I want to talk about a tree. This tree is deep in the thick of the forest, and deeper still, past the creek, past deadfalls and beaver dams. This tree pierces through the sky and has done so for generations. It has withstood storm and toil. This tree is a monument to nature’s arrogance. I want to talk about a man. A prideful man who set into this forest to build a home. He took his ax to this tree, chopping at its impenetrable bark. His saw snapped, its teeth barely scratching the tree’s flesh. He could not uproot its veins, buried further than he could dig. Through the seasons, and the man’s best efforts, the tree stood, still. The man laid against his opponent, exasperated. If he could not take this tree down, he would build his home around it. His ax chopped down the tree’s brothers and sisters, his saw transforming them to logs. The man built a home. Years passed and skyscrapers were erected. Soon, the tree was no longer the tallest monument in the forest. Soon, the tree was forgotten. The man’s daughter happened upon it one day, a girl just as proud as her father. She wondered why this tree had been allowed to stay in place of all the others. Her home was growing larger, after all, and they could use the space this tree was consuming. It’s roots, twisted and unsightly, were soaking up water they could surely use. The girl set out to complete what her father could not. Though the steel in her ax was stronger than her ancestor’s, she was still unable to pierce the formidable trunk. No blade she forged could puncture its shell. Her ropes unraveled with every attempt at an uprooting. Finally, with all options exhausted, if this stubborn tree would not move, she would simply destroy the ground it stood on. She forged a torch from its branches and placed fire at its feet. The dark of the forest crackled. The girl’s face glowed, soaked in victory. The tree did not give in. It called on its old sparring partner. Gusts brushed beneath its fiery leaves, red and gold, flames dancing in the sky. The wind was generous in its dispersal. The girl watched in terror as the fire she started spread further than she could control. The embers were returned to her and she glowed once again, dancing a final, shrieking dance. The heat nipped at the skyscrapers; a magnificent orange roared through the buildings and the homes that were once trees turned to a forest of flames. The wind called on a favor from the clouds and the rains came and extinguished the danger. The smoke cleared, ash lay in place of the homes, and the tree stood, still.


This is how the world ends, not with a bang, but with a hum. Alexis woke up to another migraine headache. She was becoming worried that something else might be going on, something more serious. She would get migraines periodically, but this one had been persistent for days now. Her boyfriend Brian walked into the bathroom as she was taking some medicine for her headache. “I think I need one of those too,” he said, taking the bottle from her and dropping a pill in his hand. “You’re getting a migraine too?” she asked. “God, I hope not,” he replied. “I can just feel a headache coming. Maybe we have a cold front coming through.” Alexis’ headache had been going on for too long for it to be related to the weather, but she wasn’t mentally able to debate it. They kissed each other and went their separate ways to work. The day was hard for her. Her migraine was making it hard to concentrate and by the early afternoon, she told her boss she needed to head home early. When Brian arrived home, he was surprised to see her car in the driveway. He was usually the first one home. “Alexis?” he called out as he crossed the threshold. No answer. He dropped his computer bag when he saw her lying unconscious on the kitchen floor, and ran to her. “Alexis!” he cried out. He tried to call 911, but kept getting a busy signal. Not willing to sit there waiting on the call to go through, he scooped her up and carried her to his car. Once she was safely strapped in the back seat, he drove off towards the hospital. The hospital was in total chaos. Cars where parked on curbs, and a platoon of nurses and doctors were moving quickly to gather up as many of the newly arriving patients as fast as they could. Brian lifted Alexis out of the car and carried her to the hospital entrance. “Help me! My wife collapsed!” he cried out, attracting the attention of a male nurse. “This way,” The nurse told him. As Brian followed the nurse, he asked, “What’s going on?” “People have been complaining of headaches now for a couple of days, but those headaches have grown into migraines, and many are starting to collapse,” the nurse said, weaving through the crowd. “We don’t know what’s causing it, but we’re trying to find a solution as quickly as we can.” He led Brian to an empty bed. “Lay her here,” the nurse said. “I’ll get a doctor here as fast as I can.” \*\*\* A few hours later, Brian exited the insanely crazy hospital, feeling like he had been stabbed in the heart. The doctors had done the best they could, but in the end, Alexis slipped away. They were never able to give him a reasonable explanation, and it seemed to be happening to everyone. Brian rubbed his temple. He could hear a constant hum, and he could feel his headache quickly building. ‘Maybe I’ll be seeing you sooner, rather than later, Alexis’ he thought. He gave one last look back at the hospital, and knowing there was nothing they could do, he walked away. \*\*\* Professor Donald Williams of the Science Institute held out his sonic measuring device as he walked the halls of the crowded hospital. He was picking up the same resonating hum that seemed to be everywhere, and the level was constant. He had hoped the signal would get stronger or weaker as he walked around, giving him an idea of where the source of the signal could be coming from. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to find any answers at the hospital, he left and drove back to his lab. He had already deduced that the hum was the cause of all the headaches people were experiencing. A few days before, he had detected the signal, though he couldn’t determine where it was coming from. When he started seeing his peers around him complaining of headaches, he quickly connected the two, and then tried to find a way to block the signal. He had informed the hospitals of what he had found, but without a solution, there was nothing any of them could do. He had started with ear plugs, noise cancelling headphones, and even tried standing in a sound-proof room, but to no avail. He tried to find the frequency so that he could use an opposite sound wave in an attempt to cancel out the signal, but he wasn’t able to pinpoint the exact frequency. Though he wasn’t sure where the signal was coming from, one thing he was sure of, was that it was getting stronger, and the stronger it got, the more people it would affect. He rubbed his hands through his hair, and then gently rubbed his temples. ‘Oh, great,’ he thought. ‘Now it’s happening to me.’ As the day gave way to night, he took aspirin as he continued to work. Anything he could do to keep the headache at bay. He knew the stronger the pain that was invading his head got, the harder it would be to concentrate. Early in the morning, his phone rang. “Dr. Williams,” he answered. “Donald,” his friend and colleague Dr. Tom Burton started. “We’ve found the source of the signal.” “What?” Donald said. “That’s great, Tom! How do we shut it off?” “We don’t,” Tom replied. “What do you mean, we don’t?” Donald asked. “I mean, it’s out of our reach,” Tom replied. Donald was confused. “It’s coming from space,” Tom clarified. Three hours later, Donald arrived at the university where Tom was a lab professor. Upon his arrival, they shook hands and Tom lead him to the lab where they had been able to locate the direction the signal was coming from. “We’re still scanning space to isolate the area from which the signal is coming from, but so far, we haven’t seen anything of note,” Tom explained. He led Donald to a large machine with a number of displays. Almost all of them where showing the sine waves of the signal that was causing everyone to hear a hum and have headaches. “The reason we haven’t been able to isolate the frequency, is because it’s being transmitted across all the known frequencies,” Tom explained. “The signal is very advanced, and we haven’t been able to find a solution on how to stop it,” he continued. “Many of my lab techs are dealing with headaches, and a few have not been able to continue. “I’ve started to pull as many personnel from other departments to replace them, but as of this morning, only a half dozen of us have yet to experience any headaches. Everyone who has been experiencing the headaches have complained of hearing a constant hum. We can only assume it’s the signal, but every effort to block the signal hasn’t worked. “The only thing we know for sure is that the signal is getting stronger and that it’s affecting the entire planet. No country is safe, and every scientist in the world is working on a solution. “As the signal gets stronger, more begin to hear the hum and begin getting headaches. Those that have already been hearing the hum and have headaches, complain that it gets much worse, turning into full-blown migraines. “Those with migraines don’t last long, as they all end up going to the hospital to seek help, but we have yet to have anyone return. “Our only hope is, as the signal gets stronger, we can then isolate the source, and that will help us focus our efforts to block the signal, or even signal back, hoping whoever is sending it will stop.” “Can’t we send a message in the direction we know it’s coming from?” Donald asked. “We already did,” Tom replied. “But there has been no response. Our hope for now, is that as the signal becomes stronger, the better we’ll be able to find a way to block it. “Of course, as time goes by, the headaches will only make it more difficult to concentrate, and eventually work at all.” They both understood the gravity of the situation, and quickly resumed work in the desperate hope of finding a solution. They both worked through the night, but by morning, Donald was unable to focus, and could only do minimal tasks. He knew that going to the hospital to seek treatment wouldn’t help, so he decided the best course of action was to keep working until the end. The end came at three in the afternoon. Tom, who now had the makings of a pretty bad headache himself, could only spare a few moments to mourn his friend, and then it was back to work. Tom was in constant contact with scientist from around the world, all working toward the common goal of locating the source of the code, and a way to block it, but as time passed with no new answers, their numbers began to dwindle. Tom worked tirelessly, as he watched one by one of his colleagues collapse and die shortly thereafter. His own headaches were getting worse, and he knew he didn’t have much longer. ‘I just wish I could get rid of this stupid hum for just a few minutes,’ he begged to no one in particular. Taking a short break, he walked down the hall to the break room to grab some coffee. Because of the migraine, he was no longer able to sleep. All he could do was mainline coffee to keep himself as alert as possible. There were several televisions on and all of them were running reports on the number of deaths the signal was causing. They droned on about what the governments were working on, possible leads scientists were pursuing, and how much longer they expected the planet to survive. Apparently, the constant hum was also affecting all the animals, and they were dying off as quickly as their human compatriots. Tom sipped his coffee, hoping something someone would say would give a clue as to what was happening. As he stood up to leave, before him stood a humanoid creature staring back at him. ‘Oh God, I’m losing my mind,’ he thought, keeping his gaze on the alien before him. It looked like it was trying to communicate with him, but all he could hear was that constant hum that was beginning to block out all other sounds. Tom used hand gestures to convey that he had no idea what the alien was trying to tell him. He felt slightly amused at the thought that he might be actually only talking to himself. ‘I’m about to die, and this is what my mind has defaulted to?’ he asked himself. He carried on the confusing conversation, when suddenly, the hum grew enormously louder, causing him to drop to one knee in pain. The alien approached him with a look of wanting to help, but Tom felt like his head was about to explode. The world around him was becoming increasingly blurry, and with a final shot of pain, his world went black. \*\*\* T’noch snapped his head back as his connection with the human was severed. He shook his head slowly. He couldn’t understand why he was having so much trouble keeping a connection to the creatures that inhabited the planet they were slowly approaching. He turned around to face his captain and report in his own language. “Sir, I’ve just lost another connection to another one of those creatures,” he said. “I don’t understand what the issue could be. We have not encountered this issue with any other planet we have visited. “I began reaching out a cycle ago, and as we have gotten closer, I have been able to make contact with many of them, but after only moments of opening communications with them, the connection is severed, and I’m forced to start over. “What are your orders?” The captain looked at him as he contemplated their next move. “Didn’t you say your connections were becoming easier and more frequent as we neared the planet?” the captain asked. “Yes, sir,” T’noch replied. “I am able to connect to a being much faster, but the connection never last.” The Captain nodded. “Very well,” he said. “While we prefer to announce our arrival ahead of time, so they can better prepare themselves for our arrival, we may have to arrive unexpected and hope for the best. “Continue your attempts until we arrive. Increase power if you need to.” “Yes sir,” T’noch replied. One cycle later, they arrived at the planet they had been attempting to communicate with through a telepathic connection. “Sir,” T’noch started. “This is strange, but I’m not reading any lifeforms on the planet.” The Captain stood up in surprise. “Explain!” he demanded. “Every living creature on the planet appears to be dead,” T’noch explained. “The cause?” the Captain asked. “Unknown, sir,” T’noch answered. “All I can tell is that it happened recently. That may explain why I have not been able to communicate with any of them in half a cycle.” “Continue the scans,” the Captain instructed. “Once we are sure it wasn’t a virus, or poses a threat to us, we’ll land on the planet for further investigation. In the meantime, begin transmitting to the next planet on our charts. Once we complete our investigation here, we’ll continue on to them.” “Yes, sir,” T’noch replied. \*\*\* Two cycles later, T’noch reported from the surface back up to the Captain. “Sir,” he began. “I’m afraid I’ve discovered the cause of their extinction.” “What was the cause?” the Captain asked. “I’m afraid it was us,” T’noch replied. “Apparently, their minds were not able to accept the telepathic link, and instead overwhelmed their minds. I’m afraid we inadvertently caused their extinction.


Don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t loo- dammit.

My stride stuttered as I again was unable to keep my eyes forward, away from the sparkling temptress the universe has placed in my path as some cruel joke. Not only is there a high-end jeweler right on my walk to work, but it happens to be the one housing the St. Beneficio Egg. Many have heard of Faberge eggs, but those are cheap trinkets in comparison to the St. Beneficio Egg. It’s gorgeous. It’s priceless. Well, technically it did have a price: $225 million. As if anyone with $225 million would just walk by and impulsively buy the egg from the window. I never understood why a jeweler would just put it in the window like that. Probably just the universe trying to test me.

I left the egg in my wake, as I did every morning, and tried to forget about it. There was a time in my life that I would have had that egg months ago. The first time I’d seen it, I would have begun planning. In just a few weeks, I’m sure I would’ve been ready to make a move. I mean, damn, when I was in the game, I was good. All it would take was a little observation of the business, the employees, the security measures… no. Dammit I was not doing a good job forgetting about that egg. I shook my head and went back into reality, only to realize I’d walked right past my office.

I knew it wasn’t rational, but I didn’t want to do a 180 and show everyone I had messed up. I decided that as long as I’d already missed the office I might as well just get coffee at the upcoming cafe. That way it would be like I had purposely walked by the office for a reason. But if I was going to show up late to work with coffee, I had to offer to bring some for everyone else. Or at least anyone that responded within the couple minutes from when I sent out a text to when I was ordering. I whip out my phone and shoot off a text, but somehow, as if another test from the universe, I must have clicked the wrong “James” and my past comes back again.

James: Hey girl, I imagine I wasn’t supposed to be in that group coffee text. My, how boring your life must have become to have a group coffee text

Me: You are right about exactly one thing: you weren’t supposed to be in that text.

James: Oh please. Don’t pretend you’re not bored. You know you miss the thrill, and the lifestyle. I know you burned through those profits quick. You must be almost out… hence whatever dead-end job you got where you’re stuck getting everyone coffee.

Me: Getting coffee isn’t part of my job. I’m just doing it

I paused. I was about to type “for fun,” but if I’m getting coffee for the office for fun, wouldn’t that just prove his point about my life? That would have just sounded sad. I deleted it and typed “for today.” But wouldn’t that make it sound like it is part of my job, just not everyday? Why did I care so much what James thought? I started thinking maybe I should just not respond, when he texted again.

James: I’m going to take this sudden silence as meaning I’m right. Well if you’re so bored, I’m going to be in the city in a few weeks and I would be more than willing to help you with a job. Just think, this time you could live off that money for years since you’d be more careful about your spending… Stupid James thinking I was bored. I wasn’t bored. I loved my new life. Well, I liked it. It was fine. At least I wasn’t perpetually at risk of going to prison or dying. It was a much safer life. Plenty of people were happy in lives just like this. I just needed to get adjusted to the slower pace.

James: No need to decide right now. Just let me know in the next couple weeks so I can prepare.

Getting out of the life was the smartest decision I ever made. So why was I considering James’s offer? I mean, maybe one last heist wouldn’t be the worst idea. I could get it out of my system. Like smokers having one last cigarette before quitting. Or like smokers using nicotine patches to quit. I mean no one just quits cold turkey… that never works. Plus, James was right that one last heist could hold me over financially for years. And if we pulled the right heist, it could last me for life. One long, lowkey, normal life. James was also right that I had already blown through all my money from all my prior jobs before I decided to give up the life. At the time I had thought it would keep coming in at the same rate.

Coffee Orders: Yeah, I’ll take a large hazelnut latte! Thanks! Coffee Orders: Large iced coffee, almond milk, caramel.

Coffee Orders: And James would like a large hot coffee with cream no sugar. Not sure why he’s not in the chat.

Coffee Orders: Medium herbal tea for me! You’re the best!

Coffee Orders: I’m Hilary, I drink tea, I’m so special and different.

Coffee Orders: Laugh at me all you want, but at least I treat my body with the respect it deserves so that it can take care of me. Ugh, Tim, why did you have to stir the pot? Was Hilary insanely irritating with her pretentious, clean-living, crystal-loving, treat-every-living-thing-like-a-friend attitude? Yes. But that was more something we talked about behind her back than brought up directly to her. What was even the point? She wasn’t going to change just because--

Oh my god. How was this my life? Inane workplace drama. This didn’t used to be something I would care about. Maybe it was good that it was something I care about in my new, normal life. The drama Tim stirred up was the talk of the office and I let myself get lost in it. I forgot entirely about the St. Beneficio Egg and James. I didn’t even think to look in the window on my walk home, mostly because I was on my phone texting about the Tim-Hilary situation and how it had split the entire office into Team Tim and Team Hilary. James and that egg were things of the past. At least for the day.

The next day, I walked by the jeweler again and again I caught myself looking at the egg. I tried to remind myself of the Tim-Hilary thing to try and distract myself, but it turned out that a little workplace conflict was more of a one-day distraction. Who knew when the next distraction of that magnitude might come up? That was the biggest thing that had happened in weeks. God my life was boring. But it was the smart thing to do. Wasn’t it? Maybe some people just aren’t meant for boring lives… But I gave that up for a reason! I needed to stop thinking like this was even an option. It was only an option because James was coming to town. If I’d never texted him on accident or if he wasn’t coming or if that stupid egg wasn’t on my walk to work, I’d never be considering going back to the life.

Then again, maybe the accidental text coming right before James’s trip and the insanely valuable egg just happening to be on my walk to work wasn’t by chance. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe the universe wanted me to have one last hurrah before giving it all up forever. I mean, what are the odds of it all lining up just by coincidence?

But if I really wanted to quit and leave it all behind, like I knew I should, I needed to resist the temptation to pull one last heist. I was done with that life. For good. And I couldn’t say that if I was just a couple random coincidences away from pulling another heist at any given moment. I was not pulling a heist and that was final.

And it was final. For a few days. Then James texted again.

James: So… we on or what? Listen, I could only tell myself that it was all a bunch of coincidences for so long. It wasn’t like James to actively seek out a job. He normally waited for the jobs to come to him. There was only one explanation: the universe wanted me to pull this one last job. I mean, if I just pulled one last job, this time knowing it was my last job, it could hold me over forever, both financially and in excitement. Me: I know a place. I’ll do recon. Meet me in George’s Cafe on 8th at 5:30 PM on the 14th and

we’ll go over job details.

James: See you then.

Over the next couple weeks, I went through my normal routine. I got the blueprints from public records (thank god for zoning requirements). I observed the opening and closing procedures from the restaurant across the street, which familiarized me with the security measures. I scoped out the cameras and found out which ones they were by shopping online for cameras that looked the same. I knew James would find the buyer. By the time he was in town, I had our plan ready to go. And it was flawless, truly some of my best work.

James was one hundred percent on board. He had already found the buyer and was ready to go. He agreed to strike that very night, just as I’d planned. We waited for night to fall, then for nightlife to die off, bars to close, everyone to get home. Around 3:45 AM, after everyone had made their way home from bars and parties but before the early morning people were up, I was outside the jewelry store, wig in place, shoes with hidden lifts changing my height, wearing big reflective glasses that would mess with the cameras. Right on time, I saw James approaching, matching me in glasses, wearing the ridiculous outfit we’d agreed on. I tried not to laugh. “You ready?” he asked. I answered with a simple nod and began typing the lockbox code I’d watched the manager type a dozen times.

Just as the lockbox clicked open, suddenly lights were flashing and sirens screaming. “HANDS ON YOUR HEAD! NOW! GET ON THE GROUND!” I spun around to see two cops coming from across the street, guns and flashlights trained on me. Cop cars came flying around the corner, sirens blaring and lights flashing. Stunned, I obeyed, dropping to my knees and locking my hands behind my head. What were the odds? For years I was pulling heists without being caught, but the one heist I pull after going straight…

But that’s when I noticed it. James. He wasn’t dropping to the ground. He wasn’t putting his hands behind his head. He wasn’t even surprised. He refused to make eye contact as the officers placed the cuffs, but I couldn’t look away. So it wasn’t a coincidence, but it wasn’t the universe either. “James?” He winced as I said his name. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. I was shocked. James and I had been partners for years before I left.

“James, I knew you were disappointed when I gave it up but this?”

“It’s not about that… They had me in custody when you texted… they offered me a deal if I could get them you too…” “But you knew I was out--” Then a cop started in on my rights, beginning with the right to remain silent, and I shut up. I’d said too much already. I mean, they couldn’t possibly have had too much on me, could they? As I ducked into the back of a cop car I could not believe that I was so stupid to go for that damn egg. I knew better. Oh god, this was going to last the office wayyyy longer than the Tim-Hilary thing. Oh god, how was I thinking about the office right now? I guess I was more into that new life than I thought I was… A realization that came too late.


It starts as most things between handsome boys and shy girls do - with a crush.  I'm walking to AP Latin. The crowds in the corridors are booming with excited pubescents hurrying along in bright lavender bomber jackets. It's basketball season, and everyone's beaming for the match this afternoon. I'm not. Obviously. I rarely ever beam. It's not a word to be associated with me. I snark at most. And I'm snarking up a storm currently. People keep bumping into me. Smelling too much like teenagers and cheap cosmetics for my liking. I have to wait for the crowds to disperse in order to make it to the classroom or risk squirming between the clicks. The nerds don't mind with the crowds. They sort of form a line and just march out in sync. I'm almost jealous. By the time I make it to class, I'm five minutes late, and Mrs Peters is looking at me with clear disapproval. "Basil," she greets. "Do you have a late slip?" The class barely looks my way. They have a blackboard of pre-written nouns to jot down, and I'm just a few extra writing minutes for them. I'm about to make an excuse. My tongue is already curling with the words when Adrian walks in behind me. I know him. Everybody knows him. He's in the top social circle at school. Best friends with the board of director's son, the student council president, the basketball team's captain. He has a lot of well-known, rich best friends. Though he, himself, is neither rich nor overbearing. He's vice captain of the debate team. His parents own a bakery, I like their donuts. He's handsome but in an elegant, aquiline way. Not really the buff blonde Adonis type the girls here prefer. He knows me too. I see his eyes blink in recognition as he stops just short of tumbling into me. His bag is hung over his shoulder, as he sways, it swats into my side a little. "Sorry Basil," he says to me casually, moving forward to greet Mrs Peters and plead for forgiveness. I blink at his back. "Sorry I'm late. The basketball team's got banners blocking our way from the entry all the way to the pools." He smiles disarmingly, and though she's still frowning, she waves us both to our seats. I'm a bit peeved. I'm sure I would've gotten scolded, even with an elegant excuse, but mostly, I'm just curious. Adrian Winters knows my name. Why. I ignore the soft heat on my cheeks and take a seat at the back of the class. Adrian's had a seat saved for him by Melissa Drake, head cheerleader. I watch him. I can't help but. Even as I scribble out my notes, my eyes keep drifting over the width of his shoulders and the soft edges of his spine under his cashmere top. I know I'm a bit strange. It's rude to stare, as my nan would say, but it's a nasty habit I've never grown out of. I can't quite stop myself anymore. I'm a watcher. I watch people. I have little else to do. I don't really have friends. Everyone at Blackthorn High has a colorful inner life. It's a cesspool for drama and scandal. I've avoided all that carnage and as a consequence I'm left alone. I don't mind it very much. It's fun being an observer. A fly on the wall picking apart the stories that drift along the gossip spread. I'm sure most people have seen me. Could summon up a vague picture of me if given a description, or perhaps recall the first syllable of my name. I've worked with some on group projects. Others, I've had run of the mill incidents with. Bumping into them. Borrowing a pencil. Offering some gum. There's being aware of my prescence, and there's knowing me. No one knows me. Not with any form of familiarity. So it's odd that Adrian Winters, who runs with the golden league of peers, looks at me as though he knows my face and calls my name as though he's said it before. As though we've interacted. It rubs me in an odd way. Not in a bad way. I doubt anyone could be upset getting attention from Adrian. He's sweeter than most. Kinder. He tugs at the loose hair at the back of his neck when taking notes in Latin class. It's cut shorter at the back, with all his curls on top. It's not terrible to be noticed, now and again - but it's strange that it's happened in the first place. A bit like an itch that I don't know how to scratch. Latin class passes dully. The two girls ahead of me are talking about who they're going to take to the game tonight. My eyes still drift over to Adrian, his dark brown curls that lay tidy and coiffed on him. His jeans are cuffed neatly at the ankles. I glance up at the clock. Twenty minutes left. I glance back at him. His head has turned. He's sat right at the front of the class but his eyes are on me. Chocolate brown and curious. He smiles, a barely there thing. Just the tilt of his lips. He looks away. I don't. I couldn't. He's caught me. It seems Adrian Winters is a watcher too...it sets my teeth on edge. Not the fact that he looked at me. But that he looked away so quickly. It makes me feel antsy, stupid. Like another teenage dirtbag caught in my hormones. Which, fair. I am one. But still. It's just an overall upsetting feeling to be at this point in my existence. To want a beautiful boy for no other reason but that he looked at you a bit too much and his lips quirked and your eyes couldn't look away from him. Like most calamities...it starts with a crush. And how many terrible things could be avoided if humanity was void of things such as illogical yearning. Romeo and Juliet wouldn't of died. Anne Boleyn would still have her head. I wouldn't be sat at this stupid basketball game. In this stupid bomber jacket looking out at shiny wooden floors and trying to catch a glance at a lean boy with brown curls on the other side of the stands. He's sitting next to Melissa Drake again. She'd finished her cheer performance before the game had started and then headed up to sit with him, still in her purple skirt with her white pompoms at her feet. Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders. He smiles at her and turns back to the game. I sip at my grape slushie, pulling my hood up over my head. He's an odd one. No normal seventeen year old looks at Melissa Drake in her cheerleading outfit and then looks away less than second after. Inanimate objects sway in her direction. He does give her attention. He leans into her space. Smiles. Laughs. But it's all a bit too cold. I want to be upset about it. I find him cute and the greedy part of my brain that's laid claim on him is telling me to be jealous, to want to fight for him. Which is madness honestly. Practically hilarious considering I wouldn't stand an inch of a chance, but I can't even focus on the greedy feeling churning in my tummy because he's just so...confusing. I can't help but feel that there's something off about how he acts around her. Maybe they have bad blood behind the scenes. Or maybe they're exes and the news just never made its way into the public. I doubt it though. Melissa's known for wearing broken hearts like trophies. She's the queen bee of queen bees. The feature of every man's wet dream and nightmare combined. Like a sexy, cheerleading Freddy Krueger. It would be admirable, honestly, if she didn't absolutely terrify me. There's a loud beeping as the Blackthorn boys score. One of them is hanging off the opposition's hoop hollering. The stands break into screams and yells. It's like there's a fire and they're all about to die. I stay seated. My gaze trails away from the sweaty jocks hugging it out and back up to the stands. Melissa has made her way down  and is joining her friends in a very synchronized, acrobatic dance while singing some commerative jingle. My eyes flick away from her. Adrian is sat in his seat, one leg crossed over the other. He's clapping, a bright smile on his face as he looks down at the team. I wonder why he's not standing. Why hasn't he run down like some of the other teammates' friends? The cheers continue around us, getting louder and louder. But Adrian simply sits. He stops clapping. Hands falling onto his lap. His smile slips off like silk on skin, like it was never there. No one's looking at him, besides me. Everyone else is focused on the winning team down below. He frowns. A bored, cold expression falling over his polite features. His gaze travels around, it's not open curiosity. He looks annoyed. At the stands. At the people. Our eyes meet. His expression doesn't change but he squints at me and tilts his head as if he doesn't understand why we're staring at each other when everyone else is focused on celebrating. I don't look away. Neither does he. He raises two fingers to his temple and mimics a gunshot. He smiles, almost meanly at me. I slurp at my slushie, enjoying the show. *** Distance makes the heart grow fonder. That's how the saying goes. I argue, that distance makes obsession burn brighter. The heart is an innocent thing, I'm sure it takes pleasure in pining away at a far-off lover. Obsession, on the other hand, is a beast. And beasts grow feral. Hungry. They grow desperate. These are all thoughts that parade around in me during the weekend. Now that I've gotten a taste of Adrian, of his soft fake smiles and unadultered attention, I want more. I want everything. It's very problematic, considering we don't run in the same social circles. Well, I don't run in any social circles, but never mind that. It's maddening. I truly can't stop thinking about him. He comes up in the randomest of moments. During a family lunch. While I'm napping under an orange tree, trying to enjoy the sun. While I'm washing my hair. While I'm trying to fall asleep, at night, in bed...It's all very stressful and crazy. I wrote his name down as an answer in one of my English comprehension tests. He's even an impediment on my grades. He's driving me to the brink of insanity. But I feel as though mild insanity is a normal part of the teenage girl experience. This ugly abyss in my mind that grieves for beautiful things I can't stake a claim on. I might consider therapy. I am considering it, as my legs take me into my driver's seat and through the roads leading onto Maple Lane. I'm seriously considering it. Because Adrian Winters lives on Maple Lane. Number 12. The front of his house is pastel pink, with a cupcake drawn on the sign above. His parents bakery - the Sugar Fairy. It's cute, kitchy. A bit ominous looking at 2 AM with no other cars in the road. Thank God, my car's fairly inconspicious. A little silver Atos, I'd inherited from my older sister when she'd upgraded. I park in front of number 11, the lattice fencing gives me sight into Adrian's backyard where there's a rusty old swing. White paint is peeling from the bricks and I can clearly make out the large windows that line the top floor of the house. There's only one light on. The middle window. I can just make out the faint silhouette of navy sheets on a double bed and a large dark cupboard, there's a glowing lamp near the window, probably atop the desk. This is stalking, I realise very quickly. It's not so much reaching insanity as it is very insane and probably mildly illegal, but I'm already here. It'd be a waste of petrol to just drive back. And the prices went up recently. I promise myself to look into the therapy as I settle into my seat, turning on the heat. In the dash to my car, I'd brought along my algebra homework and a bag of chips. Apparently my subconscious had known I was in it for the long run. I get started on the homework, making it a fair way until my eyes dart up to the window again. The light's still on but I haven't seen anyone, even while I was tracing the corners of the room. Which got my mind to wondering what teenage boys did, up at 2AM, with their bedroom lights still on. Which led to a whole other branch of unhealthy thoughts. Of which I send my serious apologies to Adrian for. But then the mystery was solved, when he stumbled to his desk. Shirtless. Tits out. Well, not tits exactly. But an exquisite chest. Supple. His hair was dripping. Little drip, drops onto his collarbones. My mouth went dry, must be the chips. Salt and vinegar. I chucked the empty bag alongside my homework to the back seat and leaned forward over the steering wheel. He truly was very handsome. Lovely. His cheeks were flush, probably from the heat of shower. His hair was a shade darker than usual, like melted chocolate. I sat there very long, just staring. My eyes wandered to my dashboard clock. Why was he showering at 2 AM? I threw my head harshly against my steering wheel, my forehead aching. Oh. Teenage boys. Right. I slumped down in my seat, eyes catching the metal shine of my phone. The morality vs immorality of taking a picture shot through my mind like flash paper. Like a forest fire. It would be very very wrong. Harassment. Perversion. I took a picture. I took several. The disgust with myself being smothered by the greedy little monster who was happy with these stored memories and moments of him. He drifted off eventually, my eyes sad to see him go but consoled by the arches of his bare shoulders and the unmarked, creamy skin of his waist. While he was gone, I looked up numbers for therapists in the area. He was gone long enough for me to jot down a few in my notes. Then a half an hour passed, my homework was finished, my chips only crumbs. And I was growing ansty. The greedy little monster growing curious. The light was still on. Another half an hour passed, and the small sane part of me argued that it really was time to be getting home - that he'd probably fallen asleep with the lights on. But the sane part of me was a liar. I could see the edges of his bed and I caught no glimpses of pale feet or ruffled sheets. Tommorow was Sunday, I was free to sleep in. I chewed on the tip of my pencil, eyes trained on the window. The garage door swung open with a cloud creak and I jumped in shock. The top of my head hitting my visor. I hissed rubbing at the skin as light flooded into the road. The door stood open for a few moments but there was no rumble of an engine. My Atos was parked in the shadows of Number 11 but I still flinched lower in my seat as a figure left the house. It was Adrian. His face was obscurred but I could tell by his height, by the width of his shoulders and the size of his steps. He'd changed into a dark gray hoodie with black sweats and sneakers. He stood at the entryway, staring off into the woodland clearing on the other side of the road. A part of me was worried he'd spot me. A part of me wanted him too. Both parts were quickly silenced by the ominous pool of dread that washed over me as I witnessed him go back into the garage and return, dragging an object rolled up in several black bags and tied with rings of duct tape. The object was clearly very heavy as he could barely lift it. He struggled to lift it and instead started dragging it by one of its tapered ends over the road and into the clearing. I let go of the breath I'd been holding and immediately, a large swell of nausea filled me. I could spot feet poking out the end of the wrapping and one cold, blue hand. He hoisted it up over his shoulder and a white cheerleading pompom dotted with red fell to the ground. I grabbed at the chips packet and breathed in the vinegar scent, letting it sooth the urge to boke all over the seats. He dragged the body deep into the forest line on the other side of the road. His figure, dissappearing into the trees and shadows. He came back fifteen minutes later, legs muddy and a thin layer of sweat covering his brow. His face was visible from this side. Pale. Nervous. His eyes were wide, hands shaking by his sides. He picked up the pompom. His breaths were heavy. He ran into the garage and came back out with a shovel. My eyes went wide. Just as he reached the treeline, he turned back, his eyes tracing frantically across the road and falling onto mine. He saw me, tilting his head curiously to the one side. His mouth pulled downwards, eyes glazing with coldness. His lips mouthed around one word, "Basil?" My heart fell flat against my ribcage. He saw me.


You’re in line at the grocery store. An old sickly man is uncomfortably close to you, not more than 5 1/2 feet away. You think about turning to tell him to back off but worry that you might breathe in his air in the space between your words.  You think better of it and scoot a few inches forward. The lady in front of you shoots an annoyed glance in your direction. Well... you’re pretty confident it’s a lady, and that it was a glance, the hazmat suit makes it hard to tell.  You scoot back half the distance as a compromise. The line moves forward. you purchase your groceries, suspiciously eyeing the fingerprint residue on the debit pin pad. You decide to run it as credit. The cashier hands you a pen to sign and compliments your smile. You blush and say tha.... oh my god you're touching your face. Why are you touching your face?! It’s probably nothing.  The cashier is staring at you in horror. It’s not nothing, you’ve been compromised. Gavin Newsom and Andrew Cuomo suddenly bursts through the door with a team of pandemic police. They put you in a glass box and ship you to a local zoo that’s been converted to a holding area.  Welcome to quarantine  Ok, this is probably fine right? I'm in the care of professionals, they are looking out for my best and the public good. A worker comes out into the room. he's wearing all white and carrying a... watering can? You squint. Yeah, that's what it is. He starts to pour water over the tops of your glass celled brethren. You look up. Holes.  The worker is nearing closer now, methodically watering each box. Everyone looks confused, and people start to shout and ask questions. "Why are we here?" "Why don't we have beds?!" The thought hadn't struck you, but it was now poignantly odd that someone should be quarantined in a standing glass box.  Another oddity catches your attention. The shouts are subsiding. But only the ones furthest away, like a trailing silence. You watch and listen as the silence closes in on you. The worker is watering your neighbor now. You see for the first time that it's not quite water at all. It mists as much as it pours. It fills his cell and his body slackens, a faint smile on at the corner of his mouth.  Your turn. The worker looks at you, his gaze is detached. He raising his arms and the can with it. Your nose fills with sweet, then sour, and every iteration between. Your skin blazes with sensation as if your nerve ending were being trailed through cotton. And finally, a deep, comforting slumber engulfs you. You fall into nothing.  Awake. You look around blurry-eyed. The boxes are gone, replaced with smears of green and yellow. Your eyes widen and force shut in an attempt to restore your vision. It only makes it worse. You go to rub your eyes but your hand never reaches them. you look to the side. You only see leaves. You look down, more leaves. Your vision darkens as you lose the ability to crane your neck.  Your vision returns, but not in the same way. You feel the light as much as you see it. Your thoughts become simple. Warm light. Grow tall. Reach more light. Nice smile.


The address I had been given led me to an old building on Mission Street. On the walls of the entryway I saw the names of the different businesses that occupied the place. The names included a firm called The Introduction and another called This Narrative. I saw the one I was looking for, the one my friend had scribbled down for me: This is It!. According to the directory, This is It! was on the third floor. As I was halfway up the stairs, I walked by what appeared to be an old closet with the door half-open. Lights, colored lights, were coming from somewhere inside. I could not resist taking a peek. I walked in and as I turned in around the door, I saw two people admiring a strange sculpture. They were both wearing goggles. One of the figures was wearing a lab coat. The other had on an outfit that reminded me of a spacesuit. It was wrinkly and shiny and reflected the colored light around the room. The room itself was full of other sculptures, contorted, geometric pieces and other things that looked like large chunks of glass. The two figures both turned their heads toward me as I walked in. “Amazing, isn’t it?” one of them asked me. “Um, what is?” I replied. “You see,” he explained, “or perhaps you don’t see. In any case, when we percieve things, be they objects or animals or sculptures, what we see or perceive is not really the object itself but all that lies between us and the object.” “I don’t understand” I said. “Well, for example the intervening air or the light, the physical and also psychological preconceptions that you might have. Thus, to change an object you don’t have to change the object itself, you just have to change how it is perceived.” “I’m sorry,” I explained, ”I really have to go.” I walked out of the room and continued up the stairs. Arriving at the third floor, I reached an office door that had a piece of paper taped to the door. The paper said “Yes, This is It!” so I assumed that, yes, it was. Before I could knock, the door swung open and a man came out. He asked me if I was thirsty. “No, I am not, thank you.” “What did you think of what you saw downstairs?”, he inquired. “What do you mean?” “The room with the colored lights. You peeked in, of course. Everybody peeks in.” “What was going on in there?”, I asked. “I have no idea,” he said. “I think they are artists.” We both stared at each other for a bit after that. It was an uncomfortable moment. He was looking at me but not expecting me to say anything. He was looking at me the way one might gaze at a painting, studying me. I realized that he was not going to say anything more so I spoke up. “I’m here to see you. A friend recommended you. You see, I lost my dog. I was out walking her and let her off the leash just for a moment and next thing I knew she had disappeared! I don’t know what to do. She was my companion. It has been awfully lonely in this city and now here I am losing my dog! My friend said that you find dogs, that you can help me.” “Sure, lets go!” he said and started leaping down the stairs. What could I do? I chased after him. At the bottom of the stairs he was waiting for me. “Where was it that you lost her?” “Oh. Nearby here. The corner of Valencia and 20 th .” We walked over there together. This time he walked slowly down the street, looking all around, the way that tourists do in a new city, appearing somewhat astonished and also in a mood to be astonished, eager to be amused. “You know,” he said suddenly,” I usually don’t do dogs.” “What do you do, exactly?” It only now occurred to me to ask. “I am a finder. But I usually deal in, well, more metaphysical things. People ask me to find them not their lost love, but a new love. Or, to find them a new favorite pastime, or to help them see differently, though I’d have to take some time to explain to you what I mean. In most cases, I help people find what is already there.” “And how do you do all that?” “Ooh, I really want a taco!” he burst out suddenly and then ran right into a taqueria. I followed him, of course. The smell of the grill had wafted into the street and I had to admit that I too was starting to get a bit hungry. I ordered a taco too and sat down with him at a table where he was already slurping down an agua fresca. He was staring at a framed picture on the wall of the taqueria. It was a large painting of a rotisserie, nothing else. But the rotissier looked just like the one that they had in the taqueria itself. “I love that painting” he said “It is clearly done lovingly. It makes you appreciate what a wonderful thing a rotisserie is, you know. Clearly, the painting has been hanging here for years. The grease stains on it match the wall quite well.” I merely nodded. “You know” he told me, “there is a guy at the table in the corner that keeps glancing at you. He is either trying to figure out how to mug you or maybe he is interested in you.” I turned around and there was someone there. I knew him. He lived in another apartment in the same building. We had greeted each other a couple times but I cannot say I knew him. Nevertheless, we looked at each other when I turned around and I gave him a weak wave. He waved back. The finder – I didn’t even know his name – yelled out “Hey! Come join us!” My neighbor came over as requested and the finder-guy said “Hi! We are looking for her dog.” This of course started a conversation among us, about my dog, about the taqueria and we all introduced ourselves. The conversation had been loud enough that it became one of those conversations that dominates a room. The other tables were either single people downing their burritos or a quiet couple or two, all amused by the conversation at our table. “I think I saw the dog!” a girl at a nearby table volunteered. She went on to explain that she was certain she saw the dog around Valencia and 21st, heading rapidly North. By the time we left the taqueria, we had become a small group. It was a Saturday afternoon, it was a sunny day and many of the people in the taqueria had something of a loose agenda for that day. We all walked toward Valencia and 21 st and when we stopped, I began to explain what had happened. The finder-man then piped up “You know, if I was a dog, I’d head West. There are better smells coming from that direction. From just the few moments we have been standing here, it is clear to me that dog traffic is naturally heading in that direction” We only made it a block before we all stopped for ice cream. Ice cream cones in hand, the group continued westwards, heading in the direction of Dolores Park. “This is Dog Central!” the finder-person spoke up,” this is where I would go to if I were a dog.” We all generally agreed that indeed the impulses of a dog would be likely to lead them here, but despite splitting up and looking all around the park, we failed to find my dog. I asked the finder what he had planned now. He stated that he had no plans. His plan, as it were, was to stay here at the park because it had a great playground and fields for playing soccer and he loved soccer and he had no urge to be anywhere else. He soon joined in a pick-up soccer game and the last I saw of him was of him doing a remarkable head shot into the goal as his team-mates cheered him on. Some of the other members of our impromptu group also began to scatter. Some went home, others went off to meet their friends. A small group of us remained, however, including the neighbor I had met at the taqueria. With no other ideas, we also decided to stay in the park a bit longer. The summer day had become a warm summer night. Someone had brought a blanket and we all sat and watched the warm sky slowly fade, the cluster of buildings of downtown San Francisco looking like the Emerald city from the Wizard of Oz. As darkness descended, we shared stories about who we were and what we are all doing here in this city,  until we were just a group of disembodied voices, a campfire setting but without a campfire. As the nighttime cold came in, my neighbor asked if we all wanted to go to his place. We could continue chatting there. He had some drinks and snacks too. We all agreed, and headed out together towards the apartment house. We walked back across the same streets. But now, the streets had changed as people that had been out on a sunny day were retreating inside. Bars that had been closed earlier were now alive with people and colored lights. When we arrived at our apartment house, at my home, my dog was waiting for us there on the front stoop.


I told Bryan that I was a Seer , living in a world filled with half-humans and half-supers. That was the world we lived in. Perhaps we always had, and until a few years ago, it became common and acceptable to allow us “Supers” to peacefully exist within our society, without fear of segregation.

But the biases and judgments were still there, despite the High Court’s rulings. New York wasn’t as bad though, compared to smaller towns. I was thankful to be born and raised here with my “special abilities,” since so many others around the world were still being persecuted, mainly in the shadows. I looked around and I could see them, all of the people with their “abilities,” whether they were Supers or not. As a Seer , that was my gift. I don’t know where it came from or why I had it but I did. Like all Supers , I was born with it. I had often seen too many Seers using their special abilities for a life of crime. That wasn't me. I didn’t use my abilities to manipulate or use mind control like others did. I was no hero though. I was just a regular 22-year-old trying to start a career and live a normal life, hopefully with a family one day. Bryan was the love of my life. We'd only been dating for a year but when you know, you know. Bryan was ordinary, I could see straight through him. I always wore my special glasses around him. I didn’t want to use my abilities to ruin the fun of getting to know him. I wanted to be surprised; I wanted to learn about him from experience. When we met, I didn’t have my glasses on. I had tried to run away but it didn’t work. Now, here we were, one year later, young and in love. I'd always been terrified to tell Bryan who I was. Some Supers get worse reps than others, and Seers were one of those. Fortunately, I had a wonderful “Special Abilities” doctor who had me prescribed a pair of “Power-Inhibitor” glasses, so that I could be like everyone else. When I took my rose-colored glasses off, I could see the world completely different, the way it could be. It was beautiful and it was perfect, but it wasn’t real. It could be, but it wasn’t the reality of the world we lived in. Not every Seer had that ability. In fact, I was the only one that I knew of that could do that. It was nice but I felt like I was living a lie that way. The people that I saw with my “seeing” eyes were all better versions of themselves and everyone was happy. No one was evil because everyone had learned how to overcome the darkness. I could see people like they were meant to be, all of them living up to their potential. Admittedly, it was pleasant to live in this fantasy world where there was no pain or suffering. Everyone got along and made the world better. It made me sad to put the glasses on and see that wasn’t in fact, the reality we lived in. Who was I to tell people that they could be better, that they weren’t being the people they were meant to? They'd know I was some type of Seer and I could be bullied or worse. But Bryan had to know. If we were going to get married, he deserved to know the truth. I was terrified of how he'd react. He seemed more progressive, especially as a New Yorker, but who could ever really know? Yesterday was a long-time coming. This is what happened. I texted Bryan in the morning. “Good morning, sweet boy. Coffee at our spot in one hour?” Bryan and I had made a tradition of getting coffee at our favorite, local joint as many Saturday mornings as we could. This would be no normal Saturday morning though. “See you in an hour, babe!” He responded. I got there a little earlier to try and go over what I'd say to him. I sat and stared out the window, overcome with fear. What would he think of me? Would he accept me? Would he walk away? Would he be scared? Scared of a future with someone like me? “Hello, sweet darling!” Bryan gave me his usual, warm smile. I stood up and hugged him, but not before taking a deep breath and trying to exhale my nerves. Could he tell I was shaking? We sat down, and just like Bryan, not even having power, he still managed to sense something was off. “Babe, you okay? You seem nervous.” “Yeah, I’m fine.” I was already lying. “Actually, no I’m not. Could we take a walk?” We left the coffee shop and headed out onto the busy streets towards Central Park. “Babe, you’re scaring me,” he said, “what’s going on?” “You know how obsessed I am about always wearing my favorite glasses?” I asked, trying to cut straight to the point. “Yeah?” “Well, it’s not just that they’re my favorite glasses.” “Okay…” “You know how more and more people are coming out as Supers ?” “I do.” “What do you think about all that?” “I don’t see what this has to do with anything…” “Please, just answer the question,” I begged. “Okay, sure...well, I think it’s great actually. Is this really what you want to talk about? I didn’t think you were into these kinds of things?” “Let’s sit down.” I pointed to a patch of grass on a hill in the middle of the park. Bryan put his arm around me and leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I love you, sweetie, and if you are suddenly into Social Justice issues, we can talk about it.” I let out a deep breath of air, as I was reminded of how sweet and understanding Bryan was. Surely, this wouldn’t be so bad right? Bryan laughed, “Wait, I got it. You want to run for District leader in our Zone?” He laughed, knowing he was off. “Bryan,” I said, seriously. “Yes, love? I’m sorry. Go ahead...you were saying?” I turned and looked at Bryan and saw his father. That made me more nervous. I'd seen Bryan without my glasses on and knew he was nothing like his father but that still didn’t change the fact that I knew what kind of man his dad was. His dad was a political figure who was formerly a Prosecutor. He had put away many Supers . Now, he was all over TV advertising for his Campaigns, being well-known to promise harsh “punishments” for rule-breaking Supers . It was obvious he didn’t trust people like me and he would target our kind as a potential leader. I hadn’t taken my glasses off to read Bryan’s dad. I didn’t want to know. I usually only saw the best in people that way, and what their future could be like, but it didn’t guarantee that it would. I didn’t want to believe the best in Bryan’s dad only to be let down and put myself in danger. I wanted to live in “reality.” I had seen Bryan as he could be when I first met him. I tried to forget about it so I could be pleasantly surprised getting to know him. I still found elements of surprise in the details but I always knew in the back of my mind that Bryan was the type I was attracted to. He was meant to lead people gently, patiently, and kindly. He could potentially be well-respected and loved by many, yet he wouldn’t let that go to his head. He was a man wise beyond his years with a heart just as big to match it. I had experienced that getting to know him over the past year and believed that he could actually fully become the man I saw when I met him. He was not far from totally being that guy already. It was hard to not love him. It was also hard to imagine that his own father was so different than he was. They were both leaders, but his father, by force and intimidation. His father was trying so hard to undo all the good work that was done on behalf of people like me, by the local representatives in my city, a city generally known as a safe-place for Supers . If his father succeeded, it could be a sad day. “Rosie? Hello? Anyone home?” Bryan snapped me back to reality. “Oh sorry, I was just, lost in my head a little.” “What’s going on Sweet Rose? What did you want to talk about?” I let out a sigh, it was now or never. “You said you believed all the work being done on behalf of the Supers was good? Why do you say that? What about your father?” Bryan sighed. “You know how I feel about my father, Rose. I love him, man I have to, but damn if I don’t disagree with everything he stands for. He puts people in a box, Rosie. He does. He doesn’t seem to understand the times we live in and that Supers shouldn’t have to hide in the shadows anymore. It’s a new day.” I smiled. I knew Bryan would get it. But what about when I told him that I was one of them? “Bryan, I have to tell you something…” “Okay, I’m here.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s just that. It’s just that…” I took my glasses off to make a point and right when I did, a huge gust of the North-wind suddenly swept by and took my glasses with it. “No!!” I exclaimed and jumped up to run after them. I took off with Bryan behind me. “Rosie! Rosie, wait! How can you run so fast?! Come back! Wait for me!!” One advantage of being a Super was that we sometimes could do other things a little better than most too, like running, at least for me. Bryan was still on my tail though, a runner in College. My glasses teased me as they blew off down the streets of New York and up under a car where I lost them. I fell down on the sidewalk feeling defeated and discouraged. Great, what was I going to do now? I would have to wait at least a few days before I could order and receive a new pair. A few days of seeing the world as a peachy, wonderful place where people were much better than they really were, seemed like too much of a farce for me. I didn’t know if I could handle it and how could I even look at Bryan? I would read him instantly and know the man he was fully destined to be. Bryan caught up to me and fell down on the sidewalk next to me, panting and out of breath.

“Wow, Rose! Where did you learn to run like that?!!!! I thought I was the runner!!!!” I couldn’t look at him. I buried my face in my hands and began to weep. I didn’t want to be like this. I wanted this power gone. Now! Somebody help me! Anybody. I wept uncontrollably. “Sweet Rosie!” Bryan rubbed my back. “It’s okay, they were just glasses. You can always get another pair.” “No, no Bryan! You don’t understand!” I lifted my head up to face him but kept my eyes clenched tightly shut. He slightly laughed, “Why are you closing your eyes? Am I now suddenly too awful to look at?” Quite the opposite, I thought. “No, Bryan, it’s not that. I’m a Super !” I blurted out. “Okay?! And not just that, but a Seer . If I look at you, I can read you.” I buried my face back in my hands and started crying hysterically. Bryan pulled me closer to him. “Aww...Rosie! What?! You’re serious?! Don’t be ashamed. That’s SO cool Rose. And I don’t care if you read me. But the glasses, they must’ve prevented you from seeing things, yes?!” I nodded, still keeping my head buried but listening intently to the words he was speaking. “Rose. I love you.” He said, leaning down talking directly in my ear. “I don’t care if you are a Super , let alone a Seer. Who cares? But I do think it’s really cool. You have powers Rose. How many people can say that?!” He was trying so hard.

“It’s okay if you look at me Rosie, I’m not afraid of what you might see. I have nothing to hide.” I squinted my eyes at him, before quickly shutting them all the way again.

“I can’t Bryan. I’ll know the man you could be. I will see you perfectly, not as who you are now but who you could be. It won’t be real. I don’t want to believe you’re something you’re not. I like you, love you, just as you are.” “Wow, that’s cool Rose. But listen, I know. I know you love me for me. But I want to know. I want to know the man I could be. What if this gift that you have, what if it’s not to hide, but to help people? I want to know more, Rosie. Please.”

I slowly began to open my eyes. I didn’t look at him though.

“Are you sure?” “Positive.” “It’s just that I can see the world and the people in it as a better place, all rainbows and unicorns, you know? It’s not real. It’s just an illusion, just how it could be, how people, each person, could be. It’s a perfect world I see, but not this one.” Bryan grabbed my arm.

“That’s just it Rosie! Listen, unlike my dad, I believe the world needs Supers , like you, who have tremendous gifts to offer. They aren’t powers to be restricted. They aren’t accidents. We might not be able to explain or understand it, but it’s amazing. What if this can help the world become the place you see? What if you see so that you can tell people who they really are?” I loved Bryan. I loved Bryan for this very reason. I didn’t have to read him to know the kind of guy he was and was becoming. He was the best. He might not be able to look at people and immediately see the best in them, but he always saw and believed the best in me, without special abilities. And that to me, was special. He was the real Super here.


It was a hot July afternoon, and Matthew hated the sun. The heat swelled around the village like a balloon, trapping unaware victims in a haze and turning skin a blistering red with the suns prickly touch. Plus, the sharp rays had cut through the gap in his curtains that morning and left him feeling particularly annoyed for since then. What he, however, hated even more than the sun, was the newspaper sitting at his door when he emerged to brave the beating heat. It crinkled in the faint warm breeze and had all the use of a beaten doormat. He snatched it up from the ground only because it sullied the appearance of his porch and scowled at the note stapled to the top. ‘Free copy, from us to you!’ How ironic, considering this weekend’s task. “I am not falling for your schemes to get me to subscribe.” He muttered, enjoying the satisfying dull thud of the paper hitting the bottom of his outdoor bin. His sense of self-appreciation at his disregard of useless money schemes was quickly put out by the squeeze of the heat around his body, and at the sight of an elderly figure tottering down the road. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He groaned, before picking up his pace to get around her before she could notice him. As he got closer, just as he guessed, he could tell the woman was his neighbour, Mrs Palmer, whom he avoided like the plague. The woman could speak for the whole country, though she was both half deaf and visually impaired, so his hopes were usually high of sneaking past her unnoticed. Matthew crossed to the other side of the street and found something very interesting to look at in the opposite direction. “Matthew?” Her slow waddle stopped as she squinted at him from across the street. “Matthew dear, is that you?” The sense of guilt from ignoring her was overpowering, so he reluctantly turned and gave her a forced smile. “Mrs Palmer, I didn’t see you there!” He said through gritted teeth, though continued desperately before she could start talking, “Terribly sorry, but I’m too busy to stop and talk today. You see, I have this assignment to write a…” He trailed off and sighed when he noticed she wasn’t listening, rather focusing on uselessly tugging her walking stick from where it was wedged in a grate. “What have I done wrong? ” He complained quietly, before conceding and walking back across the street. Wondering how she got about her day-to-day life and how on earth she’d managed to jam her walking stick in such a small grate, Matthew gave it one hard yank and freed it. “Oh, thank you!” She said, startled by the sudden movement that rocked her. “Did I tell you, Richard told me he might stop by on Sunday?” Mrs Palmer offered him a crooked smile, unaware of Matthew’s disdain for her money hungry son. “Hmm, right.” It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes and remind her of Richard’s behaviour; he did not feel like repeating the same long conversation again. “Come on Mrs Palmer, let’s get you to the village.” He took her arm gently and guided her down the street, though she only tottered slightly faster than before. He knew, however, that nobody else would come to help her because she had nothing to give in return. Arriving at the small coffee shop an hour later than he intended, Matthew ordered a black coffee and went to sit in his usual booth. The employees knew him as a regular, and now knew to recognise the air of frustration in his manner and to leave him in peace when he came with a tricky assignment. Opening his laptop, he typed the title of his task onto an empty document. Gratitude Journal. Matthew sat back and forced himself not to dwell on the stupidity of the weekend assignment he’d been given at the last minute. He frowned, almost certain the task came from his colleague Emma who was an insufferable optimist and often fell out with Matthew over trivial matters, such as his hatred for motivational speakers. What did he have to be thankful about? He had begrudgingly stopped off at a market stall with Mrs Palmer on the way, at which he had bought an apple that he now held in his hand. I suppose I am thankful I have this apple. He thought to himself, then hovered his hands over the keyboard before sighing in frustration. Writing about an apple seemed beyond useless, especially as he scowled to think of how the vendor would probably have laughed at him for the mere idea of it, while at the same time pocketing Matthew’s money with glee. The man had had some pitiful story about how his apples were a product of hard work and resilience, nudging his Tupperware container full of pennies towards them with an eager gleam in his eyes. Matthew shook his head with a frown, and put the apple down, suddenly overcome by a disappointment in himself for giving out his change to the man. After an entire afternoon spent with the sun in his eyes from a broken blind, and a frustratingly slow pace of typing a sentence only to delete it, he was left with a blank document by the end of the day. Shutting his laptop, he dabbed his brow with a tissue and wished his assignment was of the opposite nature, so he could find inspiration from his dislike of sticky heat. The walk home was slow and tiring, the sinking sun still managing to make his clothes uncomfortably damp with sweat. He would try again tomorrow. It was Saturday, and the heat had only worsened. By the time Matthew stepped out of his house just after lunch time, it had gotten so bad that the strap on his laptop case immediately became hot and chafed against his hand. The grass was yellowing, and the sun glared down in disapproval at the village blurred in the distance from thick rolls of heat. He made his way down the street all the same, though almost turned back when he saw Mrs Palmer almost in the exact same place she was stood yesterday. In fact, it looked as though her walking stick was again wedged in the same grate on the path. Needing a moment to compose himself from the growing exasperation he felt, Matthew headed over to her, reminding himself how nobody would ever help her because it did not benefit them. “Mrs Palmer.” He sighed, “How have you managed this again?” She blinked at him, confused, before the recognition lit up her face. “Oh, Matthew!” She gasped, “I-I don’t know…” Furrowing her brows, she gave the stick a weak pull before looking at him helplessly. He took it from her and again yanked it out of the grate. “Now, I have that same assignment to complete, so I really don’t have time to-” “What?” She interrupted, “Assignment? Where?” “My assignment. About… gratitude.” He almost spat the word out, still apprehensive of his task. “Ahh, that shouldn’t be hard!” She smiled, “There are lots of things to be thankful about!” Matthew stared at her, giving her old, faded clothes and chipped walking stick a tight smile, and resisted from asking what those things could possibly be for her, though she seemed to read the question on his face. “Don’t give me that look! I’m not completely blind you know; I can still tell what you’re thinking.” She looked beyond him thoughtfully, “Richard! He said he might pop by tomorrow, that’s something to be thankful about.” “Oh, Mrs Pearson.” Matthew sighed, avoiding her eyes. “You never learn.” “He’s coming, you’ll see.” She gave him an odd slow wink and began to totter back down the street with a hesitant Matthew in tow. The coffee shop was much busier than yesterday, though Matthew was almost pleased to find his usual booth unoccupied, until he registered the spill of what he hoped was apple juice over one of the seats. Mumbling about how his assignment could not possibly be made any more difficult, he sat in the clean side of the booth and got back to his work. About an hour into his failing attempts of forming a first paragraph, a large family seeped in through the doors, which appeared to almost burst at the seams with the sheer volume of people. At the head of the group stood a middle-aged woman in a yellow summer dress, whose face was rosy from the heat outside. She spoke loudly, so Matthew caught the end of her conversation. “…so I said well, I think it’s great! Might be uncomfortable but gets the kids outside!” She laughed a hearty laugh, and Matthew assumed she was speaking about the weather. He watched as she sauntered over to a barista, who blushed deeply at the revealing neckline of her dress as she spoke to him sweetly. Matthew scoffed and shook his head. More like the weather is great for you to show some skin and get a free coffee voucher . Sure enough, the barista passed her one over the counter, grinning ridiculously wide and looking slightly disappointed when she walked away. She had such a smug expression on her face, the kind that Matthew detested, especially as he sat with less and less to write from the people around him. Feeling particularly hot and bothered, Matthew spent another unsuccessful afternoon staring at a blank page and struggling to muster something positive to say about anything around him. He stayed until the sun bobbed down in its orange sea and hid behind the clouds. On his walk home, the heat remained like a musty smell in an old room. Sunday. And the assignment was due in the next day. Matthew had struggled to sleep, racking his brain to no avail for a single idea to write about gratitude. The heat was still almost unbearable, which he was hit with as he trudged outside with much less hope than the previous two days. Matthew had never been unable to complete an assignment, and the thought was weighing down on him just as much as the heat. Turning the corner, he was anticipating Mrs Palmer’s presence, and there she was. The only difference today was that she was looking straight at him and gave a little wave when she saw him looking back. Beginning to accept this as part of his routine, Matthew dragged himself over to her and braced himself to tear her walking stick out of a grate again. It was, however, surprisingly not stuck today, and he gave her a puzzled look, wondering why she had waved him over. “Richard couldn’t make it.” She smiled sadly. “What a surprise.” He muttered sarcastically. “No, no, he said he could try next weekend instead!” She said with a sense of triumph that pushed Matthew’s tired brain over the edge. “Mrs Palmer, your son hasn’t come to see you in years.” He said, frustrated. “Because he’s not interested in taking money from you anymore since you barely have any to give.” “He still calls me occasionally.” She protested. “He calls you to keep his conscience clean Mrs Palmer. People only care when they get something in return.” She was silent for a long time, looking at the ground. Just as Matthew began to feel he’d been a little harsh, she spoke again. “I think I’m going to head home.” “Mrs Palmer-” “No, I don’t fancy the village today.” She attempted a smile, before leaving in the opposite direction and leaving Matthew with a heavy feeling of guilt. Walking through the village alone felt much different, and Matthew decided if he saw Mrs Pearson again on his way to work tomorrow, he would apologise for being so blunt. A young child busking on the street distracted his thoughts, as he paused to watch her play the violin slowly, as the crowds gave affectionate ‘aww’s. She wore dirty clothes that were several sizes too big for her, and a sign on cardboard was propped up beside her claiming she would appreciate any donations. A small tin can was already half full of pennies and notes. Matthew looked over the scene sceptically, not failing to notice the pristine condition of the violin and what looked like a branded purse wedged behind the sign. He knew exactly what he was looking at, especially as he spotted two people who were obviously the girls parents hovering at the edge of the crowd, eyeing anyone holding a purse or rummaging in their bag with a gleam in their eyes. It’s like I’m being teased for this stupid assignment, he thought. Not sparing the parents a disapproving stare, Matthew headed back on course towards the coffee shop, for what was likely to be another very unproductive day. Monday had come by extraordinarily fast, and Matthew dressed slowly, feeling very apprehensive of his day ahead. Stepping out the door with the burdening knowledge that he carried a laptop with nothing to show but his empty document, he dreaded the smug look on Emma’s face when she found out her assignment had defeated him. “Cue Mrs Palmer…” He murmured as he walked onto the next street. But today, she was not there. Matthew could not help but feel to blame and felt a crushing regret from stamping on her hopes of seeing her son, even if he had known all along that the guy wouldn’t show up. Deciding to go the long way to work though the village, Matthew hoped he’d bump into her on the way. The streets were much quieter without the hustle and bustle of the weekend, and by the time Matthew was walking past his usual coffee shop he’d lost hope of catching up to Mrs Palmer. Feeling even more defeated, he glanced inside and was met with a surprise. Mrs Palmer was sat inside, surrounded by people. Matthew’s curiosity took the wheel as he opened the door to the light jangle of the bell and stepped inside. The group looked over at the sound, and he was shocked by what he saw. Richard raised his eyes to meet Matthew’s, and the regret in them was almost overpowering as he held his mother’s hand that crinkled like old leather in his own. But what was more surprising still was the three people stood around their table. The vendor held a small crate of apples wrapped in a rich purple ribbon tied in a bow, and his eyes were soft as he placed it on the table with a smile. The woman in the yellow dress had her hand on Mrs Palmer’s shoulder, and a wobbly smile hung on her face; her free coffee voucher lay reflecting the sun on the table. And the little girl with the violin, who had a bright smile on her face as she raised her arms to place a full tin can of money beside the apples. “Thank you.” Mrs Palmer said, as she looked at each of them in turn with a grateful smile on her face and tears lining her eyes. All of a sudden, it was as though Matthew had been struck hard in the chest with realisation. He glanced down at the laptop still clutched in his hand and drifted over to his usual booth. Sitting down, he cast a gaze outside the window. The sun was no longer angry but seemed to smile at him from in the sky, casting a gentle cloak of golden warmth across the town. It was the same sun, in the same town, at the same time, but everything had changed. For beauty can be found in any place, he thought, if you just know how to look. Matthew opened his laptop. And began to write.