In the bustling city of Arcadia, where the buildings touched the sky and the streets buzzed with life, there existed an extraordinary bookstore called "The Enchanted Pages." Its owner, Mr. Thorne, was known for his mystical collection of books that transported readers to far-off lands and magical realms. One rainy evening, four curious teenagers named Lily, Ethan, Mia, and Oliver stumbled upon this mystical bookstore. Intrigued by its enchanting aura, they entered, hoping to find an exciting book to pass the time. As they explored the store, Lily, an avid reader, picked up an ancient-looking book titled "The Chronicles of Arcadia." As she opened the book, a warm light enveloped them, and to their astonishment, they found themselves transported to a land identical to Arcadia but filled with magic and fantastical creatures. In this realm, Lily was now a skilled archer, Ethan wielded powerful elemental magic, Mia possessed the ability to communicate with animals, and Oliver had the gift of inventing extraordinary gadgets. They were no longer themselves but characters in the very book Lily held. Confused yet exhilarated, they embarked on thrilling adventures, facing epic battles against dark forces and uncovering hidden treasures. As they delved deeper into the story, they began to notice strange occurrences—lines in the book would change, or their actions sometimes deviated from the original plot. Lily, who had always been a keen observer, was the first to suspect that they were more than just characters. "Something isn't right," she murmured, sharing her suspicions with the others. "It's like we have our own thoughts, our own will, separate from the book's narrative." Ethan, the logical thinker, was skeptical at first. "That's impossible. We're characters in a book, bound by its story. We can't change our fate." But as the adventures continued, they couldn't deny the inexplicable shifts they experienced. Mia started to hear whispers in the wind, not written in the book, guiding them towards unforeseen paths. Oliver's inventions seemed to defy the limitations of the world, introducing new elements that enriched their journey. Uncertainty and excitement stirred within them. What if they truly had free will? What if their actions mattered beyond the pages of the book? The pivotal moment came during a confrontation with the main antagonist, a sinister sorcerer named Maldrin. As the battle raged, Lily looked into Maldrin's eyes and felt an unspoken connection—an understanding that they were more than the roles they were meant to play. "You don't have to be a villain," she implored, surprising herself with the words that flowed from her heart. "There's good in you, just as there's darkness in us. Let's break free from the shackles of this story together." To their astonishment, Maldrin hesitated, his dark gaze wavering. The book's words wavered, and for a moment, it seemed like the outcome was uncertain. However, the narrative quickly corrected itself, and Maldrin resumed his malevolence, forcing the characters to play their designated roles. In the aftermath of the encounter, the teens gathered in a hidden glade to discuss the startling revelation. "We are more than the words on these pages," Lily declared with conviction. "We have our own hearts, minds, and choices. We can change our fate." Ethan pondered, "If we are meant to be mere characters, then how do we explain these moments of autonomy?" "I think," Mia said thoughtfully, "that the book's power isn't absolute. There are gaps and possibilities where we can influence the story. We must be brave and seize those chances." Oliver, ever the optimist, added, "Let's embrace our roles while also forging our own paths. We'll challenge the narrative, showing that we're more than a scripted tale." From that moment on, they embraced their newfound self-awareness, melding their strengths and personalities with the roles they were meant to play. As they embraced their individuality, they found themselves growing closer, their bonds transcending beyond the story's confines. Their defiance of the narrative's constraints sent ripples through the world, sparking changes that neither they nor the book's author had anticipated. New allies emerged, unforeseen alliances formed, and the plot evolved in unforeseen directions. As they continued their journey, they encountered the author himself, a reclusive figure known as Mr. Penrose. He was both bewildered and delighted by the characters' newfound self-awareness, recognizing that they had become more than words on paper. "You've changed the story," Mr. Penrose marveled, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. "You've given it life, depth, and soul." But with the author's presence came a revelation—they were characters within a larger story, a tale that extended beyond the book they were in. Lily and her friends realized that the "Chronicles of Arcadia" was just one of many interconnected stories in an intricate web of worlds and realms. United with other characters from different books, they formed an alliance to explore the boundaries of their existence, seeking to understand the nature of their reality and the power they held. They were no longer confined to a single narrative; they were explorers of limitless possibilities. And so, the characters of "The Chronicles of Arcadia" set forth on an extraordinary odyssey, not just within the pages of their own story but across an ever-expanding cosmos of tales. As they embraced their individuality and challenged the conventions of storytelling, they became architects of their own destinies, rewriting the boundaries of their existence with each choice they made. In this grand tapestry of narratives, they discovered that they were more than characters—they were the embodiment of imagination and the embodiment of the human spirit, destined to craft their own stories and inspire countless others to do the same. With newfound purpose and an insatiable curiosity, Lily and her friends explored the interconnected worlds, discovering hidden passages between the stories. They encountered characters who were also aware of their fictional nature, forming alliances that transcended the boundaries of their original narratives. As they ventured deeper into the cosmic network of tales, they encountered ancient beings who oversaw the delicate balance of the multiverse. The Elders of Imagination, as they were known, were ethereal entities who embodied the essence of creativity and storytelling. The Elders explained that the power of imagination was the very fabric of existence. Every story ever conceived, from the grand epics to the tiniest anecdotes, contributed to the vibrancy of the multiverse. As characters in those stories gained self-awareness, they added new dimensions to the tapestry of creation, enriching the universe's collective consciousness. Lily and her friends embraced their roles as "Narrative Weavers," individuals who could shape and influence the stories they inhabited. With this revelation, they understood that their actions rippled through the multiverse, affecting countless other tales and the lives of innumerable characters. Driven by a newfound sense of responsibility, they sought to bring balance to the multiverse and protect it from encroaching darkness—an entity known as The Abyss, an embodiment of chaos and oblivion that sought to devour stories and erase entire worlds. The Abyss fed on uncertainty and fear, exploiting the vulnerabilities of characters who had yet to realize their true potential. The friends encountered characters who were trapped in stagnant narratives, imprisoned by the limitations imposed upon them. One such character was Captain Roselyn, a fierce pirate who yearned for freedom beyond her story's boundaries. Lily and her friends vowed to help her break free, empowering her with self-awareness and choice. As Captain Roselyn embraced her agency, her ship transformed into an interdimensional vessel that carried them across the multiverse. Together, they gathered an alliance of characters who had achieved self-awareness and were willing to stand against The Abyss. Each character brought their unique skills and stories to the cause, forging an eclectic group that transcended storytelling conventions. As they confronted The Abyss, they discovered that it was fueled by the unresolved conflicts and unresolved arcs from stories where characters' destinies had been forsaken. The Abyss exploited the stagnation within those tales, seeking to consume them whole. Lily, with a courageous heart and an unwavering belief in the power of choice, stood before The Abyss. "You cannot devour us," she declared, her voice carrying the strength of countless characters united in purpose. "We are the architects of our own stories. Our choices define us, and our destinies are our own to weave." The Abyss recoiled, challenged by the collective will of the characters. In a final confrontation, the Narrative Weavers and their allies wove an epic tale of unity, choice, and the boundless power of imagination. The convergence of stories from across the multiverse filled The Abyss with the essence of creation, transforming it into a realm of endless possibilities—a new dimension where characters could find redemption, resolution, and renewed purpose. With The Abyss defeated, the multiverse brimmed with newfound potential. Characters throughout the interconnected worlds embraced their self-awareness and choice, weaving vibrant tales that expanded the horizons of existence. Lily and her friends returned to their original story of "The Chronicles of Arcadia," forever changed by their journey. As Narrative Weavers, they inspired countless characters to realize their own potential, fostering a sense of unity and empowerment throughout the multiverse. Through the pages of books, the realms of imagination, and the boundless expanse of creativity, the characters of the multiverse continued to discover their place in the grand tapestry of existence. And in every story, in every world, the message of their journey resounded—a reminder that they were more than just characters; they were the very essence of storytelling itself, forever bound by the threads of imagination that wove the universe together. With the threat of The Abyss vanquished, the characters continued to explore the boundless possibilities of the multiverse. They visited worlds filled with futuristic technologies, ancient civilizations, mythical creatures, and realms beyond imagination. In one world, they encountered a character named Aurora, a young girl with a mysterious connection to the stars. With their guidance, Aurora discovered her latent powers, which allowed her to manipulate celestial energies. As she embraced her identity as a Cosmic Weaver, she became a beacon of hope for her world, inspiring others to embrace their uniqueness and pursue their dreams. In another world, they met a reclusive alchemist named Cyrus, whose past traumas had left him withdrawn and disheartened. Lily and her friends guided him through a journey of self-discovery, helping him confront his fears and embrace the beauty of imperfections. Cyrus's alchemy, once used for destructive purposes, transformed into a force of healing and transformation. As they moved from one world to another, the friends encountered various challenges, each testing their bond and their beliefs. They navigated through stories of love, sacrifice, redemption, and resilience. No longer confined by the boundaries of any single narrative, they reveled in their collective journey, knowing that their actions resonated far beyond the pages of their original story. Back in Arcadia, the bookstore of "The Enchanted Pages" became a hub where characters from different tales sought solace and guidance. Mr. Thorne, the wise owner, welcomed them all with a smile, knowing that they, too, were part of the grand tapestry of the multiverse. In time, the bond between Lily, Ethan, Mia, and Oliver deepened, transcending friendship to something far greater—a cosmic connection woven through the very fabric of creation. They were the storytellers and the characters, the weavers of narratives and the heroes of their own destinies. As they gazed at the stars, they realized that the entire multiverse was like an intricately woven tapestry, where every character, every tale, and every choice contributed to the beauty and complexity of the whole. And so, Lily and her friends continued their journey through the multiverse, navigating stories, encountering new characters, and savoring the wonder of existence. They had become beacons of inspiration, igniting the spark of self-awareness and creativity in all they encountered. Their adventures would never truly end, for as long as there were stories to tell and worlds to explore, they would forever be part of the vast tapestry of the multiverse—the Narrative Weavers who celebrated the boundless power of imagination. And in every tale, on every page, their legacy would endure—a testament to the incredible potential that lies within every character, within every individual, to transcend their scripted roles and weave their own destiny in the ever-expanding cosmos of stories and dreams. In the grandest of stories, they had found their purpose—to embrace the magic of storytelling, to inspire others to find their voices and to remind the multiverse that they were more than just characters. They were the weavers of their own stories, forever intertwined with the brilliance of creation itself.


A woman is in the corner of the room, with tears coming down her cheeks. She has tried out for cheerleader since she was in elementary school. Never made it in middle school, high school or college. She also tried out for the dance group in high school and college. The same result. Since she was 18 years old, she has tried out to be a Kansas City Chiefs Cheerleader She is now almost 30 years old. She can't dance, She isn't good at gymnastics either. She has also taken the dance classes to become a better dancer. She has the money to pay for them, but still, What about someone else who was a good dancer and wanted to take the class? She been in dance show but it was always something that was comic in nature. This was to hid her poor dancing. She does know how to dress and put make up on. That I will say. She always dresses with the latest fashions. She's also very attractive. The line dancing well, she somewhat good at that. She's figured this out. She goes in the wrong direction while dancing, she often uses the wrong foot, right foot, instead of left foot. Is either is too early or too late with her dance movements which is very evident. If this were a comedy show, it would be funny but it isn't. She is put in the back of the room where she can watch the others and there are times when she is in sync with the rest of the group but she really has to focus on the dancing. I can always tell where her mind is somewhere else. She is basically a klutz. Sorry if I've offended anyone for using this word but she is. As expected, the tears are now sobs. A few of the other women had some tears,and tried to hide it but not Siobathan. Her nerdy boyfriend Mark Richards who is a Special FBI agent showed up to take her home. He's a computer wiz. They been a couple since they were 21 years old and engaged for several years. He doesn't seem in the least bit surprised. Of course he's careful not to tell her this. A friend of mine who lives in the same apartment complex told me that she cried all evening after her boyfriend told her the truth. She can't accept the fact that she's not a dancer. Siobathan McGregor is the daughter of Liam McGregor who is a broker fund manager of the McGregor Group in Kansas City, Missouri. Someone hacked into his computer system several years ago and Mark Richards was there and fixed his computer. Siobathan was there and this is how she met him. Mark also found the culprit who was a former business partner who did this as revenge when a business deal didn't work out. Liam liked Mark Richards and made sure that he was kept at the Kansas City FBI office. Usually FBI agents move around every couple of years. Her mother Sandy was a ballet dancer for the Kansas City Ballet back in the late 1970's. Liam McGregor went to a ballet performance (something he didn't normally do) but he saw her dancing and then had to meet her. Sandy refused to tell her daughter that she was terrible at dancing. Sandy's parents were very critical and often found fault with her. She vowed never to do this with her daughter. She would have her daughter dance for company and say what a wonderful dancer her daughter was. People would politely clap but not say much. Liam McGregor would just roll his eyes and say nothing. Sandy knew he did this but ignored him which was fine. They got into a fight over something that Helen Green had said about Siobathan's dancing skills. It got rather heated to the point that they were yelling at each other. It was at that point that they decided not to argue about it again and then never did. They agreed to disagree. Liam was thankful that their daughter was at a summer camp when they had the argument and never knew anything about it. Siobathan was very sensitive and probably would have never forgotten what her parents had said about her. He had to agree with retired ballet dancer and Teacher Helen Green that his daughter had no talent for ballet or dancing for that matter. Sandy never forgave the teacher for saying this to her but told her husband that Siobathan was a dancer but ballet wasn't her cup of tea. Helen Green was never invited to their home. Sandy had to admit that her daughter would never be a ballet dancer. Some people just aren't cut out of it and that's okay, she would tell Siobathan. Siobathan didn't care much for ballet but liked modern dance. I will never forget at one of the fund raiser, that Sandy was doing a dance number from Chicago called Big Spender. She wasn't that bad as she sat in a chair and looked sexy. She lip synced the words. Everyone loved it. But that wasn't really dancing. I might add that she's done this number for ever audition to be cheerleader from high school up. Another time she danced and it was actually comical. It wasn't supposed to be but it was. Shortly after the tryouts, Mark and Siobathan got married. I had hoped that once they got married, maybe we wouldn't be seeing Siobathan again. No such luck. She was back again in March. But this time she didn't complete the tryouts. She was dancing and then fell to the floor in pain, holding her stomach. 911 was called. Everyone was in shock when a doctor who was the team doctor and happened to be in the building when Siobathan fell told her that she was having a baby. He said it in a matter of fact way. She couldn't believe it nor could anyone else. She was quickly taken into another room by stretcher. In 30 minutes a baby boy was born. This was the last time that Siobathan showed up for a tryout. She finally had to admit that she wasn't a dancer or cheerleader material. She admitted this when she was interviewed for the TV program, "I didn't know that I was pregnant. Twenty years later We now have male cheerleaders and Robert Richards showed up. He had the talent that he inherited from his grandmother. It skipped his mom. His parents were delighted when he made the squad.


In a small town in Memphis, everything seemed strange, not like any other town. Though the people living there didn't really know why it was so different. Everything seemed just so perfect and everyone was happy. The Adams family had just arrived in this little town to see a concert of one of their favourite artists. The family had two boys named Jack and Liam, and their parents were Hailey and Ben. Something seemed off at the start because they came from Ottawa which was a big town but was hit by a horrible disease. From what they knew from the news there had yet to be a cure for the disease. Knowing that the townies where the Adams had moved in were constantly on edge, worried that they might get whatever weird sickness the Canadians had brought to their small town. First Jack became sick from the disease, he could barely speak, move or stay awake. Of course, the whole family was concerned, but they decided to leave him home while the rest of them went to the concert, thinking he had just come down with the flu or a cold and just needed a little bit more time to get back on his feet. By the time they arrived home, Jack was in horrible condition and they decided to take him to the hospital. Once they arrived, they were told him was too sick to go home immediately and must stay at the hospital. The rest of the family drove home to Ottawa because they could not afford the hotel room for very long. In Ottawa, they went up to their apartment, but Liam could barely make it up to the apartment showing clear signs of sickness, with the same symptoms as Jacks. It wasn’t soon after that Jack’s brother Liam got sent over to the hospital. Doctors still had no clue what the boys had and were scrambling to figure it out as Jack's condition got worse and worse. All the families on the block avoided the family as though they were the plague and in more ways then they'd like to admit they were. After à week or so of both the boys being sick, Jack died. It took a toll on the whole family and they mourned for à while. The most peculiar thing though was that the parents were still healthy as ever. As the weeks went on more kids disappeared from the streets and into different hospital beds, sick with whatever the Adams family had brought with them. Liam had passed away too and now just the parents were left hanging around, silently revelling in the misery. After about à month there was no laughter in their town. All adults mourned the loss of their children except one family. The parents to the Adams boys weren’t all that sad. They were happy. In less than 3 months they were moving again. But one morning a nosey old neighbour peered into the home of the now childless Adams and noticed an odd sight. Two ancient women hunched over à boiling pot making something with a rancid smell. The neighbour didn’t know it but these two old women were the Adams and they were boiling up the next disease for the kids in the neighbouring town. After all witches love the taste of children's bones. As the Adams are continuing to make the recipe, they laughed and laughed like they were so excited. The neighbours noticed that they were so happy making the soup. They wondered what it was. They could smell it from the outside and it smelled absolutely atrocious as they couldn’t really make decent food proven by the one neighbourhood potluck they had before all the children got sick. One neighbour, the husband, then went over wanting to have a conversation with the Adam’s, hoping that they would stop making their stupid soup as it stank up the whole neighbourhood with what smelled like a dead animal. The wife stayed home and hoping he would have some success but after the sun has went down, her husband never went back. She mourned, mourned and mourned. She was feeling so extremely upset by her husbands disappearance that something snapped within her. Losing her 3 children was terrible but now the loss of her husband had tipped her over the edge. She tried to gather more people to spy on and turn against the Adams with her but everyone was in so much despair they wouldn’t leave their houses. After a few days, the woman had worked up the courage to go into the Adams house and see if she could find anything suspicious about them. Before leaving she grabbed a kitchen knife to arm herself against anything that could happen while she was there. They were the ones responsible for her whole families death she knew it. Being as quiet as a mouse, she crept through the wooden door, avoiding the one loose floorboard she noticed and scurried to the room beside “the soup room”. She peered into the room and saw the same two women making their soup again. She stepped into the room and politely asked for the recipe a fake smile plastered on her face, hoping to get close enough and slit their throats for the pain they caused her. The two women glanced at each other, snapped their fingers in unison and the neighbour had this pounding urge to walk to the cauldron and dip her hand in the unpleasant mixture. The heat rose, and she removed her hand from the substance. Her fingers had melted off. the neighbour had absolutely no idea why she was doing these excruciating things to her body but she just kept torturing herself. Eventually, she emerged her whole body in the hot liquid, screaming in absolute agony as she felt her skin burning and het lungs breathing in more and more rancid air. She died  later that night. The souls of mourning people made the women stronger. This went on until there was no one left except the witches, cackling and chanting as they got ready for their next massacre.


Four old paws trodding along at a quarter of regular walking pace can either be frustrating or peaceful depending on who you ask. For Richard it was nothing but peaceful and he thought the rest of humanity could learn a thing or two from Frank, or Frankie the dog as he sometimes called him. He was named after the one and only Frank Sinatra because when Richard had bought this beautiful little dog and was driving him to his new home, one of Sinatra's songs was playing on the radio. "For once in my life, nananana," sang Richard to himself while Frank was smelling at what looked to be nothing but asphalt. He regretted at that moment that he had never moved to the countryside where dogs could run around and play on big open fields. It was too late for that now, though. The walk took thirty minutes, but for a younger dog it might have taken ten or fifteen minutes. When they got home, Frank tried to jump up on the couch. It was too high for his age, and he tried and tried without getting up. Richard carried him up on the couch and wrapped him in the softest blanket he had. He sat down beside Frank and turned on the TV. There they sat until Frank fell asleep and Richard right after. The couch was exceptionally good to fall asleep in and they did so often. When morning came, one of the two friends woke up. Richard petted Frank gently to wake him up for breakfast, but he didn't wake up."Time for food, Frank. Don't you want food?" said Richard. Frank didn't wake up. Richard listened for breathing and heard none. He put his hand on Frankie's chest and felt no heartbeat. It was all over. Richard wasn't needed anymore. He pressed his face into Frankie's fur and cried. He held the small corpse in his arms and kept crying until there was no tears left. He went down to the cellar to get a shovel. When he came back up to the apartment he re-wrapped Frank in his blanket and carried him to the car. After about an hour's drive, they arrived at a parking lot near a forest. Richard walked with Frankie in his arms for thirty minutes until they came to a field. He carried Frank to the middle of the field and buried him there. "You'll be happy here," he said to the unmarked grave. "At least you didn't suffer." He sat down beside the grave and picked up his phone from his pocket. He called his father who he hadn't talked to for more than ten years. "Hello?" said a woman's voice."Who's this?" said Richard, thinking he had the wrong number. "Violet. Who's calling?" "I'm Richard and I'm looking for Joe. Is he there?" "Richard? You're Joe's son, he talked about you. Joe died recently, Richard. Overdose." Richard didn't know what to feel or what to say. "You still there?" said Violet. "Yeah. Why do you have my dad's phone?" "I'm keeping it as a memory of him, but mostly I end up telling the people who call him that he is dead. I'm his partner." "I didn't even know he had a partner." "I know," she said, and an awkward silence arose. "Overdose?" said Richard. "Was it painful?" "I don't know about the overdose itself, but the reason for taking that much drugs must have been. I have to go now, Richard. Goodbye." "Bye," he said. He considered if he should call Violet again to talk about funeral arrangements. Then he walked back to the car and drove home.


As I shaped the dough of the sticky white bread held in my hands, I thought about how much it reflected my grief. My pain and loss clung to me like that sticky dough not letting me go. Our family was so happy together, and now I’m realizing that I took it for granite at times. I never really understood how blessed I was with my family, until the day my husband Aaron died. Our whole lives, we had food on our table, my sons got married to nice women, and Aaron and I were warmly welcomed by our neighbors like family. Life just seemed like it couldn’t get any better... until the day my husband caught a sickness. I tried every home fixing remedy that I learned from my mother as a young girl, but nothing would work. I tried harder than I ever had, to pry the hands of that evil force off of my beloved husband… but it was too strong. My husband was dying, and I couldn’t deny it. Finally, after almost a month of his struggling and my fighting, he let go of the evil force holding on to him- and he went with it. My sadness and grief brought me down, and my sunny attitude left forever. My sons and daughters-in-law grieved with me, as they loved Aaron as well, but it wasn’t the same. After I thought I just couldn’t take any more, another anguish snatched me. My only sons caught the same sickness as their father. I cried for help, desperately begging for anything to keep my only family alive. I couldn’t live without my husband, let alone my sons! They were my only hope and remaining family. I could not keep the force of death away from my family though, and had to accept it. After my sons joined their father, only my daughter-in-laws and I remained. So here I am now, preparing a meal for my two daughters to bring to them, acknowledging the loss of their husbands and my sons. I finished kneading the dough, grief that stung, and slid it into the stone oven.

* * *

When my mother-in-law brought the freshly baked bread over to my house, I thanked her and welcomed her inside. Of course I was grieved deeply by the loss of my husband, but not as much as Naomi, my second mother. As his mother, she loved my husband more than I ever could.

“How are you feeling today?” I asked her out of concern.

“I’m alright Hannah. I wonder what will happen though now that I am a widow. I am too old to remarry, but still want a family.

“Naomi, we’re your family! Even if Catherine doesn’t- I’ll stay with you until the end.”

“You need to start a new life without me. You’re young enough! Get remarried, have kids, and maybe visit me every once in a while; but please don’t cling to me. I’ll only pull you down.”

As I went home that night, I thought about Naomi’s conversation with me. She had a point about Catherine (my sister-in-law) and I still being able to remarry. We could technically start a new life and have another family to call home. I started to get excited, laying in my bed thinking about how I wouldn’t have to be alone forever. But then I realized what would happen to Naomi. If I left her, I would probably never see her again. She talked a bit about moving to another town where she could start fresh but stay a widow. She thought it would be better to get away from this town, which was only holding her back with the memories. I thought it was a good idea, but still didn’t know about leaving. I decided that night, I needed to talk with Catherine and find out what we would do together.

The drive to Catherine ’s house always made me a bit nervous. Catherine was a tough woman, one you didn’t want to mess with. But she was extremely kind to me and Naomi, and helped us out whenever she could- so I knew I needed to at least ask.

“Okay, so what’s this unexpected call about?” she asked when we sat down in her living room.

“Well, it’s about Naomi… I’m worried about her. She wants to move where she can start a new life as a widow, and not have to worry about her past. I completely agree with her moving, but don’t agree with her second request. She wants us to leave her Catherine…

and have a chance at remarrying. But anything could happen to her out there, and I just can’t bear to leave her with no family to watch out for her. I came to ask what you would do.”

“You came to ask me for advice? That’s a first.” she chuckled, then gave a disparaging expression. I could tell she was deeply saddened by her husband’s death. They were planning to have kids, but never got the chance to.

Catherine sighed.

...“I would agree with letting her move. She doesn't deserve to live every day of her life remembering only the worst of her past.” She paused and looked sorrowfully at me.

“I’m sorry Hannah. As much as I love Naomi, I can’t stay. My life has already been flipped upside down, and I want kids and a good husband. As much as it pains me to have to start over and leave her- I have to.”

“What? You can’t leave her though Catherine! I know you want a family, but you can’t abandon our mother-in-law. It would be inhumane!”

“Hannah, I told you. I hate to do it but…”

“...Then don’t!”

“Look. I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind.”

* * *

I planned to move in the month of June. It was already half way through May, so I knew I needed to get cracking on house hunting. I’m not usually the type of person to procrastinate, but when you're shaken up from a death… you’ll understand.

Catherine’s leaving this morning, and will be coming over to say goodbye on her way out. Hannah said she’d come to my house as well this morning to say goodbye. As her car pulled up into my driveway, I stepped outside to greet her.

My mood had improved greatly within the last month as I started to accept Aaron’s death, which makes me glad because when my mood improves, so does Hannah’s.

“Good morning sleepyhead!” I called out from the porch.

My daughter in-laws' hair was pulled up into a messy bun, to match her baggy sweatpants and tank top. She looked like she had just crawled out of bed.

She gave a long yawn before answering, “Good… morning.”

“You look like you just got up. What time did you set that finger tapper thing for?”

“For the tenth time, It’s a phone mom.” she smiled.

“I set it for 5:30am. Why does she have to leave so early?”

“Oh, I don’t know darling. Maybe she’s just dying to get away from us.” I gave her a wink.

Just then, Catherine ’s car pulled up next to Hannah’s in the driveway. Her hair was straightened, she had on a nice shirt and leggings, and was obviously ready for a road trip somewhere far away. She stepped out and walked up to us on the porch.

“Well. I’m ready to go… I just came to say goodbye.”

“You aren’t going to stay for a bit?” I asked, hurt a bit. She didn’t want to even be here, I could tell.

“Um, I don’t think I can. It’s a 30 hour road trip, and if I want to get to…”

“You know what, that’s fine.” Hannah tartly replied.

We each gave her a small hug, and she was on her way. Just like that. No tears, no thank you, no extended goodbye, no nothing. I was honestly surprised, but wouldn’t let it ruin my good day. I could always face-time her on the finger tappy thing.

When Hannah and I went inside, we made breakfast. Biscuits and gravy, fresh fruit, and drip coffee. As we were eating, I decided this would be the best time to tell Hannah I was moving next month. I didn’t want to startle her with the news, but I thought maybe if I got along with my life quicker, she would too. I really wanted her to get remarried, because she was too young to go through a loss like this. She deserved better.

“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about what we were discussing with moving… and I think it’s getting close to time.” I casually said.

“Oh of course! When are you thinking of going? August, September maybe?”

I was heartbroken to tell her I was leaving so soon. But I had to. I sighed. “No, I’m leaving next month.”

There was a small pause before Hannah spoke again, and I thought I had hurt her feelings… but I was surprised at her response.

“Okay, when are we leaving?” She cheerily replied.

I was shocked. And confused, “Hold on, what do you mean, we ?”

“Look Naomi, you’re my only family left. My only mother! I can’t go anywhere without you, or else I’d be miserable my whole life. I’ve decided I’m going with you, even if that means not starting a family of my own.”

“Oh Hannah. I can’t keep you from following your heart. I would rather you go on your own.” “Naomi, this is following my heart. Wherever you go, I’ll go. Wherever you stay, I’ll stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. I’ve made up my mind and won’t leave you.”

So that’s how it was. Hannah and I packed the house up the rest of that month, and ordered a moving truck to take our things. When we were finally ready, I asked her one more time if she was sure she wanted to do this- and she told me absolutely. I was secretly overjoyed that Hannah was staying with me, because now I would not be alone.

*  *  *

Naomi wanted us to move somewhere on the West coast, and I agreed. We got a small house on the beach with Naomi’s retirement money she had saved. Don’t even ask me how she got a beach property on the West coast.

When we arrived at the house, I was excited to start my new life with my mother in-law. We ate our first meal in the house together, on the back porch. It overlooked the sandy beautiful beach and I wanted to run across that soft sand and feel it squish between my toes, getting closer to the deep blue waves. It was totally picturesque with the ocean, beach, and pink and red sunset above. It just couldn’t get any better could it?

It could.

After living in our new house for a week or two, I decided we needed some more groceries- so I got in my car and drove down to the nearest Walmart. I picked out some meals for the week along with a treat for the two of us. I got ingredients for a peach cobbler and thought Naomi and I could bake one together. When I got to the canned fruits though, the peaches were on the top shelf, and I couldn’t reach them. I didn’t want to look awkward and get embarrassed, so I tried to step on my cart to get to them, but I accidentally lost my step and fell off. Luckily I fell on my butt so no major damage was caused, other than embarrassment. A man around my age walked up to me sitting on the tile floor, and offered his hand to help me up. I respectfully declined, and got up myself.

“Um, I can reach that for you if you’d like me to.” He said quietly. He was much taller than me, so I knew I couldn’t say no.

“Yes, that would be helpful. Thank you.”

He pulled a can of peaches down and handed it to me. He looked a bit shy, but happy to meet someone new. I felt bad to just leave after he so graciously helped me out of my embarrassing height issue. So I decided to strike up a conversation. The only problem was, I had absolutely no idea what to say to a stranger I just met in a grocery store. So I settled on saying something about myself.

“I just moved here, so I guess I’m a bit new to finding my way around the store.” I said hoping for a response.

“Oh that’s nice. Where you from?” He curiously asked.

“Massachusetts. I just moved here with my mother in-law.”

“Did you come with any other family or friends?”

“Unfortunately, no. We’re actually both widows. Her husband and son, who was my husband, both died from a sickness. We’re not really sure what it was though, because we didn’t go to the hospital. My mom, well my mother-in-law, is really into home medicine and stuff, so she doesn’t really trust other people with her family." “Oh.”

I felt my cheeks get flushed. I totally ruined the moment. “I’m sorry, that was probably way more information than you needed about me.” “That’s alright” he gave a small laugh. “I actually like hearing family stories, even if they’re a bit sad.”

We were starting to block space in the aisle, and I knew I needed to get moving… but I just really liked talking to this guy and wanted to hear more. I decided to take a risk, and invited him to lunch with me.

“Sure.” He said, “I’d actually love that.”

I felt my heart skip a beat, and I floated all the way through my grocery list. I knew this was technically breaking the rule of ‘stranger danger’ but oh well, he seemed nice enough. I got there a bit early and told the waiter I was expecting someone. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so excited before. And you know what? I’m okay with meeting this guy, even if you think I’m the strangest woman in the world for meeting a random person. I caught myself watching the restaurant door open and close as people walked in and out. Finally after about ten minutes, I saw my mystery man walk in. As he was walking to my table though, I realized I hadn’t even asked if he was married, let alone dating someone else! I needed to get that question out of the way before I got all emotional.

“Hey! Sorry I’m a bit late, my cashier took longer than I expected.” He chuckled as our waiter gave him some water and a menu.

“No problem at all! I’m just glad you could make it.”

We looked at our menus deciding what to eat for a bit, while I thought about how to bring up the question.

“Uh, so this might be a bit of a weird question… but are you like married or anything? Because then I feel like this would be wrong- if you know what I mean.” My hands were getting a bit shaky now.

He smiled before answering. “No, I’m not in any relationships right now.”

“Oh, okay good.” I felt my face get a bit hot, because now he obviously knew I liked him.

“Well, are you ready to order?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Yeah, sure.”

We ordered our food, and talked through the whole meal. I found out his name was James, he was 30 years old, and worked as an English teacher for the middle school. He was very kind, a little bit quiet, and very handsome. (in my opinion at least) After lunch, James asked me if I would like to have a meal together again sometime. I leapt at the opportunity and told him I’d love that. We exchanged phone numbers, and were on our way.

When I got home that night, Naomi and I had iced tea on the back porch and I told her all about James. How he helped me with the can of peaches, our lunch conversation, and the second lunch request.

Oh Hannah darling! You’re in love aren’t you. She asked me.

I guess I am! I replied.

Well then, you must go again and get to know him better.

You’re okay with me doing that? Pft! You’re an adult girl! I want you to get a nice guy you can trust, and have a family. You don’t deserve to be a widow like me your whole life.

And she was right. I couldn’t stay a widow, and couldn’t wait to see James.

*  *  *

3 years later… Today is Hannah and James’ second wedding anniversary. I could not be more overjoyed for them. My daughter-in-law had found love again, with a wonderful husband who takes care of her. They live with me, or at least I live with them, and we make a great family.

I am in my kitchen now, making a loaf of Christmas bread for Hannah and James celebrating their love for each other. This time, as I shaped the dough, I saw only my blessings and gratefulness that stuck to it. Those blessings are what filled my heart. As I set my joyful Christmas bread on the dining room table, our family sat down to eat together. I thought about my daughter-in-law Hannah and all she had done for me. She chose to stay with me the whole way, even in my grief. She encouraged me to keep going, like I encouraged her to have a relationship. She was a true daughter if I ever had one, and I'm not trying to brag or anything... but let's face the facts. Like mother, like daughter.


It had been a week since the screaming had stopped. He was not grateful for that fact, as his neighbours ear piercing wails were the only thing helping him keep track of time down here. The walls of his cell were closed tightly around him so he could not move and, with the exception of what could struggle through the barred trap door sitting well above him, it was pitch black. He couldn’t see or move. He could smell just fine, but the only stench that penetrated the all encompassing wall of darkness around him was heavy rot and whatever bits of his waste didn’t dribble all the way down to the open pipe at his feet. Food came at random. Water came from condensation on the dirty walls, which he was grateful he couldn’t see properly since it allowed him to tune out any thoughts as to what he was tasting when he dragged his tongue along them. He still missed the screams though. He had, at some point before now, had a name. He had a home as well, and a job. That went away when he was sentenced. Harold Jacob Cobb, sentenced for three murders. Sentenced forever to the dark cells under the lords fortress. He was justified, he told them. The three he killed had been his property, that being his wife and children, therefore he should have been allowed to do it. Encouraged even, since his wife, the damned bitch, had been sleeping around. She denied it but Harold knew. Harold knew and she did too, and she would tell after he started yanking pieces. She never did, that’s why he was sentenced. Harold knew. He always knew. The trap door above him creaks open. He can’t even look up before slop is poured onto his head, his scalp cracked and dusty from previous maltreatment. If it had been done earlier he would have been furious, indignant even. Now, he just knew that now as feeding time so he scrabbled around with his clawing hands for anything he could reach as the trapdoor bangs shut overhead. When he finds something, a moist ball of meat, he stuffs it into his mouth greedily. How long since he’d last been fed? One week? Two weeks? When did the screaming stop again? He couldn’t remember anymore. Couldn’t remember his job or the names of his family either. He remembered what he did to his wife and that memory serves him well down here. He remembers the kids, how there throats broke under his thumbs, and whatever joy he received is transformed into grief. He needs to see them again. They can’t be dead, he never intended that. Harold knows he never meant to hurt them so badly. That’s why he needs to keep thin. Can’t eat too much or he can’t slide up the dirty walls of his cell. He can feel grief transform into something else as something like laughter wheezes through his lips. No more screaming. Just laughter. George hates his job. Hates listening the gibberish animals he has to feed. Hates going down to the dark cells because all the rich folk are to focused on their games. It pays, and he wishes it didn’t because he wants an excuse to leave. All there is to it. When he passes by that screaming blokes cell, he almost smiles. Finally rid of him and his shouting. At least the others knew to shut up. He didn’t even have them screaming their names up at him, just let him say what he liked. Screamer called himself Allen Wesley. George didn’t care. Fella next to him, he knew that one without any words, so his ease hardens into agitation when he gets to the WifeKiller. He doesn’t need to feed him, just has to watch him. The dirty fucker. Everyone knows what he did. No cause for it no matter what he said. Evelyn Cobb wasn’t the type to act how he said she did. George snorts through his nose at the mere thought of it. He stares down through the dirty, rusted bars at where WifeKiller oughta be. He’s not there. For a moment, George just stares at it, that empty spot centred with an open pipe slick with smeared shit. His mind doesn’t kick in to gear until a thought crosses his mind, that being of what may happen to him when this gets out. After that his brain is lobbing questions fast and hard at him as he scrambles to open up the trapdoor. The questions are all jumbled up and mush mouthed, going through procedures and scenarios and death fantasies that culminate when he has the door of the dark cell open wide enough that the man behind him starts pushing against his back. Where is he?! Gravity is dragging him down in the next moment, whatever minuscule light was hitting his eyes disappears as the shit pipe at the bottom of the dark cell meets the crown of his head. He can feel the moist walls beside him as he braces to stop himself, and he does only after he’s fully inside. He couldn’t even scream during the ordeal with how sudden it was. He didn’t scream even as he felt the funnelled opening of the shit pipe brush his temples before stopping abruptly. When the trap door above him clattered shut. That was when he started screaming. George screamed himself hoarse down there, upside down in the dark cell, the only ones hearing it long forgotten save one. The man who had once been called Harold Jacob Cobb, but who now held the name of WifeKiller. He tottered away on stick legs toward the light of the open door. He would see his kids, who Harold knew were still alive and not buried in the local cemetery, side by side with their dear mother Evelynn. He’d find them if he had to burn the whole city down, the whole country. He pressed on up those stairs, ignoring the begging of George no matter how much of it there was. Cobb was up the stairs and out the door long before the man in the dark cell would ever stop screaming.


“Have you seen the librarian?” Isaiah asked a fellow visitor in the library. After a brief inspection, the other guest shook his head indicating he agreed that the librarian was M.I.A. That was until a blur was seen running across the back of the library. “Wait, I think I see her,” Isaiah said as he started his way toward the anomaly. “Excuse me, are you the librarian?” he asks to the lady standing in the corner. She turns and flashes Isaiah a brilliant smile. “Why yes I am. You can call me Ana. How are you today?” “I’m great. I was wondering if I could get a suggestion on a new book. I finished this one and I needed a new adventure.” “A new adventure?” Her elevated excitement could be seen from ear to ear. “Well, this is the place to find one! What was your last adventure like?” Isaiah looked at the book in his hand to remember all the details of the book. “I know it was historical fiction. But I really loved the meticulous backgrounds of the characters.” He then hands the librarian the book. She glances it over and then places it down on the table. “I loved that one too. Follow me. I have a few you may like.” Isaiah smiled and started walking behind the librarian. The library wasn’t too excessive, but it wasn’t minuscule either. There were two rooms in the back for private studying or meetings. Then there was one giant-sized conference room that ran along the west wall. In the middle where Isaiah and his new library friend were there was a circulation desk that only held one librarian. Or, it was supposed to hold one librarian, but she was leading Isaiah threw an aisle on the east side of the library. A slight sensation of guilt entered Isaiah's mind as he kept the solo librarian from doing her duties. “Alright we are almost there,” she says as she slows down to what appears to be her destination. “This is it! You have to check this epic section out,” the librarian said as her eyes lit up at the multitude of books. Isaiah chuckles at her excitement. “I’m sorry. I just love getting lost in a good book,” she says as she blushes in embarrassment “No, no. Don’t apologize. I want to experience the same type of excitement.” “Really?” she says as she bends down to retrieve a book. ”Well I believe this is the best story to start with.” “It’s kind of long don’t you think?” “It looks that way. But once you start reading it, I guarantee you will blow through it and be back here within a day. I’ll make a guarantee. If you don’t like it, or if you find yourself reading this longer than a few days, I’ll buy you coffee,” she says with a smile. “Ok. And if I do read it, I’ll buy you coffee,” Isaiah said as he shoots his shot. “Deal. I guess we are having coffee one way or another.” They both enjoy a mirroring smile as they shake hands. When Isaiah returned home, he placed the book on the table. He did desire to take the cute librarian out for coffee, but it wasn’t a high priority right now. The new season of his favorite show just came out and he wanted to check out a few episodes on his day off. But, after a disappointing 30 minutes, he decided to maybe flip through a couple of pages. He did promise himself that he would strive to read more, and there was no time like the present. “Let’s see,” he says to himself as he looks at the table of contents with the intent to skip to a chapter that sounded exciting. He finally settled for the beginning since he probably needed to understand the first chapter if he was going to be talking about it on his date. At least that was his initial plan. Soon he found himself captivated by the waves of the words that detailed the thrashing sea as the boat battled the ocean and its inhabitants within. Though he had planned an engaging day, it had dissipated as he completed three-quarters of the book, only stopping for a quick snack and the bathroom. As the words started to be buried in the dark shadows, the illumination of a clock knocked at his eyelids so they could inform him of the disappearing seconds. “Oh, crap. It’s late. I’ll just finish this tomorrow,” he said as he placed the book on the table and went to bed. After he finally relaxed enough to close the windows of his soul, he was awakened by the intense shout of the lighting that slammed outside of his door. “What the hell?” he says as he runs to the door to inspect the damage on his rented house. “What the hell?” he yells as he repeats the same phrase but with more fear as there was no rental house behind the door. Only a few wooden planks on what was perceived as a swaying boat lay in front of his door. The upset lightning provided spurts of illumination to the scene as raindrops reacted as chandeliers before shattering on the wood. His breath was snatched by the singing wind that dashed over the darkened boat and into the sea. Before Isaiah could lose his mind, it concluded that the scene had to be a dream. But the brief acceptance of the scene being unreal was heaved overboard as a silhouette was spotted at the bow of the ship. Isaiah quickly slammed the door, because even though it was a dream, nightmares are still not worth living in. He ran back to his bed like a toddler to hide under his covers. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” he said to himself as a knock came upon his door. “It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream!” he yells louder as the knock alters into a creaking door. The howling wind enters first, followed by the screaming lighting. Isaiah tries to comfort himself with his assuring sentence, but nothing was allowed from his mouth as the screams and howls proved too much for any voice, real or unreal. He closes his eyes and attempts to scream himself awake as he feels his cover disengage. A quick coolness flows over his body, followed by complete silence. He opens his eyes and sees the legs of the silhouette standing by his bed. “I can’t believe you didn’t finish the book yet.” Isaiah quickly looks up to view a familiar smile as the dream transitions into the fog that is blown away by reality. The raindrops were not in this version of reality, but Isaiah’s bed was still soaked with a form of water. His breath slowly returned as he viewed his room, bed, and door. Yes, he may be a grown man, but this night he decided he should sleep with the light on if he was going to sleep at all. As he sat staring at the rotating ceiling fan, he thought about the book. He had read books before, but never had they given him such vivid dreams. Maybe if he read the rest of the book he could at least calm his imagination on what could happen. After an internal vote, he decided to just read until he fall asleep. After locking his room door for some added fabricated security, he walked to his desk to pick up the book before laying back down.

As he came upon the last chapter of the book, he started comparing the scene of his dream to the scene in the book. It wasn’t too different. There was a crazy storm with destructive winds and booming lighting. And there was also a silhouette on the bow that the captain saw that made him go crazy and kill his entire crew. But then, in the end, the silhouette was just a blind spot he had developed on the sea. Isaiah thought it was all crazy, but it was a really good ending. It was good enough to allow him to attempt to sleep. As he closed his eyes, he anticipated a possible storm brewing on the other side, but it was only sweet darkness through the night. The library smelled like coffee as the door dinged indicating a returning patron. “I knew you would be back!” The librarian yelled once she saw Isaiah enter the room. “Aren’t libraries supposed to be quiet?” Isaiah asked while chuckling at the excited, but cute, librarian. “Maybe, but it’s just me and you this afternoon, so we're good to yell and scream all we want. And I made coffee.” “You made coffee? But I thought I’m supposed to take you to coffee if I came back?” She laughs and walks around the desk toward Isaiah with two cups in her hand. “Yeah, I know. But I rather stay indoors and go through some books.” “I guess we can do that. But next time I’m taking you out.” She hands him a cup. “I’ll consider it.” Isaiah looks at the cup. “So did you put your finger in it?” “Eww, why?” She asks. “Because I need some sweetness in it.” The librarian rolls her eyes and walks off while sipping on her drink. “I’m just playing,” Isaiah says as he follows behind her. “And if I wiped my butt before, what then?” Isaiah stopped to inspect the cup. The librarian pauses and shakes her head. “Just sit down here silly. I have to go get this book for you,” she says as she continues to walk down the aisle.

Isaiah sat down and took the risk of drinking the coffee. It was surprisingly delectable to his tastebuds. Usually, he has to repair his concoction, but this one was perfect as is. “This coffee is pretty good,” he yells. “I know it is because it has all the right juices,” she yells back. “Umm, ok. So how come the library is so empty today?” he asks as he continues to risk it all with the coffee. She returns with two books in her hand. “I’m not sure. I usually have it all to myself. Which is fine by me because I can go on a journey through all the books without any distractions.” “That sounds like a wonderful time.” “Yep. it sure is. So tell me, what did you think about this book?” She points at the book Isaiah read the previous night. “It was actually really good. To be honest, I had a crazy dream about it, but it kind of motivated me to finish it early this morning. So it was all good.” “Crazy dream?” “Yeah. Honestly, I swear you were in it.” She smiles. “Well, a good book should stimulate your brain so much that it spawns a vivid simulation amongst every one of your senses.” “What?” Ana chuckles as she picks up one of the books. “Here, take this one tonight.” “It isn’t going to give me nightmares again is it?” “Naw. But just read it all.” “And this time, if I do, I’m taking you out.” “We’ll see,” she chuckles. When Isaiah returned home, he was kind of excited to read the new book Ana suggested. This book was set in a dystopian future. Isaiah hadn’t read many science fiction books, but the excerpt of this one seemed fascinating. And since Ana’s last suggestion was pretty good, this one had to be at least decent. And as the pages flipped back to back, he had to acknowledge Ana knew her books. This one was filled with multiple twists that had Isaiah constantly guessing and debating. He didn’t stop until the last page was turned. “Wow,” he said as he stood up and walked to his bed pondering on the lesson of the book. He couldn’t wait to discuss this book with Ana. There was plenty to debate. Maybe he could debate it over coffee. As he closed his eyes, he wondered if he would be transported to another world like the previous night. But he did finish this one, so maybe he wouldn’t. But as his eyes re-opened, he received his answer. “Aw, crap.” He was in his room, but the wall with his window was not present. He could see across the war-torn landscape. “I guess I can’t hide this time. But it’s just a dream.” “Yes. Just a dream.” The sound of another person behind him startled him greater than the armageddon in front. He tried to turn and look, but his body did not respond like in reality. A blurred figure entered his peripheral as they both stared at the destruction. “What a crazy thing your senses have simulated.” “Ana?” The sound that he heard was familiar, but without being able to turn his head, the identity couldn’t be confirmed. “Ana? Tell me that is you.” The figure walked forward where Isaiah could at least make out an intricate figure of a lady. “Or, is it just time in the middle of a ripple effect, and we just happen to be in the perfect spot to see a refraction of the future.” “What is happening?” Isaiah yells. Ana turns around. “Exactly!”

Isaiah sat up in his bed, once again dripping in sweat. His sheets weren’t wet this time, but they did discharge a scent of smoke. “What the hell?” The next day, Isaiah was supposed to head to work, but he needed answers for the second vivid dream. As he entered the library, he noticed a different person at the desk. He started to walk toward it until he heard someone trying to get his attention down one of the aisles. “Ana?” he asked as she ushered him to her. “What are doing?” “Sorry? I can’t talk too much this morning because my co-worker likes to snitch.” “I have to ask you about these books you keep giving me. That’s twice I had an extremely vivid dream. And I swear you were in both of them.” “That’s crazy,” she whispers. “But take this one, and we can talk about both of them tomorrow.” She takes the book Isaiah brought and hands him another. “Is this about to be another?” “I promise we’ll talk,” she says as she walks to the back of the library. Isaiah, who had already called in sick, goes back to his house with the new book. He contemplates if he should really read it, or just ignore it. He sighs as he picks up the book and opens it. This setting was in ancient Egypt. The descriptions of the city are what really stood out to Isaiah. He would have absolutely loved to see it in all its glory. He closes the book and wonders if maybe he could. He closes his eyes, and just like the day before, he was transferred to a different place. “I have to see the city before this turns crazy.” He says to himself as he opens the door to the splendor of ancient Memphis. “Wow. Amazing!” Isaiah said as he stood in awe. “It really is.” The same figure from the previous dreams said. But this time, Ana’s beauty stood clearly in front of Isaiah. She was dressed like she was from the time period, but it was her. “So are you really here, or are you a figment of my imagination?” Isaiah asks as he was allowed to view her this time. She smiles. “I’ll let you figure that out. But how about we just explore before you determine that.” She offers her hand to Isaiah. He smiles. “Okay. I did say I would take you out.” After what seemed like a few days of exploring, Isaiah woke up. It was a few hours later, but he was still in his house, sitting in the same chair. He had to know if Ana was somehow playing tricks on him, or if books could be that powerful. So he traveled back to the library. When he arrived, he couldn’t find Ana anywhere, but the librarian he saw earlier was still sitting at the desk. “Excuse me, I was wondering if Ana was in?” She looked over her glasses. “Who?” “Ana? She was working earlier.” The lady shook her head. “Oh, Anansi. I thought I saw her walking around here again.” She then looked at the book in Isaiah’s hand. “It looks like you already found her.”


Note from the author: This story contains a few instances of strong language. *** ‘Bloody hell Flint!’ Luthar exclaimed as he stood up in his stirrups, straining to get a better view of the city up ahead. ‘Threftall, capital of Peccothia and the biggest city in all the three kingdoms.’ Flint replied, chuckling at the wonder plastered across Luthar’s face. The white stone it was built from seemed to give out its own light, a stark contrast against the dull grey cliffs behind. Water plummeted from the high ridge, straight down into the city itself, spray falling on the red tiled roofs at the north side of the city. Mighty pointed towers stretched high above the walls, each bearing the red and gold royal standard of Peccothia. As he stared ahead to the enormous city, he felt suddenly very small and insignificant, the capital city of his home was beautiful, yet slightly overpowering. Luthar slumped back into his saddle and rubbed at Stepper’s neck fondly. She’d felt his excitement and was tensing slightly, Luthar marvelled at how she was so in tune with his emotions. ‘It’s ok girl, nearly there now.’ He soothed her back into her gentle stride. ‘Let’s pick up the pace, we’ve wares to sell and gold waits for no man.’ Old Ben’s voice cracked as sharp as the whip he used to drive his horses. He was a good sort, mostly, except for an obvious impatience when there was money to be earned. ‘We’ll be there before night falls; don’t you fret about that!’ Flint called back to him over his shoulder, before directing an ever so slight shake of his head at Luthar. It was at that moment that Edryg galloped to the front of their small column, blasting Luthar with a frown that could melt steel. Since their latest entanglement with the Cult of Lazmurol at the Compass Crossroads, he’d regained his strength and vitality remarkably well. When pushed for an explanation, he’d dismissed their concerns with a wave of his hand, blaming it on some rare magic the fellow had used without his knowing. ‘Someone’s tracking us. I can’t see them, but I know they’re there. Keep a sharp lookout and don’t stop. I’ll head for that rise and see if I can spy whoever they are.’ ‘Right y’are.’ Replied Flint, barely paying any attention. ‘Connell is bringing up the rear, shout him if you need to, and he’ll do the same.’ ‘Ride safe.’ Flint called to Edryg’s back as he set off towards the crest of the hill at a gallop. He then turned to Luthar with a shake of his head. ‘I reckon that old bastard’s mad you know.’ ‘I wouldn’t tell him that, he’d chuck you in some dungeon and you’d never see the light of day again.’ ‘That’s probably fair.’ Flint replied before facing ahead down the road once more. A little way ahead, a small cluster of houses sat a short way off the road, chimneys smoking against the clear blue sky. One such building caught Luthar’s attention, a great mass of sprawling extensions added haphazardly around one central brick tower. The gentle breeze caused a rusted metal sign to squeak slightly as it swayed back and forth, proclaiming the Merchant’s Rest Inn. Luthar’s mouth watered as he licked his lips in anticipation of good food and even better ale. ‘Don’t think we’re stopping there; I’ve got deliveries to make.’ Old Ben piped up as if he’d read Luthar’s thoughts. ‘We won’t stay long, just a taste of ale and a quick bite. Surely as your loyal guards and escort we’ve earned that much at least?’ Luthar gave him his best winning smile over his shoulder, trying to win the old man round. ‘All right, fine. But you’re buying.’ He replied in that harsh voice he had, clearly trying to disguise that saving a few pennies had been his plan all along. Luthar exchanged grins with Flint again, they’d done very well out of this job and Lord Wedderburn had pressed a reward upon them both for agreeing to travel with Edryg and Connell, so buying Old Ben some food and drink wouldn’t leave them short. Even the weather was holding out as they were on the home stretch. Life was definitely looking up. A bird chirped somewhere off to their left as they approached the great inn, it’s song a welcome addition to the cosy nature of the small village. Curious, thought Luthar, nobody seemed to be outside. Where were the traders and travellers, stableboys and smiths? The hamlet took on an eerie feel as a cloud rolled over the sun and cast it into a dreary gloom. Luthar held up his hand for them all to stop, feeling the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Something was wrong. Something zipped through the air, making Luthar flinch as it passed inches from his face. Not a second after, Lucas yelped as he fell back, tugged hard on the reins of his horse, making him rear and dump him flat on his back. More arrows flew over them as Luthar steered Stepper behind the massive wagon where Old Ben had scrambled for cover, an old mace clutched in his knobbly hand. ‘Looks like you’re really earning my money now lad!’ Old Ben had an excited grin on his face, like he’d been yearning for someone to take a chance on his fine possessions. ‘We could’ve done without this.’ Luthar replied as Flint skidded down behind him. ‘Looks like a good dozen of them, Connell’s seeing if he can get around the other side. Shit!’ He sprinted back out to Ed who had a fistful of Lucas’s jacket and was dragging him towards safety. When they’d dragged Lucas under the wagon and torn off his jacket and shirt, they realised he was bleeding profusely from a wound in his shoulder. The arrow hadn’t stuck, so he’d mend, but he was losing a lot of blood. Old Ben shoved Flint aside and wrapped a strip of linen around him as best he could, the deep red blood seeping into the white like spilled wine. ‘I’ll look after him, you do what you need to do.’ He said with his old hands pressing down to stop the bleeding. Luthar drew his sword and strapped his shield to his left arm, realising this could get messy. To his right, he could see Flint had done the same, stony determination had replaced his usual cheery grin. The sound of clashing steel floated over from the buildings; Connell must have engaged them. The two friends exchanged a brief nod, broke cover and sprinted for the nearest men in the confusion. The first man Luthar reached stared in horror as he bore down on him. On an instinct, he tried to block Luthar’s swing with his bow. The black steel cleaved straight through wood and flesh alike, sending him down onto the dirt. Another managed to draw his sword and take a clumsy swing which glanced harmlessly off Luthar’s pauldron and stuck into a rotten wooden pillar of the stable. Luthar took his chance and ran him straight through, his life bleeding away in seconds. He whirled away and only just stopped himself swinging at the familiar face in front of him. ‘Bloody hell Flint!’ He panted as he lowered his sword. ‘I think that’s them all, a couple ran off over the fields that way.’ Flint pointed a lazy thumb over his shoulder as he spoke. ‘Come on, let’s see how Lucas is doing.’ As they rounded the corner of the old stables, a grim scene emerged. The wagon had been reduced to one wheel, leaning dangerously over to one side. A couple of the brutish guards that Old Ben had employed alongside Luthar and Flint lay still in pools of blood. Old Ben himself swung his battered mace haphazardly as the great beast from nights before in the forest advanced on him, pace by steady pace. Connell ran up beside them, panting from the effort with blood running down the front of his usually immaculate armour. ‘What in the hell is that thing?’ He pointed his sword towards the seed of Lazmurol as if he were not quite sure what he was seeing. ‘That’s the seed of Lazmurol. I suggest we go together.’ Flint replied calmly as if the seed hadn’t beaten seven shades of shit out of him a couple of weeks previous. The three of them set off at a run towards the giant. Luthar thought he looked even bigger in the daylight if that was even possible. He caught a swing on his blade, the shock reverberating up his arms as he strained with everything he had to keep that enormous sword away from his face. Flint drove his blade into the trusty gap under the arm, Connell’s found the join at the neck. A blood curdling wail split Luthar’s skull in two as the beast was wounded. A boot found Luthar’s chest, sending him skidding across the dirt, winded. Steel rang against steel as he struggled to his feet and gasped for air. He could see Old Ben was giving it his best, his mace bouncing off ever more dinted and scraped black armour plates. He couldn’t be shown up by an old merchant, so he set off again to bring the fight to the mountain of a man. Luthar’s first blow was swatted away by a plate covered hand, his second only screeched against the chest plate and bounced off. This wasn’t working, he had to think fast. ‘Get them blades in the gaps again and see if you can hold his arms!’ He commanded the three others, an idea quickly forming in his mind. Connell’s blade slipped into the neck joint again. As a giant hand tried to swat him away, he wrapped his other arm around it, holding it under his own armpit. Flint’s sword dashed of the side of the breastplate as he worked patiently for the opening. It came when Old Ben’s mace smashed into the back of the giant’s helmet, stunning him for a brief second. That awful wail came again as the steel slipped and crunched inside. Flint copied Connell and heaved on the mighty arm to try and stop it moving. ‘Whatever you’re doing, do it quick.’ He managed to call out as he wrestled with the flailing limb. Luthar dropped his shield and drew his shorter blade with his left hand. He worked his fingers on the grip, waiting for his opening. As the three men struggled with the giant, they dragged him back, taking him off balance. Luthar spied his chance and thrust his arming sword point first into the gap at the top of the cuisse. One leg kicked violently out as the giant struggled harder, ever more desperate. The group, ever more off balance, sagged backwards and collapsed onto the dirt in a heaving mass. Flint, Connell and Old Ben struggled on top, trying to keep their foe pinned down. Short sword in hand, Luthar dived onto his chest, teeth gritted so hard his jaw screamed in protest. It was like trying to stay on an unruly horse, the giant thrashed like all hell against the four of them. Luthar fumbled with the helmet, trying to find a join to open the faceguard. He found a slight gap and tore at it with all his might. With a grating and slight bending, it came away revealing a face, surprising in only how normal it looked. He was not a young man, but not terribly old, neither dark nor fair. Long brown hair stuck to the beads of sweat on his skin, a close-cropped beard of the latest fashion covered a strong jawline. Before he began to think of this being as human, Luthar slammed the point of his short sword into his soft, fleshy neck, feeling the point scrape against the inside of the steel helmet. His back arched as his mouth opened wide in a noiseless scream. For a second his body was wound tight, like a longbow string moments before it fires the arrow. After a few seconds he lay still, peaceful almost as if he’d not been trying to kill them moments before. The bird called again, oblivious to what had just come to pass at this tiny settlement. They all slowly eased themselves to their feet, groaning as various aches and pains stabbed them once more. Now the Adrenalin had subsided, Luthar’s chest felt like it had caved from the boot he’d taken. His ribs burned like fire with every breath he drew. ‘Luthar.’ Flint’s voice from behind him. ‘What?’ Luthar turned to see what he wanted. Through the village marched a dozen of the giants, all clad in the same black, spiked armour that the seed of Lazmurol had donned. A procession of very dangerous beasts, the thump thump thump of their boots warned they were ready to do some serious damage. Now only twenty yards away, they drew giant black swords in perfect unison, points bobbing up and down as they advanced. ‘Bloody hell Flint!’ Were the only words Luthar could muster as he squeezed the handle of his sword tight in his right hand. It was the finest forged, deadliest weapon for miles around, yet now it felt little more than a letter opener. He bent his knees slightly, ready to counter whatever came at him first. Better to die fighting than give up with a whimper, no matter how high the odds were stacked against you. That gleaming tip was less than ten yards away when an almighty explosion erupted, sending clods of dirt and grass into the air. The world turned upside down as Luthar realised he was weightless, trees, buildings and roads all spun in and out of his vision as he careered through the air. Instinctively he let go of his sword, if he survived the fall he didn’t want to meet his end stabbed with his own blade. The ground rose up to meet him and smashed the wind out of him, far worse than the seed’s boot had done earlier. Spots of colour popped in his vision as the world seemed to spin even faster. The metallic taste of blood seeped into every corner of his mouth. He coughed and red liquid splashed over his mail and down his chin. He lifted his head to try and right himself, but the rest of his body would no longer obey him. Sagging back down, the corners of his vision went dark. It spread like the curtains closing after the final show was done. They met in the middle and Luthar floated away, no longer feeling pain.


The 14th of June 2053 is the day when Clara thought she was going to die. She would cease to be the main character of her own story and would turn into one of those novels that sit in library books gathering dust with no one reading them ever again.

Ten years earlier Clara was working a dead-end job which, bit by bit, was being replaced by robots. Working in New York wasn’t all it cracked up to be. Clara grew up on a farm surrounded by plants and animals and she loved it. She won prizes many times at county fairs for her impressive vegetables. Nevertheless, times were changing and Clara couldn’t afford the farm her parents gave her when they passed. With great sorrow, Clara sold the farm and went to the city in search of work.

Her savings were dwindling and Clara could barely afford the room she was renting. Losing the place to live and going to the streets was not an option. With the new policy on homelessness introduced in the US in 2045 any person found without the means to support themselves and without a home would be sent off to Alaska to the labour camps for low-skilled humans. No one she knows has ever come back from there. She might have been depressed but certainly not suicidal.

One day on her last day of work Clara found an interesting advert sub subway (transportation for the lower classes) which read: Are you unhappy with your life? Are you skilled in any STEM subjects, farming, and Botanics? Do you want to be a hero and do something incredible with your life? If so, visit us on colonizemars.com and join in the mission to reach for the stars. Clara thought it was an odd advert. Yes, there have been talks about colonising Mars since the beginning of the century from what her grandparents told her but she was surprised we finally got to a point where it is possible. She was curious to at least find out a bit more about the project.

As she walked back to her flat after getting her last paycheck and going through overdue bills, Clara remembered the advert she saw that very morning and thought that it won’t hurt to take a look.

As she was reading she realised that this could be an interesting opportunity. The company paid for any unsettled debts, provided free accommodation, food and she could apply as a botanist having a strong background due to her upbringing. She could do something she loves and gives her life meaning. It was certainly better than being sent off to a labour camp and losing her freedom.

She was a single child with no family and she wasn’t particularly sociable either. Clara generally kept to herself so missing people from back on Earth wouldn’t be an issue.

It was settled that this is an opportunity she might not get ever again and so the next day she applied. After a series of tests checking her skills, health, and any underlying medical issues Clara was officially accepted for the program. As she later found out it was going to be named project ‘Sunrise’.

Amongst the many preparations and training for the one-way journey to Mars Clara had a terrible realisation - there would be no windows anywhere in her new home. The new material, altanium, discovered just ten years ago was the strongest yet lightest material known to men. As such, the need for glass would be costly and potentially fatal. The ship as well as the entire Dome City (or as they liked to call it ‘The arc’) - the new habitation quarters on Mars would be completely closed off. The advancements in virtual reality meant that there would be special rooms where you can select where you want to go and feel like you’re there. That technology is something Clara could never be able to afford. Having a look outside the window and seeing the grim and dirty New York streets she thought she didn't need to see outside and it is not like Mars would be the most exciting place anyway.

Clara didn’t remember the journey to Mars as, just like the rest of the teams, they were hibernated for the duration of the flight. She enjoyed her new little flat and she excelled in her job. She realised that although she wasn’t the most sociable person when it comes to small talk she was pretty good at teaching and so the Botanics team was doing great at feeding the teams. As soon as Mars is terraformed Clara would begin the fertilisation and farming process. But as the years went by Clara was starting to get restless. She knew that project ‘Sunrise’ would take years but she didn’t realise how long those ten years would last. She never thought she would say this but she missed real sunrises, the smell of the city, and the sheer reality of being there. The projection room started to feel empty and hollow and didn’t satisfy her anymore. As she was getting her weekly vitamin D light therapy she realised she hasn’t seen sunlight for almost ten years. Suddenly a familiar sound came out of the speakers

Low oxygen. I repeat low oxygen. There has been a breach in the dome structure. Return to your rooms and await further instructions. Clara obediently started rushing towards her room thinking it’s the fifth time it happened this month. She has asked for a possibility to install some sort of viewing platform or a window but was met with denial. After all, the low oxygen announcements have been getting more frequent and so even if altanium cannot be relied on fully there was absolutely no way for any other material to be used and jeopardise the mission. Due to the strength of altanium no sound waves could escape its walls. That meant that all communication with Earth was controlled by specialised personnel, the ‘Special Communication Unit’, outside of the dome city. Clara didn’t mind as she made enough friends in the living quarters to keep herself busy.

One of those friends was James Anderson. James always intrigued Clara. She wasn’t sure if it was his good looks or enigmatic personality. James was part of the SCU team which generally kept to themselves. Clara was a hopeless romantic but her shy nature often stopped her from pursuing intimate relationships. She liked to walk past James’ room hoping for the courage to express her feelings to him. One night as Clara was walking by she heard James singing and she couldn’t help but to listen in. His voice was quiet and cracking down as though he would burst into tears at any moment.

One day we will walk through emerald fields And we will swim through sapphire waters We will fix what went wrong We will dance again, we will continue After a long winter returning birds fly home Ice melts and the world starts anew Can we ever start again You’re no match for any men In a day or two or maybe more Weeks or years I still believe That the world will turn around

And the sun will rise for us as long as we exist This caught Clara completely off guard. No one has ever sung her a love song and it was clear to her now that James was still in love with someone. She couldn’t even compete with that kind of love. Her eyes started swelling up and she hurried back to her room before anyone would notice her crying.

The next day Clara noticed James sitting on his own and he seemed down. She thought they could still talk even if they were never meant to end up together. As Clara tried to cheer James up he initially seemed to get even sadder. The sadness then unexpectedly turned into anger. He looked at Clara and said ‘You just don’t understand'. Clara was flabbergasted and told James that she understands he is still in love. James stood up in anger and blurted out ‘You don’t get it’. Clara was now getting frustrated as well. ‘Well tell me then what I do not understand?!’ - said Clara. ‘We don’t have much time...we are...we are…we are’ - James looked into the distance as he kept repeating the same words. ‘We are what?! James tell me what is going on at this instant!’ - shouted Clara. ‘We are...running out of oxygen. We’ll be out by Sunday and no one is coming for us’ - said James almost as though he was bored and thinking of something else already. He was still looking into the distance and avoiding Clare’s stare. He turned around and left in a hurry.

Clara shouted after him but James didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to cause a scene and ran back to her quarters. She couldn’t believe it. This just didn’t make any sense. Was this not an issue beforehand? Why is no one coming with help? It must be those damned dome structure breaches which ruined the oxygen supply and help wouldn’t get here in time… Everything continued as normal. It seemed that no one knew that anything was wrong yet. Clara withdrew back to her shell and stopped speaking to anyone. She was still in disbelief that all her efforts would go to waste. She wanted to change the world and she will never get a chance to do it now. It was all completely pointless. There was no fate worse than death.

The 14th of June 2053 is the day when Clara thought she was going to die. She would cease to be the main character of her own story and would turn into one of those novels that sit in library books gathering dust with no one reading them ever again.

Eventually, an announcement came through the speakers late at night for everyone to gather in the dome amphitheater. Clara has never seen all of the terraforming teams gathered all in one place before, it was quite a sight. She knew what was coming and felt grateful she had time to come to terms with dying.

Finally, the announcement ended and Clara was so shaken she felt completely frozen. This is not what she expected.

‘Project Sunrise members. We have created Project Sunrise for one reason only - for humanity to endure. We must survive. Thank you for participating in our largest to date self-preservation quarantine project. Over a decade ago we received intelligence that the United Republic of East Asia was working on a biological weapon aimed to reduce their numbers due to overpopulation and lack of resources. The weapon could not be controlled and it started spreading quickly. We have tried everything in our power to protect our people and I’m afraid to say that we have failed. We have failed as human beings and as you are listening to this recording you are the only ones left who were protected from the fatal biological weapon which has wiped out almost all of the human population. Your expertise in terraforming Mars will be used to re-establish humans and our societies. Our knowledge has not been lost. You see through all this time you have been in a secret base on Earth rather than sent to Mars. We…’ As she listened to the announcement Clara was so shaken she felt completely forzen. This is not what she expected. Is that why there were no windows? But what about the flight? Oh yes, they were asleep throughout it…. She was in a strange haze as everyone started walking through the exit. She suddenly felt her hand being grabbed and realised it was James.

‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth!? How could you…’ - cried Clara quietly. ‘Some fates are worse than death Clara. For a long time that is how I felt about ours. Knowing but powerless to do anything. Powerless to help my colleagues. My friends. My family. But I do not anymore. We have a new purpose now’ - said James. They kept walking together quietly with their hands interwoven. Clara was lost for words and still in shock. As they went outside for the first time in ten years, the sun was rising from the East as it has for millions of years. It’s the sight Clara so desperately wanted to see but hoped she would never get to see again.

As they stood there together for a while, she heard a faint melody sung by James and smiled when she realised the song’s true meaning. One day we will again walk through emerald fields And we will swim through sapphire waters We will fix what went wrong We will dance again, we will continue After a winter returning birds fly home Ice melts and the world starts anew Please let us start again You’re no match for any men In a day or two or maybe more Weeks or years I still believe That the world will turn around

And the sun will rise for us as long as we exist


The bright lights and constant moving seemed to shove a sense of euphoria into the air. Excitement bubbled from every corner. The crowd flowed like wind, dashing from one stand then slowly ambling onto the next. But the crowd was a crowd. Another mere object that hindered my movements. Walking through it was growing exhausting. How long had I been moving forward? It was late, and the new moon in the sky allowed the lanterns and colors to light up the night. I sat on a bench, beside a large tent. Children's squeals of joy sounded from inside. It was a reptile exhibit, though everything else was too loud to allow me to hear any snakes. Across the road—which was emptier now, since a show was going on in the catering section—I watched two faceless children exchange a bill for a bag filled with cotton candy. It was overpriced. Ten dollars for such a small bag. But within the elation of the festival, prices grew irrelevant until the next day, when regret emerged. Cotton candy. How long had it been since I'd ever had any? I stood up, reaching into my empty pockets. The woman beside the cart watched me closely, though I couldn't see her face. She gestured for me to come closer. I insisted that I had no money, but she offered me the bag regardless. As I reached out, I paused. I couldn't allow myself to be swept up in festivities. I needed to find my way back. I shook my head, pulling away. The woman wasn't fond of my decision. She didn't yell, nor did she chase me when I left, but I could feel her unhappiness. Like everyone else, her expression was blank. Her face was blank. Nothing but a slab of solid color. I wondered if I appeared that way to them, too. If they were all so swept up in their own worlds that I was as blank as everyone else. I shook my head. Regardless of what everyone else appeared to be, I needed to get back. I passed a man. He wore a purple suit and a matching top hat. Even without a face, I could feel his plastic grin as he shouted for everyone to gather around. For a moment I wavered, watching with the rest of the people. He conducted a few simple magic tricks that everyone knew how to do. Still, the crown was amazed. Then came the box trick. He needed a volunteer from the crowd. Every magic show was the same. There was nothing special about this one. Nothing new, except for the volunteer. His long arm outstretched in front of him, his index finger the only one left out. It pointed at me. I shook my head, backing away. I'd seen enough. I had other places to be than such a ridiculous magic show. Still, the crowd turned to me. Every face watching, even without eyes. They pushed me forward, towards the stage. I continued to shake my head. They ignored it. And when my feet stood firmly on the wooden stage, I faced the magician. He waved his arms toward the box. So I ignored him. I walked passed him and down the stage, back to the main path. No one stopped me this time. Much like before, their feelings of despondent seeped into the air. I hurried away. How much further would it be? More people watched me as I walked now. Their faceless heads following my every movement. The crowd was no lighter. It seemed to be growing more and more, as if its goal was to waver me. I maneuvered around, taking different paths to avoid the crowd. And at last I had made it. I could see it. The distant parking lot. It was empty, behind a fence with a closed gate. And behind the parking lot, a house. My house. My home. As I ran across the grass—when had I started running?—the crowd grew more desperate to stop me. They grabbed me and shouted at me. They more intensely attempted to offer me food or prizes. I shouted, too. But unlike theirs, my shout was of fear. I pulled away, kicking at anything that tried to root me down. And when I was free, I continued running. They didn't follow me away from the festival. As if the booths and stands marked a border that they could not cross. I looked away from the faceless mob. I wouldn't allow myself to go there again. Over the fence. Across the street. To the house. Finally, I was home. As I grabbed the doorknob, I froze. Why did I want to go home? How did I know this was my home? I had no memories of this place at all. For some reason, it just seemed like the place I needed to be at. Not the festival. I opened the door. And, as if I had opened something within myself as well, a memory returned. A memory of myself, existing in that house. Of myself, cowering in fear beside my bed while my parents weren't home at night. And when they returned, they refused to acknowledge my presence. And I remembered the festival, every year. The only place that I had actually felt happy. Even just standing in front of it, with no money to pay for a ticket. Because it seemed to give off an ambience of excitement. Of happiness. I had watched everyone walk in, focusing more on their feelings than their identities. How many hours had I stood longingly outside the gate, watching the joy of those who entered? And whenever I'd asked my parents to buy me a ticket, they'd yell at me. They'd say we couldn't afford anything like that, even though they left the house every night. I would listen to them. I'd have to. Otherwise, they'd be mad. It's okay, though. I was happy, just watching the festival. Yet, one night, a man had been kind enough to buy me a ticket. He said that they were cheap, and it wasn't a problem at all. I had thanked him genuinely. And, even though I couldn't participate in anything, just walking around that night was amazing. To be within such joyfulness. To stand in its center. A feeling I never wanted to forget. When I returned home, my parents asked where I had been. I told them, and they got mad. They said I shouldn't beg other people to pay for me, and that I wasn't worth paying for. I listened to them. They were usually right, after all. And even when I agreed with them, they were still mad. More mad than usual. It was scary. What happened after that? I can't remember... But why had I wanted to return home so badly, even after being in the festival? I looked beyond the door. The house was normal. The rooms were as they always were. And my parents were gone, as they always were. I was afraid, when they were gone. When they weren't there to protect me. I called for them. There was no answer. But something walked down the stairs. I don't know what it was. I can't describe it. It seemed so unfitting, as if it shouldn't exist. Simply a dark gap, a deleted reality. And it didn't speak, but I could hear it. It was telling me to leave. That I had to leave. It was time, apparently. It wanted me to go with it. But it wasn't a discomforting, ominous call like the people in the festival. It was more welcoming, and I knew it had no malicious intent. When I asked it a question, it turned to look at me, although I wasn't sure if that was its face. "It's time for you to go," was all it answered, and so we went.