The tingling sensation in my body felt like a million fireflies dancing up from my feet and into my heart. I reminded myself to breathe. I freaking love being around groups of people. It’s almost like it’s electric. I looked to my friend, Kate, who was finally coming out with me, and smiled. She gave a reflexive smile. I felt like I was beaming with happiness that she had her face out of a book. She is seldom up for going anywhere outside their favorite spots. Sure, I love to just relax with Kate in our oversized hoodies, it was just something about seeing Kate in her “going-out” clothes that made me feel even more excited about having her outside the house. I looked down at my watch, but as I went to speak, Kate already knew the time without looking at her watch. So I said, “I know. You’ll give me all kinds of crazy signals until it’s time.” Maybe the word crazy was too harsh. Anyway, she will have a good time and will thank me later.

It was then that Taylor opened the door and flashed her perfect smile at us.

“Denise!” she shouted as she marched her feet in excitement. Matching her energy, I opened my arms and sang “Taylor!”. We embraced and I introduced Taylor to Kate. As we walked in, I immediately recognized almost everyone I used to work with back at Hanger’s Bar. I was washed over with different memories for each person. I set my things down and proceeded to greet each one with a short hug. It took me quite a few minutes to catch up politely with each hug recipient before separating to arm myself with a drink and my best friend. As I scanned the room for more familiar faces to reminisce with, I saw Kate approaching me with drinks. She’s the best, which is why I have a few people that I want her to meet. I knew that Kate’s energy reserve could be depleted quickly with too many social interactions, so I had to choose my recommendations carefully. I let her choose from my list of potential social options in the order that she thinks would be best. It is somewhat of a game we play when we go out. I choose four to five people that I think she would really enjoy getting to know and, based on Kate’s energy supply that night, we meet as many as she wants. It is a way that we can both be respectful of each other’s needs. And that’s why this party will be the best because, with Kate, it always is. The bodily sensations I was experiencing felt like a fuzzy boulder was sitting in my stomach while my mouth would put the dusty desert plains to shame. I reminded myself to breathe. My friend, Denise, looked at me and smiled. For as long as Kate could remember, Denise had always thrived when she was the center of attention. Denise long denies it, but if you look closely right before she’s about to step into the spotlight, there’s an almost too subtle to miss switch, like the batteries connecting in a toy.

It had been forever since I have come out with Denise. It has been forever only because I can almost always be found happily reading alone under my blanket at home. So according to best friend law, I am required one obligatory night a month to a place of Denise’s choosing. I could see Denise out of the corner of my eye, looking down at her watch. “Seven fifteen,” I said, without looking at mine. I checked five minutes ago. “We have one hour and forty-five minutes until” and she interrupted. She tried to tell me my very discreet finger-to-nose signal was crazy. “And they are not crazy signals,” I mumbled. It is just sometimes when my battery is running low, I can be, shall we say, eager to leave?

As I finished my sentence, the pale yellow door opened, and there stood our hostess for the next one hour and forty-four minutes anyway. She was wearing a very flashy dress and very sensible heels. I remember thinking that was either smart or not on purpose. I blinked as if to shake myself out of my own head. As Kate started her first round of hugs, I didn’t want to stand awkwardly to the side of the group of people while she caught up with everyone, so I kept it moving through the kitchen and into the living room. I grabbed a couple of red cups and filled them with the mystery punch from the refreshments table. As I stood there, drinking and scanning the rest of the faces in the room, I saw the cutest orange tabby cat on the top of the piano by the back wall. So naturally, I made my way over and began to scratch the kitty’s chin. I figured if anyone else wanted to pet the cat, it would be a natural conversation starter and something we would automatically have in common. When the cat decided it had its fill of human attention and ran off, I started to make my way back towards Kate. I gave her the punch and she started to give me short little bios of the people she wanted me to meet tonight. As much as I find comfort in my Netflix list and pajamas with Denise after school, I really do look forward to shaking things up once a month and coming out with her. She gives me that push I need to get my toes outside of my comfort zone. “Life starts outside your comfort zone!” Kate likes to sing out when I am resisting social shindigs. Most of the time, when we play our “Have you met?” game and keep it within my energy reserves, I am usually glad to be out.

And that’s why this party will be the best because, with Denise, it always is.


# Instructions: * Be extremely present. * Remember who you are – a dreamer, an idealist, a romantic. There exists only one sentence in your reality at a time. Abandon memory. Let the text flow without judgement. Bask in it. * Set inspiring music. * “” * Set a positive intention. * This story will be beautiful. * It will speak to my heart. * It will take me onto an adventure. * Additionally, you may use cannabis before reading to get high. * Depending on your country's regulatory laws, your past experiences, and your mental state. I do not encourage the use of psychoactive compounds without one's own research and full responsibility. # THE POCKET UNIVERSE In a weathered closet, I saw a universe of irredeemable beauty. My eyes misted over in joy; hardly could I hold the rivers back. A galactic invitation stood in my room. When I looked closer, I noticed an alliance of galaxies. They mysteriously floated apart, spinning like whirligigs, yet made no sound. They reminded me of cornflakes scattered in milk, unattended and already moist: I wondered where has the child gone from the breakfast. But strapped in a seat, my soul could only venture deeper into the universe, into the story, into the ever-present unfolding of life which is happening now. My eyes watered, as I waved goodbye to the alive galaxies. I greeted alluring nebulas. In the clouds of dust, I heard whispering voices. Each nebula abounded with seductively tender hands; a simple graze would melt a thousand human desires. They were pulling me nearer, but I hurtled too quickly to kiss them. I declined down the universe like a comet, trailing fire. All paradigms broke down at that unbelievable velocity – reality was a miracle; the miracle was being captured in my palm; captured nowhere else but in the eternal moment which is happening to you now. The music is perfectly guiding you. Follow it. I foraged a path through the glamorous nebulas. They sang festive melodies. Long they glittered behind as I approached a monotone realm of black holes. With a sinking feeling and quiet lungs, I snuck around the gargantuan acupunctures in space. Hungry wolves in the dark. They were always on the move, never to be seen outside shadows. How far were they, I asked? Although their black humming was scratching my skin, what unforeseeable wonders awaited beyond their event horizon? I marveled. I could not withhold an exalt. I leaned forward into the closet. The rusted wooden frame was cracking; I barely held onto it with hands. My previous self was spiraling down the infinite magnitude of the cosmos. In the blink of an eye, I saw Betelgeuse, and beyond its magnificent gleam I saw Neptune shivering in an arctic tempest. I did not have a blanket at the time. With regrets I commenced a silent flyby past the solemn planet. Before I wiped my eyes, a thunder struck and pierced my vision in half. Earth was calling upon me – I leaned farther into the closet, pushing the body’s utmost tension. Sounds of rage and despair hit me like a drought. The world was at war. Above dusky shades of Mars and below the celestial plane of Venus, women were buried in debris and children cried under trails of whizzing bullets, and amidst the pain and suffering I saw forests on fire and sobbing whales being butchered alive. Chaos, a completely spun-out-of-control chaos, one would exclaim! I discerned a subtle puppeteer’s string, however, leading the state of disarray. It was love… A twisted, limited form of it, but love, nevertheless. This speck of dust was home to vastly deluded beings who ordained endless cruelties, who elected and lived under the reign of mad kings and supreme leaders, who were meanwhile capable of great affection and friendship, who were dreaming of not being in a dream, and thus they made hell of the sole, pale blue heaven they had. The music guides you. Do you notice? Straining my eyes, I swayed to look even closer. Behind a dusty window, I noticed a human silhouette pressed against the glass. It was you. Your eyes were as watery as mine. In them glimmered a light you had mistaken for a comet’s reflection. But I was the light, travelling at an inconceivable speed down the cosmos’ infinite scope. It was me; you fool! I attempted to vocalize through language and communicate the truth withal. Did I ache to shout to you from the heavens! Oh, I did. The deafening beauty of yours jailed me in awe. Yet it seemed to have shackled itself in heartless thoughts. You were oblivious to your own beauty. You were a withered flower. *Wake up!* I screamed so desperately that waves crashed onto shores. *Awaken to the restless temple of magnificence!* I screamed with my lungs dry. Awhile, a hope flounced around me. Did you overhear the comet’s calling? Did you catch the banging voice? But my confidence faltered, as you frozenly lowered your eyes. I lost you, for I failed to reach you, but I could not dwell; you were merely a mote of dust in an infinite universe. There were things far greater than you. Into your dust I hence traveled, plummeting into a sea of deep-blue iris. Therein I witnessed orchestras drowning in a clamor. Choirs of tirelessly singing cells made up your body. Their maestro, the great conductor, was nowhere to be seen, until I came to an awakening that would incite my voyage even deeper. The conductor has been diligently swinging the wand since the birth of time. Never did he strike an error. It was Love, Life, The Puppeteer! What a gorgeous universe resided inside your womb! At that point, my mind was at craze. Music brought me to an orgasm. Hardly could I distinguish between solar systems coming into life and electrons mindlessly spinning around atomic citadels. But wait. These atoms were not mindless. In fact, far from it. I became wildly alive upon the realization everything I subdued as separate stood on the shoulders of these little creatures. Infinitely intelligent creatures indeed… As these particles perfectly knew their purpose. They spun and pulsed and quivered without anyone advising them how. I could yell at them. Threaten them; *spin faster, or…!* But in that I would kill the spontaneous process of Nature. Life’s ingenuity would always precede one’s paradigm and would never bend the knee before it. I sailed past the whirring particles as I had flown past Neptune. I eagerly crossed the verge into unknown. Soon after, the universe dove into darkness. What was left was deprived of everything. Colors, though sometimes too bright for an eye, were gone in memories. So were echoes of chirping birds, though sometimes too irritating. So were all smells and touches; all of which had previously filled existence with the illusion of *something*. Herein beyond particles, the minuscule silence obliged even the maddest kings to bow in humility. My very existence felt tiny and insignificant, and for the very same reason I humbly broke into tears. I embraced the lulling peace. The universe was eternally present within me, swaying me in arms – just as it sways you reading this writing. You two cannot be separate. You are sincerely grateful for the breath which gives you life. Your purpose is to explore the beauty of life. Without a burden, I forgave everyone I had ever wronged. I said goodbye to tranquil nights on the porch and waved in farewell to the family I had left behind. With all my weight I could *finally* let go. At last, I felt the old wooden frame give up in one final crack. I glanced off the frame and dropped through the closet. The universe soaked and soaked. I longed to drown in its absorbing peace. It soaked like a sponge whatever judgement I had thrown at it. The universe appreciated my limited hatred. It repaid me with selfless love. It was too immense. I did not need a mortal self anymore – what a pretentious game that would be. Life, Abundance, Vigor, Harmony, the four noble brothers of the Horsemen of Apocalypse were here, guiding me along in the dark. Each were far greater than their repressed shadows. I was on the brink of submerging into the infinite peace when signs of sunlight rippled through the void: Suddenly, a notice came to my senses. The engines were still humming in the dark – I was ploughing forward without a stop! This was the frontier ripe for exploration and discovery. In search of new spectacular mysteries of the universe, I nosed around in all directions, keen on being alive. Here below the roots of rationale, compasses crumbled into futile cog machines. Where were these sensory ripples coming from? In most mild suspicion, I began to sense an indigo blue color surging out of darkness. I could just discern fluids raising my skin. Were the mysteriously pulling forces actual deep-sea currents, if undoubtedly, I overstepped the graves of spacetime? In hesitant laughter, my eyes shed tears. My chin vibrated, for amidst ghostly blinks I recognized stars aflame. Inside the cosmos’ womb not only orchestras sang, but also clusters of stars gleamed! Down the groundless rabbit hole, the holy grail awaited me. The rabbit ate me. I looped around and became Life itself: I saw deserts in which basked poisonous snakes. I saw an alpenglow of a setting sun comfort anger and bestow calm. I saw the blush of dawn; I saw clouds treading on the heels of a horizon like sheep following a shepherd. I saw eerie tempests which the sun tore apart. I saw mothers without children, and I saw children without mothers. I saw love oust bitten fear. I saw a wingless dragon never meant to cruise the skies. I saw a flock of goldfish sail against a winding current. I saw the world from all angles, each infinitely more beautiful than the last. I saw a fire that never emitted heat. I saw a kingdom rise from rubble. I saw life in the ashes of death. I saw white shadows of a night. I saw a brittle heart of glass, and I saw thousands of shards upon which it shattered. I saw sworn heroes crying over the loss of loved ones. I saw frightened boys stepping up against all odds. I saw their tearful eyes, and I saw their daring courage not led by those eyes. I saw you by the window; even now absorbed by the comet’s diminishing light. I saw keys forged to no locks, and I saw locks that no keys fit into. I saw extraordinaire voyages that life would undertake. I saw all the world’s mirrors, but none reflected anything but love. All of this is reality, which *you* are a part of. And when all deeds had been done and I had seen old pa universe go down on his knees, clocks started ticking backwards, and when I had finally waded through unimaginable depths, life came back to the place I had once called home, to a room in which a man sat and gazed upon his rusted closet. With love, . The world's first author you read on cannabis. The voice of hopeless dreamers, tireless idealists, and impractical romantics. Your imagination is real. You matter. There is place for you in the world. Source: This was taken from my collection Journeys Beyond Earth.


When I was little girl, I didn't want to be a firefighter because I considered that their big ladder on their big red truck was way too short to reach for the stars. When I was little, I wanted to become an astronaut. The vastness of space fascinated me, and from the age of five, I knew by heart the eight planets of the solar system, nine, if we counted Pluto. This obsession shaped my life until I was ten years old. My parents were very happy, because, thanks to this superb carrot (without the stick), they made me learn everything they wanted. " An astronaut must speak English ! " : At seven I spoke it correctly, at eleven I obtained my first B2 english certification, and today, at sixteen, i think to be near the top. An astronaut was obviously, for my parents, a woman with multiple gifts. In addition to French and English, she had to speak Russian or Chinese. As I have slightly slanted eyes, I naturally choose Chinese. I don't regret the intensive learning of these two major languages, they allowed me, via the Web, a terrifying opening on the world.  So for example, after the first and pleasant Chinese romantic-historical series, I quickly became aware of the socio-political reality of the Chinese people, who will soon make "1984", Orwell's masterful work, look like a kindergarten children's tale ! The-multiple-woman-of-the stars was playing a musical instrument : I learned to play clarinet. The-multiple-woman-of-the-stars, who was bored between two missions, played chess with her fellow teammates: so I also played chess where I became, until the yellow vests and COVID-19 crisis, five times Champion of Burgundy. I liked the-multiple-woman-of-the-stars very much, until day when... until the day when the-multiple-woman-of-the-stars cowardly abandoned me. The drama scene was played out by the ophthalmologist, the man skilled in the art, who was also responsible for the vision of military pilots, announced to me, sadly, that I should henceforth wear mole glasses and forget the stars. At that moment, he was right, my eyesight was blurred, but it was because I was crying. At home, we never spoke of the-multiple-woman-of-the-stars again, and she, also disappointed, never called me back either.  As soon as the sky closed its doors to me, I had to quickly find a reason for living. Of course, Earth did not have the majesty of the vastness of space, but I still thought I would find my place. Determined, I studied the world around me. I was learning quickly and just as fast, doubt came over me. With amazement, I became aware of the duality of all the state and media discourse of all the societies and cultures constituting the men of this planet. I lived in a world where lying was erected into a subtle art that had to be sublimated. All is well "Madame la Marquise" ! There is no global warming linked to human behavior, "just climate change, cyclical and quite natural": dixit, peremptory and proudly standing in front of his Hummer, my professor of Life Sciences and Earth! For a year or two after I turned ten, I still hesitated: Yes, No, who was right or wrong? But there are none so deaf as those who will not hear and so I realized: my world was far from being Heaven but indeed, a perfect Hell.  I'm sixteen today, and I could for hours, tell you, gloomily, all about this one. Moreover, I am taking as my own the speech of September 23, 2019, of Greta Thunberg at the UN, which I also translated into French and reinterpreted on YouTube. I totally agree with her, down to the comma. However, since this speech, today, nothing has changed except that the oil companies have achieved the feat of refreezing the permafrost that was melting, just the width of their trucks, to access the last liters of oil from the Antarctic! You adults, you leave us a paradoxical world. On one hand you naively try to lie to us, it's stronger than you, and on the other you leave at our free disposal, through the Web, all the information necessary for the appreciation of the reality of our world. The greatest scientists, poor wolves howling at the Moon, signing multiple petitions with their blood, for more than forty years have been warning you of the danger, and even worse, precisely from the tipping point, this point of no return where we are already! The world, irretrievably, has been going mad for over a decade, and now the seers are all blood red. Thus, today, the haves, eager for scarcity and the last images of the end of a world, flock to admire on a luxury cruise, the inexorable and shattering disappearance of the last icebergs ... The less rich, in a unconscious frenzy, fall back on credit to the purchase of monstrous 4x4 or SUV, asking themselves as the only existential question, the potential answer to the difficult choice of color, always metallic, of their rolling aberration... Of rage, the glaciers, murdered, pouring out one last time with a crash in their thousand-year-old beds before disappearing forever... The oceans are also dying by an excess of carbon dioxide, and inside, the crabs which are now bathing in this far too acidic salinity, lose their shells and all die as well with, fraternal, their close neighbors: all the crustaceans and corals... The animal world is not spared: in less than only fifty years, a tiny breath in the History of Humanity, we have "lost" two thirds of the "Wild" Life of our planet and the remaining third is truly in agony. Does Humanity in its arrogance believe that it can do without our brothers the Animals? Nothing is less sure !  I know that many right-thinking adults reading this text will be annoyed and even exasperated by this black and peremptory reading and I also know that this alignment of words, this series of jarring sentences, will not have, as usual, no impact if not maybe, if this news wins an award, sacrifice a few more trees for its print publication. I have often wanted to participate in a number of similar literary challenges or as a very young adult you are offered to foresee a probable future from our present, not very bright. The problem is that the majority of these challenges rejected outright, in their regulations, a pessimistic sprawl of non-solutions for a lost future. Obviously, I do not wish to participate in this kind of antics. The biggest mistake, for me, of the men of this world, therefore adults in the majority, is that they always think they can erase with a wave of a magic wand their accumulated errors. This is obviously totally wrong. We are already and irremediably in an alternative of no return. Twenty or fifteen years ago, the most knowledgeable scientists predicted a double or quits for the survival or death of our societies at a deadline of "only" a century. Today, in 2021, we must face the facts: things are racing, and a total breakdown of the system in the next thirty-forty years is a certainty.  The rulers of this world, the past Trump the Bolsonaro, the Lukashenko, the Putin, the Kim Jon Un, the Narendra Modi (I would not speak here of Xi Jinping because it is not unlikely, because poor, that I will do my higher education in China in a few years) , disturbing with cynicism and stupidity, are dictators that the worst science-fiction scenarios of the last fifty years would not have dared to invent. These "men" of power, are for me, the world sign of a great ambient unease, and for us young people, in general, the expression of a great astonishment and of an even greater suspicion towards of the mental and intellectual state of the majority of adults on this planet.  In this rapid agony of our world, I know that I have no other choice than to undergo a fight lost in advance, with nevertheless, as only motivation in this ordeal, the quality displayed of a dignity in the face of Chaos, which I will have to impose until my death... May God help me! Roxanne-Lou AMINIAN, 03/2021


The tears streamed down my face, leaving tracks as I quickly packed my things.

I hadn’t been here long, there wasn’t much.

My heart lamented silently, “I’m not good enough.”

My head wondered, “Would I ever be good enough?

Would anyone ever love me?”

I closed and locked the door.

He would come home from work and I would be gone.

My first love, my first heartbreak, and oh how it hurt.

We hadn’t known each other long, were friends a couple of years, and were head over heels in love for the last 6 months (at least that was when we told each other).

We had just started living together.

We had a situation come up, something that came between us, that we didn’t discuss or talk about.

We were 18, we didn’t know how to discuss anything serious.

I left, I had been thinking I wasn’t good enough, and this, this told me I wasn’t good enough.

Then when he didn’t come after me, I knew I wasn’t good enough.

I went to my dad’s and told him I had left him.

He asked me why, I sobbed, “I’m not good enough.”

And he never told me………

Flash forward 42 years, after 3 failed marriages, which comprised 34 years of my life.

Still searching for the one, that unconditional love, someone to love me for me.

Dad said, “Your picker is broken. You got to keep doing it til you get it right.”

He was on #4, which lasted over 30 years, maybe he had something there.

I said, “I don’t think so, I am done!”

I spent those 34 years, always thinking I wasn’t worth much, punishing myself; with husbands, drugs, and alcohol.

The first one looking for love, the other two not to feel.

I, I wasn’t good enough, it was all me.

My choices in most things reflected that.

Not in work though, there I excelled like I had a second personality that was an overachiever and good enough.

At 52, I got clean and sober, the best decision I ever made.

Working the steps, and working on me.

Finally……that unconditional love…..and it came from me.

I had learned to Love Myself!

I worked hard on that and got to know myself.

My son died of an overdose 18 months later……I stayed sober, even there was a hole in my world.

My daughter had cancer……I stayed sober, was there through weeks of treatment, mending and growing our relationship.

My dad, with 39 ½ years sober, passed away unexpectantly……I stayed sober.

My mom got cancer, I was able to help with all she needed, sat with her during chemo, but a year later she passed away…….I stayed sober.

I worked at and completed most of my amends.

There were still a few left, very few but one of them was very important, the first one, my first love.

I was on Facebook one day, saw People You May Know, so I scrolled through.

My heart stopped……there was a picture of my first love……I think.

The name was the same yet the picture showed a bald man.

When I knew him, he had long curly hair.

I stalked his page, just to see if there were earlier pics.

Yep, it was him.

I reached out in Messenger, he was one of my last amends.

I didn’t know if he was married, had kids, anything about him.

I just wanted to apologize for leaving that night while he was working.

I said, “Hey voice from the past, reaching out to say hi.

Was wondering if you were the same boy I knew so many years ago?

Hit send and after a few months, forgot I had sent that message.

Almost one year later, actually 15 days short of a year, messenger notification went off and scared the crap out of me.

It was not a format I used very often or really at all.

I looked at my phone, he answered me!

He was my first love, my hands were trembling, my heart skipped a beat.

He said, “This is the same boy, though I don’t look the same.

How are you?”

At that moment, time stood still, the years fell away, it was 42 years ago, and we were 18 again.

We talked into the wee hours of the morning, neither of us wanting to stop.

Catching up on each other’s lives, the years.

Finally, sleep deprivation and both of us having to work in a couple of hours caused us to reluctantly end our texting. Tho I was a bit more tech-savvy, neither of us tried the video call, still, a bit timider, reeling in the whirling emotions we both felt.

He said he had just stumbled upon my message, not even sure how.

Said he wasn’t on Facebook that much, I said that’s apparent since it took you a year to answer me.

I found out he had been sober for 27 years, I had 7 ½ years.

He had been married for 29 years, his wife had died of cancer the same year my son died.

He wrote songs and still played guitar.

I still wrote, instead of poems, it was stories now and made miniature clay figures and houses.

He had worked in a machine shop for 28 years and was a business rep for the union now.

I had been in an avionics shop for 28 years and was managing one from home now.

He had a son and a granddaughter.

I had a daughter and 3 granddaughters.

He had a home in IL and I had one in FL. However, the shop I managed was in IL, not far from him.

We spent time texting back and forth on messenger for a week.

I wanted to hear his voice, was it the same?

I asked him to call me, I needed some advice on a work situation (someone had to make the first move).

He called, and yes, heart skipped another beat, the ice had been broken, and we had graduated to phone calls…….. on a daily basis.

Just so happened, a few weeks later, I was coming to IL, for work.

I would be arriving on Friday and we made plans to get together on Sunday.

I arrived at my best friend's house around 4, talked a bit; she went off to meet her honey and I went to meet a friend.

We sat chatting, my phone rang, looked down, and a smile broke out on my face.

Guess he couldn’t wait until Sunday.

Well, to tell the truth, neither could I.

He gave me the address, I put it in wrong, still was, and am directionally challenged.  He called to find out where I was and proceeded to talk me all the way to the door.  He stood in the open door, silhouetted from the hallway light.  I was transported back, I saw that boy I fell in love with, so long ago.  We had laughingly told each other we had changed.  He said he had put on a few pounds and was bald.  I said I had put on a few myself, my hair was blonde (covers gray better), and my bottom teeth (partial) were like the stars and came out at night.  Yet, as we looked into each other’s eyes, we were those young kids again.

He opened his arms, I melted into his embrace, and it felt like coming home.  We sat on the couch, feeling a little shy, a little hesitant, strange, huh, for two 59-year old's.  We sat facing each other, sideways on the couch, and just talked, talked, talked.  Not at all like when we were kids, we actually talked......about feelings, life, beliefs, family, hopes, dreams.  We had grown up and older, yet it was like 42 years had never happened.

As sleep started to creep in, the adrenalin wearing off, he asked me to spend the night.  He wanted to do something no one had done for me before.  He knew I went through my son’s death alone in many senses, I had my daughter but, in my home, alone.  He said he just wanted to hold me and have me tell him about my son.  I crumbled, it felt so good to cry, talk and feel those comforting arms around me.  I fell asleep in his arms.

The next morning, we woke early, got up, and started coffee.  I looked at my phone, saw my neighbor had tried to contact me several times, and left messages to call.  My neighbors were special, always keeping an eye on me and looking out for me.  Her husband had gotten sick and his health kept declining.  I told him just before I left, “Don’t leave me yet”.   He said, “Don’t worry, I am not going nowhere until I know you are taken care of.”  It was with dread I called my neighbor.  She told me he had passed about the time I was being held and talking about my son.  Guess he knew it was ok, I was going to be taken care of.

The rest of the story is pretty much like the ending of a fairytale.  I went back to FL, came back for 3 months to deal with the situation happening at work.  We dated, hung out, and at the end of the 3 months, he asked me to move in with him.  By then we were so in love, I closed up my house in FL, and went to reside in the frozen tundra.  That must be love, I swore to never live there again.  We made sporadic trips to FL, he loved the house and the area.  Two years later we were married, barefoot, on the beach, and the idea of retirement started sneaking in.  He had a high-stress job, Type 2 diabetes, and I was wanting years and years together.

I crunched the numbers, and a year and a half later; we bought a motorhome, packed up what he wanted from his house in pods sent to FL, sold the house in IL, took our time in motorhome getting to FL, and started that happy road to retirement where every day is Saturday.

Combined two households into one; combined two hearts into one; combined two busy lives into one retirement.  How often do you get a 2nd chance at first love?  How often do you find your soulmate and start a new life?  I guess Dad was right; you keep doing it until you get it right.  Dad never told me that the week before I left, he had gone to my father and asked permission to marry me.  Guess Dad thought he was the one who said I wasn’t good enough, he didn’t know at that time, I was my own worst enemy.

We are living the dream; retired, chasing our passions, and loving our life together.  We are so in sync, so in tune, so much alike, so different, and so in love.  Who says fairy tales don’t come true?


Your neighbor is a vampire. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. First, he dresses EXACTLY like Dracula, all the time, even when alone in the house. Second, you never see him in the day, only at night. And third, even though he has a kitchen, you’ve never seen him eat, and even though he has a bathroom, you never see him use it. You learned all these things over the past few weeks, shortly after getting a telescope for your birthday. You’ve been watching him, every so often, through his windows. It’s how you discovered his peculiarities. It kind of scares you, really, but you keep watching, night after night. Sometimes he’s on the couch in the living room, reading a book. Sometimes he’s playing the piano he has in the upstairs hall. Sometimes he puts on a record and dances like no one’s watching, even though someone is watching. But anything to do with normal human functions? Eating, drinking, going to the bathroom? Nowhere to be found. Weeks go by. You reach the limit of what can be learned by peaking through windows. So you break into his house one Saturday morning, throwing a rock through a window and loosening the bolt. You look into his fridge, and there’s no food, but there are stacks and stacks of bags filled with a dark red liquid. It’s blood. You look around some more. You realize there’s no mirrors anywhere. Finally you get to a closed door upstairs. You push it open and see, pushed up against the wall and resting on a large block, a coffin. You creep over to it and gently open the lid. Inside is your neighbor, with a trickle of blood running down his mouth. Up close you can see his two sharp fangs protruding over his lip. It’s confirmed. Definitely a vampire. Only one thing to do. You go back downstairs and smash one of the chairs in the kitchen, made from a heavy pine wood. You’d think the noise would wake someone, but the vampire remained fast asleep. You take one of the legs and, with a knife from the counter, sharpen it to a point. Finally, you grab a meat tenderizer from one of the drawers and go back upstairs, on to the coffin room. You lift the lid, place the stake, and pound down the hammer. Your neighbor wakes up, screams, then crumbles to dust right there. You did it. You killed the vampire. And it wasn’t even that hard. You go home, feeling very proud of yourself. Until later that night, when the police show up at your house. They say they have a warrant for your arrest, for breaking into your neighbor’s house and killing him. But, you say, he was a vampire. And the police say yes he was, but that doesn’t mean you can just kill him like that. You’re impressed by how casually they agreed he was a vampire, but distressed by them believing what you did was murder. Later, at your trial, you learn that, yes, your neighbor was indeed a vampire. A vampire who sponsored the town’s youth sports league. A vampire who taught adult literacy classes at the local community college. A vampire who let people use his lawn in the summer for free movie nights. A vampire, in other words, who cared. And then, the prosecutor says pointing at you, this villain over here broke into his house, destroyed his furniture, and killed him without mercy. And doesn’t even feel sorry about it! What crime, the prosecutor asks, did this vampire commit? Was he bothering anyone? Hurting anyone? Doing anything to deserve a stake through the heart? He. Did. Not. Your own lawyer argues that all vampires must drink blood to survive and so he had to have been a monster. But then you learn that he actually bought his blood from a blood bank like any respectable vampire would. And then your lawyer actually says “well I got nothing then” and sits down and that’s the end of that. The jury doesn’t take long at all. In just a few minutes they come back and say they find you guilty. You spend the rest of your life feeling like you should have thought things through a little more.


Sylvia      I sighed as I leaned back against the hood of my car. “We did it.” I said to my companion who was leaning next to me. “Can you believe it?” “ I am so tired I don’t know what I believe,” Monica replied. We both stared at the beautiful building in front of us; the new Eastbrook Public Library. We, along with a staff of thirty or so employees had just finished setting up in the new location. Everyone from the librarians to the caretaking staff had spent the last 10 hours unloading boxes and stacking the shelves. The new furniture had been unloaded a few days ago. Tonight the staff had finished placing it in its right location under the supervision of the head librarian, Sylvia Watkins. The techs had finally set up the computer stations. We were all dead tired. We had been working steadily from 10pm to 7am. That’s right, we worked overnight so that the library would only have to be closed for one day. And that almost killed Sylvia because the Eastbrook Public Library had never closed for a day in its entire 20 year history. It was open 10am to 10pm , Monday through Sunday. It was open for every holiday. A hurricane bearing down on it would never convince Sylvia that closing the doors might be the sensible thing to do. “It’s just wind,” she would say. “Or it will pass us by.” Yes, Ms. Watkins was eternally optimistic that any plan she hatched would be successful and that even Mother Nature wouldn’t dare interfere with her plans. Only the intervention of the City Manager had stopped her from staying open during the move. But, she did get her way in that the library would not close for more than one day. Meticulous plans had been made so that the packing and moving could be accomplished on Monday night and the library would reopen on Wednesday morning. And that is why thirty people worked through the night on Tuesday to unpack all the paraphernalia a library needed along with its massive collection of books, av materials etc. She had been involved in every aspect of the building’s design. This new library had been Sylvia’s dream and it would ultimately bear her name. She insisted that the new location have 2 working fireplaces and beautiful upholstered chairs in the reading area. She chose the paint colors, the furniture, the window dressings. She got her way in almost everything she set out to do for several reasons. She was a formidable opponent. Standing at five foot eleven in her stocking feet, Sylvia was intimidating looking, not just because of her stature, it was her overall appearance. Her dress was a combination of hippie and gyspy queen. Her tightly curled grey brown hair hung down almost to her waist. She didn’t just walk, she strode. But under her outward appearance was a far seeing, intelligent and very capable woman. And Ms. Watkins, despite being a tyrant to her staff, had endeared herself to the community. Under her direction the library had become the model of what every library should be. And the key was service. Sylvia insisted that our patrons be treated like royalty. If a patron wanted information on any given subject not only was the appropriate book or web site found, the exact location of the pertinent information was shown to the library user. If we didn’t have a book someone wanted, Sylvia would have it ordered. Eastbrook was a wealthy community and Ms. Watkin’s demands on the city budget were high. But she had devised a unique way of dealing with fiscal restraint. Out of the thirty people working there, she was the only salaried employee. The rest of us were casual. So when city hall told her to tighten the purse strings, she would walk through the library and tell select individuals to go home for a week. And if you were employed on a casual basis, you were only paid for the days you worked. This was how Sylvia budgeted, And for twenty years it had worked.

     Monica and I were now looking at her crowning achievement. Two stories high with big glass windows, the Eastwood Public Library was an architectural beauty. It had a fountain out front and floodlights that shone on its sleek modern facade. The old library had been housed in a downtown building that once had been, a hundred years ago, Pilgrim’s Pharmacy. It had character but this new library had class.

     Our reverie was broken when a familiar shape called out from the front doors, “Oh good, you’re still here, Wendy. You’d better go home and get a few hours of sleep. That new librarian, Susan, Sharon, whatever her name is just up and quit. Honestly, I don’t know why you recommended her for a job here. Anyway, she’s gone so I need you to work the Reference Desk in the morning. See you at ten sharp.” That was only two and a half hours away. “Sylvia, I shouted back, “there’s no way I am….” But she was gone. “I’m getting out of here before I get roped in as well.” Monica said as she ran to her own car. “I am already booked for tomorrow afternoon. Bye Wendy.” “Damn, damn, damn”, I cursed to myself as I got into my own car and slammed the door.

      Why did any of us stay? For the professional staff it was because the Eastbrook Library was a world class public library and had even been written up in “Library Journal”. But the same can’t be said for the rest of the staff, the turnover was incredibly high. Sylvia had demanding standards. If she was annoyed with someone or displeased with their work, she didn’t talk to them, she shrieked at them. I had been on staff for six years and was regarded by many as Sylvia’s second in command. All that meant was that I had stuck it out far longer than anybody else. Although she was wonderful with library patrons the same could not be said of her rapport with her staff. They came to me, often in tears, when Sylvia had been particularly hard on one of them. I was pretty thick skinned and if I happened to be the target of Sylvia’s anger, I just stood there and listened. I was also known to, on occasion, disagree with her. I didn’t use this super power very often but I think it gained me a modicum of respect.      Once in our new location Sylvia seemed more mellow. During the first few weeks she loved to show the patrons all the new features that she had added. We would see her gliding by with a bevy of followers tailing after her. Our Ms. Watkins was very pleased with herself and I had high hopes that this mood would last. The other staff also noticed the change in their boss. It only lasted until she found the body in the library. The day of the incident, as I came to think of it, I ran into Sylvia’s new secretary in the library parking lot. We walked towards the library together. “So how are you getting on?” I asked her. “It’s a lot different than my last job, “ she admitted. “My last boss wasn’t quite as …” “Demanding,” I filled in. “Yes, that’s a good way to put it.” She gave me a weak smile. I looked at her and thought to myself, “ Poor thing, she won’t last a month.” She was just a little mouse of a thing. Sylvia was going to chew her up and spit her out. We made our way up the stairs. The lights were on which meant that Sylvia was already there. She liked to get there early to survey her realm. My words not hers. Her routine was to make a coffee and then walk through the library before settling down in the wingback chair in front of one the fireplaces. It was her moment of peace before we opened the doors. As Eleanor and I walked through the doors I could see that Sylvia was not in her accustomed chair but kneeling on the floor in front of it. “Sylvia?” I queried. She looked up and madly began beckoning to me to come over. “What’s wrong?” I asked as I began to approach. “Hurry!” she said. As I got closer I could see that she was trying to blot up a dark liquid from the cream colored carpet and seemed to be talking to herself. The look on her face was one I had never seen before; she looked frightened. “Whatever is going on,” I asked. In response she pointed a finger at the chair in front of her and I heard a weak voice, a very angry voice say, “Don’t point your bony finger at me you stupid woman!” I looked over the chair. The voice belonged to Dr. Steven Jordan, a long time member of the library and a personal acquaintance of mine.

He was a well respected doctor in the community but had recently suffered a stroke. I hadn’t seen him since the incident but the change in his voice caught me off guard. We sang in the Community Choir together and now his lovely baritone voice was reduced to a low rasp. I walked around the chair and dropped down in front of him next to Sylvia who for some reason was still mopping the carpet spill with the hem of her dress. The empty coffee cup next to her told me that she had dropped her coffee cup. “Dr. Jordan, are you all right?” “No, I am not,” he said not unkindly. “Eleanor, do you have your cell phone with you?” The secretary had followed me in and was now standing behind the chair. She nodded and reached into her coat pocket, pulled out the phone and passed it to me. “What are you doing?” Sylvia squeaked. “I am calling an ambulance” I replied, “or have you already done that? “He’s fine, he doesn't need an ambulance, do you Dr? You’re just a little distressed at the moment. How about I go and make you a nice cup or tea or would you rather coffee?” she simpered as she started to rise from her kneeling position. I had never seen her like this but I knew that saccharin tone was not going to earn her any points with the man I knew. I could see him bristling. He opened his mouth to speak but I gently interrupted. Looking from one to another I said, “What exactly happened here?” Dr. Jordan picked up his cane and none too gently gave Sylvia a poke in the thigh. “This woman,” he rasped, “locked me in the library overnight!!” Oh Lord. I turned to Sylvia, “You did what?” I mouthed.

     Several years ago, someone had almost gotten locked in the old library. He, however, had made it to the front door just as the last bank of lights was being turned off. He angrily reported the incident to Ms. Watkins the next day. She had been furious with the staff member concerned and had since repeatedly reminded all of us of the necessity of looking everywhere before locking up. We were to be especially careful with ensuring that the washrooms were empty. We had a completely female staff so when it came to the men’s restroom we were told to open the door slightly, call out loudly and then flick the lights off and on. I was flabbergasted that Sylvia had been so careless.      Although I had not spoken out loud, Sylvia turned on me. “We don’t know exactly what happened,” she snapped. “He may have followed me through the doors this morning unbeknownst to me. He’s had a stroke for Pete’s sake, he may…” Then I snapped. “Sylvia, shut up!” I have never before or since told one of my bosses to shut up. My reaction was instinctive. I was sure she was about to stick her foot in her mouth and find herself faced with a lawsuit filed by Dr. Jordan. Eleanor gasped and Dr. Jordan let out an almost inaudible giggle. Sylvia started to talk but I raised my hand to stop her. “Dr. Jordan, can you tell me what happened and if you are in any distress right now?” Sylvia rose to her full height, glared at me and stomped off in the direction of the library offices. “Eleanor,” she shouted, “what are you waiting for?” The poor girl looked at me, terrified, but she trotted obediently after her boss. “Dr. Jordan, are you okay?” He tried to smile. “I’m fine,” he said, “but you are in trouble.” he said in a raspy singsong voice.. “I’ll deal with it.” I said. “Steven, have you been locked in the library overnight?” “I was in the men’s room when the lights went out. When I stuck my head out of the door, I saw her ladyship go flying through the front doors. By the time I got there the door was locked. I called after her, but my voice isn’t as strong as it used to be.” “ You don’t own a cell phone, do you?” Are you suggesting that this is my fault because I don’t own one of those things.” “I wouldn’t suggest any such thing. Our phone system shuts down at night,” I said. “I know,” he said sadly. “My dear girl, I am going to get out of here now, go home, and go to bed.” He started to get up but his legs buckled and he plonked back down into the chair. “I really think I should call the paramedics and have you checked out,” I said. He began to protest but I interjected, “What would you do in my position? What happens if I let you go and you collapse at home?” “Make the call, my dear,” he said, patting my hand. I called, and after hearing the story, the paramedics said they would send someone over. “I gave that boss of yours a fright this morning,” he giggled. “I was sound asleep when she plopped herself onto my lap. She screamed and dropped her coffee. And do you know what her first concern was, the damn carpet.” “Well, I am not sure that is exactly true and to be fair,” I said, “she was startled to find you there. People react to stress in different ways. I am sure that given a few seconds to calm herself she would have seen to it that you were alright.” At that moment I heard the door buzzer and then a couple of members of staff pushed on the door and came in. Normally the door stays locked until 10:00 am on the dot. Staff had to buzz to be let in. But guess who had forgotten to lock the door behind her when she came in that morning? Not only were staff members straggling in, our early birds were right on their heels. Then I heard a voice say, “Coming through, people,” as a policeman and two paramedics bearing a stretcher made their way into the library. Sylvia flew into the entranceway with Eleanor on her heels. “Be a doll and take these men over to where Dr. Jordan is sitting,” she said to her poor secretary, as she patted her on the shoulder and gave her a little shove in our direction. “I’d like a word, Ma’am,” said the police officer. “Of course, of course, just give me a second please.” She smiled at him and then addressed the group that had assembled in the entrance.” Ladies and gentlemen,” she started, “we have had a little medical emergency. As you can see it is being taken care of. So please, go about your business but avoid the lounge area for the moment. Thank you for your understanding.” People gawked in our direction but slowly moved off. Meanwhile Dr. Jordan had been loaded on a stretcher and was being wheeled towards the front door with me following close behind. I heard voices murmuring, “It’s Dr. Jordan.” The policeman tried again to speak to Sylvia. “I understand Ma’am that this gentleman was found locked...” He didn’t get a chance to say more. Dr. Jordan raised his head off the stretcher, pointed a shaking finger directly at Sylvia. I stopped breathing. When he spoke he said in a voice as strong as he could muster, “Thank you Ms. Watkins, if it wasn’t for your speedy intervention I might be leaving here with a sheet over me.” His audience gasped. Then without anyone else seeing it, he gave me a sly wink. I knew he could sing but I had not known he could act. The assembled crowd clapped loudly and Sylvia had the courtesy to blush. Then she turned to me and said in a too sweet voice, “I had some wonderful assistance.” Everyone beamed at me. “I smiled graciously and looked at Sylvia and said, “I am going to accompany Dr. Jordan to the hospital. See you tomorrow?” “You have had a traumatic morning, Wendy. Why don’t you take the rest of the week off.”


The Buffalo wondered through the glade. It lapped from the fresh spring. It saw it’s herd moving. It followed. The Buffalo did not smell anything strange that concerned it. The Buffalo walked until he, like the others, stopped. They stood in a field underneath a large cliff and waited until sleep overtook them. When it awoke, it returned to the stream, further up now, as the herd had moved north. The Buffalo felt a release of pleasure as he drank. He heard a bird’s warning, no doubt sung because of him. He did not stop. He saw the water carry a pile of leaves down stream. He did not stop. He heard the sound of a branches breaking. He did not stop. It did not consider the position it had placed himself in. It had, like every other of his fifteen years, followed the Herd. It was older and felt more comfortable venturing further from the herd, in search of his preferred morsels. It did not smell anything strange on this day that concerned it. It returned to his herd. Nothing seemed to get his attention. Something should have gotten his attention. The Bison grazed along the path. It wondered to a small bush, away from the herd. It nibbled from the delicate ends of the branches. It grazed for some time. It watched the birds fly and fight over a tree. It returned to the herd. It slept by a snake den, around a mossy log. The Snakes did not disturb it. In the morning, it returned to the patch of bushes, determined to refine them of their delicious points. The sensation of chewing was pleasant. The food was good. The Buffalo suddenly felt pain. Immense stabbing pain. The Bison ran from the pain. Instinctual, and unknowable in source, the pain could be outrun. Of this it was sure. He noticed the pain was spreading as he ran. He stopped running, exhausted and feeling immense terror. This terror was new to him. He had not been injured since he was a baby. He could barely recall the pain felt then. This was too consuming. He was breathing too fast to lay down. He panted and paced in place. The pain subsided temporarily. He saw the source of the pain. He did not understand it. There was a long, hard branch inside of his skin, just below the hind leg muscle. He sniffed the branch. He sniffed too close. The branch once again drove into his flesh, causing him to flare with pain again. He began to run again. He ran through the foreign forest he had wondered into, howling and calling to the herd. He grew even more exhausted. He eventually was overtaken with sleep, it called to him more than even the pain did. He drifted through a world of fear and pain. He dreamed of his herd. He dreamed of his favorite berries. He dreamed of the mysterious pain, caused by the mysterious painful branch. The fear jolted him awake. The pain was reduced to a dull throb as he didn’t move. So he did not move. A timeless interval marked only by stabs of pain occurred. The hunger pain became stronger than the pain from the leg. He dragged himself upright. The pain dragged him back down. He limply pulled himself to the sound of distant water. He feebly lapped from the stream. He tried to eat the vibrant grass growing near him. He could not keep it down. He slumped over, and returned to his slumber. He awoke after another timeless interval. He had a thought of his herd. He could not remain here. This instinct was as ancient as the pain itself, and he aimed to follow the sensation. He tried to stand up. He heard a strange noise. The direction where The Buffalo had come running from was down hill. It was a random path, steered by pain and desperation, not safety. He could see movement coming from that way. The Buffalo, eyes wide in panic, felt a pang of adrenaline, piercing through his pain and attuning his eyes to crystal clarirty. He could see something that had terrified him to his core. He had seen a pack of predators. The slightly furry creatures, still presumably too far to see him, were strange and completely unfamiliar specimens of the wild to The Buffalo. He could make out they had long hair on their heads, inconsistent dark patches of skin hanging from their shoulders and backs, and large branches in their hands. Branches that the Buffalo feared immensely, though he could not reason why. The adrenaline tore him to his feet. He must run, he knew this. The strange creatures began to shout, hooting with strange noises The Buffalo had not heard before. The Buffalo began to run away from them, as branches flew through the air around him. He had yet another powerful strike of fear as he realized they had put the branch in him. This was the catalyst for his energy. He could not allow them to cause the pain again. He ran through the bushes. He ran along the stream. He bayed as loud as he could to his herd. He feared nothing except stopping. He had ran until he felt the heat of the sun inside his very muscles. He, without any plan or meaning, had returned miraculously to the place he had slept before the pain. He searched for his herd. He fell asleep on the ground. The pain had once again reduced to a dull throb. The branch was no longer in him. He longed for this terror to be over. He awoke to the calls of his herd. He felt a wave of pleasure unlike any of his life. He meandered toward the sounds of his herd. He saw them in the distance, not far from the forest he had run from. He brayed, louder than ever, expanding the last of his energy on the alert. He began, now safe, to eat as much as he could, then lay by the river, sleeping, When The Buffalo came back into consciousness, he was surrounded by his herd. The many strong bodies made him feel as he had since birth once again. Warm. Complacent. Safe. He limped along in the back of the herd. He could not know he was not safe. He could not know he was still in just as much danger as before. The Buffalo walked until he could not. The herd was patient. They sat down among the grass, or stood around the same area as he had. They watched for predators as The Buffalo slept. They spent the night patrolling the river tributary. The Buffalo awoke, feeling weak but not panicked. The pain was now a distant memory, only brought back into full on stumbles or when stepping on hard stone. The Buffalo followed the herd along the river. He saw them stop up ahead. He was further back then any of the rest. When he arrived to the stopping place, he saw what they had seen. The River split into two here. The few larger Bison were seen in the front, testing the speed of the water. The water was flowing strong. The herd watched for predators and food as the first few bison waded the river. The herd moved one at a time, waiting for The Buffalo in the back to approach. When he arrived, he noticed they had all been across. He followed. He slipped. The river overtook him, filling his nostrils with cold water. He felt the pain in his leg arc through his entire body. He felt the waves push him down to the river bank and below. He planted his hooves deep into the mud on the edge. He pulled himself, straining his legs in pain and howling to the herd. The herd howled back. They still remained motionless on the other side. Most were watching this desperate struggle, a few were pacing the front of the herd, clearly as worried as The Buffalo was. He pushed as hard as possible to remain above the water. He eventually pulled himself to the shore. He remained panting on the shore until the sun had gone down. He saw the herd sleep across the river. He slept on the bank he had crawled to. When he awoke, they were still there. He noticed no birds were chirping. The herd was not baying. The only sounds were of the river. He could not cross the river. He looked for another way over. He did not see where the river ended or was less wide. He howled to the herd. They sniffed and shook their heads in confusion. Another day of grazing and staring passed. The Buffalo could not risk the river again. He wondered along up the north the side of the river. He saw the herd in the distance. They had grown further away in the night. He knew he would return to them. He did not know it was impossible to return to them. He stood in a flower patch. His leg ached and felt hot again. He ate here, again noticing the lack of bird song. He moved on. He could no longer see the herd. This brought an immense feeling of longing. He was also struck with an indomitable urge to reunite with them. He continued to follow the river. When the sun went down, he stood by a fallen tree and rested under the protection. He woke a mere hour later. He smelled something strange downwind. He could not know the smell was ash and smoke, but he felt unsettled by it regardless. He heard something that set his hair on edge. He heard the same noises as before, in the forest. He heard the predators. He was, this time, frozen in fear. He had no the energy to run, and was unfamiliar with travel in the dark. He looked toward the dim woods in the distance. He scanned the forest, laying as flat as he could, still under the fallen tree. He saw nothing at first, then The Buffalo spotted the strange predators once again. One had come out of the forest, holding a pain branch. The predator crouched down on two knees, and looked below himself. The predator moved his hands on the ground, and then sharply looked upward. The predator stood up and looked far off. The predator ran to the edge of the river, not far from where The Buffalo had hidden. He could see him clearer now. The creature seemed to have skin similar to The Buffalo already on it. This confused The Buffalo. The creature did not smell as his kin in the herd did. The Predator scanned the horizon for some time. He then returned his gaze to the ground, and casually walked in the direction of The Buffalo. Still frozen with fear, The Buffalo’s eyes were wide with terror. His heart was pounding out of his chest. He felt weak in the legs. He felt he would never be able to move again. The predator was nearing closer and closer to him. The predator stopped. He had heard a shout from somewhere behind him. He revealed his teeth, baring them in a strange manner. He turned around and waved his arms. Another predator of his species was doing the same motion. The Buffalo saw them embrace. He heard loud noises, as they walked away from the location of The Buffalo. The Buffalos heart began to subside. He felt energized by surviving the event, and knew he could not remain so close to the predators. He walked for the remainder of the night through the mud along the banks. He could not know that the mud would not lead him away from the predators. He could not know that the marks left in the mud were the very method these predators continued to find him. He awoke, this time unaware of when and where he had returned to sleep, along the edge of the forest. The Buffalo stumbled to the river. He submerged his face entirely on accident, and swalloed in large gulps as much as he could of the liquid. He looked around for the creatures that repeatedly had found him. He did not see them. He had forgotten the herd. He only considered food, water and an end to the pain. He wondered to a slope containing growing grains he enjoyed. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the leg that had been in so much pain. There was no longer a branch there, but there seemed to be a large rock that had somehow found it’s way inside the wound. He did not feel the pain as intensely as before. He did not feel anything as intensely as before. He seemed to not even be as hungry as usual. After his short, meager meal of grains was done, he wondered in an aimless direction. He wondered without purpose. At some point, without any intent or thought, he found himself standing still. He could no longer walk. The pain had become a full body numbing sensation, far beyond anything he had felt before. He realized he was standing still, no longer moving. He turned around. He paced the clearing he had found himself in. He noticed he had been bleeding for some time. This did not strike him as a sign of good, and he felt a brief feeling of fear once again. This motivated him to continue on. He had no concept of time anymore, no intent or purpose in the heading. He simply walked onward. He was aware of the trail of blood behind him, and it did not occur to him that this, similar to the tracks in the mud, would be his downfall. He lost consciousness that day along a pond. While frogs protested his interference in their mating rituals, he dreamt of the sky. He did not feel the second branch enter his body. He was awoken purely by the familiar sensation of adrenaline empowering his nervous system to flair back into consciousness. He thought he had run. He had barely moved. The second branch was in his back. He felt where it entered him. He felt where it was inside him. This did not hurt, but it told every atom of his body he was in danger. He knew not what to struggle against, but knew he must. The strange predators were now around him, holding their branches of pain high, shouting to eachother, and baring their teeth towards him. The Buffalo felt darkness come over the sky, even in the morning he knew he was in. He fell to the ground, this time because he felt his body punctured by many more branches. His thoughts and even his vision itself became a formless, primordial mix of color and concept. The Buffalo felt infinitely larger. He felt his mind expand to the size of the great plains he had roamed since birth. He could picture every forest, every stream, every familiar Buffalo. He felt he could see his own herd, and the many herds they had passed before, visualized in front of him. He thought of these strange predators. He finally understood they had wielded these very branches for the explicit intent of harming him. His eyes jolted open at the thought of it. As he barely watched them, he noticed more about these creatures, now close enough that they were touching his skin. The predators had many skins of animals wrapped around themselves. They must have done this before. The Buffalo felt his mind empowered like never before. The world began to have order. The stream raced downward not as a creature like himself running, as he had momentarily thought once in his infancy, but as a natural object of nature, the same as a tree or cliff. He felt a brief sensation of hurt as he was flipped to his back. Another realization occurred, as his eyes bulged and the sun beat down on him. The birds did not understand his thoughts and wants, as much as he could not understand theirs. This explained why he could not ask them with braying to help him find a warmer sun spot to sleep, or a tastier breakfast in the early morning. His mind raced with an overwhelming rush of every sensation he had ever felt. He remembered the strange predators that were feeling his body and removing their branches. He remembered that these were not new creatures of the same species, but the very same he had seen leagues away, when he had first been injured. Somehow, these beings had found a way to him over and over. A single second had passed in the interim between these realizations and the last ones. Another second passed, and a new wave of insights on the world flowed. He felt one of the creatures pull their branch from his belly. He felt his viscera spill. His lunch and bowels alike, draining out of him as fast as the thoughts drained in to his mind. The Buffalo began to connect the timeline of his life. Specifically, his death. The sharp branch had been made to hurt him, by these creatures. He had been stabbed intentionally by them. They had not been dissuaded by the long march ahead of them to get to him. In fact, they must have simply *walked* toward him, as he had seen that night. Unlike the predators he had encountered before, these had known it was but a game of waiting and following. But how could they have followed. He thought to himself?! As he felt pulled forward by the horns by several predators, he had a few more seconds spent pondering. He watched his body reveal a stream of gore as he was dragged. This revealed the answer. They had found him because they had known to look at the ground. This sent a feeling of pure terror, followed by cold numbness along The Buffalo’s primitive spine. The grooves his feet carved into the soft mud, and presumably all surfaces, were followable. This was beyond any sort of cause and effect on the world his brain was possible of understanding until this life event had granted him understanding. He felt like his past self, a noble fifteen years of age, was simply a baby Bison, who had to still be taught to lick from rivers and chew their food for the first time. He felt he knew nothing of the world until these very instances. His mind was ever expanding in these few last seconds, even through the terror, and perhaps empowered by the terror itself. He considered the lights in the sky at night, thinking them to be creatures as well, perhaps also with plans to puncture his body and cause him pain. He considered if the large cats he had seen in the mountains at night would ever learn to make branches of pain to better hunt as well. The Buffalo saw one of the creatures pulling him by the horns stop and take a piece of animal skin out he had been carrying. The creature began to eat the tough food inside. The Buffalo was blasted with a strong scent of minerals and flesh. The scent reminded him of the strange scents from the night before, when he was almost found. He still could not fully process the act of fire making and preserving, but he intimately knew the smell of the meat as that of his own kind. He felt a dull throbbing numbness take over his entire mind, at the thought of being wrapped in his own skin and eaten leisurely later. With his mind racing ever stronger, he had the urge to reason with these predators. Perhaps this was not a fruitless endeavor of running, escape would not have to be the answer. He let out, with the full intent of explaining he understood their mission, a braying yelp. No sound escaped him however. He could no longer inflate his lungs. The Buffalo had only a few miniscule seconds of life left. The creatures brought him to their camp. They congratulated themselves on the successful hunt. They roasted the meat that night, prepared it and wrapped it for return to the tribe, and placed it all on their large sled. They rested well, they had been hunting for The Buffalo for two weeks. They had recounted it’s patterns of straying from the herd every day, learned where it ran and how far usually, and planned this execution expertly. They would feast for months off this harvest, and were struck with an immense sensation of pleasure that they no longer were hunted, but were the hunters. They all talked long into the night. They did not notice anything creeping in the dark. They slept around the fire. They did not smell anything strange that concerned them.


It was hard to sleep. The constant buzzing, occasionally drowned out by a helicopter overhead. The helicopters were still patrolling then, surely a positive sign?         Saul sat against the wall, lit by light coming in from the open kitchen and hall doors where nobody had bothered to turn the lights off. Everyone else was at least keeping up the pretence of sleep. He watched over the top of his knees, pulled up until they touched his nose. More buzzing outside, every now and then a thud against the window. No sign for hours of those vacant eyed men and women infected with the blood lust. But then, the curtains were drawn.         There was more screaming, coming from somewhere towards the town centre, but it died as quickly as it started. Saul shivered. “This is the way the world ends,” he said into denim. A murmur came from an armchair across the room. “Not with a bang but a buzz.”

        Saul looked at the pile of blanket the voice had emanated from and whispered its name. No reply. “How long do you think we’ll have to stay in here?” asked Charlie.         Nobody replied. Saul scratched his head as if to indicate thinking about it.         “What if we can never go outside again?” she added.         There was a grunt from across the room. Nothing that could be realistically called a word. “There’s food in the kitchen,” said Gordon. “It should last a little while?”         “How little?” someone said, a voice in the corner.         Gordon looked around. There were too many people in the house now. He didn’t want to say it, but it was true. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”         “Thank you,” said Charlie.         “You’re very welcome,” said Gordon. “Stay safe.”         “You too.” The one who called himself Renegade, who was at least good enough to admit this was not his real name, even if he would not say what that was, stood up, holding still a smeared cricket bat. He refused to put it down. He held it swinging loosely by his side and took a step towards the window. And another. Saul started up to stop him. He didn’t want the curtains touched. But Renegade paused I the middle of the room and stood there, looking around. The people sitting or lying across the place looked almost like his victims. It was creepy. Sinister maybe.         Renegade had come out of nowhere off the high street, swinging that bat and roaring. His eyes had been wide and fevered and the group had thought for a moment they’d have to fight him off.         As he stood there in the middle of the room, he felt his muscles twitching. He wanted to scream and to hit something. Contradictions made him angry. They made him want to do something. He felt that he should be alone. Moving fast and moving free. No responsibilities. That was who he was. Wild and independent. Equipped to survive. It made sense. But he couldn’t take a step. The door was so far away. And the uncertainty beyond it… he would never admit, even to himself, that it terrified him.

        Saul watched this guy in the middle of the room, tall and muscular. He thought maybe he should say something to him, but what to say? Why was it his job? He was exhausted. He didn’t know where Kelly was. Perhaps at her house. Perhaps in his apartment, wondering where he was. Maybe she had escaped to, to wherever was better. Or maybe she was stumbling in though the night making that ungodly gurgling/buzzing hybrid sound. Stung and lost. But he mustn’t think that. He balled up his fists. He hadn’t prayed since he’d slept at his grandmother’s house as a child and she’d knelt beside him before bed. Charlie couldn’t sleep. She knew that, but she tried anyway. She doubted she’d ever sleep again. The things she’d seen. She always told herself she’d seen it all, but this was something else altogether. She pulled the blanket over her head and closed her eyes. She felt like it was all translucent; her eyelids, her blanket, the walls beyond. She could see those things buzzing and swarming outside. They waited in the bushes and in the trees and in all the little spaces and their tails dripped with a poison that defied imagination. Around them gathered their… what? Their slaves? There was a better word for it, she was sure of that. Minions. Maybe minions. They stood around, amongst their buzzing masters, chewing on the air, waiting for her to step outside.

        Tomorrow was her day off. She had laundry to do. She, been planning to bake some bread. She had a backlog of Netflix shows to get through too. She’d been baking a lot these past few months. She was starting to get good at it. And what did all this mean for her now. She just wanted to go home and sleep.

They’d come to that house from various directions. The squat, solid block of grey concrete with its tiny windows had rung out like a beacon as they’d been running. A swarm had come upon them and Gordon and Simone had come from the front door with water guns full of petrol, pumping it over their heads for cover as they’d run past them and in. They’d been shouting something that Saul couldn’t recall. He thought inviting them in to safety. But maybe not. Maybe they’d even been telling them to go away. He didn’t know and it didn’t matter.         He’d always heard that adversity brought people together. It brought out the best in them. He didn’t know what this was, but it didn’t feel like the best of anything.         He didn’t want to sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the events replaying, projecting on his eyelids. He saw people screaming and falling. Cars abandoned in the street or speeding across the pavement, spilling people as they went. He saw, looking into his own closed off world of darkness, those empty eyes of the stung walking towards him. Empty, yet somehow screaming. Upstairs, in the bedroom, Gordon and Simone spoke quietly. They had locked the door behind them and then barricaded it. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust these people downstairs, but something was happening and they didn’t know what.         “We did the right thing,” said Simone, leaning towards Gordon’s ear, as if fearful somebody was listening from under the bed. “Didn’t we.”         “They would have died out there,” he said, and leaned himself towards her, to put his arm around her. “We saved them.”         “So we did the right thing.”         “I think so,” he said.         “I hope so,” she added.         Gordon kissed his wife.         While he had been talking to the people downstairs earlier, explaining how they’d sealed off the house, giving out spare blankets, Simone had snuck into the kitchen and taken out bottles of water and tins of food. She’d brought the knives and their water guns – Phil and Danny’s actually, please God, let them be safe with their parents, locked away somewhere, maybe with people like them, who offered help to strangers – she’d brought all of the things they needed up to the bedroom. It was better to be safe than sorry.         “What do you think will happen?” asked Simone.         “We’ll see in the morning,” Gordon told her. “Maybe the TV will be on again then.”         “I hope so,” she said. “Somebody should be telling us what to do.” Saul woke to silence and darkness. Silence. He breathed deeply and lifted himself unsteadily to his feet. Why was it so dark?         He walked carefully to the window, trying to figure out where was safe each time he wanted to put his foot down. What was person, what was blanket, cushion, sleeping bag.         He pulled the curtains apart a crack.         Darkness.         Swirling darkness         It twisted and danced in front of him. He rubbed his eyes, pulled the curtains wider, put his hands against the window and looked, his head tipping from side to side, moving with the wisps and trails.         It took him a while to realize that this was smoke.         It took a while longer to realize what that meant.         “Fire,” he said quietly.         “Fire,” he repeated more loudly.         “Fire!” he shouted when still nobody had stirred, kicking at the nearest body shape on the floor, which groaned and swore. “Fire!” he repeated. The mood turned quickly from moaning at being woken to panic. Bodies scrambled to collect up their belongings, to dress themselves in whatever protective clothing they had cobbled together during the previous day. Renegade was on his feet. He had those swimming goggles and the surgical mask pulled over his face. He held the cricket bat up on his shoulder, both hands gripping the handle, ready to swing, as if he planned to smash the window. Instead though, he just looked out. “That’s a lot of smoke,” he said.         “It is.”         “Where’s it coming from?”         “I don’t know,” Saul told him.         “Are we safe in here?”         “Your guess is as good as mine.”         “I don’t want to go outside,” said the short fat man with the hat, who hadn’t told anyone his name. He’d fallen asleep laid out across the sofa, in the most comfortable spot in the room, almost as soon as they’d gotten in.         “We might have to,” said Saul.         “Who are you to decide that?” asked the short fat man.         “You don’t have to do what I say,” Saul told him. “You do what you want.”         “I’m coming with you,” said Charlie. Saul had saved her once, pulling her into an open car and slamming the door shut behind her. They’d been crashing against the windows, and the keys weren’t in the car. It was just luck that they’d been parked on a slope and when he took the handbrake off they’d rolled far and fast enough to get away from that swarm. The impact when they’d hit the traffic lights had spun her head and she’d crunched her teeth together painfully, but if that was all she’d come away with, she’d take it. Saul led the way.         They went out into the hall in a line. Saul knew he had to move forwards, because there was nowhere to retreat with the bodies behind him.         He got to the front door and put his ear against it. He didn’t expect to learn anything, but he was hoping that any extra time would help him to think.         Gordon and Simone had come down and stood at the bottom of the stairs, wrapped up tightly, with not a single bit of flesh exposed. They each had a back pack and their water pistols and held umbrellas in their other hands. They weren’t sure what was going to happen. Maybe they’d stay were they were. They wanted to see though.         Charlie opened the door a crack, and he stepped forwards, holding a thin, light blanket in front of him. Behind him, everyone was silent, waiting. He strained his ears. There was no buzzing.

“Where’s the fire?” someone asked behind him.         “I don’t know,” he said.         He couldn’t hear any buzzing. None at all. He wafted the blanket a little. The smoke dissipated. Something was moving, but he struggled to make it out. He was ready to run, whether back into the house or forwards into whatever was there. Every muscle in him tensed and strained.         Then he saw them. Men and women, dressed in big yellow bodysuits with plastic windows on their bucket helmets. They waved planks of wood, drawing smoke trails in the sky, bringing it around and down like whips. Why would they wear yellow? He wondered. They looked like giant wasps themselves. He almost started to laugh, and as he did so, he inhaled smoke. He coughed and bent over.         Charlie was behind him, her hand on his back. He straightened and waved his hand to brush the smoke aside and when he had made a space, he looked up at the early morning sun. It shone so brightly despite it all. There it was. The fire.


16 years before I had just gotten off work more tired than usual. I was out of town for the next week because of work and that meant I had no idea what to do when I wasn't working. I didn't know anyone and didn't know any good places to visit, so I just sat on my couch watching TV and eating the snacks I had brought with me. When I went to the fridge to grab a soda, I realized I was all out. Which supermarket was the closest? I turned on my computer and searched. Turned out, there was a Walmart a couple blocks away. I got my keys and got in the car. The voice of the GPS lady was starting to annoy me, so I turned it off for the road. I entered the Walmart and started looking for the beverages section. I found it quite quickly and grabbed other groceries I needed to the motel room. As I was getting ready to pay, I noticed the cashier. She had liquid blonde hair rolling down her shoulders and her blue eyes were looking back at me. She scanned the items delicately, even though they weren't fragile, and I tried to get the courage to say something. Unfortunately, all I could do was say thanks and get out of there. That same day, at night, I couldn't stop thinking about her. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met, and she had the most soothing voice Ihad ever heard. In that moment, in that day, I decided I'd ask her out. So, for the following week, I went to that same Walmart everyday hoping to see her and every day I would ask her for her phone number. She'd say no, always smiling, until the last day. In that day, as I was getting ready to say goodbye, she said she would give me her phone number and get a coffee with me, but only if she could bring a friend. I went home that day with the biggest smile on my face. She'd said yes! I delayed my return for a couple of days so I could get to know her. On our first date, I had asked the waiter to put a rose on her seat and some on the table. Thanks to my car, I was late and when I got there, she was sitting at another table. I smiled and said, "That's not the right one.". She looked at me confused and then I pointed at the other table. \- "That one. That obvious one with roses."- I said laughing. \- "Oh, I thought that was for someone else."- she giggled. We ate, we talked and then, at the en of the night, I kissed her. It took all my courage to do that, and I was scared she wouldn't like it, but for my relief, she kissed me back. I was reying to sleep that night, but I couldn't. I couldn't believe how well the date had gone. We spent the next days texting each other, and we'd go out every night. When I had to go back home, I called her and arranged a date. \- "These last few day have been amazing."- I said, trying to hide my anxiety about what I was going to say next.- "Unfortunetly, I have to go back home. I know we've only mat a few days ago, but I would really like if we could keep talking. What do you say?" She took some time to answer which made me almost open a hole on the floor and escape through it. \- "I'd love that as well."- she finally said.- "It's not everyday I meet someone as nice and funny as you. I'd love to keep talking." After a few weeks, we started dating. I was over the moon the whole time. She was so funny and delightful. I literally couldn't have asked for someone better. I'd visit her at least once a month and she'd do the same when she could. After a year, we agreed it was time for us to live together. We rented an appartment on the city I lived in since I couldn't quit my job. It wasn't the best appartment, but it was great with her living in it. On the first day we slept on the appartment, I woke up earlier and made breakfast. Then, I brought it to bed and surprised her. I started doing that every weekend as our relationship progressed. I was a little messy and was scared that she wouldn't like it and that it would lead to an argument, but she didn't mind. She'd make jokes here and there about it and I got better at it along the years that passed. She'd sing while cooking, cleaning and basically while doing anything. She had a beautiful voice and sometimes I'd just stop whatever I was doing and listen to her. She was trying to be a singer but hadn't had any success. I didn't understand how, though. She was absolutely amazing. I remember when I asked her to marry me. We had been together for 4 years and we were on one of the best stages of our relationship. We were close, intimate and had complete trust in each other, so I thought it was a good time to ask. I did it on a date nate. We had made reservations at a really fancy restaurant which made me think that she knew I was going to propose. We entered the restaurant and set on the table. I spent a good minute looking at her, admiring her beauty and she obviously got confused. \- "What's wrong?"- she asked. \- "Nothing. Just looking at how beautiful you are."- I answered. She blushed and avoided eye contact as she always did. \- "So, I have amazing news."- she announced. \- "What is it?"- I asked nervously, because the only thing I could think of was that she was pregnant. \- "I got a gig!"- she yelled. \- "What? Really?"- I asked, surprised.- "That's amazing! Congratulations!" \- "Thank you. You'll see it, right?"- she said. \- "Of course, I will. I wouldn't miss it for the world."- I answered. We ate, we talked and, at the end of the night, along with the desert, it had arrived the time to ask. \- "So, the last few years have been amazing..."- my voice started to crack because I was so nervous.- "Everything thanks to you. And I hope they have been the best of your life as well."- she nodded with her head yes.- "And so, as to prolong our journey and this happiness..."- I kneeled on one knee and she quickly realized what was about to happen and blushed again.- "... I would like to make you my wife. Anna, will you marry me?" She jumped out of her seat. \- "Yes! Of course, yes! Oh my god!"- she yelled and everyone in the restaurant started clapping. We kissed and hugged and told each other we loved one another. That night I went to sleep as the happiest man alive. I couldn't believe I was going to marry the girl of my dreams. I couldn't fell asleep and when I looked at her, she wasn't sleeping either. I guess the adrenaline of everything kept us both up. We spent the whole night talking and laughing. It was the best day I could ever have asked for. A year later, I found out she was pregnant. I was going to have a kid! I spent the whole nine months talking to the little guy and doing all sorts of stuff to make Anna as comfortable as I could. I'd cook her breakfast, pull her hair up when she was throwing up from morning sickness, went to all the appointments, etc... I had an image of what my son was going to be like and what personality he would have. I already loved him even not knowing him. Nine months later and on a random day at work, I got a call. \- "Hey, hon. Come home, please. I think my water broke." \- "What?! How are you so calm?!"- I said, clearly freaking out. \- "Calm down. I've read all the books and have watched some of my friends go through this. Just please come home. I don't want to be alone when the contractions start."- she said. \- "Of course, honey. I'll be there in 10min, I love you." \- "Love you too." I arrived home to find my wife wiping the floor. \- "No, no, no, no. You can't be doing any of that; we have to go to the hospital!"- I said. \- "Not yet. The contractions have to be 5min apart, I think." \- "You sure?" \- "Yeah." A few minutes later and she was screaming bloody murder. I grabbed her bag, and we went to the hospital as quickly as we could. The little guy would take 10 hours to come out. I spent the whole time with her. At 4am, she went into the delivery room. \- "Ten centimetres. You'r ready to go."- said the doctor. \- "Oh, God. This is it. Can he come?"- Anna asked. \- "Of course. It's actually better if he comes. You'll feel slightly more comfortable." \- "Good." My heart was pounding. I had absolutely no idea what to do. I had read all the books about what to do, but as soon as we entered the delivery room, all that knowledge went out the window. I was shaking. So happy I was going to meet him. \- "Push, sweetie. C'mon, you can do this. On three. One, two... three!"- I said. She was pressing my hand so hard I was afraid she was going to break it. She was yelling and suddenly... she stopped. Her hand went weak. I could only hear the doctor. \- "Wait, someting's wrong."- the doctor said.- "Help me, she's bleeding. She's bleeding a lot." My heart stopped. The nurse went to help the doctor. \- "I can't stop the bleeding. At this rate, we'll only be able to save the baby." The delivery room was full all the sudden. All I could hear were doctors and nurses talking, almost yelling. Abruptly, the ECG machine stopped beeping and started to make the most horrifying sound. I looked at it. My wife had flat lined. \- "What's happening?! Please save her."- I pratically yelled at the doctor while grabbing him. \- "Someone get him out of here, please! Mark, help me here! I'll try to save the baby."- the doctor shouted. \- "NO, NO, NO. Save her, please."- I cried. I ran to my wife. Somehow, I had gotten her blood on my hands. I was crying. I didn't know what to do. As I looked at the love of my life, I saw her empty eyes looking back at me. She wasn't moving anymore. Someone had taken her life way and mine went with hers as well. I looked behind me and saw the murderer. He was crying, yelling, completely oblivious to what he had done. I felt sorry for him, but I felt the rage pulsating through my veins. How could I ever have cared for him? Men carried him away while I cried uncontrolably on the floor. That day, that faithful day... that was the day I met the murderer of my wife. My son.


Twenty-three. That was how many he could sustain in his own little group; how many he could protect from the harsh realities of the god forsaken world. It hurt his heart every time he found another survivor, only to have to turn them away, to leave them injured in the dust, exposed to the elements and beasts. Even worse when they were children. He’d never grown used to ignoring their cries for help. Twenty-three was the number of years he and his ragtag group of humans had wandered the world, hiding in hovels while he fought to keep them safe. The Demons were everywhere one looked, always looming over the horizon, roving like the wild, bloodthirsty beasts they were. They tended to move during the day, making it safer to sleep during the night and move only when they did. Twenty-three thousand. That was how many he estimated he’d killed in his time. Each one he’d taken down with nothing but his sword, striking true to protect his own solitary group. He cared not for the ravenous animals, turned a blind eye to their natural urges and instincts as he cut them down. They were nothing more than beasts, after all, trying to survive in a world that had been as cruel to them as it had been to his group. Twenty-three cities. That was how many they'd visited and seen ravaged by the Demons. Despite the abundance of supplies left over, miraculously unrotten after years exposed to the wild, the streets were packed with the monsters. They roamed in droves, idly shuffling along, kicking up dust wherever they traveled. It made it simpler to track their movements and forage, while minimizing the amount that needed to be engaged. Twenty-three eternities. That was how many lifetimes worth of sins he would have to atone for. His failure to prevent the fall, his inability to protect the humans as a whole, his continued rampage against the Demons which had wrought the apocalypse. They had all been easily preventable, yet he’d taken no action when they’d occurred. Now, however, he had strength on his side, and all the time in the world. He would correct what needed to be corrected, even if it took him centuries. Twenty-three blind sets of eyes. That was how many he’d converted to his cause, how many he’d convinced his ways were right, how many turned their noses up at the Demons and scoffed at the lower life forms. That was how many had said the Demons were nothing more than that: Demons. Monsters that had brought about the end of the world through their own selfish desires. Beasts that had turned the world into a utopia for themselves, while forcing inhospitable lands on all others. Ones that had chosen greed and power over survival of the whole. Twenty-three prayers, which he said before facing the Demons. Twenty-three simple sentences to tide himself over through the bloodshed. It made it easier to ignore how eerily similar the Demons looked to the humans he protected. It let him go deaf to their calls for help, their screams as he brought them to their knees, their gasps as he ended their lives. Twenty-three prayers are what he gave to the Demons in an attempt to rescue what little of their souls remained. After all, they weren’t human anymore. Not after what they’d done to the world. He felt no remorse for them, no guilt for what he had to do. They were Demons, and nothing more.