It scared the shit out of me. I was 12, riding my bike home from school when a big dog jumped out in front of me on the sidewalk. I don't really remember how I did it, exactly, but I remember thinking, "No! Why now? I was going to bike all over with Billy until SUNDOWN!" In the midst of thinking that, I realized I was taking a very long time to hit the ground. I tried to look around and found that I could not move my head. 'I must be dead,' I thought, 'Or paralyzed, maybe'. Being paralyzed wouldn't be so bad. At least I'd be able to see mom and dad and my sister again. My head and my body wouldn't move, but my eyes could shift a little. I glanced in as many directions as possible and saw Billy next to me on his bike. Billy's bike was the coolest one in the neighborhood. It had seven speeds. Seven! I couldn't imagine riding a bike with seven speeds. I often thought that everything but the sidewalk must turn into a giant blur when Billy skidded around corners and flew down hills. I sometimes wondered how Billy was able to go slow enough to stay with the pack when we rode around the neighborhood. 'He must have really good control of that thing'. I would think. Billy's face wasn't moving. Actually, none of Billy's anything was moving. His mouth and eyes were stuck open in a kind of shock and awe. He was standing up on his pedals about ten feet away from me on the road. He was upside down, too. Or rather, he looked upside down. It wasn't until now that I noticed I was upside down. I was suspended in mid-air with my feet pointing to the sky. I could see my bike and the dog below me. The dog had the bewildered look on its face that dogs get when they realize something uncomfortable is happening to them and they have no earthly idea why or how it could have possibly taken place without them seeing it coming. The dog was standing weird, like it was halfway from lying down and standing up but couldn't make up its mind. It didn't look right. I thought it must be impossible for anyone to stand that way. It was like someone had pressed pause on a movie. We were in the movie, and we couldn't move again until someone pressed play. 'Maybe I am in a movie,' I thought, 'maybe this whole time I've been alive it's really just part of a movie!' at first I thought this was cool, but then I thought about how movies end before everyone's life is finished. If that happened, I might not get to ever see mom and dad or my sister again. That was no good. 'Please don't be a movie,' I thought. I looked back over at Billy to see if I could recognize him from any movies I'd watched. He didn't look like an actor, but something strange in front of Billy caught the corner of my eye. A shiny, metal thing was there. I knew it was shiny because it was reflecting the sun straight at me. I tried to move my eyes some more to get a better view, but it was no good. Whatever it was was just out of sight. It was definitely much bigger than Billy. The way it was shaped made it seem like it was just the tip of something; like there was a whole bunch more of it just outside my view. I squinted and strained to try and see more. I caught a glimpse of something round just underneath the shiny metal part. My heart dropped. It was a car. The round thing was a tire, and the shiny metal part was a hood. I tried to open my mouth and shout at Billy, but nothing happened. My whole face and body were stuck except for my eyes. I tried blinking. I could remember some morse code from boy scouts, but Billy never went to boy scouts. I figured it was worth a shot. Billy didn't blink back. He just kept staring at me with that shock-and-awe-gaping-mouth he had been since somebody pressed pause. 'pause' I thought, 'Don't un-press pause, whoever you are!' I thought this as hard as I could, hoping that maybe the people watching tv would be able to hear me. 'Do it for Billy!' I thought loudly, 'Save him!'. Then another idea struck me, 'Press rewind! Press rewind and I can tell him what's coming!' Nothing happened. I tried thinking to Billy: 'Billy! Billy look out! Look in front of you Billy! Look out for the car!' Billy's face stayed the same. I had no idea if he could hear me. If he could, he wasn't trying to think anything back. I wondered if he could hear me but didn't know how to reply, so I tried explaining it to him. It didn't take long before I thought about how stupid an idea that was. I stopped trying to do anything and just hung there for a bit, wondering why no one had ever pressed pause before. 'This is like the longest movie ever,' I thought. Then I thought about how I was twelve, and how no movie was twelve years long ever. 'That would be such a waste of time,' I thought. Nope, a twelve year movie didn't make any sense. It was too silly. And I was much too old for silly ideas. But then I had an idea that was not so silly. I thought about the feeling I had right before everything paused. I wanted everything to pause. I had wished for it, and it had happened. I looked at Billy, and tried wishing for everything to rewind. Nothing happened. I wondered what would happen if I wished for everything to play again. I wondered if I would be able to shout to Billy in time for him to move. I didn't like it, but I knew this was the only chance Billy had. All I could do was think about playing time again or we would be stuck like this forever. That would get pretty boring. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. I thought about playing time. I kept my eyes closed and balled my hands into fists. I could hear screeching tires and a honking horn. I opened my mouth to call for Billy. But just as I was about to shout, I hit the sidewalk with a crack. There was a sickening sound of splintering glass and crunching metal.


“Canceled??” I yelped, before realizing my predicament. I returned to a whisper, “What do you mean canceled, Claudia, he’s right here and he’s gorgeous!” I glanced over at my date’s tailored suit which was offset by his easy smile and handsome features. Claudia was speechless for a moment. She apologized and said that the date she had set up for me definitely canceled. Pausing for a moment, she asked, “are you 100% sure he is as gorgeous as you say?” I hung up on her and stared at the floor for a moment. Claudia thought she had set me up with someone else. Not only that, but she had set me up with someone that she did not think could be considered gorgeous. But here was this man; polite, kind, and as sexy as ever. “How is your friend, Maria? Is she well?” Frank smiled in the most heartwarming way. “Uh, yeah. She’s fine. How did you meet her, by the way, she didn’t tell me how you guys met.” I hoped that my anxiety didn’t show. “Oh, I know Claudia from a long time ago. She thinks so highly of you and so I told myself that I must meet this amazing woman Claudia keeps raving about!” I looked deeply into Frank’s eyes. For a second it seemed like they moved independently of each other. “That’s so nice to hear. Are you from around here?” “Well, not originally. You see I’m much older than I look and I have been around. But I am glad to have settled here. It is the right place for me.” His forked tongue licked his lips as he waited for me to continue the conversation. I looked down at my meal of salmon and raspberry sauce. It would have been delightful if my stomach were not tying itself into knots. “Do you have many siblings? Or family in the area?” “Oh, yes,” he chuckled, “very many siblings. We are all over the place. I can’t keep track of them all.” He looked back at me, leaning forward, eyes narrowing into slits. “What about you, Maria, are you alone?” I did not know how to answer. This felt creepy now. I stood up to excuse myself. “I need to go to the little girls room for a moment.” Grabbing my things, I slipped away towards the washrooms but then I doubled back to head out the front doors. Then, I ran. I ran all the way home without thinking about what I had done. I frantically opened the lock and ran inside. Slipped my clothes off and hid under the comfort of my bedsheets. It was a terrible night, full of nightmares involving this Frank guy. I tried to put it behind me and get on with my life. Claudia called me. I let it go to voicemail, still rattled by my dreams. *“Hey Maria, I am sorry about the weird cancellation yesterday. Maybe the guy actually showed up after canceling. Anyway, I am happy to tell you that I didn’t have one nightmare all night. It’s amazing! I have them every night for years and then they are gone instantly. Anyway, talk to you soon babe. Bye bye!”* I didn’t think too much about the voicemail. I tried getting my own nightmares out of my head, keeping myself occupied until the next evening. I lay in bed and tried to think about normal everyday things. But when I closed my eyes, I saw Frank’s face, turning into the face of a snake. Jolting upright, I looked around my room. It felt silly being afraid of a dream, but it felt so real. Laying down again, I determined to reason my way out of this nonsense. My door creaked open slightly. *It could bee anything*, I told myself. Frank’s familiar voice floated to me from my doorway. “Hello Maria.


“I’m not a fan of online dating”, he said, in between taking a sip of his old fashioned. “I mean, what’s the point, really? In my opinion, online dating has only two purposes: the first being for sex, and the second being for validation.” At the other-end of the table, a skinny brunette sat quietly and listened. With her frayed hair, blue eyes and perky breasts, she wasn’t anything remarkable to look at. In fact, besides these perky breasts, she didn’t have much to offer in terms of beauty. But for the most part it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if she was a five or six (*her mother always thought her to be the former*) because middle-aged men, when confronted with the possibility of being alone, always settle for less than their perceived ideal — which was fine by her. For here she was having a drink at one of the finest gin-joints in town free of expense. “How do you figure?” she asked, while gulping down Merlot, staining her teeth with a tinted red. “Well, Maria —" “Theresa” “Huh?”’ “My name is Theresa, not Maria.” “Alright, Theresa, you have Tinder, right?” “Tinder?” “The dating app where you swipe left or right depending on whether or not the person is ugly or not.” “Hey, that’s not very nice —" “I’m not trying to be nice. I’m just stating the truth.” “Well, my mother always said if you can’t say something nice, then don’t say nothing at all.” “Isn’t that from Bambi?” “Honestly, most of the things I’ve learned in life came from my mother or television, so it could be either...” Theresa chuckled and then flicked her hair back. Her split ends radiated in the stenciled brass lighting. There was just something about her that made him tick; perhaps, it was because of this bar they were in. The place was far busier than usual from what he remembered, and tonight the curved arches, balconies, and balustrades made it impossible to view anything without romantic undertones. He’d like to think that. He’d like to think that the sound of the Atlantic crashing against the rocks was romantic. “Anyways,” Theresa continued, “As you were saying?” “As I was saying,” he went on,” Do you have tinder?” Theresa shifted in her seat a little. “...Yes, I have tinder.” “And why do you have Tinder?” *A suede jacket, a gold watch, and wingtip dress-shoes. A suede jacket, a gold watch, and wingtip dress shoes* — yes, this was a man who had made a living understanding the cost of needing to make a living. “Why do you have tinder?” he asked again. His elbows now draped alongside the wooden countertop. “Sorry, I zoned out there for a second,” she apologized. “What did you say?” “Why do you have tinder?” he asked once more. Theresa raised her wine glass and took another gulp; her face was obscured behind a veil of opaque purple. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. As she guzzled down the final few drops, the man with a suede jacket, a gold watch, and wingtip dress shoes watched. “I’m looking for the love of my life,” she replied. **…** She reached for the bottle: there was no more wine left to be drunk. Fuck. “You know, why this place is famous right?” he slurred, as he swaggered back and forth in his chair. Theresa took in the view: antique floor and table lamps; a fireplace carved of brilliant marble; palm trees casting luminous shadows against white walls; old and young couples alike hiding their insecurities in twenty to twenty-two-ounce chalices and surface-level conversations. Even with last call announced by the bartender, the place was evocative of a glitz and glamour that even a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel would pale in comparison to. “It’s where they filmed, Casablanca, isn’t it?” she finally spoke. “No, they didn’t film Casablanca *here,*” he said, gesturing around the room, nearly keeling over while doing so. “It’s a recreation of the bar in the movie, you know—" “Rick's Café Américain*.* Yes, I’ve watched Casablanca before,” she interrupted. “…Then would you know that the sculpted bar over there is where Humphrey Bogart first recited, of all — “ *The gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine*. Yes, I’ve seen—" “And that 1930’s Pleyel piano the in-house pianist is playing is the same one Sam played while singing, *As Time Goes By*” “Right now, I *wish* time went by --” “And those oak doors over there is where Ingrid Bergman—" “You really know a lot about this place, huh?” she interjected, coolly. The man with a suede jacket and a gold watch and wingtip dress shoes sat in silence for a moment. Then he reached for his old-fashioned: there was nothing left but bitters and a melting ice cube. “Well, I used to come here all the time when I was your age,” he continued. “And how long ago was that?” she asked. “When I was married.” He looked over at the wooden doors again. “…You were married?” It was where Ingrid Berman, the Swedish blonde who painted her face with her eyes, first strolled into Humphrey Bogart’s little gin joint. “Once upon a time”, he replied, raising his drink. He held it in the air for a long moment. Reluctantly, she clinked her glass against his. Then he lurched back into his seat -- which took a great deal of effort -- and she laid her glass back down on the table. After this was all said and done, he reached for his collar and adjusted his “tie”: he wasn’t wearing one. It was a motion he most likely had grown very accustomed to. After all, at the moment, he was too maudlin to notice. Then he said something about working in an office and wanting to hang himself. Why not? Go for it. Who am I to stop you? Wait, she shouldn’t project. “And what is it that you do for a living” Theresa asked, resting the weight of her chin on her arm. “Advertising,” he replied, with a drunken grin. The bar went quiet, or the lack of an ambient murmur seemed to indicate so. Regardless of how many people were in the place, Theresa now sat erect in her chair with her shoulders upright. She was quite-lady-like. “And what is it that you advertise?” she asked with her eyes now locked on his. “Mostly dating apps, ” he answered, “That’s why I asked you if you had tinder earlier. I wanted to know why a girl like you goes out with a guy like me.” Theresa curled her lip inward and bit down hard. A metallic warmth pervaded her pallet, tantalizing her taste buds with the sin of...*.more.* She wanted *more, a*nd this man before her could also be found wanting; for here he was, in one of the finest gin joints in town, wanting what came after an old-fashioned, a decorous bill, and a moonlight escapade through the razor-thin alleyways of Casablanca with the fog rolling in. It shouldn’t be her fault he had already planned the route before they had even met. **…** “I like older men”, Theresa sweetly said, as she wiped her lips with a cocktail napkin. The shade of red where her lipstick found its mark emblazoned on the coarse surface like an autograph given from a Hollywood starlet. “Do you now?” He replied, puffing his chest out in the process. He must be attractive to her. “There’s just something attractive about an older man, wouldn’t you agree?” she said, leaning over the table and sliding his now empty old-fashioned over to her end. Then she pulled out the melting ice cube and examined it. Drop. Drop. Drop. The liquid dribbled over her knuckles and became more and more evaporated as she fingered the cube more and more— “Wouldn’t you agree?” she said once more. The condensation from the ice cube soaked into the wood. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. In the midnight heat, they glistened. “…What, what do you mean?” he squeaked out. Theresa bit her lip and smiled again. Then she took the ice cube and hovered it near her mouth. “There’s just *something* older men possess that younger men do not,” she said, lipping the ice cube. “And, yes, a younger man may be chiseled and confident and charming -- hell, they might even fuck like horse in bed…” Drop. Drop. Drop. Crystalline wetness glistened upon her lips and then fell from them onto the soaked wood. The man with the suede jacket, a gold watch, and wingtip dress shoes inched to the edge of his seat. “…but there is just *something* about an older man that cannot be beat. There is just *something* about them that is just irresistible, and for the life of me, I can’t put my finger on it.” She held a very long look at him. “Do you know what *it* is?” The man the suede jacket, a gold watch, and wingtip dress shoes sat at the other end of the table, unmoving. “…is it because they have stature? Theresa nodded her head thoughtfully and wiped off the water that formed on her hands; the ice cube had melted. “…Yeah, that could be *it.”* A moment of silence passed between them. Then Theresa stood up with her purse in hand and walked over to him. Then she began encircling his wrist; it was smooth to touch and heavy to feel, as if you could scratch the color off-- “I’m going to go freshen up before we leave. Is that okay?" she asked, leaning in close, her fingers running along his. “...Would you like me to join you?” Theresa smiled and then stepped away from him. “I don’t need any assistance.” she said, walking away from the table. “Just the bill.” **…** As she maneuvered her way through the tables and toward the restroom, he looked on intently. There was just something about her that made him tick; perhaps, it was the way she looked at him and smiled. Even now when she eyed the wooden doors, and then the restroom, and then the wooden doors once more, he was floored. It was as if he had a front-row seat at a ping-pong competition, swinging his head back and forth, wondering which thing would capture her attention first; and, as she entered the restroom, she was all the more the spectacle. She knew what she wanted, and he didn’t dare change her mind -- he wasn’t even that drunk. He didn’t dare encumber himself with the fact that he knew she was more than he bargained for because when you’ve been selling nothing for years, you don’t pass up an opportunity for a new product… …that’s advertising 101. You give the customer what they want. And no matter how flawed and fragile that product may be, you give the customer what they *want.* I mean, look at Apple these days: they don’t make quality products. They make iPhones, iPads, and Air Pods -- a bunch of parts loosely strewn together in a Malaysian sweatshop -- and in a few years, you’ll be paying seven hundred dollars for “repairs”, for something that was already broken. He knew what that felt like. He knew what it felt like to purchase something that was meant to last for years but didn’t make it past the warranty. He knew what it felt to like to invest in something that was supposed to take a lot of wear and tear, only for it to break at the first sign of trouble. And he knew what it felt like to love, only for that love to be found in a motel room fucking the brains out of someone who didn’t even know her name. God, she had spent a lot of time in the restroom. **…** He should be embarrassed he should be *embarrassed* to be drunk as a skunk and drool all over the place in front of other people its fucking embarrassing and the worst part is that tomorrow he’ll tell all his corporate pencil pusher buddies that he balled the broad at the bar and then proceed to brag about how good he fucked her Christ why are my eyebrows so lopsided and why are my breasts so perky and why are my cheeks so chubby why is he such a miserable little wretch he has a suede jacket and a gold watch and wingtip dress shoes and no heart he is a shallow creature who can’t control himself he can’t hold a conversation he will work in an office from nine to five until the day he dies and he will never know what it’s like to hold the hand of someone he loves and he will never know what it’s like to look at someone and be totally vulnerable and he will always be the one who sits down at a table and have no one look up and he will always be the joint that people pass around take a hit of and then exhale and he will always be a whoring wanting human piece of trash that no one dared to love because there wasn’t much to love. …God, why am I looking into a restroom mirror? **…** By the time she finally returned from the restroom, the bar had all but cleared out. The table lamps were extinguished. The terracotta tile, once carnelian and gleaming -- set in the floor by hand -- lay waste to footprints. Even the bus boy, who wouldn’t fool a soul if he asked for a drink, had already wiped the sweat off his brow and bussed his last table. There was no left in the place, except for him and her. There was not a human noise to be heard, nor a person seen moving. Everyone had left for what came after a drink and dinner. “That took awhile” he said, reaching for his old-fashioned: it wasn’t there. One of the bus-boys must’ve taken it earlier. Theresa bore over him silently, watching him grasp blindly for what was already lone gone. "There was a long line at the cue.” she finally replied. “…I’m sure there was.” Theresa’s eyes darted across the room towards the rest room and the wooden doors. There was no one at either. “Do you want to leave?” he asked, his eyes fixated on where she was looking. Theresa stood there for a moment, silent. “…Are you sure you don’t want to get another drink? The man with a suede jacket, a gold watch and wingtip dress shoes tapped a black leather envelope that lay next to him. “The cheque’s already here.” Theresa stood there for a moment once more, silent. “…You sure, you don’t want another drink? The man with a suede jacket, a gold watch and wingtip dress shoes shook his head. “ I’ve had enough to drink.” he replied. Theresa looked over to the other end of the table. Sure enough, the cheque was there, flat on the table. Next to the cheque, a gold watch wrung around a plump wrist. On the floor, wingtip dress shoes planted into the ground. Before her, a suede jacket that looked about two sizes too large wrapped around an equally too large torso; and above that… *blue eyes.* They were such flawed and fragile and vulnerable and harrowed and broken and tormented and lonely and greedy and guilty and unworthy and pitiful and beautiful, blue eyes. “…So, what’s the damage?” she said, her eyes glued on his, unmoving. The man with the beautiful, blue eyes smiled. "I’ll pay,” he answered.


I woke up to my alarm beeping in my ear at 8:30. This morning I didn't get to wake up to my husband lying right by me. He usually works the night shift at the New York City Fire Department but this morning he got called into work due to his fellow fireman out being sick. I get out of bed and open my curtains. Today is a dreary day. Lately as I’ve been opening my curtains the sun beams in and fills my room with the sun rays. I flip on the TV in my room and turn to the news channel to see what has been going on in the world. As I am faintly listening to the TV I begin to get ready. After my shower, I throw on my low-rise embroidered jeans and pair it with a white tube top. I figured since it was a little chilly out I would throw on my jean jacket. I went into my kitchen to gather my belongings for work and grab some breakfast. At 9:00 I head out of my apartment and begin my walk down the elven flights of stairs.

Once upon a time in a small town in Southern Indiana lived CinderJoe. He was your typical small town guy. Farming in the morning, cooking lunch, farming in the evening, and going home to cook dinner. The past few months he had been going out at nights to try and find a girlfriend. Although he was struggling to find one, he came across something that could be so good for him. There were posters posted all around the town as he was heading to the farm. These posters showed information about the upcoming hoedown that was to take place that night. The princess of their small town was going to find her prince charming by the end of the night. CinderJoe was so excited when he saw this information. He had to go. After staring at the poster for what seemed like thirty minutes, he headed to the farm to get his work done before he went home to get ready for the hoedown. While working, all he could think about was the beautiful princess of his small town. He wanted so badly to be her prince charming. CinderJoe realized he was getting no work done at the farm so he decided to call it a day and just head home and get ready for the big night. While he was walking home, he realized his boss probably called his evil stepmother and told her that CinderJoe did not complete any of the work he was supposed to for that particular day. His boss always calls her when he doesn’t finish his work because his stepmother does not let him go do anything when that happens. CinderJoe arrived at his house and saw his stepmother and two evil step brothers standing in the doorway with their arms crossed.

It was the second I walked outside of my apartment building that I noticed something bad had happened. The look of fear in these people’s eyes as they run back into the apartment building has me terrified. I take another step outside and look up at the World Trade Center buildings. Nothing but smoke is filling the city and lathering the buildings. “Ma'am you need to find shelter, run!” A man dressed in uniform screamed to me from across the street. I run up the stairs in fear and make it into my apartment. I lock the door and hear the news anchor talking about a tragic event that has just taken place in my city. I set my purse down and run to the couch to see what is going on. “At 9:03 this morning United Airlines Flight 175 struck into The World Trade Center's South Tower. We have the New York City Fire and Police Department on the scene to keep our city safe.” Panic filled my whole body as I thought about my husband. I begin shaking as tears stream down my face. I try to calm myself down and tell myself he is trained at his job and knows what to do in these situations. I text him in hopes I get a response.

As three hours go by, I am still checking my phone for a response from David. I am still perched in the same spot with my eyes glued to the TV in hopes of any update. Eventually after four and a half hours I got a text message from my husband. “Sorry to keep you so worried, I am getting released to come home in about an hour and I will be with you and surround you with comfort.” A wave of relief filled the whole room. I feel a big smile stretch across my face as I wipe away the tears that are still falling down my face.

After the longest hour of my life, I hear the front door unlock. David ran in and hugged me as tears poured down his face. We both were shaking. “Sara everything is going to be ok. I am glad to be back home with you.” David said in a sigh of relief to be back home. “I want you home with me forever, David.” I cried to him. We hugged each other for a good two minutes and made our way to the TV to see if any updates had been released. “The counts we are getting from the department are telling us 265 total deaths on the four planes and 1,945 immediate deaths from the attack. Many people are in critical condition as we are trying to get them all help. This is a tragic event that our police and fire department are trying their hardest to handle.” The news anchor spilled all of this information as David and I looked at each other. “David you could’ve been one of those 1,945 people that were instantly killed.” I tried explaining to him. “Sara I am here now and that’s all that matters. I just witnessed something many people won’t ever have to go through and I’m going to need time to get over this. I saw innocent people jumping out of the towers as limbs were falling off of them. That is traumatizing.” He said to me in a worried tone. “I understand that, I am so glad you are ok and here with me now. Thank you for helping out our city and keeping everyone safe. I think you need to go lay in bed and I’ll cook you a good dinner.” I offered to him. “Thank you, Sara, I would love that.” He said as he hugged me and headed off to go lay in bed. An hour later I joined him with our dinner and we sat in bed eating with a movie on. David did not want to watch the news anymore as he was scarred from what he just had been through.


It had to be here somewhere. Time was ticking by and the document had to be submitted by 11am on Monday morning. She had looked in all the usual places; under the bed, the box above the fridge, in her parents’ bedroom and to no avail. Where the hell was it? She bit her fingernails and then started to chew on the loose skin at the base of her thumb. Fuck, now it was bleeding. When was she going to break this habit? She sat down hard on the floral bedspread of her parents’ bed and tried to think of other possible places it could be. The garage? No, they wouldn’t store things in there. Everyone knew that it smelt like mould and would often flood in the Autumn. Loft? Unlikely, but worth a try. Standing up, she went over to the wardrobe and felt for the hooked stick hidden behind it that they used to open the loft door.

The hook scraped on the metal ring as she tried to get it looped through. One, two, three attempts and finally there it was. The screech of hinges in need of oil as the loft door opened was enough to wake the dead. Dust motes escaped their dark prison as light eked into the loft for the first time in God knows how long. She was just about to step on the bottom rung of the ladder when she heard a key turn in the door. Finally , she thought to herself.

Surely enough, her Mum entered the house, two heavy shopping bags from the supermarket in each hand and her handbag slung awkwardly on her back. Her hair was dishevelled, the bun working its way out of the pins and loose strands falling down the nape of her neck. There was a sheen of sweat on her red face and she struggled to get through the door. She glanced up the stairs and after a moment of surprise at seeing her daughter there, she called to her. “Give us a hand, Cara, these bags are bloody heavy.” Cara was already halfway down the stairs as her Mum dropped them unceremoniously in the hall. “What have you even got in there?” “The usual.” “The usual?” Cara gave her Mum a sceptical look as she spotted two frozen turkeys for eight in one of the bags. “Mum, we’re a family of three and we only have Jean from next door at Christmas. I know it's November, but still. When are you going to need to feed sixteen people?” “Yes, well,” she could see her Mum’s cheeks flushing crimson, “some of the offers were just too good to pass up. You know how it is, love.” “Uh huh,” Cara gave her a knowing smirk. “If you say so.” Her Mum gave her a gentle prod. “Just help me squash them into the freezer. And then you can tell me to what I owe the pleasure of your company.” Cara beamed. Since leaving home for university three months before, she hadn’t seen much of her parents. Oh, true, she was loving uni life: living in halls, all the socials and the lectures weren’t that bad either, but a part of her certainly missed her family. Unlike some of her peers, she had always got on with her parents and hadn’t seen tertiary education as an opportunity to escape. The fact that she had moved to a university six hours from home was because of the course, not her parents. She put the food in the freezer as her Mum filled the fridge and then turned to put on the kettle. After doing battle with the other Saturday shoppers, there was no question that her Mum needed a reviving brew. “Thanks, love,” her Mum said as she took a sip of the murky beverage. “Just what I needed.” She exhaled deeply, closing her eyes as she communed with the Gods of tea. “So, to be clear, I am not complaining, but how come you’re here on a Saturday morning? You must have travelled through the night to get here.” “Yeah, I came with Finn. He was visiting his parents this weekend so he said he would give me a lift if I wanted to see you guys as well. But yeah, we didn’t leave until about 2am after his gig had finished. Don’t worry, Mum,” she started as she clocked her mother’s raised eyebrows, “he hadn’t been drinking, he’s a teetotaller. I think he’s the only sober guitarist the world has ever seen.” Her Mum laughed. “Well, it’s lovely to see you, however you got here. Are you going back tomorrow?” Cara nodded. “Finn is picking me up after breakfast so we can hopefully be back in time for dinner at halls.” “Then we will have to make this evening count. Any requests?” “Well, I’m really in the mood for a roast turkey for eight, to be honest. Do you have one?” “Stop teasing me!” she laughed. “Lasagne?” “Yes, please. You know that’s my favourite.” “Right, well, as soon as I finish this cup of tea, I’ll get on with that and you can tell me all your news while I cook. Your father won’t be back until half two as he’s on earlies all this week. Oh, how come you were going up in the loft by the way?” Cara took a sip of her own drink. “Well, to be honest, it was lucky Finn was coming home this weekend as I need to find a document for uni. They need my birth certificate.” The cup in her Mum's hand stopped its journey to her mouth and her knuckles began to turn white as she gripped her mug more tightly. She was making an immense effort to appear casual. “Oh? What do they need that for?” “Just for their records.” Cara tried to match her nonchalant tone while internally questioning what was going on. “Apparently I should have submitted it when I applied, but it got missed out. Nothing major, I don’t think. More just a way of checking they spell my name correctly if I ever graduate.” She attempted a laugh. “Of course you’ll graduate, don’t be ridiculous.” “Hopefully.” The conversation petered out and an awkward atmosphere hung between the two women.

“Well, I better get on with that lasagne.” Her Mum stood up with a tight smile on her face and headed to the sink to wash her mug. Cara remained seated at the table, trying to understand the yawning gap between them that she had never encountered before. She spent the rest of the morning fruitlessly looking in boxes in the loft. She had found boxes of framed photographs of long dead relatives - her Grandma, an Aunt she vaguely recognised holding a baby, the dog they had had when she was a child - along with boxes of baby clothes and old school books but nothing that resembled a birth certificate. Why couldn’t she find this bloody document? And why hadn’t her Mum just told her where it was when she had mentioned it? By the time her Dad arrived home from his shift, she was covered in dust and cobwebs and in a bad mood.

“Well, this is a lovely surprise!” he shouted up to the loft. Cara peered down through the door in the floor of the loft to see her Dad’s smiling face and grey eyes shining up at her and she began to make her way back down the ladder. “I’m a sweaty surprise, I’m warning you.” “Ah, that doesn't matter,” he hugged her warmly despite the thick dust on her t-shirt. “Always lovely to have my daughter home.” “It’s nice to be home. Though it would be nicer if I could just find this birth certificate.” “Ah, yes. Your Mum mentioned that you’re looking for that. Have you looked in the box above the fridge?” “Yes, twice, and in your bedroom.” “Hmmm. Under the bed?” “Not there either. Only place left is the garage and I can’t imagine it’s there.” “Oh no. Nothing important would go in there. It floods every Autumn.” “Exactly.” “Sorry, I can’t help you, love.” Cara sighed deeply. “I guess I’ll just have to tell the uni I can’t find it and hope they’ll accept my passport.” Her Dad nodded. “Sorry I can’t be more of a help, love.” “It’s okay. Maybe I can order a copy online. You can these days.” “Maybe. Love, I’m going to let you get yourself cleaned up and then we can have a chat together in the kitchen. Catch up.” “Sounds great. I’ll be down in ten minutes or so.” Cara scraped the layers of dirt from her body and watched clean skin emerge from under the grey filth as she stood under the shower, the hot water cascading down her legs washing her frustration away. She felt like a new person as she put on her freshly laundered green top and a clean pair of jeans. Then she dashed down the stairs and opened the kitchen door to see her mother’s tear-stained face and hear her father’s voice, raised, for the first time in her life. “...gone on too long, Karen.” Cara stood on the threshold awkwardly as she took in the scene in front of her. For a moment she didn’t know what to say. “Is everything okay?” Her Dad turned to get and slowly shook his head. “No, sweetheart. No, it’s not.” Taking her by the hand, he led her to a seat at the wooden dining table. “We need to talk.” Cara sat herself down on the cushioned dining chair and glanced over to her Mum, who stayed in the kitchen and wouldn’t meet her eye.

“What’s going on, Dad?” “Cara. Darling Cara. There’s something you need to know.” He pushed an A4 envelope towards her. The envelope was yellowing and curled at the corners. Looking up at her Dad to see a curt nod of encouragement, she opened the unsealed envelope to pull out a single sheet of paper.

CERTIFICATE OF COPY OF AN ENTRY.

BIRTH. She looked up and saw her Dad steadfastly looking at his calloused hands and massaging his thumbs. CHILD. DATE AND PLACE OF BIRTH: Eighteenth of September 2006. County Hospital. Cara felt her mouth go dry and swallowed hard. That was her birthday.

NAME AND SURNAME: Anna Cara Windsor. FATHER.

Cara looked up. It was blank. MOTHER. NAME AND SURNAME: Elaine Mary Windsor. Confusion rose up in her like a wave. “Whose is this and why do you have it?” she asked. “Sweetheart,” her Dad said kindly, “it’s yours.” Nothing made sense. “But it’s not my name. I’m Cara Elaine Sefton.”

“Try to understand, love.” “Understand what?” she stood up, angrily. “What are you trying to say?” “We did what we thought was best!” “Who am I?” Cara felt hot tears flowing down her face and she hadn’t even realised she was crying. “You’re my daughter!” her Mum shouted suddenly from the kitchen. Cara had almost forgotten she was there, she had been so quiet throughout. “Then what is this?” she gestured to the birth certificate.

Her Dad stood up. He was trying to stay calm but she could see he was trembling. “There is no easy way to say this. Not after all this time.” He took a deep breath and steeled himself to continue. “You are our daughter. Our precious, beautiful daughter. We have raised you since you were a baby. But biologically, no. You blessed someone else first.” “Who? Who is this Elaine Windsor?” “You know who she is. Who she was. She was your Mum’s sister.” Cara felt her jaw drop open as a bleak silence engulfed the room. Pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Auntie Elaine who had lived in the North. Auntie Elaine who had been a doctor. Auntie Elaine who had liked to listen to old jazz records in the bath. Auntie Elaine who had been killed in a car accident when Cara had been only two months old. “Auntie Elaine?” Now it was her mother’s turn to speak. “We promised her we would take you. When she was in the hospital…when she knew she wouldn’t make it. She knew we wanted a child and we couldn't, I couldn’t… We would have done it anyway. God, how we loved you before you were even ours… We made a promise.” “But the surname… it isn’t the same as Mum’s maiden name.” “She had been married and then got divorced before she had you. Never got around to changing it back,” her Dad replied. And now her Dad was handing her other documents. A certificate of name change, an adoption certificate confirming Karen and Geoffrey Sefton as the new parents. Each document she held had the weight of a feather but the value of gold. “There’s this too.” Meekly, her Dad passed over a photograph. It was the same woman and child she had seen in the boxes in the loft earlier that day. “I think you’re about one month old here.” Cara looked into the eyes of the woman who was her biological mother, trying to find similarities to her own features. Her insides felt numb. “Where were they?” she gestured to the documents and photograph now on the table, looking up at her, revealing their inky secrets.

Dad gave a half-smile. “In the garage. Top shelf though. The garage floods every Autumn, you know.” Cara read and re-read the documents in silence trying to take it all in, to digest impossible news and reconcile her previous truth with these new discoveries. There were questions and there would be even more in the coming weeks and months. But today was about her and the first, unsteady step on the journey to discovering who she really was.


"A haunted toaster?" "I swear," Tom replied," it's real. You put something, anything in there, push down the thingy and in a minute the food pops up haunted. Go on and try it if you don't believe me." “So you’re saying if I put this bagel in, it’ll come out haunted?” Joe asked, sliding the two slices of a cinnamon raisin bagel into the toaster’s openings. “Yeah, basically.” Tom, Joe’s friend, replied. A pile of crumbled toast sat on the counter near him, the smell of burnt bread filling the kitchen. Joe pressed down the lever on the toaster. “What happens to them? Do they come out with horns, or glowing eyes, or do they float? What makes them haunted?” “Oh, you’ll see Joe, you’ll see.” What could possibly happen? he thought, turning to the toaster. A cold sweat started to form over him. Would his bagel come up with fangs, would it want to devour him and everything that he ever loved? Or would it pop out with sentience, glow with an eery aura and levitate, cause mayhem and mischief to everyone in the house for all eternity? Or would it end up like the things from those stories, would it become a Great One, a thing with unimaginable shapes, colors, thoughts? The toaster dinged and the bagel popped out. Instinctively Joe grabbed them, and set them onto a paper plate. They… they… looked… normal? He bent and inspected them up close, finding no fangs, no ghost-like features, no tentacles, no nothing but dough. He smelled them, but they smelled fine. “Hey, uh, Tom… There’s nothing different about this bagel.” “Bite it, just bite it.” Joe shrugged, took up a slice and bit into it. His chewing became slower and slower until he stopped altogether. Tom came over to him. “Taste different, huh?” Joe nodded. “That’s because anything that goes into that toaster comes out as bran.” “Jesus Christ,” Joe said, with his mouth full. “It’s awful. We gotta get rid of this thing.” “I know buddy, I know.” Read more of my stories for free on my . Purchase my work on .


The Last Human on Earth had reached her destination. Beside her Goldie, the probably-last dog on Earth, barked and wagged her tail. The Last Human looked away from the empty billionaire’s house they had come to and patted Goldie. The poor girl was all skin and bones, just like the Last Human. If the upcoming winter was as bad as the previous one, neither of them would survive. “We made it girl” The Last Human said as Goldie leaned in for harder ear scratches. “Let’s see if Richie Rich here actually did it.” And see if his house still had power. And water. And if the stasis machine still worked. And if it had been calibrated properly. And if the arsehole hadn’t found a way to activate it before the plague hit. And if they had even made it in time for Four-Twenty in the first place. They should be two days early, but it had been hard keeping track of the days sometimes. And of course, there was no way to know if the Alpha Centauri spaceship was still out there, so maybe she’d end up waiting for nothing. She walked her overloaded bike to the gate, with Goldie following behind her. She had a sledgehammer and bolt cutters, but in her weakened state it took over an hour to open the gate and push her bike through. An alarm went off as they forced their way in. Good; the house still had power. And she still had C4 for the vault. Goldie ran ahead and checked out every corner of the lawn. Despite the year of hell, it was still green. The gardener robots were still working. That was good. The house and the technology in it still worked. As she surveyed the lawn, Goldie came running up to her, tongue lolled and tail wagging. She dropped to the ground and rolled in the grass, eyes half closed. Last Human tried to remember the last time they had seen healthy grass. What did it feel like to touch green grass? She couldn’t remember, but Goldie made it look amazing. The Last Human dropped to the ground and collapsed in the grass, savouring the smell of the freshly mowed lawn. Goldie came up to her and began licking her face, and the Last Human burst into tears. Down here in the dirt with her dog, she could almost imagine that the plague and the bombs had never happened. For a few minutes she lay there, imagining her family was just inside and her mother would soon come over and yell at her for getting so dirty. Dirty. Ha! When was the last time she’d had a bath? At the thought she jerked herself upright. If the robots tending the lawn were still going, maybe she’d be able to find a functional bathtub. The thought excited her more than she would have imagined last year. Goldie came over and tried to sit in her lap. The Last Human patted her dog but the smile fell off her face. She had a lot of preparations to see to if she were to save humanity. A lot of terrible preparations. She pushed Goldie away, thinking of all the work that needed to be done. Thinking of poor Goldie. She sat motionless on the lawn for a full five minutes. Her dog came back with a yellow squeaky toy in her mouth. “Good girl, that’s a good find” The Last Human said, standing up and taking the toy. “We’ll play with that in a little bit. We have lots of work to do first." She walked to the front door, her dog by her side. It was time to check out this stasis pod.

# Last year, just before the plague hit, the Last Human had seen this mansion on TV. It’s owner was an eccentric billionaire known for having a lot of high-tech toys. He’d been a laughingstock, but he had turned out to be right about the imminent collapse of society. She remembered laughing as she saw him on the news. He’d been standing next to the stasis pod in his underground vault, talking to the reporter as a technician worked on the giant white and blue egg smashed into the wall. “The world is going to hell” He had said. “It’s over. Blind Freddy can see it. I ain’t gonna live through no stupid arse war.” “So you’re going to skip an upcoming war?” The reporter had asked. “Do you trust this stasis pod – this untested technology – to keep you alive?” “I trust it more than the rest of the world. If it does kill me then at least it’ll be painless you know? If it doesn’t, then I wake up from a nice eight-hundred-year nap. By then either everyone has their shit together, or I can just party with the dudes on the Alpha Centauri ship.” “You think they’ll know to come here for that party?” “I have a beacon installed; I ain’t dumb. They’re the dumb ones for not taking any women with them though. That’ll screw us all over, mark my words.” “Then why not get in now? After all, the world could end tomorrow.” “I’ll take that chance. You gotta remember, I have a huge company that employs millions of folks who can’t just jump into a stasis pod to escape the coming shitshow. I gotta spend the next year wrapping things up, looking out for the little people out there. But that’s why Daveed here is setting things up now. If things go downhill next year, I want this stasis pod to be able to put me under without anyone else’s help.” “And you’ve set the machine to activate at twenty-past-four on the twentieth of April. Is there any significance to that date?” “It’s Four-Twenty baby. I want to light up right before I go into the stasis pod. Can you imagine it? An eight-hundred year high? What better time to do that than Four-Twenty right?” The Last Human had shared memes with her friends about the crazy billionaire being stoned for eight-hundred years. But a week after that interview aired the plague hit. Within two months, everyone was dead. The Billionaire was dead. Last Human had just found a skeleton wrapped in the Billionaire’s dressing gown. The bones and satin were puddled together in a seat in the private cinema. On the seat next to him was an empty popcorn bucket, a small old tin, and a sleek remote control. There were also bottles of Vodka Cruisers scattered on the nearby seats and on the floor. The Blu-Ray menu of Finding Nemo came up when she tapped the remote. The sudden blast of the movie score caused Goldie to yelp and back away from the bottle she’d been sniffing. “He didn’t bring any tissues with him” Last Human told Goldie. “Did he run out? Or was the coward not even sick?” Goldie nudged the bottle. She couldn’t pick it up because the squeaky toy was still in her mouth. “Could you imagine being this guy?” Last Human asked. “His house is entirely self-contained, he has enough security to keep out the infected mob, and he had the stasis pod. He only had to survive until he got in the stasis pod.” Goldie lost interest in the bottle and started rubbing the toy against Last Human’s leg. “I guess some people just don’t have what it takes to survive” Last Human said as she patted Goldie. “Or maybe the thought of sitting around with a bunch of men and not being able to repopulate the planet bummed him out too much.” She picked up the tin and opened it. Inside were a bunch of pea-shaped pills. Suicide pills? Drug overdose? Well, it explained how he’d died. She looked down on Goldie, holding the pill tin tighter. Would the pills kill Goldie painlessly? She’d found Goldie three months after waking up in her bed, recovered from the plague but unable to find any other survivors. As far as the Last Human could tell, all humans and their best friends; cats, dogs, and horses, had been wiped out. “I suppose there could be more rich men holed up in their super houses” she muttered to Goldie. “Ones with more of a survival instinct.” Internally she scolded herself. She couldn’t assume that there were other people out there. It was cowardly to pretend that someone else would swoop in and save humanity. She had to assume she was the last human, otherwise the entire race could go extinct. She turned and left the cinema. She didn’t pat Goldie, and she kept hold of the pill tin. Goldie followed her out, whining at her sudden coldness. Last Human remembered those whines from when she first met Goldie. When she’d been wandering, searching far and wide for any sign of another person. She’d wanted someone to talk to. Anyone. She’d never been a dog person, but when she heard barking, she ran. Her skeletal legs propelling her through the wrecked cars and overgrown gardens, desperate to connect with anyone, even a dog. She’d followed the barking and found Goldie out the front of a normal suburban house. The dog seemed unsure whether to be excited to finally see another human or if she was supposed to still guard the family home. In the end, Goldie had led Last Human inside, to where the remains of a family of five were huddled in the master bedroom. Goldie sat at the end of the bed and started whining. It had taken the Last Human two weeks to persuade Goldie to leave her dead family and follow her. She found the vault. It was unlocked. Great, the risks she’d taken to get that C4 were a waste. Of course, she had been terrified of destroying the stasis machine while breaking in, and leaving the vault intact would be safer. Despite her frustration, she was glad she could just walk in. The Billionaire’s vault was a pristine white hideout full of strange futuristic devices and rare action figures. The lights were dim, except for a bright blue glow coming from the back of the room. She walked towards the light. Behind her, Goldie’s nails clack-clacked on the concrete floor. There was no other sound. Not until Goldie squeezed the toy, making Last Human jump and swear as the squeak echoed through the walls. “You” Last Human growled, turning towards her dog. Goldie wagged her tail and squeaked the toy again. She assumed the play position whilst Last Human tried to say something. She didn’t know what she wanted to say though, and all that came out was a strained laugh. She continued walking. Goldie squeaked non-stop. They walked past a row of display cases and stopped before the back wall, where the stasis pod was lit by strips of blue LED lights. The pod itself took up half the wall; a large plastic and metal egg built covered in pipes. Between all the plumbing and the tanks, she could just make out a flight of tiny white stairs heading to the entry hatch. The rest of the wall was covered in wires and monitors. The monitors displayed every tiny details of the machine, as well as the progress of the Alpha Centauri ship, the state of the house, and the date and time. The date and time. The monitor said it was already the twentieth of April. She’d lost count of the days at some point, and now instead of having two days to prepare, she had only two hours. What did she still need to do? The case of frozen embryos she’d salvaged? It was already in the freezer; even if she knew a better way to preserve it, she wouldn’t have time to do anything more now. Her mementos from before the plague? It would only take a few minutes to find a spot for them in the vault. That bath she wanted? No. Too risky. She’d probably stay in the tup forever. The only thing she needed to do now was deal with Goldie. She had thought she’d have two days to figure that out, not two damn hours. Goldie had dropped the squeaky toy and was now sitting on the floor. Her tail was wagging slower and her eyes were fixed on the Last Human. “I’m sorry Goldie” Last Human said. “I have to do it. I have to go. There are only men on the Alpha Centauri ship; I’m the only one left that can have any babies.” Goldie tilted her head. The Last Human walked up to her and dropped down, grabbing her dog in a massive hug. Tears ran down her face. “I need to go Goldie. I need to wait for more people. I don’t want to be the last human anymore.” Goldie was whining again. Last Human told herself that Goldie couldn’t understand her, but with Goldie being her only company for the last year, a part of her had never been able to accept that fact. “Please Goldie, tell me you’ll be okay without me?” Goldie kept whining and licking Last Human’s face. The Last Human kept picturing Goldie at her old house, hungry but unwilling to leave or eat her dead family. How long would she wait outside the vault for the Last Human to come out? Who would help her survive the winter? “I don’t want you to suffer without me” Last Human said. “I can’t do that to you. But… but I don’t…” How could she kill Goldie? This innocent dog; her last friend? “I need to survive” Last Human said. “I can’t give up like that arsehole Billionaire.” But you’ll probably die in the stasis pod. That was her own doubt, resurfacing for the millionth time, but as she looked into Goldie’s eyes, she imagined it as Goldie’s argument. “I have to at least try to save humanity” Last Human said. She pushed away from Goldie and tried to open the pill tin with her shaking hands. “I’m sorry Goldie. I love you.” “Bark! BARK!” Goldie jumped on top of her, knocking the half-open tin out of her hands. A few pills flew out. Goldie sniffed at one that landed nearby and then backed away. The Last Human grabbed the pill in one hand and grabbed Goldie by the scruff of the neck in the other. Goldie looked up at her with big sad eyes, her barks turned to whimpers. “I have to leave you behind” Last Human said. “And I can’t leave you to die alone. I need to take my chances in the pod. I have a duty to save humanity.” Goldie continued to fix her big puppy eyes on the Last Human as she whined, reminding her of the duty she had taken on when she’d coaxed Goldie away from her dead family. The Last Human felt the pill crush in her clenched fist. She broke down into ugly loud sobs and wrapped her arms around Goldie, careful not to smear any of the crushed-up pill in her fur. # At 4:20 the stasis pod came to life. “Welcome” A monotone female voice filled the vault. “Human cryostasis procedure now commencing. Please stand by.” The hatch opened, valves were released and tubes within the egg moved into position. “Support structure is in position. Please step into the stasis pod.” A countdown had started on the monitor closest to the pod. Large blue digits counted down the years, days, hours, and even the minutes and seconds until the Alpha Centauri ship was estimated to return. “Please step into the stasis pod” The voice repeated. Forty minutes later, the voice finished its narration and fell silent. The stasis pod sealed up in a puff of liquid-nitrogen fog. It would not open for another eight-hundred-years. If it ever did. Upstairs, out on the lawn, the world’s last human threw a yellow squeaky toy to the last dog, a reluctant smile on her face.


Veronica was alone on the bridge when the first distress signal was detected. The beeping echoed quietly on the bridge, reverberating throughout the sleeping ship as the members curled up in their beds. She needed something to do. Something to smother the remaining hours until the end of the week, her thoughts more than enough to keep her awake, her mind wouldn’t stop on its ceaseless crusade, reminding her of every little mistake. The distress signal was a distraction, exactly what she was looking for. “Merchant 6478-A we read your distress, can you respond, over?” Over and over she could hear Tina’s stupid bloody voice bringing the whole mess to a stand-still. She could see all the faces turn to them, including Giles, and the raised eyebrows turning to awkward looks and nervous faces. She wanted the vacuum of space to suck her into nothing and believed the reversal of her insides to outsides would’ve been less excruciating than eating the rest of her meal amongst the crew. The pity before was condescending enough and she knew if she stayed on board it would be palpable. “Merchant 6478, you’re very faint, can you adjust frequency?” Captain Urak saw it all just like the rest of them, but at least had the courtesy to not stare at her, despite all his faults. He didn’t have time for nonsense, as he called it, only time for his job and his drink. Although she had no doubt they’d be discussing it in her next pay review. It all had to come out at the worst time, a fucking embarrassment to everyone involved and another flag she had been adorned with. All because Tina didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut. Veronica keyed into Urak’s terminal. “Captain? Sorry to disturb, we have a dead corporate freighter here, looks like asteroid debris got into the engines and the communications is down as well. Shall we dock with them?” She heard the groan of her Captain, who had slept with a whiskey or two at his side since their trip began. “Lifeforms?” “I’m detecting seven, sir, which matches the record we have for the vessel.” “Dock then, Ven. I’ll be sending you and Giles down to sort the problem.” Ven felt herself blush furiously before she could stop it, feeling like a foolish child as she stammered: “G-Giles, sir?” “Yes, our security officer and an engineer. Is there a problem with that?” “No, but-“ He emerged fully in the camera’s view, letting her see up close how little he cared for her opinion. “I want the air cleared before 06:00 tomorrow between you. Regardless of what’s been said and what’s true, I want things as normal as soon as this job is done. Is that understood?” Veronica made sure he saw how she straightened herself and nodded stiffly to camera. “Yes. Perfectly.” His transmission ended and she easily directed the vessel to dock with the corporate ship, the accuracies would have to come from her Captain and she would only need to make things normal with Giles. The logos and slogans splattered across the dull grey and blue surface of the hull, leaving only the bridge and engines free of it. From a distance, it was difficult to notice the paint worn by travel and splattered with dirt and rust. But Veronica saw it and thought briefly of her father, navigator on such ships, playing the elusive corporate game. She had spent the day before testing the new software on board, stabilised the thrusters and fixed the food dispenser that had been playing up since launch. If she was able to do all that and not screw it up, she thought that it’d be easy to get back to normal with Giles. She could also theoretically turn herself into a sperm whale but she didn’t like her chances there, either. Giles was tall, thickly haired, muscled and some thought thickly brained as well, but Veronica knew him better than most. He was a sucker for tinned peaches from mother earth, if they could get them; watched all the zero-g MMA matches once they grounded and had a fondness for jazz that Veronica hadn’t heard since her dad had died. It felt pathetic, to have that longing inside that never seemed happy to move along, trying to find bits of her father in what was left of her job. But it was how she dealt with it, how she avoided people calling her weak. “You ready?” Veronica already knew, of course, by his holstered plasma handgun and suit. He nodded. “Is the Captain awake?” “Barely. And he’s been at the whiskey again.” “Pretty sure we were told not to drink drive when we were kids.” She shrugged, thinking of a joke but deciding to hold it back. “He’s the boss.” Giles expected the joke as well, giving her a short pause to deliver it and adjusting himself when she didn’t. He took a deep breath and didn’t look at her as he spoke: “Ven, I think you’re a really nice person, but-“ “Save it.” Veronica spat. “Don’t you dare even start with that bullocks.” “Ven-“ “Do you know how hard it is to be on this damned ship as an engineer? How many crusty old farts are condescending to me like I’m some fresh-faced whelp who doesn’t know how to use a spanner or a screwdriver? How I have to fight every day to get an inch of respect out of anyone?!” Veronica didn’t mean to raise her voice, but found it impossible to back down. She couldn’t show weakness. “I don’t need that shit from you. Not you too.” “It’s not my fault!” “No!” She took a moment to compose herself. “No, it’s not. It’s not, never was. It’s never one person’s fault.” She rubbed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s fucked anyway.” “What is?” “Us. Our talks, everything!” “Why does that have to change?” She didn’t answer – not because she wanted it to, that much was clear, but because it had already happened. He felt like a stranger to her, like she couldn’t trust him. Like he already knew too much. She rubbed her eyes, exhaustion catching up with her. “It’s been a long week.” He nodded. It had been long for them all but it wasn’t hard to imagine the utter embarrassment she had gone through had destroyed whatever self-esteem she had left. Giles was under no illusion that he was the only person she really talked to in such a way and certainly wasn’t thick skulled enough to see that she wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. The warning lights blazed around them, allowing them ten seconds to brace for the joining of the two airlocks. Their arms reached and grasped the handles above as gravity was briefly disabled as the ships came together. The lurch was powerful, but they were used to how it felt and were able to conduct themselves safely – both being subjected to enough training and safety protocols to last a lifetime. But what else was new in the depths of space? Giles spoke again as they headed into the corporate ship’s airlock. “I didn’t know. Okay? I didn’t know that you-“ “It doesn’t matter.” Ven snapped, turning away from him so he couldn’t see her face. “The whole damn crew knows, Tina might as well have posted it all online, let the whole bloody milky way know about it!” “Tina was drunk-“ “Tina was barely tipsy. She did it because she thought it was funny and I’m sure it was fucking hilarious.” Veronica hefted the airlock door closed despite the help Giles offered her. “I didn’t think it was funny.” Veronica was able to smell his bullshit from a mile away. “Let’s just get this over with.” The corporate vessel was one they had both seen time and time again during their patrol missions in the outer solar system. Like with the exterior, it was covered in corporate logos, slogans and even health and safety notices. Above their heads messy looking cables ran along each corridor with piping insulated alongside. Each ship was exactly the same, grey and blue, plastered with shameless advertising with only the faces manning them ever seeming to change. Yet despite this, there was something unnerving to Ven when she heard the distant beeping of a failing utility in the bowels of the ship and the cold whirs that seemed to freeze her bones. The darkness didn’t help, like the ship was derelict in a forgotten sea. “Cap said there were people here?” “I counted seven.” Giles frowned. “Then where are they?” “They could be injured, maybe they’re with their supplies in case of pirates.” “Pirates?” Ven frowned at his scepticism. “Well, what would you call them?” He shrugged, allowing a smirk. “Just sounds like we’re kids playing at school.” She raised an eyebrow. “You think? I mean I don’t think any pirates go for peg legs and parrots nowadays.” “The fashion could turn.” He pointed out, like an old spinster warning of bad weather. “I’m not sure I’d put my money on it.” Ven admitted, trying not to smile, which was easier once she spotted a comms terminal. “Here we go.” The dimmed lighting didn’t help with finding the keyboard and where she needed to place her fingers, but once she brought up the system’s commands, she was able to navigate easily through the old modules. Ven’s paranoia had focused on the thought that one or two men were bleeding out in the bowels of the miserable vessel, so she didn’t spend too much time looking through the essential systems. But even seeing the brief descriptions typed on screen were enough to make her pause. “That’s weird…” She mumbled to herself. “Why did they do that?” “Do what?” “Well the engines aren’t damaged, not seriously enough for a standstill, anyway. They’ve been switched off through the ship’s software.” “Why would they do that?” Veronica glanced over at him, knowing he’d find her suggestions ridiculous before she even said them. “Sometimes when a ship has a software upgrade, the engines are remotely turned off for safety reasons and then tested once the upgrade is complete. I did that earlier today, actually.” “Okay… So, they broke their own engines because they’re lazy?” “I don’t think so. ‘Cos this isn’t the most recently updated version, in fact the last update was from three months ago. Going without updates even for that short amount of time can mean that the engines have been switched off due to a glitch in the system – it's rare, but it happens. But option three…” “Yeah?” “It could be pirates.” She expected some mockery, maybe a surprised eyebrow at her paranoia, but he seemed just as convinced. “Why would they do that?” He asked, lowering his voice. “Turn off the engines, send out a distress signal and a bigger score usually turns up afterwards.” She replied, matching his tone. “Should we head back?” “You can. I need to make sure they don’t have hostages.” “No! No, don’t be stupid.” She hissed. “We get reinforcements, by the book.” “People could die while we wait-“ “You could die! We need you on board.” He removed his pistol from its holster and looked at her coldly. “Don’t be emotionally compromised over this. It makes sense, this is my job, just like yours is sorting out that terminal and getting back to the ship.” She grabbed his arm. “Your job is to be smart about this. If there are pirates and if they have hostages, then they’ll wait for someone-“ The high-pitched squeal of plasma fire tore through their conversation and she could smell the burning flesh before he felt it. The heat quickly destroyed any nerves but the shock of smouldering smoke whisping from his shoulder was enough to send him immediately in a panic. He screamed so loud and hard she was sure the ship would shatter around them, tears and blood and sweat poured from him and all the time only one phrase thudded through her head. Her heartbeat in time with the terrifying thought: he’s going to die. He was beyond the point of conscious pain or sanity as she wrenched the gun from his hand. She didn’t have time to think, reaching and firing where their attacker had shot, dodging back into cover and waiting until he needed to change his plasma pack. Their blind back and forth continuing with no clear goal, no clear target and Giles was screaming, shaking as he tried to reach for his medicine but unable to grab it without another screech, without another wave crashing down on him. Her shots were random and fragmented, her eyes unable to adjust to the bright lights and darkness that cascaded one after the other. Sparks flew and singed her face and arm; plasma fire tore a hole piece by piece above their heads, melting some metal that poured like white-hot treacle towards them. The stranger was having as much trouble as she was but they kept up the stalemate, Ven kept firing, the squealing of the gunfire and his screams inevitably would bring the rest of them to them. She had to end it, or they would be surrounded. She had to kill him or they’d die too. The insanity around her seemed to slow as her thoughts cascaded through time and space to the moments she had with her father, the panic and shock hitting her hard enough that the memories came unbidden. The wisps of vapor from his mouth, the virtual reality they shared between them, firing fake guns in fake shooting galleries, goading one another into making a riskier maneuverer. The days in the hospital as the cancer spread, continuing until it smothered him in darkness, the last days she felt truly connected to someone, the moment when he told her that he was proud of her. Knowing for sure that he’d never speak again and his funeral during a heatwave, the sweat and the salt and the red earth finally taking him. Her next shot ripped through the neck of the pirate and she watched him tumble to the ground, almost completely unaware of how she did it or how she knew where he’d be. She didn’t see his face, believing it was a blessing not to know. Then she turned, grabbing what Giles couldn’t, stabbing the formula into his shoulder and gritting her teeth as he tried to mute his screams. But in moments, the fog in his eyes seemed to clear and his breaths were slower, purposeful and deep. He focused on her and grabbed the gun from the floor. “I’ll cover you. Go!” “What are you doing?!” “Saving your ass, now move!” “You’re not dying here, Giles!” She gripped the gun and tried to take it from him. “Get to the airlock. I have an idea.” “You can’t take them all on alone, are you insane?!” She ignored his hypocrisy, snatching the gun from his hand. Then she ran down the corridor, finding and accessing the first terminal she came across. She wasn’t sure if the trick would work, but it was the best chance any hostages trapped had. Trackers were fitted in the uniforms of all employees of corporate vessels; tracking their vitals as well and it wasn’t difficult to access the details through some old forgotten code. Most of the newer models had been patched out, but Ven was hoping the back door still existed in the older version. She stared at the map before her, detailing each part of the ship and there were names only in one part of the ship, each name with UNKNOWN vitals. They were all in the disposal part of the ship, the disposal airlock and incinerator. The names disappeared one by one, the list shortening as each member of the crew was put into the furnace. Five became four, then three and finally two remained. The sickness bubbling within her was enough to make her eyes water, but she controlled any other response – she didn’t have time. There was nothing they could do. She heard footsteps ahead in the corridor, hurrying towards her. The bastards were coming and they’d try to take their ship next, then everyone else would be in the incinerator. Giles was on his feet and moving as fast as he could, one arm cradling the other as he stumbled towards the airlock. Ven caught up, almost slamming into him but crashing into the door instead, getting the airlock open with shaking hands as the footsteps raced closer behind her. “What about the hostages?” “Gone.” She admitted, panting heavily. “Dead, all of them, dead!” “What-?” “We have to go!” He moved into the airlock first, crouching on the floor and losing the remaining feeling in his arm. His face paling by the moment as the morphine started to wear off and his eyes glazed over with the terrifying fog. His breaths becoming ragged, panicked and his skin crawled as he started to tremble. Ven heard the pirates before she saw them and the cracks of pistols and rifles deafened her as bad as the plasma blasts as she pulled desperately at the airlock. Giles stared, his arms entirely useless, his mind slipping away as the shock gripped him in a vice. She felt like a deer in headlights, exposed and disorientated as she tried to duck around the random bullets that tried to impede their escape. She screamed involuntarily and pulled and pulled as the heavy metal door finally succumbed and sealed them back. Even the most ambitious of pirates had sense enough to leave an airlock well alone. She was panting, finding all the effort difficult to comprehend, still feeling adrenaline pumping through her. She had saved one life and that felt enough for a lifetime. She turned to him, bringing one arm around him to keep him steady and braced for the impact. As they floated together, looking at the other’s singed face, the dirt that always seemed to appear and the tears and the fear that they had somehow survived, they both saw pin drops of red float between them. The blotchy red substance seemed to come out of nowhere and once one droplet appeared, another joined it, then larger balls of red floated between them. Giles frowned, believing he was losing his mind to the drugs at first but his face paled and the clarity returned as panic replaced it. He looked down as Ven did. “Giles…?” Ven didn’t understand why she didn’t feel the pain at first, as once she was reminded of it, it seemed eternally there. She wanted to scream, but shock had muted her completely, she only stared and felt all the fatigue hit her at once. As the ship’s airlock opened, her head had already dropped and her hand stopped gripping him completely. The shock wasn’t enough to keep her awake and Giles’ voice was like a whisper in an endless ocean. Even when he shouted for help she didn’t understand him and everything faded into darkness. Ven’s senses were slow to return to her. Her head felt heavy, her arms ached and her stomach gnawed painfully in a way she didn’t recognise. Her eyes opened to a blurred room, the bright light of the open window and sterilised white walls only worsening her nausea. The beeping of her vitals grew louder as the faded blurry vision began to clear and adjust to the Martian sunlight. She saw a window with someone silhouetted against the foreground, sitting with a screen in his hands. For a moment, she thought it was her dad, a ghost to take her away. But the thick hair and young face was unmistakable. “Hey.” Giles smiled at her warmly. “Hey…” Ven was confused, trying to remember what happened and feeling the rush build in the back of her mind. She moved her arm suddenly, needing answers. “What-?” He took her arm, softly, as if it was natural for him. She felt goosebumps as he spoke. “It’s okay. We destroyed the ship. Its okay, relax.” “Where… How did I get here?” She kept trying to force herself to remember, but only recalled darkness after she collapsed. Giles smiled a little. “You saved my life, remember?” She felt as if she was acting on half speed, like a car needing to be pushed before the engine would start. “I… I did?” “I didn’t know you could shoot like that, Ven. Y-you saved our lives.” He slumped a little, unable to look at her as she pressed him for answers, which he gave reluctantly. “Mac stablised us on board. I woke up a few hours later but you had lost a lot of blood and you weren’t waking up. I…” He took a breath to steady himself. “We were a week away from Mars and… And Mac said you weren’t going to make it.” “So, you called an emergency shuttle?” He raised his eyes to meet hers, sorrowful and regretful that he had to tell her. She slumped where she lay. “He didn’t want to risk his fucking career.” “He said that everyone would have to take a cut.” Giles told her, not trying to hide the venom in his voice. “That the trip back to Mars would mean that we wouldn’t have the fuel to get back into the black. And that... That people took their risks when they signed their contracts.” She gritted her teeth to avoid spurting obscenities, in some misguided allegiance to him or to keep the hospital sterile, she wasn’t sure. Ven took a deep breath, hoping it would disguise how hurt it felt to be reduced to a number. “How did I get here, then?” “I requested to take the shuttle and drop you off for treatment. He refused, of course, telling me I wasn’t thinking straight and wanted me to be cleared by Mac before heading back out.” He shook his head. “If I waited that long...” “I’d be dead.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I took his shuttle.” Ven’s eyes widened. “The Captain’s shuttle? You stole the Captain’s shuttle?” “Stealing is a bit of an overstatement.” He replied and she laughed as he hoped she would. “He drinks himself to sleep on duty, it was bound to happen one day.” He looked back at her. “He threatened to have me court marshaled.” She scoffed, unsurprised but disappointed. “Drunken prick.” “I called him worse when he tried to force me back.” Ven believed him, but also felt goosebumps as he kept his eyes on her. “I guess he fired you, then.” “I made my resignation pretty clear, I think.” He replied. “But... I got to keep an eye on you, at least. Practice this speech, how’d I do?” She smiled, despite everything that had happened, he still somehow made her smile and that had all seemed to make it worthwhile. “Well, I guess we’re even.” “For now, anyway-” “Do you want to go out for a drink?” Ven surprised herself even as the words were already said. “After I’m out, I mean.” “I’d love to.” Veronica didn’t know if her infatuation was a passing feeling or if a drink with him would be one in a string of mistakes. She didn’t know if she’d ever find work again, whether Captain Urak would be found out for his negligence or if she’d be the one to push against him. She couldn’t know anything about what would happen – but she knew for certain that the emptiness inside her was shrinking and was being filled with butterflies.


Daniel delighted at the sounds that would be made in his absence. He could hear them now. The outcries at being introduced to a lesson that no one would want to learn. Far more valuable than the grubby notes that lay in the bank under Daniel’s name.

Of course, his absence would be sizeable. He was a big man. At the age of just 9 years old, he proved to be bigger than all the other boys his age, even at the most aggressive point in their growth spurts.

He was tall. His shins were the size of “4 octaves on a piano”. This may seem an odd measurement, but it was a thorn in his huge heart. His large digits had tried to wriggle this bloody stump out, but despite improvement, the scar still twinged every so often. At 12 years old, he had shown the work ethic and the desire to hone his musical talent and wanted to become a classical pianist. Daniel dreamed of filling orchestra halls with the uneducated, and over the course of the evening bewitch each pair of ears with the incomparable beauty; the tremulous majesty of the piano. His ambitions were as well built as his limbs. This was not just a flimsy hope, or a daily mantra for his attention to switch elsewhere by the next sunrise. He knew that this was his path to tread. It had therefore been particularly painful to be told that he would grow to be the size of a man who was too big even for the grandest of grand pianos. The teacher who had told Daniel this, on seeing that the young boy couldn’t possibly grasp the horror of this sentence, made sure that he fully understood by saying ‘Look, Sweetheart, we’ve had the measurements in. Your feet are already as long as A-G twice over, your back, closer to a Clavinova keyboard. You’re just too big for the piano’, and then her eyes lit up, promising something else. ‘The local zoo needs someone to feed the giraffes - the older they get the less flexible their necks become-I should know, I grew up on safari; learned the xylophone under the careful eye of Africa’s first-ever documented musical chimpanzee’. She sighed, trying to be maternal, ‘I know it’s different to what you had in mind’.

Lynette, a tactless but well-meaning woman, was right. Daniel completely understood. Although, to use his love as a weapon against him, and to bludgeon his dreams with his own passion, seemed unfair. She was like that though. Talented when it came to musical notes, and yet, totally without skill in human affairs. What stung, even more, was that Daniel had a crippling fear of giraffes. It was their eyelashes. They unnerved him.

You may think that a benefit of Daniel’s anatomy could at least be the part of a man’s body normally celebrated for an unusually large size, however, this area of him proved to be disappointingly average in the shadow it cast. As ever, when it seems that one opportunity is closed to you, another one opens. This unexpected route was how Daniel stepped into the world of therapy, only seeing patients over 7ft to discuss exactly the best methods with which they could fit in. He knew what it was like to have your size make you invisible to so much opportunity. As word spread across the country from the biggest mouths to the widest plains of ear lobes, the longest humans flocked to him to try and accept their existence on this earth. Daniel found that initially understanding music was different to understanding people, but as soon as you started to listen, he realised that every person is just a composition of different notes. He still heard the music, both in his waking hours and in the unconscious spell of sleep, and his ability to help those who had suffered similar losses to him eased his own dissatisfaction of never being able to take to the stage.

His success was not just via the impact that he had on the lives of others and the glowing reputation that followed him. Daniel’s work made him a very rich man, and it was the coffers and coffers of money that he was known to be the owner of, that his family dreamed would one day become theirs. (The hearts of the small giants among us cannot beat for as long as the more ‘text-book’ sizes’, and an earlier demise was tragically inevitable’).

Not that this point was due to be soon. He still had at least a decade on the great clock that ticked inside of him, and there was no illness slowly, or rapidly, eating him alive. But, he had been recently advised as he approached his 50th year on this earth that he should start to turn his thoughts towards a will. He did have children, an ex-partner of a 3-year marriage that finally ended because the practicality of their lives together - door and quilt sizes - just couldn’t be resolved. As with all domestic break downs, the simpleness of the final inciting incident was only a cover-up for a much deeper schism. But as Daniel wrote his will that afternoon following a busy morning of clients, he pondered on the content. It wasn’t that he was an unkind man. His new career had helped him to grow massively, not by his already triple-figure jean measurement, but spiritually. With every mind that opened to him, he had soared to greater heights in his ability to listen well, and his understanding of the human condition had plunged deeper depths.

But he still couldn’t understand his family. On the outside, they were beautiful creatures. Limbs proportioned expertly with the rest of their bodies and the world’s expectations of a ‘normal’ human being. They were all a tall height, but nothing such as the lofty levels that Daniel’s own forehead grazed. Yet, for all the attractiveness of their outer beings, the part that the rest of the world saw before anything else, their insides were of a very different quality. They were ugly, greedy and un-empathetic people and Daniel could not understand the dark matrixes that made up each of his family’s insides. He had tried, in the same way that he had practised scales before this world had been sealed off from him and his huge fingers, he had ploughed time and effort into being able to see the beauty in this strange lot that was his family. The genes that made Daniel so massive did not mix into their gene pool, however, it seemed that neither did any of his other qualities of humanity, or a desire to see past what is directly in front of you.

It was with this knowledge that he decided to write his will. A large portion of his fortune would be left to his charity ‘It Doesn’t Have to End at the Basketball Hoop’, but an even larger one should go to his family. After all, as one half of a parenting team, he had a duty to both his offspring and his ex-spouse, but he knew that to leave them money wouldn’t actually help them at all, past qualifying for a new credit card. Instead, as he wrote his will, sucking thoughtfully at the end of one of his custom made biros, he decided to leave them access to a world which he hoped would help them blossom into something else. With this inspiration, words formed under his nib explaining that he had paid for a lifetime of twice-weekly music lessons, for each of them and any family members that would become their duty to look after. He leaned back in his huge chair. The warm glow of glee spreading across his face as he imagined the people that they could be if they could only learn that everyone had a light that shone out of them, even if they looked different to you. ‘My family’, he wrote in this short letter afterwards, ‘I am leaving for you an opportunity to learn that beauty isn’t limited to the realm of the ‘normal’. Music has always taught me that is entirely untrue, that there is a certain mix of notes that makes one kind of perfection. None of us are the same symphony, but if you trust that each of us has the power to be the most beautiful thing you have ever heard if you would only listen to each of the notes that make it up, it is you, who will be richer than everyone else.’


I wrote this short story as a joke based on a funny dream my friend had. I'm genuinely curious for some feedback about the writing style though, any and all thoughts appreciated, thanks! John awoke with a stifled cry of terror, his brow doused in sweat, and his chest heaving anxious gasps of air. For several minutes, he sat upright in bed, attempting to recall the details of his nightmare, but failing. As he calmed down, he became aware of the starkness of the night air, which gave an unpleasant sensation, like that of oil on skin. Suddenly, a few feet to the left, his door knob began to rattle frantically back and forth. John's breathing became labored once more, as he nearly screamed in terror, only just managing to stay his base instincts of horror from betraying his desperate situation to whatever nocturnal interloper waited at the door. Then, from the hallway he sensed a presence so noisome and dreadful, he shuddered at the mere thought of its existence, and shuddered further to think of its proximity. For it was then that he knew, he must fight the ancient dream wolves. Taking a paper plate to hand, he leapt towards the door a cry that was equal parts fear and desperate fury. He flung the door open, revealing only an empty hallway. This brought him no comfort, and acting upon his rush of adrenaline, he pushed forwards into the hallway, raising his improvised weapon to strike whatever might offer itself to his vigilant hand. His heart raced, his body poured sweat into the night air, and he was once again struck with the smothering feeling of that oily night air. Making up his mind after a few moments to discover whatever disturbed him, and to find some resolution to his terror, even if it were a fate he dared not think of, he rounded the corner, and saw the grotesque thing that had haunted his dreams, and driven him from his nocturnal sanctuary to the brink of madness. He stopped cold as he saw the thing, a creature in the shape of a wolf was outlined against the dim rays cast by the moon as they trickled through a window. His eyes wide with terror as they passed over the it, with its putrescent and withered flesh, spotted with patches of matted hair, and eyes that should belong to no beast of the earth. Oh, those eyes, those terrible eyes. As he gazed upon them, he knew he could know no other night on earth, seeing in them the dreadful horror of a thousand souls tormented in the abyss, and twisted into the perverse designs of some daemon from beyond the veil of the physical world. But as suddenly as the horror had been revealed to him, it was gone. John awoke, crying out in terror once more. Frantically surveying the room, he saw no sign of the night visitor. As his terror began to subside, he fell backwards onto his mattress, feeling a cold draft waft over his skin, now without the suggestion of oppressive oiliness. Pondering however, that no source within the room could produce such a result, he turned to see: *the hallway door stood open.