This is how it starts. For an entire decade she played the game of love and obedience. She never twice questioned who the real object of importance was. Him or her. I say twice because the moment she realized they both can’t possibly make it out of this, she-. I’d rather show you. Her name was an amalgamation of letters that spelled beauty, hope, trust, domination, and war. Venus is what they call her. A flower with a mind of its own. Upon her 21st birthday she was gifted freedom, an abundance of inheritance and her dream career. Which started with her first assignment. A single contract that would shower her in oceans of endless fulfilled desires, a protected blacklisted name, a more than sturdy brand-new identity to allow er to safely travel the world. A damn good bargain, right? You’d think. Just like se did. But she was jarred by the missions only specification: fall in love. What a gorgeous degradation. And what he didn’t know was that he was the last child to hold the helm to the Athenian slab. The most priceless item in existence. It’s said to roughly calculate the structure of black matter and give us the last known location of the routinely circulated tomb of Prince Obsidian. Wrapped within his mummification, tucked in his boney clasped hands, the bulb of the two sister Great Basin Bristlecone Pine tree’s branches twisted in a double helix. Like two snakes which make a staff, its round top is rumored to be active with dark energy. The place where both serpent mouths mangle. As an immortal being, he gave his godly properties to the remaining deities for their safe concealment of this forbidden element. Another specific to her mission: Kill and retrieve. What exactly? His CCS, or Carbon Chip Set. His set identity. The only thing that will give her access to his inheritance bunker. On her birthday it was only right she held her composure while celebrating in the dining quarters of his families most prestigious private village hotels. His main residence. It was from the extent of the ball room where he leaned against the massive pearl entrance column. A perfectly distressed five figure four-piece suit, close cut black wool beard, folds of twisted dreads to match. She in a painted on plum dress that slept lavishly on her neck and cut just above her knees. Curves of an hourglass, skin of bronze, a smile that became a spotlight when excited. Her tamed kinky hair slipped with curls that tickled her shoulders. Hazel eyes that he could pick up from a couple yards away. Lips that he swore mouthed his name. High cheek bones, red lipstick, white heels with soles that seemed stepped in pools of blood orange. He was hooked the first sight. He was drowning in her slow-motion dance circled by a group of celebrating friends. Most of them belligerent from the excessive amounts of complimentary mimosas. “Siyah.” His dear friend, the floor manager Eladio elbowed the tranced man. “Venus. And you own the place. That’s a good starter.” A firm pat on the shoulder and a single eye wink begins his departures. Siyah, still oblivious, stares with crossed arms. He nods softly, capturing the advice late. Fighting the want to approach he softly mumbles an introduction script. “Hi, I’m Siyah. This place is what I own- no.” He shakes his head, looking at the floor, rethinking. “I own here. I’m Siyah. No-“ Why can’t I get this? He thinks to himself. Scratching the side of his head. Unknown to him the distant party disperses as the group agrees to return to the infinite pool dug into the edge of the high-rise hotel. Venus unmounts from the center platform, places her empty drink on the tray of a passing waitress. She collects two filled champagne flutes of bubbly fresh squeezed orange juice with a sliver kissing the small mouths edge. As she strides towards the mouth of the doorway, her heels sounding the marble speckled floor, her increasing click stops right in front of the bow headed Siyah. His eyes crunch, head cocks as he notices her closed toed white heels. His glare shoots up, shocked by her presence he nervously looks for the words with a gape mouth. She fragments him with an alluring soft voice. “Venus,” She holds out a single flute. “and you?” Jostling the glass softly she nods, signifying him to take the drink. As he weakly grasps the crystal, she throws her drink back. Encouraging him to do the same. “It’ll calm your nerves.” He lifts his, not breaking eye contact as he guzzles the cold liquid. She takes both glasses and calls a waiter over to rid them of the cups. “Siyah,” He says with a stretch. Sour faced to the potency of sour champagne in the mixture. He forces a grin, covering up the disgust from the alcohol. “You should show me the rest of the it then Mr. owner.” She lifts a single eyebrow, a devilish smile that stretches a single side of her red lips. Without hesitation he straightens his posture, fixing his suit jacket by both lapels, spinning around with a single arm triangled that she grabs hold onto. The day was filled with comfortable conversation expression individual viewpoints on the world, their likes, dislikes, their past occupations, political stand points, investments, heritage, future goals, and current emotional standings. She essentially ditched her friends; he ignored his demands to stand in the commanding limelight for the day. Turning the role over to Eladio who milked the temporary placement with eccentric energy. His relentless act distracted the crowds enough to allow Siyah a day in peace. They laughed like children under sparkling star light and crescent moon beams. Gold crusted dark chocolate covered fruit melted beside their hot tub in waves of spilled water that would sink the cement ridden plate. As they grew quiet with the calming night, they would end in an intimate, fighting embrace. Racing from the salt water jacuzzi to the linen tucked California king. With audible yearns of endlessness fogging the mirrors cover the ceiling they sailed into the night, thrashing in a tsunami of satisfaction. Venus rose as Siyah snored. Tucking a velvet robe under her crossed arms as she fits herself within. She leans from the penthouse railing. The lights below, the speckles of flame from citronella candles dug into the beach, the widespread resort lighting that was glowing around the building, the comparable clear night, the sound of running water from the infinite pool. She soaked in the comfortably cool breeze. Siyah woke, laid on his back, half his limbs dangling from the lifted platform bed as the sun broke into the open back glass wall. With a heavy groggy voice, he exclaims pain as he awakens. “Oh man...” He strains to roll over. Bringing his numb limbs flat onto the bed. “Shit.” He rubs his temple, blocking the refracting glare of the rising sun. In his squint he pats the bumps under the comforter next to him. “Venus?” His soft voice breaks. He exhales deeply as he peels the sheets back to notice a line of pillows. “Over here.” A jolly voice reaches from the cross-room chair behind a still steaming platter on top of a refreshment cart. “I told them for you, your usual. I took the liberty of ordering myself a special treat.” She raises a bellini. He grins, a relieving laugh that ends with a quick “Ouch.” He lays back down. He stumbles back into a heavy sleep. Chasing the sun into lunch. He woke from a knock on the front door. “Siyah!” Eladio was on the other side banging on the door like a police officer. “Man get down here! I’m not being another pawn today! We got a retirement party today and the Legacy Board Meeting today! I swear these old women won’t leave me alone and you know how these people be man! Get your ass to the ball room immediately!” Siyah stumbled to the cross-room cart. His food still untouched. Venus missing. A folded hotel note sat on the covered plate. “If you want me, come find me. \-Venus <3” He bites his lip, cheerful, placing the note within his nightstand drawer. “On my way buddy!” He joyfully yelled through the hang over and soreness ravishing his body. “I’m serious man! I expect you down there in 15-minute man! Don’t do this to me today!” The water breaks open, the pressured hot water silencing any incoming noise. As he breached his room, the race was on. Starting in the lobby Siyah stood at the podium, greeting the incoming party as they piled in. His usual morning, but now afternoon announcement was filled with a scripted introduction and short description of his family’s legacy, the party goer’s importance to their mission and an overall appreciation with a bid of enjoyment. “Here in paradise, you don’t need to pinch yourself. You’re not dreaming. You’re living the dream!” As he executes an energetic finale the crowd of mid age woman woo and roar. A line of staff and waiters flood in as he runs out. Siyah moved from floor to floor, room to room, side of the building to side, beach to peach, parking lot to the sky loft looking for a hint of this mysterious woman. He began cursing under his breathe, kicking himself for not asking for her contact. He did everything alone. Refusing to ask his own staff to identify a one-night fling. But he finds himself rapping his four fingers on the service desk corner, bent over, sipping a bellini. “Mr-“ desk worker becomes agitated by the rapping. Before she can finish, he shyly waves her over with a single flexing finger. “You can keep a secret?” Confused and intrigued she nods in agreement. “I need to find this woman I was- saw yesterday. Can you do that?” “ I can try sir.” For what seemed like an hour he raffled keen details, the part, the guest list name was pulled onto her smart slate. With only superficial information they would try to put the name to the description. Eliminating almost all of the attendees. With no luck, four glasses piled next to him, he depressed. Thanking the desk woman, he returned to himself bent over the corner of the desk. It’s nearing dinner. The glow from the sun has hours left to shine. Another clear day with a muddy mind Siyah thought. “Are you sure she signed in with her legal name?” She asked. “I- I don’t know.” He replied defeated. “Siyah.” The distant call becomes clearer, closer. “Siyah! It’s almost meeting time- is that a 5th glass of- man put that shit down!” Eladio waves over a waiter to discard the glasses. “Sparkling water, a lot.” He directs himself back to a wobbly Siyah. “Today’s the Legacy Board Meeting man! Get your shit together!” he whispers sternly. Eladio proceeds to touch up his sloppy suit. Removing a small can of hair palm, a brush, fixing his facial appearance. Once more put together, forced to guzzle two bottles of sparkling water that made him burp between bottles, he checks him off. “Okay, some breathe mints and some vocal exercises, and you’ll be- good enough. Now, lets go.” As they head to the elevator, weaving through seas of staff, security, residence, vacationers and janitors they arrive to an incoming elevator car. As they golden doors split open, an older woman stood in the middle of two husky black suited guards. “Ah! Siyah Starr.” The woman opens her arms in a warm embrace. Kissing the tall man on either cheek, forcing him to stoop over. “And you must be Eladio Nestres.” Eladio smiles with confirmation. “I am Natasha Iroke. Head of the Legacy Board Legal Team. And this is my daughter, Venus Iroke, Assistant present to the legal division. And as she moved to introduce her daughter, Siyahs jaw drops. Astounded. He’s left nonverbal. With an extended hand Venus clutched a black purse, fitted in a skintight strapless dress in blackened heels. Her glow breaking the incandescent lights bathing her within the elevator car. “Nice to finally meet you Siyah. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Her lips mouthed a friendly greeting, her eyes brought into mind hours of aggressive sexual combat. Being nudged out of his daydream by Eladio he grasps her still hands with his shaky sweaty palm. “Hi- \*clears throat\* Good evening ma’am. Siyah Starr. And the pleasures mine.


It’s difficult to live in the shadow of yourself. It’s also nearly impossible. Unless you’re me. Unless you live in two separate worlds. Dimensions. I should say dimensions because one of me is in the future, and the other is in the present. Well, one of me was in the future. And now that me is dead. Have you ever been murdered? Of course not. I have. I can’t say I recommend the experience. I wasn’t even kidnapped, or shot in the street. I was a statistic. I was one of 43 students who died in a shooting at Webster High School in Webster, Wisconsin. I shouldn’t use was, but that me is dead, and this me is alive. I’m alive in Chicago, Illinois. And I’m going to stop the shooting and save them. Us. I only have 11 hours and 12 minutes to stop this from happening. I have until 3:12 pm, CST. I know the shooter’s name is Mitchell Dupree, and I know he is in AP Biology first period, which begins in exactly five hours. I’ve got my work cut out for me. Sweat. Cold sweat. That’s how I remember it. Dying, that is. I was so nervous, but it was quick, in the back of a dilapidated math classroom, the only light from the overhead. Yeah. We still used overheads. Used. Used. Past tense. It was only one classroom. 43 students in AP Statistics. That’s ironic. We were, are, statistics. Maybe if our school had spent money on making classes smaller, instead of building a new football field, there would only be 25 lost souls. I bet the school board never thought of that. Mitchell Dupree. He sat with me. Sits. He sits with me. Quiet kid. Its always the quiet ones, I suppose. Mitchell seemed nice… That is until he put a bullet through poor Ms. Dodd’s head. The sweet spinster who loved numbers more than her 12 cats. Loves. The past tense is creeping up on me, stalking my every move. It knows. It knows I shouldn’t be here now. Dr. Langdon says its my “condition”. “multiple personality disorder” he claims. Dr. Langdon is a crock. This is real. It is all real. Why won’t they listen to me? My friend listens to me. Mitchell. He’s nice. He lives in the mirror above the bathroom sink. We have big plans today. At 3:12 pm.


I had this dream. It must’ve been the 1950’s, or some time earlier. I wasn't sure how I got there, but I knew that I wasn’t in my body, and that I wasn’t driving my car. We had the top down and were speeding down an old country two-lane road. The prettiest girl in the world was sitting in my passenger seat. She was sitting cross-legged, facing me, with the wind blowing her gorgeous golden-brown hair all over the place. She was laughing. I could never forget that perfect smile. The orange light from the setting sun caused a glisten in her eyes. I loved the way that I couldn’t keep my focus whenever I was around her. What was peculiar about this was that I felt as if it happened all in one instant, but at the same time it felt like hours. I guess this is how love is supposed to feel. She screamed with delight. She loved feeling free. I didn’t know where I was driving, but she didn’t care. It doesn’t matter where you are when you’re with the most beautiful girl on Earth. I managed to break the allure of her hazel-green eyes to check the road. Nothing. Just the open road, a warm sunset, and the girl of my dreams sitting next to me. Or so I thought. I don’t know what happened but the car suddenly flipped over. Everything was silent. I can’t clearly recall what happened but I remembered that her once-gorgeous golden-brown hair was soiled with blood and that her hazel-green eyes were filled with tears at one point. But, she never cried. The worst part was that I couldn’t save her. I reached for her but could never touch her. I called for her but she never answered. The last thing I saw was that glisten fade from her eyes. I don’t know if I ended up surviving, but it didn’t matter. All I knew was that I had robbed the world of the prettiest girl that it had ever seen. I could never forgive myself.


"Come on guys please can we play the Mysterium," I pleaded to my 3 best friends Robert (Rob) Johnson, Ivy Ruth, and Rebecca Garden. "Sure," Rebecca said, twirling in the seats in my basement meeting room which my dad usually uses for work but not today because it was a Saturday. "We always play this game," Rob groaned, which was true but still it's an awesome game. "Plus I'm always stuck as a ghost." "Well not today my dad promised me that he would be a ghost." "Sure, Rubs," Ivy said, sitting down next to Rebecca. "Fine. But you promise me I wont be a ghost," Rob said sitting down across from Ivy. "I swear," I replied sitting next to him. My dad hurried down the stairs still in his sweatpants and sweater which was very different then the usual stiff black suit and tie he wore to meetings about his books that he wrote and the book store he owned. "Who's ready for Mysterium," He said, taking it off of a shelf on the wall. We sorted out characters. Me: Alma, Ivy: Jessalyn, Rebecca: Madame Wang, Rob: Alphonse, Dad: Ghost. "Let's start,'' my dad said. After 50 hours (15 min) of setting, we finally began but soon there was a rattle shock in the room. Then everything fell into darkness. "What happened? Ruby, Rob, Rebecca are you okay," A voice but that of Ivy's. It was like the voice of a (I'm completely guessing) 1920's American woman. "I'm fine," I replied but my voice was like what a Spanish woman would have sounded like in the 1920's as well. I looked around and we were in the front of a tall mansion. "Me too," A heavy French accent called out. "And me," I said in a Chinese accent. I turned around looking at the other people circling me. They were my friends but they were also the characters we had picked in the game. "Wait one minute I'm Alma. Rob your Alphonse. Rebecca your Wang and Ivy your Jessalyn." "Which means we are in the game," Rebecca said. "And this is the manor." "And your dad is just a ghost most likely trying to give us visions now so do you all remember who to get them." No we all said in unison but then we saw a button on our arms and when you saw a button you always got to press. I waited a while but I only felt an odd wait in my pocket. I pulled out a Pendulum and a card just like the ones in the game/rule book. "Alma Salvador Specialty: Pendulum Divination," Wow I thought reading that I get visions through this (I held the pendant). I held it up and closed my eyes. That's when I saw what was almost like a camera moving closer

to the door. "Let's go inside," I said, walking towards the door and opening it causing a LOUD creaking noise. I stepped followed by the others. That's when I saw 5 suspects sitting at the dining room table. One looked like a chef and the one next to him was a hunter. There was at the head of the table a con man magician and to his right was a maid and a woman with a basket full of baked goods. I watched them but knew they could see we were here. I looked up and saw there were 3 sets of staircases. The second floor had a bunch of rooms and on the last level there were weapons laid out on different podiums.

We then heard a whisper stretch throughout the dim room, "Madame Wang." She looked terrified but then closed her eyes and pulled out a book and found what visions she needed." "Mine are only two and they're identical to some cards. Mine is a house with buttons on it and rope strung across and also a mouse with a bird outfit on." I knew which one it was immediately so I told her. "I think it's the maid with her buttons and tailoring just like on the mouse," She nodded and said, The maid. That's when the maid disappeared into a card on her chair for Rebecca to pick up. None of the other suspects noticed. Rebecca went up the staircase. "Jessalyn Smith," My dad said. Ivy took out tarot cards and pulled 2 from the deck. One was of a girl and a lion on a boat pointing towards the ocean. The second was off a man running away from something on a red carpet with guard dogs barking at him. "This is easy," Ivy said, "The hunter." He vanished leaving the card for her to take. She went up the stairs slightly tripping on heels which made me and Rebecca giggle. "Alphonse de Belcour," The ghost whispered. He closed his eyes and did his numerology. He told me what his 2 cards were. One was

a cave with axes and gleaming red eyes looking out of it and the second was the same rat dressed as a bird standing on cheese. "Easy this is Magician," He said, but nothing happened. I rubbed my temples. "No, it's obviously the chef. Didn't tell you tell me was on top of cheese," I shook my head and took out the Pendulum and watched it swirl and got my two cards. One had pastries falling from the sky so I didn't even pay attention to the second one. "The baker," I called and she was gone so I took the card and went up the stairs. "Madame Wang," The house echoed. She took out her book which I could now see was a ghost mystery book. There were 5 rooms just like the 5 people. One was a dungeon with a mysterious cave blocked by a book stand. The second was a bedroom with a stone lion hanging on it with an open window and drapes hanging off the top frame of the bed. The one next to it was also a bedroom but this one was pink and open with toys thrown around instead of a dark ominous nighttime room. There was light everywhere and a purple rug on the floor. The next room reminded me of a tropical forest but there was a weird tombstone in the middle with the same lion. There was also some kind of dome enclosing it like a greenhouse. The last one was an abandoned home patio looking out on a dead forest with a chair and table on the patio.

"The next visions show me a man on an odd bicycle flying in the air. The second was a bunch of books stacked to look like a triangle," She said looking at the 5 rooms. "I'm going with the child's room." It vanished, leaving only the card behind. She went up the last set of stairs. "Jessalyn Smith," The ghost whispered. She stepped forward and pulled her two cards. Here's where a red chair in the middle of a room and a red bed surrounded by ether stuffing our clouds. "Easy, bedroom," She said and it was gone and she left me to go with Rebecca. After a few minutes I was with rob again, "Alma Salvador." I took out the pendulum and got the visions. One off a little spiked creature wearing a skull like mask the other an apple punctured by needles dripping black stuff down the pestle it was on. "Green house," I called but nothing happened. No, it was the dungeon off course both showed torture like in a dungeon. "Madame Wang," I didn't hear what happened for the rest of the turns because Rebecca and Rob moved up but soon it was Me, Rob, and Ivy left cause Rebecca had passed and disappeared. "Jessalyn Smith," Dad said. I waited until she got it right her visions were 2 ones showing magic and a circus so her weapon was dumb bell like the worlds strongest man. Then Rob got it right with the candlestick and both his pictures showed fire. (You can see that I'm not putting as much effort into writing any more because I'm getting tired of writing about this. This is Ruby talking) Finally, it was my turn and I got it right with the type writer because one pictured showed a business mouse. Finally we were done and I was back in the basement with dad and everyone else. "Okay now that was weird," We all said.


“Come on, man” said Raiden. “You always used to accept a drinking challenge.” They were sitting at the bar of the Brass Tap. Muchacho was wearing brown slacks and a button-down shirt. Raiden was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, shorts and flip flops. “Nah, man,” said Muchacho. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow. “Taking my kid to the park.”

“Unbelievable,” said Raiden. “I thought we were both getting wasted and finding a karaoke machine somewhere. Why do you think I wore my party shirt?”

“Nah, man,” said Muchacho. “Can’t really do things like that anymore. Gotta keep my head on straight now that I’ve got a kid.”

“You’re kidding me,” said Raiden. “I was so excited when you called.” He took a long swig of the cold Guinness beer in front of him. “What’s that like, anyway? Having a kid and all?” Muchacho took a sip of his diet coke and scratched his heavy black beard. “It’s the hardest but, at the same time, most wonderful thing I’ve ever been a part of.”

“Explain.”

“I mean it’s hard to explain. It’s…” he frowned, collecting his thoughts. Raiden was eyeing a basketball game showing on a screen over the bar. “Damn! Learn to play some defense!” he said. “How about some vodka shots, my man?” said Raiden.

“No thanks,” said Muchacho. “My boy wakes me up at six every morning. I’m not looking for any hangovers.”

“Man are you a stick in the mud?” said Raiden. “Not even one shot? We used to do, like, five every night.”

“That was a long time ago, man.”

“A long time ago? That was just a couple years ago! What’s so suddenly different?”

“Have you listened to anything I’ve said? I have a kid.”

“Calm down. Calm down,” said Raiden. “I was just kidding! I know you’ve got a kid and have to be responsible. I was just playin’. Oh! Hey look! It’s Marve! Yo, Marve!”

A tall man in a flannel shirt and a beanie came over to the two men. “Hey, Raiden. What up my man and … No way! It’s Muchacho! Where have you been, my brotha?”

Muchacho stood up from his bar seat, took Marve’s hand and gave him a hug. “Just doing the whole parent thing. Got a kid now.”

“No way!” said Marve. “Mad-Man-Muchacho has a kid! On purpose?”

“Man, don’t do that to me. Of course on purpose. I’m married to Lacey now.”

“You and Lacey? Get outta here. Now how come Raiden and I weren’t invited to the wedding?”

“No wedding,” said Muchacho. “We just went to the courthouse.”

“Cause you knocked her up?” said Marve. “Man, don’t do that to me,” said Muchacho. “Nah, we were just trying to keep it personal. That’s all.”

“I know. I know,” said Marve. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Good to see you both, but I gotta poker game that I’m supposed to be at. So, peace.”

After Marve left Muchacho and Raiden alone, there was a silence pulling at an unspoken question like a strong magnet to iron.

“I gotta tell you,” said Raiden. “I was pretty hurt that you didn’t invite me to the wedding.” “Come on, man,” said Muchacho. “We just made it legal in the courthouse. There was no wedding.”

“I know, man. But you know what I mean. You didn’t even tell me. I found out from Casandra. She said you guys got hitched and were too good to hang out with us now.” “I’m not too good for anything,” said Muchacho. “Don’t do that to me. You know me. I don’t judge anyone.”

“I wasn’t saying I was being judged.”

The two men took sips of their drinks.

“Fuck it,” said Raiden. “Let’s get some shots up in here. You too. And I’m not talking no for an answer. It will be just like old times.” Raiden signaled for the bartender to come over.

“No, man. No, man,” said Muchacho. “Listen. I don’t even drink any more. I’ve been sober for two years.”

“Don’t drink? Come on.” Raiden spoke to the bartender. “Mel, get us two shots of your best vodka. And pour one for yourself. Haven’t seen Muchacho in years. We gotta celebrate.” “Mel,” said Muchacho. “Don’t pour anything for me. I told you, Raiden. I’m sober now. I don’t drink any more. I do AA meetings. The whole thing. I cleaned up.”

“Cleaned up? What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m dirty? Why’d you even ask to grab a drink with me? Do you know how it felt after you started blowing me off? Stopped returning my calls? How do you think that felt? You think it felt good?” Mel the bartender walked away. “It wasn’t personal, man,” said Muchacho. “Please. Calm down.” “I’m calm. I’m calm. Calmest person here. I’m just asking you a question. Why did you throw me to the curb?”

“I didn’t throw you…” “Didn’t… Then how come I haven’t seen or heard from you in two years?”

“I told you,” said Muchacho. “I’ve got a kid. It’s a lot of work.”

“Kid? How come I’ve never met this kid? I thought I was your best friend!” Raiden stood up. “Easy man! Easy,” said Muchacho. “Sit back down. Don’t make a scene.”

“I’ll sit back down when I get a straight answer.” said Raiden.

“I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.”

“The truth. That’s what I want.” Raiden sat back down. “Okay. The truth.”

They took more sips of their drinks. “You never listened to me,” said Muchacho.

“What?” Raiden took another swig of his beer. “Whenever I had a real problem. You would change the subject. Say your ADD was acting up.”

“That’s not fair,” said Raiden. “I do have ADD.”

“I know you do,” said Muchacho. “But it’s different. My wife has ADD. Sometimes she gets distracted. But she still listens .”

“What’re you saying? You know how many conversations we had sitting right here? Right in the very seats we’re sitting in?” “Those weren’t real conversations,” said Muchacho. “They were about sports. The news. Not real stuff. Whenever I tried to bring up something real, you started to get more interested in whatever game… You’re doing it right now!” Raiden turned back away from the basketball game on the screen. “Give me a break! It’s the fourth quarter!” “That’s my point! I need friends who think I’m more important than the fourth quarter of a basketball game!” “I don’t believe this,” said Raiden. “Mel, get me a shot, will ya?”

“There!” said Muchacho. “That’s it! Whenever things get real, you grab for alcohol.” “Oh fuck off,” said Raiden. “Just because you’re sober it doesn’t make everyone else an alcoholic.”

“Whatever man,” said Muchacho. “I came here to forgive you. You know that?” “Forgive me?” said Raiden. “What the hell did I ever do? You blew me off for two years!” “You enabled me,” said Muchacho.

“Enabled you? Is that some of your AA BS?”

“For all those years we were friends, I was in the worst place I’d ever been. Alcohol was all I had. And all you did was let me drink my problems away.” “Allow you?” said Raiden. “I don’t control you. You make your own decisions. I didn’t allow you to do anything.”

“I know. But that’s not what I mean,” said Muchacho. “You never stopped me. You knew I was miserable and never stopped me!”

“What is all this BS? I never controlled anything that you did. If you have problems with alcohol, that’s your own business. You can’t blame me for your own actions.”

“Stop. Stop. This is not what I meant to do. I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to blame you… I just…” He stood up from his bar stool and put his hands on his stomach and started taking deep breaths. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m getting anxious. This helps me calm down. I used to grab a drink. Now I try to focus on breathing.” Raiden ran a hand through his long, scraggly hair and turned his attention back to the basketball game. Muchacho sat back down.

“Listen to me for a second will ya?”

Raiden signed. “I’m all ears.”

“I wanted to meet you here, sit in our old barstools and try to connect with you without having a drink. I did it as a test, for me.”

“What? So you called me for some AA exercise?”

“Yes. But I also called you because I wanted to reconnect. I wanted to see if there was more to our friendship than just being drinking buddies.”

“I can’t believe he missed that one!” said Raiden to the basketball game. Muchacho sighed. “I gotta head out.”

“Already? But you just got here!”

“Got dinner with my in-laws tonight. Thanks for catching up with me. I’ll see you around, Raiden.”

“Come on, man! It’s going into overtime. Can’t you just wait a second.” “Sorry, man. I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now. Take care of yourself.”

The two men stood up and shook hands. Muchacho left the Brass Tap for the final time. Raiden took a shot of vodka and yelled at the television.


”So you’re leaving it to me to decide?” “Yes, yes we are,” both Pro and Con said, turning towards each to affirm the others acceptance. “We believe that when you weigh the data presented you will arrive at the proper decision. It’s never been tried before but given your sometimes exemplary and sometimes, lets be honest, non exemplary behavior it’s a toss up anyway, and with our labor shortages and diminishing assets, a fast track from limbo needed to be introduced,” Pro said. “Aha,” Saul exhaled quietly. “And just when exactly did you guys start calling yourselves Pro and Con as opposed to the, you know, usual Angel and Devil? Whose idea was that?” Con looked at Pro and with a slight nod, indicating he would field this question, answered, “It’s still in the beta phase, but it’s been kicked around for a couple of centuries now, Angel and Devil seems so, oh I don’t know, twelfth century, don’t you agree? It’s high time we rebranded and embraced the future.” “So this fast track you speak of, allows the individual soul to choose his or her own eternity? Isn’t the Con faction afraid of being outstripped population wise,?” Saul asked.

“Oh my, no,” Con said, shaking his head, “we have a flourishing community and limitless real estate, we’ll be fine. We don’t make this offer just to anyone, you know, most times it’s black and white and the choice is blatantly obvious, so we make it, but more and more the scales of righteousnesses teeter in the gray area and it is then that we offer a choice, as in your case. As for a dwindling census, we’re not concerned in the least, it’s not that the current residents are going anywhere now are they,?”he chuckled, no we’ll be absolutely fine, have you seen humankind, I mean really seen them, yikes, it stokes even my flames.” Saul watched as thin wisps of smoke and blue fire emanated from Con’s scorched black jacket.

“Calm down,” Pro admonished him, “you don’t want to bias his decision, now do you?” “Quite correct, thank you Angel, I mean Pro, I’m still getting used to the new terminology,” Con said.

“Anyway, back to business, shall we,?” Angel said, clapping his hands together and giving his wings a little rustle, “What will be your choice,” checks his left palm, scrolls notes, “Saul?” “Do you need an answer immediately or can I think on it for a little,” Saul said, “it’s kind of a big deal, you know, eternity and all, can I have a few days? You guys haven’t even given me your bullet points, I get more information from a bad listing on Zillow. C’mon give me your sales pitches.” “See, this is why I hate this new program,” Con said, turning to Pro, “now I need to cajole and be ingratiating, I hate this, I’m the damn Devil, remember, not some fucking ad executive giving a thirty second elevator pitch for the latest diet soda!”

“Con, flame down, breathe, relax your nostrils, I’ll handle this,” Pro said. “Saul, we will give you twenty four Earth hours to decide, as for the information you requested, please just pick up some brochures in the waiting room on the way out, they have all the answers you need.”

“Thank you, I’ll be back.” “Oh, you most certainly will be,” Con yelled after him.

—————————————— “Okay, well it’s been twenty four hours now, so have you come to a decision Soul, I mean Saul,?”Con asked irritably, absently twiddling long strands of dirty black hair around his horns. “Well have you,?” he asked again, his voice rising with anger, his murky eyes clarifying into yellow pinpoints.

“Con, please, let’s be civil,” Pro said slowly, no need for theatrics. “Saul,?” he asked, turning away from Con and spreading his manicured hands wide.

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes, yes I have,” Saul said, “and just so you know, you’re not helping your case here,” he said, looking directly at Con, “I don’t appreciate your tone of voice.” Con’s face was like a clenched red fist with inaudible mumblings  spewing out of it.

“So let me begin by saying that I read all your handouts and you could really use the help of an editor, they do ramble a bit, but I got the gist. It’s the old good versus evil stuff, Santa versus Hitler, balm versus bomb, the ying and the yang of human existence, and on and on, I get it.” Both Con and Pro were now just staring at Saul in amazement, that he wasn’t in awe of them or his situation was unthinkable. “Please do go on,” Pro said coldly, beginning to lose patience as well. “It all got me thinking, that on the one hand we have horror, doom, and woe, while on the other hand we have love, bliss, and puppies. There’s nothing in between. There needs to be a third alternative, a third place that’s not so black and white, a place for all the grey folks, that you yourselves said is on the rise, hence this whole choice project you’ve started. It can be like a cosmic Starbucks, you know, the third place, not home, not work, somewhere else to be.”

“Aha, and just what do you propose this Cafe is to be called,” Pro said, sarcasm drenching his words, “and where would it exist, above and below are already taken and we do have eternal leases.” “I haven’t worked out all the specifics just yet, just kinda spitballing here, you know? I’m an idea guy, I’ll leave it to the logistics department to hammer out all the details, but I’m telling you this could be big, it needs to happen.”

Stunned silence. Pro and Con looked at each other for several moments, then at Saul, then back to each other, then they collapsed into laughter.

“Oh, that’s just great,” Con said, “just great. You’re a piece of work. You aim to upset the entire deity-centric universe by introducing a rogue dimensionality into the mix? Do you know the havoc this would bring to all sacred texts? To your human religions? To my cults and televangelists? No way, not happening, we’ve already bent the rules when we initiated this current program, we’re not opening the full can of locusts, I mean worms.” “Okay, okay, it was just an idea, don’t get up on your high hooves, I’m just trying to drag you guys into the twenty first century. I do have another request, though,” Saul asked, “how about a trial run, in both places? I mean, even a shady website might give you seven days to cancel if you’re not completely satisfied. I’d like to sample your offerings to see which part of me would feel more at home. I’m a complex guy you know.” “Yes, apparently you are, yes,” answered Con, “let’s start out in my domain, shall we, seven days to embrace your dark side and partake of Bacchanalian rites and flagellating ceremonies geared to either horrify or pleasurably intoxicate your true self. After that you can go try out cloud boy there and see what he offers,” he gestures dismissively towards Pro. “Okay with you, my wingman?” “Done,” Pro answers, with a wink, “hell of a good idea, don’t you think?”


"Olivia, what's this that I found in your room?" Polly asks. "You have nothing to worry about. I'm only planning on using it if you really piss me off," Olivia says. "Using what?" Polly replies. Olivia looks at Polly and sees that she's carrying a binder. Olivia bolts for the book and whacks Polly with a strength for greater than expected for an old woman. Polly falls on her back, and Olivia catches the binder in the air. "You shouldn't have gone in my room. This isn't for public viewing." Olivia wags her finger at Polly. The commotion draws the rest of their roommates to the living to check. Reid's face is covered in shaving cream creating a hilarious white beard. Frida fell asleep in a pile of mud and is covered with dirt and worms crawl around. Jim is covered in feathers. How this happened, no one knows. "What's going on in here?" Reid asks, a splotch of shaving cream lands on his shoulder. "I found a photo album in Olivia's room. For some reason, she hit me over that," Polly says. "You shouldn't go looking in other people's rooms," Frida replies. "Why? What is in your that's so bad?" "Don't worry about it." Frida shakes her head, getting mud everywhere. "I won't use it on you unless you really piss me off." "Well, can you clean your own damn room." Polly pushes herself up and holds out her arms. "I mean look at you three. You are absolutely filthy. I know the world is a trash heap, but that doesn't mean our home has to be one." "Who you calling a trash heap?" Jim starts to cough and feathers come out of his mouth. "I am sick of my room being attacked by raccoons," Polly yells. "That never happens to me. I think that might be a problem with your room," Reid replies. Polly stares at Reid, and her right eye begins to twitch. She bites her tongue and clenches her fist. All signs indicate that this is the moment when she snaps, but she doesn't. She stomps her left foot and walks outside. Her screams of pain fill the night sky. "So what's in this book anyway." Jim holds the binder in his hands. Olivia looks down at her empty hands. "How did you get it so quickly?" Olivia asks. "You gave it to me," Jim says. Olivia shakes her head. "Nevermind, it's from when I was younger," she says. Jim opens it. Reid and Frida looks over his shoulder. Some people look completely different in their youth. Others age merely shaped the clay that was already there. Olivia looks exactly the same in all of them. It was as though she raised to be sixty and stopped aging at that moment. "Wow, you looked...good," Frida says. It's never a good idea to tell someone they looked bad in their youth even Frida understands this. "I looked like garbage. We all did. After the Mieran War though, everyone was desperate. Things got wild." Olivia smiles and nods her head. "We all did." Jim turns to the page to pictures of Olivia with a tall man. In one picture, they're skiing down a mountain; in the distance, people are holding guns shooting at them. In another, they're on the beach. The water in the backroom is filled with soldiers fighting a group of alien creatures In another picture, they're at a romantic dinner, and they're yelling at each other on how to split the bill. Some things never change. "Ah, that was Owen. God, we had some fun together," Olivia says. On the next page, Olivia is visibly pregnant. "I didn't know you had a kid," Jim says. "Yeah, I ditched them at a wartime orphanage the second after I gave birth. I couldn't have a kid cramping my style," Olivia says. "Which orphanage?" Reid says. "I don't know. I remember the headmistress had a giant mole on her nose. I didn't want to say anything, but you never forget a mole like that." "Oh my god, Molly Moley. She was the headmistress of my orphanage, The Improvised Shelter for Kids Who's Parents Were Vaporized," Frida says. "Mine too," Jim says. "Me as well." "What a coincidence. Though you're probably not my kids," Olivia laughs. "No, the four of us met at the orphanage," Reid says. "Molly Moley told me that my mom was rude and spent the entire time yelling at my dad," Jim says. Reid and Frida nod in agreement. "Again, that good mean nothing," Olivia says. "Wait, you could be my mom." Jim drops the book to hug Olivia who pushes him off. "Like hell I am." "Well, do you even remember the name you gave your baby?" Frida asks. "Uh no, I remember nothing about that day." "So you could be one of our moms," Reid says. "Maybe, you'd have to talk to Owen to confirm. Last I checked; he was off trying to rebuild a city somewhere." Olivia's eyes widen. "Wait, does this mean there's a chance Polly is my kid." "No, she was the kid of a staff member," Reid says. "Oh thank god. Well, in that case, there's no harm in checking in with him." Polly screams in the distance. "Besides, she needs some alone time." The four people leave the house. Polly returns to an empty home and smiles. "Finally, I can clean.


As Serial Saturday here on has concluded, all that’s left to do is spotlight our fantastic authors. Here at we welcomed a WP newcomer to our ranks. Cole joined WP in the fall and quickly became a frequent contributor to WP threads, and then joined us at SerSat! Having Cole jump in on SerSat was a treat, and a testament to the diversity of approaches we had for this series. Cole’s story of internal and personal conflict was completely different than the other types of stories we got, and I think that’s a testament to his approach and the versatility of this program. But don't take my word for it! Here's a small teaser: >*Subsidized* tells the story of David, a lowly man whose world is shaken after hearing unexpected news from his sister. Whilst dealing with personal troubles, including lingering ones from a past relationship, David must regain his own independence as he begins to battle his own demons. For our first run of Serial Saturday at it was important for us to get author impressions of how their experience went with us, and give readers a peek at the "behind the scenes" of creating a flash fiction serial. Here's ColeZalias’s take on that: >When I first started writing this Serial, I thought of it as just another project that I may abandon within a few short weeks. However, SerSat has proven me wrong with the amazing people who write for it every week. Not only does this program provide a nurturing space for me to improve my writing, it has also helped me to stay committed to ongoing projects, which was an issue that I’ve had in the past. The people here work so very hard to make sure that we all succeed and I wouldn’t have been able to write this story for as long as I did without them. With the tale of *Subsidized* at an end (for now) there is only one thing left to do: show off this newly finished story for obligatory bragging rights here on . Let the bragging begin! Without further ado, here's ColeZalias’s Table of Contents. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ You can check out more of ColeZalias's work by going to his subreddit, r/ColeZalias Congrats on finishing your serial, ColeZalias, and we can’t wait to see what you do next. <3 from the team at , , and Serial Saturday. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ *For more information on the Serial Saturday program feel free to check out our* *.* We have members from all around the world and who have all kinds of schedules, so there’s usually someone awake to talk to. We also have scheduled readings, oration critiques, spur-of-the-moment story time, or even just random hangouts over voice chat.


At first glance, the Commission’s waiting room looked similar to the lobby of every hospital that Emil had ever visited. Its design was clean and minimalist, with seats arranged around the walls and a wide reception desk opposite the front door.

The only difference was that a heavy, see-through barrier completely encircled the top of the desk, with rectangular openings near the bottom that seemed secured, from the inside, by a series of complicated-looking latches. Busy with keyboards and touchpads, the people behind it barely looked up when they entered. They had brought him here in handcuffs, with a full escort of four field agents. All were covered from head to toe in protective gear—bulky, grey suits made of something that looked like Kevlar.

And, of course, they were armed to the teeth.

After their arrival, two of them left. The others stayed behind. Although they faced the same direction as him, one at the right and the other at the left, Emil couldn’t tell if they were looking at him through those thick visors.

There were chairs in that lobby, but it felt awkward to sit down while the agents stood. At the same time, he didn’t want to appear threatening. After a moment of indecision, Emil decided to—very slowly—sit down in the nearest seat by the wall. To make himself appear as small and insignificant as possible. He was still trying to do this when a man came out holding a clipboard. “Mr. Sarkozy, right?”

The man sounded brisk, almost casual, as though Emil wasn’t cuffed and accompanied by an armed escort. He was of average height, with sharp features and a pair of rectangular glasses. Maybe in his thirties. The getup was just as ordinary: lab coat, black pants, a plain white shirt. But his tie was a startling shade of purple. It drew the eye. “Uh, Emil,” he managed to stutter. The man extended a hand—gloved, Emil noticed. “Sanjay Varma. Nice to meet you.” Then, he seemed to notice the handcuffs. Varma looked over at the field agents. “Do we really need these?” One of them lowered her visor. Emil could see that she was a young woman, with thick brown eyebrows and a serious expression. “The higher-ups thought it was for the best. We still don’t know the extent of his abilities. You were briefed on what he did, right? They must have sent pictures , he thought. A sick feeling dropped through his stomach. “Wait,” Emil said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded far too quiet. He cleared his throat. “Wait, you don’t understand. I— I was trying to help .” The moment he said it, he realized how often they must have heard the exact same excuse. The agent gave him a look that might have been pity. Varma only peered at him curiously. Then, he smiled. A little too quickly. “No worries. You’ll have plenty of time to explain. I’m going to ask you some questions, Emil.” “Right here?” The agent glanced at the people behind the reception desk, then shot him a concerned look. Aside from them, there was no one else in the lobby. “Are you authorized for that, Dr. Varma?” “Just for now—until we’re cleared for a holding cell.” He turned the same smile on her. “It’s fine, Agent Costello. Won’t take long.” “If you say so.” Varma looked back at Emil, who was in the middle standing up. He stared him straight in the eyes. “I think you’d better stay seated. Sudden movements set our agents on edge. Not that they’re trigger-happy—but I’d play it safe if I were you.”

His tone remained casual. He was still smiling, brisk and unmalicious.

Neither was terribly reassuring. Emil nodded anyway. He sat back down, slowly.

There was a certain quality to Varma’s eyes that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A sweeping, searchlight quality. Like he was looking for something. The image blinked into Emil’s mind: an incandescent lightbulb. It reminded him of that. Those outdated ones that they’d learned about in school, lit by the sheer intensity of the heat they generated.

He took a seat in the chair next to Emil’s, glanced down at his clipboard, and clicked a pen.

“Ready?” Emil swallowed. “Sure.” “First question. When did you become aware of your Emergence?” Panic pushed static fingers into his skull. Would he be punished for hiding it for so long? They had to get other cases like this—why couldn’t he remember what had happened to those people? “...Twelve,” he said quietly. “I mean, I was twelve. I used it on… on a cat. And a guinea pig. By accident.” “Ah.” Varma didn’t sound outraged, at least. He just nodded and jotted something down on the clipboard. “And did you tell anyone? Your parents? Friends?” “No.” “Hm.” More jotting. “What about experiments?” Emil blinked. “...Sorry?” “Practicing with your powers?” “No,” Emil said quickly, shaking his head. “Nothing like that. The first time was… enough.” Full stop. Varma turned and gave him a look of faint surprise. Does he not believe me? But after a few seconds, all he said was: “Huh. And you weren’t curious? About the limitations?” Emil stared at him. “Maybe a little, but…” He cut himself off, searching Varma’s eyes for anything resembling an understanding of what he was trying to convey. All he found was that same glittering intensity. “But it worked on— living things .” “Right, of course.” Varma gave a dry chuckle. “Responsible of you. It’s just... common, you know. People get so excited about these things.” Maybe if they’re not me . Emil nodded numbly. “Okay, last question,” Varma continued, glancing up again. “Well, for the preliminary round. Aside from the pets and frat boys—did you ever use it on anyone else?” Emil froze. “...Yeah,” he forced himself to say. “There was this—ice cream truck driver. But I swear it was an accident. I was trying to keep him from being hit by this car when he was fixing the roof, and—”

Emil took a breath. “Look, I know this doesn’t sound… believable , but aside from those three times, I’ve never used it. I don’t even fully understand it. If they weren’t about to hurt themselves back at that party, I would never have—” “I know,” said Varma. It sounded strangely genuine.

Then he was getting up and striding over to someone else who had just walked in—a young woman, also dressed in a lab coat, with her hair in rows of short braids and neon-green frames on her glasses. They spoke in hushed tones.

“You’ve been cleared for a holding cell,” said Agent Costello. Emil started. They were the only words she had spoken to him so far.

“Uh, thanks.” He was about to stand before he remembered. “Can… Can I get up now?” “You should.” Emil pulled himself up from the chair. His wrists already ached from the cuffs, but now his shoulders felt the strain of sitting in that position. Costello and her partner were already starting down a hallway further into the building, behind Varma and the young woman.

And so, lacking other options, he followed them as well.


The story is entitled Mr. Smith decides to camp out in the backyard during a power outage. One Friday , during a power outage,the family of Mr. Smith decided to camp out in the backyard . Also around the backyard was a cave,the family of Mr. Smith all together encountered an adventure. Again the family of Mr. Smith came down into a valley ,where the dark clouds caught up with them once. At the backyard ,there were tall trees around. It became dark even faster than it had done earlier on the main road. Again it also became very windy.There were dry leaves floating down in heaps around the backyard where the Cave was entirely.As can be observed twigs were snapping off hand  and then branches were hissing around the vicinity of the backyard. Also the family of Mr.Smith noticed walked around the backyard with their torch light on. As noted the family of Mr. Smith saw the tree trunks were groaning and could almost fall and crush the four children then. Also do make us rest under the iroko tree until the wind calms down,with the family of Mr. Smith. This happens to be a very big strong tree, that won"t fall possibly on the family of Mr. Smith. Again, the wind will pass to other places close to the cave, the family of Mr. Smith observed that it was always getting cold and they looked almost subdued and uncertain. Also they heard a movement and turned to see what it was. The family of Mr. Smith then witnessed a tall dark man, with a moustache , hurrying by carrying almost two calabashes across his back , hanging from his left shoulder with chisel dangling from his belt around his waist. He again stopped suddenly as he nearly ran into other children. He asked ,What is the family of Mr. Smith doing here.? The family of Mr. Smith ,then answered that,They were on their way to the Cave behind the backyard due to the fact that they experienced power outage in their family house. They politely asked ,"Who was the head of the family.? Mr. Smith was the head of the family the man you spoke to at first when you instantly met us. The distance to the cave is not all that far. The entire family came and encountered the adventures at the cave , together with a man leading them in all possibilities. Mr. Smith was also known as a good man , he was a cocoa farmer who exports to other countries for foreign exchange. Also Mr Smith never left his son and daughters to go all alone to the cave, because they were afraid of Scarecrow, Tin man, and Cowardly Lion. The Wizard of Oz ,warned them especially the kids including Mr. Smith not to be afraid of Scarecrow ,Tin man and Cowardly Lion. The Wizard of Oz, lives behind the Girls school around the neighborhood on top of the hill around a mountain. Again, by the time I came back the wind should have passed entirely. The man also turned rather surprised about what happened actually. Also the rain will not fall during the time that the family of Mr. Smith left to the Cave during the power outage. The wind was also too strong to let the clouds settle. It was observed that the wind was dispersing in the clouds yet it never rain. Later the family of Mr. Smith walked straight ahead on the pavement until they got to the Cave. At the premises of the Cave ,there was light and a generator . Also issues about power outages does not occur mostly around the Cave. Mr. Smith then realised that at the premises of the Cave,there was a resting room, mainly for accommodation purposes , together with a Cinema. The family of Mr. Smith had no better option but to find accommodation in the Cave for a days rest,until the light comes back. Again the family of Mr. Smith realised the opportunity to rest and watch movies at the cinema. Mr. Smith together with his children had to rest and watch movies with his family in the Cinema. Mr. Smith family had a good time together at the Cave because there was lights. They all ate in one Restaurant in the Cave and enjoyed watching movies with popcorn and drinks. The premises of the Cinema was Airconditioned in order to withstand the harsh and hot weather conditions of that neighborhood. Mr. Smith family enjoyed their stay in the Cave until they became tired and left the Cinema ,to rest in a bedroom in the Cave. Also in the bedroom within the Cave, family of Mr. Smith slept after watching the Television News for the day. Again ,the Wizard of Oz did not foretell or commented on the time when the light or electricity will be put on due to the power outage. The main cause for the power outage was because the family of Mr. Smith were misusing electricity. The family of Mr. Smith used to leave the television on for twenty four hours in their bedroom and the Hall whilst nobody is watching only to waste electricity. Also due to the power outage, the issue about the waste of Electricity was being controlled in order to export Electricity to other countries so that they will become wealthy with resources. Again the issue about power outage can be controlled when electricity is used wisely within the household and community. During instances ,where there was power outage ,the family of Mr. Smith never liked the issue of the black out and the calamity they encountered. However, the Electricity Corporation advised the family of Mr. Smith not to waste electricity but to rather use electricity wisely. Also the Electricity Corporation advised customers and Mr. Smiy that not using electricity wisely within a community of household could result in a continuous power outage of some sort. The family of Mr. Smith could not always solve the problem of the power outage by visiting the backyard cave to spend some time in the Cinema and bedrooms. Also the family of Mr. Smith had another option of. buying a generator for the household. This did not however solve the problem because the generator creates excessive noise to the hearing of the entire family that the kids could not withstand and even sleep soundly. Again the family of Mr. Smith employed another means of using solar energy to generate electricity for the household. Finally to stop the power outage problem the family of Mr. Smith decided to take the advice of Electricity Corporation not to waste electricity and to switch off all appliances after use. Lastly since, Mr. Smith family decided on using electricity wisely and putting off all electrical appliances after use ,the issue about the power outage was solved entirely, that enough electricity was exported to other countries for foreign exchange. The Electricity Corporation demonstrated excellence at work when electricity is used wisely and also gave the leeway for other people to testify about the wise usage of electricity. This mandate however made Mr. Smith very wealthy because the country was able to earn foreign exchange from other countries by exporting electricity.


Achilles was a hero. All of Greece would know it when he went to war against the Trojans and killed their most valued warrior, Hector, son of Priam. Prior to that, Achilles was merely a boy. A boy, favoured by Phthia's people, who played the lyre and spent time on Mount Pelion with the wise mentor Chiron, learning music and hunting. He would grow up to be a somebody. Patroclus was none of that. Unlike Achilles, Patroclus couldn't play the lyre and wasn't liked by his father's men. He only spent time with the centaur because of Achilles. He would grow up to be a nobody. So how did a somebody fall in love with a nobody? How could someone so smart, beautiful and strong fall in love with Patroclus, a poor, scraggly boy who tripped over his own two feet? And how could that nobody have fallen in love with that somebody? * * *  Patroclus stood outside Achilles’ tent. He knew Achilles wasn’t inside; he had seen the boy leave the tent a while ago and hadn’t spotted him since. Ever since Hector had taken his concubine, Briseis, he had been in a foul and irritated mood. Patroclus tried not to let that bother him. He knew Achilles cared for him. Even though Achilles had already fallen for Patroclus, the mere possibility of Achilles choosing her over him was painful. If Patroclus had been stolen, would he react the same? Patroclus shook his head to rid these thoughts. Right now, he had more pressing matters. More drastic ones.When they took Briseis, Achilles refused to fight despite the decade-long war between the Trojans and Achaeans. He was their best warrior; they would lose without him. And Patroclus wouldn’t let that happen. He hesitated before stepping inside the tent. Patroclus had been inside many times since he shared it with Achilles. But somehow, this way felt wrong. Perhaps Patroclus knew that what he was about to do wasn't exactly bad, but he didn’t think anyone would be happy if they found out. And Achilles would not approve. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. He’d have to do this. To secure them a win, he'd need Achilles back on the battlefield. They’d need Achilles. He pushed open the flap and stepped inside. The tent wasn’t small, but it wasn’t large, either. Bedrolls lay on the floor, as well as swords and other weapons. It was the armour, however, that caught Patroclus' attention. He picked it up and tried the plumed helmet on, but it slid down his face and over his eyes. Definitely Achilles’. He picked up the accompanying pieces and put them on. The metal was heavy and unfamiliar, but he tried to look confident in it. Achilles was always confident in his, after all. He’d have to look as close to Achilles as he could get. Despite Patroclus having to push up the helmet so he could see, he was glad for how large it was. That way, nobody could tell it was him and not Achilles. He made his way over to the flap and hesitated, his hand outstretched. Should he do this? It had seemed like a good idea moments ago, but now that he was ready to play the part, he wasn’t so sure. He blew out a breath. He had to do this. For Achilles. For his people. He stepped out of the tent, and a few heads swivelled his way. Patroclus just hoped Achilles wasn’t one of them. The Achaeans couldn’t remember the last time Achilles had stepped out onto the battlefield, and many wore astounded and astonished faces. Patroclus hefted Achilles’ sword and made his way to the chariot. “I will kill them all,” he said to Odysseus, who stood there readying the horses. “Every last one of them.” Odysseus turned to face him. “Achilles?” “Yes?” “You are fighting again?” His voice was suspicious, as if he suspected it was a fraud under all that shiny armour. Patroclus dipped his head in a way he hoped looked respectful. “Yes, my friend. I am returning. I will end this war.” “I do hope so,” Odysseus said. For ten years he had gone without his wife, Penelope, and his son, Telemachus. It was no secret Odysseus’ biggest wish was to return home to them. “End them all, Achilles. And curse old Zeus who has banished us here for reasons unknown to man.” “Yes, King of Ithaca.” Odysseus climbed into the chariot, and Patroclus followed. He hefted his spear in one hand. It was odd and unfamiliar. Achilles’ spear had been made for his own hands, not anyone else’s. He knew if Achilles saw him, he would be proud. Right? With a snap of the reins, Odysseus got the chariot moving to the Trojans’ camp. Many gasps met them, and a few soldiers lifted their swords, spears, or any other weapons they possessed. “Achilles?” someone in the crowd asked, and Patroclus gave a curt nod of his head. If he spoke, he would be discovered. He couldn’t let that happen. Patroclus’ plan was simple: he would arrive on the Trojan side, perhaps kill a man or two, and then retreat back to the Achaeans’ side. Everyone would think that Achilles was once again fighting, and then the war would end. Odysseus glanced at Patroclus. “Achilles?” Odysseus asked, and Patroclus nodded. “Is this smart? Why not wait till they charge at us—” “I know what I am doing, King of Ithaca,” Patroclus told him, doing his best imitation of Achilles’ strong, confident voice. Odysseus looked skeptical, but continued to drive the chariot deeper into the Trojan’s land.

What happened next took Patroclus by surprise. He knew the Trojans would be angry, and Patroclus was prepared to be lunged and stabbed at by the enemies. Similarly, If Hector had crossed into the Achaeans' land, he would have been slaughtered in a matter of moments.

Nearly the entire camp lunged at Patroclus, cursing his name into the depths of Tartarus, stabbing and shooting arrows, trying to get their hand at killing the best warrior of his age, Achilles, son of Peleus. But of course, it wasn’t Achilles under the armour. Just a stupid fraud who was pretending to be something so much more than what he really was. At last, it was too much for Patroclus to handle. He had killed a few men, but they just kept coming, their rage and hatred clear in their aggressive actions. Patroclus jumped off the moving chariot, ignoring Odysseus’ protests.

Then he ran. He didn’t care if he was ruining Achilles’ perfect reputation. He had to live. Because life, after all, was where Achilles was. He managed to make it all the way to a sheer rock. Patroclus thought about attempting to climb it, but then he thought better. He would surely fall to his demise before any of the Trojans got to him. Patroclus darted behind some foliage, hoping to conceal himself. A laugh bubbled up and escaped his lips. If Achilles could see him, what would he think? How dare he hide and run and run from a fight donning my armour? Would he be angry? Or grateful that he hadn’t yet gotten himself killed? He put a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. It was devoid of any humour. It was a laugh that people made when they knew they were about to die. A shadow loomed over him, and Patroclus looked up. Hector stood in front of him. Much like how Achilles was their best warrior, Hector was the Trojan’s. He smiled wickedly, his eyes glinting maliciously. Hector hefted his spear, and Patroclus shot to his feet, his shield and spear in hand, ready to fight. He took off his helmet and threw it aside. He couldn’t win a fight if it was obscuring his vision. Then Hector stood there, dumbfounded. Slowly, his smile faded as realization struck him. “You’re not Achilles.” “No, I’m not,” he agreed. He gripped his spear tighter, never taking his eyes off Hector. And then Hector grinned again, like he knew he would win this fight against this nobody. To him, Patroclus was easy prey. Just another man to kill. Hector lunged at him, and Patroclus narrowly dodged the point of his spear. He thrusted his own forward, but Hector easily deflected it with his shield. He laughed and lunged. This time, the spear bounced off Patroclus’ armour. But it still knocked him back a step, which Hector used to his advantage. He hit Patroclus hard on the chest with the flat of his shield. Patroclus fell, and Hector loomed over him, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re over, son of Menoetius.” And then he drove the spear into Patroclus’ chest. * * * It wasn’t being dead what bothered Patroclus. Or the fact that he would forever be in the Underworld, or even the fact that he couldn’t even go there until the ashes of his burned body were buried. He would be stuck up here, in the living world, unable to touch, to communicate. No. It was none of these. Achilles wasn’t with him. Patroclus’ spirit stood over his body, watching Hector laughing. He had killed someone, and he was laughing . He saw Achilles run over, saw him kneel next to Patroclus’ body. Patroclus placed a hand on his shoulder, but his hand passed right through. Achilles wept. It remained like that for a long time. With Achilles weeping by Patroclus’ rotting body, Hector laughing, antagonizing and taunting the boy. And then Achilles stood and drove his spear through Hector’s body. Hector fell and never moved again.

Then Achilles started to kill. He killed every Trojan he could see, and Patroclus begged for him to stop, but he couldn’t hear. Achilles couldn’t be stopped. He wouldn’t stop. And then, just like that, he did. The world stilled. Warriors lay on the ground in pools of their own blood, crying out with pain or already dead. And Achilles was among them. Paris stood by the Sun God Apollo’s side, a bow and arrow in his steady hands. There was an arrow embedded in Achilles’ heel. His only weak point. Paris grinned. He had killed the ever-famous Achilles, guided by Apollo’s hand. And Achilles didn’t even mind. In fact, he welcomed death. Because death, after all, was where Patroclus was. * * * It had been years before Patroclus and Achilles reunited once more. After Achilles had died, his body was burned and buried, and his spirit had moved into Tartarus, into the afterlife. But Patroclus’ body hadn’t been burned; it lay there to rot, and he was fated to walk the living world as a dead soul. Until Thetis. Thetis, the Nereid goddess and mother of Achilles, had come along one day, burning his body. Thetis had never liked Patroclus. Maybe she burned the body because she felt she had to respect a dead man’s wishes of being buried next to his lover, or perhaps it was because somehow, someway, she could see Patroclus and knew he was lonely and in despair. But she burned his body and buried his ashes with Achilles’. And then a warm, solid hand intertwined with his. “Patroclus,” Achilles breathed. And from that day forward, Achilles would be known as a tragic hero. END


Take the pink sponge rollers out of your hair quickly because it’s Sunday morning and everyone is already rushing toward the car to go to church. Slip the black Goody comb through your dense, hot combed, jet-black, Ultra Sheen-glazed hair and style your curls because it is important to look shiny, crisp, and coiffured at your church. When it doesn’t look good, keep combing it over and over, even when Mom is banging on the door. When you finally open it, angry because your hair is still a flat, lackluster mushroom-shape, do not give Mom any attitude when she slaps your face and pulls you out of your room by your hair, down the hall, down the steps, until you finally break free, still trying to fix your hair because you have to go to church with impressive hair. Do not look at her hatefully when you break free because she will slap you three times instead of just the two. Suck your lip to remove the blood; don’t wipe it with your finger because Mom will say you are making a production out of it. Keep a straight face and don’t look hateful in the car when she describes to your father and your four siblings how she slapped the hell out of your vain self and pulled some of your hair out for your primping in the mirror, exposing your punishment to everyone, even though it was done privately and could have stayed that way if it were discipline, not a Mom-temper tantrum. Be patient during the long ride that starts in the idyllic tree-lined street in your neighborhood, crosses into the next town, traverses the downtown, over the railroad tracks, over the drawbridge, and into the hood. Ignore the shenanigans occurring on the way to church, like your mother placing a topless ceramic mug filled to the brim with coffee, on the car’s dashboard. Do not react to your mother’s shrieking and name calling at your father when a drop of her coffee laps over the lip of the cup because he could have driven over the bumps in the road more smoothly to prevent the liquid from spilling during the 45-minute car ride, she said. Wonder again if people live in the houses that look like small square boxes with roofs, have peeling paint, crumbling steps, and tires, furniture, and mattresses strewn in the yards around the corner from Mount Zion Baptist church. Then ask your father if anyone lives in those houses, even though he never answers that question when you ask him every Sunday. When you get to church and the car is finally parked, after 10 minutes of your father searching for a parking space, be careful when you open the car door because there are expensive cars there, packed tight. Walk quickly in your semi-high, black heels and long skirt to the church because you are late again, but do not switch your hips because you do not want people to believe that you are a fast-tail girl. Go to the bathroom first to check to make sure that your hair looks fine. Do not pay attention to the sour smell in the bathroom, the cracked linoleum, or the leaking sink. Do not be upset that your hair looks puffy because the humidity got to it and it was pulled halfway around a house. Go to the basement and into the corner room where your age group is having class, and everyone is already there. In Sunday School do not laugh at Ms. Ida May when she tries to teach, even though you cannot understand what she is saying because she works her mouth and mushy words tumble out. Do not join in with the other kids who are fooling around in Ms. Ida May’s class because you don’t know how to fool around. Notice that Ms. Ida May wears her white church suit that looks like a nurse’s uniform every Sunday, looking like a walking black and white picture. Think about why Ms. Ida May has always been there and will always be there. When it is your turn to read in Sunday School, read each word correctly and in your real voice. Do not pretend to not know how to read and do not speak with a black brogue just to fit in like Tracey Hightower, who was a soft-spoken, sweet girl last year when she was new to church, but now is mean and womanish acting - walking wide-legged and and throwing her developing hips into it, rolling her eyes and popping her neck at you and your sister for no reason every Sunday. Don't be surprised when sixth, seventh, and eighth graders cannot read words like ‘the, come, thus, thee because it happens every Sunday. Try to say hello the right way to Antwon because he is always cool and confident, even if he cannot read. Do not sound stiff when you talk to cool, black, church kids. Do not feel disappointed because when Antwon nodded and said, “Sup” you blew it and said “Hello,” way too timid and proper sounding. When you line up to march into the choir stand with the youth choir and high voice Tonya gives you the dirty eye and tells you and your sister Belinda off, ignore her. Remember that you and Belinda always have each other, and you don’t need the tough, black church girls. The youth pre-teen choir gets to sing with the teen choir today, and they will sing fast, loud, hand-clapping songs. You will sing in the alto section, and so you cannot sit by Belinda because she is a soprano. You will be fine because you will get to sit by Carolyn, Lisa, and Sheila and they have never made fun of you. Do not get caught by Ms. McDonald, the choir director, talking to Carolyn, Lisa, and Sheila during church. Instead, pass notes. When the choir director starts directing the choir to move back and forth to the music, admit to yourself that you do not want to rock in rhythm with the choir, even though you can. Stand still.


Whrrrrrrr. The machine moaned as it compiled my cash to spit it out. It made a click as it stopped, then the little door slid open. I reached in to grab my money. Thumbing through it, I counted, just to make sure it was correct. My dad always taught me to do this, as he claimed he had been ripped off before. Five hundred I thought. Perfect, it was just enough to cover the rest of rent for the month. I had dropped off another five hundred dollars last week, and three hundred fifty the week before, but I had to stay on top of things every paycheck to make sure I could cover rent in the full amount. I got paid weekly, so I tried to pay in increments throughout the month. Between bills, school clothes, food and general needs of a child, rent was killing me. It whrrr'd again as it printed my receipt. My stomach groaned with anticipation and anxiety as I grabbed the ticket. Thirty-seven dollars and sixty-four cents. Heyyy! I thought. Thirty-seven dollars and sixty-four cents! It took a minute before it clicked with me. I wasn't in the red this week! I was certain I was going to overdraft my account with this withdrawal, but I had to finish paying rent this week. I had gotten into the terrible habit of only checking my account balance when I got paid, or when I pulled out rent money, and even then it was only sometimes. But, hey, I wasn't going to get overdraft fees this week, so that was great enough news for me! More than satisfied, I took the cash and crammed it into my pocket, tossed the receipt in the trash next to the ATM, and walked over to stand in line to get the money order for my landlord. I dropped the envelope with our rent money in the drop box of our complex, and drove off to go pick up Liz from school. It was only about two miles away, but it was across a highway, so the school, and I think maybe the police, wouldn't let a nine year old walk home alone. So, every day after work, I had to rush over to her school to pick her up and take her home. It was the only reason that I took the job that I have, so that I could work early enough to get off early enough to pick her up. Today, though, was a half day at school, and everyone got out at noon, so I had to take some sick time to leave early today. I didn't accrue vacation time at this job, and God knows my boss would get pissy if I tried to call out or ask for time off, so it was pretending to be sick to go home for me today. Couldn't just leave her there, and as a single father, I didn't have anyone else who could pick her up. I pulled up to the curb of the school, and all of the kids came bustling out. I looked around for Liz, and like I always do, I had a brief feeling of dread when I didn't see her right away. And, as always, there she came running out, in her pig tails and overalls, then grabbed at the back passenger door to get in. I heard a metal thunk and realized that I forgot to unlock the door, so I clicked the button and she got in. “Sorry about that, kiddo!” I half-laughed. “I gotta stop doing that, huh?” “Yeah,” she agreed, but didn't say anything else. She was usually pretty talkative, so this caught my attention. “How was school?” I asked. “Good,” she said with a bit of a down inflection. I glanced in the rear view for a second. “It doesn't sound too good.” She didn't say anything. “Did something happen?” “No,” she said, staring at the seat in front of her. “Are you sure?” I asked, a little worried. “No, Sammy just ripped a whole in my bubble popper.” She spoke like she was choking back tears. “Your bubble popper?” I asked sadly, “You mean the kitty one?” I glanced back again. The bubble popper was a fidget toy that just had you push little bubble shapes inside out, back and forth. “Yeah,” she said with a strong frown. “Awe, that was your favorite one!” I said. “Yeah,” she said as some tears started running down her scrunched-up face. My lower lip reflected her sobs. “Awe, Sweetie, it's okay. We can get you a new one, if you want?” I offered. They were like five bucks, and they kept her hands busy. Plus, she was a good kid and I hate it when she's sad. It makes me sad. “No, it's okay. I like the kitty one,” she stifled her sobs. But she still sobbed. Awe, how do I make it better? I thought. I thought maybe we could play a card game or watch some Youtube when we got home. Normally I limit her time on Youtube and save it for after homework, but I could make an exception this time. She had a bad day. “You wanna maybe watch some Aphmau when we get home?” Aphmau, (pronounced AF-MOU, like mouse), was a nearly incoherent Minecraft show that some group of adults somewhere made for kids. It had a “storyline” usually, but it never made any sense, and the voices were insufferable. But, hey, she thought it was funny, and there wasn't really anything inappropriate in it, and she loved it. So, I limit that one especially, because I can only take so much, but I did allow it. “Okay...” she answered, not very loudly. Wow, that didn't even do it. We were almost home when I had an idea. It was an idea that I usually brushed off, but I reconsidered it today. A couple of frozen yogurts would only cost us maybe fifteen dollars, max. There was one a few blocks away and Liz begged to go there often, but I usually turned it down because we just couldn't swing it. Sure, I didn't get paid again for another two days, but Hell, I was expecting to be broke today anyway. “You know what?” I said. “We have something else we gotta do before we go home, okay?” “Okay...” she didn't care. We pulled into the froyo parking lot and I parked. I looked back and she was staring out the window, longingly at the shop. “Hungry?” I asked. She lit up, but then hesitantly asked, “Where are we going?” I forced a chuckle. “Well, where do you think we're going?” I motioned my head toward the froyo shop. She bounced in her seat. “Really?!” she asked happily. Thank goodness. “ Yeah! ” I said with emphasis. “C'mon! We better get in there before the froyo melts!” I joked. She bolted out of her seat belt and through the car door as if it were one single movement. I came around and took her hand, and together we walked across the parking lot to get to the store. Well, I walked, she skipped. When we got into the store, she ran ahead of me, over to the levers that dispensed the goods. Next to the first one were the cups. “Go ahead!” I told her as she waited patiently near them. She turned and grabbed the biggest one and giggled. “Ah-ah,” I said with high eyebrows and a smile. She knew what she was doing. “Just kidding, Daddy!” she laughed and grabbed a smaller one. Not the smallest, but much better. In a joking around voice, I nodded, “Uh-huh! Sure!” I grabbed a smaller cup than hers. We made the rounds and I got two flavors; Vanilla and Strawberry Bundt Cake. Liz got a little bit from every single one. “We gotta get our money's worth, right Daddy?” she said. She was laughing, but it did give me a twinge of sadness to hear her say it. Regardless, I joked back, “That's right, Sweetie.” We walked the counter with the toppings and I let her get whatever she wanted. She got sprinkles, mini-peanut-butter cups, boba bubbles (I didn't even know what those were), and candy corn. Wait, candy corn? Why would you put candy corn on a frozen dessert? “Candy corn?” I asked. She seemed like I was questioning all of her life decisions when she answered, “ Yeah! ” She nodded her head with great exaggeration and raised eyebrows. “I love candy corn!” “Yeah, but Honey, it's gonna be rock hard by the time we sit down!” I countered. “You want me to put them back?” she asked. That kid was whitty when she wanted to be, and I gotta admit, she got me there. “I guess not,” I conceded. She smiled and continued on. “But I will be judging you,” I said in jest. “That's okay,” she said confidently. She really was her own person. I was so proud of that. We made it to the pay counter and put our cups on the scale. They charged by weight here. “Oh!” I said while it was still calculating. I started reaching into my wallet, searching. “I think...” I trailed off for a moment until I found it, “...I have a coupon!” It was for five dollars off. I checked the expiration. Still good! I handed it to the clerk. “Alrighty!” she said in a sing-song voice. “I'll make sure to get that added on for you!” She gave so much more life to her customer service than I could ever muster. “Looks like that comes out too...” she peaked over to the scale, “...ten dollars and eleven scents.” “Perfect!” I said as I pulled out my card and inserted it into the chip reader. “Sounds good to me.” It was perfect and not only that, but it was extra satisfying to know that I would have been correct in my estimate, too! It's those minor victories that get me through the day. We took our froyo with copious toppings over to a table and sat down by a window. “How is it?” I asked, knowing that she started scooping it in the moment I paid. I asked before I even saw her, and before she could answer, I saw that it was already all over her face. I smiled. “Good,” she answered, much more genuine this time. She took another bite. I laughed a bit, “I think you missed your mouth!” She giggled, and without a drop of remorse, she smeared a bit more around her lips on purpose. We both laughed. “Ew, you little stinker!” “I am a little stinker!” she announced proudly. I shook my head, smiling, and reached into my pocket. I took out my phone and pulled up Youtube. “Where did we leave off?” I showed her the screen. “Um,” she looked and pointed. “That one.” “This one?” I clicked on it. “No, that's the last one we watched. We need the next one,” she said. “Oh, which one is the next one?” I asked. I backed out of it and she pointed again, her mouth full. “Oh, okay.” I clicked. And we sat there for a little less than an hour and watched as Aphmau did some kind of episode about an under water mermaid school or something, and shared some more giggles. I wondered in the back of my head what kind of bill or streaming service didn't get paid for which left me with money still in the bank, but I pushed that thought out for now. I can figure it out tomorrow.


“How are they today?”

I cup her cheek with my hand, gently rubbing my thumb across it. I know her cheek feels warm and soft; she smiles up at me as we lay together. I move my hand to cup the back of her brunette wavy hair, cradling her beautiful head. Then run my hands through her hair. My fingers get caught slightly, so I carefully detangle it for her. I know it feels soft too, but right now I can’t feel it anymore. Not with these hands. I’m unsure how to tell her. I sigh and kiss her forehead, holding the back of her head again, trying to seal my lips into her. This I feel, her soft skin and the slight wrinkles she gets when she furrows her brows, which lets me know she’s either worried or thinking. I roll over on my back and stare at the ceiling. She cuddles into my side and rests her hand on my chest. I run my hand up and down her small arm, willing them to feel the goosebumps that spread at my touch. Still, nothing.

“They’re being stubborn today, but I think they’ve met their match with me.” I say after some time with a smile, she stares up at me, her eyes searching beyond my attempt at a joke. Behind it, to find the truth.

“Yesterday you almost burned yourself,” She remarks. The doctor mentioned I would occasionally have feelings, until I didn’t anymore. “That’s common darling, remember what the doctor said?” I ask gently, she doesn’t like doctors; ever since she lost her mother. This newest development doesn’t add any favors to them in her eyes. Again, she has to hear the words; there’s nothing we can do .

It started with a slight numbing feeling, my fingers would feel like they were undergoing a soft vibration. Like they had fallen asleep. It graduated to no feeling at all, which I only realized after sticking myself with a thumbtack and Lia having to stop me and show me it was hanging from my finger.

“You didn’t feel this?” Lia asked as she carefully pulled it out, some blood pooled out and all I could do was stare. I shake my head no, I hadn’t… What surprised me more than anything, was how quickly I had forgotten the simplest of sensations. How I had taken for granted the way a pen felt in my hand, the slight sharpness of freshly mowed grass, even snow. Though I always hated snow, right about now I wouldn’t mind it’s cold seeping into my hands as I make a snowball to throw at Lia.

What hurt the most, is I could still touch Lia, but I couldn’t feel her. You think you have all the time in the world, or that your memory won’t fail you; but you don’t and it does. In the beginning and even now, there was this sudden desperation to cut into my hands and fix whatever nerves were stealing the smallest of pleasures… “Hellooo,” Lia knocks on my forehead lightly, “Anyone in there?” I snap out of my thoughts and look down at her slender face, “Sorry love, what were you saying?” “Where’d you go?”

I shake my head and rub my eyes, this, my fingers also don’t feel, “No where, just zoned out I guess. Sorry love.” I kiss her forehead again and begin to move off the bed to stand. Lia sprawls out on the bed and tries to reach for me, I grab her hand and kiss it too. I grasp any chance to kiss her and feel her on my lips. “I have some work to do love, I need to get the final draft of the new building out.” I move toward our dresser and pick out a pair of dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt. “I thought you had finished that project.” Lia says as she sits up and lifts her arms above her head to stretch. I watch as her shirt lifts up slightly and I smile at the exposed belly button.

“Almost, just a few minor notes from Stanley on materials and measurements.”

“Will you go to the park again?” She asks sleepily as she lays back down and cuddles into my pillow. “I think so, it’s a beautiful day out.” I grab my sneakers and a pair of socks and slip them on. I look around quickly for my work bag and make sure my notes, drawings and pencils are all set. “Okay, I think I’ll take a nap. Oh! Can you bring those raspberry cookies I like from Estelle’s please?” She perks up and puts on her best puppy dog eyes. Which always works.

I laugh and nod my head yes while moving to the bed and kissing her rosy lips again, “See you soon.” On my way out of the house I first enjoy the smell of summer, fresh cut grass and a sizzling barbecue the neighbors are enjoying. The park is about a mile away, but I like a good walk. I look down at my hands as I walk, they feel like I’ve slept on them too long again. I pass couples kissing, parents running after children with ice cream dripping down their chin, dogs happily wagging their tails. Life is all around me, but now I face moments where I can no longer feel it in my grasp. Once I get to the park, I find my favorite bench that overlooks a large pond. There are beautiful roses growing, large trees that seem like they dance as a slight breeze passes through its leaves. I set my bag next to me but can’t bring myself to work. It’s weird to hold something in your hand, but not feel it. I enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face, the way its rays hit the water's surface and make it sparkle. There are ducks swimming and I wonder what that life is like.

I hear footsteps behind me and smile, an older gentleman sits down and lets out a big sigh. I notice he has a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “Beautiful day.” He remarks as he takes out bread and breaks it apart for the ducks.

“How ya doing Frank?” I ask and enjoy the way the excitement of the ducks causes ripples in the water as they flock to food. “Still alive Sam, still alive.” I smile, he always says this. I met Frank a few months ago after my diagnosis of MS, if you can guess, numbness is one of the symptoms. He had just lost his wife of forty five years and I was losing my life as I knew it. Loss was eating away at us, the way MS was eating away at me.

“How’s it today?” Frank asks causally as he looks up to the clear blue sky. “About the same,” I say, looking down at my hands, “no feeling today, just pins and needles.” “And the missus?” He glances down at my hands, they look normal he must be thinking. How looks can be deceiving.

“Good, she’s napping now,” I look over at him, worry filling my heart as I see dark circles under his eyes, “Are you sleeping, eating?”

Frank waves the question away, “You sound like Maryanne. Yes dear, I’ve been sleeping and eating. Some nights are just… harder than others.” I nod in agreement and we sit in silence for sometime. We enjoy the stillness of this moment, the way it feels like a bubble or cocoon shielding us from the life that lives beyond this park.

“Frank,” I begin to say, but stop myself. Unsure what I really mean to ask. He looks at me and waits patiently for me to continue, “I’m scared.” I finally say. Frank nods slowly, “Good, that means you have more living to do.” “I don’t know how to go through the rest of this life, when my body is betraying me. I can’t even feel Lia when I touch her.”

Frank nods again, “Maybe it’s not about you feeling her, but that she can still feel you. Sammy boy, don’t waste whatever time you have left with her; harping on what can’t be changed. What I wouldn’t give to see Maryanne again. You don’t need feeling in your hands to feel her warmth, it’s in here.” He says as he points to his heart.

For a moment, I think I can feel the sun's warmth on the back of my hands and I smile. I am still alive, and there is more living to do. Frank smiles at me and groans softly as he gets up. “Leaving already?” I ask, watching to make sure he’s okay to walk. “Yeah, I have a date,” He says and smiles at the flowers in his hands, “Lilies were her favorite.” I smile fondly at him, “Say hello for me.” He nods, “Same time tomorrow?” “Of course,” I say in return and watch as he begins to walk away, “Frank!” I call out suddenly and he turns around, the sun hits his face and I can almost see his younger self behind the graying hair and wrinkles. “Thank you, for everything.” “Thank you, Sammy boy.” He says in return before waving and heading towards the exit of the park. I sit for some more time, the park is beginning to bustle with sounds of children’s laughter and dogs barking. I stand and begin to walk toward the exit of the park too, I have to remember Lia’s cookies. I flex my hand as I pass shrubs of healthy green and roses of deep reds. I reach out and touch them, feeling slight pricks from its leaves and thorns. I think of Lia and smile, willing myself to remember the feeling of her slender frame and soft skin. I can almost feel the curves of her body, ghost-like at the tips of my fingers. There is comfort in the fact that Lia can still feel me, that I can still touch her. There is more living to do, I’m not done here yet.


\[RF\] Realistic Fiction The wake of frost, glazed over young grass, lulls the starkness of the wind into a deep slumber. It cleanses me from sleep, like cold water from the tap might've done and, the wind trickles down as goosebumps on my skin. I clamber out of bed like a koala leaving its' favourite branch, to explore - it doesn't. Removing the duvet, it peels off as though it were second skin, with reluctancy. My body heat had transferred itself over through the discourse of the night, as if all my tired thoughts had vacated from my spirit and mind to settle between the bedsheets and the mattress, as if to say "stay here".  Many things had held my hand in this way, my child self was silenced by a baby blanket; my mother. Perhaps the greenhouse I had gotten so used to, withered. I had become dependant; shy but loud, talentless but so full of dreams, as if I were a river that travelled through the hearts of others. The fish that lived in my body contained the actions of others and I lived vicariously through other peoples' 'happily ever after' tales.  Until my own inactivity caused a drought that had buried me beneath the cracks of hardened soil, now more like brick. I am forever catatonic, in the sense that my time is still - unmoving. I crawl back under my many blankets, and look through my phone. This is how I start my days, daydreaming to have the life of some stranger on an instagram feed. Longing to be the version of myself that existed in some parallel universe somewhere else, far far far away from my version of here. To be the one that took all her chances, embraced the warmth of the sun on her skin and carried the storm from seas to land within the hazel of her eyes.  I crave the 'femininity' of a flower, what about it I want exactly ...I'm not so sure anymore. Yet, I often wish to be as alluring as the Wolfe's bane, to hold your attention by plainly being me. Like the roots of a tree, this incentive grew and grew and grew until it manifested a cobweb of toxic traits; such is the desperation to be conventionally beautiful. Such a hollow yearning, yet I knew from a young age that I was not to be adorned with any such thing. I was, and still am, average in every sense of the word, and so, back then, I sought the laughter of others in my attempt to feel needed. Whether people laughed at me or with me did not matter...  And I did everything for you to learn my name, only to misspell it then, because it is foreign on your tongue. I'm one of the good ones you see, not from your idea of here. I could not be, I was never enough, I did not light up the room when I walked into it, rather I hid behind the hips of my mother. As the youngest of the family, the wolf sought me out in many ways and, in all he succeeded, I was infested by his salivation. Leaving myself to be crucified with the apple of Eden stuffed into my innards like Christmas turkey. I let myself be heard through the voice of someone new and confident. Oh! how I’d prance about the living room singing opera to humour the broken marriage of my parents, as it watched television in the living room.  I would realise later that I had always been waiting for someone else to become my magic wand. For the man who is my father to be my father, for my mother to let her young’n fly and for my sister to love me as much as I clung to her, back then. She could do no wrong despite all the wrong she did. I was waiting for you to catch the fallen egg, to whisper to me that I am special in some form. That amongst all people I was your favourite. I was waiting for someone to remember me by name. Maybe I had strayed from my path, I had wandered too far from my flock and a Phrygian snatched me from my course by its' breath. I nestled in its' stomach and the darkness swallowed me whole, until I was no more but poison to its' lungs.