Amelia, look how much you have grown. I say, as I show her the line I had just marked on the door frame. She giggled and jumped up and down. Her curly red hair bounced till it looked like an untamed mess. Her blue eyes shined brightly, as she smiled at me. Her dimples just showing through. She was only four, but some days she acted like a teenager. My Jonathan would have loved to see her grow up. But, fate wouldn’t allow it. He died in a car accident when she was only two. Her red hair had come from him.

She didn’t get my brown hair, but she did get my blue eyes. Johnathan's eyes were green. So now every time I see her with that red hair, I see him.

I shake my head to keep from tearing up. Even after two years, my heart aches. Amelia is already grabbing my hand, and wanting to go outside to play. I took her outside so she could play on our swing set. I breathe in the fresh country air. Our little white house looks peaceful with the backdrops of fields surrounding it. My husband and I bought this place when we were pregnant. This was our home, and the thought of possibly losing it, had me wringing my hands together. I watched Amelia as she picked some of the butter cups that had started to bloom. I didn’t want this moment to end, but I had much to do before running to town. Amelia, time to go in, I call. I sweep her up into a big hug before carrying her inside.

‘’Lindsey, I need some help here’’. I walk into the living room. My sister was already halfway in with a bag of groceries. What is all this, I ask Sarah. I figured while you were out, Amelia and I would make up a pot of spaghetti, her favorite. You really didn’t have to do that, I tell her. I know she explained, but I love cooking with my little sweetie. Fine, she is in her room playing. I will only be gone a few hours. I know she said, shooing me out the door. I chuckle to myself, as I hear her calling for Amelia.

I make my way to the bank and take a couple deep breaths. Money has been tight lately, and making some of the payments was getting harder and harder. Jonathan did leave some money when he passed, but not enough. Amelia needed surgery last year to remove her tonsils. Now, even with me working as a secretary, it has been hard. All I needed was a loan so I could pay off some debts, and be down to just one payment. By consolidating this way, I could keep us afloat, and back on track. I checked my make up in the mirror one more time before I headed in.

I wave at a few people I know, as I make my way to Mr. Deaton’s office. Why hello, Mrs. Bradley, please come in. Thank you, but please call me Lindsey. I wait patiently as he goes over my finances. After several minutes, he looks up, with his glasses pulled down on his nose. He runs his hand through his short brown hair. Lindsey, I know this loan would help you out quite a bit, but this is considered a risky loan. I just don’t know if the bank will be able to help you without any form of collateral. I try to keep from wringing my hands together. I understand, but the only thing I have is the house. I understand, said Mr. Deaton. But unfortunately, it is your only option. The thought of such a big gamble, made me break out in a sweat. I rub my hand over my face, and take a calming breath. I know there is no other choice. I finally agreed to use my house as the collateral for the loan. I finish signing all the papers and stand up to leave. Mr. Deaton gives me an encouraging smile, but I only half-heartedly return it. I walk down the street, just taking some time before I have to head home. I decided to stop in at Sally’s bookstore. The smell of old books always seemed to calm me. Why hello Sally, how is your day going? Mrs. Sally was a widower, who bought the store when she retired from teaching. She was in her late sixties, but I thought she could pass for late fifties. She was barely even gray headed. ‘’Oh, hello my dear.’’ My day has been kind of slow, but I'm sure I’ll be getting busy soon, she said. I nod my head absently, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Lindsey, I can tell you are a million miles away, she said. I’m sorry, I just have a lot on my mind is all. Sally gives me a long look. Are you having money issues, she asks. I’m completely dumbfounded by her directness. I stammer for a minute, then shake my head. No, of course not I try to explain. But, it sounded flat even to my own ears. Sally just shook her head. ‘’You know I love you and Amelia as if you were my own kin”. I smile at her already knowing this. I know, and we love you too. I have already talked to the bank, and everything is fine now. I could tell she didn’t really believe me. After reassuring her that everything was going to be fine, I was able to head out.

As I’m driving home, my cell rings. Hello, I answer. Yes, Mrs. Bradley, this is Mr. Deaton. I try not to let the panic show in my voice. Why would the bank be calling me so soon after I had left? I just wanted to call and let you know that everything was finalized, and the money will be in your account tomorrow. Oh, thank you Mr. Deaton for letting me know. Also, there’s one more thing he continued. I start to sweat a little at his words. Yes, I answer slowly. Are you aware that a substantial amount of money was just deposited into your account very recently. I immediately pull over on the side of the road. I was completely confused. I’m sorry, how is that possible, I ask him. It seems that an anonymous person has transferred money to your account. I try to keep my breathing from going erratic. Why would someone do that, I thought. Are you sure, it isn’t some mix up I ask. No mam, I double checked it myself. Is there any way you can tell me who it’s from, I ask. I’m afraid not, but this is great news, he explained. I thanked him and hung up. While still sitting there, I realized it had to be Sally. I quickly called her. As soon as she answered I started asking her about the money. ‘’Lindsey, slow down my dear”. I don’t know anything about any money. Are you sure, I ask. I explained to her what the bank said. Oh, she said quickly. What is it I ask? She proceeded to tell me that a young man who was in the back of the store while I was there, asked who I was. What did you tell him I asked. I talked about how you were a hard worker, with the sweetest little girl. Do you know the man’s name I asked? “I’m sorry dear, I sure don’t”. Do you think he could have been the person behind the money she asked? At this point, I’m starting to think it might be possible. I don’t know, I answer. Sally, I have to, but can you not mention any of this. Sally agreed and we hung up.

I finally calm my nerves and start heading back home. It was very possible a complete stranger would be so kind. But, in this day in age, it was hard to believe. I decided it would be best not to mention it to my sister. At least not yet. When I got home I could hear the two in the kitchen. Amelia was already asking about cookies after supper. I stop by the door frame and run my hand along the markings. Thanks to the anonymous helper, there will be many more marks to come. I smile to myself, knowing that everything is going to be, Ok.


“It has to be you.” The old man said in a harsh, subdued tone. “The King will remember you.” The meeting was held near the towns square. In the only barn that was not facing the main street. A single candle was lit, bathing the old wooden building in more shadows than light. Around the candle 5 men were crouching. The elders sat on crates so they did not have to put up the struggle of getting up from the straw covered ground again. Only Mad, the youngest men in the circle, sat there cross legged, arms folded and shaking his head. “No, no. I can’t!” his whisper as loud as a shout inside the barn. “It was ages ago! What if he gets angry at me for speaking up and throws me into the dungeon? What if they kill me right on the spot? I have a wife! I have children!” He looked at the old men, meeting everyone's eyes one after the other. A noise outside interrupted his plead for mercy. Stiff and full of fear the men did not dare to move, nor to speak. Mad held his hands above the flame, covering the low gleam of light and the room became dark again. Just as the rest of town. During these times no one was allowed to walk outside their homes in the little town called Sanitysville. People were banned from the streets, from the fields and from their taverns. Restrictions issued by the King himself forbid the townsfolk to linger, gather and meet. For their own protection and the protection of their kingdom. And like everywhere else, it was enforced by the men who has taken the Kings coin and became soldiers in his name. Through messages, baked in bread, a secret meeting between the town elders and the young man named Mad was held. The noise faded and Mad lifted his hands from the candle. The old men were all staring at him, still alarmed and half of terror. “Mad,” the eldest said. “If you don’t go, we will all die. Food is already low, almost empty. If folks don’t work there is nothing left. If folks don’t work there is no coin left to buy from the market in Halfswitsville. If people don’t get out of their houses soon, men will start beating their wives, wives will start killing their husbands and everyone else is just going loony. “Mad,” the old man was almost inaudible now. His defeated look only intensified in the flickering of the candle, “if you don’t go and convince the King to lift the Lockdown, we all will die. Your children, your wife and all other folk. The town needs you Mad.” The Lockdown was harsh and forced upon the whole Kingdom. The fields stood empty. The markets were closed and neither traders nor tinkers could be found on the roads. The only people allowed outside were the Kings soldiers and one representative from each town, who had to be chosen in advance, sent 10 days into solitary confinement and then travel along with the soldiers to the castle. There he was allowed 5 minutes of the Kings time. In the end Mad agreed to the elders proposal and went into the quarantine soldiers had set up just out of town. It was not more than a shed. Without a bed, a table and a chair. There was no window and the only light piercing through, were by cracks in the uneven wood. Twice a day he was given food, cold stew and stale bread. At first his stomach revolted yet settled after realizing that bad food was still better than none. He spent his time sitting in the corner opposite his bucket to shit into. With closed eyes he listened to the sounds of nature and low murmur of the soldiers passing by. He thought about his family and friends, wondering if he would ever see them again. In the nights he dreamed of the times they drank in the tavern. He would wake with the lingering taste of ale and wine on his tongue and smiled. These were good times. He missed the conversations with his wife and the jokes he used to trade with his neighbors. But here in quarantine Mad was not allowed to speak. Not a single word could be talked for the soldiers had the order to kill him without a warning nor a trial if he did. When they finally let him out he was weak of not having moved. He stank of not having washed and was desperate for human interaction. Even with the soldiers, whom he thought by now as prison guards. They were grim looking young men. By the way they talked, Mad guessed, they haven’t had any education. Yet they enjoyed their role and the power inherited by it. After a hard day of walking through the woods and over the plain land of the kingdom they arrived at the castle. “The guards inside take over, they will.” One of the soldiers he traveled with said. “If you come back, other guards take you back home, they will.” What did he mean with that? Did it often happen, that spokesman not return to their homes? Mad did not dare to speak up and ask. He did not even knew when he was allowed to speak at all. It was the first time that Mad entered the castle of the King. He followed the guards who led him inside and gazed around, fascinated and overwhelmed by the monumental size of everything he saw. The bare stone walls stood three man tall. From the ceiling hung chandeliers, its diameter larger than his outstretched arms. The floor was smooth, made of slabs large as men and maybe four times the weight. Inside the hall, where the King received the spokesmen of towns, red carpet covered the path to walk. It felt soft under Mads feet, as if walking barefoot on grass. The King sat on his high chair in the middle of the room, elevated from the rest of the hall. He was a man of middle age and round features. His beard was as black and bushy as a dogs fur. Yet he did not look bitter or mean. Mad had the feeling that is was worry that engulfed his features. To his left sat the Queen. Half asleep in her seat, bored and restless from the ordeals of being the first lady. To the Kings right sat Paranoos – his adviser. Rumor in town was, that it was his word the King followed and led him to the decision to forbid the interaction between folk. Mad just stood there, motionless. His eyes averted, looking at a particularly bleak spot on the floor. He did not know about the rules or how to behave, but not addressing the King before being ask sounded to him like a good start to survive this lunacy. “Speak, townsman.” The voice that rolled through the hall was dark and commanding. The King himself had spoken. “Your majesty,” Mad said, bending the knee and avoiding eye contact. “I...I am your humble servant.” “So you say, boy.” Mad could hear a question out of the Kings voice, but he didn’t dare to react. “What is the matter of you coming here?” “I...We...My...” Mad stammered without saying anything, then caught himself, “The elders of my town, Sanityville, your majesty, they sent me. I...they...we...we ask to be released.” With his eyes staring holes into the ground, he could not see the reaction of the King nor his wife or adviser. Yet, the following silence was enough to let his whole body shiver. He said the wrong thing. He was sure of it. “Tell me boy,” the Kings voice heated, “why would I end the Lockdown? Why would I end the only thing that keeps me safe? Keeps you save? Keeps us all save?” Mad didn’t know how to answer. Mad didn’t know what the King was talking about. Why would they be safe by not being allowed to leave their homes? But this wasn’t the time to be the ignorant farmer. He knew he only had this chance to speak up to the king and save his town from poverty and the upcoming starvation. “Your majesty, my King,” Mad said, “you always have been a benevolent ruler.” Mad risked a glance at the Kings face. He was still impassive and looked angry. “You cut the taxes when harvest was bad. You sent soldiers when bandits were looming the country. You build churches for the God fearing folk and offer the coin for men who wants to join the ranks of your army. “We, the town of Sanityville thank you for all that, your majesty.” The King seemed pleased with what he heard. He leaned back in his enormous chair and motioned Mad to continue. “My King, your folk is dying.” Mad said. “For months now the markets are closed. People can’t go to work and produce the goods which pays their food. The farmers cannot harvest their fields. Men go mad with wife and children at home, my King. Folks are not being made for staying in a cage. We need to be free! We need to go out and see! We need the taverns back! We need the brothels back!” “All you want is the Crown of the King!” Paranoos, the adviser shouted. “You want to spread the disease for the Crown and kill your King! You peasants, filthy and uneducated are not realizing that your majesty is saving your life and that of your townsfolk! And how do you thank him? With betrayal and threats?” Paranoos pointed a finger to the guard standing next to Mad. “Soldier, arrest this fool and hang him for treachery!” “HOLD!” the King boomed and stood up from his chair facing down on his adviser. “I am the King. I decide whom to hang!” Paranoos slouched in his seat and nodded dutiful. The King turned back to Mad. “What is your name, boy?” “Ma...ma...my name is Mad, your majesty.” “Mad...hmm...” The King mused. “Are you the one who saved my son from the boar?” The Queen asked, suddenly awoken from her daze. “I am, my Queen.” Mad sad, with a slow bow of his head. “Stand up.” The King commanded. He looked Mad over as if seeing him for the first time. “Why do you risk the talk of treachery, when you once have been bathed in the grace of your King?” “It is not my intend to betray my King. Nor have I intend for the Crown.” Mad looked at the Kings adviser with a frown. “I am merely telling your majesty what is going on in your countryside.” “You say you are not carrying the disease that is spreading through my kingdom?” The King asked. “I am not aware of having any disease, my King. I am healthy as I have ever been. So is the townsfolk.” “My adviser tells me, that the townsfolk in my kingdom is spreading the disease of the Crown. Are you suggesting that Paranoos is lying?” “No, no, my King!” Mad folded his hands and started praying under his breath. “But...how can I know of any disease? I am not a physician. But neither are your soldiers. And I don’t recall people have been treated by physicians in the past, my King.” Despite his trembling body and the sweat forming under his hair Mad’s blood froze under the King’s stern look. He thought about his children, watching them grow up. His wife who bloomed during pregnancy and always smiled when he got home from a hard day in the fields. The times were never easy, but they were better. Life was better. Without turning away from Mad the King said: “Paranoos, explain to him the disease for the Crown.” The adviser stood up and walked over to Mad, regaining his posture and sense of status. Looking down at Mad he spoke: “The lower folks, such as you, are infected. Infected with a disease that spread through the minds of the uneducated. It is contagious, a virus that have its seeds in the heads,” he tapped his temple with the index finger,, “and grows from there. Like a spark lighting fire it grows and consumes. Until there is not enough space left in those exhausted minds it stretches and reaches out for other minds. And when all and everyone are infected-” Paranoos left the sentence unfinished and just mimicked the outcome with his hands. “That is, when you start for the Crown.” Mad looked confused between Paranoos and the King. “I...I don’t understand. What spreads between the people? Is it like the pollen of flowers and trees? Or spores from the mushrooms?” “Ideas!” the King bellowerd. “Ideas are spreading between you and your fellow citizens. Ideas to take over my Crown!” Was that was it was all about? The King in his High Castle is afraid of being overturned by farmers? The simple thought of him sitting on the thrown and ruling the country was amusing and he fought the urge to start laughing. “My King, it is not my place to question your decision nor your the choice of advisers.” Mad avoided eye contact as he said it. But he knew he had to say something. The whole situation was beyond himself, but he was here and the only one who could save his town, his friends and family. “When I grew up, your grace, I was taught the laws to obey. I knew from when I was at young age that caught stealing you may loose your hand. Evading taxes may cost your freedom and that taking a life in anger or revenge is punished by death. I accept these rules, for they are wise. And not only me, but all of your kingdom benefits from it.” The King nodded in agreement and motioned Mad to go on. “I lend you the strength of my body and work to feed my family and pay your taxes. The artist lends you his creativity to fill your ears with music and view with art. The soldier lends you his life for fighting under your command. “The mind however, with all due respect my King, is not yours to command.” The silence that followed was danger lingering in the air. Like dark clouds forming to become thunderstorm. Lightning about to strike. The Kings face was a fury of emotions. How could a peasant of his dare to speak to him like that? He took a deep breath to let out his anger. But before he could speak, his wife the Queen interrupted. “Let him speak, my King. I want to know what more he has to say. After all, if the disease is only contagious among the uneducated, we have nothing to fear, have we?” Outraged Paranoos spoke up: “My King, we cannot allow this to happen! The mind of this boy is already corrupted and will--” “Silence!” The King boomed. “My wife has spoken and I honor her wishes.” With squinted eyes he said to Mad: “Continue.” Mad swallowed hard and tried to bring his breath back under control. After a few seconds he continued. “The minds of men are not to fear my grace. We are simple men, with simple needs and simple ambitions. We have neither aim nor intention to claim the crown of yours – and never had. To me, it looks like harder work than tending the fields, your grace. No offense.” “None taken.” The King said with the hint of a smirk. “Caging a man for wrongdoing is the right thing to do, but imprisoning the mind is worse than death. Men are made to be outside in the nature. Men are made to interact with men. We are connected, one to another. Ideas are meant to enlarge our society in wealth and purpose my grace. Ideas are the small steps humankind takes to become better, to improve and progress. Without ideas my grace, roads could not have been build. Without ideas, weapons could not have been built. Without ideas, food could not have been grown for all of us. “Ideas are spreading like wildfire, I agree. But it is not burning the thoughts of people and leaving ashes and a barren mind behind, unable to grow anything after. Ideas are the fertile ground of imagination. And without imagination even a fairytale story are just words strung together.” Mad looked his King in the eyes. “Is your grace really afraid of the ideas of simple men just like me, or put an educated mind this idea in your head?” The Queen stood up from the slumber position of her seat and walked over to Mad. She took both his hands in hers and leaned closer to whisper something in his ear. With the grace of a woman who is accustomed to power she then brushed by her husband and gave him a look, without saying a word. There was no need for talking anymore. It was said enough. The King nodded to his personal guard and gave him permission to act, like a performance studied and rehearsed a thousand times. As the King and his Queen sat back on their chairs, a man was taken in custody and never seen again. Later it was said, that the root of an idea lit himself on fire.


Somewhere under Tim's floppy brown hair, behind his liquid pale blue eyes, buried deep inside his cavernous gut, two words remained submerged under a lifetime of wrong turns and inevitable misfortunes. He could see them in his mind, feel them hanging on the tip of his tongue; he could use them as a whisper when he nuzzled his face into Carlie, the brown dachshund that seemed to be the only living mammal that understood him; he could feel them like a silent warmth crawling up his spine. But saying them aloud to Maureen? Fuck no. Saying 'thank you' wasn't an option. Maybe if they were back in that tiny apartment on Hereford Avenue, where their mother would cook runny eggs while smoking Marlboro Lights and their Dad would saunter in wearing his blue rumpled uniform smelling like gasoline, Jim Beam and Molly Lynch's perfume, he could find a way. Molly lived three floors above the O'Connell family, which would explain why neighbors wondered why Mickey was heading down in the elevator several times a week. But never on Sunday. On the seventh day, Tim would clip on his little red and blue striped tie, Maureen would lace up her frilly pink dress, their Dad would comb his hair straight back, and Eileen, well, on Sundays, she smelled like cigarettes and Jim Beam, and everyone at St. Ignatius got a whiff as she received Communion. As mom and daughter received Communion. The O'Connell men left as spectators at the pew. Tim couldn't remember a time when Maureen wasn't leading the way, her brown pigtails bouncing ahead of him as she marched through life with unshakeable confidence. Two years younger, yet she'd always been the one to grab his hand when crossing the street, or to speak up when the lunch lady short-changed him, or to stand between him and their father's bourbon-fueled rages. Tim wanted to be the Big Brother, the prodigal son guiding his family out from the shadows. But he couldn't. Not really. Not the way she could. By the time Maureen was ten, she was balancing their mother's checkbook. At twelve, she was negotiating with bill collectors. At fourteen, she had broken many hearts, including Joe Flaherty's, Tim's best friend. And then there was the internship she turned into a VP role at the bank. It grated on him, this relentless competence. Each of Maureen's successes felt like a personal affront, small attacks, reminders that Tim was born under an unlucky star. He was supposed to be the protector, the one with all the answers. Instead, he was perpetually stumbling in his little sister's wake, struggling to keep up with her effortless stride through life. And now, at thirty-seven, with Maureen yet again coming to his rescue—this time with a spare room in her sleek downtown apartment after his latest job loss—Tim felt that familiar resentment bubbling up. It mixed toxically with the grudging gratitude he couldn't bring himself to voice, creating a cocktail of emotions that threatened to choke him every time he looked at her. How do you thank someone for saving your life when you resent them for having to do it in the first place? Their recent routine found Tim in the kitchen, stitching together some protein and starch; the least he could do was get dinner together before Maureen arrived home from work. As he cut the potatoes and browned the ground beef, he couldn't help but chuckle--he was only a head of cabbage away from recreating a staple from their childhood. Paper plates set on the table. Lids on the pots to keep the food warm. Pitcher of water filled to the brim.

Tim put on the TV and waited for his sister to arrive. An episode and a half of Six Feet Under later, and still no Maureen. Hungry and annoyed, Tim made a lukewarm plate and retreated back to the couch. It was unlike her not to be in touch over the past few weeks, even on the nights she was clearly overworked and underwhelmed with her job. Did she tell him about some forced corporate dinner that he forgot about? Maybe a hair appointment or something? He had noticed the wings of her wispy hair turning gray. Tim passed out and dreamed his usual dream. The one where a man with big muscular arms was attacking his dad. It was always an unprovoked attack, and it always ended the same way: Tim's tiny fists feeling like flea bites on the back of the man who wished ill will on his dad. Or sometimes, the stab of a knife or shot from a gun is laughed off by the unknown assailant. Maureen was there, always. But she would be going about her business, oblivious to the ruckus the O'Connell men were embroiled in. It was 2:43am when the cell phone woke him. The hospital said something about an accident. Next thing Tim knew, he was standing in the waiting room at Bingham General clutching a paper cup filled with cold coffee.

A doctor approaches wearing a grave expression, explaining that Maureen has been in a serious car accident. She's in rough shape but expected to recover fully. The gravity of it all crashes down on Tim. He internally commits to be there for it all. Cooking dinners, doing the laundry, driving Maureen to physical therapy, whatever she needs, he will do. Using actions instead of words to solve problems has always been the O'Connell way. But when Tim enters Maureen's hospital room and sees her lying there full of tubes; dried blood in her ponytail; a small, crooked apologetic smile on her face, he loses all control. It's not a sob, it's a hysterical cry, his body convulsing under the weight of decades of missed expectations. Yet he's grateful. So grateful. Maureen is alive. And the realization is piercing. Maureen is the one who kept him alive. He steadies his legs as he approaches the bed and sits on a small stool. Gently grabbing her cold, fragile hand, Tim says: "Thank you. For everything. You saved me." Her hand tightens around his as tears stream down her cheeks.


March 2021- The MC just finished summarizing the operation, calling it "The most successful infantry op of the 21st century" I'm the only man in the ballroom not wearing the Army Service Uniform. It's a small gathering, just a platoon, a small platoon of thrity men or so. The only reason why I was here is because of my job. I'm the MI liason for the CIA, providing key information to SF and Infantry units. I provided the information on this op, and I know now that I'll live to forget it. There was a silence, then a young corporal stood up and spoke. "To Lieutenant Morton! For his leadership got the job done, and kept us alive! To John!" The audience followed suit. "To John!" I raised my glass half-heartedly, knowing that I have ruined that man's life forever. The festivities began, and I stood up. I walked towards the officer's table. He was surrounded by his family, and the family of his late Platoon Sergeant. It's been almost fifteen years since I've seen John. He was my best friend through Junior high and high school years. I haven't spoken with him since we left for college. I got medically declined my third year of ROTC in college. He was commissioned top of his class at West Point, class of 2019. So I got a job at the CIA, serving and working as close to the army as I could, working as a mission spook. In a way, we were doing the same job, except I made two hundred thousand dollars a year versus his fifty-three. I tapped his shoulder. "John? John Morton?" I asked in confirmation of his name. "Yes" He replied. John didn't look like he was in his twenties at all. He had a long, jagged scar across his face, and mutliple pale patches of skin on his right hand, making the skin grafts noticable. His left hand, there was no left hand. A metal plastic prosthetic replaced his missing flesh. "Who are you?" He asked, looking at my face intently, like I looked familiar. "I'm Matthew Magee, the spook." Smiling afterwards. John excused himself from the table and walked with me to an empty table. "Matt! Damn! It's been years since we've talked. What's going on?" The man who had once been my best friend in school at been shot at, blasted at, and gave his right hand for his country, yet he was still lively and friendly as he was in school. My eyes watered as we talked about our lives. The family, the army life, spook life, and eventually the mission that we had just taken part of. There was a brief pause in the conversation. He then spoke. "Thanks for the info you gave us. You got most of us out of there alive--" A tear rolled down my eye. He stopped talking and asked me what was wrong. I pointed to his prosthetic. I blinked back my tears and cleared my throat. "John, the mines...." I paused. "I knew about them. I tried to tell your Platoon Sergeant, but I was cut off by radio security procedures. Then the mines went off." He put his left hand on my shoulder. He and shared tears that only combat veterans can share. Serving the country, the guilt of alternative service.


We did a Secret Santa Story Exchange on Discord, and these were the constraints given to me by u/Ragnulfr. I had a lot of fun writing this and hope you all enjoy it! Constraints: Includes: 1) A Kind Demon 2) Chamomile Tea 3) Teddy Bear 4) Fantasy 5) Realistic Fiction 6) Wholesome (!) Now, onto the story: Choron scratched the back of his neck, yawning, and waited for his tea to steep. Electric kettles… what lovely things they were, such ingenious human creations. He pulled a cup from the cupboard, cleaning it with a little snap of his fingers when he felt a tug in the middle of his chest. *Summoning.* Choron wasn’t an eight-hundred-year-old demon for nothing. He didn’t panic. He merely placed the tea back on the counter and let out a long string of expletives. *Wait, isn’t it Christmas-time?* A grin spread across his face. The tug grew insistent, and Choron cackled. “If it’s another human teenager around a damned Ouija board, I will eviscerate the lot of them, but not before I have some fun.” He organized his face into a scowl and allowed the tug to pull him to his summoner in a flash of light. Landing in the middle of the circle, he manifested sharp, gigantic antlers, hoofed feet, and a red-nose. By the time his vision cleared, he huffed a breath turned to run the fool through with the antlers— There, in the corner of the room, sat a quivering ball of human child, legs pulled to her chest, arms covering head, face buried into a plush teddy bear resting on her knees. Gut-wrenching sobs echoed through the room and Choron straightened and allowed the deadly features to soften—the antlers lost their sharp edge, the red on the nose turned lighter. Even he wasn’t a monster who would raise a hand against a human child, especially one that looked too young to have performed the summoning. Wails and sobs echoed through the room and Choron looked around baffled for a moment. He watched the human child as she tried to console herself, deliberately stifling her sobs and tried to wipe away the tears in her eyes with the back of her palms. Leaving the child for the moment, he looked around the room, senses expanded—beige room, some kind of basement. There had been more humans there, all relatively young—teenagers, and here was the kicker, he hated human teenagers, who’s only goal was to irritate him with summonings on dares as though he were a dog. None of the children were here now, only the small child struggling to compose herself. They’d fled leaving one of their own in peril. What if he had been one of the crueler ones? He tried to take a step towards the child and a small pulse of lightning pulsed through him, inhibiting him from moving out. Runes, he noted as he breathed through the pain. The teenage brats were thorough teenage brats, he thought sourly. The sounds of crying had stopped for now. She lifted her head and watched him curiously with a tilted head. Slowly getting to her knees, she crawled to the edge of the circle, dragging the teddy behind, and plopped down on her behind and stared up at him, craning her neck at an angle that would surely hurt her later. Lowering himself to the ground, he wished he were home, getting ready to sleep, sipping on his tea, reading some ridiculous new book. The girl continued staring at him. “Are you hurt?” she asked, a finger slowly making its way to her mouth. He grimaced. “No, child. I’m not,” he replied. “You look like Rudolph. Are you really a demon?” she asked, seriously. "I am.” He grinned. The child grinned back. “My sister and her friends were meanies. You seem nice.” At those last words, her eyes welled up and she looked ready to burst into another set of sobs. “Now, now, don’t go crying again. Your sister and her friends were indeed mean, but there’s no need to cry about it. You can definitely get back at them later.” “I don’t want to be mean like them,” the words were almost a whine, and Choron sighed. Curse children and their stubborn kindness. No wonder they were so hard to corrupt, not that he would ever corrupt a child. “That’s okay, too,” he said, stretching his back and shaking out his fur. The child giggled. “Can you go back to wherever you came from? My mommy will be home soon.” “I can’t, little luv. The circle prevents me from leaving.” “Oh,” she whispered, dejected. “Should I break the circle?” “No!” The girl jumped at his exclamation, and he continued with a gentler tone, “breaking the circle would be bad for you and your sister.” “So, how do you go back home?” He glanced around the room and found no traces of a spell book. He sighed. They would have to do this the old-fashioned way; he was once again glad to be stuck with a child and not with grubby adults who wanted things. “You just have to say, go away, Choron, I don’t want you here, and that you’ll forget this ever happened when you wake up tomorrow.” “Will that be all? You’ll go away if I say that?” There were those curious eyes again. He nodded. She contemplated this with a frown. “Are all demons as friendly as you, Mr. Choron?” “No, luv. Some are just as scary as portrayed in the stories,” he replied with a slight smile. “I’m glad it’s you then. I’m gonna say the words now,” she took a deep breath and continued, “I hope you go home now, Mr. Choron. I don’t want you here. When I wake up, I’ll forget you and that this happened. Bye, Mr. Choron!” The words released his tethers to the mortal world as he knew they would. Choron vanished in a flash of white light, with a beaming smile and a ‘farewell, little one’, and gifting her with a mark of protection. When he opened his eyes, he was in the kitchen in his usual form and saw the oversteeped tea. He sighed as he took out some chamomile leaves and set to boil water again.


There is a room in the north-east corner of my friend's house. Whenever I go their house Firoz don't allow me to enter the room. I asked Firoz, "what is there inside the room? Why don't you allow me?"Firoz don't reply. And I am interested to go the room but what to do. Then I stop asking.

   Oh let's give our introduction to the readers. I am Sabana and Firoz is my childhood friend. We are in college now. We both are in the language department. He comes my house frequently. Let's come to the story. Last Sunday, I went to Firoz's house. I knocked the door and Firoz's mom opened the door. I asked," Aunty where is Firoz?" Aunty replied, "he has gone to my daughter's place. Didn't he inform you?" "No aunty," I said. Aunty told me to stay there that night. Uncle were out of town and suddenly Firoz has to go his sister's place . I murmured, "let's discover the secret tonight." I called my mom and told all about. Mom always supports me.

    Having dinner, I go to Firoz's room so that I can visit the north-east corner. I said , "Aunty my exam's days are coming, if I stay Firoz's room, I can study." And aunty agreed. I am going to discover the secret tonight . Oh, I am so excited. I am awaking in Firoz's room and planning for today's operation. When I think that aunty may be slept thought it is tough to say, she is in another room. I open my room's door slowly like a thief. I go to north - east corner and enter the room. The room was well designed and decorated with balloons. "Does Firoz love balloons? Don't know but I love ballons" . I am looking at the whole room. One suspicious thing was there in the table. I go near and take the thing. It was covered. I open it's cover and see a photograph of mine and Firoz. I just shock. I observe it and see there is written "diary, 2012" behind the photograph. I never know Firoz writes diary. Now I have to find the diary. I start observing the table. There is a drawer, the diary may be there inside the drawer. I open the drawer and find out the diary, 2012. Now let's read the diary.

1st page

  "Today was my first day at the college. I saw college girl, may be first year. She wore a borkha. I saw her eyes. Her deep black eyes attracted me. I fall in love when I saw her. But I didn't get any chance to talk with her. My friends called me and had to pay attention. She vanished in a while. It was like a dream." 2nd page   " Today is my second day at my college. I searched that "borkha girl" in college campus, other departments. But I couldn't find her. Finally I entered my department. What I saw, I couldn't believe in my eyes. That girl in my department! I feel swear on my body. Nervously I took a seat. Our professors has came and took classes one by one. At the end of all classes our senior come to our department and started taking introduction. All my classmates were giving introduction one by one. They asked that "borkha girl" to give her introduction. "I am Sabana Parveen, I have....." She said with a lovely voice." I felt, this voice is known to me. But who is she? Can't remember. Today I tried to talk but couldn't. Her eyes just pulling me near to her. In in deep black eyes anyone can immerses."

   3rd page    " Today our college was off. I was thinking of Sabana. My school friend Abhishekh called me and told me to visit at football ground. My friends had arranged a reunion of school friends. I had not visit the please since two mounth. I reached there. Sabana was there. How she were there? Was she one of our school friends? I found it as an opportunity. I wen to her and succeed in talking to her. I come to know that Sabana was there in my school before 4 years. Then she has to go out of town due to his father's posting. And this year she come back along with her mother to complete her graduation. She could complete her graduation from other college, but her father also complete his college from this college. So she wished to graduate from this college. Today I get my answered why her voice... 4 years ego we were in same school. Even we together completed our primary schooling. Oh! what a lucky I am."   4th page

 " Today I rode my motorcycle to my college. I attended first two classes and asked Sabana to go for a bike riding. She and I now friends as were before. So we enjoyed the day. We enjoyed 'panipuri', 'ice-cream'. Today I saw her whole face. She is looks like an angel. Her killer pinks lips and deep eyes... " 5th page

  " Today I saw her talking with another guy. I couldn't tolerate it. If he make any relationship with Sabana. No no,it can't be happen. I have to confess that I love her. What will be her answer let's see." 6th page  " I started to took her at my home. And never allow her to come into this room. It must be wonder to her. But when I couldn't tell her face to face. Let's grow her interest to know about the room, why I don't allow her? And one day I will give her a chance to discover the truth." 7th page

  " I don't write daily. When I feel to, I write. I love you Sabana.. I love you Sabana.. I love you Sabana.. I love you.. I love you. I know today you are at my house and in the north - east corner room . And now you are reading my diary. So if you feel the same then give me any sign. The day after tomorrow I will be there. You know we couldn't marry now, our college has not yet completed. I want to be with you Sabana, love you "  Now I have read all the pages and you readers too. I come back to Firoz's room and trying to sleep. How I give him a sign." How idiot Firoz is! he can't even propose a girl. Let's come him back. I will show him". I wake up by 10 am. What I discovered last night! I break fast and come back to my home.

After two days , I am going to college. Today's weather is seems more romantic. And today I have to face Firoz, the idiot . I reached at college by 11 am. Firoz was there in the department but we didn't talk. After classes I looked for Firoz but he was not there in the college campus. Then I go to Firoz's house. Firoz was not in his room. Then I go to the north - east corner. The door was closed. I knocked the door. Few seconds later he opens the door."I love you idiot" I confessed and hugged him . He kissed in my forehead and touches my lips. I can feel his warm breathing. I close my eyes and he kissed in my lips. Then we hugg each other for few minutes. Then I say,  "why can't you propose me? Idiot. "  "Sabana, my Darling, why a girl always expect that a boy will Always propose first? Can't a girl propose first? Have they no courage? " so Mr. Firoz does Aunty know all about it?

"What you think Sabana…? And you readers?"


Nathan Wassum and I have been dating for 7 years now. We're what you'd call high school sweethearts. Ever since we met I knew he was the one. Since we've both graduated college I think it's finally time we... you know (saying it is a little embarrassing). I spent so long figuring out the best way to ask, the best place, the best ring, the best material. I know it's not conventional for a woman to propose to a man, but come on, it's 2020, who's conventional anymore?

Anyway, I finally settled on throwing a cookie exchange party and inviting all of our friends. None of them have any idea what I have planned! It’s going to be the most magical moment of my life. Sure, Nathan has his flaws, but who doesn’t? Plus, in the words of my mother, “do it while you’re still young, or you’ll miss your chance". It was a tradition in my household. I want my moment to be perfect. I decided that separate to my plate of home-made cookies, that I would make another batch, making sure that it turned out perfectly, just for Nathan. To make him feel special you know?

It was a half an hour before the party and I’m sitting in my living room waiting anxiously for my love and my friends to show. Not even 20 minutes later, they started to stream through the door, one by one. Nathan was the last one in as punctuality was never really his strong suit. He looked at me lovingly as he hung up his coat, he always ramped up the theatrics around others. He gave me a sweet kiss and thanked me for setting this all up. My best friend David shot me a look. Then he said exactly what I knew he would. “Ew. If you two were planning on being all cute the whole time this should’ve been a couple’s cookie date.”

I laughed. “Davie you act like you aren’t like this with Mark around all of us.” He sighed. “Yeah you’re right… And I would be right now if he wasn’t away in Barbados. Ugh businessmen. Hate to love 'em.” He slouched back in his chair, daydreaming about his husband.

There was a long moment of silence as we all looked at David with jealousy. His relationship with Mark is the definition of true love and there wasn’t a single member of our group who wasn’t at least a little envious of their love, even those of us in relationships of our own.

Lina stood up with force, jingling the bells entangled into her hair. Definitely the most jolly-merry person in the entire world with the exception of Santa himself. “OK. Enough relationship stuff. It’s Christmas! And this is a cookie party, not a Saturday girl’s night out! Let’s bust out the cider and stuff ourselves with cookies!” We let out a unanimous amen, and the party has begun. We all set our home-made cookies on the table, set up the other snacks I pressed play on my Christmas music playlist, and pulled out the card and board games. Throughout the night we played dozens of rounds of Pick-Up Sticks, Poker, Black Jack, and other games, while happily eating everyone’s cookies. Nathan kept losing, which he didn’t like very much. He’s the biggest sore loser I’ve ever met but it really brings out his competitive fire. “You know what? I’m tired of playing. I’m done. Let’s watch a movie or something. This blows.” His cheeks were red with frustration. “Not so good at being a good loser huh? Loser. Hahaha!” David giggled.

“Oh shut up!” said Nathan, obviously irritated. I decided that was my cue to deescalate the situation. “Come on Davie don’t make fun of the man, he gets really invested in these games.” I turned over to Nathan making sure to smile. “Hey baby, it’s ok. You can’t win all the time.” I addressed the group next. “OK. I’m gonna go get some food while you guys choose a movie to watch. Anyone want anything?” “Oh yes! Can you get me some more cider please?” Said Lina. “Ummmm I guess I could always have more chips, OH! You’ve GOT to make some popcorn while you’re at it!” David winked.

“Ahaha you’re right-” I turned to my boyfriend, “And anything for you?”

He looked at me. “Five cookies.” He said grumpily. I sighed and headed to the kitchen. Finally I had some alone time to go over my plan. While I gathered the snacks the group asked for, I snuck upstairs into my room where I was hiding my surprise. I had to be extra sneaky, I didn’t want to spoil my magical moment. I came back downstairs and made sure the arrangement on the tray was perfect. Making sure there was enough popcorn for all four of us, making sure there were enough chips in the bag, that the cider was warm but not tongue burningly hot, and making sure that the five cookies were the best and the most special ones. No matter what this was going to be my perfect, magical moment. Down to the smallest details. I brought out the snack tray, set it on the floor in front of where the group was watching Christmas Carol , definitely Nathan’s choice, seeing as it is his favorite Christmas movie of all time. Everyone mumbled a thank you, obviously invested in the story. I watched Nathan take a bite of the perfect cookie and I knew it was time for my moment. I paused the movie. “Guys? I have something to say.” “Ugh don’t say you don’t like this movie. It took us ages to settle on one” David said. He looked at me as though the movie selection had destroyed his mental energy. “Your little hubby over there wouldn’t agree on any of our suggestions” He rolled his eyes and Nathan looked at him tiredly. I spoke up. “Um speaking of hubby… Nathan, I have something I’d like to ask you” I stood up and he followed my lead. I took a huge deep breath. In and out. I could do this. I could ask. I was about to make this the most magical moment. “Nathan, we’ve been dating since junior year of high school, and although we’ve had our ups and downs, although we’ve had plenty of fights and disagreements, we always pulled through in the end. I couldn’t imagine being in any other relationship” It seemed like Lina had caught onto what was happening. Her face had suddenly lit up and she looked like she was about to explode. “Nathan Wassum,” I knelt down. “Will you make me the happiest girl in the world and-”  I didn’t even get to finish. Nathan grabbed my shoulders, pulled me up to my feet and kissed me. He looked me straight in the face and said “Yes.” Lina screamed with excitement. I was completely speechless. My magical moment. It happened. My mother would’ve been proud.

After a quick round of congratulations and a cup of cider to celebrate, we finished watching the movie. After everyone had left, I started cleaning up. When I brought all the dirty dishes to the kitchen, I looked over at the plate of special cookies I made just for my love. My now fiancé. I smiled at them, thanking them for being the excuse to gather everyone here. I went to sleep that night, satisfied with how the day had gone. Moving forward, I would get to reap the joys from my magical moment.

**** It’s been 8 days since the party. I woke up this morning excited to start the day with a nice cup of coffee and the morning news. I sat down on my couch and turned on the TV. “ Welcome to New York Morning News. Today is Monday, December 28th, 2020, and it is chilly outside at 46 degrees Fahrenheit. This morning we have some devastating news to share with you all. A man by the name of Nathan Wassum passed away last night, reportedly while out at a restaurant with a group of his coworkers… ” I dropped my cup. I stared blankly at the screen while the reporter continued, “ ...police suspect that he was poisoned. Eight grams of arsenic was found in his blood stream when paramedics performed a test… ” I couldn’t bear to watch anymore. I turned off the TV and took myself to the restroom.

I gazed into my eyes in the mirror, and a smile crept onto my lips. The words of my mother flitted through my head. “Do it while you’re still young, or you’ll miss your chance.” and I did. I did it mother. Are you proud? My perfect, magical moment. I thought back to my special cookies, just for my dear, and thanked them again.

The End.


8 pounds 3 ounces. At least that’s what the birth certificate said. But I have a feeling that could’ve been wrong. I mean, the nurse had already messed up my name so I wouldn’t put it passed her. Instead of ‘Jon Tranton’ she decided my name would look better with an ‘h’ shoved into the first half. So now, on this piece of paper that’s supposed to set up the rest of my life with all this hope and potential, there’s an ‘h’ crossed out by the red pen my dad had in his pocket that day. There are a lot of things I wish I could cross out so I guess an ‘h’ on a silly piece of paper seems pretty inconsequential, but still, I’ve always thought it represented how my life has panned out pretty well. 47 pounds. Just 3 pounds shy of the little league weight cut off for that year. I had played catch all summer with my dad in preparation for the new season. He even got me a new glove. Taught me how to break it in with shaving cream and everything. I went home crying that day. My dad wrote a letter to some league officials, but nothing ever came of it. 78 pounds. I was at this amusement park not too far from home. It was that kind of park that looked like it was from late 1800s. Everything was wood. Even the rides were wood. They had to weigh you to see where on the cart they would put you. I was pretty small for a 6th grader so I had to sit next to Jim Morrison. Not Jim Morrison from the Doors, I think he was dead by then, but there was this 8th grader named Jim Morrison. I remember he was so fat that his belly kept creeping out of the bottom of his shirt. He smelled like some sort of cheese. I remember thinking brie, but I doubt it was brie. 105 pounds. The doctor needed to take some measurements before giving me the anesthesia. I remember thinking that he had taken my weight wrong or that he would give me too much by accident. Something like that. I just remember thinking I wouldn’t wake up. But after I started counting backwards from ten, I think I got to six, I woke up with one less appendix than I went to sleep with. 121 pounds. I remember my coach asking me to put on some weight for the upcoming match in Milwaukee, but by weigh in, I had actually lost a pound. I had only been boxing for a few months by then, but I was pretty good. I had won 3 of my 4 fights. The kids on my team used to call me “Jon the Lionheart” because I never got tired. I’m not so sure why they chose ‘Lionheart’, but I guess it sounded pretty cool. I went up against this guy from South Florida. Probably Cuban. He was a little shorter than me, but stocky. I remember when I met him I could see the top of his head. He had buzzed hair and a long scar that went from the back of his right ear up to his hair line. I asked him how he got it, but he didn’t speak English. 12 minutes later he punched me so hard I felt one of my molars fall loose in the back of my mouth. 172 pounds. A pretty late growth spurt junior year. Almost 4 inches. I jumped 3 weight divisions. I was fighting at a tournament near Chicago. I remember looking at my first opponent, he was big guy, but you could tell it was mostly fat. I thought I would dance circles around him. When we stepped into the ring he had that sort of scowl that some fighters put on to intimidate their opponents. It didn’t work. I caught him with a right hook under his jaw 17 seconds into the fight. He dropped like a stone. Hit the floor so hard I thought it was going to cave in. My next fight was the following day. I went against this guy I had fought before, but now, he had a snake tattoo wrapped around his arm. I had beaten him before so I wasn’t too worried, but at the start of the second round, I started feeling tired. I didn’t usually get tired. He won by split decision at the end. He probably deserved it, but I remember getting really pissed. 168 pounds. I had been coughing for some weeks. I had to wear one of those masks you always see people from Asia wearing. I heard that they wear the masks there to protect from all the smog and pollution. But then why do they still wear them when they come over here? I think that theory’s full of shit. I think they’re just scared of getting sick. I think everyone’s scared of getting sick. I know was scared of getting sick. 160 pounds. The doctors called it acute granulocytic leukemia. I must’ve had it for months before going in for a checkup. I knew I was losing weight, but I figured it was just from some combination of stress and boxing. I remember sitting in the waiting room watching a mom try to corral her twin daughters. They were playing with some toys that were put out for them. I remember a doctor opened the door and walked into the waiting room without taking his eyes off his clipboard. He called my name and when I responded he looked up. His eyes sort of widened out of shock. He told me I looked much thinner than I had the last time I was in there. I told him I knew that. 145 pounds. I hadn’t been that thin in years. When I bent over, you could see the outline of my ribs through the back side of my shirt. I’d been told the chemo was working. It didn’t feel like the chemo was working. I stopped boxing after the diagnosis, but I asked my coach if I could still come to practice. I just wanted to be around it. He let me come a few times, but after he caught me crying in the corner he told me he thought it would be for the best if I stayed home for a while. I stayed home for a while. 140 pounds. The doctors said they had never seen a faster remission. I was cancer free. I still am, for now. I let my coach know and basically begged to be let back on the team, but he insisted I waited until the next year. I was still so frail. Sometimes I traced my cheekbones with my fingers. My little sister said I looked like a skeleton. Not like a scary skeleton though. My coach did invite me to the next tournament, just to sit ringside, but that was enough for me. I half expected it to be some sort of packed super-stadium celebrating the return of a fallen boxer, but it was just an ordinary high school boxing event. I don’t much remember watching the fights. I think one of my teammates ended up third overall, but not much else. I do remember seeing someone though. That Cuban guy I fought a few years earlier. He was sitting across the gym, behind one of the rings set up near the back. I started walking over to him. I wanted to catch up. I never got to congratulate him on knocking one of my teeth out. But once I got close enough, I could see he was sitting in a wheel chair. I figured he had hurt his legs somehow. That stuff sometimes happens if you get knocked out and fall in a weird way. I couldn’t quite remember his name so I just yelled out “Hey man!” expecting him and only him to turn around, but almost everyone, including 2 of the judges, turned my way. He did turn around though. Well, kind of. His neck seemed to strain while the rest of his body stayed absolutely still. I knew pretty much immediately he hadn’t hurt his legs. I read about some kid who had to be sent to the hospital from being hit so hard. The story didn’t really give anything away, but I’d put my money on this being that kid. I wanted to ask him what had happened. I wanted to tell him what I’d gone through. How I’d been out of boxing for a while. How I was hoping to get back in the ring as soon as I could. How I could relate to the struggle of not being able to do what you love. How it feels to have your body fucking destroy itself. But then I remembered he didn’t speak English. So, I just nodded and waved. And he just nodded. I went back to where my team had been and sat down for a while. I started thinking about everything. About how I was the kid who got cancer and how, somehow, I was still the lucky one. 152 pounds. I never did get back into boxing. I’m feeling better now, but I think that part of my life’s done. Sometimes I think about that Cuban kid. Sometimes I remember how much it hurt when he hit me in the face and sometimes I try to imagine how much more it must’ve hurt when he got hit. I wish I got his name. I bet at least his birth certificate doesn’t have some stupid crossed out h. But then again, I guess I’d rather have that.


Seven o’clock and it’s already dark out. The days were getting shorter and colder than John appreciated. Those lovely, long summer evenings were gone. Goodbye to warmth, and happiness, and energy. Hello to depression, lethargy, and despair. As his boots trudged through the dirty but thankfully dry streets of central London, he finally saw his destination. One final glance down at his phone confirmed it. Here was The Last Whisper, and he was uncharacteristically on time. Unfortunately, the friend he was meeting was uncharacteristically early. Which effectively made John (characteristically) late. He tossed his half-smoked cigarette in the gutter, ruminating on his many failed attempts to quit, and the general filth of the city. The bouncer waved him in without checking ID. Beyond the nondescript black door lay the alluring promise of darkness. John fumbled his way up the metal stairs towards the muffled sounds of music and voices. This time, a padded leather door that wouldn’t look out of place in a gentlemen’s club from a Hollywood film, separated him from his final destination. John scanned the room as he entered. It was hard enough spotting someone in a crowded room, let alone a dimly lit one, and that broke out into all manner of different sections. After squeezing his way through more than a few unwelcoming bodies, he finally spotted Luc in a plush velvet chair tucked away in a corner. A little table for two. Fresh drinks were already waiting. “Johnny boy!” Luc shouted, erupting into a giant grin as he stood up to embrace his friend. “How are you doing, my friend?” John smiled as he returned Luc’s very excitable hug with slightly less fervour. “I’m good, I’m good. How are you?” “All the better for seeing you,” Luc beamed back. The old friends sat down and chatted about the weeks they’d just had. John dictated his fairly ordinary week at work to his friend, skipping over the more boring, technical elements, as always. And Luc probed with questions as he always did. They remembered their forgotten drinks, cheersed them, and began a long night of drinking. What started as surface level work chat and whisky cocktails, turned into venting about interpersonal frustrations on projects, and Vespers. (“David is just so inconsistent. He’ll take no issue with these big experiments we want to try, but then get caught up in minutiae for hours.”) From there, the two shifted to pure work gossip and Pisco sours. (“Cassie definitely hooked up with someone from Sales at the offsite last week.”) And not long after that, they were sharing aspirations for the next five years, over some regrettable Amaretto and Coke’s. (“I really want to move to Budapest at some point, and just work there for a year or two.”) “Do you think we’ll still be friends like 10 years from now?” Luc asked, fresh off of ordering two glasses of wine. John paused for a moment. “Why do you ask?” “I guess with neither of us being British, I just wonder if we’ll both still be here in London after all that time. I mean, don’t you feel like you might move back home at some point?” “True, I might. But I also might not. It’s hard to plan that far ahead. There’s already so much that’s happened in the past few years that I never would have expected. It almost seems silly to guess what life will be like 10 years from now.” Luc frowned, seemingly unsatisfied. “What?” asked John, “I mean we might be friends in 10 years. I’d like to hope so. But who knows?” Luc excused himself to go to the bathroom. The two hadn’t known each other long, but it was a friendship that developed fast. They met at work, occasionally being involved in the same meetings. Those small encounters gave way to them saying hello when they passed each other in the hallway. Which one day led to a shared coffee break, when they both arrived in the kitchen at the same time, alone. One coffee became many. Office kitchen coffees became coffee shop down the road coffees. Which became after work beers. Which became weekend coffees and beers. And acquaintances became friends. But for the first time, John couldn’t get a read on his friend. Something was off. But what it was, he couldn’t tell. He brushed it aside and the two drank their wine. Eventually, the watch checking couldn’t be ignored. It was definitively home time for John. Luc half-joked at the idea of another glass of wine, but relented upon seeing the expression on John’s face. The two made their way back through the padded leather door, down the metal stairs draped in darkness, and came out of the nondescript black door into the cold, dirty, but thankfully dry streets of London. “Which way are you headed?” Luc asked. “I’m getting the tube down there,” John gestured. “Ah, I’m grabbing a bus the other way.” A brief, awkward pause buffered the conversation. John opened his arms for a goodbye hug, and questioned if there was an uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm in Luc’s response. “Goodnight, pal,” John said, as he began to turn, “I’ll see you soon.” “Yeah…” Luc replied with a weak smile, as he stood watching John walk away.


Awakening to the sound of my phone buzzing always warms my heart: this morning was no different. Trying to shake off the brain fog that accompanies an eleven hour snooze fest, I reach for my phone. Every morning the same. I tell myself, “This’ll be the last time I look at my phone first thing in the morning” or “I’ll just check my emails and make sure I’m not missing anything”. My eyes struggle to stay open at the screen’s brightness, slowly searing the repetitive pictures of social media into my retinas. Another perfect start to my day. After scrolling through picture after picture of lame jokes, half-naked models, and other edited versions of reality, I finally get around to my email, hoping for something to make my day interesting. Alas, nothing. Stumbling to the restroom I commence my glamorous morning routine of taking a dump, washing my hands, and brushing my teeth. Currently there’s a fad of “morning routine’s” on the internet showcasing how awesome people are at their meditation’s, journaling, and morning yoga. Any simple youtube search of “... morning routine” will pull up a thousand videos from college students to athletes to mathematicians, all somehow waking up at 04:00 AM. Everyday I am thankful for their endless supply of advice, who knows where I would be without their input. Making my way to the dining table I set myself up for the second disappointment of the day. Instead of going for the heart healthy oatmeal or breakfast salad, I grab ol’ reliable… a bowl of cereal. In between bites of my Honey Nut Cheerios, it’s only natural to grab my phone and scroll through more social media. After all, everyday is so different, women with different bathing suits in different parts of the world, new exotic cars, new luxury watches, new memes. That is until you start to question what you’re looking at. I’ve been a lifelong fan of fantasy/fiction entertainment. Ever since I was little, reality has been so boring. Why would I want to be in this world, when I don’t even have super powers? Gradually as I aged, so did that ideology, and I have learned to embrace reality. Except there’s one hidden fantasy that no one seems to address: social media. Historically, people underestimate the power of pop culture. The lyrics of the music we listen to, the messages of the movies we watch, and the endless supply of entertainment at our fingertips can prime our subconscious for making decisions about how to deal with our problems or how to spend our Friday nights. If one were to learn about life from American pop culture, then said person would be waiting every day for a spider to bite them, a stranger to take them on a journey, or for their crush to ask them to the school dance. Thankfully, the majority of these examples are obviously gassed up versions of reality, and most people don’t transition these lessons to their lives. A gassed up version of reality however, that is indistinguishable from true reality, is exceedingly dangerous. This is social media’s true face. Planting unrealistic ideas in the heads of our society, our youth, and the impressionable is a moralistic crime that leads to millions of consumers feeling inadequate, unhappy, and jealous of a false world. New progressions, such as easily accessible internet, high quality cameras, and platforms for broadcast are arming people with weapons they do not realize they have.


{ note: this is my first story so there could be mistakes but enjoy anyways :) } Lucas followed Vera through the dark depths of the sewer tunnels. The stench seeped through the grubby brick walls in a way that made his eyes water. He knew that the girl in front of him felt it too but she didn’t utter a word;

they both knew that journeying through the surface was like an act of suicide. Vera looked back at the boy, her plump lips formed into a thin line. He always thought that Vera was beautiful. With her slim figure and her wavy brunette locks cascading down her back. Even dressed in filthy rags and the prominent dark circles formed underneath her eyes. Even as she led him through this filthy tunnel to who knows where, risking both of their lives, he still found her as flawless as ever. Vera broke the silence.

“We must hurry-”

At the same instant a detonation was heard, causing the walls to quiver violently. The sewage water was like brown slime; it sloshed and hugged at their ankles. Lucas would have gagged if he wasn’t focused on the screams and crashes echoing from the surface. Rats scurried down from the end of the tunnel, their red eyes glowed in the dark as they let out helpless squeaks. Vera urged him to keep walking. More screams. More crashes. More rats; Lucas couldn’t take it. His eyes grew moist and he tucked a few blonde strands behind his ear.

“All those innocent people…” He let out through clenched teeth.

“Things change, Lucas,” Vera said solemnly. “Hopefully for us, they change for the better.” “No, we need to turn back or we’ll end up like them!” He gestured to the top of the tunnel. “I thought you trusted me on this. We would never survive in that slum of a home!”

Lucas looked at her in disbelief. Of course he trusted her, but not even he would be insane enough to continue with this. Everyone knows that you can’t escape from this nightmare that they call the Apocalypse. But it wasn’t a nightmare, it was real. They wouldn’t even be able to make it out of the city in one piece, instead they would make new additions to the pile of bodies littered across the streets. But if this is what Vera wanted, he would have to trust her. He owed her that much after everything they have both been through. After all, they only have each other. It was just them against the world now, or what’s left of it. They couldn’t afford any arguments or distrust in each other.

“Gross,” Lucas muttered bitterly as his feet sank deeper. “We’ve been walking for ages, where does this tunnel even lead to?”

“Hopefully out of the city.”

“ Hopefully? You mean you don’t even know where we’re going?”

“I know that we’re away from the slums and that’s all that matters.” Vera didn’t have a reckless mindset, Lucas knew that for sure. So he didn’t question when she woke him up one morning and told him to pack what was left of their things, saying they were leaving for good. She hated living in the slums, what with all the hundreds of other families herded like sheep in the same area, in fear of their lives. In fear that one day those giant machines would come marching over and- Lucas shuddered even at the thought of it. Everyone was only concerned about their own safety and wouldn’t hesitate to choose their own life over another's. That was simply the way things were now since the Apocalypse.

“Oof!” Confused as to why Vera stopped, Lucas was about to question her but gaped when his vision met the sight in front of them. Gone was the rest of the filthy sewage tunnel and in its place was a mountain of debris and rubble. It piled up in enormous chunks that went above the sewers and into the surface of the city. Vera turned to Lucas, a spark in her eyes lit strong and firm. The blonde-haired boy’s eyes widened so much he could practically feel them popping out.

“Vera, if you’re thinking…”

“What other choice do we have?”

Vera placed a single frayed shoe on a slab of rubble amongst the debris hill. She stared up at the endless path that could possibly lead to their extermination but looked back at Lucas with a glint in her eye. He couldn’t quite fathom what it was: Pleading? Determination? Further up the hill she went and reached out a hand to him. He let out a deep sigh as he looked back and stared into the black oblivion. No turning back now. He grasped onto the brunette's outstretched arm and carefully climbed up to her, his barely covered feet squelching with each step.

Hums and buzzes from flies echoed in their ears which would have annoyed them any other day, but right now it was the least of their worries.

“Agh!” Vera shrieked as her steps made an unusual squelching noise and she was left tumbling over the destroyed bricks and metal. As he rushed to help her, Lucas almost heaved out his insides at the red liquid staining the brunette’s shoe. He peered down to what was only a few inches away from his own feet, only to be met with soulless orbs staring straight into his eyes. His breathing hitched and the hand that was gripping onto Vera trembled. Now we know what caused the flies. He barely heard the girl in front of him let out a sob and pull him away from the sight.

After who knows how long they’ve been climbing for, the hill was getting a lot steeper that they could pretty much slide off it. But they could see the top and in this way, they would be able to journey through the surface. Vera looked back at Lucas with a genuine smile. The blonde-haired boy couldn’t help himself; he smiled back. Gosh, she was ravishing when she smiled.

The brunette started to climb onto the now damaged road of the surface, stretching her hand out to the boy below her. She took in her surroundings, eyes widening in realisation.

“I know this area! The exiting gate should be just-” More crashes and explosions. But this time, it was a lot closer.

“Vera!”

Lucas breathed heavily and tried to look through the dust circulating his vision. His entire body crumbled and ached like the rubble around him. The sound of machines whirring caught his attention and it was at that point that his heart refused to beat. No… it can’t be! Limping through the fog of debris and dust, Lucas desperately clawed through the now broken buildings. She was right there; we were so close. He halted as a pale

hand weakly stretched out from beneath the rocks. It trembled and shook vigorously, trying to find some way to lift itself up. At that moment, Lucas had never sprinted so fast in his life. He couldn’t care less anymore if he passed through decaying bodies of innocent civilians or how the synced mechanic marches echoed louder throughout the city.

“Vera, oh gosh!” Lucas quickly brushed off the soil and filth covering her limp body. Parts of her brown hair were stained in deep red and more of the liquid oozed freely down the side of her head.

“I thought we were gonna make it,” she coughed out blood. “Guess I was wrong.”

Machines whirred and whined, their heavy stomps vibrating through the rubble ground. Lucas bit back a whimper. They are getting closer now. He kneeled next to Vera’s weak body and gripped onto her frail hands tightly.

“If we run now, we can make it!”

Vera smiled faintly at the idea and shook her head at him. A single tear danced down her cheek and her cracked lips trembled slightly as she stared up at the blonde-haired boy. She took in his features one last time, savouring it in her mind and then pulled him closer towards her until their lips met.

Lucas couldn’t stop the sob that broke free from his lips. He knew the kiss was a seal of fate. Though it was a different fate from all of those fairy tales and movies. This was real life.

So as their lips parted for a split second, they leaned in again despite the machines nearing them. They stopped marching, and in a coordinated fashion, took aim at what was left of the city.

Lucas smiled. This was where he needed to be.


He had taken everything from me. Friends , Family , peace of mind and left me a hollow soul deprived of happiness driven by rage, disgust and a devilish thirst to find this man for reasons I would never even think about if it wasn't for him. The journey was dangerous, tiring and emotionally draining, I found myself doing things I didn’t know I was capable of, I destroyed everything that came in my way, it was tough at first but the rage inside me allowed me to push myself beyond my limits and made me a relentless machine as effective as a black mambas venom. He awoke a beast inside me that had been sleeping for the 43 years of my existence. I still remember the first time I hurt someone in this mad quest, a security guard doing his duty, I couldn’t risk being caught inside a police station after robbing all the cctv tapes, he seemed nice, but it didn’t matter to me I managed to zap him with his own tazer and leave the building without any difficulty. In the last 423 days of grief, misery and fury I would hesitate before carrying a lot of task,  when I had to take someone else’s life for the first time, I couldn’t sleep for days. Even though she was an evil snake who deserved every bit of pain that bullet carried with it, I still couldn’t stop thinking about her life, if she had a family, did her kids go to school, it was killing me,  I was going to spare her life however until she told me it wasn’t just my family this man had destroyed, in her bid to convince me of how all this wasn’t that big a deal and just a mere symptom of a much bigger happening she made me a killer. I wanted her to experience something worse than death but in that moment I couldn’t have pulled the trigger any faster. The suffering was finally going to bear fruit however as I had Bates right where I wanted. I had been setting this up for months now and would not let anyone jeopardize my flawless plan. I had Bates Cornered at gun point with no place to run in an isolated parking lot right below the loudest Tomorrowland new year concert ever with only 10 seconds to mid night. I could feel the vibrations of the bass shaking the floor as I saw him on his knees. A puny figure wearing some old, ragged clothes, on the verge of passing out after devouring bottles of alcohol. Once a champion of Healthcare and medical development for mankind was now a broken man living on rum and cigars. The crowd above us screamed in excitement and unison “10” and I knew my moment was about to come. My ears were almost bleeding because of all the noise and In ten seconds the crowd would go even more crazy, fireworks would light up the sky making noises louder than those you would hear in a battlefield and the DJ would be screaming at the top of his lungs while the sound of a gunshot wouldn’t be heard even 10 miles away. Bates started mumbling, I couldn’t tell what he was saying and didn’t give a damn, at this point I just wanted to shoot the soul out of him and hence gave him a flying kick across the face. My heel had smashed his jawline into his upper jaw leaving him a new red paint job for his ugly deformed teeth. The sound of his bloody coughs was covered by the partying crowd shouting ‘9’ above us. He still chose to move his stupid mouth and try to convey a message to me again, I grabbed his head by the hair shoved my gun up against his ear and told him to speak up or I would blow the ears off his face and make him feel as deaf as I currently was for the short life he had left to live. He waited for the crowd to finish their cry for the number eight and then wished for my peace and well being after Id finish him off. This scoundrel of a man expected me to find peace after what he had done. Howard, my beloved husband flashed before my eyes. He was the sweetest thing in the world, a hardworking man trying to provide for his family who would always make time for me and the kids. It was Trevors first school play and a bright sunny Saturday when I received the call. The informant told us than Howard had died on the spot after a drive by shooting which proved to be fatal. How was I, a woman who had never lived without the company of either her husband or her parents going to raise two magical kids let alone take care of myself. How was I going tell a 5 year old boy waiting for his father to arrive for his school play that his dad wont be able to see him give a performance ever. How was my 2 year old daughter going to live her life without ever properly knowing her father or how much he loved her. The thunderous roar of the number seven brought me back to my senses and I found myself slashing Bates in the ribs with the back of my pistol tearing through his shirt leaving a few scratches. I had lost myself in a wrath of violent strikes. The crowd were halfway through their countdown and just finished chanting the number 5. I spit on his face and screamed right at him, at the top of my lungs I told him the damage he’d done to me was beyond repair. As the crowd moved to the number 4 He told me all he could say now was that he was sorry. Once again at the top of my lungs I told him I didn’t want his sorry and wanted to make him suffer and take out all my pain, anger , and distraught on him , the sole soul responsible for all my tragedies. My mind took over once again and this time it was Beverly. A beautiful baby still surviving on my milk, she was sleeping in my arms and was the first person to see me after receiving the call. I was shattered, weeping more than Beverly ever had and felt completely hopeless, when I heard Beverly crying in my arms I knew I had to be strong, I was all these kids had left, she showed me purpose, she showed me who I needed to be and my mini collapse was over. After wiping the tears of my face the two of us grabbed Trevor and rushed to the hospital. At Howards funeral the kids were as broken as me and there was nothing I could do except encourage them to pray for their father and tell them that he would have wanted the three of us to move on and be happy. All that was for nothing as within weeks a speeding cop car rammed our Chevy Tahoe in the back and somehow managed to explode leaving the officer dead. We escaped a number accidents that could have been fatal before I finally started asking the questions. Within a few hours everything was clear to me, Howard used to work in one of Bates’s then rumored human experiment lab. Howards death wasn’t just an ordinary drive by shooting but a planned operation. A drive by shooting put out by Bates to make sure no witness of his infamous illegal human lab rats lived to see another soul. I observed a fat but sturdy man walk by our house multiple times a day, a woman posing as a hot dog seller who had only set up shop a few days after Howards passing. After hiding in our home till dawn and a few failed calls to the police I knew the three of us had to run. We had uncovered something that could bring Bates’s global Empire to its knees.  I told Trevor to carry Beverley like his life depended on it and sit in the front seat of the Tahoe as Mama takes them on a surprise vacation. After leaving the driveway I saw two black tinted sedans tailing us. I made sure we stayed on roads with slow moving traffic to make sure we could always be seen by tons of people and eliminate the possibility of being rammed by a fast approaching car. All was going well until we reached the airport where I was separated from my children and taken away for a more “thorough” check for carrying “suspicious baggage”. I tried to resist as hard as I could to get to my children who had passed security and were waiting for me with their boarding passes, but it was in vain.  That was the last time I saw them. Ever since then I had been on the run with the aim of finding my two beloved children and making sure I could bring them back to me away from harm. Unfortunately, I Never heard of them again until I found Steve, one of Bates aides who I had spent months trying to find. He told me they were auctioned off to a rich family before being eliminated to erase all evidence when Bates was about to be caught. That was the first time I was able to kill without any hesitation, a bullet straight through Steve’s head. Not a day goes by without me remembering that dreadful day, every night I yearn for my family, nothing I could ever do would bring them back, killing Bates wasn’t going to be an act of revenge, just an outcome of a never-ending rage and a boiling hot desire to punish the man who hurt my family. When it comes to those whom I hold near and dear to my heart its  not gods judgement they have to deal with but my beastly wrath that even the deepest dungeons of hell would fail to tame. Instinct took over my left arm when I felt him grab my right wrist as the crowd shouted “3”, After pushing him against the wall with the raw power of my left arm and breaking his ring and index finger with my right arm after he dared to touch me with his evil hands I realized he could’ve grabbed the gun straight out of my hands on multiple occasions when I was lost in thought and have me cornered just as I had him. Bates could barely stay up now, the alcohol was kicking in but In a shrill but loud voice he told me to finish the job and do what he didn’t have the guts to do to himself. TWO!! Was louder than anything I had ever heard and I knew I would be doing him a favor by putting him out of his misery. I saw his jaw bleeding, his stupid face that I’ve always wanted to torture and his red chest scarred with scratches and cuts uncovered by his torn shirt waiting to be shot, once a global tycoon who everyone saw as a hero was now drunkard who was on the verge of passing out after overdosing on alcohol. Bates wanted someone to put him out of his nightmare of a life, something he could never do being the wimp that he is. I knew exactly what I had to do. I took a sip from his bottle of wine then chugged the rest of the it down his shallow throat as I placed him across the floor. Wiped my prints off the gun and Placed it in his hand .The crowd went crazy again and I knew it was time. I pulled the trigger and shot myself on the left arm, then on my left leg, tore my clothes near my neck, around my waist and banged a few bruises into my upper torso and throat. I crushed my pepper spray and threw it a few meters away from him.  I took off my bloody heel that had just thawed his face and placed it right beside him in a tilted position as if it had been thrown in an act of self-defense, ripped some hair out of my head and scattered it all over his torso and face. I placed myself on the floor right across from him, placed the wine bottle in his other hand and smashed it hard against my head to knock myself unconscious right after I dialed 911.