I’ve learnt that you really need to pick your exhibits carefully. Some times there can be unexpected consequences. My partner Steve and I opened the Olde Museum of Pirating And Smuggler Antiquities (I know, but it was a tourist seaside destination, what else could we do?) five years ago. We found a cheap building tucked away in the winding streets and alleys of the old town.

There had been a tavern in that same location for hundreds of years, and smugglers and pirates would congregate there, sharing their plunder and drinking until the morning. Of course we couldn't get a drink license, but otherwise we resolved to be in keeping with the spirit of those anti-establishment gents (and ladies), and create the most rambunctious, exciting, and different museum in the land (or at least the local town, or maybe just neighbourhood. But we had big plans). We heard rumours that there were hidden tunnels leading down to the coast, allowing the smugglers to move goods undetected into the tavern basement, and also allow a sharp exit for anyone needing to escape attention, but they were long gone, lost to the ages. Still, a hand written sign on the stairs meant we could tempt people down into the basement, where we would put the gift shop. A quick exit through the firedoor at the back, covered over with some black cloth, and people would be none the wiser they hadnt walked out through those tunnels. Apart from the lack of the coast of course. But a speaker playing seagull sounds, and a spray of salt water would help there. Steve had some brilliant ideas in those days. We found some great stuff to fill the rooms. A replica pirate outfit came from a fancy dress shop, adorning a mannequin we took from a skip outside a closing down department store.

The boat hanging from the ceiling was taken in the dead of night from a childs adventure playground. (It seemed only appropriate to steal something for a pirate exhibition - I’m not proud). That took four of us, drunk on whiskey and gin, dragging it through the streets at 4 am, setting off car alarms and waking dogs as we went. I can only presume anyone who woke thought they were hallucinating. Some stuff was authentic (ish). I was a fan of antique markets and shops, prowling the stalls to find knick knacks, and happened upon some very old looking manuscripts, charts and paintings one Sunday whilst with my ex-girlfriend.

She had picked up a set of four candles, and was about to make the joke, when a box under a trestle table caught my eye. ‘Alright Ronnie, shh’ I’d said, wittily shutting her up. In hindsight there may be a connection with why she left me on the Friday, but that is another story. The box was stuffed full of crackly old papers, rolled up tight and tied with string. “Fiver the lot, mate” said the toothless old man behind the table, his eyes not leaving my girlfriends shorts. “Are you sure?” I repled, “They look a little torn” “Four fifty, then” he replied, and we left as he continued licking his lips. Steve and I framed and hung all the papers the next week, again accompanied by a bottle of the most expensive whiskey we could afford (in reality an own brand blend from the corner shop by the harbour). This resulted in a decidedly crooked display, but it was in keeping with the rest of our museum. Charts of the seven seas lined the walls down the stairs from the entrance desk, while a series of wanted posters hung behind the dressed mannequin. We even managed to add a couple to the group, printed from a website and showing our own faces, aged with splashes of cold tea and boot prints. The centre piece however was an amazing set of paintings, depicting pirate ships in full flight, cutlasses glinting and sails fully open, the skull and crossbones proudly on display. Hairy teethed pirates hung from the rigging, ragged trousers billowing in the wind of the advancing ships, cruel grins spread across dirty sun burnt faces. Whoever had painted these masterpieces was skillful, as Steve and I could almost taste the sea air (though that may have been the first trial of our exit spray we had forgotten to turn off). This set of paintings was hung in the main room, an area we now referred to as the rogues gallery. Not quite the British Gallery, or the Portrait Gallery, but we were proud of our work. Glasses were clinked, backs heartily slapped, and I stumbled on home to my cats. Steve lived the other end of town, and besides he had a fear of felines, so we resolved to see each other the next day for our grand opening (or at least our first day of trying to tempt in punters). I arrived bleary eyed to a closed door, no sign out as I thought we had agreed upon. I unlocked and hefted the wooden advert down the stairs into the pathway, then recoiled at the sun now coming around the corner, scuttling back inside. Steve came barrelling out from behind the counter at reception, straggly hair flying and unkempt as he almost knocked me flying back into the daylight. “You will never guess what has happened” he hissed in my ear, a crazed look coming across his bloodshot eyes. His teeth never stopped grinding, a curious experience when they were so close to my head. He was looking back and forth rapidly, and at one point his view fixed on a point just over my left shoulder for an unsettlingly long time. Both hands gripped my shoulders, nails digging, and Steve turned me roughly towards the rogues gallery. He pointed at the pirate portraits. His lips moved so close to my ear, I could feel the spittle as Steve hissed “They are alive”. I turned to look at him, my mouth coming perilously close to kissing him as I did so. I could smell the alcohol seeping out of every single one of his pores, seemingly as though he had bathed in it. “You sure mate - bit extra to drink last night?” I replied, wriggling free of his claw like grip. “Dont be soft, paintings arent alive” “I’ve seeeeen it” he replied, holding the words slightly too long. He paused, his eyes locked on mine, pupils fully dilated. His chin had somehow appeared to grow a weeks stubble in one night, less five o clock shadow, more five day beard. I noticed what looked a fresh tattoo adorning his neck as well, throbbing red, and looking home made. Steves clothes were also decidedly tattered now I properly looked at him. “I came back in last night” he whispered, “Id forgotten my keys. They were in the back, and as I collected them, I smelt the salt water” He stopped and looked round again, his train of thought gone. “And Steve… Had you left the spray on? Come on mate, for f..” “No, I hadnt” he snapped, interrupting me, forgetting to whisper and shocking himself. “The ship was real. Its real, I mean…” Again with the staring. This was starting to get on my nerves, and I was convinced he had taken something other than whiskey last night. “Come, come” he now said, gripping my arm again and leading my to the rogues gallery. He pointed at the end picture. It was then I saw the most remarkable thing I have ever seen (and I have lived a remarkable life by many standard. Again, thats for another story. But princesses, giants and snakes are all involved). The ships had all moved across the pictures, left to right. Where they were all separate before, now they were in convoy in one frame, hard against each other, ropes slung to keep them close. They looked to be heading to one thing - the exit and the location of the tunnel to the sea. “That cant be, what have you done?” I asked, before realising something else. Water was leaking from the far right of the picture, the source of the salt spray, and the frame was broken, pieces lying strewn across the floor. The steady drip drip had led to a puddle, an indoor sea, a waterfall down the steps, into cracks, along every nook. We had our own river, leading to the shore, and at the forefront was a single galleon, a hive of activity, shouts and smells as real as can be. It was no more than a couple of feet high, but real it was none the less. Steve nodded at me in fear, and grabbed me again. “They are real” he whispered. “Real men. Real press gangers” I didnt at first know what he meant, but that was soon rectified. Our mannequin had crept up behind us both, and a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. Wriggling free, and spinning behind it, I could see Steve shaking his head, and mouthing no over and over, as ropes from the boats swung across his shoulders, tying back his arms, and chains looped his ankles. “Not again” he cried, as the ropes pulled tighter, making him fall to his knees, and then, as I watched, pulling tighter, and actually making Steve shrink down in size. My friend reached out to me with one arm he pulled free, before he was overwhelmed by the men from the boat, and dragged screaming on board, thrown below deck as their attention turned to me. I’m afraid to say reader that all I could do was turn and run, leaving my friend and partner behind. I ran back up the stairs, dodged the mannequin as he reached out again, and managed to reach daylight, pausing to slam the door shut as I then fell down the entrance and knocked over our advertising sign. I didnt dare go back into the Olde Museum of Pirating And Smuggler Antiquities for a few days. I reported Steves disappearance to the police, but couldnt tell them the whole story. They looked over the museum, and found nothing untoward, the official report casually mentioning the lifelike manner of some of the exhibitions, and questioning the provenance of some of the displays (though that was never followed up). Steve wasnt to be seen anywhere. I ventured in after them, to find the picture frame mysteriously fixed, and all sign of the flowing river long gone. There was some water damage on the wall, and I managed to find the hidden tunnel by following it, but even in there I found nothing. The only thing that I did find strange was that one of the ships in the far right painting in rogues gallery seemed to have one pirate waving, but it was so small it was hard to make out properly. Still as the police commented, it was a very lifelike exhibition.


I don’t remember when exactly I started gazing at the clouds and contemplating their meaning, but I remember why I started: I wanted to talk to God, who dwelled in the sky. I was a child, after all, and I lacked originality: He was an old man with a long white beard, white caftan, and wrinkled handsome face. That’s how I started gazing at the clouds so that I could directly talk to “him” like a friend. Whenever I was sad or angry or felt left out on the playground, I looked up at the sky and talked to God about my disappointments, and asked him for favors like “Please, make them like me”, or “I want a skateboard”. It worked, I believed, I was pretty sure it worked. He was always understanding and wise, but he never responded. As I got older, my questions transformed into “why” questions like “Why do I exist,” “Why do I have to suffer,”  or “Why do I have to walk so long to school.” One day I asked him why I had to wear glasses, which I was ashamed of. He didn’t respond, as usual, but something peculiar happened. The sky was partly cloudy, as it was springtime. While I was gazing at the clouds, behind which God sat on his mighty throne, I realized that a bunch of the clouds had the shape of almonds. The oval form of an almond could be anything, but I swear it was a true almond, nothing else. It was not just a single almond, but a handful of them together. This was a later period, when I was about fourteen, at the time when I started questioning religion, or other mysteries of reality that I wasn’t thought at school. I “felt” this was a divine sign. It was also odd because I had an allergy to almonds, so I started pondering about its relation to my question. Did God give me a clear answer for the first time since I was a kid on the playground? Maybe. I had hope and thought about this for the next couple of days on the way to school, in the evenings, and when I sat alone for the lunch break. There was this girl in the class named Jane. She had dark brown hair and blue eyes and did not pay any attention to anyone while being the center of attention herself. Sure, I liked her. My glasses were a hindrance for my cause. I wanted so badly to get rid of them. Jane would never like me with those nerdy glasses coupled with my awkward demeanor. So I asked God if he could do something about it. The almond cloud was puzzling, and it had a profound effect on me, because I once fainted after eating a handful of almonds Jack gave me during lunch break. I was still conscious when I fainted, but I didn’t feel anything else than being the only one who existed. My friend, Jack, of course, was innocent. Jack and I enjoyed each other’s company. We hated most of the classes, but I could still get good grades, whereas Jack could hardly get by. A couple of days later, we were in the biology class and the teacher was explaining about the human brain. Jack and I were chit-chatting and making silly jokes in the back row. He was chewing gum and took the gum out of his mouth to tell me that it was the brain of Mrs. Johnson, the biology teacher. I busted out laughing but managed to stop within a second. Mrs. Johnson was enraged when she realized we weren’t paying any attention and called us out in front of the whole class. We didn’t know what to expect and waited patiently for our fate at the mercy of Mrs. Johnson. We stood now at the blackboard. With her infamous stick, she pointed to a brain sketch she had drawn earlier on the blackboard. I tried to erase the image of chewing gum from my mind. Mrs. Johnson asked Jack what was on the blackboard. Jack said “Brain,” and got tapped on his head with the stick repeatedly, but rather gently. When the class started laughing, I couldn’t hold back my laughter too. Now, Mrs. Johnson had a more threatening target. I wasn’t laughing anymore. She pointed at the central part of the brain and asked me what it was. I stared out of the window as if I was trying to remember what I already knew, and this helped me gain some time. She was putting on a show for her audience just to ridicule us as a form of revenge. I said, “it looks like an almond,” of course, I was thinking of almonds the whole week and my reply was inevitable. It wasn’t meant to be a joke at all, but the whole class burst into laughter. Was this a joke from God? Maybe the old man on the clouds was laughing as well holding his huge belly and made me learn an unforgettable lesson to pray with gratitude rather than asking for favors all the time. At that moment, I looked at my classmates and saw Jane. She wasn’t laughing at all. She seemed to be the only one who wasn’t amused. I didn’t know whether to regard this as a good or a bad sign. Mrs. Johnson didn’t perform her stick skills on me, surprisingly. She explained that the brain part was called “Amygdala”, which got its Greek name because of its almond shape. So I was right after all. I loved the twist in this Greek act, which ended in my favor. On the way home that day, something unexpected happened. Jane approached me from behind and said, “You looked so dumb at the blackboard.” I said nothing, felt embarrassed, and continued walking. She didn’t leave me alone. She walked beside me, and it made me feel pretty good. I thanked God for making the way home that long. We were walking on the dirt road that split the plantation. It was partly cloudy, with the sun playing hide-and-seek. That was always the best time to gaze at clouds and interpret their meanings. After a while, Jane broke the silence. She said, “Almond,” and I turned to her expecting mockery, and saw her beautiful blue eyes, but she was fixed on something far away. She said, “Look at the tree over there, it’s an almond tree!” “How do you know?” “Gosh, you’re so silly, everybody can recognize an almond tree.” “I don’t see any almonds.” “You don’t, because it’s the blossoming time, look at those beautiful flowers.” I looked at the tree she was pointing at, the flowers were indeed beautiful, but I didn’t know how to carry the conversation forward. So I repeated, “How did you know?” “Have you ever heard of “Almond Blossoms”? They are paintings by Van Gogh. He was so excited and inspired by the blossoming fruit trees that he completed fourteen paintings within a month.” “I didn’t know you were interested in paintings.” She ignored my comment and walked on to have a closer look at the flowers. I followed her and did the same, but I found myself scrutinizing the features of her beauty, more than the flowers. I was mesmerized by the view. Her lips were full, her nose was slightly bridged, and her tiny fingers were caressing the petals of an almond flower. Even the defects seemed to align themselves in harmony like a piece of art. And I thought to myself, if I were Van Gogh, I would have definitely painted this picturesque sight of her silhouette enthralled by almond blossoms. And I did. Years later I became a semi-successful painter and painted this exact scene, and it even received high praise from the critics. Of course, I added the almond clouds in the background. It was a curious twist of fate, as this unusual interaction with Jane inspired me to become a painter and appreciate beauty. You never knew where the muse came from, although I suspect the old man on the clouds who might have prodded me with his magic staff. As for Jane, I don’t know what happened to her after we parted for high school the same year, but I am thankful as I owe her for the discovery of my passion and love. Maybe she also became a painter and painted me and Jack, as we stood awkwardly at the blackboard, I’ll never know.


Two hundred and fourty three. The number of hits I've carried out. From politicians, to business deals gone bad. I've seen it all. I've seen people pay my outrageous fee just to kill an ex who didnt deserve it, but if they'll pay it, I'll pull it. Normally I wouldn't' even rack a round for less than a hundred thousand dollars, i know it sounds high. But you have to take into account that I have to have those faces haunting me every night. Contrary to the popular stereotype, I don't enjoy killing, but it makes sure my daughter will have a roof over her head, food in her stomach, and will never want for anything in her life. Now that I think about it, there was one hit I did enjoy. I was sitting by the creek, fishing, when a small girl who had a black eye approached me. At first a paid no mind, until she spoke. Her voice timid, and terrified. "Are you Lizz's dad?" The young girl asked. Lizz is my daughter's name so I assumed they were friends from school or something. "I sure am, what's up?" I replied, trying to sound as friendly as possible. "Do you really make bad people go away?" My ex wife always told Lizz that I made bad people go away. That was our deal. I pay the bills, and she didnt drag my name though the mud. "I sure do sweetheart, why?" I replied "Will you make my daddy go away?" She asked, handing me a fist full of change. Upon counting it, it was about three dollars, hardly enough to kill a man for. "Why would I make him go away?" I inquired "He burns me with cigars, hits me and leaves dark bruises, he even hits my mom." the girl confided in me "Did he give you that black eye?" I asked, my blood beggining to boil. "Yeah" she nodded, and no sooner than she finished talking a man stumbled up to us and demanded the young girl go with him. He slurred his speech as though he had been drinking. As he got closer I could smell the bourbon on his breath. The little girl cowered behind my leg, as the man stumbled toward us. "Hide behind this tree and I'll make him go away forever, just dont look." I whispered to her as tears streamed down her face. She nodded and did as I had instructed. Remember how I said I don't rack a round for less than a hundred grand? I kept my policy because I chose to make this man feel the way he made his daughter feel. "Where's my daughter?" The drunk man shouted as I approached. I offered no reply, no excuse, nothing. I just grabbed the man by the throat and squeezed as hard as I could. I watched as his face began to turn purple, but before I finished his life, I decided to let him in on a little secret. As I saw the life in his eyes weaning away, I leaned in closer and whispered in his ear; "You'll never hurt them again.


'He doesn't go out to play football anymore...' Taylor's mum was talking about him over the phone. 'I think he's had a fight with one of his friends, or he's being bullied, or something. I don't know what it is, but something's definitely happened.' Taylor was already in the upstairs toilet when his mum stepped outside to talk. Through the open window he could hear her voice. He could smell her cigarette smoke. There were long pauses when his Auntie Iris rambled back at her. 'I know,' his mother sounded close to tears now. 'I just wish I knew what it was. Why can't he talk to me? I'm his mum.' Taylor felt guilty, he wanted her to know, but he could never tell her. His mum's tone suddenly changed, 'Would you? Aw really? Yeah he'd love that. Thank you, Sis. Thank you so much.' The door opened and slammed. 'TAYLS...' from the door. 'TAYLS...' from the bottom of the stairs. Standing outside the bathroom at the top of the stairs, Taylor held the door open as though he were just going in, rather than just rushing out, 'two minutes mum.' He said and went inside, 'COME DOWNSTAIRS AFTERWARDS,' his mum shouted before talking in a quieter tone down the phone. 'I'll ring you later then, shall I?...Thanks sis...love you.' Taylor flushed the toilet, washed his hands, rubbed cold water into his face then went downstairs. The kettle was on. 'That was Auntie Iris.' His mum said. 'She reckons she can get you on Danny's camping trip.' 'I'm not even in the Scouts mum.' 'Well so. She's gonna have a word with the Scout Leader. She says he's great. He'll probably let you go if you join. You remember how much Danny went on about the last trip. You could go, make some new friends, have a laugh. Aw please say you'll go Tayls.' 'It does sound quite cool.' As Taylor lied he remembered something his mum had once said about his dad, 'The trick to lying, is to believe your own bullshit.' Auntie Iris picked him up the night before the trip. After trying on pieces of his cousin Danny's spare Scout uniform, brown combat shorts, a cream shirt and a blue cravat, he ate pizza, watched a film, and then sat at the computer watching things on Youtube until eleven. In the morning, Auntie Iris waited with them outside until the mini-bus picked them up. She saw them inside before asking the Scout Leader, Mr Crawley, for a private chat. Walking only a few steps away, they were clearly talking about Taylor. He could tell by the occasional joined glances they made. Seeing the conversation, most of the kids were intuitive enough to understand its meaning without the key ingredient of words. They figured; this new kid, Taylor, had been allowed to come along because of some exceptional circumstances. To the credit of the group, they made extra effort to make him feel welcome. Docker (Brad Dockerby) showed him and Danny a video on his phone of a crowded bus. 'Watch the old woman.' He said to them. Taylor tried not to cringe. He thought the frail old lady was going to fall over, hurt herself horribly and he would be expected to laugh about it. Instead, when the bus jerks, she grabs the penis of the man standing next to her, mistaking it for the safety railing. The video then goes into slow motion. The man's eyes bulge. He looks at the woman in complete surprise. The speed became normal again, and a clock appears. It counts ten seconds while the molested man stirs at the unknowing woman in silence. Taylor and Danny laugh at the man's reaction. The other boys on the mini-bus laugh at their reaction. For the first time in two weeks Taylor forgets about what happened at the park, near the bushes. As he experiences perfect laughter he thinks about his mum, who was right, he was going to have fun. Taylor had never realised how cool Scouts could be. He had expected it to be like school but outside. In reality it was far more fun. After arriving at the woods, they followed a trail to a cave, which they had to crawl through on their bellies. Mr Crawley was waiting for them in an underground chamber. Grabbing Taylor's hand in one hand, his upper arm with the other hand, he helped him to his feet. The gesture reassured Taylor, it made him feel welcome, it said, 'You're with me. You're one of my lads.' Once everyone was inside, they turned their torches off and the chamber became completely black. Shouting and hooting, everybody played with their echoes. Taylor made the cock-crow noise his dad often made. Danny howled like a wolf. After the cave, they ate sandwiches and drank juice. Changing into water proofs and waders, they waded into a long, thin, still water passage. Rock walls rose up on both sides of them. The water came to his lower chest. The plastic of his waders felt cold against his skin. It was exciting. In the mid-afternoon, they returned to the mini-bus. It took twenty minutes to drive to a farmer's field. From where they set up camp, they could see the farmer's house and the woods they had just left, but the view was mostly fields filled with sheep that varied in size in relation to how far away they were. 'Tayls, you're with me and Jake.' Danny said. They pitched their tent in a cowpat clear patch of long grass. Jake pointed to a badge on his sleeve that had a tepee like tent on it, and said, 'We have these because we can put up a tent by ourselves.' Taylor smiled. He wanted a badge like everyone else. Only in his mind's eye his badge has a football on it. 'Are you having fun Taylor?' 'Call him Tayls.' Danny corrects Jake. 'Are you having fun, Tayls?' 'Yeah.' After keeping such a big secret it felt nice to tell such an easy truth. 'Yeah, I'm glad I was allowed to join...Thanks.' 'How come you never joined before?' Because I thought it was for geeks, Taylor thinks, but says, 'I didn't realise how cool it is.' With the tent erected, they laid out their sleeping bags. Combat coloured, Taylor's looked like it had come from the Army. It was new. The late summer's day sun beat onto the tent's plastic and heated its inside to a hot temperature that suited the musty smell which was caught within. Instead of bringing a barbeque, Mr Crawly, Mr Dockerby (Brad's dad) and Mr Thompson, whose son Adam was a Scout, burnt a heap of charcoal. They hung a metal grill over it. Taylor liked how boyish the parents were. They were more like older kids than adults and were very easy to get along with. It was this which later encouraged him to tell his secret at the camp fire. After the barbeque, they played a game of touch rugby. Taylor again laughed and enjoyed himself. As dusk tones swept across the cloudless sky, Docker's dad started the bonfire. It quickly became dark. The twelve, eleven year old boys and three men sat on logs in front of a bonfire which reflected the shape on Danny's camping badge better than their tent did. A bag of marshmallows, monstrous things that would take six bites to finish, were passed along the line. 'Two each lads.' Mr Crawley called. Long sticks were also handed out. 'You toast them on the fire.' Danny said. Taylor had seen a thousand films where kids did this, but he nodded anyway. Danny was always telling him things he already knew. The boys had to stand up and approach the fire to toast their marshmallows. As they all stood around, three, extra-long branches held marshmallows near to the fire. They turned see to the three adults, sat together on the left side of the log seating. Leaning back, with pieces of long grass in their mouths, they held there extra-long branches like fishing rods. The boys laughed. This was Taylor's first traditional camp fire. Where Christmas had its carols, presents and turkey dinner, Halloween had fancy dress and trick or treating, Guy Fawkes' night had bonfires and fireworks, Scout camp fires had marshmallows and scary stories. The adults each told a scary story. Mr Crawley told one about a murderer in the back seat of a car. Docker's dad told everyone about his nightmares. How he was running away from a dog that each night got closer to biting him. He drew everyone in by saying it eventually caught him. But when he went to show the bite marks he barked and snapped instead, making everyone jump. Mr Thompson told a story about his cousin, who was getting phone calls from a murderer while she was babysitting. Afterwards there was silence. Then groups of twos and threes started talking to each other. Danny and Jake looked into the fire. Seeing Mr Dockerby yawn, Taylor thought he wants to go to bed soon. The day had been brilliant. Everyone had been so friendly and welcoming that Taylor did not want it to end. 'I have a story.' He said standing up. Everyone looked at him. 'It's not a ghost story. But it's scary, and it's real.' The adults said nothing, only looked encouraging, like good for you for trying. 'It was on Tessdon field. On my Nana's birthday. Two weeks ago. I'd been playing football all morning. But when Josh Ticky came, I let him take my place and walked home to get changed. I was walking across the field, bouncing my ball like it was a basketball, and I heard this noise. Like a whimpering or something...well it didn't sound right. It was only dinner time, there were cars passing on the road outside the park. All my mates were on the back of the field, I thought ''nothing's gonna happen'', so I went over to the bushes.' 'Wo, wait there-' Mr Thompson interrupted. He then talked to Mr Crawley, not Taylor, 'Do you think we should let him continue? This sounds like it could get quite bad, quite quickly.' 'He's okay.' Mr Crawley insisted. Taylor felt like running across and hugging the Scout Leader because he knew this was his only opportunity to get it all out. Depending on how everyone responded, he might ask Mr Crawley if he would sit with him as he told his mum what had happened. 'Carry on Taylor. Just go slowly. Take your time. Tell us everything. Tell us details. Talk carefully.' 'I was bouncing the ball.' Taylor's hand moved as it had that day on the field. 'I heard this sound. It was like a whimpering or something. It was really not nice. I couldn't understand what was making the sound so I walked over to the bushes, calling ''Hello.'', ''I have my phone,'' His mum never let him go out alone without it. 'I can call for an ambulance.' I got really close. Ten steps away, maybe less. Then I saw someone inside the bushes. I saw his eyes looking at me. It was weird because I could see it was a man and he was angry but his face was hidden. I dropped my football. I think I wanted to grab my phone but I froze. I just stood still, staring at this guy. Then I heard the whimpering again. The man looked away. There was another cry. It sounded like the noise itself, not the thing making it, had been kicked, if you know what I mean? I should have done something. Rung somebody, gone into the bushes to help, but I couldn't. I couldn't move.' 'You did the right thing.' Mr Dockerby said. It was only by being interrupted that Taylor looked around at the scouts and adults, his now captivated audience. 'Carry on mate.' Mr Crawley spoke for everyone. 'After the noise the man came out of the bushes. He was wearing normal clothes, jeans and a black t-shirt, but he had a mask covering his face.' 'What kind of mask?' Mr Thompson asked. 'It was like a woolly hat that had been pulled down. There were holes cut out where his eyes and mouth where.' 'A balaclava...' Mr Crawley asked, 'like what bank robbers wear?' 'Yeah, that's it, one of them.' Taylor was now seeing the memory clearer than the fire. 'He stepped out of the bushes.' 'What did you do?' Danny asked him. 'I legged it.' Everyone understood the term, 'legged it', to mean, he ran as fast as humanly possible. That he ran faster than a kid could normally run. Ran with the superpower every kid knew could only be summoned when their life was in danger. 'I would have kicked him in the balls.' One of the boys said. The others laughed. Dickhead Taylor thought. By being asked what he did, Taylor had missed out an element of his story. While he had stood, frozen with fear, the man had spoken to him. 'What've you been looking at?' Harsh, aggressive, the voice spat out each word like they were swear words. 'Nothing.' Taylor had pleaded, 'I haven't seen nothing.' 'You can't fucking kid a kidder, Kid.' The man had started towards him. That was when Taylor had abandoned the football his dad had bought him on their trip to their holy ground, Spring Park, Wessford United's football stadium, and ran. Mostly white, with Wessford United emblems on some of the badges, the football had accumulated thousands of hours of foot time. It was practically his pet. 'Did you get away?' Jake asked. 'Of course he did.' Danny said. 'What did the man do?' Mr Dockerby asked. 'He just stood there, watching me.' When Taylor got home his mum had ushered him to the bathroom, to get showered and changed. Though distracted by the family party for his Nana, he had continued to think about what had happened. Later that night, sleeping under his Wess U covers, in his Wessford United decorated room, he had come to realise that the man had not chased him because he had wanted to get back to the bushes. 'Taylor.' Mr Crawley was the furthest away at the end of the log bench. Leaning as far forward as he could, half of his face became shaded. 'Be honest now. Did you go back to those bushes?' 'I went back the next morning' Taylor admitted. He did not mention that he had stayed awake all of the previous night questioning what he should have done and what he should do next. Should he have called the police? Should he have told his mum? When he decided to go back, he told himself, if there is something in the bushes, I'll take my phone and ring the police. I'll say I was looking for my football and just came across whatever's there. 'I was looking for my football.' He had lied so much lately, that this one slipped out naturally. He had gone back to the bushes to get another opportunity to do the right thing. 'Did you find it?' Jake asked. Taylor paused. Mr Crawley appeared to understand that the question had come too early, that there was another piece of the story to tell. 'What happened in the bushes?' The Scout Leader asked, 'what was in there?' 'This time I walked from the road.' Taylor felt a reprise of the experience wake in his stomach. Like an infection, it made his insides feel uncomfortably unbalanced. 'I looked in all of the other bushes first, so it would seem like I was searching for my football, just in case anyone was watching. But when I was two bushes away, I heard this meowing.' 'Like a...' Someone was about to ask a question, but a loud 'SHhhh!' stopped them. 'I headed towards the sound. It was getting louder and louder the closer I got to the bush. Then I saw it, through the same gap as the day before. It was a kitten, hung by its tail.' Taylor lost his breath as he visualised the black kitten. If felt like he had fallen into cold water and could not breathe. He tried to stay calm but he could not. He broke any boy's biggest taboo. He started to cry. 'It was just hanging there, screeching.' 'I went into the bushes.' He said wiping his eyes. 'When I got closer to it, it started to hiss at me.' Taylor took a moment to try and collect himself. Everybody was looking at him, but none of them in a bad way. Taylor saw again the inside of the bushes. Grown around a tree, the bush branches and leaves were mostly an outer shell. The clearing inside was what any local kid would call a 'den'. It was a place usually reserved for the innocent imagination of young kids' games, or later at night, a place for teenagers to smoke, drink and experiment with their urges. 'I don't get why someone would do that in the park?' Jake asked, 'Surely they know they'll get caught.' 'Maybe that's part of the excitement for him.' Mr Crawley said. That's it. Taylor realised. 'What did you do about the cat?' Danny asked. 'I couldn't untie it by its tail.' Taylor said. 'The rope had dug into it. It was bleeding and meowing so badly. I traced the rope up to the branch it was attached to. And do you know what was there? My football. The man, who had hung up the rope, had propped it next to it. I looked around for a branch to knock it free but there wasn't one. I looked around to see if anyone could help, but there was no one anywhere. So I climbed the tree, not high at first, about as high as Danny's shed.' 'Tayls is the best at climbing trees.' Danny said to the group. 'I had to lean across the branch.' Taylor continued. 'I was gonna try and untie the cat first but then I saw something written on my ball. I thought it had been balanced strangely. What he had done was stab it with a knife and stuck the hole around a bit of branch.' Taylor nearly broke up again. He got angry instead. His dad had bought him that ball on the best day of his life. 'He'd written across it, 'YOU'RE DEAD', in blood. That's when I heard branches breaking. The man rushed into the bushes. He was fast, he ran and jumped up at me. I scrambled higher up the tree. I felt his fingers touch my trainers. He nearly got me. 'I F-ing told ya!' he shouted at me. I was shacking. I nearly fell. He was pointing this Rambo knife at me. He was really angry. He grabbed a load of stones off the ground and slung them at me. Some of them really hurt. I had some change in my pocket so I threw that back at him. He backed off and stood looking at me. Then he said, 'I'm gonna cut this cat's tail off, then I'm gonna cut yours off! Only I'm gonna shove yours up your arse!' The group gasped. 'Did he?' one kid asked. 'Did he cut its' tail off?' another kid asked. 'He did!' Taylor said. Passionately nodding to replace details, he turned away for a moment. 'He pointed the bloody knife at me.' He said turning to face the group again, 'I screamed for help, but no one could hear me. The cat ran off. A trail of blood was following it. Its screeching set off hundreds of dogs which I could hear all around me. A rock hit my arm. A proper big one. It really hurt. I think he wanted knock me down. I got my phone out of my pocket. I shouted at him, 'I'm gonna call the F-ing police.' I called him an F-ing B. I was trying to scare him off, but he threw another rock. Because I moved out of the way, I didn't see him start to climb the tree. When he grabbed for me, I threw my football down at his face. His knife nearly stabbed me. To get out of its way, I jumped over him. I hit the ground hard, it really hurt, but I didn't stop. I ran straight out of there. I knew he was chasing me because he was calling me an F-ing C. There was an old man on the far side of the field, walking his dog, near the bike exit. I thought he would help me, so I legged it towards him. Kris Farret is the fastest kid in my class, and I'm telling ya, I would have left him for dead.' 'What did the other man, the old one, walking his dog, do?', Mr Dockerby asked. 'Did he help you?' 'No,' Taylor was angry again. 'He thought I was running away from the knifeman because I'd done something wrong. He shouted at me 'stop right there!' 'I know who you are!' I was out of breath, but when I got close, I started shouting at him, 'That man has a knife. He has a knife.' He wasn't listening, he moved across to block the bike passage out of the park. He kept shouting, 'Stop.' As I got close he held out his hand like he was Gandalf or summat. I was shouting 'Move. Move.' But he just stood there. Then I heard the knifeman's voice shouting, 'Stop him!' 'Stop him!' Thief' 'What did you do?' 'I tried to get past, but I couldn't. The old man tackled me. We both fell to the floor. I heard him groan. I kept saying 'he has a knife'. Trying to explain, but he grabbed hold of me. His dog bit my ankle. That really hurt. I could hear the knifeman screaming, 'keep a hold of him!' I'm really sorry for what I did... I was gonna get stabbed... I...I...I punched the old man.' One of the other kids laughed. 'James!' one of the adults corrected him. A silence followed. 'What happened next?' Mr Dockerby asked. 'The old man let go of me.' Taylor heard the shame in his voice. 'I had to kick his dog lose too because it was ragging at my trackie trouses. But now the knifeman had caught up. He was reaching out for me. I ducked and ran. I think he stumbled over the old man. But as I sprinted along the passage, I could hear him just behind me. I'll never run like that again in my life. I just wanted to get home to my mum. When I got out of the passage I ran across the road without looking.' Taylor heard one of the other kid's gasp. He found that surprisingly funny. 'A bus nearly hit me.' he said with an air of boasting. 'The man was still chasing me. So I ran past my street, then I turned down Cooke Street, the one past ours. There's a back alley which runs between the houses on both streets. I took that. I kept looking back but I couldn't see him. Before I went through our gate, I checked again but couldn't see him. When I got into our house, I shut the door softly then ran upstairs. I went to my room and I peeked out onto the road from behind my curtains. After a couple of minutes, I watched him go past my house. He was looking around, trying to find me. For a minute he even looked up at my bedroom, but then a man from down the road approached him. I think he asked the knifeman about his mask, because he ran away. Since then, I haven't been on Tessden field and I ignore my mates when they call. I'm scared because of the guy, but truthfully, I don't want to see the old man either.' As Taylor took a deep breath, he felt how tired he was. It was a pleasant feeling. The activities of the day had worked out the rust his body had accumulated over two weeks of not playing football. By telling his story, his mind had accomplished a similar, cleansing result. Taylor looked down at Danny. His cousin smiled at him in a way that said I bet you feel better now. He did. 'Taylor?' Mr Crawley said. He was frowning. 'Be honest with me. On the first day, when the man didn't chase you, were you wearing the football kit of the team you support?' 'I don't know. I don't think so.' He truly was not sure. Mr Crawley seemed to see this, so he asked another question. 'Your football then, does it have anything with your team on it?' Taylor knew it did, but he was scared by the question, so he lied. 'It's plain white.' He said. 'Are you sure?' Everyone was looking at him. He knew, they knew, he was lying. 'It's just that the man who chased you, might have seen your football, might have seen who you support, then, when he was chasing you, he might have seen a bedroom on your street, decorated with curtains of the same team, and he might have realised that you live there. So I'll ask once again, are you sure there was no way he could know who you support? Think about it.' 'I am sure.' Taylor became increasingly scared as he looked at Mr Crawley, who looking back at him, seemed to be making his mind up about something. Then the dark half of the Scout Leader's mouth smiled, and he said, 'Come on, you can't kid a kidder, kid.


Clark wished that it was water that leaked into every fiber of his favorite coat. He forced his mind to quite possibly think that the last three hours didn’t happen. Maybe he just missed the weather forecast for the night, and they predicted rainfall. He surely missed the warnings to bring an umbrella. Unfortunately, this was not the case. He transferred his coat into his opposite hand, and he slowly reached his hand up to his face. He shut his eyes, hoping that when they opened the liquid making its way through the wrinkles of his fingers would be rain. Clark drew in a deep breathe before he opened his eyes.He studied his hands intently before letting out a hearty laugh. He looked like he just finished up a finger painting project! “I wonder if the red man group is hiring.” Clark immediately shook his head, shocked at how distasteful and dry those words sounded leaving his mouth. They’d be there any minute now, surely. No one hears that much screaming and ignores it. It’s quite a shame that he didn’t have a choice. He loved his daughter, and he was sure of that. Clark’s heart shattered when she fell ill. It was entirely different than any other illness he’d seen in his 12 years of practicing medicine. She refused to eat. She refused to pray. She refused to get up to use the restroom. She began to hurt herself. Her wrists were cut and bruised; her face fell pale and sunken. She scowled every time she saw her father. It hurt him so much to see her like that. All he wanted to do was help her, yet her disease seemed to be one he could neither identify nor cure. It pained him to see her become increasingly aggressive. On some days, Clark forgot that the person in the attic was even his daughter. Oh, but it was quite a shame that his wife fell ill of the same illness just weeks before. Clark begged and begged for her to allow him to treat her. His wife refused as well. Although he missed her everyday, he was thankful she passed peacefully in bed. The night his daughter attacked him, well, tonight as it was, he brought her food. He desperately tried all of her favorite foods, yet she refused. If she even took a bite, she ended up spitting it right back in her father’s face. She said nothing. Her tired body could only manage grunts and screams. It somehow seemed as if she took a vow of silence to spite her father. She reminded him so much of her mother. Clark left the tray of chicken and mashed potatoes on the floor next to his daughter’s bed. He stopped at the top of the stairs with his back turned to her, thinking about his late wife. This illness had torn his family apart and yet he wasn't even remotely close to a diagnosis. Not a moment later did he feel something plunge into his back. His daughter sprung from the bed somehow even with how frail her body became. He had no other choice. He took the Swiss army knife from his pocket and sent it into her side, throwing her weak body to the floor. She sent out a yelp as her body flopped to the floor like a rag doll. Clark grabbed the knife as tears of sadness and rage began to well in his eyes. He looked down at his daughter, who gasped and cried in pain. Clark saw the pain and sadness plaguing her eyes. He watched intently as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She looked empty, only a shell of the beautiful, bright girl she once was. “My sweet, sweet girl. If only you could’ve let me help you,” He spoke tenderly, with a look of love in his eyes. His daughter scoffed at him, but she said nothing. “Say hello to your mother for me. I miss her so much. You guys are so alike, you know. You remind me so much of her.” Clark stroked his daughters cheek and she winced at his touch. He brought the knife to her throat. She sputtered as he picked up her body, with love in his eyes and blood on his hands, and placed her back on the bed. He laid next to her for a bit, the warmness of the blood surrounding him like a comforting blanket. He held his daughter’s hand, much like he did with her mother when she took her last breathe. Clark heaved himself off the bed, his sadness tagging along with him. He examined the bed, and kicked one of the handcuffs that laid on the floor. “My sweet daughter. This incurable illness did tolls on your body, but it surely never drained your fight. Just a bit feistier than your mother.” He smiled, as he glanced over the now lifeless body of his daughter with love in his eyes. He shifted his glance over, just a bit, at the edge of the bed. “And you, my dear,” He walked up closely to the other half of the bed. His wife’s decaying corpse lay in the dress she wore the day they declared their undying love for each other. He traced his hand along her sunken face. “Take care of her, in all the ways I never could.” Clark smiled. At least his family was happy again. Sure, he was unable to help them, but doctors aren’t successful with all of their patients. It was on the front page the next day. “Unlicensed mad man murders family!” It read in blocky font. “An ex doctor who lost his license to malpractice, Clark \[redacted\], murdered his daughter last night. As police officers inspected the scene, they found the bodies of Sara \[redacted\], 18, and Kimberly \[redacted\]. 42. Sara died from blood loss due to the severity of her stab wounds. Police stated that Kimberly died 3 weeks ago. Both women were found in the attic, along with multiple notebooks describing the observations Clark made about their illness. Autopsy reports found that the women were only victims of Clark’s delusions, as no other diseases were identified. Mr. \[redacted\] has yet to be apprehended and is considered highly dangerous.” Clark spit on the ground. “Clearly you wouldn’t know they were ill. That is why you are the reporters, and I’m the doctor.” He let out a soft laugh before tossing the newspaper and his coat out of the car window. It’s quite a shame he had to get rid of his favorite coat. Alas, he knew no amount of baking soda in the world could get those stains out.


* Hello good people! I am new to this sub and I have been away from writing for a long, long time. This short story was inspired by a picture someone posted of the Cliffs of Moher. I had originally posted it in a comment thread a few months ago. I deleted it because people were downvoting it to hell, without critiquing it. I would love feedback on this since, I personally like it. I admit, it is pure shite in this form, but please critique it. My friend wants to make it into a short comic. And please be completely honest about it. Thanks! Hope it's not the worst thing you have ever read! The sun was hidden behind a curtain of grey menacing clouds. Mist, entangled in the air, danced with the wind. Every gust of air that shot up from below made the air wetter. I flinched every time I could see the water spray from the ledge.  My hair was damp and matted to my face from the soaked, dreary hike to the sides of the cliff. It had rained the whole way from the path. My feet were aching so much in the black leather boots I was wearing. Intense pain shot up my legs when we stopped: dull, aching pains.  I had taken my sister's boots. Stupid me. She was a whole size below me. We always fought about borrowing one another's things. But she wouldn't need them anymore since she had passed the previous spring from a cough. The doctor said it had taken over her lungs. Fever killed her.  Now, as I stood there, freezing, facing the edges of the earth, all I could do was pray. I had never prayed before. I thought I was silly. Praying was for people who were scared. Praying was for people who couldn't cope. For people who so desperately needed to believe in something. Maybe I was desperate.  I clasped my hands in front of me, looking out over the water. Out beyond, at the edge of the world. And I prayed. I closed my eyes and I saw my sister there. I saw her smile again and it made me so warm.  As I was reaching for her, I felt a bony hand on my shoulder. It felt like a knife pierced my arm. Swiftly, he spun me around to face him. With both hands on my shoulders, he glared at me. His breath was warm but putrid. He was praying too. He wasn't praying because of fear; he was praying out of hate and disdain for me. His eyes were black holes and his mouth spewed anger.  He led me to the wooden staircase there, near the ledge. I walked up two steps and walked to the middle of the platform. Every step sent pain up my legs. Every step was a hollow echo.  I prayed to my sister. I apologized for stealing her boots. She loved these boots and I ruined them. I tightly clasped my hands together hoping some magical angel would come out from the sky. At the church, people clasped their hands together so I thought I should too.  The praying for me continued. This time the whole congregation that followed me to the ledge were praying for me. Never in my life had so many people looked at me. Never in my life had so many people talked to me. Well, I guess it wasn't in the best sense, but at least now they knew I existed.  The preacher man who led us here, stood next to me. Yelling at me. A small piece of drool hung from his upper lip as he screamed. I thought the force of his screams would send it flying into my face. Amazingly, it held on there like some kind of glue. I couldn't understand any words he spoke. His words all bled together.  After a while of the screaming and yelling, I turned toward the water. I liked the edge of the world. It made me feel not so important. It reminded me that I am so small. Being at the edge, it was like staring at the beginning and the end. They so seamlessly bled together. I smiled. I felt warm again.  I closed my eyes and I saw my sister's face. She was laughing. She was so happy. Her curls bounced as she ran around me in circles. Flowers were braided into crowns on our heads. We were so happy. I was so happy at that moment. I broke apart my tightly clasped fingers and reached to grab her soft, delicate hands.  I was laughing so hard now. After so long, her beautiful hands embraced mine again. So joyous, I let out a raucous laughter. I threw my head back and laughed. I felt the crown slip but I didn't care. We could braid another; we were together again.  Then as the ground slipped out below me, everything turned blurry and red. I opened my eyes and I was spinning. All the angry, praying faces stared at me. Their mouths were moving but I couldn't hear a word. As I spun in the air, my legs kicking, my weight forced me back. I turned one last time toward the water. It was there that I could see the end of the world.


On The Fifth Day Of Christmas I can't believe you did this, I can't afford another child. My divorce isn't even final for another month, Stacy would love to drag this through the courts. Miriam hung her head. She knew Michael wouldn't be happy but never expected a reaction like this. She didn't do it on purpose, she was on birth control. How was she supposed to know they weren't guaranteed to prevent pregnancy.

Miriam ran to her car with tears in her eyes. It was a shock to her also, but she was willing to look at it as a welcome surprise, not devastation as Michael was implying. She hoped he would sleep on it and realize how he overreacted. They were in a loving relationship, it wasn't like they were involved in a one night stand.

Morning came and Miriam waited for Michael's apology. Several days went by and she hadn't heard from him. She had never felt more alone in her life. She was three months pregnant and she hadn't contemplated going through it alone. Now she wondered if he would ever come around or it was where they parted ways.

A month went by without any communication with Michael and Miriam decided she needed a more secure job if she was going to be a single mother. She had a couple of years of college and needed only a few more to secure her degree. It was going to be tough to attend after the baby was born so she decided to cram as many classes as possible before. Her hometown of Athens, Georgia didn't have the curriculum that she desperately needed so she packed up her old car and headed out west to stay with her sister.

Colorado was beautiful. She had never been in such a winter wonderland. The lake at the end of their street was frozen and wouldn't thaw until summer she was told by the locals. If you looked up at the Rocky Mountains, at any given time you could witness an avalanche in a distance. The weather was bitterly cold but dry. Making a snowball was challenging, the snow wouldn't stick together, She guessed that was why the skiing was so good dry powder.

Living with her sister was enjoyable. They were only a couple of years apart and had grown up in Georgia where the weather was warm. Everyone was shocked when her sister came to dinner one Sunday afternoon and told everyone she had accepted a job at Breckinridge Ski Resort in Breckinridge, Colorado. The family was aware that she loved to ski and had taken several trips to Colorado with her boyfriend but no one expected her to move. Jessica and Matt moved together when she came but split up shortly after. The family was hoping she would return home to Georgia but her love for the mountains was too strong Miriam liked it but didn't think she would ever feel as strongly about it as Jessica. After she finished her two classes, she was planning on returning to Georgia hopefully before the baby was born. With the college loans, she had secured, she would be able to live for a couple more months before she had to get a full-time job.

Miriam's life was different than she had planned. She thought she and Michael would eventually get married after his divorce was final. She knew Michael while he and Stacy were together but she had no part in their break up. Michael caught Stacy cheating and filed for divorce. Miriam didn't start dating Michael until after he was legally separated and in the process. With the children's custody and property, the divorce had been drug out for three years. Miriam didn't understand how her being pregnant would have affected any of it. The divorce was almost final. Miriam wasn't going to lose any more sleep over it. She had cried to Colorado wandering how someone she thought loved her and would always be there would turn their back on her when she needed him most. She would be fine. She would raise the baby herself without his help. She knew she could, Miriam had always been strong, especially willed and she would do whatever it took to make a stable life for her and her child. Christmas was approaching and she would concentrate on that. Jessica had invited her to several parties as her plus one and she had turned them all down. After setting home staring at the walls on Christmas break from school, she decided to attend one.

With the ugliest sweater she could make, she went to Jessica's work party. The people were friendly and Jessica must have talked a lot about her because they acted as if they knew her. Craig was the first who came up to her and introduced himself. He was a lift operator and had worked with Jessica the whole time she had been in Colorado. He made it a point to get her food and drinks even though she told him she was fine. He was the sweetest man she had ever met.

Jessica's parties didn't stop. She took Miriam to one of her close friends gathering the following night. The same scenario with her friends acting as if they had always known her. Miriam wasn't sure she appreciated Jessica discussing all of her problems especially the one about the man she was in love with dumping her when he found out she was pregnant. Jess was the man of the night waiting on her and telling her how beautiful and glowing she was. She wondered if men were drawn to pregnant women. If they gave off some pherenome that made men find them more attractive.

Jessica had a lot of friends. The apartment complex, the grocery store, her gym. They all seemed to know about her poor sister. The last party the girls were invited to was on Christmas Eve. It was a special party with no ugly sweaters but holiday apparel. Miriam was six months pregnant now and most of her clothes were too tight so she went to the local thrift store to find a holiday outfit. After visiting three, she came across a gold taffeta skirt with an elastic band in three sizes larger than she normally wore and a black choker collar silk blouse. She looked beautiful. Her sister complimented her on how her complexion agreed with pregancy and how she had chose the perfect outfit.

After Jessica got ready in her holiday finest, the two arrived at the party fashionably late. The whole town would be attending this party. The tree in the town square would be lit and a live band was positioned outside by the gazebo during the ceremony. After, the function would be moved indoors to the Fire department activity building where food and drinks would be galore. Jessica attended every year and told Miriam what a festive occasion it would be. An open bar would benefit everyone but Miriam who only got to enjoy shebert punch.

Craig, the attentive Lift operator from the office party was the first to come and talk to Miriam. He told her that he had never been married but always wanted to and could see that she was in a difficult situation. Miriam was afraid where this was going. Craig continued to tell her that he would love to take care of her and her baby. Miriam thought that was the sweetest thing she had ever had anyone to offer but kindly turned him down.

The next suitor who had too much to drink was Jess, he approached Jessica earlier in the week and asked if she thought her sister would merry him. Jessica told him he was crazy. Too much alcohol made Jess forget what her sister had said when he knelt on one knee asking for Miriam's hand. Embarrassing, for Jess but Miriam quietly thanked him for being so kind but declined. Miriam's night wasn't quite over for she had two more proposals from men she had met through Jessica. All they could see was a damsel in distress. None of them considered how they would feel when the baby was born and realize they didn't even know her. Miriam had blushed several times that night and couldn't believe how caring Jessica's friends were and it helped her understand why Jessica chose to stay in Colorado.

When the night was almost over, Miriam was tapped on the shoulder as she turned around expecting another one of Jessica's dear, dear, friends. She burst into tears, when Michael dropped to the floor with a ring and asked her to marry him. He told her he was so sorry that he was shocked with the news, and when he tried to apologize she was gone. He said he was an idiot and hoped she would give him another chance. Miriam accepted his apology as he placed the ring on her left finger and the fear of the unknown evaporated as she realized she didn't have to do it alone.


Princess Aoi sighed as she stared out the window of her office, daydreaming of taking a walk in the palace gardens and ignoring the heavy piles of documents in front of her. “Is something the matter, Your Highness?” The palace tutor Giles Christophe looked up from his papers with concern. “There’s so much to do, Giles,” she whispered. “I fear I’ll spend most my life reading and signing documents, giving attention to nothing but parchment.” She sat up in her chair and grabbed the next document from her unfinished pile. Giles set down the papers he was reading and strode over to her desk, taking the document she held. “Giles?” “It's time for your dance lessons anyhow, princess.” Giles laid the papers back on the unfinished pile. “Duke Howard should be in the dance hall waiting for you. I’ll have Nico prepare your favorite tea when you return.” Princess Aoi smiled, slowly rose from her desk and walked toward the office's large doors. Giles noticed her reluctance to leave her work, walking over and carefully opening them for her. “And don’t forget to smile for Louis. Everyone knows you have the most beautiful smile, Your Highness.” An embarrassed smirk showed on the princess’s face and she walked off towards the dance hall. ---- “You are distracted,” Duke Louis Howard remarked as the princess missed yet another step of the dance they’d practiced for weeks. “I’m sorry.” She looked down at her shoes. They stopped moving only minutes into their lesson and the orchestra in the corner followed suit. “I was thinking about all the paperwork left on my desk in the office.” “I see.” Louis turned to look out one of the tall windows of the hall. “Perhaps you would prefer we continue our lesson another day? You may find it easier to concentrate once some of those documents are in order.” “Hopefully, but I feel that every day I receive twice the amount I finished the day before.” Louis stared at her small stature another moment before speaking again. “Why don’t we stop for today, and we can continue tomorrow at the time your dance lessons normally occur?” “But I have my equestrian lessons with Alyn at this time on days we don’t meet.” “I’ll speak with Giles,” Louis said quickly. “Plan on tomorrow evening after your dinner. That should be plenty time to finish your work.” She showed a happy smile to Louis. “Okay. Thank you, Louis.” The princess curtsied and walked quickly towards her office. As she walked up one of the staircases, she noticed a small group of men standing near the top, talking enthusiastically. They were bureaucrats who visited the palace often to talk politics and argue about trading contracts with other countries. Among the older men was Leo Crawford, her teacher and the youngest of the men. He saw princess Aoi’s smiling face and bowed as she approached. “A pleasure to see your smiling face today, Your Highness.” The other men stood flustered for a moment but quickly followed Leo’s lead, bowing deeply, and greeting the contrastingly small princess. “And what might be the conversation today, Leo?” “Nothing interesting, I can assure you, princess.” Leo and princess Aoi giggled at the protests from the other men. “It is of upmost importance, Leo,” one man declared. “Yes, Your Highness, we are speaking of our neighbor country, Stein.” The men all nodded. “That country has been silent for years, and now King Byron Wagner decides he not only wants to start trading contracts with us, but also requests to visit the palace? The audacity of that man,” said another. “Yes, well you can only expect so much from a king who took the crown at sixteen,” a kinder-looking bureaucrat said. “His father had such a reign of terror and he’s been trying to defuse the effects ever since, you know. This could be a very good thing for Stein’s citizens.” The bureaucrat Lloyd Grandier had traveled the world and was clearly more knowledgeable about Stein than the others. He leaned towards the princess, speaking no quieter than before. “Don’t worry about these judgmental men, Your Highness. I’m sure King Byron will be quite the gentleman in your presence.” Lloyd gave her a quick wink and a teasing smile. Princess Aoi chuckled, gave the men a cute grin and curtsied. “Continue with your conversation, please. I must be heading back to the office now; Giles is waiting for me.” She gave a polite wave to Leo and Lloyd as she hurried off, letting the men’s loud words fade in the distance behind her. ---- Back in the office, she worked hard at her unfinished pile with Giles until dinnertime. “Looks like we finished everything just in time today, princess,” Giles said with a wide smile. “Let us go. The kitchen has prepared a nice meal for you, tonight.” The princess happily stood and walked past the tall windows toward the doors, staring at the setting sun. “You know Giles, I am glad to be the princess. I do love serving this country and my citizens, and I’m happy that I was chosen to be princess.” She turned to Giles with a nostalgic smile. “But sometimes I wish I could go back to being just a citizen again.” Giles stopped walking and stood looking at her as she waited by the door, still staring out the windows. “I wonder…” “What is it, Giles?” She turned to face him. Giles smirked. “I wonder if you smiled as much back then as you do now.” The comment caught her off guard. She thought about nothing else all through dinner and as her personal attendant Nico Meier escorted her back to her chambers. “You’ve been awful quiet tonight, princess,” Nico remarked as he closed the drapes over her windows. “Your usual smile is gone, too. Did something happen today?” Princess Aoi forced a smile for Nico and assured him she was only tired. Nico was unconvinced but wished her goodnight and left without protest. She laid down in bed, still pondering Giles’ words from before.

I wonder if you smiled as much back then as you do now.  Truthfully, she didn’t. She had lost her family early on in life, and other than the pupils she used to tutor, she didn’t have many friends. Drifting off into sleep, she recalled the day she was chosen to be the next princess. In her country, when the King or Queen has no heir to the throne, women ages 19-21 are called to the palace from all over the country. The palace tutor chooses one girl out of the hundreds to be princess, and she then must choose from a small list of eligible men who will be prince consort, her eventual husband and future King. Princess Aoi was still overwhelmed by the prince consort decision, having to choose between Duke Louis Howard, bureaucrat Leo Crawford, captain of the royal guard Alyn Crawford, royal painter and bureaucrat Robert Branche, and now King Byron Wagner of their neighboring country Stein. Princess Aoi lay in bed tossing and turning, thinking of all that had transpired since the day Giles had chosen her when a bright light from her window distracted her. Curious, she stood from her bed and followed the light onto her balcony where she found a glowing gold orb. Suddenly, its glow grew brighter until she couldn’t stand it anymore and shut her eyes as it enveloped her completely. When she opened them again, she was standing face-to-face with a gorgeous man with glowing dark skin, silver hair, and golden eyes. “Hmm, quite unusual,” the man spoke in a low, comforting voice. “I haven’t been sent a princess in a long time.” “Where am I,” Princess Aoi asked, feeling smaller than usual in the glowing man’s presence. “Why, didn’t you call for me, little one? You said it yourself: you wish to go back to being a mere peasant citizen again. I am here to grant that wish.” Princess Aoi prepared herself to protest the man’s words but stopped to think about his offer seriously. “I could really go back?” Her voice was quiet and soft, talking more to herself than the otherworldly being. “Yes. However, I must preface this with how the process will work.” The man approached and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “I’ve done this many times and found that I receive less complaints if I give people a trail period.” “Trial period?” “If you still wish to return to being the princess after 24 hours of experiencing life as a citizen again, with some minor changes to account for the time you became princess, I will reverse your wish, and everything will be as it should be. If you find that you prefer the life you experienced in these next 24 hours, I will let you remain there.” Aoi stared at his mesmerizing eyes, seriously contemplating the man’s words. “Alright, but what price must I pay for this that you claim to provide?” “Smart girl.” The man stood up straight, towering over her and tracing his finger along her jaw. “I suppose in your case, I shall take your beautiful smile.” “My smile? That’s all?” “Do not underestimate your smile, little one.” He placed a single finger on her lips. “It has much more power than you give credit for.” The man slowly turned and started walking away from her, gesturing for Princess Aoi to follow him. “You will be unable to smile for the 24 hour trial period, and if you choose to remain, I will keep your smile so long as you live.” Walking behind him through what she saw as blank nothingness, Princess Aoi touched her lips. “I won’t be able to smile?” She lowered her hand slowly and looked up at the man. “But that seems such a small price to pay. Surely you’ve taken more from others before me?” “I take from you creatures what others deem most important about you. For you, it was either your smile or your kindness. Life would be much too miserable without the latter, wouldn’t you agree?” Princess Aoi looked down at her feet and felt a sense of gratefulness as she considered a life without the ability to be kind to others compared to a life without the ability to smile. “How will I find you if I wish to return to my life at the palace as the princess?” “I will be around. If you find you are in need to call your journey short or you are in danger of losing your life before the 24 hours are through, use this.” The man snapped his fingers and a small orb similar to the one from earlier appeared before Aoi and fell into her hands. “How do I use it?” Aoi’s words echoed into the dark as she looked up from her hands to see that the man was no longer in front of her. Glancing at her surroundings, she found herself in one of the many forests of her country. Looking down, she saw she was wearing worn and tattered clothes, much worse than anything she’d worn in her life. She noticed a distinct lack of shoes on her feet, too. With a sigh, she began walking through the dark wooded area in the direction of distant lights. Aoi walked for what seemed like hours, cold and hungry until she finally came upon the city outside the palace.

She walked through the dim streets feeling anxious. Dark silhouettes formed in the distance in front of her. Feeling scared, she turned around only to find another figure behind her. Aoi quickly walked down an alleyway connected to the street, still looking behind her. The figures followed down the alley, and Aoi attempted to start running only to find it led to a dead end.

Oh no . She spun to face the four men that stood leering in front of her. “Looks like we found a cute one, boys.” The men walked closer, towering over her. “How much you think she’s worth, boss?” One of the men reached for Aoi’s arm and she immediately twisted away, looking around for anything she could defend herself with. A small light seemed to shine at the end of the alley. “Won’t know until we bring her back with us, now will we?” The largest man forcefully grabbed at her shoulder. “Come on, little girl, show us a smile.” “Leave me alone,” Aoi yelled as she shoved the man away. The light at the end of the alley grew brighter. “Who’s back there?” The sound of clanging metal and hooves emerged, and lanterns came closer.

That’s the night watch!

Despite the pain she felt stab her lips, Aoi ran past the distracted men and towards the guards. Captain Alyn Crawford dismounted his horse and drew his sword at the shady men. Aoi hid behind Alyn. “State your business being out so late,” Alyn demanded. The men seemed to cower at his presence, silent. “Fine. Either leave to your homes immediately or face arrest.” Clearly outnumbered, the men ran away past the guards. Relief passed over Aoi until she saw Alyn staring down at her sternly. “And you. What are you doing out at night? You should be home.” Aoi took a few steps back.

I forgot; he doesn’t know who I am. The palace is the only “home” I can think of . “I don’t…” Aoi looked around the small space where they stood. She couldn’t find the words to explain. Alyn looked at his accompanying guards, seeming to understand. “Continue on tonight’s route, men. I’ll see to it she gets home safely.” The other guards left the alley as Alyn commanded. Aoi turned to face him, feeling a sharp pain at her mouth again. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t know how to get home from here,” she said quietly. Alyn paused. “Are you homeless?” Aoi looked at the ground shamefully. He was correct. She began to cry silently. Alyn grabbed the reins of his horse and walked over to her. “Your hand, please.” She complied and Alyn helped her onto his horse. Heading out of the alley, Alyn led farther into the city towards an inn. Once inside, they were greeted by a man behind the counter. “Wait here a moment,” he said as he sat her down on a small sofa and walked away to speak with the man. Aoi took this time to look at her surroundings. It was quite a fancy inn. Expensive décor lined the walls, and the carpet fabric was clearly top of the line. The sofa she sat on felt the same as the sofa Aoi had in her bedroom at the palace. The sconces were similar to those in the palace halls, too. She felt almost out of place in the elegant room, and she noticed another dull pain at her lips and arm. Alyn soon returned holding a key. “Follow me.” He led her to a room upstairs and unlocked the door, leading her inside. “You’ll stay here for the night. Don’t worry about paying the innkeeper, that’s all taken care of. From now on, don’t wander the streets alone. It’s dangerous.” Aoi nodded. He sighed deeply. “Look, if you can’t find somewhere to stay tomorrow, come back here. I’ll speak with the innkeeper.” She looked down at her bare feet, holding her arm that would soon be bruised where the men had grabbed her. “Do you need to see a doctor?” “Why are you helping me? You don’t know me.” Her soft voice surprised him. He spoke confidently with a smile. “I’m captain of the royal guard. It’s my duty to protect citizens of my country.” He stepped closer to Aoi, reaching for her chin and lifting her gaze. “There’s no need to look so sad now. Would you do me the honor of seeing your smile before I go?” His voice was gentile and sincere. Aoi’s mouth began to curve upwards instinctively, but a sharp, unbearable pain like a thousand knives stabbed at her lips again and made her flinch. “Are you alright?” “I’m fine. It’s just a toothache.” She answered frantically, hiding her mouth and holding back tears. Alyn stood quiet for a moment. “Alright. I’ll take my leave now. Sleep well, miss.” Alyn closed the door behind him and walked slowly down the hallway. Once she couldn’t hear his footsteps, Aoi fell to her knees and began sobbing. It had only been hours since she encountered the glowing man, and she managed to almost get kidnapped, disturb Alyn during his shift, and inconvenience a poor innkeeper. All that in a matter of hours, yet what made her truly miserable was after all he’d done to help her, Aoi couldn’t give Alyn a smile or return safe to her home.            All through the rest of the night and hours into the daytime, Aoi didn’t leave the inn’s bed. Falling in and out of sleep and drifting between feeling hopeless and alone, she cried. “My, my, what have we here?” A familiar glow lit up the room. Aoi looked up, drying the tears from her eyes. “It seems I may have gone too far.” Aoi jumped up and ran to hug the glowing man. “Please, take me back! I want to go back now,” she sobbed into the man’s chest. He patted Aoi’s head comfortingly. “You hardly experienced the day, little one. What makes you tremble so?” “I don’t have my friends. I don’t have family to go home to. The people I love are so far out of my reach and they hardly know I exist. This is torture!” She cried harder. “My heart feels more pain than my lips did when I tried to smile for Alyn. I couldn’t take it. I can’t handle this, please just let me go back to the way things should be. I’ll do anything!” “Anything?” The bemused man smiled and lifted her chin to look at his face. “To return to the way things should be, you will do anything?” “Yes,” she said, drying her tears. “Smile for me.” Aoi looked, confused, remembering the pain when she attempted to smile for Alyn. But she was determined to see the people whom she considered her family again. Thinking of them, a beautiful smile came naturally to her lips. The man placed a hand on her cheek. “Never lose that smile, princess. You underestimate the power it holds.” He disappeared before the princess’s eyes and she looked around to find herself in the palace gardens, the sky just as dark as when the glowing orb appeared before. “Princess!” Princess Aoi turned to the sound of Nico’s voice, finding him running toward her with Giles and Alyn close behind. “What are you doing,” Alyn asked sternly. “I told you, never leave your room without a guard! It’s dangerous to walk alone, don’t you understand?” Then Giles noticed her tears. “Princess? Are you alright?” The men grew concerned. Princess Aoi pulled them into an embrace, smiling brighter than ever. “I’ve never been happier.”


“What?” Came an incredulous response from behind the partially closed bathroom door. “She...” the rest of Paul’s question was drowned out by the running water as he finished brushing his teeth and rinsed his mouth. “Paul, please.” Lilly coaxed through the door. “I didn’t say she won’t go, I said she doesn’t want to.” Looking up she mouthed I could use some help here! Exiting the bathroom in his work pants and t-shirt Paul sat on the edge of the bed putting on his shoes. “Our kids are the fourth generation that have had the privilege of going on this wildlife retreat. Of course, she’s going!” Realizing she needed a different approach Lilly sat next to him on the bed. “Please don’t take this personally, Paul. I know what this retreat has meant to your family. But it’s the 21 st Century, and our soon to be 18-year-old daughter is not interested in communing with nature.” Paul’s normally calm nature was being tested. “Yes, it’s the 21 st Century, and this is the only planet we’ve got. Which makes it even more important that our children learn to respect it. Learn how to protect it.” “I don’t disagree with you...” Lily started, but Paul cut her off. “I went on my first retreat with my grandfather while my father was fighting in Korea. We’ve gone every year since, often when we couldn’t really afford it. This is important, Lil. It’s our family tradition. Who will teach them if we don’t’?” Again, Lilly looked up seeking help. “Yes, it is important. The boys love it! And yes, we can insist she go. But she’s off to college in the fall and this could be the last vacation we ever have as a family. Do you really want to spend it knowing she’s hating every minute?” Paul looked up at her in disbelief. “Why doesn’t….when did this…” He couldn’t even finish his thought. Lilly sighed. She knew this was going to be a hard conversation. “Paul, she has hated going since she was old enough to voice an opinion.” She finally stated bluntly. The crushed look on his face was what she had hoped to avoid, but there it was. He nodded slowly. “Why am I just hearing about this now?” “Because she worships her father.” Lilly whispered, fighting back the tears. “She knows how important this retreat is to you. But for her, the term vacation means two weeks of …. well you get the picture.” “She used to be able to talk to me about anything….everything. What happened to that? Why is the dad the last to know?” Lilly took Paul’s hand and put her head on his shoulder. “Because she’s growing up. And we have to let her. We raised her to be a good, responsible person. Now we have to trust her. And that means we have to let her make decisions….like whether or not to go on the family retreat.” Paul kissed her on the forehead. “Where is she? In her room?” “Yes, but Paul, I haven’t told her I was going to talk to you about this. She didn’t ask me to.” “Being the meddling mom again, huh?” Paul smiled as he got up and headed for the door. Lilly laughed. “Well if this transgression keeps me out of the running for Mom of the Year, I’ll find a way to live with it.” Paul walked down the hall to Amy’s room and knocked, Lilly not far behind. Amy emerged to find both parents standing in the hall just outside her door. Her eyes widened “Oh, this can’t be good”. As Paul pulled her into a bear hug, she looked around him at her mom and mouthed WHAT?  Her face showing confusion. “Your mom tells me you don’t want to go on the retreat this summer.” Paul stated bluntly. “MOM!!” Amy cried out. Lilly looked at her daughter, nodding her head. “I wasn’t going to keep this secret another year. Soon you’ll be an adult. You get to voice an opinion.” Paul again hugged is now sobbing daughter. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. “You used to tell me things.” “I’m sorry… Dad.” She managed to choke out. “You’re always so happy when you’re checking the camping stuff. Buying new thingies to go in the box with all the other…. thingies. But all I can think about are the mosquitoes and the worms and….” Her voice trailed off with another round of sobs. Looking at Lilly over Amy’s shoulder Paul asked, “How could I have missed this for 18 year? What planet have I been on?” “Don’t beat yourself up, Dad. We got pretty good at hiding the discomfort while you boys were having fun.” Lilly replied, trying to add a bit of levity to the situation. “Yeah, about that!” he looked questioningly at Lilly. LATER. She mouthed, raising her eyebrows and nodding toward Amy. Paul pulled Amy away just far enough to see her face. “Baby, the whole idea of a family tradition is to spend time together. I wanted to share with you kids the same things my dad shared with me. It’s not to torture you for two weeks.” Amy smiled as he wiped away her tears. “Your mom and I aren’t going to be around forever; you know to embarrass you in front of your friends and such.” This time she laughed. “Or to insist you carry on the family traditions. We hope you will. But at the end of the day, it’s up to you and your brothers whether you do or not.” “My Aunt Agnes used to bring fruitcake to Thanksgiving dinner, every year. That’s a family tradition we had let go.” Paul said. “And I, for one, don’t miss it.” Paul laughed, hugging Amy again before heading to the kitchen. “DAD! You don’t have an Aunt Agnes!” Amy yelled. “Yeah, we let her to with the fruitcake.” Paul answered over his shoulder. Amy was suddenly in Lilly’s arms. “Mom. I wish you hadn’t done that!” Kissing her daughter on the cheek Lily replied. “You’re dad’s a big boy. It’s time he grew up.” “But, Mom, what will I do for two weeks if I really don’t have to go on the retreat? Can I stay here…alone?” Amy asked wide eyed. Looking over her glasses Lilly replied. “Your dad’s not THAT big yet. So, don’t hold your breath.”


As Cycle 1 of Serial Saturday here on comes to a close, all that’s left to do is spotlight our fantastic authors. Let's take a moment to give a socially distanced . It’s been such a treat to watch people evolve their flash fiction serials with us and bring arcs to a close that for some have been with us for quite a while. For a good handful of writers on Serial Saturday, their stories are continuations of serials started on Theme Thursday weekly threads. One such story comes from /u/lynx_elia, a regular from /r/writingprompts. Here at we thoroughly enjoyed Lynx’s story of tradecraft, spy vrs spy action and adventure. But don't take my word for it! Here's a small teaser from /u/lynx_elia: *Ekaja Kaur is an assassin for the mob on New Earth. She’s also the last remaining shapeshifter alien in the galaxy. When her latest job ends in a rival gang stealing a vial of her blood, she vows to reclaim it and prevent the underworld from discovering her true identity.* *Hunted by the mob she abandoned, she traces the vial to an ice planet of mercenaries and entrepreneurs. There she discovers a warehouse of androids that are more than they seem, and a young human mobster who just might be her way out of the mess. But who can she trust in a galaxy of criminals and spies? And how far will she go to ensure her secret stays that way?* *Find out in The Professional: a space adventure set in the author’s Archivist universe.* 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 Lynx’s take on that: I loved writing this story. The shapeshifter assassin came fully formed to my brain — they exist as a character in my novel series (as yet unpublished), and I was excited to explore an episode in their past, as well as expand on the universe. Impressions from writing in this format: I pantsed a lot of *The Professional*. You can see that when halfway through I stumbled with the plot outline. Writing the story through Serial Saturday really helped with that: after seven episodes on Theme Thursday, working with whatever happened for that week, it was becoming harder to predict where to go next. Don’t get me wrong, I love pantsing. I love the excitement of discovering the story as I go along. But when we switched across to SerSat, the idea of plot beats and a (still vague) structure helped me outline just a teensy bit more. Which brought the story together even better. I’m looking forward to going again for a different story next year. Challenges? Without SerSat, we wouldn’t have had Arthun. He was so fun to write. I planned to kill him off a bunch of times, but he grew on me too much. Funnily, Arthun only came about because I needed something to fill a few episodes. And now I’m really glad he did. SerSat was a challenge in and of itself. Sticking with the story and seeing where it took me has made me a better writer. As has all the crit and constructive feedback from fellow writers. Thanks, everyone! What’s the future of this story? I’m hopefully going to turn *The Professional* into a novella. Watch this space. With the tale of *The Professional* at an end there is only one thing left to do: show off this newly finished story for obligatory bragging rights here on . Let the bragging begin! Lynx’s personal sub is and I highly recommend checking out their author notes and other stories written for . *The Professional* in its entirety is compiled as a collection there, go give them some love! Without further ado, here's Lynx’s Table of Contents. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Original 20 stories as posted: Chapter log and updated versions available on subreddit: . \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ You can check out more of /u/Lynx_Elia's work by going to their subreddit, . Congrats on finishing your serial, Lynx, 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.