Giulia heard about the witch from a widow, an acquaintance of her mother's. The widow was rich and had three successful sons. Her husband had died of a fever, leaving behind an immense estate. Using the acumen and wealth which God had bestowed upon her, the widow shrewdly recuperated her husband's crumbling holdings, educated her sons, and married them off to rich and powerful families. The youngest of her sons was rumored to be betrothed to the daughter of the house of Valois. There was also a rumor that the widow has had illicit relationships with men as young as her sons.

Giulia did not pay attention to those rumors. She admired the widow. Giulia's mother did not approve of their meetings, but her mother did not approve of any woman who had a tongue in her mouth. As far as her mother was concerned the widow was the spawn of the devil. She warned Giulia to stay away from her. To Giulia, the widow was a strong and independent woman who made subservient women like her mother uncomfortable. The widow’s sharp features, sharp eyes, and sharp movements attracted and terrified men and women alike. They did not like her but they were drawn to her, especially men. To Giulia, she represented a small but powerful light in a sea of darkness, where women like her were abused and mistreated. Giulia would visit the widow almost every week. The widow would listen intently and give Giulia advice. The conversation would often veer towards children, men, and cookery. The widow would say that men's viciousness did not scare her but their stupidity. Giulia personally was more scared of their viciousness than their stupidity. Giulia's husband, Enzo, used to come home every night and beat her over the most ridiculous of things. Food was the most common incitement. The old widow would say that Enzo was a vicious creature that she had warned Giulia's mother about. Enzo had broken a tooth of the old widow's youngest son. She had taken Enzo's family to court, and Giulia's father-in-law had apologized feverishly and made Enzo apologize as well. Although Enzo had to be beaten senseless by his father before he uttered the word sorry to the widow and her son. Giulia tried many things that the widow suggested but nothing stopped the beating. Eventually, the widow confronted Enzo. First time in her life, she saw Enzo unable to be mean to a woman. He growled and groaned but didn't utter a word of defiance. For months, he didn't touch Giulia until he came home one night with his eyes swollen shut and beat her for serving him a stale meal. The widow sympathized with her because her own late husband was a spendthrift. He had drunk and whored away almost half his inheritance before he passed away of a terrible fever. The widow would call him her silly old darling. The widow loved him but was glad that he died for he would have made her children destitute. The widow herself had lived her childhood in poverty and disgrace under the banner of a prominent family which had lost its wealth to the mistakes of vicious, silly, and irresponsible men. However, her family name had allowed her to get married in a nouveau-arrived family of Habsburg, risen to prominence single-handedly by the old widow's father-in-law who was an orphan, who worked in the docks of Venice until with industriousness and humility he becomes one of the wealthiest merchants in the city. Although the widow’s father-in-law made her uncomfortable with his intelligent gaze, he was one of the few men the widow admired. He disapproved of her marriage with his son but had to agree after a public insistence from her late husband.

When they first met. The widow was charmed by her bold young beau, slender and popular with no care in the world. He would spend more on perfume than her family spent on rations. They lived a life of luxury and new dignity she had never known. She dined with every prominent family, met with the pope, and ate at the house of Medici. But when her father-in-law died of a sudden heart ailment, their family estate fell into the hands of her husband. Within a few years, her husband, unbridled, had lost and spent half of the family's fortune.

Giulia’s marriage was like the old widow’s except that Enzo was also violent. He beat her hard and often. Sometimes, she wished she was never born. It felt like there was never a time when life was worth living. The ink of the present had smudged the memories of the past. Sometimes, she questioned whether the memories from her past were ever real. The pain, the beatings, and the horrors she experienced were the only thing that felt real.

After one particularly bad beating, Giulia went to the widow's house. It had taken her a week to gather her courage. She had become anxious and, for the first time, she feared for her life. When the old widow saw Giulia’s face, she had grown furious. She wanted to confront Enzo but Giulia pleaded with her. It was her fault, she insisted. She was not a good wife to him. She could not give him a son. Giulia cried herself to sleep in the widow's embrace. After she woke up, she was not frantic and felt secure.

In the evening, Giulia sat in the widow’s bedroom brooding over the fact that she had to go home to him. The terror came back. The widow found Giulia sobbing and she said,

"You cannot live like that, child."

"I fear for myself but most of all I fear for my children and their future. He will ruin everything." "For them, you need to be strong, Giulia. I know you can. You are one of the strongest women I know." That made Giulia feel better. Coming from her, it meant a lot to her. Giulia looked into the widow's sharp eyes. "I want to be strong like you. I want to do what you did" The widow began, "You have heard bad rumors about me. You still want to be like me" Giulia nodded. The widow told her to seek Paolina the witch.

*** When Giulia entered the witch's place, she could not believe her eyes. She found herself in a room which was much bigger than what it looked from the outside. The room was lit wonderfully with candlelight. It smelt like lavender and rosemary and myriad other smells Giulia wished she knew. The floor was covered with the loveliest of carpets, which she could feel through the soles of her shoes. The walls were lined with sofas on which sat a score of women. All were veiled like she was yet every eye was different. Some were stronger than others. Others, younger. She could tell from those who had suffered more than she had. Life worse than hers she could have never imagined yet here she was sitting among women who had seen much worse than her. Giulia sat next to a girl with olive skin. Her eyes looked exotic and she had some sort of mark between her forehead. In front of Giulia sat a girl with brown hair and brown eyes. Giulia could tell that the girl was pregnant because she wore a dress that was too loose, she was with a boy too young to be a husband and sat too intimate to be her brother. The girl did not come here for childbirth. It was too early for that. Giulia almost fainted when the realization came to her. The anxiety brought her back to her own problems. What was she doing here? Consorting with a witch? I am a terrible terrible human being, she thought. She remembered her husband, but she remembered him as young and cocky but gentle. Oh! He used to be so kind to me. Only if his father was alive. However, this time Giulia did not blame herself. She did deserve the beatings. It was not her fault that he squandered a large portion of his inheritance. She loved him, despite the beating, despite the abuse, but she could never forgive him for ruining her children’s lives. It was her turn. She pushed the heavy arched wooden door open. She went in and found herself in awe. This room was grander than the last one. She had never seen so many objects under the bright golden light of what she could only describe as a suspended star, a glowing orb that was not harsh but smooth and pleasing to the eye. The light shone upon everything but it shined the objects differently. She brought her hands in front of her and they were the most beautiful hands she had ever seen. In front of her was a huge table filled with hundreds of apparatus, of the most complicated assortment, filled with potions of vivid colors. Colors she had never seen. Smells she had never smelt.

Giulia saw a small woman with dark brown skin. She had never seen a person like that before. Her hair was curly and short. Her skin was smooth and shining like a polished apple. She had heard about such people that worked at the ports but had never seen them before. The brown woman was searching for books amongst the thousands lined from end to end on shelves that reach from the ground to the distant roof. Like books, hundreds of jars lined the wall, jars of distinct shapes and sizes, stored within them were life forms she had never seen. There were also chairs and clocks and chests. As Giulia scanned the room, her eyes fell on a woman, absorbed in a book on a standing table, across the room from her. She was a slender woman in a red dress with long hair the color of deep-burnished copper, and rosy white skin. She was taller than most men Giulia had seen. Her high cheeks and sharp jaw did not suggest in the slightest that she was older than thirty. One word jumped into her mind red.

Giulia stood engrossed in the red woman as the woman stood engrossed in her studies.

"Giulia", the woman said, "Come here darling, would you?" Those words brought Giulia out of her trance. She should have questioned how the woman came to know her name. But no suspicion came to her mind. It was as though all the despair was sucked out of her being. She faintly remembered feeling the opposite. Fear and anxiety had shrouded her existence. Standing in this magical place, Giulia felt immense love brewing inside her heart. She felt one with the red woman. One with all the women sitting outside. One with the little brown girl. She had never felt this happy, this awed, and this protected before. She did not feel like a lone scared animal anymore but part of a whole that nurtured and cherished her. Giulia felt part of a sisterhood.

The woman removed Giulia's veil. And Arm in arm, the woman walked Giulia to a desk. She beckoned Giulia to sit on a chair as the woman took the chair opposite of hers. Giulia was mesmerized by the woman's hair, her slender neck, and her lips. Never in her life had she seen lips that red. The woman noticed Giulia's gaze and said,

"I apply lip paint on my lips. When I first saw the consort of the emperor of China, I asked her about it and she gave me her lip paint. I determined its ingredients and created my own lip paint."

"Are you the witch?", asked Giulia, but she instantly regretted it.

The woman leaned back on her chair and replied, "When a woman is confident and powerful, they call her a witch. Besides, Paolina the potion-maker sounds better than Paolina the witch.

"How did you know my name?", asked Giulia "I know a lot about you. I know that you have two girls. You have a pious mother. And you have an abusive husband, whom you are here for.", said Paolina and gave Giulia a knowing look.

On the verge of tears, Giulia looked down. Paolina leaned forward and took Giulia's hand into her hand, "You are a strong woman, Giulia. Do you know how many women waste their entire life like that? It is easier to live like a slave than to break the chains of tradition and propriety."

"I am doing this for my children", said Giulia, "How do I pay you?"

"An ounce of blood", replied Paolina.

"Blood? Why?", asked Giulia. "I need them to make potions," said Paolina as she stood up and went to her work table that had all the apparatus.

The little brown girl hurried next to Paolina "We have to make Aqua Tofana", said Paolina, "Bring me dragon-blood, belladonna, arsenic, and lead." The girl scurried off as Paolina boiled some liquid in a pot. She mixed all the ingredients when the brown girl came back. Paolina poured the contents into a glass vial. The potion looked colorless. For some reason, Giulia had expected a red like that of Paolina's hair.

Paolina walked up to Giulia in her long elegant strides and placed the vial in Giulia's hand. The potion was warm to the touch. Polina's hand was warmer when she placed her delicate hand on Giulia's face.

Giulia hugged this strange woman who felt like an older sister to her.

"Come back and I will give you some lip paint," said Paolina with a smile on her face. "Remember, whenever you need me, I will be here to help."

Giulia nodded her head and asked, "Did you gave the same potion to the widow"

Paolina nodded her head and said, "Be strong for your kids. Your husband will have a fever for three days. It will not be sudden. Everything will look natural."

Giulia was ill for three days before she died. Everything looked natural.


The desert noonday sun is a brutal master. It demands every ounce of energy and returns nothing–no trees, no shade, no life. Here in the Dunes of Duranan it is relentless. It is a far cry from the icy shores of Agária from whence I hail, but such a journey is necessary if the knowledge I seek can be found hither.

For any who should read these words, allow me to expound upon my quest. My name is Émata, scribe of the Dianoa, and student of wisdom. I was raised in the finest learning institutes the northern kingdom of Aglia has to offer, and for thirty-two years I have voraciously studied every book and scroll it contained. However, as I have advanced in age, I see that the Dianoa are not the lovers of wisdom they once were, but instead have fallen prey to their own haughtiness and pride. Their scrolls have many words but contain little.

Three years ago, I departed from the port town of Agária and sailed south to the kingdom of Ûskal. Though they have been ravaged by war for generation upon generation, still a few keen minds can be found there, and I studied with my brothers and sisters in the humble abodes of the Western Woodlands. It was during this time that I discovered a tale which had all but disappeared from the world. Ages before now, when the seven kingdoms of Helorím were one, a great library stood in the center of the king's castle. Books and scrolls were piled on top of one another endlessly. It was rumored that the first king of Aglia, Pagoma, once roamed those halls and read those parchments. Known throughout the ages as the Wise Hand of the King, Pagoma is considered one of the most brilliant minds to ever have existed, and such a collection of parchments would have most certainly forged such a mind. However, since the fall of the High Mountain a thousand years ago, the desert upon which the castle and the surrounding city of Tévos stands has slowly expanded and invaded, burying the castle and its contents. The thought of such great knowledge being lost to the sands of time stirred within me a passion I have not felt in many years, and that passion fuels my quest. Ten days ago, I set out from the kingdom capital of Eftos and sailed to Khadûm, the westernmost city of the desert lands I now traverse. I will write to you at another time of the wonders of Khadûm, known as the Cliffside City, for it was hewn from the sheer escarpment by Earth Movers long ago, and such a magnificent sight requires its own parchment. What I can say is that since the beginning of the Second Age, as the desert has swallowed up the land, these two cities have become even more isolated, and my ears heard whispers of secession in the cliffs. This ever-expanding desert is where I travel now. The Dunes are all but behind me, and I only pray that my water and provisions last until I can reach the once great capital city of Tévos. I arrived at the western wall just as the sun peered over the eastern horizon. My shadow fell far behind me, and I saw the crumbling, white stone melting into the unforgiving desert. The once pristine masonry was cracked and afflicted by a black disease, and the wall, once towering above the sands, is now no more than the height of two men. Though I knew this place not, tales of the might of Tévos and its King have spread far and wide for generation upon generation.

As I entered the city, the dunes gave way to long abandoned buildings of sandstone and clay, their wooden frames eaten away by bitter sandstorms. A cistern, once used by the locals for drawing water, had been filled in by the desert. My sandals crunched against the sandy cobblestone streets as the wind thrust my headdress about. Not a soul could be found there. Around midday I began to see signs of life in the city, and before long I came to the market square. Even this place was empty. I have seen the markets of Eftos where the Money Masters count their coin, and they bustle all hours, day and night. Here in the desert, however, the shops open late and close early. Goods are bartered, often for labor, and the currency is reputation. It is difficult to believe that this city was once the great capital of Ainíos, that long-forgotten kingdom where the peoples of Helorím were one.

It was there in the markets I came across a woman, kind and generous, and quite pregnant, who offered to let me stay at her home while I searched for the lost library. She lived alone with her sister and had never been married. When I asked if I would bring dishonor on her for staying in their house, she said that dishonor already lay on her head, for she had never been known by another. It was obvious that her reputational currency had been used up. She told me of her sojourning from the eastern mountain province where her family had lived for generations here to the land of her ancestors. A strange man had come to visit her there in the bosom of the mountains, telling her to travel west to the kingdom of Bahar, where she would bear a son. When I asked about the man, all she could say was that he had been struck blind but saw more than the keenest of eyes. As for the child, she had kept him a secret as best she could, for there were people who would take him from her if they knew his true heritage. When she told me this, I knew whom it was she carried, for the writings of the Prophets spoke of such a child called the Son of the Earth. This I kept hidden from her, but you, my reader, should know. From there I traveled north through the city to where the citadel of the old castle stood. It was pure, gray stone, strong and everlasting. White stone and marble lay around it as the sands devoured the mason’s handiwork. I came across what was once a courtyard where a large, crumbling throne, hewn from the rock, stood in its center. I climbed and clambered over the fallen stone and shifting sands until I came to an entrance, once barred with a large door of oak, now open to the elements.

Hazy light poured in from the apertures of that narrow hall. A crimson rug stretched along the dust-covered floor and a few iron lanterns hung unlit along the wall. I proceeded further in utter silence until I came upon a great opening. It was a large room of fallen marble and white stone, for its ceiling and walls had collapsed in on themselves. I clambered over them and looked to my left, seeing a massive set of gray, wooden doors the height of ten men. I approached them, wondering if they were real. Such a material was only known to grow in a forest on a far-off island, now untouched by man. Running my hands along the wood grain, I felt an immense power emanate from them. It was true; these doors were made of Ironwood from the Isle of Tasak and had been imbued with a great magic. They are impenetrable; I did not attempt to open them.

As it was, my search for the library proved unfruitful the first and second days. However, on the third I approached the castle from the east instead of the south. When I did so, I saw the tip of a great spire, colored like the walls of the city, her slanted roof and exposed arches protruding from the looming sands. As you may know, the Wise Hand of the King was an avid seafarer and charted the stars. Before the age of the compass, he devised a way to traverse the seas at night when the great lights were hidden. Thus, I concluded, such a man would have spent many nights close to the heavens. I tightened my satchel and head covering, preparing to traverse the dunes which had accumulated above the castle. Once inside, a long, spiraling staircase lead me down into the dark belly of the citadel. As soft light poured in from above, I was elated at what my eyes could see. There, on the threshold of the darkness, were rows upon rows of shelves lined with books, parchments, and scrolls. I had found Pagoma’s Library! For hours I perused the contents with lantern in hand, stashing in my bag scrolls and books that I wished to study further. It was then that I heard a shifting behind me. I turned and saw an old man, dressed in a white robe adorned with gold, and a frosted beard which stretched down to his bosom. His face was pale and thin, but he spoke with authority. “What are you doing in my library?” he asked.

I stuttered for a moment, for my heart was terrified beyond my comprehension. All I could mutter was, “King Pagoma?” The man scowled. “Fool! This library does not belong to Pagoma, for it was I who built it and who filled its halls with wisdom!” I dropped my belongings and fell face down on the floor. “Who are you, King?” I asked tepidly, though I knew his answer before it was uttered. “I am Amo, King of Bahar, King of Ainíos, the Greatest of Ancients,” he thundered. “I drew Helorím from the waters and raised Tur-Gadal to its great heights in the days before man. I am the everlasting Light which resides within all. Now, stand up, Émata, and remove your sandals!” I did as I was told and kept my eyes to the earth, for they did not deserve to gaze upon such glory.

“The time is upon us," he said. "You were called here to carry out my will, thus I beseech you listen and heed what I am about to say.”

His words seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth, and inexplicably I began to weep. “Tell me, my King.” “You will depart from this place the same as you entered. Nothing shall leave which was at rest here, and you will go into the city and declare what I am about to tell you. The King of Bahar is dead. Darkness is coming, and from the east the Son shall rise. Say these things just as I have told you, and the end of this age shall begin.” He stretched out his hand to me and caressed my face, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “My son, you have sought true wisdom, which is why I revealed myself to you. Take heart and have faith. Light will soon return to this world.” As he said this, his body turn to luminescent dust, like a million stars floating off into the ether. I left that place, leaving behind the scrolls and parchments just as he requested.

Sand dried to my cheeks as I descended the dunes and returned to the home of the woman. She had gone into labor in my absence, and her sister stood over her as she held her son. I told her what I had seen in the library, and she smiled; it was just as the blind man had said. She would need to travel east soon, for word of the King’s death would spread quickly.

I packed my belongings and prepared to travel to the other kingdoms spreading this news. Before departing I turned to her and asked the child’s name. “Celorím,” she replied. “Servant of the Earth.” I smiled. Truly, this is the child who would bring Light back to Helorím.


Have you ever wondered how it is that your heart works with so much elegance and passion? So small and yet so beautiful. Just like a little platinum ring hidden away in a small velvet box. A ring that could bond two souls for a lifetime. A heart strangled in arteries and veins, with four marvellous chambers sucking away the pollution inside you and filling you with fresh oxygen. Oh, so exquisite! My poetic thoughts are interrupted as I see my girlfriend, flipping her hair around her shoulders while she walks into the kitchen. She mutters incoherently as she passes me. But my head is too caught up in the beauty of her skin and my ears are too busy enjoying the song of her heartbeats to even pay attention to what she is saying. I begin to walk towards her. I hold her face in my palm and rest my thumb on her cheek. I can already sense the rushing of the blood, with her body pressed against mine, I can feel the "Lub dub, Lub dub" of her heart. "God, you're so beautiful! I cannot take this anymore. I want every piece of you for myself." I whisper in her ear as she giggles. I smile at those lips. Those soft bundles of cellular layers, that glistening epidermis. They get me so high. I wonder how they would taste in my mouth. My stomach drops and my hands start to shake. I close my eyes, trying to get my breathing under control but only in vain. My blood is turning into molten lava and exploding through the volcano of my heart. My head feels like its floating among the clouds. It's happening again. I'm terrified but excited at the same time. "Close your eyes. I want to recite something I wrote for you." I say in a seductive tone. With a flirty look on her face she raises her eyebrows at me while she closes her eyes slowly with a smile. "I take a deep breath, taking in the aroma that surrounds her. She smells so human. She smells of thick skin and warm blood." I say and I take a deep breath. Oh, nothing could get me this high. She puts marijuana to shame. "I walk behind her slowly, placing soft kisses on her neck." I say and I follow suit. Her skin tastes like stars. I've always wanted to taste stars. "And then... I hold her wrists as I trace the nerves pressing against her skin. Feeling the rhythm of her heart, just like playing an instrument." I hear her laugh as I run my thumb across the nerves of her wrist to the ulnar and the radical arteries carrying her starry blood along her forearm. Oh, isn't her anatomy a piece of art? I lean in. Pressing my mouth against her ears, I whisper, "Slowly and steadily, I grab the knife from the kitchen counter and stab her through her ribs from behind." Before she can react, I turn my words into reality. She wails in pain and begins to wither in my arms. "I grab her neck with my other hand as I try to choke her. Minimising her ability to shout or scream and momentarily paralysing the muscles that control her breathing." Her screams and her pain bring life to the beautiful poetry I just recited. I let her go as she collapses to the ground. She struggles to breathe and eventually, her heart-beats come to a halt. I pat myself on the back for making a much lesser mess than all other times. I clutch the knife tight in my hands ready to sculpt her into a chef's choice. Sculpt her into a platinum ring that would bond my soul and hers forever. I can't wait to taste her. I can't wait to have a part of her inside of me for eternity.


Ryan Erickson had quietly glowing, copper-penny eyes and soft, curling, coal-black hair with only a strand or two of silver at his temples. He was about 35 years old, lightly built and hovering just above the six foot mark. His face was thin, but his jaw was finely chiseled and completed with a handsome cleft chin. He had a good-natured manner, and he had a very sweet, very warm, dimpled smile which instantly melted the heart of the beholder. He was very patient and fairly reserved; he worked hard, and was good at his job. The first impression of a man with a good heart proved true as one became more familiar with him. Ryan was a chef by trade and by hobby; he was always putting together amazing works of food-art in his home and at work, although the workplace environment created restrictions and monotony for him. When the restaurant’s menu was condensed to fast-food adjacent burgers, fries, and pizza as a precaution during the coronavirus outbreak, Ryan made sure his staff were grilling the burgers just right, buttering and toasting the brioche buns to perfection, and not over-frying the chicken tenders. He brought a homemade seasoning oil to put on the pizza crust, even though outside ingredients and creativity were strictly forbidden. It was depressing to have his creativity stifled by the severe restrictions; but customers still regularly and genuinely complimented the food, often saying it was a “pleasant surprise” to have such well cooked, nicely plated “fast” food. Even if the fare itself wasn’t high quality or original, with chef Ryan in charge the preparation and presentation was. His patient, thoughtful nature combined with his quick wit and years of restaurant experience made it easy for him to throw things together quickly, but with as much excellence and care as if he’d spent hours. When he worked on the presentation of a dish, it didn’t matter if it was a plain cheese pizza or a romantic dinner for his girlfriend; a very focused, deliberate look would come over his face, and his physical body seemed to sync with his spirit as his natural artistic talent and an innate love for beauty came pouring out of him and into his dishes. Every piece of shredded cheese, sheet of seaweed, or slice of pepperoni was mulled over and gently placed in just the right spot. Every dish was a painting, too pretty to eat, but in the end too delicious to resist and soon devoured heartily by the one he had bestowed it upon. He loved to experiment with different foods from around the world; he had an appreciation for all classes of cookery, and loved to celebrate other cultures by making traditional dishes for his loved ones, and sometimes for pure enjoyment and the expansion of his own skill. He was especially interested in Japanese cuisine, and lamented bitterly that he could not make ramen noodles from scratch. He could, however, make sushi more beautiful and delicious than the most expensive sushi restaurant in LA.

His love of cooking was rivaled only by his love of spoiling his family and friends with his creations. His deepest and most meaningful show of affection was to cook for those he loved. He took regular trips to visit his father and sister who lived a state away, and every time he went to see them he would splurge on high quality, rich, and nutritious foods. Needless to say, they would all eat like kings for the weekend.

Once, when his mother was down and out with a particularly nasty cold, Ryan went to her house and made her a ridiculously beautiful minestrone-esque soup, packed with vegetables he scoured from the fridge and made with homemade bone broth. He spent two whole days on the soup, and there was lots of overnight stewing and vigorous hours of chopping and mixing and seasoning. When it was finally done, his mother insisted it healed her immediately, and it probably did; her son’s love was infused into every cubed squash, every minced onion and every minute of stewing. Ryan also loved to cook for his girlfriend, Jane. During the work week, he couldn’t make anything very complicated or fancy for her lunch, so she always requested a simple steak salad; the steak was juicy and sliced even and thin, pink in the middle and pleasantly charred around the edges. The salad was piled high with the sweetest cherry tomatoes, impeccably cut slivers of firm, vividly green avocado, and aromatic, toasted almonds. It was finished with dried cherries - Ryan’s favorite sweet - which he had dubbed “adult candy.”

Jane loved to walk in right as he was plating it; she loved to see his soul and body become one as he created something beautiful. She felt like a princess every time he handed her her special, custom, gorgeous salad. He was always regretful that he couldn’t make her something more advanced or complicated but she would have taken anything he made her, and loved it completely because it had been made by him. He would then walk her down to the ground floor and send her off with many sweet kisses and a promise to meet up later.

She loved to leave the salad out on the counter at her job, so customers would ask her, who made that? It looks so good! She would brag that she was seeing a chef and he made her the loveliest meals. People would laugh when her expression changed so dramatically at the thought of him; her rosy complexion would deepen and her twinkling eyes would positively shine. A powerful brightness soaked into her smile, and her whole person would glow with a love light. After the salad had been fully appreciated by strangers, she would feel satisfied enough to eat it, and she always relished every bite of the lovely steak, the sweet tomatoes, the fresh spring greens and the love that had been blended into every tiny detail and poured all over.


“Jee-Anne!

Jee-Anne!

Jee-Anne!”

At the sound of her name, Jee-Anne ran downstairs, red pigtails flying, into her living room. “What is it Gol-Lee?” Jee-Anne asked, panting.

“Oh Jee-Anne, you’ll never believe what I just got!” Gol-Lee exclaimed.

She had her hands behind her back, her long dark braids covering the wriggling object her hands were clutching.

“Oh!

Let me see!” Jee-Anne squealed.

If Gol-Lee was excited about something, then Jee-Anne knew it had to be something big. Gol-Lee took one big breath, then thrust the object out in front of her.

Jee-Anne’s jaw dropped.

Gol-Lee was cupping a tiny, fluffy, kitten. “Meet Fluffy,” Gol-Lee said, grinning so widely her dimples showed.

“Oh Gol-Lee!

This is too good of you!” Jee-Anne squealed.

She felt as though her heart was going to explode with joy.

She really did have the best friend in the world. “This is an early birthday present for me, isn’t it?” Jee-Anne asked, already knowing the answer. “Oh Gol-Lee, I just love it!” “Wait a second Jee-Anne,” Gol-Lee said, her dimples vanishing, her face falling. “H-he’s not for you.” “Oh Gol-Lee I just – what!?

Not for me!?” Jee-Anne’s jaw dropped.

She couldn’t believe it. “Gol-Lee, you know I’ve wanted a cat ever since I can remember!” “So have I,” Gol-Lee argued.

Jee-Anne scoffed.

“You’re kidding right?” “No, I’m not,” Gol-Lee said. “And anyway, I wanted to show him to you because –” “How could you do this to me!” Jee-Anne screamed.

The little kitten in Gol-Lee’s hands cowered in fright.

“I thought you were my friend!

I thought you knew me!” “I do!” Gol-lee gasped, “Jee-Anne, I was going to –” “Gol-Lee if you don’t give me that kitten right now, I’ll never forgive you.” Jee-Anne said, her voice stern yet quivering with fury.

Gol-Lee looked astonished.

“Jee-Anne, how could you say that?” “You know I’ve wanted a kitten for forever!” Jee-Anne sighed, tears in her eyes, “and now whenever I go to your house,

I’ll have to look at that adorable, sweet, lovable, squishy little furball and remember how my best friend wouldn't even let me have him.” “Jee-Anne, this is ridiculous!” Gol-Lee exclaimed. “No, you’re ridiculous!” Jee-Anne shot back, “I’m never talking to you again unless you give me that kitten!” “Fine!” Gol-Lee said.

Jee-Anne sealed her lips, and looked the other direction.

She heard Gol-Lee’s hurried footsteps as she ran out the front door, and slammed it behind her. The next day at school, Jee-Anne avoided Gol-Lee.

She was still furious with her, and determined to do whatever she could to get that kitten.

After history and grammar however, it became harder to stay away from Gol-Lee.

She always relied on her best friend to get her through grammar class, Jee-Anne being dreadful at the subject, and Gol-Lee extremely well.

And she couldn’t play tic-tac-toe with Nicolaus, because he would chew on her crayons and get them stuck in his teeth.

By lunch time, Jee-Anne was almost ready to give in.

Almost.

She was surprised when Gol-Lee came over to the table she had chosen, and sat next to her. “Jee-Anne, I don’t want to fight,” Gol-Lee started. “Good!

I knew you would come to your senses!

Now, when should I pick up Fluffy?” Jee-Anne asked happily. Gol-Lee sighed. “Jee-Anne, I’m not going to let you have my kitten.” Jee-Anne groaned.

Gol-Lee was still being stubborn!

This was so unlike her, that Jee-Anne had to think for a second before she made her next move.

Then, she grabbed the cookie out of Gol-Lee’s lunch bag. “If you don’t give me that kitten, I’m going to eat your mom’s homemade fudgy chocolate cookie!” Jee-Anne cried. “I’m sorry Jee-Anne, I’m not going to give you my kitten.” “Fine then.”

Jee-Anne showed the cookie in her mouth.

Several people around the table stared at her, shocked at what she had just done.

Gol-Lee scowled, surprised at Jee-Anne’s daring.

She picked up her tray, and walked to another table across the lunch room.  Jee-Anne chewed slowly, savoring the sweet chocolate flavor, then swallowed, satisfied. If Gol-Lee wasn’t going to cave easily, she was going to have to make her.

The whole rest of the school day, Jee-Anne and Gol-Lee fought over everything.

When they played dodgeball in P.E., Jee-Anne threw balls at Gol-Lee even though they were on the same team.

During science, Gol-Lee chose Sarah for her experiment buddy instead of Jee-Anne.

Right before math class, Jee-Anne stole Gol-Lee’s math homework from her backpack, and hid it in her back pocket so she couldn’t turn it in. On their walk home from school, Gol-Lee ran a few blocks ahead of Jee-Anne so she wouldn’t have to walk home with her.

Jee-Anne sighed.

She was getting desperate.

Gol-lee had still not cracked, and she had tried everything she could think of.

There was only one option left.

Jee-Anne dropped her backpack off at her house, and checked her watch.

It was fifteen minutes til four.

Jee-Anne grinned.

At exactly four o’clock, Gol-Lee would have to leave for her violin lesson.

Jee-Anne hurried across the street to Gol-Lee’s house, and, checking first that the coast was clear, snuck through the back door.

She could hear Gol-Lee’s mom talking in the living room, so she ran silently upstairs into Gol-Lee’s bedroom.

Right as she walked through the door, she saw him. Fluffy was sleeping peacefully on Gol-Lee’s bed.

Jee-Anne smiled.

Cautiously, meticulously, Jee-Anne lifted the kitten in her arms, and sprinted out of the house. “Jee-Anne!”

Jee-Anne gasped at the shout.

It was Gol-Lee!

She must not have left for her violin lesson yet!

Jee-Anne let out a terrified scream and ran as fast as she could toward her house.

However, she knew Gol-Lee was catching up to her.

Gol-Lee was taller and faster than Jee-Anne.

Just as Jee-Anne reached her front porch, Gol-Lee grabbed the back of her shirt. “Let go!” Jee Anne screeched, trying to pull away. “Put down my kitten!” Gol-Lee shouted, grabbing the kitten’s back legs. “Never!

He’s mine!” Jee-Anne screamed back, yanking on the kitten’s front legs.

The terrified kitten let out a petrified yowl, but the two girls continued to yank. “You better let go Lilias Francis Fisher!” Jee-Anne screamed. “Not until you do Annabell Gertrude Price!” Gol-Lee shouted. “You traitor!” Jee-Anne screamed. “You stealer!” Gol-Lee yelled back. “You selfish backstabber!” Jee-Anne roared. “I’m not a selfish backstabber!

I was going to give you a kitten too!” Gol-Lee shouted.

Jee-Anne stopped pulling.

Gol-Lee stopped yanking too.

The poor little kitten sighed with relief.

“What do you mean you were going to give me one too?” Jee-Anne asked, panting slightly.

Gol-Lee took a few deep breaths, then explained, “My aunt was the one whose cat had kittens.

She said I could take one over to show you, then you could come over and choose one too if your mom said you could have one.” Jee-Anne stared at Gol-Lee, utterly shocked. “I’m sorry Gol-Lee,” Jee-Anne muttered, her face turning red. “That’s okay Jee-Anne,” Gol-lee said, “want to walk over after my violin lesson and pick which one you want?” “Okay!” Jee-Anne said eagerly.

The two best friends embraced.

Fluffy meowed uncomfortably between them.

Gol-Lee ran back over to her house, waving over her shoulder to Jee-Anne. “Oh, but Gol-Lee!”

Jee-Anne said, “How about I don’t ask my mom if I can have one.

I’ll think she’ll like it more if it’s a surprise.” Gol-Lee grinned, her dimples popping out.


Beep! Beep! Beep! Symone turned and slapped at the alarm clock, stretching and staring at the ceiling in the grey morning light, shaking off sleep. The dream plagued her again: being trapped in her old office, stuck in the musty, dingy brown walls. Nothing like a dream job turned into a nightmare to smash the visions of your youth. Then again, it was just a nightmare. She left that job fifteen years ago. She sat up and gently pulled the covers over Galen’s shoulders, mussing his short, dark blonde hair. He was still on medical leave, recovering from emergency surgery for a burst appendix. She flipped on the bathroom light and studied her sleepy face in the mirror. It was just a nightmare. She wasn’t an uncertain twenty-something trying to make her mark in the world. She was a middle-aged woman making the best of life. She scoffed at the few grey strands in her dark hair and splashed water on her face as a prick of memory rose in her mind. Stupid nightmare. Those days were over. She might not be classified as “successful,” but she was older, wiser, and calmer than she had been as a hot-headed youth. Sure, things were tough with Galen recovering from surgery. That sudden illness was a shock that shook up their world, but he was recovering. It would pass, like all other things. She moved through the rest of her morning routine, shoving the remnants of her former life nightmare into the background of routine. It wasn’t until she glanced at the date at the bottom of her computer two hours later that she realized it was exactly twenty-five years since she started working. She sighed.

Some career, she thought as the clacking of her colleague’s computer keys rode over the drab cubicle walls . At least she knew where that nightmare came from. It must have been some subconscious memory of her dreams of being a psychiatrist dying to this mundane reality, combined with the stress of Galen’s surgery and recovery. If only she had been better and made it into graduate school. Or reapplied after a few years of working and retaking the Graduate Record Exam exam. But this was her reality, and twenty-five years meant she was vested in the company retirement system. It might have been two and a half decades of dull grind, but at least she was guaranteed to get something back for it eventually. It wasn’t what she wanted career-wise, but it was a goal achieved. Now to make it to retirement – ~*~ Beep! Beep! Beep! Symone turned and tapped off the alarm clock as strong arms wrapped around her. “Why do you set that thing so early?” Killian asked. She turned and smiled, running her hand through his curly hair. “To spend more time with you before work.” “Tell your clients to wait. You have a life, too.” She smiled. “They rely on me to keep them straight.” He smiled back, pulling her against his strong body. “They need all the help they can get. The pandemic messed everybody up.” He kissed her. “How did you sleep?” She turned on her back. “I had the nightmare again.” He sat up and looked down at her. “Again?” She nodded, remembering the drab grey walls. “It was like being in a rat maze.” “Did you ever work in an office?” “Never. It’s always been labs or colleges until I switched to helping you with the AI neural interface after the pandemic.” He laid back down, practically on top of her. “We’re lucky they have you.” She wrapped her arms around him. “You’re lucky I said ‘no’ to medical school to marry you, Galen.” His face fell. “Who’s Galen?” She stared at him, confused. “What do you mean?” He pulled back. “You called me Galen.” She paused, spots floating across her eyes. The nightmare returned, sitting in that cramped square paralyzed with a dull despair of life floating away. Symone forced a smile. “I’m sorry, that nightmare is still in my head. It’s a character in the book I’m writing.” Killian relaxed. “No wonder you have nightmares. You always get stuck in your worlds when you’re writing.” Symone pulled Killian against her. “How about bringing me back to this one?” ~*~ Beep! Beep! Beep! Symone sighed and ran her hands over her face, leaning back in the creaky chair as far as it would allow. The fluorescent lights almost aggravated her headache like that stupid, jamming printer did. “Symone, shut that thing up!” her supervisor’s voice shouted from the office next to her desk. “I’m on a conference call.” “Sorry,” she mumbled, standing and stomping toward the dot matrix printer. Sure enough, the cheap paper was shredded on the invoices she sent to the printer. She sighed, opening the disagreeable machine and tugging at the stuck paper. “Why do you have to be so loud?” her supervisor snapped as she stood and slammed her door. So much for that “dream job opportunity” after graduation. This was a nightmare. The light glinted on her diamond ring and she stopped, sinking back into her chair. She missed college and the dreams she laid aside when she didn’t get into graduate school. Maybe she could get back on track another way. She and Galen were too broke for graduate school after their huge wedding, but she had wanted to be a writer, too. Maybe she could do that instead. She could help people through her stories until she could get back to school to help them in real life. One thing was for sure, she thought as she yanked at the paper in the ancient printer: this wasn’t helping anybody. ~*~ Beep! Beep! Beep! Symone bolted upright in bed, gasping. The nightmare again. She gasped, breathing out the lingering musty scent of office machinery and printer dust.

“I’ll be glad when we get the AI interfaced through our neural chips so we don’t need that noise to wake up anymore,” Killian mumbled from his pillow. Symone turned and smacked off the alarm clock. A hand rubbed her back. “Are you ok?” She trembled. “No.” “Nightmare again?” “It’s so real.” She leaned back against him. “The printer jammed.” “Printer?” he said. “Nobody’s used printers in over a decade. I thought you said this was a nightmare about your first job?” “It was. The dot matrix printer jammed –” “Dot matrix printer?” Killian laughed. “Whose first job was this, yours or your grandmother’s?” Symone froze. “What day is it?” “Friday, which means fun day,” he teased, wrapping his arms around her. She twisted and looked at the date on her phone. July 29, 2124. “What is this?” she whispered. “I’m supposed to tell you to let these nightmares go, but I enjoy helping you get over them,” Killian said as he wrapped himself around her. ~*~ Beep! Beep! Beep! “She’s shifting again,” the voice said in the darkness. “Already? It’s getting more frequent.” “This subject has been the most active in the neural interface,” the voice said. “Most of the others phase in and out of activity, like circadian rhythms. She never fully drops. She shifts in different patterns.” “I wonder what she’s seeing,” the other voice said. “The neural stimulation seems to last longer on her. She doesn’t need to be stimulated as often to power the AI.” “It appreciates that, but her neural imagery isn’t consistent. It jumps from one reality to another.” “It looks like she was a mid-level administrative worker in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century. Wait, she was also a writer. She published a series of science fiction books.” “Maybe shifting between her own life and the stories she wrote.” Laughter. “Most people see the life they had before being integrated with the AI, but these artists have a unique way of coping with the system. I guess the creative mind powers the interface differently.” “She has a higher energy output, which feeds the AI more information. Good for it, but is it safe for her? Her stress hormones spike when the realities shift.” “Most people believe they’re waking from dreams when they shift. Perhaps it’s the same for her, just more often since she’s phasing between the world she had and the world she created.” A pause. “I don’t know if it’s safe, but she’s the best biological power source the AI has.” ~*~ Beep! Beep! Beep! Symone squeezed her eyes tight against the bright light pressing against her lids. “Symone, can you hear me?” She shivered as a chill ran over her naked body. Her eyes opened a slit to see two male figures standing over her. Galen reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “Welcome back.” “What happened?” she asked, sitting up. “We had to put you in cryo stasis,” Killian said, his long, curly hair brushing against her other arm as he handed her a robe. “The AI malfunctioned when the EMP bomb went off. We all passed out, but you had neurological damage. We had to put you under so the nanotech could heal you on the journey.” “EMP? Journey?” she turned to Galen, reaching for him. “What happened?” Galen looked away. “A dissident group launched EMP bombs around the country to put out the AI,” Killian said. “They claimed that the AI in our neural chips caused the pandemic. At any rate, people were dying again. We had to leave. We just made it on the last flight.” “How can AI cause COVID?” Killian’s brow furrowed. “COVID? That was over 100 years ago.” She looked at Galen. “What is he talking about?” “I did everything I could to fix things, Symone, but I couldn’t,” Galen said. “You didn’t hear me, so I couldn’t bring you back.” He pulled back. “I can’t reach you anymore.” She shivered. “Where are we?” Killian took her hand and pulled her toward the red glow in the window. “The moon would have been ideal, but the dissidents can still reach us there. The scientists at the settlement are willing to help us with the AI integration with our neural chips, and they think we’ll be far enough away from Earth to stay safe until our work is complete.” He pulled her close. “Welcome to Mars.” “Galen doesn’t have a neural chip,” she said, turning. The room was empty. Killian took her shoulders and turned her back toward him, staring deep into her eyes. “Galen isn’t real. The nightmares aren’t real. Nothing is real.” He kissed her. “The only thing real is you. What do you want, Symone?” Symone stared at the red planet, shivering. Life is what you make it and reality is how you create it. She knew what she was now. Not an office drone, or a scientist. She was a writer, a creator, a builder of realities. She smiled as her body warmed, awake to the limitless possibilities. Most people only have one story. She had millions, and they were all waiting for her to bring them to life. And when one reality broke, she’d build another one. She could have it all. All she had to do was accept it. She smiled in the red glow. “Let’s get started.”


I've been writing this story for a little bit and it's nowhere near done, but I got impatient and decided to post what I've written so far. Enjoy! Alternatively, don't enjoy!   It was a Utopia. A true, bona fide Utopia, where everything was perfect because no one had an issue with anything and everything was perfect and you always put the usb drive in the port the right way the first time. Yeah, it was that good. There was sadness, of course, suppression of that would probably involve some dystopian measure, and everyone knew that and everyone accepted that and so there was sadness because everyone knew that it was only human and you didn’t really need constant happiness to have a utopia, anyway. Bad words still existed, but no one was offended by them anymore. Besides, people had almost completely switched to Brandnewspeak, anyway. Brandnewspeak was a brand new language which had been invented just a year ago. It had become the most widely spoken language in the Utopia in under 4 months and its official language a month after that, success which many attributed to its clean, smooth sounding words. Indeed, it was agreed that Brandnewspeak was wholly superior to English. In the center of the Utopia was the flag, depicting a circle of people linking arms with each other around a smaller version of the same image. The Utopia’s motto, “everyone and everyone else” was painted in the Utopia’s official font, Times Brandnew Roman, just above the door to the main hall. Opinions were respected, facts were verified. Everyone had plenty of food, water, shelter, medicine, and the like. This is where our story begins. Sam was a simple lad who led a simple life (a simple, perfect life, mind you. The word “perfect” had been forgotten many years before the introduction of Brandnewspeak. Because everything in the Utopia was perfect, the distinction had no longer been necessary to make, resulting in the word collectively fading from the people’s vocabulary). He enjoyed music, pubs, and long walks on the beach. His job as a plumber didn’t pay much, but it paid enough. In fact, it paid the perfect amount to cover his life style. Yes, Sam led a virtuous life in the Utopia, a satisfying, stimulating, exemplary life. But everything was about to change. But not today. Today was a pretty regular Wednesday. Sam had woken up, eaten breakfast, gotten out of bed, and prepared for the hours of calming problem-finding and problem-fixing that were to come. He departed from his house in his 0-CO2 emittance shoes. He was walking down the sidewalk, as one does, when he came across something awfully peculiar. He picked the thing up and, since he couldn’t discern any possible use for it, put it in his pocket to dispose of at the nearest recycling duct. The recycling ducts were a massive and elaborate structure beneath the Utopia which lead down to the recycling center (itself a massive and elaborate structure beneath the Utopia which was capable of recycling any synthetic material at all). The ducts were truly a work of genius and had been designed by Will Einstein, the greatest plumber to ever live. Ooh that’ll have big ramifications on the story, won’t it? Yeah, probably. I figured I’d give you a freebie since most of the foreshadowing has probably gone over your head up till now, unless of course you’ve had it explained to you by some obsessive, cranky english teacher who reads way too far into things. You know, the kind that could read the first two sentences of our story here and come up with some reason as to why it’s actually a dystopia. Oh, and they’d probably fit Shakespeare’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy in there somewhere, too. But I digress. As Sam continued along the sidewalk, he pulled out his map to make sure he was going the right way. He was. Putting his map away, he saw that he was getting close to the recycling duct. He felt in his pocket for the object and examined it more thoroughly. After all, he may have just missed its purpose, and he’d hate to have something useful recycled. Looking at it now, he noticed nothing new. It was still a hard, smooth, hexagonal prism, with a hole in it. He was now standing in front of the recycling duct. He was about to toss the hexagonal prism away when he noticed a key lying on the ground directly in front of the duct. With a lapse in the logic of probability, he tried to put the key into the keyhole. It didn’t fit. “Ah, well. Down you go, then.” he said to himself, and tossed both the prism and the key into the chute. Sam made his way to the first home he was to work at that morning. It was a small, familiar, quaint house, not unlike his own. Fairly unremarkable, but remarkable enough. It’s not like all the houses were exactly the same because of some dystopian, oppressive government that prevents its citizens from realizing that it has taken away their individuality and slowly makes every aspect of their lives as mundane as possible. He rang the doorbell and, after the perfect amount of time, someone opened the door. “Hello, Ms. Jones,” Sam said. “How are you this morning?.” “Quite alright, Sam, and how are you?” she responded. “I’m just fine, thanks,” Sam said. “Good, good. Then please, come in,” Ms. Jones said, leading Sam to the kitchen. “You see, Sam, the faucet has stopped working,” she said, as she turned the handle and watched the pitiful dripping with a frown. “Now don’t you worry, Ms. Jones. I’ll have your faucet up and running in a jiffy!” He said, and got straight to work. I won’t bore you with the details, because who cares about fixing some clogged pipes? No one. That’s why you call a plumber to do it for you. What I will say is that it involved a wrench, a lump of muck, and some pipes. Yep, a perfectly normal plumbing job.


George? He stood over the gas stove with the kettle warming pulling it off seconds before the whistle as not to startle his friend in the next room. “Hey Dom, do you care what kind of tea?” Leo asked from the kitchen. Dom didn’t answer but gave a slight head nod. Leo entered carrying a tray with two mugs filled with hot water, a string hanging over the side, and bowls of sugar and milk. He set it down on the small table between the couch and chair where they sat. Dom continued to stare off at the wall, but his eyes stayed unfocused. Leo knew he would have to speak first to pull Dom out of the shock of what had just happened. He didn’t know how to approach the situation other than a cup of tea to calm his nerves.  Dom’s clothes were in bad shape, with rips and stains covering them. One of his pant legs had almost been ripped all the way around as it hung off his knee. Leo inspected him closer to see that the stains took a faint color of red. He wondered if he needed to know what happened or call the cops. Leo was not the type that liked trouble and avoided it at all costs, but Dom was his oldest friend. He wanted to be there for him. “Dom, um… what happened?” He whispered, afraid of scaring him anymore. Dom’s head slowly turned to focus on Leo, who sat up straighter. “A fight.” “With who?” Leo questioned a little too loudly as Dom jumped back on the couch. “I’m sorry, with who Dom?” Leo corrected quietly. “Remi,” Dom mumbled “What? Remi? She wouldn’t do that.” “WELL, SHE DID!” Dom yelled back at him. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, please tell me the whole story,” Leo begged.              It all started yesterday. Remi and I went to eat lunch together and catch up at this new place called ‘The eatery.’ At the restaurant, the waitress took our drink order. She then didn’t come back. We asked another waitress to take our order.              “Excuse me, can we get some help?” Remi asked.              “You aren’t one of my tables.” She barked and walked away. Remi’s face turned red from anger. “I’m not taking this.” She got up. “I’m going to find the manager.” She stomped off, not going to let anybody treat her that way.              After ten minutes, a man stopped at my table, “Are you here with Remi?” I hesitated to answer, afraid of the trouble she had gotten into. “um… yes.”              He just walked away. After several steps, he turned back, “Are you coming?”              I jumped up from my seat on his heels as we went through the kitchen to the back door. “Hey, what happened? What’s wrong?” The guy wouldn’t answer me, just kept walking. He kicked open the door, “THERE!” He turned, going back inside. Remi laid on the paved ground, sprawled out with blood smeared across her face and arms. I dropped to her side, trying to get her up. She didn’t move. I couldn’t believe they would leave her like this without calling an ambulance. My anger began to grow. Out of the corner of my eye, somebody stepped out from behind the dumpster. I froze. I was next, and nobody would help. “You good?” She asked. I couldn’t believe it. “Piper! Where have you been? It’s been almost a year since I saw you last.” I yelled.              She shrugged.              “Wait, did you do this to Remi?”              She moved out from the shadows. “No! why would you think that. Why would I hurt her?” She snapped back.              “Then who did? Why won’t anybody help her?”              Piper took a step back into the shadows. “Just go. Grab her and go. Don’t ask any more questions.”              I reached down to pick up Remi. Maybe Piper knew what she was talking about. One thing I knew was that I needed to get Remi to the hospital right away. I had her arm over my shoulder as I walked down the alley to the parking lot.              “HEY! YOU!” A guy yelled from behind me.              I didn’t want to turn around. I wanted to get Remi to the car. I glanced back and stopped as he held a gun at my head.              “Drop her!” He barked.              “No!” I took another step towards my car.              “Drop her now, or I’ll shoot you. She is mine!”              “What? You can’t have her. She is a person, not a possession.” I snapped back at him. What was wrong with him thinking he could take her. It’s not like finder’s keepers. I sat Remi down softly on the ground, leaning against the side of my car. I turned to face him, ready to fight for her. I would not let him take her. I bent my knees with my hands up, ready to take him on. A head popped out from behind the alley not too far away. It was Piper! She was sneaking up behind this crazy guy. I had to distract him for just a minute to allow her to get a better advantage point.              “Why don’t you put down the gun, and let’s do this the old fashion style. Hand to hand, man against man.”              He took a minute to answer, “Or I could just shoot you, and it would be over.” He tightened his grip on the gun.              “Wait, wait. That wouldn’t be fair. I was with her first. You can’t take her from me then expect me not to fight for her?” I begged.              He seemed to understand that as he put his gun in the back waistband of his pants. “Alright, let’s do this the old fashion way then.” He agreed.              Oh, I wasn’t expecting him to take the bait that quickly. It worked, though. Piper flew out from behind a car slamming into the side of this guy sending him down to the pavement. His face slid across the loose rocks ripping the skin off and blood streaming down his cheek. He pushed himself up and Piper off him in one swift movement. She didn’t let him have a second’s rest as her fist connected with the side of his head, sending him stumbling backward. I couldn’t believe it. She was going to end this quickly.              The guy stood up, looking me straight in the eye even though I hadn’t done anything. He charged at me like an angry bull, slamming me against the car. I fell forward on the ground. The guy picked me up, throwing me across the parking lot, ripping my pants. He headed for Remi, sitting against the car. I jumped, running towards the guy, ready to tackle him to the ground to protect her.              Sirens sounded from down the street, stopping me in my tracks. Somebody had called it in. We were finally going to get some help—the police speed past us. My heart sank. We were going to have to handle this on our own. My hesitation allowed him to have time to start trying to pick Remi up. She had woken up some but didn’t seem like enough to defend herself against this big guy.              The next thing I knew, she stood up on her own, and the guy fell to the ground shaking, eyes wide open. She turned to me with a small smile holding up her tazer. “I don’t leave the house without it.”              “Okay, then hurry up get in the car before he wakes up.” I snapped.              She crawled in, laying down in the back seat. Piper kneeled next to the guy checking his pulse. “Um… Dom. His heart isn’t beating.” She whispered.              “What? Seriously? Now we are going to jail for murder.”              “Oh, too dramatic. Let’s make it go away then. Come on, help me put him in the trunk, and we can go dump him out in a field. “              “Geez… Piper. That is a bit extreme. Can’t we just leave him here?” I asked, afraid of doing anything more with him.              “Fine, I guess. Well, I’m not sticking around. Later!” She slid back into the shadows. I jumped in the car, dropped Remi off at the hospital, letting them know we were attacked. They asked me to leave, not allowing me in due to protocols. “Then I came here not sure of what to do next.” “Um… that is a lot,” Leo said, unsure how to handle all of this. “Yep.” “You can take a shower and borrow some clothes. Then we can check on Remi in the morning.” Leo suggested. Dom stood up, heading towards the bathroom. “Knock. Knock.” Leo turned to Dom, “Somebody is at the door.” Dom’s eyes were wide. There was no way he would get away with all of this. Leo made his way to the door; it flew open on its own. “FREEZE!” Both stuck their hands straight up in the air. Eyes squinted, trying to see through the flashlights. “Dom Hernandez, you are under arrest for crossing into the outer dimension and murder of George Happy.” A deep voice boomed through the room. “Wait, we didn’t go to the outer dimension. That is where the prisoners are held. Why would we go there? Plus, I can’t do that.” Dom argued back. The officer stepped into the room, “You weren’t alone, were you?” “Well, no. My sister Remi was with me, but she can’t cross dimensions either.” “Either way, you are the one that crossed over and committed murder. However, you made it happen. You are still under arrest.” He grabbed Dom’s arm, spinning him around slapping the handcuffs on him. He practically drug him out of the room. “Leo, help me. Fix this, please!” Dom called back to him. Something clicked, “Wait! You saw Piper in the outer dimension!” Then they were gone, and Leo was left to find his sister and prove his friend’s innocents, with no leads on where to start. He didn’t have the ability to cross dimensions. There were only a handful of people like that.  A bright light flashed, temporarily blinding him. “Leo! Let’s go!” Her voice yelled as a hand grabbed Leo’s arm, pulling him into the light. Once the light faded, darkness surrounded them, making it just as hard to figure out where he had landed. “You alright?” Leo recognized the voice. After all, it was his sister Piper. He would never forget her voice. “Yeah, what is going on? How did you do that?” He questioned. Piper turned on a small lamp illuminating the room with two wooden chairs. “Have a seat, little brother. Take a minute to gather your thoughts.” He grabbed a chair, knowing that he would never calm after everything that happened tonight. He let the questions fly. “What happened? Why are you here? Why didn’t you come home? What’s wrong? How do we fix this?” “Wow, Leo. Chill out. Look, I’ve always been able to do this. I hid it so I wouldn’t be taken away from you. Last year, somebody found out, and I’ve been on the run ever since.” Piper explained. “Okay, then why did you show up now?” “Well, it has all been a setup to pull me out of hiding.” “What has been a setup?” Leo questioned, confused by this whole thing. “Look, there are some very bad people out to get me because of what I can do. Since I have not been bound like the other ‘Pushers,’ I can reach more than one dimension. I would be able to do many things for them that would allow them to get away with anything.” She explained. “Piper, then you need to turn yourself in and stop all this.” “No! You don’t understand what they do to the ‘Pushers.’ They torture them and use them as tools and weapons.” She snapped back at him. “Then you are going to let Dom and Remi take the wrap for this?” Leo argued. “Leo, of course not. That is why I was there helping them and why I came to get you. We have to put a stop to all of this. I’m tired of hiding from them.” Piper stood up with a hand out towards Leo. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time to set this straight.” “I’m just supposed to go with you after a year, without you telling me a plan of any kind? How can I trust you?” Leo questioned. “I’m your sister. Know that you can always trust me and that I have your best interest at heart.” Leo stood slowly, allowing Piper to pull him into a tight bear hug that they both have missed. “Okay, let’s do this.” He spoke enthusiastically. A bright light flashed as they disappeared through the portal. They reappeared in a dark alley. Piper pulled Leo against a hard cold wall. “Shh… they are just around the corner.” “How do you know?” Leo questioned. “Shh…. I’ve been watching. Now let’s go, quietly.” Piper insisted. They slide alongside the wall to the metal door. Piper placed her hand on the door with a small flash of light, and the lock and handle disappeared. “I didn’t know Pushers could do that?” Leo spoke too loudly. Piper spun around, slapping her hand on his mouth. “You have to be quiet. The sensors detect sound, not light.” The overhead lights flashed on, the sirens blaring. “Too late, now we have to move fast. Stay on my heels, or you will be in jail like Remi and Dom.” Leo grabbed on the back of her shirt like he did when they were kids in a big crowd. He always knew that his big sister would take care of him and never get lost. They zigged-zagged through the corridors. Leo lost track of how many turns they made, but Piper knew exactly where to go. Piper stopped suddenly, with Leo slamming into her back, sending her past the wall. The guards saw her and opened fire in their direction. Piper turned back to Leo, grabbing his hand. “Stay here. I will be right back.” She disappeared in a flash of light. BANG! Leo kept his back to the wall as he waited, not breathing, afraid that she wouldn’t come back. The hallways were silent, raising his heart rate. He gasped for air, debating to run back through the maze. “Leo,” Piper whispered. “Leo!” He poked his head around the corner. “Oh, Piper, I thought they got you.” “Yeah, right, they wish. Let’s go.” Leo attached to Piper’s shirt again, and they were off weaving through the corridors. He had a stitch in his side as he tried to slow Piper down some. “I can’t…. Please… Just a minute.” Leo begged. “No, we have to keep moving if we stand any chance of getting them out. The alarms already went off. We are almost there.” Piper explained. They both knew what they had to do. They ran with everything they had straight into a large metal door. “Piper, can you do your light thing again?” Leo asked. She hesitated a minute, “Not sure if I can on this door. Hold on. I’ll blast it with everything I have.” A bright light flashed, and the door turned bright red from the heat. Piper waited and pushed in the middle of the door. It fell to the ground with a bang. The room on the other side stayed dark. A whisper came from the shadows, “Piper? Leo? Is that you?” Remi and Dom came running out of the room, jumping on them in big bear hugs. Piper grabbed Dom’s shoulders, holding him back to get a better view of his face as he had a black eye and a cut on his cheek. “Dom, what did they do? I thought the cops came and got you?” Piper questioned. “They did. By the time we reached the car, some other guys had charged us. Knocking the officer out instantly while they punched and beat me a bit before shoving me in their car and bringing me here with Remi.” “Well… I’m glad they put you two together. It is going to make this next step simple.” A flash of bright light appeared, and Piper led them all through to a new dimension. There were beautiful tall trees and green rolling hills. The sun shined bright. The wind blew fresh air across their faces. “Where are we?” Remi asked. “Home,” Piper answered.


“I’m panicking here!” I say into my phone. I hear my best friend holding in her laughter. “Alright, alright. Sorry. It’s just… there’s no need to panic. She admitted to liking you back!” I roll over to the other end of my bed, pouting. “Yeah, but like… social anxiety. And Maggie is just so perfect and what if I start to be myself around her and she decides I’m too weird and she doesn’t like me anymore-” Amanda cuts me off, tutting into her phone. “Nope. You are not spiralling right now. Not happening,” she says. I frown, hating how easy it is for her to calm me down. Sometimes I just want to be able to spiral and not care and just fall into it. “Alright, whatever. Let’s change the subject,” I say, sitting back up on my bed. I find it hard to sit still while I’m on the phone, having very little to occupy myself without taking the attention from the call itself. Thank goodness my sister isn’t in the room to see me fidgeting every two minutes. “Sure. Tell me how your room is looking now,” Amanda says. I look around the room. Stacie has her stuff set up in one triangle of the room, her bed and desk and bookshelf arranged to fit the space. We had come to the agreement that we would split the room diagonally, giving us more wall space. The closet was split in half, and was on my side of the room, seeing as I had a bunk bed to shove stuff onto instead of a desk. The top bunk worked well to hold all my miscellaneous dishes and school supplies that collected themselves. As of now, all the stuff that would normally be strewn around my bedroom was still packed. “It looks the same as last time you asked. Except Stace organised her little library.” My sister had an obsession with reading, and somehow balanced AP classes as well as reading and a social life. I would never be able to read more than five pages without dying of boredom. Somehow, Amanda agrees with her love of books. “I still wish you read. It’s so much fun,” she says on the other end of the line. “Well, it’s not happening. You can wallow in your books alone,” I tease. I’m about to ask how her holiday is going when I hear my mom holler from downstairs. “Casey, Mark and the kids are here! Get off your phone and come down here!” The doorbell ringing confirms her statement. I roll my eyes, sighing. Amanda must’ve heard through the phone, because she sighs along with me. “I’ll let you go. Try and be friendly,” she adds. “They’re in the same situation as you, y’know.” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “No promises.” We say our goodbyes and I hang up, slipping my phone into my pocket as I trudge down the stairs. I can hear the family through an open window somewhere, and try to tune them out. My mother had gotten remarried earlier in the fall, and the only reason her new husband hadn’t moved in with them had been a need for a new house. While I have a sister already, Mark has three children. A little girl named Margot, and twin boys, Cameron and Kris. It’s not that they are bad people, but going from three people in the house to seven is a lot for anyone. They hadn’t officially moved in yet, they were still living in their old house as everything got sorted out. But it was still too much for me. We had been forced to spend time together before, and the twins seemed to share my enthusiasm for the situation. Margot was really cute and bubbly, and didn’t seem to notice the discomfort whenever the group got together. And Stacie seemed to be having no problem adjusting at all. Of course. She had to be good at everything. As I get to the bottom of the staircase, my mom is reaching the door to greet her husband.

I glance around the foyer, trying to figure out where to stand as everyone comes in and take their winter gear off. It wasn’t snowing hard enough to be a problem, but it was still enough to leave white flakes in their hair and melting on their jackets. I opted to lean against an empty spot on the wall, trying to appear casual. “Welcome! How were the roads hon?” Mom directs the second part to Mark, and they fall into conversation as the kids get settled and head to the living room. I stay against the wall, since it’s close enough to be part of the conversation, but still gives me space. The twins sit on the couch, but Margot runs over to me, wrapping her short arms around my waist. I smile, hugging her back. “Hi Casey!” she squeals, her ponytails bouncing with her movement. Her head barely comes up to my rib cage; she’s only six. “Hey, Margot. Are you excited for Christmas?” I ask as she pulls away to look at me. Her grin is almost contagious. I settle for a small smirk, not wanting to seem like I’m completely enjoying this. Margot is the most tolerable of Mark’s children. It’s not that it’s difficult to get along with the twins, but they’re a year and a half older than me. And they’re boys. Not too much in common there. Mark is alright, but I’m still being stubborn about really getting to know him. My mom says that Dad is alright with it, and that he’s still going to be a part of my life. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to accept a new father figure just yet. “Yes! We’re going to watch movies and have a big dinner and give each other presents!” Margot motions for me to lean closer. “And I get to help you make apple pie,” she whisper-shouts into my ear. “I can’t wait,” I say, feigning total excitement. I look at my mom, who meets my gaze. Don’t mess this up, she seems to say. I shrug, looking back at the living room. The Christmas tree is standing and lit, but there aren’t any ornaments on it yet. Mom decided to wait until Mark and the others got here to put anything on it. We can make new family memories, she had said earlier that week when they were weaving the lights onto the branches. My mood sours a bit at the memory. I look around the house, observing the new decorations Mom and Stacie have been busy setting up. They’ve hung garlands on the pillars by the front door, and candles and strings of lights have been sprinkled around the house. The candles are lit, and the warm scent of cinnamon floats through the air. The sky is already starting to get dark, and the warm lights from the candles cast faint shadows around the room. It’s almost enough for me to enjoy the vibe. Almost. Cameron and Kris are sitting side by side on the couch, looking a bit uncomfortable. Funny, I think to myself. They look as enthusiastic as me . They’re not identical twins, but are quite similar in appearance. They’re both about the same height, and their hair is the same dark brown. Cameron has a bit of a shorter style to his hair, and Kris dresses more confidently. I think of how similar Stacey and I look. Well, how different we look. Stacey has long, blonde hair that she keeps straight. She dresses cute and kawaii, and basically only wears pastels. A huge contrast to my lazy casual-wear style. I have dark hair like my dad, and pixie cut, really short in the back and longer on the top so I can fluff it up. Most days I wear jeans, sweats, and sometimes leggings, along with my signature flannels and a random t-shirt underneath. And I pair it with some crazy earrings. Today I donned some large snowman earrings, with top hats and rainbow scarves. Stace had made fun of them when I bought them, but I had ignored her. Plus, you can never go wrong with rainbow scarfed snowmen. “So, how is school going for you guys?” Mom asks, trying to break the awkward silence. Cameron just shrugs, so Kris pipes up. “School’s pretty good, the teachers are laying off on homework because of the holidays. Though I wouldn’t put it past them to dump a stack on us the minute we go back.” Mom and Mark laugh at the last part. “How about you, Margot? Are you having fun?” Margot nods vigorously. “Yeah, we’re learning about writing our letters really good. I can do the whole alphabet almost!” I smile a bit. Margot is definitely going to become my soft spot. “And I can’t wait to go back and see all my friends! I can tell them about all the fun things we’re going to do together.” My smile falters a bit. The break is almost over already, and then I’ll have to face Maggie at school. When I told her I liked her, it had just slipped out. I hadn’t meant to say it, but then I did. And she had responded in the best way possible. So why was I still so nervous to see her again? Mom jumps up, pulling me from my thoughts. “Ooh, hot chocolate is ready!” she says as she heads into the kitchen, Mark following close behind. I can hear something bubbling on the stove top, and a chocolatey smell wafts through the room. “Make yourselves comfortable,” Mom calls from the kitchen. Margot plops down on the couch beside Stacie and cues up some Christmas cartoons, while the twins exchange glances. I don’t understand the look at first, but they stand up and head towards the stairs, throwing me a sheepish smile as they pass. I take that as a sign that I can go back to my bedroom, and unlock my phone as I take the stairs by twos, finding a couple emails and some snaps. Nothing too important, but I decide to go through my email anyways, for lack of better things to do. The twins turn into their shared room, and I pass to mine. The house is a four bedroom layout, so the twins and Stace and I share rooms. Margot has her own room, down at the end of the hall by mom and Mark’s room. There are a couple bathrooms scattered around the upper level, but Stace and I got the attached bathroom. I sit on my bed, pulling my laptop towards myself to start doing… whatever I ended up doing. A couple days later, when mom calls us all down to the table, my spirits are somewhat lifted. I ended up watching a Christmas movie on Netflix, and though I didn’t pay much attention to it, it provided an idle background sound while I played on my phone. “Alright, everyone sit,” mom is saying when I reach the bottom of the stairs. My chair is still empty, and I’m grateful that she at least left that part of our lives normal. We begin to pile food onto the fancy dinner plates that mom pulled out for the occasion, and there’s sparkling cider since none of the kids are old enough to drink yet. Though, I have no doubt the twins have had alcohol before. I’m about to take a bite of ham when mom stops us. “Alright, girls, this might be a bit different, but Mark and his family,” she gestures to the man sitting beside her, “say grace before eating.” I try to discreetly put my fork down, and Stacie and I share an uncomfortable look. Mom holds Mark’s hand, and the twins and Margot link as well. Stacie and I hold the hands of those flanking us, and Mark starts it. The twins join in, and Margot mumbles the parts she doesn’t know, and perks up at the parts she does. Stacey, mom and I stay quiet, trying to be respectful. It’s a bit weird, but they finish and I pull my hands from Stace and Kris’. “Alright, dig in!” Mark says. I duck my head a bit, ready to eat. “I did the carrots with brown sugar, I hope you like them,” he adds. I don’t voice my hesitation, just try to avoid eating them as long as possible without seeming rude. I gingerly lift my fork to my mouth, and I’m relieved when I realise nobody is paying me any attention. I take the bite, and am pleasantly surprised. The brown sugar makes the carrots sort of soft, and sweet. Mom and the twins are talking about plans for college, and Mark and Stace are talking about extracurriculars. Margot is eating her ham, listening to both conversations. I smile a little, watching her eat her mashed potatoes gleefully. I wake up to small hands shaking my arm. “Casey, wake up!” a young voice says beside me. I open my eyes to see Margot beside my bed, barely outlined by the hall light. The sun is just starting to come up, blinking behind bright snow clouds. I sit up, seeing Stacie getting up from her bed. “Santa came!” Margot says, bouncing a little and tugging at my arm. I smile, pushing the blankets back and blinking away the last cobwebs of sleep. It’s difficult keeping the magic after so many years of not having to pretend, and I almost let slip that I heard Mom and Mark setting presents up last night. But I bite my tongue, and put on a smile. I’m running on like, four hours of sleep, after binging two seasons of Trinkets with Amanda late last night. “Look at all the presents!” Margot bounds towards the tree, draped in sparkling garlands and twinkling lights. We had decorated the day before, and though it had been a bit awkward putting our ornaments on the tree along with the new ones, it had turned out okay. I sit on the couch, in my usual spot, which happens to be closest to the tree. Stace sits beside me, and Margot plops down on the floor in front of the presents. After Margot assures us that everyone is coming down, we wait in silence. The stockings are filled to the brim, and the presents have to be stacked around the tree because of the surplus. Once we are all settled, I go to grab my gift from ‘Santa’, but my mom stops me. “Actually, Case, we’re going to try something different this year.” Mark nods and reaches for the stockings. “We like to do these first,” he passes Kris and Cameron theirs, “and then family gifts,” then Stacie and I get ours, “and presents from Santa come last,” and Margot finally gets hers. She giggles, waiting for something from her father. “Go ahead,” he smiles warmly. We begin to open all the individually wrapped presents, and I come out with some makeup, a couple pairs of funky earrings, and some new earbuds, as well as a bunch of chocolate that was in the bottom of the stocking. We open the family gifts next, and I’m itching to open my ‘Santa’ gift, but mom gives me a look that quells my excitement a bit. I stick it out until the end, and I even get into a bit of conversation with the twins. We start talking about relatives, and I even share a couple stories about my Aunt Reina, Stace piping in at some point about our Grandmas. It was nice. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.


#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: - **Theme: ** - **Bonus Constraint:** Danger is averted. This week’s challenge is to use the theme of *‘lighthouse’* to inspire your story. You may interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. The use of the image prompt and bonus constraint are not required. **Note: Don’t forget to after the submission deadline!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) next Monday before the deadline! You get points just for voting.   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them some feedback on the thread.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. You can complete the following things for points. - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points, unless otherwise stated (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 5 detailed crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.*   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Second:** - Submitted by u/who_wood - **Third:** - Submitted by u/vMemory - **Crit Star - Thread:** u/katherine_c **And I’d like to also reward this week’s Campfire Crit Stars:** - u/vMemory - u/katpoker666 - u/katherine_c *Crit Stars receive 1 Crit Credit to use on r/WPCritique. In order to receive your credits, you must either link your reddit account on our Discord, or have made at least one post on r/WPCritique.* *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and other fun events! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Ray entered the room. He was exasperated – not because of what he saw, but because the sight didn’t surprise him. There she was – pretty, big-eyed, and red-handed. “I can’t believe you, Jane” She averted his gaze. It made her feel even guiltier. She knew she had just broken his heart. She wasn’t afraid of the big woman, but he was. She knew he was. Even though she didn’t want it, he always watched over her; made sure she didn’t do anything to incur the wrath of the big woman. She admired his efforts, and made it a point to respect his concerns. She wanted to stop getting caught like this, but she was far too gone. She was addicted. She thought she was addicted to what’s inside the box, but he knew her better – she was addicted to the thrill of breaking the rules. “You can’t even look at me, can you?” , he exclaimed. “Please, Ray, I can expla--” “Explain what? You know the rule, Jane. As long as you’re here, you can’t open the box. The big woman will find out” “I know. But I can’t help it. I’ve held off for too long. I need it Ray; I need it right now” “Don’t be a baby”, he scolded. “I don’t care what you call me. I know what’s best for me. I’m opening the box” “You’re begging for trouble. If you get caught, you’ll--” Ray froze, as he heard the footsteps. This was it. They were busted. Jane started crying. “I’m sorry Ray. I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble. I’m really sorry” The door creaked open, and the big woman entered the room. The couple was holding on for dear life. Jane’s sobs faded away in fear, leaving a grave silence in their wake. The big woman stared at them, her eyes burning through theirs. They stood in front of her, defenseless and vulnerable, waiting for the worst. And then, all of a sudden, the silence died. “I made her do it. Let her go” Silence again. Jane suppressed a fresh wave of sobs, while the big woman suppressed a smile. The big women were known for their cruelty, and this one was no different. However, despite her natural instinct, this act of nobility by Ray moved her heart. “This is your last warning. Don’t let me catch you in here again. Now take your boxes and leave” she said, with contempt boiling in her words. The couple scurried off the room. “We got lucky, Jane” “You took the blame. I can’t believe you took the blame” “I’ll do anything for you, you know” “I love you too, Ray” The big woman watched as they confessed their feeling on their way out. “Just don’t do it again, Jane. You know the rule. Say it” “We don’t open our lunchboxes in the classroom; only in the cafeteria”, she said, to satisfy him. “Remember it next time”, he sighed in relief. The big woman finally let out the smile, as the 5-year-olds ran into the cafeteria. “Ah, to be young and in love”, she sighed. After all, she wasn’t always a teacher. Once upon a time, she too, was a kindergartner.


Henry Bishop was sitting at his desk working when his boss, Mr. Carn approached him. “Bishop, you were supposed to give me the Compton report this morning. I want that report on my desk before the end of the day. Do your job,” he bellowed and stormed off. “Loudmouth bastard. He's always finding something wrong with my work. I wish it were legal to kill people like him. He’s giving me an ulcer.” In order to forget how much he hated Carn and his job, Henry spent his weekends going to the beach and wandering around the city. One Saturday, he stopped at a curio shop. “This is a fascinating place,” he said looking around. He picked up a dusty book. “Boy, this is weird. There’s only one page. ‘You don’t have to die,” he read. “I wonder what the characters below mean. I’ve never seen characters like those before.” As he wondered about the book, a man appeared behind him. “May I help you with something, sir?” “This book. There’s only one page, and all that’s written is, ‘You don’t have to die’ and there are symbols that I don’t recognize, and where are the rest of the pages?” “That’s the only page. It is the only page that is needed. The symbols are from an ancient civilization’s language. They refer to life and death." “Life and death? What about life and death?" "All I know is they refer to life and death." "Well, what about the statement 'You don't have to die?' Why would anybody write that? Everybody has to die.” “That’s not true. If you could read the ancient symbols that are on the page, you would understand. What would you say if I told you that you could live forever?” “Forgive me, but I would say you’re crazy.” “Come with me,” he said and Henry followed him into a back room, where he opened a desk drawer and took out a dagger. “What would you say if I told you I can’t die?” “Not possible.” “Watch,” he said, and plunged the dagger into his stomach. “Oh, my God,” Henry gasped. “I’m proving to you that I can’t die,” he said and pulled the dagger out of his stomach. As he pulled it out, the wound healed. “I’m not dead, am I?” “I don’t believe it. It must be a trick.” “It’s not a trick,” he asserted. “Here, take the dagger and push it into my stomach.” “Are you crazy?” “No, I'm not crazy,” he said, and put the dagger in Henry’s hand. Henry stared at the dagger and watched the blood that was on it evaporate. “I’m not gonna…” Before he could finish speaking, the man grabbed Henry’s hand and pulled the dagger into his stomach. Henry gasped, jumped back, and stared wide-eyed as the man pulled the dagger out of his stomach. Henry watched the wound heal and shook his head in disbelief. The man then took a small box out of the drawer, opened it, and took out a vile. “My friend, if you drink this potion, you, too, would become immortal. If you want to live forever, drink it,” he said and he put it in Henry’s hand. "Why would I want to live forever?" "Imagine what you could do if you lived forever, if you couldn't die. Imagine what you would know about the past in 200 years from now." Henry stared at the vile, looked at the man, and then drank the potion. He waited for something to happen. “I don’t feel anything.” Without warning, the man plunged the knife into Henry’s stomach, and Henry gasped, looked down at the dagger, pulled it out of his stomach, and watched the wound heal. “Oh, my God. It’s true, I can’t die,” he mumbled several times and, as though in a daze, walked slowly out of the shop. On his way home, he stopped in a sporting goods shop and bought a hunting knife. “Mr. Carn, I bought you a present.” When Henry went back to work on Monday, he waited for Mr. Carn to bombard him with complaints, and he didn’t have to wait long. “Henry, the Compton report was full of grammatical errors. Didn’t you go to school,” he yelled. “One more blunder, Henry, and you’re history,” he growled. “Mr. Carn, if you will stop yelling for a moment, I want to show you a present I got for you. He e took the knife from a drawer, and plunged it into Carn’s chest. “How do you like your present, Carn?” Henry waited for the police, who arrested him and took him to jail where he was booked. His court-appointed lawyer stood by his side and entered a not guilty plea. “No,” Henry said loudly. “I plead guilty.” Because of his crime and his guilty plea there was no trial. Instead, Henry had to face a judge, who sentenced him to death as mandated by state law, and he was transported to death row. In the visitor’s room, Henry met with his attorney. “Is it true that if the condemned can’t be executed, can’t be killed, he has to be freed?” “Yes, Henry, but why do you ask?” “George, I can’t die. Soon I’m going to be free. I will have gotten away with murder.” “You can’t die? That’s impossible. Everybody dies.” “Not everybody, George. You’ll see, and I don’t want you to file any appeals.” Two weeks later, Henry’s lawyer visited him. “Henry, good news. The state supreme court has abolished the death penalty. Your sentence is now life in prison without the possibility of parole. Henry, the state saved your life.” “No. No,” he yelled. “They can’t do that. I want to be executed,” he sobbed, fell to his knees, and pounded the floor with his fists, and two guards dragged him out of the visitors’ room. “I can’t spend eternity in prison. I can’t,” he sobbed over and over as they dragged him to his cell.