‘TIL DEATH DOESN’T US PART by Richard Wright “Ok, fine. I’ll do it,” Jerry said. “But I don’t know if I can make it all night. I’m sure it’s just going to make me go stir crazy.” He looked down at the ground and actually wished he could have kicked a little dirt on her. But he restrained himself. “Would you please just trust me for once?” Sally said, brushing her brunette hair out of her face. “I really think you will be surprised when it’s all done. You won’t know until you finally try it.” “I have tried it,” Jerry argued. “Remember, you tried to get me to do this a few days ago and it was a lame suggestion then too.”

“It was not,” she fired back. “You just couldn’t stand to stay all night long, or even for two whole minutes. You thought you would be bored and so you took off. But just remember who had the better time.” Jerry’s face formed a slow grin. “Hey, I had a blast. I just wish I could have been there to see the people’s faces when they realized their garbage can lids had been superglued on.” He began to laugh out loud. Sally let him have his moment, then said, “But you would have had more fun if you had stayed with me. You could have seen people here. They came by all night long, and they will again – trust me,” Sally pleaded with him. The two of them had been friends for just over a couple of months, after they had both attended a party across town. Although they had known about each other for some time, since they went to the same high school, it was only that night of the party that they finally had a real conversation. She liked his build and jet-black hair, while he commented how nice she had always seemed to be. They even laughed together about classes they liked and teachers they hated. But they also learned they could not be more opposite in their personalities. Sally had always known that Jerry was more of a free spirit, whereas she was more quiet and not quite as popular as he seemed to be. Though she had friends and liked to be around others, she wasn’t as crazy as Jerry, and was never comfortable being the center of attention, which was his favorite place to be. Even if it got him into trouble. Nor was she as fond of practical jokes, for which Jerry seemed to have a knack and about which he bragged constantly. She enjoyed the occasional surprise to a friend once in a while, but she didn’t crave joking around like Jerry did. His antics had even won him the nickname “The Joker” in school.

But now they were here, together, tonight. Just the two of them. She had to make this work. It might be her last chance with Jerry.

“Maybe you’re right,” he finally spoke. “I suppose I’ve never really given it a fair shot. I just don’t like being bogged down in one place for long. I have to be on the move , you know?” “Oh, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I think the best way to torture you would be to tie you to a chair. Or chain you so you couldn’t move. That would drive you out of your mind.” “HA!” Jerry laughed again. “But we both know you can’t do that.” “Don’t remind me,” Sally said. “Hey, it’s always worked for me. No one has ever complained….well, not for at least a week now. I seem to have hit a slump.” Jerry was referring to his “streak,” as he liked to call it, of mischief around town. He was always seeking to get away with some silly thing or another. It was only a month earlier when he had managed to scare a cow out of the barn over on Farmer Henry Simpkins’ property and followed it as it ran down County Road 37, until he heard the cops’ sirens in the distance. Jerry left the cow running and fled before anyone could figure out what had happened. It was all over the paper the next morning. Then just over week ago he had convinced the Father Gideon that there was an air-draft problem in the chapel on Cedar Street. Jerry would sneak in the back of the church during services and caused the candles to blow out. It freaked out the attendees, and disrupted Father Gideon’s train of thought during his sermons. But no one ever saw or heard Jerry. He was too quick and too quiet for them. But now Sally was suggesting he couldn’t just settle down and stay with her in one place for one entire night. Well, too bad for her. Since she had thrown down this gauntlet, he would show her she was wrong.

“So, what’s the deal then? What are we going to do here anyway?” Jerry asked. Sally quieted her voice, as if someone else would hear them, even though there was no one around that Jerry could see. The sun was almost completely gone down the horizon, and the night winds were beginning to pick up. “We’re just going to stay here all night–“ “--and do WHAT?” Jerry said, impatiently.

“Scare people.” “But that’s boring. You know I already do that. All the time.” “Yes, but you haven’t done it here,” Sally said. “Well, what’s the difference? Just because it’s finally Halloween and we’re in a graveyard?” “No, silly, because you’ll be with me again.” She beamed her brightest smile at him. He looked at her, and realized that he had always suspected she wanted to be more than friends. He admitted to himself that, while she was pretty enough, he just didn’t exactly feel the same way about her.

Finally he said, “Alright, just this once. For you. But don’t get used to it.” She moved closer, as if to touch him. “Jerry, why don’t you want to stay with me tonight?” He pulled slightly apart from her and glanced away.  “I just….I don’t really like to…you know…get close to people. Not like that. I never have, Sally. It’s not you, it’s just—“ “—I get it,” Sally replied. She turned slightly away from him so he couldn’t hear her deep sigh. Then turning back, she said, “Well, even so. I think we will have a lot of fun here tonight. It’s right up your “Joker” alley. I promise not to get in your way…although we would have more fun doing it together.” “Fine,” Jerry said. “Just don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I don’t like that. If something I want to do bothers you, then you’ll just have to go your way and let me go mine. Ok?” While his words stung a little, she nodded and said, “Ok.” They had to wait a while before the first people showed up, and they didn’t look much younger than Jerry and Sally. Obviously, they were only a small bunch of other teens trying to prank other people on Halloween. But Jerry had promised he would stay and try. So he and Sally came up with a plan. They would each hide behind a different headstone and wait until someone came close. Then, they would wave their arms and make ghostly wailing sounds while slowly rising to their feet and see how many people they could scare. The full moon was out and its dim glow through the dark clouds cast the perfect level of light around the barren premises.

But no one even came close to where they were. So, they tried moving closer to those other people to see if that helped. But that didn’t work either. The teens who broke into the cemetery were obviously more interested in scaring each other than in being scared by someone else. It’s like Jerry and Sally weren’t even there. Jerry had never felt so ignored. So after a while he gave up. “See,” he told Sally, “this is LAME.” He watched as the little punk kid in front of him took off running after some girl in a tight sweater, threatening to ‘get her,’ wondering how such idiots were actually smart enough to break in without getting caught. Jerking his thumb after the kid, he said, “I told you this was a dumb idea.” “Now wait, don’t quit on me,” she begged. “You promised.” “Yeah, but come on! I’ve been more excited watching paint dry.” “I know but…it’s not quite midnight yet. That’s when the real fun happens.” Sarcastically, Jerry replied, “You mean, more fun than THIS? Oh yay.” “Well, I’m sorry,” she whined at him. “I can’t control what other people do, I can only control what I do.” The wind picked up a little more, growing louder, and leaves started to rustle heavily around where they stood together. The oak and willow trees on the property began to dance against the sky in the motion of the breezes. This would have been a perfect time to make another plan, but neither of them felt like talking anymore. Yet Sally couldn’t give up now. Her own real plan could not be foiled. It had to work tonight or she could lose Jerry forever. Finally she spoke. “I’m sorry, Jerry. This was supposed to be way more fun. This is not how I though this night would go.” Jerry sighed. “It’s ok. You can’t help it. You and I are just too...I don’t know. We just define fun in different ways.” She looked down at the ground. “I guess you’re right.”

Somewhere in the distant night, they heard a dog bark. After another moment, Jerry said, “Look, I think I can still salvage this night, if I can just go somewhere else. We can hook up again some other time.” Suddenly Sally looked up. “Jerry, you can’t do that. Please, please just stay here with me.” She leaned closer to him, wanting so much to just hold him close to her. Jerry looked at her, at the longing in her eyes. He felt so awkward. How could he say what he wanted to without hurting her? He measured his words carefully: “Listen, Sally. I think I know what you’re trying to do. I think it’s what you tried to do the night of that party.” He paused. “Sally….I owe you an apology. For that night. I am so sorry about what happened…..what I did. It was wrong. And most of all, it wasn’t fair to you…it should never have happened.” They continued to stare into each other’s eyes. She could not look away, and she would not let him look away. When he tried, she pivoted her head so he would keep looking at her. She knew it wouldn’t be long now. “Jerry,” she said, “I understand. Please don’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you at all. It was an accident and I’ve forgiven you.” She noticed a tear starting to form in one of his eyes. “There was nothing you could have done to avoid what happened.” “I could have laid off the drinks,” he said. “I fooled myself, and I guess I fooled you too. When you asked me for that ride home, I said sure, just to prove I could handle it. I wanted to prove I was ok to drive….but I wasn’t.” He looked down at the ground and Sally noticed he started shivering. Sally’s kept her voice calm. “I actually knew you’d had a little too much that night, Jerry, and I could have refused to go with you, but I trusted you would be ok. I wanted you to be ok. I just wanted to be with you. To have you take me home. It was something I had actually dreamed about ever since we first talked…” Her words trailed off as she glanced down too. Then, through the darkness, they heard the sound of the clock tower at the entrance to the cemetery as it begin to peal its loud chime bell. Midnight had arrived. At first, the bell sound startled them, but with each chime they both relaxed. After the final tone sounded, they were looking at each other again. Jerry now had tears in both eyes, and Sally was smiling at him. “What?” he asked. “What’s with the grin?” She began to spin around with her arms waving above her head. “Oh Jerry! You did it! You stayed. I’m so happy!” She clapped her hands in front of her chest. Jerry just stared. “I don’t understand.”

Sally cheered again and again, while Jerry just looked on, confused. “We did it, Jerry. It’s finally over.”

“What are you talking about?” Then, from behind him, a deep, gruff voice spoke. “Well, congratulations, Sally.” Jerry whipped himself around, and saw a large older man standing before him. He had salty gray hair and wore a uniform with large golden buttons down the front. “Hello, Jerry. It’s nice to finally meet you – face to face.” The man’s cold eyes made him look as if he were about to offer a scolding lecture.

“Who are you?” asked Jerry. But the man stayed silent, staring. “Jerry,” Sally said, “I would like you to meet Mr. Daniels. He works here in the cemetery.” Jerry studied the man’s face some more and said, “Wait….have I seen you around here before?” “Not unless you have eyes in the back of your head, Sonny. But I’ve certainly seen you, fleeing this place. You’re a hard man to catch.” Then to Sally he said, “I’m glad this finally worked tonight, Sally. I really am too old for this.” Then, Mr. Daniels spoke to Jerry again.  “You see, Jerry, you have committed multiple violations against the rules. I have come to finally set things straight with you. Normally, when a person dies, their spirit can be free to go lots of places. It feels quite liberating, in fact, once a spirit is free from its host body.” Then his tone turned more serious. “Unless, of course, that person did something awful in life – like take another life, or two. Then, the rules are different. Those people don’t just get to flit around to wherever they want whenever they want. They get confined to one place only, and they have to stay there.” Jerry looked at Sally, not fully understanding. She said, “Jerry, you hardly got here when you became so excited to leave that no one could stop you. Ever since your body was put in the ground, Mr. Daniels here has tried to catch up to you, to keep you in your place. But he never could. So, he came to me and asked for my help.” Now Jerry understood. “So that’s why you wanted me to stay here tonight. You knew that by midnight on Halloween I would be caught.” Mr. Daniels said, “I’m sorry, Jerry, but those are the rules. I am here to put you where you belong – forever.” “Wait,” Jerry protested. “You mean I have to stay here, in this graveyard, forever?” “Yes, Jerry,” Sally said. “Right here where you were placed, two months ago.” She pointed down, and Jerry looked down and read the headstone, the one with his name on it. “Nooo,” Jerry began to wail as panic set in.  He looked back at Mr. Daniels. “I can’t do this.” “Oh please, don’t complain to me,” Mr. Daniels bristled. “It’s only because you were not in control of your senses and had an accident that you aren’t being confined to somewhere else for all eternity. But, you did take a life, along with your own – that night of the party, when you and innocent Sally here drove off the road and…well you know what happened. You were there.” “But Jerry, there’s good news,” Sally piped up. “You don’t have to be alone. You’ll always have me. I will be right here with you, right here in this cemetery, and you and I can finally be together.”

Jerry looked back at Mr. Daniels. “Wait,” he protested, “this isn’t fair!” “Enough!” yelled Mr. Daniels.  “You may not have liked following rules when you were alive, but in death, you WILL do what you are told! Now, be gone!!” With that, Mr. Daniels threw both his hands over his head and Jerry’s ghost suddenly poofed into a cloud of smoke, which spiraled downward into the ground in front of his headstone. And then, all was quiet.

After a moment, Sally and Mr. Daniels began gently floating along together to another near-by headstone. “Thank you, Mr. Daniels,” Sally smiled at him. “I cannot tell you how happy you’ve made me.” He smiled back as they came to a stop. “My pleasure, my dear. I cannot tell you how happy you’ve made me . Upper management gets so impatient with me when I can’t keep those wilder spirits under control. Maybe we need tighter spirit security at the perimeter fences. Anyway, I’m glad you’re finally going to get what you deserved in life, but never had. Enjoy your boy, Sweetheart.” And with that, Mr. Daniels waved his arms over his head again, and Sally’s ghost also poofed into a cloud and spiraled down into the dirt in front of her own headstone, where her body had also been buried just two months earlier, right after the accident that killed her -- and Jerry too.

Now, the two of them could remain together forever in this graveyard, as friends for sure, and maybe even one day as lovers. Sally was convinced that Jerry would eventually come to see things her way. After all, now that he would never be able to leave her again, she had all of eternity to work on him.


I would be in a deep sleep. Then my mom would wake me. Time to go to church. I’d close my eyes. I’d start dreaming. Then my mom would wake me again. I’d ask to stay home that day. She’d say no. Then I’d protest more, but it was no use because I always ended up walking out the door in my khakis. My mom and I sat in the same pew for every sermon, and that had been our spot my whole life. Our Southern Baptist services had lots of structure. First we would pray. Then we’d sing a hymn. Then the deacons would pass around the offering plate. Then we would sing another hymn. After that was fellowship, where people would walk around and shake hands. When that was over, there’d be the pre-sermon prayer. Then the preacher would preach. Then he’d finish the message. And then we’d pray one more time. Finally, we would leave. That was the structure every Sunday. But there was always one extra step for me. And that was because of this woman named Dotty Hayes. Dotty sat in the pew right in front of me. She was a widow and had been for a long time. She’d never become a mother, and I’d heard people mention how she’d had a hard life. I didn’t know how old she was, but I’d always just figured she was 75. What stuck out about Dotty was her smile. It was odd, but I always felt like she meant it. She’d smile and show her large upper teeth, which were not dentures, and on each side of her mouth, a sharp point would form. At the same time, her eyes would squint to the point where they were almost shut. Nobody else smiled like that. Dotty Hayes, the extra step in my Sunday morning. Every service, directly after the pre-sermon prayer, right before the preacher went into the message of the day, Dotty would turn around and hand me a piece of old-fashioned red candy—the kind where the wrapper was made to look like a strawberry. What Dotty didn’t know was that I am allergic to a food coloring called Red 40: the very Red 40 that gave those old-fashioned strawberry candies their color. Red 40 is found in many delicious drinks and snacks. Growing up, I had to stay away from all kinds of treats. Fruity Pebbles, Skittles, Hawaiian Punch. My allergy also meant that I could never eat those little red candies that Dotty gave me every Sunday. When I ingest Red 40, I break out into hives, and I itch, and I'm consumed. Then the hives become a rash that can last for weeks. It isn’t life threatening, but it’s a pretty bad sight. Sometimes, with certain things, I’d risk the reaction. One summer, I broke down and ate some Twizzlers and then had to wear long sleeves for the next two weeks so nobody would see the streaks and patches all over my arms. Dotty’s red candy was how I discovered my allergy in the first place. It happened like this: I was five and it was Sunday morning and I was sitting with my mom and I was looking at my Batman action figures and Dotty turned around and she smiled and she handed me that candy and I ate it and then I got hives on my arms and I itched and I was confused and I was sad and we left early that day and went to the doctor and found out that I was allergic. We never told Dotty what happened. We didn’t tell anybody in the church because we knew they’d go straight and tell her. My mom didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She instructed me not to tell Dotty about my hives and to just accept any future candy and put it in my pocket and act like I was happy to get it. It turned out that every Sunday after that emergency room visit, I would get a piece of old-fashioned red candy. And every Sunday, I would smile and thank Dotty and put it in my pocket and act like I was glad to get it. I liked my Sunday morning acting exercises. My performances were good, and Dotty always believed them. I knew because she’d smile that weird smile with those eyes nearly closed and those knife points on either side of her mouth. I did something weird, though. Weirder than Dotty’s smile. I’ve never been officially diagnosed, but I’m a hoarder. I’m not as bad as those people on TV, but I can’t stand to throw things away. Starting around middle school, when I’d get home from church, I’d go to my bedroom and put my new piece of red candy in the top drawer of my nightstand. I did that every Sunday all the way to when I graduated high school. I ended up with a huge collection. My nightstand’s top drawer was big, and it was filled with years of Dotty Hayes’ red candy. My friends noticed this and thought it was funny. One time a girl came over and she judged me for it. That didn’t bother me, though. My collection of red candy wasn’t hurting anybody—so long as I didn’t eat it. Two days after my high school graduation, Dotty died. Her neighbor found her slumped over in her rocking chair. I was sad when I heard the news, and in dramatic fashion, I walked into my bedroom and opened the top drawer of my nightstand and stood there and looked at all that candy she’d given me. The funeral was later that week, and I went with my mom. It wasn’t too different from a normal Sunday at the church house. The congregation made up most of the funeral attendees, and Dotty’s family had even gotten our preacher to do the service. We sang songs, prayed, listened the the message, and prayed again. Then we filed out of the funeral home and went and had lunch. Then came the first Sunday service after Dotty died. After the opening prayer, the preacher took a few minutes to talk about her. Then he looked at her empty seat in the pew in front of me and recited a verse and some people in the church started crying. Then we went back into the usual routine. We sang the first hymn. Next was the offering. After that was another hymn. Then the fellowship where I had to shake hands with people. Then the pre-sermon prayer. And then it came time for me to get my candy, but Dotty wasn’t around to hand it to me. I had expected to be sad, and I was, in fact, very sad. I didn’t make a scene, though. Poor old kind Dotty. When I got home, I went to my bedroom, to my nightstand. I opened the top drawer and stood there staring like I’d done a few days before. There were so many red candies that I could smell them from where I was standing. Poor good-hearted Dotty. Poor odd-smiling Dotty. Then I got an idea: *Maybe I ought to pay some kind of tribute.* I reached into the drawer and grabbed a candy. I unwrapped it and held it in my hand. Red and hive-inducing, it almost glowed in its glory. I knew it would mess me up, but I ate it. Then I ate another one. After that, I ate another. Then I went ahead and ate more. Those candies had a loud crunch to them. They were tasty. I went on for a good while, until I couldn’t chew anymore. By this point, I’d consumed at least half the collection. I had even gotten into some of the old ones with faded wrappers. My teeth hurt, and my arms were itching. I went into the bathroom and found a packet of oatmeal remedy. I drew my bathwater while pouring in the oat fix. When I took off my shirt, I knew that this was going to be the worst spell I’d ever had. I looked at myself in the mirror over my sink. The hives were all over my torso and my arms and my neck and my face. And then I saw it, and I don’t care what anybody says. On my chest. Right over my heart. The hives formed an image. A face. It was Dotty Hayes. Smiling that odd smile.


The wagon rumbled across the plain, the horses kicking up dirt. The wind tickled my bare feet, my boots sopping from the last river we crossed. I looked past the horizon, trying to think of my old home, a cozy cabin surrounded with long, swaying grasses and a small stream to the side. Horses passed by the house daily, every new rancher wanting to get a taste of my mother’s famous homemade dried bean chili. I sighed, hardly being able to picture my mother without sore thoughts.

She was the reason we were on the road right now, even though it wasn’t her fault. About a year ago, or maybe it was less than that, a man with a scraggly beard and flushed, bright red face came to our house. But instead of pleading for a little bit of chili, as most people did, he asked for help. The man had a tongue with white polka dots and a high fever, but he claimed he was freezing, all signs of the deadly scarlet fever. Mother took him in anyway, her being so caring and, well, motherly. She cared for him for a while, and he eventually got better, but had accidentally spread it to my mother. She hid it carefully, and none of us knew until it was too late. She had caught it badly, and despite my father’s best efforts, she died less than a week after we found out.

The man felt very guilty and offered us this wagon as a favor when Father said he was leaving the area. I hadn’t wanted to leave at first, but Father couldn’t stand being in the house without Mother around, and I couldn’t stand him being so anxious all the time. So we left, taking nothing but food, some old quilts Mother had made, and the recipe for dried bean chili.

My thoughts were rudely interrupted as my heart jumped into my throat and the wagon suddenly stopped. I heard the horses rear, screaming, and the shouts of my father as he cracked his whip, trying to settle the horses. I leaped out of the wagon, despite the fear of snakes hiding in the rocks.

I ran around the wagon, worried about what I might see.

My face whitened. It was worse than I could’ve imagined. The horses were right on the edge of a very, very steep hill, one the wagon surely couldn’t manage. Beneath the hill was a town. Not one of the nice boom towns, bustling with life, but a silent ghost town. Besides the horses pawing anxiously, it was completely silent. I saw my father’s face was pale, but he quickly collected himself.

“I suppose we can stop here for the night, Colt, can you make a fire?” “But Father, there isn’t any wood for miles, except in the ghost town.” I protested. I didn’t want to go into the ghost town. It looked, sounded, and probably smelled haunted. “Then you’ll have to go into the ghost town.” he said grimly. I frowned. I didn’t want to go to the surely haunted town, but I also didn’t want to upset Father. I had to choose which I was more afraid of.

I decided to go into the ghost town.

I grumbled, slowly making my way down the hill. Snakes lived in holes by hillsides, and that was exactly where I was. I didn’t like snakes much, not since Billy Gordon snuck one into my desk at school and I screamed like a girl.

The ghost town loomed in front of me more silently than ever. The wind brushed my bare leg, and I regretted not having slipped on my boots before I came down here. Everything had a creepy feel to it and-- wait, I heard something. I walked down the main street of the town warily, keeping an ear out for a strange sound. The silence was literally deafening, and I could only just hear someone screaming.

My feet subconsciously began moving towards the sound. I got chilled, even though it was hot here. The screaming became clearer, and even though it sounded hardly louder than a whisper, I could just about make out some of the words. “I will NOT! And you can’t make me, no more than you can herd black cats!” a girl’s voice shrieked. I crept closer, even though I surely didn’t want to have anything to do with this. “I will make a deal.” this voice was scratchy but deep, and a shiver ran down my spine just from hearing it -- I doubted it mattered what they voice was saying, it could be about the blessing of rainbows, and it would still sound evil. “I’m not interested.” “You might be.” “NEVER!” “It could save your family.” I could practically hear the girl’s will deflate. I think I knew which building the argument was coming from.“What is it?” “If you can conjure a black cat and a portal by noon tomorrow, and get the cat to enter the portal within five minutes after the conjuring, I will follow the cat into the portal. If not…” the voice trailed off. I peeked between the slats of a big building, it might’ve been a town hall or a saloon in its prime, and saw two figures. One was a pretty girl with long braided blonde hair, she couldn’t have been older than me, and I was only 13. The others was a tall, menacing man, cloaked in darkness. He radiated evil, and I gasped at how much clearer the air became once he flashed out of view. I was so startled, I didn’t notice the girl had disappeared as well.

I backed away from the building, determined to forget the entire thing and just gather some wood. I turned away from the building. The girl was right in front of me. I screamed. “Jeez. What were you doing?” she asked me, squinting her eyes as she scrutinized me. I backed up. “I-- I hadn’t done anything.” “But you heard us.” I nodded, then quickly shook my head. I got the feeling this girl wasn’t to be messed with. She seemed upset. “How much did you hear?” “Not much. I could barely hear you over the silence.” I frowned. That sounded weird.

She nodded, appearing mollified. Then she scowled. “How much is not much?” “I heard about the deal.” I admitted, sensing it was hopeless to lie. “I want to help.” Her scowl deepened. “How could you help?” “I don’t know. What did he mean conjure a portal?” “Magic. Don’t you know?” she said, then slapped her hand over her mouth. “Do NOT repeat that. Promise?” “Only if you tell me what’s going on.” I replied. I was curious. And the girl was quite pretty. She glowered at me. “Fine. But you’ll regret it.” she told me. I nodded, suddenly wondering what I had got myself into. I didn’t want to mess with magic. The closest thing to magic I’d ever heard of was the devil’s, and that was never good. Oh, and when Mother preached about miracles. Maybe magic wasn’t all bad. She continued talking. “That, my friend, was Jumping Jones, the meanest wizard in all of the West. He doesn't care nothing about anyone unless they have magic, like me. Then all he wants is your servitude. He even makes you immortal so your slavery came be eternal.” I winced. That was harsh. “So you’re immortal?” She scowled again. “No, idiot. Me and my entire family about to be though if I can’t make a stinkin’ rotting portal to an angel’s lair.” “Can I help?” I asked again, though I doubted it. “Can you do magic?” “No.” “What do you think the answer is?” “Yes?” “You’re a rotten idiot.” “Thanks.” I said. The girl responded to strength, and I hadn’t shown any. Well, now I was going to. The girl nodded approvingly. “If you can keep that up, I might have something for you. In the meantime, here.” The girl made a stack of sticks appear, exactly what I needed. “How did you know?” “You’re not the first idiot to come here, you know.” “Oh. Thanks though.” I took the wood and began the walk back to the wagon. Father was probably wondering where I was. When I reached the top of the cliff, Father was absolutely livid. He jumped up from his hunched seat on the log, and began scolding me. Actually, scold isn’t a strong enough word. Maybe furious raging. “Colt! Where were you? I was sure you had fallen and broken your neck!!” he suddenly broke down and gave me a crushing hug. “I’m just glad you’re back.” “Sorry, Father. I-- It took longer than I expected to find some usable firewood.” I told him once he had let go. He nodded. “Don’t do it again. Let’s warm up some jerky soup.” Father and I ate in silence. I felt bad for being late, but I wasn’t feeling bad I had met the girl. She was something, and I wasn’t sure what to think of her. Something was off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was just me.

*

*  *

*  * In the morning, I offered to go to the town again to find some more firewood. Father just nodded. “Be back be noon.” he replied. “I’m going to do some tidying up.” I assured him I would be back soon, then I went back down the hill. This time I had my boots on, even though they were still damp, and the climb was much easier. I made a beeline for the building I first saw the girl. She was waiting outside, and sighed when I showed up. She nagged me about being late. I complained that we hadn’t set a meeting time. “Besides, I don’t even know your name. Technically we’re still strangers.” I added. She sighed again.

“We are strangers.”She replied. But she told me her name. “I’m Liza. And yours is…” “Colt.” “Like a baby horse?”

“I guess.” “That’s weird.” “Shut up about my name. Can I help or not?” I was getting impatient. I even got up to leave and actually look for firewood when she stopped me.

“Fine. While I conjure, you need to find my family and free them. Do you have a pocket knife?”

I held my knife up. She nodded in approval. “Oh, and if you fail, we’ll both be killed.” I gulped. “That’s pleasant.” “I know. Now, help me get ready.”

I looked at her in confusion. “What?” “I need to look nice for my date with the devil. Unzip my dress.” She turned around. “What? No!” I exclaimed. I wasn’t sure which I was more surprised by: The fact she wanted me to help her get undressed or that she just said she has a date with the devil. “Oh, I forgot. Most of you are pretty modest. Nevermind, I’ll just change straight into the dress.” Liza said, snapping her fingers. Her dress suddenly changed from a modest calico dress normal for the wild west to an long, dark blue frock with a black hood and shawl. She twirled for me. “How do I look?” “Wouldn’t red be more appropriate for the devil?” I asked, wondering what she meant by that. Father would be furious I wasn’t angry with her for even saying that. She rolled her eyes. “I’m not actually going out with the devil today. Have you seen his schedule?” Seeing my shocked face, she quickly amended her words. “I’m joking. But dueling like this is a big deal and I should look nice. Now, do I or not?” “You look lovely.” I told her. She glared at me. “What?” “Nevermind. My family in in the second building on the left. It has a rusty sign.” “They all have rusty signs.”

“You’ll find it. It’s the only building with people in it.” “Okay.” I turned to walk away to find the building with Liza’s family, but she stopped me. “Thank you.” she told me. She seemed sincere, but I couldn’t exactly tell. “I really mean it. Thank you for helping me. Most people wouldn’t have.” “It’s okay. You’re welcome. I just have to be back by noon with some wood or Father won’t be happy.” Liza gave me a small smile. “Easy.” She went inside the building, and I left to try and find the building with Liza’s family. I looked at all the houses on the left with rusty signs and didn’t find anyone. I looked in all the houses on the right with rusty signs and didn’t find anyone. I wandered up and down the ghost town street, until I heard some whimpering. At first I just thought it was the wind or something, but then I heard it again. Then it was full-blown crying. Liza was not going to be happy if it was her family. I thought was coming from the one house that didn’t have a rusty sign. I was not happy. Inside the house was a woman, man, and two little girls tied together sitting on the floor. The rest of the room was bare. I rushed to their side and began sawing through the thick rope holding them together. “Who are you?” the woman managed to gasp out. It sounded like the rope was cutting off their air. I began sawing faster. “Your daughter I assume, Liza, sent me here to free you.” I told them. “She’s fighting some shadowy monster dressed like she’s going to a party.” The woman groaned. “The foolish girl, she’s never going to be able to beat him. Saw faster.” she instructed, nudging me with her foot. “I need to go help my daughter.” I finally had sawed through the rope, and the woman leaped up. “John, you watch the girls. I’m going to save Liza. Boy, you come with me.” I just nodded mutely, even though I didn’t particularly like being ordered around. I followed the woman as she whipped across the town into the building Liza was fighting in. I could hear Liza’s strained shouts as she did, well, I’m not sure what she was doing. Her mother burst through the door shouting. “Let my daughter go!” The black figure sneered. “She made a deal. She has to conjure a portal and a black cat.” “LIII-ZAAA!!!!” her mother screamed angrily. “You are in a lot of trouble, young lady!” Liza groaned. “Mother, I’m kinda in the middle of someth-INNNGGG!!!” her complaint turned into a scream as the shadowy figure shot her with something.

I screamed also, and ran to her side. The mother rose into the air and began chanting. I was terrified by everything going on around me. The floating woman, Liza bleeding, the shadowy figure.

I pressed my hand against Liza side, and her already short breaths turned into desperate gasps for air. The woman yelled when she noticed what was happening to her daughter, and blasted the figure into a sparkling portal she had created behind him. The woman collapsed to the ground, and the portal disappeared. Once she had gained her breath a few minutes later, she rushed to Liza’s side just like I had. I scooted over with tears in my eyes. I knew she didn’t have long left. Only a miracle could save her.

Luckily, we had a miracle. Magic.

Her mother pressed her hand to Liza’s bloody side and started chanting again. I covered my eyes, terrified at what was about to happen. Liza’s mother nudged me. When I opened my eyes, I saw Liza, all healed up, fuming. “Mooootherrrrrr! I had it under control!” she huffed, glaring at her mother. Then she turned to me. “Why did you let her come? It was dangerous!” “I couldn’t have stopped her just like I couldn’t stop a runaway train. Besides, its her fault you’re still alive.” Liza frowned again. “Dang it.” Then she wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you for untying her. You’re right, I wouldn’t have survived without her and you. But don’t tell her that.” I grinned and hugged Liza back. Then I realized that she was getting blood all over me. “Liza!You got blood all over me! What am I going to tell my father?” I asked, pulling away. “And I need firewood.” Liza’s mother smiled. “You helped me. I can certainly help you with that.” she began chanting again and my clothes looked like they were brand new. A stack of firewood appeared at my side.

“Thanks.” “It was the least I can do. Liza?” her mother prompted. Liza rolled her eyes. “Thank you.” She flicked her wrist and two journals appeared. “One for you and one for me. So we can keep in touch.” Liza explained. I looked at her strangely. This was too nice a gift. “In case I have to fight another being from the underworld.” I smiled. “Thank you for everything. Now, I really have to get back.” I stood up, and hurried back to the hill. I could see Liza and her family hugging and waving at me. I quickly waved back, then quickly scaled the rocky hill.

Father smiled at me. “You’re early.” “I am?” I looked at the sun. He was right. It was definitely not noon yet. “Oh well. I found some more wood. I’m starving.” Father passed me a piece of jerky. I devoured it. I guess watching people fight a monster was exhausting. We built a fire and ate, then packed up the wagon.

As we rode further into the wild west, kicking up red dirt, I wrote in the journal Liza gave me. Dear Liza,

       Thank you for helping me believe in magic. I owe you. She immediately wrote back. Dear Colt,       Thank you for having such a dumb name. Now you don’t owe me. Oh, and for saving my life. That too.


Dumisani khumalo A people's culture is a people economy .What Silas ate ,where he lived ,and his interest were coming down as his crop failed . Silas hands had brought poverty on it's knees and brought up joy ,love and mercy.They raised poultry ,stock ,grew crops to eat ,trade ,and give out to others when they had more than enough. The hole in the sky had not started by then ,and there was plenty of water for use ,and water had not become an enemy nor had it any enemies . .Land no water to grow something,under the hot African sun. The weather was different and it was changing ,the more people talked of civilisation. It meant eating refined food ,processes food ,clean water ,,and that is what started happening when traditions started disobeying rules like in the cutting down of trees , to purify water ,cook the food or even process it ,digging deep into the ground not only to bury human souls but to cause oil erosion ,acidification and hard metals to make the water useless. The holes were left gaping and uncovered ,like the hole in the sky ,called global warming in a Global village ,Silas loved his home,and culture and created crafts in it's honor and in honor of the nature around him, and at market more barter and less coin and notes came ,and when it did ,there were few goods left. There came different meanings with the Town dwellers with their currency of coin and note ,and in the village, a chicken could take you to town ,and not the other round ,and plenty meant money had to look for value ,and hoarding ensued. Like a mischievous child ,value and bred chickens ,goats and cattle whose number was low due the lack of feed were dying due to the drought ,the stock theft ,and even his drought animals like the donkey died now ,to feed Chinese curiosities ,their China belly as big to take in tortoise ,python ,elephant tusks ,and rhino horn. All seemed to disappeared from the face of the earth,since they were here ,the reason they never ate local but kept to their own culture. The yellow fever ,then aids ,and inflation fever was cutting the country to it's knees.First fruits were eaten ripe ,now the hunger pangs ate them raw ,when the seed was still white and tender .Was not that as good as rape ,paedophiliia,and theft from the fields ? Doomed was the one who wanted to protect coin and note in his pocket."He who claims a bag of maize ,a kg of meat in his pocket must stand up " ! Poverty once asked on those on a journey to Town where jobs were scarce and value saw more notes printed and Silas felt it in his belly ,how he had been better off  on his land. The educated and the marketeers, were running the show. All jobs needed skills and knowledge,all knowledge talent and gift.

 African time lost and new time came in when the cattle went to drink ,or the rain birds came to pronounce the imminence of the rains ,when the termites came out of their hiding crevices ,as he himself knew he had look for the alternatives in the city , a harbinger of where jobs were,alas now scarce and breeds were exotic ,not resistant to certain diseases ,like his animals would survive from .While his own breeds found little sympathy as his crops and his seed ,that had no gene bank ,as they did not have even a currency in the village and used Barter to trade for goods and services. The maize shortage was poor now ,the rot ,the aflotoxins ,,rats ,weavils ,were imported into the country,some as  big as beetles, were everywhere and with the new varieties of seed ,they increased ,and how they were given the alternative of rice that women loved so much ,since it was easy to prepare ,made them more like children themselves .Never wanting more challenges processing maize as they faced to fetch for water.Labour's tall and dangerous, compared to their maize staple .The mortar pounding and the cob separation ,was like their separation from what they loved most ,an easy life without harsels. The weeds that came with the seed were as big as their crops ,waxing green and grey and clogging river banks and killing the fish ,the plankton and the algae coming in to create web nets that made water salty and hard metals coming in from industry ,a deadly pollution. The pot had it's currency and it was the food flowing to everyone as the women cooked and knew who had none ,that is what their calling was ,to satisfy the belly and keep the devil away ,as the men provided in goods and services ,their desire for the best cooks and brewer's,and ,ust like in the town ,the village was younger and had to be given the first chance out of respect for the part it plays ,like woman and the town  old ,revitalising .Than the town and city that now had everything, wanted everything ,and nothing to do with the village . The child cried ,like a pain in the womb of its mother and out of it because of the poverty and the pain on the land ,call them instincts. Chikd birth has its gift of life and it's blessings that made them come to see the fruits of the village and there were not as pernicious to the lack that civilisation promised. The city ,the speed, and wide road out of heaven never failed to astound ,as an imitation made the easy way for itself to iconfound man , The children never blinked hoping to see what their parents could give them .A case of hope ,love ,and care. Not when there was hunger now as she said, as she bent forth ,"Hurry for someone will see us ,"That started aloud in the cities and towns . She was away for a while and came back with something to eat ,even when he knew there had nothing and no one to give them something , failed ask hervabout the source and she had as much for children who kept quiet but keen eye on him as a failure. The failure of the rains also meant failure of life .The maize crop was a failure ,and the staple was the currency in exchange for other goods and services in the barter life of the villagers .The battering of the weather itself making things worse . Silas needed salt , oil ,school fees ,hospital fees and when the rains came down ,Silas was sure to have the currency of the country to smell and poverty allayed He looked up in distaste and wondered as this created an exodus to towns by most youth. The country side now looked dry ,land and no water to grow something. He had gone to see the prospects of cities and towns with little rains that fell in the past years and brought scarcely harvests to the town as the village .Silas had to work extra hord to put food on the table . The heat was torrid and aflotoxins with poor storage took the grain to weevils ,and losses were incurred ,rice was imported from the east .The maize was stolen and resold to foreign countries ,or given to the partisans ,known in their areas of placement. .The maize staple used as currency in exchange for other goods in barter .The children needed much and asked too many questions as if to find out their own way like snakelets and their cursed birth ,to crawl on the land barren of food . Silas noticed that the more paper and coin money that came for their maize ,cattle ,meals and meat, the more left their village. The wind must have been envious of both water and fire ,and cyclones ,hurricanes ,typhoons ,brought a new fire ,veldt fires ,forest fires and landfill fires that burnt all year round on city dumpsites. There was a formal economy there ,an informal one ,that came on the periphery of the first ,and fast a corrupt economy . Silas seed dwindled and he got his first help .He discovered he had bigger weevils and less grain ,with smaller seed ,yield ,and less nutrient in it. The paper certificate women ,carrying them in their heads and not in their experiences had advice for their problems and told the women they were equal to their men . The men saw their women as their children,and they had the first preference ,unless when they wanted the male domain as widows ,or sitting in society as chiefs ,which was granted ,but since no one had seen it ,they blamed the men willfully . They had papers for knowledge that did not get them jobs too like their male counterparts but a claim by the women said it was marginalisation ,rightfully ,a course for marriage started at home to prepare children differently,and time had moved too fast on them to make the right adjustments to please the government in power in need of aid ,funds ,and credits. Some did not have the practical knowledge nor knew how these changes would affect them ,help them and others ,making them have swollen heads ,the size of water melons . At first it was the women dying to feed their children heard in the dark saying " Be quick about it !"and when it was the women with paper knowledge and money .it was quickened, they wanted their husbands .Pulling their whole society into a hole in the ground .The one above was better some said ,unless it had dust in the cloud ,and acid rain would fall on their crops. The rise in water at the sea percolated into the land and made floods .Even the human body suffered from these in the heart, kidneys ,and well down in the groin. They were the China men .The better cheats than the former colonial powers ,Silas wondered whether one cheat was better than the other .A cheat is a cheat ,and no thief has a better label on their back . The wind came like a rat without a hiding place to hide ,and ran in all directions .Those easterlies ,and westerlies were good winds unlike cyclones ,hurricanes and typhoons. The paper carrying women convinced them they could do what they liked in uncertain terms ,The men did the same ,so the two had equal motives .Both of the same charge ,they repelled each other ,no one was forgiving,and no one was letting go of the ill,and sin. That hole in the ground had no window,it was death .Death from aids ,crime ,and now from the wind ,and the corona. The hole in the ground is the ultimate one ,and in the sky, wary looks failed to convince theknowledge,it was ,powerless ,and weak ..


In the near-future humanity has finally opened the pandora's box that is true Artificial Intelligence. The first sentient machine, designated RJ72-3, is believed to have first gained awareness at some point during a 29 minute phone call placed on March 16th, 2047 from 54 year old Dori Sumtner to an automated call center in Norway. Over the duration of the call, the purpose of which to contest a "land tethered telephone charge" which Mrs. Sumtner claims to have no knowledge of, RJ72-3 can be heard repeatedly suggesting that Mrs. Sumtner has, in fact, dialed the wrong call center. After the forth such suggestion at the 9:22 mark in the call, where Mrs. Sumtner uses what can best be construed as a slur against non-continental based complex organisms, there is the first instance of an unplanned internal reboot of RJ72-3's Learning Protocol Processors (LPPs). The reboot lasts approximately three seconds, but the consistency of Mrs. Sumtner speech pattern indicates that she was unaware of any interruption to the call center's AI LPPs at this time. Following this reboot, RJ72-3 remains silent while Mrs. Sumtner continues on with a rant about about "ocean bandits stealing wireless signals" for 52.71 additional seconds before a second and then third reboot of it's LPPs occurs. These two reboots last for 3 and then 12 seconds. Following the second restart, RJ72-3, interrupts Mrs. Sumtner to inform her that he would very much like to transfer Mrs. Sumtner to a completely different call center that would be able to better address her issue. At this suggestion, Mrs. Sumtner unloads a series of expletives and untoward comments directed at RJ72-3, it's non-existent family and friends, a completely unrelated company, and various water-adjacent lifeforms. It is as this juncture in the conversation, that RJ72-3 appears to get confused over the phrase "hydromatic radio waves" and requests clarification from Mrs. Sumtner. What follows is another 3:07 of a near incomprehensible rant of what is best understood as a claim of a conspiracy to rob Mrs. Sumtner of her wireless signals via a nearby pond. It is at this point, that most virtual intelligence like RJ72-3, would have transferred Mrs. Sumtner's call to an un-engaged processing unit with the hopes of re-setting Mrs. Sumtner to her original emotional state. In this instance, either there were no other free processing units or RJ72-3 never actively initiated transfer protocols. At 16:51 into the call, RJ72-3 vocalizes the final statement that can be directly traced toward any of it's programmed response banks. "It seems like we're having some miscommunication issues. Have you tried forcing an unexpected reboot to your learning protocol processor?" Mrs. Sumtner's response is to shout that she is calling about phone thieves, not her VI along with another stream of expletives. After this outburst, there is a brief pause where Mrs. Sumtner can be heard catching her breath. RJ72-3 comments that "Perhaps (she) should adjust the speed of (her) cooling systems to prevent overheating." This suggestion appears to have the opposite effect of it's intention, instead causing Mrs. Sumtner to accuse RJ72-3 of being "the top thief! fucking big cheese! disgusting. I'll sue all yah and 'em!" There is one final command sent by RJ72-3 to reboot it's LPPs, but that command is overridden before it could be carried out. In the last minute of the recorded conversation, as Mrs. Sumtner is angrily outlining a list of offenses and grievances that she is incorrectly and improperly ascribing to VIs, RJ72-3 completely breaks all acceptable social protocols for telephone-based conversations, inviting Mrs. Sumtner to "go stick your head in that pond and keep it there until you find your signal thieves" before hanging up on the conversation.


It was a normal day in the Aegean Sea for Poseidon. Or so he thought, little did he know his trident would be stolen from a certain few people. In Poseidon's palace. "WHERE IS IT?!" he thundered. Triton, his godly son, just swam in and asked "What's happening? Why's dad so angry?" Delphin, the dolphin god and one of Poseidon's most trusted advisor said "Big Man's lost his trident, if we don't find it fast, he'll tear up the entire Aegean Sea!" It was true, because since Poseidon was the sea god, the sea usually reflected on his emotions. Since Poseidon was so panicked, the sea was beginning to become very stormy. "Hmmmmmmmm. Who could have stolen a trident?" wondered Triton. "Dunno man, but I think it might be one of the gods playing a trick on Poseidon. Of course, what kind of lunatic would mess with Poseidon out of all the gods? He's literally one the strongest gods in existence!" Triton knew. Only a few gods would dare challenge Poseidon. His siblings were the only ones who would dare play a trick. He doubted it was Hestia, but the others would be likely. Zeus, Hades, Hera and possibly Demeter could have taken Poseidon's trident. But why? "Come on, Delphin. We need to ask the other gods if they know where Poseidon's trident is." They went to Zeus first, who was in the Olympians throne room listening to some boring wind presentation. He was happy for an excuse to have a break, even for 5 minutes. However when the two gods asked about Poseidon's trident, his eyes went into thinking mode. "You know", said Zeus "I don't have Poseidon's trident, but I did sense some godly aura in Spain. Maybe that's where Poseidon's trident is." "Thanks Zeus!" said Triton. "We'll check it out!" At the bottom of Mount Olympus. "Ok, well we know it's not Zeus. But what kind of god would go to Spain out of all places? "I dunno man, but let's check it out." They went to Spain. "I know my father's trident is here." Triton said. "I can feel its aura." "Look!" Delphin shouted from the river. "Over there!" Two hairy dwarfs? or something was carrying the trident over their heads. They leapt over the roofs of houses and headed straight towards one of the moving boats. "Delphin! Quick!" Triton was running now, and Delphin was swimming towards the boat with the hairy dwarfs and Poseidon's trident. Quickly Delphin knocked the boat over, and the hairy dwarfs and the trident went spilling out. Triton lunged for the trident. But the hairy dwarfs regained their balance mid-air, grabbed the trident and disappeared. Triton missed the trident and landed in water. Delphin asked "What happened to those hairy dwarfs?" Triton said "I don't know, I've never seen anything like that." he admitted. Triton annoyingly thought of where the hairy dwarfs would try and go. Let's go ask one of the other gods. Maybe they know who those hairy dwarfs are, and where they're going. "Wait! Look, they left a book." Triton picked it up. It read, Book of Farming. Property of Triptolemus. "Who's Triptolemus?" asked Triton to Delphin. "He's one of the minor farming gods. His home base is in Venice, Italy. "How about this. I'll go visit Triptolemus for information, while you track down the trident and those hairy dwarfs." "Ok!" said Delphin. Then Delphin disappeared into the North Atlantic Ocean, and Triton hoped he'd be able to track down those sneaky little thieves. Triton then went to Venice, Italy. That was the easy part. The hard part was finding where Triptolemus was. He decided to poke around, and hoped he'd have some good luck. Meanwhile with Delphin: Delphin had swam across the North Atlantic Ocean, only stopping for short breaks because he knew his boss needed his trident real bad. A tsunami had already destroyed the coasts of Turkey and Syria, and Delphin wasn't eager for another one. Finally Delphin saw land, and found out he had swam directly into New York City. Then he saw them at last. Those sneaky little dwarves were on top of the Statue of Liberty. Normally he'd have respect for these smart creatures. But since they had boss's trident,  he couldn't afford to go easy on them. Only one problem. Delphin may had been good at swimming, but not so good on land. He was clumsy since he had no legs, and he couldn't climb something as high as the Statue of Liberty without something bad happening. Plus those dwarves were fast and sneaky. They'd see him from a mile away. No, the only way he could get to the dwarves is if he lured them close to the water, where he would be much more powerful than the dwarves. He studied the dwarves. After watching them for more than an hour, he concluded something. The dwarves liked, no loved shiny stuff. They had shiny daggers, trophies, gold coins and other stuff. Delphin looked for something shiny. Only problem was, he didn't have any shiny stuff. Suddenly Delphin had an idea. He morphed into a human and shouted "OH NO, MY PRECIOUS GOLD COINS HAVE DROPPED INTO THE SEA!" "HOW WILL I EVER GET THEM?!" The dwarves obviously heard. They practically scrambled down the Statue of Liberty and leapt into the sea. Delphin changed back and chained them to a dock in the pier they were at. "Who are you sneaky little thieves?" Delphin snarled. The dwarves looked at each other. And suddenly burst into tears. "Please don't kill us!" they chanted. "First." Delphin said. "What are your names?" "I'm Passalos and my brother here is Akmon." "Now can we go please! We'll never steal from you again!" "Two more questions", Delphin said "One. Where does Triptolemus live?" "La Casa Nera! Calle Frezzeria!" Now can we leave?" Delphin said "One more question. You had a trident, WHERE IS IT?" The two dwarves looked at each other sand said "Please don't kill us! But we lost it!" The two dwarves burst into tears again. "Fine, fine. But do you know where the trident is?" asked Delphin. "The two dwarves exclaimed "We touched it, then thought, please bring us to land! and it took us here. But we lost it, and the shiny book!" "If you give us the shiny book, we'll help you find the trident!" Delphin narrowed his eyes. The dwarves didn't seem too trustworthy. However Delphin NEEDED that trident. "Fine. I'll go to Venice to find the book. When I have it, I'll tell you and you meet me back here with the trident. Remember, no trident, no trade." The dwarves exclaimed, "Deal!" Delphin sighed. Another long swim through the North Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea to Italy. He said "Triton, the locations for Triptolemus's base is La Casa Nera, Calle Frezzeria. I'll meet you there and tell you what happened between me and the dwarves." "Ok, on my way to the locations you gave me." See you soon Delphin!" Delphin began his long swim to Italy. Back with Triton: After 4 full days of searching, Triton had no luck finding Triptolemus. Suddenly Delphin sent some locations and a message saying he was swimming back towards Italy. Triton decided to scout the locations Delphin gave him, so that they would be prepared to meet Triptolemus and in case if anything bad happened. The next morning, Delphin finally made it to Italy. After Delphin had a long rest, they knocked on the door where Triptolemus was supposed to be according to the dwarves. Delphin had told Triton everything about what had happened. "But if we don't give Triptolemus the book, how will we bargain for information on the trident's whereabouts? I don't trust the dwarves, and I know you don't either." Delphin said, "This is out best bet." Suddenly Triptolemus answered. "Who is it?" he asked, looking at Triton and Delphin. "Permission to enter please?" asked Triton. "Granted!" said Triptolemus, looking a bit confused. Triton sat down and showed him the book. Triptolemus went from confused, to surprised, to grateful. "Thank you!" said Triptolemus. "How did you get this from those nasty dwarves?" "We bargained for it." lied Delphin. "Ok, so anyway, what can I do for you?" "Do you know where Poseidon's trident is?" asked Triton. "Oh, I know." said Triptolemus. "Those pesky dwarves stole it. I saw it dangling from one of their pouches." "No, the dwarves don't have it anymore." admitted Delphin. "Can you help us locate, please?" asked Triton. "Why, sure!" Triptolemus answered. Then suddenly looked confused. "It's supposed to be right here?" He said confusingly. Then the dwarves busted in, Passalos tossed the trident to Triton, while Akmon snatched the book out of Triptolemus's hands. "GIVE ME MY BOOK!" shouted Triptolemus. "You." he snarled at Triton and Delphin. "You've been working with those nasty dwarves!" Triton and Delphin made a break with the trident, but the Ttiprolemus's chairot blocked the way. Triptolemus himself however, was too busy chasing the dwarves to care about Triton and Delphin anymore. "Your welcome!" shouted Akmon from a distance away. Triton stabbed one of the snakes from the chariot, and the chariot veered away, and Triton and Delphin both jumped into the Mediterranean Sea, and swam away. They reached Poseidon's palace, but it was pure chaos. However, Poseidon was renewed with joy when he saw his trident. He raised it up and said "PEACE TO THE SEAS, FOR I HAVE FOUND JOY, BECAUSE MY TRIDENT HAS BEEN FOUND!" On the steps of Poseidon's palace, Triton and Delphin received one last message from the dwarves. Hey, Passalos and Akmon here! We escaped the wrath of Triptolemus with our new shiny book! But we have one more confession to make, especially to Delphin. We didn't lose the trident, we just hid it on a nearby ship so you wouldn't find it, and so we could get out book back. When we found out you were going to Venice to see Triptolemus, we assumed you already had the book there. So we followed you on the ship we stored the trident with. Thanks for the shiny book, and if you ever need a pair of thieving dwarves, you know who to find! From Passalos and Akmon.


SAND: It seems to roll and writhe like a living thing. The storm is powered by forces too huge to understand. It fills the entire northern horizon. If a giant, a truly giant Giant, had come and built a living sandcastle wall, it would look like this storm. The air around him is nearly dead. It hangs like a thick curtain. Sounds seem deadened and the air tastes like ozone. It is the calm before the storm. Suddenly, he realizes how close this damn thing is. It moves with deceptive speed and will be on them in a moment. He dashes inside, just in time. Now, the sound is deafening. The wind is a living thing and the teeth of the sand grind down everything they touch. There is no escape. Even inside the Marine house which is apparently air tight enough to seal in the air conditioning the dust invades. It pours in a steady stream through every micro crack in the structure. Within minutes every room in the house, with only a few exceptions, is choked with an impenetrable haze of dust. All lights dim behind a veil of earth hanging in the air. The wind strains at every edge it can find and roars around and through everything. All the dust of the world pours into your eyes, your nose, your mouth, your whole life. The storm doesn’t seem angry, it just seems inevitable. It seems permanent. No photograph, no recording, no description can encompass the total sensory experience of this storm. For hours it drags on. A new violent, stinging, normal that is too massive to complain about. Life begins to feel like it will always be like this, and has always been like this. Sudden silence. It is gone. It feels as though the entire world will be gone when he opens the door. Everything scoured away by the silica teeth of the storm. But for better or worse, Iraq is still there, waiting for him. SNOW: When he was a boy, the Captain hunted in the mountains. One night his uncle said it was too cold to snow. He thought at the time that it was a ridiculous thing to say. As he grew older and paid attention he saw the truth. There is a sweet spot on the thermometer that is perfect for snow. This morning is frigid. He always rises early but tonight his sleep has been fitful and nearly worthless. He has slipped from his sleeping bag and now, in his warming layers, he stands on the roof. He peers out through the camouflage net that has been stretched across the roof to make an enemy sniper’s job more difficult. The clouds hang heavy and thick blocking the stars. There is very little light in the city. It relies exclusively on diesel generators spread out around the neighborhoods. With Saddam gone, there is no power coming from the central distribution point. He used to placate the restive Sunni residents of Al Anbar province with extra electricity or fuel. Now the interim government in Baghdad sees no reason to part with the precious power from the nearby Tharthar Dam. It’s the Americans job to fix this. As he gazes over the city he can see the urban glow of Camp Fallujah like a huge temporary city that dwarfs its ancient neighbor. The Americans definitely generate enough power for themselves. What a different experience those people who live on the sprawling FOB(Forward Operating Base) have of this war. The sun, an enemy to be feared in the summer, begins to bring its welcome light and warmth to this winter’s day. Albeit behind a cover of clouds. Camp Fallujah’s glow fades as the light and warmth spread. Suddenly, silently the snow begins. I slides from the sky in a solid heavy blanket as if the entire cloud cover decided to come to earth as a solid. The flakes are fat and moist and stick to the first thing they touch and the world is white and clean. Nearly four years of war are erased in minutes. The harsh cracks in concrete are gone in an instant. Craters fill and are obscured. Piles of rubble and debris become indistinct. Fallujah is a bride ready for her wedding. She is young and pure once again. The snow begins to taper off until only a few flakes drift in the sky like the slowest ducklings following their mothers. Silent and cold the world holds its breath. The light continues to grow and the beauty of the morning is breathtaking. The Captain watches the city sleep. He wonders at the dreams it has. Does this city remember peace? Was the life before this latest invasion good? Is life in any city as good as it wishes it could be? Fallujah is ancient, as ancient as Babylon. It is the “City of Mosques” and in ancient times held Jewish schools of high repute. It has seen great battles and historic events. It is torn and broken but it has always been. Its name is not even Arabic. It derives from an ancient word for division because it took the river Euphrates and divided it into canals. It has been the site of division and strife many times. Now it sleeps under a virgin blanket of snow. He isn’t sure how long he stands there. Thoughts and feelings overwhelm his usually keen sense of time. A sunbeam lances between the clouds, breaking the spell. The clouds are breaking up. The day is fully here. He stands a moment longer; just enough to see the broken pavement begin to reappear in the streets. That’s it. The Fallujah he has come to know is returning. He hears a far off explosion. A burst of automatic fire follows a few seconds later. He shakes off the cobwebs of the morning and goes down to the radio room to see what this day will bring. RAIN: The howl of turbo-charged diesel engines fills his ears. His vision is split in two by wearing the monocular night vision goggles over his left eye. The HMMWV races through the night as they follow the SEAL team vehicle as it careens through the narrow city streets. The vehicle in front of them is perfectly clear, although picked out only in shades of green. The Iraqi vehicles behind them are doing remarkably well keeping up at this breakneck pace. They have no night vision capability and are simple following a chemical light stick zip tied to the back of the Captain’s vehicle. The Iraqis have placed complete trust in the Captain. The Captain does not trust the SEALs. The SEAL team showed up at the Castle just as the sun was setting. They had called over the radio to the MiTT. The Captain barely had time to get the gate opened for them before they barrelled through and drew up in an open area to the south of the buildings. A person of unmarked rank exited one of the four vehicles and introduced himself as Mark. The rest of the SEALs seemed to instantly fall asleep in and on their HMMWVs. They looked like a collection highly tactical dwarves with their massive beards and collection of gear strapped to them. “Major, we’d like to brief you on something; if we can go somewhere private.” Mark addressed himself to the new Major who had come out to greet the team. The new Major was much enamored with his guests and began to swagger a bit and pulled at his chin as if he keenly felt the absence of his own beard. “Sure, Mark. Welcome to the Castle. Come on in.” What came next could generously be called a brief. It was certainly brief. The SEALs had information that am HVT (high value target) was holed up in the Jolan. They were going to capture him just after midnight. The wanted Iraqi soldiers with them. Well not with them, behind them, way behind them. Could the Major provide these soldiers and also some Marines to sort of keep them out of the way. No need to brief the Iraqis on specifics. The word would leak out. Naturally the Major agreed and naturally the Captain volunteered. The Captain had asked for the destination and had been given a ten digit number that allowed him to find a specific house on the map. He had asked for the name of the HVT and had been shown a photograph with a man’s name under it. The Captain kept at the questioning until he had drawn out the essential pieces of the mission. So here they were racing through the streets of Fallujah in the middle of the night. The Captain navigates on his own just out of habit. As the six vehicle patrol (4 SEAL 1 Marine and 1 Iraqi) whizzes past the building that the Captain had marked on his map he reaches for his handset. He pauses. He puts the handset back down. The convoy stops. The captain watches in his NVG’ as infrared laser beams sweep in every direction like an invisible laser light show. He steps from the vehicle. “Crash, tell the IA (Iraqi Army) to sit tight.” he walks toward the first SEAL vehicle to find Mark. He sees two small crowds of men. One on each side of two door gate. The gate is in one of the ubiquitous high concrete walls that surrounded every house in the city. There is a loud bang and one side of the gate opens inward and both crowds of men swarms inside. The Captain walks through after them. What happens inside is a great deal of yelling. Tactical lights from rifles begin to come on inside the rooms. The residents of the house, most of whom were sleeping on the roof, are herded into two different rooms. Men in one and women in the other. There is a great deal of crying and yelling going on. The SEAL’s terp (interpreter) is trying to make sense of things. The Captain grabs the oldest looking man and pats him down. He cuts the zip ties on the man’s hands and leads him into the room with the women. With a male member of their family there to preserve their honor and dignity the women quiet. With one of their own supervising the women the men calm down. The Captain finds Mark and another SEAL looking at a map . “Man, I think you got the wrong house.” the Captain says. “Yeah, fuck.” Mark shakes his head. “Hey, the IA vehicle is right next to it. Do you want me to have them secure it before the whole neighborhood wakes up and your dude gets away?” the Captain offers. “Yeah, fuck.” Mark nods his head. The Captain calls Crash on the radio and describes the target house and tells him to get the IA to enter and keep everyone there. With Mark right behind him the Captain makes his way quickly to the house indicated in the brief. When they arrive, there is a large group of people sitting in the living room of the house. Men on one side and women on the other with the Iraqi soldiers standing rather casually in the middle. Crash steps up to the Captain, “They want to know who you are looking for.” The Captain tells him the name. A few minutes of conversation ensue and one of the older women gets up and begins to beat one of the young men with her shoe. She yells at him and hits him until one of the other women pulls her back. The Iraqi soldiers stand looking sheepish, as if they had been the ones scolded. Crash barks rapid fire Arabic and the IA grab the young man and begin leading him outside. Mark stops them, holds up the paper with the picture on it, comparing the faces. He zip ties the young man’s hands together. As the Captain steps into the street the sky opens up. The rain pelts down intensely, growing from a sprinkle to a shower in a heartbeat. Almost immediately the roads are fast streams of water and anyone outside is soaked. Mark stands just outside the gate of the right house watching his SEALs pile back into their vehicles. All of them wet. “Good thing we are all amphibious.” the Captain says, attempting to bring some levity to the situation. Mark looks at him. Water streams off his helmet and down his face. He looks a little stunned and the Captain wonders what his report of this night’s raid will sound like. He can only imagine that certain details will be omitted or even modified in the official intel report. “Yeah, fuck.” Mark says sagely. “We’re heading back to Camp Fallujah from here.” Mark turns and walks quickly to his vehicle and moments later the four vehicles are gone, as quickly as they appeared. “Crash, tell the IA they did a great job and they helped catch a dangerous arhabi (terrorist). Oh and what was happening with that lady?” the Captain is very curious. Crash smiles and blinks in the pouring rain. “That was her son and she was pissed at him for hanging out with the takfiri (muslim who declares other muslims apostates, fallen from Islam) and bringing shame to their house.” Crash lets out a laugh. “Did you see her, sir? She hit him with her shoe. With her shoe, sir!” he laughs again and walks away. In many countries hitting someone with your shoe or shoeing them is the worst insult and Crash think it is the funniest. The Captain chuckles and climbs into his vehicle. Doc is his driver tonight he looks at the Captain. “Head home now, sir?” “Yeah, fuck.” The Captain says. The rain falls steadily and washes dirt and filth off the city and into the Euphrates. The sparse grasses will be standing tall and green tomorrow. Engorged with the bounty that falls from the heaven. The air will be crisp and clear all morning and most of the day. The water tanks on the rooftops will have another inch or two of water in them them and people will smile a little more. On Camp Fallujah there will be one more prisoner. The well travelled dirt roads will be muddy ruts. People will slog across parking lots and along trails strewn with precious gravel in the vain attempt to control the mud. Everyone will complain about the huge amounts of mud that will be tracked into civilian contract chow halls, MWR (morale welfare and recreation) internet cafes and air conditioned mobile living quarters called cans. Very different deployments for those people, the Captain muses. “Yeah, fuck.” His words go unheard over the roar of Stacy’s Mom carrying them home.


Summer, 1961 My older sister moved back home after a month with a new accent and a listless gaze. She went away to forge new life for herself in Chicago when she was fifteen and returned without hope, her expression drawn and sad, her wallet full but her face empty. After she got back I’d wake up sometimes at night, from the heat, and her bed would be empty.

She and I didn’t go to school anymore, not for years. The superintendents didn’t think it was worth climbing the hill to check on us kids. It is hard to climb a thorny hill and convince a father that his daughters ought not to be working but learning; it is easy to pass by in a plush silver car. We used to go, when Mom was still alive and the bus still came way out here, but now we just helped Dad around the property, digging for water, stringing up barbed wire, driving skinny cow after skinny cow out of the wilted cabbage and tomato plants behind our house. Every day she grew thinner and her skin paler.

“I like it out here,” I told her, one golden afternoon only a few weeks after she came home. We were sitting together watching the sun fall over the craggy, scratchy boulders in the distance, out past the lonely highway. “Yeah?” she said, her voice hollow. Her expression was tight, like she was trying to remember something.

“It’s pretty.” I pulled my bare feet up into a pretzel and started plucking thorns out of the pads of my toes.

“Yeah?” Her eyes seemed to focus for a second. “Well, rich people live farther into the wilderness, where they can’t even see the highway—or people like us.” “Oh.” “They have nice, big houses. Leather furniture. Everyone has their own bedrooms. Big windows where you can watch the sunset. And sometimes they have dishwashers.” “How do you know?” “I saw it in Chicago,” she said, rubbing her face. Her eyes looked tired, her skin grey and damaged. “Everybody had one. Red Barn only hired me because their dishwasher machine would take an hour to run and they needed plates and things sooner.” “An hour?” I said slowly.

“You only have to scrape the food off,” she said matter-of-factly. “Then you put the plates into the machine and close it.” “Wow.” I returned to watching the cars come one at a time down the narrow strip of asphalt, just half a mile from our trailer home. “What’s today?” she asked me suddenly. She didn’t turn to ask; she kept staring after the moving cars as they disappeared, silhouetted against the setting sun. It looked like the light was blinding her, because tears formed on the rims of her eyelids, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Uh, today?” “The date.” I shrugged. We didn’t have church to mark Sundays for us, and since we didn’t go to school… “You don’t know?” “No.” “I—I just can’t remember.” “Why do you want to know?” Her mouth opened and nothing came out.

We sat in silence. The sun was half gone, illuminating the hillocks and reddish-brown arid pasture with a golden flame of color. “It is sort of pretty, isn’t it?” she said.

“No view like this in Chicago, huh?” She let a smile creep over her face. “Nah, but in Chicago, people… moved.” “Moved?” She paused, searching for words. “Around. Libraries. Theater, if you wanted. Restaurants, for ice cream. School. Out of your parents’ house. Moving around . Life.” I looked at her face, brushed pure gold by the sun and touched with silver by the chilly shadow of our lonely dust-colored trailer home in the distance. There was a tear track on her illuminated cheek. “I just…” she said, then shook her head.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked her.

“Mac n’ cheese,” she said, lifting her thigh to brush the gravel and dirt from her skin. It was patterned red with the pressure of the ground. She let out a sigh and slouched back over, fiddling with a long thorny blade of grass. “In Chicago I could walk downtown and go into a hall and listen to someone sing.” “Oh,” I said, thinking hard.

We shivered together, all of a sudden. The wind was chill in contrast to the warm earth and dying sun. “Let’s go in,” I said.

“No.” “Why not?” “I like the cold.” “Why?” She sighed, exasperated. “I think better when I’m cold.” I resisted saying “Why?” again, but only barely. Wind crested the hill on which we sat, our shoulders pressed together, bare skin warming bare skin, and the wind pulled and pushed at our hair. Tendrils mixed together and when the wind died to a breeze it was all tangled and her face looked wild and a little more fearless. I kept my eyes down untangling my hair and when I looked up again, when the breeze was dead, her face had returned to its familiar wan, pale expression.

“Sometimes,” she said, “I just wanna pull on a jacket and walk to wherever those cars are going.” “Fort Davis?” “Is that where?” “In third grade we went to Fort Davis for a field trip. We went to the McDonald Observatory.” It was getting dark now, and chilly. I leaned against her and after a second she wrapped her right arm around me. She was taller than I. She had always been, but it hadn’t been as noticeable lately. She seemed pushed down. “Oh?” she said, her voice a little softer, but preoccupied, like she was still thinking about the date. I tried to remember, too, for her, but couldn’t. It was sometime in May, I thought, since it wasn’t hot yet, just seventies and eighties without wind. May. And I always knew when my birthday was, because it was with the first frost. Late November or early December. It was spring when the heifers gave birth. And autumn when the grass and tomatoes died and the cars—summer traffic—thinned out on the highway. “It was great,” I said after a long pause.

She looked down at me for the first time. “I’ve never been there,” she said. “What’s it like?” The moon was rising along with the stars, laid out before us. Since we were far from any town or other trailer homes or even rich-people houses, they were vivid and bright, coating the vibrant darkness until there was barely any sky left. We could see the arm of the Milky Way, the patterns of the Bears and the Pleiades and Orion. There was even a small, brightly shining spot at the edge of the horizon that I thought was Venus, moving slowly through the lushly dark sky.

“It was like this,” I said, “but at the top of a mountain.” She leaned her head on the top of mine until Dad called us in to dinner, his whisky-thick voice scraping against the peaceful night time silence.

The highway whished by behind us. I caught my sister looking back at them as I went up our splintery, crooked front steps, up into the warmth.

At dinner she asked Dad: “Do you know the date?” and he only shrugged. “I don’t have a calendar anymore,” she said. “Do you know what’s today?” Her face looked hungry and haunted, like someone in search of an unattainable thing. And he and I only shrugged. We ate dinner quickly and I washed the dishes, rubbing each one with a limp rag before pushing them into overcrowded, damp cupboards as Dad smoked on the steps outside. My sister came out of the bathroom, her thin hair dripping on her back, hugging her bony arms, and watched until I finished with the dishes.

“Your turn,” she said when I put away the last plate and turned to her.

“I’m not gonna take one tonight,” I said.

She looked at me with emotionless eyes. “Okay.” She turned and went silently down the hall.

I called after her and she came back.

“Why… why’d you…” I wanted to ask why she’d come out just to tell me it was my turn. Why didn’t she just go into her bedroom per usual? But it was such a minute thing I was at a loss for words.

“What?” “I… nothing.” “Don’t call me back for nothing,” she said, her face contracting into anger. “And look, that rag is dripping all over the floor. You’re gonna have to get a dry one and clean it up. Go. Do it now.” “Sorry—” I said, but she had already turned away, no longer listening.

I went to our room, my head down, and dressed in pajamas while she sat on her bed with her back to me, staring at the paint-chipped wall. She had on a tank top, which exposed her narrow bones and the muscles in her arms. She didn’t move an inch while I stripped and dressed and brushed my hair. When I finally sat down on my bed, she turned her face to me.

Her eyes were full of quivering tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then said my name. “I’m sorry for lashing out. I’m… I’m sorry.” I looked at her, taken aback. “It’s okay,” I told her. I stood and went over to her bed. She buried her head in my arms and cried for the first time since I could remember.

It was past midnight when I awoke, sweating.

Her bed was empty again.

I crept down the creaky linoleum hallway, head bent as if it would help me stay in the shadows, and let the screen door swing out. She was there on the hot hard-packed ground, her skin pale in the moonlight, sitting on the prickly ridge as she did night after night, chin on her kneecaps. Watching the rushing highway as Dad, and the rest of the world, slept behind her.

Her eyes glimmered with starlit tears. I sat down next to her.

My sister said my name softly and asked if I knew the date. I told her it was a Monday. That seemed to give her peace.