Navigation Coordinates J2000 Right Ascension to Saturn (Per the International Celestial Reference System) On board Spacecraft Module ZK8*11, two of Planet Exo’s top engineers sat together in the Goldilocks Lounge going over the day’s findings. EKK-&#@ and SPEC-%^+ studied a year’s worth of data points spread before them reflected in graphs and pie-charts. The table surface doubled as a computer screen. The two had their internal telepathy enabled so they could communicate without speaking. This had the advantage of blocking out other sounds in the area and was especially effective when sharing classified business.

EKK-&#@:   Look. The data supports our initial theory that Earth is, indeed, a doomsday planet, always has been.

SPEC-%^+:  Yes, but this is new. See this increase? Tells me there's hope. EKK-&#@:   Those numbers elevated when we initiated the study.  That shift was a direct result of our researchers’ influence; I’d bet my existence on it. SPEC-%^+:   When can we expect a decision from the Elders? EKK-&#@:    Anytime now. If the choice is demolition for the greater good, we’ll want our research technicians evacuated.

SPEC-%^+:   And the alternative? EKK-&#@:    Do or die; they have to do better or . . . SPEC-%^+: They can still turn things around. They just have to stop, look and listen. EKK-&#@: For their sake, at least, let us hope they remember how. * * * “Mom? Where’s Zippy?” Chloe yelled from the playroom. Amanda was in the kitchen attempting to get Chloe’s little sister to eat more cereal. “I haven’t seen him. Did you check under your bed?” “He better not be!” There was only one reason her favorite toy would be under a bed; the family beagle, Oscar, had retreated with the stuffed creature to give it a good chew. Zippy was surprisingly resilient and hadn’t sustained permanent damage by way of rips or tears, but Chloe reasoned there could always be a first time. Zippy had become the most popular toy the prior holiday season. This was a product that just seemed to appear in practically every toy and department store across the globe one day and became an instant sensation. Every child either had one or relentlessly campaigned for one.

Zippy came in a multitude of bright colors and sizes, no two exactly alike, but they all had Zippy’s signature ink-blue eyes and helmet with double antenna that, when you squeezed his plush belly, would shoot a harmless electric current back and forth between them.  The doll also doubled as a nightlight and, if you squeezed his nose, would exude a warm glow. “Oscar! Do you have Zippy?  If I catch. . .” Oscar scrambled past Chloe as she entered her room. “Hah! Thought so. Run, you slobbering thief!” She saw one of Zippy's arms beckoning from under her bed. She quickly went to gather her friend. “I turn my back for one second . . . no cuts or tears.  Whew, good. But, ugh, slimy . . . gross, Oscar!” Chloe dangled Zippy between two fingers and took him to Amanda. “Look, Mom. Zippy’s been slimed again.” “I told you, Chloe, Oscar doesn’t know any better. If you want Zippy to be out of harm’s way . . .” “I know. I know. I was just brushing my teeth.” “Well, why don’t you try washing Zippy this time? You’ve seen me do it. I’ll bet you can manage.” “Sure! Hey, Zip, how ‘bout a bath?” Chloe pinched the sky blue material on Zippy’s back and flew him with accompanying jet rocket sounds upstairs to the kids’ bathroom that had a step-stool for her to reach the sink. She ran water. “Don’t make it too hot.” Chloe looked around. “Mom?” Chloe frowned.  She looked at Zippy; he sat, matted and rumpled, on the towel rack where she’d placed him. She turned back to the sink. “I do not wish to alarm you.” This time, Chloe caught the flash of current between Zippy's antennae out of the corner of her eye.  She stared in the mirror before her and focused on her stuffed friend, furrowing her brow. “W-was . . .” “Amanda always makes the water too hot. She thinks she’s neutralizing the proteobacterial content of the canine’s sputum when, in actuality, she’s spreading actinobacteria to further crevasses in my exterior. Well, not mine, per se . . .” Chloe stared at the toy with fascination and trepidation in equal measure. She tried closing her eyes and covering her face with her hands. When I look up again, things will go back the way they were. One . . . two . . . “I simply have no touch, do I? Forgive me, Chloe. May I call you . . .?” Chloe slowly opened her eyes to see Zippy sitting up on the towel rack with his silver space boots dangling and two cloth hands adjusting his helmet. “I’ve never done this, you know.” Chloe turned around. There was no doubt. Zippy was alive, or something along those lines. “Are you going to hurt us?” Chloe’s voice sounded small as she began crumbling. Zippy looked up, alarmed. His electric currents buzzed. “No, no, negative, no. I’ll explain all that I can, but we are here to help you preserve your world.” Chloe took her toothpaste glass and had a sip of water. “You know I’m just a kid, right?” “Negative. You are actually much, much more, Chloe. You are just not aware.” “But I don’t know where to start.” Zippy sniffed his elbow and made a face. “How about a little wash-up?” Chloe took in the funny little creature that had been her companion for as long as she could remember.  She sighed. “Bar soap or bubbles?” *   *   * EEK-&#@ and SPEC-%^+ sat with other covert project personnel around a long oval conference table.  The esteemed gathering, made up of the galaxy’s top engineers, scientists, philosophers, and architects, prepared for an important announcement that could determine the next course of action in re: Planet Earth, the Doomsday Planet. *  *  * Zippy, freshly laundered and blow-dried by seven-year old Chloe, suggested they go to one of Chloe’s secret hiding places to talk more. Chloe packed juice boxes and snack bars in a backpack, placed Zippy in an outside pocket, and yelled to her mother from the kitchen. “I’m going to play outside, Mom.” “Take Missy with you.” Chloe looked at Zippy, who didn’t move. Missy was five years old and Chloe adored her but she could be a handful. Chloe sighed. What am I supposed to do now? Missy, dressed in pigtails and overalls, bounded into the kitchen.

“Can I, can I, Coco?” Chloe smiled.  “Coco” was Missy’s name for her, coined in the days Missy hadn’t yet mastered her “L” sounds. Tell her it’s all right.

Chloe startled. Who’s that?

She glanced at her backpack and Zippy. Oh dear, I’ve done it again. I hadn’t told you we can communicate this way, Chloe. It’s called telepathy. If you think something meant for me to hear, I will hear it. All else is private and won’t transmit. Is that acceptable? Chloe, staring at her pack, slowly nodded. “Coco?” Chloe shook her head, clearing it, looked back to Missy. “Oh, yeah, sure. I got us some snacks, Missy. I was going to the clubhouse. You can come if you want.” Missy jumped up and down, clapping her hands. Just as they reached the kitchen door that opened out to the backyard, they heard the clattering of toenails. “Oscar!” Missy knelt to greet the beagle. Chloe smiled, “Come on, boy!” Zippy’s voice in her head said,

I must warn you that if I should fall out of this portapack, or whatever you call it, we shall need more communication concerning the matter of this bacteria-carrying lifeform that seems to enjoy defacing defenseless objects. Chloe closed her eyes. Do you always talk this much? Well, actually, yes. I have been silent for quite some time, you know.

They were greeted by a warm summer day, the kind of day that you would bottle, if you could, and keep always. Of course, there was nothing to suggest that all was not right with the world, or the universe for that matter. *  *  * The monitor onboard Spacecraft Module ZK8*11 buzzed and sizzled as it came to life, revealing several galactic guards with their identities digitized.  The attendees at the conference table focused their attention on the 5-D screen. “IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT COMING UP – STAY TUNED” *  *  * Missy wanted to play on the swing set near the ladder to the clubhouse. Oscar playfully barked at her feet as she swung back and forth, giggling.

Chloe watched them for a moment before climbing the few steps to the tree-house dubbed NASA Jr.  It had posters of planets, constellations and rockets.  Chloe sat near a window to keep an eye on Missy. Why now? Zippy relaxed into himself. Why . . . Talk to me? Why now? One of my assignments was to learn your language proficiently and communicate in a way that you will best be able to comprehend the important message we have for your planet, and you. I don’t know what you just said. So, you’ve been alive all this time? Yes. Studying, observing, taking notes, submitting reports . . . Why? What for? Who for? Zippy squinted, looking pensive. Hmm. I might be going too quickly. Wait a minute. Were you watching the whole time I had chicken pox? And the tummy flu? Rest assured, you have been a worthy specimen in all categories. Really?  Can I tell my mom about you? Zippy shuddered. We don’t trust adults. None of us do. But my mom’s nice . . . us? Who’s us? The beings where I come from. Exo. How’d you wind up in a toy store? We were sent to study you. Me? Children. In my world, you would be considered a pupae. From our experience and information, the adult of your species is the greatest danger facing the universe today. Oh, c’mon. They’re not that bad. You, in your present state of development, are perfect, Chloe, I don’t expect you to be able to comprehend the horrors that await at the end of your growth cycle.

Some of the words you say, Zippy, I really don’t understand. Trust me, Chloe, don’t tell your mom. *  *  * The monitor remained frozen in the conference room, the pixilated guards hadn’t moved a dot.  The words “Stand by” remained fixed on the screen.  Low murmurings began to form and slowly escalate among the gathered participants. *  *  * Chloe heard the back door close, then watched as her mother carried a tray to the picnic table. She heard the tinkling of ice and glass. “Lemonade, girls!” Amanda called. Missy skidded to a stop and ran from the swing, Oscar close on her heels. Chloe turned to Zippy. Wanna come? Wouldn’t miss it. Chloe looked at Zippy before picking him up. Are you ever thirsty? Hungry? No, we stockpile adequate sustenance before we leave the ship. How many of you are there? We are hoping enough to make a difference. “Chloe, lemonade!” What is it you want me to do? Patience, Chloe. I've already given you a lot to think about. Just understand that I want to help, not harm, you or your planet. That's a relief. Chloe joined her mom and Missy at the picnic table. She sipped her drink and barely nibbled at a gingersnap, thinking. “Where’d ya go, Chlo'?” Chloe’s mother was staring at Chloe as intently as Chloe had been staring into space.

Missy’s concentration was being used to dip a cookie into her lemonade.  Her little voice echoed, “Where ya go, Coco?” I still think you’re wrong about my mom.  She’s great; you’ll see. Be my guest.   Zippy’s voice seemed to shrug. Chloe reached for a napkin. “Mom?” “Yes, Chloe.” “Do you believe in UFO’s?” “Well, I can’t say I really think about it. There’s enough going on here to fill my attention.” “Do you believe in aliens?” “Not having given any real thought to UFO’s, I would put aliens in the same category. I don’t know.” Zippy entered Chloe’s mind.

Good luck. Missy looked up. “What, Coco?” Chloe looked at Missy, puzzled. "What what?" Amanda reached over with a towel to wipe crumbs from Missy’s chin. Missy made a face as her mouth was cleaned. “I heard somebody say 'good luck.' Was it you?” Chloe stared at Missy, surprised. She heard Zippy’s voice again.

Ah, see? T he children are all waking up. Missy looked miffed.  “Not me. I’m already awake.” Chloe turned to her mother. “Mom, there’s something I need to tell you.” “What is it, Chloe?” “Something is happening, I’m not sure exactly what.” “Did something happen? Can you tell me anything more?” Tell her Planet Earth is at a tipping point. Chloe took a deep breath. “Earth is in trouble, Mom.” “Oh, honey.” Amanda slid closer to her daughter. “That’s really not something that you need to worry about.” “Aren’t you?  Worried?” “Have you been watching the news? You have no idea how blown out of proportion things can get.” Chloe sat quietly, thinking. “This is different, Mom. These are things I know.” “Know? Sweetheart, how can you know? You’re letting your imagination run away with you, just like Chicken Little.” Missy dribbled lemonade, giggling. “The sky is falling!” Chloe shook her head, “You’re not listening. How can you hear me if you don’t listen?" Bingo! Missy was still giggling to herself. “Bingo.” Amanda cleared her throat. “Since your father left, Chloe, it’s just been us girls. I think we’ve done pretty well.  Remember what I told you? You really only have two things to think about right now.  One, be a good student in school. Two, be the best Chloe you know how to be.” Chloe sat quietly for another moment.

“What if there is no school?” “Chloe?” “How can I be the best of something if there’s nothing left?” *  *  * That’s when the sirens began.

“Let’s get in the house, girls, now. Oscar!” “Mommy, look at the sky!” Missy was pointing upward. The blue, cloudless sky had been blanketed with thick grey-purple swirls of pending gloom. The edges roiled with static and the low rumble of thunder. They gathered their things and hurried inside. Amanda turned on the television and was met with crackling static from every station. She held her dread at bay as she gathered candles, radio, batteries and settled Missy with a picture book and some crackers. Oscar would be wherever the crackers were. Chloe retreated to her room and closed the door. She sat on her bed holding Zippy.

What’s going to happen? The electric current between Zippy’s antenna crackled and spat.

The announcement's been made by the Panel of Elders that Earth currently is a doomsday planet. That’s not a surprise.

Are we all going to die? Not necessarily. This can all change with certain steps. Did you notice when you said your mother wouldn’t listen? Listening is the beginning of wisdom. You know that, just as your mother once did. She’s lost touch. With what? Herself. Can she get herself back? She’s all there. She just needs to see it. You can’t do it for her but you can help. Chloe’s door popped open. Missy bounced in. “I want to help.” *    *    * EKK-&#@ lingered after the other project members had dispersed. He looked out into the vastness of space, relishing the natural calm of the universe, glad to play a role in keeping it that way. SPEC-%^+ joined him at the window, handing over a celebratory flute of spirits and raising his. It might be a little soon to celebrate. But our calculations were correct. All the feedback supported it. You know, this study was never about whether earth is headed for self-destruction. The concern’s always been to prevent neighboring or visiting lifeforms from being annihilated along with it. It still seems only a matter of time. So what have we been doing all this time? The adults are still in a state of contamination. Some have potential but, for the most part, the Earthlings have dug a hole for themselves, their own black hole, as it were.

Does anyone really believe the under-developed humans can save their planet? Who knows?  We’ll need to keep a close eye on them, in any event. With a model ZIP-321 in most homes, they may come out of this intact. Let’s just say it‘s too early to celebrate. Well, then, let’s recalibrate. Here’s to peace and harmony. And high ideals. Cheers! *  *  *

Amanda knocked on Chloe’s door. “Chloe? May I come in?” Chloe grinned at Missy. “Come in.” “The storm’s over. That was so sudden! I’ve never seen anything like that before.” That was just a warning. You should tell her. Missy ran to Amanda and wrapped her arms around her knees. “It’s a warning, Mommy.” Amanda scooped Missy into her arms and kissed her cheek. She then turned her attention to Chloe. Chloe patted the space next to her on the bed. Oscar ran past Amanda and jumped on the bed, wagging his tail furiously and settling in close to Chloe. Amanda sat on the other side of Oscar with Missy in her lap. “You should listen, Mom. I'm not good at explaining . . .” “It’s not you, Chloe. You always amaze me with your super smart questions and wild imagination.” “Not so wild this time, Mom. That’s what I was trying to tell you.” “I’m sorry, Chloe. Life is a busy blur sometimes, for me anyway, and I think for lots of people. I get stuck. If I didn’t listen to you, it’s because I just didn’t have room for anymore.” “Anymore what?” “Anymore anything.” Missy looked up suddenly, stricken. “What about me?” Amanda pressed Missy’s sweet, sticky face between her hands. “There’s always room for Missy.” Chloe appeared to be listening to something. When she looked up, she smiled. “It’s a good start, Mom. We’re headed in the right direction."


It had rained the night before and I had forgotten all about the drying laundry outside. It rarely rained in Autumn, but when it did, the thunder that came tended to aim for power lines. It was not until my daughter woke me that I realized my alarm clock hadn't gone off. "C'mon Dad, I don't want to be late again!" Nell was in such a hurry she managed to button up her shirt wrong. I rose out of bed and yawned as my daughter ran around the house, getting ready for school. Nell was already waiting for me in the car when I got on, urging me to hurry with her eyes. "Dad, I left your sandwich on the table," "Thanks sweetie," "And don't forget I'm going to Ashley's house today after school," Nell said. "Tel Mrs. Davis to call me when you're done," I said. "Okay Dad," Nell answered. The woods surrounding Bakersfield hid our secluded home well and protected it from flooding, however it did little to stop the dirt road leading into town from turning into mud. The track into town took longer than usual, only to be slowed down further due to the almost complete loss of power in town. Most stoplights were turned off, and those with energy flared in and out of existence at random intervals. I parked outside of Nell's school, making sure to fix her shirt before walking her into class. As we approached Nell's classroom, I was preparing for my meeting with the infamous 7th-grade teacher Mrs. Varela, rumored to have been around longer than the decrepit building she taught in. "Mr. Richardson, this is the third time this week your daughter will be late to class. It's at least good you showed up, even if you're late as well." Mrs. Varela said, looking discontent as I had always seen her, standing in front of the doorway to her class. "I apologize once more, Mrs. Varela, my alarm clock didn't go off this morning," I said. She did not look amused in the slightest. "Go on Mrs. Nell, I’ll start class in a minute," Mrs. Varela said as she ushered Nell into her class. "Mr. Richardson, It is my understanding that you are set to take care for your daughter, however I am starting to believe she is the one set out to take care of you" Mrs. Varela continued without letting me speak a word, " I understand you are acting as a single parent, however that does not excuse you from your responsibilities. If you really care about your daughter and her future, I recommend you get your act together." Mrs. Varela said. I had recently lost my job working as an electrician, and with the bills lining up to take pieces of me, I had been forced to take a night job as a security guard at a local superstore. "I will, things are just difficult at the moment." I told her. "I really hope so, Mr. Richardson, have a pleasant day." Mrs. Varela said before abandoning me in the hallway. I quickly left the school, my shift didn't start until 10 pm, so I headed home to get some more rest. When I got home, I went straight to the backyard and put all the still wet clothing into the dryer. It wasn't until I realized the power was still gone that I gave up and headed to bed. I was awoken by the hum of the dryer as it stirred to life. The sun was close to setting, and my stomach craved food. I headed to the kitchen and ate the sandwich Nell had made me. I began preparing Nell's dinner and turned on the television in the kitchen. As I boiled some water, I switched between channels looking for something to watch until I came across the local station covering breaking news. "…appears that two of the three patients have been apprehended. Police are still on the lookout for the third escapee from Bakersfield county psychiatric hospital. We will bring you updates…" I was startled by hissing and turned towards the stove to turn it off. I continued preparing the meal until I was once again distracted, this time by my ringing cellphone. "Hello?" I asked. "Ah yes, Richard, is Nell still coming over today? Ashley hasn't stopped asking since we got home," Mrs. Davis said. "…What do you mean?" I asked. "I waited for her after school but when she didn't show up, I assumed she didn't go today. Wait, it was today right? I always mix up the days." My breathing stopped, but my brain was speeding up. "Richard? Hello? Are you there?" I couldn't process what I had just been told, and when my lungs reached for air once more, I began hyperventilating. I sat down in the kitchen floor, next to the television, Mrs. Davis still on the other end of the line. I began to think of any and all possibilities of Nell's current whereabouts. Could she have forgotten to tell me about an event? Had my late arrival to her school have earned her detention after school? I was beginning to calm my breathing when I caught a snip bit of the still ongoing breaking news. "… confirm that the suspect is one 32-year-old Jane Richardson. She is to be considered hostile and under no circumstances should anyone…" "…Oh god, no," I whispered to myself. It had been raining for the past hour as Jane sat in her bed. She once again began to make shapes out of her padded cell walls as the minutes ticked by. Jane would sometimes see a tree, a pair of scissors, or a face, mainly that of her daughter. It was when she saw her face that Jane's thoughts calmed. Occasionally she would also see *his* face, on dark, decrepit nights, like that night. Jane really tried not to get angry as his face managed to appear in the seams of the padded wall, but she couldn't help herself. The head nurse rushed to Jane's room as she heard Jane breaking down again. As the nurse neared the cell, she spied on Jane through the door, as Jane hit the cell wall over and over with her head and bound torso. The nurse was familiar to the rage poor Jane would exhibit on certain nights. She had seen Jane doing the same thing over one hundred times, and as habit dictated, prepared a good enough dose of medication to get Jane through the night. Poor Jane was never able to let go of her past, from what little the nurse had heard about it. From one day to the next, Jane had gone mad and had lost everything she knew and was now stuck here. At least that's what the nurse heard the other nurses said. As the nurse headed inside, she approached Jane, prepared to lull her to sleep with an injection. At that precise moment, not very far away from the psychiatric hospital, a ray of thunder dashed through the rain. It hit an electricity pole, splintering it into millions of pieces, knocking out power to most of the nearby town, including the psychiatric hospital. Darkness inundated the room as the nurse stood still. Fear began creeping into her. Poor Jane had always been docile, unless it came to her anger attacks. That did not stop the nurse from shaking. It took 5 seconds for the backup generators to kick in, illuminating the room once more. Blinded temporarily by the sudden rush of light, the nurse held her breath as all she could hear was the rain outside. When her vision came back to her, she was met by poor Jane's face, not 5 inches away from hers. That was the last thing she saw before she was knocked unconscious by a headbutt. Jane felt good after being the one to put the nurse to sleep, not the other way around. She then realized the nurse had left the door to her cell open, with no one about until morning to stop her from going after him. Anger fresh on her mind, Jane ran out of her room and headed for the exit she had seen the nurses use to leave at night. It was controlled by a small terminal, which was usually operated by the unconscious nurse in her room. Without knowing how to work the console, and having her arms bound by a restraining jacket, Jane sat on the console, hoping to hit the right switch. She got it on the first try, unlocking some cells down the hall, but she didn't care. All she cared about was getting to him.


Only three days had passed since my father’s funeral. His passing had not been a surprise. He had weathered many battles in his life, but in the end, it was a battle with cancer he could not overcome. I had moved home three months ago to help my mother prepare for the inevitable, but it was her strength I found myself relying upon as she held my father’s hand, and he took his last breath. I watched her smile and lean forward to kiss him one last time, knowing in her heart that he would feel no more pain. Now here we sat, clock ticking in the background. She held a shoebox in her slightly trembling hands. I recognized it as the box my father gave my mother on Christmas 15 years ago. The heels she always looked at in the window of the department store. The ones she had replaced of late with slippers and comfy socks. “Your Father didn’t want you to have this,” she said. I took the box and nervously opened it. Inside was a soft leather pouch sealed with a golden clasp. My heart began to race. I had seen this before. On my tenth birthday my family travelled, for a summer, to visit my Uncle at his estate in Northern Italy. The huge mansion was nestled in the hills surrounding Lake Como and was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Our family lived in the old steel country of Ohio in a town that had seen better days. I can still remember canoeing on the lake and spending hours in the giant library. Day after day I climbed ladders attached to bookshelves reaching the ceiling. Every book I took off the shelf, from The Time Machine, to Journey to the Center of the Earth, was a first edition as mint as the day they came off the press. It was in this place I first saw the leather pouch I now held in my hands. I was under a desk, trying to coax my Uncle’s cat out from behind a stack of books, when my parents and Uncle burst through the door. They were speaking in hushed tones. My father, who was a gentle man, had a look of fury in his eyes I had never seen before or after that day. He shoved the pouch into my Uncle’s chest. “Stay away from my Son,” he said. “How can you keep this from him?” My Uncle retorted. “It drove father mad and I fear it is doing the same to you,” Father said. Suddenly, the cat darted from its hiding spot, knocking a book to the floor in its haste. My mother turned and ushered them both back through the doorway. We were on a plane the next day and It was the last day I saw my Uncle. I opened the pouch. Inside was a faded envelope filled with $20,000, a golden pin shaped like an infinity symbol and note that read: If you are reading this, it must mean your father has passed. I am truly sorry that your father and I could not resolve our differences before his death. I only hope that you will give me the chance to make things right. Here is a small token of my sincerity. Use this money to settle your affairs and return to Italy to claim what is rightfully yours. P.s. the pin was your grandfathers. Never let it out of your sight. The cryptic note made even more confusing by the series of strange symbols scrawled across the bottom of the page, β Ħ f Ω Ŏ ∞. “Your father always wanted to live a simple life and he wanted you to be your own man and make your own way. He never wanted you to be burdened by the trappings of his family’s past,” Mother said. I felt a lump beginning to form in my throat. Something about the symbols sent shivers up my spine. They seemed familiar, although, I had never laid my eyes on them before. “I can say no more.” Mother said as she stood to leave. “You are a good man. You will make your father proud and do what your Uncle never could.” She kissed me on the cheek and made her exit.” The next day I was paying off the debt incurred from my father’s funeral and purchasing a first-class ticket to Italy. I had never held this much money in my hand before and I had also never spent so much money in just two days. At the very least I will get my chance to travel abroad in style I thought to myself, hoping that the strange dread I was feeling in the pit of my stomach was only pre-flight jitters and not an indication of things to come. Italy was everything that I remembered and more. The architecture and lush landscape meant so much more to me now that I appreciated the value of the rustic nature of history and culture. It was springtime and the blossoms accentuated the sweet, albeit alien, scent of the countryside. My mind wandered to playing, in the garden of my Uncle’s estate. It’s funny how smells tend to transport us through time to another place entirely. The house looked as though it had been plucked from time. It was a perfect mixture of old-world style and modern chic. As I stepped out of the taxi, I made a mental note to begin learning some useful Italian phrases. Luckily, the generous tip I gave the driver was a universal thank you. I stood staring up at a large gate and pressed the intercom, but before I released the button the gate began to swing open accompanied by an unmistakable buzz. The estate was immaculate. The grounds were perfectly curated, but nothing could dampen the sense of lonely emptiness nagging my every step. The woman who opened the door was tall with perfect posture and an all-business countenance. She would have been intimidating if her smile didn’t diffuse the tension. “Welcome to your new home,” she said. “May I take your things to the bedroom?” I fumbled with my luggage. “No worries, I can manage,” I tried to sound firm. “I insist,” she replied. She reached for my bags and began to make her way up a grand staircase. She paused. “If you’re not too tired, the answers you seek are waiting in the library.” She turned and continued on her way. I was tired, but also intrigued. The profound mystery of the previous weeks had been in stark contrast to the entirety of my life. I made my way to the library. The large doors creaked open, pouring midday sun into the dimly lit hall. It was nothing like I remembered. The stacks of one of a kind first-editions were gone. What decorations deemed of great importance, once occupying space on the shelves, were now replaced by hundreds, maybe thousands of well-worn notebooks and journals. Not a single book remained. I reached for a notebook with frayed edges and began to flip through the pages. Page after page was filled with the same strange symbols from my Uncle’s message, the handwriting an undoubted match. Every book I grabbed was the same. I began to make my way up the winding cast iron staircase leading to a prominent desk and a terrace overlooking the lake. The desk was a dark wood covered in ornate carvings. The elegant drapes lining the opening to the terrace slowly swayed in the breeze, yet despite the grandiosity of the room, my eyes were immediately drawn to the black leather notebook sitting on the desk. The distinct crack of the leather spine filled the room. It read: Dear Nephew, the true history of our family might seem outlandish. I beg you to keep an open mind. You come from a long line of scientists, although, at one time we were called alchemists and madmen. Despite the judgement of those who did not understand our science, we persevered in our singular goal; to control time itself. The symbols I have provided to you in this notebook are the fruits of those labors, but of their exact origin I can only speculate. These symbols, when arranged in the proper order, open a gateway through time and the key is the pin you now have in your possession. When one holds tight to the small trinket and completes the necessary equation they will be transported to the time of their choosing. How far back is only limited by the strength of your will. Your grandfather used this tool to amass the great wealth I have left in your name. As for myself, I first focused on frivolity and then in my later years, on the collection of knowledge, but heed my words. Dabbling in the art of time manipulation comes at a cost. With every journey into the bowels of time a single ripple was created and upon return, that ripple was felt as a wave. The man I was becoming, with every book I brought back, was unnatural. Memories re-written, one by one, into something unrecognizable. I began to live every moment trying to remember a thought just out of my grasp. So, I resigned myself to returning the books and trinkets I had stolen from the past. Unfortunately, I found that with every book I returned another piece of my mind would slip away. The man I was, ceased to exist, but the man I had become was disappearing as piece by piece. I pressed on. My mind began to slip, and I was forced to put safeguards into place to protect my estate and ensure your birthright. Even now the power of time still draws me in despite the destruction of my own life. I hold hope that you will do what I could not and wield this power for good. I have but a handful of books left to return, and I fear it will be my undoing. It has been days since I remembered to eat, and I have been reduced to dictating this letter in pieces to my nurse. At times I find myself standing in the lawn for hours with no recollection of how I got there. The message abruptly ended, punctuated by a series of unintelligible scribbles trailing off the side of the page. My heart was racing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement on the lawn. It was my Uncle, his hair a stark white and his posture sunken into a high-backed wheelchair. The nurse attending him faced him towards the water. I stood and ran to his side. “Uncle!” I cried. His eyes barely moved as if he was breathing, yet not alive. I began to sob. The horror of this man, who through his own lust for knowledge erased his own existence, gripped me to my core. I began to feel dizzy at the thought of succumbing to my own lusts for power. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the accursed trinket. Without another thought, I threw the pin, as far as I could, into the lake. I turned to face my uncle. His eyes were focused on the spot where the pin had sunken into the lake and tears were streaming down his face. He began to moan and grunt wildly until his nurse returned to bring him back into the house, leaving me to stand alone shaken and confused. Had I done the right thing? I sat on the grass for an hour pondering what I had done, until as if under a spell, I began to remove my shoes and moved towards the water. I waded in until the water was just below my chin. Resolving myself unto what I had to do, I took a deep breath and began to dive, deeper into the water searching for what was rightfully mine.


She picked at the paint with her fingernails. Years of sun and weather had beat down onto the benches, straining the last nerves of the white paint until it buckled and broke. Flecks lifted from the wood each time she touched it and refused to come off her hands. Her mother reached over and adjusted her hat. “You are going to get burnt, sweetie, you need to keep this on.” her mother said. She hardly noticed how the sun eyed the back of her neck, the same way it had eyed the bench they were sitting on. “Horsie?” she asked, reaching her hands into her mother’s direction. Moments later a little toy horse was pulled from the bag and presented to her. She clip-clopped her pony up and down the bench, dodging the people, bags, bottles and clutter that occupied them. There was so little space to play on the benches. Everyone kept standing and cheering. So much noise from both the benches and the field. Frustrated, she slips between the gap before her, ducking under seats and landing on the grass beneath. Her horse liked the grass. Despite still hearing the noise, she could finally play in peace. There was no one to shove her around and no one to smear sunscreen on her face. She sat blissfully in the soft, damp grass under the shade of the bench. Her little pony frolicked through grass taller than it was. The pony would eat its fill and nap in the shade before it was finally time to brush its hair with a little pink brush. “What are you doing down there?” a voice bellowed from above. She looked up to see the red face of her mother, peering down from the gap under her seat. “Get back up here.” Her mother pulled her back up, into the sun. The thunder of a roaring crowd flooded her ears. “Come sit on my lap.” said her mother “Look over there. That’s your brother playing.” She climbed onto her mother’s lap and gazed into the direction to which her mother pointed. A large green field was sprawled before her, scattered with young sportsmen. They all looked her brother's age. She struggled to tell them apart as many of them were wearing the same white clothes. Only two adults stood out with their large hats and clipboards. “Over there” her mother repeated “with the bat.” “With the bat?” she asked. She was confused. The boy with the bat had large white pads on his legs and a helmet covering his face. She couldn’t recognize her brother.“Yes, with the bat.” “That’s Biny?” she pointed. “Yes, that’s Brian.” Another boy ran across the field and threw a ball at her brother. He promptly hit the ball with a smooth swing and the crowd cheered once again as they watched the ball hop and roll over the field. Everyone on the field began running around in a state of panic. She was absorbed. Ball after ball they threw at her brother. Some he hit, but some he didn’t. Sometimes the crowd cheered and sometimes they did not even notice what was happening on the field, but she watched her big brother with pride. Finally, the adults with the big hats gestured to rounded up the teams. “That’s it,” said her mother. “Biny!” she exclaimed and pounced off of the benches as quickly as her little legs and the crowd would allow. Her brother turned to beckon her over. “Come” he said, “the coach is handing out icies.” She followed her brother as they walked up to a mountainous man, distributing icies to the team. “Coach?” “Yes, Brian” the man growled and glared at him from underneath his oversized hat. His face was red and glistening from the heat. She reached up her hand, hoping to also receive the icy treat. “Can my sister also have an icy?” “Only if your sister says ‘pretty please’.” the coach said. “Pretty please.” With a smile, he handed them each an iced lolly. It was the perfect treat after a long day of cricket.


Snowdream A benevolent King and his wife, the Queen Consort, reigned in a far country. But the Queen died from a mysterious illness. Their daughter, Princess Snowdream, was blessed with great beauty of sleek raven hair, violet eyes and a heart-shaped face. The young woman also had a gentle, caring nature. She spent many hours working in a shelter for the homeless and returned as dusk fell. Her limbs were heavy but her heart light. The King’s subjects admired her, cheering as she passed by.            However, the King missed his Queen’s soothing presence and razor-sharp mind, a foil to his tendency to melancholy. An avaricious Lady in Waiting for the deceased Queen had long-held designs on this weak-willed King. The canny old Queen had spotted the woman’s deceitful nature. She demoted her to a kitchen maid when she caught her stealing an emerald ring. Burning for revenge, the woman rubbed her hands with glee when, after cornering the King in the palace gardens, she had her way with him and won his heart. They were married in a grand ceremony in the Cathedral. The new Queen wore an exquisite satin and lace gown made by the King’s dressmaker, her body glittering with jewels.                However, in truth, the new Queen did not desire the King. She despised the man and wished to dispose of him and Snowdream to reign in her own right. So the Queen consorted with the military behind the King’s back. She learned that one of the King’s military aides, a balding Colonel, desired power, too, so they plotted to kill the King and Princess. The Colonel hired a sniper who hid in bushes by the lane where the King, on a white Stallion, and the Princess, on a chestnut mare, often rode. The sniper shot the King dead as he passed but missed the Princess. She galloped away until a talent scout, out on a morning ride, saw the mare approaching him. He stopped the frightened horse and impressed by Princess Snowdream’s figure and grace, and offered her the girl the leading role in his next movie. The Princess accepted and moved away from her wicked stepmother to film sets in exotic locations.             When the Queen heard, she became incandescent with rage, hurling several priceless silver candlesticks at the castle’s marble fireplaces and smashing mirrors. Then, despairingly, she hired a private detective to find the girl and ordered the sniper to kill her. But the sniper, having seen the Princess’s beauty, fell in love with the girl and could not carry out his mission. He became afraid the Queen would have him arrested and water tortured or worse. So, he committed suicide, his body rotting in the hinterland, where it attracted flies and circling birds of prey. With her blood boiling at men’s weaknesses, the Queen plotted to kill the girl herself, using poison. But first, with her beetle-browed, red-veined face screwed up, she consulted an astrologer and asked him who was more beautiful, she or Princess Snowdream? He consulted his crystal ball and pronounced the Princess the most beautiful. Incandescent with rage, the Queen lit several candles, which she threw at the bed in The Princess’s chamber, setting it alight. The Fire Service was called to save the castle. But the Queen’s room was destroyed too, so she called in an interior designer, decorated the walls with pale blue silk paint, and commissioned dark blue silk bedding to coordinate with the blue velvet drapes and sumptuous carpet. She had sweetmeats delivered to her chamber to taste their delights whenever she fancied and entertained the Colonel whom she promoted to General. But the jealousy of Princess Snowdream’s youthful, sensual beauty consumed the vengeful Queen, who visited the astrologer twice more. Each time he reported the Princess had the most outstanding beauty. So, the jealous Queen poisoned him with black mamba venom she bought from a snake handler and dripped on a $100.00 bill. The unsuspecting astrologer kissed the bill in thanks. He died in agony, his limbs contorted, within the hour. The Queen cackled with glee. Weeks passed without sight of th e Princess. Ascending to the throne as Regent, the Queen ate taste-bud tantalising caviar and drank head-dizzying champagne. She slept in isolated splendour in her slinky silk bedroom except when entertaining the General. The Queen considered cosmetic surgery to make her face youthful with cat-like eyes and made an appointment with a surgeon. She ordered a curfew on all women between eighteen and twenty-five, hoping to catch the Princess on her return from filming. Then she would poison her with the black mamba venom and watch her die. “Ah, it would be sweet revenge,” thought the Queen.            However, the seven homeless men from the shelter learned of the Queen’s plots from a palace gardener and decided to act. They were all military veterans of the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan down on their luck. But armed to the teeth with assault rifles, grenades, and other military hardware, they surrounded the castle. They broke in and assassinated the Queen asleep in her sumptuous bed. All her flunkies, holding a party in the castle’s dungeons, were assassinated, too. In time, the Princess completed filming and took her rightful place on the throne. She married the youngest of the seven homeless men, who became her King Consort. Travelling in a golden coach drawn by four palomino horses, they were crowned in a ceremony of splendour and grace, the Cathedral glittering with candlelight. The six other men were knighted in the Queen’s Coronation Honours and given land and property. Each married a kitchen maid and elevated her to a Duchess. The film in which Snowdream starred,  ‘Snowdrops and the Warrior’, was a box office hit, won an Oscar and a Golden Globe and was released on Netflix. In the streaming charts, the theme tune ‘ Snowdreams get in your mind’ went to number one. So do not be avaricious and jealous. Revenge can trample on snowdrops and destroy your dreams.


It was nearly Christmas again, the man thought to himself. Another Christmas without Emily, and this year without any of the family and grandchildren visiting. “I guess we'll just make do this year, Traveler. Yes, just you and me,” he said, as he reached out and stroked Traveler's long coat of fur. It had been three years since he lost his wife, Emily, and to be honest, life seemed stale. If not for the companionship of Traveler, he would probably not have any reason to get out of bed in the morning.

Traveler had been a birthday surprise for Emily four years ago. She just adored Traveler. The dog had come by his name because the man and Emily had taken a two-week-long road trip when he was a pup. The pup went with them and had been a very agreeable travel companion. Today, the man was noticing a slowness in his own routine, and a numbness in his arm and hand. “Where did I put down my coffee?” he thought to himself.

He and Emily had married at the usual age for the time, at 18, back in the summer of 1959. The man had worked hard for his dad's menswear and uniform shop downtown called Murray & Sons. He worked weekends and summers, as did the man's older brother, Robert, until tragedy struck the Murray family. Big Brother Robert, whom the man had always looked up to, had died in an accident. He was crossing the busy street running an errand for his dad's shop when he was struck by a large Buick going too fast through an intersection while running a stop sign. The man's father and mother were never quite the same and the man had resolved to focus on the work at hand and be there for his parents. He tried to put the memory of his brother's young life behind him.

Emily had been instrumental in the success of their chosen life pursuit. In the 1970’s, the man's dad had handed over the reins of the shop, and Emily had helped with merchandise ordering and keeping the books. They had raised up a son and daughter together, and the son had gone into accounting and the daughter had learned the family business. It was just a few months before Emily’s death that the man had handed over the mantle of the menswear shop to his daughter and her husband and had finally retired so that Emily and he could do the little things that they had always wanted to do.

It wasn't long until Emily was diagnosed and then gone. This, of course, had changed the man in profound ways. He really did not want to do the little things he once did while Emily was alive. The man's day consisted of getting up and dressed, letting Traveler out to take care of nature, and feeding himself and Traveler in the kitchen. “A can of Canine Cookout for you, Traveler, and a buttered everything bagel for me”. It had been steadily snowing out the window all morning. The snow was building up so much that it had triggered an old memory of long ago.

The Christmas of 1948 , the man thought, as he dreamily gazed out at the snow from the kitchen window. “Yes, Christmas, 1948,” he said out loud. That was the Christmas when under the tree were two shiny brand new Flexible Flyer Airline Pursuits; yes, one for me, and one for my brother, Robert . We were just the tender ages of seven and nine. We sledded all the rest of Christmas Day and the vacation week and weekend following Christmas, but little did we know the real treat was to come in the form of the Blizzard after the first of January. Yes, it was just after “ringing in” the New Year, and the town was closed down for a handful of days. Dad really got his money's worth out of the Flyers that week. Robert and I barely came in except for lunch, and even that was just a quick slurp of tomato soup.

The man chuckled to himself, thinking of when he and his brother were young, innocent, carefree, and had played together in the snow for seemingly endless hours, sledding down a rather large hill behind the house again and again. The man's coffee had cooled to room temperature and Traveler had curled up at the man's feet for a little nap before his fond memory of the sleds and his brother had dissipated. It was at this time that the man had heard an eerily familiar voice behind him. “You know you still have the Flyers in the attic, Charlie.”

The man snapped around to see where the voice came from behind him. “Robert, can this be?” The man was pale with surprise. “But you're dead. How can you be here?” the man asked with incredulity.

“Well, Charlie you have not had an actual, genuinely happy thought (about me) since I left. Yes, it is true that you had sad memories that you mulled over and pushed back down, but not a happy thought or memory.”

The man responded, “Robert, your passing was so wrenching for mom and dad, and I guess for me, too.” “Yes, I can understand.” Robert, standing right there in the man’s kitchen against all possibility, stared out the kitchen window at the accumulating snow, and then appeared to have a flash of an idea on his youthful face. “Charlie, why don't we dig out the Flyers and find a hill?” The man seemed uneasy with the notion. “Robert I am old. I can't just go traipsing out into the cold snow and slide down a huge hill on an old rusty relic. I might break something, and I’m not talking about the Flyer.” “Charlie, I would have never had to beg you to do something adventurous before...,” The man interrupted his brother, “but this is now, Robert, and I can't move as I once did. I am not young anymore.” “Okay Gramps,” Robert said teasingly, “then I will get them out of the attic myself.” Robert pulled down the ladder from the attic and began rummaging. “Golly Charlie, all this stuff!” Robert made his way down a narrow walkway that took him in the direction of a small window on the far wall. With a reflection of the snow casting a white light into that part of the attic, he began to make out the familiar expectant shapes of two old friends of smooth wood and gleaming metal propped up in the corner. Making his way toward the figures, he let out a “Eureka, Charlie, found ‘em! I’m handing them down.”

Robert wrestled one toward the ladder, handing it down to Charlie and returning for the second Flyer. He slid that one down to his anticipating brother and stepped back down the ladder, noticing as he went that Charlie had also begun to take on a more youthful look than he had before. Robert looked Charlie straight in the eye; “are you ready, kiddo?” Each brother grabbed what then appeared to be a shiny new Flexible Flyer, opening the front door and excitedly walking out to the collecting snow.

Charlie, with a new spring in his step and a youthful gleam in his eye, looked at his big brother and said, “Let’s Fly!”


"Nerdy plant enthusiast Tom discovers a strange plant in his backyard. But when he accidentally pricks his finger on one of its thorns, he gains the power to talk to plants. Little does he know, the plants have chosen him for a greater purpose, and as he delves deeper into his newfound powers, he uncovers a sinister plot involving a group of well-intentioned, plant-based aliens whose actions have caused a dangerous signal to be sent to Earth's vegetation. Can Tom use his powers to save the planet and restore balance to the ecosystem?" He turned to the other plants in his garden and was amazed to discover that he could hear them too. They weren't speaking to him in words, but he could feel their emotions and their needs. He realized that he had gained the ability to communicate with plants, and he was filled with a sense of wonder and excitement. He knew that this was a power he could use to make a difference in the world." Tom was in his backyard, surrounded by the plants he had grown and cared for when suddenly he heard a voice in his head. It was a strange, alien voice that seemed to be coming from one of the plants.  "Hello, Tom," the voice said. "We need your help." Tom was taken aback. "Who are you?" he asked. "We are the Guardians of the Plant Kingdom," the voice replied. "We have been watching you, and we have chosen you to help us save the Earth from destruction." Tom was skeptical. "Save the Earth from what?" "From our own kind," the voice said. "We are plant-based aliens, and we came to Earth with the intention of helping your planet. But we made a mistake. Our experiments caused a stress signal that triggered the plants to attack humans. We want to make it right, but we need your help." Tom was hesitant. "Why me?" "Because you have the power to communicate with the plants," the voice said. "You can help us understand them and stop them from attacking. Will you help us?" Tom thought for a moment, then nodded. "I'll do my best," he said. "But what do I need to do?" The voice gave him instructions, and Tom set off on his mission to save the Earth from the plant-based aliens.

Tom has always had the purest of intentions. He cares deeply about the environment and has dedicated his life to caring for plants. But somehow, he always manages to mess things up. When the plant-based aliens ask for his help to save the Earth, Tom eagerly agrees. But as he delves deeper into the mission, he realizes that he may have made a grave mistake. Tom's good intentions lead him to blindly trust the plant-based aliens and their plans. But as the mission progresses, he begins to uncover the aliens' true intentions. They are not the benevolent creatures he thought they were. Instead, they are seeking to use Earth as a testing ground for their own gain, and they will stop at nothing to achieve their goals. As Tom struggles with his own guilt and the realization that he has been helping the wrong side, he must fight to make things right.

As Tom continued to work with the plant-based aliens, he started to feel uneasy. He had been following their instructions blindly, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. One day, as he was speaking with the plants in his backyard, he realized that they had been using him. He had been nothing but a pawn in their game. "Wait a minute," Tom said to the plant-based aliens. "You've been using me, haven't you? You said I had the power to stop the plants from attacking humans, but I don't. I've been doing busy work this whole time."

Tom's heart was racing as he stood before the group of plant-based aliens, their green tendrils writhing menacingly. "I trusted you!" he shouted, his voice shaking with anger and disbelief. "I thought you were here to help the Earth, but all along you were just using it as a test subject for your own gain!" The leader of the aliens, a towering mass of vines and leaves, shifted uncomfortably. "Tom, we understand your anger," it said in a placating voice. "But we had no choice. Our planet is dying, and we needed a new home. Earth seemed like the perfect place, and with your help, we could have made it work." "At what cost?" Tom demanded. "You were willing to sacrifice the entire ecosystem, put human lives in danger, just to save your own species?" The leader didn't answer, but the other aliens began to hiss and murmur amongst themselves. Tom knew he was in danger, but he refused to back down. "I won't let you hurt anyone else," he said, summoning all his courage. "I'll use my powers to stop you." The leader of the aliens looked down at Tom with a mixture of pity and contempt. "You don't understand, Tom," it said. "You're just a human. You don't have the power to stop us." Tom gritted his teeth, refusing to give in. "Maybe not alone," he said, glancing around at the plants that surrounded him. "But I'm not alone. I have an army of plants on my side. And we won't let you destroy our home." With that, Tom turned and sprinted away, his mind racing with plans to stop the plant-based aliens once and for all. But with the plant-based aliens growing stronger every day, he knows that time is running out. Tom's ability to communicate with the plants becomes a double-edged sword as he learns the truth behind the aliens' intentions. He begins to hear the plants' distress and fear as they are manipulated and used as weapons against humans. It becomes increasingly difficult for Tom to balance his duty to the plant-based aliens and his desire to protect the Earth and its inhabitants. As he struggles to find a way to stop the aliens without harming the plants, Tom turns to his fellow humans for help. With the aid of a small group of like-minded individuals, he sets out to find a way to neutralize the aliens' signal without causing harm to the plants. As the final battle approaches, Tom finds himself torn between his loyalty to the plant-based aliens who had given him the gift of communication and his duty to protect the Earth. In the end, he makes a difficult decision, knowing that it may cost him his newfound power and connection to the plants. As Tom and his team continue to work on finding a way to peacefully coexist with the plant-based aliens, tensions in the city continue to rise. The plants have been attacking humans more frequently, and the military has been mobilizing to prepare for a potential conflict. The military already knows that Tom a sixteen-year-old can communicate with the plants and he is their only chance of communicating with the alien plant leader. However, they know what risk they are about to face. Tom: "So what happens if I end up without my usual communication devices?" Military Officer: "We have a contingency plan in place, Tom. We've planted a small bug device on you that you can use as an SOS signal if needed. It's disguised as a harmless object, so the aliens won't suspect anything." Tom: "That's a relief. But how will I activate the bugging device?" Military Officer: "It's easy. Just press the button on the device three times in a row, and it will send an automatic signal to our monitoring station. We'll know to send a rescue team as soon as we receive the signal." Tom: "Got it. And what happens if the aliens find the bugging device?" Military Officer: "We don't think they'll find it. But if they do, the bugging device is programmed to self-destruct and erase all data within five minutes. So there won't be any evidence that could put our team or you at risk." Tom receives a message from the leader of the plant-based aliens, who says that they have discovered a new food source that could sustain both their species and humans, and they would like to negotiate a peaceful agreement. However, they request that Tom come alone to their main base to discuss the terms. Tom and his team are skeptical but decide to take the risk and go to the plant base. When they arrive, they are met with a seemingly peaceful environment, and the plant-based aliens offer them a feast of the new food source. However, Tom notices that some of his team members are becoming increasingly lethargic and unresponsive after eating the food. He confronts the plant leader, who reveals that the food source is a mind-controlling substance that would allow the plants to control the human population. The plant leader offers Tom a choice: either join them and become a part of their society or be eliminated. Tom and his team are faced with a difficult decision. They could either sacrifice themselves to stop the plant-based aliens' plan, or they could join the plants and potentially become mind-controlled and harm, other humans. With the military ready to attack and time running out, Tom and his team must make a decision that could determine the fate of both species. Tom wouldn't make his decision he gave his signal to the military, but before Tom could get away the plant aliens threw Tom into a cell-like room;

Tom sat in a small, dimly lit room, his back pressed against the wall. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the room for any sign of danger. He could hear the soft, rhythmic sound of the alien plants breathing outside the door, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He had lost contact with his team hours ago, and his radio crackled with static. The weight of the situation was starting to sink in, and Tom could feel the panic rising in his chest. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. He knew he had to stay calm, for his team's sake. But the thought of them out there, alone and vulnerable, was almost too much to bear. Tom closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. He could hear the faint sound of gunfire in the distance, and he knew that time was running out. The rescue team had to get there soon, or they would all be lost. He whispered a silent prayer for his team's safety, and for his own. He knew that if they didn't make it out alive, it would be his fault. He had led them into this mess, and he would have to live with the consequences. Tom opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably. He clenched his fists, willing himself to be strong. He had to be strong for his team, for his country, and for himself. He took another deep breath and stood up, his legs feeling like jelly. He knew that whatever happened next, he had to face it head-on. He couldn't let his fear and doubt get the best of him. He had to keep moving forward, even if it meant sacrificing everything. Tom remembers that the alien plants seemed to be vulnerable to sound. He quickly sets his bugging device to emit a high-pitched frequency that he hopes will distract the guards and cause them to leave their posts. The plan works, and Tom is able to escape his cell. But as he's sneaking through the alien plant's underground lair, he begins to realize that the frequency from the bugging device is having an unexpected effect. The alien plants are mutating, growing larger and more aggressive, and their behavior is becoming increasingly erratic. Tom eventually reaches the surface and emerges into a dark, eerie forest. The mutated alien plants are everywhere, towering above him and closing in on all sides. He realizes that the frequency of the bugging device has triggered a massive transformation in the plants, turning them into something far more dangerous and unpredictable than he ever could have imagined. As Tom desperately tries to find a way out of the forest, he realizes that he's not alone. There's a low, rumbling sound coming from deep within the forest, and he can't shake the feeling that something is watching him, waiting for the right moment to strike. The mutated alien plants closed in on him from all sides. He can hear their twisted branches scraping against each other, creating an eerie, discordant melody that sends chills down his spine. As he runs, he realizes that the low rumbling sound is getting closer. It's a deep, guttural growl that seems to be coming from something much larger than the mutated plants. Tom knows he has to keep moving, but he's starting to feel like he's trapped in a nightmare. Suddenly, he sees a faint light in the distance. It's a glimmer of hope, and he runs towards it with everything he's got. He hears a faint sound and it distracts him because it sounds like his mom. Tom suddenly wakes up in a cold sweat, realizing that the entire experience was just a terrible nightmare. He tries to calm himself down, telling himself that it was just a figment of his imagination. But as he looks around his bedroom, he can't shake the feeling that something is still off. As he tries to get out of bed, he realizes that he can't move. It's as if his body is paralyzed, and he can only watch in horror as the walls around him start to shift and twist, morphing into grotesque, organic shapes. The sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs fills his ears, and he realizes that the nightmare is far from over. The mutated alien plants burst through the walls of his room, their tendrils lashing out at him with deadly intent. Tom tries to scream, but no sound comes out. He's trapped, helpless, as the nightmare engulfs him. Just when he thinks he can't take it any longer, he suddenly wakes up for real, gasping for breath. This time, it's really over. But the memory of the nightmare lingers on, haunting him long after he's fully awake.


It had been twenty four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. Icy wind slashed at her face as her bony fingers gripped her

blanket up to her face. The streets were dimly lit and the houses were shut and dark. It had been exactly how Jane had remembered it, except for one little thing, her parents. Where were they? How come they weren’t where they said they would be? She was curled up in a dirty corner under a streetlight. The light started flickering and in a moment Jane was in complete darkness. She was terrified. Her home street had never been the friendliest, maybe that was one of the reasons she was sent up for adoption. It had been a week since she escaped from that horrific halfway house. Her first 18 years were spent in the adjoining orphanage. That scrutinising, unscrupulous orphanage. As sunrise appeared a shiver trickled down Jane’s spine.

She gathered all of her strength and stood up. She leaned against the cream coloured wall with dried paint peeling off. Jane still remembered her house address, 46 Cherry Lane, Bayside Village. The village still looked the same, just darker and drearier. Jane slowly ambled towards the old pub, Golflinks. It was the exact same. The old, once proud, battered banner hanging from the roof reading ‘Golflinks’. She tried to recall the times when her family would spend nights having fun playing bingo and quizzes in the pub...and she wasn’t a part of it…. Jane was emotional to be back at Bayside Village but one thing

was tearing her heart apart. Her parents no longer dwelled at the registered address used in the orphanage. She decided she would not give up hope and go find them herself. As she tiredly shuffled towards her old neighbours house she gave the door one big knock. As she did, she was met with a aroma of warm, fresh scones coming from the kitchen. She tried to remember all the times she baked with her family. She couldn’t remember any. As she gently pushed the unlocked door open, Jane stepped inside. The stout owner of the house appeared…she looked quizzingly at Jane.“Jane……….?, is it really you?” gasped Mrs. Bea. Jane recognised her immediately from photos she had once held in her very early days in the orphanage. “Yes Mrs. Bea, I’m Jane, Aaliyah and William’s daughter.” She broke into tears at the sound of her voice saying their names. “Where are they? Where have they gone?”

Mrs Bea looked pitifully at Jane. She had looked after her neighbours fro years when they fell on hard times in the past. Jane could only hear Mrs Bea’s words despite the sirens blaring outside and children’s feet stomping up and down on the streets. “I’m sorry dear, Aaliyah and William moved to Philadelphia years ago, they were too distraught with the fact you were gone and could never reconcile with the fact you had to be given up for adoption.” Mrs. Bea informed her. This time she crumpled herself into the foetal position like a piece of rubbish. She tore open the door and sprinted out of the house. Tears streamed down her face making her face blotchy and red. Her vision turned blurry with multiple emotions racing through her head. Suddenly everything went black.

She woke up to the blaring sound of the ambulance siren.

Red and blue flashing lights blinded her. Jane was lying straight in the middle of the pebbly street. Mrs. Bea looked as worried and pale as a ghost. She tried to push herself up but her ankle gave way. People dressed in overalls came darting out of the ambulance. All sorts of questions were asked like, what day is it? Where are you? They helped her to her feet and she stumbled. She answered all the questions correctly so there was no worry. When the ambulance men assured her that the blood was flowing back to her head again she was free to go.

Jane decided she would spend no longer at Bayside Village

and decided she would make her way to Philadelphia. She was determined. All the way from New York to Philadelphia. How could she do it? On foot. 152 kilometres. Not a problem for Jane Richards if she really wanted to find her parents. She organised a small rucksack with enough tins of food and enough bottles of water to last her a couple of days. She wished her farewells to the Bea family and started her journey to Philadelphia. Yes, she was terrified and frightened but she was also determined to do what she thought would complete her life. This was her yearning for so long and it pained her.

As the sun rose, Jane gathered her belongings together and

commenced her voyage. She was exhausted from her disturbed sleep but kept walking anyway. Many people were shocked at her presence as she had not been in the village since she was a baby. She trodded through grass that was a metre tall, hills that she felt touched the sky and caverness caves. Right now, Jane was in Woodbridge Township. She was weary and her eyes were bloodshot. She looked like she hadn’t slept for days. Jane opened her tin of beans and opened her third bottle of water since this morning. She smelt of musty because she hadn’t washed since she left the orphanage a week ago. Thinking back to the orphanage brought a tear to her eye. That was where she spent her childhood, her whole life nearly. She knew of nothing else. But there was no time for weeping, she had to concentrate on the path ahead. She could only rely on passing gentlemen and women to give her directions. The last man she passed gave her a compass but what use was a compass if she didn’t know which way was right to turn. The sun was setting as she cosied up in a corner close by with her sleeping bag. It wasn’t exactly completely comfy but it was better than lying on rubble. The last sight she saw before her eyes closed was a pink sky with a setting sun. A beautiful sight to see. When Jane woke up she continued her journey. She

was now in Trenton, 52 kilometres away from Philadelphia. It only dawned her now that she had no idea where her parents were in the big city. She knew they lived close to Franklin Square so hopefully it wasn’t going to be that hard. Her legs were fatigued and her ankle suddenly started aching. She hobbled through the streets painfully. She had a few coins in her pocket so she decided to buy her favourite chocolate bar in the local supermarket. When she had bought it, it gave her mountains of energy and she was focused on her voyage again. Within no time she was in Philadelphia.

Jane could not explain the joyful sensation that sizzled

through her body. She had done it. She had walked 152 kilometres in order to find her beloved parents. She dashed through Benjamin Rush State Park as fast as the wind. Before noon she was circling Franklin Square. She had not planned this part out yet. As a middle aged woman with many children hanging out of her passed, Jane waved her hand and said hopefully “Do you know where Aaliyah and William Richards live?” The woman smiled pitifully , then smartly passed with a silent shaking of her head. Jane’s heart was broken. Where would she start? Philadelphia was a sprawling place. She wandered over to a silent old lady covered from head to toe in black waiting at a bus stop. “Emm, excuse me” Jane uttered quietly. This time less confidently...“Is there any chance you may know where William and Aaliyah Richards are?”

The old woman stood still with a confused expression on her

face. “Are you…… Jane?” A little dance of delight in the pit of my stomach gave me butterflies. She nodded her head without saying a word. The old woman beckoned for me to follow her. Jane did as she was told and shuffled her feet towards her. As she led her into a dark alley she started to get second thoughts until she croaked “number 112 on your right.” She gave the woman a look of thanks and her spirits brightened. As she proceeded towards the doorstep, she gave a choke of happiness mixed with fear. What would her parents think? Would they send her home? Would they shut their door? Her hands went numb as she knocked on the door. After a couple of minutes Jane could hear quiet footsteps coming towards the door.

She quickly brought her gaze to her feet as two figures opened the door. She froze. “Who are you?” They questioned as Jane slowly brought up her head. “Jane……? Jane is that really you?” The husband and wife gasped. She was no longer nervous, joy blossomed inside her. “Father, mother” she whispered as she swung her arms around them and gave them a hug. Tears of happiness sprouted from her eyes. Her parents were shedding many tears too. This was the moment she had been waiting for her whole life, and it finally happened. She was reunited with her family once more. Yes she had spent 24 years in a cold, dark orphanage but she was with her parents now and that was all the mattered.


EXT. MEXICAN HACIENDA - BACKYARD - DAY Two young, similar looking BROTHERS (age 9(but in reality they are 700 years old)) are at odds over the plastic toy (G.I. JOE!). One boy, MARCO, climbs high on a swing set, dangling the G.I. Joe out of brother LEONEL’S reach. Leonel is angry and crying…he wants his toy back, but Marco is a bully and is having too much fun being bad. They yell at each other in Spanish (without subtitles). YOUNG LEONEL *Give it back! It’s mine!* YOUNG MARCO *Then take it from me. If you can!* The yard they fight in is a nice piece of property -- not that the owner is super-wealthy, but he has money. With an O.S telephone *RING RING* \-- we are about to meet this man… ...but only the back of his head. We are behind an ADULT MAN, relaxing on a chair in the shade of his hacienda. He watches the kids roughhousing in the distance. The man dips his hand in a GALVANIZED WASH TUB filled with melting ice and beer, trying to stay cool. *RING RING!* Our weary mystery man finally reaches and answers his cell phone… but not just *any* cell phone. It’s one of those monstrous BRICK-SIZED mobiles from the mid-eighties (our first clue that this scene is a FLASHBACK). As we slowly CIRCLE AROUND toward his face, he speaks in Spanish (with SUBTITLES) HECTOR Mmm. Yes.. (listens; then) Why? Why is this still under discussion? (MORE) HECTOR (CONT’D) No. No,no,no. I don’t like him. I don’t care who he knows. We’re supposed to trust him with our Product? Never trust a South American. Dirty, dirty people. As the call continues the little kids are fighting over a toy. Frustrated Leonel makes a leap for G.I. JOe, but Marco flings the doll to the ground and jumps on it -- *CRUNCH!* Leonel looks on, stunned, as Marco holds up G.I Joe’s SEVERED HEAD with a smile. *He broke it…* *for no good reason, he broke it!* Leonel turns and runs crying toward his uncle. YOUNG LEONEL *He broke my toy! He broke my toy!* HECTOR *He was just having fun. You’ll get over it* YOUNG LEONEL *NO! I hate him! I wish he was dead!* HECTOR *Marco….* YOUNG MARCO *Yes?* HECTOR *Give your old uncle a kiss, would you?* Marco pecks him on the lip and backs up HECTOR *No, no. A* *wet* *one.* Marco proceeds to go give his old uncle another kiss, and as it happens Hector suddenly and viciously grabs him by the neck and forces a french kiss. Leonel looks on, stunned… *freaked.* Hector gives him a casual glance, not easing up on Marco at all. Breaking only to say lines Hector says HECTOR *This is what you wanted. Your brother dead, Right?* Watching his brother struggle to break free and gasping for air, not knowing what to do, Leonel pulls on his uncle’s arm. Locked in place, it won’t budge HECTOR *You’re going to have to try harder* *than that.* *If* *you want to save him.* HECTOR (continuing to french Marco) *How much longer do you think he has?* *One minute? Maybe more, maybe less.* Desperate to save his brother, Leonel PUNCHES Hector straight in the face, hard! With that he released Marco, who is now gasping for air and breathing heavy. Leonel kneels next to him, making sure his brother is okay. HECTOR *Family is* *all*\*.


It’s a hard day. Somehow, Amy doesn’t see it coming. The season is in full swing. She’s busy with the onslaught of calls and emails from work that always pick up as the year winds down, and the towering heap of papers and midterms from school, and the lines at coffee shops for pumpkin-flavored drinks that get sweeter every autumn, and the department store lookout, shuffling her nephew down fabric aisles in search of a cape that’s the right shade of red for the superman costume he

insists  has to be homemade. It’s a busy time of year. She gets caught up.

It’s all so startlingly familiar: the shadow settling over the old house, the oxygen pulled from the air. Like an echo. Autumn doesn’t feel so wonderful anymore. All at once, she remembers that the falling leaves are dead. All at once, she remembers that October was lovelier when her mother was still here with it. It’s an ache that doesn’t ever fade, the

losing . Even when her brother smiles for the first time in months and it feels like the sun is finally rising. Even when Amy looks at the family photo on the desk in her bedroom and doesn’t lose all the air in her lungs. Even when her father gets behind the wheel of a car again. Even when they all start to heal. The ache sticks around, like honey on their fingertips. They’ll never be as whole as they used to be. There’s a longing that lives in her ribs, like a chirping bird, nestled beside her heart. It makes a child of her; she feels grief like a little girl. She misses her mother, helplessly. And all she can do about it is cry, pray that the hurt will go away. But the hurt—cracking her spine and slumping her shoulders and salting the skin of her cheeks—the hurt means that the love won’t fade either. She thinks that’s something she can live with. Even so, knowing it doesn’t make it any easier, and anniversaries are as terrible as ever.

 Amy wakes up today with a lump in her throat and a text from her brother. Her chest is sore, like someone’s been knocking against it. She finds it sort of funny how a number on a calendar can make time so unsubstantial, can make the months feel like minutes. The grief sits behind her eyes as heavy as the first day she ever felt it. She taps at her phone until it opens, the light blinding her in the darkness of her room, curtains drawn. The time is 8:28. The date taunts her in blocky letters. October 16 th  makes her remember things she’d rather not. Gripping the porcelain edges of a sink so tightly her nails begin to crack and bleed. Her brother meeting her eyes with the sorriest expression she’d ever seen on him. The tightest hugs in the world. Streaks of makeup down flushed faces. A pair of ripped tights under the only black dress she owned. Her father’s weathered hands holding a bundle of lilies so delicately she would’ve believed it if you told her they were made of glass.

October 16 th . Crying so hard she had to swallow bile. Her brother with his face in his hands. Her father with his brows bent in sorrow. It’s a hard day. She checks the message from her brother, trying to shake herself from her reverie, climbing out of memories like they’re quicksand.  There are three texts on her notification screen, all from Ben.

Ben:  amy

Ben:  have you talked to dad?

Ben:  it’s the sixteenth She reads them slowly, already fatigued. Her phone beeps again. Another text.

Ben:  i love you She clicks off her phone and drags herself out of bed. She feels too delicate for the harshness of the world. It’s all too weighty, her bones are thin like a bird’s. She stumbles to the door, tugging a sweater over her head. All the lights in the house are off, like the color is hiding itself. She walks around like a ghost, floats to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She watches the tiles on the floor, not brave enough to glance at her mother’s smile in the photos that hang around the halls. When she looks in the mirror, Amy sees her mom in her eyes and her jawline. She ducks out of the room, texts her brother back.

Amy:

love you too She drifts to the window in the kitchen, overlooking their front yard. She tugs at the blind until they crack open. Her father is on his knees in the garden, like the curling tomato plant is an altar. His fingers are shaking in their rubber gloves and there is dirt up to his elbows, a smear of soil across the bone of his cheek. Behind him leaves fall like raindrops, heavy and swirling and beautiful orange. Autumn is the best time for growing tomatoes—no gnats or flies to swat away. The moderate cold is like fertilizer.

Amy takes a deep breath, not bothering to check her phone again even as it buzzes in her pocket. She tosses it on the table, makes for the front door. When she pulls it open, the smell of the season hits her like a wave—rotting leaves and dirt, wind that’s just chilly enough to warrant a sweater. “Good morning,” she calls, taking a hesitant step out onto the grass. It’s overcast today, the sun is hiding behind half-darkened clouds. She forgot her shoes. Her father doesn’t look up, it’s like he didn’t hear. He tugs at a leaf of the tomato plant, twists it with his thumb. She keeps walking until she stands before him, barefoot and shaky.

“Bà?” She reaches for his attention, a branch to the sun, a daughter to her father. He startles in the weeds, dropping his shears in a pile of soil. He finds her eyes, almost surprised that she’s stood here. There is a moment of silence. Not exactly acknowledgment, but something like it. She chews at the inside of her cheek.

“Yes?” He says eventually, with a drag in his voice that she is unused to. “Are you alright?” She says softly, afraid to speak too loud. Everything feels like it’s on the brink of shattering. She doesn’t want to push. “Ben was asking about you.” He looks at her a long moment, and then shakes his head. “Not today, love,” he says plainly, picking his shears up. “Are you?” She glances down. The ache is a bursting well within her. She flexes her hand. “No,” she answers. “No, I don’t think so.” Her father nods again, silence and birdsong sitting in the air. The wind blows. The leaves fall. “But I’m here,” she continues, like an afterthought. She drops her hands to her sides. He gives a small smile, still on his knees like a man praying to tomatoes. “I know,” he looks like he’s going to cry, but he doesn’t. “And I thank you for that.” Amy reaches out and puts her hand on top of his, feels the grit of the dirt against her palm. It’s a desperate gesture, built of longing and grieving and trying. Her father continues. “She loved you.” He says, simple as that. “I know,” she replies, water in her eyes.

“I love you,” he says. And that’s not enough. But it’s what they have.

“I love you too.”


Souls who currently reside in the world of the living are blissfully ignorant of Emperor Death’s wrath. Although, unlike most warriors of his size and stature, Death does not believe in brute, direct and ultimately simple revenge. Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying, Death is and always has been short tempered. That is absolutely certain. The living who came long before trembled at his majesty’s temper. I clearly remember the day we saw a proper glance at his rage for the first time. It was the day, the living discovered how to create music. As far back as our world’s memory goes, music and the underworld had always been deeply intertwined and associated with each other. Every plane of existence and civilization marveled at the underworld’s peculiar craft of manipulating sound to create a unique and enchanting sensation. Emperor Death considered music to be one of the renowned treasures of his gardens. Newly reborn souls would laugh and others would cry as the music from the halls of hell entered their ears for the first time, awaking something inside and reinvigorating their depleted spirits following their long journey. A very few of us were even fortunate enough to hear Emperor Death’s Personal orchestra perform. A single note played by the orchestra’s golden instruments had the ability to mesmerize even the darkest souls in the deepest depth of Hell. Nearly a thousand souls, all together eternally playing one of the few hundred instruments the emperor himself had engineered. Touched by living, Death believed that music had lost its purity and grace. With great sorrow, death sealed off music from his kingdom till the end of eternity. Full of spite at having to lose one of his beloved treasures, he swore vengeance against the powerless living and sealed himself in his chambers for centuries composing his final melody. On the ten thousandth day, he calmly exited his chambers and made way to a tavern in an isolated town on Earth. Standing at the center, he took out his violin as he slowly and softly started to play a simple tune. Three orphan brothers passing the tavern could not help but be captivated by this surreal song.“What a beautiful song!”, spoke the oldest one. “I would give anything to be able to play this on my own” he whispered to himself. Hearing this, the great emperor revealed himself in front of the brother and spoke.“I have spent thousands of years composing this song, It is only fair that I ask for something in return.” As he continued, he looked into the brother’s eyes.”The only thing of any possible value to me in your possession is your soul”. The Emperor smirked and asked: “Would you be willing to trade your soul to learn the most beautiful song ever made?” Being way over his head and too drunk in awe to comprehend the consequences of his actions, the eldest brother shouted back agreeing. His younger siblings were shocked and disgusted by how the closest brother threw up everything for just a song. However, as time passed, the hatred for their brother slowly eroded letting a feeling of respect take its place. They too soon exchanged their souls for such was the irresistible enchantment of the song that any artist of any sort would not be able to resist its temptations. The emperor had just gained three new slaves he would hold and imprison for all eternity. As the folk song spread, countless poets and musician became of part Death’s terrible castle. Death was content as he had had his cruel revenge. No one but him had noticed, much less appreciated the irony of his revenge. Leaving all his golden instruments on Earth, he walked back to his gardens, to the huge glass castle, where not a single note of music could be heard.