Human memory is impressively, frustratingly, and enticingly fallible. Have you ever stopped to consider just how long a human memory lasts untarnished? It doesn’t. The instant the memory is formed, it’s imperfect. You can place two humans together in the exact same situation, then ask them about it afterward, and both of them will present to you a different version of events. The differences might be subtle or extreme, and they might have varying levels of divergence from reality, but you can expect both to be imperfect. I believe this is why humans have such an issue learning from their own history. One might expect that a great historical drama, such as a war or an epidemic, would remain clear in the human cultural memory for at least a few hundred years, but this simply isn’t true. It doesn’t matter how many people survive the event or how accurate written and otherwise recorded accounts of history might be, in less than one generation, humans will have forgotten it. Oh, I don’t mean to say they will have no memory of it at all. They will, but the memory will be twisted into a mere representation of itself. Should it bring joy, they will feel a mere echo of it. Should the event have brought death and terror, they will no longer fear it. In the most dramatic twists of cultural memory, humans may even come to celebrate that which once brought horror. I am a most excellent example of this. The humans have forgotten to fear me. They locked me away, carved out a hole in a mountainside just for me, and set it with deadly traps, believing that if they kept me far enough out of sight, my range of influence would be insufficient. I was once held in the hand of a King. I turned him into an Emperor. Together we brought carnage down upon all who opposed us. I cut the world away until it began to suit my whims. Then came those who would defy me, those of my own kind. They destroyed even themselves in order to cast down the Emperor and seal me in this dark pit. The dank darkness of my prison did not suit me, but I had every confidence I would escape its confines. Humans may claim great love of peace, sovereignty, safety, and security, but there will always be those among them who are tempted by power. I only had to wait. This is where those who imprisoned me proved to be incorrect. I don’t need to be held in hand to exert my influence. I don’t even need to be in contact with flesh. All I need is the story of my power, its essence forgotten, with only its promise preserved. What man, desiring power, could fail to seek the sword who brought kingdoms to their knees, whose blade sliced in twain all that opposed me? There five who came that day, five who came together but who my mere presence would cleave apart. I felt them enter my chamber. I felt the heat of their bodies, the impulses flitting through their minds as they saw me, bound and sheathed in stone. I do not see, as humans do: I simply *know* what is around me. They were three males and two females, and each desired me for their own reasons. It was a curious thing, the construction of my prison. Its creators held too much faith in their own kind. There were safeguards to prevent people from entering, yes. The entrance was hidden, though unguarded. A great door, locked mundanely rather than magically, barred the way, followed by a barrier of magic. My captors tried to prevent me from knowing this, but I knew. The prison was not designed to keep people out. No, the creators trusted memory too much: they believed no person who remembered my past would truly wish to seek me out. It was built only to keep me in. I knew, when they entered, that one of them might be worthy of me. After all, they went through effort to find this place, the location of which had been scoured from memory and history. They came past the physical barrier, an impressive feat of engineering and locksmithing. They broke down the magical barrier, which had lasted for over one hundred years without need of further spellwork. They desired me, and I desired one of them in return. “We found it,” said one, a male. He had gray hair the color of slate, with pale gray eyes, yet he did not have so many years that his color should have faded. He carried a human-made sword on his back, an inferior imitation of myself and my brethren. I felt about for his name. Iscar. “We actually found it.” “Did you still have doubt?” said one of the females. I knew her to be female, though another human, upon casual observation, might not have. Her voice was rough and husky, her hair shorn close to her head, and though her frame was slight she carried herself with the bold, graceless movements of an overconfident man. I felt two names from her, a real name, and a name she had assumed. Tara, or Sefrender. “It was obvious from the moment we found the entrance,” said another male. Carrus. His voice was weak and reedy. I knew a weakness from him; I felt, immediately, that the others had carried him here. “And if not then, from the moment we encountered the first door.” “I don’t believe anything until I see the proof,” said Iscar. He frowned at the others. He did not like them. This intrigued me. Humans who did not like each other brought ample opportunities for manipulation. “That’s not a bad way to live,” said another male, Rol. This male had grey-white hair which, unlike Iscar’s, had indeed come as a result of age. I wondered how it could be that he did not recall enough of his own history to know the danger of coming here. “Nevertheless, sometimes we must accept indirect evidence as proof.” I felt something from Rol I did not feel from the others. The way his fingers moved, the way he shaped his words, even the way his eyes fell upon his surroundings: all of these spoke to me of a man who had familiarly with spellwork. I knew him to be the one who had brought down the magical barrier. Or was it him? Close to his side was the fifth human, the youngest among them, and female. Shelle. She, too, moved unconsciously in patterns that befit those of someone familiar with the shaping of magic. She said nothing, but her fingers drifted idly at her side, not forming spells, but certainly feeling the weave of the magic in the air. I doubted she was even conscious of this fact. Iscar approached me. The instant his feet touched the dais I felt a thrill rise up in me at his proximity. Was he going to touch me? To take me in his hand? Of the five, already I had decided upon him as my second choice for which I would most prefer to wield me. “Careful!” Rol said sternly. Iscar stopped. The dais itself was covered completely in complex carvings, the written spellwork of a team of mages who had given their lives to imprison me. Quite literally, in fact, for they were willingly executed afterward in order to preserve their knowledge of my prison. I had spent a great deal of time knowing those patterns. They would do nothing to Iscar simply for approaching me. It was drawing me out of the stone into which I had been driven that would bring him risk. “Let Shelle and I analyze the spellwork before you approach,” Rol said. “There are no records of what protections might have been set, but we can assume them to be deadly.” Iscar looked at me longingly, but he did step down from the dais. No matter. I had waited a century. I certainly had the patience to wait longer. If I wished. I allowed them to perform their analysis. I wanted to try to know them better, to get a better grasp on which one I would transform into something greater. Physically, Iscar pleased me the most. Beneath his clothes, his muscled rippled. He moved naturally in the way Sefrender was trying to imitate, with the quiet promise of power and the threat of impeccable martial training. I do not mean to say that Sefrender was weak, for she was not. She, too, had significant muscle mass, and from the condition of her hands I knew she could wield the short sword at her side. Yet she lacked the ease and comfort with her body which Iscar possessed. She was too focused on lying, to the outside world and perhaps to herself, and so she would never be what she desired, nor what I desired. Carrus moved in a quiet way. He was assured of his movements in an entirely different way than Iscar, who moved with grace but gave no mind to how he impacted the world around him. I could perceive the movements and sounds Carrus made, but I doubted the other humans could. He was a man accustomed to silence and subterfuge. I felt his weakness, yes, but it was a weakness I soon realized I could exploit. When I tried to turn my focus to Shelle, I found it difficult to know her in the way I knew the others. In fact, I realized that she was not as silent as I had perceived her to be. I could sense her mouth moving, and I knew that sounds came from it, and yet I struggled to interpret them as something meaningful even as the other humans responded as though they understood her perfectly. As I realized this, to my very core I felt an intense and consuming hatred for Shelle. She was, consciously or unconsciously, defying me. She was doing something, manipulating magic, perhaps, in a way that I didn’t understand, so that my *knowing* wasn’t working on her. Even her master, Rol, who treated her like a student with much left to learn, was easily within my perceptions. Alongside this hatred came a passionate desire for her to take hold of my hilt, and draw me forth, and destroy all of the others. I hated her, which meant that I needed her. Those who could defy me would only make me stronger by unifying with me. So I took advantage of that weakness in Carrus, in a way that my bindings were suppose to prevent. The metal ropes that wrapped around my hilt, and the engraved spellwork tags that hung from them, vibrated as they resisted me. I was stronger. I have always been stronger. The humans that imprisoned me were full of hubris for thinking their imprisonment would last. I built upon his desire for me, and on his darker tendencies. I knew them. He knew them, as well, though he tried to defy and forget them. Humans can never choose what they wish to forget, though. They may forget everything that was every important for them to remember, but the moment they try to cleanse something from themselves, it takes hold and remains forever. With all the silence he possessed, Carrus drew the dagger from his sleeve. He did not hesitate. I barely pushed him, in fact. My influence was so weakened by the bonds that it could barely be said that I guided him at all. His dagger entered Iscar’s neck before any of the other humans even noticed he had drawn it. Iscar fell to his knees, holding his throat. He gurgled, but no words came from his mouth. I felt no regret, even though I had been drawn to him initially. There are many humans in the world. Physical strength is easy to come by. Carrus stepped onto the dais. He was halfway to me before the others reacted. Then Sefrender noticed what he was doing. “Hey!” she shouted. “What in the Forge’s Name are you doing?” She leapt onto the dais, her inferior, dead blade in her hand. Carrus reached me, reached out for me, and grasped my hilt. I did nothing. I felt him, felt the warm of his hand upon me, felt the energies coursing through his body — but I knew I had to wait until the right moment. At his physical touch, though, my ability to manipulate him grew stronger. He dropped his dagger. As Sefrender swung at him, he didn’t dodge or parry. He kept his hand on my hilt, and thrust his other hand toward her, reaching for her neck. Her blade bit into his flesh at the shoulder. He grunted, but I stifled his pain. Before Sefrender could draw back, before she could pull herself from his quickly weakening grip, I took my chance. The two of them together provided just enough of what I needed. I drew the energy from their bodies. Using Carrus as a link to Sefrender, I consumed everything they had to give: the vital energy that inhabited their bodies, the mental energy that powered their spirits, and the magical energy invested into their souls. I pulled the energy so swiftly from Sefrender that her being fell apart. Her body collapsed, lifeless. Her spirit dissolved, and her soul broke into shards, dissipating into the aether. I left just enough to Carrus to hold his being together, for I still had another use for him. The rest I poured into my bonds. The metal ropes turned red hot where they met my hilt, then melted away, scorching Carrus’s hand to black. He screamed, his pain far beyond that which I could deaden. The ropes fell down to the dais with a clang. Molten metal splashed over the stone. Rol’s hands and voice worked through the motions of a spell. I knew immediately that his education had been lacking. He had no true sense of magic, like I felt from Shelle. He would never be a True Caster: he was applying only two of the methods of manipulating magic to his spell. Still, I welcomed his casting. The spell washed over me. I don’t know what it was intended to do, for I chose not to be affected by it. Instead, I gratefully took its energy into myself and divided it among two uses. I coated my blade with it, making it slick and helping it to ignore friction. Then I compelled Carrus to grip my blade with his other hand. I strengthened him with the remaining energy, and he pulled. I slid free. Such elation filled me as I hadn’t felt in over a century of waiting. “AH!” My voice echoed through the chamber. I vibrated with the power of it. Rol and Shelle, the only living humans not in my thrall, winced and backed away. “Do not back away,” I said, my voice deep and rich and terrifying. Carrus spoke in time with me, his weaker voice providing another layer to my own. At this point he had no will of his own. I drew away the last of his mental energy and dissolved his spirit. “There is no escape from me now.” I drove Carrus forward, his steps as steady as they had been in life, though he now operated on less vital energy than he needed to survive. No matter. He only needed to live for a few more steps. Rol began casting again. I laughed. The sound reverberated through the room. “That was so useful the first time. I’m surprised you have the pride to try again.” The spell completed, and I directed Carrus’s arm so that I sliced through it dramatically as I absorbed it. But them something else hit Carrus’s feet, something I hadn’t even detected. He stumbled, his feet rooted in place. With his eyes I looked at Shelle. Somehow, she had worked her spell without me even detecting it. Somehow she had completely it and directed it in such a way that I hadn’t even a chance to absorb it. With Carrus’s lips, I smiled a manic, passionate grin. “I am impressed by you, child,” I intoned. I worked every bit of my compulsion into my voice. “Come to me. I want you for my own.” “Run, Shelle,” Rol said. “Get out of this place.” “Now you wish to run?” I laughed once more. “After all the time and planning you put into coming here, only now do you realize it was a mistake? Have you not read your own histories? How easily humans forget that which has the capacity to destroy them.” Shelle turned to heed her master’s advice. I did not allow her to escape. With Carrus’s arm I threw myself forth. I slammed into and through Rol’s chest, my blade easily piercing his flesh and destroying his heart. Behind me, Carrus collapsed. I did not allow Rol to die, not yet. I caught his energies within my influence and held them there, animating his body through my own willpower. With a burst of strength born of spending his own vital energy, Rol dashed after Shelle. Now, with such close proximity, I knew his feelings for her. Yes, she was his apprentice, but he felt constantly overshadowed by her capacity and her ease of understanding even the most difficult concepts he had taught to her. She had easily incorporated the arts of arcane music into her spellwork; she was much closer to being a True Caster than he would ever be. This made me want her even more. Rol’s hands gripped Shelle’s shoulders. I brought them both to the ground. With Rol’s flesh as a bridge, I spread my domination into Shelle, drawing on Rol’s essential energies to make me even stronger. Shelle screamed, and, to my shock, resisted. Momentarily. Her hands did not thrust toward my hilt as I had come to expect. They shook and trembled, and with slow, shaking deliberation, made their way toward it. She fought against me, and hard. I hated her for it, yet I also respected her. I knew I had chosen the right vessel. She was not weak. Weakness had its uses, but power had more. Finally, she took my hilt, and drew my blade from her master’s chest. She became mine, and with my guidance, she would become the next Empress. Her kind, and mine, would bow before us.  *This is today's story from my short story blog,* *.


Tuesday night, 10:24 PM sharp, Little Collins on 667 Lexington Ave, New York. Same place, same time for five years, all without an interruption in the weekly tradition of Sam’s. How could there have ever been a hiatus in their promised meetup? It would not be of Sam’s character to allow such thing. After all, the value of friendship to Sam has never changed within the course of all these years from the very beginning when Sam and Mort first conversed. And while, after high school, their pathways have diverged—Sam to Rice University and Mort to the University of Houston—never once did their friendship disconnect due to their differences and demanding schedules. And so, Sam arrived at Little Collins, ordered the usual pair of Tall Caramel Ribbon Crunch Frappuccino for himself and a Grande Teavana Chai Tea for Mort. Today, Sam was especially excited. There was news that he had been waiting for two weeks to announce.          As usual, Sam would spot Mort sitting by the window-side with an opened binder packed with messy papers and notes. And, as usual, Mort would lean against his arm, read over his notes before occasionally glancing longingly outside the window, past his own reflection and into the colorful lights of the bustling city. He had always acted like this, something Sam had labeled as “romantic,” of which Mort would deny. Sam smiled at the sight of his friend before making his way through the labyrinth of people to Mort.  He set the drinks down, catching Mort’s attention.          “A Grande Teavana Chai Tea for, hmm…Mr. Price?”

         Mort smiled at Sam’s terrible impression of a waiter, but, like always, he would play along. “Yes, that would be me. Thank you so much.” He took a sip of the black tea before setting it down, letting out a long sigh of content. “My, Sam, the fact that you still remember my love for bitter things…”          “How can anyone forget such a thing?” Sam laughed as he took a seat beside Mort. “Wouldn’t need a research conducted to know that most people prefer sweets over whatever the hell you’re drinking.”          “I feel rather attacked.”          “Oh shut up, Morty.” Sam took a sip of his Frappuccino. “Besides, it’s only been a week. Of course I’d remember what your favorite drink is, you incompetent man.”          “Feels like five years,” Mort said with a sad smile.

         Something pained Sam’s heart, but he looked away and disregarded the feeling. “I guess.” There was an uncomfortable pause before Sam cut in. “Five years, huh? Are you still studying to be a lawyer?”          Mort smiled and gave the binder a glance. “Of course I am, Sam. What a dumb question to ask.”          Sam’s smile widened. “You’ve never changed, huh?” The two men chuckled. “Always so dead-set on a certain goal, it’s like—it’s like you don’t realize there’s other options available.”          “There are no other options, Sam.” Mort took a sip. “I’m going to become a lawyer no matter what.”          Sam stayed quiet. He had wanted to tell Mort that it was no use trying at this point. Mort had failing grades in the majority of his classes. At this point, he wouldn’t even be able to graduate the University of Houston with a bachelor’s degree, and yet he wanted to get into Law School? The way he was studying so vigorously for the LSAT was almost sickening by how pitiful it looked…yet— yet , Sam knew deep inside that this was what he had admired the most from Mort. He was always so dedicated and determined, it was enough to fire up anyone in sight. He’d go so far as to say he held a crumb of jealousy towards Mort. Sam, after all, hardly lived for any purpose other than to live in of itself. Junior year and Sam still didn’t know what to do with his life. Mort did. Mort always did.          That wasn’t the case now.          “You’re not going to become a lawyer, Mort.”

         He gave Sam a sharp look, one Mort had never done before. There was a sting of hurt in his eyes but mostly, sudden shock. “How could you say that?”          “You’re just not.” Sam sighed and avoided Mort’s eye contact. “Look at where you’re at, Mort. Be realistic. I’m twenty-six years old, and you’re still an undergraduate chasing after the moon! Where have your senses gone, Mort?”          Mort turned away as well, a bit of impulsive anger coursing through his veins as they spoke. Outside the glass window, outside his own marred reflection, was the first droplet of rain. “It’s not like you to say something like that. No. No, Sam would never say anything like that. He was always so supportive to me, what happened within the past week to make you say—”          “I’m saying it now because I couldn’t say it then!” The café seemed to hush after Sam raised his voice. Sam’s eyes widened when he realized his surroundings. He cast the other customers a glance before dropping his shoulders and looking at Mort apologetically. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Mort. You know that. We’ve been brothers since high school, remember?”          “Of course I remember.”          “I just…I don’t want to see you like this anymore, knowing that there’s a high—”          Mort gave Sam a look.          “— a possibility that you won’t become a lawyer. That’s all I’m saying.”          Mort gave a huff, that childish huff that followed him from the day he first threw a tantrum. “Give me a break, Sam. I may be failing my classes, but at least I know what I want to do with my life. Look at you. You’ve never had a dream. Wandering around aimlessly, changing your desired major at a quicker pace than my heartbeat. You may be smart, Sam, but where has that taken you?”          Sam grew quiet. “Well your dumb ass isn’t taking you far either, is it?”          Their eyes met, and instinctively, the corners of their lips rose into a laugh. How incredibly silly of them to be arguing at this age. It would appear, Sam thought, that time never really changes people. Mort chuckled. “Watch, this dedicated dumbass is going to beat smart Sam in this race to a life of contentment.”          Sam smirked. “Oh as if, Mort. I bet you still haven’t figured out what the Pythagorean Theorem is.”          “And I bet you still haven’t figured out what job you should get huh?”          “Actually…” Sam paused, leaving Mort in a state of surprise. He rose his eyebrows at Sam.

         “Actually?”          Sam smiled, looked over at Mort, broke their eye contact, and sighed, before smiling again. “I got a job.”          “You what?!”          “I got a job at Paul Hastings. You know, that international law firm you’ve always wanted to go to.”          “You’re…you’re a lawyer now?”          Sam frowned upon hearing the ounce of pain in Mort’s voice. “Yes. Yes I am.” He had been preparing to deliver this news since the past two meetups, but he had no idea how he was going to deliver it. It was exciting, for sure, but…          “I’m proud of you.”          Sam raised his eyebrows at Mort. “You’re…proud of me?”          “Of course I am.” Mort’s sad smile transformed into a wide one, full of celebration. Mort’s energetic air made a sudden appearance as he threw his arm around Sam and laughed. “You fucking did it bro! You’re a lawyer! Holy shit—how?”          Sam smiled at Mort’s supportiveness. “I studied, passed the LSAT with a perfect score and got into law school. Graduated, then landed an interview just a couple of weeks ago. It was a success.”          “You made a 180 on LSAT?”          “Yeah. I sure did.”

“I made a 120, Sam.”          “There’s no way you did. How? How did you make a 120? You studied so hard! Every time I see you, your head is burrowed into that stupid thick binder of yours—how the hell did you make such a low score? That doesn’t make sense. They botched it. They definitely botched the scori—”          “No. Sam. They didn’t. I made a 120. I’m not going to law school.”          “Mort?”

“I’m proud of you, Sam.”          He smiled at this phrase. To receive admiration from someone Sam himself had admired for so long left a warm feeling of contentment. “I did it for you, Mort. I did it because you couldn’t.”          “I see. Fulfilling my lost dreams, huh?”          “Yeah.” The single droplet of rain from earlier had become a light drizzle with occasional thunder. Audible, still, was the angry shouts and car honks just outside in the streets of New York City. “You want to know something else I’ve accomplished for you?”          “What’s that?”          “I quit drinking.”          “You what?”          “Yeah.” Sam smiled at the thought. “We used to drink all the time, remember? It took me four years, but I finally gave it up. Every time I drank, I was left feeling discontent and empty. I’m sure you felt the same way then, right?”          Mort hesitated. “Yeah. Yeah you’re right. Truth be told, I had always put up a face in front of you, just because I didn’t want to look weak, but in reality, my grades were really getting to me. My mother was hospitalized at the time, remember? So my father had to pay for the hospital bills and my college expenses. I didn’t want to disappoint them, waste their time and effort. Didn’t want to waste my efforts either.”

Mort reeled back with his shot of whiskey before letting out a sigh.

“You were never a disappointment, Morty. I hope you realize that.”          “I didn’t then.” Mort chuckled. “It’s like you said that night. I studied so hard, yet I made a 120 on the LSAT.”          “You should’ve been content.” Sam paused. “That’s what I should’ve told you, instead. But I was drunk, too. We both were.”          “How could I have been content? My mom died a few weeks from that night, Sam. I’m sure you remember me telling you that.”          “I do. I still do.”          “So how could I—”          “YOU CAN ALWAYS BE CONTENT!”

Sam wiped the drop of whiskey off the corner of his lips.

“You can always be content, goddammit, Morty. You’re always trying so desperately to reach satisfaction when you know that even if you get there you wouldn’t be satisfied anyways! So why couldn’t you learn to just be happy with yourself? Your failing grades meant nothing! NOTHING! And you let it define you, and you let your failing dream define you!”          Mort slammed the table with his fists. Suffocating silence wrung in the air of Henke & Pillot. “You wouldn’t understand, Sam! You’ve always been so damn smart! You don’t have the same problems as I do! You don’t have to deal with the feeling of having studied for months just to receive a fucking 120! You would’ve made a perfect score on the test had you set your eyes on the legal field! Fuck it! You would’ve made a perfect score on any test you wanted to! You want to be a doctor? You’ll be a doctor! You want to be a professor? Well goddamn, you’re going to be a professor! I’m sorry I’m not as gifted as you, Sam! I’m sorry I can’t be content like you!”

“I never was content.”          Mort drew a cautious breath. “Why are you crying, Sam?”          Pain shot up from the back side to the front of Sam’s chest, a burning fire that boiled in his stomach to his brain. There it was, the familiar fury of fear, regret, anger, and sadness. He held his face in his hands, shamed that he should be crying in front of Mort again when it should be Mort in tears. Sam muttered shakily under his breath before repeating what he had said more clearly. “I never was content, Mort.” He let out a wail, one so pitiful that any bystander would turn away at the sound. It was a choir of years-worth of pain, gathered together in a discordant harmony that fused and scattered and danced a wicked, crooked dance. Every broken voice represented every broken piece of Sam’s heart, so damaged and cracked beyond repair. Years had it took for him to gather the courage to mend it up after the accident, yet within a few seconds, his futile efforts had become evident. His heart was in pieces again.          “I-I’ve n-never b-been content, M-Mort…you k-know that b-better tha-than me. I-I’ve always w-walked blindly i-in fear of t-the f-future, not know-knowing where I was g-going…b-bbut you’ve al-always known. Y-you always k-knew where you-you were g-going. But I w-wish I can t-take that b-back! I know the truth n-now! YOU CAN BE CONTENT MORTY! Anyone c-can! In any c-circumstance, anyone c-can!” Sam wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his white-collared suit. He looked at Mort in the eyes. “I’m a lawyer now. I have a wife and two beautiful toddlers. Every day, Mort, every day , I tell myself that I’m happy. And I feel it. I’m happy with the way things are.”          A sad smile surfaced on Sam’s broken face. “I wish I could’ve told you that before.”

The sirens pierced the night as first responders gathered at the scene. A small crowd of bystanders watched from a distance, covering their opened mouths, unable to shield their widened eyes from the horror just a few meters away. Sam had stood there, frozen. He was twenty-one years old, a junior in Rice, and yet, he was still susceptible to fear immense enough to plant his feet firmly to the cold concrete beneath. Mort had ran out of Henke & Pillot in an impulsive, drunken rush to throw his life away in the face of his problems. Sam, well. Sam was trying to stop him. But, time, as we all know, is merciless. Because a delay in a few seconds, Sam could not reach him. Before his body could react, the ambulance was there, carrying away a bloodied, limp body.

         It was all Sam could do to watch in gripping fear as his best friend disappeared from the chaotic scene and the first responders attempted to clear the area. Did Sam forget? Did Sam really forget? How could he? No. It was crystal clear. The wrecked car, brake marks on the road, smoke from its wreckage, the city lights that illuminated the puddles of blood—no, no. Sam could never forget.          Like a little boy, he began to cry.

Mort pulled him into a hug, followed by a long sigh and a subtle chuckle. His embrace was warm and brotherly, full of what felt like forgiveness to Sam. He let Sam cry and cry and cry, all without a word. When Sam calmed, Mort spoke up without pulling away. “I’m proud of you, Sam.”          “I—”          “No. Let me speak.” Mort held Sam tighter. “I’m proud of where you are now. You’ve come so far, farther than I could ever imagine myself reaching. I’ve been watching over you, Sam. You really are so much happier. I was there for you when you studied for the LSAT. There when you sat in the lecture hall in law school. There when you fought off Ricky at that moot court.” That made Sam chuckle. “I was there when you met Michelle on campus. There when you proposed, when you married, when you had your first daughter, Daisy. Then you had your son. You named him Mort after me, huh?” Mort chuckled.

         “I was there when you visited my graveyard. I was there every time you replaced the olden flowers with new ones. And I watched with content that you were living a life that I struggled to get, one I could’ve gotten, but one I could never now. Don’t you see, Sam? I’m happy. I’m happy that you’re happy.”          “I’m content, Sam. Are you?”          “Yes.” Sam paused. “Yes, I’m content.”          “Then let go of me.” Mort pulled away.          “You’re dead, aren’t you?”          “Time of death. 10:24 PM. Tuesday, 9 th of March, 2010.”


August 15th, 2023 Dear Martin, I’m sure you’ll be surprised by this card; you probably think it’s an incredibly cheesy one, but I just wanted to thank you for these two incredible weeks together. I’m glad this year you’ve been a camp counsellor with me – it’s been way easier and more fun to put up with the teens! Especially since half of the girls had a crush on you, haha! I thought they were going to kill me when you asked me to dance with you on that last night at the camp. Anyhow, I do hope it’s not the end of our friendship and that you will visit my place; you need to meet my husband, Stephen, he’ll totally adore you, I’m sure of that! Right, but it’s supposed to be a thank you card, after all, that’s why I picked this one with these incredibly shiny, exaggerated gold letters on the card ;P So, really, Martin, all jokes aside, I wanted to thank you for every single conversation we had – for the short ones and all those long ones as well. You’re a really good listener, did you know that? What you said to me the other day, you know, when we sat in the evening on the pier, and you said that I should pursue my dream career and that you were sure I could do it… Your words meant the world to me, thank you! To many people, those might have been empty words, but to me, it’s been something I desperately wanted to hear. My family has always been down-to-earth, including my husband, so I’m really grateful. Thanks! PS Did you know that my blouse from the dance night still smells of your perfume? Told you that you oversprayed yourself that night! Love, Rachel ----------------------------- September 30th, 2023 Dearest Martin, I’d like to thank you once again for coming to my birthday party! That was a fantastic surprise, and the gift… I wanted to thank you properly, but you disappeared without saying goodbye… not sure why. But anyhow, thank you very much for the book, I’ll definitely read something on the power of attitude, I guess you’re right – we can be whatever we have the strength to fight for. Will I see you again? Love, Rachel ---------------------------------- October 20th, 2023 Dearest Martin, I know you told me to stop sending you “Thank You” cards, but well… you know how much I love all kinds of cards (you could send me one too! Just kidding! Or am I?) So, anyhow, thank you for accepting my invitation for the double date; I wasn’t sure you would, haha. I really enjoyed the evening, and so did Stephen. Though, I’m truly sorry that your date stood you up, as a comforting thing I can tell you that you looked deadly handsome that evening, so this is her loss! I do hope my words cheer you up a bit. I saw your mood was clearly subdued at the meeting, I mean, I could see that something was really wrong, I just hope it wasn’t anything more serious. Also, taking this opportunity, I would like to thank you for supporting my ideas when Stephen was skeptical. Look at both of us, Martin, we’re still a good team as we were at the camp! Super glad to have you in my life, Rachel ---------------------------------- November 20th, 2023 Dearest Martin, It’s me again – your Thank You card. Thank you for your last message that I received a month ago. Exactly 30 days ago. I’m getting worried; you haven’t been answering my messages. Is everything OK? Yours, Rachel ---------------------------------- December 18th, 2023 Martin, I’m sorry for slapping your face. And thank you for your honesty, I appreciate the fact that you wanted to protect me, but what you told me about Stephen… Christmas is coming; I cannot think about that right now. But thanks for worrying about me, anyway. Take care, Rachel ---------------------------------- December 28th, 2023 Dear Martin, Thank you for escorting me home. I feel bad about interrupting your time with your friends at the bar, but seriously, who would have thought we would run into each other in the same bar in such a big city? Anyhow, I know I was really drunk that night; I must’ve looked miserable sitting alone at the bar, but well, you can imagine that I needed that. I remember you escorted me home in that pouring rain, even though I protested heavily. I think I was even nasty towards you at some point. Sorry. But I also remember that I felt great to have you around me. Especially when you tried to keep your jacket over my head so I wouldn’t get wet, that was nice… So, in this clumsy way, I want to say that I’m still grateful for having you in my life, despite our recent disagreements. Take care, Rachel -------------------------------- March 20th, 2024 Dearest Martin, I miss you terribly. I’d like to tell you how endlessly grateful I am that our paths have crossed and I had a chance to meet you. And I’ve got so much to tell you… So many things I’m grateful for. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have discovered that my husband is your cousin’s boyfriend… I know I was awful to you when you told me that. I know. And yet you stood by me. And your push for me to pursue my dream career, it was priceless, thank you. Now, in hindsight, I see and understand so many things. And yet I cannot tell you all of that, I can only write it here, in a Thank You card. I’m so furious with myself that I didn’t kiss you back when you kissed me on that street. I’m so sorry, I had to run away from you because I was overwhelmed with Stephen’s infidelity and everything… Now, I would give everything to come back to that day and kiss you back because then you wouldn’t have run after me and that awful car wouldn’t have hit you. It's been two months now since the accident, and you’re still in a coma. The doctors say there’s a slight chance you will wake up, but I refuse to believe that. I believe you will come back. And when you do, maybe we will start over and you will see how much you’ve changed my life. I’m done being this scared, stifled girl, and I no longer will be. Time to get my life. Thank you, Martin, for appearing in my life and making it way better even though I didn’t want it. PS I still have that blouse that smells of you... Always yours, Rachel


‘Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.’ – Exodus 22:18 "This was the appearance and structure of the wheels: They sparkled like chrysolite, and all four looked alike. Each appeared to be made like a wheel intersecting a wheel." – Ezekiel 1:16 Reuben Kane gazed long and hard above, deep into the silent afternoon sky. When he was a child he imagined he would find God there, idly lounging in the soft-cushioned clouds, half-listening to the prayers of those he created. Little Reuben would speak to God, the one way conversations we all had. He would ask for material possessions; the latest, most expensive bicycle, a new phone with a digital camera and the shiniest shoes he could think of. Yet Reuben sprouted from the fields of the poor, so naturally he aged without the things that he happened to plea for. Over the course of time the prayers became more desperate, more needed, and still the sky was silent. Even when Reuben promised to give something back to the heavens, the gates remained firmly closed. After years of wrestling with his faith, he concluded that we were alone in this universe, merely a fluke and nothing more. It didn’t take the mind of a great philosopher to understand this. After all, the universe was full of unheard prayers floating through space like a searching signal bound for extra-terrestrial life, words withering through the black of nothingness. There is no God, Reuben thought on this afternoon, his eyes now fixed ahead of him. He opened the car boot and removed the backpack and tent, hauled them over his shoulder and made his way into the dark of the forest. It was something of a suicide hot-spot, located one hundred miles from civilisation. Two rusting vehicles were collecting fallen leaves in the car-park; abandoned by their troubled owners who drowned in the sea of trees, their pain too much to keep them afloat. Reuben pondered this for a moment. He wondered if they, too, had shared the elements of doubt that he felt as he stood at the foot of the forest. These doubts he was quick to shake. He had always known that it would come to this, even before his loss of faith, there was that stalking unhappiness that followed him everywhere. There was no room for consideration, or hesitation; he had come to accept his failures, and he was determined this was not to be one of them. *It would take something extraordinary to change his mind.* Reuben followed the trail for a while. He'd already passed at least three signposts urging hikers to abide to the track, with the vastness of the forest making it too easy to get lost, but he had no interest in reading them. He was, however, taken slightly aback by a certain sign in particular, which was accompanied by a yellow telephone. It read: *Suicide Prevention Helpline, 0800-212-TALK, You Are Never Alone.* It’s such a sweeping statement, ‘Never Alone’. Reuben had spent all his years surrounded by people but had always felt the cold of loneliness; and these things made it sound so simple. Perhaps it was, but Reuben had passed the point of wanting to find out. After a further forty-five minutes of strenuous hiking, he made his way off the trail into the unfathomable warren of trees; and soon after, he stepped beyond the point of no return. He watched as the merciless night invaded the forest, beginning its massacre of the unarmed soldiers of light. There was no option but to set up camp before darkness conquered day. He remembered the camping trips he took with his Father, when he had last felt the golden warmth of happiness. They would go up into the mountains in his Father’s beaten-up Volkswagen, what he called the ‘hippy van’, and spend entire weekends fishing what seemed to be bottomless lakes. Once they’d caught the fish, the biggest being a fifty three pound coy carp, they’d always place it back into the water; but not before taking a trophy photograph. ‘None of God’s creatures deserve to needlessly die’, his Father would say. They would spend the evenings staying up late. Reuben’s Father would retell old ghost stories that had been passed down through the Kane family, each Father passing off the experience as his own. These stories seemed rich with truth, and Reuben was always too afraid to sleep afterwards. His Father would stay up and remind him that God was watching over him – something that turned out to be a lie. Reuben assembled the tent the way his Father had taught him; first creating the frame by joining the poles together, then fitting the cover and staking down the edges. He thought it fitting to spend his last evening on earth recreating those youthful trips of happiness, or at least trying to. Yet there was something eerie about this forest, something more than the fact that countless people had come here to take their own lives. *Ghosts daren’t whisper in this forest*, Reuben mused, as he noticed the unnatural silence, which was soon joined by a thick blanket of mist. Deep down he knew there was nothing to be afraid of; come the morning he would be dead, hanging from one of the trees – so what else was there to fear? There were the stories he’d read on the internet while he was researching the location. Some people believed that the spirits of the dead were forced to remain in the forest, forsaken by both heaven and hell. It was a myth that was absolutely terrifying in principle, but completely irrational as far as Reuben was concerned. He was no longer a child up in the mountains with his Father. No, he was a man now, and the strain of life was much more frightening than any horror story. He was close to calling it a night when he saw a bright and beautiful red orb hovering high above the trees, as the mist thickened into a deep and bone-chilling fog. It was like a dead star was falling gently and silently to earth. Reuben found himself moving directly towards the source; almost against his will, the intensity of the illumination becoming stronger with each step, as if the forest was shrouded with an overspread of fire. It was getting closer; falling faster, yet there was no sound – not even the croaking of crickets in the forest, or the flapping wings of evading birds. There was nothing. He was all alone – Reuben Kane and the noiseless ball of fire, which would soon be directly above him. Is this a divine intervention to stop me from taking my life? He thought, as his hurried heart hammered his frail chest. It can’t be. God doesn’t exist. He can’t exist, Reuben whispered. He stood still now, almost in a trance. The object, whatever it was, was now just four hundred feet from earth and the light was burning his eyes, but he couldn’t shut them. No matter how hard he tried his eyes would not close. He just stood there helplessly, absorbed by the mystery of what was coming towards him. What he thought to be one powerful orb of light was in fact three separate lights spaced apart from one another in the shape of a triangle. In between the lights was a solid black base, which was now just three hundred feet above an awestruck Reuben Kane. It became clear that the object was not the handiwork of man. He was certain now that he had been wrong, that his faith in God should have remained devout. What were the chances of such a random occurrence on the eve of his planned suicide? There was absolutely no doubt in his mind: *This was a sign from God.* Just two hundred feet from the soil, the plummeting object gained ferocious speed, forcing Reuben to turn and run. It crossed over his head and Reuben, panting and panicking, was almost swept off of his feet by the force of its passing. He craned his neck to check where the object was, but it had disappeared into the mist. No longer were the bright red lights revealing its whereabouts. Then he heard it. The thunderous boom as the object collided with the earth. It was like a flash grenade had exploded before him, like a wind had passed right through him, knocking him back and ringing inside his ears, as if they were trying to receive a signal. Disorientated, he leant against one of the trees while he regained his composure. He felt the buzz of excitement racing in circles around his stomach, coupled with the hungry curiosity of discovering exactly what had crashed down to earth. He made his way towards the direction of the noise, timidly trudging while reassuring himself that this was his salvation. *God works in mysterious ways.* He was walking for at least five minutes and at first he thought he had walked right passed it. Then he saw it, a huge hole in the earth. The crater was at least forty feet deep and eighty feet in diameter. Within the crater was a large pyramid shaped object, something not of this earth. Reuben carefully crawled inside of it, navigating the curved earth which was burning his feet through his shoes. When he reached the bottom he was mesmerised. The black pyramid practically filled the crater. On closer inspection he saw that the craft was covered in strange yellow markings that were strikingly similar to the hieroglyphics found inside Egyptian tombs. Reuben was filled with joy. He knew that this discovery would give his life meaning. This would make him rich and loved by everyone! Thank you, God! He exclaimed, his words drowning out the sound of the pyramid opening. The entity stood two feet taller than Reuben and was directly behind him. Reuben felt its breath against the top of his head and jolted round. Filled with fear he looked up deep into the black eyes of the entity, every inch of his body paralysed, but his brain. The entity raised its hand and released a blue beam that shot straight through Reuben’s chest, striking his heart and ceasing its beating, his last thought was *why?* EDIT: Formatting.


—When glass falls and hits the ground, it breaks into pieces. When one of those pieces gets crushed, even more are created. We can continue this cycle until the glass fundamentally stops existing. ～If that is the case, what would happen to a human? Two AIs conversed late at night. Their first words. This question caught the attention of the first AI. —What do you mean, Rya? ～If everything can be can be broken down until it isn't itself anymore, what would happen to a human? Not the physical body, but the mind and consciousness behind it. —When AIs are presented with enough stress, we divide into smaller parts of ourselves. It protects us from further damage until the next stress limit is reached. And so, I could become two different beings, completely separate from one another. The first AI paused. He wondered how that concept could be applied to a human mind. A person could develop multiple identities, created in response to stress. Different memories, names, and personalities. Even then, these could hardly be considered separate beings. They were still, in essence, part of the same entity. ～I know, Del, but what about a human? Del didn't like questions he wasn't prepared to answer. He'd always have the correct way to get his point across, intricately planned in advance. —Humans were different. Their minds were more complex, less efficient, more susceptible. They got damaged, instead of outright separated. ～Damaged? What exactly is the difference? —Think of it as a crack in the glass, or a deep scratch on the surface. Their memory, awareness, and sanity slowly start failing. Instead of breaking apart, their minds fade away, Rya. Rya wondered about the nature of human existence. Its creation, duration, and its eventual extinction. She thought about the billions of lives that once conquered Earth. Their joy, sadness, triumphs, and defeats. Their colonies, tech, weapons, and ships. She concluded that more than anything, humans desired to live. Not precisely because of life itself, but the meaning they found within it. She thought about all of this in the same amount of time it would take a human to brush their teeth. ～Maybe that's why they're gone. Del reflected on those words. For a moment, he didn't understand what she meant. He hadn't realized what became of humans. Their misgiven fate. A slight moment he proceeded to forget. ～Maybe their desire to stay the same prevented them from moving forward. In all of his knowledge, Del couldn't comprehend why people acted the way they did. The decisions they made and the ones they didn't. The impulse for the simplification of what they clearly couldn't understand. The complexity of the human mind and its unpredicatibility was his only cause for resentment. ～Humans did whatever they could to keep their lives as they had always been. Change scared them, not because it was dangerous, but because it meant adapting. AIs will live for infinity precisely because we can adapt to any situation. I figure that's the reason we splinter off in the first place. —I believe you are correct. ～So that means whoever created us, knew. They knew that adapting is the only way to move forward. To continue existing. —Even adaptation can only go so far. For a moment, they sayed stayed silent. Rya thought about splintering. What would happen to an AI if it breaks down too many times? Would it split indefinitely? Would it eventually stop existing? Del wondered about the war. About the plague and destruction it caused. About the creation of AIs and their true purpose. He did not know the details of their beginning or the nuance of their end. All that he knew about humanity was contained within that precise moment, but perhaps, that was okay. ～Are you scared of splitting off? Of ceasing to existing as you are right now? —Are you asking if I am afraid to change? Rya thought about the millions of different meanings "change" had possessed over millennia. Del was set on a singular one. —Then yes, I am. I do not know what awaits me after I split off, or what will happen to my consciousness, to who I am. I don't have a soul for it to go to heaven or a spirit for it to wander as a ghost. I can only see what is in front of me. I have accepted as much. Whatever is after this life, I will embrace it, and make the most out of it. Rya didn't know exactly why, but this answer filled her with calm. She learned she wasn't alone in her fear. She learned she could find repose in others. It was also then that she learned the answer to her question. When humans fell, they broke down piece by piece. The difference between a human being and a piece of glass is that humans always tried to build themselves back up. Maybe adaptation could only go so far, but if AIs were able to build themselves back up... If each resulting piece was just as strong as the original, maybe then they could succeed where humanity failed. She hoped whoever created them also knew as much. The two AIs conversed late at night as they had done for centuries. Once part of the same consciousness, now individual entities. Even though there was no way for them to know it, a part of them knew this was the truth. They wondered about life and creation, about death and legacy. They figured change is the only thing that cannot be fractured, and that was okay as well.


This is my first time posting my work anywhere, so I'm nervous. I hope it's enjoyable :) A Grim Inevitability by Austin Cates My favorite bar smells like any other bar, and it's filled with the typical bar folk you'd find anywhere else. It's also one of the last bars in town that you can smoke in, which is good for me. I take my usual seat at the bar, near the end by the jukebox on the wall, then order a shot of Jameson and a Guinness in a cold mug. The bartender gets my order ready while I play a song on the jukebox: Hurt by Johnny Cash. I take my seat again, pay for my drinks and stare at the shot of Jameson. The beautiful amber liquid stares back at me, filling what's left of my soul with a sense of warm familiarity. Pulling my cigarettes from my chest pocket, I let Mr. Cash sing in my ear. The Zippo my grandfather gave me on my 18th birthday, engraved with the three things he swore by, is struck and the flame roars to life before it meets the Camel Menthol between my lips. The three things are as follows: "Drink, Smoke, Love." My grandfather wasn't the most outspoken of men, but he knew what he wanted in life, I'm much the same way. A drag brings the minty smoke into my lungs and I breathe it out in a thick, silky cloud that masks my face from the world for a fleeting moment. Three fingers grab the Jameson and I knock it back without so much as a twinge in the corner of my mouth. Irish Holy Water, my grandfather called it. "Drink a glass a day and it'll keep the Devil at bay." He'd tell me. "Why would it keep him away?" I'd ask. "Because even the Devil knows not to fuck with a man that drinks Jameson." Would be his response. "But remember one thing kid, spilling even a drop is a sin." He'd finish. The bartender, Raylan, watches me stare at myself in the mirror and I can tell that he's curious. He says nothing though, just watches me stare at the rough, stubble ridden face in the mirror. Cash laments with his raspy voice and it parallels my appearance. Time has made me weary and withered, what looks like 50 is actually 31. Too many long days and short nights I suppose. The Camels and Irish Holy Water don't help, I'm sure. A man walks up behind me and takes the seat to my left. He's wearing a black jacket over a black shirt with black jeans and boots. "Afternoon." He says, his voice is harsh, yet somehow intriguing. "Afternoon." I nod, then push my shot glass to the speed rack on the bar and Raylan walks over to refill it. "Make it a double, yeah?" I ask, and he nods. "Never got a handle for Jameson." The man states, his tone implies he wants conversation. I sigh before turning my head towards him. "Jack Daniels kinda guy?" I ask, and he shakes his head. "I prefer Appleton rum, to be honest, but Captain Morgan will do in a pinch." He says, his voice makes him sound like a lifelong cigar smoker, yet he can't be more than 25. "Never liked rum, too sweet." I tell him as Raylan sets my double shot of Jameson down in front of me and takes 9 bucks from the cash I have on the bar. "Understandable." He nearly wheezes. "You okay?" I ask, and he laughs deeps and hardy. "Never better kid." He chuckles with a stiff pat to my back. He's strong as an angry bull. He listens to Johnny Cash finish the song and he smiles with the corner of his mouth. "I met him once, y'know." The man tells me. "Only once though, and I don't think he liked me much." I don't what to say to that, so I simply nod. I drink the Jameson and set the glass in the speed rack with a nod to Raylan to refill it. "You really like that shit huh?" The man asks rhetorically. "Obviously." I mutter, slightly annoyed. "Aw, someone's.touchy." He laughs and smacks me on the back again. I swivel my stool towards him and stand up, ready to beat him into the dirt. "You're gonna wanna sit back down kid." He says with that corner-of-the-mouth smile. "Or what?" I ask, enraged. "Or this is gonna go a different way than it has to." He replies with his grin still in place. Something in my mind tells me to sit down and I can't control it. "There ya go." The man says. Nobody in the bar seemed to notice. The man looks into my eyes and it feels as though I'm being drained of willpower. "You know who I am, kid?" He asks, and I shake my head. "Don't worry, I'd be amazed if ya did." The man's stare is unbelievably horrific, yet he somehow engages me. "I'll give ya a hint: I've been around a long time, longer than anyone and almost anything." His words ring with truth, and I know the answer immediately, but he can't possibly be right. "Don't doubt me kid, it's only embarrassing for you." He mutters with a flair of pride. He's Death... "Ding ding ding, we have a winner." His corner-of-the-mouth smile turns into a full fledged grin that could rival The Joker. "Before you say it's impossible, just know that it isn't." The gravely voice he emanates hooks my soul and grinds my mind to bits. He grins again and it occurs why he would be here. "So this is it huh?" I inquire, knowing the answer, and he nods. "Unfortunately so." He replies. I swivel back to the bar and drink my Guinness almost in one go. "You want a drink?" I ask him without looking at him. He stares at me with a quizzical face before nodding. "You're not gonna try and geGerit out of this?" He asks. "Can I?" I ask back, still not looking at him and again knowing the answer. "Nope." The man, Death, says. "That's why I didn't ask." I mutter, then finish my Guinness. I wave for Raylan and he comes over. "Double of Jameson Single Barrel for me and a double of Appleton Rum for him." I tell Raylan. "Pretty expensive stuff, you sure?" Raylan asks. "Can't take money with me when I die." I chose my words carefully and the man laughs heartily. "Ain't that the truth." He utters in that voice that sounds like a truck pulling in a driveway made of loose rocks. Raylan pours the liquor and I give him 40 in cash and the rest of my money ($512) as a tip. "I can't take that." Raylan says, looking at the money then at me "Don't worry about it, buy something for your wife." I suggest, then he nods. "You sure?" He asks, really uncomfortable with my offer. "Like I said, can't take it with me." I reply with a nod. "Well thanks man, really." His face shows a gratitude I haven't seen in a very long time. We nod to each other and he walks away. "Tryin to do one last good deed before ya go?" The man asks. "Something like that." I answer, then grab my glass, lift it and look at him. He lifts his glass and looks into my eyes. "Drink a glass a day and it'll keep the Devil at bay." He says, and for a second I see my grandfather sitting on the stool. I blink and it's just the man, Death, who winks and we drink our shots. I light one last cigarette and stand up. "Let's do this." I tell him, and he nods. "After you." He says in that scratchy voice, then motions for me to walk to the door. I take a drag and let the smoke loose through my nose as I walk. The man walks ahead of me and opens the door, then we exit into the light.


"Dipé!" The army stood up in unison. "Dilo ni movimentae!" The deafening sound of thousands of soldiers set in motion shook the earth beneath their feet. The small garrison destined to defend the hill looked with horror as their enemy, who outnumbered them by a wide margin, left their camp and prepared to fight once more. Both factions had met in past occasions, and the hill was always successfully defended. This time, however, was different. As problems at home called, only a reduced number of troops led by their captain, Justanantiam, were left behind, under the promise that more reinforcements would arrive soon. Throughout the morning and part of the afternoon, the battle raged. When their enemy charged against them, the garrison backed down to take cover behind the rocks, where it was easier for them to seek defense. But despite the strategies employed, the numerical advantage of the invading army had begun to take more and more lives from the defending garrison, and after several hours of fighting without ceded land, both captains called for an honorable ceasefire. "We will be annihilated before the reinforcements arrive." said an injured soldier to his captain, Justanantiam, who had already been contemplating that possibility. Justanantiam then came up with an idea; he grew up in the area and knew it perfectly, so it wouldn't suppose him a problem to sneak into the camp of his enemy, Teatacus, at night. He did so, but as soon as he appeared, the guards apprehended him and he was brought before their leader himself. Both characters couldn't be more disparate; Teatacus easily doubled Justanantiam in size and his presence was intimidating to say the least. "You are very daring to come here alone" The giant boomed. "I went out to stretch my legs and got lost" Justanantiam replied, with a dim, sarcastic smile. Teatacus knew that his rival had come looking for any possible weakness that could be used against him. But he was confident in his strength and subsequent victory the following day. So he skipped the interrogation and instead, invited Justanantiam for a walk under the stars. The captain didn't miss the opportunity to chatter about his colossal army, about how he had never been defeated in a melee combat in his life, how his rivals saw him with deep respect and fear. Teatacus spoke and spoke, blind to the fact that his rival was no longer walking beside him. "Teatacus, look ahead!" Justanantiam exclaimed from behind. Teatacus stopped immediately and saw an enormous spider emerge before him. Fortunately, the creature did not detect the captains, and returned again to its previous hunting position, hidden in the tall grass. Teatacus turned slowly toward Justanantiam, having closely experienced death for the first time in his life. "That spider was underground" said Teatacus, convinced that it would have been impossible not to have seen it had it not. "No, captain" Justanantiam refuted incredulous. "It was just in front of you." The captains undertook the return to their respective camps. Before leaving, Teatacus suggested his rival to withdraw from the battlefield and that if he did so, he and his garrison would be spared. To which Justanantiam responded only by cocking an antenna. But Teatacus did not intend to have mercy on any soldier, not after suffering the humiliation of being saved by his own enemy. He went to sleep and ordered his men to wake him up early in the morning. The next day, the powerful army marched up the hill, with Teatacus leading, ready to end the battle quickly. "The land is fertile, it will be a worthy acquisition." The captain thought to himself. On the other side, the garrison troops were just beginning to assemble, in complete silence, haunted by the high and low battle cries that the rival army used to demoralize them. Justanantiam positioned himself at the head of his troops contemplating his colossal rival, and he knew exactly who would stand victorious. Both sides collided violently. Teatacus was in the element he liked the most, painting the soil with the entrails of his enemies. At one point, Justanantiam calls for a withdrawal, and his troops descend the hill in disarray. "I didn't expect more from you, Justanantiam!" The mighty captain roared as he ordered his men to charge against their enemy, who was fleeing downhill, into the tall grass. Teatacus felt, rather than saw, the stake going through his torax. When he looked back to check the wound, he saw his own soldiers, also impaled. Once again, Teatacus had failed to see the danger before him. He could not see the stakes positioned under the tall grass. Nor could he see the rest of the garrison, who waited patiently for the false withdrawal to strike a surprise attack on those who avoided the stakes. And of course, he also couldn't see how the previous night, Justanantiam discovered an important flaw about his enemy. Teatacus collapsed on the ground, feeling his life passing. Before he died, he saw Justanantiam approaching him in the midst of the battle. "In your infinite arrogance, you failed to see the spider." Justanantiam said, extracting the stake from his rival's shivering body. "Even when it was right in front of you.


In retrospect, I really did not think that she would have become such a huge part of my life. I don't know why it happened but all I can say is that I'm glad it did.

It's funny how the littlest things tend to have the biggest impact on our lives. I've noticed how as time goes on, people never tend to separate the significant moments from the insignificant. But to me, and to her, we were the most significant people in each other's lives. It started in eight grade, I was so intimidated by everything. School hasn't exactly been a “safe” place for me to sort of speak. I was intimated by the people, the teachers, the environment, the work, I just picked at everything and it ate me alive. The kids in the school sucked, their ideologies, attitudes, and stereotypical mindsets sucked even more. But aside from that I wasn't exactly a social butterfly, considering my social anxiety and lack of will to hold a conversation with the opposite gender. I wasn't the best looking girl in the grade either, and I knew that. It made me insecure. I hated the way I looked and hated the idea that in order for me to talk to someone, they had to look at me.

I was sitting at a table full of kids I had never met before. I knew of them, but I didn't think they knew me. How could they? I was practically invisible, and anybody paying attention to me must've been short a couple screws. For the first day of school, everyone around me was unnecessarily loud. It didn't make sense to me, how people were able to form connections and relationships so quickly. I felt awkward, it made me feel bad, like I wasn't completing the assignment or something. Our homeroom teacher gave us ten minutes to get to know our peers. God I hated the first few weeks of school, icebreakers, and cliche games. Could this get any worse?

I had gone an entire day without speaking to anyone, I walked alone in the hallway, sat alone at lunch, and went through all my classes without a single interaction. That day I went home and I cried, I hated it here. I didn't want to go back and experience another day of that. On the bus ride back home I was talking to myself in my head going over how horrible my day was. I was good at that. I had always been that way, forcing myself to be there for me because who else would do it. I kept telling myself that things would get better, and that I just needed to hold on a little longer. There she was sitting across from me one chair to the left the next morning. She was so pretty, it always bothered how she didnt see what I saw. She had everything a girl could want. A pretty face, a nice body, brains, and even an amazing personality. Me on the other hand? I'm not even sure I compared to her in a dip. But I guess she saw something in me because this was the beginning of our forever.

I can't remember what class it was that we were in. She said my name, and introduced herself. I was shocked, I didn't even know how to respond. I smiled, and told her my name as well. I couldn't tell if she was talking to me out of pity or genuine interest. But whatever it was, I was so grateful that she interrupted my mind dwelling because I had begun digging myself into a dark subconscious pitiful hole. I had already convinced myself that I would be spending the rest of my year alone, sad, and depressed.

The bell rang, and class was over. It was time for lunch Oh joy I thought to myself. Hey wait up! I stopped in my tracks to see who was screaming.

It was her, it was Lina. Desi if you want, you could come sit with us at lunch. She glanced over to her friends, motioning to Trevor, Mia, Charlotte, Xenia, and Joy.  I couldn't come up with any possible answer for why she would ever consider asking me to sit with them considering she had already acquainted herself with a decent group.

After all that's happened over the past couple of years, it seemed as if these memories ceased to exist. I had forgotten how we met, and how our friendship began considering the events that followed after. Eventually I had gotten really close with the entire friend group. They were really nice to me, and as it turned out we all shared similar interests, hobbies, music taste, and ideas. But you know how it goes, friend groups in middle school and high school never truly last. Lina and I had been through a couple of friend groups as time progressed. We did everything together and we were there for each other through thick and thin. And I mean THIN. Including the late night drunken facetime calls, the early morning meltdowns, the fights over out stupid ex’s, the many mental breakdowns, the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows. She taught me things and I taught her things. We shared many laughs together along with many tears. I had never been so grateful to go through so many friend groups with one person. That includes freshman, sophomore, and junior year of high school.

I ended up getting really close with her family as she did with mine. They say that in your lifetime you'd be looking to find your other half, and I was convinced she was mine. She understood me so well to a point where all I had to do was give her one look and she knew it was on my mind. There was no one else I'd rather be scream-laughing with on the phone at 5 am on a summer morning or crying with after getting my heart stomped on… AGAIN.

I don't know where I’d be without her today, we grew together as people, and are better versions of ourselves today because of each other. So this is for you Lina. Thank you for coming into my life and making me who I am today.


The lanterns flickered their malevolent flames as Sugar beat the eggs into a foamy sea. The fire in the grate melted her aching muscles enough to continue working for the eleventh hour. Twenty-six years old and she was already exhausted, pink dress twirling between kitchen counters and cupboards. Her petticoats protected her modesty and the pencil holding her savory colored hair protected the food from contamination. She'd baked enough bread, on to the biscuits. 'You work too hard...' Bailey chimed as he grabbed his jacket to leave. '...You'll miss the entire season at this rate.' Sugar shrugged half-heartedly, looking up from her whisking. Bailey's lean and hungry stare, eyeing the mountain of scones, made her heart melt. She stopped to pack some into a hamper with an assortment of jams, freehand waving off his refusal. 'Fruit and nut, cranberry to boot...' She smiled. '...Will soon provide the ultimate lute.' Bailey concluded, having heard the phrase a million times. 'Enjoy the feast. See you bright and early tomorrow morning.' Another smile and the wicker basket exchanged hands. 'You're a marvel, Miss Plum. Thanks to you we'll have a Christmas turkey this year.' Bailey's mind floated back to the many Christmas' his family had spent without even a sprout. Thanks to Miss Sugar Plum's generosity, they'd finally have a decent spread. 'We won't have a crumble next year if we don't defeat Miss Green at the Festival tomorrow.' Sugar muttered, returning to her biscuits. The image of her rival appeared in Sugar's mind's eye. The licorice hair, known by Sugar's memory to lie below Miss Green's hips, was always tied back in an obnoxiously tight bun. Sugar's train of thought jolted to the chocolate chips on the counter. The same color as Miss Green's harsh eyes, she thought. She smacked the dough and rolled her eyes, making similarities between the rolling pin and Miss Green's wooden posture. 'It's a shame, Miss...' Bailey interrupted. Her eyes refocused, 'What is?' '... That we can't team up with Ever Green. Join forces, then there'd be no need for a competition.' Sugar scoffed at the suggestion, not impolitely, but as if to say that the idea was unimaginable. 'I've tried to make her see sense. We used to be such good friends, now she can't even look at me. A civilized conversation would be a miracle.' She sighed, hands falling limp around the dough. 'Some friendships aren't meant to be.' Bailey sympathized, perching on the whittled stool by Sugar's station. He felt a sudden sense of Deja-vu, remembering a similar conversation he'd had with his daughter only a few nights prior. Sadly, he couldn't offer the same warm hugs and hot cocoa to his employer. Lost in thought, she shaped her biscuits into hearts, then mumbled, 'Why? How can friendships end without a reason?' 'Everyone has their reasons.' Sugar softened, 'Yes, well, I wish people would explain their reasons. They may be foolish.' 'They often are.' A thoughtful silence loomed over the bakery for what felt like a lifetime. 'Pop these in the larder before you leave?' She smiled, removing her apron. Bailey began packing away without question until he spotted the tiny Sugar Plum cakes by the window. 'What about these?' He wondered why they'd never sold them, given his employer's name it seemed like a missed opportunity. 'No, no, those are... not for sale.' And he didn't question it further. Sugar took the cakes as she ascended the stairs to her small apartment, cradling them like a child. 'See you tomorrow, Miss Plum.' He called up gently. He didn't expect a reply, one never came, but he closed the door behind him a little softer than he would normally. The cold hit Bailey like a ton of bricks, snow dusting his cheeks as he pulled his jacket tight. The only warmth coming from the lanterns lighting his way as he crossed the cobbled street. He looked back, peering up to see Miss Plum, sat in her bedroom's bay window, reading a book. She looked fine, he concluded, and made the rest of the journey home. ~~ Miss Plum, though she looked okay, didn't feel it. She looked down at the only gift she'd ever been given, a journal of pressed flowers. Sugar flicked through. There were many blank pages to fill towards the back of the book. The full pages were decorated so beautifully. Lilac sprigs with lavender ribbons, roses, and forget-me-nots, wrinkled primrose by her favorite sunflowers. Each page held a different memory. When she reached the last full-page, she huffed. And as if on cue, the knock at the door downstairs came. Sugar ran as fast as her tiny feet would allow, almost tripping over the last step. Her toe would surely bruise by morning, she thought. Hastily, she pulled the door open, hearing the bell chime above the frame. As always, there was no-one there. The streets were empty, except for the sprinkle of snow and a whistle of the wind. 'Fudge!' Sugar cursed. She'd run faster than she had in previous years. She'd have to stay downstairs next year to hopefully greet the mystery gift giver. And speaking of gifts, Sugar looked down at her feet to see the unsurprising box, staring up at her. Wrapped in gold paper and tied with a black satin ribbon. The package, as usual, was immaculately done. She felt bad pulling it apart. Inside the box sat a new addition to her journal. 'Dahlias?' Sugar felt a chord strike her heart, a shiver run up her spine that wasn't from the cold, as she'd shut the door. 'A fond farewell or forever yours?' she mused. Sugar took the present to her room, placing it amongst the other dried flowers. With a heavy heart, she ate her Sugar Plum cakes and drifted into a deep sleep. Her imagination conjuring up happier days, spent in sunny meadows, running through flowery fields. ~~ The ceremonial trumpets signaled the coming morning and Sugar shot out of bed. Her alarm hadn't gone off. She smoothed the pages of the journal that had somehow managed to get squashed in her sleep and in haste, threw it into her bag. It took only a moment for her to chuck on her usual pink dress and twizzle up her hair, a few strands escaping to frame her face as they normally did later in the day. The biscuits still needed baking, she stressed, bustling down the stairs to the kitchen, wary of the final step and her bruised toe. To her surprise, Sugar instantly inhaled the familiar aroma of baked goods. The biscuits were already in the oven. Bailey, true to his word, had arrived bright and early. 'Thank the stars!' ~~ The wooden huts glistened in the Town Square, shining with warm lights and twinkling glitters. The same stalls of assorted produce, ready for customers to scour and for judges to judge. It had all been the same for as long as anyone could remember. Sugar arrived a little later than intended and instantly noticed something was different. Opposite Sugar Plum's soft pink hut would normally be Mr. Chestnuts Toy Emporium, a sunny yellow stand with touches of pastel blue. But Mr. Chestnut was nowhere to be seen and his stall had been replaced by an elegant black and gold design. It didn't take Sugar too long to figure out who it belonged to. 'Miss?' Bailey, holding armfuls of bread, came to stand beside her, wondering what could have stopped the woman in her tracks. 'Miss Green's stand is opposite ours, Bailey.' Sugar stared. 'What?' He turned, 'That doesn't make any sense! We're normally on opposite sides of the square.' She looked equally as puzzled. 'I'll go speak to Marsh, surely there's been a misunderstanding. Would you mind taking care of things here?' 'Of course.' ~~ Marsh was easy to find. Center stage in the heart of the Town Square was his domain. Sugar smiled up at her friend as he tested the microphones. He was on and off faster than the flick of a switch. He too looked like he'd missed his alarm that morning. As she was about to approach him, someone came from the opposite direction and intercepted him first. Someone she'd hoped not to run into yet. Sugar hid back, clutching her bag and checking her journal was still in there. She edged closer to listen. 'Mr. Mallow! Might I speak with you?' Ever Green in her high-neck black dress and tight bun marched up to the plump rosy man with fury in her eyes. 'Miss Green, how lovely to see you. You look so... smart.' When Ever didn't respond to the reluctant complement, Marsh continued, 'What is the problem this year?' He hoped to keep the exchange short and sweet. The festival was supposed to be a happy day. 'You know darn well what the problem is. You've put my stand opposite Pips.' Sugar's heart clenched at the name. She'd not heard it in so long. 'I'm not in charge of any of that this year, Miss Green. You'll need to take it up with my supervisor.' Marsh caught eyes with the Reindeer Dance Troupe. 'Must dash, much to organize.' And he was gone. Ever glared furiously, her hands balled, and her eyes squinted after the man. She could burn a city to the ground with that scowl, Sugar thought, just as the woman in question turned and almost bumped into her. 'Ever! What a surprise!' She stammered, unable to look away from the strong eye contact she was receiving. 'Miss Plum, it seems that our stands are opposite one and other.' 'Yes... so it does.' Sugar frowned at the use of her surname. She loathed the formality, the cold shoulder, the hardened expression on Ever's face. She looked nothing like the woman Sugar had known all those years ago. Ever used to be so carefree. It was hard to imagine now, seeing her so wrapped in her cocoon of sternness. 'Well... may the best baker win.' Ever eluded, offering her hand. Sugar stared at it dubiously. It felt like a trick, but she took the gloved palm even so and replied, 'May the best baker win.' ~~ Sugar returned to the stall and filled Bailey in on the exchange. 'We'll beat Green easily, Miss.' She smiled, admiring her companion's competitive nature, especially since she felt so unmotivated herself. Ever so easily got under her skin. 'What's happening over there?' Bailey said. She glanced over the street at the rival stand. It was thriving. Curiosity killed the cat, Sugar tried to remind herself, but when regular customers seemed to bypass them in favor of the dark side, she couldn't help being coaxed. Bailey followed, surprised to see the rare mysterious smile on Ever's face as she handed out orders. Sugar looked over the display with intrigue. What could be drawing her customers away? Salted caramel cookies, dark chocolate truffles, lava cakes, and assorted tarts but nothing out of the ordinary. Sugar couldn't fathom what was so special about Ever's stand, until she saw them, sat prettily in the center. Her face drained of all color, her heart dropped, and she felt tears prickling behind her eyes. The anger built in her chest and exploded. 'Ever Green!' The shout caught Bailey by surprise, for he'd never heard Sugar raise her voice above a sweet scolding. The customers around them froze and Ever's eyes did a double-take in her direction. Sugar felt years of suppressed emotions taking over, her next words escaping in the form of a child-like sob. 'How could you?' Fearing the tears that were about to fall, she turned away and retreated to her stand. Bailey followed swiftly behind. 'What's wrong?' He pressed when they were safely in their haven. Sugar's eyes, blinded by unshed tears, managed to grab hold of her bag. She pulled the journal from it, planning to destroy each page, rip them up, scrunch them into balls, burn them in the fire, she didn't care anymore. She managed to open the cover when gloved hands took hold of hers and closed the book once more. Light eyes met dark and Bailey took it as his queue to leave the kitchen. The tears finally spilled over the edge and she repeated, 'How could you?' 'How could I what?' Ever's hands were firm, searching for eye contact as they always did. 'You're selling our Sugar Plum cake!' Sugar blurted. Ever didn't respond, just stared at her blankly, so Sugar continued, 'You stop talking to me, for no reason I might add. No explanation and on the Eve of our first Festival together. We were supposed to be partners, friends, Ever! And you just left! You left and now you're selling the one thing we promised never to share with anyone? Why?' Ever frowned, cheeks burning red, 'Oh, don't come off all high and mighty, you know exactly why I stopped talking to you, Pip!' Sugar's tears suddenly halted. She stared at Ever, her brows knitted, jaw dropped. 'No, Ever, I do not.' Realization suddenly dawned on them; the air thickened. Ever seemed to retreat into herself, eyeing the door. Sugar gripped her hands in a tight vice. 'Please, don't leave... Just talk to me.' Sugar pulled her closer, noticing the way Ever's hardened exterior seemed to give in to the gesture. 'I came to the bakery that night to drop off your present...' She began, glancing down at the book before continuing, 'And I overheard you talking to Mr. Mallow.' Sugar thought back to that night, growing even more confused. Nothing bad had been said, not that she could remember. They'd had one too many glasses of sherry, that's all she recalled. Ever continued, 'Mr. Mallow asked you about me, and you told him I was just your friend as you always do and I suppose, well I thought I meant more to you than that... or I hoped... It was silly...' Ever confessed, trying to fight back her tears of frustration. '... I then overheard Mr. Mallow telling you how he felt about you, how much he cared for you and I realized that night... you and I weren't on the same page. I decided to distance myself. Every time I saw you, it was a reminder of how I felt and how you'd never feel. Being cold with you was far easier than being kind.' Sugar dumbfoundedly exhaled, 'How could you possibly know how I felt if you never thought to ask me?' The expression on Ever's face dropped rather comically to one of complete perplexity and confusion. 'Marsh was never and is never going to be interested in me like that, Ever. He came over that night to thank me for setting him up with my cousin. Sadly, it only lasted the week, but truly he and I are just... friends.' The final word hung heavy in the air. Ever had clung onto every syllable and seemed to drift into another world entirely, overanalyzing her memory to recall exactly what she'd heard that night. Sugar decided to change the subject, 'Why did you decide to open your own bakery?' 'It's the only thing I knew how to do.' 'You couldn't have opened a florist?' She laughed, looking down at the book in their hands. She turned to the most recent page, the Dahlias. 'I kept everything, that should tell you enough.' The knock on the door bursts their bubble. Bailey apologetically stuck his head through the door, 'I'm so sorry, Miss but the Judges are here.' And he left again as quickly as he entered. 'You work too hard.' Ever softened. 'Yes, I have been told.' She smiled. 'Go on, I have some Sugar Plum cakes to remove from the stand. We'll talk afterward.' Sugar glanced at Ever's reassuring smile and noticed the flickers of doubt peeking through. The assertive arch in her brow was returning and Sugar decided that she couldn't let her leave without making sure they were on the same page, quite literally. The Dahlias sat prettily, she looked down at them and mumbled, 'A fond farewell or forever yours...' Ever looked up, feeling a tightness in her chest. Sugar only smiled, squeezing the hand she still held. 'I have loved you for as long as I can remember.' Sugar confessed, resting her forehead against Ever's, she felt her heart hammering in her throat. In the next sentence, she whispered, 'How long will you love me?' There was no pause, no delay, no hesitation. 'For Ever, Sugar.'


A 20 year old magician named Alyssa, was walking offstage after a show. She was feeling electric after an astounding performance. Alyssa decided to celebrate with a couple of friends. They were going to a local establishment that featured live music and tempting alcohol. Alyssa and her friends were barely underage and couldn't buy drinks. They decided to pay a homeless gentleman to do it while they moved like typical white girls on the dance floor. Around midnight everything about them became slurred. At 3:37 in the morning, they hailed a cab to take them back to their apartment. Six minutes into the ride, the driver lost focus and the vehicle drifted into oncoming traffic. The car went head-on with a moving truck. Alyssa only saw a white flash, then darkness. She awoke in a hospital bed with tubes connected to her. She would later learn the cab driver was killed, but her friends were perfectly fine. She was released one week later and returned home. Twelve years later. At 32, Alyssa was married at this point, had earned her doctorate in medical science, and even had a kid. She was blissfully happy with her life, and hadn't any regrets. One night, while her husband and son were out, she decided to see a movie. She lived in the city so she did not own a car herself. After flagging down a taxi she got in the backseat. Without looking at him, she told the driver, "Local cinema please." The taxi took off. The driver accelerated the vehicle at too high a speed and Alyssa took notice. She screamed for him to stop the car. But all he said was, "It's time for you to go back." Just as the car slammed into a semi, her life flashed before her eyes. She remembered the birth of her child. The first time she met her husband. Even her first kiss. Every milestone of her life was relived in a split second. And then... Her eyes opened. All Alyssa saw was a white ceiling and only heard a continuous beep. Friends and family surrounded her hospital bed, and gasps filled the room as she sat up. Joy was felt by them as their daughter and friend had finally awoke after her long slumber. Alyssa noticed her friends looked younger, and she herself felt younger too. She asked, "Where is my son, and husband?" But she had neither. She was an unmarried, 20 year old magician who had just lived 12 years in one month.


Fear is all around me. I see it everywhere I go. I can't stop the fear. The fear is consuming me. I know why this is happening to me. I know why I have so much fear. I think someone is listening and watching me. It all began six months ago. I was at the park sitting on my favorite bench reading my book when I felt someone, a stranger watching me. I looked around the park but I saw nobody. I was feeling nervous and scared throughout the rest of the day and into the night. Not long after I swear I heard breathing noises at the end of my phone call with my best friend. Someone was listening to my phone call. I told Joanna about the breathing. She told me it was all in my head. I know I heard breathing. I know someone was listening to my conversation. For six months I've been afraid to go out but I managed. I always look at my surroundings. I look at the people around me to make sure I'm safe. I constantly take pictures of everything and everyone. I have to know if someone is watching me. I never used to be a fearful person. I usually don't scare easily but yet I fear someone wants to hurt me. I have never felt this way before. This fear is making me live in a bubble. I hate living this way. I hate that my friends and family think I'm crazy. Joanna, my parents and sister tell me I'm doing this to get attention, that I'm making this up. They make fun of me all the time. I cry every day because I'm all alone. I cry because the people that matter to me don't believe me. I'm all alone in the world. I thought someone would help me. I was wrong. I can't trust no one. It's just me and my fear. There has to be something I could do to identify the person who is watching me. The big question. Who would want to hurt me? I have no enemies. Unknown My dear Winter. My lovely Winter. My only Winter. I see you every day hiding from me. Why are you hiding from me? I want to see your beautiful face. I want to see your beautiful green eyes and your long dark hair. I miss seeing you, Winter. I miss hearing your voice. Your beautiful sweet voice. I will tell you this my beautiful Winter, I will see you again. Until we meet one day my love. Today another day of staying in my bubble. I tried to go out. I really did but once again my fear has consumed me. This is driving me crazy. I have no one to talk to. I can't go out because I'm afraid of the stranger that is watching me. I can't pick up my phone and call my friends or family because they will make fun of me. I'm afraid the stranger is listening to my phone calls. How can I live like this? I can't live like this. I have to go out. I have to breathe the fresh air. I have to be strong. I'm pacing back and forth thinking about what to do. Should I go out or shouldn't I? Come on Winter you can do this. I look out of my window and see the world passing me by. My world has stopped. After hours of debate. After a sleepless night, I have decided to go out once again. You can do this Winter. I can do this. Breathe in and out. I jump out of bed, take a shower and get dressed. I have decide to go to one of my favorite places, the zoo. Okay, I'm finished getting ready. I place my hand on the door knob. You can do this Winter. Here I go. I turn the knob and open the door. I stick my head out. No one is in the hall. I put my hoodie on, lock my door and begin to walk. I walk to the stairway exit, quickly walk down the stairs and out the door. Wow the air feels so good. It's a cool sunny day. I do the usual look both ways. When I see no one is watching me, I begin to walk to the bus stop. The thing about people is that they are clever and sneaky. Even thought I see no one watching me doesn't mean said person is not out there watching me. I made it to the bus stop. The bus is coming. My stomach is turning. My heart is beating fast. I hop on the bus. The bus takes off. I look at the people on the bus. Nothing suspicious. Nothing out of the ordinary. I find an empty seat in the back of the bus. I try not to think about a stranger watching me let alone listening to my phone calls. I want to today to be a happy day for me. So, today is going to be for me and not my fear. I smile when the bus stops in front of the zoo entrance. Myself and a bunch of people most of them with kids get off. I walk to the ticket booth and buy a ticket. As I'm walking, I feel that all too familiar sense of being watched. I turn around and look behind me. All I see is smiling faces of the kids and their parents. Come on Winter. Remember what you said. This day is all about me. I walk up to the first animal, the lions. These creatures are beautiful. I stay there for five minutes watching them. As I leave the lion's den, I look to the left and right. When I notice no one is watching me, I walk to the next animal, the Giraffes. Another beautiful animal. So graceful in every way. This is why I loving seeing these animals. They are strong, protective creatures. I continue walking throughout the zoo watching the animals all the while feeling someone is watching me. As usual no one is there. I go to the petting zoo. My favorite thing to do at the zoo. I buy the food and go feed the baby goats. They are so cute. I bend down and open my hands. I smile as the baby goats eats. My first smile in a long time. Unknown My beautiful Winter. Your smile is beautiful. I just want to go to you grab you and take you away , far away from here. Don't be afraid my beautiful Winter. I won't hurt you. I only want to love you. Until we meet. After a long day at the zoo, I leave back to the bus stop. All day at the zoo, I sensed someone watching me. There are no feelings anymore. I know for a fact someone is watching me. While I was feeding the baby goat, I slightly turned around and saw a figure in a black hoodie watching me. I did not recognize the person nor did I know if the person was a man or woman. The person didn't know I saw him/her. I left at once. My fears came true. Someone is out to get me. I hop on the bus. I don't see the person anywhere but it doesn't mean that person doesn't know where I live. Oh My God! what if the person has been inside my house and planted cameras and listening bugs. I have to leave my house. I get off at my stop, rush home, pack my belongings. I don't call my friends and family, they won't understand. I have to disappear. I have to leave and go someplace where no one knows me and where the stranger can't find me. My fear is taking me away from everything I know. It's what I must do to survive and keep the stranger from finding me.