"Where are we now?" I asked. I scanned over the long, spindly trunks that hung down from the clouds of treetops. There was no sun, but the sky was blue and the ground was as lit as day. "Here," he said impatiently. "And where is here?" "Where we are." I rolled my eyes. Fine, then. We are here and that's where we are. "Now you're getting it!" he smiled across his four rows of teeth. "Oh, mind yourself," he said, slapping my chest with his cane. I stopped: just out of the way of a centipede thicker than myself and longer than a train. It skittered along, barely giving me a passing glance. Its body kept coming and going and coming and going, pouring down the road like a legged river. "We're gonna be here a while," he said with a gravelly chortle. He wound his rubber-like arms around his body two, three, four times before placing them firmly on his hips. He turned his head with an audible creak and stared at me, closing his lips but keeping his smile. I coughed, forcing my gaze away from his. He didn't move. I kicked some dust from below my feet. His stare dug into my flesh. A passing tree trunk way above us swiped through the air. It rained flecks of dirt onto my face as I watched it. He was still staring at me, as if he was waiting for me to do something. I glanced towards the back of the centipede. The end of the centipede was in sight. "That was awfully boring," his eyes shifted mechanically up and down my body. He finally turned his view away from me and to the sky. He leaned way back in an exaggeratedly exhausted showboat. "We're already at the end and it feels the same as when it began!" I eyed him in clueless silence. The centipede washed out of our way. Its rump wiggled like the tail of a happy dog. Or of a hunting cat. He spun his right forearm around his elbow like the hand of a manic clock, gestured forwards after a good few spins, and touched his forehead to the ground. "Shall we continue?" he asked the dirt. I took a step forward. Crossed the centipede's road. Walked a little bit away. He was still behind me, head pressed into the dirt. I crossed my arms at him and sighed. "We shall," I gave him. He rolled down his neck and over his back, landing, on his feet, by my side. "Wonderful!" he smiled. He marched forward, bouncing off of each step and swinging his arms wildly at the shoulder. I trailed behind him, watching the tail of his coat drag a trench through the dirt. Tiny bugs wiggled out of the bed of the trench and pulled on the sides, burying themselves again. Some of them chittered angrily as they did so. "Your coat seems to be disturbing the bugs in the dirt," I told him. He gave me a patronizing laugh. "That's what it's for," he said over his shoulder. I considered asking what that meant, but instead, I shrugged it off and kept walking, careful not to step on the line he was drawing. "You won't hurt them," he told me. "They're too far down." I hummed him a response; just enough to show that I heard him. I still avoided his wake. Suddenly, he stopped walking. He stood rigid and even sprang back and forth a bit, as if his heels were staked into the ground. I flinched and slid to a stop. Without moving the rest of his body, he tilted his head back and looked at me upside-down. His mouths kept smiling, but they shaped into a frown from my perspective. "You aren't losing your curiosity, are you?" The playfulness in his voice was gone; he sounded more like a normal person than ever before, but coming from him, 'normal' was chilling. I tried to speak but my words got caught in my throat. I swallowed and shook my head. "Good," he said, retracting his neck and facing forward again. "Your curiosity is your only lifeline, you know. I wouldn't want something to happen to you." He stood still for a moment longer, as if for dramatic effect, then took a huge step forward and continued his bouncy march. My body was colder and stiffer after that, but I kept pace. We walked in silence for a little while. A thin tree trunk swung lazily by, mere inches above the ground. Our world was getting darker as the leafy clouds filled more and more of the sky, dangling ever-larger trunks over the world below. "Where are we going?" I finally managed to ask. "There," he said. "And where is there?" I pursued - as if I didn't know what he was going to say. "Where we're going." He looked over his shoulder again. "Come on, you know that by now! We're going there and that's where we'll be!" At least he was jolly again. "You-hoo!" something screeched. We both froze in place. Its voice was nails on a chalkboard, a fork over a plate, teeth against wood. "You-hoo!" it screeched again. I started turning to the sound. Two long arms clasped against my temples, holding me in place. "Don't look at it," he hissed. "Keep walking." His face was inches from mine. I was lost in a sea of yellow sclerae. We took careful steps, me moving forwards and him moving backwards. He didn't release my head. "You-hoo!" He took faster steps. I was forced to follow. "Please-oh!" The screech started morphing into a pained moan. My back tingled. I felt the stare of something sinister burn through me. I tried to turn around and look behind me. It was pure instinct. I couldn't control myself. But he held my head forward. "What wins?" he yelled into my face, his crossed sets of teeth ejecting acidic saliva. "Your morbid curiosity, or your desire for safety?" "Hey-ah!" The moan turned to anger. "Hey-ah!" It was getting louder. Closer. It took an immense amount of willpower to control my head, even with his vice grip restraining me. His pinpoint pupils shook all around, examining every last pore of my face. "Gotcha!" Something sunk into my back. I screamed. He relinquished my head as I craned it around. A maniacal cackle drowned my ears. My body filled with a burning warmth. My vision went blank. *(This is only part one but I'd like to post this and request some feedback before taking it much further. I want to be a writer and I have lots of things I want to publish, but those are novels and books and I need to practice first; this short story is my first 'real' attempt at creating something meaningful.


“Sir, while you were in your nine am meeting there was a call for you.” “Who was it?” “The name left was Terry…” “Terry, did you say Terry?” “Uh, yes. They left a message for you, but no return number, here it is” Reads: ‘John, it’s been too long. I’m sorry for all that’s gone on between us. Please get back to me as soon as possible, I’d like to make things right.’ *No return number and I don’t have Terry’s phone number. Hmm.* “Patty, please cancel all my plans today, and hold all my calls. I need to step out to attend to an important situation.” “Yes sir.” An Hour Later: *Is it strange to bring flowers? I mean, in this day and age there is nothing wrong with a man bringing flowers to another man, and we’re family. I’m sure Terry won’t mind, even if he finds it strange. I really don’t know what else to bring him, candy? No he hates candy. Well, he* did *hate candy, but it’s been so long, what if he started loving it.* *Hell, I don’t even know if this is where he still lives. And I’m just going to show up, after 15 years, what if he’s not home. What if he’s home with a family, with a lover? What if he kicks me off his property? Well what the hell would he expect? Leaving me a message like that at work, with no return info. But I can’t wait or waste this time. I’ve been waiting too long to hear from him.* *Is this it? 218 Sparrow Way? I’m fairly certain that’s correct. Once I get closer I’ll remember, this area does look familiar. I remember his place being set a little farther back from the sidewalk, lots of trees surrounding it. If Terry still lives there I know he wouldn’t have touched those trees. Damned hippie type he is.* *218 Sparrow Way, this is it. It looks the same as always. It’s the place I remember. Unclench your jaw, John, this is a good thing. Is it? What if me coming is too much of a surprise? What if this just makes things worse? Oh lord what the hell am I doing? Breathe. Terry reached out to you, and it’s about time you buried the hatchet. You’re here, just pull the trigger.* *Oh lord, Terry, I forgot you had that ridiculous doorbell installed. What tune is that? Where have all the flowers gone? Heh, always the idealist, Terry. No answer, maybe a knock will do it.* **KNOCK** *Still nothing. Well, I don’t even know if this is Terry’s place. If I peak through a window I think the trees will cover me. I don’t need anyone thinking I’m some kinda sick peeping tom.* *This has got to be Terry’s place, I see mom’s old sewing machine and that awful china hutch Aunt Linda gave to him when she passed. There’s a car in the driveway, and a set of bikes beside the house. I guess he could be out for a walk. I guess I could wait, park myself on the stoop for a couple minutes.* *This gives me a chance to prepare what I want to say. What the hell should I say? What pleasantries can you say to your brother that went betrayed you, what…15 fucking years ago? The brother you’ve spent the past 15 years fighting with? Spending all this time spewing insults, to deafening silence? The last thing I told him was that I’d put him in the hospital if he fucked up our family again. That OUT OF NOWHERE he wants to reconcile, make up for all he put us through? Do I tell him how angry I’ve been, I am? Am I angry? Fuck I don’t even know how to feel. Maybe I should just go? I’ve been waiting for ten minutes, he’s probably not here. Then where the hell was he when he left that message? The cars are here and the lights are on, maybe he just didn’t hear me knock and ring. He does like to have his music loud. Maybe I should just go in. I used to be able to do that. It’ll be like the old days.* *That’s pretty lucky for me, the door’s unlocked. Wow, this place hasn’t changed much. Look at that, our last family picture. That was what, Marion’s birthday? Feels like an eternity ago. I should really call Marion, catch up. Well, fuck! I didn’t know Terry has been to Australia, mom never said anything about that. Well, maybe she didn’t know either. I don’t see any kid pictures, Terry the perpetual bachelor. Where the hell is he? Maybe I shouldn’t go any further until I know he’s here.* “Terry, its John. I’m sorry to barge in on you. But I got your message, you didn’t leave a number, so I thought I’d stop by to see you, I brought… uh… flowers!” *Oh damn, I left them on the porch. I’ll grab them later.* *He really mustn’t be here, unless he’s in another room, maybe the kitchen. Table’s got breakfast but no one’s in here. What the hell, Terry?* “TERRY ARE YOU HERE? IT’S JOHN!” *Typical, he’s gone but left his door unlocked. He’s so fucking flaky, nothing ever changed with his guy. Well, whatever I’ll leave my flowers and note. He’ll call me back if he’s serious. Can’t believe I wasted my d… What the hell?* *The back door is… open? Why would he leave the back door open? What the hell is going on here? He calls me, leaves the house, but keeps the doors unlocked and* *open.* “TERRY WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, IT’S JOHN, SHOW YOURSELF DAMNED IT." *I swear to god, if this is another fucking run around I’ll make good on my words and send him to the fucking hospital or the fucking morgue. He would do this, bring me out of work to waste my time. Typical Terry. No wonder no one wants anything to do with him. I should have called mom, she would have talked me out of this.* “TERRY ARE YOU HERE OR NOT?! IF THIS IS A JOKE TO YOU I’LL BREAK YOU’RE FUCKING NOSE AND KNEES, I SWEAR TO GOD!” *Where the hell is his room? If he’s in there I’ll fucking kick his ass, if he’s not I’m trashing it. I’ve had enough of this. Fuck it’s behind the front room, if he’s here he’ll have heard me, I don’t give a fuck anymore I’ll kick that door in.* *…* *What...* *There’s blood everywhere, it’s leaking from under the door.* “T…Terry… are you in there?” *John, you need to calm down. Breathe. Hyperventilating and freaking out won’t help. What should I do? Okay sit down. You need to act. What’s the right thing? What id Terry is hurt in there? There’s so much blood if he’s in there he’s not okay. What if he’s dead? What... what if he hurt himself or killed himself? Good lord, what if someone else hurt him? The doors are unlocked. Fuck, open the door. You need to open the door and check, you need to call the cops this would be a fucking crime. Jesus fucking Christ, John what the fuck is going on?!* *But, if I open the door, what will I see? If I call the cops what will they ask? The angry estranged brother who basically broke in to find his dead brother? They’d fucking never believe it. If I open the door I leave my prints on it. Fuck that, never mind that, what if I open the door and someone’s on the other side who fucked with Terry and they’ll fuck with me? What, what if it is Terry. Waiting for me. He’s pulled some serious shit in the past but he couldn’t…* *Jesus Christ John do something time is wasting. Do something do something do something DO SOMETHING. My hands are shaking. I don’t know what to d…* **CREAK** *OH DEAR GOD.


T he year started off normal. School finished and my family took our long-awaited trip to Italy. Everything seemed perfect and aligned. The arrival of summer was like a fresh breath of air after a long day’s work or the first sip of warm morning coffee. In that moment, as my back hugged the sand and my gaze alternated between the vast blueness of the sky and the ocean ahead, it felt as if nothing could go wrong.

Then it did.

As we searched for our gate at the airport, I quickly texted my best friend that we were on our way home. It wouldn’t be for, at least, twelve hours until we’d arrive back at the house, but she said she missed me a lot. She also couldn’t stand being around her younger siblings for too long without the sweetness of my company. I was quite excited to see her too. It had only been two weeks, but it felt like an eternity.

When our steps came to a halt and a bright and welcoming smile greeted us, my father immediately checked us in. Ten minutes later, after the woman checked my parents’ passports, my two younger brothers’, and mine’s, we began to follow the other passengers. As I shoved my phone back in, I couldn’t help noticing the sudden change of color in the sky as the clouds gradually vanished and an ominous grayness crept in. I looked around, wondering if other people noticed, but everyone was absorbed in their own worlds. Some with their heads down checking their phones, some walking to their tables grasping trays, and some striding towards their gates, their paces quickening at every glance of their wristwatch.

Probably just rain, I thought to myself. After all, what else could it be?

The window seat was my favorite. I never understood why some people were terrified of sitting there, for it was always a peaceful place for me. Whenever I went on an airplane, I’d follow the same routine: sit down, fasten my seatbelt, plug in my earbuds, listen to my playlist, and stare outside the window. It was the one thing I looked forward to on every trip because it was the one thing that would never change.

Then, suddenly, it struck like the ferocious explosion of thunder. I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep until someone vigorously shook me awake and the deafening screams of men, women, and children alike rang in my ears. Jolting awake and seeing my mother pulling my two brothers in a tight embrace and sweat building up on my father’s face, I averted my eyes outside the window and gasped as the wings of the plane shifted in different directions, its movements wild and erratic. With my hands trembling and heart beating a thousand times per minute, I watched as people hugged each other, even the ones that seemed like strangers, as they held on for dear life.

The flight attendants had stopped walking around too and, rather than uttering sweet words into the speakers to restore tranquility, they remained quiet. I had no doubt that they were panicking as well and holding onto each other, thinking that it might be the last time they’ll ever be together. In the midst of all the chaos, I looked at my father whose one hand gripped on the seat and the other holding onto my hand. I’d never seen him like that. He had always been the fearless one. The one who’d go skydiving if any of his friends dared him, the one who’d disappear in the cryptic woods and come out alive, and the one who went on a solo adventure around the globe as a teenager. This was the first time I had ever seen my father afraid and it didn’t give me a good feeling for what was to come.

I didn’t know what to do or what to say; it was as if my tongue succumbed to paralysis and took with it my limbs and appendages. It wasn’t like there was anything good to say, for as the plane continued to violently shift around, almost as if it was dancing to its impending doom, I realized that any moment could be my last.

I wasn’t ready to perish. I was just a young girl, a young girl who hadn’t lived her life to the fullest and wanted so desperately, so tenaciously, to live. Then, I realized that, when the time does come, you don’t really have much of a choice. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you have, or what you can do. It all comes to us just the same.

With the powerlessness seeping through my bones and the plane swaying back and forth like a bloodthirsty beast fighting its way out of its cage, I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift back to the beautiful times. The times when my family watched cartoons together on snow days whilst the aroma of hot chocolate filled the air, when I’d get my best friend’s letters in the mail and melt at her heartfelt words, and on the sleepless nights when my mother sat on my bed and read a bedtime story even though I wasn’t a kid anymore. Moments like these were etched in my soul and these moments would be the one to haunt me the most.

And just like when my mother finished her story, I took a deep breath, smiled, and drifted off to sleep.

After an hour or so passed by, I slowly opened my eyes and watched as people began to step out of their seats, retrieve their bags, and join in the line of people, their faces painted with relief and bewilderment as if they had just seen the world for the first time. When I looked outside the window, there was land, in all its expansive glory, with people walking around and pushing carts. Then, when I turned towards my father, the beads of perspiration on his face were gone and, after his lips curved up into a smile, he immediately pulled me in for a warm embrace.

It was then that I realized we had made it.

But little did I know that that bliss, that gratitude, that restored hope, in that one afternoon wouldn’t last for long because it had just begun. T here were talks of habitable planets every single day yet nothing really came out of it. There was no way we could ever leave Earth, not when it was too complicated and risky. Besides, I don’t think I wanted to.

A few months have passed since the airplane incident and, though it seemed like my family had abandoned the memory, I couldn’t seem to do it as easily. It felt too real for me and, when I remembered that it was real and wasn’t a nightmare conjured up by the wildest corners of my imagination, I couldn’t shake off the fear brewing in my chest. The incident didn’t feel like it was a one-time thing; if anything, it seemed like it was an omen.

And I was right. Exactly four months and twenty-five days later, another disaster hit. Like an epidemic, the story of ocean levels rising and ruthlessly swallowing up the islands in its vicinity took over news sites around the world. Pictures and videos of people, their faces stained with tears and voices pleading for help, and, behind them, the place they once called home shattering into fragments and, soon enough, they’d follow suit.

Next, there were the fires. They were everywhere; from the depths of the Australian wilderness, the rich rainforests of South America, to the wondrous woods of North America, wildfires conquered the world, its terrifying temper scathing and uncontrollable, and reduced everything in its path to forgotten ashes. They were all over the news too with people crying, their eyes imploring yet hopeless, and some, in between whimpers, claiming that it was the end of the world. I didn’t think so. Not yet, anyway. Not in a million years, perhaps.

Then, there were the floods. They came in sudden and harmless for some droplets of rain never seemed menacing―in fact, they were rather calming―but then, sneakily, like a snake slithering in the verdant grass, the clouds detonated like bombs in the meditative sky and turned into a deluge. Like the fires, it took everything in its way from the streets people walked on for their morning stroll, the cafés for a quick rendezvous, and even inside people’s houses, ravaging everything from pictures, furniture, to children’s toys. It was unstoppable. Even places that never flooded did and it didn’t sit well with me. That there were no exceptions.

And, finally, there came the news that spelled it all out for us. It was the news that united everyone―be it farmers, scientists, businessmen, or children. It didn’t matter what country we were from, what languages we spoke, or what we believed in, because the news affected all of us just the same.

The planet was running out of oxygen.

Even after watching the news of the disasters that plagued the world, I had never once in my mind thought that the worst could happen. That the planet would become unlivable, that it would turn into nothing but a wasteland. Or, even worse, that it would cease to exist. It didn’t seem possible; it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Not when it was the miraculous planet that broke all the rules of the solar system and gave birth to life. Life that was rich, varied, and beautiful in every way.

T hen, before I had time to register it, my family and I were in an enormous spaceship, fastening our seatbelts as tightly as we could, with thousands of people doing the same. As I sat there, taking in the reality of everything, the reality of how we arrived there, I shook my head, hoping it was all a dream. Hoping that everything was fantasy and it all happened inside my mind from a restless night. However, when I pinched my arm and opened my eyes, I was still there, strapped on that seat, and in the company of anxious thoughts and equally anxious people.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” My father, sitting beside me as he always did, asked with a gentle cadence to his voice.

“Yeah,” I replied, thoughts still drifting off to anywhere but there.

Then, he said, “Good. Everything will be okay.”

All I could do was nod. I knew that he was trying to make me feel better, to make the atmosphere feel less tense and excruciating, but, unfortunately for him, he had a smart child. A child that knew nothing would ever be okay, that we were escaping from familiarity and taking a chance on a distant, possibly murderous, planet that we knew so little about. We didn’t even know if we’d survive there. Nothing was certain and that was the most horrifying thing of all.

After the initial launch where my body felt like it was vibrating and squeezing my insides, we finally came to a slower pace and it was then that I heard someone, a six-year old boy with warm eyes, sitting next to me whisper and point, “Look, I think we can see Earth from here.” I raised my eyebrows in confusion, but when I diverted my focus to the small window, a gasp escaped my mouth and my eyes widened in shock.

There it was, in the distance, like a faraway star that one could only yearn to touch, the Earth in all of its magnificence. But there was something strange about it. I didn’t know how the little kid could recognize it because it didn’t look like the Earth anymore. Because, as I stared out from the spaceship, the latter moving slowly as if wanting us to savor the fleeting moment, I saw the distant planet begin to crumble, the deep blue of the ocean and the rich green of nature vanquished by shadows of darkness, the bright lights blown out like candles on a stormy night, and that was when I realized there would be no more home to come back to.

The place where I’d lived all my life, where I learned about love and felt it in the most tender moments, where I danced fearlessly under the rain, where I gazed at the stars in my lonely days and longed for something I couldn’t quite name, where I dreamt of bathing in the moon’s radiant light, it was all gone. This was the end of an era and a thousand more.

Perhaps, the new planet will be better, younger, and cleaner. Perhaps, everyone will love it better than they did with Earth and forget the latter, but I knew that I wouldn’t. I could never even if I tried because, at the end of the day―at the end of the world―there would be no other place like home. It will live in my soul for as long as I do. I don’t know how many days it has been since we arrived. Things, and especially time, worked differently around here and I’m not quite ready to figure them out. Everywhere I looked, people were exploring and conversing, and, a few feet away, children ran around and laughed. For a second, it all seemed normal, that we weren’t in a land far away from home, far away from everything we used to know.

But, as I discovered a few minutes ago from an astronomer who spoke with me about the universe as he noticed my eyes glued to the darkness above, the Earth wasn’t so far away after all. Except it wasn’t what I hoped he’d say. If anything, I wish he wouldn’t have spoken to me, just so my heart would still be in pieces.

He said that, from here, I could see the last pieces of the Earth’s annihilation, its return to dust after being filled with so much energy and vitality.

When he said those words, I shuddered. It didn’t feel real. It wasn’t supposed to be real. He was lying. He had to be. But yet, I remained there, body adhering to the spot. I don’t know what I was doing, I didn’t want to watch the Earth decimated into pieces, but I couldn’t get up.

Then, it happened. There were no deafening noises such as those that you’d hear from a heart-wrenching tragedy nor any screams or wails, but rather a distant light in the corner of my eye. For some reason, I thought I would see solidified fragments, but this made more sense. The light was everything―it was the last piece of flesh and bone from the Earth and the testament that there was once a planet, so rich, colorful, and vibrant, that housed lives so complex and filled with love.

As the light faded away and droplets of tears streamed down my face, a long-lasting breath made its way out of my lips with the words that almost came out as a whisper, “Goodbye.”

I wasn’t the kind that said goodbye . Instead, I’d always say, see you later . Goodbye meant an ending, a finite conclusion that I’d never see them again. I don’t remember the last time I’d said it. I don’t think I ever had. But, it seemed fitting this time. I wanted to say more; in fact, I wanted to scream, to let out everything, but I couldn’t because nothing would come out. All there was was a hollow emptiness, a helpless yearning, for the ghost of a place that was once there.

And that was when I realized my planet was truly beautiful. It wasn’t a novel thought; I knew that the Earth was beautiful. It was a trinket―a memento―of the vast, enigmatic universe and so were we. But this time, the feeling was different because, as I reminisced staring out the stainless window, the planet destroying itself in agony and distress, I realized it was utterly and profoundly beautiful and felt it in my bones. It started as a shiver, then a chill in the spine, and later on, like a festering disease, it seized my whole body, wrapping its arms for protection.

I was prepared for the end of the world. I knew it would come for, after all, everything that lives must also die. It was the cycle of life, the only rule that was concrete and definite. Birth and death, beginnings and endings, they came in a pair. But what I didn’t prepare for was the planet dying and me being alive. I could’ve never seen that coming. It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem right . The searing emptiness was there, steaming like a witch’s pot. The feeling that I was incomplete, that there was something missing, that the Earth couldn’t die without its children, and that its children couldn’t live without the Earth. We came in a pair, after all.

“Are you alright, sweetie?” I didn’t realize my mother was right there and, as I looked up at her, her brown eyes hopeful and her smile kind, I leapt up from the spot and into her arms. Then, in between her gentle rubs on my back and my sobs, I whispered, “I will be.” I meant it. I didn’t know when, but I knew that, one day, I would be.

I knew that, as long as life existed, so would remnants of the Earth. And, since the Earth was beautiful, so was life, and, in that ephemeral moment in time, I knew that, as I go on and breathe the freshness of the new air, my life would be different. Not because I was living on a strange and unfamiliar planet, not because I was forced to restart everything, but because, this time, I wouldn’t waste a scintilla of it. After all, there was nothing incredibly more fragile and frail in existence than the very thing we called life itself.


Jack finished his notes from the night before. It was 5:30pm and he was going to follow again tonight. He read again the pages of his new book, How To Move Forward In Life And Still Have Fun. He knew he was doing just that. It was a new year and he was going to take it by storm. His one and only resolution; take this year by storm. Sounds vague but Jack knows the details. He has been a reviewer for a small but up and coming online review blog for almost a year. Reviews for theatre; Broadway, Off-Broadway, and Off-Off which pretty much covers everything else.

Jack has a girlfriend who drinks Kahlúa and tries to write children’s books. She rips the perfume samples out of magazines and uses them. Jack never knows how she is going to smell. She is fairly sure she hates Jack but she stays for his cooking. Jack is the chef of the cheap. He can throw the cheap unexpected together and make not only a delicious meal but an experience. Eden, the girlfriend, sticks to the straight, and narrow, she doesn’t like to make waves. At work, she follows the leader and that has been working very nicely. Eden works for a Publishing Company. She has long hours. She works days. At night, Eden works on her children’s book. She has been working on it for four years. She and Jack have lived together for two. She writes in her “writing” chair. She found the chair in the trash. Coming home from work there was the chair with a sign that read DO NOT TAKE THIS IT IS HAUNTED. She took it. She curls up every night with her notebook and Kahlúa. Like the character of Joseph Grand in Camus’ The Plague, she has been working on the same sentence for four years. This sentence she says is pivotal to the book and if she does not get it right then the rest of the book will suffer.

Jack started approximately five weeks ago the work on his new business and so far so good. He's always liked that saying, “So far so good”. It covers things so nicely and leaves room for more. Jack’s business is going to be a blog about the stars of Broadway and Off-Broadway. Specifically what they do after their daily performances. Where do they go? Where do they go after having played John Proctor in The Crucible, or Don Quixote in The Man Of La Mancha or Maggie in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof or a character called No One who does nothing but moans and screams for two hours in a play titled, Four? How do they unwind from their odd jobs of pretend?

Jack has now followed five personalities of the theater world. He will do six before he launches his website. He takes notes and transfers them to the computer getting all his ducks in a row for the launch. He has one more to go. He wants three women of the theatre and three men. 		The first he follows is a huge underground theater diva. Jack went to review the show and then followed after the show. The Diva went to the nearby pub and had a drink, a martini with olives. A dirty martini. The Diva said, “Make it so dirty its X rated.” He drank it slowly. Then an hour later walked home. That was it. Jack followed him for an entire week, after evening performances and matinees. The follows after the evening shows lead to the same pub and martinis and X rated humor. The two matinees lead to the gym. Jack was hoping for more but that’s how it goes. The next week Jack’s review assignment was a production of Beckett’s Not I, a twelve-minute monologue, where the actress is hung eight feet off the ground with only her mouth on view and she spews the monologue as fast as possible. Jack loved it. He followed the actress. She is someone he has always admired. It was a Sunday matinee with no other show that night so he figured she would get dinner maybe or a drink or meet up with friends. She went to a coffee shop nearby ordered a coffee and proceeded to play solitaire for the next hour and a half. She sipped her coffee and played solitaire and checked her phone. Jack drank three cups of coffee in that time. He had two bathroom breaks. When he returned from the second she was gone. He ran out to see if he could find her but nope. Nothing. She had disappeared. He followed her for four more days and each the same; coffee shop, coffee, sit and solitaire. On the fifth evening when she had finished her third game of solitaire still not having won she burst into tears. It was a quiet burst. She sat there with tears streaming down her face collecting on her chin and sweater. Jack not sure what to do decided that may be telling her how much he admires her work would help. He walked over and said, “Hello. I wanted to tell you how much I have admired your work over the years.” Instead of “thank you” she yelled. She yelled, “Stop! You people always trying to get something from me!” and she left. At home, Eden was curled up in her writing chair sound asleep. Her notebook by her side and a half-finished bottle of Kahlúa on the floor. He did not bother to wake her.

 	The next three follows were, well, complicated.

Jack followed the lead actress in a musical revival. She had played the part many moons ago and it had made her a star. She was back to reclaim her title. “Many moons,” is another phrase Jack likes. It gives the sense of a lot of time in a poetic and respectful way while leaving you guessing and waning. She walked home to her apartment on the Eastside. That was all. For five days she walked home. She wore the same Burberry trench coat and scarf and walked the exact same way. Day six she took a different route and suddenly turned into an alley. Jack approached the alley cautiously. He attempted to peek around the corner when a hand grabbed him and pulled him in. It was her hand and she stood there with a can of mace aimed directly at Jack’s face. When she spoke her voice was shaking with fear. "I don't know who you are or what you’re doing but you stop following me RIGHT NOW or else…! With her “or else” she shook the can even closer to his face. “Do you understand?” Jack so sorry to have upset this icon of the theater nodded “yes” and left. At home, Eden was asleep in her chair. A new bottle of Kahlúa on the table. Jack quietly sat down on the floor and leaned against the chair. He listened to nothing but her breathing. He took the bottle of Kahlúa and gulped down a large portion of the sugary alcohol. He paused and took another gulp.

The next review was another revival, a drama this time, and the actress a TV star new to the theater. His review would welcome her to the Broadway family and look forward to seeing more of her on the Great White Way. She was young and ready to enjoy all the Big Onion had to offer. She went out after every performance with the cast but for the Wednesday matinees. For those, she would get sushi and take it back to the theater. Jack imagined her sitting in her dressing room preparing herself for the evening audience where she would once again have to show them all she was supposed to be there. On the last day of his follow, the Sunday matinee, she, as usual, went out with the cast for drinks. It was early in the day and she had not eaten and so the alcohol went straight to her. She stumbled out of the bar before the sun had even begun to set and made her way to the apartment she was renting in Hell’s Kitchen. This time his follow was not so much to observe but to make sure she got home safely. She was doing her best to keep upright and not appear to be as intoxicated as she was but she could only do so much. She stumbled and grabbed lampposts and street signs and the side of buildings, and then she stumbled and stepped right out of her shoe. Her left shoe. The loss went unnoticed by her and she continued down the sidewalk. Jack grabbed the shoe and moved towards her breaking his cover. However, since today was the last day of the “follow” it didn’t matter so much. He was simply a guy being a good citizen. He hurried to her. He called out her name. She looked back. He waved her shoe to show her what she was missing, she looked down and saw her naked left foot looked at Jack and screamed, Stay back!”  Then she ran. She ran hard, fast, intoxicated and straight into a lamp post falling backward. The fall was so slapstick, so comical it was laughable. Jack was mortified. He ran to help but she was yelling over and over, “Stay back!” He placed the left shoe by her side and fled the scene.

 	That Tuesday he reviewed a premiere of an off-broadway play. The playwright a supposed new voice on the horizon. He hated the play but the lead actor was someone he really liked and so he did his best in his review not to crush the play. After all, if this writer WAS a new voice of the theatre wouldn’t he look like an idiot saying she wasn’t. He followed the star actor in the new playwright’s show for three days. A hunky very attractive man known in the off off-world as someone who creates unforgettable and odd characters. He is like the Lon Chaney of the modern theatre contorting his body and voice into strange and memorable roles. This is his debut in a simple kitchen sink vehicle. He was superb. So Jack followed him for three days. The first two the actor did nothing but stop off in a bar for a beer and then home. On the third day, he came out in an oversized coat and shorts. At least Jack assumed shorts as he didn’t see pants just bare legs. He walked his usual walk and went into his usual bar but this time he went to the bathroom and didn’t come back and didn’t come and Jack started to think, “He’s on to me!” Jack checked the bathroom to see if the actor had slipped away without him noticing. No one at the urinals but Jack saw the actor’s legs in the stall. He must have heard Jack come in for he flung the stall door open and yelled, “Come in here and let's have some fun!” His coat was off and he was completely naked but for shoes and socks. His arms open wide for all to see his beauty. He exclaimed again, “Come in! Let's have some fun!” Jack tried to keep calm and replied, “Sorry I have a girlfriend.” “And I have a wife !” the hunky actor replied and he grabbed Jack and pulled him into the stall. There was a scuffle. In the scuffle, the actor punched Jack in the stomach. “You say a word to anyone and I’ll say you’re a liar out for money,” the actor yelled as he fled the stall with his coat half on. Jack was buckled over in pain. He waited until the pain had diminished somewhat and left. At home, Eden was not in her chair instead there was a note. It read, “Gone out with friends don’t wait up.” Jack took two ibuprofens and two sleep aids and went to bed.

 	Two days later his final review and follow before launching the site. A new Broadway musical about The Incredible Hulk with the brilliant title HULK and starring a very well known ex-WWW wrestler and now film idol as the Hulk. Jack’s stomach was painful and black and blue from the punch but he was excited. This would be the big follow and the one that would definitely get him attention. After this, he can request to follow the famous. After this, some of them may even ask or better yet beg that he follow them. After this life IS going to be fun and definitely moving forward. He wrapped his stomach in a gauze bandage and headed out. The musical was three hours long so he decided to see the Sunday matinee for his review. He loved it. It was funny and touching and true to the Hulk’s image, with amazing special effects. The ex-wrestler can now add Broadway star to his title.

Jack had to wait outside near the stage door for almost half an hour for the follow. There were others waiting. Fans clutching their programs for an autograph. A stagehand came by at fifteen minutes to let the crowd know it took the ex-wrestler half an hour to get the Hulk makeup off. Everyone nodded and smiled and understood. At exactly half an hour he came out. He was glowing from the performance. He signed every program and smiled for every selfie. He shook hands and hugged people and was simply gracious. Jack was impressed. Then the ex-wrestler took to the streets. Walking and looking in windows, standing outside bars but never going in. He walked further and further away from the crowded streets until he was on a very quiet street in a very quiet neighborhood, not a soul around, and that’s when he turned, ran to Jack, grabbed him by his coat and lifted him off the ground.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Who the hell sent you?” Before Jack had a chance to answer him the ex-wrestler slammed him down on the ground and punched him in the already punched and sore stomach. “I don't ever want to see you again! You leave me alone and my friends and family! You understand!” Jack nodded. It was late when Jack got home. Eden in her chair asleep. Her Kahlúa and notebook in their usual spots. He looked at her for a moment and then felt the surge of bile findings it way up and out and ran to the bathroom just in time to throw up in the toilet. Blood and food and water and pain all spilling out. From the other room, he heard Eden’s voice, groggy and upset, clearly, he had woken her with his puking. “ You should learn how to drink like the big boys.” He wiped his mouth and looked in the mirror. He thought I want to change my New Year’s resolution to add one more item. Sop take the year by storm AND find a new girlfriend. The End.


It was new year’s Eve. People were busy buying cakes on the streets of Melbourne. The rich aroma of the cakes took everyone to a divine feel. The stores were also freshly painted. The shops were covered with fresh roses which became a feast to the eyes. The tables were very well cleaned and the workers were busy at the billing section. The street also had several boutiques which made young women rush through the doors. There was a heavy traffic and the cop struggled a lot to clear the traffic. Amidst these busy situation, people were busy at buying. John Mathew, a man of 26 was living in an apartment. He had come from Los Angeles for his work. He loved his work and was passionate about it. When someone is passionate about something distance and obstacles doesn’t matters. So, he was very satisfied with his work. He planned to celebrate this new year , by engaging himself in a party . He thought of relaxing himself. John Mathew went to the club. George Stephenson , a man of 32 was working in the club . Though he had joined there only a week ago , he was able to capture the heart of the people by his mesmerising talk. So,everyone who visited the club loved to talk with him. They even thought him as their stress buster. At the same time , he too does his work with sincerity and commitment. But, he never revealed a word about his family. So people thought that he might be an orphan. But they did not confess this to him. John through his way, saw a little boy begging to his mother to get him a bike toy. His mother was not willing , since he had a lot. John by seeing this smiled to himself and thought, “ childhood days are always magical”. He crossed that shop and continued his way. He saw a beautiful woman on his way, wearing a black gown and there were stones of emerald floating on her neck. She also wore dazzling studs and a pearl bracelet. John was completely lost on seeing her face. The face was shining as bright as the moon. Even the moon failed to stand beside her for her beauty. George wanted to talk to her. His heart beat started to raise. His hands got shivered and somehow he managed himself to talk to her. He came up with lot of confidence and said , “hello.” The girl didn’t reply and he again told the same. The girl raised her chin so as to ask what. “May I know your name ?” asked John. The girl pointed out the word Mary, which was written on a shop. Then John replied, “ why are you not willing to even utter a word with me ?”. She girl bended her head down and through shaking her fingers , revealed that she was dumb. John’s heart stopped for a second. He didn’t want to miss her just because she is dumb. He told that he was in love with her. Mary was at her peak in shock. She ignored him and walked past him. John ran behind her and told, “ speech is just a sound. Sound is not needed to live. We will communicate through our Hearts and share our feelings through our eyes.”. Mary’s eyes was filled with tears. She hugged him. And along with Mary to celebrate his new year Eve, John went towards the club. When they entered, people were busy sharing their vodka and some were busy chatting with George. George was serving wine to them. To start their party with  a wine, John and Mary went to George. As a work of regular basis, he started to talk to him. He spoke to them as if they were known to him for years. The new lovers enjoyed his way of talking. Mary kept on blushing at John. John felt very happy. He had almost lived a life with her in just two hours. They totally forgot their world. George and John, almost became like close friends. They shared their childhood experiences. Mary saw her close friend there and she left George for a while. Meanwhile, George informed John about his plan to go for theatre. George hesitated at first. But, George convinced him by saying that he can spend some quality time with Mary. As soon as thinking about Mary, John agreed. John asked to him , about the theatre which was near them. George told that there was one. John told the plan to Mary. Mary had a great belief in John and so she agreed. They started their way to the theatre. There was a large queue, at the ticket counter. George looked at John with embracement. But, George told that it was their own theatre which is under the control of the club. George also added that he can buy the tickets for all of them. John felt happy. He gave the money to him. He went to the counter to buy the ticket. Grace and John went to buy some eatables so that they can have during the movie. At that time , a group of cops, were chasing a thief . He rode his bike in a very rash manner and the people were shocked to see that. The cops, too on their bikes chased him as fastly as they can. At that moment, George came out of the theatre to look for John and Mary. George was not conscious about what’s happening to him, the thief hit George with his bike and George was thrown away and his head got heavily injured. John and Mary, threw all their snacks and they were in great shock. They ran towards him, George told him, “ You’ll be alright . Come! Come! Don’t loose your hope” They took him to the nearest hospital through a cab. George fell on to Mary's shoulder on their way. Then Mary saw that, there was a heavy bleeding from his ears. Mary and John cried a lot.

John and Mary got married after a year on that same new year’ Eve. They cannot forget George's memories. After a year god gifted them with a male child. They named him, George.


The rain sounded as if it were rocks hitting the roof of the bus stop and a small waterfall rushed down over the corrugated tin roof towards the ground. She stood underneath her umbrella, white with coloured love hearts scattered on it, but it didn’t protect her feet or legs as torrents of water tumbled down, hitting the pavement with such force that some of the splashes reached the bottom of her rain coat. “Sometimes I hate the rain! Other times I just love it - usually when I’m sitting curled up on the couch watching through the window” she said to Mr Nobody. The wind was picking up the large droplets and blowing them in to the bus stop – just a roof really, with no sides. A wooden bench seat at the back of the shelter didn’t look too wet so she sat down, and sighed. She was tired and put her back against the wall, her bags on her lap so they didn’t get wet. There wasn’t much light around but quite a lot of traffic going past, cars and trucks driving through the deep ravines on the side of the road pushing the water towards her high in the air, but not quite close enough to soak her. “Where is the stupid bus?” she said out loud. “I suppose one of the river’s has burst its bank and there’s flooding everywhere. I just want to get home. I’m tired, damp and hungry” she moaned. She had been at the hospital for most of the day having more tests. She liked to go on her own even though she had been inundated with offers of lifts, someone to sit with her, dropping her off and coming back when she rang, but she said ‘no’ to all of them. It wasn’t like she feared the hospital or all the invasive machines she had to go into, sit in front of or even the blood tests, so why would she need anyone to go with her? The worst part was all the sitting around. It seemed so long in between each poking and prodding. Some of the time she took out her lap top and continued on with her writing, but today she couldn’t be bothered so just read her novel. The thing she found most interesting was the ‘people watching’ she could do. She would make up in her head what sort of lives they had, their relationship to each other and if they seemed happy or not. Of course a lot of them weren’t happy because they were at the oncology clinic but then again, she could tell the people who had just been told that they were free from the insidious disease, that they had a reprieve and weren’t going to be robbed of the rest of their life, just yet. That’s how she felt this time last year – exactly this time last year; to the day as it was New Year’s Eve. She had come back in to see her specialist that afternoon. It was snowing and a strong cold wind was blowing. She had treated herself to a taxi, she remembered because her body hadn’t bounced back to what it once was and she was quite skinny, so felt the cold a lot. Even with a thick duffel coat, a scarf and boots on, she was still freezing! While she was waiting to be called in she had a bird’s eye view of the main door and could watch the people walk through it, banging their boots on the coir mat to get the snow off before walking on the grey indoor carpet. A lot of them rubbed their hand together and wiped cold red noses as the warmth from the air-conditioning hit them. Some of the little children rushed up to the giant Christmas tree still sitting in the corner, tinsel and decorations adorning it and the silver light flashing off and on. “Don’t touch” a mother yelled at the small child but it was just too tempting for a toddler so he continued to try and pull the tinsel from the lower branches. Jane had taken her Christmas tree down and methodically put all the decorations away in the box for another twelve months. She wasn’t one to leave her tree up for twelve days after Christmas – she gave it two days and then it was down. She didn’t like clutter of any kind. She remembers as she sat in the waiting room thinking ‘Who knows if I’ll be here next Christmas?’… “Jane Miller” someone called out and she put her novel (she hadn’t read any as she’d been too busy watching!) away in her bag and walked into the specialist’s room. “Hello Jane” he said to her in the melodic tone that was both authoritative and soothing at the same time. “How was your Christmas?” “Oh just lovely” thank you Mr James (she just couldn’t bring herself to call him ‘Charles’ – just the way she was brought up) and yours?” “A bit too much food and drink but delightful!” he replied and touched him rounded tummy to show what he meant. “Oh yes” was all she could manage because she couldn’t relate to eating too much and putting on weight…. at the moment. “Well we have very good news for you Jane. Your last tumour has shrunk and we’re giving you the ‘all clear’. Of course because the tumours were very aggressive, you will need to come back to have scans each three months to start with and then we’ll stretch it out to six. You’ll also need to keep taking the medication that you’re on and I’ll give you a new script to last three months until your next visit but over all that should make you happy!” and he gave her a reassuring smile. “And” he added “A great start to the new year”. “That is fantastic news Mr James. Oh yes, that makes me really happy, and relieved”. And she let out a long audible sigh and returned his smile. Saying “And a Happy New to you” She had been worried about what he would tell her. Although she knew that she had no control over the outcome of the appointment and her belief was that whatever happened did so for a reason, she didn’t embrace the thought of her life being cut short when she was still young. Her mother had died from brain cancer when Jane was young and this had always been at the forefront of her mind ever since being diagnosed. She almost skipped out of Mr James’s office and in doing so, going around the corner towards the main door she ran into another person going in the opposite direction. “I am so sorry” she said to a dark haired man rubbing his arm where Jane had knocked him. “That’s ok” came the reply from the rather handsome man “you look like you’ve just had some good news – I hope so anyway”. Jane didn’t normally tell strangers her business but blurted out “I did get some good news actually – my brain tumours have shrunk” Then she blushed as she said “Sorry, as if you want to know that!” “I think that is fantastic news for you. I on the other hand have had some bad test results so am on my way to find out my fate!” “Oh I’m sorry to hear that. I do hope that the prognosis is good – in fact I feel like it will be” and she gave him a wide smile. “Thank you but as I always say ‘everything happens for a reason’”. Just as she was about to tell this man about her belief in that saying too, he said to her “I must run as I don’t like being late….and Happy New Year by the way”. “The same to you”. She said back but he had already gone. She was brought back to the ‘here and now’ by the sound the bus pulling up beside her, and she narrowly missed getting soaked by the huge wave it created. She stood up and clutched her bag under her arm as she stretched her legs as far as possible to step on to the bus without getting her shoes wet. The driver was a round happy Irishman and in a very strong accent told her that it was “Good weather for ducks eh love?” “Oh yes it’s terrible she replied looking down the row of seats to see how full the bus was. It was quite empty so she decided to walk towards the back. She passed a couple of old ladies and could hear them talking about how the weather had changed dramatically in the last decade and it was such a problem to know when to hang out the washing! As she neared the back, on one of the seats, the window one, sat a man wearing a baseball cap and reading a book. Looking straight at him she knew it was definitely who she thought it was and had no hesitation in sitting down next to him and saying in her usual friendly tone “Hello, remember me?” The man put his book on his lap and looked at the girl sitting next to him. At first he didn’t recognise Jane but then it hit him and a huge grin broke out on his face. “Hello. Yes I remember you…it was the hospital and you nearly took me out with your joy!” and they both laughed. “It was a year to the day” she told him “New Year’s Eve” “Was it really? You’ve got a good memory. How did you remember that?’ he asked her. “Well I remember when I got the ‘all clear’… “Oh yes of course you would. It was the day I received bad news”. Jane didn’t know whether to ask him or not – she didn’t want to appear nosey but he seemed quite friendly and open, so she tested the waters with “You look well now” and waited for a response. “Thankyou” he responded but said no more so Jane left it at that. “Maybe I should get up walk a bit further on down the bus” she began to ask herself. She had half stood up when he looked at Jane saying “Why don’t you stay here –and we can chat. Are you going to the bus terminal?” She sat down again on the well-worn seat next to him and placed her bag on the floor in front of her feet. “Yes I am actually. I live not far from the Circular Quay terminal”. “Wow that’s a coincidence, so do I” he said as the book he had been reading was popped into his leather satchel. I usually drive my car to and from work but we had drinks after work today so that’s why I’m on the bus. Are you coming from work too?” he asked Jane. “No, not coming from work today. I had the day off from work” and as she was about to elaborate he started talking at the same time. “Have you been doing anything nice?’ he enquired. Outside the bus the rain was teaming down, hitting the windows hard and running down in rivulets. The inside of the windows were steamed up and Peter rubbed it so that he could see where they were. “No, not nice, boring really” she answered “ I’ve been at the hospital, the one we met at….I don’t mean met as in ‘that kind of met’, just when we saw each other that time” “I know what you mean” and he started to laugh as he said to her “we met, not we ‘MET’ and he raised his eyebrows and tucked his chin into his neck at the same time as saying it slowly….and they both knew! “What were you doing at the hospital? Or is that none of my business?” “No it’s fine to ask me. I was going to ask you if you were ok now, in remission or not, so that isn’t any of my concern! So you tell me first. And by the way I’m Jane”. “Ok then. I’m Peter”. And he held out his hand, which she took and moved up and down ever so slightly. Then he continued “To answer your question….Jane. I have been in remission for two months now. I will go back every three months for a scan, so that is due in three weeks, and I feel positive that it will be all clear, so now, what about you?” “Well I spent the day at the hospital because my tumour has grown back, so I will now wait to see what all the scans, MRI and everything else shows”. “Oh I am sorry. I shouldn’t have asked - none of my business.” “No it’s ok - Peter. I’m fine with it, I really am. Everything happens for a reason”! “Hey that’s what…” he started to say when Jane interrupted with “Here’s our stop now – umbrella’s up”. They stepped off the bus together and the bus driver called out “happy new year” to them. They both had umbrellas up - trying to shelter from the falling rain. It was quite blowy and the rain blew in under their brolley’s,  wetting them both, but they looked at each other and smiled. “I live just down there” said Peter pointing left. “I’m going away tomorrow with work for a few weeks but would it be ok if I gave you a call when I get back”. “Oh I’d like that very much” Jane replied feeling quite pleased with him asking. She liked him and felt comfortable in his company. Whether it was because they had illness in their lives in common or not she wasn’t sure. “Take my business card” he said to her as he handed over a blue and white card, “and when you get home and have time could you text me your number please?” “You’d better get going or you’ll get soaked” he told her, and she walked quickly off down the street, turning to wave as she neared the end of the street, and when she twos ted her head around he was still there, standing in the rain watching her. It was a fortnight since Jane and Peter had met on the bus and as she picked up her phone to text him her hand was shaking and she felt sad inside, but knew it was the right thing to do. She thought back to last week when her specialist had rung her up to come in and see him immediately. It hadn’t sounded good. And it wasn’t. Her brain tumour had grown back, very quickly and it was inoperable. They gave her six months at the most. She had been expecting it in a way – just a feeling she had. She told herself it wasn’t ideal but with her strength and determination, she had decided that she would keep it to herself for as long as possible. She didn’t want to burden anyone else. And when her family finally knew, then they would care for her in the end. It was Jane’s choice and she felt content with it. Her text to Peter read: “Hi Peter. Hope you’re fighting fit! I decided that I need to be by myself for a while and sort a few things out…just letting you know that you don’t need to text me when you’re back. Just bad timing – that’s all. I wish you well for your future Peter. Jane X” She was just about to press ‘send’ when she added a post script: “I really like you Peter but remember ‘Everything happens for a reason’.”


She really didn’t want to wake up. "Maybe if I kept sleeping, I could convince my mom I was just really tired, maybe she’d give up on waking me up” she thought in vain. “Hazel, come on, your dad needs help in the fields. Please don’t make your poor, poor mother break her back out?” The teenager refused to buy her bluff, thinking this to be the mother’s usual form of guilt tripping. She's too strong to break her back in the fields. “I’ll be forced to go to the city by myself for the supplies, you don’t want your poor mo-” “You’re going to the city?” Hazel instantly bolted out of her bed, black hair pointing in however direction hair could physically point. She loved the idea of going to the city. Skyscrapers that would pierce the air above, the Irynwood smokestacks spewing smoke into the sky, nothing like this rinky dinky farm town. Her eyes hurt to open, crust gluing the lids shut, quickly removed with a hasty wipe of her arms. As her eyes opened unhindered, before her was her mother, built well by a life of farming with her flowing black locks and a smug smile on her face, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, her gray skin dirtied by work. “So Hazel’s finally awake, eh? Brilliant, now you can help your father in the field. He’s already got the supplies from the city an hour ago.” Her mouth was agape, offended by the deception- her own mother had turned against her! “Oh come on! Deceiver!” At this blatant deception, Hazel refused to engage with this and buried her head into my pillow, the pillow covering her ears as she tried to tune out any future lies her mother would use against me. This was of course in vain as she threw Hazel on her shoulder, pillow and all. “Hey, Ajax! I got the sloth right here!” “Thanks, Palma!” Hazel’s resistance was futile, she dropped her pillow before Palma managed to bring Hazel out of the farmhouse. The sky was dank as usual, specks of light from various directions providing the luminescence. Perhaps there was a megapede ominously arching somewhere, roaring, providing the soft but ubiquitous wind coming from all directions, all thoughts Hazel ran through her head to prepare herself for the day. In the field outside her home, burrowed into one of the giant trees that spread in all directions as far as the eye can see, was Hazel’s father, tending to the mushrooms. They were entering their mature stage, about three halves the size of her dad, standing with overalls, biceps that could decapitate any other Alva, gray skin with blue and red flecks. He could just barely clean them of parasites that would threaten the yield. “Howdy, Hazel. Have a nice rest?” “I guess, dad,” Hazel groaned as Ajax tossed her some boots to put on. Hazel knew that since he was tending the mushrooms, she’d have to help with the parasite cleaning. She inwardly cursed. Palma laid Hazel down on the ground delicately, dirt dirtying her back and the gray skin of her neck, facing upwards, her eyes half open and forcing her face into its best pout. Hazel resigned to just stare upwards at the layers separating the various zones of the forest. Her nightvision eyes could barely make out the sprawling leaves and branches that support megapedes and ants and whatever insects decided to live there, looking down from above. Meanwhile there her and her family, at the bottom of the forest. “Hey slowpoke, mind giving me a hand with these worms?” Her dad poked me with a stick. Hazel could only hope it wasn’t *that* stick. Her dad then proceeded to hand Hazel a stick, one that Hazel decided to consider as a completely *different* stick, and pulled her up. She reluctantly agreed and got to parasite hunting. Might as well take advantage of her awakened state. Hazel knew of a game humans played on the Highlands, one called “whack-a-flea”. These fleas come out of boxes and they hit them with a stick. This was the one thing that made this chore a bit fun. Hazel steeled my eyes, assuming a fighting stance she saw in a book once, a book on some human dueling style called “fencing”. She waited for those worms to come out, ready to face her unrelenting wrath. Hazel’s black eyes saw activity on the stem, she followed it diligently and he showed his ugly face, poking out of the flesh! She stabbed it with her stick and it died immediately, the stick impaling its disgusting form. She drew the stick back with a flourish, dropping the worm unceremoniously on the ground. Victory, Hazel thought. She moved onto the next mushroom, any worms that were still in the last mushroom would fall out the hole, and Hazel and her dad could kill them as needed. Track, wait, slash. Track, wait, slash. She’d go on for sixteen of the mushrooms, her dad the other sixteen. The way her dad worked was… a bit different. Hazel thought it was pretty gross, it was almost like he wrestled the worms out of the mushroom. Occasionally Hazel’s mother would swoon at this display of bravado, because nothing’s more appealing than using one’s biceps to force out worms from mushrooms. Hazel decided that she was the more stylish one. Hazel finished first, so she just waited around for her dad to finish punching a worm’s face in. “There’s stew inside, dear.” “Your apology is accepted,” Hazel mentioned as she walked inside with large strides. There on the stove Hazel saw the stewpot, various bits of mushrooms and meat floating about, still warm. Hazel took the ladle and poured herself a bowl, bringing it down on the table. She grabbed the chair, and sat down in it, looking out the windows to a forest of hidden creatures. Maybe if she focused hard enough, she can see the Old Gods who might still live there. She sipped her soup, a welcome taste to finish up work. Looking to her side, she saw her mother sitting on the porch, watching her father. She could see him through the window, doing various poses with the dead worm. Hazel’s mother was howling in laughter, and so was my father. Silly and gross as it is, she thought it was pretty funny to see him threaten to consume the foot long worm creature. “Oh- uh- sorry Mr. and Mrs. Kielsen! Ah no, the mushrooms, dammit!” Hazel heard a voice outside wail in despair. A muscular Alva with light gray skin, red flecks under his eyes, stumbled into the house, just barely fitting the doorway with his immense and buff frame, stains on his shirt and trousers. “Hey, Pace,” Hazel casually waved with two fingers. The Alva raised his hand in greeting. “How is the greenhouse project?” Hazel asked. It’s all he’s been talking about these past few cycles. “It’s going great, come on, we need to get supplies!” Pace grabbed Hazel’s hand, who left her almost-finished soup on the table. “Hey Pace, my soup!” Hazel yanked her hand back from his grip and she began sipping the last of her soup, staring judgmentally. He apologized, but Hazel didn't hear it over the sound of her judgmental slurping. “Okay, I’m done. What is it, Pace?” “I need fertilizer, the soil doesn’t have the right microbiome. I need nutrients to grow a culture so that the mushrooms can have the best yield. No more time, let’s goooo!” Pace yanked Hazel again and the youths exited the front door. “Going somewhere, dearies?” Hazel’s mother asked, “Some fertilizer stuff,” Hazel yelled out. Pace stopped in his tracks, realizing the obvious. “Uh, Mr. Kielsen, where’s the carriage? Hazel and I are going to the city.” Hazel’s dad, who apparently had long finished his extermination task, was sitting with her mother now. “Out in the stables, boy. What do you need? I went this morning, perhaps I got it?” “Ah, I need half a sack of Palver’s solution, a sample of luminescent kelp, a bag of luxwood crystals-” “Yeah, no, take the carriage. We’ll see you later, son.” Hazel smiled inwardly as her journey to the city was assured. However, her dad put a hand on Pace’s shoulders and he stopped. Crouching to Hazel’s height, her dad began his usual warning. “Be careful, Hazel. We don’t know if there are rogues on the path to the city. Y’know how much trade there is.” I smiled to comfort him. “I know dad, I’ll be careful.” He put on a strained smile and patted Hazel’s shoulder. “Fight on, Hazel. We’ll see ya for dinner.” She gave a thumbs up to my dad, and she waved goodbye to her mother who watched calmly. Pace grabbed Hazel’s hand again gently, and they went to the stables. Jalon was resting, the saddle already set. Ajax just forgot to take it off last time. “Come on, girl. Let’s go,” Hazel said to the molerat. She finally got up with what seemed like a yawn, Hazel, inept with animals, wasn’t sure. When Hazel finished getting Jalon up, she got on the molerat’s back and Pace sat behind Hazel. “Cool, let’s go now.” Pace gave a sound of agreement and the two set off to the city.


A gush of wind blasts by, "well... what is it?" asked a voice almost completely muted by the howling of the wind. "I don't know. Is it some kind of animal?" asked another. The wind continued to howl, and the sound of snow crunching, could be heard from a few feet away. "What the hell are you guys doing outside in this weather?", said a deep voice. "Hey, Dante. What is this thing?" asked the beginning voice. "What is wha-," there was a pause, intentionally would never be known, "its a human," said the deep voce almost sounding scared. "A what?" asked the beginning voice. With the calm of the wind, the voice could be heard more clearly, and from the sound of it, it was a woman speaking. "Oh, a human. I've heard of those in History class. My teacher told me that they were dangerous and really violent. They uh- they destroyed their planet a couple hundred years back right?" This voice was different, it was obviously woman like, but no one could tell, even from looking at her, what age she was. "Yeah. I though they went extinct. At least that's what I've been told," said Dante with a confused expression. "Maria, what's that in it's hand?" The woman like voice, Maria, moved forward to get a closer look at a shiny object wrapped in the dark, ebony fingers of the human, and reached to pick it up. At the touch of it's skin, to pry their fingers open, Maria jumped at the sight of their fading, brown eyes. "What! What happened, why'd you jump?" asked Dante, who soon after followed with fear. "Look!" yelled the beginning voice, Lily. They watched as the ebony human sat up, face frozen in a fearful expression. It's head turned towards Dante, and later towards Maria. The human's face changed, bearing a sinister look and once again back to agitation, but this change was followed with a deafening scream, that forced Lily, Maria, and Dante to cover their ears, with their mitted hands. "Ugh, she's so loud!" yelled Lily over the wind's howl and the human's screech. With a sudden stop in screaming, the snow stopped falling, the wind stopped howling and the human fell back to her original position. "What in the world just happened?" asked Dante, backing up little by little. "I- I don't know. Should we help it?" Maria asked, wiping tears from her eyes. "Stop calling her an 'it'," argued Lily. Maria and Dante looked at her in confusion. "Why? Compared to our planet, she's an alien," chuckled Dante. "Okay and your point is? She is obviously a woman. Look, her wooly like hair is long, and she has really soft skin." "You just described Dante, Lily," and with that remark, Dante slapped her in the back of her head. "Would both of you stop? Look," Lily picked up the shiny object they noticed earlier. It was a locket. She opened it and a whole batch of light shot out, almost blinding the trio. "Ugh, close it!" Yelled Dante, rubbing his eyes along with Maria. "Sorry, but didn't you hear what it was saying?" Asked Lily. "No. I was too busy protecting my eyesight from being taken," scolded Maria. "I'm gonna open it again. Cover your eyes, and just listen," pleaded Lily, and Maria shrugged, giving Dante the okay to follow. Lily first closed her eyes and once again opened the locket. It was still bright even with the darkness behind the eyelid, but now they could hear the voices singing from the locket: Become blind to our light, And heed these words The new moon is her beginning, It was because of the curse. The color in her eyes fade as Her connection to the moon grows Stronger. Bring her to the woman making, The path to a whole new turn, For she cannot wait for revenge any Longer. The singing stopped and the locket suddenly shut. The trio opened their eyes and Lily suddenly gasped. "Where'd it go?!" She dropped down into the snow, and began digging through it. Her hands becoming pale, she touched something hard. Almost metal-like. She knew it wasn't the locket, but she still was curious to know what it was after all. She wrapped her palm around the round, metal object and tried to pull up but she struggled indefinitely, since her arms were extremely small and slim. "Oh move, you weakling," said Dante, pushing Lily out of the way. Watching in the snow, Lily and Maria made a face in awe at the fact that Dante pulled the object up so easily, but were more intrigued by what came up with the metal. It was a box. The handle, mentioned as metal but looked rusted. The outer layer, was dark brown, with a silver lining around the opening and leading into the back. "Where did you pull that from?" Asked Maria, walking towards the box. "Right he-, hey where'd the hole go!?" Yelled Dante surprised. "It's like nothing was even there," the trio looked at where a hole should be, but only say a box like outline in the snow. "Wait, guys come look at this," Lily announced as she lifted the box and saw a light brown cutout of what, she thought the be some kind of message, but was soon disappointed to find out they were simply scratch marks. "Can we go now?" Asked Dante, "I don't want my dad, getting suspicious of where I am. You guys, already know how he is." Dante gave Maria a pleading look, but Lily ignored it and went back to the human. Bending down, she reached to touch the woman again. "STOP! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?" Yelled Maria. "Don't you remember what happened last time I touched her?". Ignoring her words, Lily once again touched the woman, but this time more carefully. The human's eyes once again opened but they did not scare Lily, like they did Maria. "Take me to her," in a raspy, almost inaudible voice, the ebony human spoke. "Wait, say that again?" Lily moved her ears closer, and watching in fear, Maria and Dante began to back away slowly. "Take me to the woman, the one that can make a new path for me." The human was shaking in her laying position, for she had on no coat, no pants, no shoes. The only cover she had was a worn out shirt, that was meant to cover her breasts, but failed. For the sides could still be seen. "Lily, let's go," demanded Dante. "Why?" Asked Lily. "Because it's talking about my mother. The one who makes paths is my mother. She doesn't make paths anymore, sorry," Dante began to walk off and grabbed Maria to follow. "You liar." Said Lily, glaring at Dante with a guilty look on his face. "our mother left you father in order to help more humans and you're just bitter because that other human girl that was found, didn't like you the way you liked her, and suddenly disappeared," Lily finger quoted. "She did disappear," Dante scolded, with a mean look on his face. "Oh shut up, everyone in the village knows that you sent you father's guards to kill her," Lily dramatically made gestures with her arms. "You have no right in this. Go ahead and tell your father about the human, I will take this human to your mother and there is no way you can stop me," Lily responded, helping the human sit up, who was now feeling the snow in her right palm, while still intensely gripping Lily's hand. "I did not," Dante walked towards Lily, "Listen you brat, Ferra was everything to me and I respected her decision about not wanting to be with me. But you're just jealous because you liked her as well, and she saw nothing in you!" Shouted Dante, grabbing Lily by her coat's collar. "Guys stop!" Yelled Maria, she began quivering and held back tears. "Shut up Maria!" Said Lily, "If you call respect murder, then I SHOULD MURDER YOUR FATHER RIGHT?!" Yelled Lily, and Dante raised a hand to slap Lily, but before he could get any power to throw it, a hand grabbed his wrist and he froze. He turned his head to the left and shock ran through his body, "Let go of me, you vile human!" "Let go of Lily," she whispered, but even with her soft spoken words, Dante still trembled at her presence. "Who are you? Do you know who I am? I'm-" "Dante Forene. The son of Ruther a.k.a "Ruthless" Forene, the murderer of my people." "Let me go!" Dante snatched his hand away, at this point he had let go of Lily, "My father is no murderer, you liar. I will have you killed," Dante raged, not even realizing he's proving their point. "Dante what is she talking about?" Asked Maria concerned. "I don- I don't know. She's lying! My father never killed anyone!" "Who are you?" Lily asked the human, now recognizing how tall she truly is. "The beginning of something revolutionary," said the tall human relaxing. "Let's get out of here. You better hope I don't see your face ever again or else I'll have you killed, you hear me?" Dante demanded. "Humans aren't welcome on our planet, that's why we endanger your existence," Dante whispered under his breath, grabbing Maria once again, who innocently followed. "Grab that box Lily." The woman softly said, gesturing to the dark color in the snow. The human watched as Dante and Maria were out of sight. "What even is it?" Asked Lily, curiously watching the human's every move. "Everything I need," she took her finger and placed it in her mouth, and within the same second, bit down and blood sprayed everywhere, with a little landing on Lily's coat. "What the hell! Why'd you do that?" Yelled Lily. "The only way to open the box is with the connector's blood," the human took her red stained finger and slid it across a rough patch, Lily only noticed after bringing the box to the human. "Woah," Lily said astonished at everything inside the box. The box was filled with many things, that seemed really important to the human. Clothes to cover her body, shoes to wear on her feet, but what really made Lily think everything going on was a dream, was the sight of a knife, that looked similar to the one's sold at their local weapon shop. "Is that a human's knife?" Asked Lily intrigued. "Is that what they call it?" The human scoffed, "this is a Vendetta knife." She picked it up, and to Lily's surprise, it was larger than she had anticipated it to be. "Vendetta? You have a vendetta against someone?" Lily began to back up terrified. "Lily, it's not against you, this is for Ruthless, the man that destroyed my planet." "Ruthless?" "Your King Ruther." "I- I-" Lily stuttered but then sighed. "I'm not even surprised. There have been a lot of murders lately involving innocent humans. The last one to live here was me and Dante's age, but she mysteriously disappeared," Lily once again finger quoted. "Ha, yeah that's why I'm here. That human was my sister, Ferra. We lived here in the snow for some time but then she met that boy Dante and never came back until I found her blood and locket in the snow a couple years back. I didn't want to but I went into the village to avenge her the first time but Ruthless fought against me and set a bounty for my head." She paused for a second, looking down at the locket Lily dropped. "What happened? How come you were laying there in the middle of the snow with no clothes?" Asked Lily. "A witch found me, and cursed me. But I don't think she wanted me to die, she negotiated with me. She allowed me to live if I did not come back to reek havoc on the village. I agreed and gave up. But I sensed she still didn't trust my word and I was right," finished the human. "What did she do?" "She ripped my clothes from my body, and then she set a curse on me to lay like the dead, until someone found me again, then made the weather dangerous so that no one would find me. I screamed while the curse stiffened my body, which is why I screeched after your friend touched me. Sorry about that," she chuckled. Lily chuckled along with her but soon stopped. "What's wrong?" asked the human. "Can I stay with you?" "Why would you ask that? Do you not have parents?" "No, they died in the crossfire of the war between our planets." "I'm sorry that happened to you, but why would you want to stay with me? Have you not realized I'm going to murder your king?" "I want to help, he is the reason for my parent's death, and I will never forgive him." "Well then okay," the human smiled, "But I need you to go back to your village and pack your stuff to leave, so that after we can go see the woman that creates paths." "Why? Can't I just stay with you?" Asked Lily, wiping blood off her coat. "Well, that would be the easiest way, but your little murderer of a friend is gong to tell his dad about me, so if they don't see you back, they will assume I killed or kidnaped you, and we don't want that do we?" Said the human with a convincing look on her face. The point the human made, made Lily nod her head in agreement. "Okay so then, I'll pack and say I'm moving to the next village. I'll have to get fired from my job at the restaurant first to really sell it though." The human nodded her head and got up after finishing with the box. "What now?" Asked Lily looking up to the human. "You go now," the human took what looked like a key and wiped her blood across it and threw it into the snow. " When you finish convincing everyone you're leaving, you need to come back here and find the frosted flower. Pick it and wipe your blood across one of it's petals." A door appeared and she opened it, along with a frosted pink flower now growing in the snow. "Wait!" The human turned around. "What's your name?" Asked Lily. "Nemoa." The human smiled and turned back towards the door, the golden light almost blinding Lily. The light made Lily feel warmer than she did her entire time in the snow, and relaxed her. It felt welcoming and safe, like a mother's hug to her crying child. The door closed and Lily turned to walk back to the village with a new sight in life. "New moon. Is that what the king meant by 'under the new moon, will be a revolution'?"


Our story begins on East 30 th Street, over which we go down to the sea to get ships, helicopters, the seaplane to the Hamptons, the ferries to the outer boroughs and the Mets and tennis games, gasoline at one of the few stations in lower Manhattan, parking for the desperate and chintzy. For a narrow, one-way street, it does a pretty good job of getting people out of the city. I cross it every day on my Citibike commute to work. Neither snow nor rain, you know. Not much chance of gloom of night; I’m out of my office like a shot. A random timing of the lights from the East 29 th street bike lane to the mighty uptown-headed Third Avenue, formerly under the Third Avenue EL—we scrapped it, and sold the steel to Japan in the 1930s; they sent it back to us on December 7 th , 1941—caused me to notice a gleefully smiling one-legged man in a snazzy Drive wheelchair in traffic on the west side of East 30 th . After another few yards, I saw the cup. The Bible tells us that when someone asks for food, give it to them, or give them money to get it. The Talmud expands this; if someone is begging, they have humbled themselves and have created a debt from the begee to the beggar. This holds even if it is likely that the panhandler has a Section 8 housing voucher, disability checks, and Medicaid and is fishing for money for smokes or whisky. I gave him a buck; he thanked me profusely and wished me to “Be safe out there.” I waved and said, “And you as well” and saw him resume holding his cup to as many as possible of the cars stopped for a red light, most of them app-ride vehicles, most of the drivers Middle Eastern, who have a similar charity paradigm similar to the Hebraic. Some of the drivers would listen intently as the disabled man, Isaiah, as I would learn, spoke with deliberation into their car windows. After six weeks, I finally learned the secret of the red-light conversations. As I handed Michael a fin—I was out of singles—he told me to take 47 th westbound, that the docking station closest to my office was full and would remain so for a few hours. How did he know where I worked, which docks I used? It was a pain in the ass, on top of the ordinary pan in the ass of riding a bike 45-pound bike with nitrogen-filled tires, to stop and use the app to pick the best station. Did Michael’s phone have the Citibike App? Was he giving traffic information to the drivers as well? Take Second down instead of the FDR?

Every working day I would give him something. When I volunteered to take over Thursday bagel duty for my office, I’d give him a buck and a hot, fresh-out-of-the-oven New York bagel. Everyone I passed sufficiently strapped to beseech alms got a Bagel on Thursday. It became a routine with Isaiah.  I would ring the bike bell and he would swivel from the traffic lane to the sidewalk so I could duke him without stopping. Expiation of sin, accumulation of Karma, or just being human, we were both happy. One day, I needed a quick equipment adjustment while at the same time 30 th was empty due to a tractor-trailer totally blowing the turn from Lexington. Once, I had been in a cab heading across 30 th , Michael probably didn’t recognize me without my bike outfit. I clearly heard him tell the driver to take the Willis avenue bridge instead of the RFK. I approved the change of route with the driver. Twenty minutes after the light turned green and we headed uptown, 880 CBS traffic had a “Breaking News, This Just In” about major collision on the Triboro, what they’re now calling the RFK. Spooky. I spilled the beans to my wife. Harmony told me that I absolutely had to invite Michael over. If we had taken the RFK, the cab would have been in or near the collision. She said he might have saved my life. And that there would probably be a value to my friend’s talent. She was right, of course, but every value has a cost. Harmony was likely the cause of the major uptick in GrubHub’s stock price. Well, her and maybe the Corona Virus. We didn’t know what Michael liked, so we got some of everything. We put the middle leaf in the dining table, cleared the clothes off of the conversation pit in the sunken living room—yup, we had a pre-war Art Deco apartment in Manhattan. Moorish arches and everything. Fortunately, the recent building renovations required the co-op association to put in a ramp near the outside stairs; Michael didn’t have a problem coming up. After all was said and done, Michael had two Po’ Boys from Double-Wide for his supper. He thanked us profusely and materially. He sat down at our little spinet and serenaded us with show tunes; everything from South Pacific to Fiddler on the Roof, with Porgy and Bess and Man of Lamancha thrown in. This was one time that a sung-for supper was worth more than the meal.

Comfortably seated in the pit with brandy, exotic vapes, and rugelach, Harmony began her pitch.

“So, Isaiah . Paul tells me you have a unique talent for prognostication. And that talent may have saved his life, or at least our car and his time. How did you come by it, may I ask, if you know?” “Now, I’d hardly call it prognostication, Miss Harmony. Just impressions of where to go and where not to. I never seen an accident in my head. Never nothing in my mind’s eye. I just know where folks should or shouldn’t go. It’s that simple, Ma’am. I’d say it started with Emir. He was an old-fashioned cabby; owned his cab and his medallion. He could do as he wished, and he wished to drive around town with people.   He had three friends who lost limbs in the Iran-Iraq war. The four of them were barely out of childhood. When Emir would pass my corner, he would say a prayer for my leg. After the first prayer, my grant for a prosthetic leg was approved. After the second prayer, a nice apartment owner accepted my Section 8 as rent in full. Then there was the grant for a motorized chair. “ “But you stayed on the corner despite your good luck.” “That’s right, Miss Harmony. People need to feel good about themselves, and I was giving the folks an opportunity to feel good.  “And then he stopped passing by.  I found out that he was heading back to the garage and swerved to avoid a bunch of kids skateboarding in the middle of Columbus Avenue. He wound up with his cab stuck under a beer keg truck. He didn’t make it. After I found that out, that’s when it started.” “You know, Isaiah, a lot of other people could be helped by the information you tell individual drivers. Maybe some lives saved as well, don’t you think?” “A noble thought, Ma’am. I’m not in control of the visions. I don’t know how I can help,” Isaiah said, genuinely sincere, not that phony kind of sincerity. “You can leave that to me. I’m a professor of Management at Baruch College. If I know anything at all besides knowing that Paul would never cheat on me, it’s how to manage things. How about this. I’ll give you a donation of a thousand dollars. Just keep doing what you do. You’ll be miked, and three of my friends will be nearby. Then the five of us will see what’s what. No obligation on your part, if there’s something you don’t like, I’ll pull the team, you get to keep the money either way. Deal?” “As a fellow alum, how can I decline. Do you remember Tony the elevator guy?” Harmony looked at Isaiah in a new light. “He was before my time. But I passed his plaque every day. Tony Koziolek, Doctor of Vertical Transportation.” I made sure Isaiah got downstairs and I waited till there was a wheelchair cab. “You know, or I guess you don’t, when Harmony gets an idea, she’s balls to ya, partner, ass against the wall.” “I can’t even begin to imagine what that means. But a thousand clams is enough to convince me it’s a good thing.” “Listen, Isaiah, let her do her plan, but I think we should have a back channel, just in case. Tuesday afternoons at the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park? It’s not all that far from you.” “Hmm… Let me check my social calendar. Alrighty. Nothing on any Tuesday for the next year. And it’s I-Z. Eye Zee. Deal.” Harmony had the pages of her Filo-Fax spread out on the ABC Persian carpet and our landline was right next to her. She only used it for outbound calls when she wanted to make sure she was being understood. She would tell me, “Nothing cops like copper.” It meant she was serious. She called her grad students first and then set off a bidding war among three venture capitalists. “Imagine what could have been if you were you during the dot com boom. How does it feel to use OPM?” “Feels great. They’re like horse players, like craps players. They get a rush from placing the bet. Profit is secondary. And remember, they're dealing with me. You do recall ‘Smart Money Bets Last,’ the horse race software, don’t you? Our kids are driving around in cars paid for with that money. We could have bought this whole building if the lady at the hundred-dollar window hadn’t figured it out. Give me a little kiss, will ya, Hon? Back to the ward for me.” My wife did have a track record with any indeterminate math. I fell asleep and dreamed of the paranormal. “So what’s for lunch, Paul?” I noticed my new friend was wearing was wearing an Armani shirt, flashing some bling, and sporting a $75 dollar fade. It had taken him a little while to get that check cashed; he deserved some treats. It was a green, leafy day in the park. The impeccably weathered statues of Chester, Roscoe, Bill, and Jim seemed to glare at each other across the fountains and the central lawn. The dogs in their little piece of the park gleefully caught tossed balls and sniffed each other’s butts. I thought I saw William Seward frown at the experimental art installation, a bunch of day-glo, human-sized hamster cages in the plaza across Broadway.  “Shakes, I-Z. A couple of burgers a few dogs, and some fries. Pull up a bench. Maybe I should have told you not to spend that money all in one place.” “An indulgence. It’s been so long since I felt like I was earning money, ya know, like at a job. I bought my ‘meeting’ a fresh case of 30-day chips and a box of pamphlets. I’m trying to hold onto the rest.” “Harmony says the accuracy rate started dropping after the control group runs. Oh, wait. You didn’t know about those, did you? Her Grad students kept themselves hidden; two of them would drive by in cars. You were spot on. But lately, the results are only a touch better than chance. Any ideas?” “Mister Paul. I told you and Miss Harmony right up front, I don’t control the visions. You’ll have to ask the Higher Power about that.”

My next two meetings with Isaiah went about the same as the first meeting after he cashed the check. Perhaps in an attempt to show he wasn’t blowing the money wastefully, he told me about buying 28 Slim an expanding foldable luggage carrier so he could easily move the deposit bottles he collected to the We Can facility, or getting an honest-to-God preacher outfit for  The Right Reverend I Nigeria.

It was three park lunch meetings later that things started to click. Harmony packed me up with a home-cooked meal for two in an actual wicker picnic basket. She also armed me with he news that Isaiah’s numbers were heading back up. I-Z and I found a clear spot by the fountain. Harmony made catfish Po’ Boys and jimmy cakes with rhubarb cobbler for dessert. While washing down our meal with some Pepsi Colas, I-Z told me about buying a prom dress for Fast Fanny; at 47 she had decided to finish the last few credits she never took to get a High School diploma.   And with the diploma, a rip to the prom in two weeks. With her date, Isaiah Warfield.

“Well, Paul, that’s it for the check. I hope your lady got her money’s worth.” “I think she did. Your numbers are way back up. The team estimates that you saved 200 person-hours in commute time in the last seven days and at least one collision, possibly fatal. Harmony wants to start the commercial feed to Google Maps. It’ll be a steady paycheck for you. Being on the corner will be a steady job. You won’t have to worry about how much the drivers give you. How does that sound?” “Sounds good. But I’d be a fraud, wouldn’t I? I’d be panhandling when I don’t really need the money.” “But you would be doing good for a lot of people, right? Saving time, saving money, saving lives.” “I’m not saying no, Paul. But you’re starting to sound like your wife, so confidant of the ways of things, how they be. Remember, I still have no control over what I see.” I came home with flowers, the twenty-dollar Full Monty bouquet, and a full pound chocolate assortment from Two Beans. Harmony is tough as AP Physics, but I was afraid I would come home to a lachrymose lady lying in a fetal position on the floor. Boy, was I wrong. “Sorry your backers shut the spigot off. It was fun while it lasted.” “Oh, Honey. Thanks for the candy. And thanks for remembering to put some chocolate-covered orange peel in the mix. Put the flowers in a vase, eight inches of water and two aspirins, then come back and let Momma tell you the facts of life.” I did as Mistress instructed and found my true love in the conversation pit. I stepped down into the living room and joined her, prepared to be edified, educated, and possibly entertained. “The license plate camera hack was from Marcel. The traffic, red-light, and school zone cameras are open to the public. Google paid for the Isaiah overlay on the mapping software themselves. I think the audio hookups for the Grad students, rental car fees and gas was maybe three hundred bucks. The rest of the first draw is in an account for us to keep I-Z in his little indulgences. It’ll take another two weeks of monitoring, but I’m quite sure I have the answer. When he’s flush, it doesn’t happen for him. He’s gotta be really down and out for it to work. That’s why it’s no more cash from us. And we’ll have 14 discontinuous weeks of data, enough for journal article analysis complete with charts and graphs. Tenure, here I come!” “Is research ethical if one component of it is a hack you got that the guy you had the affair with stole?” “Hey, gimme a break, buster. Affair. You could’ve put a ring on it any time,” she told me, showing precisely which finger she meant. “And as for the backers, I told you. No difference between them and any other degenerate gamblers. They get off with a win, they get off bigger with a loss. And the project is still alive. When Huey, Louis, and Dewey get through with the data, we might get a working application yet.” I claimed the right to give I-Z the first indulgence from the first-draw fund. I bought a black suit and one of those hats, rented a white limo, and smiled as I drove I-Z and Fanny to the prom. I had the greatest time hanging with the other drivers, smoking cigarettes, and betting on which car is going to have a blood stain on the back seat the morrow morn.