Jennifer bit her lip and knocked on the door, acutely aware of the probability that her article hinged on which direction this meeting swung. A lady with a bob of gray hair and a red apron opened the door, and a sweet, buttery smell escaped into the winter air. “Well, come on in, sweetie pie. Don’t want you freezin out there.” She waved her in with a white, flour covered hand. “Thank you, Ms. Brenda.” Jennifer stepped inside, although the fifty-five degree sunshine felt amazing compared to the icy blasts she’d left behind in New York City two days before. “Wow, your house smells amazing. They should make a candle with that scent.” Ms. Brenda chuckled. “Shortbread cookies. I make them every Tuesday. You sit right here while I finish this batch. I’m ready for your questions whenever you are.” “Well, like I said, I’m Jennifer Andrews with The New York Times. I caught wind of the quiet property sales in your neighborhood, all of which sold without ever going on the market. You’re one of the last original owners left in this development along the river, aren’t you?” The wooden rolling pin squeaked as she flattened the yellow dough. She nodded without looking up. “Seven families gone.” “Has anyone approached you about buying your place?” “Oh yeah. I’ve gotten three phone calls, and I told them not a chance. But now my neighbors are gone, and I feel kinda lonely. I’ve been wonderin if I should reconsider.” “Before you do anything like that, hear me out. I believe there is a company using unethical tactics to buy up these properties. Do you know why your neighbors sold? Were they offered a lot of money?” Ms. Brenda scored the dough into rectangles, then popped the pan in the oven. She slowly wiped down the counter and rinsed the sponge. Jennifer bit her lip again and tried to wait patiently. “I’m sorry if this hits a sore spot.” Ms. Brenda shook her head. “It’s just… well, I feel ashamed to admit it, but we all did somethin terrible. On accident of course, but it’s catchin up to us.” Jennifer frowned. “I don’t understand.” “I suppose I don’t mind showin ya.” She moved to the built-in desk at the side of the kitchen and pulled a paper out of the top drawer. “We all got one of these in the mail last summer.” Jennifer studied the paper. “An unpaid riverfront tax from the past thirty years of $130,000 due in full this April?” She looked up in shock. “That’s ridiculous!” “I can’t pay that, and they couldn’t either.” “Have you called the number they provided?” “No, I’ve been tryin to forget about it.” She sniffed and looked out the window. “I know that’s foolish, but I feel downright sick when I think on it.” “Forging a letter from the IRS is a felony. This may be a scam to pressure people into selling. Would it be okay if I called this number right now?” Ms. Brenda smiled broadly and patted her heart. “That would take a load off my chest!” “Awesome. I think there’s a good chance you’ll get a call from another buyer soon after, so be prepared. Also, is it okay if I impersonate you? It might be slightly offensive.” “Go right ahead. I’ll sit here and watch the show.” She handed Jennifer the phone and sat down on a big, flowered armchair, one of two in a bay window overlooking the Red River. Jennifer dialed and waited on speakerphone. A female answered. “IRS accounts receivable department. This is Nancy. With whom am I speaking?” “Hey, there. This is Brenda Myers,” Jennifer said in a gravelly drawl. “I’m in a tizzy cuz I’ve got this letter here sayin I owe the government a lot of money. Can you help me out?” Jennifer glanced over at Ms. Brenda in alarm. She had clamped a hand over her mouth and was bobbing violently in the chair. Please don’t have a stroke in the middle of this. “Of course, Ms. Myers. I’ve got your account pulled up. It looks like you owe $130,000.” “Lord Almighty, that’s a fortune! Whew, lemme take a minute.” She covered the phone and whispered, “Are you okay?” Ms. Brenda’s face was now purple, and tears squeezed out of her eyes. She nodded. Jennifer broke out in a sweat. “Nancy, tell me- do you have financin options? I was thinkin I might take out a loan. Or maybe I could ask my daughter for the money. I don’t know, what do you recommend?” “We, um... y-yes, financing is an option. Would you like me to send you some information on that?” “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you, dear.” “Of course, Ms. Myers. I’ll put a pamphlet in the mail today, and it should be there in a week. Goodbye.” Dial tone. Ms. Brenda exploded. She leaned over and smacked her knees as loud cackles ripped out of her chest, one after another. She dragged in a deep breath and let out another round of trapped laughter. Relief washed over Jennifer, and she started to giggle, too. “Oh my gawd, you sounded just like me!” The oven beeped. “You deserve a snack, young lady!” Jennifer flashed an impish grin. “I was hoping you’d say that. Did you notice how nervous she got when I talked about actually paying?” “Yeah, she had ants in her britches. Coffee?” Jennifer and Ms. Brenda ate and chatted for the next ten minutes as if they were old friends. Then the phone rang. Ms. Brenda answered and hit speakerphone. “Hello, Ms. Myers? This is Elizabeth Pelfrey. My husband and I are looking for a riverfront place in your area. One of my good friends recently bought a property on your street, and I was wondering if there was a chance you might consider selling?” Jennifer wrote on a notepad: Let’s hear their offer. “Well, I suppose we could talk about it. Tomorrow at 3?” When Ms. Brenda hung up the phone, her eyes were huge. “You can just hear them out without committing to anything. I’ll record it as evidence.” “Will you pretend to be my daughter Hannah? She won’t mind, and I’ll need the support.” “Of course. Texas accent?” “Yeah, sweetie. You got it down pat.” There was a knock at the door. It opened half-way, and a young man with a nicely trimmed beard leaned in through the opening. “You doin okay, Ms. Brenda?” His smile faded when he spotted Jennifer. “Jacob! Oh yeah, Jennifer here has been a huge help to me, and I’ve laughed more today than I have in years. Lemme get you some shortbread.” She bustled over to the kitchen. He stepped inside and eyed Jennifer warily. His plaid shirt, tailored khaki pants, and clean boots created a unique blend of cowboy and businessman. “Jacob’s the son I never had, grew up four houses down thataway.” She handed him a paper bag full of buttery sweets.

“Well, I better go.” Jennifer headed to the door, hoping to draw him out with her before he blew their plans. “You be nice to this one, Jacob!” Ms. Brenda called out. “She might look like New York, but she’s got Texas in her heart.” The warmth dissipated as soon as the door shut. He followed her down the steps. “Are you tryin to buy her place?” “No, I’m a journalist from The New York Times.” “Like hell you are.” He narrowed his eyes. “You leave Ms. Brenda alone, you hear?” Jennifer rolled her eyes and hopped in her vehicle. “You’re full of it. Goodbye, Jacob Antonio Bracken.” She smirked at the shock on his face as she reversed. She always did her homework. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?” asked her boss through the phone. “Big lead- I’ll be there tomorrow for an offer. I’ve done three interviews, and I also went to the City Council Office. The land is zoned single-family residential with no pending applications for change.” “Great progress. Make sure you record that.” “Got it.” Time to start typing. *** Jennifer rolled up to Ms. Brenda’s house at 2:30 on Wednesday with adrenaline pumping through her veins. She had abandoned her sleek black boots and leggings in favor of brown work boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt. They set up the video camera in the living room, as well as a small one on Ms. Brenda’s shirt. The meeting went as expected. The couple tried to reschedule when they realized “Hannah” would be attending, but Ms. Brenda told them it was now or never. They seemed uninterested in checking out the house, yet eager to buy, and quickly made a lowball offer that only covered the value of the land. Mrs. Pelfrey had scrunched her nose and whispered, “We heard about your little tax problem. We’d be willing to pay your debt if you gave it to us at this price. You’re digging your own grave, otherwise.” Ms. Brenda fanned her face after they left. “Who would have thought that fake taxes would be so stressful?” Jennifer smiled. “You did great. Thanks for playing along. It could make a huge difference in the future of your neighborhood. Do you think I could leave my car here for a bit while I walk the properties?” “Sure thing, sweetie.” Jennifer decided to walk along the river, just in case she saw anyone and needed to hide out below the banks. She had no idea what was going on behind the locked gates that had been put up at the end of the driveways. Each property consisted of five acres of heavily wooded land that could easily hide something. The river meandered through the flat terrain, with red silt beaches that bumped into steep banks overhung by gnarly tree roots. Jennifer relished the fresh breeze on her face and the smell of the dry grass. She took deep, cleansing breaths and promised herself she would make an effort to get out in nature more often when she returned to New York. Suddenly, she walked into a clearing and found herself surrounded by bulldozers and rubble. An eerie silence hung over the site where a home had stood only days before. Jennifer jumped into action. She whipped out her phone to take pictures of the work site and the tractor license plates. Illinois. Mrs. Pelfrey definitely had a Chicago accent. A half-empty bottle of AtomZ water sat in a cup holder. A gun cocked behind her. Jennifer’s chest constricted. She held out her hands and slowly turned to face the danger. Jacob Bracken and the barrel of a shotgun stared her down. “What are you doin here?” he asked in a low voice. “Investigating,” she answered breathlessly. “Do you work for them?” “Of course not. I’m taking pictures to condemn whatever company is destroying your neighborhood. I promise I’m trying to help!” He tilted his head to the side, and his gaze traveled from her braid to her boots. Then he lowered the gun. “I haven’t had time to explore until today.” Jennifer quietly let out the breath she’d been holding as he took a look around. “They brought in their own equipment and workers. No locals have been hired,” Jacob said. She climbed the steps of a backhoe. “Hey, this one still has keys in it.” She gasped loudly. “What?” “There’s an AtomZ emblem on this keychain! Maybe that’s the company buying the land.” She snapped another photo. Jacob shook his head in disgust. “I saw an ad for AtomZ the other day. Their motto was helping you help the environment. More like helping you right out of your home.”

Jennifer glanced over at Jacob. He set the shotgun on the ground and climbed into the tallest tractor. She slunk toward it. “I found a wallet!” he called out. “Take a picture of the ID!” Jennifer grabbed the gun and rapidly unloaded it. She shoved the shells in her pocket right as he looked down. “What the heck!” Jacob leapt out of the tractor with fire in his eyes. She dropped the gun and backed away. “Gimme that ammo, girl,” he warned as he closed the distance. “Don’t you dare stick your hand in my pants.” He grimaced and halted. “I wasn’t gonna do that.” “If you were thinking about grabbing the shotgun shells, then yeah, you were.” “But you made it sound wrong.” “I’m glad you have the decency to rethink it.” The woods began to rumble as a truck approached. Jacob grabbed his gun. “To the river!” They sprinted to the edge and jumped. A tree hung over the bank, half of the roots exposed from erosion. They ducked under the cave it created. A door slammed. “It’s gotta be here somewhere.” “You leave your wallet everywhere, man.” Jacob stowed his gun on two loops made by the tree roots in the dark recess behind them. “Nice gun rack,” he whispered. Jennifer covered his lips with her fingers, desperate to go unnoticed. The warmth of his skin spread through her fingers, and she pulled them away, embarrassed. Particles of dirt remained on his lips. “Sorry,” she mouthed. He smiled in amusement. “Dude, you left the keys in this one! We’ll get fired if AtomZ finds out about this.” The men bickered their way back to the truck. The engine rumbled again and sat idling. Jennifer looked out at the river as they waited, aware of how her arm, hip, and leg pressed against Jacob’s in their tight hideaway. The sky had transformed during their investigation; pink and orange now streaked from the horizon upward until it faded into a soft purple. Jacob rotated to look at her. “This is an interesting way to watch the sunset.” “Mm-hmm.” She didn’t dare face him again. He continued to study her profile. There was a twig caught in her braid and a smudge on her cheek. “You look like you’ve done this before. How’d you learn to work a gun like that?” “My dad taught me. What made you trust me?” “Ms. Brenda trusts you, so I will too. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you look like a farm girl today.” Her lips twitched at the corners, and she twisted to peek over the bank. “All clear.” They crawled out and brushed off their clothes. Jennifer gave the shotgun shells back to Jacob. “Wanna walk down to see our old place? My truck is parked in the woods, and I can drive you back to Ms. Brenda’s.” “Sure. Hey, I’m sorry about your Dad passing in November.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Thanks. I forgot you already know everything about me.” She threw up her hands. “I’m not claiming that.” “Mom took it really hard. Then three days after the funeral, she told me she sold the place. Just like that. So she moved in with me, which is fine, but I hate that our land is gone. My grandfather developed this neighborhood.” “I didn’t know that.” “You weren’t very thorough with your stalking,” he teased. “Then I’ve found my New Year’s resolution: Be a better stalker.” He threw his head back and laughed. “You’re too pretty to be a stalker.” He cleared his throat. “How’d you find out about this debacle, anyways?” “A tip from a friend.” She wasn’t willing to admit she’d been wistfully perusing real estate in the area for the past year. “There’s a place in Pennsylvania where this is happening as well.” “Why’d you come here when that one was closer? Do you have family in town?” “No.” She reached into her leather backpack and pulled out a map. “But I grew up right there.” “That’s right across town!” he said in surprise. “No, we would have gone to school together. I would have known you.” She pointed to the map again and shook her head. “That’s the school zoning line. I was in another district.” “Can you start a fire?” “Yes.” “Do you hunt?” “I shot a water moccasin when I was ten.” She laughed. “Did I pass the Texas Verification Test?” “Why’d you leave?” “My parents died in a car wreck when I was fifteen, and I was in the foster system until I graduated. I got a scholarship from NYU, so I took it. I figured what better place to be lonely than New York City where everyone’s too busy to notice?” “Are you lonely?” She smiled softly. “No, I have a lot of friends now. New York’s been good to me.” “Next question. What’s going to happen when you write this article?” “Well, AtomZ’s business practices will be exposed to the world. There will be an investigation, and I think there’s a good chance the land will be returned to its rightful owners.” “Damn. Your plan is a lot better than mine. I think I’ll get rid of the dynamite in my closet.” “Please tell me you’re joking.” He grinned and shrugged. “You’ll never know.” “Will you rebuild if you get the land back?” He nodded. “There it is.” The river swung wide around a big piece of land that rose above it, the only hill for miles. A giant oak towered over the water with a wooden swing. He glanced at Jennifer. Her eyebrows had pinched together, and she pursed her lips as she fought back tears. “What is it?” he asked. “My dad pushed me on that swing once. We went tubing, and I begged to stop there to try it. I’m sorry for trespassing.” “We let the neighbors use it, and it sounds like you were our neighbor, Jennifer.” She turned to face him. “Jennifer Andrews is actually my pen name.” She held out her hand. “I’m Bonnie.” “Bonnie…” He smiled warmly and took her hand in both of his. “A girl with Texas in her heart.”


For the first time in forever, it was just me and Jasper for the holidays. We had just moved out of our parent’s homes, and were ready to take the next step in our relationship. As much as we loved our parents, we wanted this Christmas to be special. Living in California, a white Christmas was completely out of the question. So rather than spend another Christmas in sixty degree weather with our parents, we rented a little cabin in Milad in the forest, hoping for a white Christmas. Our first Christmas with just the two of us.

But it didn’t snow, not even a little bit. I was disappointed, but still enjoyed snuggling by the warmth of the fireplace opening gifts and watching our favorite Hallmark films. It was during those films that there was a warning forced onto our TV screen.

Winter storm warning for all regions of Idaho. Roads and runways will be dangerous, so please consider changing travel plans for after the new year.

Most people would be groaning in frustration, but not me and Jasper. This was just what we had wanted. The perfect unexpected adventure. And so, we stayed in the little cabin an extra week, spending New Year’s Eve throwing a party with no guests, and New Years creating a journal of resolutions together.

Neither of us wanted to leave, but we both had to work, and we both agreed that the best thing would be to get back to California early so we weren’t returning to work exhausted. So on January third, the two of us packed up our things and began the drive back to Cali.

We had originally planned to leave earlier in the day, but it took so long to pack everything that it was already dark by the time we had left. As much as I loved the holidays, daylight savings had always been a pain in my ass. I knew that Jasper didn’t particularly like driving in the dark, but he knew I was already burnt out from all the packing, so he said he would drive. He just turned on his favorite radio station, and tried not to let the blinding headlights and nerve-wracking road signs make him anxious.

I don’t remember when, but at some point I had actually fallen asleep. I’m not sure how long I had dozed off for, but when I opened my eyes again, I was laying on my side. The car was overturned. I realized almost immediately that we had gotten into an accident. My voice felt locked in my throat as I tried to call out for Jasper. Other than a throbbing ankle, I felt fine. I was able to move enough to unbuckle my seat belt, open the door, and squeeze past the airbag that had been suffocating me. I looked around for Jasper, but there was no one. I was completely abandoned in the overturned car.

Tears spilled down my face as I looked for anyone or anything to help me. The snow had started coming down again, and was already starting to bury our car under it. I kept looking for some sign of life, but there was no police, no other cars, no Jasper, not even a road. Wherever we had crashed, we had rolled off the road. I didn't know what to do anymore. I zipped up my coat, and started to trudge through the snow.

“Jasper!” I called out. “Jasper please!” But of course, there was no answer. Did he abandon me? No, he would never do that. Maybe he went to get help? But how long ago could it have been? There’s no cars or police, wherever I was seemed to be completely abandoned. I fell to my knees and started to sob. My mind was fuzzy with confusion. But then, I heard it faintly. The sound of my name being called.

I jumped up and ran towards the sound that I knew had to be Jasper’s voice. I knew he wouldn’t abandon me. It took a while, but eventually I was able to follow the sound of his voice until it was clear as day. And then, there he was. Bundled up in his coat, hat, scarf and snow boots, I could see Jasper looking around frantically.

“Jasper!” He didn't even turn his head. “Jasper?” He continued to search as if wasn't standing a few feet away from him. His boots made large indents in the fresh snow. But when I looked down at my own boots, there was nothing. I turned around to look at the path of footsteps that would have indicated where I had come from, but there was nothing. That could only mean one thing; that I was gone.

I felt so helpless as I watched him search for me. When I reached out and touched him, I could feel it, but it was obvious that he didn't. When I took his hand, trying to pull him towards the car, he still never sensed my presence, but it must have sparked his inner intuition, because he eventually made his way back to the car. And that was when I saw it.

When I had managed to get out of the car, I didn’t notice that when I had left, it was only my spirit. My body was still there, mangled in the seat belt and airbag. “I’m sorry that i’m left.” Jasper cried as he stared at my corpse. “I tried to find help, but I...I failed...and now you’re gone…” The two of us cried together, and I wanted nothing more than for him to be able to feel me hugging him, but he never did. Not even a little bit. I thought that once I realized I was dead, I might see the light and move on. But no light ever came. I stayed with Jasper through the night as he huddled next to me, as if my lifeless body would keep him warm like it used to. He eventually had fallen asleep. I saw that his limbs were starting to change color, and I worried that he might die, too. But hours after he had fallen asleep, a search party found him.

I followed him as we got loaded in the ambulance, and taken to the hospital. Both of our parents were there waiting. When my mother and father saw my corpse, they had both burst into tears. My father had never been the emotional type, but I guess seeing me in such a feeble state had broken his shell. Jasper’s parents cried for me, too. They hugged my parents, apologizing profusely as if it had been their fault. The only people to blame were ourselves. We wanted a Christmas alone, and now I would never get another Christmas, alone with Jasper or with family.

For hours, I watched the doctors treat Jasper frantically, watched my parents make phone calls and talk to people about funeral arrangements. But there was still no light. No God, no heaven, no nothing. I was frozen there. I didn't want to move on and leave Jasper, but I also didn't want to stay and watch him grow older, find someone new and have the life that we were supposed to be having together.

And the worst of it? I couldn't sleep through any of it. When people get depressed, they try to sleep the pain away, but as the hours past, I sat by his bedside while our parents slept in visitor chairs. I was left wide awake, just watching his as his chest rose and fell, like mine never would. It killed me from the inside. I was already dead, yet I still could feel every emotion. Anguish was overpowering me as I watched what I would leave behind. We were dating four years, almost five. We had already planned to move out and get married before we had even graduated high school. We were meant for each other, and deeply in love. We had talked about how many kids we wanted, what careers we would have, everything was planned. Everything except the trip, and having to stay after New Years. The only thing unplanned was what ruined our life.

It was about five in the morning that Jasper awoke with a start. He looked around, and realized where he was. Our parents didn’t stir. I just watched him, until somehow we had made eye contact. He stopped breathing for a moment.

“Mia?” Hearing him say my nickname made the sobs locked in my throat escape. I had burst into tears for what felt to be the millionth time since the accident. He reached his hand out to caress my face, but couldn't. And he realized it, too, because he began to cry as hard as I was.

“I’m sorry...I couldn’t save you…” The two of us cried together. I could have tried to respond, but I have a feeling he would have never been able to hear me. I’m not sure how he could see me then. Maybe it was meant to happen that way. “You know I’ll never forget you, right? You’ll always be in my heart, no matter what.” I reached out and touched his chest, and he nodded, even laughing a little through the tears that stained his face. “Yes, that’s right. You’ll always be right there. I promise.” And it was after those words that I finally saw it. The light. It was so bright, so beautiful, so calming...All the anguish that I had was finally leaving my spirit. I took one last look at what I would leave behind. Jasper, who I knew would find someone else who can treat him just as well as I did. My mother, who would probably go through my room and publish every single piece of artwork I was too afraid to share with the world. And my father, who I never quite understood, who would be the man of the house and keep my mother pieced together, as he always had. And then, I let myself go. I knew it wouldn't be the end. I knew that i'd be back. But for the time being, I had to leave it all behind.


On the edge of our neighboring galaxy, we found a planet, wild and untamed. We looked from far up above the atmosphere, in awe of this beautiful new world. It was a marble of swirling colors with a spiraling dance in its alien sky, as if it were inviting us in. As the space shuttle landed, a small capsule of only 45 souls, we took our first steps on the foreign soil. We were pioneers like never before, extending humanity's reach to the beyond the galaxy, confident in our ability to conquer it like our home planet. Not only was it a goal, it was a necessity. Either we would make it our new home, or this strange planet would devour us. Our journey began. The planet seemed barren as our caravan trekked the land. A vibrant orange sky, with vast plains of yellow soil, with looming mountains in the far distance. What little grew was meek and insubstantial. The days were long, bright, and hot, as night only came after 46 hours of unrelenting sun. When the sun did hide itself, it was behind massive swirling clouds, often followed by a heavy fall of acidic rain. The thick air was almost unbreathable, breathing apparatus was kept on almost constantly. Pieces of equipment that were supposed to last us months had shut down within weeks due to unforeseen levels of shifting radiation. Traversing this world became difficult as terrain became more and more rugged. This wasteland did not want us on it, and it made sure to make us aware of it. Yet even with all of these struggles, we were still invigorated, persistent to keep moving forward. We thought of the stories of Lewis and Clark, the tales of Ponce de Leon, Magellan and Columbus, the greatest pioneers to have ever lived. We would never say it aloud, but we knew we had them all beat at their own game. We would make history among the greatest. That is, if we could survive the constant treachery of this planet. We knew the risks, knew we would be met with the terrifying and the untamed. Together, we stood the course. Several months had passed since our landing, and we had created a base camp for ourselves. After weeks of hard labor and sweat, we unloaded what tech survived the journey and had finally set up the base. It was a small, rugged base of operations, but it was our new home, a place that was completely ours. We had finally started to make progress on taming this wild planet, this was our fresh start. Purification systems were set in place, and clean water became plentiful. Crops were a slow process, but began to grow in the harsh, acidic soil. With all these newfound successes, new problems arose. We had time now, time to ourselves, time to think without constant work or tasks to keep us busy. We all imagined our future on this planet. The flight here was a one-way trip, and we all knew that this planet would keep us for the rest of our lives. We thought of home. Who could have known it would be so difficult without our menial comforts. One of us just wants a cup of fresh coffee. Another is longing to sit on a sunny shore. One just wanted to see their mother, for just one last time. These things are gone. This planet was home now, and we were all we had left. Pioneers had to sacrifice. Our pointless mourning had diverted our attention, allowing us to be the perfect victims for a surprise assault from nature itself. Looming in the distance, a storm was coming, bigger than we could have ever anticipated. Sixty-thousand feet tall, the radiant clouds rolled low and heavy, thunder clapped in its swirling clouds. Like an omen, the sun was completely swallowed as we were thrown into darkness. We hunkered down best we could, bracing ourselves for the disaster to come. It was imperative to protect the home we had built, allowing our efforts to be destroyed before us was unfathomable. Our home base was built for storms, but this was something else. Just like that, we were in the middle of it, and nature’s fury came tearing through us. Many of the smaller buildings began to collapse, ending whoever poor souls were inside. Our crops were torn straight from the ground, and whatever survived would be flooded with the rain. Vital equipment was flung and destroyed, solar panels were quickly thrown ripped from their base. Our largest building, the main base of operations, swayed sickeningly as the hurricane’s forces tried to knock it over. The heavy concentration of acid rain would tear away through its protective plating, letting radiation creep inside. This storm would last for fifteen hours before it finally passed over, robbing our budding ambition with it. The planet had conquered us in a single act. From the 45 of us who joined aboard the crew, only 26 of us would survive the storm. We sent a final distress signal out into the stars, our admittal of defeat. This harsh world had won. The signal itself would take years to reach Earth and our failures would be but a speck in this planet's vicious history by the time anyone would learn of it. The entire voyage felt short, surreal. Each of us truly believed we were going to succeed on this wild planet, yet here we were hopeless to its apathetic order. In one swift blow, it proved to us that it would never let us be its master. Our last visions were the same, the view of it’s beautiful dancing sky, still in awe of its impossible colors. We now know it was never an invitation, but a trap, it was a siren's call to lead us into its depths. It took us in as a part of itself, our new home forever.


When I was 17 years old, I lived in an upper middle class neighborhood in Queens, NY. The lawns were kept neatly manicured, beautiful oak trees lined the sidewalks, and school buses dropped off kids after every school day. The neighborhood was a true melting pot, and every summer, the neighbors would pitch in for supplies and a permit to close down the street and have a neighborhood BBQ. The battle of the BBQ was a decade long tradition between a Korean family and a Black family. They would set up their smokers and grills at the end of the culdesac, and the grilloff would begin amid the sounds of music and children laughing and playing in a bouncy castle. The entire neighborhood would stop by for a plate of amazing food, and to vote on who had the best BBQ. The winner got bragging rights for a year and temporary ownership of a stained off-white apron with the single word GRILLMASTER emblazoned on the front in thick black letters.   I was walking on the sidewalk, several blocks away from the battle of the BBQ, when I paused at a stop sign. Before I could turn around, a midnight black Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle roared by me going at least 100 mph and blowing through the stop sign as if it wasn't even there. Simultaneously, a white Oldsmobile sedan was crossing the intersection from left to right. The motorcycle, which was colloquially known as a crotch rocket, barely missed the car and sped by, deafening me with the high-pitched whine of a motorcycle engine being redlined. I watched as the driver of the car snapped his head to the left in surprise. At that exact moment, a second motorcycle, which I only saw as a flash of bright green, raced by me going even faster than the first. The second motorcycle slammed into the passenger's side of the car with a horrendously loud BANG. I had no idea car accidents were that loud until I witnessed one right in front of me. It sounded like a bomb had gone off. The motorcyclist flew through the air so fast that it looked like CGI from a bad movie. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and his head slammed into the concrete curb, killing him instantly with what might be described as gratuitous gore. I remember thinking dumbly, “Blood flows down the concrete gutters just like water.”   There was a pause then. I looked back to the car, but I could no longer see the driver as the entire right side of the vehicle was a mass of shredded and crushed metal. Broken glass twinkled on the asphalt as I noticed that even the headlights were shattered. In the movies, a woman would scream, bystanders would rush to the aid of the injured, someone would frantically call 911, and sirens would be heard in the distance. None of that happened though. There was a loud bang, an audible crunch as the motorcyclist came to an abrupt stop, and then... nothing. I looked around to see if anyone had seen the collision, and if I'm being completely honest with myself, I looked because I desperately did not want to be the one to render aid. I didn't need to look in order to know that whoever had been in that car was probably mangled beyond recognition. Nobody else was around though. I focused on the motorcyclist again, and that's when I felt The Cold.   It hit me with such intensity that I audibly gasped, and then I saw something that's difficult to describe. Have you ever seen that videography technique where there's a mountain in the background, water in the foreground, and the image is split in half horizontally, perfectly mirrored in the water below? Then the water ripples, and it's revealed that the top of the scene is the reflection, not the original, and the camera was upside down the whole time? Well, that ripple is what I saw. It looked like someone had thrown a tiny pebble into reality, and everything rippled like water on the surface of a still lake. The Cold lingered for a single terrifying heartbeat before disappearing as abruptly as it had appeared. A moment later, the ripple was gone too. I stood rooted to the spot for several long seconds before I remembered to call 911.   That night, I thought long and hard about what I'd seen, ruminating and feeling guilty that I didn't feel worse about witnessing a human life snuffed out like a candle dropped into the ocean. The bang. The crunch. The Cold. The ripple. As I thought more about it, I recalled that there was a change in what Google assured me was barometric pressure. At the time, I could only relate it to the experience of being in a car when someone slammed the car door, or being in an airplane during takeoff. My ears didn't pop, but it felt like they could have. There was one thing in particular that kept me awake that night. I had seen something in the ripple. I held the memory in my mind, turning, studying, and polishing it. Whatever had happened was presumably connected to the death of the motorcyclist, and possibly because there was no one else around to see it. If The Cold and the ripple happened every time someone died, the world would surely know about it, so something unique had happened here. A little voice in the back of my head whispered that maybe I'm the only one that CAN see it. “I see dead people,” as the strange little boy once told Bruce Willis. By the time I fell asleep the following morning, I knew something about myself with a calm certainty. I was going to have to kill something and see if The Cold came back.   As I write this, night is falling and the temperature is plunging even further below zero. I can feel The Cold forcing its way through the walls of the cabin, through the sleeping bag, and through 5 layers of clothing. It seems impossible. Utterly mad. The fire should keep The Cold at bay, but my fire now looks tiny and pitiful when compared to the unknowable and ancient vastness of The Cold outside. I am but a hairless monkey, toying with forces beyond my comprehension. I dare not risk burning my fire any hotter though. Running out of wood would mean certain death. I gently flex my muscles in groups, stretching and straining each part of my body in sequence and then again in reverse order. I'm careful not to overexert myself and break out into a momentary sweat, which would also likely mean death. As cold as it is, it's still not cold enough yet. The only sound I hear is the wind outside as it whispers quiet but earnest promises of death. Fuck you, wind. You want me? Come and get me.   I awoke the morning after the accident with curiosity in my heart and murder on my mind. I knew instinctively that the murder part was going to be a problem. The last time I'd hurt an animal, I had been carrying groceries from Costco into the house. I was carrying a repurposed avocado box, stacked high with frozen meats, potatoes, and onions. I tried to set the heavy box on the counter, but I hadn't lifted it high enough. I lifted the box again in an effort to clear the counter and took a half step back, directly onto my dog's paw. Max, my German Shepard, yelped pitifully as I was unable to redirect my momentum and my full weight plus the weight of the heavy groceries crushed his paw beneath the heel of my shoe. He cowered behind me submissively, tail tucked between his legs with his head held low. He only understood that he had gotten too close to the food, and had been severely punished for it. He lowered his ears abjectly, begging for forgiveness, and my heart nearly broke in two. I felt like an absolute monster, and I hugged him for a long time while apologizing profusely. Clearly, I was not cut out to be the next Dexter.   Nevertheless, my plan for animal homicide had already grown and sprouted dark fruit, and less than an hour after waking, I found myself standing near the side of my house, staring at a snail with a sense of growing foreboding and deepening unease. The snail was sliming its way up a stack of red stone pavers. Each paver was about two feet long and two inches thick, and there was a stack of them 10 high. I'd like to say that I took a long moment to contemplate what I was about to do, that I had a final crisis of conscience before playing God, but the truth is, I had decided to kill before I even got out of bed that morning. I plucked the snail from the side of the stack, lifted up the top paver, set the snail down, and let the paver fall on it, crushing it instantly with a wet crunch. I stood there silently for a long moment, hoping desperately that I would feel The Cold, see the ripple, or at least experience something other than bemused disappointment. “Well shit,” I thought to myself. I guess I need to try something else. Snails are like, 1,000 times smaller than a person, so I'd need to kill a thousand of them to even have a chance at recreating what I'd seen. I didn't have a thousand snails handy, but I'm an American, not an American't god dammit, so I gathered the snails I could find in an old pickle jar while pondering the most efficient means of committing simultaneous gastropod genocide.   I was keenly aware that torturing and killing animals was a glaringly obvious indicator of future homicidal tendencies. I tried to rationalize it by convincing myself that, if I didn't really enjoy it, it didn't really count. After all, this was more science than cruelty, right? Efforts at trying to delude myself proved unsuccessful, and after a morning spent gathering snails, I counted that I had 23 of them in my pickle jar. I stared at their curious little eye stalks for a long time, watching as their eyes would bounce into the glass, recoil, and then tentatively reach out into the world again. I paradoxically considered letting them all go while at the same time contemplating how best to kill them all contemporaneously. Thoughts of genocide led me to musings on poisoned gas, and ultimately, I decided on fire. I set the jar down carefully on the concrete along the side of the house and retrieved the plastic gas can we used for the lawn mower. I poured a finger's worth of gasoline into the jar, lit a match, and dropped it in. The response was an immediate FWOOSH as the gasoline ignited, burning all the snails in an instant. I hoped they hadn't suffered too much. My hopes seem to have done fuckall for them though. They all burned for a brief moment and fell to the bottom of the pickle jar with sad little clinks as their hard, and now toasty, shells impacted the glass. Once again, The Cold did not come. When the glass cooled, I buried the burnt pickle jar in the bottom of the trash bin in the garage and asked myself how much further I was willing to go in my hunt for The Cold.   Insects weren't going to cut it I decided. I needed something bigger, like a cat or a dog. I doubted I'd be able to go through with it though. Just thinking about killing a dog made me sick to my stomach. Something else weighed on my mind too. I had never experienced The Cold before, but whatever it was that I had seen in the ripple, I had seen before. It felt like I had seen an actor in a TV show, and I knew I'd seen them in something else, but I couldn't recall exactly where. The question itched at me, grating my nerves with the knowledge that I could be on the verge of uncovering the greatest mystery in human history if only I could remember where I'd seen the ripple. I racked my brain, and the only conclusive fact I settled on was that I had seen whatever it was in real life and not in a book or a movie. The conundrum was amplified by the fact that I was absolutely certain I'd never seen anyone die before yesterday too.   My dad kept a loaded gun in his safe, and the fact that I was even considering using it made me recoil in innate horror. There had to be another way. Like most liberal-minded people, I was aware that every time I ate meat, I was partially responsible for the death of an animal. As the vegans like to remind us, meat is murder. I dealt with this unpleasant fact the same way most people do. I tried not to think about it because thinking about it made me feel icky, and I really like tacos. I tried to rationalize that eating a steak wasn't so different from murdering a cow, and if I could kill a cow, I could surely kill a smaller mammal. For better or worse, I was unable to backdoor my way into misanthropy and psychopathy, and I spent the rest of the day feeling shitty about my escargot a la gasoline.   I exhausted myself in the following days brainstorming possible options. My parents thought I was despondent because I'd seen a violent death up close and personal. It seemed prudent to let them believe that instead of admitting I was trying to work up the nerve to kill a medium sized animal in an ill-conceived plan to experience The Cold and whatever the fuck it was that had made reality ripple. No matter how I tried though, I just couldn't talk myself into it. The closest I'd gotten was acknowledging that I'd be willing to kill an animal in self defense if there were no other options available. It seemed that my plan to experience the supernatural a second time had hit a major stumbling block in the form of me being a little bitch. I found myself drawn repeatedly to the scene of the accident, where I'd sit on the sidewalk in a manner that totally wasn't creepy and stare at the wreath and flowers that had been tied to the stop sign. It was during one of these preternatural musings that I realized, if I couldn't kill a cat or a dog myself, I'd need to find someone that would. The answer that sprung forth was elegant in its simplicity. I needed to get a job at a veterinarian's office. They euthanize animals all the time!   Update from the cabin: There's something outside.


Emmie wished the butterfly feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t exist. She was doing everything in her power to calm her nerves. Deep breathing, counting the floating leaves on the river and constantly reassuring herself.

Standing in the middle of the park, she forced her feet to remain glued to the cobblestones. To her right, an old tire dangled from a massive oak tree, whose leaves had fallen, creating a blanket of gold and orange surrounding her. To her left, the river that ran through the middle of the park, still had a few stray ducks, but most had left for a warmer climate.

They had agreed to meet here at the tire swing, so she would stay put.

Maybe he was late?

No, he wasn’t. Emmie was early.

Was he at a different location? Was she in the wrong place?

No, there was only one tire swing in the whole park, that’s why she had chosen this spot.

Emmie pulled out her phone and checked their previous conversation one more time, just to be sure. Yep. Meet at the only tire swing in the whole park.

Suddenly grateful for the cool autumn air, Emmie flushed with unnecessary embarrassment at her own anxiety.

Stop it, you’re being stupid , she chided herself.

Slowly spinning, Emmie surveyed the area not for the first time. There was no sign of the tall, handsome man.

Flickering on the water caught her eye.

Expecting to see a duck swimming between the fallen oak tree leaves, Emmie stifled a gasp when instead she saw her own reflection waving hysterically at her.

She blinked and the reflection returned to normal. Was she hallucinating? Slowly she raised her hand. The reflection mirrored her movement. Great, she thought, I’m so nervous I'm seeing things.

“Emmie!”

She spun, jumping in surprise.

“Emmett! Hi, you scared me,” she said as the tall man approached her. Emmett wore a university jacket and a beanie which left his long hair peeking out the sides and back. She liked his long hair, but with the weather getting colder, she couldn’t blame him for choosing a hat…even if it wrecked his perfect hair. He gave her a lopsided grin, a dimple appearing. “I noticed. I didn’t mean to startle you, but you seemed to be really focused on something.” He glanced towards the river.

“Oh,” she waved a hand, suddenly sweating despite the cool air. “Sorry about that, just admiring the scenery. I like to draw, and was kinda inspired.”

All of her drawings consisted of stick men. But there was no way she could admit that she might have possibly seen her own reflection move on its own. Emmie wasn’t sure if it had been real.

His face lit up. “Thats cool. Do you only draw scenery stuff or people too?”

“Um..” Crap. “I’m really not that good. I don’t show anybody my stuff.” That ought to work. His smile never wavered. “Nah, you’re just being humble.”

She let out a nervous laugh and gestured to the path. “Well, shall we?”

He nodded and the two started walking along the path that ran alongside the river.

“You know,” Emmett began, “I almost didn’t agree to this.”

“Oh? How come?” He hates me. He shrugged, sheepishly staring at his foot as he kicked a rock. “Nothing against you, I just normally don’t go on dates with girls recommended by friends.”

Emmie tilted her head up at him. “Why am I different?”

He smiled, his dimple appearing again. “Emmett. Emmie. Emmett and Emmie, I don’t know. It’s kinda dumb, but I couldn’t pass up on a girl named Emmie.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess it is cool how that worked out.” After a pause she added, “So what do you like to do for fun?”

Having fought off the urge for this long, Emmie’s gaze shifted past Emmett and to the river. The many leaves and reeds shifted under the current of the water and her reflection waved frantically at her.

Her toe snagged and she teetered forward. She caught herself, and Emmett, who had been answering her question, saw she was alright and kept talking.

“...so there's the kill streak and my buddy got to over two hundred.”

She didn’t remember hearing which video game he was talking about so instead of asking, she smiled and nodded at him.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how many I got?” Emmett prompted.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry! How many did you get?”

“Five hundred and thirty-two,” he said proudly. “Wow, thats…a lot.” Emmie heard herself respond but her eyes landed past him and on the water again.

“Yeah,” he continued, “The trick is…”

His words fell on deaf ears as she stared at her reflection that was waving hysterically at her. The scarf had half fallen and was her mouth moving? Emmie’s hands moved to her own scarf, and the reflection snapped back to normal. Her scarf remained snuggly tucked around her neck.

“...then he strangled the grandma! It was too funny.” Emmett laughed as he finished whatever story he just told. Emmie laughed with him though she had no idea why.

“Hey, are you hungry?” Emmett asked. “I know this place-” “Yes!” Anything to get away from the river.

“Sweet!” He grinned and both dimples appeared this time. Wow, he’s cute. Why can’t I just focus on his face and not the stupid river reflection thing? “You’ll like it, it’s got a lot of paintings and stuff. Scenery stuff too,” Emmett said. “Huh? Oh, right! Yeah, that sounds cool.” Right, he still thought she drew. He led the way off the path and vaulted into another story of how he and his friends first found the place. Emmie tried her best to listen. Earnestly listen. But she couldn’t shake the image of her reflection nor the sudden hole in her gut. Maybe she just needed some food; she hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast. Yeah, that was it! Once she had some food in her belly she’d be able to enjoy this date and actually listen- oh crap, his story ! “...So there we were, ‘proving a point’ to the guy. Wow, he was basically pissing his pants! It wasn’t until later…” Emmett kept talking, and looking at his surroundings. Emmie had to take longer strides to match his pace. The two entered the marketplace of the city park, and the trail turned to cobblestone. Cute shops and Cafes lined the small street with patios and chairs. Ice cream and souvenir shops. It was quiet, but that was expected this time of year.

As they walked, Emmie caught sight of her reflection in the glass window. She was clearer now, and silently screaming. Emmie tried to make out the words.

Mop, urine gray..swim? That made no sense!

“Here we are!” Emmett announced, opening a door and stepping inside.

Emmie stepped in after him and immediately stopped in her tracks as dread filled her to her toes.

“Huh,” said Emmett. “I guess they switched it up. No more scenery paintings.”

Mirrors littered the walls. Tall and thin, short and wide. Square, circle or triangle. Ones with gold, silver and wooden frames. Even a few with no frames.

Emmie was bombarded with her reflection, all waving hysterically at her.

The barista from behind the counter called, “Welcome to the Reflection Cafe! What can I get you?”

Emmett placed a hand on Emmie’s shoulder, gently pulling her forward. Emmie had never wanted to run away so badly in her entire life.

“I’ll have the…” Emmett began.

As Emmett peered at the menu, Emmie tried desperately to not stare at one of her reeflections, and failed miserably.

Her reflections had blue lips and her skin seemed to be turning gray. Was it always like that? Had she not noticed it on the river? Or was her reflection evolving into something worse? She kept waving towards the door and shouting at her, though her voice was muted to silence.

“The tuna sandwich and a coffee,” Emmett finally ordered. “Emmie? What do you want?”

She jerked. “Oh, I'll have herbal tea, please. If you have any.” Something calming. “I’m sorry, we just ran out. But I've got earl gray or chai.”

“Chai, please.” Why did I say chai? I hate chai. Emmett reached into his pocket, paused then patted down all of his other pockets. “Um, this is awkward. I think I forgot my wallet.” “It’s okay,” Emmie said and stepped forward. She didn’t have the energy to care who paid at this point.

She pulled out her wallet, and went to tap. Her gaze landed on the mirror behind the barista and this time fully expecting to see her freakish reflection managed to keep a straight face.

Emmett took a step towards her, his reflection falling into the mirror.

Her reflection recoiled from his..

“Thanks, by the way,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

Emmie watched his image in the mirror as he spoke and then whipped her head to look at him. Normal. He was normal. Smiling that cute, dimpled smile. She felt sick.

“Bathroom,” she blurted out. “I’ll be right back.”

Bile caught in her throat, she couldn’t move fast enough. She refused to be the person who vomited on a first date. In the bathroom, she splashed water on her face and gripped the sink with white knuckles.

Eyes closed she muttered under her breath, “You’re seeing things, Emmie. You’re hungry and this is probably a side effect of the new meds you’re taking. No big deal. Emmett does not have a forked tongue. You are seeing things. You will open your eyes and see your normal, panicked self and you’ll be alright.”

She snapped her eyes open only to immediately jerk away from the sink. She was back. Blue lips, sunken eyes, gray skin and scarf coiled around her neck. Only this time she wasn’t screaming, but her blue lips carefully mouthing words.

“Stop…Run..away from….him?” Emmie whispered the words her reflection had been trying to say.

A different feeling of sickness hit her and she felt cold. She shook her head. “No. No. No, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Not wanting to argue with a reflection, Emmie stepped out of the bathroom and marched herself back to where Emmett sat. “Hey,” he said as she approached. “Better?”

Apparently she had taken so long their orders were on the table.

“Yeah, I think..” Emmie paused as she noticed the lid on her cup wasn't fully sealed and a few drops of chai tea spotted the table. Emmetts spoon lay on his napkin, soaking the thin material.

It could be his coffee, but the feeling in her gut told her otherwise. The reflection in the mirror gave her a knowing look, crossing her arms.

“...I don’t think I feel well. I’m sorry but I should go,” she finally said.

“Oh, that sucks. Um, here at least have your drink.” He stood up, handing it to her. The unsealed lid slipped off, clattering to the floor.

“No thanks, I’ve lost my appetite.” Emmie inched toward the door.

“If it’s that bad, at least let me drive you home-”

“No, it’s okay, I don't want to leave my car here.” Almost there. “Come one, Emmie. We barely got to know one another. At least stay for your drink.” She caught the look in his eye and the realization of the truth terrified her more than the reflection had.

“I’m sure. Bye!” she leapt out the door before he could say another word.

He did not follow. Neither did her poisoned reflection.


MERMAIDS DON’T EXIST When I was fourteen my father died speaking of mermaids. I remember that clean but unpleasant hospital smell and the last hacking cough he gave before telling me the very thing that stuck with me all the way until that night under the moon at Five Mile Lake, and further beyond. “Mermaids are magic,” he said to me. “I’ve seen them, and you know what—I’ve regretted never catchin’ that magic ever since. You ever see the other side of the world, son, you hold onto it. It’s worth it.” I had no idea what he was talking about. The doctors told us that the cancer he had was so rapid and aggressive at the time that he was just babbling nonsense. Mom would sit and tut, and then say she had to go to work. Mom never really seemed interested at the end of dad’s life because to her it was just another thing—another obstacle to overcome before she got her pay\-stub. Nothing he’d said to her really bothered her, and whenever he spoke in riddles, she’d just tut and shake her head, and act like us two weren’t really there. I grew up thinking that the two of them weren’t so much a married couple as much as a necessity for me. I didn’t feel any love between them, and my father seemed to be more focused on throwing himself into fantastical tales of a life that I was sure he hadn’t lived. My mother seemed to just be a straight\-cut, boring person who had no time for Dad’s bullshit. I never really believed the stories Dad told me. I stopped expecting Santa to come every Christmas when I was six and caught him munching on the mince pie that we left outside my door for Saint Nick. He always liked myths and mystery. He’d tell me stories of when he used to travel in his younger days—stories of meeting giants in Scotland that lived in caves, or when he met Bigfoot in Oregon. “He’s a kind soul. Loves privacy, but hates cats.” I’d listen intently, always wondering if those tales were true but as I got older, the mystery gave way to understanding of why parents give kids those false hopes and I simply stopped believing in what I’d never seen. When He finally died it was a rainy Tuesday, and he’d passed in his sleep before we got there. Mom shed a few tears and then told me she was late for work. She kissed her husband goodbye as if he was a distant friend, let out a final sob, and left. I felt the cold, stiff hands of my father, wondering if life had ever gone through the veins—had blood really flowed in this wax sculpture that resembled my big, old dad? Yet the words that hung in my head were about the mermaids, and I never really knew why. I realized I’d never again hear his wacky tales, or spend an afternoon with him at the lake. Soft tears stained my cheeks. And then I left my father in that room, and caught the bus back to the empty house. After the funeral I didn’t do much. The holidays from school had begun a week before I’d decided I’d spend them where me and Dad spent most of our time; Five Mile Lake—it wasn’t the most original name but it stuck with us because it made sense. It was a huge hole that was shaped like the number eight The first part was a mile long and the small gap gave way to four miles wide of water that flowed into the river out of the county. Jagged rocks filled the edges of the place on the Southern side, and it was a very secluded spot all of the time. I remember spending weekends with Dad, fishing away until the late hours, cooking them on a small BBQ he’d always bring. As we sat, camped on the soft grassy embankment on the Northern side, I’d sit and listen to his stories; tales of how he befriended a clan of giants in Scotland was one of my favourites. Now it was just me, alone, with a fishing rod on a grey\-skied Friday. This had been the sixth day in a row I’d come down here, and I had no complaints. My friend would only yammer on about things I couldn’t muster the energy to listen to. Max would talk about video\-games, while Cassie would talk about her latest boyfriend, and Aaron would just ask if anybody wanted to smoke. I didn’t catch anything—I hadn’t in the whole six days. It didn’t matter. Being here just made the pain of losing Dad a little less hurtful and that’s all I was looking for. I casted my rod out again with a maggot on it for bait. I watched the orange tipped float as it bobbed against the water and there it stayed until— It went under the water but never came back up. I tightened my hands around the rod and yanked it back. My other hand went to the tackle and I began spinning the handle—it clicked rapidly as I yanked it back harder with gritted teeth. Something was pulling against the line. “Come on,” I said, suddenly getting into it. Whatever it was, *it was big.* I pulled harder but it was like I was trying to pull a rock out from under the water somewhere. Then my rod suddenly flew from my hands as if the fish had decided to grow arms and snatch it. I let out a gasp as I watched my father’s rod go flying into the water and away like the speed of light. “Holy crap!” I yelled as I watched it go. *What had I almost caught?* *Maybe a mermaid,* I heard my father’s voice say. Oh yeah, I thought. Of course, Dad. It must have been one because you would have said so. I sat back on the rocky embankment and sighed. It must have been huge to pull my rod out my hands. After astonishment, sadness followed as I realized I’d lost my father’s last fishing rod. It wasn’t a good thing to feel after losing him. I stayed on the rocks for a while longer and tried to swallow the lump in my throat. *I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to lose it.* But knowing him, he’d simply tell me to not worry about it. That made me feel even worse somehow. 2 My friends had decided to surprise me a week later by showing up to the lake an hour after I did. Aaaron with his pack of cigarettes he’d stolen from his mother, Cassie with her phone glued to her hand, and Max who was playing away on whatever new type of handheld gaming gadget had come out. “Hey, Ropey,” said Aaron as he came and sat down on the embankment with me, running a hand through his fair, whitish hair. By then I’d managed to find my older rod—sturdy as ever and I kept my attention on it firmly, for fear the secret monster would pull it away from me again. “What do you guys want?” I grunted. “Wanted to come see you is all,” said Cassie, still typing away on her phone. The last I’d heard she was now with up with Jake Baxter after dumping Phillip Walker because their two week relationship was “nearing its end.” Aaron was already underway in lighting up a cigarette, and not even inhaling it. Max was sat on a rock higher up, nose\-deep in his game. “Alright,” I mustered, already wanting to be left alone. “It’s so hot today,” said Max as he kept his eyes on the game. “We should go swimming.” “Cassie’d have to drop her phone for three minutes and she can’t have that, can she?” said Aaron with a sarcastic tone. “Oh piss off,” she hissed back. She turned her attention back to me as she pocketed her phone. “We heard about your dad. It’s not a good time we know.” *Just leave me alone.* I didn’t want to be around people right now. Looking back at that time it was the worst mourning period, and everything people said felt fake to me. I’d heard it all through school and seen it. The weird looks and teachers offering their sympathies. It all felt like complete bollocks. I didn’t like being near my own mother at that point so what made them think they were special? I decided I’d humour them; the sooner I complied, the sooner they’d leave. I took my top off and told them we should just go for a swim. They all followed behind me as I removed my shoes and socks. Only my joggers were left. The sun was baking but as I stepped into the lake, it might as well have been the arctic. I dunked my head under and bobbed back up, waiting to get used to it. “That’s better,” yelled Aaron behind me. I swam as fast as I could away from them. Their voices grew distant behind me as I moved, my hands thrashing over me as I tried to swim harder and faster until my lungs were smoking with fire. Behind me, the three of them were playing around in the shallow end. I turned back to swim further in. My Dad told me that the middle of the first hole was the deepest part and the further away from them I was, the better. I kept swimming until finally I couldn’t feel the wet earth beneath my feet and then kept moving anyway. I took a break when I’d made it to the middle of the lake. *That’s better* I thought as I laid back to float. My arms and legs felt hot from the constant movement, and I felt like I was suffocating. My friends didn’t make any attempt to come out, but I could hear Cassie and Aaron arguing in the distance. I floated alone, looking up at the clear blue sky. It was nice being out here listening to the water sloshing around me; the birds in the trees that surrounded the lake were almost yelling in a choir. And then I felt it. Something slid under my legs. I thrashed onto my front then. Whatever it was, it wasn’t an ordinary fish. I remembered the thing I’d almost caught and the first word that came into my mind was *shark.* I felt the fins of it bash me. My heart raced faster than it had when I’d swam out here. I moved as fast as I could, swimming as hard as I could push myself. I knew there were no sharks in the lake, but I didn’t want whatever that was to touch me again. It was a scary thought, never knowing what lurked under murky water. I swallowed mouthfuls of air and liquid as I panicked until finally soft mud welcomed my feet. Every stride I took was huge as I tried to put distance between me and whatever it was out then. When the water was to my knees I bent over and felt as if I was going to throw up. With a turn of my head, still gasping for air, I looked to where I’d been and for the briefest moment before it bobbed back under the water, I could have sworn I’d seen a girl with dark red hair, staring at me. 3 I knew what I’d seen, but the three of them didn’t believe me of course. After air had returned in my lungs, I told them what happened but they told me to stop taking the piss. They decided not to stick around after that, suddenly feeling weird around me. I happily watched them leave, knowing they’d probably tell people I was being weird but I never was worried about that kind of stuff. I sat back on the rocks and looked out, scanning for any sudden appearances of the girl but nothing else came that day. I knew I wasn’t going insane, that there was *something* out there. I wasn’t going to just give up; I had a plan. I went home and packed a tent, and grabbed my father’s old electric cooker. I packed up enough food for the night, a pair of binoculars, and some other surveillance gear. I told mom I was going to go camping at the lake with Aaron. She told me to keep my phone on at all times and she’d call me when she got back from work. I told her I would. I knew she’d never let me stay there alone, so I threw in the lie for comfort. She wouldn’t care enough to call Aaron’s mom anyway. When I returned, I decided to camp on the grassy embankment on the North side. I was going to find out if there really was a girl in the lake. I set up the small, blue tent, set up my sleeping space, and made sure to keep some lanterns out for when it got dark. Luckily Dad had four solar\-panelled ones that were fully charged, and they’d last throughout the night. It was just a waiting game, I figured. There was no changes for the remainder of the day. I kept my binoculars on the lake that showed no changes. Every so often I’d see a little bob of a fish and my heart would race. I’d feel doubt every so often and remember the looks Aaron, Cassie, and Max had given me. A voice inside would say “give up,” but then I’d remember the cold, scaly feeling on my legs and I’d press on. When it started to get dark I decided to just sleep and try again tomorrow. Even the girl needed to sleep, right? I kept a lantern on and sat outside for a bit longer but there still wasn’t any movement and I was feeling sleepy. What if it really was just me over\-thinking? Come tomorrow, I decided I’d simply pack up and stop trying to chase whatever it was I *thought* I saw. I was acting stupid. There was nobody in the lake, and whatever I’d felt was just a big fish—the same big fish who’d taken my Dad’s rod.* Whatever. It could keep it*. I was going home in the morning and forgetting about the girl in the lake. The more I thought about it, the more stupid I felt. I stared up at the ceiling of the tent and didn’t feel tired as I lay there. I felt something, I know I did. This whole thing felt like it was a waste of time. I got up and went out to sit in the dark with only the lantern lighting up next to me. My friends were right, I was being an idiot. I slumped into the chair and looked out at the lake; the moon rippled in the water as if somebody had thrown a rock in. They moved slowly. The moon greeted me and I let out a sigh. *Was this me just missing Dad? Holding onto something he said?* “Hello,” said somebody. I looked at the lake. Nothing but the sound of crickets filled the air. *Did I just hear that in my head?* “Hello,” they repeated. *It sounded like a girl.* I grabbed the lantern and got up, slowly approaching the edge of the embankment. Below it there was a three foot drop into the water, and at the bottom of it was a girl half\-submerged in the water; *a girl with red hair.* I knelt down and raised the lantern. She wasn’t wearing anything up top, but I couldn’t tell because she was laid on her front in the mud. I lowered the lantern more and saw why she’d been submerged halfway. Her other half was not a pair of legs—but a purple and reddish coloured fin which swayed in the water hypnotically. *Holy crap.*I recoiled and ran towards my tent; all air escaping me in a scream. I kept it up as I fumbled for the zip. I managed to slide it all the way around and then dived under my sleeping bag, breathing heavily and telling myself I had, in fact, gone insane. “Excuse me,” I heard the thing yell. “Go away!” I yelled back. “But—“ “I said go away!” I took a deep breath. “You ain’t real!” I wasn’t talking to a mermaid, that’s impossible. But her voice seemed real enough. I took a second to catch my breath. No, I was imagining things. I was tired, and I’d just lost my Dad. Weirder things happened when you lost people. I’d seen it in movies. This one time, a guy lost his wife and decided to go and kill a bunch of people for revenge. It’d have been a different movie if he imagined mermaids, I thought. “You still there?” I called out. “Yeah. Duh,” she replied. I zipped open the tent a little and peered out. She was sat on the embankment now. I could see her fully as I’d dropped the lantern close by. Her chest seemed to be covered by a thin veil of skin which covered her top part, and her hair seemed dry, and almost glowing with a faint purplish and reddish glaze. “You stay there!” I said. “Okay,” she replied. I zipped open the tent all the way but stayed inside it, my head hidden by the top flap. I could hear her outside but she refused to move, and we stayed in silence. This was a dream, it had to be. I was trying to wrap my mind around the idea of what I was seeing, and remembering my Dad. If he’d been telling the truth about mermaids, what else was out there? Were ghosts and goblins hiding away? Were there giants in Scotland? I knelt down and looked at her. She seemed to be at ease, leaning back on her palms and looking up at the sky. “I’m gonna come out, slowly. Don’t move or nothing,” I said as I edged a foot out of the tent. She didn’t acknowledge me. I moved closer, stretching a hand out as I took another step closer. There wasn’t much between us. I made it so there was about six feet of space so she couldn’t grab me. When she looked at me my legs turned to jelly and I fell down, flabbergasted. Air escaped my lungs and I let out a quiet “wow,” as I looked at her. “You’re real. I’m not...imagining this am I, I must be?” “I don’t think so,” she replied. Her accent sounded Irish, but I wasn’t entirely sure. She turned to look at me and in the light I got a close up look of her. She had a soft, round nose and pale skin. Her eyes were a bright, very bright shade of purple, and she was short, shorter than I was. The thin veil of skin over her seemed like fabric. Her hair seemed to be dry, as if it’d never been touched by water at all. Her eyes shimmered brighter against the light of the lantern. She smiled at me and I looked at her closely. “Are you a...you know what the name is?” “*We* don’t call ourselves that, that’s a made up name. But you can’t pronounce how I’d say it anyway,” she said with a shrug. *Okay, so she talks. She shrugs. She’s got an attidue.* “Woah,” I replied, looking her over. “Do you have a name?” “I do but I don’t think you can pronounce that either. I think in this speech it sounds very close to Eily but I could be wrong.” “Are you going to eat me?” Her eyes widened and she let out a laugh that floated in the air like a melody. “No I don’t eat people. Where’d you hear that?” “Old stories about sailors and stuff. I read in a book once that mermaids lure sailors away and eat them.” “Whoever wrote that never met one then. I don’t eat people. I don’t plan on eating you. I can’t say the same for you though,” she said as she span and planted her fin on the embankment. “What were you going to do when you caught me? Cook me?” I looked down and noticed the familiar, silver hook that had once been attached to my father’s rod. *It was her,* I thought. I’d snagged her with it and she’d swam away. I looked to her and had never felt so bad in my life. I wasn’t one for torturing animals; I even felt a kind of sorrow whenever I stepped on slugs and snails when they made their journeys through streets after heavy rain. That felt similar to how I felt then. “That was you! I’m sorry—I didn’t know. I thought I’d caught a shark or something.” “In England? In a lake? Boy you are stupid,” she said as she touched the hook, and let out a wince. I looked down at it and then slowly edged forward. “Do you want me to help you get it out?” “Would ya, please? It’s killing me. Every time I touch the bastard thing it sends pains up my fin.” “Wait there,” I said as I got up and went back into the tent. I looked around for the fishing box I always bought and opened it to look for something useful. I lifted the second part of it and pulled out a pair of wire cutters and pliers. Eily hadn’t moved since I’d ran in, and even then I still thought I was imagining all of this. She was still prodding the hook. It felt like something out of a movie. Half excitement, half worry went through me as I expected to wake up any second to the sound of the empty lake, but it never came. I sat down and told her to sit still. She raised her fin and put it over my legs as I bought the lantern up to examine the hook. It was like a huge fish was on top of me. I remembered being in the lake and feeling the same feeling under me. I slowly put the wire\-cutters around the hook. “Was that you I felt in the water earlier?” I asked as I examined the hook. “Yes. You were laying there and you hurt me. I wanted to scare you.” “You did. I almost crapped myself.” “I’m glad you didn’t. I like the lake clean,” she said with a laugh. “Me too,” I said as I snipped the hook off. She let out a high\-pitched gasp as I slid out the straight bit of metal, leaving only a small, red hole in the thin membrane of the fin. She lifted it up and examined it. I held the lantern up to help her see and she let out a sigh of relief. She laid down on her back. “That feels a thousand times better, thank Christ.”*Mermaids were religious?* “Happy to help,” I replied, still staring at her. I didn’t want her to disappear. She looked back to the lake and I decided I wanted her to stick around. It wasn’t every day people saw magical stuff like this. If she was going to go, then I wanted to make sure we could see each other again. “So do you live here?” “I’m sixteen—I don’t live here I live with a group of us.” “Oh, a family?” “Yeah. We travel in groups a lot, but my family live on the coast not far from here. I come here most days. I like it up here, it’s really quiet.” “Are you Irish?” “I have a lot of family on the coast and in Ireland,” she said quietly, still staring out at the lake. “I like the quiet too.” She turned back to me. “What about you? Family?” “Just my Mom. Dad died a few weeks ago. That’s about it really,” I said with a shrug. “That’s not good. Was that the man I saw you with here?” “You were watching me then?” “Well yeah—I’ve been here for years. I’d move here if I could.” “Why don’t you?” “I don’t get to live freely until I’m eighteen. It’s sort of a tradition. Too much to explain really. But it gets lonely out with my family, and boring.” “That makes two of us. My mother isn’t around much.” She smiled then and I moved back a little. “What?” “You’re the first person I’ve spoken to from the land is all. It...feels nice. Having a real conversation.” “I like it too,” I replied. We spoke for hours that felt like minutes. I learnt a lot about her in that first night. She would tell me about her family, all of them were what she called Echbiphilads—but said Mermaids was the easier way to say it if it suited me. I told her about my father, and my life before he died. We spoke until she felt she had to dip back into the water, and even then we spoke until the sun started to rise. I found out that mermaids don’t eat people, but choose to eat fish and other things which made me feel better. Before I could ask her anything else, she told me she had to go, and that her father was calling her. I told her I couldn’t hear anything and she laughed again. As she began to swim away I called out to her. “Can I see you again?” “Tomorrow,” she said, her head bobbing under the water. I went to say goodbye but she was already gone, and the only thing to prove she was real was the two pieces of the silver hook which lay at my feet.


Craig woke up, shitfaced. The couch cushion had spread his drool up the side of his face. Capillary action, that’s called. “Fuck you, Jeremy,” Craig said in a drunken stupor. Craig’s friend Jeremy had spoken at length about capillary action when they were drinking earlier, he was always talking about his science shit. But Jeremy was nowhere to be seen. Craig was alone in his apartment, butt ass naked. He peeled himself off the leather couch like wet bologna. He was having trouble finding his balance and kicked the shit out of his coffee table by accident. Like thirteen beer bottles toppled over in a clinky symphony. *Must escape,* Craig thought. *Must escape living room. Must navigate to bathroom. Must piss.* The bathroom was right next to the living room which was super handy. Craig contemplated the mess he was about to make and wondered if he should just piss in the shower. He decided to lift the seat on the toilet and try it the civilized way. Piss flew everywhere as expected. Craig didn’t know what to do with his hands because he didn’t have to use them to hold his pants. He just kind of let them hang there. He did his best to aim but he also didn’t want to fall over. Craig’s nuts were stuck to his leg so he tried to kind of squat to get them unstuck. While half squatting and being super relaxed from the pee, something landed on the floor behind him with a soft plop. “Oh poop,” Craig said, fearing the worst. He turned to see his dog, Smart laying behind him instead of his own poop, so that’s good. “Oh poop,” Craig said, remembering the pee he was getting everywhere and thinking he would get pee dog. “Warglabemaheh!” Craig exclaimed to make the dog flee. Smart didn’t look too good. He was panting and he smelled bad. Craig finished peeing and immediately forgot to flush. He turned and kneeled down and pushed Smart out of the bathroom like heavy groceries. Smart was clammy and clearly messed up. Craig worried about what he’d have to do if his dog died right there. Would he have to call the cops? It was at this moment that Craig’s phone started ringing. He knew he wouldn’t be able to find it in time, much less answer it. He certainly couldn’t talk to them while he was naked. The kitchen was dark and had no goddamn food in it. Craig made his way to the freezer to get a thingy for Smart. In the middle of the floor were what might have been Craig’s pants. Also in the middle of the floor was Craig. He fell. On the pants. The phone started ringing again. “Fuck you, Jeremy,” Craig said again because it was probably Jeremy. The floor was cool and felt nice when Craig scrooched on it. The freezer didn’t have anything in it to make Smart feel better but there were a bunch of gross Snapples in the fridge so he grabbed those. Back in a pile on the floor was Smart, looking bad. Craig just kind of looked at his dog, wanting to help but also not sure how to do anything. Craig cursed himself for getting so drunk. He wondered if he could be like, angry at beer. Using his boy scout skills, Craig used the Snapple bottles to build a teepee fire log setup around the dog to keep him cool. Smart didn’t seem to notice and all the bottles rolled off because he was breathing. Craig looked around the apartment, trying to see what Smart’s dumb ass could have gotten into. A lot of stuff actually. Craig was starting to feel itchy because he had no clothes on. There was a blanket on the couch so he accidentally kicked the shit out of the damn coffee table again trying to get over to it. There was a weird noise as he slung the blanket around his shoulders. It was like Smart let out a huge fart. “Not on the Snapple you little basta-” Craig began to say but then- BOOM! Smart exploded. Fucking everywhere. Craig did not have the reflexes in his current drunken state to avoid the doggie soup that came flying at him from across the room. He took a piece full in the face, making his face hurt. “God whathufuck?” said Craig, on the floor again. The dog-splosion didn’t make a lot of noise which was weird. It was more like if you like, smooshed an egg but like one that wasn’t hard? Like it’d still be squishy on the inside but not crispy outside. Also it wouldn’t be too hard to squish. Not like a balloon, that’d be too loud and fast. Like a slow egg but still strong. There was a GLURP noise from the wall with the fish tank. Then there was a little splash on Craig’s head. Craig could see the fish tank and the water was all wobbly. *Aww fuck. The Stupid Blue Fish just exploded.* It was true. The Stupid Blue Fish just exploded. Its little fish parts were sinking to the bottom of the tank and The Stupid Yellow Fish and The Only Goldfish that Survived from the Fair were floating belly up on the surface. Then they both exploded and Craig got showered with fish water again. Craig had to pee so bad again and he was kind of like “fuck it, I’ll just go right here,” but at this point he was getting a little scared because his pets exploded. That’s when the phone rang again. From the floor in front of the couch, wrapped up in blankets with his dick out, Craig reached into the spitty couch cushion and found his phone. “Goddammit Jeremy what do you want I need new fish now!” Craig tried to say. It is unclear whether he actually said that or if he just mumbled. “Craig? I need you to pick me up and take me to the hospital. I don’t feel so good.” Jeremy sounded like shit. “I can’t you’re drunk,” Craig reminded him. “Is Charlotte still there? She went back to your place, can she give me a ride?” This revelation was scary to Craig. His dick was out. Charlotte was a girl. So there might be a girl there while he had his dick out. “I don’t know. Where is she?” asked Craig. “Just please man, I need a doctor.” “Mmmmmmm,” went Craig, making it sound like he was thinking but he really just wanted Jeremy to figure something else out, making it sound like Jeremy was asking way too much and that, ya know, he wanted to help him out but it was gonna be a whole thing and- KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Someone was banging on the window. Craig covered his dick. Charlotte was standing outside the window and she exploded. Now that Craig got a good look at the explosion, he could describe it a little better. Think of like a watermelon that just got smacked with a sledgehammer. There used to be a standup comedian called Gallagher who did his show and he’d be always smashing watermelons. Anyway, the watermelon Charlotte just kind of schmeared its way up the window, didn’t even break it or anything. And it had this kind of upward motion like the watermelon got hit with a golf club. All this time Craig was screaming and crying, but he somehow managed to not piss himself. “Did Charlotte just explode?” asked Jeremy over the phone. Craig replied with a crying “uh huh.” “Aww fuck man. That means-” BOOM. Jeremy just exploded over the phone. Craig was lying there on his back, dick out again, in front of the couch but scrunched in between the coffee table, crying. “Aww man, why’s this happening? I’m gonna go boom.” Craig put his arm over his eyes to block the light. It was weirdly silent in his apartment now that all his friends weren’t blowing up. How was he gonna live now? How was he supposed to go outside? How was he gonna eat? *Eat?* That’s when Craig remembered. They had eaten something. Craig tried to remember what had happened when they were all drinking. He might have been kind of stupid regardless of the drunkenness so it could be kind of hard to burritos. *The goddamn burritos!* *I blew my people up cuz burritos!* *Must piss!* Craig knocked pretty much everything off the coffee table trying to get up from in front of the couch but he did it. He decided in advance he was going to piss in the shower so he came into the bathroom firing on all cylinders. Absolutely none of his pee made it in the shower because the curtain but it didn’t matter, Craig was gonna fix this. Back in the kitchen, Craig plowed face first into the wall in the general vicinity of the lightswitch. It had the desired effect, that being the lights turned on. The kitchen table was there, covered in mail and burrito scraps. Craig’s pants were on the floor. *The fever. You’ll have to stop the fever.* Things were starting to make more pants now. *I’m naked because of the fever.* The phone started ringing again in the living room. Looking at the number, Craig didn’t know it. He also didn’t know anyone’s numbers anymore. He remembered Tom’s from like fifth grade but that was his Tom’s mom’s house. But he still knew it. All this time, Craig was staring at his phone, kind of drooling. It stopped ringing. There was an annoying siren sound getting louder outside. A text message came through to Craig’s phone. “Is it done?” it said. Craig was worried. *It? What it?* *Done? What done? What am I done?* At that moment Craig’s front door kicked itself in. He screamed. Men in scary clothes started pouring into his apartment with shovels. “There’s the mark. His dick’s out boys!” One of the shovel-bearers was directing the others around to the various piles of buddies around Craig’s apartment. There were two more outside squeegee-ing Charlotte’s ass off the front window. Craig put up karate hands but they couldn’t stop the shovel-man from tackling the Christ out of him. The rug burn brought them to a stop on the floor, staring into each other’s eyes. “Ya did good kid,” said the Shovel Man from behind a respirator. He pulled out an adorable little flashlight and shined it in Craig’s eyes. “Poopy response looks good guys!” “Darryl get off him!” yelled another Shovel Guy whilst shoveling Smart into a Home Depot bucket. “Yea Darryl. Leave him for the doctor.” A different Shovel Man was using a tiny net to get fish bits out of the tank. At that moment, a Shovel Man without a shovel walked in the door. He was wearing a lab coat backwards like a Snuggie. “Darryl how many times do I have to tell you?” said the Snuggie Shovel Man. Darryl kind of giggled and rolled off Craig. “Poopy response looks good, boss,” said Darryl, patting Snuggie Man on the shoulder as he passed. Craig was confused at why Darryl was saying poopy response. A little shit *did* come out but not like a whole poopy or anything. “Sounds great son, thank you.” Snuggie Man was standing over Craig. “Ya did good kid.” “Darryl said that too,” said Craig. “Did good kid.” “Did good kid.” Everyone started saying it affirmatively, looking up from their shovels for a second before going back to shoveling. *Why are they congratulating me?* Craig was afraid to move. Snuggie Man crouched down next to him and made a side glance toward Craig’s wang before looking back to his eyes. “The fever will subside soon. Good job with the clothes. We’re gonna take you back while we clean this all up.” Snuggie Man gave Craig little positive reinforcement slaps on the face. “You’re gonna forget all about this if you haven’t already.” He looked over to the window. “I’m sorry about the girl too.” *Oh my god. Oh my god. How do I have to pee AGAIN.* Snuggie Man reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. Craig’s mind was starting to clear. Something was starting to come back to him. *I was supposed to feed them. But why did I-* There was a pressure in Craig’s neck and the walls started floating up for a second. It got hot all the sudden and Craig reached upward. Snuggie Man put his hand on Craig’s chest and pushed him to the floor. It was getting darker. Craig’s head rolled around to see more Shovel Men coming in with a stretcher. He was lifting off the ground but Snuggie still had his hand on him. *How… how… why… what did they make me do?* And then it all went black.


*It's been years since I've done much writing, and I'm sharing these breakfasts to remind myself how to put words on paper, or on screen. If it's deemed inappropriate for this subReddit, no hard feelings and I'll fade back to lurking.* *End of boring intro; onward to the boring story:*   The waitress, Kirstin, is nowhere to be seen. One of the cooks, Harvey, is up front pouring coffee. I sigh, and may have said "Damn it." This is a pretty good diner without Kirstin, but it's better when she's here. There are four other customers: The Fixture is present, of course, because he lives on that corner stool. He's talking to a middle-aged black woman with what I think is a blue knitting needle in her hair, and her facial expression says, *I wish this guy would shut up.* At a table near the window, two very scrubbed-looking young white men in suits are eating breakfast, each with a Bible beside his plate. I'd rather have a cinnamon roll. • I pick a stool strategically distant from everyone else, and Harvey approaches, nods at me, and says, **"You want coffee?"** "With cream," I answer, and he plops a cup in front of me, fills it, brings cream. "Need a minute?" he says. I look over his head, where the daily-special sign is on an upper shelf, but it's blank. Harvey sees where I'm looking without looking himself, and says, "Sorry, no special today." I tell him what I want for breakfast. He jots it down and says, "We'll make it *seem* special." • ManBun is back, still or again wearing the same Grateful Dead t-shirt as last time I saw him, and he says **"Good morning"** to me as he walks past with his girlfriend or wife. Of course, I say the same. Dunno why he said good morning to me. Is that what people do? We've never spoken to each other before, but now that's lost forever. He's white and his companion is black, and they're both young and pretty and pierced, obviously counterculture. They sit at the diner's last table, way in the back. Harvey is taking their order, and ManBun's LadyFriend says, "Are you working alone today?" "No, Slim's in the kitchen, but it's just the two of us. Business is so slow, though, I could probably work the restaurant all by myself in a pinch." "Well, don't let your boss hear you say that," she says, "or one of you will probably get fired." "Nah," he says, "Bob wouldn't fire anyone unless we flipped him the finger. But if business doesn't pick up, he'd maybe cut us all back from four days a week to three." • My breakfast has arrived, and it's special — perfection on a plate, as always. While I'm eating, the Bible Bros discuss Leviticus, throwing verses at each other, and deciding what each reference really means, like after so many eons these two have ascertained the Bible's *true* meaning in a diner over eggs. They're especially fervent about what's an acceptable sacrificial animal, because Leviticus says God won't accept injured or maimed animal sacrifices, or any animal with warts or festering sores. Knitting Needle, the black woman who'd been listening to The Fixture, has finished her breakfast, and she's masked up and standing at the cash register, paying. This puts her maybe five footsteps from the Bible Bros, just as they're going into detail about *why* God can't accept a diseased sheep as a sacrifice. This lady looks at them, and I know exactly what she's thinking. Same thought flashes through my head sometimes at the diner — do I butt in and tell some stranger what I think, or shut up and mind my own business? She chooses the former. **"God created the sheep,"** she says, "and created its disease, but He won't accept it as an offering?" They look at her with smiles, and start eagerly explaining, but she's not having it. "No, no, no, no, no, no …" she says, rapid fire. "But you guys have a great morning." She takes her change from Harvey, and she's out the door. "And can I add something?" says The Fixture from his stool. "Nothing against God, but we're in a restaurant and you guys are talking about animals with diseases and festering sores. Could you at least, like, switch to the New Testament while people are eating?" They apologize, and seem sincere about it. For the rest of my morning at the diner, their conversation is noticeably quieter. Thank you for your service, Knitting Needle and The Fixture. • A twenty-something white guy comes in alone, and Harvey hollers at him, **"J-Man! Good to see you, bud."** The names vary, but this is not an uncommon occurrence at the diner. It's like they sang about on *Cheers*, "Sometimes you want to go / Where everybody knows your name / And they're always glad you came…". That lyric never made sense to me, though. The bar on that show looked like a nice enough (albeit phony) place, but I'd never want to go to any bar — or diner — where everybody knows my name. I want to be anonymous. I'm not here to make friends. I'm here for an omelet. • Some stranger walks in, 30s, white, with a curling mustache like sideways question-marks on each side of his nose. He sits along my section of the counter, not far from everybody-knows-J-Man, and soon those two are talking about Fools They Have Known. It's the most interesting conversation of the morning, but it happens too quickly for me to keep more than the briefest notes. J-Man starts it by saying something about his idiot brother-in-law, who thinks the coronavirus is a hoax or a communist plot. Handlebar-Mustache replies by telling about his cousin, who thinks *everything* is a hoax or a commie plot, dating back to JFK's assassination and perhaps earlier. **"You think that's stupid?"** says J-Man, and now it's Game On. One-upmanship. Which of these guys knows the stupidest person? J-Man tells us about a guy at his office who goes home every day at lunch, not to eat, but to shower off the accumulated radiation from looking at a computer monitor. "That's pretty damn stupid," says Handlebar, and he retorts with his sister, says she seems to worship Donald Trump more and more, the more stupid things he says and does. She's ordered hydroxychloroquine in the mail to save her from COVID-19, and she's aggravated that it's been weeks and it hasn't arrived yet. "It's never going to arrive," says J-Man. "Yeah," says Handlebar. "There's a sucker born every minute." Then he brings up *his* sister, who says Black Lives Matter is more racist than the KKK. "Can't top that," says J-Man. "Your sister wins the prize. Top Fuckin' Moron for Today." • In comes an old, white, bald man getting around with a walker. He's moving so slow you could have read this chapter top-to-bottom before he's pushed his walker to the table he wants to sit at, and before he's struggled with the difficult mechanics of sitting down. No disrespect intended, though — quite the opposite. He's in here all the time, and it's not easy for him. Me, and probably you? If we want the diner experience, we just walk in and take a seat. But for Bald-Walker, walking to his seat is serious work. I imagine getting dressed to come here is a challenge, yet he's here, and often, and he's probably been coming here since before he was walking with a walker. Gotta respect someone willing to put that much effort into breakfast at the diner. Harvey takes his order, pours him some coffee, and Bald-Walker says, **"Hey, is the other guy working this morning?"** "You mean Slim?" Harvey answers, only he says Slim's real name, which I've heard twenty times but always forget. "Yeah," says Bald-Walker. "Will you tell him I said thanks? He sorta saved my butt a few weeks ago." • Here's a white couple in their 40s, dressed a bit nicely so I'll presume they're both on their way to jobs where you need to look presentable. He's in a suit; she's in a muted but still colorful blouse. Mrs Dressed Nicely quietly says something to her husband, and it's a brief moment of near-total silence in the diner, so I can hear clearly: **"Are you sure about this place?"** He cocks his head, meaning, *Huh?*, and she goes on, "It seems sort of … dirty." *Dirty?* The place doesn't sparkle, but it's tidy, and the kitchen looks clean, at least from the seating area. Someone who's accustomed to breakfast at Perkins or Denny's or IHOP might think this diner is dirty, though. The walls could use a fresh coat of paint. The staff is in street clothes, not a uniform. A couple of cabinet doors behind the counter are held shut with duct tape. The tables are old and a little rickety, like me. Mr Dressed Nicely wants hot sauce, and says it to Harvey exactly like that: "Hot sauce." No hostility, but it's a command, not a request. Harvey grabs a bottle of tabasco, passes in front of my stool on his way to deliver it, and under his breath mumbles, "Here's your hot sauce, you son of a bitch." I am chuckling so much as I jot that in the margins of my magazine, a couple of hours later I had a hard time deciphering what I'd written. Harvey knew, like I knew, like Mr and Mrs Dressed Nicely already knew, that even if everything is sweet perfection for their entire breakfast, they're never coming back. So to hell with 'em.   *I'm a grumpy old man who lives alone and has few friends — basically a hermit. Once a week I have breakfast at my favorite diner. Most weeks it's my only in-person interaction with other humans, which is not my strong suit.* *Yeah, I'm aware of the coronavirus, so I go to the diner at dawn, before it gets busy. I wash my hands before and after, cough into my elbow, spray Lysol on my food, pay at my plate, tell the waitress to keep the change, and hold my breath while leaving until I'm outside. It's a little more dangerous than staying at home, but life would suck without breakfast at the diner, so get off my lawn.* *And remember, decent people leave a generous tip.