If you saw the building from the outside, it may not seem like an unpleasant place to live. Windows dotted the structure, each having its own white frame. Through most windows, a set of blinds could be seen blocking out the outside world. Bricks made up the building in an almost perfect pattern, being broken only by the occasional window, door, or other obstruction. The bricks making up the structure varied in color ranging from a dull red to a muddy brown almost black color. The exterior stood out no more than any neighboring building, providing no indication as to the true nature of it .

Upon entering the building, it became clear that the innocent exterior masked a more sinister soul. Various stains cover the wallpaper and carpeted floor, the air conditioning rarely functions as it should, and the smell of cigarettes seems to permeate through every wall. Cockroaches run rampant through the rooms and hallways, and at times it felt more their home than any of the tenants.

The landlord somehow managed to turn a blind eye to these problems. When I first signed my lease, I made my landlord aware of every issue I found. Every little broken blind, or strange leak I came across, I alerted him. I would tell him of my newfound trouble only for him to give me an unconvincing smile and tell me he’d have it taken care of soon. After a few weeks of him pretending to care only for me to find the problem never got solved, I realized my efforts were in vain.

The place disgusted me, so I avoided staying there as much as possible. I slept and ate my meals there, but any excess time I had I spent at the local library or at my job. I worked as a waiter. My manager didn’t pay me much, so my main source of income came in the form of the generosity of strangers through their tips. Most customers we had tipped nicely, adding 15%-20% to the total cost of their meal. Some customers, though, resented me based on some insignificant action I did that they considered a tremendous mistake in their selfish minds. They usually declined to leave a tip based on that incredible act of tyranny I committed by taking too long to refill their drinks or forgetting to remind them of our specials. This type of customer threatened my ability to put food on the table, and for that, I resented them in return. On the social hierarchy, I sat one step above a homeless person begging for money on the streets each day. Not for lack of trying to climb up the convoluted ladder that is our society, but due to my unfortunate circumstance. My mother had raised me with no help from a second parent, even in the form of monthly checks. At times, she would struggle to put food on the table, and as a result, she worked long hours to raise enough money to support the two of us.

I would stay awake until the late hours of the night when the atmosphere was painted a lightless blue and the usual silence only broke due to an occasional insect calling out to its friends or a lone car driving by. I stayed up waiting for my mom to come home from work, so I had the chance to see her before she returned to her job and left me behind for another day. Staying up this late took a toll on me. At school, I tried my hardest to pay attention in spite of the fatigue I felt due to the near sleepless nights I spent waiting for my mom to come home. The tiredness I experienced only made it more difficult for me to learn. I would have loved to feel well-rested, but I couldn’t afford to lose time I could have used to study, so the cycle repeated. My mom wanted me to study hard in order to get good grades, so I might earn an academic scholarship. I didn’t play any sports or belong to any minority groups, so my ticket out of a life of poverty lied in a scholarship based on my academic success. However, I lacked any sort of academic ability. I passed my classes, but with difficulty. My grades hovered around C’s with an occasional A or B. No colleges want to give a scholarship to a kid who struggles to pass mere high school classes. My schooling led me nowhere. I didn’t go to college and I ended up working for little pay at a shabby restaurant while living in an even shabbier apartment. I despised living as I did, and longed for a way out. One night my prayers were answered. I awoke due to a light emanating from my closet rousing me from my sleep. The light illuminated my entire room in a cold blue glow. At first, I attributed it to a symptom of my drowsiness and attempted to fall back asleep. As I slept it became brighter and brighter, until the entire room became engulfed in a beautiful blue luminescence. I tossed and turned trying in vain to ignore the light once again. It gave me no choice but to get out of bed and investigate the source. Annoyed that I had already lost precious sleep, I stepped out of bed and walked to my closet. I ripped open the door ready to confront whatever had caused the light. On the wall of my closet adjacent to my closet door stood a door emitting the same blue light that had woken me from my sleep. Confused, I opened the door and behind it, I discovered another door identical to the first. The second door stood a few feet behind the first, in a space enveloped in black. The area between two doors contained nothing other than the two doors opposing each other. I stepped into the dark gap between the doors and opened the second one. Behind it, I saw a blank expanse identical to the one I then stood in, complete with another door. I stepped through again, and again and saw the same each time. I had made no signs of progress as I trudged forwards trying to find the end of the straightforward labyrinth I had found myself in.

Already exhausted, I made my way forward through the endless mess of doors until a final door opened into a barren room. After I stepped through what must have been my hundredth door, my apartment could no longer be seen through the row of open doors that lay behind me. The room’s walls all matched, each one painted a drab brown color. The room contained nothing more than a window on one of the walls, allowing a view into a lifeless black void. The room appeared lit, however, I couldn’t locate the source of this light. As I turned around to study the room in search of anything more it may contain, a figure materialized right in front of me. Before me stood a man in nothing more than an ordinary T-shirt, jeans, and a pair of pink crocs. No patterns or brand claimed the shirt as their own, the only distinct feature of it came in the form of a singular pocket on the upper chest. The pants had no holes or any other form of damage in them, matching the shirt in terms of plainness. The crocs had a bright pink color to them, that strain the eyes after just a few seconds of exposure. They appeared to contradict the rest of his apparel while providing a sort of perfect balance that completed the outfit and revealed some hidden beauty within each choice of clothing. “Killer,” I said, my attention focused on the really cool and awesome crocs he wore. Many would think this choice of clothing odd, but as I laid my eyes on them, I found the contrast exposed an elegant asymmetry within each selection of apparel. Looking at them I realized nothing I had seen previously compared to them in terms of style. The attire the man wore surpassed anything any ordinary man could put together. The more I thought about the shoes he wore and the fine artistry that resulted in his clothing, I realized I had met no ordinary man.

The man began to speak, stealing my attention from his shoes and putting it on his voice. “Aw, thanks,” Said the man while suppressing a bashful smile. Although stylish, the crocs offered no explanation as to my whereabouts, or origin of the strange portal that I had found in my bedroom. “Where am I?” I asked, hoping to find an explanation or way back home. The man appeared uninterested in my question, as he walked towards the one lone window on the wall of the room. As he peered out into the abyss, he offered me a deal. “I could make you a millionaire,” Turning to face me, a comforting smile spread across his face. “There’s only one condition.” “What is it?” As I showed my interest, his smile grew more sinister. All my life I’ve been pushed around, and stepped all over. Having millions of dollars to my name would solve all my problems. This could be my ticket out of a life of poverty. This could be my chance to finally be somebody.

“You can never own a pair of crocs.” Those last words felt like a punch to the gut. For a moment, I thought some god had summoned me to answer my prayers, but when the reality of the situation hit, I realized the devil had actually come to torment me with a bargain too good to be true.

After I told that fashionable demon the conclusion I had come to, I awoke back in my apartment. Feeling content with my decision, I donned my crocs and drove to work.


By the following evening we were back in the South. Alessia and I sat on the deck of the Deer Drum boat watching the red sky in the west. The sun had just dipped past the horizon and the dying embers spilled out across a cloudless expanse. We sat with our legs dangling off the side of the boat, the sheltered seas gently lapping against the hull beneath us. The hunt for Sannaz in the south had been unsuccessful too. And while some of the islanders remained on shore, Alessia and I stayed back on the boat. The search could continue tomorrow. Behind us a few of the children played tag up and down the boat. Mirai was joining in, recapturing a bit of her childhood, easily out pacing her competitors as she zipped up and down the gangway, leaping over the vegetable beds in a single bound. As we talked, we listened to the roars of laughter and delighted squeals as bodies darted from outstretched fingers. “A whole war over when to hold a festival,” Alessia nodded to herself. “I’d like to say I’m surprised but…” She trailed off. “It’s stupid.” “Not sure any war isn’t,” Alessia replied, kicking her shoes against the ship’s hull. We sat in silence for a moment. My eyes were staring off into the darkening sky above me. I remained like that, staring perfectly still for a few moments. “Clear wind for your thoughts,” Alessia said. I looked at her scrunching my face. “What you thinking about? ‘Cause the sky ain’t that interesting.” I turned my gaze back to the island beside us. “I was thinking about this island. Almost all islands were probably like it once, right?” “What’dya mean?” “When whatever happened, happened and the Archipelago got made. Everyone left decided how the world should be, what the new society would be like. And there would’ve been fights. Not everyone would’ve woken up with the same idea. A lot of them probably started like this.” I nodded to the town and the faint outline of the perimeter wall that could just be made out between the buildings. “You’re probably right.” Alessia gave a half-hearted shrug. “Kadear, before it was Kadear, might have been like this. One long war until one side loses and the victors get to build the island in their image.” “You reckon they all would’ve been that violent?” Alessia asked. She brought her legs up from the side of the ship, tucking up her knees and wrapping her arms around them as the heat slowly left the evening air. I shook my head. “Probably just a war of words, a lot of them. Keep talking until one side can’t be bothered to argue anymore. Just two islands in one until one side loses out through force of personality or money.” I sighed. “But people will also fight too easily.” “If you can’t win an argument, you can always stab the other guy.” Alessia gave a wry smile. “It!” one of the children shouted right beside us. Another groaned in response. There were footsteps before a girl giggled a scream. “Missed me,” she added in a mocking tone. Alessia chuckled to herself at the antics. “You ever think you’d have a family?” I asked. She scoffed. “I’ve got my own parents to put me off that. You?” “Not sure I ever gave it much thought.” I cupped my hands in my lap, staring at them for distraction. “Too busy trying to get to the Citadel. Perhaps I thought, I’d decide later.” “And before you know it you’re travelling the seas with some stranger and her furnitureless ship,” she smirked. Laughter escaped my lips. “So… what was wrong with your family?” I asked. “Parents were never together. No animosity. Just weren’t. I’m the product of a fling.” She paused, one side of her mouth smiling. “Never saw my dad half my life, only came to pick me up when my mum was dying and that was the last I saw of her. Not sure I know what a family is beyond that.” I leaned over and patted her leg. “You’ve done a pretty solid job of looking after us. That’s quite the family you made.” “Eh. You’re the only one who’s a handful.” There was a brief shout of “Cheater!” behind us from one of the kids. An instinctual guffaw left both our lips. Alessia held the back of hand up to her mouth, as I leaned over until the humour left our system and the quiet returned. “What you two up to?” I craned my neck to see Mirai standing over us. “Talking and enjoying the sunset,” Alessia replied. “Mind if I join you? Think I’m done with the kids.” I smirked to Alessia briefly. “Sure.” I shuffled over to make way, before my whole body seized at the sound of a loud boom. A distant thunderous roar. I felt the wood of the boat shake, shiver in place. We all stopped, our heads turning to the island. Another boom. This one didn’t resonate as deep but it came with the accompaniment of the sound of rock shattering and walls crumbling. I stood up. “An explosion,” Alessia said. There was another blast as I saw a puff of smoke and dust lift off the roofs of the town. Behind us the children screamed, quickly followed by whimpering. Frightened tears falling from young eyes. “They’ve come back for us,” a child wailed behind me. “What the fuck is happening?” Mirai asked. “Mirai, get the kids below decks.” I leaned down as I spoke, staring straight into her wide eyes. “Tell people to ready the ship, we may have to leave quickly.” “Mum. Dad. They’re on the island. Lachlann too.” Her eyes flicked back and forth, her mind racing. “Shit,” I muttered. Alessia stepped forward. “Mirai, you deal with things here. We’ll go get them, okay?” “Are they gonna be okay?” Mirai’s voice cracked with panic. “We’ll bring them back, I promise.” Alessia smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But your brother and the ship needs you.” Mirai took the information in, and then slowly nodded her head. “Okay.” She turned to rally up the rest of the kids, as some of the adults emerged from below to see what was going on. Alessia and I ran down the boat to where the skiff was tied. I grabbed the oars and started pulling as hard as I could. “What do you think’s happening?” “I think the war’s ending,” Alessia replied. “Where’d they get the explosives from?” I shouted between heaves of the oars. Alessia scrunched her face. “Not important right now.” I continued to row long strokes to the harbour wall. “What’s the plan?” “Head into the town, find them, bring them back.” Alessia gave a scowl, a hint of irritation at my question. “What if they’re outside the town? In the fields to the west?” “What? Why would they be?” Alessia shook her head. “They might be and if they are then we won’t find them.” My voice was drowned out by another bomb ripping holes in the Southern wall. Alessia paused, staring at her feet. “You’re right.” The boat thudded against the wall, a small piece of wood snapping off with the collision as splinters fell into the water. I clambered up the steps and tied the first knot I could think of round the wooden stake as Alessia gave instructions. “I’ll head into town, you take the long way round, go up through that gorge at the end of the harbour. I’ll head around and we’ll meet in the middle.” “Agreed,” I started turning to leave. “Ferdinand.” I paused and faced Alessia. She had steely eyes, but her lips quivered as she spoke. “Be safe. You mean too much to me.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You too.” We stared at each other for a moment. Both of us unwilling to break apart, certain the other was safe as long as we always had eyes on them. Another explosion. The sound broke us from the trance, before the rumbling ground beneath us forced our feet to turn and head away. I jogged along the waterfront, trying not to look back lest my feet refuse to leave Alessia any further. We were heading towards danger, each step away from the Deer Drum boat making our chances of survival that little bit less. Reaching the hill at the end of the wall I jumped down onto the grassy bank, my feet quickly sinking into the soft, long grass. I took one last look at the town as the cliffs shook with another blast. Black plumes of smoke rose from the far end of the city, a yellow halo creeping around the buildings, illuminating the darkening skies. In the distance, I could see the silhouette of Alessia disappearing up the zigzag path towards the town. Then I disappeared between the cliffs On either side of me was sheer rock. Thick and ancient granite that rose up a good twenty metres, a natural tower that man-kind could never match. At the base of the crag were smaller, more jagged rocks, ones brought down the slope or etched off the cliff face over the years. Centuries of rain water had eaten away at the channel, softening the ground to a marsh and my feet struggled for purchase in the soft soil as I clambered upwards. Determination propelled me forward, but each step up the steep hill sapped the energy from my thighs. I ignored the pain, heaving deep lungfuls of air to replenish my muscles with the necessary oxygen. Back towards the town, the vertical surface began to ease off, slowly softening until it was a slope I could manage to climb. I turned, heading up the steepest segment I felt I could manage. My heartrate was pounding as I took wide strides, trying to make the slope as soft as possible. I heard something. It sounded like a name whispered on the breeze. I paused, tilting my ears and inspecting it, but heard nothing more. Leaning forward, I resumed the climb, battling against the incline till I could begin to see the peak. “Ferdinand.” The voice was quiet, frail, broken. “Ferdinand.” This time louder, but with a pained jolt. My stomach crunched in like a fist. I turned and looked up. On the cliff opposite I could see Lachlann. Even from here I could make out the damp sheen to his face, the hard breathing, and shivering frame. His hands were tied behind his back. It was then I noticed the figure in black standing beside him. “So this is Ferdinand then,” the man shouted across the space. “I wasn’t sure how I pictured you.” I didn’t recognize him. The round pudgy face, or the short clipped hair. But I knew who it was. “Sannaz Lytta.” “Correct,” came the call. “I was hoping the bombs would force you off your boat. Commander Kendra was very happy to take the last of my explosives.” I wanted to cower. I wanted to run frightened. But I tried to imagine how Alessia would act. How she would carry herself and stand up to someone trying to have power over you. I pulled my shoulders back and stood firm. “So this is your plan. Kill another island?” “No. I just wanted to talk. The North will take care of the rest for me.” “Let Lachlann go.” I called out. Sannaz grabbed the back of Lachlann’s shirt and dragged him to the edge of the cliff. “What? Here?” “Don’t do this!” I raised my hands, showing my palms. “Okay. Then help me.” “How?” “I’ve heard about you, asking after me all over Talin Barier. So I asked about you. Traced your journey. I even visited Pomafauc Reset. I know why you left. I know about the books you asked for on Ringatoy Shires. You wanted to find out the Archipelago’s origins. So tell me, where is it?” I looked from side to side. “Where is what?” “Don’t be stupid Ferdinand.” Sannaz grabbed Lachlann once more, jostling him. Lachlann let out a small cry looking down the cliff in front. “Tell me why you did it,” I said, trying to get Sannaz thinking in a different direction. “Why I did what?” “Deer Drum. Sneppath Head. You could’ve just stolen the books. Why all the killing?” Sannaz grinned. “I merely sped things up. They all would’ve died anyway.” “Not like that,” I replied with a scowl. “They could’ve had peaceful lives.” “You think that?” He turned to Lachlann and leaned in close. “Tell me. How many women a year died during childbirth on Deer Drum? How many kids caught a virus that couldn’t be cured? How many people angered a horse one day and took a kick to the temple?” He turned to me. “Or for you, how many people lived in squalor, fighting day to day while you chased your Citadel?” He stuck his jaw out. “Back on Stet, we’d lose a guy down the mines once a month. The lucky ones had rocks fall on them. The unlucky were trapped and unreachable. Suffocated or died of hunger. Is that peace?” “Why add to that suffering?” “I ended it. Killed the one in one hundred chance at a happy life to make sure the suffering was never worse. I brought peace.” I looked around, searching on the hill for an answer. “You’re wrong.” “Am I?” “You have to be.” “You’ve seen more than most Ferdinand. What happiness could justify the sadness you’ve seen, what could possibly make that worthwhile…” Sannaz trailed off, his eyes glancing above me. I turned to see Alessia, Xander and Kurbani standing behind me. A reflexive smile crossed my lips. “You can join Ferdinand. You can’t come round here.” Sannaz shook his head but maintained his stare. I watched Xander tighten his hands, his wide shoulders bristling with rage. Alessia and Kurbani too held the gaze. However, all three complied and began walking down the hill towards me. “So, Ferdinand, am I wrong? Is the suffering a lie?” I closed my eyes, thinking. “No. You’re right. You just missed so much. Life is cruel, and tough, and it can end so sadly. But, there’s also so much joy to be had. And those good bits. That’s worth it all. However fleeting those moments may be, they are always worth fighting for.” I paused, recatching my breath. I turned to look to the three people arriving beside me. My eyes settled on Alessia. She flicked me a smile, and a slow reassuring nod. “You can pick all the worst bits, and there are plenty. But you also have to remember all the good. We’ve all suffered. I know I have. But beyond all that pain, and anguish, I’ve had moments of happiness and love greater than anything I’ve known.” My eyes filled with water. They closed, scrunching. As I contained the tears, I could make out the faces of those people around me in my mind. Behind them was black. Fears. Old horrors. Pained memories. But in front of it all were those that I’d met along the way, so much closer, so much stronger than all the agony. And front and centre was Alessia. She had that oh so familiar facial expression she often wore. One that told me I was being a fool, lunging optimistically into a stupid situation, and yet she would support me anyway. Not out of practicality, but out of… kindness. Out of a want for good, no matter how unlikely it was to succeed. My eyes opened again, looking up at Sannaz, then to Lachlann, then back to Sannaz. “Good actions still exist. Even here. Even now. Every moment that we exist and try to make things better has the potential for joy and you can’t take away that potential from people’s lives. That’s what you did. All of our lives will end in a moment of sadness. But you stole the joy along the way. You robbed them of potential.” Sannaz nodded slowly, his jaw still stuck out so that he looked down at us past the end of his nose. “Lovely speech, Ferdinand. But you know how this all happened. You know how low we all sank. It just didn’t go far enough. So tell me, where is the site?” He screamed the last words, seizing Lachlann’s arm. “I don’t know.” “Stop playing dumb.” He shuffled Lachlann closer to the cliff. Lachlann fought back but the grip was too strong. “What site? I don’t know what you mean?” “The Archipelago. The site where it was made. Where is it?” I stood shaking my head slowly, trying to make sense of the demand. Nothing came. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Tell me!” Sannaz growled. I looked to the other three, they shook their heads. Alessia took a step forward, standing by my side. “We don’t know what you mean. None of us do.” Sannaz took a beat, then a snicker escaped his lips. It grew into a loud cackle. “You really don’t know do you? All that hunting and travelling and you know shit.” “No. We don’t. We can’t help you. So let Lachlann go,” I pleased. Sannaz shook his head. “You see. If you don’t know how The Archipelago was formed, then you know so little that you’re of no use to me.” He turned and stared into Lachlann’s eyes. “Which means you aren’t either.” Sannaz let go of Lachlann’s arm. Placed a hand behind him, and pushed. Lachlann let out a desperate yell. A final plea for some miracle of the Earth to save him as he plunged from the cliff face. The plea was snuffed out as he hit the ground, smashing against the rocks. I felt the impact against my own ribcage. My chest caving in, my lungs unable to respond. I wanted to scream, but only the faintest breath of wind escaped my lips as I stared at Lachlann’s still form on the ground. Sannaz turned and disappeared over the crest of the hill. “Get him!” Alessia shouted. Xander ran up the slope, trying to find a way over to the other side. I wasn’t sure who Alessia meant the instructions for, but the other three of us didn’t join in the pursuit. Instead, we all ran towards Lachlann, hoping - however fruitlessly - he could still be saved. \ The final chapter in Book 2 will be published on the 20th February.


Everybody’s had a bad date. But my date with Lucy was definitely the worst date of my entire life. We met online, of course. I don’t think people meet any other way anymore. We really hit it off, she laughed at my dumb jokes and honestly, that’s pretty much all it takes for me to fall in love. We decided to meet up for drinks and appetizers at Applebees. I was nervous, so I showed up early, had a drink at the bar and waited for her to arrive. Meeting someone from the internet and finding out they’re significantly less attractive in person brings a uniquely guilty depression. It’s not that the person is necessarily unattractive, but in your mind, you’ve built up the anticipation for how you think the person will look. Expectation ruins reality. Usually this is just a result of normal people trying to look impressive. Which is understandable in the dating world. But that’s the thing, when I saw her walk through the door, Lucy did not look normal. She looked very far from normal. Her face was too thin and her nose was entirely too big. Freakishly such. She probably knew this because the she covered it up with three or five or nine inches of chunky, pasty white makeup. It could have been Plaster of Paris, who’s to say? That shit was out of control. She wore a giant green sweater, which in and of itself is not necessarily a bad thing, but it was almost eighty degrees outside, even after the sun went down. At first, I thought this was to compensate for being overweight, but she didn’t seem overweight. She seemed deformed. Like two or three different skinny people squeezing themselves into the same sweater. She had shredded blonde hair and walked with a wobbly limp, like an ether-sniffing marionette doll at a sobriety checkpoint. Her feet were disproportionally big, as if her shoes were hiding something nasty. Oh, God. I can’t do this, I thought. This is just too much. But I feel bad, because the expectations were built up in MY head, right? I’ll just turn and sneak out the back, text her saying I had car trouble or something. “Seth!?” She squawked. Or barked. It was a bark-squawk that was entirely too loud for the public, very unfortunately public situation at hand. Heads turned. Ah, shit. She saw me. Of course she saw me. I’ve been staring her down slack-jawed and silly. But really, can you blame me? This poor woman looked like a rubber horse mask wearing another rubber mask of Gary Busey’s face. “Seth! It is me. I am Lucy! The woman you speak to.” There’s no way she’s been using this voice her whole life. My voice was too dry so I just nodded. We’re already here, might as well have a few drinks and enjoy the food. How bad could it be? When my mouth finally began producing enough saliva necessary for conversation, we engaged in small-talk. I intentionally kept it awkward and as far from lively as possible. Maybe she’d catch the hint and we could just chalk it up to a lack of chemistry. I started dumping whiskey down my throat like my soul and sanity depended on it. Which, at this point, I was convinced it did. “So, where are you from?” I asked, hoping another unknown cultural origin could explain this catastrophic misstep in acceptable courtship. “Lucy is from Wisconsin. That’s normal, right?” Jesus Christ, whatever they put in that cheese really did a number on this one. Remind me to never drink Budweiser again, either. “I don-uh, I mean, yes, yes that is normal. Right. Have you ever been in like, a car accident or something?” She stared at me with big sickly brown eyes. Eyes that were almost yellow. Maybe she has cancer or something? I’m starting to feel bad for her now. Maybe the whiskey is melting the shock and warming my mind to a temperate state of empathy. She’s alone. She doesn’t get out much. Kinda like me, actually. Don’t be a dick, dude. Get it together. Then she laughs, it’s a coughy sort of laugh. It resonates from a deeper part of the diaphragm and I’m reminded of an alligator. Bet she used to smoke a lot. “You make joke! You funny man!” She swipes her hand across my forearm the way women do when they’re being particularly obvious about their intentions. Her fingernails are long. Monstrously so, and badly painted in flecks of a dark red. Her skin is entirely too rough for a woman. Maybe she works with her hands a lot? Oh. Oh, no. I check the neck. I don’t actually see an Adam’s Apple, but the skin does protrude in a hangy sort of turkey-neck way. I begin to sweat uncontrollably. Look, I don’t hate anyone. I believe everyone should live their lives and be happy. But I’m just not ready for this. I’m afraid. I feel like I’m waiting for the cashier in a gas station and a cop gets behind me in line. I compensate with more whiskey. That’ll help. I have to ask. I can’t just not know. “Look, Lucy. I’m sorry. But are you, like, are you a girl?” There’s that laugh again. “Yes! Lucy is girl. Real girl. Clever girl.” Of course she is. Trans girls are girls, too. It’s just… I’ve already paid for the drinks, she seems very interested in me, persistent even. I just don’t know if I can do this. Maybe just a blowjob? That’s not gay, right? I’m gonna need some cocaine for this. That’s it! Cocaine! I’ll see if she’s down to score some blow, then we’ll just see how it goes. Worst case scenario I get all coked up and can’t get a boner anyhow, sorta solves the whole situation. I can blame the coke, she doesn’t get her feelings hurt. Win-win. “Hey Lucy….” “Hey Seth.” She does the cough/laugh. Maybe the hormones haven’t been balanced yet? “You uh, you wanna score some coke?” “What is ‘score coke’?” “You know, like cocaine?” “Cocaine? If we score cocaine, can I get your meat?” Oh fuck. This is happening. “My…my meat?” “Yes. I want your meat inside me.” Not gonna lie, my dick did a little twitch right then. Jesus. Well, I guess you learn something new every day, don’t ya? “Okay! Um, I’m gonna pay the, uh, pay the tab. Why don’t you? Like, and I’ll then go to the car. Ya know, then we can like, you know. Wanna follow me while-“ “We ‘score coke’ like cocaine!” “Yes.” I said. Fuck, I kinda like her now. I can get past the face. And the limpy, wabble-walk. And the…uh. Whatever else I find. After I pay the bartender, we both walk back to my truck. I guess she took the bus or something because she never mentions a car of her own. I call up my buddy Allen, he usually has decent coke. Allen says to come on over, I open the door for her, she does that little laugh again. It’s kinda growing on me, actually. I can’t believe this is happening. As I’m driving, she starts purring and licking my ear. And I’m actually into it. Like, really into it. Once again, I can’t believe this is happening. We pull up to Allen’s place, he sends me a text saying to come on up. Allen opens the door and jumps back. “Holy fuckin’ shit, Seth. Who the fuck is this? You told me it was just you, bro?” “No I didn’t,” I said, “I told you a had a girl with me, Lucy this is Allen. Allen this is Lucy.” “Hello, Allen.” Said Lucy, “Can I also have your meat inside me?” “What the fuck?” Said Allen. Then he laughed, and I laughed, and Lucy laughed, we all laughed. “You didn’t tell me it was like that. Why don’t you both just come on in?” We all stepped inside and Allen clicked on the light. As he did, Lucy tripped over the doorframe. She didn’t fall all the way to the ground, but she fell just enough to cause her hair to tilt. Like, all of it just shifted to the side. This caught Allen’s attention. “Yo, that’s a fuckin’ wig, bro! The fuck is going on here?” “Allen.” I said sternly, leaning in close to him. “Don’t fuck this up for me, man. I need this.” But Allen wasn’t listening. Allen was recoiling in horror because he saw what I had been too drunk and horny to see all along. While Lucy was fumbling with her wig and sliding around the foyer, her tail had slid out of her floppy green sweater. A tail that was long and scaly. Just as scaly as her scalp beneath the wig. It was now painfully obvious. This was not a foreign woman. This was not a transsexual. This was a sixty-six million year old chicken-lizard stalking it’s prey from beyond the confines of the traditional understanding of time itself. And I, Seth Fox, horny drunkard and idiot extraordinaire, had fallen for it’s schemes. Clever girl. Allen screamed the only sensible thing to be said, “VELOCIRAPTOR!!!” And we both dove behind the sofa for cover. The Velociraptor Formally Known as Lucy shrieked, “MEEEAAAAAT!!!” Why? Why me? Why couldn’t she have just had a penis!? The Lucy-Raptor soars over the sofa with a dancer’s ease because she’s a theropod. An apex predator from the Cretaceous Period and I notice what made her gait so ungainly. Her shoes had been hiding a giant sickle-shaped talon on each foot with which her kinship would disembowel their prey. Unfortunately for Allen, he was this prey. The Lucy-Raptor was on him instantly, she sliced open his belly with her toe-claws and his intestines flopped out like folded ravioli. “Nnnnaaaauuuuuggggghhhh!!!!!” Said Allen as the Lucy Raptor chewed on his neck. I had no patience for this nonsense, so I fled the scene hoping, praying, pleading with any deity merciful enough to hear my cries. I did not want to be eaten by a velociraptor tonight. I just wanted a blowjob. Is that really too much to ask from the universe? One measly fucking blowjob? But the Lucy-Raptor wanted to feast on the flesh of living prey, and I was still fumbling with my keys when Allen had breathed his last. She came bouncing into the parking lot. “CAAAUUUOOGGGHHH, CAAAUUUOOGGGHHH!!” Said Lucy. The truck door clicked open. Lucy reared back on her hind legs ready to pounce. I yanked open the door and hurled myself into the driver’s seat, turned the key and started the engine as Lucy sailed through the air like a shark through calm seas. Her claws barely missed my fender as I sped from my dead drug dealer’s parking lot. I stomped the gas. At 20 mph, there she was, nipping at my window. I turned onto the street. There she was. 30 mph. 35, 40 mph. When I hit 55 mph she slowed down and wailed a roar of defeat. I had bested the Lucy-Raptor. Turns out velociraptors can run at speeds of up to 40 miles an hour. But a ’97 Dodge Ram can go up to like, 120 miles an hour, so FUCK YOU, VELOCIRAPTORS!! Dating is hard, folks. But remember, “Life finds a way.


Ah! It is my favorite time of the year again. I have so longed for the days to fly back to the south, back to my home. I love to feel the wind beneath my wings as I glide through the endless sky. Nothing can stop me. I can float or fly or freely fumble and frolic about the sky. Nothing can slow me down, and I am perfectly free. At least, that is how I feel in the fleeting moment, and who is to tell me otherwise? The exhilaration overcomes my fears, and I am the most glorious being alive. I am on a joyous journey to my favorite place. I am on my way home.  The north is a lovely place and I enjoy my time there, but nothing is lovelier than the glorious springtime of the south. I can just imagine the crisp, warm air as it fills my beak with endless pleasures. But I must say, perhaps the most enjoyable part of this time of year is the journey to the south itself. To fly for miles and miles, noticing the different preparations being made for winter, it is all really exciting. The bird’s eye view of all the funny humans and their interestingly festive holiday celebrations makes for quite a trip. Last year I saw families putting up strange dummies or dolls in their pumpkin patches. I heard someone call it a “scarecrow,” but I can assure you those silly things don’t scare anyone, especially crows. Crows are some of the fiercest and most fearless birds alive. Oh humans are such wickedly delightful creatures. They really are such an enigma with their strange customs, but I thoroughly enjoy them nonetheless. My favorite part of the journey is observing humans, especially the little children.  As I fly over mountains, I see small children gleefully playing in the snow. They build snowmen, have snowball fights, make snow angels, and ride sleds down slippery slopes. I often wonder what it would be like to be one of them. They look so young, innocent, and full of life. They do not have a care in the world. I wonder what it would be like to be so carefree and blissful with that of a child’s innocence. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a bird. I love the freedom to spread my wings and soar over the vast countryside. I love being able to observe all of my surroundings from the most spectacular views! But it can also be difficult and lonely. I must always be observant for other predators, and I don’t always know when my next meal will come. I sometimes fear that the winter storms will catch up to me and I will be stranded in unsafe and unsavory places. Just for one brief moment in time, I would like to know what it is like to be a small human child effortlessly skipping through life.

I see families cutting down trees to build fires for warmth as well as to decorate their homes with Christmas trees. It would be nice to have a family. They look so happy and vibrant. There is not a care in the world when it’s the holidays. I remember when my mate and I used to migrate together. Oh, I miss her so. She was such a kindred spirit, and the way she soared across the sky… She was the most majestic bird I had ever seen. I could never fly as well as she could. She was truly a star. She had the most incredible, most beautiful, most elegant set of wings to grace the sky... I remember earlier this year, when we were flying north to escape the winter in the south... she was so gentle, so kindly, so wonderful. As we soared across the sky, we saw the little children swimming, and playing in the bright, warm sun. She always loved the little human children. She always wanted little baby birds of her own. I told her, “My love this is the year... I’m ready to be a father!” She smiled gleefully at me and proceeded to perform her amazing array of aeronautical acrobatics! She knew how much I loved when she did that. That was her way of saying thank you. But then she swooped several hundred feet below is. I thought “what a wonderful, whimsical lover I have!” But then, she swooped all the way down to the layer of trees beneath us. What happened? I quickly swooped below to see why she decided to land so unexpectedly. But as I flew down beneath the trees, I saw her lying on the muddy Forrest floor. She had been shot. I shed a tear and mourned her, but then I heard the hunters coming. “I think the one I got is over here, Bud!” Those eerily horrifying words made my feathers quake. I did not even have a minute to say goodbye to my beloved. Oh the plans we had! The nest we were soon to build together... all my dreams gone in a single instant.. crushed beneath the cold, dirt ground. Well, I suppose the only joy left in my life now is experiencing through others as I watch them. It reminds me of her... how she so joyously and rhythmically glided through the skies of gold and gray and blue and orange... I will never forget her, and she lives on in my memories. It was her energy. She was the epitome, the total embodiment of perfect ecstasy. I suppose that is why I still enjoy making this pilgrimage. I can absorb all of the holiday joy that I once knew. I can remember the wonderful migrations I made with my love, and how her presence always brought a mystical beauty to the skies. I know her spirit is still with me as I make this journey. I can feel her whispering in my ear that it will all be okay and one day I might know what it feels like to have a family... maybe in this lifetime or maybe in the next. But for now, I must enjoy my time soaring through the skies while absorbing the happiness of others.


Once upon a time there were three little pigs. The first little pig was a simple little pig. He danced around all day wallowing in the mud and playing his flute. So when winter came he didn't have anywhere to stay and so he asked the farmer for help and the farmer said "here is a house made of hay, you can stay here and we will give you and your family all that they need." And the first little pig was as happy as could be. The second little pig was an honest little pig. He loved to dance all day and play his fiddle, but he knew that winter was coming and it wasn't right to depend on the farmer and so he went to the bank and bought a 30 year mortgage for a house of sticks so that he would be able to care for his family and maybe one day when he was old, and his body worn down from years of labor, and plagued by disease, he could play his flute and rest a little. He worked hard and slaved all day and night doing everything he could to pay his mortgage and provide for his family and hoped they would all be happy one day. The third little pig was a jolly little pig. He loved to dance all day and toot his horn. Papa pig was able to send him to Little Pig State University and he learned how everything on the farm worked. He never worried about winter because he made a good living sitting on the board of his father’s trust endowment. He was able to buy a nice brick house and was happy all his days and was able to dance and play. One day the big bad wolf saw the three little pigs dancing and playing and didn't like it at all because he had to live in the dark woods and could never dance and play. So the big bad wolf declared a jihad on the three little pigs and tried to blow the three pigs houses down. The three little pigs cried and cried because they didn't know what to do, so they asked the farmer for help to keep them secure. The farmer said "sure, I will build a big fence and have my hounds watch the fence, and you can pay me a little every year for what I do". The three little pigs loved this idea and laughed and played and payed the farmer a little more every year to keep them secure. Soon enough the farmer needed more to pay for the fence and keep all his hounds fed so he told the three little pigs he needed to raise their taxes. The pigs said they already pay him for that and they don't want to pay any more. So the farmer cut a hole in the fence just big enough for the wolf to stick his head through and the three little pigs cryyyed and cried "we aren't safe, here is what you asked for, build that fence higher and longer and get more hounds". And so the farmer build the fence higher and longer and hired more hounds and Invaded the dark woods and dropped JDAM missiles on the dark woods killing all the furry animals and turned the dark woods to rubble. Soon enough the farmer needed even more to pay for the fence and the hounds so he went to the little pigs and ordered them to give more. The first little pig said "I don't have anything more to give". And the farmer said "I know" and had the hounds put him in a prison labor camp. The second little pig said "I don't have anything more to give". So the farmer took his pension and audited the second little pig and ordered the pig county SWAT team to raid the stick house and they slaughtered the second little pig and his entire family. The third little pig said "I only have a little, I lost my business and my house, but here is what I have left, just please keep the big bad wolf out!" And the farmer said "that's a good little pig, here, you can live in this straw house and I will give you everything you need." And the Farmer and the Wolf were Happy. The End.


I didn’t expect it to work. When I placed the worn photo of my mother and her long-gone sister under my pillow – a photo that had captured them at their most rebellious, most vivacious – some summer night in 1982 – I didn’t expect to be brought back to that very parking lot where the photo had been taken. And yet, that is where my story begins. She was 19 then, and my aunt 23. It would be the last time my mother saw her sister alive: a night that would haunt her for the rest of her life, and in turn, would haunt me throughout mine. My mother was not a warm person. The rest of my extended family tells me that she used to be: that she used to be loving and larger than life, that she laughed louder than anyone in the room, that she was beautiful and magnetic. They tell me that the ‘she’ she used to be died that night, too, right along with her sister. They tell me they’re sorry for my loss even though I wasn’t born then, because maybe I could’ve had a red-lipped mother who smiled at me with bright white perfect teeth and who laughed with my infant gurgles, a melodic mother who soothed me when I cried as a child. I didn’t have that mother. Instead, I had my mother: a cold, hard woman who smoked Newports and flicked the butts throughout our apartment and paid me little mind. I spent my life fixated on that night, the night in the photo. The night that took who could’ve been my mother away and left me with this shell of a woman to raise me. I’d seen an old video of it once: I had a penchant for digging around in places I didn’t belong, like my uncles attic. Not my real uncle – a close friend of my mothers who’d been there that night, who we visited often; whose home was filled with relics from a youth he tried desperately to cling onto. Posters of glam rock bands carelessly plastered on the walls of his garage and leather furnishing that made his admiration of biker culture very clear to visitors made for tacky décor throughout his home. He was the only person who I ever saw make my mother laugh, although even then, it was rather sardonic. On one of their whiskey nights, I wandered up into the attic, filled with dust and boxes and more boxes and books and old VHS tapes, and browsed the ones with handwritten labels; and I found one that had a label with no handwriting on it, laying on its back instead of vertically with its brothers. Probably some kind of filth recorded from the television after 1AM on one of those X-Rated channels no one pays for but tries to make out through the snow anyway. In that attic, he had an old, musty, perpetually damp couch with springs sticking out across from an old, box television set to play those old VHS tapes; and so, naturally, curious, starving for information and entertainment that did not belong to me, I decided to play the tape. I didn’t find filth; at least not the kind I was expecting – instead, a shaky video of a boy and his friends in a parking lot; film that had rotted away in the plastic casing of that VHS, leaving blotches in corners of the video, distorting the clues to their exact location and cutting off faces of friends that were perhaps long since forgotten. I watched, mesmerized; able to recognize my mother and her pouty, painted red lips and teased blonde hair, worn up, while she dragged on her Newport and laughed raucously at whatever someone near her was saying, jabbing her sister in the rib to, I imagine, elicit laughter from her, too. It was odd to see my mother as a girl, then. She was 60 now but looked much worse for wear than she could’ve had she taken care of herself all these years. The girl on the screen was beautiful and lively and cool; my mother downstairs was dried and wrinkled and raspy and someone that coughed up phlegm and spit it wherever she pleased. I became determined to go back there, somehow. I immersed myself in the study of film restoration and 80s history, in physics, in time travel, in the suspension of disbelief and most of all, in a misguided spark of hope. I couldn’t tell you why it dawned upon me to freeze frame that shot of my mother and her sister and turn it into a photo to place under my pillow, as if it would summon a fairy to bring me to their world in that time and in that space: but I can tell you that that’s precisely what happened. And that’s where I am: watching her, watching her friends, her sister. The air smells of freshly pumped gasoline and is just crisp enough that I question how she could even be comfortable in that skirt with fishnets, such a stereotypical look for the rebel of her time. Her sister, dressed similarly, looks less comfortable. Tense. Have you ever heard of vinegar syndrome? It is, essentially, the deterioration of film. It is what caused that home video to have messy blotches of empty space when I watched it. It is the, in technical terms, “catastrophic deterioration that occurs when the film breaks down.” It is precisely within that spot that I find myself: a black hole, an interdimensional wasteland, a secret place that lets me watch them without them watching me. And as I marinate in this space, I somehow feel my own being quickly deteriorating: as if my very flesh is melting, as if my brain has developed the ability to shapeshift from a rounded pink mass into sharpened blades that grind against my now ever-changing skull; and it’s so fast and so overwhelming and so freezing cold and burning hot all at once, and the smell – the smell of rotting, of vinegar, of some warped attempt at preservation; and I need to run. And my brain, in its malformed yet commanding transmission, lunges me forward; forward, toward my mother, toward her sister. I lunge and engulf her within the black hole I find that I myself have become and I’m so acidic I digest her, my mothers sister, in a matter of seconds, with no ability to form an idea as to why it must be her, but it must be. She belongs in the liminal space between film and the world, and I don’t know why - And then I’m awake. In my bed. The photo is gone. And the video, paused, shines back at me in my still-dark bedroom with film strips strewn around the floor, and I see the frozen frame, rotted, paused. A shadow stands beside my mother. The film there has deteriorated.