Do you know what he would have thought? Do you? Today I see you flourishing. Your grass, long thick and emerald green bathing in the sunlight. Would he now look upon you and smile? I glance down to my feet, which are naked and free. Free but I can still see where the chain held its grip, a snaking trench ingrained into my soft skin. You and I are alike, in these days we heal but our scars run deep. I know they stripped you bare also, and took you as property when neither of us could be possessed. We cried out, in our different ways, for them to stop. Stop! Stop! Stop! But they didn't. No-one stopped. They squandered all we had to offer, cut through our flesh, poisoned our bodies until we had nothing left. Then they asked for more. What would he have thought? Was my question now, as I gaze across you in this new world. A world that bloomed in green where the cold, concrete walls once stood. Would he believe the past was unforgivable? I miss him. Sometimes I cry out in my sleep, ‘Jack, come back!’ and I wait for an answer between my whimpers. Of course, there is no answer. I miss him and his smile of positive optimism. An optimism that Jack held to his last breath, when he held his head back and smiled into the sky. 'Lulu' he said, 'hold tight, change is coming'. He was right, he was always right, the change did come. But it was too late, as the change came once he was gone. I felt his life gently leave his body. His heart stammering to its last beat, and his arm went limp, falling into my lap. My tears bubbled up with my despair, spilling down onto his skin, tracing small streams of white through the dirt. Jack is gone, as are so many, and our new city is haunted by their silence. So I come here, to your meadow plains that wrap around the city’s circumference. Meadows of grass, buttercups, and meadowsweet. I belong here, with you. For your sweet earthy smells and your birds, beetles, and bugs. From the meadows, I can gaze across our green city. A city in a wild garden is what we call it. This new city has no greedy towers. No vehicles feasting on carbon, beeping in anger and impatience. And they have gone, those who lived in denial, as the truth was not prosperous for their wallets. They did not care for us. It was only when you fought back, whipped out your final scream of anger and agony. No more could be taken, your balance had been shattered and you could no longer give. When you fought back, our cities crumbled. Our economy meant nothing. Paper notes rip easily in hurricane winds. Paper notes do nothing for the starving seared people that begged in the dry, cracked earth. Paper notes do nothing for the homes drowning under a rising sea. But it was the wars which smote us. People destroying people, the reasons lost somewhere with each bullet. Desperate people do desperate things you know. I was in that place, a place with no reason or time, in an existence that I could not define as ‘’living’’. It was because of the wars that I watched those I loved vanish from my life. I was taken, beaten and poisoned. The ‘Dringo’ tribe took me, along with so many, and they said ‘fight!’ as the needle pierced my skin. With clouded minds, we fought. I look at my hands now and I think ‘are these the hands of a murderer?’ I never knew I could kill. Jack never knew he could kill, or would be killed. You fought back, and so we fought, dragging you further down with us. You wouldn’t think so, as I stand here today in your peace and beauty. Jack saved me with his hope of change. His optimism pushed me onwards, and he was right. When all was lost, a new wind blew and today’s world was built. A few of us remained, like embers glowing in the dark. We came together and ignited change, rebuilding our lives to include you, nature, our green cities now working with you and not against you. I try to bury my scars deep as you do, and I embrace this new life as we slowly heal. You fought back, nature, and we did eventually listen.


“It just doesn’t feel like the right time to buy a planet. Sorry!” the customer said and zapped out of the holocall. Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Another one lost. It felt like it had been ages since he’d made his last sale and peer pressure was rising, slowly but surely. He had defended his flagging sales often enough with the argument that the planet-selling business just didn’t lend itself to meeting sales targets, emphasizing that instead it was a slow dance, involving flirting with the prospects, forging relationships, building trust. It might all have come across as excuses for bombing on closing deals. But business was rarely a fertile ground for philosophy and his comrades were having none of it. He knew that their goodwill had been stretched too thin for too long. His time in the Kombinat might well be in jeopardy. He pinned his hopes on one last client for the day: an elderly oligarch and her three husbands, all of whom had shown a strong interest in Hallein 6, a moon made for extreme sports based on water. The oligarch still put her body in actual, physical danger, surfing twenty-meter waves on a gravboard. She had sent him the pictures and he had admired them in what he hoped was an adequate manner. As long as she would agree to buy the moon, he’d look at pictures of the bicentenarian in a bathing suit all day long - all week even. If this client didn’t buy, he was resolved to start looking for a new job. He didn’t want to give his comrades the pleasure of letting him go. Rhys made himself a permacoffee and stared at the countdown clock announcing her virtual arrival. He finished the last gulp of the steaming, pink liquid just as the numbers reached zero and a woman manifested in his office, followed by three markedly younger men. She had long red hair that flowed to the floor, held in place by a tiara and several clips made of some ethereal material. Her body was covered entirely by colorful tattoos and veiled by thin gauze that thickened only in strategic places. The men wore nothing but shorts, muscular arms crossed over similarly muscular, oiled chests. They might have been clones, or triplets, or something in between, Rhys had never bothered to ask. He smiled genially: “My very dear Kleomansa! How very lovely to see you! I hope the weather is fine over on Kaeppchen Gamma!” “Rhys, you old dog, you know that the weather doesn’t dare change unless I tell it to,” the woman replied, raising her hand in salute. They exchanged shallow niceties for a while, until Rhys felt the time was ripe for changing the subject. “Kleo, have you had time to check out Hallein? Isn’t it a lovely moon? And the waves I hear are especially spectacular this solar cycle. How did you find it?” The woman hesitated and, in this pause, Rhys felt his heart sink. Their last discussion had gone so smoothly; he had been so sure that Kleomansa loved the moon. Would she back out of the deal now? “Well, you know, I sent Primorius over,” she said, pointing at one of the men. “He really didn’t care for the short days…only 36 units of light and then 174 units of darkness? Come on, Rhys, who has that much time?” “But wouldn’t it be perfect to visit in the dark as well? Increase the adventure?” He heard a trace of desperation in his voice. Kleo looked at him with something like pity in her eyes. “In the darkness? And be easy fodder for the giant razor-tentacle swarms? I might be crazy, but not suicidal.” She paused. “Not yet at least. If it comes to that, I’ll get back to you. Anyway, Hallein is out of the picture.” The planet seller stifled a curse. Damn Primorius and those giant razor-tentacles! He had been so sure that he had his deal. “Kleo, I fully understand. Now that you mentioned the light and the razor-tentacles, it was stupid of me to suggest it.” Adding some more groveling, he said: “Let’s look at some alternatives. I have many more marvels in store for you.” He pulled up the image of a sphere in his office: another moon, lusciously painted in hues of green and red. “Mermaleidon 16, in orbit around Paraclestor – beautifully covered in orange seas, tiny islands, guaranteed to be uninhabited. If you wish, we can seed Rex Ornatus birds there. You can configure their genetic makeup yourself and I can walk through the process in detail. Mermaleidon is…” She interrupted him. “Don’t bother. One of my ex-husbands has a moon around Paraclestor, I really don’t want to run into him in the orbital queue. Next.” Rhys nodded understandingly and told his systems to make a note about Kleomansas husband. If he had bought one moon, he might just want to buy one next door for some more privacy and quiet. A new sphere appeared. “Zhukaria 88, orbiting Juffu. Especially interesting because of the thermal drifts that boil water on one side of the moon and freeze it on the other!” Kleomansa waved her hand impatiently. “Rhys, I want to surf and not languish in a spa. If I wanted to boil or freeze myself to death, I would call my parents. Now, my dear, please show me some real options or I may as well be on my way.” He swallowed. Not pissing off Kleomansa was paramount, and he was botching it. Rhys looked at the remaining options and quickly eliminated most of the ones suggested by the system. He should have prepared better instead of only filtering by habitability and the existence of large bodies of water. His eyes fell on one option – not a moon, a proper planet. Could he offer it? Rhys paused and put the planet at the back of the queue. But now he had barely any suitable candidates left. He decided to take a risk. “Now here’s something for a real adventurer!” he said, despite the dire options. Kleomansa turned her head, giving him hope. He launched a hologram of the moon, overriding the default display settings to make it bigger and a tad more vivid. “May I present: Calieri K! It has so far only been cartographed by drone. It might be just what you’re looking for: very generous light and dark intervals, water coverage up to 86%, average temperature always above freezing and well below boiling point!” “Interesting,” Kleomansa said. For a woman of her wealth, Rhys thought, she had a terrible poker face. He had her on a hook. Now he had to be more careful. “We have a very generous discount on moons without previous owners and ones that haven’t been…lived on or used before.” “Go on.” “Calieri K, as you can see, has the ability to support a very rich ecosystem. All the land masses are far away from the poles, which will be very supportive of any new species you choose to seed. And we can adjust the oceanic fauna as well, of course.” “And the waves?” she asked. He smiled and played his strongest card. “The waves have been observed to be as high as 35 meters!” At least, that was what his systems had inferred from the rather thin drone data. “Is it close enough to an orbital station?” “Oh yes, Foscus is merely a few jump-minutes away and another new orbital will be ready by the end of the solar cycle. From your home on Kaeppchen, the total trip time will then take less than three jump-hours.” He ignored the system’s warning on the delay in building the new orbital he had just mentioned. It might still be on time, or it might not. No need to bother his client with the details just now. He almost had her. Rhys took a deep breath and launched his final sales pitch. “I know that you have a million questions concerning the details, my lovely Kleo, and I’d be happy to answer each and every last one of them…” “No, I don’t have any. I’ll read the documents later.” She spun the globe, clearly fascinated. “But it has this energy; it speaks to me. Can’t you feel it, too? And the K in the name surely stands for Kleomansa, don’t you think?” She stopped the rotation, took a step back and looked at him. “I’ll take it.” Blood rushed to Rhys’ face. Had he just made a deal and sold the moon? He couldn’t believe that she had just made the decision. It took him a few moments to adjust. “Oh, well, ok then! Great! I’ll let the Kombinat know that they should prepare…” One of the men now actually came over and stood next to the woman. He bowed gracefully and greeted Rhys in the appropriate way, indicating his will to speak. “You said that it has the ability to support an ecosystem. When can we start using it?” he asked and Kleomansa nodded vigorously. “Yes, Rhys, when?” “Ah, let me just check that for you…” He queried the system and couldn’t believe the answer he got. An answer that shattered his dreams, an answer absolutely unsuited for his customer, for any customer really. But time was running out and he couldn’t let Kleomansa dangle for much longer. “So…your new moon, this Calieri K, it could be ready for you by the end of the 293rd solar cycle,” he said without much conviction. The man who had asked the question scoffed and turned away laughingly. Kleo held her clearly visible anger better in check but managed to turn it into cold scorn in an instant. “Rhys, Rhys, Rhys. I thought I was very clear on my requirements: it’s for me, not the distant progenies of my kids. The end of the 293rd cycle is absolutely out of the question; I will not wait for it.” “Of course, we could speed up the necessary work by providing more funding,” he said and realized his error right away. “You mean to tell me that first you present me with an unacceptable timeline and then I should pay more to hurry it along? What kind of fool do you take me for, Rhys?” Her voice couldn’t make it any clearer that this was going very poorly for him. The idea of selling anything today was fading rapidly. Pulling up the menu again, he immediately saw that he was out of options. Except – the one planet that he had skipped over earlier. It was deemed unsellable, entirely too big, too wild, too remote. And yet…Rhys felt confirmation growing in his stomach, hoping he wasn’t mistaking it for the prospect of having to look for new employment soon. “Kleo, I’m extremely sorry to have wasted your time. I haven’t appreciated that you are a woman with singular needs and wants, one that is not easily satisfied.” Her face softened slightly. “I have shown you the best selection, but I have overlooked the basics of a good relationship: it’s not about what is the best, but what is right. Please let me present one last option. If it doesn’t suit you, I will personally set up an appointment with whatever other planet agency you choose.” Luckily, Kleomansa was as quick to be charmed as to be angered. “Fine, Rhys, one last option. It better be a superstar.” “In fact, it is.” Rhys said, “It’s a planet. Now, I know that this might stretch your budget, but I assure you that we can make it quite affordable for you. It’s a little remote, I grant you that right away, as the next orbital is about 270 jump-minutes away. But remote also means quiet and private. It’s huge and stunningly diverse with several large continents and almost every climate zone you can imagine. The waves aren’t as high as elsewhere, but much more predictable.” The client spun the image of the blue and green sphere around. “What is the light cycle?” “Well, it’s a planet. It’s very stable in orbit and spins at 24 units. If you follow the pattern, you can catch a wave in light almost everywhere! And no razor-tentacles in the dark either, just some small harmless predators.” “What else?” she asked. Rhys consulted his system and skimmed over a quick note that indicated some interest from Kleo’s husbands to the planet. “Quite a lot!” he went on. “Besides waves, it has a very abundant ecosystem at the ready, one also defined by the continents. It even has a slowly evolving primate species. I see that might be of some interest for Primorius, right? Then, there is something very special – plate tectonics! You don’t see a lot of those around inhabited planets.” “What’s so special about that?” she said. He had her back to asking questions, which was always a good sign. “Plate tectonics mean huge numbers of volcanoes. Kleo, tell me: Have you ever surfed on hot lava, freshly spilled from a planet’s core?” Was this even feasible? Rhys had no idea. “And on some planets, we’ve observed those tectonics to cause giant waves, up to 60 meters! Then there are caves and deserts, forests and steppes and two entirely frozen poles. Everything ready to explore. Just imagine the possibilities!” The woman did some thoughtful imagining as she observed the globe in front of her. “And it’s ready? Available right away? What’s the catch then?” she said. “No catch, I promise. We’ve had trouble selling it because it was just too diverse for many of our clients. Who wants rain forests, deserts, volcanoes and ice? Unexplored and frankly huge, somewhat remote…it doesn’t exactly fly off the shelves.” Her face told him that she was convinced. Finally and truly convinced. She had given her word on the moon too early. Now, she made him go through the whole ordeal of feigning worry, counterarguments, uncertainties, all of it in good spirit, which went on for the better part of the evening. But Rhys didn’t care, he would have bartered the whole night if Kleo had wanted that. When he finally got her approval of the purchase and the holocall had ended, he fell into his chair and raised his hands to his face, laughing. He had managed a sales deal – and it had been one of the most difficult in company history, the planet having been in the archives for an embarrassingly long time. The projection of the blue planet still hovered in his office, spinning lazily. “Terra, third planet in orbit around Sol,” Rhys read from the display. “Let’s hope Kleomansa treats you well.


The locker room was humid and smelled of sweat no doubt from the soccer team sprawled across the benches. Katie took a sip from her water jug and tried to ease her panting. Luckily, the hot anger crawling under her skin kept her from feeling weary. “What the hell was that out there?” Coach Macintosh barged into the ladies locker room, and the door swung back and forth on its hinges behind her. Katie’s body tensed up. There was one main rule that The Cougars followed above all, don’t piss off Coach . That is unless you actually wanted to do 50 burpees and run laps until both your legs cramped. “Well?” she demanded looking between Katie and the brunette across from her. “Don’t look at me, she’s the one who’s playing dirty on the field,” Katie fumed pointing at the source of her anger. “What are you talking about?” Amara sputtered. “It’s not my fault that you can’t control the ball.” Katie’s eyes widened in disbelief, “You stole the ball from me!” Memories of Amara’s foot swiping between hers and stealing the ball played freshly in her head. “I did not,” Amara rolled her eyes. “You tripped up and I ended up with the ball. Don’t blame me for your poor legwork.” Katie gritted her teeth, she imaged herself wrapping the girl’s long hair around her neck so that she could shut up for once. She shook her head and dispersed the fantasy because it wasn’t worth going to jail over Amara’s life. Coach Mac groaned and pinched the arch of her nose. “You two do realize that you’re on the same team, right? This is the semi-final game. You two need to leave your issues at home and act like a team when you’re out on the field.” Katie slouched back against the lockers behind them. She and Amara had been two of the best players on their team since they both joined as freshmen. The only person who might have been better than them was their captain Imogen. However, Imogen recently left the team due to an ACL injury. The team had been heartbroken about it when they found out. Everyone loved Imogen and she was a great captain. The sympathies were cut short once Coach told the team that she would be selecting their new captain after the semi-finals. There was nothing Katie wanted more than to be team captain. Soccer was everything to her and she was more than qualified. She had the skill, the dedication, and the confidence. The road to her impressing Coach enough to get chosen as captain was clear except for one person who stood in her way. One person who wanted the spot just as much as she did. Amara was a one-person blockade and Katie was determined to crush her. “Half-time is almost up, you have five minutes to do what you need to and get back here. Go.” Coach dismissed them. Katie grabbed her nearly empty water jug and left the locker room to find a water fountain. Different support teams bustled back and forth through the hall. Through the crowd of bodies, she spotted a fountain mountain against the wall not too far from her. She went towards it and popped open the bottle cap, positioning the mouth to the opening. She tapped her foot aimlessly as she listened to the steady trickle of the water filling. Her jug was quite big, so she liked to fill it to the top to avoid running out of water through the day. “Can you hurry the hell up? Coach said we only had five minutes.” She turned around to see Amara standing behind her with her own bottle. Her arms were crossed as she glared down at her. Katie quirked a brow and let her hand loosen on her bottle slightly. It wobbled and spilled some of the water out. “Oh no,” Katie said unenthusiastically, “My hand. It slipped.” Amara blinked in silence. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Katie pursed her lips and shrugged. “Gravity.” The brunette grumbled and shoved her side into Katie causing her to stumble. “What the hell?” “A good captain would put her teammate first, but of course, you wouldn’t know that” Amara taunted as she began to fill her own bottle. Katie pushed back against her and the two began to struggle to keep their bottles under the flowing water. “Get off of me,” Katie growled. “Did you leave your lady speed-stick at home? Because your BO is burning my nostrils” Amara laughed, “Yeah that’s probably just your breath wafting back into your face.” “Ooh, a movie reference. I didn’t realize you were so media literate.” “I didn’t know you even knew the word literate.” A sharp whistle behind them caused both girls to freeze. “Oh my, you Cougars sure do know how to make an impression.” Katie and Amara wore matching scowls as they turned around. The captain of their opposing team, The Eagles, stood smugly behind them. Her jet-black hair heavily contrasted against her pale skin. “Milana,” Amara said tightly. “To what do we owe the honour.” “Oh, I was just looking for a bathroom. I must’ve gotten lost,” she pouted. “Yeah right,” Katie muttered under her breath. “I must say, ladies, I am disappointed in how you’ve been playing out there.” Milana sighed lightly. “Though I’m not surprised.” Katie and Amara exchanged glances. “Excuse me?” Katie voiced. “I’m just saying I already knew your team was sup-par at best, but this entire game has been entirely too easy. I must say, I am getting bored.” Milana picked at her nails as if the conversation was entirely uninteresting to her. Katie could see Amara’s eye twitch from the corner of her eye. “Our scores are tied,” Amara deadpanned. Milana fanned her hand in dismissal. “We all know how the game is going to end.” Katie’s fists curled at her sides. The only person she hated more than Amara was Milana Cortez. She was cocky, stuck-up and thought she was more talented than she was. “Listen Mirana, everybody knows that the only reason that you were picked to be team captain is because your mommy is your team’s coach.” Katie retorted. Milan’s face reddened furiously, “You take that back!” “The truth will set you free,” Katie suggested in fake sympathy as she placed a hand over her heart. Amara choked on her laughter beside her. Milana’s eyes darkened as she took a step towards them. “You’ll regret that. You and your stupid team,” she spat. Amara eyed the girl warily, “Say it, don’t spray it, girl.” If Milana could have gotten any redder at that moment she did. “Ugh!” she screeched. “Wait until I tell my mother about this.” Katie scoffed and then did a fake shiver, “I’m scared. Are you scared?” She asked Amara. The brunette nodded furiously, “I think I might have wet my pants.” They stared at each other in seriousness for a minute before they burst out laughing. They clutched their knees as their laughs bellowed down the hall. When they finally stood up, Milana only stared at them with hatred pooling in her eyes. Or maybe it was tears, Katie wasn’t sure. “Everyone on your team thinks they’re hot shit. But I know what you all are,” she sneered. “And that is,” Amara asked wiping her own tears. “Nothing but a pack of dirty lesbians.” Katie choked on air, “Excuse me?”. "It's literally pride month," Amara exclaimed in horror. “You heard me,” Milana responded. “ Cougars ? More like perverts.” Katie and Amara couldn’t do anything but gape at her in shock. The captain seemed pleased with herself at being able to render them speechless. She flashed them a smile and recomposed herself. “I’ll see you lovebirds on the field,” she said and blew them a kiss. “Toodles!” They watched her sashay away towards her team’s locker room. Amara turned to Katie slowly. Katie nodded. “Yup. I’m going to make her eat dirt .” Realizing they were over the five minutes they were allotted, they hurried back to their locker room with half-filled water bottles. Coach Mac glared at them as they came bustling in. “I’m not even going to repeat what my mind is telling me to say right now. Asses on the bench.” They winced and sat beside their teammates. Katie turned to one of her mates beside her, Josephine. Josie knew gossip about everyone in the entire city, which is mostly why none of their teammates told her any private information. “You know Malina right? The Eagles captain?” Katie whispered to her. Josephine’s brows furrowed, “You mean Milana?” “Same thing.” “Yeah, why?” Amara, who was listening from beside Katie, bent towards them, “She just told us that she thinks everyone on our team is, and I quote, dirty lesbians .” Joesphine guffawed, “The call is coming from inside the house it seems.” “What do you mean?” Katie asked. “I heard from Theresa, who heard from Alison, who heard from her best friend who is an Eagle, whose brother apparently dated Milana, that they apparently broke up because he caught her cheating on him.” “So?” Amara shook her head. Katie was surprised that she was able to follow Josie's rambling. Josie gave them a look. “He caught her cheating with a girl .” Both girl's mouths dropped open in shock. “Well, if it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black,” Kaie said amused. “That’s literally what I said,” Josephine glared before leaning back in her seat. “Eyes up ladies,” Coach Mac’s voice commanded their attention. “This is the last half of the game, time to bring it home, okay? I know you girls can do this, but we can only win if you work as a team. Remember, I'm looking to be impressed. If you think you can step up and be captain, prove it. Don’t let the Eagles leave here happier than they came. Now let’s play ball!” “1,2,3, GO COUGARS!” The team bellowed, rejuvenated from the pep talk. Just as Katie was about to leave the locker room a hand caught her elbow. “I bet if the both of us worked together we could embarrass Milana enough to send her crying to her mom,” Amara suggested with a smirk. Katie laughed as the image of Milan’s tear-streaked face came to mind. “You’re on. Coach will definitely make me captain after I win this for us.” “It was my idea you idiot,” she scowled. “Stop complaining, this is why no one wants you to be captain. You’re so annoying.” They left the locker room and jogged onto the field. The sudden influx of noise was overwhelming. The stands were full of people cheering as they realized the game was about to resume. Half of the people wore red and white in support of the Cougars. The other side wore green and black for the Eagles. The Eagles were to start with a kick-off to start the game. Milana was their captain, so she had the honours. Katie glared daggers at her, hoping she could feel her hatred. In a second the ball was air-borne, and everyone was running. An Eagle player started dribbling the ball to the net, but Josephine quickly stole the ball and changed directions. Katie ran in her direction to support her when she needed to pass the ball. Amara was closer and yelled at Josephine. “I’m open!” Josphine dodged a player in her way and sent the ball to Amara. She caught the ball and continued down the field. Amara was small but fast for her size, she zoomed down the field without letting anyone steal the ball. Milana came running in from behind her. She was taller and got beside her quickly. Katie ran towards them to assist. Noticing Milana, Amara pivoted around her and continued running. Milana rushed in as if to kick the ball from between her legs but instead, her foot went up and kicked Amara right in the crotch. Katie could see Amara’s eyes bulge as she fell to the field. She heard the ref whistling as she rushed over to where Amara was on the floor. “Are you okay?”, she winced looking down at her. “No, I’m not. That bitch kicked me in the vagina!” she groaned into the grass. Katie turned her head to where Milana stood close by. She looked down at Amara in fake shock. “It was an accident," she claimed, but the small smile on her lips said otherwise. “You are such a fucking pervert!” Amara screeched. Milana’s face flushed, “How dare you!” Katie looked at her and tilted her head. “Well, you did kick her in the crotch.” Milana gaped at them unable to form a response. “Is this your idea of foreplay?” Amara asked incredulously as she cradled her vagina with both hands. “Do you have a pain kink or some fucked up foot fetish?” Katie shook her head in disappointment. “No means no, Morina.” “What are you talking about?” She fumed, “She didn’t say no!” Amara gasped, “And that makes it okay?!” “No! That’s not what I meant!” “Before you attack her, wrap your whacker.” Katie chastised her, shaking a finger. Milana lunged for her, but the ref sharply whistled again, finally making it over to where they stood. “Cortez, that’s a warning.” He said and flashed up a yellow card. Milana shrieked and stomped away towards the rest of her teammates. The ref looked down to Amara still on the floor. Her eyes were closed as she still gripped her crotch. “Um, are you okay? He asked tentatively. She blinked her eyes open and looked around. Realizing Milana was gone, she sprung up and dusted her butt off. “Oh, yeah I’m fine.” The ref blinked in confusion but nodded and walked away. Katie laughed as she watched Milana’s coach scold her from the other side of the field. The pale girl was stomping and pointing as they went back and forth. “That was good,” Katie told Amara. “You’re a better actress than a soccer player.” Amara froze and glared at her. “Well, you’re good at neither.” They walked over to their teammates who immediately swarmed Amara. She assured them she was fine and stretched her legs out. Once the team was convinced she was fine they relaxed. Then Amara turned to Katie and jabbed her in the side lightly, “My leg kind of hurts from the kick so I probably can’t run as fast,” she said lowly. Katie scratched the back of her neck. Amara was one of their best scorers and was most likely going to get passed the ball to score in the final minutes. If she got the ball and tried to run, the chances of someone stealing the ball were much higher now. A plan dawned in her mind and Katie smiled, “I have an idea.” Only a few minutes were left in the game and tensions were high. The Cougars were to start off this time after Milana’s yellow card. Josie stood on the edge of the field with the ball. With a strong kick, she sent it flying. The girls raced towards the ball. The Cougars got control of the ball quickly and sent it down the field. As Katie expected, once they neared the net, one of her teammates passed the ball to Amara. She ran with the ball, still faster than most Eagles except one. Milana’s legs carried her to Amara in a matter of seconds. As she came close enough to make a play for the ball, Amara angled her arm as she ran and sent an elbow right into Milana’s boob. “Ouch!” she yelped as she faltered to clutch her chest. That moment created a window for Amara and as the other Eagles came towards her, she expertly passed the ball to Katie who was open slightly behind her. Katie caught the ball and charged forward. Noticing that the ball was headed towards the net, the other Eagles tried to catch up with her, but it was too late. With a hard thump, she soared the ball into the neck barely missing the goalie’s fingertips. The buzzer sounded and cheers erupted from the stands. The game was over, and the Cougars had won. Her teammates rushed her and tackled her into a huge hug as she cheered. “I must admit, that was a solid kick,” Amara laughed. “I was impressed myself with that boob shot," Katie snickered. Amara did a fake curtsy and both of them laughed. The team ran off the field to Couch Mac, who stood proudly on the sides. “Great job ladies!” She congratulated them. “Looks like the Cougars are going to the State Finals.” The team whooped. Amara poked Katie and she turned from the huddle. “Look,” she pointed to where the other team was gathered. Milana was crying snotty tears in front of her mother as the rest of the team looked on in disgust. Her mother shoved a box of tissues into her hand and stormed off the field. Milana cried harder. The girls stifled a laugh, satisfied with the results of their joint efforts. “Now, as promised,” Coach started. “I have decided on your new team captain.” The girls snapped their heads forward. Coach Mac looked between each girl pleasantly and clapped her hands together. “Your new captain is Katie-” “Yes!” Katie yelled in delight. She grinned at Amara’s sour expression. “In your face!” Coach Mac cleared her throat, “I wasn’t finished.” “Huh.” “Your new captain or should I say, co-captains are Katie and Amara.” Coach Mac smiled at them. Both girls froze. They looked at each other, then at their coach, then at each other again. “ What!” they barked.


Before God and those assembled here, I solemnly pledge; To adhere to the code of ethics of the nursing profession; To co-operate faithfully with the other members of the nursing team and to carry out faithfully and to the best of my ability the instructions of the physician or the nurse who may be assigned to supervise my work; I will not do anything evil or malicious and I will not knowingly give any harmful drug or assist in malpractice. I will not reveal any confidential information that may come to my knowledge in the course of my work. And I pledge myself to do all in my power to raise the standards and prestige of the practical nursing; May my life be devoted to service and to the high ideals of the nursing profession. -

Nightingale Pledge, modernized.

 A fly on the wall or invisble spy in the intentionally darkened office at Saint Crystal’s Regional Hospital would immediately assume that Head Nurse Shannon Ashley wasted her mornings doom scrolling social media from her desk. Dark curls streaked with subtle glimmers of silver rioted from her scalp and tumbled to her shoulders softly. She held a handful of thick tendrils in her free hand, twirling absently. Her brow furrowed over narrowed hazel eyes as she collected a screen shot from her Iphone, sighed in disgust, and crossed another name off the mile long list of candidates.

She could smell and taste her breakfast smoothie from under her medical grade mask and removed it, relishing the quick break from masking.  She’d been at the hospital since six that morning, reviewing the list of nursing candidates to invite to their overflowing hospital. Since the Pandemic,  St. Crissy’s lost a large percentage of its staff to COVID diagnosis, fear of diagnosis, and refusal to vaccinate. The remaining nurses were averaging 70-hour weeks and the stress beat them mercilessly.

 She’d been at the search for weeks but she knew that no one else cared enough to be this thorough. Her needle in the haystack might be a myth in their little community. She hoped not, she herself was a needle, she reasoned. The sharpest needle there.

I’mma poke all these motherfuckers,

she thought to herself with a dry laugh. Her phone dinged, and a banner notification said that she had meetings in twenty minutes. She only had twenty minutes left.

“Twyla James, R.N.,” she repeated the name with an exaggerated drawl cultivated from a culturally colorful upbringing in the South. She grew up poor, the only white girl in her black neighborhood. She graduated high school and partied through college, barely making her Bachelors. That felt like a million years ago, but she still felt the same pride as she glanced at the photo of her, her family and best friends at her pinning ceremony. Over twenty years ago she pledged the same promise every nurse in her hospital made in their own ceremonies and she couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else heard those words.

She entered the name in the search engine from her desktop computer and a list of social media accounts under that name populated the screen. The name was common, Twyla James. She could be this Black woman holding a pair of chubby adorable twins. Maybe the Twyla James with the nosering and crop top. Shannon decided to begin her search with Black Twyla with the babies. She hoped this Twyla could be her needle.

She was not. This Twyla wasn’t even a nurse; she appeared to be a church pastor. On to Nosering Twyla.

She pressed her thumb over the picture, pulling up Nosering Twyla’s social media. She gazed up at Shannon Ashley, lips puckered, fingers up in a peace sign, puppy ears wagging. She started by looking at her profile pictures, selfies mostly of her making the same face with a different filter sporting another animal’s ears. Twyla as a kitten, bunny rabbit, devil horns. Twyla as a sparkly person with aviator glasses. Twyla liked Snapchat.

She also was not her needle. On to another Twyla.

Her thumb swiped over her profile section. Twyla’s birthday was in January.  Relationship Status: Married. Anniversary, August 4. A  masked picture of her in scrubs graced her profile picture.

Please God, let this be my needle. Her timeline looked interesting, active. Graphics with positive, affirming quotes about self love and women empowering others. Shannon Ashley giggled as she landed on a picture of Twyla and a group of women posing with their wine glasses held high, toasting an event. They looked drunk and excited to be alive. Twyla liked to party. She kept scrolling. She liked this Twyla so far.

About a week into the timeline, Shannon Ashley stops.  She found exactly what she was looking for, her turd in the punchbowl. She took her screenshot, placed a red line through Twyla James, and checked the next name on her list. Lawrence Wright.  She entered his name in the search engine and was surprised to see that he played college basketball at a west coast college. He owned profiles on every social media app but appeared to share very little about himself. Single, no children. No political views.

Promising.

Unfortunately and quickly, Lawrence also failed her test. She took the screen shot and sent it to her roommate.

“Look, another nurse calling Kyle Rittenhouse a hero,” she texted, dropping the eyeroll emoji.

“Gross,” Karin replied “How can you expect a racist sympathizer to care for a diverse population?”

“You don’t,” Replied Shannon Ashley. She dropped her phone into the pocket of her scrubs and tossed her hair. She looked at the Nightingale Pledge framed on her wall and read it softy, reminding herself that in her hospital, everyone would be taken care of, regardless of who they were.

She finished her pledge and adjusted the Black Lives Matter mask over her medical grade. She thought about the LPN she fired two weeks ago for calling a Venezuelan patient an ‘illegal.’ She recalled the surgeon who couldn’t keep his hands off of her, finally gone after a lengthy and reluctant battle from HR. Somebody had to keep the wolves out.

You’re the needle in the haystack, Shannon.

She feels her phone vibrate and looks at the screen.

“Poke those motherfuckers,” Karin’s text said, adding a needle, string, and a flexed arm.

“Duh, bitch,” Shannon Ashley replied, dropping her phone back into her pocket as she shut the door.


No one appreciates the little things. Everyday cars drive by the lifeless bodies of racoons, cats, dogs, possums, and anything else unfortunate enough to experience the harsh reality of rubber and asphalt. The driver just assumes that these things work themselves out, and some manner of scavenger, road worker, or something else not worth the thought takes care of it. They'll never understand her labor. The collector has lived in the woods beyond this stretch of highway since before the pavement came. At night she creeps out from her humble workshop and looks for the forgotten critters. Sometimes it can be difficult. Heavy vehicles create a "pop" effect that leave next to nothing salvageable aside from a tail or skull. The best outcome is a simple side strike which normally leaves the pelt in pristine condition. She gathers every carcass, regardless of condition, and brings it back to her abode. Whatever can't be used traditionally is tossed into a composter and used for her garden, her single tribute to the living world. Whatever could be used, however, was used with honor. Bones formed miniature chandeliers, muscles and tendons were dried into fibrous strings and tethers which were used to stitch skin into itself, forming bags, hats, and anything else that leather could substitute. Her larger projects ranged from skeletal mosaics to reddish-brown self portraits. During these projects she would get excited and double the ground covered on nightly scavenger hunts. However, when traffic was a little too light for her demand, she would improvise. The collector loved these animals. Life was cruel and meaningless for a forest ecosystem damned by transportation, why not save a few from such a useless death? In the tree-line, she baited snares with whatever compost smelled the most foul. Using an improvised stone and rope system employed for automated fishing, as an animal tripped the line it would be grabbed, hoisted, and slung into a nearby tree. The strike was fast enough to elicit the same fatality as that of a vehicular side swipe and only rarely did death require further motivation. She always made sure to place the traps within a few hundred feet of the road, therefore the odds of death were high regardless. After all, what seems more fitting, a distracted driver mindlessly killing an animal or a caring soul saving them for something greater? Besides, it wasn't like anyone would notice. The drivers paid no mind to the seemingly homeless woman walking the road at night and their radio combined with her bicycle reflectors kept them from thinking too hard about what was in her bag. She keeps supreme confidence that while others may feel disgusted by her work, the contributing creatures would certainly be proud of it. Even if they will never know it, those that live nearby and use the road shouldn't concern themselves with lost pets or dug-up graves. After all, if they buried their companion in the woods or let it get that close to the road, do they really care? The streets stay clean and she stays busy. Whatever beast is forgotten or misplaced should be left as such, all payment for the collector.


This is a topic that I hear a lot of people talk about in different channels. Be it Aaron Doughty stating that you just have to “imagine” yourself in this “parallel reality” in order to “become” that all knowing and well suited lottery winner. It’s as though you already were one. You don’t question the need or want to even become one. That stage does not even exist in this type of framing in order to actually BE the lottery winner. Technically, winning the lottery is possible with time and space manipulation. However, it isn’t as simple as just imagining this. There has to be some energetic force that actually pushes and reveres one to actually physically be in a state to manipulate the rolling balls per se in a lottery machine in order to make it land within the numbers that you imagine in your mind. A lot of people state that you can just use your birthday numbers or some numbers with special emotional meaning tied to you, in order to get the ball rolling with this and see the physical manifestation of this altogether in that lottery station that pushes out the balls in a lottery machine. This energetic force in itself has to also come from some actual spirit force to move the balls for you. You yourself are not standing right next to the lottery machine. Your spirit can’t detach too much in order to do the job for you. Your own soul is still attached to your physical body and living, and isn’t too detached on meth or LSD to sort of astral project this kind of endeavor. It’s probably going to be your dead aunt who oversees you or your guardian angel or spirit guide. That’s if they want to do the job for you. I considered the fact that maybe Elissa could perform this trick the minute she felt wings on her back as an earth angel. “Hey, maybe you can also use your powers to win the lottery!” I giggled as I thought about all the supernatural powers that just came upon her. This would be something that I would have found would have provided that interesting and very helpful incidence that she could literally bring upon into fruition. “I can sense abundance,” she told me. She usually felt this feeling in her stomach when she came upon a rich man who made lots of money. It was some feeling that she would always receive that was a psychic intuition about something. I know that I could probably use some money after everything I’ve gone through over the years. This is because I have inevitably fallen into some sort of money hole several times in my life over the past half decade. I have actually been scammed before by an Indian company that used fraud to pose as the police and got me to provide them with a few grand as a result of not doing my taxes for the previous year. I’ve signed up for online trials that have sneakily trapped me into subscriptions that I couldn’t get out of and inevitably sourced out 30 dollars from my bank account each month. Let’s not forget about the ghost that has clung onto my body for the past half decade and stolen my bank cards and robbed me hundreds at a time every few months. It’s a vicious cycle that I can’t seem to get rid of, since it has played tricks on me even when it left my body, placing hexes on me from up “there” as well to take half a grand every 4 months. I was so worried when I saw this cycle come about the minute I witnessed another unauthorized transaction in my Scotiabank account. I had to close down my TD accounts altogether because of what it did when it clung onto me. It started with a few transactions of $3 wings from KFC. Then it escalated into taking away my mother’s 500 dollar cash bundles in my lucky money envelopes from time to time. Then it was my presto card. When I visited a psychic at Jane and Sheppard to try to remove this entity from my body, I thought that was the end of it. Apparently, it wasn’t. Ghosts can always come back from up there, heaven, and play tricks on others down in the 3D plane as well. They have the power to manipulate space and time now and will do things like make objects move or send you a text message. I found that it had robbed me yet again that fateful day I found half a grand taken from my bank account when I couldn’t find my bank card in my wallet as I tried to check out my groceries at Freshco that day. Thankfully, the card returned to me a day later from an angel. “A hex was placed on you,” Hindu psychic mentioned as he rattled his stones to find out what was behind this mischief. “Whhaaat? I thought it left my body!!!” I responded in shock and horror. “Shhhh! Be quiet! There are spirits around you,” he answered, as I was apparently disrupting the peace and quiet of the atmosphere. To make matters worse, he told me that the spirit liked me, and that it would continue to do this in the future. Great. I can expect half a grand taken from my bank account every 4 months now. In my dreams I tried to resolve this issue by summing up well known earth angel, Doreen Virtue, and her spirit. I met her for the first time in my dream on the TTC subway train. Someone else was calling for her attention at that moment in time, and she felt a tug of war tension between tending to either me or her. When I met her again in another dream sequence, she recognized me and said, “Nice to see you again. Whitney?” She must of confused me with someone else, and I said, “No, Lena.” I brought up the issue with the ghost robber, and she replied, “Well, he’s not attached to you anymore.” It wasn’t until I found a message from an angel the next day that I felt more relieved. There was a text message that stated, “return issued–>” in my cell phone. This cell phone was placed right next to that stolen Scotiabank card that I had miraculously found a day later returned to me. It was pointing to the card. I followed the magical instructions to return this card and cancel the account altogether, and transfer the funds to another bank account. This was what I needed to do in order to break that hex or black magic spell on me. I visited a psychic the next day to get my questions answered as well. She told me that angels were overseeing me on this as she placed a tarot card of an angel on the table. “I see good signs with this,” she mentioned. Okay, that’s good to hear. It’s not like I haven’t gone through enough turmoil with all of this. With the help of all that, I can’t help but wonder whether a fellow angel could manipulate space and time to help me garner up a few million dollars and help me win the lottery. I have thought about it, although it’s really not something that has been placed upon me with too much urgency or need. My angels also repeat bank transaction credits into my new CIBC account whenever I am at a place of low funding, I realized. Just recently, there was a transfer of 400.38 onto my account. It adds up my total amount of money. That’s what gives me the security. I have always lived off of a budget of 2 grand every month, and it has stayed and remained this way for the past 10 years. I still shop at Dollar Tree and Frescho every month. I never eat out. I never buy new expensive clothing. I use products until they are worn and torn before I replace them. It was somewhat doable even with the ghost robberies. It’s not like I haven’t gone through ups and downs with this. I’m too old of a soul to really give into the built-up illusion that money can buy happiness on a linear path that just rises and rises with the rate of satisfaction. Money does buy security and comfort and free will, but the effect does taper off after a point though. More so, I think I’m a bit too evolved and conscientious to really ask for large sums of money. I know that I have to hold back on spending too much and wasting too much. When you’ve gone through enough lifetimes and are very aware of how your actions and requests are affecting others, including angels and ghosts up there.


Cleaning up around the house was not how I normally spent my Sunday mornings, but I’d been hard at it since seven thirty to make the back garden and our new pool look good. And it did. Look good, I mean. “Lookin’ good, Will,” said Dad admiring the patio and pool area. “Not that you’re trying to impress anyone, of course!” “Well, maybe, just a bit, but I like Lara a lot, she’s special.” Dad smiled and nodded as though he wrote the book about young love. My Dad is in construction. He built our house and then put a swimming pool in the back garden – it was great, but took a lot of work to keep it really clean. And today it had to be really clean and sparkling. It was the first time I invited Lara, my girlfriend, to Sunday lunch at our house and I was more nervous than I’d ever been about anything, and that includes taking the driving test. I brushed and scrubbed at my shoes until they looked new. I must have tried on every pair of pants and every shirt I owned, which wasn’t many, and still couldn’t decide.  “Mom, which shirt should I wear today?” I asked as I carried an armful of shirts into the kitchen. “Be careful, you’ll get them creased. Wear the blue one, it matches your eyes. Oh Will, you look more like your Dad every day!” “Don’t I wish, everyone says Dad is such a handsome dude!” “Yes, as I said, you look more like him every day.” “Aw, Mom, now you’re embarrassing me, and please don’t do that, you know it makes me go all red in the face.” I was notorious for the fiery red color that would creep up from my chest to my cheeks when I felt self-conscious. And I just read that teenagers are painfully self-conscious and know that “painfully” is only too true. When I blush I want to run and stick my head in a bucket of cold water. That article promised to tell “10 Ways to Banish Blushing,” but none of them were worth the paper they were printed on. How can you “ignore the people staring at you,” or “think about the paper you have to write for homework” when everyone in the room is staring at your flaming cheeks! Mom was making her chicken pot pie for dinner and strawberry cake for dessert, so I knew the dinner would be a hit. Mom was always being asked to bring her chicken pie to potlucks, and her strawberry cake was on the front cover of the latest cookbook put out by her church women’s group. Of course we would finish up with some ice-cold watermelon, because we live in Melon, Arkansas, watermelon capital of the world. I was a bit worried that my fourteen year old brother would find a way to embarrass me, but hoped he might tone it down in front of Lara and both Mom and Dad. We all sat down to breakfast together – Mom and Dad are really keen on us eating meals together, all sitting at the table, with no phones allowed. Then we all piled into Dad’s Range Rover and went to church. Corny, isn’t it? Some of my friends laugh at me for doing what my parents want, but what they want seems like the right thing to do, so why not? Sometimes I rebel, but, hey, I’m a teenager, right? Anyway, Lara goes to the same church with her family and I can’t wait to see her. Then we get to bring her home with us. The church service was coming to a close, we all sang the last hymn, then the minister said “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,” and we responded, “Thanks be to God,” and we filed out. I walked over to say hello to Lara’s parents to thank them for letting her come to lunch with us. Then I did what I’d been rehearsing all day – walked over to Lara, held out my arm and said “may I escort you to the car?” Lara looked startled, but then she beamed me one of her smiles, put her arm through mine, and we sashayed our way to the car. Lara and I had worked on several school projects together over the past few years, and found we worked really well together. A few years ago I thought she was a fun person, and great to work with, but sort of funny looking. She has light blondish red hair, I think it’s what they call “strawberry blonde,” and very, very pale skin, with some freckles. One day in class she wasn’t feeling well and had fainted, falling out of her seat. The teacher ran to help her and took her to the school nurse. The color had drained out of her face when she fainted and her face was so white you could see all the freckles on the surface of her skin clearly – it looked spooky to me. Some of the kids started calling her “the ghost,” which was actually a good description, but a bit mean, and I could see how it upset her. Lara’s Mom had the same coloring. When they were healthy it was actually beautiful, but not when they were sick! When we arrived at our house, we all went out to the pool and Lara, who had brought her swimsuit, said she couldn’t wait to get in. Mom said we should swim now, as lunch would be about another hour, and after eating we wouldn’t be able to swim for a while. So my Dad, Lara, my brother Ronny and I quickly changed and jumped in, enjoying the water’s refreshing coolness on the hot summer day. We swam and threw a beach ball back and forth, then floated on air beds until Mom called us to come and eat. We changed back into our Sunday best and enjoyed Mom’s delicious meal. During lunch we talked about what Lara and I wanted to do after we graduated. Lara told us that she was interested in becoming a vet. Her father is a farmer, so she is used to dealing with animals on the farm, and loves it. Her mother is a middle school teacher, and she’s from Texas. “My grandparents in Texas want me to go to college there so I can live with them, but I’d rather stay here and go to our local college,” she smiled shyly at me when she said this. “I’m going to say local too, we have some good science and engineering programs.” I’m not sure exactly what I want to do with my life yet, but it will be in one of those fields, and I think the answer will come to me. When we’d all finished, Lara suddenly jumped up and said, “Mrs. Taylor, thank you for such a lovely lunch. Now it’s your turn to sit back and enjoy your Sunday afternoon. Will, Ronny, and I will clear the table, do the dishes, and clean up the kitchen, won’t we boys?” She beamed her 2000 watt smile at both of us and we just went along with what she said. My Mom looked more than surprised, but Dad took her by the hand and led her into the front room, where he turned on the television and put on Mom’s favorite Midsommer Murders. We showed Lara where everything was and we all got to work and cleaned up in no time. “Can I go now please,” asked Ronny, with a pitiful whine in his voice? “Yes, of course,” said Lara, “thanks for your help in here and for making my day here such fun.” Ronny blushed and his face just beamed, and he walked out of there like a little prince. “I wish I could get my little brother to do what I want like that,” I complained to Lara. “He won’t do it for you probably. My little sister would do cartwheels down Main Street for you, but she either ignores me or is super rude.” “Hey, maybe we should swap brothers and sisters,” I said, and we both cracked up. I was beginning to relax and enjoy myself – nothing had gone wrong! I don’t know what I’d expected, but I was really worried that something would spoil Lara’s first visit. “What shall we do now,” I asked, “do you want to watch TV with my parents, or come up to my room to play on my drum set?” “Will, you know how interested I am in genealogy? There are a bunch of old looking black and white photos in your dining room that I’d like to look at. I couldn’t see them very well from the table, but they looked like pictures from around here a long time ago.” “Yes, they are, pictures of my parents, and grandparents, and great-grandparents, and great-great-grandparents, all doing what they used to do back then.” “And what was that?” “They grew watermelons. And strawberries and apples and squash and pumpkins. All sorts of fruit and vegetables. My Grandad still lives at the farm, although he doesn’t grow as much as he used to. My great-great grandad had the first farm stand along the road to the river, and people would drive for miles to buy what he grew. Great-grandad was one of the farmers who bred the watermelons we buy today – they were bigger, sweeter, and juicier than the old ones. The soil around here is very rich and we get a lot of sunshine and rain, so it’s good for growing stuff.” “And that’s how our town got its name, isn’t it?” asked Lara, laughing. “Yeh, that’s right.” We live in the small town of Melon, in Arkansas. You might laugh at the name of our town, but if you take a look at maps of our state, you will see many odd, amusing, or downright weird town names. One of the most well-known is Evening Shade, a nice old town in the Ozarks, which was the location of a TV show from the 1970’s starring Burt Reynolds. Then there’s the town of Strawberry, named after the Strawberry River, famous for the wild strawberries growing along its banks. My favorite is the town of Oil Trough, on the White River, named for the trough full of bear grease bought from hunters and sold to settlers for lamps, cooking, and all forms of lubrication during the settlement of the area. Next, Lara spotted an engraved metal shield beside an old photo of a man holding it up to the camera – “That was my great-grandfather Zeke, he won it in 1924.” “Presented to Zechariah Taylor, 1924 Champion Watermelon Seed Spitter, 52 Feet, 8 Inches. Lawrence County Fair,” Lara read aloud, which was difficult because she was laughing fit to bust. She was laughing so much she was almost choking and tears ran down her cheeks. But not me. I wasn’t laughing. I was mortified. And the dreaded heat, remorseless and relentless, crept up past my collar bone, up my neck until I was the champion redneck of the region, over my jaw and into my cheeks. I couldn’t speak. I just looked at Lara, having hysterics, and endured the worst feeling I’d ever had. Two fat tears sat on my eyelashes, then rolled down both flaming cheeks. Lara was laughing at me. Lara thought I was a ridiculous figure of fun. Why did I invite her for Sunday lunch? Why did I risk this, the most embarrassing moment of my life, and leave myself open to being hurt. I wished with all my heart that I could die right then and there. Devastated, I turned away to walk out of the room, but it wasn’t over! Lara took hold of my arm, then my hand, and squeezed. Then she put her hands up, one on each of my cheeks, stood on her tiptoes and kissed me. On the lips. I thought I was going to pass out. What was happening? “Will, I want you to come back to my house with me, there’s something you just have to see, and you’re not gonna believe your eyes!” She pulled me along behind her into the front room and knocked on the open door to get my parents’ attention. “Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, can Will give me a ride back home and stay a while, there’s a project I’d like him to take a look at for me? Thank you so much for a lovely day, I’ve really enjoyed myself.” “Yes, of course, dear, and we thank you for spending time with us. Say hello to your Mom and Dad for us, will you?” Lara nodded, and we left in Mom’s little Ford. Lara kept giving me huge smiles and laughing to herself as we drove, but all she would say to me was “You’re not going to believe this.” I should have been nervous and worried, but all I could think about was Lara’s kiss. After that I was in a complete daze so nothing could have knocked me off my dream cloud. Mrs. Wheeler said “hello Will” to me as we came in but I think I just grunted! Lara led me into their front room where a lot of photos were arranged on a round table. They looked like the old photos of my family, except some of them were of horses, cows, and cowboys. Lara said these were of her mother’s Texas family, and held one in front of me which showed a man in a ten gallon hat holding up a little silver cup. His smile was so big his teeth gleamed out of that old black and white photo. Then Lara held out that same silver cup. I took it and read aloud, “Presented to Lee Wheeler of Muling, Texas, World Championship Seed Spitting Contest, Watermelon Seed Spit 68 ft 9 in, June 30, 1989.” “That’s my grandfather on Mom’s side, and he made the Guinness Book of Records that day.” And with those words we both lost it, laughing so hard it hurt, rolling on the floor with laughter. Amid our laughter and tears we hugged each other and then time stood still as I bent to kiss her properly. It was probably a good thing that her Mom called out from the kitchen asking if we wanted some lemonade.


"You are not supposed to play here,' Monty shouted at the top of the voice to scare off Tim.

'Yes, you red skin trash. You are not allowed to spoil this place with your dirty presence,' said one of the bully friends of Monty.

'I was just swinging, and I didn't do anything wrong.' argued Tim. 'Don't you dare talk to us? You are a creature of the swamp, and you belong there.' 'I am not from the swamp. I am from another planet destroyed by the Mega Dwarf. Our family is a refugee over here,' said Tim Monty could not fathom the reply, and with the help of magic, he uplifted Tim from the swing. Tim began spinning in the air due to Monty's spell, and after few minutes of spin, Tim fell to the ground. He was unable to stand and preferred to sit on the ground.

Seeing the dizzy Tim struggling to stand up, Monty and his friend began laughing. Tim was unable to digest this insult. Tim's ego urged him to use the magic against Monty. However, the rule of the city forbade the refugee to use any magic for one year. If anyone failed to follow this instruction, banishment was the punishment. Some passersby saw this incident and hurried towards Tim. That stranger helped Tim by scaring away the bully Monty and his friends.

Tim regained balance and somehow reached home. Tim's mother forced him to make new friends in this new land.

Many children hated Tim for his physical appearance. The recent incident made Tim more aware of his physical appearance. On their home planet, now destroyed by the Mega Dwarf, no one talked about physical appearance. All they could talk about was the character. The soothing fragrance was the indicator of the amount of character inside that individual. On this planet, all they can talk about how handsome a person is. The more beautiful a person, the more respect one can garner. On Tim's home planet, a person garners respect based on the soothing fragrance. An individual would be able to emit fragrance if his/her heart is full of moral values implemented in their daily life. 'What happened to your fragrance, Tim?' 'This planet is not ready to accept us, Mom.' 'Do not worry, son. You accept it as your own planet and the people living here as your family. Forgive their actions and think good of them.' 'But how can I? All they do and think ill of me. How can I forgive those boys for their cruelty?' 'Because one has to for a peaceful co-existence. The opposing force will come to their senses when they will realize the wrongness of their action,' said Tim's mom. 'Their thoughts were worse than their actions. They did not know the magic spells well or they would have torn me to pieces and fed to the birds.' 'Never ever let them know that you can read their thoughts. They will not fathom that and will banish us for that.' 'Okay, Mom.' Tim began reading the book that his father gave him to complete in a week. In the world of fairies, self-education was the key to scale new heights. Tim's father rose to an influential position in two weeks based on the vast knowledge gathered from books.

'What happened to your fragrance?'

'I told you already, Mom. Why are...,' Tim could not finish the sentence when he saw his father standing right next to his table. Tim knew that he failed to judge the source of the question. Tim preferred silence instead of righting his wrongs.

Tim's father read Tim's mind and gathered what happened to Tim. Tim's father got the answer that did Tim's fragrance became weak. 'I am proud of you, my boy.' 'There is nothing to be proud of. Those boys used magic on me and I did nothing.' 'You did one thing, and that is the most difficult one. You resisted the urge to assert your greatness with your abundant power. You controlled your ego and anger, a feat unachievable by many.' 'I appeared weak, Dad.' 'It is better to conceal your power rather than use it for an irrelevant reason.' After that, Tim's father got busy improvising the weapon to destroy the Mega Dwarf.

The defense counsel hired Tim's father to develop a weapon to destroy Mega Dwarf. Mega Dwarf had a weakness, and Tim's father observed it when Mega Dwarf was busy destroying Tim's planet.

Tim's family was powerful enough to rule the newfound fairyland, but they preferred to mingle. The creator did not bless Tim's family with wings like other fairies. However, Almighty blessed them with the power to fly without wings. They were red in appearance that shattered the preconceived notion that people in fairyland are beautiful. They were beautiful from the inside. However, the fairies of the new land could not identify the beauty. Every living creature detests what they can not understand. Tim faced this kind of hate every time. Two years went by, and the weapon was not yet ready. Tim was now helping his father to make that weapon. But they failed in the trial.

What worried them is that Mega Dwarf could attack them any day as it was almost two years since the last sighting. All they need to complete the weapon was the source of energy that can last about five minutes. That weapon must remain functional for about five minutes to penetrate the thick skin of that Mega Dwarf. They failed to find such a source of energy. Detested due to incompetency, Tim went deep into the Jungleland to find some peace. He meditated by could not concentrate. A deer was running here and there to save its life from the lion. That disturbed the peaceful environment. It was more than two years of Tim's resident on that planet, the rule of Magic spell ban did not apply to Tim.

Tim used the spell and sent the lion into the deep sleep. However, the deer was still jumping as the Magic spell by Tim was ineffective on it. He saw that a stone near the deer was absorbing the magic spell. He tested the stone again by casting a spell to destroy it. To his dismay, the stone absorbed all the Magic spells and began glowing. The more he used the Magic spell, the more it glows. He placed that stone in his pocket. He went back to the city and resumed his duty. That dreadful day arrived, and Mega Dwarf attacked the home of the fairies. That dwarf began destroying whatever came in its way. The defense was strong enough to delay the dwarf's progress but not enough to halt the mega dwarf.

Tim knew what to do and thus placed that stone in the weapon. It absorbed all the magic spell of the Mega Dwarf. The defense grew stronger with stone absorbing all the spells, and energy from the Mega Dwarf. Tim fired the shot, and it pierced the skin of the Mega Dwarf to end its life.

A red face radiating soothing fragrance destroyed the destroyer of the planets.


I straighten the pastel pink skirt and blazer with shaking hands. Pacing from one end to the other, I mutter words underneath my breath, each try different from the other. The cards in my hand don’t help, as they just have a few words on them. I need to show the world that I’m different. I must not be another person who can read. I need to be someone who has a stage presence, whose every word is echoing in the audience’s ears long after the speech is done. I need to leave my mark. I wish I were trained for this kind of thing, the kind of thing everyone but me is good at. Public speaking. Looking over a podium and seeing thousands of people’s eyes waiting for me to say the wrong thing, a few million’s eyes trained on me through the television screen in the comfort of their homes. If Melinda had been here, she would have handled it perfectly, her every word ringing strong and clear, her every smile genuine and carefully sprinkled throughout her speech, her sly jokes inciting light giggles and deep chuckles from the audience. I can’t even talk to my own mother without looking at my feet. I can’t even raise my voice at my own son. I can’t even stop my husband’s taunts from raining down on me. I don’t know what to do. My pacing is making Randall nervous, as he shakes his leg up and down, the chair creaking in rhythm. Taran will be in the audience with Mother, watching me like everyone else, cheering at my every word even though he may not understand all of it. He had been close to Father. Close enough to have believed us when we told him that he was just sleeping in the coffin, taking some rest and giving company to Aunt Melinda. He noticed everything, his black eyes taking in the tears and the condolences all around him. How much he understood was the question. I couldn’t expect him to understand it either, since death was the most abstract concept that even supposedly experienced adults couldn’t completely grasp. An ache spreads in my chest as I think of Father, his pockets always filled with little lemon candies and feathers which appeared everyday almost like magic. I saw all of it happen through my young eyes, my grandfather giving up the throne for the sake of a strange-sounding man, and my father wearing the crown, studded with rubies and emeralds, my sister becoming heir apparent and being a natural at it. I remember having to massage Father’s shoulders for almost months on end after he became king, as he complained about the heaviness of the crown. I didn’t realize that he wasn’t only referring to the physical aspect of it until I wore it myself. Today is the day. In a few minutes, I had to get on stage to a thousand blinking phones, cameras and reporters, and double that number of eyes, all looking at me, waiting for me to change the world or screw it up completely. Frank enters backstage and nods at me. I’m suddenly overtaken by an urge to faint on the spot. But I walk towards the curtain that is the final obstacle between me and the rest of the world. I need to do this for Father’s sake. He always loved me for me, and never forced me to be someone else. He never cared that I didn’t talk too much, but he always said that I could do it if I had to. This time, I have to. I don’t have a choice on the matter. I push the curtain to the right and walk on stage, the cheers vibrating through every bone in my body. I wave, and the crowd goes wild. I really hope that the sound of the audience will block out most of my words and the people can leave with the knowledge that I said something profound without hearing my words at all. But all my plans are ruined when I reach the podium. As if by some common signal of their own, the people shush each other. The only sound in the whole arena is me setting down my cards. I adjust the microphone only to be greeted by screeching feedback as the audience plugs their fingers into their ears with a strained look on their faces. I imagine the people at home are doing the same. What a great start to my reign as queen. I smile at them apologetically, and a hush descends in an instant. I spot Taran and Mother in the audience and see Randall edging his way towards them. I pick up my first card with my sweaty hands, careful not to drop it. Introduction. Thank you for kind wishes. Clearing my throat, I push out two words. “Hello, world.” The cheering and applause don’t stop for a good three minutes. I know because I constantly look at my watch with a polite smile on my face. As they slowly get the hint, the cheering quietens and the applause fades. I haven’t even gotten through my first card yet. “My name is Rebecca. Though for the entirety of my life, I have been called Princess Regina, but my real name is Rebecca.” My throat closes up at this point, and the people somehow understand. They cheer ‘Long live Rebecca’ until I manage to compose myself. “Now I understand that my father King Francis was loved and adored by you all. I realize that as much as I and the rest of my family are mourning, all of you are mourning too. For considering my family as yours and for taking that burden of grief upon yourselves, I thank you all.” My throat is dry. I should have brought some water along with me. I pick up my next card. Melinda. Queen. “I realize that many of you are puzzled at the fact that the younger princess is giving this speech. Many of you may be wondering why Princess Mel – I mean Princess Victoria is not the one standing here today.” The audience members consult with each other while the reporters push their microphones closer to the stage, sensing something big coming. I take in a deep breath and let it out, not knowing whether I would ever get the strength to say it. “Princess Victoria had a name too, Melinda. Her real name was Melinda. She was just like you and me. But she was different.” Everyone’s breath hitches a bit at hearing me refer to her in the past tense. “She was human, like the rest of us. She was grieving. But she was also heir apparent. She was also entrusted with the responsibility of becoming the first Queen the kingdom of Cotoria has ever had.” This was it, I had to say it. “Melinda was found dead in her chambers a day after my father’s passing. She had swallowed pills.” Pindrop silence. Then the discussion starts, the people talking over each other, some crying, others confused. I wait for the abusing, the curses and the accusations. I wait for someone to realize that I’m not meant to be here, that I’m just a cheap replacement for Melinda. Tears fall from my eyes, running down my face and washing away the makeup that my assistants had painstakingly applied. I silently apologize to Father and Melinda for not being able to live up to them. Suddenly I hear a voice. Albeit a faint one, but it is recognizable. Taran stands up on his seat, Mother trying to push him back down and failing miserably, Randall covering his face and trying not to draw attention. But I heard him. Others around him pick up what he was saying, and soon the chant begins. It swells and flows all around me, going through to my heart and dispelling all my fears. My knees are still weak, my head is still spinning, my tears are still falling. But I smile at their words, the words meant for me. Long live the Queen.


I think Grandma Mabel is the nicest person in the whole world. Mama used to say that everyone says mean things sometimes, even when they’re a good person, but I’ve never heard Grandma Mabel say a bad thing not once. She makes the best cakes and pies and tarts but the best by far is her honey. She has a big hive full of bees and they’re so friendly! Sometimes I’m allowed to put my hand inside and get some honey on my finger. The bees come and sit on my hand but I’m not afraid of getting stung because they’re Grandma Mabel’s bees, and everything about Grandma Mabel is nice. After school, my little brother Roger and I go to Grandma Mabel’s house for tea and cake. She has the biggest garden I’ve ever seen and she says we’re allowed to go anywhere we like in it, so long as we don’t upset the flowers. Flowers have feelings, Grandma Mabel says. We have to be very careful to not make them sad by doing things like not giving them enough water, or by stepping on them. Roger doesn’t care about the flowers as much as I do, but I think it’s fun to look after them. Grandma Mabel showed me how to fill up her watering can and how to get out all the nasty weeds from the flowerbed. She said I could be a gardener or a florist when I grow up! Roger prefers helping Grandma Mabel with her baking. I like the cakes and pies, but I like flowers more so I let him do the baking instead of me. She makes all these amazing cakes with the flowers from the garden, so they look all colourful and taste delicious! I would never think of doing something like that. It’s so clever. She makes sure to only take a little bit of the flowers so they won’t be upset and will grow back. We even made lavender cookies last week. I grew the lavender, which is a sort of purple-y plant with a nice smell, and Roger made them into biscuits. Grandma Mabel was so proud of us. I said to Roger that we should have a bakery when we’re older with a big garden behind it. I tried to bring back some of the biscuits to give to Papa, but he was in one of his bad moods. He hit me on my face, which really hurt, but I didn’t cry because Roger was there and I knew he would get scared. Papa said he talked to the priest and the priest said that we were children of Lucifer and that we were sinful. He called us a word beginning with b. I can’t remember what the word was but he sounded angry when he said it, so I don’t think it was a nice word. Roger asked me when I put him to bed if we were really children of sin, but I don’t think we are. I read my Bible at school and I say my prayers too, so I told him that as long as we follow God’s word we will be alright. My cheek got all hot and sore the next day, and it was hard to eat because it was bigger than usual. Then the mom of one of the girls in my class came up to me in the playground and said she hoped I was happy spreading my Devil’s filth. She said she wasn’t going to keep her daughter at a school that allowed me to stay in it. I felt secretly happy, because her daughter is Moira, and Moira liked to pull my hair and steal my food at lunchtime just because she’s bigger. Then I felt a bit bad because I saw Moira crying when she left school. I told Grandma Mabel about what happened. She got all sad when I asked her if the priest was right and said that he was wrong and that I shouldn’t worry. I trust her more than that creepy old guy anyways. On our way home Grandma Mabel’s neighbour called us the b-word that Papa said and tried to throw a dog turd at us. It didn’t hit me, but it went on one of Grandma Mabel’s flowers and she made the face that Papa makes when he’s real angry. I don’t think she was angry at me though, cause she just told us to be careful going home and that she’d deal with it. I asked her what she was going to do, and she said she was just going to bring the neighbour some honey. Honey makes everyone a bit kinder, she said, it’s so sweet that they would feel happier after eating it. That makes sense because I always feel better when I have some of Grandma Mabel’s honey. I went to school the next day, but then Miss Philips told me to go home because there had been an ‘incident’. I didn’t know what that was, so I asked her and she got this funny face. Miss Philips said that Moira’s mom had died yesterday, and Moira said that she didn’t want me here for the funeral so I had to go home. I felt a bit sad because it wasn’t like I did anything wrong, but then Moira came to school and started crying and screaming at me saying it was my fault, so I left. I promise I didn’t do anything though. God says that killing is bad, and we should always follow God’s rules. I went to Grandma Mabel’s instead. She looked a bit confused to see me because it was a school day, and Roger wasn’t there, but I couldn’t go home because Papa would get mad. I got to help her plant lots of new flowers! It was really exciting. She got a big order of some new ones just today and we planted them all nicely in the corner of the garden next to the beehive. Grandma Mabel said that she bought them because the types of flowers that bees use for their honey makes it taste different. They collect this thing called nectar, which is when you see them going around and wiggling into the flowers. Every type of nectar is different and they use it to make honey! I didn’t know it was so complicated! There were lots of different plants. Grandma Mabel said I mustn’t eat any of them, which I wouldn’t do with any of the plants anyway, but these plants aren’t good for humans. Only bees like them. There were some bright pink ones, some long skinny ones with little white flowers, some purple ones that grew upwards in straight lines, and ones with little purple berries. As well as some droopy purple ones that looked like little hats and white ones that looked like little bells. She told me all the names, but I can’t really remember them. My favourites were the pink ones though. They were so bright and cheerful! Luckily next week I was allowed to go back to school. The other kids in my class were being mean to me though. Moira had to move schools because of her mom, but I think she was already going to move because of what her mom said the other day. I don’t know why they’re all so unkind to me. One of the boys who sits next to me in English class said that because my hair is red, it means that I’m evil. I didn’t know that. I think there’s a lot that I don’t know. When Roger and I got to Grandma Mabel’s, she’d made a whole new batch of honey from the flowers I planted with her! I was excited to try some, but she said she had some special honey that was just for us and I felt really special. Because of my help, the bees really liked the flowers and had been making loads all weekend. She even got to give some out to people in the village already! Grandma Mabel’s special honey was the best I’ve ever tasted. I told her she needs to make enough for a lifetime supply, and she laughed. Then she looked a bit serious and said that the priest had died today. The sheriff said it was an accident, his heart had gone all funny and then stopped at dinnertime. “Is it my fault?” I asked. “Cause Moira’s mom died on Friday, and she said it was my fault.” Grandma Mabel looked at me and Roger with a calm look. Well, it wasn’t really calm, but I don’t know how to describe it. She hadn’t made that face before and it was a little scary. “Callie, Roger, listen to me. Whatever anyone says, you must know that they’re wrong. None of this is your fault at all, and you’re the best kids I’ve ever known. Don’t listen to anything anyone says about you.” She gave me a big hug afterwards, and she smelled nice. I think she was crying when we went home. Papa usually waited for us at home, but that day he didn’t come out. He doesn’t like us coming into his room when he doesn’t tell us to, and the last time I did he hit me so hard on the backside that it started bleeding. I called him from outside the room and said “Papa, we’re home,” but he didn’t say anything. It was a little weird. But he was probably just drinking again so I made Roger dinner and then went to bed. Everything got a little weird after that. The horrid neighbour who threw a dog turd into Grandma Mabel’s flowerbed died after Moira’s mom and the priest. The sheriff had to make a speech to the town because everyone was getting really scared, and the school sent everyone home. No one knew why people were dying. I called Grandma Mabel from the phone at home and asked her if she was scared because her neighbour had died, but she just said that she was okay. The neighbour was mean anyway. It was really boring at home. A couple more people died, like the old man down our road who’d hit me with a walking stick once. The sheriff said that everyone should stay in their houses as much as possible so that they could do an investigation, but I wanted to visit Grandma Mabel. She said on the phone that she’d been giving out honey to people to make them feel better because everyone was so anxious. I asked if it was okay for us to come and stay, and she said that would be lovely. When I went to ask Papa, he didn’t say anything. He hadn’t come out of his room for a few days now, so Roger and I were getting very hungry (I’m not a very good cook). There was a bad smell coming from his room, too. It was kind of gross so we just left and went to Grandma Mabel’s. When we got there, Grandma Mabel had run out of honey, because she’d been giving it out to people all week. But we still had the rest of the jar of special honey from last time, and she said she’d make some more for us. She had such a big house, and Roger and I got our own rooms! They were all clean and tidy and smelled so nice, and the beds were all made, like when Mama was still alive. A little part of me hopes that Papa doesn’t come out of his room for a while so that we can stay as long as we want. Grandma Mabel doesn’t hit us or drink until she yells and makes us scared. She makes us nice lunches and plays with us in the garden and gives us warm hugs. She’s the loveliest person ever. The next week, four more people died. ‘Under mysterious circumstances’, Grandma Mabel said. But none of us were sad, because they weren’t nice people just like before. One of them was Miss Philips from school. They had to keep the school closed for another week because of it. I asked Grandma Mabel what she thought was happening. She said that she thinks it’s all God’s plan and that he’s getting rid of all the nasty people so only the nice ones are left. “Are they going to Hell?” I questioned. “I think so. If you’re horrible to a child, then you should go to Hell. At least, that’s my opinion,” Grandma Mabel replied. “Well, then that’s my opinion too,” I said, and Grandma Mabel laughed. Yesterday, Grandma Mabel sat us down and asked us if we’d like to go and live with her somewhere else. Because of all the people dying, the village wasn’t very safe anymore. She said that she’d talked to Papa on the phone when we were asleep and that he was ok with it. I was a bit surprised because Papa doesn’t like us even leaving the house usually, but if he says it’s okay, then it must be! We’re going to go across the country tomorrow. I’m so excited! Grandma Mabel says we’re moving somewhere sunny and warm with an even bigger house. Her sister and her husband live there, and they have grandchildren that are the same age as me and Roger. We’re even going to take the bees too, so we can make more honey together! Grandma Mabel really must be the nicest person in the world.


(WP) First Love and Second Chances It had been so long since his beloved wife had passed away that Mark barely remembered what it was like to truly *feel.* True, he had his house, his animals, and his friends and children. His life wasn’t empty, by any stretch of the imagination. His head knew that, but his heart had a harder time accepting that. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t miss Alice, with every fiber of his being. In those first days without her, it was like his life had lost all color and joy. Of course, as much as he’d wanted to surrender to the darkness that had stolen his wife, he could not. What would his children do if he just gave up? Mark was interrupted from his thoughts of the past by a quick and urgent knock on the door. Cursing his old bones, he got up out of his armchair, grabbing his cane. Another rap, quicker, impatient. “I’m coming!” Mark grumbled, and the knocking stopped. Finally, he opened the door, only to find one of his neighbors and friends, Franklin, Frank for short, standing on his doorstep. “Finally, Mark! I felt like I was standing there forever!” Without waiting to be invited in, he shuffled inside. “Where’s the fire?” Mark asked, trying not to laugh. Frank’s face was red, and he was breathing hard; back in their prime, Frank had had a football scholarship and won a full-ride to one of the state’s most prominent universities. “There’s this new and experimental trial, Mark, and I had to tell you about it.” Mark raised his eyebrows, uncertain, but Frank held out a bright red flyer. *Are you widowed? Missing your late spouse? Well, now there’s a chance, thanks to an experimental new treatment! For more information, call the number below!* Mark frowned at Frank; honestly, this all sounded like a ridiculous, half-baked prank. But Frank had come all this way to tell him about it; what was the harm in at least investigating? Worst case scenario, he’d be chasing ghosts. Was it really possible, seeing Alice again, even after her death? Something strange and unfamiliar bloomed inside his heart, and he dimly recognized it as hope. *Oh, what the hell.* It wasn’t as if he had much to lose anyway. \*\* It turned out that the experiment only had him and another woman; no one seemed to think that this was legit, despite being held at the local clinic. There was a kind, female doctor with gentle, sad eyes, and Mark felt immediately comforted by her presence, in this cold, sterile white room. “Of course, you’ll be compensated, regardless of what happens with the treatment,” She said, all the while fitting them with virtual reality equipment. It was all an unfamiliar jumble of new tech that he was too old to keep up with. “Now, we’ll be right outside this room, taking down observations. I must ask you not to be alarmed.” Mark and the woman were ordered to open their mouths, and a pill was placed upon their tongues. Giving them a tiny plastic cup of water to wash it down, the doctor left. Mark closed his eyes, waiting for the pill to take effect. \*\* When Mark next opened his eyes, he was standing in front of his house, and Alice was waving from the window. The fragrant aroma of dinner cooking hit him first, even before he processed that his late wife was standing there. “Welcome home, Mark.” She said when he came up to her, and he kissed her passionately on the mouth. Alice laughed; the sound tinged with surprise. “What on earth has gotten into you?” “Nothing, my love. Nothing at all. Let’s go inside.