Lisa Angel had a gift. Whenever her gift would activate, she could never remember the day of her birth or major events in her past. Sometimes Lisa’s gift would give her nightmares. She could see into the future, but she could only see people’s deaths. Lisa’s morbid clairvoyance manifested when she was 5 years old. Now Lisa was 37 years old. She was the mother of a tall, dark, and handsome young man named AJ. Lisa’s son didn’t know about his mother’s gift until he experienced it firsthand one night. He went to visit his girlfriend. While kissing his lady friend, he received a text message from his mom which said that him and his girlfriend needed to leave the house and call the police immediately. AJ didn’t understand the text message, but a voice inside him told him not to disregard his mother’s text.

AJ and his girlfriend, Chrissy, took shelter in his car, which he parked across the street directly across from her house. As AJ sat in his car, he called his mom before calling the police. Before he heard his mother pick up the phone, he saw a muscle car roaring down the street. It came to a murderous stop in front of his girlfriend’s house. AJ watched as a young man jumped out of the muscle car, brandishing a gun.

He remembered his girlfriend telling him that the young man was her ex-boyfriend. Thankfully, Chrissy’s parents weren’t at home when her ex-boyfriend kicked down the front door, preparing to shoot everyone in the house. That night, AJ’s mother saved their lives.

The police arrested Chrissy’s ex-boyfriend. AJ walked away with his life and Lisa thanked God that her supernatural gift saved her son.

The evening came and Lisa made herself comfortable in her bed beside her husband. While holding her husband’s hand she thought about the night she rescued her son and his girlfriend, who soon became his ex-girlfriend. This incident occurred two years ago. Lisa didn’t want to let go of her son. The last time Lisa saw her son was in his dorm room. She helped him unpack his things. Lisa laughed to herself while thinking about how she hugged and kissed all over her son’s face, not caring about embarrassing him in front of his college roommate. Lisa had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss her son goodbye. She told herself not to cry in front of her son. Lisa couldn’t accept the reality that her baby had become a grown man. She still saw herself coddling a toddler. She saw herself playing hide and seek with her son. She saw herself pushing her son on the playground swing. While Lisa hugged her son, her sadness struck her like a fist after she realized that her days of playing with her son as a baby were over. Lisa had her face buried in her son’s chest with her slender arms locked around his waist. She cried so hard that her tears drenched the front of her son’s Notorious B.I.G t-shirt.

Lisa didn’t care about embarrassing herself. She didn’t care about blowing kisses at her son and watching him squirm from his mother’s overstated affection. She didn’t care about her husband taking her by the arm and dragging her out of her son’s dorm room. Lisa knew she looked psychotic in front of her son’s roommate, but she didn’t care.

“He’ll be okay,” Lisa’s husband, Harrison, whispered to his wife. He stopped reading his book after he heard his wife release a mournful sigh. Harrison laid the book down on his chest before leaning over to kiss his wife. “I know he’ll be okay, but I can’t stop worrying. Our baby went to college today. He packed all of his things and he moved out. Now he’s fucking gone, living on a college campus that’s forty miles away from us.” Lisa looked away from her husband while wiping a tear off her face. She normally didn’t cuss, but she was so distraught that The F-Word escaped from her lips. She had an upright position in the bed with her back pressed against her pillow and the headboard. Lisa brushed her flowing caramel-brown hair away from her wet face. She forced herself to smile at her husband when he gave her another comforting kiss on her cheek.

“Our baby is fine. We’ll see him again,” Harrison reassured his wife through his relaxing, deep voice. “He’s a man now. He’s gonna make new friends. He’ll find his future wife just like his father met his future wife at his college,” Harrison chuckled out his words as he tickled his wife, causing her to giggle. “See! I’m making you feel better already!” Harrison tossed his book to the side. He let the novel fall off the bed as he scooted closer to his wife.

Lisa gave her husband an amused stare. She knew what her husband wanted when she felt his hand slide up her stomach before coming to a stop beneath her left breast.

“When you look at me, can you still remember your past?” Harrison whispered the question with his mouth hovering over his wife’s full lips. He knew about his wife’s supernatural gift and it would always stimulate him sexually. Lisa knew that her gift aroused her husband, but his question unnerved her. She knew her husband presented his question as a joke, but she didn't find the humor. “What’s the matter?” Harrison looked puzzled after he brought his lips in for a kiss, only to get halted by his wife’s hand. Harrison hated to see his wife turn away from him. “I don’t think you should joke about my gift. It’s too damn serious to joke about.” Lisa gently rebuked her husband while folding her arms and turning her back on him.

Harrison laughed nervously. “Look, I’m sorry. It was just a joke.” Harrison’s smirk and his playful attitude didn’t warm his wife’s heart.

“I’ve been a clinical psychologist for twenty years, but I feel like a freak.” Lisa rested her hand above her cleavage while turning to look back at her husband. “You have no idea what it feels like to counsel a person, knowing that they’re going to die. I can’t save every client who walks into my office. I dread it when I look into a client’s eyes and I can’t remember my past, but I can see their future death. The premonition of death I see through a client’s eyes erases my childhood. When I see someone’s dark future, it’s like I cease to exist.” Lisa’s whispering became harsh. When her husband nervously dropped his gaze, she clutched her fingers beneath his chin forcing him to look back into her eyes. “Look, forget what I said. My question was a bad joke and I’m sorry,” Harrison profusely apologized, hoping it would stop his wife from discussing her supernatural sight, but she crushed his hopes.

“I accept your apology and I pray that I will never forget my past when I look at you.” Lisa stroked her finger beneath her husband’s well-defined chin. “I had a client who came to my office a year ago. He needed treatment. He was psychologically scarred because his mother molested him every night. She was a crackhead and a prostitute. Her pimp would beat her and put her in the hospital sometimes. This young man told me that his mother’s job made her feel powerless and she hated men. So she reinstated her authority by sexually abusing her son. She imposed her hatred for men onto her 4-year-old baby. On some nights, she’d beat her son and strangle him the same way her pimp would do her. On other nights she’d sexually abuse her son the way her male clients would abuse her and treat her like sexual trash. The abuse she received for being a prostitute didn’t give her the right to abuse her son. Her child didn’t deserve to suffer because of his mother’s poor lifestyle choice.” Harrison didn’t want to hear his wife’s story. He wanted to make love to his wife, but he forced himself to listen. Sometimes his mind would drift. He’d try to stop his eyes from admiring his wife’s slender neck, and how it melded perfectly to her shapely body. Harrison tried to keep his eyes off the voluptuous form of his wife’s boobs, concealed beneath her silver negligee. The man fought with his desires as he kept his eyes on the symmetrical beauty in his wife’s face.

“I couldn’t help him.” Lisa never broke away from her story even when she could see the disinterest in her husband’s eyes, which disturbed her a little. “He had severe depression. The medication prescribed to treat his bipolar wasn’t helping. I could hear his suicidal thoughts as if they were my own. I’ll never forget the day he came into my office in tears. My past vanished when I looked into his eyes. I knew he was going to do something bad to himself that day. I tried so hard to talk him out of it. As I’m looking at him, I’m seeing a vision of him hanging from his bedroom ceiling and I couldn’t remember my date of birth. I couldn’t remember our wedding. I couldn’t remember giving birth to AJ. When you see someone’s death, it’s like being pushed off the roof of a skyscraper, or drowning in the middle of the ocean. That’s what it feels like for me. Nate was the one client I couldn’t save. Or maybe I could have saved him, but I didn’t try hard enough. I could’ve canceled all of my appointments for that day and just focused on Nate. But I knew that I had other troubled clients like Nate, and I couldn’t cancel their appointments.” Lisa paused, wallowing in her regret. Harrison kept his eyes on Lisa’s face and he had his chin resting in his hand. He had his other hand coasting down the side of his wife’s arm.

“I let him walk out of my office after we talked for three hours. I told him he was beautiful and that his life was precious and that he shouldn’t throw his life away.” Lisa bit her bottom lip. “I couldn’t save him. When he walked out of my office, I thought about calling the police. But I didn’t want the police to arrest him or harm him. I just wanted them to protect him. I didn’t see him hanging from the ceiling anymore, which gave me hope. But I still sensed something wrong, and that’s when I heard a loud pop. I heard the gunshot as I was dialing 911, and I knew he had shot himself outside my office. He was 19 years old. He was just a baby who was no older than AJ. He had a bright future. That bright future was ruined because he had a bitch for a mother.” Lisa hated how her tears would make her eyes itch. She wasted no time using her fingers to clean away a few tears that cascaded down her nose. Harrison folded his hands. He had his hands pressed against his lips while staring up at his wife with intensity in his eyes. He kept quiet for a few minutes and he rested his folded hands on his wife’s chest.

Lisa took hold of her husband’s hands. She wanted him to say something and she waited to hear her husband’s voice while bringing his hands up to her face.

“You need to let go,” Harrison told his wife as he leaned closer to her face with his eyes longing to look down at her neck and cleavage. He only said those five words before bringing his lips to Lisa’s neck.

Lisa felt lost. She wanted her husband to say more. Lisa remembered her husband being more supportive and soothing with his words. When he told her she needed to let go, it sounded heartless. Lisa didn’t like her husband’s simple words, although she did like his touch. A few alluring kisses to the side of her neck put Lisa’s mind at ease for a moment. Lisa wanted to force her husband to say more. She wanted to push him away, but she couldn’t. Within a blink of an eye, Harrison had his wife on top of him with his hands going up the bottom of her negligee.

“I need to let go? That’s all you’re going to say?” Lisa whispered down to her husband. She waited for Harrison to answer. Instead of an answer, she felt his hands massaging the back of her thighs. Soon she felt her husband’s hands coasting across her butt and coming to a stop on her lower back.

Harrison stayed silent as he guided his hands up his wife’s negligee. He held his wife on top of him while bringing his sneaky fingers closer to her breasts. While getting him a handful of boobs with one hand, he forced his wife to bring her face down to his lips with his other hand. Harrison brushed his wife’s hair behind her shoulders before giving her a steamy, enveloping kiss.

The kiss triggered every pleasure sensor in Lisa’s body, but there was something unfamiliar about her husband’s kiss. Lisa wanted to withdraw her lips, but the kiss between the wife and her husband remained unbroken. She had her hands massaging his wide muscular chest and she expected to feel her husband’s solid masculinity inserting itself into her vagina. Insertion would come at a price for Lisa. The air in the room became hot. Sweat enveloped Lisa’s skin at an unusual rate. She still had the mountaintop position on her husband. Lisa would always close her eyes while kissing her husband, but something told her to keep her eyes open.

Kissing her husband would always put Lisa in the mood, but Lisa discovered that the man she enjoyed kissing was not her husband. She discovered the truth when her husband brought his lips to the side of her neck. Lisa brought her hands down on her husband’s back when he sat up slightly to kiss her neck. This gave Lisa a chance to look down her husband’s back. She finally noticed that her husband wasn’t sweating. He had bone dry skin, but his bone dry skin isn’t what startled Lisa. Her mind went blank when she noticed something growing out of her husband’s back. The growth reminded Lisa of metal spikes.

“Baby, what’s wrong with your back?!” Lisa blurted out her question. She screamed when her husband’s massive hand gripped her throat. “Don’t be afraid,” the imposter Harrison hissed in Lisa’s face through gritted teeth. “You sacrificed yourself and now you’re with me.” Harrison’s face morphed into a reptilian-like form as he continued to speak. “I want you. God wants to keep me from having you, but God can’t stop me!” A dark split lizard tongue emerged from the monster's mouth whenever he'd chuckle.

Lisa couldn’t talk, mainly because the reptilian man was squeezing her throat. She tried to fight off her otherworldly attacker and as she struggled to breathe, the room became hotter.

“I don’t get it. You stopped a gunman from killing a group of college boys. You’re a heroine who took a bullet to the chest, but yet you’re down here with me. I don't think God loves you.” The creature spewed his words in Lisa’s face. He got pleasure out of watching Lisa fight to breathe.

Lisa heard a distant voice calling out to her. It sounded like the voice of her son. Hearing her son’s voice gave Lisa the strength to break free from the reptilian man. Lisa slapped the creature across his face. She struck him a second time with her fist. The creature became enraged when Lisa punched him. A guttural, demonic, growl escaped the monster’s throat. In a fit of rage, he hurled Lisa across the bedroom, causing her body to slam into a wall. A fire erupted around the bed. When the reptilian man arose from the bed, the smoldering flames leaped up, kissing his bulky, shirtless, tattooed body.

Lisa kept hearing her son calling after her. She had to escape the bedroom and she saw the fire rising from the floor.

Lisa bolted toward the bedroom door. The reptilian man tried to grab Lisa around her waist, but the woman’s elbow sent him tumbling to the floor.

A white light swallowed Lisa when she opened the bedroom door. The woman followed her son’s voice. She soon heard her husband’s voice calling out to her. When Lisa opened her eyes, she was lying in a hospital bed. There was a bandage below her collarbone. Lisa looked up to see her son sitting at her bedside. Her real husband, Harrison, sat on the opposite side of the bed, holding his wife’s hand. Lisa raised her hand to caress her son’s face when he stood up to kiss her. She placed her eyes on her husband, who had tears of joy in his eyes. Flowers and gift baskets surrounded Lisa’s hospital bed. Harrison kissed his wife’s hand when saw her eyes open. He broke down in tears when his wife caressed his chin. The man thought he had lost his wife. He also thought she'd be in a coma for a long time. “Your supernatural gift made you a hero,” AJ whispered to his mom after kissing her. The young man held his phone up in front of his mother. Lisa read the news headline on her son’s phone, which said; A YOUNG BLACK MOTHER PREVENTED A GUNMAN FROM SHOOTING HER SON AND HIS COLLEGE FRIENDS AT THE MOUNTAIN RIDGE UNIVERSITY. THE MOTHER FOUGHT WITH THE GUNMAN UNTIL POLICE ARRIVED. SHE SURVIVED AFTER SUSTAINING A GUNSHOT WOUND TO HER CHEST. THE GUNMAN WAS A WHITE SUPREMACIST. POLICE ARRESTED THE GUNMAN AFTER USING LETHAL FORCE.


It was the morning of December 31st, New Year’s Eve, a time when most people were anxiously awaiting to dress up and go to some glamorous party to celebrate the new year.

But not Jade, she was at home in her pajamas thinking about the last six months of her life and how she wouldn’t be celebrating the new year the way she had been hoping for, in fact, she wouldn’t be celebrating at all. Jade sat on the sofa heartbroken, she was finally supposed to meet him, the man of her dreams. A man she met online, a man that she fell in love with. But instead of holding him tonight she was holding an empty champagne glass in one hand and a box of Kleenex in the other.

Six months ago Jade had met Lorenzo a

52-year-old Italian from Pisa, Italy.  Their correspondence started with a few messages on the dating site and quickly moved to text and email. Jade couldn’t believe how everything flowed so easily with this man.

His emails read like poetry, he told her about his family and how he came to be in the United States for work. He was a single father of a teenage daughter and also took care of his elderly mother. She had expressed to him how much she always wanted to go to Italy and she talked about all the books and information she had on his country. He loved this. Jade had raised her children all by herself as well, but they were now young adults living their own lives and that left Jade more alone than ever. Her last romantic relationship was a little over two years ago and ended just as bad as all the previous ones.

Her streak of bad relationships was probably one for the record books. But she refused to give up on love, despite how many times men have broken her heart. She believed with all her heart that one day she would find the “one” to spend the rest of her life with. She prayed it would be Lorenzo. As much as she adored Lorenzo, deep down there was a little bit of fear, a little doubt. Could he really be the one she has waited for her entire life? Was he real?  Was this destiny?  They shared this feeling, the feeling that something great and divine had brought them together, with all her broken relationships and the loss of his wife in recent years. They were convinced they were brought together to share in the joy of love again. Each the lost puzzle piece to the other’s life.

She remembered the moment she heard his voice for the first time she melted like butter. His laughter warmed her heart and awoken her spirit, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She knew that no matter what she was going to give her all to this relationship they were building. She decided to push her fear and doubt aside and instead be fueled but faith, trust, and love.

Within a couple of months, she was head over heels in love with him and he said he felt the same about her.

Her friends thought she was moving too fast, but Jade always had a ‘go for it’ attitude.  The unfortunate part of her situation is that he was an engineer working overseas, even though he lived in the United States, in a different state then hers but to them, that was just geography. “True love conquers all”, is what they would say to each other.

But was it true love? Jade knew that she wore her heart on her sleeve and she always believed the best in people. As far as she was concerned he was perfect for her, she hadn’t found any holes in his story and he was always forthright when she had questions for him. All these months she has waited patiently for him to finish his work overseas and finally come to meet her face to face. During the six months apart they had missed birthdays and holidays, they decided that they would start the new year together. It would be the moment they started their ‘real’ life together.

But here she sat, a few hours before the new year and no Lorenzo. He told her his work was taking longer than expected and couldn’t leave yet.  To make matters worse she hadn’t spoken with him on the phone in hours, which was not normal.  They always talked on the phone, at least twice a day. That is one of the many things she loved about him, he has called her every day for six months. All that doubt and fear pushed its way to the surface, the tears flowed down her face, and her heart ached. She didn’t want to listen to the fear or the doubt. But she had invested so much time and emotion into this relationship, she wasn’t sure her heart could recover if he turned out not to be the man he has portrayed himself to be. But what could she do?

She watched as the time ticked by, she tried calling him but the call wasn't going through, she was so frustrated with the connection problems they seemed to have.

She just wanted to hear his voice, which always made her feel better. Instead, she decided to stop with the pity party and she turned on the TV, it was an hour before the ball dropped to ring in the new year, she poured herself another glass of champagne and popped some popcorn...emotional eating always made her feel better too. She sat there trying to watch the festivities but her mind kept going back to Lorenzo, and all the same, thoughts kept twirling in her mind. It was driving her crazy. Even the champagne wasn’t settling her mind down. Before she knew it the celebrities on TV were counting down to the new year...5...4...3...2...1… Her doorbell rang.


Hey Guys, Here's a short story, (Hopefully the first in a series) based on games workshop’s brilliant role playing game, Dark Heresy. A gritty, violent and brutal look at humanities future, with agents of the Holy Inquisition being the few who work in the darkness to serve the light. They are tasked with the preservation of humanity by rooting out and exterminating it’s enemies. I hope you like it, although I understand the setting and style isn't everyone's cup of tea! As always, I appreciate any feedback or thoughts on the piece. Cheers, Lordchimp  Quiet. Almost serene. That was the sound of a starport hurtling out of orbit, careening towards a planet. The monolith structure was tearing itself apart under the immense pressure of it’s graceless fall. Small explosions rippled across the star station, pieces of the metal giant twisting and breaking away with alarming regularity. But, sat comfortably on his ship a few hundred thousand kilometers away, surrounded by the vast vacuum of space, Roth couldn’t hear the screams of the dying. The titanic groans of the tearing metal were rendered silent by the emptiness between them. All the pain, all the suffering, muted entirely. Much like every other experience he’d had of death and agony, it had either been viewed from afar or safely behind a monitor. Many times had the consequences of his actions resulted in destruction and other horrors affecting innocent lives, but such was the price of his duty. *Innocence means nothing.* Roth’s wrinkled eyes drank in the sight of six million lives ending. The blasts of the distant explosions reflecting in his greying pupils. He sat there for what seemed like an eternity, watching every tiny detail. Trying to make himself feel every death of the citizens, but even with horrific scene before him, only one word blossomed in his mind. *Necessary.* *Their lives are the sacrifice to preserve countless more. After all, what is a few million lives weighed against untold billions?* “The starport is dead, plummeting into the very planet it was supposed to orbit. The Aquilla, our ship, has basically no fuel. The mysterious ship belonging to Vance, the man who we were told to kill, who is also the only man trying to destroy the xenos artifact, is heading straight to the surface of the planet about to be hit by a few million tonnes of space station. Did I miss anything?” Volkrad asked from the centre of the room, one arm resting on the mapping desk, the other resting on the pommel of his sword. A weary smile was stretched upon his face, the kind of smile that attempts to soothe, to calm. Although the duelist wore a blade at his hip, Roth very much doubted the loud, cocksure man had ever used it. Sure, he could talk a good game, his boasts frequent and his stories vast, but as for actually doing anything…another matter entirely. *The man wears a feather in his hat for Emperor’s sake.* “We’ve gotta call tha boss.” Fink said slowly from the corner, his brutish speech a polar opposite of the resonant, confident tones Volkrad projected. The large mutant was unmissable, a hulking, misshapen shadow of a man, with biceps as large as Roth’s head. He would stand out in any crowd, no matter how thick or dense. The ogryn was a killing machine, no doubt or question about it. His muscular form genetically bred for grueling, fierce combat, the kind that held no promises for his future other than a painful, violent end. No Ogryns ever died of old age. Yet, as fearsome as the giant soldier was, he was perhaps one of the gentlest souls Roth had ever encountered. He had the temperament of a child, mostly quiet and only speaking in simple sentences, but when his anger was roused…it was a horrific sight indeed. “That is a given. The question is, do we follow Vance’s ship down to the planet before we attempt contact?” Severen spoke from the shadows. The last pieces of his greying hair fluttered and billowed in the gentle breeze of the ship’s circulation system. Severen, was different. He was at least a man, unlike the brute Fink, but he too bore the scars of abnormality. He was relatively thin and wiry, built with little muscle or fat on his bones. Long, white, imperial robes covered his gangly limbs well enough, but as well as his shaved head full of cybernetic implants, he had a very distinguishing feature indeed. He had no eyes. Roth couldn’t work out if they had been taken from him, or perhaps an accident at birth. *A child without eyes. Now there’s a thought.* Roth pondered to himself.*They say that a man’s eyes are windows to his soul…What does that mean for him?* He knew most astropaths forfeited their eyes in acceptance of the power that coursed through their souls, but he had never seen one this close, this real before. Severen had spoken with a quiet confidence, the kind that made sensible men stop and listen. How exactly it commanded respect, Roth wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a trick of the warp or some other fragment of mysterious power. “Nonsense!” Volkrad’s brash voice sounded again, interrupting Roth’s thoughts rudely. “We must first contact the inquisitor and make our report, everything else can wait.” “Even a planet about to be stricken with xenos heresy? That foul artefact is heading straight for it, Emperor knows what will happen when it hits the surface.” Severen said, a snarl just hovering on the fringes of his voice, so slight it was barely noticeable, even in the confines of the small starship. It had been clear to Roth that there were too many big personalities in the small warband for everyone to get along in perfect harmony. At the moment, they were not too dissimilar from a pack of wild dogs, each one snapping and barking his thoughts and opinions. Making their decisions often difficult to make, as someone always had something to say. Whilst Severen made a good point, Roth was going to have to agree with Volkrad and Fink. The inquisitor needed to know just what exactly was going on in this tiny system. “Volkrad’s right Severen. The Inquisitor needs to know.” Roth said. The psyker’s frown deepened in response. “As you wish, but know that it is not just precious time we are wasting. Innocent souls on that planet may be dwindling down as we speak.” He turned to face out the window behind him, although he had no eyes for which to see the carnage that lay only a few hundred kilometers away. Volkrad looked startled at the fact the group majority had sided with him, but to his credit, it was concealed instantly with a soft shake of his head. “How long will it take you to establish a link with him?” He asked, still polite, still amicable. Severen remained silent, his empty sockets still gazing out of the viewing glass, watching the space station’s violent death throes. Volkrad scoffed and looked to the other members of the group, catching both Fink’s and Roth’s eyes. “It’s a miracle nobody has taken insult at your rudeness witch.” He paused letting one hand caress the pommel of his blade pointedly. “If another noble had spoken to me like that on my home planet, he would find himself with my blade at his throat.” Volkrad’s voice had dropped into a threatening quiet, his teeth grinding on the occasional syllable. The blind Astropath still gave no indication he had heard the duelist, still watching quietly from the window. A few tense moments passed. Only the quiet creak and whir of the air circulation could be heard amongst the silent men. “Did. You. Hear. Me?” Fire was in Volkrad’s eyes now, the controlled flickering of anger unmissable. “Quiet! I’m searching for him.” Severn hissed, his face a mask of concentration. Silence remained between them all for another hour until Severen eventually contacted the Inquisitor’s Astropath. It was not the comfortable kind of silence that is shared amongst content friends, but rather the lingering kind of silence, sat in the room like an unwelcome guest. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* Thank you for reading! If anybody want's to read any of the other stories I've written, let me know and I'll send a link to my Blog.


By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. Everything was vibrant and alive. She followed me out, fumbled her jacket and umbrella. Shereached for my hand, but the gesture felt forced and I quickly snatched my hand away and shoved it in my pocket. I tried to take a James Dean posture or at least look like the cover of a Dylan album, but at my age and this face it just made me look like an old hunchback or like Gollum. The conversation inside didn't go as she planned. I know she was only trying to make me feel better, but as usual it was on her terms and on her playing field. I hate these places and I could care less that the tea was a new pumpkin spiced brown sugar squirrel in a sweater whatever. She looked beautiful in her mask. I almost prefer her this way. I like the mystery of her face. She steeped her tea and unfortunately began to speak. " Why don't you just call the front desk and ask them what the rules are? " " I'd rather just call my Aunt and get the information that way " " But why not just call th. ..." " Because I don't really want to know. I don't really want to visit. If I call the desk then it's .... I don't want any of this " I turned away and looked out the window. The weather fit my mood. Everyone looked like cotton Ninjas in their hoodies and masks as they jumped from their cars and ran towards various doors trying not to get wet. I could feel my eyes welling up. Sadness and anger were grappling for top position. I was glad that anger won. She's ex-military. That combined with a Hiroshima divorce and custody battle has shaped the way she deals with feelings and situations. I admire it at times. This isn't one of those times. I adjust my legs and the table shakes. Her tea stays in the cup. I flick the lid towards her. " Amy didn't deserve any of this. It should have been someone else ... and why can't you keep your gaddam lid on? " I'd like nothing more than to turn this into a fight and the lid seemed like a golden opportunity. She unlooped the strap from one ear, raised the cup, blew on it and our fight, then took a sip. " I know how you feel about Amy. I'm going through something similar with my dad and .... " Perfect. She got sidetracked into her own issues and I encouragingly listened. This would go on for a while. I hoped it would continue until the weather changed so I could go outside and get out of here. It continued, then it took the inevitable turn towards me. "... and what happens if this happens you? You don't have health insu ... " " I have health insura.... " " I'm not going to take care of you. I'm all done taking care of ... ." " Whoa. I'm not asking you to take.... " ". ..cuz I'm not doing it. And you don't make enough money to... " We always wind up here. I could come home and tell her that the doctor said I had an inoperable brain tumor made up of super cancer. The kind of cancer that cancer gets and somehow it would come back to the fact that I don't make a lot of money. ". ..I know you love it, but seriously, would anyone in your family live this way? Do you think your mother or aunt would? I don't think so! Do you think for a minute that ... " Our eyes meet when we got to the chorus about how Amy would never live this way. It got quiet. I looked out the window and noticed a line forming at the Urgent Care next door. Everyone standing under the awning shuffling uncomfortably and trying not to get dripped on. No one is 6 feet apart. There's always one hippy girl that decides to start dancing in puddles. Trying to be free. Normally I find them really cute even if their full of crap. This one I disliked immediately. This one is twirling and splashing and her fake happiness and ' look-at-me ' independence is muzzled by her stupid tie-dyed mask. The mist. The air. Everything and everyone (even the hippy chick) are just grey. The talking continued. The tone was becoming more compassionate which I'm sure would be short lived. I watched as the hippy chick attempted to wave her arms seductively at her boyfriend. His eyes are glued to his phone. The crowd is indifferent with her dancing. Their attention is on their own screens. She is slowing down and seems beaten. Defeated. She sees me looking at her and for a moment there's a glimmer of hope that she has meaning. That her freedom of expressive movement matters. I wipe my nose and look away. "Wasn't this supposed to be you cheering me up or something? " " I know. I know. I'm sorry, but

..." It's always 'but', like that excuses all the bile and resentment meant for so many others. I laugh at how I don't make enough money yet I've been picking up the tab of others for years. " What's so funny? " I contort my mouth and eyebrows as if I'm trying to explain myself with interpretive face dancing. I turned towards the window again. I was done and I wanted to go. Umbrellas were closedand hoods were dangling on the backs of necks. No more running from cars to stores. The hippy's boyfriend finally looked up and his eyes relayed his annoyance that once again his girlfriend was standing in a puddle. The sun was finally out. " I'm all done " I said and just got up. " Wait. Please! " There's something about a woman's pleading eyes that just owns you in the most welcoming way. I sat back down. My leg hit the table and this time some tea spilled. I took at as a sign that the tea was on my side. I took it as a sign of victory. " There's nothing you can say here. I don't want to move on from THIS. I don't want to feel better. I WANT to be angry. I'm tired of everyone trying to help me feel better. Move on. I don't want to feel better! I don't want to MOVE ON! And I know that's messed up, and I don't care! I'm embracing that and right now I love how it makes me feel. I'm bitter. I'm angry and EVERYTHING is vibrant and alive! " " Wait. Please stop. Don't go... " By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire.


Sitting on my soft, leather chair late at night, I stared absent-mindedly at my cell phone. Pecking the phone with my thumbs, I searched for the entertainment that would keep me occupied for the last few hours of the day. A pale light illuminated my peripheral vision. Peering through the glass sliding door that sat opposite me in my home, I focused on its source: the motion activated light outside, attached high on the shed. I thought nothing of this short distraction, and continued my search for merriment. The light refused to deactivate. I thought this strange, and deemed to pay more mind to it. Suddenly, upon my attention being placed upon it, the light wavered and dimmed. My blood froze. Something passed the light headed leftward, towards the back door of my home. Startled, yet too panicked to make a sound, I searched my chair for the remote control to turn off the TV. As quietly as possible, I stood up and turned off the fan and light for the living room, and ducked into the closet nearest the switch. I fumbled with my phone, switching off any and all functions that would make noise. Boards creaking, Metal clanking, the back door shreiking. Each successive noise forcing my heartbeat to hasten, I closed my eyes to calm myself. The apparitions echoing steps drew closer, forcing my eyes to open out of pure self preservation. The minimal light shimmering through the small crack in the closet door dimmed and brightened. I placed my hand over my face. The echoing steps, having circled the room, began to distance themselves. Feeling relief, I removed my hand from my face. "Germs" I thought, "ill have to wash myself for that".... *vmmmmmm* A cold sweat swept over me. The blasted cell phone, seemingly silenced by my efforts to protect myself, was only set to vibrate. My life, forfeited because of a simple message. Maybe not... Thinking quickly, I slipped out of the closet, instead hiding myself behind the chair on which I had previously sat. The echoing stomps of the apparition hastily returned, finally slowing upon entering the room. It stood but 3 feet away as I peered at it from my crouched position. The space it occupied shimmered and distorted like the air over blacktop on a sunny day. It stood 8 feet tall, but with thin, spindly arms and legs like that of a 5 year old sapling. Why it sought humans, I have no knowledge. Why it was so fearsome, however, I did. The strange apparition has had a long history of appearing from nowhere, breaking into houses, and then vanishing with every soul that inhabited said houses. Once again covering my mouth, I watched as the creature opened the closet with its spindly fingers. It charred the wooden handles as it grasped them, and then flung the doors open and scooped at its contents. In a fit of what I can only assume is rage, it tore the doors off of the closet and tossed them into the center of the room. It left black, charred handprints on the places that were handled. As it protested, I snuck put my phone and took a picture of the beast, being careful to turn off the flash beforehand. Once completed with its rage, it pirouetted and jogged down the hall and out the door, evaporating as it hit the outdoor air. It burned my shoulder as it strode past. After minutes of adrenaline began to give way to careful relaxation, I once again stood up and sat on my soft leather chair. It felt as if I was melting into it. I began searching through the several photos I had taken, staring in amasement at the detail I had managed to capture. Still shaking slightly, I dialed out *9-1-1* *ringing* *ringing* *click* "hello, 911 what is your emergency?" ... "I... I think I survived the Ignaemodaem..." Thank you for reading. Leave any tips or suggestions or reactions in the comments, please.


TW for mild language, and mentions of drugs, death, and injury. ***** "Picture it. It's the year two thousand. A new century has begun. The crime rate is peaking. And the majority of McDonald's ice cream machines are out of order- making the hardships of the world progress faster than inflation prices. But amongst the chaos, one man decides to lend his help to this deteriorating society.” Richard's voice added a ray of emotion to the once quiet detective office. He was thirty, pale, blond, and could look like a chad if it wasn’t for the brown fedora and trench coat. “Mr. Jenkins.” The tired woman spoke, rubbing her eyebags. “You're here for a job interview, not tell your version of this moment through the point of view of an omniscient narrator. Whether you’ll solve any cases is up to your skillset.” Olivia was her name, and getting aggravated at sub-par law enforcement was her game. She was twenty-eight, with tan skin, neck-length hair which frayed at the ends, and lavender eyes resembling only the rarest of gems- exactly what every main character needed to differentiate them from the rest of the cast. “But it’s a great conversation starter!” “So is "hello," yet I didn't get one." She furrowed her brows, playing with a golden brooch on her uniform. She had been interviewing dozens of clients that day who had the sudden urge to become a detective. Though she found most of them didn't pass primary school. “Gah, you’re such a mood killer." Richard threw his head back with a groan. "Gimmie a chance will ya!” He slapped his resume on the desk, grinning now. She looked over it, immediately tossing it aside. “What?" He looked disappointed. “The resume is empty except for “experience” which you put, ‘I watched Mission Impossible,’ and a drawing of a smiley face.” “You'd think that would count for something right?” Her frown only grew deeper. “Aw come on, you're too pretty to frown.” “Your compliments don't amuse me.” “They're not made to. They're supposed to- well- compliment." "Look, Mr. Jenkins, I appreciate your offer, but we're looking for serious candidates.” “I

am  serious!” He grew frustrated. “Plus you guys are low on staff. I’m your only chance.” His smile turned devilish. “I think we’ll live. We’re currently dealing with the 'Tune-Up' case, which isn’t for the inexperienced.” “Tuna case?” “No, Tune-Up. It’s the name of the drug our suspect Oswald is selling.” “His name is Oswald... Oswald? ” Richard laughed. She ignored this. “It's extremity dangerous and highly illegal.” “Like Kinder Eggs.” “Whatever works for you.” She placed two photos on the desk. One was a picture of the suspect who looked like a classic Disney Villain, and the other was of the pink pill he was selling. "It improves your brain activity and speeds up your thought process- allowing the consumer to think of more solutions out of a problem in milliseconds, hence the name 'Tune-Up'. A true lifesaver at family reunions." "If that's the case, this might help you guys.” He pulled out a small object from his coat pocket. “What the hell is that?" She snapped, her full attention now on him. "I thought it was a Pez someone dropped. I was gonna eat it until you showed me what the drug looked like." She flew over the desk and grabbed it, knocking everything down in the process. “Oh my god... this is the pill! We’ve been trying to get a sample of this for ages...where did you get it?!” She squawked in desperation, getting close to his face which made him giggle. “Your eyes are way

too  lovely for someone who looks like an overworked Dora the Explorer-” “WHERE DID YOU GET IT?!” “Alright alright chill. I found it on my way here when I stopped at a restaurant that my buddy Jim works at. It was on the ground.” “Which restaurant?” “Restaurant chic.” He faked an over-the-top French accent. She pondered over this realization with careful intent when the door to her office burst open. “Ms. Lionheart!” It was her overly passionate boss Bob. Bob the boss. What a ring it had. “I overheard your guy’s entire conversation on my way to the bathroom that totally isn’t an excuse for eavesdropping, and I need you to hire this man now.” “But sir, I can’t-” “You can and you will.” He pointed at Richard whose face lit up with excited expectation. "You young man.” “Yes sir?" "I don't know who the hell you are, but you're hired." “But sir!" Olivia protested. “He has no experience!” “Who needs experience when you’ve watched Mission Impossible! That’s how your old man got in.” He gloated. She sunk into her seat. “I got my Ph.D. for this.” “Besides, he found the pill didn’t he?" Bob added. “Yes but-" “No buts. I won't hear another word. We need someone on the case immediately." Bob turned to Richard. "Now Mr. Jenkins. I want you and Olivia to go down to the place you found the pill and investigate from there. I will phone you if we get any leads." “Yes sir.” Richard and Olivia said in unison. Though Richard sounded ecstatic- Olivia drawled her words. “You’re such a drag. I bet I can make us get along by the end of the day. Not like we have a choice anyway.” He teased in a mocking tone, making her question if he was being serious. She gave an angry laugh. "Oh, you're on dollar store Sherlock." ***** Richard sat them down at Restaurant Chic, which she found most literally translated to, 'Fancy Restaurant.' "God, the owner was lazy," she muttered. "Hey there Jim. Me and the young lady will have your house special. Make it quick, we're on a mission." Richard said to his waiter buddy. “Mission?” Jim repeated. “You mean to tell me that you

actually

got that job?" "Yep," Richard said with pride before sipping his water and choking on it. Olivia sighed. “We're here to find the man behind the 'Tune-Up' case.” “You mean that drug guy?” “Indeed. And Richard found one of his pills on the ground here. So either the dealer himself or someone who bought it was here.” "I did see someone taking a pill earlier. He had an old blue coat on for reference- the only guy I’ve seen wear one in the dead of summer. Aside from you.” He gestured to Richard who smiled. "What color were the pills?" Olivia asked in all seriousness. “I'm not sure, but I think they were purple possibly?" “That’s it.” She stood from the chair, aggression in her movements. “Where did he go?” “I saw him stop at the ice cream parlor down the street-” They both ran off. “What about your food!" Jim called as two bowls of soup were brought out from the kitchen. Richard ran back. He took a large gulp of the soup and said, "Thanks a million." He winked, tossing some money at Jim. “That’s not enough to pay for-” But it was too late, for they were long gone. They made it to the ice cream shop where they both cut in line. "Hey!" An angry lady scolded. Olivia showed her badge wordlessly which made the lady back down. “Oi.” She turned to the man running the parlor. “We got word that a man with a blue coat came here to buy ice cream from you?" “Er- yeah, there was a guy with a blue coat here. Strange man he was. Are you two cops or something?"

"Detectives to be more specific.” “Can you tell us where the guy went?" Richard said with haste as he leaned over the counter. “He headed down to that building. Into the movie theater, I think." The man pointed to a strip mall where the movie theater was. “Thank you. Now two mint chocolate ice cream cones please!" Demanded Richard. The man gave him the ice cream which Richard paid for by dropping a handful of change and running off. The ice cream man looked dumbfounded at the money. “That's not even enough for one cone-" But it was too late, for they were long gone. Richard handed one to Olivia who threw it away. They made it inside the movie theater and crashed into the counter, knocking down the popcorn machine. “Can I...help you two?" Asked the teenage girl working at the counter. “Yes. Did you happen to see a man with a blue coat walk in here?" Olivia was out of breath. "Yeah, there was.” “Which room did he go into?" “Room 15- hey, are you two cops? Cuz I can't let people in without a ticket." Olivia and Richard showed their badges. “You can go in ma’am, but your badge is a piece of notebook paper with a star drawn in crayon sir.” “What can I say? I like to put in my effort." His face was smug. “Sorry but-” “We're in a hurry, no time to question his clearly fake badge, bye!” This time Olivia was the one to drag him away. Though he ran back to grab a bag of popcorn, throwing money at the girl who said, “That’s not enough to pay for the popcorn!” But it was too late, for they were long gone. “You have a pretty strong grip for such a small lady!" He said after a minute. “Is that a good or a bad thing?” She smiled cheekily at him, entering the theater. “Well, you can you give a mighty good hug-" She grabbed him by his collar. "I'll give you a hug so tight you'll forget you even had lungs.” "I like the confidence!" “Shhh!" The audience said. They realized they were standing in front of the movie screen. “Sorry." They said together- embarrassed. She searched the room as Richard finished his bag of popcorn and stole another one from a random guy. “That was mine!” “Finders keepers!" Olivia ignored her partner, trying to focus on her pounding heart after spotting the man in the blue coat. She whispered to Richard, “I see him. Act casual and follow my lead.” He followed her into the seats next to Oswald. Olivia composed herself. “You know, I heard amazing reviews about this movie," Richard said through a mouthful of popcorn and pointing at the screen. Olivia slapped his arm before coughing purposefully which got Oswald's attention. She noticed a jar of the pills in his pocket and knew she had her man. “Hey sir, do you mind passing me that napkin over there?" She subtly showed her holstered gun before whispering, “Don’t make this difficult.” Oswald laughed quietly, revealing his own holstered gun. “I thought that model hasn’t been released yet?” Richard whispered in awe. “I got it on pre-order actually,” Oswald said causally before whipping it out and shooting it next to Olivia’s ear. It instead hit a bag of popcorn at the end of the aisle. "That was the only bag of popcorn I had left!” The same man from before shouted as the rest of the crowd screamed. “You okay?” Richard checked her in a panic.

“Yeah, it missed. Now quick, follow that man!” They both followed him with guns out. (Richard’s having crayon doodles on it) Oswald knocked down an array of items on his way to block their path. Of these many items included the popcorn stand. “I just set that backup!” The girl complained. "Not the time, just don’t let him out of that exit!" Olivia shouted. The few employees ran to the exit and locked it before diving back behind the counter. The exit may not have been an option, but the pill was. Oswald swallowed one of them. "Wonderful." Olivia rolled her eyes, watching Richard aim his gun at random locations in the room- struggling to locate their target. “Dude, he’s literally right in front of you.” However, she didn’t have time to point him in the right direction, for Richard pushed her behind the counter to avoid another bullet. Oswald was now grabbing random items around the room with intense speed. They didn't know what he was doing until his make-shift craft formed a slingshot. “That pill got his brain pumping,” Olivia's voice was now raspy. Oswald grabbed a part of the broken popcorn machine and put it in the contraption. The metal flew, breaking the lock system which triggered the alarm. “Aaand there he goes,” She was filled with disappointment. “It’s still worth a shot though.” Richard ran off. “You sure as hell better wait for me you ball of fucking sunshine!” They raced through crowds, crashed over baby carriages, and hopped over benches- the sheer excitement making Olivia feel better than she had before. It was a vast improvement from being stuck in her office like most days. Richard gave her a reassuring smile. She felt oddly safe in his presence, as did he. They got to the end of the bridge where Oswald never looked forward, causing him to trip over it. They ran to the ledge as Oswald grasped Olivia’s brooch as a last attempt to pull himself up. It only ripped the brooch off her uniform. “Wait!” She screamed, more upset about losing her brooch than losing the target. He conveniently landed in a crate full of items on a boat below, and she fought the urge to scream from frustration. "I need back up on Spring Street.” She spoke to Bob on her walkie-talkie, angry tears in her eyes. “The asshole jumped onto a boat.” “We'll be there pronto. Hold your position.” “So uh...That was exhilarating huh?" Richard sat on the bridge, trying to converse. She sat next to him in silence, her tears finally spilling. “What's wrong?” “My grandmother gave me that brooch before she died." "Oh." He sat awkwardly, not knowing how to comfort her. "And on top of that, I have to take responsibility for every case thrown at our agency because people like you are too incompetent to handle their jobs.” Her tone was filled with more hurt than anger. Pestering guilt flooded him like an overfilled glass. “Sorry… I suck I know. I got this job as more of a childhood dream than anything else. I should have left it to you."  It was quiet as her own guilt piled on. “No…you meant well, and I appreciate you trying. The brooch isn't your fault... A lot of this wasn't your fault. To give credit where credit is due, we wouldn’t have gotten this far if you hadn’t found that pill to begin with.” "That was an accident though.” "But you have a keen eye for small things." “Fair.” The two dangled their legs over the bridge as the sun slowly hid below the buildings- leaving nothing but the stars and lights from the city to show them their way home. "Thanks for putting up with me," he said genuinely after a while. She felt a tug at her lips. "And thanks for actually following my lead. can't remember the last time someone actually listened." “Olivia!” Her walkie-talkie blared with Bob’s voice which startled her. "What?!" “We located Oswald. He only got one block out after the ship docked. Go. Fly my pretties!” “On it, also never say that again.” She hung up. They bolted down the bridge. Richard got distracted by something on the ground which made her yell at him to follow. They eventually arrived at the location. Oswald came into sight, turning into a dark ally. “How do you suppose we catch him?” Richard asked. “Simple. Think smart.” “Huh?”  “He may be able to think faster, but the pill doesn’t make him smarter.” She grabbed two pieces of scrap steel from a trashed machine and handed him one. “Block with this.” Oswald turned with the gun pointed at them. “Don’t move or I'll shoot.” “Please do," she said. “You got a weird way of workin' lady.” He fired. They blocked the bullets with the metal and jumped behind the dumpster. “Waste his bullets.” She whispered. Richard nodded Oswald awkwardly jumped on the wall like an X-man from Wish, firing in their direction. They continued to hide and block their bodies until Olivia fell down, dramatically holding her side. "One down, one to go.” Oswald smiled. "Shit." Richard checked her but found she was holding back a laugh. “His gun model can only hold twenty-six bullets, he’s fired twenty-five." “I see." He smiled. "You’re a smart girl.” He dogged the next bullet but fell down anyway while holding his “injured” arm. Oswald soon found the gun empty. “Who cares, I did my part." Just as he ran away, a police car came and ran him over. “We're here with back up, where is he?!” Bob came out along with three officers, guns at the ready. “Probably dead at this rate.” Olivia sat up, rubbing her head.

“Why, what happened?” He noticed Oswald on the ground. “Ohhhh… did I do that?” Olivia and Richard nodded. “Oops…welp, job well done anyway.” He said boastfully as the officers arrested Oswald who was groggily sitting up. “Here." Richard pulled something out of his pocket. “What's that?” "Remember when you said I’m good at noticing small things?" “Yeah, so?” “Weeell-” He revealed her brooch. “This is why I stopped under the bridge.” She gasped. “Oh, Richard… thank you.” He clipped it back to her uniform as her warm smile grew. “Dinner, ice cream, and a movie. I’d say today went pretty well.” He grinned. “Sounds more like a date from hell.” “Well, your hell is my heaven, Ms. Lionheart…brave as one too.” He bent down and kissed her hand which she accepted. “I won the bet," he said after a moment. She fought with her smile. “I’ll give you that much.” "I hate to ruin the moment, but you two are also being charged with theft from three different establishments." Bob cut in. They looked at each other, both exhausted. "Fuck."


When something bad happens, there's a few ways you can deal with it. They're so common that they're listed as stages. To grief. They can come in any order, really. Who should say that you have to feel pain in the "right" order?

There’s anger, an obvious one. How could you not blame the world for dealing you a crappy hand? Then there’s bargaining. I’ve never really understood this stage. I wasn’t sure even what it was supposed to be.

I’ve always imagined that it was like comparing. Like if somebody else lost their parents to disease, is it really so bad that my arm is broken? It seems cruel though. Why should you compare what’s happening to somebody else to what’s happening to you and feel better because they have it worse?

Acceptance. I think this has to be the last stage. If you get there, at least. It’s accepting that you’ve lost someone or that the problem has occurred. That there’s no way to undo what has already been done. Like you’re accepting that your life is crippled and broken.

Lastly, there’s denial. Maybe it’s not the last stage—more like it’s supposed to be the first—but it’s my favorite, no question. You don’t control any of these other states. Besides maybe acceptance, but that’s a bit cheating.

You can say that you accepted something even if you haven’t. You can say that you’re over somebody even if you’re still madly in love. Nowadays, you could lie about anything. In some people, lying is just a habit.

Living in the glory of denial means that you get to live in your head and pretend that reality doesn’t exist. It means you get to pretend like things aren’t so bad. It isn’t terrible to do that for a while.

And wouldn’t you rather live in your head than reality?

___________________________________________ I dropped to my brother’s side, sliding my arm around his shoulders. “Ow, Caius, stop it!” Odin cried. “Caius, stop it.”

I stopped trying to help him up. He looked awful. His shirt was stained red with his own blood, the knife on the ground and just as bloodied. “You have to get up, we need to get you help.” I said. “Just fight it.”

Odin squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop when I tell you to.” He said, leaning against me for support. I didn’t care that some of his blood was against my shirt. What I cared about was getting him help.

It was a painful process trying to walk with him. He winced every time we moved. I didn’t want to hurt him anymore and I wished that I had the strength to pick him up and get him over to camp.

Once we got closer, a few friends helped me carry him. Odin was writhing, but they ignored it. We had to get him to help and the only way to help him was to hurry. I couldn’t watch while they were treating him.

Blood and wounds made me sick. It being my brother didn’t help. “Caius. We need a plan.” Emersyn said, sitting down next to me on the ground. “We’re wounded and our numbers are small. We need something.”

I shook my head. Why should I have to be the one to have to come up with a plan? It felt like I was always the one that had to come up with a plan. “I don’t know.” I said as a few others gathered. I felt guilt in my stomach. I had no answers.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Ayelet asked as she sat down. “You always know.”

“Well now I don’t.” I said, glancing over my shoulder. What were we supposed to do? My brother was on the edge of dying.

“You have to come up with something.” Emersyn said. “The body can’t work without an order from the brain.”

I glared over at him. Why did I have to be the brain? I couldn’t just sit back and be some other, less important body part for one? “I don’t know Emersyn.” I said. “My little brother is dying. What am I supposed to know?”

“Shouldn’t that make you want to go after them all the more?” Evander asked. “We need a plan and you’re the best thinker.”

“I only come up with them because Odin helps me.” I said. “What do you think that we should do?”

“Well, we’re wounded. I think that we should leave.” Emersyn said with a shrug. “Even you look beat, Caius. Perhaps a break would be good.”

“A break?” I asked. That sounded like the stupidest thing in the world. “You can’t take a break during a war. Do you want to know how many times I’ve wanted to take a break?”

“Okay, calm down Caius.” Ayelet called. “It was just a suggestion.”

“That doesn’t make this war any less serious.” I said. “Odin is all I have left. We can’t take a break.”

“It wouldn’t be a break; it would be a time to heal.” Silas spoke up. “If we keep trying to fight then we’re going to lose more and we’ll only weaken ourselves.”

Silas sounded right. So why did I want him to be wrong? It made sense that we should be taking time to heal, but we didn’t have time to wait. My brother might be hurting, but that was no reason for me to stop fighting. He could late back. The rest of us could still fight.

“We can’t do that.”

Emersyn groaned. “This is why we can’t leave things up to you.” They said. “We’re not the only ones fighting them. Our group does not have to be the only ones fighting them.”

“We should be fighting together.” I said. “We’re stronger as one. That’s why our enemy is winning.”

“Our warriors are dying.” Evander said.

“Then we should be working harder.” I said, crossing my arms. I wasn’t about to lose this argument. “Make contact with the next camp over. We’re going to need to work united if we’re going to have any chance at winning this.”

“I disagree, Caius.” Odin wobbled over on crutches, putting almost all of his weight on them instead of his feet. “We should have time to heal.”

I stood looking over at him. His shirt was exchanged for bandages that wrapped his entire torso. I was glad to see that he was alright, but that didn’t mean I would back down from my argument.

“Just because you got hurt doesn’t mean the rest of us are.” I said. “You’ll get time to heal and the rest of us will continue to fight.”

“I won’t back down.” Odin challenge. “If you’re fighting, then so am I.”

“Odin, don’t be insane.”

“You’re the one being insane.”

“The whole team can’t stop because you do!” I shouted. Silence fell. I knew everybody was listening. “We are stronger together, but we can’t stop fighting because one of us can’t. The war doesn’t wait for us to heal, so we fight no matter how hard it gets.”

Emersyn stood up. “You’re going to get all of us killed.”

Maybe I was. “Wouldn’t you rather die fighting than die knowing you gave up?”

“I’d rather not die at all.” Silas said, standing next to Emersyn. “But given the option, I would rather die fighting.”

“Great.” I said. “We meet with the other camp and we attack together.”

“And if our people are dying off?” Emersyn asked.

I shut my eyes. If we were losing and dying we would need to retreat, but who was to say that they wouldn’t push us? We couldn’t turn our backs while they were still fighting us. “We keep fighting.” I said.

It might have been the stupidest thing I’d ever said, but I stuck to it. “Even if we’re dying off. Even if we’re wounded.” I said. Or maybe that was the stupidest thing. “We keep fighting.”


It started as a gimmick, a quick fix for a depressed generation hooked on television, social media, low vitamin d levels and zero socialising skills. The gimmick was hopium, the viagra of a lost generation feeling blue. A drug that lifted you up and balanced your moods released the right amount of chemicals into the brain to alleviate the darkness. We had seen others before it, like Xanax. Still, hopium was marketed, it was FDA approved instantly, and it appeared at a time in life when despair, depression and the darkness were second nature in civilisation. A black swan of the drug world or a white swan, depending on how you look at it. Pop up ads with rainbows, bright colours and sunlight backdrops would appear on the news feeds if you scrolled social media, and everybody did back then; you would see oddly hypnotic, almost childlike ads of the so-called harmless pill that took away the fear, the lack of purpose you might be experiencing "don't worry hopiums got you". Overweight and binge eating, "don't worry, hopiums got you". Home alone with no job can't get laid. "Don't worry, hopiums got you!'" It was like a blink in time before it was everywhere and in everyone; none of us knew how malleable we were and how easy we had become. Sheep following the herd without question. Like dominoes confirming our bias with hit after hit continuing to take the elixir of fake happiness. We bent over; we never questioned who was behind it or what the hell it was? We just wanted out; we wanted something to believe in. There were rumours, of course, threads quickly being taken down, and authors demonised being called non-believers. Anyone anti hopium was considered ill or deranged to speak up against happiness itself. Hopium came into the world like a storm that you saw on the horizon, and before you knew it, you were swept up in a torrential downpour of hysteria. At first, the hysteria of happiness. The energy around those first few years was like a trance state of delusional psychosis. People were so happy, or were they hurtling toward complexity itself? I still felt despair; I still felt pain. I cried. I was sad at times; I never told anyone I couldn't, or I would be locked up and taken to hopium centres for the non-believers. I believe the gift I had was that the drug didn't get through to me; I was still human, and I wanted answers. Am I alone in this? Are there others like me? It's been years now, alone, the inner workings of my mind trying to concoct a plan to wake everyone up secretly. I had done some digging and found out the corporation behind the project was funded by a mysterious billionaire who shied away from the public eye. What was the end game here? It all sounds, so cliche to think that one bored billionaire could be behind a world changing event a once in a lifetime switch in human thought patterns in an entire civilisation's mood change.


The first time I saw the Well-Dressed-Gentleman, he was just walking, no,

strolling  down St. Marks wearing this perfectly creased three-piece-charcoal-gray-suit, bowler hat, and an umbrella (it was not raining). There was a silver pocket watch and fob on his vest, and his black wingtips were buffed to an immaculate shine, reflecting the afternoon sun as they made a rhythmic  click-clack-click-clack  on the pavement, and his umbrella dangled languidly from the crook of his elbow as his hand rested in the pocket of his suit jacket and the other hand held up an old and well-worn book. Needless to say, the hand was gloved. I didn’t see the Well-Dressed-Man’s face at all.

Thing was, I only saw him for, like, a second or two before he turned a corner and disappeared. My immediate instinct was to follow him, but I thought better of it, cause, ya know, I don’t have a dungeon/torture room in my basement. I don’t even have a basement, cause, I mean, who can afford a basement in New York? Anyway, you get my point. I’m not some creepy stalker-guy. I know I kinda come off like one in this story, but I promise you, I’m not, even though that is probably exactly what a creepy stalker guy would say. Anyway , the Well-Dressed-Gentleman turned the corner in a jaunty fashion and, just like that, he was gone. And I was sad. I don’t know why. At least, I didn’t at the time. But I was suddenly very sad, which wasn’t really anything new. I’m kinda low-key sad most of the time. Melancholic one might say, if one were a 19 th  century dilettante.  I saw him again in Central Park on a Saturday. He was walking, no,

strolling  along the lake, this time with a polished black cane, a black long coat (it was July), and a black fedora. He looked like a perfect silhouette, tall and lanky, sans the pocket watch and fob, gold this time, dangling from his vest, and his bright red tie.

Again, I did not get a good look at his face, but I knew it was him, not just from his shape or the way he moved, though both were incredibly distinct, but the way his clothes hung off of him, as if they were living extensions of his body.  The swish of the long coat behind him was like a cat’s tail. So obviously, I found myself staring. Again. But this time he looked back at me.  But I still didn’t see his face, because I immediately looked away and kept looking away until the click-clacking of his shined black shoes faded in the distance. Once more, I was taken with a sense of melancholy.  Once more, I didn’t know why. Or at least I couldn’t articulate it.

Then I saw him again. It was winter. There was snow. Fresh, white, shimmering snow against an inky black sky. And so, as a matter of course, I found myself in my favorite café/bar (at least my favorite when it’s winter and there’s fresh white snow against an inky black sky; I also have a favorite café/bar for Fall and Summer, respectively).

The place was sparse, dimly lit, and quiet, and every now and again I saw the shadowy flicker of mice scurrying along the wall out of the corner of my eye.  Then he walked, no

strolled  in. He wore a wool coat (black), and a cream-colored scarf over yet another three-piece suit, this one a deep crimson with pinstripes, and a pair of shined red oxfords to match. The pocket watch he chose for today was neither silver nor gold but bejeweled in an ornate pattern like a tiny mosaic. His hat was a beret this time (also black).

He sat on the couch opposite me, by the fireplace, and I saw his face. Not his eyes, though.  His eyes were hidden by a pair of round wireframe sunglasses that reflected the flames of the fire, creating a somewhat demonic look. Now, contrary to what you might expect, he was not an especially handsome individual.  Not ugly either. I mean… he was almost handsome, but his face was just a bit too long, his chin a touch to sharp, what he was was interesting looking.  Perhaps that’s why he dressed the way he did. He was pale. Very pale, which was only accentuated by the deep red and black of his clothing. As I took him in, I had completely forgotten that I was staring at him, and I was surprised to find him looking back at me. More surprised still that I didn’t look away this time. In fact, I nodded. My nod was returned.

Now what?

Neither of us looked away and went back to their business, which would have been the natural thing to do in such a situation. It was like a game of chicken now.  Had he recognized me from before the way I recognized him? I didn’t know. I still don’t know. As he looked at me, I was suddenly struck by a crushing wave of self-consciousness. Surely, this man, this living silhouette, this Well-Dressed-Gentleman who stood before me,  surely he must have been sizing me up behind those green tinted glasses, starting with my barely-held-together sneakers with the flapping soles, soaking wet from the slush and snow, working his way up to my frayed ill-fitting blue jeans, and finally my stained T-shirt with the holes along the stretched out collar and faded threadbare jacket. Surely this man, this Well-Dressed-Gentleman of New York, was judging me, me and my complete and utter lack of care, effort, or concern. Judging me and my slouched beanbag posture. I could only imagine the sheer unfiltered contempt in his hidden eyes. Still, for whatever reason, I didn’t look away. I held the gaze. Let him judge.

Eventually, the moment passed. I sipped my drink (a dark stout) and he sipped his (a port), and we read our respective books. I was reading a book of short stories by one of my favorite authors, all of which I had read many times before, and he was reading the same well-worn old book I saw him reading back in the Spring. I glanced at the cover:

Leaves of Grass .  We made periodic eye contact, followed by nods acknowledging one another’s presence, then we went back to sipping and reading as the fire crackled and the mice scurried along the shadows. Then the Well-Dressed-Gentleman got up. I looked at him. He didn’t move, didn’t leave, just stood there. I soon realized that he was waiting.  For me. I stood up.  The Gentleman didn’t wait any longer, but walked out the door. I followed. It was snowing and fat fluffy wet snowflakes clung to me as I followed the Gentlemen, who kept a steady pace, five or six feet in front of me.  Neither of us spoke, but just walked, me and this dark silhouette, like a shadow, moving through a twisting pitch-black tunnel of brick, wind, and snow, throwing only the slightest backward glance in my direction every now and again, not even breaking his stride.  He turned a corner, ducking into an alleyway. Here I stopped.

I peered in and saw the Well-Dressed-Gentleman standing about twenty feet off, illuminated only by the faintest glow of the streetlight behind me and the white glow of the full moon above, half bathed in darkness, his perfectly round sunglasses glinting.  For the life of me, I don’t know what possessed me to ignore every ounce of common sense and self-preservation and follow him into that alleyway, but follow him I did, lowering my head and shouldering through the bitter howling blast of the concrete wind-tunnel.  I followed him around another corner, and another, and another as we made our way down the twisting urban labyrinth, till we came to a rusted metal gate, covered in ivy. The Well-Dressed-Gentleman fished in his deep pocket and produced a long thin skeleton key. He unlocked the gate and opened it with a long, painful

crrrreeeaaaak  that shot through my ears and set my teeth grinding.  Then, saying not a word, the Well-Dressed-Gentleman slipped through the gate of the back entrance (to what I did not know). I hesitated, but followed, making my way through an immense garden of dead and gnarled plants covered in snow, which made them look like strange abstract sculptures. This was the first time in my impromptu journey that I took my eyes off the Gentlemen, lost in the surrealness of where I was and what I was doing. SLAM!!! I immediately whirled around and saw the Well-Dressed-Gentleman standing by an open cellar door. He then opened the second cellar door and let it drop. SLAM!!! He stooped low as he went down the cellar. For a third time I hesitated, thinking to myself: “Is this how I’m going to die?” I mean, that was a distinct possibility, was it not? But for reasons that to this day remain unclear…. yeah, I went down that cellar in that strange back-alley garden in Greenwich. You’re Goddamn right I did. As I walked down the dark, narrow stairway, towards an old green wooden door, I heard the muffled sound of… violin music.  I reached the bottom of the stairway. The doorknob was an antique, glass with an ornate design, and felt cool in my hand.

Now as I turned that knob, I can’t say for sure exactly what I was expecting to find on the other side of that door. Could’ve been any number of things, really: torture room, fight club, sex cult, society of vampires, Christian fundamentalists, etc. But one thing I was absolutely not expecting to find was a secret underground fashion boutique. Much like the Tardis, it was bigger inside.

The cavernous underground room stretched on for what had to have been several city blocks. There was an immense fireplace, gilded lantern sconces on the walls, Victorian molding along the ceiling and hardwood floors, highbacked crimson leather armchairs, dark green walls, and a high, high ceiling. And clothes.  So many clothes; men’s and women’s clothes draped on antique department store mannequins in all manner of casual poses; suits, tuxedos, blazers, cocktail dresses, swing dresses, trench coats, leather gloves, high boots, pill box hats, scarves, shawls, wraps, vests, and vales; tweed, wool, cloth, and corduroy; trousers, chinos, jodhpurs, and capri’s; Oxfords, Derby’s, Loafers, and straps; florals and sequins and slips, and on and on and on and on, all lovingly, immaculately, painstakingly tailored, sewn, and cut; an elegant drawing room soiree frozen in time. Oh, and that violin music I mentioned earlier, that wasn’t a recording played on a Victrola (which would have been in keeping with the overall vibe of the place), but a violinist in a sleek black evening gown standing off in the corner. I suddenly jumped when I saw a ruffle of movement out of the corner of my eye only to realize that mingling amongst the wooden mannequins were other people, all dressed to the nines, many swirling drinks in their hands, walking, no,

strolling

down the aisles of clothing on display, lovingly caressing the material. Some were dancing, slow and close, all around me, smiling pleasantly. I admit that, for a moment or two, I had to ask myself if this was an Overlook Hotel type of scenario. It was all so surreal, yet all so comforting and joyful.

And the Well-Dressed-Gentleman? I had forgotten all about him until he stepped forward, as if out of thin air, smiling now. More than ever, I felt deeply, glaringly inadequate. What was I, but a blight on the beauty and elegance of that room and those people? And those clothes.  Those divine and glorious clothes. I wanted to disappear, but I stood frozen as the Well-Dressed-Gentleman of New York stood before me and removed his tinted glasses. His eyes were as pale as his face, gray and sad, like an overcast sky.

He placed a slender, delicate hand on my shoulder and said, “Welcome, my friend. I can see that you are kindred spirit.” I was surprised to find that his voice was a rich baritone that didn’t quite match his face or frame. Everything about the Gentleman was just a bit incongruous. Yet this made him no less appealing. If anything, it made him more so. I glanced down at my clothes (if they could even be called that), embarrassed.  The Gentleman smiled warmly and gently guided me through the maze of vintage clothes, down a hallway, and through a large set of double doors into a great circular room of dark oak with a Cheval mirror in the center. Wrapped around me were more clothes, just as beautiful as the ones adorning the mannequins in the front room, clothes of every conceivable style, design, vintage, and combination, with row after row of shoes to match, a glass cabinet display of pocket watches, and dressers stocked with smoothest socks I’ve ever felt.  I turned to the Well-Dressed-Gentleman, who stood at attention, holding his beret. It was the first time I had seen him without a hat and so the first time I noticed that his hair was completely white, the very color of the fresh fallen snow outside, and for the life me, I could not guess at how old he was. In fact, I’d say he was…. ageless. “Please,” said the Gentleman. “Do take your time.” I smiled, still embarrassed, and told the Gentleman: “Thank you. But I couldn’t possibly pay for any of this.” The Gentleman’s smile widened and his eyes gleamed. “Oh but you misunderstand, my friend.” “I do?” I said. “This is not a store.” “It isn’t?” I said. The Gentleman shook his head with a chuckle. “No. This is my private collection.” “You’re joking,” I said. “Not a bit of it,” said the Gentleman. “You see, I much prefer to share my darlings that they may live and breathe than horde them away in a dark closet in which to collect dust and be eaten by moths. You will join us in the ballroom, will you not?” “Ballroom?” I repeated. Again, the Gentleman chuckled. “Find something that speaks to you. Something that calls to you.” With that, he left me alone with the clothes. Something that spoke and called to me? I shrugged and began my search. I’ve never much liked clothes shopping, nor particularly cared about what I pulled from the rack, and so one might think that the situation I found myself in would have found me standing frozen and gawking. But I wasn’t in that massive closet a second before something did indeed call to me.  I snatched up a bright red dress shirt, and a black jacket, vest, and slacks, along with a black leather belt with a gold buckle and a blindingly shiny pair of black oxford shoes. I inspected myself in the mirror for a moment before removing the jacket and returning it to the rack from whence it came.

I looked at myself again, appraisingly. Yes. Yes, this was more like it.

This was more like.


Date: Shamash, Ayyāru 1 Time: 5;45:30 Five Days before the eclipse. I have spent my entire adult life mapping and studying the heavens, determined to find out exactly why the moon covers the sun at such precise coordinates and time. The history of my kingdom was established when our ancestors met The Protector and ever since, the eclipse has been an unexplainable phenomenon. When my mother came face to face with The Protector, before I was born, he informed her that one day a natural wonder would occur to mark the beginning of a hundred-year-old prophecy finally coming to pass, and that story set me on a path in learning and discovering everything there is to know about the stars and the moon as well as the sun, and how they relate to our Great Protector. I know that I am close to finding out how things will happen, but that phenomenon has not come to pass, which means I have time to spare to figure out why it occurs. ** Date: Sin, Ayyāru 2 Time: 20;55:45 Four Days before the eclipse. The Eclipse … That is the occurrence that will provide me with the answers that I desperately need and have been searching for. I scoured the ancient texts, and the nation's records for more evidence, and I discovered that other astronomers before me all attempted to figure out when the prophecy would be set into motion, and their research has all pointed to the eclipse! I am unsure why they did not realize sooner, but I am certain that The Protector wanted me to put the pieces together. It is now time for me to chart the rotation of the earth and the cycles of the moon to make a precise prediction on when the Prophecy’s Great Eclipse will transpire, and I tend to do so, even if I lose sleep over it. ** Date: Nergal, Ayyāru 3 Time: 3;35:25 Three Days before the Great Eclipse. The stars have begun to converge since the last time I wrote. This is the first sign of the prophesied eclipse’s appearance, and the celestial bodies will create new constellations due to their movements, which will mark the emergence of this exciting divination. If my calculations are correct, the Great Eclipse will befall us in three days’ time. I have waited for what seems to be a lifetime for this very manifestation. Around the island, odd incidents are revealing themselves as well. The crops have flourished just as it had been stated in the kingdom’s ancestral legends and the tides have become unpredictable more so than ever before. This event and my research have brought us closer to the much-anticipated circumstances of our redemption, and I know that my predecessors would be in awe similar to myself. Times are changing and I am the first one to chart the stars and moon correctly to be able to see it for myself, and I hope to enjoy my predictions and hope for a better future for my people. ** Date: Nabu, Ayyāru 4 Time: 7;15:20 Two Days before the Great Eclipse. I decided to forego my tower for today, having ascertained added information that may explain why the astronomers preceding me could not predict the heavens as accurately as I have. After deep diving into my research, the library offered me extra, original details about the eclipse and I could not resist reading as much as the library allowed. My curious tendencies led me even further into the library than I had ever gone before, and I came upon a hidden room with a plethora of analyses from an astronomer of which I had never heard. Once I had set to work on deciphering his findings, I realized that this man was a witness to the downfall of my nation over one hundred years prior. He even spoke with The Protector himself and was one of the mere few mortals who heard the prophecy firsthand, and it sent him down a path of documenting every single shift of the celestial bodies, trying to pinpoint when the prophecy would be set into effect. The astronomer documented the exact words The Protector spoke in his journal, mentioning that the first signs of the prophecy coming true would be bountiful vegetation and unruly tides, and his recordings were the steppingstone that I forlornly sought to end my lifelong inquiries about the prophecy finally. Now I have a definitive time of when the Great Eclipse will occur, and it shall be a pivotal point for my nation. ** Date: Marduk, Ayyāru 5 Time: 1;10:30 One Day before the Great Eclipse. As I speculated, the Great Eclipse is almost upon us. In my last entry, I briefly stated that the forgotten astronomer recorded that as that eclipse grew near, many unexplainable happenings would reveal themselves, and now the earth has begun to shake. Many buildings have been torn to ruins and were destroyed by the mighty quakes of the island, and we all fear that we will cease to exist with how violent they are, but I pray that it may pass over us and The Protector will allow my kingdom to see another day. My people have begun to worry about their safety, but I am sure nothing will happen to us as long as we continue asking The Protector for preservation. The eclipse is to be the dawn of our redemption and it is time for my kingdom to start having faith in the prophecy that was set in stone all those years ago. My greatest accomplishment is nearly here, only a day away, and I wish to experience it to the fullest because this event shall be the focal point for the reclamation of my beloved nation. ** Date: Ishtar, Ayyāru 6 Time: 10;14:58 Four Hours until the Great Eclipse. It is mere hours until the Great Eclipse, and the moon has begun its convergence. Unfortunately, things have gotten worse on the island, and I am not as hopeful as I was yesterday about our safety. As the moon makes its leisure streak across the sky and towards the sun, tidal waves have occurred around the island, and the vegetation has withered away, as if the salt water has killed every blade of grass out of simple spite. I am unsure if The Protector even cares about my people and me since disaster after disaster has left us with almost nothing to salvage. Maybe if I were not so obsessed with foreseeing our salvation, The Protector would have permitted this to pass over us, but I cannot undo what I have done and all we as a nation can do now is pray for deliverance. Why did I have to be correct with my predictions? Why was I so adamant about figuring out the beginning of our end? Is this truly our end? What have I done? ** Time: 12;25:40 2 Hours before the Great Eclipse. The island has shifted … I am ambivalent to what this means, but I think the moon’s rotation towards the sun has something to do with it, and it has caused havoc in the villages around the kingdom. The moon is even closer to the sun than it was a few hours ago, and the heat has gotten to be unbearable to put it lightly. It is as if we are in the dead of summer, even though we are barely out of the winter season on the island, and this sudden and unexpected heat has caused panic as well as medical emergencies that the physicians cannot keep up with. I fear that even though The Protector promised this would not be the end of us, our doom may be upon us before the Prophesized One has had the opportunity to be our savior and bring this broken kingdom back together, and I have lost hope in my research. Protector, if you are listening to my people’s cries for help, please spare us, I beg of you! ** Time: 2;45;55 The Eclipse has begun … The moon is slowly covering the sun and the rays have become even more intense as one stares directly up at the beautiful sight. Within the last few hours, everything has calmed steadily, the island’s drifting seeming to move as if it were a beating heart, syncing with the convergence of the moon, and I have to be honest and say that this event is the most extraordinary of all of the I have ever had the pleasure of watching. As the moon slides in front of the sun, I have made peace with the fact that if this is our last day on this earth, I can rest peacefully in my watery grave, knowing that I was able to observe such a fantastic affair. ** Time: 3;00:05 The Great Eclipse is upon us. The sky is becoming darker by the second and I can see the brand-new constellations in the sky! Never in my life have I seen something so phenomenal before … Wait, the moon has completely stopped in front of the sun. Something is going on. Everything is so quiet, even the waves have silenced for the Great Eclipse. This, I believe, is the beginning of our salvation. The sun and moon have kissed, and the brilliant lights above have transformed! I do not know whether this journal will be found by my descendants, but if they do, remember that The Protector has given us extraordinary abilities, and do not ever misuse them. Because one day, The Protector may not be as kind as he is today.


(Write about someone or something that has a superpower.) The boy sat on the flat rock by the stream,

the words on the page fading as the light faded.

It was the very best part of the day,

the back breaking work of the day done, a meager but tasty meal over and then his personal few hours with the books. ~~~~~ Passing by that day,

on his way to nowhere or who knows where,

he stopped at the smith at the edge of this town, seeking water and information that would give him some idea the best way to go on.

The smith was covered in sweat, his heavy hammer pounding again and again on the red glowing bar of steel,

the boy watched silently for sometime trying to understand the process,

moving the metal from one shape to another.

When fatigue finally stopped the hammer,

sweat dropped on to the anvil and sizzled as it danced and disappeared.

Looking up from the forge at last,

the smith noticed the boy,

nodded and wiped a dirty rag across his brow and then dipped it into a tub and draped it around his neck.

“And who might you be?”

Was all he said before dipping a ladle of water from a barrel,

time and time again,

drinking deeply to replenish the sweat cooked from his body.

That was how it began, a ladle of water and information was all the boy wanted,

but now going on three years later,

he was still here.

The smith was Rusty, called so for the red mop of hair he kept tied in a bandana as he worked.

It was sometime before he had explained his name, adding that day with a growling chuckle,

that his sister with like hair was called Ginger and he was sure he got the better of the two names.

Rusty had freely shared his water as was the way he had with travelers,

gleaning information about the roads, goings on in nearby towns, and often shoeing their horses or fixing their wagons but this boy had nothing but patched pants,

faded shirt and worn out shoes.

He had asked again. “And who might you be?

I didn’t catch a name.” “I’m just Billy”, the boy had replied.

“They used to call me Little Billy but then I grew up and that just seemed foolish,

so I’m just Billy.”

The conversation continued about family,

or lack of family and where he was headed.

The forge was cleared of the days work and made ready for tomorrow while they talked and finally Rusty said,

“well you might as well come along to supper,

something hot should be waiting on the stove,

some straw in the stable can make a decent bed and tomorrow is soon enough to be going to no where or who knows where!” A ramshackle building behind the forge was the smith’s home,

shabby and in need of care on the outside but surprisingly tidy inside.

The aroma of a brown stew bubbling on the stove made them both breathe in the warmth with anticipation.

Rusty went about lighting lamps and Billy looked on in awe.

The single large room was pleasant.

The far wall had the stove and table,

an open cabinet with pots and dry goods and a doorway to another room beyond.

Around him on every side in the rest of the room was books.

Shelves as tall as the room filled with all sizes of books.

Billy could read some,

having been taught by various people along the way,

places he had lived,

payment sometimes for shoveling or carrying or stacking and splitting wood but mostly the book had been the Bible or the Farmer’s Almanac.

Here were more books than Billy had ever seen in one place and how surprising in the home of a smith. “Have you read them all?”

Billy blurted out.

In rapid succession his questions flowed,

not waiting for answers.

“How did you get so many?”

“Do you have a favorite?”

Billy drew his fingertips along the spines of the books nearest him and thought to himself, what a treasure!

What a real treasure!

Billy already knew how learning was a powerful thing and books were the powerful tool that gave you that

learning. Rusty had been busy setting the table for their supper.

He turned slowly and said “I’ve read quite a few, but many go unread as there is just so much time and the forge comes first.” By the time they had eaten,

Billy knew that most of the books had come as part payment for work done at the forge.

He looked again at the books, floor to ceiling,

and thought about the hammer strikes and sweat represented there.

Thinking to himself,

he had never thought before that a man can be rich in many ways. Thanking Rusty for the meal,

Billy accepted

the offer to sleep in the stable and adds,

“Think of some work I can do as payment in the morning,

I have sure needed some time off the road,

tonight has been a pleasant change.” In the stable, Billy found an out of the way corner and dropped some clean straw down for a bed.

Taking his single blanket,

he wrapped himself ,

then settled into a comfortable stupor.

The food,

the books,

the sound of the animals snuffing and moving,

he is happy with this day,

but he is happy with most days. It is not dawn yet when Billy brings food to the animals and buckets of water from the stream and then mucks out the stalls in the stable.

It is a good exchange to be doing some common thing for a dry safe bed and a plate or two of food.

He hears Rusty at the forge and gathers his blanket and heads that way still not sure which direction he is going or where he will end up.

He has been searching for some time but is never sure what he is searching for exactly. Rusty tells him a plate of food is in the warming oven if he cares for some breakfast.

Just go on in Rusty says, I’m too busy to join you.

And so Billy finds his breakfast but also pulls a book from a shelf and carefully thumbs through it while he eats.

It is not like any book he has ever seen before as it is a classical text on how to build or repair things.

Common useful things.

Information worth gold to the right person and here it is on this shelf waiting to be discovered.

Thinking now of the missing shingles on the roof and the way the gate is hanging on one hinge he keeps looking until he finds the pages that show him the way to make these repairs.

Finishing his coffee,

he looks one last time,

returns the book to its place and goes in search of tools. And so begins the time,

without discussion or real thought by either of them,

the time that has become three years and many books,

odd jobs and long talks into the evening about things they have heard this day or something read.

Local folks have visited the forge and noted the small improvements and have asked after Billy to do a job or two for them.

And so the time has gone,

Billy adding to Rusty’s comfort and earning a bit for himself,

maybe his searching has found an answer.

He often thinks of a place of his own,

his own workshop, but the books are here and he has so many left to read.

That first book on that first morning has been with him the whole way.

Within the pages he found how to enclose his corner of the stable for warmth and hooks for his extra shirt and hat,

rest and comfort is all he needs,

nothing fancy.

Billy can see how books instill knowledge and confidence and satisfaction!

Some other person, the author,

becomes a hero by writing down things he has learned for others to read.

Books are really marvelous and strong tools! Each evening he goes off to read by the river and when the book is finished,

he places it in a special place on Rusty’s shelf where the “read” books live.

He loves to glance to that corner and see,

really see, how many he has finished.

It would be hard to say or name a favorite as he is a boy of the moment.

What he is reading at the moment becomes his favorite.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the tree he tries to really think about which might be his very favorite.

Some are useful,

some are funny or romantic,

a few delve into deep thoughts about life,

of course the teaching books.......deep in thought, he suddenly opened his eyes and smiled..... Yes,

the ones he likes best are always the most well read. Handled by many before him,

notes in the margins,

underlined words.

Other readers leaving a touch of themselves behind,

their thoughts awakened or questions presented by the writer, yes, he likes thinking about the other readers.

He himself would never mark a book as they were not his,

maybe one day he will be rich enough to own a few.

He cannot imagine being a person from whom letters flow into words and words become books.

What special people they must be!

True heroes, the authors, to share so freely and enrich so well. Well, it is time to head home....home?

No not really home but a comfortable place that gives

him more than he ever thought possible.

Tomorrow is another day to think and work,

read and try to understand.

Many books on the unread shelves,

who knew what could be ahead for him to enjoy or discover.

He can only imagine an author writing by candlelight, imparting knowledge,

yes, true heroes!