Hi, this is my first piece of writing in about 5 years, so i would love any comments / feedback! This was inspired by a painting by Jonathan Viner : "Watchdog" \ The wind nipped at her hair and slapped the midnight strands across her face as she looked up at the façade of the decaying building. Once imposing, its panes now rattled, cowering at the threat of the yelping wind. One of the windows lay in a shattered heap at the bottom of the stairs, a jailer no more. The mutts quivered a little around her ankles. They whimpered as she approached the steps, their mangy bodies shaking as they braced themselves against the wind outside and the frost that threatened to grab them by the scruffs of their necks into its hollow bowels. She was taller now, but under the arch of that roof she did not feel a day older. Hers was not the home that bore witness to her growth. No walls lovingly etched with names and numbers in a line, a ruler of memories warmly awaiting her return. Hers was the home that bore witness, and the walls were scarred with the marks of objects flung. Plates, a chair, a little girl. Her mutt yelped a little as she pushed open a creaking door. She held her breath, but the decay and rot muffled her face, worming its mouldy way into her pores, entangling itself into her hair. Her eyes searched the ceiling for that elephant-shaped patch. The elephant had offered neither comfort nor warmth. Its companionship came alive solely in the head of the little girl as she lay in her bed, legs entangled in the threadbare blanket she had owned all her life. She had often lain there, tracing Ele’s shape through the curtain of tears that eventually did dry up. She couldn’t remember, now, the conversations they had. Perhaps they were nothing. Perhaps her soul had once been bared, and Ele now, with her bloated snout and misshapen leg, would forever hold. Perhaps when the men finally came with sledgehammers and the walls crumbled, Ele would finally take the memories of that broken little girl and let them turn into dust. Perhaps she could stay until the sledgehammers came. How fitting it would be, to shatter in that room, with that room. That thought first flitted in the edges of her mind, then slithered in, demanding an immediate answer. Yes, why couldn’t she stay? These walls were her only sanctuary, so many years ago. These walls held her, kept her. These walls were the only one who ever knew her. The wind howled through the broken window and pierced through her reverie. She took one last look around the box that used to own her. She was not the same girl who left that room so many years ago. She who had cowered and trembled, whose existence was witnessed only by Ele and those cold uncaring walls, had left those walls behind many years ago. She has a name now, and a home with one of its walls lovingly etched with names and numbers in a line. There is an elephant in that home too, in a room painted sunshine yellow and plastered with pictures of animals. That room knows laughter, and its elephant holds no secrets. The door creaked behind her as she stepped across the threshold of the house she was leaving behind for the last time. Her hounds softly padded around her, their paws thudding reassuringly on the ground. Plumes of dust danced around their paws as they paced ahead of her, their protective presence enveloping the woman who had emerged. The wind caressed her hair and the sun warmed the crown of her raven hair as she looked away from the façade of the dying building. Her home awaited.


I don't even know what the big deal about sunrise is. The sky is all red and smudged, and the clouds look like curdled milk. Disgusting curdled milk. There's also a big yellow dot in the middle. And everybody seems to make such a big deal about it. "Tracy." I turn and look at him, he starts to play with his fingers. "Yeah?" I nod sarcastically. "I didn't mean to," he says genuinely. "Didn't mean to what? Tell me that you're getting married? To some brunette in all the way Greece? That you are taking a boat in two sunsets? That your parents from Germany are coming to see it? That you are spending more than a million dollars and stupid carved angels and crystal cutlery? That she loves you? -But you don't and come to Ohio, meet a girl at McDonald's, and tell her you love her over a Double Cheeseburger?" "I know." "You know what Luka? You know what?" I'm yelling now, every part of my face turns red. "What. Do. You. Know?" "I'm sorry okay? I'm sorry. You don't know how hard it is. My parents never thought good of me. I was their disappointment of a son. They wanted a son who would talk about books like War and Peace and eat roasted asparagus. But instead, I am a boy that searches for fast food joints and steals cars." "Steals cars? You steal cars?" "Yeah." I look away, back at the yellow dot in the distance that becomes bigger and fuller, hiding behind the clouds. "I don't even know you." I look at his eyes. They're brown. Ordinary leather jacket brown. "We're still getting to know

each other. " "Yeah. Yeah, two days before you leave in a small, cartoon-looking boat like some fairy tale." "I do know one thing about you, though." He hands me a burger, "I know that you love a good Quarter Pounder." "Luka. You know that it's not healthy." "And as a good boyf-... I mean friend. I know that you deserve a burger right about now." "Ok." I smile. "And of course. I did not forget." "What?" I ask. "A peach Crush. One of the worst soft drinks that I've ever even tasted." He laughs. "Ok," I repeat. It's hard to be mad. So I smile and look at the big yellow dot in the distance. "Y'know," he grins, "It would be good if we could sit down somewhere." "Yeah, maybe you could steal a car or something from this parking lot." "Right. What about that teal convertible over there! Besides that RV." I poke the bright red straw through the top of the plastic lid, "Sure let's do it." I grin sarcastically. He starts to walk over to the car. "I thought that you were joking!" I yell over. "I never joke," he says, still walking. -20 YEARS LATER- Most forty-year-old women on my street have a family. Two kids that they send off to school while they stay at home making cheeseburgers and salty water-based mashed potatoes. Their husband spends his hold day with his head in the newspaper, only saying a set of sentences repeatedly, "Yes, honey" or "I agree" or "How outrageous". Time and time again. I spend all day reading Animal Farm, so many times that I've memorized the opening speech. So lonely that I laugh at out loud every time I see a deformed peach because it is the most exciting thing in my day. I sit on the porch, watching through the yellow-lit windows. Families eat their meals. The woman laughs and a kid smiles. A biker rounds the street occasionally. The moon slowly comes into view. Mundane as ever. Big, white, and obnoxious. I see a car come round down the corner. It's a convertible. Teal. Shiny. Like a 1950s movie one. I peer through the foggy window. All I see is a tan-coloured oval. The car parks under a precariously hanging maple tree. A man walks out. He's tall. His eyes are an ordinary brown like almost any other man on the street. He holds a paper bag with a big yellow M plastered on it. "Hi." I wave, my hand hanging awkwardly in mid-air. "Hi." "Who are you?" I pause, "and what are you doing at my house?" He doesn't respond. "Is this a joke?" A pull my zip-up hoodie over my shoulders. "I never joke." he grins. It's Luka. Funny. German-American. Leather jacket Luka. I don't react. He's calm, so that means I have to be calm. It cannot be one-sided. The teal colour of the convertible glints in the moonlight. I watch the hovering of the big white spotlight on the convertible, the shadow of the maple layers on it. Creating a painting. "Here's a peach Crush." he starts to hand it to me, then stops, "I assume that you've figured out who I am by now." I spot some white hair above his forehead.

"Yes. I have." I put the Crush beside me, pulling the cuffs of my hoodie over my white knuckles. "You love peach Crush. Have you grown out of it?" He sits down beside me on the porch. I'm angry. He can't come at 8:30 on a Wednesday day night. He can't stop time. It's not fair. With my thumb, I make circles on my palm. Stay calm. Stay Calm. "Nope. I haven't. First, I need to know if you're married or not." "I'm not." "Good." I poke the straw into the styrofoam. He passes me a Quarter Pounder wrapped in plastic. "Here." "I'm not eating that," I restrain the smile that's pulling my mouth upwards, "not until you tell me why you're here and all background complications." "She divorced me." All of a sudden the air crackles with tension. "She knows that I don't love her. That I love someone else." he continues, "She kicked me out. Her father owns the house that we shared. She is going to raise the child on her own."

I place my cold hands on my cheeks, trying to cover the embarrassing beet-red tone of my cheeks.

I choke on peach Crush and cringe as it goes down the wrong tube. "A kid? You have a kid?" "Yes. A kid. In her family. It's a custom. Every married couple

needs

to have children. I had nowhere to go. So I put together all the money that I had left. From selling cars." "Selling stolen cars. I assume?" He looks away. "So that's a yes, right?" I smile, patting his back with the large plastic cup. "And I bought a flight from Greece to here, Ohio." "Where are you living?" I ask. "Sunnyside motel. Homey place." "Sounds fishy." "It is. Very fishy." "Eek." I laugh and watch the moon float above a couple of faint stars. "I came here to see you because I loved you all along." he itches the back of his head. "Don't go all romcom cheesy on me." "Trust me, I won't." "So. Are there any more foreign relationships? Any arranged marriages? Any angry parents?" "Yes. But I'm not sure about the last one." he laughs softly. "Pass me the Quarter Pounder."


The Callotians are a proud and intelligent race. Although it's widely accepted in their society that intelligence is not a simple linear progression, the Callotians as a species are well-read and well-traveled, to the point that many feel they've seen all the universe has to offer. This is why grrrr-pop-pop-click (translated to English as Kevin) was so perturbed that he could not make sense of the human's simple response. Years of prior research had shown that the standard human greeting when meeting a new intelligent species was "Take me to your leader". And yet, when Kevin knocked on the first front door he found and made the request, the answer was just "no". Instead, the human invited Kevin in and asked him to sit on a soft uncomfortable mass which his suckers couldn't seem to grip properly. Kevin was pretty sure the translator was working. Even though the humans had over 7000 languages, the Callotians' AI had studied millions of hours of their media for its database, and there had never been a problem with the translator before. Kevin was pretty sure the human knew he was an alien. Standing three feet tall with four tentacles, the closest looking thing on Earth to a Callotian was a sea urchin, but surely a human would know the difference, right? Then why had this human casually invited him in, instead of calling the military or the news or something more typical of a level 4 species' first contact? The human came in from the kitchen and sat down across from Kevin, handing him a glass of water. Kevin gratefully took the beverage, looking at it carefully before pouring it on himself. "At least their cups are normal" he thought to himself as he tried to find a comfortable position in his seat. Then the human spoke. "So, how can I help you?" This did nothing to alleviate Kevin's confusion. The human spoke like Kevin was a friend and not an entirely new species that this human alone knew about. "We uhhh, we come in peace" Kevin tried again to use the standard Earth greetings. The human laughed "Well that's good, I come in peace too". Kevin noticed the singular I. Behind his confusion, concern began to creep into Kevin's mind. "Why will you not take me to your leader?" Kevin asked, attempting to make any sense of the situation. "Oh uhh I umm... well I just don't think you'd like them very much. They're not very reasonable." the human replied, looking to the floor in embarassment. Now kevin was really lost. The humans' leaders were unreasonable? It was his understanding that leaders on Earth were elected. Why would you elect an unreasonable leader? It would be like making a flammable fire extinguisher. He could understand that differences in physiology could make this chair comfortable to sit in for a human, but what could possibly make someone elect a leader that they themselves called unreasonable? Kevin asked the human. "Well uhh everyones opinion is important y'know? Like we may not agree on everything but at least everyone's voice is heard so it's fair to everyone." This actually made some sense to Kevin. He knew the Callotians had tried a pure democracy long ago, but the extreme developmental differences between their twelve genders made it an unstable form of government compared to a meritocracy. Still, he had been sent here to establish relations with the local planetary government and he wasn't about to be scared off by some level 4 monkeys. Plus, this human seemed nice, and Kevin knew that due to a recent evolutionary bottleneck humans were pretty much all the same. How bad could an elected official be? "I see," Kevin began. "In any case I must establish contact with the leaders of this planet". The human seemed disappointed, but understanding. "Alright," he said "at least let me drive you there, I don't think the Whitehouse has spaceship parking". Kevin climbed into the front seat of the human's pickup truck into the more firm -but still uncomfortable- seat. As the human buckled him in he introduced himself. "I'm David, by the way". "My name is Kevin, nice to meet you" Kevin responded. David chuckled as he buckled himself in. "Nice to meet you, Kevin the alien". As they drove they began to talk. David of course wanted to know all about alien civilization and the technological advancements they'd made, while Kevin had a few questions about human society that years of observing TV broadcasts could not answer. David told Kevin about the many societies of Earth and their unique cultures, about the diverse animal life and beautiful views the planet had to offer. Kevin told David about the utopian society he came from, where disease and crime were practically nonexistant, and the incredible planets and stars he'd seen while traveling the galaxy. They even found a shared sense of humor in one of the few jokes that translates properly between English and Callotian: Why did the chicken (or Callotian slug) cross the road? Finally after over an hour of driving, they reached their destination. David parked across the street and together they walked down Pennsylvania Ave until they stood in front of the Whitehouse. David was pretty sure this wasn't where you were supposed to report an alien sighting to, but he was also pretty sure this was an exception. Plus, he always liked to make an entrance, and he couldn't help but smile at the passersby as they wondered what sort of weird prank this was. At first, nothing happened. "Try waving" David suggested. Kevin waved at the Whitehouse. Still nothing. "Hmmm, maybe they think you're in a costume or something...try dancing". While this translated to Callotian as "mating dance" it actually had the desired effect. Kevin began shaking his spines and waving his tentacles in a methodical, seductive manner. He was starting to feel silly when he heard a quiet hum, which grew into a roar as two windowless black vans raced down either side of the street, nearly hitting a tourist and trapping David and Kevin in between them. As the vans swerved to a halt, six men dressed in all black military gear hopped out of each of them, forming a circle and pointing their weapons at Kevin and David. Kevin was starting to see what David meant by "unreasonable". Surely the leadership of this planet did not think that the Callotians had begun an assault on an unsuspecting planet by sending a single unarmed soldier to stand in their capitol. In fact, the Callotians need not send anyone at all, Earth could easily be destroyed by a blast from a Callotian solar cannon. Still, he reasoned, they were probably right to be suspicious. This was, after all, only their first contact. David interrupted his train of thought. "Uhh, so Kevin, it looks like I'm not gonna see you again for a while. I just wanted to say it was really nice meeting you and uhh, I'm sorry. About them." "Thank you for your hospitality-" was all Kevin was able to get out before they were each roughly tossed into the back of their respective vans. As the doors slammed shut and the vans sped off, Kevin decided now would be a good time to take a nap. Kevin awoke in a featureless white room, with walls and floors of smooth tile. "Finally a decent place to sit" he thought to himself. A camera in the corner of the room watched as Kevin made himself comfortable, suctioning firmly to the ground while his spines shook in relief. A speaker in the ceiling crackled to life as a voice spoke through it. "Can you understand me?" it said. "Yup" replied Kevin. It was silent for a moment and then the voice spoke again. "What do you want from us?" it asked. This was a bit more hostile than how David greeted Kevin, but David had said to expect that. He also said Kevin might be able to get them to relax if he told a joke. "Why did the Earth slug cross the road?" Kevin replied. There was a long period of silence, as though they had to think hard for the answer, then the voice came back nervously over the speaker. "Uhhh t- to get to the other side?". Kevin laughed at the delightfully simple humor, hissing and shaking his spines like he hadn't in years. For some reason this seemed to upset the voice. "We are the most powerful military force on this planet. We are willing and capable of defending ourselves- even if that means destroying you." Kevin started to get annoyed. He had just told a funny joke and in return they were threatening him? He instructed his translator to make him sound smarter. "Foul politician, you dare make empty threats against me and my people? And yet in the same breath you reveal your own ignorance- you know not the capabilities or intent of my species, else we would not be here. Even if your primitive weapons could harm me it would be of no consequence, our medical technology outstrips yours just as much as our military technology! You would be weak and foolish to make an enemy of us". It was not his finest diplomatic work, but Kevin was pretty sure he had put that dumb voice in its place. Suddenly, one of the walls in the room began to slide down. The light behind it was too bright to see through, but Kevin could make out the silhouettes of a few dozen men with guns, all pointed at him. "Maybe their leaders are not so reasonable after all" Kevin thought to himself. Still desperate to salvage the situation and complete his mission, he tried one last time to establish peaceful contact. "Uhhh... we do come in peace though" he said nervously. Walking into the room from behind the light, a man replied. Kevin recognised his voice as the voice from the speaker. "Nice try, xeno" the man said, chuckling to himself, "But you're gonna have to do better than that to outsmart us. Now, since you're so tough maybe you wouldn't mind staying a while for us to... observe you." The way he said it made Kevin very nervous. Callotian medical technology was good, but he would still rather not go through whatever barbaric experiments these level 4's had thought up. In his mind Kevin summoned the rescue pod, now all he had to do was stall. "Actually I would like to invoke my right under Article 4 of the Callotian Rights Agreement to leave now please". This response went about as well as expected as the man burst into laughter "Ahahahahaha, well unfortunately for you, xeno, Earth has not signed onto that agreement, so you're coming with me." he said as he grabbed one of Kevin's tentacles. "NO!" Kevin yelled, yanking his tentacle back so hard it caused the man to fall. Suddenly there was a loud pop, then a smack as Kevin felt a painful punch in his side. Looking down he saw where the bullet had hit him, breaking two of his spines before penetrating his skin. A dark purple goo slowly leaked from the wound. "Hold your fire!" the rude man shouted from the floor "We don't know how quickly it'll decompose when we kill it!". "When you kill me?" Kevin thought to himself, the anger building through every spine in his body. What kind of a primitive backwater world was this that they couldn't even handle diplomatic relations? What kind of people interrogate their first contact? This species didn't even deserve to be visited by the Callotians, he thought as he began to tremble with rage. Kevin was nearly ready to let loose on the ignorant beasts when a tremendous crash shook the building, as the rescue pod slammed through the reinforced concrete floors like a stone through wet toilet paper. When it finally came to a rest in between Kevin and the armed guards, the door popped open and Kevin hurried inside, all too eager to leave. As the engines began to hum and the ship took off, kevin could hear the pings of weak human armaments bouncing off the side of the ship. He grimaced to himself as he sat in the autodoc and pulled up a communications channel. For all their posturing they really were a primitive species. Kevin's boss appeared onscreen. "Well, how did it go?" she asked, checking her notes on the species he had just investigated. "They shot me." Kevin replied nonchalantly as the autodoc began to patch him up. "They SHOT you!?" she nearly screamed "So they're a hostile level 4 species?? Not good, very not good. Do you know what happened to the last hostile level 4 that reached level 5? I'll order an exterminatus immediately" she said, quickly reaching for a nearby terminal. "Wait, " Kevin interrupted, not fully believing what he was about to say "maybe there's a better way." "Like what?" his boss snapped back, anxiously studying her paperwork for any weaknesses she had overlooked "Well uhh I think maybe the problem is with their leadership. Maybe if they had a better influence to follow they wouldn't be so mean." His boss snorted. Knowing as well as Kevin did that it was illegal for a Callotian to rule over another species, she replied "And I suppose you have someone in mind?" "I do" Kevin said, pulling a single strand of hair from between his spines and putting it into a slot in the autodoc. A map appeared on his screen showing a positive molecular match close to where he had been rescued.


#Hello r/ShortStories! Back in December we announced our , and you nominated and voted on all your favorite content from the past year. There were so many *great* stories submitted over the course of the year. All the votes have been counted and it’s time to check out the results! There are 15 categories with **one** winner each. Winners will receive our Community ‘Best Of’ Award, which will gift them with one month of Reddit Premium and ! Congrats to all the winners! #Results ###Best Serial Sunday Submission - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/ReverendWrites ###Best Micro Monday Submission - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c ###Best Science Fiction Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/NormanCrane ###Best Fantasy Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/WitchofKorcariWild ###Best Horror Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/Zetakh ###Best Mystery & Suspense Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/hungryroses ###Best Realistic Fiction Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/LunarSault ###Best Historical Fiction Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/Dmjhale ###Best Action & Adventure Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/Red_Wolfheart ###Best Humor Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/JoshuaBarbeau ###Best Romance Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/ItsMeAmy88 ###Best Speculative Fiction Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/ArchipelagoMind ###Best Thriller Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/Arkulite ###Best Urban Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/antihashcist ###Best Miscellaneous Fiction Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/Futurefied   *** All winners should receive their awards shortly, which will be placed on the winning submission. Congrats to all of you and a special thank you to everyone on the Discord who helped out with last minute votes! Alright folks, that’s a wrap for 2021! Great job this past year, readers and writers! I hope this new year brings great things for you each and I look forward to meeting back here in December.


I finally left my husband, he was too much of a jerk. Not thinking of my feelings, and getting with every woman he saw it seems.The line was drawn when he started getting interested in a man, Now I am alone, well I suppose not really since I have Jamor, one of his girlfriends I got close to. Also, my daughter and her son. I still feel empty, and betrayed. I am afraid to try to find someone new because of my looks. It is me and Maddie, two heads I have. I go out wondering if anyone could like Maddie, she could have a temper at times. I notice someone who is looking at me, but not staring like I am a freak. He is kind of wearing odd clothing, girly yet sort of guyish. I say hello to him. “Hello! Nice to see someone friendly.” he says, giving me a smile. I nodded, returning the smile. “Of course, I mean you seem to be acting like I am normal. Which is rare for us.” “Well I know the feeling.” he sighed “You don't seem too weird to me, people are dumb.” I frown. “Well they make fun of me for my clothes, my name is Neeco by the way.” he holds out his hand. “I am Gloria, and this is Maddie.” I shake his hand “Nice to meet such kind ladies.” “I warn you, Maddie can have a temper.” Maddie gives me a look. “Do you have to say that right away?” “She seems nice to me, It's fine.” he said shyly. “Well I am glad you think so, my ex seemed to think I was a horrid person.” Maddie sighed. “It seems he didn't know anything, and a jerk.” “He always was getting with others, not happy with just me. I finally got tired of it and left.” Maddie huffed “That's terrible, sorry to hear that.” “Anyways, enough of that. Do you like adventures? There's something he didn't want to do, there's a mystery in this town.” “Sure, I like adventure. What is the mystery?” he asked, curious. “It is about the older houses, they have random portals show. I am surprised you don't know about it since the Realtor made it a selling point.” “I just wasn't sure which mystery you were talking about.” he didn't want to say the real reason he didn't know. “Oh, what other mysteries are around?”' I asked “Oh I don't know but I am sure there are others.” he said lamely. “Oh I see, do you want to see the portal in my home?” “Sure sounds interesting, what do you know about them?” “Not much, it led to a lab last time I went. I didn't get to see much of it though.” I shrugged “Sounds like some sort of secret is being kept, hum.” he pondered “Oh, well do you want to go now or get to know each other more first?” “Yeah let's go I want to know more about this.” he took my hand “Alright, I will lead the way then.” so, we headed to my house. It didn't take too long to get there. He gaped at the large Victorian style house. “Wow this is big...” “It needed to be with how many lived here.” I open the door and go in “Oh, are they still here?” “Just me, Dena, Jamor, Misty, and Fig. The rest went to live somewhere else.” I head to where the portal usually showed up. I opened the door. “Hum, seems it is not here right now. Do you want to know the others?” “Maybe I will meet them later, for now I just want to talk to you. I don't want you to think I am interested in a bunch of girls.” he takes a seat on the couch. “Well I am glad to hear that, but I know a female could be a friend too.” Me and Neeco chatted, I felt awkward. I wasn't sure why, maybe because I was used to talking to John and how jerky he was, and Maddie's temper flaring up and something weird happening. With Neeco, he seemed quiet and sweet. “Sorry, I guess it been a long time since I talked to a man besides my husband.” I explained, as I felt nervous about impressing someone new. Neeco nodded. 'It's fine, I feel a bit odd myself. Am I supposed to talk to both heads or just one?” “We are the same person, just different sides so just talking to me is fine.” I explained. “I see, should we see if the portal is up yet?” I got up heading to where it usually was. “Ah, good it's here. Ready?” “Yeah, as much as I will ever be.” We go through. There is a lab with a man working with some vials. It takes a minute for him to notice us. “Ah! What?” he stares at me. Neeco looks at him. “What is going on here?” The man snorts. “Science, what do you think?” Neeco glares at him. “I meant why are the portals going here?” “Portals? I had no idea.” The scientist pondered. “You mean you don't know?” Neeco blinks. “It might be because of my test subject, some odd things have been going on with her.” he shrugged. “Her? You mean it is a person?!” I was shocked. “Don't think that way, she gave me permission to do it!” he threw his hands up. “Let us see her.” I growled “Fine, this way.” he lead us to a room, there inside was a brown haired woman. The woman looks at us, blinking. “You are probably wondering why I wanted to be experimented on.” Neeco nodded. “That, and if it was your own free will to do it.” She blushed. “You probably won't believe me, but I am the teleportation goddess. People don't follow me anymore, so I am trying to see what other things in me he can bring out.” “Is that where the portals are coming from?” Neeco asked. “Portals? Oh this must be making my power go wild. I should stop this.” She tries to make a portal but it glitched. “Oh man now it isn't working.” I sighed a bit. “Well now the mystery is solved, I can't help but feel this was for nothing.” Neeco pointed. “Why not go in that portal and see what's there?” one was on a wall. We walk in and see several people in cages. “Hum, seems this scientist was not so good.” I look around opening cages. “I am guessing you guys don't want to be here.” A familiar looking cat woman hugged me. “Gloria! I am so glad you are here, he trapped me and my daughters here again.” I blinked. “Harriet? Is that you?” She had been one of John's interests, now looking at the group of women they all were! “Hum, these are all John's I wonder if he is involved in this.” I frowned, he was worse than I thought if that is true. “He kind of went insane after you left, it was really bad. He found out about a lab I had been in, and took us here and locked us all up. Robert has been doing experiments on us.” Harriet said, shaking as she held on to me. I looked at the scientist. “You must be Robert, why are you doing this?” “At first Harriet and her family said it was OK for me to do things, but the others working with me tortured them. It was not me but the others I was working with, honest.” he began shaking. “It is true others were working on us, but you did too. You are not innocent like you say!” Harriet growled “I am sorry, it is true. I was just so close to find the answer that I didn't want to stop testing when I got new subjects. John bringing you guys here was like a goldmine for me.” he sighed, slumping. “You shouldn't of lied to me. You will be sorry!” Maddie growled and tried to turn him to a frog with her anger, he then turned into a bird person. “Please, Mercy! I didn't mean to be cruel, I was trying my best to treat them right.” he squawked. “That is true, he was kind for the most part, It was the others that did the really bad stuff.” said Harriet. “We need to put them to justice,where are they?” I asked “They went home for the day, I was working late because I was on a roll.” he frowned. “You must think bad of me for letting these people work with me. Just, something started to happen to make the others go mad and do things they normally wouldn't do. For some reason I was unaffected by it.” “You should of done something when you realized they were mistreating the subjects!” Maddie zapped a spell at him, and he turned into a woman. “I know, I made a mistake...whatever punishment you want to inflict on me...do it now.” she looked down frowning. Gloria sighed and turned him back to a man, but of a strange furry horned species. “I think this is enough punishment for you.” So, they went off to get the others treated from the illness that had befallen them. The lab was closed. Gloria looked at the other girlfriend of John. “I can't stand knowing that John may mistreat you. Please, stay with me as long as you need.” Harriet hugged her. “Thank you Gloria, I fell on hard times when my husband died...I won't stay long just when I get back on my feet.” “If you want to stay forever it is fine with me. Do not worry.” I smiled Neeco looked over at her. “Um, what about me though?” I gave him a confused look. “What about you?” “Um, I kind of live in a cave right now. I didn't want to tell you before. Maybe it is too soon to ask you to stay with you though?” he blushed. “Of course not, I can't have you living in a cave!” So, me and all of John's exes lived together with Neeco in my house. He didn't seem interested in the other girls though thankfully. So, the mystery was solved and my family was bigger! I had a feeling things will be great with Neeco in my life. The End.


12:23. My watch face blinks up at me in flashes of green that feel out of place amongst the golden lamplight around me. When had it gotten so late? Glancing up at the massive main clock, mounted on the far wall at the other end of the library, I was surprised to read that it displayed the same time. It ticked morosely. Leaning back in my chair, I stifled a sneeze - reluctant to disturb the titanic quiescence consuming the library - and removed my glasses to rub at my eyes. The thick Neuroscience encyclopedia on the desk in front of me that had consumed my attention for the past hours now seemed to be a leather-bound mockery of my destructive studying habits: the test that I was studying for only called for knowledge on a few topics about the brain, but somehow I’d gotten sidetracked and been reading about a menagerie of interesting concepts and hypotheses that wouldn’t be in my exam.

Down the road of knowledge I’d ventured, taking my curiosity for a walk as though it were a dog, letting it lead me so far from my initial spot that I’d forgotten what I came here to study for.

The grand clock ticked, echoes like calls reminding me of how late it was.

The library was empty, and I suddenly felt isolation press onto me with a thousand icy fingers. I remembered the librarian having left a while ago, and the other inhabitants of the building leaving much earlier than that. I rested my head on the desk before me, tuning my ears into the reassuringly stable percussion of the clock- “You should go home.” I leapt to my feet. I looked around. Carefully, I peered into each shadow for a figure, a source for the male-sounding voice that I’d heard, all the while my breaths quivering.

Nothing. Nothing but tall wooden bookshelves and empty desks and the clock and me in the room. Had I imagined it? My mouth opened instinctively to call out ‘hello’ then snapped shut as my grandmother’s face appeared in my mind’s eye.

‘Never reply to a spirit,’ she dictated, sapphire orbs glittering, ‘you don’t know what could happen. I don’t want my granddaughter stolen by some duppy,’ She kissed her teeth. Shaking my head, I forced a chuckle. I was clearly overreacting - like my grandmother always did. I was in an old library, it was past midnight, I was alone and I was tired. Understandably, my imagination was on overdrive.

“Maybe I should go home, ha,” I joked to myself, picking up my books and stuffing them into my slate shoulder bag. Carefully, I placed my fountain pens and ink into the deep pockets of my nude trench coat, pulled on my plaid gloves and made my way over to the librarian’s deserted desk.

I hoped to borrow a few books, so I decided to try to navigate the library computer system myself.

I jiggled the mouse and the bulky, old-fashioned grey monitor flickered to life. It immediately displayed a password prompt and I groaned slightly. Of course - I didn’t know the password. I became acutely aware that the ticking of the grand clock was suddenly absent.

Should I just borrow the books without adding them to the catalog? I bit my lip. A faint whiff of cinnamon wafted past my nose. After a moment, I began to scour the desk drawers for any sign of a post-it note or a notepad with the password on it. Then a frigid spark snaked down my spine. The cinnamon scent intensified. I was no longer alone. “Didn’t I tell you to go home?” _________ My stomach dropped. My mouth tried to formulate words but I found myself unable to breathe. “A-ah-” “Shut up,” the voice was definitely male, and right behind me now. My blood chilled and willed me not to move, but I forced myself to turn around.

My eyes met with a pair of dark ones. Dark, slightly irritated ones. There was a guy standing in front of me, wearing a plain white shirt and dark trousers.

But below the trousers was empty space. He had no feet - his body simply faded into nothing. I could almost see through him. I laughed.

“Ha. Ha!” I pointed at him and giggled, “Y-you’ve g-got no feet! Ha!”

The spirit’s expression grew stormy, but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop laughing.

Snorting, I cackled, “I- I had too much c-coffee this morning… ha… who k-knew coffee w-was a hallucinogenic-” Bonk! A fist hit my head. “Idiot,” the spirit intoned without contempt or disdain, as though he was simply stating a fact.

“I- ow,” this sobered me, and I murmured “I don’t care if you’re a spirit or whatever, don’t bonk me, alright?” The spirit raised his eyebrow. After a pause, he replied, “Fine. The computer password is g-m-u-x-1-4-8-6.” Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows, “T-thank you?” He rolled his eyes again, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Just take your books and get out of my way.” I stared, heart pounding, not moving. I couldn’t help it. He was captivating. He was tall, but not quite taller than me, and slim, probably around my age. His skin was pale and his features sharp like the edges of paper, but contrasted his hair - dark and messy and seeming to defy gravity in spikes around his head.

From what I could tell, he was worlds apart from the multiple-limbed, many-mouthed and upside-down beings that my grandmother had always told me stories of.

“Hey… stop staring.” he intoned, averting his eyes and scratching the back of his neck defensively, “...Just take your books and leave.” “I-” I tried to reply but my throat closed up as the reality of the situation crashed down on me, and I was once again stricken with anxiety. Deciding that it was best to obey him lest he do… something to me, I typed the password that he’d told me into the computer, not taking my eyes off the gloomy spirit whose eyes followed my every move. An aura of deep-rooted dissatisfaction seemed to surround him, and I could almost feel it seeping into me.

Hands shaking, I scanned the barcodes on my books and authorised my borrowing them in the system. All the while, he watched me, deathly still.

“Good,” he intoned flatly when I was done, “Now… go.” I nodded and glanced up at him. That was a mistake - once again I found myself fixated. After a moment or two, he glared at me. “Why are you staring? Shouldn’t you be desperate to leave?” “What does it matter to you?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. The spirit’s eyes narrowed. “I - don’t you want to get away from me?” he said, voice rising in volume. “I… I do.” I replied truthfully, but my body was rooted to the spot in awe of what I was seeing. “Then leave. Just… stop staring at me! It’s weird.” he growled. His cheeks flushed. My heart thundered, but my curiosity had already peaked, “Are you self-conscious? About being a spirit?” “I… Shut up. This is stupid. I don’t have time to talk to you.” “Then why did you come to speak to me?” “Because I need you to leave.” He began to drift away from me, across the hall. “Why?”

“Because,” he growled, “when midnight comes, this is my library. It’s the only time I can read without being seen or heard.” He turned to me, glaring daggers. But although my legs shook, my voice disobeyed all logic and didn’t cease speaking. “So… you normally like to read alone, but today you’re lonely, and that’s why you approached me?” “What?” he hissed, exasperated, “That’s not what I’m... just shut up and leave.” He glanced away. “And stop staring,” he emphasized. “Okay.” Finally, I managed to tear my eyes from him and made my way towards the wooden, ornate double-doors of the library. But something weighed down in my chest, a sympathy for this miserable, solitary spirit, a sentiment that I needed to spit out, “Y-you know, I come to this library most Saturdays.

“I don’t usually stay this late, but… I can stay until midnight next week, if you want… instead of being all alone in here...” He stared at me, mouth slightly open, for one shocked moment. Then his expression became guarded once more, and he turned away from me and picked a book from the nearest bookshelf, flipping it open, “Whatever.” Feeling a strange disappointment, I lingered beside the door for a moment in case he changed his mind. But he seemed engrossed in his book and uninterested in me, so I opened the door and stepped out of the library.

And that is the story of my encounter with a library spirit. A cold, unfriendly, antisocial ghost who just wanted to read in peace.

But there’s one part of this story that I’ve never told.

Because as I left the library, pulling my coat tightly around me and stepping into the rain, I felt a cold shiver snake down my spine, and caught the scent of cinnamon. “Next Saturday. Midnight. Come alone. I’ll be waiting.”

I turned towards the voice, but the library spirit was gone.


I awoke to the crashing thunder of waves tossing me about like a rag doll. Grateful to feel the dawn brush my skin again. My dreams give me no sanctuary from this hell. How I long for the feelings stability, flat ground. A moment of balance in this terrifying rollercoaster that just wont let go. Even as the waves subside they will never end. Home is a distant memory now. Has it been days? Weeks? Months? Who knows at this point. The days have blended together like a crude finger painting. I have survived this long is that a sign of endurance or a foolish man refusing to let go? It’s funny that my place of sanctuary has become my eternal hell. I swear each night I find it harder too sleep, the endless abyss that awaits at the hem of my only safe place taunts me. Gently reminding me how small I really am. A meer pebble in a vast ocean with no clue what lingers below. But at least with the light I can try and catch some food. As much as I yearned for the sun I forgot the true heat it brings. The waves have calmed and the sky is a crystal blue. A perfect blue for a baby boys nursery. As gentle as it seems it comes with a cost. I finally understand what a ant under a magnifying glass feels like. Pinned with no where too go, nowhere too hide, only option is to suffer. Hopefully my rain trap got a good amount for how rough it was last night. Food is a different story there’s a can of peaches left and protein bar that’s been soaked in salt water for who knows how long. I’m saving that for as long as I can. I will live a bit longer but honestly what is the point? How do I realistically get out of this one. Katie must think I’m dead by now and I don’t blame her. I miss her, waking up and feeling her hair brush my face, smelling her perfume as she waltz down the stairs like my very own super model. Memories have become the only thing that’s true too me now. As the days pass I feel myself getting lost in the memories. Yesterday I swore I smelt grass, fresh cut grass not the relentless fragrance of the ocean salting my nose into oblivion. That moment lingered with me for the rest of the day. Part of me hates setting the line in the morning. The sharp hook beckons to puncture. I must be slow and steady. The tension fills my soul like a surgeon starting a life saving heart surgery. Just the thought sends me into a spin of worry but when it’s is done it becomes a line of hope. Hope is something I’ve learned to cherish as it comes. From small to large those moments mean everything. I managed to bottle the water from the traps, still surprises me how much they collect. But with this heat I need every drop. It’s been four days since I caught anything and my insides feel like they are sucking my ribs like a vacuum. Keeping track of what I consume gives me something to ground me to reality out here. But with knowledge comes with a toll. I know that this is not sustainable, I reached that conclusion a while ago now. I can’t cook what I catch so there is always a risk but at this point I feel a hunger that is all consuming. The pain burrows at me like a grub through bark. Slowly grinding but always there. It’s getting cooler which means my chances at a meal are closing fast. The line has become my only focus, nothing else matters in the moment. I’m a sprinter at the Olympics waiting for the gun. If there was ever a time it would be now, this fish are more active as dusk approaches. Locked in place my heart skipped a beat. As a faint ripple echoed from the line. I have learned that this moment requires patience, pull too soon then everything could slip from your grasp. I have to stop myself from letting excitement from fogging my judgement. As sudden as the change of the winds the line jerked with a tremendous force. This is moment I have yearned, no prayed for. With no hesitation I pull at the line like a man possessed. I can feel my heart beating out my chest as I fight with whatever is on the other end of the line. My arms feel like I’ve slept on them both for weeks from fatigue but I must push on. I need this. As I gaze into the bottomless pit beneath me a faint silhouette rises. Adrenaline fills my veins and feeling of weakness is gone for a moment. I pull and I pull. Every inch closer the silhouette draws I feel stronger. The battle is almost won, the shadow becomes clearer but the danger of jeopardising my raft comes with it. A few more feet and this fish is mine, it’s strength has faded like it is offering itself too me willingly. Pure joy rages through me like a junkie taking his first hit. The fish is in my hands. Lifting him from the water it’s as beautiful as a Van Gogh painting. Pearlescent shades of blue and yellow remind me of Gogh’s starry night painting, Katie’s favourite. The fish must weight at least 13 pounds, enough to give me a chance. Ecstasy has taken control, leaping to my feet with the fish above my head I scream. But all good out here comes with a cost. With the strength of a 12 gauge it whipped its body and begins to struggle. In the moment of celebration my judgement has lapsed, I didn’t kill the fish. I fight too keep control but the weakness has returned and as fast as hope filled me the high crashes. It launches back towards the sea as I hopelessly grasp the air behind it. A heaviness bellows in the pit of my stomach, it was there. I had it but it slipped through my hands as if I was clutching sand. Gone.... As the night draws all sense of hope drains from me like a thousand leeches are sucking at my life essence. The orange whispers of dusk dance on the horizon. The final act of beauty before the endless shroud of darkness engulfs my tiny tiny world.


I Remember, for years I was, and my world was, and nothing else, and I knew everything. I knew that I loved progress, and I created the walk. I knew that I was alone, and I created you. I knew that I loved you, and I created love. I knew that I wanted to have fun, and I created the world for you. I knew that you loved me, and created our nights. I knew we were tired, and I made the trip. I knew that we were afraid, and I created patience. Years passed and I was my world, and you were our world. One day you told me you were tired and I was surprised how I did not know. The next day I asked you what I wanted, and I did not know. The next day I asked you where to go, and I did not know. The next day I asked you how much I love you, and I did not know. The next day you said you want to go, and I'm afraid. The next day you went, and I no longer knew anything, and I created God to be your keeper. The life of a large bowl is full of cherries; red and black and coarse and fresh. One for me, one for you; do not bite the cores, break your teeth, believe it. It's a strange misfortune. This separation lasted for weeks and months, and it still burns for years; it is a hundred mercy for giving birth. I said, "Do not listen to me again, you may read." Remember what life was like? Was dark at night? Sofa in front of me was always empty? You do not know how busy you are, go and go, sprinkle and spit, play games, lessons, ice cream, travel, work, phone, machineries, subscriptions to business journals, shopping and laundry; remember the city of Farang? The same is under Windows; but it's still empty. It's as if all this screaming and humor does not sound at all, whatever the echoes are, the memories of the days that will not come back. Remember you said I will not do anything to you after you? I lied. Now there is someone sitting on the side of the table and listening to my words, sometimes laughing. Now, there is one person in my eyes looking for the same things that you went with yourself. When it is, it's fun, but when it does not, it's still empty. It's ridiculous, is not it? It has been summer. Last night I wanted to leave your vacancy with winter clothes in a large suitcase behind my wardrobe. I'm sorry. Winter is coming back, but what about you? We went to winter and I brought the clothes again; then I would stay with you again. I bought a large pot and a sunflower, yellow and black, tall and tight, a thin neck with a cute and brittle bend toward the sun and the window. For the moment, it has solved the problem. Life is a bowl full of cherries. Sour and sweet, red and black. None of the two is the same. It is true that your place is empty and may never be filled, but there are other places and other people who fill them. It's time for sunflowers to glow in the sun from sunrise to sunset every day, so there's nothing wrong with it. Now that he is taking care of the sun, I can also come to my life. I take another cherry, one step ahead, stronger, more relaxed, safer.


Prologue: He wraps a sweatshirt around his clenched fist. Takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and sends a quick prayer to the universe. His arm pulls back, and on the exhale, he thrusts his swaddled hand through the windowpane. The air puffs out of his lungs, a burst of relief. The hardest part is done. He gazes around his surroundings; no one has seen. The shards of the window are scattered on the ground inside the dark, cavernous opening he’s created. The pungent odor of the basement emerges, a discomforting mix of mildew, dust, and – decay? He truly believed the legend wasn’t true; he wasn’t going to let this place get the jump on him. He grips the windowsill, using the hoodie to protect his hands from the stalagmite shards of glass protruding from the windowsill, and swings himself forward and down into the dark. Dust rises from where his sneakers meet the cement floor, and he’s in. “This isn’t shit,” he says to himself, underwhelmed. His heart pounds, but gently. Not fear, just a rise in blood pressure. He’s not scared. He’s not scared. The basement, obscured by an opaque layer of dust in the air, is an archive. Stacks of boxes, piles of dilapidated furniture, rows of absolute junk crowd the small space. The ceiling hangs low, so that as he combs the rows of refuse, he is forced to duck beams coated in cobwebs. The smell lingers; it reminds him of the time he saw a long-deceased possum on the way to his bus stop before school. Death and waste. He wrinkles his nose and bars his arm across his face. Deeper, and deeper, he walks toward the back of the basement, looking for it. The ceiling continues to droop more and more the farther back he walks, until he is forced to crouch onto his knees. The ground is wet; his jeans are immediately soaked through where they contact the ground. “Uck!” He swipes a finger through the muck on the floor; it’s a slimy, mucus-like substance. His stomach turns. The darkness is so heavy in the cramped space that he can’t see it, can’t see what’s coating his pants and hands. Willing himself, he raises his hand to his nose and breathes in. To his relief, it isn’t shit, vomit, or anything else he’d been imagining. The smell of mold is still strong in the air, but this stuff smells like metal, like iron. He gets back to work. Byron said that the door would be on the back wall, so he sidles up as far as he can wedge himself to the back of the basement. At this point, the wall can’t be taller than three feet; he reluctantly props himself on his elbows, and feels a sickening squish as his stomach greets the slimy, damp floor. He makes a mental note to kill Byron if this turns out to be a hoax. He guides his hand along the wall, searching for a crevice, a crack, any kind of indentation. Mostly he just feels the dirty coating on the cement wall; this must be the foundation, as low as the house goes. Frustrated, he crawls back and forth across the wall, but he can’t find a single break in the wall, and he’s officially soaked in this awful guck. “Fucking hell.” He feels frantic, angry. “Fuck this shit!” He digs at the crease between the wall and the floor with his fingers. “Where – the fuck – IS IT?!” His fingernail catches, and rips from the nail bed. “MOTHERFUCKER!” he yells, and grips the bleeding finger tightly, applying pressure. His head slams into the ceiling, rattling his shoulders and spine. He rolls over onto his back, pain blossoming quickly through his torso. His temper flares, and he wants to react by lashing out, punching the wall, running away, but the ceiling is so, so low, and suddenly, he feels trapped. The sticky walls close in and bury him, and he feels his chest lock up with dread. His limbs feel heavy and bogged down by the muck on the floor. He can’t breathe, he can’t see, he can’t move, he can’t, he can’t… His ears are ringing and he needs to stop the awful buzzing in his head, so he lets his head slam backward, down onto the floor. Thud. A hollow thud. Not cement, but wood. Not on the walls around him, but on the floor, beneath him. He rolls himself around to his elbows once more. Everything has gone silent. He feels along the space where his head was a moment ago, and he holds his breath. He trails his remaining fingernails up and down, left and right, across the floor and he feels it: a crack, about three feet long, underneath his body. He follows it, and finds another crack at a 90-degree angle. It’s a square. A door. He slams his open palm around the square, and the hollow thud resounds throughout the tiny space, sending dust up and into his lungs. He suddenly feels leather instead of cement: a strap, bolted to the ground. He grips it, and pulls upward, straining. No movement, so he yanks the strap sideways in all directions. It rattles, but it’s clearly stuck. He wrenches his arm into a different, radically uncomfortable angle, grits his teeth, and pulls as hard as he can, until the wooden panel finally gives way with a violent shift, throwing him onto his side. The opening under the panel emits a frigid blast of cold air, and he gazes down into the shaft; it’s pitch black, the darkest space he’s ever seen. And the smell. “Oh god,” he gags. The damp stench of roadkill fills his nostrils. Fuck, he thinks. He has to go down. He can’t turn around. He can’t let Byron think he’s a chickenshit for turning around. But, fuck, that smell. And the goddamn ache growing in the back of his head. He reaches into the darkness, trying to grasp a ladder, a rope, something solid, but there is nothing. That pitch-black darkness is a void. The passage is big enough to fit through, but he doesn’t even know how deep it is, where the emptiness ends. He looks around for something to throw, but the back of the crawlspace is barren, and the piles of junk are far behind him. He awkwardly reaches his arm back into his pants pocket; all he has is his wallet. Well, here goes nothing, he thinks. He rolls his eyes, picturing the many ways in which Byron will inevitably owe him for this, and throws his wallet down into the dark. He waits. He hears nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Fucking hell, he thinks. It can’t really be bottomless, can it? Whatever it is, a crawlspace or a well or a vast empty fucking pit, it has to end somewhere, right? He maneuvers his cramped, awkward body until his legs dangle into the emptiness. “Byron,” he groans. “I’m going to fucking kill you if I die.” He lets his fingers slip from the edges of the trapdoor, and he jumps.


My daddy was a lucky man. I know this because I saved special things to give him luck. Sometimes I found pretty stones or a penny when we went for a walk. Once I found a four-leaf clover. I always went to old Mrs. Pike’s house next door after school because Mom worked until late. She showed me how to press the leaf between the pages of a book until it was dry and pretty. We glued it onto a card which I decorated with glitter and magic marker for Daddy. I showed it proudly to Mom when she came to get me, still wearing her waitress top, her face pale and drawn with fatigue. “Very nice, baby,” she said. “Now, if we only knew where he was, we could mail it to him.” Crestfallen, I put the card down. Mrs. Pike quickly interceded. “Keep it in a safe place, Kerry, and you can give it to him next time he comes,” she said. "I'm sure he'll show up soon." “But he’s always so busy doing important work,” I said. “He told me so. He has to travel a lot. That’s why he sends the postcards.” I had a treasured collection of postcards which he'd sent me, carefully glued into an album, from New York, Los Angeles, Arizona, even one from Paris, the real Paris in France. Mrs. Pike and I had had fun looking up where that was. My mother wearily pushed her hair back from her face. “It would be nice if he was as quick to send the support checks,” she said dryly, then bit off whatever else she was about to say as Mrs. Pike gave a warning cough. “You’re exhausted, Leila. Sit down and have a quick cup of tea before you go home.” Mom plopped down in a chair and rested her head in her hands. “You’re a gem, Mrs. P,” she said gratefully as Mrs. Pike returned with the tea and some cookies. “I’m sorry I was late paying you last week. I got a puncture and had to buy a new tire. Always something.” “Don’t worry about it,” said Mrs. Pike. “Ms. Kerry here has been a big help. We did laundry together and she washed all the windows she could reach. Now, Kerry, don’t be like a squirrel and forget where you put the card before your daddy next visits.” I giggled. Daddy did have a way of disappearing for long periods and then showing up when least expected. Sure enough, the next week he arrived unannounced and pressed a large bundle of crisp notes into Mom’s hand as she opened the door. She grabbed it as if expecting him to change his mind, eyeing him suspiciously. “Where’d you get this? Dogs? Horses?” I wondered how you could get money from dogs and horses. That didn't make sense. One of those weird adult things. Daddy gave a wry grin as he escorted me out. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” he said. “I think luck rubbed off on me from that shiny white pebble that Kerry gave me last time. That’s all you need to know. I’ll have her back by six.” Both Mom and I gaped as we saw the shiny red convertible sitting in the driveway. “Mom, look,” I said, almost too excited to speak. “That is the most amazing car I have ever seen!” Mom shook her head. “I don’t want to know what you’ve been doing to get that, or who you’ve been working with. Just make sure she wears her seatbelt and mind the speed limit.” “Yes, ma’am,” said Daddy, opening the door for me. “I will drive like the safest little old lady you have ever seen.” It was a lovely spring day, so Daddy put the top down. I laughed with glee as my hair whipped in the wind. “What do you want to do today, princess?” he said. I never hesitated when he asked me this. There was a park in town with a renovated antique carousel. I loved riding on the gaudy, prancing horses. “The carousel, and then the row boats and then pizza for lunch and ice cream after. Mom doesn’t let me have it ‘cos it’s not healthy and…” “Whoa, steady on,” he said, laughing. “Your wish is my command, but one thing at a time.” Suddenly something occurred to me. “Daddy, can we go home quick? I forgot your card with the lucky four-leaf clover that I made for you.” “We don’t have time, sweetheart. Give it to me when I take you home.” We had a wonderful day. Daddy’s car drew admiring glances wherever we went. I felt very important when we went for lunch in an Italian restaurant and the owner greeted Daddy like an old friend. I was allowed to sit at the bar next to him. The bartender asked Daddy what he wanted. “I’ve got special cargo today, so no drinking and driving for me,” he said. “Make it two Cokes.” The bartender nodded approvingly and gravely put a little umbrella and a cherry in mine, which made me laugh. It was so sweet it made my teeth hurt, but I was determined to finish it because Mom would never let me have soda. I sipped on it so slowly that the ice melted. Replete with pizza and ice cream, I sighed happily. On the way home, though, my stomach began to swirl and lurch. I pressed my lips together and tried to take deep breaths through my nose. I could not, would not throw up in Daddy’s new car. When he parked at the house, I shot out of the car, raced past Mom who had come out to meet us and made it to the bathroom just in time. When she entered, I was washing my face with cold water. “He overloaded you with junk food as usual, I see,” she said with a sigh, gathering me to her for a hug. Feeling slightly better, I hugged her back, then remembered. “I have to find the card I made for him,” I said. “I need to give it to him. It’s his lucky four-leaf clover.” “He’s gone, baby. He said to tell you he's sorry, but he couldn't wait,” she said. “He had to talk to a man about some business.” I felt tears welling. “But I didn’t give him anything,” I said, frantic. “I know where I put the card. Now he won’t have good luck.” “Your father’s always made his own luck, or so he thinks,” she said. “It’s nice of you to give him lucky charms, but his luck will depend on the choices he makes." I must have looked puzzled because she squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Don't fret. When you’re older, I’ll explain it better. But so far he’s landed on his feet every time. Just like a cat.” A week later, Mom and I were awoken by a loud knocking at the door in the middle of the night. I heard Mom scrambling around to get dressed and peered through the stair rail as she opened the front door. I could just make out two police officers in the weak light of the porch. “Mrs. Donovan? May we come in? I am afraid we have some bad news.” It was a nightmare after that, with fragments of words floating up to me. “…car accident…possible sabotage, no, not a chance, dead at the scene…any recent disputes…criminal associates...” I pressed my head against the railing, tasting the salt of the tears trickling down my face. I knew it. Daddy never got his four-leaf clover and he hadn't landed like a cat after all.


Sitting with her phone in her hand Patricia was spending the usual night hours before she falls asleep. A sort of disorder she has been suffering from since the 5 th of October, The Dark Day, as she calls it. It was all normal till the day before the 5 th of October, also the restaurant was making steady progress with the customers starting to visit again, mostly in the evenings. The impact of the Covid-19 virus was great but Patricia still managed to survive her Job. Although many of her colleagues had already been laid off, Patricia, being the main chef managed to stay. But it was not easy as she had to make sacrifices. Her mother who lived in Subtlemouth a town about 200 miles from Northbourne where Patricia lived and worked, has not been keeping well. Being the only child, Patricia always had that deep connection with her mother. They had been like friends always. This feeling had been pricking inside her like internal guilt, that she had not been able to visit her primarily due to untimely lockdowns in the country and due to the work pressures. As such there was no work rather there was an internal self-created pressure to be present in the restaurant for sake of not losing a job at these times of pandemic. It was the 5 th October morning she woke up when the sun was already on her face. She checked her mobile, it was turned off due to low battery. She got up in haste and hit her knee with the bedside table with a painful cry, “Ouch!”. Shambling she reached the charging point near the dressing table and plugged in the phone charger. The phone instantly came to life showing a 1% charge. She placed her leg on the chair already full of her clothes and jackets and other stuff from yesterday, finding space with great difficulty. She pulled her nightgown up to check the amount of damage the bedside table has given her. It was a small scratch but the pain was much more than what the scratch can barely represent. Patricia carried out her rest of the morning routine and she was ready for work. Before leaving Patricia turned on her mobile, right after starting her car there was the continuous sound of notifications. She couldn’t find time to check the massages. Patricia reached the restaurant front when the cashier pointed towards the manager’s cabin and said in a worried tone “Where were you, Mr. Robbins has been looking for you.” Patricia nodded and without wasting any time reached the Manager’s cabin and was surprised to find all the chefs lined up in the cabin. Savita & Rumi two of her fellow chefs and friends, looked at her with sad faces. The manager looked at Patricia and started, “There you are Pat!”, She asked, “What’s the matter Rob?” Mr. Robinson replied “Well, how do I say? I was just trying to explain to the team, that there has been another lockdown planned by the government, and in this state we cannot continue anymore”, taking a brief pause “so the owners have decided to shut down the restaurant.” Patricia wanted to fight and scream but all she managed was a brief “Oh! Sir, but where will we go?” All came back to the kitchen and started to gather their stuff. Patricia picked up her phone and saw 8 missed calls and about 21 messages from Uncle Sommer. Uncle Sommer was her mom’s neighbor and would call her occasionally to tell about mom’s health. She thought of calling back, but didn’t and started to pack with her other friends. Coming back home when she threw her stuff on the sofa her phone rang again, it was uncle Sommer, who told about her mom’s sudden death last night. It has been more than two months, still, it’s difficult for Patricia to sleep in the night. Scanning through some old photographs with her mother, she smiled with teary eyes. The memories of a time came to her, when she baked her first cake, she almost burned half of it. When mom tasted that burnt cake, she smiled and hugged her and said “Oh Pat! my kiddo is going to be the master chef one day, I know you will create history someday.” It was that motivation from mom that carried Patricia through all those harsh and long cookery classes. If there is one person who trusts you in this world can make you achieve wonders. Patricia did pass with excellent grades and won the best of prizes in cookery in her college years. But the profession and desire to achieve something took her away from mom. All of a sudden the phone rang and almost slipped off Patricia’s fingers. It was Rima, “Hey, Pat! How have you been doing?” Patricia replied, “All ‘s fine here, Rima, why did you call?” Rima said, “I got an exciting opportunity for all three of us, are you interested?” “Opportunity…what opportunity?”, “It’s the Mega Maker event, where everyone shows their talent and create something new.” ”What about it then.” “We three, you, me, and Savi we all will participate and cook something out of the world.” “You have gone insane dear, we are chefs, not mechanics.” “Listen to me Pat, this time the event is about making the largest cookie ever, it's not just a creative competition but a chance to showcase our talents and you know what the prize money is? It’s a 10,000 $, with that money we can even start our own café or a small restaurant.” “Well, the prize money seems attractive.” “Think about it what can be done and I am filling the forms the three of us.” The new ray of hope has begun to enter her mind, thinking about her memories of mom and the way mom used to inspire her for cooking, she slept. The next morning Rima called all three to the nearby Café. Patricia had barely stepped out of the house in the last few months. Her skin had turned pale due to lack of sun. She had put on a number of layers of woolens. But it was pleasant for her to meet old friends. Rima said ”Pat! You seem so pale you need some real dose of caffeine.” Savita interjected “and you need some warm company as well” and she winked at Rima. They all laughed and chatted for a long time. Rima said “The Three Bakers, our team name, what say?” Savita and Patricia moved in affirmation. Later they also decided on the recipe and how to make it into the grand size and maintain the taste as well. The event day came, it was a giant hall. All the contestants were screened for temperature and were allocated tables maintaining the distance from one another and also ensuring that Large cookies can be made without a problem. Rumi informed all “Guys!, there are about 65 teams participating, the team next to us named ‘Hey Snacker’ is saught to be the most promising as they are well known, and have already won a number of prizes before.” Savita said, ”what about us where do you think we stand.” Patricia replied “don’t worry about them, focus on our target, today I am going to create the record” remembering her mother’s words. Looking at Patricia’s confidence Rumi and Savita smiled and jumped right into the task. The main challenge while trying to bake a large cookie was keeping the uniform taste throughout. Savita prepared the batter measuring the right composition every time, Rumi poured it in slow motion so as not to disturb the proportion, and after settling the complete solution in the large bowl they started to bake in the oven. Patricia, the most experienced of the lot managed the directions and angles from which baking was carried out. Finally, she added the toppings like choco chips, and nuts before the mixture settled so that they are laid on top of the cookie as garnishing. The Jury, with Mr.Hankins the founder of Taste Buddy & Ms. Loyola the youtube sensation were the ones leading the team. They checked all the cookies on three parameters, the size, the representation, and finally the taste. After a thorough evaluation, all the contestants were seated in the conference room waiting for the results. Mr. Hankins stood up on the stage and started “It was a unique competition. When we talk about food we don’t talk the size, but here we did. The competition proved to be more fearsome than we thought in the beginning, There were three teams that made cookies of size more than 40 inches. And without disappointing the ‘’Hey Snackers’ made the largest cookie a 48-inch cookie.” Some among the cloud started to clap and a few even started talking in agreement. Mr. Hankins continued, “But my dear friends it’s a cooking completion, and what’s the point of making a 48 inches large disc if it doesn’t taste like a cookie”, the crowd grew silent, “So this year we have decided to award a team that has scored well on all fronts, so the winning prize goes to team ‘The Three Bakers’ may we have the team on stage”. The team went to the stage and sent Patricia as their lead Chef to receive the trophy and prize money. Later that night Patricia looked at the certificate that stated, 'Record for the Largest cookie in the World' and she felt a star twinkle in the sky like mom is feeling proud and smiling at her girl’s achievement today. It was after a long time she felt fulfilled and happy.


ACT I FADE IN: EXT. CARIBBEAN SEA - SHIPS DECK - DAY ESTABLISHING SHOT SEAMUS (Captain) early 30s, steers the ship from the helm. The ships crew douses the sheets as they come up on the wind.

SEAMUS All hands on deck. SHIPS CREW Aye Sir! SEAMUS Oliver, pass the watch to Winston and meet me in my cabin. WINSTON early 20s, relieves OLIVER 26, of the watch. Oliver walks to the Captains Cabin. INT. CAPTAINS CABIN - DAY Oliver walks in and Seamus motions for him to sit.

SEAMUS We need to find a safe port to refit the ship and give our crew a days rest. OLIVER I agree, I was thinking of Charleston. It keeps a bit farther from the pirates we are hunting.

SEAMUS Tell the watch to make way for Charleston. EXT. CARIBBEAN SEA - SHIPS DECK - DAY Oliver walks to the helmsman. Winston salutes the senior officer. OLIVER Set a course North East towards the East Coast of the Americas. We are making way for Charleston. WINSTON Aye Sir. Helmsman come right and steer 040 degrees magnetic. HELMSMAN

Aye Sir. Now steering 040 degrees magnetic.

Oliver walks off the deck. Winston stares towards the horizon. INT. CAPTAINS CABIN - DAY CLOSE UP Seamus sits staring out the window. SEAMUS These men have worked so hard that we need a relief so we may return home. These men need their families. Seamus stands as he hears the sounds of CANNON BLASTS in the distance.

EXT. CARIBBEAN SEA - SHIPS DECK - DAY OTS MEDIUM CLOSE UP Winston spots two ships in the distance. Oliver and Seamus walk to the helm. WINSTON Captain, there have been two ships spotted about five miles in the distance. They appear to be firing at one another. SEAMUS Thank you Winston. Keep a weathered eye towards the horizon and steer clear. This is not our fray today.

OLIVER Does our mission remain the same Captain? SEAMUS It does. We need to make landfall and give everyone a much needed furlough.

OLIVER We are in concurrence with that. We should set the watches and let the crew rest unless needed for sail stations. SEAMUS Set an early taps and let the men sleep. I will take the first watch. Winston you are hereby relieved go rack out. Same goes for your Oliver. OLIVER AND WINSTON IN UNISON Aye Sir! FADE OUT. END OF ACT I ACT II FADE IN: EXT. CARIBBEAN SEA - SHIPS DECK - NIGHT MEDIUM WIDE SHOT Seamus stares at the horizon steering a course by the stars. SEAMUS (V.O.) I cannot help but wonder of home, but I must stay sharp and focussed as we are not there yet.

Oliver walks out and startles Seamus. SEAMUS You gave me a start.

OLIVER My apologies sir. It is my turn for watch so you can sleep.

SEAMUS We are headed Northeast. Tracking along the eastern coast of Florida. Maintain this heading and wake me before South Carolina. OLIVER Aye Sir. Winston has the next watch and I will pass this along when he relieves me. I offer my relief Sir. Oliver salutes Seamus.

SEAMUS I stand relieved. Wake me if you need anything. Seamus walks off the deck.

INT. CAPTAINS CABIN - NIGHT CLOSE UP Seamus lays in his hammock. Seamus dozes off as a loud CRACK AND RUMBLING echoes through the bowls of the ship. Seamus runs out. FADE OUT. END OF ACT II ACT III FADE IN: EXT. SHIPS DECK - NIGHT WIDE SHOT Seamus runs to the helm. Oliver and the helmsman are feverishly looking for what has been hit. Winston checks the charts to see what hazards are in the area. SEAMUS What the hell was that? OLIVER We are unsure sir. There is nothing charted in the area.

WINSTON This hazard is unknown. Not listed at all. UNKNOWN CREW MEMBER We are taking on water sir. We need to combat the damage. SEAMUS Wake the crew and get everyone to stations. Multiple sirens surface near the ship. MEDIUM CLOSE UP SIREN (Meekly) This is our home. It claims many ships. PAN INTO A CLOSE UP. SEAMUS Of course it is the Sirens. Always leading us to our doom. MEDIUM CLOSE UP SIREN There are no ships sank here. Despite our reputation we fix ships and send them on their way. SEAMUS Then what did we hit? Can you save the Celtic Rose so we may make it to land? SIREN The rocks are only near the surface this time of year. The moon draws them to the surface for us. Of course we can fix it for a price. SEAMUS There is always a price with your kind. What is it? SIREN That you spread positive reports of Sirens. That we help and not kill people. SEAMUS That is an easy price to pay. I gladly accept those terms. What do you need from us? SIREN We will need your men inside the ship to help place beams and repair the wood. We will salvage the wood from the ocean floor. Sirens swim off. Seamus gathers his men. SEAMUS We are going to help the sirens with repair inside the ship. They cannot get on board. WIDE SHOT SHIPS CREW

Aye Aye! Ships company mills about and gathers tools. INT. SHIPS HOLD - NIGHT CLOSE UP ON TOOLS Carpenters mates work on repairing holes and setting up the hull for repair. EXT. SHIPS DECK - NIGHT WIDE SHOT Sirens surface trailing timbers behind them. Seamus mills about watching. SIREN We have returned with the timber necessary to repair the ship. It will take until morning to make repairs and get you underway. SEAMUS We appreciate the help more than you know.

EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT Sirens begin work on the hull placing and sizing timbers. INT. SHIPS HOLD - NIGHT CLOSE UP Ships crew drive dowels into the timbers to secure them in place.

EXT. SHIPS DECK - MORNING EXTREME WIDE SHOT The sun rises as the work finishes. Seamus paces the deck observing.

EXT. OCEAN - MORNING Sirens approach the surface.

SIREN The work has been completed. EXT. SHIPS DECK - MORNING Seamus leans over the rail. SEAMUS Thank you beyond belief for the timely repairs.

SIREN It is our pleasure. We will use our magic to float the ship off the rocks.

SEAMUS We will set sail stations and make ready to be underway. SIREN Make sure you keep your promise. The sirens life the ship from the rocks and place it in the water.

SIREN Be safe on your journey. SEAMUS Thank you...All hands make sail. SHIPS CREW Aye Sir. EXTREME WIDE SHOT The Celtic Rose sails off towards the north east waiting for landfall. EXT. ATLANTIC OCEAN - EVENING The Celtic Rose sails into Charleston. EXT. SHIPS DECK - EVENING Seamus stands near the helm. SEAMUS All hands make ready to enter port. EXT. PIER - EVENING Seamus crosses the brow. WIDE SHOT SEAMUS Gentleman let me tell you a tale. The stories of Sirens are not true. They are the reason we stand here before you. FADE TO BLACK. END OF ACT III


The classroom rarely has a sense of peace. It’s my free period, where I can enjoy my lukewarm coffee from Starbucks and sad-looking salad. I have just enough time to catch the F train, gather the papers that need to be graded, and grab the empty seat at the end of the subway cart. There are essays that still need to be distributed back, but I’m hoping my students don’t ask me about them. Usually they are filled with rumbustious energy from lunch, carrying loud conversations to their assigned seats.

I look over at the clock. 2 minutes left. I quickly clear my lunch from my desk and begin to write today’s question on the whiteboard. How To Convey Emotion in a Short Story. The day before we looked at “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love” by Raymond Carver. We began reading in class and instructed the class to continue on themselves for homework. Even though I’ve incorporated this story into a lesson several times, my. Thoughts are constantly changing. Did Carver add a sense of irony of how these characters don’t actually know anything about love? Does it convey the character’s insecurities and deepest fears they have about love itself?

Before I can finish my train of thought, the rush of my students fills the classroom. I hear echoes of mid term exam stress, frozen fish stick served at the cafeteria, and the upcoming winter formal.

“Alright, alright. Settle down please!” I stand in front of my desk with my hands crossed on my lap. Slowly, the voices are almost minimal and their eyes are focused on me. I smile. “I hope you all finished the short story we started reading in class yesterday. It is a great example of the topic we are going to be talking about today, which I have written on the board.” They look over the question and I see one raised hand from the corner of my eye. Adam, a fairly average student, clicks his pen once as if to signal when he will begin. I call on his name. “I’m guessing from what we read… conversation?” I nod, that is exactly where I was getting at. “Yes!” I answer, “Conversation is actually a key way that the author conveys emotion in this piece. However, there is one other example that also plays a part to show emotion here.” I turn to write Adam’s answer on the board. Another hand is raised, and this time it is by Delilah. Straight A student in my class, a wonderful story teller in each weekly prompt that is assigned.

“Detail? Specifically about how the characters are acting.” Also correct, a little less obvious than conversation. “Excellent! Those are two elements of storytelling we will be looking at today.” I say as I write it as a second bullet under the question.

Adam raises his hand again. “Before I dive into these answers, what did you all think about the story itself? Did you like it? Found it confusing?” I manage to steal another sip of coffee before I call on Adam once again. “It’s clear that none of these adults know anything about love.” The rest of the class erupts in a fit of laughter, others are agreeing with an expression of “Yeah right?!”

“I can see why you feel this way. There are two adult couples, all drunk off of gin and telling random stories to each other. Terri, thinks that even though her previous husband abused her, he loves her.” The laughter and smiles from Adam’s response begins to fade. “We don’t get much dialogue from Nick and his wife Laura, but their lack of input is based on their marital bliss. They just got married, they’re still in the ‘honeymoon’ phase.” I say and watch as their focus is brought upon me inventively.

“So marriages go south eventually?” Mark openly remarks.

Some students chuckle and others have no reaction. “Well, no not all of them”, I chuckle. “But all couples will go through their up’s and down’s. They will share arguments, personal problems or issues they have carried from previous relationships. The term ‘honey moon phase’ specifically is about couples who don’t reach there yet; they haven’t shared their battles, or they avoid arguments, and keep their insecurities a secret.” I see boys and girls alike take in what I say earnestly. A few of them take it with a grain of a salt.

“Is that why you’re not married?” Mark asked.  Now before I respond, this is the type of relationship I have with my students. We joke, we try to keep the environment light. I need to keep up with the humor of Gen Z. So most the jokes told slide. This was just a little too personal for my liking. But I managed to laugh.

“It could be one of the reasons!” I respond. “We should set you up, Ms.M!”

“Yeah! What about the junior English teacher? Mr.Domentino!” “Oh he would be great!” Delilah and Samantha are going back and forth, two best friends of course. But as soon as his name is mentioned, my heart begins to flutter. Mr.Domentino, or Milo, was a favorite of the upperclassmen. He taught Shakespearian Literature for juniors and seniors, and every student who has taken his class left positive reviews for him online. He played tapes of “A Midsomer’s Night’s Dream” and “Macbeth”, reenacting the voices and mannerisms as if the classroom was his stage. One free period, when I walked over to use the restroom, I peaked through the door window. He wore an exorbitant crown, a velvet cape and paraded around the room with the stage presence of an actor from the 16th century. He managed to make teenagers break into laughing fits, and even smiles from the shyer pupils.

“Okay that’s enough!” I tried not to blush at the sound of his name being mentioned. “Mr.Domentino is too busy reading the classics, whereas I…” I pause for dramatic effect and stand in front of the class room with my hand on my chest. “Teach you how to write! The real thing that matters. Shakespeare can stay in the past where it belongs and no longer bore anyone else to tears.” Students share an ogle of “ooo’s” while I laugh at their childlike humor that I’ve somehow matched.

“Anyways, let’s go back to the lesson! The usage of conversation is a great way to convey emotion…” * * * * * The final period ends with the sweet sound of the dismissal bell. Eliza finally finishes grading the pile of essays and makes her way to erase what is left on the whiteboard. There is plenty of time to spare to catch the train. She returns to that state of tranquility like she had earlier on in the day; no student or faculty in sight.

As she’s ready to put her jean jacket on, there’s a knock on the door. To her surprise, Milo is standing in her direction. “May I come in?” He asks with a soft smile that makes Eliza realize how much she would love to see it more often. She awkwardly stands by her desk and makes a gesture to walk in. “Of course, how are you?” That did sound a little too formal, but she tried to be casual around him. They mostly shared small talk or what lesson plans they had whenever they would bump into each in the teacher’s lounge.

He walks towards the white board, a few inches away from where Eliza is standing. “Good, good. Just dismissed my class.. held them a little longer to go over an assignment.” Eliza nods and then cracks a smile. “Another assignment on interpreting Shakespearian language?” She holds her gaze and watches as Milo lets out a chuckle.

“No I actually assigned some parts for them to reenact in class. But I know for some it might bore them to tears.” Eliza’s playful smirk turns quickly into bewilderment. How the hell did he know about that comment she made earlier? Now Milo is smirking and before Eliza can ask how he knew, he says “Mark might have mentioned what you said.”

Remind me to punish Mark accordingly, she thinks.

Her cheeks turn a shade of red, and quickly tries to brush it off. It’s no use, because Milo’s smooth expression sends Eliza in ways that is anything but nonchalant.

“Well, I stand by what I said. Classics and old literature make for good exposure but developing your writing skills is more… fruitful.” There, she knows what she’s talking about. She walks over to get her purse and Milo is still leaning on the whiteboard. “Fruitful? The same old story of two drunken couples who know jack shit about love? Now if you want to teach your students about one thing about love, Shakespeare is a great example-“

Eliza cuts him off in a fit of laughs. As she should. “Oh sure. A thirteen-year-old and sixteen-year-old fall in love and kill themselves in the end. The epitome of romance.” Milo does think thats a valid point, but wont ever admit that to her. He loves to continue this banter and have any excuse to ruff up a few of her feathers.

“It’s more than that! It’s a euphemism for young love and the risks we are willing to take early on. Don’t you agree with that?” She listens to him say, as she turns over to and faces right where he is standing. Their height difference is even synced, where her head reaches just under his shoulder. His head leans down and stares into her iridescent hazel eyes. Oh how they both love the idea of one another. Beyond the physical and mental stimulation.

When Eliza started teaching three years ago, the first person she met was Milo. And out of all three years, they both managed to be single. She imaged what deeper conversations could potentially look like; bad dates they both went on or what TV show they were currently binging. But would they ever admit that they were attracted to each other? Or that they loved when students brought up their names and managed to secretly play matchmaker?

She manages to break the tension. “I might” she replies and grabs the jean jacket wrapped around her chair. As she starts to put it on herself, Milo holds onto other sleeve to help her into it. They’ve gotten comfortable now.

Before she excuses herself out and on her way home, Milo walks out of the room with her and down the hallway. “Are you chaperoning the winter formal?”, he asks. The principal had asked her last week and Eliza was hoping to come up with an excuse on the spot. What fun would it be to watch teenagers for over five hours, either frenching or grinding on the dance floor while she the drank stale fruit punch. But now it may be worth it. “Unfortunately, yes. Are you?” Milo flashed a smile, he was hoping she would be there.

“I am, and luckily I won’t have to do this alone now that you’ll be there.” Eliza giggles, and continues to face the end of the hallway, to avoid any sign of excitement he might read from her current expression.

“If I’m going to be stuck with you all night.. there will be no talk of anything English related.” He laughs. “Nothing of the sort.”


I park my car and sit for a few minutes alone to gather myself. I hold my head upon the steering wheel; this was not the moment I had in mind when I thought about reaching out to the family. I contemplate how life has a way of taking unexpected twists and turns when one least expects them or even wants them. I say a short prayer before heading to the church. I soon enter through two large old brown wooden doors that greet me at the entrance. Rows of flowers line both sides of the vestibule, along with candles and weeping people standing six feet apart. The morning light of the day shines across the room in silence; only a single candle flickers from the altar to brighten the lifesize crucifix hanging above from the front.

I am early; I make my way to the empty altar, the gentlewoman below the crucifix rests and does not stir. She lays alone in peace on the other side of the plexiglass barricade. I stand at a distance to give my last respects. Her hair of silver crowns her small quiet body. A pleasant goodbye smile slumbers across her silent red lips; no more to speak my name or kiss my cheek. She will no longer give hugs to greet me or to say farewell.

She lays in a pink floral print dress that is fresh and crisp.  I return to sit in the back row facing the commotion of spectators as they line up six feet apart to bib her one last farewell. The fragrance of incense roams the church to offer a spiritual homage to God and the woman who gave her life to him and her family.

Childhood memories long-forgotten stir my emotions; loving tears fill my eyes. I think of the many times she opens her home to my family when we have none. Her words of kindness play before me in bittersweet thoughts.

Her handmade tortillas with dripping butter, and beans, bite the hunger from my door many times.

She often has little to share, but she always shares what she has. A lady with a heart like hers is hard to find in this world. More so, one who never asks for anything in return. Although her own family is large, she never turns us away. Her famous words still ring in my ears. "Kimmy, adds some more water to the beans and make a few more tortillas. We have family here for dinner." As I sit in the back of the church alone, I make sure my mask is secure tight about my face. I move to the far end, close to the aisle by the wall. With much hesitation, I attend the church service. My hands clutch and tremble with prayer as I drop to my knees. The sad thought of my life being devoid of her smiles and hugs forever here on earth hits me. My heart fills with pain as it breaks for her. It beats in a slow cadence as I offer my silent prayerful whispers to heaven. I wonder how do I apologize for a lifetime of neglect runs the emptiness of my soul. How do I even begin to tell her how much she means to me?

I take a breath as I lower my head, and the simple words begin to flow from my lips. They fill with such an energy of love and devotion, to my surprise. I know they will reach heaven from this holy place around me. That young child within speaks with the love that surrounds my being. Family ties seem anew with love, that fills the room and all the people that have gathered. "Oh, my dear Aunt Mary, thank you for your kindness and the generosity you gave my family. If angels walk this earth? You are indeed one. You know I love you and always will be grateful you crossed my journey here on earth."

My Aunt Mary was the last link to my childhood pass. It was less than a week ago, she and I enjoy a simple meal of cookies and tea in her suite at Peaceful Pines. My cousin Kimmy also came to visit that day. Whom, I had not seen since my mother's funeral last spring.

We talk and share memories of long ago along with smiles and hugs. They also share many fond memories of my father that I have long forgotten. Perhaps it was the loss of my mother that finally urged me to visit.

Before I leave, I think of the many wasted years that have gone past. I promise my aunt and Kimmy that we will get together soon. We make plans to get together for the upcoming holidays. In anticipation of our future get-together, my aunt promises to share one of her famous bread pudding recipes. The following week, her daughter, Kimmy, calls to notify me that my Aunt Mary is in a coma and dying from cancer. Where has all the time gone? The many years I missed knowing her and her family as an adult are gone forever. Yet, here I sit alone, thinking about her one more time. I reflect on how to make it up to her. I gather myself off my knees and sit back in my seat. I stand and walk over to my cousin Kimmy and the rest of my Aunt Mary's family across the aisle. Kimmy and I look at each other with masked faces. Our teary eyes smile; we know we are family. Since my Aunt Mary's funeral, I keep in monthly contact with my three cousins. We have gone out to dinner on a few occasions. Even though our lives have taken different paths, we still share old stories from our childhood and often share our plans. I know my Aunt Mary is gone, but her memory lives on in our hearts. With the current pandemic still at hand, a family is so much more precious.