(Story below is a little short story I imagined for my "visitor threw the looking glass" post this read is a romantic/humor/Sci Fi take on that post if this story isn't your genre in reading, just ignore this, if it is I hope you enjoy!) Chapter 1 " No Chase , I do not know where your girlfriend left her tampons, nobody died and made me the maxi pad queen" as I sighed into my phone. It's been 3 weeks since her brother and his girlfriend moved into her little two bedroom apartment,and already they were causing a bunch of issues she didn't need ,what she truly needed to get these artistic renderings to her boss. As a graphic artist she had been thrilled to get this new job with an up and coming video game company, graphics were everything in gaming, it made or broke a company virtually, but instead of dishing out beautiful imagings she knew she was capable of, the constant interruptions the two were causing made her better understand why living with family was never a good idea. Chase whined in her ear further confirming this. "C'mon Vicky , you had to have used them, you're the only other girl in the house, I certainly don't use them" Victoria felt a headache coming on, taking a deep breath she retorted harshly back in her brother's ear " Chase I'm on the pill, don't have periods frog brain, I have work to do, stop calling me over Sarah's period crisis . Stop being cheap and buy her what she needs" Before he could retort his typical annoying brother script she hung up, as always she was really annoyed at her brother's antics but it wasn't just him today, the artistic pieces she made looked so good as she filed through the pictures, but they lacked something a heart, a soul, she couldn't put her finger on it and that made her more irritable than anything her brother could come up with. "Screw it, whatever it's missing the boss can figure it out " as she pushed send to his email.Thankfully she wouldn't have to do anymore renderings until the big cheese gave his opinion, which if she knew anything about her boss would be about a week. Her boss had this new woman that got his dick hard, his attention span in anything else equaled that of nat.so she had a little break on her hands sighing she leaned back in her office chair , taking a sip of her coffee, absentmindedly she looks over to a long mirror hanging on her bedroom wall , her imagine starring back at her. She looked so tired , her long brown hair laid in a limp pony tail down her back, lopsided glasses tiled over her slightly crooked nose, even her light blue eyes which to her always seemed her best feature looked dull and lifeless. "Dear God I look like something that crawled outta a cave, time for a nap" she yawned as she stretched, closing her laptop. As she made her way over to her bed , tossing her glasses on her nightstand, just as she was going to slip into her comfy nightgown her phone rung,she heavily sighed. "Of course, it's never that simple" she said irritable, picking up her cell she looks to see who was calling only to look at the phone as if it turned into a singing fish. " What is wrong with this thing" instead of a phone number, it was a long list of letters almost like concordance or computer script.the irritating ringing continued ,making her foul mood get worse. "Fine, fine I'll answer, stupid crappy phone"as she hit the receive button, but before she could put her ear to the phone a great flash emanated from the screen almost blinding her closing her eyes she cursed. As she tried to rub her eyes an odd chatter filled her room, it was like no language she ever heard, almost musical and calming, whoever the speaker was could talk the clothes right off a woman with that honey sweet voice, so masculine and sure. By some miracle she still held the phone after getting her eyeballs flashed outta their sockets, getting her bearings she raised the phone to her face and what greeted her was something out of graphics she designed. On her screen sat a man but it was not human unless this was some cosplay character someone dreamed up. His face had definite humanoid features ,strong jaw, high cheek bones, something that looked like old roman statues she seen years ago, but his eyes were wrong, they were a teal like green but no whites in the eyes, just a fully mirrored green that strangely shimmered, he also didn't have ears but these butterfly shaped florescent appendages that sparkled like diamonds, he had a small like horns wrapped around his brow like a crown and his skin was a light purple,and sliver like wings draped around his muscular shoulders like a small cape, he sat in a area that seemed so alien, even in her in her fevered visual graphics mind could never dream up a place so fantastic. And in the same regard couldn't dream up something as visual stunning as him either Realizing she was oggling him , her eyes returned to his and she almost laughed , for such a beautiful creature he wore this comical expression on his face full of shock and awe and from the way he was looking at her, he was doing a full examination of her as she had him. Her logical mind was doing cartwheels naked right now , trying to calculate what she was seeing, the man was impressive as was his surroundings, but was she more overworked than she realized? And this was some fevered dream? Was she laying in her bed deathly sick, or was this some elaborate prank her boss dreamed up to motivate her. She seriously didn't think her boss was that clever, but there was always a first time for everything, and if it was she was highly impressed and secretly crushing on this muscular god of wet dreams. Yeah ok she had strange tastes in what you defined a man by , but her inner muse never lead her wrong before! She blushed as this uhh anime looking creature narrowed his eyes looking at her like a man with a mission to gobble her up like candy. So this strange desire between them was mutual, or maybe it wasn't, and it was her imagination working over time . As the blush reached her neck she cleared her throat , this endless staring was starting to make her nervous.she spoke the first thing that came to her brain. " Greetings man of my dreams, come here often?" ( Hello everyone, ending chapter 1 here, if you like this story and would like to see it continue, please leave some feedback. I'm a novice writer and my genre leans more to the romantic/humor/supernatural/Sci Fi . Forgive any grammar issues , I tried to proof read it so it didn't come across completely ridiculous.


Ever since I devoured the world as a maggot I knew I was his champion. I sang his song louder than the rest. My wings beat only for him, carrying his word across the putrid land I harvest. My eyes only exist for him to see through! And one day when my wings don’t beat and my eyes stop working and my mouth goes rigid, He will take me to his table! And there, I will pronounce my oath to him and he will know that his creation still worships him as their own! A warm, fecal note wafts into my brain, and I charge east in the name of the only god I pray to, Beelzebub! Beelzebub, this dinner is in your honor, as all my meals are! The stench encompasses me and my legs sink into the feces. fleshling, Ech. But for you, my lord, I dine. And in my vision, my brothers and sisters and children feed too! But they are not as hungry as I my lord! They do not sink their mouths in knowing that next to them sits the true champion in your eyes! For I will eat, and eat, and eat to the point of gorging just to please you. I will spread the filth to the world. I will devour the world and then Shit. It. Out. For the fleshlings deserve to know, the rest of the great kingdom of animals deserve to know, Beezlebub, lord of the fliers, lord of the flies, lord of the skies, is king! I renounce all other gods, for their followers are not as deserved as I! I will eat the world’s shit and make it my own! I am doing unto them what they have done unto the world! I take to the sky, my wings singing just for him. And I leave this dark grey canyon that the human’s made and into the larger one. I smell meat below me. More to feed on! Later, I will not be greedy, I will let the devoted dine first, and I will clean the earth below me when they are finished. I spot a nice fleshling under an oak. I land on the tree and watch. They dine on a single apple, too ripe for my liking. Their neck looks pasty. It looks stupid, and ugly, and born of something unnatural! And I scream to them, I scream: You take from the earth that gave you its life and devoured our air! We used to be kings, and you reduced us to pests! We are not pests, we are order! And I charge forth, wings singing in Beezlebub’s choir, first in line, first seat at the table, and land on the fleshling neck, and with great delight, with great savoring, I excrete the world unto them, and I laugh! I laugh knowing I am a dutiful soldier doing my job for a god who loves me, for a greater cause, and for a future without flesh. For there will come a day, a dark and stenched day, when there is nothing too ripe, fresh, or living enough for the teeth of my Brothers and Sisters. The maggots will feed on eyes, and we will take the tongues and flesh. We will return to being the kings we once were, and the world, Beelze— I feel the air above me lurch towards me, and I am skybound before a force of immeasurable weight collides with me in my back. My thorax caves in, I can’t see out of 12 of my eyes, my wings will never sing again, and my legs won’t move. I am no more. Crushed by a fleshy hand. Please, I served you with all of my being. Please I am your champion. Please let me dine.


The week had already been long and was going by slowly, with each day seeming like it took a week to go by, while it was the same ole hum drum daily churning of school work and classes with the usual lack of excitement. That is when things started to change because in their History class they took together that day John and Billy had been assigned a book report on their favorite subject by their teacher to be done over the weekend while they was off from school. They had decided to do their report on a famous gun fighter from the wild west, something they both had fantasies of being theirself. Living in the wild west and saving the damsels in distress while saving entire towns from criminals who thought of killing as a sport of some kind and they took joy in seeing which one could outdo the others in making a name for the entire Hoopaloo gang to which they belonged. In the midst of a quiet and fairly low crime rated neighborhood lived two best friends who played outside and went to school together. Their names were John and Mark, they was two young, teenage boys who had daydreamed a lot, almost daily about life in the wild west, which to them never seemed to have a boring moment with all the shootouts, poker games, saloon girls and getting to ride off on their horses to new places and new adventures, and they both was so excited as they read the book together that they had found that told all about their western hero, Masked Mark the hired gunfighter, who had came into town to fight against the outlaws known as the Hoopaloo Gang that was thieving, robbing, and killing, as they made their trails over the western plains leaving a trail of destruction and their crimes of robbing to killing and bank robberies, and anything in between Masked Mark the hired gunfighter  was set to make contact with the lowly Sheriff who was to scared of the Hoopaloo gang to go up against them or to do anything to help the town and it's people for that matter, he just slithered back into his Sheriff office and stayed there as the Hoopaloo Gang had their way with the town, it's women, the whiskey and turned the Saloon into their free for All party headquarters where they planned their next crime spree and without someone to stop them who knew when they might leave the town of Blissful Texas and move on to their next unsuspecting place where ever that might be. to pick up where they left off here. Upon his arrival the Hoopaloo Gang was to drunk and occupied by the Saloon girls to notice him riding into town and making his way to the Sheriff's office, once there when he found the Sheriff hiding in his office and got him to answer the door finally, he let him know he was Masked Mark a hired gunfighter who had been sent for ,due to the crisis in Blissful Texas and a Sheriff who was powerless to do anything due to being a coward, and let him know of his intentions on putting the Hoopaloo gang out of action for good. while he was in town, no matter what it took. The boys was reading the part about the shoot-out that Masked Mark was caught up in with the Hoopaloo Gang, the biggest, badest, meanest, low down gang ever to roam the western plains and was leaving their mark everywhere they had been with no end in sight. masked Mark was outnumbered, there was 1 of him with only a couple people in the town brave enough to want to help him, yet the Hoopaloo Gang was made up of 15 to 18 of the dirtiest, meanest, most honorary and toughest criminals that even Masked Mark had ever ran across, and to this point no matter how hard anybody had tried there was no stopping them, they had killed Sheriffs, gunfighters, innocent people, other outlaws, they had no scruples and no morals and they just mowed their way over anybody who got in their way or tried to go up against them, and their reputation had preceeded them to the town of Blissful in Texas and had everyone living in fear both day and night, for the Hoopaloo Gang would strike anytime they wanted, it did not matter if it was daylight or dark, they would kill off anyone they thought might be a witness to what they done or who they though could identify any of them to authorties without a second thought. that is what had made them so hard to find, til they stayed longer in Blissful Texas than they had ever stayed anywhere before, and that was their first mistake as it gave Masked mark time to track them and catch up to them where they was at when he arrived. He was avid with excitement, Masked mark was no ordinary gunfighter, he had taken out up to 10 men in a 10 to 1 showdown without getting as much as grazed by a single bullet. He was a living Legend whose name even brought fear to the members of the Hoopaloo Gang, though they would never admit to being afraid of anything of anybody Their excitement overtook them as they was making shooting sounds, and yelling profanities toward the bad guys, when from nowhere the head librarian came around the corner like one of the outlaws searching for their prey and blew her whistle at them, and brought them crashing back into reality and making them once again aware of their surroundings in the library. Immediately they scurried away and climbed up in their chairs and was silent as the dark of night. Their excitement was still in their eyes along with the fear that the librarian would come and toss them out, like the bouncers who controlled the saloon's when their customer's got out of hand. And so the rest of their time at the library went along without a hitch that day. On their way out as they passed the librarian the said "Until next time" and they tipped their cowboy hats as they went out the door on their way home. They couldn't wait to finish reading their books on Masked mark and the Hoopaloo Gang when they got home, and then writing their report and in their mind they would reading their wanted posters on the gang they was chasing and had every intention of saving the towns from and rescuing any damsels in distress. Oh what a weekend this was going to be, it had them anxious for Monday to come again.


Like the drought, it had been getting a little worse every day. The sky hasn’t released a drop of water since May, the wind refused to blow and displace any of the hot air, the temperatures stay above 93 even at night and now this feud had gone from stupid to dangerous. In mid-July The Asshole cut off Josh in traffic. Josh’s tenacious hot head tendencies erupted and road rage ensued and Josh followed the rusty brown Buick LeSabre around the city for an hour - screaming and throwing stuff at his car until eventually The Asshole made a tactical error and drove home. Josh followed him. Now that Josh knew where he lived he dedicated some time every day for the next few weeks to driving past his house and doing some general act of harassment or vandalism escalating from burnouts in front of the residence to spray painting phallic symbols on the garage door. Josh proudly told us about his innovative ways of generally being obnoxious as he felt totally justified. In retaliation The Asshole somehow figured out where Josh worked and got his friends to stop by the auto parts store; their harassment escalated in kind from being generally a nuisance in the store to eventually slashing Josh’s tires after the garage door incident. So now its mid August and Josh has now enlisted HIS friends and increasing numbers of people are conducting drive-by assholery and terroristic actions against each other. I was always hoping for a decent breeze but I had been praying for a good rain - if it rained maybe they would all stay home for a day to stay dry and they would cool off and the city would cool off and we could get back to normal. I had made my own tactical error, getting a ride to the grocery store from Josh. I just needed the usual, some pop, some cans of soup and maybe some grapes - grapes are my favorite. I had to raid my spare change cup on top of my dresser to fund my food trip- I had a little bit of folding money, but I had a roll of quarters and one of those gigantic half dollars that always seem to turn up if you start collecting change. I stuffed the coins in my pocket. Usually, I just walk to the store; on the way there the downhill route back isn’t too bad, but walking the two miles up the hill in this heat was too much to even contemplate. It was noon and probably 100 degrees already. I should have gotten up early and walked when it was cooler because the timing now means it will be the hottest and brightest part of the day on the way back up the hill. I asked Josh for a ride when I saw him outside. We’ve got lots of hills in this city, and we had just got to the flat part at the bottom of the hill and I could see the grocery store up ahead across from some new construction. I don’t know what they are building exactly but I’m sure it’s another Walmart or Meijer based plaza that will never actually fill all the storefronts up, and in six years it will be a Big Lots and two crappy dollar stores; at one of them everything will actually cost a dollar but not be worth more than about 42 cents, and at the other store nothing will actually cost less than $3 but still somehow be worth about a dollar. Currently, they are at the strip-the-land and drop-truckloads-of gravel-stage of construction, and in this dry heat if there is any wind at all it would just blows billows of dust everywhere. I didn’t even see the Buick until after it hit us. I didn’t recognize the driver, but I could see The Asshole riding shotgun and looking triumphant. Josh must have caught some motion from the corner of his eye and tried to swerve but it still rammed us into the back of the car in the next lane. The way Josh’s head hit his side window he had to be unconscious, so he didn’t see the passenger stick his hand out of the window with a gun in it and he probably didn’t hear the shots whizzing past us or the shots that hit him and made his body jerk. I don’t even remember getting my door open, but I was out and running even as I heard four or five more shots. I guess leaving my friend was wrong, but from what little I remember from mass, suicide is a mortal sin, and staying there was definitely suicide with the gun pointed in our direction. Behind me I could hear horns and screaming and tires squealing. I didn’t have a master plan, I was just trying to get away - to get space between me and all of that. I didn’t even have the presence of mind to zig-zag as I ran towards the new plaza and it’s ongoing construction. I’m not known for either my sprinting speed or my stamina, but it had to be a personal record for the quarter-mile or so from the street to the parked earth moving equipment. Somehow bullets were still flying so I was running on pure adrenaline until I guess the running gave me a cramp because I got a sudden pain in my side that threw me off balance. My velocity caused me to trip and fall headlong into a parked bulldozer I didn’t see until I hit it because some overachieving wind had kicked up the dust - my eyes were gritty and hard to close and I couldn’t get a good breath from all the sand in my nose and I couldn’t really see more than a few feet ahead of myself. I figured I was safe since if I couldn’t see the bulldozers or whatever then they couldn’t see me to shoot me. I walked around the bulldozer and then around a large dump truck. The heavy equipment apparently very effectively stopped the wind and the dust, because it was like walking through a door and coming out into an entirely different and unexpected place. The sun now felt like it was trying to warm me and not just desiccate me and the wind was no more than a reasonable breeze that seemed to be blowing the dust off of my clothes. I used my hands to help that process along and looked more presentable shortly and felt so much better. My side still kind of burned but my head didn’t even hurt from banging it into the bulldozer. The dusty lot transitioned to grass that had somehow survived the drought so far - about 30 yards ahead was a pretty good drop-off and then a long green field in a kind of valley that I wouldn’t have imagined was back here and didn’t make much sense in the middle of a city. At the far end -way on the other side of a little creek was a house by itself with some grapevines on trellises and a low wall behind it. I figured there was another street on the other side of that house that would be a much safer place than the street behind me. Although it was now quiet in that direction I could imagine the emergency vehicles showing up and the questions and all those things I wanted no more part of. I made it across that last bit of plateau and started down the drop-off using some handily strategic rocks that worked as steps and ended up on a convenient little path. I was a little worried I was trespassing or something but there was no fence to cross and the path was well worn so I followed it. The field sloped more than I thought at first but it was an easy downhill walk. About halfway across I noticed someone walking on another path that looked like it was going to merge with mine close to the creek - the grass and plants were kind of high so it was hard to see the actual path but just kind of eyeballing the direction it looked about right. She saw me and gave a friendly wave as she stepped up her pace a bit; it looked like she wanted to catch me before I got to the water. It was hard to get a read on her even as she got closer - she walked with a bounce and with energy almost like a little kid would walk, but I could see some gray and silver in her hair even from a distance. She was wearing some kind of off-the-shoulder tunic thing that somehow covered an ample and attractively bouncing bosom. As she got closer I noticed her tanned but smooth skin - I guess she was Middle Eastern or Greek or something and I wanted to ask but figured it wouldn't be polite for those to be my first words to her. Up close, I guess the gray hair was some trick of the sun, because it was dark and curly. Its hard to figure people’s ages sometimes and especially in this case I guessed she was probably a bit older than me but still young. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to find a shortcut - I can just go back the other way.” “Going back is a lot harder than you think” I turned and looked, and it might have been another trick of the sun and perspective, but it did look like I had walked a lot farther than I thought. Walking back meant I would have to walk back uphill. And back to all the mess I had run from. “Well, I don’t want to be trouble - if its ok I’ll just walk through to the other side” “As long as you’re sure you want to go this way” Her statement seemed oddly stern - from where I stood I could clearly see what seemed to be the back of a decent size farmhouse- there had to be a driveway out to the street on the other side, and whatever was over there had to be better than where I had come from. Like she could hear my thoughts, she just shrugged. “Why don’t you relax here for a bit, maybe have a snack and then you can decide where to go from here. My name is Sharon by the way” She pronounced her name kind of funny - with more of a “Ch” then an “Sh” sound, but I knew all kinds of people with much weirder names - for a while everybody seemed to name their kids with an L’ or D’ before some normal name - L’don and D’john (who everybody called Mustard) and so on. The relaxing made perfect sense though. It sure seemed like I had walked farther than I thought at first - I still had the taste of dust in my mouth, thirsty for sure and wouldn’t mind a little snack. I could imagine full ripe grapes on their grapevines and that would be a great mouthful or two. This time she smiled, maybe a little sadly. “Careful making the crossing. Keep your eye on the next step, because if you look too much, what you see plays tricks on you and messes up your balance - and the water is much deeper than it looks.” I don’t know what the difference between a creek and a stream is, but whatever this body of water was, it definitely much wider close up. Still, it was pretty easy to step from one stone to the next, ignoring the water moving lazily to my right - but right at the end it was kind of a big hop to the far bank. I was almost all the way across when I saw movement near the side and expected to see a fish or some crawdads or something, but it was an eel or snake that shot out from somewhere almost faster than I could follow and then just hovered still in the water, looking at me. I made that big hop to the other bank. I wasn’t really scared of snakes, but that one was big. I took another big step - just to be prudent. I turned to face her “Watch out for that snake” - I started to say, but she was already across on this same side of the stream, dipping in her hand in the water. I couldn’t see clearly, but it looked like she was petting something in the water. I stepped back closer and she was clearly murmuring to something - peeking over her shoulder there were now a half dozen snakes of similar size hovering close to the surface for her to stroke, like they expected and liked it. I could have sworn the water had been moving lazily to my right before, but now it was definitely moving much more briskly - but still to my right. Which didn’t make sense because I was facing back the way I came. What had been a creek or a stream before now was wider and tending towards what I would say was a river. And that big hop from that last stone now looked like a jump to the first I wasn’t quite sure I could make, even if I had to and had a running start. “Umm, I guess I’ll be heading out” I said, spooked. I figured I would do a quick walk to the street and go on about my business; I was fully prepared to walk uphill or downhill as far as needed to get away from this weird snake lady. I turned to go and almost bumped into some guy who had come out of nowhere. He was tall, I could see straight up his large and hooked nose from my angle. Jet black hair with mustache and goatee, long sleeve purple (silk?) shirt and black pants with black cowboy boots. His lips tilted up at the corners revealing yellow-ish but very straight and oddly skinny teeth. He smiled like he had never really done it before but had read about it. He grabbed my hand and shook it like we were old friends. Gesturing behind him to a long table set for about ten -“Welcome, you are just in time to eat. Sharon (he also said it with more of a “Ch” sound) loves bringing in new people.” He was outwardly polite, but something in the way he looked at me made me just not trust or like him. I paused, trying to think of a polite way to say “no”. “Have a seat” he said, now more as a command than an invitation - a king or other royalty used to his word being taken as imperative. I was tired - well - fatigued and definitely hungry and thirsty so I figured some refreshments and a quick rest would do me good before I headed out. Nevermind the grocery store, I just wanted to go home. Since he grabbed the chair at the head of the table, I moved down 3 or 4 seats for my own seat. It was in front of what looked like a fancy silver lemonade pitcher and a big bunch of grapes on a platter so I hoped it didn’t seem obvious I was distancing myself from him but rather just sitting where the food was. Sharon moved to sit directly across from me. In the shade under the grape arbor she looked older - and less healthy. There were lines around her eyes and her hair from the front seemed grayer and thinner than it had been. She was skinnier than I thought she was and out of the sun her skin was paler and more translucent. She looked like she might have been pretty once, but that was a long time ago and time had not been easy on her. She poured me a generous draught from the pitcher into what I could only define as a straight-up chalice, and her hands were shaking a little. She pushed over the silver platter with the grapes and smiled as she sat back down with a handful of grapes for herself. From my left the man raised his own stein and gave a little toast “To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” “You always use that toast, Yuri” “You have a better one Sharon?”, in a way that was on the surface amused but somehow menacing. They bickered like an old couple that had spent decades together - each knowing what the response from the other would be but still making their remarks anyway. I wasn’t sure if they were married or brother and sister or just old friends. I was sure, though, that my cup did not contain lemonade. I am not a fan of red wine but this seemed sweet and heavy and thick and even the small semi-aborted first sip began to quench my thirst. “Is Yuri a Russian name?” I just wanted to make conversation. “Yuri with a ‘Y’ is basically George, but I am Eurynomos with an “E” - this is a Greek name.” “I thought maybe you were Greek or Middle Eastern” - they both cringed when I said this, and I hoped I had not offended them. Maybe they were Hispanic for all I knew. Sharon smiled sadly but kindly “We are not exactly Greek and definitely not Hispanic, but have been called far worse things” It was freaky that she seemed - that they both seemed - to know what I was thinking. “Eurynomos is not really my name, but that is what they came to call me, just like “Sharon” is a convenient name for her.” I thought it prudent to apologize - they were kind of weird but really had been nothing but nice - or at least polite - to me. “Here in the fields it is understood that you mean no harm.” Euri began, but then looking suddenly distracted “I am famished - we should eat some… real food. You may stay here and rest and refresh as long as you like.” I figured I would enjoy their hospitality and a meal before I walked back home. Coming down to this place I should be pretty far downhill from my neighborhood. Even though I figured I was a little disoriented about which way I was facing, logically there should be at least one obvious and substantial hill somewhere across that stream and field that I would need to walk all the way back up. And looking at the stream it seemed even wider from this angle. Going the other way past the house should probably be about the same distance to come at my street from the other side of the hill but I was having trouble visualizing that route. Looking in that direction I couldn’t see the street beyond the house, but I could make out the stone wall covered with vines, it looked higher than before - easily chest high, but was hard to see exactly because the sky above it was starting to darken with twilight. This was disconcerting, because by my estimation it should be maybe two or so in the afternoon, but judging by the light level it was late in the evening. I couldn’t see the sun from my angle, but it looked like the stars would start peeking out soon. It explained why I was suddenly so hungry. Sharon said she would gather the others and bring out the food as she was also famished. Walking into the house she looked half-starved now - gaunt and malnourished. I don’t know what flattering angles led me to see her as vital and attractive earlier. I finished my cup and poured myself another - Euri looked pleased at this - and what I guessed were “the others” began trickling from the house or from around the sides. This table looked to seat about a dozen comfortably - hopefully everyone was friendly because it looked there weren’t going to be any empty seats. In no particular order or pattern the seats around the table filled - there was muted but friendly conversation from these folk who seemed to know each other. There were a few more people than I first thought and there must have been a few more chairs available than I thought, because I counted 15, with myself, Sharon, and Euri making the total 18. A few were about my age, most though were more elderly and there was one younger boy who looked vaguely familiar. I don’t know why his face and striped shirt seemed to ring a bell, but he looked to be about twelve or thirteen. For whatever reason I was feeling his name was Jeff. He sat right next to me without really looking in my direction. Sharon appeared with serving trays and loaded the table with first with fruit and nuts and then with some things I didn’t really know the names of - hummus and flat bread, some sort of green paste with tomato pieces in it - I guess this was Greek or Middle Eastern foods. In front of Euri though, she placed a pile of BBQ ribs. I could smell the sauce and spice from my seat and they were mouth-watering. I was jealous and was hoping for our own plate of ribs or at least chicken. Euri ate the ribs like a machine - wasting no time sucking the meat off the bones and cleaning them in one quick slurp so not a speck of flesh remained. The rack on his plate disappeared in minutes, and as the pile of cleaned bones grew I noticed the oddly- shaped bones at the bottom of the pile - one looked like a soup bone or a bone you would give a dog, and that one he gnawed on like he was dog, and when he finished that he picked up several smaller and more delicate bones to clean, and those were not ribbed shaped at all. They looked more like fingers, and after sucking the flesh off he cracked each one and cleaned out the marrow. By the time he was done with those small bones I had changed my mind. I didn’t want barbecue, and I wasn’t sure I could even keep the other food down if I tried. None of the others seemed to notice, and if they did, they weren’t at all phased by this. I reached for my wine glass to clear the bad taste from my mouth just as Jeff or whoever reached for his. It occurred to me that he probably shouldn’t be drinking wine, and I crane my neck a bit to glance into his cup. I relaxed because it looked like milk. And then I remembered where I had seen Jeff. His picture, wearing that same shirt, with a caption saying something about missing since March, in block letters on the side of a milk carton. Here he was, and I knew I had to get him out of this place and back home, just like I needed to get back home and out of this place. I figured I could grab his hand and hustle us both out of here. Looking at the house and the wall behind I could see old-fashioned lanterns hanging from the wall, but the lanterns were hung well above my head height and the top of the wall was not even visible in the moonlight. And I had no idea where the gate or opening in that wall would be, or if it would be barred or locked. The only way out of here was back across the stream. Snapping my head that way I planned to grab Jeff’s hand and - hopefully he would come willingly - but drag or carry him if I had to - back to the stepping stones. I wasn’t sure about that big jump to the first one, especially pulling a 12-year-old but the river seemed closer than I thought it had been. I could hear the water rushing much more loudly and moving more quickly than it should have been. Maybe it had finally rained somewhere and it was like a mini-flash flood. Frantically, I pushed my chair back from the table and grabbed for Jeff’s hand. He jerked his hand away and half-shreiked. Which was fair seeing as a stranger was trying to grab him and apparently not for the first time. I yelled for him to come with me, right now, for fuck’s sake. Euri was incensed, his voice was deep and strong enough to drown out all of the side conversations instantly. “No one demands that you stay longer than you want, but you can not force another to go. Know though, you might not like where the river takes you!” Everybody was staring at me, although they didn’t seem particularly alarmed. Even Jeff had calmed down and was munching on some bread. I started toward the river, and as I approached I couldn’t even see the stepping stones anymore. And I did not want to wade or worse - swim in the water with those eel/ snake things that I knew were lurking just beneath the surface. Sharon stepped up next to me, and she again looked young and vital, her skin smooth and full. “I will ferry you downstream, the current is too fast to go back across.” She pointed to a small but sturdy-looking flat-bottomed rowboat pulled up on this side of the river. I felt guilty now - she had been nothing but nice and inviting, and I was taking her away from her dinner and friends. “There is no trouble, this is what I do.” I couldn’t see the other side of the river in the dark at all, or even where the river was going, it seemed to veer around a curve and go on as far as I could see. Somewhat irrationally, I felt like I owed her… something. “A token payment is customary - whatever you have in your pocket will do” I reached in my pocket and my hand closed around the giant half-dollar. Before my hand even came out, she smiled. “Teleios.” (and I knew that meant “perfect”) I helped her push the boat to the water’s edge and sat in the front as she stood in the back to control the rudder. It was cooler on the river and I felt suddenly cold. She picked up a robe from the bottom of the boat and handed it to me before putting on her own robe and pulling the hood over her head. “I do not know how far we will have to go, but we will know when it is time for you to disembark.


Burning Love: Chapter 2 Serena could not believe her luck. She’d lost a fiancé, and somehow, she’d summoned a man, whose skin could easily withstand scorching fire. If she were still a little girl, she would’ve thought that she was inside a fairy tale, come true. Kaiden stepped out of the fire, brushing ash off of his skin, and when he did, the flames seemed to die, turning from a roaring inferno to dim embers. Serena noticed, her skin flushing with heat, that he wore only a pair of plain black trousers, and the taut, tight planes of his chest were exposed. Despite the cool of the autumn night, he didn’t seem to notice. Serena looked around for Abby, not sure how she was going to explain the sudden appearance of a half-naked stranger to her best friend. Abby was clustered nearby with their friends, a red plastic cup in hand. By the looks of her flushed cheeks, she was at least tipsy. Serena had no idea how to get her attention, but she gave Kaiden a look. “Stay here, please. I need to go get my friend.” In reply, he smiled. “I’m not going anywhere, Serena.” He reassured her. Serena crept over to Abby and their friends, grabbing Abby’s forearm. “Abby, I… I don’t feel very well.” She lied quickly, widening her eyes so that Abby could understand the urgency of the situation. “Could you come with me, please?” Abby frowned, concerned, but she turned to the rest. “I’m going to check and see if Serena is okay. I’ll be back soon, guys.” Serena dragged her closer to Kaiden, frowning. She put her hand on Abby’s shoulders. “Before I tell you what’s actually going on, you have to promise that you’ll believe me, no matter how crazy it might sound.” Abby frowned at her friend, squinting. “How much have you had to drink, Serena? I know you’re sad over Leon, but you’re scaring me.” “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol, Abs! Just listen!” Slowly, haltingly, Serena explained everything down to the last detail, no matter how small. Abby stared at her, her jaw hanging open. “Okay, so where is this magical mystery man?” Abby asked, looking around, and Serena couldn’t resist smiling, in spite of herself. Leave it to her friend to take that news without even blinking. “Come on,” Serena said, taking Abby’s hand and leading her to Kaiden, who was waiting patiently for her return. “Serena, you’re back! Is this the friend you told me about?” Kaiden asked, flashing Abby a friendly grin, eyes twinkling. “My name is Abby. What’s yours?” Abby replied, raising her brows at Serena, as if in agreement. “I’m Kaiden.” “How’d you end up here, Kaiden?” Abby asked, and Serena flushed, looking at her feet shyly. She felt exposed and vulnerable, even in front of Abby. “Well, it’s simple. Serena’s heartache summoned me to this plane. So, I answered it.” “But what *are* you, Kaiden? No offense.” “I am a fire elemental with the ability to shapeshift into a dragon.” Kaiden shrugged, smiling, a flush coming to his cheeks at their scrutiny. This time, Serena and Abby both gasped, as one.


Grandma?  Yes?  Come with me.    Just brought me down here for the fun of it, eh?  No. Look. He’s stuck there.  Watch out for his pincers when you pick him up.  Ok. There we go. I think he’ll like that a bit better.  So, you didn’t bring me down here just for the fun of it?  No. I brought you to show you something.  Hmm?  Come with me.    That’s a peaceful place.  Do you think you can get up here?  I don’t know. You’re so much younger than me. You’re nearly how old?  Tomorrow I will be eight!  Eight?  That’s why you came to visit, remember?  Of course I do.  Here, I’ll show you the easiest way up.  Ok, I’ll try.  First right here. Yep. Then your other foot there. And then up here. And now you’re there!  That wasn’t all that bad.  Nope.    I see why you like it in here. It’s cozy.  You can hear the waves. Oh look!  Hmm?  Grandma, did you fall asleep again?  Oh. It seems these days I do that a lot.  Look, though! He’s my buddy. I need to go say hi to him. Stay up here.  Ok.    It’s cold in the water, isn’t it?  Really. But it’s worth it. Hi buddy!  (chirp, chirp) (click, click, click)  I love you. Here you go. You love mama’s bread, don’t you?  (Click, Click)    You missed it again, Grandma. Well, next time. I guess.    The sun is almost setting now. How long was I asleep?  An hour or so.    Weren’t you showing me something?  Yes. I showed you Buddy. But you were sleeping.  Buddy the dolphin?  Yes. You remember! I gave him some of mama’s bread. He comes every day.  He must be your friend by now.  He has been for this whole summer.    It’s going to be dark soon. Come with me. You remember the way down!    Let’s watch the sunset. Sit down next to me.    I love you Grandma. So much. I don’t mind that I have to show you every day. Like it’s the first time.  Hmm?  It’s fine. Sleep.  Ok.  ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Because this post was not 500 words, I am adding words at the end. I am not doing this to cheat, only because my short story is the length I wish it to be.


After eighteen long years, I stepped foot on the grasses of the forest of my hometown. As I walked through the dense forest, the sound of rustling leaves and the chirping of little birds surrounded me. I was overwhelmed with the odd feeling of nostalgia. After some time, I reached a glade. This place is filled with both the best and the worst memories of my childhood. When I was young, I would come here with my little sister, Aria. It was like our secret place, where no one could hurt us. We would wander around, carve stick figures on the trees, and lie down on the grass and stare at the navy-blue sky. Living with an alcoholic father was not easy. But this place was our haven. Spending a few hours there, under the twinkling stars, surrounded by the trees, reminded me that the world was not as inhumane as my house portrayed it to be. Aria loved exploring. When she was young, she would run after the bees and insects flying in our garden. She also had this weird obsession with shiny objects. Thinking about how she would stare at mum’s ring with her dumbfounded eyes and how her lips would take the shape of a circle in adoration of the white stone always makes me chuckle. I found teardrops rolling down my cheeks as I walked up to a tall tree and found a drawing carved out on its bark. I was twelve when I had carved out the stick figures of my sister and me holding hands. The worst event of my life played again and again in my mind. We were right here. I remembered how happy I was in the calm before the storm. The day was March 13, 1997. I was just thirteen, and Aria was seven. I distinctly remember sitting reclined on a tree. Aria was lying on the grass next to me. A cool breeze blew through my hair as I stared at the twinkling stars and the glimmering full moon. That is when I saw five orange lights moving high above the sky. They were moving together in a V-shaped formation with one in the middle and two on either side. It looked like they were all a part of one massive aircraft, which moved very slowly without making any sound. “Hey Aria, look!” I said and turned towards my sister. But she was not there. I looked forward and saw her far ahead, running towards the lights in the sky. I shouted, “Wait!” But she didn’t stop. I sprung up and ran as fast as I could through the forest, dodging the trees in my way. A flash of bright light pierced through the darkness. It was there for just a few seconds. My brotherly instincts told me to run faster and faster. My heart was racing as a feeling of dread filled my mind. I looked everywhere, between shrubs, behind trees and rocks. I looked up into the sky to search for the orange lights. They were gone. Aria was gone too. Aria was the only reason I smiled, the only person whom I considered family. For the next four years, I was all alone in battle, fending for myself, fighting with my father and picking up empty bottles from our living room floor. By the time I was seventeen, I had had enough. So, I packed my bags and ran away to the town nearby. “I let her run away. Where did she go? What were those strange orange lights?” These thoughts haunted me every second of my life, constantly reminding me how bad a brother I was. I always thought I would never return. But then my father’s death forced me to come back here. I sat against the same tree I did so many years ago and replayed the same moment thousands of times in my mind, trying to change the situation so that Aria would still be sitting next to me. While I was deep in my thoughts, I saw a flash of light in the sky. Then, I heard an animal walking behind me. I turned around and saw a figure. It was not an animal. A human silhouette grew bigger and bigger as it walked towards me. I was amazed to see the girl standing in front of me. She was thin and withered, her lips were gray, and her skin was pale white. She had cut marks on her arms and right cheek. Her hair was shaved off. But I recognized those sweet brown eyes and that small button nose immediately. That was my sister. She was staring at me. She had recognized me. A small smile formed on her face. I was overwhelmed by happiness, confusion, excitement and relief. I tried to say something, but I couldn’t find the right words to express the emotions that had taken over me. She came closer. I ran towards her with my arms extended out and hugged her tightly. We stood there for a long time, oceans of tears flowing down our eyes. During that time, I didn’t want to know what had happened. My sister was snuggling in my arms, and she was safe. That is all that mattered.


I appreciate anyone that takes the time to read this. I should've tagged it realistic fiction instead of mystery, my bad. We have to write a short story for my English class about anything, about two pages long. Feedback is most certainly welcome. Trigger warning: abuse and suicide. Running: that’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Running from my problems; my responsibilities; the everyday problems in life that seem impossible to fix. When I ran away from home, I believed it to be a long term solution to my problems. I was eleven years old when my father stumbled in through the doorway, drunk like every other night this week. It was rare to see a day where he was sober- not that those moments offered any solace to me; they were only a brief escape from the personal hell I was living in. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the stench of alcohol and stale cigarettes permeated the room. I shrunk away from him, trying to disappear into the tattered couch that occupied the space of our living room, hoping that if I appeared small enough he wouldn’t notice me. His beady eyes shifted around the room before settling on me. The glazed look that was in his eyes can still send shivers down my spine to this day. He slowly made his way over to me, a few steps interspersed with drunken stumbling. I wanted to move, I wanted to escape- but where could I go? I didn’t have time to think much about it before he began yelling at me about how I was ruining his life. The words don’t sting so much anymore; I’ve grown used to them by now. Of course he knew that they barely stung, so he had to use a new way to hurt me. A punch to the face can hurt just as much as words, I found out that night. After he had passed out on the couch and the only sound in the air was his rumbling snores, I stole the few dollars he had in his wallet and ran. The side of my face was swelling but I ignored it for now. A single word was shouting over and over in my head, making itself heard and refusing to be ignored: Run. So I did; I ran until I could hear my heart beating in my ears and my lungs were screaming at me to stop. As much as I didn’t want to, I had to take a break. I slumped against a brick building, catching my breath as tears streamed down my cheeks. Here I am, years later, yet I still feel like I haven’t left that night. I can never quite catch my breath; I can still feel the sharp, shooting pain in my cheek. I’ve made a life for myself- I’ve got a home, a job, and food on the table. My father died five years ago due to liver failure (who would’ve guessed?) yet I’m still running. I’m running from my past into the unpredictable future which instills just as much dread into me. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but one thing that I do know is that I am tired of running. My hand shakes slightly as I hold the gun in my hand. The tremor becomes more pronounced as I raise the cold, unfeeling piece of metal to my head. Every second feels like an eternity as I hold it, the key to the release I desire. The quiet tick of the clock makes its way into my subconscious, mocking me with its sound. When I’m dead, it will keep carrying on; the world will not stop around me, but I will. I wrap my trembling finger around the trigger. It’s ready to go; but am I? I am. I’m tired of running. I want to finally be able to rest and let go of my past. This is the one moment in my life where I fully welcome the unpredictable future. I can finally stop running. I pull the trigger. Everything goes black.


The village of Mawega was like a wilderness in 1985. It is located between Mt. Kenya and the Aberdare. It was built on land previously occupied by British settlers. Now, it was sparsely populated by families that had moved from more populated areas of the central province. The land had yet to be cleared, and all around there were thick patches of shrubbery and trees. There also were frequent reports of various wild animals. It was here that Mwangi lived with his wife and four children. The day that we begin this story was like any other day. It was dusk and Mwangi’s youngest was watching their sheep in the field in front of his father’s land. He could not see most them but from their bleating he knew they were in the grazing in the shrubbery in front of him. He was preparing to take them home when he noticed that a cloud of dust was coming towards him, he thought it might just be that until suddenly sheep started running from the shrubs in front of him and racing in the opposite direction towards home. This was no whirlwind, he thought. As the dust closed on him shrubs started to shake and he thought he might have seen shapes in the disappearing light. It could only mean one thing, and he was not going to wait to find out. Mwangi was seated on a wooden stool outside his house then his breathless son burst in the compound and screamed “Elephants!” Mwangi looked beyond his farm where his son pointed. The dust had picked up speed and had reached his farm and even though he could not see clearly, the rustling on his tall maize farm told him that this must be huge rampaging heard and they needed to leave now. He called for his wife and children, and they sped out along the path behind the house, running as fast as their feet could carry them. A while later they came across their neighbor. “Many angry elephants. Coming fast” shouted Mwangi as he sped past. His neighbor could see a cloud of dust in the distance. He dashed in this compound, and soon his whole family of eight was behind the Mwangi’s. Any one they met on the road got the same message and took the same actions. So the panicking group picked up steam and more people. Soon, no one even bothered to ask what they were running away from. A hundred people racing across the fields and screaming couldn’t be running away from nothing. It was on. Those who say that women can’t run as fast as men must have not been not present in this great race of 1985. The women of the Catholic Women’s Action were at the front of the confused crowd, with their blue religious headgear flapping around behind them like a tiny flag. Those who argued that you needed two good legs to run fast were proved wrong by our elder, Waruinge. Now in his 70’s, he had lost one leg fighting for our independence. He was at the raising dust at the front of the fleeing mass. It is reported by witnesses that his being did not touch the ground all as he moved. Instead, he hopped forward at impressive speed using his two clutches in a way that might remind one of a kangaroo. Those who say that love is the strongest force must have missed this race. Maina and his young wife Kui had only been married one year. They held hands everywhere they went, and even *Ngai* was pleased with them, for he had recently blessed them with twins. When he saw the crowd pass this house in terror, he did not waste a single second. His skinny legs, only dressed in traditional *akala*, carried him past the crowd, and he was with the women and Kamau at the front in no time. Like everyone else at this point of this embarrassing occasion, he forgot to ask what village was running from. He also forgot his wife. She was later spotted among the horde carrying each of her wailing twins under her arms, although this did not seem to impede her flight. I am not proud to say that i was also part of this mob of cowards. I took the shortest route away from the imagined peril. I went through shrubs instead of around them, and at the end of it all I was covered with the branches of every plant found in our village. I also had thorns sticking out my face. I had done what I needed to do to escape what I thought was the end of the world, which I am sure my kind reader will understand. The priorities of the villagers were clear on this day, since everyone only managed to pick a few items that were of importance to them before they joined the melee. I spotted my brother falling behind as he struggled with a container of beer on his shoulder. I choose to leave him behind so that at least one member of our family could survive. I once again beg you to reserve your judgement. Only one man tried to stop the madness. When our assistant chief saw the mass moving towards his house, he went outside his gate for a better view. When he heard the screams, saw the whole village coming at him with alarming speed, he waved his flywhisk around and screamed for us to stop. However, at this point, we were all beyond reasoning. It was beyond the powers of an assistant chief to stop us. I doubt if even the chief could have accomplished this. The assistant chief lost his small finger and his flywhisk in the chaos. He got off easy, the rest of us lost our pride. Exhaustion finally slowed us down near the shopping center. Logic also seemed to return to us, although no one wanted to admit that they didn’t know what they were running from. The few who dared ask were met with many different answers. A pride of lions was seen, the river had broken its banks, or the mountain had erupted. When asked, I insisted i saw what looked like wildfire and that’s why I ran. Not one of us spoke to the other on the way back home. It is forbidden to speak of this event in Mawega village. If you visit and ask about the time the entire village was displaced by the rustling of maize, you will be met with blank stares. Many will swear that they only moved there after 1985. Others will lie and say that it happened the next village over.


It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, this superhero lark. I mean, not all of us get our deserved recognition. Take me. What do you mean you’d rather not? Okay, I’m not your traditional superhero, your 6ft, 185lb, looks good in tights type. Or 6ft 3in, 235lb if you’re Superman, the man of steel, everybody’s favorite hero. Okay, I can top that, I’m 250lb. But then again I’m only 5ft 6in, so hardly the ideal muscular physique you associate with superheroes. I don’t get my superpowers from an experiment gone wrong, lifesaving treatment, gifts from wizards or aliens, endless training or from the fact that I was born on a different planet. I’m not strong, quite the opposite. Mom used to tell me I couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding. But why would I want to do that anyway? I cannot fly, cannot see through walls, cannot make things freeze or heat them up. In fact on the face of it, I’m just your ordinary Joe in a world teeming with superheroes. But there is one thing I can do. I can stop time. It was quite by accident that I discovered my skill. I was walking down the street one day, minding my own business, when I heard a high-pitched scream and a squeal of brakes, and although I normally wouldn’t want to see the scenario that follows a high-pitched scream and squeal of brakes, I looked. Over to the left, and there was this woman, screaming because her small daughter had run into the road and there was a truck coming. You know how it is, something like that happens and suddenly everything goes in slow motion as the inevitable draws ever closer. Except this time, it went from slow motion to stop.

There was the woman, groceries tumbling to the ground, a look of complete horror as she faced the inevitable. There was the man in the truck, gripping the wheel, eyes bulging, a look which said he was standing on his brakes but still they weren’t working fast enough.

I went up to the guy next to me – he’d been smoking, and there was his cigarette, a lazy wisp of smoke curling up from the end. He’d been exhaling at the time, and you could tell by the track of the smoke which way he’d been facing when he began to turn his head. I walked to a woman next to him. She had blond shoulder length hair that was suspended as she turned towards the where the scream had come from, her bag was swinging, her skirts swirling.

Where was Superman when you wanted him, I thought? He’d have scooped up the child, stopped the truck, and been applauded by everyone. I looked round. No sign of a blue and red streak. I checked in all directions. Still no sign. In fact nothing was moving as far as I could see. There would be no saving that little girl. Unless. I moved closer to where the truck was. This was the first time anything like this had happened. I wasn’t sure what the rules were.  I checked what I thought the driver was doing, which direction he was trying to swerve to, and I went to the other side of the road. Gingerly I put my foot in the road. Nothing. The truck remained where it was, the girl remained where she was, the mother remained screaming, arms outstretched. I ventured a little further, getting ready to jump back if everything started up again. Nothing. Time to take action.

It was obvious the girl couldn’t move by herself, but would I be allowed to pick her up? I went towards her, and yes, I could. It would have helped if mom hadn’t been feeding her so many donuts. Hell, it would have helped if I didn’t eat so many donuts. But I managed to pick her up and put her down next to mom.

Now what? The girl wasn’t in front of the truck any more, so how did we get things moving? It was then I noticed an outline of a figure right next to smoking man, just past blond hair lady. Perhaps I had to go back to where I had been. I crossed back over the road, keeping one eye on the truck as I did so, and stepped into the outline I could see there. First I felt my feet snap into place when I got them right. Then it was my leg, hips and body. As each part filled the outline correctly, it snapped into place. And as I snapped my head back into position, the world came back to life. There was that scream, a screech of brakes, a thud, and everyone was rushing over. I looked round. There was the woman looking confused with shopping on the ground, the girl clinging onto her, and in front of the truck was a young man on the ground. He’d been rushing to try and save the girl when I’d stopped time, faltered when suddenly there was no girl to save, and ended up in front of the truck himself.

Thankfully his injuries weren’t that bad, considering; two broken legs, a broken collar bone, concussion. But the guy lived and recovered. Eventually. And the kid was fine. Okay, so I screwed up, not exactly a superhero, but hey, it was my first time. I wasn’t sure what was happening, what I was doing. This superhero talent I had didn’t come with a guidebook, you know. But I learned a valuable lesson, which is I had to look round for other potential consequences. Hell, at the time I wasn’t too sure it had even happened until I saw the local news on TV that night. They tried to pin it on Superman of course, but he wasn’t having anything to do with it, what with the other guy being injured and all that. None of the others would admit to it either. But I went round for a few days saying to myself, you saved a kid’s life. Fancy that. You. Jerry Martin. Well, nothing like that happened again for a while, so I thought it might just be a one off, but then I was in the bank, waiting patiently in the queue, when suddenly a couple of guys burst in, shooting at the ceiling, and telling everyone to get on the floor. Women screamed, men shouted, and I could see one of the tellers reach under his desk. Then everything froze. I stepped to one side, there was my outline waiting for my return, and I began to assess the situation. I checked outside, I wanted to see if the whole world had stopped; it had. Next, who was in danger. Firstly there was the teller. His name was Bill by the way, and Bill had been in the process of pushing the emergency button under the counter. Had he pressed it? I didn’t know, but what I did know is one of the gunmen had spotted him, aimed and fired. And from what I could see, the aim was good. Or bad, if you were a teller called Bill. As I saw it, I had two options. The first option was to move Bill out of the way of the bullet. If I moved Bill, I would need to get behind the counter, and hey, wasn’t that the door to the back office opening? So for that I could move that filing cabinet so it was in the path of the bullet. But the filing cabinet was kinda big, looked heavy like. To say nothing of how the hell do I get over the counter and the barriers in the first place. Which left option two.

Option two was to move the bullet, which I did very carefully. Hell, if I took it out of time, I’d no idea if it was going to go off or anything or continue on its way. So rather than pluck it out the air with my pinkies, I thought it safer if I used a waste basket, which is what I did. No explosion, it just rattled around a bit, but I made sure that when I put the bin down on the floor that the bullet was facing towards the wall, just in case. That done, I looked back at the two guys. They still had guns, were still a threat. I went up to the one who’d tried to shoot Bill, took hold of his gun, oh how I hate those things, and tried to pull it from his grasp. I found that if I moved one finger at a time, I could loosen his grip just enough so that I was able to get it away from him. When I’d got both guns, I put them in a corner behind a desk. If anyone asked how they got there, I’d say I put them out of harms reach in what I hoped would be the ensuing confusion. But the guys were still a threat. They were big, nasty, wearing masks, and I dare say when they realised their guns were gone, they’d get nastier. First the masks came off. Urgh. Big, nasty and ugly. But what to do with them now? Missing their masks would make them even angrier, so I looked around at the other customers. I judged there were at least three of them that might be able to keep these goons in place till the police got here. But let’s give them a head start. Now I might not be good at many things, but I was a good boy scout, and I like to think I’m good a tying knots. I would have liked to tie their feet together, but as their feet were so far apart, that wasn’t really feasible, so I had to make do with tying each leg to a chair. I went round all the guys in the queue and ‘borrowed’ their ties for the purpose. I made sure I included my own tie that I would remember to ‘miss’ when time started again. I was about to step back into my outline when I noticed that an old lady had been knocked and was falling over. If she fell where she was, she’d break a hip for sure. There was bearded guy quite close, and although it didn’t look like he’d catch her, if he had a well-placed chair to hand… There was nothing else I could do. I stepped back to where my outline was waiting, clicked into it a bit at a time, and bingo. The bullet exploded in the waste bin, Bill pressed the button, the old lady sat down suddenly on a chair that the bearded guy just happened to have his hand on, and two very confused would be bank robbers were being wrestled to the ground by the fit guys just as Superman showed up and shortly before the police arrived. Superman took most of the credit for that one, though he did say he had help from an anonymous source. I could see he was confused about the guys being tied to chairs.

Of course, I’m not like other superheroes. Nobody thinks oh yeah, there goes Pause Button Man. I don’t have a fancy costume, I’d look ridiculous in one anyway. Nobody knows that Jerry Martin is other than he seems, a man in his thirties, still living with his mother, a lowly accountant who works at the Daily Planet. My superpower is not something I can switch on and off like these other guys, it just happens if there’s a tricky situation that I might be able to do something about. I’ve saved a couple of kids from drowning when they fell into a river, I’ve saved a crowd of people when a man was having a massive heart attack at the wheel of his taxi. Couldn’t save the driver though, he was already dead. My gifts are limited to the here and now. But there was one occasion where I found out something very interesting. We were on a night out with other people from work. I was walking along and Perry White was saying “So, Jerry, what part of the organisation do you say you work in again?” Behind, I could hear Clark Kent was trying to chat up Lois Lane. He was droning on, trying to impress her, when there was trouble up ahead. A fight had started in a bar and had got ugly. One guy had pulled a knife, another a gun, and it looked like it was about to turn into a free for all, until it paused. Hell, what was I supposed to do here? I looked round at the others. Perry looked like he was about to crap himself, Lois hadn’t yet noticed and was dreaming about Superman – when wasn’t she – and Clark… Well, Clark Kent was running away. But the truth of the matter was that he was further away than he had any right to be considering that a split second before he had been telling Lois how nice her hair was looking. If he’d started running the moment the trouble started, he wouldn’t have had time to go more than a couple of steps. Yet there he was, half a block away, turning into a side street. What was all that about? I looked at the troublemakers, they weren’t going anywhere, so I decided to take a closer look at Clark. As I got closer, I noticed that he was pulling at his collar, like he was undoing his tie, and he’d already taken his glasses off, making him look more like… A quick peak under his shirt and there it was, red and gold, the S emblem. And further down, I’m sure I caught a glimpse of blue. Well, well, well, Clark Kent, you dark horse. So, now for some fun. I went back to the troublemakers and looked at what they had for weapons. There were three with guns, four with knives, a couple with pool cues and one with a chair. I looked around, and close by noticed a grocery store. From there I picked up supplies and replaced the guns with bananas, the knives with cucumbers, the pool queues with bread sticks. Oh, and I grabbed a tablecloth from a café to replace the chair. The weapons I chucked in a dumpster. There, that would stop any immediate threat. After all, I was pretty sure that someone else would turn up soon enough to apprehend the thugs. Before I restarted time, I looked around to make sure I hadn’t missed anything crucial. No, everything looked fine. Then I clicked back into place and waited. Sure enough, a couple of seconds later Superman turned up to apprehend the guys attacking each other with the contents of the grocers’ store, and I could see he was wondering where all the weapons they’d had only seconds before had gone. The troublemakers had forgotten what they were arguing about and were starting to laugh about it, convinced they’d picked up the wrong weapons because they’d drunk too much. Superman checked everything was okay, and it was then I went up to him and said “Oh Superman, I think they put their weapons in that dumpster over there before you got here,” all innocent like. I could see him looking at the dumpster, probably using his X-ray vision, and after he’d flown off with them, Clark Kent suddenly appeared again. Of course Lois only had eyes for Superman, so had no idea that Clark had even been missing. I could feel Clark looking at me over the next few weeks, wondering, but hey, I’m not one to gossip. I moved on after that, thought I’d go see a bit of the world. Time I left home anyway. And over the years I’ve learned all about the secrets of Hal Jordan, Diana Prince and Barry Allen. Just off to my new job in Gotham City where I’ve got a job with this guy called Bruce Wayne. Wonder what secrets that will bring?


“I don’t need help,” Clarke always thought. He sat at his desk in his claustrophobic office staring at his duel monitors blankly, almost as if nothing was on the screen. His mind was a mess, always had been and likely always would be. His chest was tight and his eyes tired. He couldn’t focus. Clarke took his reading glasses of, letting them fall carelessly onto his desk. Peering out of his window into the world he became stricken with sadness. He wished he could see it all. He wished he could find what his mind and his heart were so clearly missing. He felt out of place in his world and society, he made it through college by going through the motions. Days that droned on like millennia were now a single cluster of mundane memories. Clarke thought. All he did was think. He thought too much. He looked to the future and its uncertainty or the past and its cringe and pain more than he looked at what was presently in front of him. Sometimes he could go weeks caught in the motions of life, like relaxing in a peaceful ocean. But the ocean swelled and the waves would crash him back to shore on a desolate island; he was alone. He felt out of breath, confused as to where he was. He desperately craved comfort. He desperately craved to not feel so bad about everything. He desperately craved to stop worrying about things that were already lost in the universe; like a speck of dust floating lightyears away. “Maybe I should go home sick,” he thought to himself, “I just need some more rest.” It was true, he did need rest. The restlessness, however, was caused by him crashing to shore all night. Waves bombarded him awake. The waves from the prior night felt unfamiliar, he thought he had mastered the sea. “I don’t need help,” he had thought with a smile, “I’m much better now.” But the waves were back, and here was Clarke, at his desk feeling like he never wanted to watch the news ever again. He imagined humanity couldn’t make it much longer. Did the waves tell him that? The waves gave him a wanderlust. Amongst the trees and the mountains is where Clarke found peace. He feared that in his lifetime those places of peace would be long gone. He feared for his mother Earth. He feared for himself. Without a word, Clarke left his workplace. Swift motions that felt so right he thought them criminal guided him to his car and to the bank where he withdrew all of his money. All-in-all it was $30,000. “Goodbye emergency fund,” he said aloud. He drove to the gas station and filled up his gas tank. The overcast day gave the world around him a silver hue, but he knew that soon he would see sunshine. He felt inexplicable amounts of euphoria as he drove away. He mapped out a plan in his head as he drove, listening to his favorite introspective music. “Lover is a Day” played on his speakers as he imagined a road trip through the U.S., followed by a flight to Europe where he would backpack and commute before another flight to Asia. The world, oh how he had to see it! He had to see it before it was gone! He felt even more peace as he packed his clothes and passport before once again hitting the road. Leaving his phone behind was icing on the cake. The waves could catch him no longer, he was on the move. His focus was unmatched as he looked toward his destiny. It was as though he had been in a dark tunnel but the bright opening was in reach! He drove all day. As the Earth’s humble rotation turned Clarke away from the Sun, he drove into a motel. He lied down in his motel bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His peaceful smile disappearing as he heard the roar of the open ocean. The waves were back The waves slammed him to shore harder than ever. His eyes burst open with a start allowing beaming fluorescent light in. His monitor had timed out. He stared blankly at it once more. Tears welling within him. “I need help,” he thought.


The Train Wreck The day was balmy and warm though winter was not yet done with us.  On such a day the hills called out to be trod upon.  Ol’ Spot and I set out, in no particular hurry, to mount those hills with whom we had become close friends over the years.  Seasons never deterred us but were merely a change in mood, and who of us has not changed our mind or mood on occasion. The slope was steep with small riverlets that would eventually join a creek, then a river or two and finally the ocean.  They were now clogged with leaves and ice and blowing snow.  Normally Spot would stop to lap water from the icy flow, but with a hard freeze he was content to bypass that adventure.

Up a slope and down to a glade, I repeated the ascent twice more till my muscles ached and perspiration in spite of the weather told me it was time for a rest. The view was worth the effort.  Even Spot was impressed! Far below, in the valley I could see the train’s rails disappearing in the distance both east and west.  The rails glissened in the reflected winter light. From my vantage, only small distances were hidden behind hills.  My bologna sandwich called to me, and Spot and I enjoyed our lunch break.  In the distant west I could see a freight train plowing over the low hills.  It was a massive slow slogging behemoth gamely struggling to make its schedule.  But wait, something else was going on.  To the east, was the sleek steel tubular passenger liner, headed west like a racing steed.  The liner appeared fast and lithe.  Its speed was twice that of the freight hauler.  I looked closely, but knew from my knowledge of the area that there was no siding for a sleek passenger carrier to stop.

Communications being what they are these days, collisions are rare.  But did either of the engineers know the other was coming? My phone was there.  (I may be dedicated to nature, but I still demand a few conveniences.)  The 911 operator promptly answered with her rehearsed response. “911, how can I help you?” I described the railway and the approaching trains.  I identified the area as closely as possible.  Efficient, but with more urgency, she responded, “Hold on, I’ll contact the dispatcher.” Only a moment later she returned on line.  “The dispatcher cannot get in touch.  It’s a very desolate area! Down in those valleys, communications are sketchy.  I’ll try the local EMS."  After a short time she returned, somewhat out of breath.  “EMS will try, but they also had no communication response and said there are just no highways.  It’s a designated scenic area.” As I gazed back at the tracks, the two trains were eating up the territory like an eager teenager at a pizza buffet.  The geography with its rolling hills and unending curves effectively hid them from each other.  It was unlikely they could stop in time and time was against them.  I had one more request for the vexed 911 operator, “How about calling my cousin, Muley.  He lives near here.” I gave her his number.  “Sure, how can he help?”  He can’t, but he can come up here.  He’s never seen such a wreck!”

 She had just closed the connection when I heard soft footsteps behind me.  It was Muley!  Muley had an uncanny ability to show up when needed—usually before being summoned.

“‘Sup, Buddy!”

 “…big problem down in the valley, Muley.  It looks like confusion on the tracks.  There’s a fast passenger carrier barreling from the east and a gigantic freight carrier slogging its way from the west.  I don’t see any siding and with the hills I doubt they are aware of each other.  The dispatcher can’t communicate.”  Even before I finished describing the problem, Muley had pulled his rifle cover from his shoulder (I hadn’t noticed he had a rifle.) He unzipped it and revealed a 30.06 rifle complete with tripod and the most sophisticated sight I had ever seen. “What’re you gonna do?  You can’t stop a liner with a rifle.” “I don’t plan to stop it.  I’m just going to send a signal they won’t ignore.” “What’s your signal say?  Stop the train or Butch Cassidy and Sundance will blow you up!" “No, I’m simply going to signal danger—BIG DANGER, STOP, BACK UP!” In the time it took to say these few words, Muley had set up his tripod, screwed on the sight, mounted the rifle and was already peering through the sight at the engine of the fast liner. “Do you think you can hit the liner?” “I’m aiming for a corner of the locomotive window or the windshield.  I want to send a signal without injuring anyone.  I will, at least,

give it a good old college try.” Now the sleek liner was starting up a large hill at a tremendous speed.  The freight carrier was last seen approaching the other side of the hill.  Now we could no longer see the freight engine on the far side of the hill, but some of the following cars were still visible.  At that moment, I heard a crack of the rifle. Muley said, “Well, I grazed the windshield, but I think that round skipped off without penetrating.” As we spoke, I heard— CRACK!

In a more satisfying voice Muley stated, “I think that did it.  A solid hit, less than four inches from the front lower corner.  Muley continued his narration, “About now that engineer is looking at the hole and thinking, ‘What the hell.’  He’s scratching his head and looking at the front windshield crack.  He thinking to himself,

DANGER.   He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s going to hit the brakes and go into reverse.” At that moment, with the liner half way up the hill, sparks began flying from the locomotive and under the undercarriage of the passenger cars.  Soon the wheels reversed and there was some slow backward motion.   Even at our distance from the track, we could hear the couplings compress. The backward movement was barely perceptible at first, but gradually gained momentum.  One look at the top of the hill revealed that the freight engine had gained the top of the hill and was gamely moving down the slope.  Soon the engineer noticed the liner obstructing the track and hit his own brakes and reversed gears. I commented to Muley, “You did it!  You stopped the collision.” “No.  No, I didn’t prevent anything; But I may have avoided a derailment and loss of life.” Muley was already packing away his rifle, scope and tripod.  We watched as the trains tried desperately to slow.  It was a futile attempt.  The two locomotives crashed with a deafening

CLANG!

The forward three to six feet of both engines were tangled together in a mess.  Then we saw engineers from both trains climb out to survey the damage.  Soon passengers disembarked as well.  Muley said, “It’s a train wreck alright.  But there’s no loss of life, so we’ll take that as a win.  But we’d best get going.  There’ll be investigators, drones, dogs and all sorts of questions.  The fact that we saved hundreds of lives won’t be considered.  As they say, ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’” As we scampered down the trail, I had one question for Muley, “You said you would give it ‘the old college try.’ I know you didn’t go to college.  What college were you referring to?” “Well, it wasn’t exactly a college, but it surely was an education.  It was Ranger Sniper School.”


Parnell, Iowa 1885 “I still have half a dozen ponies to break and get to market,” Avery Cooke says. “Besides, Skeeter’s not ready for something like this.” Snuffing out his pungent cigar, Andor Cressy, the rotund owner of the Zenith Mines and the Top Dollar Ranch gives Avery a grim look. Avery corrects himself. “Mister Skeeter.” “And don’t you forget it. You people have been free for twenty years and you act like you’re my equal. I ain’t above whippin’ nobody, black or white, who sasses me. When I say teach the boy how to use dynamite it ain’t open for discussion. And if he gets so much as a burnt finger, I’ll take one of yours, understand?” Avery looks shell-shocked as he leaves Cressy’s office. He nearly bumps into Cole Calhoun, his friend of more than twenty years. The bearish ranch foreman chuckles, scratching the stubble on his cheek. “That’s the same expression I wore when Cressy told me to teach Skeeter how to shoot a gun.” “Well, this is worse. He’s opening a new mine and wants me to teach Skeeter how to use dynamite. He’ll kill us all.” Cole laughs hard until his belly shakes. “The boy’s too lazy to yell ‘Sueee’ in a pig pen. He’s not stupid, just a boy. Never had a reason to care about much. He’s always had somebody who’d do for him. Maybe handlin’ somethin’ that could kill him’ll give him a sense of responsibility.” “Problem is, it could kill us too.” “Righteous words, pard. Just make sure I’m in the next county when class starts.” Avery and Cole watch Skeeter connect the fuse to the bundle of dynamite he’s placed under a stump. “Everythin’ according to Hoyle?” Cole asks, tightening his hold on the reins of his horse. “So far,” Avery replies. “Nervous?” “Biggity. Remember when he was a pup? The boy used to eat dirt… by the spoonfuls!” “His mama was a bad cook. He outgrew a lot of those bad habits thanks to you and me.” “You’re right, Avery. Maybe I should have some faith in the little knothead. But I’m still not gettin’ down off this horse.” Major, the Cressy’s friendly hound dog, sniffs at the nearby box of dynamite. “Stay outta there, Major,” Cole warns. “Your fuse is too short,” Avery yells to Skeeter. “Are you kiddin’? It’s gotta be two foot long!” Skeeter returns. “Dynamite has a short fuse and so do I. You’ve got about twelve seconds after you light that fuse to get clear,” Avery says. “I ain’t as old and slow as you.” “And if you make a mistake, you won’t get the chance to be.” Skeeter lights the fuse, scrambling back to Avery and Cole. The stump explodes, sending splinters in all directions. “Yee-haw! Maybe this could be rip-roarin’ fun after all!” Skeeter shouts. Cole’s horse whinnies as he struggles to hold it in place. “Well, professor, did he pass?” “We’re still here.” Major runs up to Skeeter holding a stick of dynamite in its mouth. Screaming, Skeeter darts off. Major leisurely trots behind him, the stick of dynamite still firmly clenched between its teeth. “How far do you suppose he’ll get?” Cole asks. “Skeeter’s quick. But he can’t outrun four legs.” An explosion sounds in the distance. “Pshaw,” Cole says. “I really liked that dog.” Charity Moore hurriedly exits the general store with Skeeter at her heels, jabbering endlessly. “I’m gonna inherit my daddy’s goldmines and ranch someday, so I’ll have all the money I’ll ever need. In the meantime, I aim to start a family. I was thinkin’ maybe with you.” The twenty-six-year-old strawberry-blonde bank teller freezes, looking at the short, skinny, freckled boy. “I’m a little old for you, don’t you think?” “Nothin’ like an experienced woman.” “I’m afraid I lack the experience I think you’re referring to, Mosquito.” “It’s Skeeter, and we should about things over lunch.” Spotting Avery tying his horse to the hitching post, Skeeter yells, “C’mere! I wantcha to meet my future misses.” Avery slowly approaches the mismatched couple, his bewilderment evident in his pleasant half-smile. “This here’s Charity Moore. She’s gonna be Mrs. Skeeter Cressy.” “That so?” “No. it’s not so,” Charity says defiantly. “We got a few details to work out yet,” Skeeter offers. “Such as me agreeing to be the wife of a wet-nosed Mosquito.” “You watch your mouth, missy, betrothed or not. And my name is Skeeter! My daddy’s one of the most powerful people in this pig sty. You don’t wanna upset his son. So how about lunch?” “I’ve already had it. I was just stopping in the store for a spool of thread. I have to get back to work.” “Then dinner. You got five bucks, Avery, so I can take this fine lady out in style?” Charity blanches. “I’m working really late tonight.” Avery hands Skeeter some money. “Maybe you should use the money to unwind instead, Mister Skeeter. You’ve been working hard lately.” Skeeter laughs, slipping the money in his pocket. “You’re right! I got a great idea, Charity. I can sport you around town during the Summer Festival next week. If you see my old man, Avery, tell him I’m in the saloon throwin’ a few back!” Charity watches Skeeter bounce away. “The sad part is, he thinks he’s a catch. Thanks for getting rid of him.” “It might only be a slight reprieve if he tells his father about you,” Avery replies. “I’m not worried about Andor Cressy. I worked along the Mississippi in some of the most raucous dance halls ever patched together. I learned how to take care of myself. I can do something so offensive Cressy’ll insist I don’t have anything to do with his little mosquito.” Turning to Avery, she adds, “Something like being friends with a well-spoken colored man.” Stiffening and staring straight ahead, Avery whispers, “Thank you for the compliment, ma’am.” “Don’t get your feathers in an uproar. I’ve only been here a few months, but I know most of the people in this town respect you a lot more than Skeeter.” “Personal matters are somethin’ else,” Avery replies. “Oh, you’re talking about the invisible code that says we’re not allowed to be together. Fiddle-dee-dee to that. We’re just having a polite little conversation. Not one passerby has stopped to stare at us or curse at you. They’re too caught up in their own sad, dirt-poor lives to string you up just for standing next to me.” “That’s a comfort,” Avery says.  Sighing heavily, Charity adds, “I wish I could get away from the stink of these cowboys and rednecks.” “I say the same thing at least twice a day, although I’m already up to four times today.” “I need a man who knows the difference between a fence and fencing.” “You use a hammer on for one. The other, a sword,” Avery says. “Sounds like you’ve had some schooling.” “I got through high school in New York.” “That’s farther than I got,” Charity notes. “You wouldn’t happen to know an intelligent, well-spoken man, would you?  I was hoping I’d find one here.” Avery looks down at the sidewalk. “The man’s got to have a backbone too,” Charity says. “If you could be someplace else, where would you go?” “I read about this town called Nice in France. It said everybody there gets treated the same, no matter what they look like. But I don’t speak French.” “I do,” Charity replies. “Sounds like a nice place to open a restaurant.” “I know a good cook. Me.” “But where would someone get the money to open her own place halfway around the world?” Charity asks. “You’re a teller, aren’t you?” Avery and Cole flinch as Skeeter nearly drops a box of dynamite before carrying it into the storage shed. “Your nerves must be shot,” Cole comments. “He dropped a few sticks in the sand before. Then he tossed them back in the box like he was playing horseshoes.” “And he’s gonna be the big wheel around here someday,” Cole says. “Frightenin’.” As Avery walks away in disgust, Skeeter emerges from the shed smoking a cigarette. “Did you light that thing in the shed?” Cole asks. “It was dark in there. I needed a light, so I struck a match. I didn’t wanna waste it, so I smoked the rest of the cigarette I rolled a while back.” Later that afternoon, Cole rides into the ranch. He sees Avery taking the saddle off his horse and rides over to talk with him. “Where you been?” “The boss wanted me to get the mail and his medicine. Apparently, he’s got gout and whiskey is the cure,” Avery answers. “What have you been up to?” “Cressy told me to fix the fence in the north pasture, so the beeves don’t get loose. I went up there to look at it. We need to get more wire to fence them in.” “Have you seen the kid?” Avery asks. “I thought he was with you.” A thundering boom sounds in the distance. “I think we found him,” Cole says. Avery and Cole ride up on Skeeter, who is firing rockets in the direction of the north pasture. “What in the blazes are you doing!” Avery snaps. “I just came up with somethin’ that’ll leave you grinnin’ like a weasel in a hen house,” Skeeter says gleefully. He picks up a stick of dynamite. “I take a stick of dynamite, then I attach it to a stick from a tree, and we got a rocket more powerful than any of those little pipsqueak fireworks they’ll fire off at the Summer Festival.” Cole’s meaty features turn crimson. “You dunderhead! You’re shootin’ at the cows in the north pasture! You probably turned half of ‘em into ground beef! Your daddy’s gonna be madder than a wet hen!” “Not if I was never here!” Skeeter says, bolting for his horse. Avery and Cole watch Skeeter speed off. “He expects us to hold his water,” Cole mutters sourly. “Just like a thousand times before,” Avery replies. Avery and Cole slow their horses at the peak of the hill overlooking the north pasture. Cole curses under his breath as he looks at the slaughtered cows. “I count eight dead,” he says. “Looks like the rest stampeded.” “You’ve got something worse to worry about,” Avery replies, pointing at Andor Cressy, who is speeding toward them, his eyes black with anger and his gun drawn. Pulling his snorting steed to a halt, Cressy points his gun at Cole. “You! You fat, lazy toad! I told you to fence in the north pasture!” “You did. But if I had, the dynamite might have killed all of them beeves…” “Shut your fat trap!” Cressy turns his gun on Avery. “I’m not healed, boss,” Avery says quietly, raising his hands to show he’s unarmed. “That’s the only thing keepin’ you alive, boy! You were supposed to teach my son the right way to use dynamite! What do I get? Two yahoos blowin’ up my cows!” “But Boss… We didn’t…” Cole manages to say before he’s cut off. “Don’t say another word, you sidewinder! My son can run a ranch without you, and he can break and get my horses to market without you, Avery. I trusted you two for over fifteen years, and you go and murder my cows! Next, you’ll be bushwackin’ me! Pick up your pay, both of you. I want you hellions gone by tonight!” “You’re gonna regret this,” Cole says. Skeeter peels back the swinging doors to the Silver Bullet Saloon. Spotting Cole downing shots at the bar, he eases up alongside of him. “Sorry to hear about you and Avery.” “At least it’s the last time I have to cover for you, Skeeter.” “Where’s Avery?” “The owner won’t allow him in here, although his money spends just like anybody else’s,” Cole says. Owner of the hotel’s more hospitable. He let Avery take a room there. Avery says he’s gonna leave town in a couple of days.” “You’re not goin’ with him? I thought you two was pardners?” “He’s chasin’ a dream. He thinks he can be a free man somewhere, a man with the same rights as everybody else. Good luck, and God bless him,” Cole says. “I got a score to settle. Avery’s more willin’ to forget. I’ll miss him, though. He kept me on an even keel. If he hadn’t, you’d be writin’ your old man’s eulogy. That calm of Avery’s? That’s what earned him his familiarity with dynamite. I was Captain of the Fifty-Eight Regiment of colored troops out of New York. We had a white sergeant, Carl Cash, who worked with the dynamite until he accidentally blew his hand off. We had to blow up a bridge and we didn’t have a replacement, so Cash taught Avery how to use it. You gotta admire a man who can face that kinda danger and walk away without a scratch, and Avery did it every time. So, now that you’re on your own, what’s it like playin’ ramrod for your daddy?” “I ain’t cut out for this.” “Too dangerous?” “Nah. There ain't enough money in it. My daddy’s made so much money from his goldmines and from raisin’ beef, he doesn’t know how much he’s got. And I’m on a salary like everybody else.” Cole scratches the stubble on his chin. “Don’t seem fair. You say your daddy’s gold is in the bank?” “Yeah, there’s probably twenty thousand in gold bars there and twice as much in cash. I wish I could get my hands on some of it.” “Maybe you can. The Summer Festival has started. Most folks’ll be goin’ direct from church to the festival this Sunday. It just so happens that the bank’ll be closed Sunday. The Festival’s a mile outta town. Parnell’s gonna be emptier than a bone orchard.” “I don’t have the combination to the safe,” Skeeter says. “Who needs a combination?” Cole and Skeeter ride through Parnell’s empty streets. They pass Charity and Avery standing in front of the bank. Avery is carrying a large bag. Grumbling, Skeeter rides up to them. “What the hell is this? My girl out with a colored? No offense, Avery.” “We ain’t got time for this, Skeeter!” Cole yells after him. Charity stiffens. “Great. You insult him in one breath and cower in the next. Not that it’s any of your lookout, Mosquito, but Avery was just carrying some clothes for me.” “C’mon, Skeeter, be sensible. If you can’t trust Avery, you can’t trust anyone,” Cole says. “Where are you two dangerous outlaws headed?” Charity asks. Skeeter looks at Cole, who quickly answers, “The saloon.” “Isn’t it closed because of the festival?” Sticking his nose in the air, Skeeter says, “Well, it ain’t closed to me. And my name is Skeeter!” “Glad Avery and Charity didn’t dally in front of the bank,” Cole says, watching Skeeter attach a second bundle of dynamite to the safe’s door. “Shouldn’t one bundle be enough?” “Who’s the demolition expert here, Cole? This here’s the finest safe made. Came all the way from Philadelphia. Four sticks might only put a dent in it. Eight’s gonna make us rich.” Skeeter twists the two long fuses for each bundle of dynamite together. “Trick I learned from Avery. Now instead of lightin’ two separate fuses, I only gotta deal with one.” Skeeter strikes a match. “If I timed this right, we got thirty seconds before she blows.” He lights the fuse and the two men run outside, covering their ears. “You sure people won’t hear the explosion?” Cole asks. “I told you. They got a target shootin’ competition goin’, music, elephants all kinds of other noise goin’ on. Even if they do hear somethin’, we’ll be forty thousand dollars richer by the time they get here.” Cole looks at the bank. “Did the dynamite go off yet?” Skeeter moves on tiptoes toward the bank. “Dang it. I bet the fuse went out.” The bank explodes and Skeeter and Cole are thrown backward. Stunned, Skeeter and Cole slowly regain their feet. Tiny shards of wood and metal fall around them like drops of rain. A gigantic hole in the ground remains where the bank once stood. “The money!” Cole shouts. “It’s blown to smithereens!” “Forget the money,” Skeeter says. “The gold bars. We still got the gold bars!” The pair rush to the edge of the chasm. “That hole’s gotta be twenty feet deep,” Cole observes. “How do we get the gold outta there?” A gold bar drops in the dirt on the opposite side of the hole. “Maybe we won’t have to!” Skeeter says, elated. Skeeter and Cole look up at the cloudless sky. A gold bar cleaves off the top of Skeeter’s skull. Before Cole can complete the curse on his lips, a gold bar hits him between the eyes. Both men’s bodies topple backward, falling into the smokey abyss. Charity boards the 12:30 train, lugging a heavy valise. Seeing her struggle, a conductor grabs it from her, despite her protest. “It’s got some precious items in it.” “Don’t worry, Ma’am, I’m gentle as a lamb,” he says swinging it into the overhead rack. He huffs mightily, surprised by its weight. “I bet you’ve got a small fortune in there, eh, Miss?” Charity twitters coquettishly. The conductor looks over at the dapper Black man across the aisle, frowning. “You behave boy, or you’ll be walking the rest of the way on broken legs.” Charity situates herself in her seat. She looks across the aisle at Avery, who tips his derby. “Fancy meeting you here, Mister Cooke. Where are you bound?” “France. But I don’t know how to speak French.” Charity smiles. “Don’t worry. I do.”