Trigger warning: suicide

“Our every action opens a loop that can lead to several results depending on the continuum of our further connected actions” Theories travel open in the minds and the works of people who devoted their whole life finding the secrets of space and time seeking only new inventions and ways. However in my life remained another reason for living – my beloved wife. Tanaka held my hand every time as my wife and as my colleague. Both of us

devoted our life to each other and to my insane inventions leading to a dream of crossing time and pass to a different period. Call it the result of our certainty, our desire to help this world and endless effort that one day we found the key to our invention even after being around several antagonist and conspiracies. Maybe it was her magic anyway, that day was already too beautiful to begin with. I had put my outmost struggle and to cherish and support it stayed my beloved Tanaka. If only this fortune could remain any longer. I marked the date – 24th August 2021 and went on a manual configuration of the machine once I had received the resource key for its functioning. The sun was prepared to set any moment and I was inside the open chamber busying my hands over energy slides of its walls. Tanaka was right outside the platform with those eyebrows narrowed over her computer. She had forever been my motivation for working hard until, IT happened.

My nerves gave a huge thumb and the energy slides slipped from my fingers.

When I noticed it wasn’t just the nerve thumbing, my fingers were DISINTEGRATING into flying dust. I turned towards Tanaka, I wanted to

call her name, but I was disintegrating rapidly. What was happening? I knew

nothing. Was I dying? It was more frightening to leave into an oblivion.

Everything went blank all of a sudden yet I could feel it – the darkness.

I opened my eyes, hopefully. I didn’t die. All I could see was a dark roof for

a while; my throat was burning dry compared to my body, which weighted a thousand pounds whenever I made any movement. I still managed to move anyway and the room I found myself was a burnt room. Somehow, it felt very familiar but that wasn’t my primal concern that moment. Where was I? What happened? I summed up a wild theory yet it only seemed like a dream till I was inside. I had no idea what awaited me outside. Not the slightest of idea.

I walked outside the building and I saw – the future. Yes! The future. I saw

a more professional and technical city before me. By the scale of shock I

was, I was delighted and amazed too. Screaming in excitement wasn’t

enough, I had no idea what to do. I arrived in 2026.

I ran through my city as a little kid finally let loose to his chocolate world.

Everything came crystal clear to me. It wasn’t dust I had disintegrated too, it

was atoms. Reducing to atomic level would possibly be the only way of

passing through time and space and I knew just the right person who could

pull such an action.

I went running straight to my house, no location had altered anywhere. How many kids till now? What was my position? How was my Tanaka? Several questions waited for answering. I reached my mansion and knocked on the front door immediately, impatiently. My heart was ready to burst out in happiness and excitement. The door opened. On other side was a small, unknown woman. Maybe we changed our location for better post. She questioned my arrival and my identity by a thorough look. I had to ask. “Excuse me, is this your house?”

“Yes, since a year. Whom do you want?”

“Well, I was searching for Dr. Rick Dawson” I should’ve been famous for

my name till now, for helping humanity all around the globe.

“You mean that MASS MURDERER. He doesn’t live here anymore, now

get lost.”

My excitement died immediately. “W-What the hell are you talking about?” “What are you? From space? Don’t you know anything that happened five

years ago?”

“What happened five years ago?”

“That bastard killed his WIFE and fifteen other workers in a single night.”

“I killed my wife? What type of joke is that? A mass murderer?” The skies

shattered down on me. It was mostly impossible and unbelievable.

“That man escaped right after. Rumours speak about him living in an

abundant barn outside the city.”

I returned with a crumbled mind and a heart. Just in hope of her words being

false I knocked every house around the area but received the same answer.

In future, I was remembered as a mass murderer who killed his wife and

fifteen more. Who could that be? I always puked seeing blood, how could I even think of killing. My Tanaka, why in hell would I ever do this? What

happened to me? WHAT happened five years ago? My devastated self

flashed images of my beloved before me. How she would kiss my cheek

each time my body would drain from work, how her warm finger entangle

around mine whenever they hesitated, how her smile inspired me to live on

happily each day.

Her smile was an inspiration, it still is. Why did I travel to future – To

know my past and save my people, to save my name, to save my Tanaka?

It was time I meet the truth and change it. So, I ran without stopping. Not a single other thing mattered anymore. I reached the barn and quickly went inside. Not a sound of a soul, emptiness wherever eyes went. I walked in further into darkness. Terrifying to its core, until the light went on. It was no ordinary barn, it wasn’t a barn at all. Before my eyes stood the machine I dreamt for eternity – the Time Machine. However, it was in its most ghastly shape, like something from scrap. More than machine, I wanted its owner,

and fast. I strolled closer and finally behind it I saw a lowly weakened man.

As soon as I stepped closer, he spoke.

“I have been waiting, you took quiet long” his voice quivered as he turned to me. I was at surprise again. It was me for sure. The future me I finally met.

However, I lacked a complete face. All I had was one side of it, my other

half – nothing but a stitched mess of skin and tissues.

“I am Dr. Rick Dawson” he said. It pissed me even more. I dashed forward and jabbed right across his remaining face. He didn’t move a bit – A hologram.

“If its you Rick, I am sorry to say that we won’t be meeting again. I used my

life force to bring you here and how its upon you to change what’s done.”

“Why did it turn out this way? How could I become a mass murderer?”

“This machine will allow only a counted more travels. Save your name, save the people I couldn’t” saying this, the hologram dismissed. Recording ended.

I was to travel back again. This time to another timeline for uncover the truth

first. The machine was at a pause. The energy was active. I had to go back

through time, once again. For her.

Without any delay, I rushed to the station beside the machine. Its second

destination was already set – 24th August 2021. It had no trouble starting

once more. I stepped in and began disintegrating yet this time the thumbing of my body increased drastically.

I opened my eyes once again. Once again, I travelled back through time and my nerves were at their verge of bursting. I should have considered before – the consequences. Time travelling comes with a cost that must clear by the traveller’s body and mind. As soon as I woke up, I spit out blood. It was cold. It was frightening how my entire body shook for a while like it would decay and crumble down to the floor. At this rate I realized how limited my turns of travelling would be. Probably once or twice more.

I arrived at night, inside a closed lab three floors below mine. I sneak out;

my body had already become a hindrance yet still I drove everything at its limit to reach my Tanaka. I climbed the tedious stairs, which never seem to end. It was my only chance to save her no matter what the cost. There was absolute hope of success I became definite. I stumbled to the top floor, heaving but with a short smile until, I heard GUNSHOTS. Everything stopped for that moment, I ran again towards the entrance and it

opened. I had failed already. What lay in front of me was Tanaka as her

blood flowed out. I fell on my knees knowing nothing more. How cursing

and terrifying it was to see her dead. I wanted to scream but my throat didn’t

make a sound.

As known, the machine began disrupting too. A drop of tear rolled down my cheek as I spoke her name for the last time before the machine exploded. It’s wave blew away everything into atomic particles under its huge range.

Wasn’t this supposed to be the end? Yet I still could hear Tanaka calling my

name again and again. I didn’t want to be remembered as a murderer, as a

killer. I could smell blood, the sound of my heartbeat – dying. I wasn’t dead.

I returned to 2026 – empty-handed and failed. I lay in that barn as images of my past kept me amused.

I was yet to stand; my body was ready to give in but not my soul. The case

wasn’t solved yet, I didn’t save her yet. If I had to rescue her, the truth

behind had to open. Why did I do it? What made me do it?

The questions were critically necessary and only if I get their answers, the future would alter. However, a major hindrance stood was my physical endurance. Travelling twice more raised the chances of me dying, massively and still two more was left. I didn’t fissure, I mustn’t.

This time, the answers prevailed in a year after the incident. When I was still alive. I altered the timeline destination against it s will. All that I cared was of my Tanaka, not me. The machine began heating and converging energy slides. I stepped in and the disintegrating began.

What could be worse than my entire body dying out at ease? The cost of

finding the truth. The cost of saving my love and my name.

I woke up at THAT abundant building. This time I had to sneak out because

that’s where the incident happened a year ago. I slowly walked to the barn

once again. I sneaked in, saw him working over the scrap as expected and at the first glance, I knew I wasn’t ready to face the truth.

What could have made me do such a thing?

He turned back at me with shock. I only managed a few more steps ahead before I collapsed to my knees. I arrived way before he ever planned of

having me arrive so he realized the reason behind it. Maybe, that was it

because he told me soon after, he told me everything.

“Tanaka killed herself.”

It was the last time I was closing my eyes. It was the last time I woke up

from time travelling. It was the last time I felt pain. It was when I returned to my own time. Nothing more could I do. The sun was till shinning bright,

nothing had happened till than. All I could hear and see was the last words of my future self.

“Our every action opens a loop of possibilities but what affects more is

always the end of it.”

“The resource key we thought we GAINED from a huge company was

nothing but a political fluke. It was a time bomb meant to destroy everything as soon as it activates. I activated the key. Tanaka absorbed the key’s reaction and shot herself.”

“It’s okay” those were her last words he said. She smiled at him before

dying. How shattering would that be?

I was slowly climbing the stair, unaware of the dripping blood from my mouth and my nose. The time had come for me, its certain but all I had to was one last thing. Stop the trail. Destroy the resource key. The last of my soul ordered me to move against the will of my body. I did it, at last. Finally I made it to our lab. There she was. There was my Tanaka, waiting for me over the station. She was alive. My Tanaka was alive.

“ Just a little more” I yelled at myself and entered the lab. She saw me but I

didn’t stop until I reached the key. She caught me crying my name but I was

not to stop. I grabbed the key and crushed it under my feet, the stone inside broke. The key broke. I did it. I finally saved everyone. I cleared my name.

“Tanaka” that’s all I said before I fell. I gave in, at last.

“Rick! Rick!” I could hear her voice from afar. Those gentle words crying in worry. No! I must not make her worry. I slowly opened my eyes again but this time there was no pain.

I looked up and there she was – my beloved. She was smiling with tears. She was relieved and happy. I saved her.

“Hey, Tanaka?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Let go somewhere. Somewhere away from time.”


Have you ever disliked someone so much… hated even… that you wish that they would just die? Aoife did. Aoife disliked a lot of people throughout her life. When she was 6, there was a girl called Katie in her class in school. One day, their teacher split the class into pairs to do an art project. Amy was paired with a boy Aoife liked called Barry. Aoife instantly became jealous and from that day on, she grew a disliking to Katie. But she didn’t hate her. Another person who Aoife disliked was her friend Marie’s mom, Brenda. Brenda was a strict parent. When Aoife slept over in Marie’s house on occasion, her mom would regularly check on them to make sure that they were okay. But they both knew that Brenda was just being nosey and trying to catch them as they were up to some mischief. Nothing in particular, just mischief. One time, Aoife and Maria caught Brenda eavesdropping on them outside Marie’s bedroom when she was leaving her bedroom to use the bathroom. Of course, Brenda played it off, but they were 12 years old at that time and were well used to Brenda’s snoopiness. Yes, Aoife disliked Brenda too, but she didn’t hate her either. One person who Aoife did hate was Emma Whitmore. Aoife thought that Emma Whitmore was the devil incarnate. Aoife first met Emma when the began secondary school. She was a year ahead of Aoife and made her life miserable for three long years. One time, when Aoife was on her way to biology, Emma pulled her back by her ponytail and she fell to the floor. The other girls in the hallway saw her taking her tumble and they all pointed and laughed, whilst taking videos and pictures on their phones. Another time, at a school disco when Aoife was dancing with her friends, Emma came up behind her and pulled up her dress and held it up as Aoife failed miserably in pulling it back down. A boy who Aoife liked, Brian, was at that disco and saw the whole fiasco. He didn’t laugh, but the damage was done to Aoife. That incident had mentally scarred her for years. Yes, Aoife not only disliked Emma Whitmore, but she hated Emma. Aoife hated Emma Whitmore with a fiery hatred that was so strong, Aoife would physically shake and her heart would race. Aoife had her first panic attack whilst at home thinking about Emma Whitmore. Emma dumped her books out of her bag in school that day and some girls laughed at her again as she picked them up,. Looking pathetic and defeated. As Aoife sat in bed that night, thinking about Emma, she thought about how she bullied her for the past 3 years. “I hate her so much. I hate her. I hate her.” Aoife said to herself, whilst holding her knees to her chest with tears running down her face. “I just wish she would fucking DIE!” Aoife thought about that a lot, but she never said it out loud. But it felt good. She said it again: “ I wish she would fucking die! I wish. She would just. DIIIIEEEE!” She screamed silently under her breath. Aoife hung out with her friends that weekend and had a good weekend. She needed it and she felt much better going into school on Monday morning. On Monday morning at assembly, the school principal, Mr Irwin began the morning with a somber tone. “Ladies, it is with a heavy heart that I begin this week with some very sad news. Unfortunately, one of our students tragically passed away this weekend. Emma Whitmore.” The whole hall gasped simultaneously, including Aoife. “Before we begin this morning’s lessons, I want to make something very clear.” Mr Irwin continued. “This was a tragic accident, and the details will be revealed in due course. In the meantime, I don’t want anyone to spread rumours. As the details have not been released yet, anything you hear today from a fellow student will be false.” Of course, kids being kids, rumours did spread throughout the day, the most popular being that Emma killed herself. Another that came up was a drug overdose, which Aoife immediately dismissed as false. Another was that an intruder broke in and murdered Emma and her family in their sleep. Another theory that made Aoife rolled her eyes. Aoife spoke with her mother about it that evening and her mother also said that she didn’t know what happened. There was a lot of confusion about what happened to Emma. After a couple of more days, once the funeral had come and gone, the truth came to light. Emma Whitmore had merely died in her sleep. The doctors said they couldn’t figure out why. She had no underlying conditions. It was a brain hemorrhage, nor a heart attack. She just… died. Aoife didn’t feel happy when she heard the news. Yes, she hated Emma Whitmore, but she wouldn’t wish her dead, not really dead anyway. But she would be lying to herself if she didn’t feel relieved. From the day Emma Whitmore died, Aoife’s life became much better. She was no longer bullied. People seemed to forget about the disco incident and she never heard the chants “granny’s panties” in the halls again. When Aoife turned 18, she finished secondly school and went on to study Physics and Astronomy in college. She grew a fascination with the universe and how worked. She dreamed that someday she would go on to work for NASA. While in college, Aoife met her first serious boyfriend, Colm. Colm was a country boy who played hurling in secondary school and for his local team. He would drive an hour home 3 times during the week to train and would go home on Sundays for matches. Aoife would often go to his matches on the weekend. She enjoyed watching hurling and seeing as Colm was rather good at it, it only made her more and more infatuated by him. He was a romantic. He bought her flowers on her birthday and bought her random gifts, such as pajamas when it was her time of the month and funny mugs related to private jokes they had. She lost her virginity to Colm and knew from that day on, he was the only person she ever wanted to be with, physically and romantically. Even though it was only a month into their relationship, he was so gentle and tender towards her, she instantly fell in love. Of course, she didn’t tell him she loved him for another couple of months and only after Colm had told her first. Yes, Aoife absolutely adored Colm, and when she found out that he cheated on her while in Tenerife on a boys holiday, it destroyed her. Aoife had never felt pain like it. She received an anonymous photograph of him kissing a girl on a beach at night while lying on a sun lounger. At first, she couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be him. He told her he loved her a thousand times. But the more she looked at it, she knew it was him. She felt a knot in her stomach and she thought her heart was going to explode. It was a physical pain that she had only heard about in movies, but had never actually experienced herself. Aoife replied to the anonymous message on Facebook asking “who is this?” But the account was deleted soon after. When Aoife approached Colm about it, of course, he denied it. When she showed him the picture, he studied it closely, biting his bottom lip whilst trying to come up with an excuse. Eventually, he dropped his gaze to his feet. He couldn’t look Aoife in the eye. “How could you?” Aoife asked through tears that wouldn’t stop flowing and were making her vision blurry. “How could you?” She screamed this time, demanding a response. “Aoife, I’m sorry,” Colm said again, tears welling up in his eyes. “We slept together one time and I regretted it immediately afterward. I was drunk and I think someone spiked me and….. look that’s no excuse, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” When he looked up, Aoife's mouth was hanging open. She sat down on his bed, staring at the ground. Now she couldn’t look him in the eye. “You slept with her?” She asked.”I thought…. I thought you just kis…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. She felt like she just found out about the cheating all over again. The pain in her stomach. The crushing pain in her heart. Her legs were weak, she thought she was going to be sick. “Yeah, why? What did you hear?” Colm asked, instantly realizing that he had told her more than she knew. And when Aoife looked up at him again, with her bloodshot eyes, tears streaming down her face and puffy cheeks, she could only let out one word: “Why?” And with that, she got up and left Colm’s bedroom and house for the last time. When Aoife went home that night. She cried. She cried in her bedroom as she had cried the past couple of nights since finding out. She had cried harder than she ever had before. Harder than when her grandmother died when she was 11. Harder than when her pet cat, Oliver, died when she was 16. This was a different kind of pain. The ultimate betrayal. She had given every single part of herself to Colm, and he spat on it and threw it away like it was nothing. Had she meant so little to him? So little that he was willing to go behind her back for an easy fuck on a boys holiday? Yes, Aoife loved Colm. She loved him more than she loved anyone ever before. But in that moment, while she held her knees to her chest, crying uncontrollably in bed, she hated Colm. She hated Colm with every fiber of her being. “I hate him,” she said to herself through the tears. “I hate him so fucking much” she to herself though the steering pain in her chest. “I just wish he would fucking die!” And with that, she fell onto her side and wailed, and wailed and wailed some more, until she finally fell asleep. The next morning, Aoife woke up to 5 text messages and 8 missed calls from her friend, Amy. “Can you talk?” One text said. “Call me.” Another read. “Hello?” “Hello?” “Pick up!!!!!!” Another read. Aoife sat up in bed and rang Amy back. Amy answered almost instantly. “What’s wrong?” Aoife asked while whipping her nose with her sleeve. “So you heard?” Amy asked, after hearing Aoife’s tone. She was clearly upset and was crying hard recently. “No?” Aoife responded. There was a pause on the line. “Aoife… Colm passed away in his sleep last night.” Aoife’s jaw dropped open. She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her world was caving in on her and there was no way out. “Hello? Are you still there?” Amy asked. Aoife hung up the phone and dropped it. She looked around her room, confused and disorientated. She began hyperventilating and clawing at her chest gasping for air. She was having a panic attack, her first one in a couple of years. Her vision became blurry and soon, she passed out. The next thing Aoife remembered, she was on her bedroom floor, and her mother had a wet rag on her forehead. She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Aoife? Are you okay? I heard a crash and you were face down on the floor. Did you have another attack?” Aoife sat up a bit in her mother's arms, and then it all came back. She looked at her mother as she felt like her whole being was collapsing in on itself. “Mom… he’s gone.” She squeaked out and she began crying again. “Who? Who’s gone?” Her mother asked. “Colm.” She responded, looking at her mother with tears in her eyes. “He died. Last night. He’s dead mom.” And she began sobbing into her mother's chest so hard she thought that she would never not feel pain again. Yes, Colm had cheated on her. But she didn’t want this. She didn’t know what she wanted, but it wasn’t this. And now all she wanted was to have him back. To go back to 2 weeks ago and lie in bed with him with a cup of tea and watching Netflix with him in the pajamas he bought her a couple of months prior. That’s all she wanted, and she would never have it again. The doctors did an autopsy on Colm and they found no complications or cause of death. The said that it was sudden adult death syndrome. Nothing caused it, he just went. They said that it would have been very quick and painless. Aoife went to the funeral and cried more. And she cried more and more for the next couple of weeks. She didn’t go to class and barely left her bedroom. She lost a stone in weight over the 2 weeks and her classmates sent her their notes and assignments, but she never looked at them. She felt dead inside. She felt nothing but pain. When Aoife did start leaving the house again, she went to see a therapist and kept seeing them for three years. It became a habit for her. An expensive habit, but a habit all the same. She enjoyed going to see her therapist and felt it helped her with her relationships with friends and family. Aoife failed her second-year exams. Colm’s death had taken its toll on her and she decided she would repeat them the following August. After getting a full-time job as a hotel receptionist over the summer, Aoife ended up going full time and dropped out of college completely. She worked at that hotel as a receptionist for 11 years, until her second child came along and she found it too difficult juggling a job and 2 children. And her husband, who she was now married to for 3 years was earning enough so that she could stay at home. Aoife still thought about Colm from time to time. How could she not? He was her first lover, the person she thought she’d have children with and grow old with. When she was standing on the altar and saying her vows to her would-be husband, Craig, she couldn’t help but also think of Colm. Even though she hated him, he had left his mark on her. Aoife loved Craig. She loved him with all her heart, but she gave a piece of herself of Colm, and Colm took that piece with him when he died suddenly that night. On a summer evening on the way home from a family day, Aoife drove as her husband and 2 kids slept after a long day at the beach. Her phone vibrated in the centre console and she picked it up. There was a message from “Mom”. As she went to unlock the phone, she dropped it and it fell to the ground between her feet. “Fuck.” She said and looked in the rearview mirror to make sure the kids were still asleep and didn’t hear her. They were. Aoife reached down with her right hand to try and reach her phone. As she reached down, the car slowly began to drift to the right. When she reached the phone, picked it up, and sat up, she quickly corrected her positioning on the road. She pulled the steering wheel to the left to reposition herself in the centre of the road but pulled the wheel too quickly. The car jackknifed and flipped 6 times before landing right side up and she was knocked unconscious. When Aoife came too, she was being wheeled from her wrecked Nissan Qashqai and 4 firemen were cutting the roof off of it with a buzzsaw. She couldn’t see into the front passenger seat to her husband as the windshield was completely smashed. What she could make out clearly though was the blood on the inside of the windscreen. “What happened?” She asked the paramedics, adrenaline beginning to fill her with panic. “Ma’am, please stay calm, you’ve been in an accident and we’re taking you to the hospital.” “What happened?” Aoife asked again, raising her voice. “My babies, where are my babies? Where are my babies?” She began to scream, the reality of the situation sinking in, as the paramedics put her into the back of an ambulance. There were 2 more ambulances around her, 2 fire trucks, and 2 police cars. There were flashing lights all around her and glass and metal all over the road in front of her. Aoife began to scream in horror and despair. “I need my babies! Let me out!” She screamed at the paramedics in desperation to find her children. A moment later, she was fading and fading until she was eventually unconscious after the paramedics sedated her. The next day, Aoife woke up in a hospital bed. She had a cast on her arm and a bandage on her head. She had a splitting headache and her left eye was completely red from the trauma, but that would also heal in time. Her vision in that eye would be temporarily lost. Her mother was sleeping in a chair next to her. “Mom.” Her Mom jolted awake at the sound of her daughter's voice. “Oh baby,” she said and kissed her cheek gently, careful not to hurt her fragile face. “Mom, where’s Craig?” Her mother’s eyes began to fill up with tears. “Mom, where are my children?” That sickening feeling in Aoife’s stomach and physical pain she had felt in her heart over a decade earlier had returned. Her mother shook her head. “I’m sorry baby, they didn’t make it.” Aoife laid her head back in the pillow and let out a wail that would haunt her mother forever. It was a sound only a mother who had lost her children could make. A sound no one should neither make nor hear. But here was Aoife, wailing in the trauma of the loss of her family, in the realization that she’ll never hold her children or hold her husband again. All she wanted to do was tell them that she loved them and that she was sorry. And she would, every day and night until the day she died, but they would never hear her. As the weeks and months past, Aoife’s pain never subsided. She fell into a deep depression, moved in with her mother, and spent her days doing chores around the house or watching TV. On Wednesday’s her mother would bring her to her therapy session. That was the only time she left the house. She didn’t want to live anymore. She didn’t think she deserved it. She thought that she killed her family and if they couldn’t live, why should she. She thought about killing herself plenty of times, but she was always too afraid too. And she hated herself more for that. So she decided that she would live but it would be a miserable existence. As punishment to herself for what she did. One night, Aoife sat up in bed. The television had some reality TV show on that she wasn’t watching. She was alone, with just her and her thoughts. “I hate you.” She said to herself. She looked left, at the mirror built into her wardrobe door. She rolled off the bed and kneeled, looking at herself in the mirror. “I hate you.” She said again, stronger this time. “Why don’t you just fucking die!” She screamed and punched the mirror. She held her hand in pain, it was bleeding and the mirror was cracked. Her mother came into the room. “Aoife, what did you do? Let me help you, honey.” She brought her to the bathroom where she cleaned her wound and bandaged it up. “I know it’s hard Aoife. I don’t even know what to tell you, or how to help you. I just want you to forgive yourself. You’re not a bad person.” “How can I forgive myself, mom?” Aoife asked through her tears. Her mother helped her back to her room. She turned off the TV and light. “I love you, honey. I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe we could go out for a walk?” “Maybe.” Aoife responded” “Goodnight,” her mother said and closed the door softly. Aoife cried some more that night, as she did most nights. She fell asleep and she dreamt. She dreamt of Colm. Colm said that he was sorry again for hurting her and that he was glad that she was found happiness with her family. "They're waiting for you," he said. She dreamt of her old school bully, Emma, who gave her the finger and spat at her. "Some things never change," she thought to herself. She then saw her family. She saw her children, who came running towards her and she hugged and kissed them and she told them that she loved them. She cried with joy, as she did most nights when she dreamt of her children. They asked her would she bring them to the park and she said, of course she would. And she saw her husband Craig. Craig kissed her on the forehead and put an arm around her. Aoife began to cry and said she was sorry. She told Craig that they deserved better and she wished it was her that died and not them. Craig kissed her on the forehead again and said “It’s okay hun, you're here now. Come on guys, let’s got to the park. And then there was….. nothing.


John Song, I thought about you today. I suppose that it was hard not to, especially with our encounter still so vividly seared into my mind. The circumstances of our meeting were not chance, nor was it dealt by the hand of fate, but I find that it makes the experience so much more better. It was a choice, mine and yours, a temporary contract entered by mutual agreement, and I do not find myself regretting it at all. I enjoyed it; both the food and your company. You are a quirky person, John Song. But then again, so am I. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons that the two of us had gotten along so well, especially in such a short span of time. Deciding to go out with you was a calculated response on my part. Admittedly, at first, I harboured no expectations while browsing through the Norang Narang app, merely a mild curiosity at heart. Many of the profiles were too similar; either too exaggerated or a cliched brand of uninteresting. The part about your habit of tossing stones into the Han River threw me off at first. It was so… open and sincere, and human in a way that I find most of the world lacking.

I lingered upon your profile the longest, feasting my eyes upon every word. There was a quiet rhythm to yours. Memories of my own childhood began to trickle through, and I knew that if I closed my eyes at that moment, I could almost imagine myself decades back. The distinct taste of the crisp kampung air blended with the quiet lapping of the river nearby. Small figures rushing to the edge of a soft blue precipice, hand in hand, joy spread across the faces of the young and old, as the pitter-patter of pebbles tapping against the pristine surface of the water filtered through. When I opened my eyes again, it was to find the beginning of gentle tears in them. Involuntarily and because of this, I had begun to build up an image of you in my head, and I quickly found myself intrigued. The fact that you enjoyed good food appealed to me as well, and for that, my decision was an easy one. I am not easily accustomed to feeling nervous, but as we exchanged our contact information, there was a tense, fluttery knot in my gut. If it helps, the thought of cancellation never crossed my mind. If anything, that only served to increase my fascination. It was a curious emotion, one that I seldom explore, and it was a welcome change. Unfortunately, I was not prepared to amalgamate the profile constructed in my mind with the blustering, arrogant man that greeted me at the agreed-upon location. In this way, my first impression of you was less than flattering. Truthfully, I would have made my leave right there and then; rudeness be damned, no matter how much I detest it. But then, by some miracle or granted foresight, I saw through you, John Song. I saw the man hiding behind the perceived stature of wealth and recognition, one that tried so desperately to serve a perpetually dissatisfied audience and the one that had gradually cracked and yielded towards the social standards of the acceptable norm. You had admitted defeat to that shared delusion, but you had not bent to it. And for that, you were worth my time. After all, pressure creates the most splendid of gems, does it not? Convincing you to drop your mask was a much harder task. I indulged your ideals of the ‘perfect date’, showing only the barest hints of discomfort as you insisted on increasingly extravagant displays. We shared small talk to pass the time, meaningless idle chatter, but pleasing nonetheless and it was just right to straddle the thin line between awkwardness and a content silence.

I suppose that it all led up to that moment, at the dinner. The food was fancy, and overly so for my tastes, but I allowed it for a moment. My displeasure was much more evident at this point, and you were quick enough to finally catch on. The vacuum that soon followed drained the lightheartedness from the table of two gave us both the much needed time to slow down and think.

By the end of a minute, you were squirming in your seat. My discomfort became yours, and it was plain to see on your face. Like dominoes, our moods reflect those around us, I couldn’t help but grimace internally as the waiter twitched past the table, a frozen smile stretched on his face. People are often so eager to please, that they subconsciously transform themselves into mirrors. You broke the silence first, desperate, and I won the unspoken silent game. I remember that the first real words out of your mouth was about the local arts, a common ground of sorts from what little you knew about me from the description blurb in my Norang Narang account. I grasped onto the olive branch that you were tentatively offering, and smiled, sincere. Back and forth, we talked about the cultural richness of the place. What you lacked in knowledge, you more than made up for in raw enthusiasm. You were not at all subtle, and it was clear that your real fascination primarily lay with my profile picture. As with everything I do, the picture itself was meticulously chosen after much consideration. A Korean traditional mask called a tal; used for war and for protection, for death and design. The conversation that followed soon after is undoubtedly fresh on both our minds. “Everyone wears masks.” I had said, amused. “A thousand shards of a construct that they wish to be, but cannot. It is to hide and to conceal. It is nearly always an improper fit, but wilful blindness on everyone’s part allows the pretence to continue longer.” You then asked me whether I wore a mask; not just on stage like you so admired but at the current moment. “Oh, yes.” I had replied without hesitation.

To say this out loud was to drop the burning match into the oil-slick of your mind. I watched the surprise spread across your face, and the way that you tried to shut yourself against the crux of the truth. Your eyelids flickered; irises pulling from side to side as pale blue fireflies in the mid-morning sun. You swallowed once, twice.

Teasingly, I dropped my mask a fraction, lips twitching upwards in a gentle smile. And you did the same, except that yours yielded more resignation, but there was also relief peering out from the crinkles at the corner of your eyes. Then, like a desert bloom unfurling after a sudden rain, your wariness gave way to genuine fascination that was likewise reflected in mine. The tension slid away, and from there on, it was a high-stakes quid pro quo, of sorts. We were both quirky people, me with my local arts and taste in indie music, and you with your fervour in cinematography. The two areas intersected, and the rest of the experience at the diner from there was smooth sailing. Boldness spurred on spontaneity, and you suggested a short outing to the Han riverbank. I liked that, because I have often found that impulse is more sincere than concise calculation. In the cool setting of a late evening, the river was especially gorgeous, glittering blue and white in the setting sun. The surface was a smooth field of turquoise cyan and the gentle motions of water lapped against the banks and the wooden structure of the walkways raised beside it. It was quiet, and peacefully so. Likewise, our walk passed by in relative silence, although it was now a more content one.

The fact that you were practically baring your heart at that moment, was not lost on me, and I hope that you know that. This was your quiet place, wasn’t in? The design that you had so painstakingly recreated in your mind, each fine detail from the individual brush strokes of the sun peering from above, down to the pale canvas of the purple sky reflected in the dark blue… I knew that this place was especially dear to you, and I am honoured that you would deem it good enough to share this with me. I guess that the tipping point was when I bought that cup of coffee for you. A moment of spontaneity on my part as well, I must admit. The shock on your face was not well-concealed, and my own lips twitched upwards in humour. Believing that it would be the last surprise for that day was a mistake on my part, because in the next heartbeat, you pressed something against the cold of my palm. Perception is often stated to be a pointed weapon, and I suppose that the saying is correct, because I was stunned into a rare silence. Another moment of impulse, and sincerity in its purest form. That made the river stone that you gifted me all too precious, because it was not only freely-given but also out of the depths of your own heart. It was another fragment of yourself that you have given me.

Yet, my work still persists in calling me away from you. The spontaneity that I had so admired in my job is now a burden that I am forced to bear for what feels like the first time in my life. What had promised to be a quick evening of fun and nothing more, turned out to be more than I could ever hope for. I want you to know that I truly enjoyed our exchange, and should the opportunity present itself, I would love to have a repeat performance.

Now, as I stand in the crowded maze of the Incheon Airport, I cannot help but hesitate. Sentiment and fondness still linger, and more often than not, I find myself gripping the riverstone. The colours of it have imprinted in my mind by now, and although I am unsure as to why I am so mesmerised by it, the stone is something that I will treasure until the end of my days. I would like to see more of you, John Song. Sincerely,

               Janine Chung


This is what she wants more than anything in the world. I just can’t give it to her. God, what’s wrong with me? I felt like I could, at the start of our relationship I was smitten. I tried to be everything she wanted. She opened up to me so much back then, and…yeah, I felt like I could get there, too. But I can’t, I know I can’t She’s been asking about it a lot lately. I have to be honest with her. It will break her. It’s time to let her know. She’s been in a good mood today but this conversation will change everything. She was cleaning up in the bathroom when I knocked on the door frame and asked if we could talk “Yeah, just give me a minute, cleaning up in here a bit” she said as she was gathering up wet towels. She was wearing cleaning gloves as she walked past and handed me the load that I took instinctively. The pile was heavy. I looked down at it. There was an axe wrapped up in there. The towels were blood soaked. I dropped them and ran to the bath. Turning on the lights, I saw him immediately. He was in the tub, partially decapitated. Dead. I fingered the broken razor blade before I realized what I was doing and pulled back, dropping it into the crimson red water. The water that had already gone cold. “LILLY, what did you do?” I cried out She was standing right behind me “Surprise” she yelled. She was beaming. “Lily, no, God, what have you done?” “I knew you were having trouble with it. You’ve been distant lately. I thought you might back down” She responded “You know how bad I wanted this, for us” Fuck. “Lily, no. I came here to tell you that I couldn’t do it, that I didn’t want this” I said as I stared down at the blood on my hands and shirt “I know you didn’t” She smiled as she spoke “so I took matters into my own hands” “We have to tell someone” I said “I’m sorry…I…I..just can’t do this and we have to be honest about it” She looked at me quizzically. She was pristine. No blood on her anywhere. “Well” she said “I mean, I guess we could tell someone. But it looks you’re the one covered in blood, and I think you touched the razor blades and the axe” She bit her bottom lip “It’s not a good look for you” I started to feel woozy. She was right. And this was blackmail. She took her phone out of her pocket and dialed 9-1 and then she held it up to me and asked “Should I call? Should I call and cry? Should I tell them that I came home to this” She wailed, crying and faking a scream. She turned off the phone and laughed.


Life can teach lessons even in a pseudo-casino, like Not Vegas.

 ‘Not Vegas’ was once a private veterans club in the outskirts of Cleveland, OH. But over time fewer and fewer military men and women joined the club and it had become a social club that basically opened its doors to anyone over 21. The new owner changed the name to ‘Not Vegas’- supposed to be the closest thing to Las Vegas one could get in Ohio. It had one major reno in the building's lifetime and in its prime was a bright red brick building with white pillars wrapped in swirling neon lights and the inside had shiny bar tops and leather stools with a red-velvet carpet to make anyone feel like a VIP.

Now, the brick was weathered and faded into a murky maroon with black and green mold spots. The pillars were faded off-yellow with rusty brown spots and the neon lights didn’t work all the way. The tables and bar counters didn’t gleam anymore, and the red carpet only looked red when the table legs got moved for vacuuming.

The only thing similar between real Vegas and Not Vegas was that you got lost in a time-warp. The lights were kept dim and there were no clocks. Every two hours there was a different drink special so happy hour lasted all day. Even the patrons were mostly just regulars who appeared stopped in time.

The two workers seemed lost in time too. There was 60-something year old Tina-she changed her age every time she was asked; one day she was 64 and the next she was 61. Tina kept her dyed almost white-blonde hair in tight perm curls and wore mint-green eye-shadow with platinum pink lipstick. She was skinny and her skin looked like aged leather. Tina also never wore shoes; she wore various colors of slippers. Tina had been spending the week bestowing her bar-tending knowledge onto the new hire, Darby.

Darby was 19 and kept her virgin brown hair in a perfectly set high ponytail and dressed in 90’s prep-school chic with black wedge heels or ankle boots. She wore silver-rimmed glasses and wore mascara around her hazel eyes. She’d worked in service before, so the training was coming easily to her. It was mostly just memorizing where stuff was stored at this point.

Darby took the opportunity of low patronage on a Tuesday evening to ask professional questions to Tina. She always felt it important to ask her in-interview questions to the trainers to see what differences there were in the answers.

“What’s the hardest part of the job?” Darby asked, with her hands clasped behind her back. She had an air of professionalism that bordered on snobby.

“Not being able to stop the gamblers” Tina answered, anchoring one elbow to the rumbling dishwasher top.

“What do you mean?” Darby asked. “Why would we want to stop the gamblers? Isn’t that how this business makes money?”

“Money is a necessary evil but sometimes you wish you could tell someone ‘Stop. You've lost enough money; go buy groceries instead’”. Tine replied.

The dishwasher stopped and Tina handed a worn hand towel to Darby. They both began drying the glasses inside.

“Why can’t you?” Darby wondered.

“We have no legal leverage. Legally, I can cut someone off from drinking too much. They start acting differently, belligerently or unwell, I can deny them another order. But if someone spends their last dime...I have to take it.” Tina shook her head.

Tina turned and gestured to a woman seated at the far side of the bar who looked like she was in her mid-forties. She had a pile of pull-tabs in front of her, with a pained expression on her sunken face. The poor lighting wasn’t doing her any favors.

“See her? That’s Donna Bickley” Tina said and then crooked her finger to Darby to follow her into the office.

The office was as dingy as the rest of the building, but the overhead light was bright to the point of blinding when going in from the bar. It was a small closet that had a metal desk shoved against the back wall, with a safe on a table to the left next to a filing cabinet and a cork-board with notes and lists to the right. A small, black plastic waste basket was under it on the floor.

Tine pointed to a typed list to the furthest left of the cork-board. The top of the paper was titled ‘Unacceptable Checks From the Following’ and then a list of names under it.

“We aren’t allowed to accept checks, due to them bouncing, from these people. Read the third name down” Tina instructed.

Darby leaned a little and studiously looked at the third name.

“Donna Bickley?” she asked.

“Uh-huh” Tina said with her tongue between her teeth on the right side. “Donna is almost completely ruined as a person and we, as in the club, helped her do it! And we can’t help her.” she sighed deeply with another head shake.

“She doesn’t look ‘ruined’ to me; and how is that our fault anyway? How can she keep coming here nearly every day if her checks bounce? Doesn’t that mean she has no money in the bank?” Darby wanted to know.

“I-it’s not directly ‘our’ fault; people do it to themselves. But she borrows money- her sister, Madelyn Dusk, won’t speak to Donna anymore because of how much money Donna’s borrowed from her and her husband.” and despite being in the office, Tina lowered her voice “Donna’s husband and her are separated because she can’t afford her side of the divorce and her husband, Dave, refused to pay for it for her. She drained their joint bank account and didn’t get bills paid. She borrows from the bank. And she has a trail of other people, family and former friends, to whom she owes money; including her children.”

“How do you know all that? Surely Donna doesn’t tell people that stuff” Darby asked in shock. Darby would have been beyond humiliated to have a check bounce.

“It’s a bar in a small town-people talk. People tell bartenders and hairdressers everything.” Tina replied.

They walked back out to the bar area and continued drying the glasses as they talked in hushed voices.

“But why?” Darby asked.

“I think it’s because we see people at their worst. Bartenders see people get wasted, act a fool, vomit on themselves and stuff like that. Hairdressers see people with straggly hair and then see them with foil-rolls in and so people are already in a vulnerable state, so they unleash.” Tina shrugged.

“IF I was her family or friend, I wouldn’t loan money for gambling” Darby declared quietly.

“Often, they didn’t either. Not intentionally. She’d say ‘oh I need money for this bill, I’m not getting paid until this day and this thing is due’ and they gave her money for those bills. And then instead, she comes in here. She’s a gambler. Not like Donald Marny” Tina tossed her head in direction to a older, 50-something man in a deep blue suit with a light blue button up shirt sitting in the slots area.

He had salt and pepper hair, olive skin, and was hunched over one of the six slot machines against the opposing wall.

“Wait...did you ‘Marny’? As in “Marny and CO. Clothes’?” Darby asked, jolting her head up to see him, eyes darting between him and Tina.

Marny and CO. Clothes was a high-end fashion retailer.

“The same. That’s Co-owner, Donald. His brother, Andrew, is the fashion designer and Donald does more of the business-end of things. Donald can afford to go to real Las Vegas, but he likes his home-town-vibe and he’s not a ‘gambler’” Tina explained.

“Wait-what do you mean he’s not a ‘gambler’? He’s a person who gambles” Darby shook her head at Tina in confusion.

“Honey, that’s the textbook definition” Tina said, tossing the hand towel over her shoulder and closing the now empty dishwasher with her foot. “But in the business, there’s ‘players’ and ‘gamblers’ and both spend money on games of chance, but they are not the same”

“Okie, so what’s the difference?” Darby queried, carefully folding her hand towel and setting it on the countertop next to the dishwasher.

“The difference is one chases their losses and the other doesn’t” Tina replied and started checking the coolers to see if they needed stocked.

Darby followed behind her. “What does that mean?”

“Chasing your losses means, you’ve lost more than you intended and then you gamble more to try win back to break even instead of gain.”

“Well, I don’t think anybody ‘intends’ to lose; they realize it’s a very real possibility but” Darby shrugged with her face wrinkled in confusion.

Tina walked Darby to the center island counter of the bar area. In the center lined up were six acrylic boxes with openings cut out of the fronts. They were filled with pull-tab gambling tickets. You unfolded the three or four pull-tabs and if you found the picture on the inner fold, it had a winning amount usually $25-$100. If it was a winner; each box could hold 4,000 tickets and out of 4,000, only five were winners.

“No...no no. ‘Gamblers’ do NOT realize or even contemplate that they’re going to lose, possibly all their money. No matter how many times it happens. They’re always shocked and feel betrayed when they lose. And people like Donna think it’s ‘unfair’ for people like Donald to even win on a $2 scratch ticket. But that’s why it’s called ‘gambling’. We all know gambling isn’t designed to be ‘fair’, but gamblers think if they pay out x amount, they “deserve” at least that much back.” Tina raised her thin, drawn on brows for emphasis with an eye roll.

Darby continued to stare at her in disbelief and befuddlement. “That....makes no sense” and her crossed over each other like a ref calling a bad play.

“Gamblers don’t make sense, honey. Logic doesn’t exist. Only their game of choice. They keep thinking ‘I’ve spent this much money, I’ve lost all this, so I’m BOUND to win BIG if I just play one more time’. They pay whatever to get one more chance because that next chance is the winner. They’re superstitious beyond belief too.” Tina went on “You know how a person pays, say. $20 for tickets and we give them 20 tickets at a dollar each? Like, we count out twenty tickets and put them in these little baskets and carry it to the patron?”

Darby nodded. Each acrylic box had a stack mini basket on it for the bartenders to count tickets into so the bartender didn’t have to cup a bunch of tickets in their hands.

“If one ticket falls out onto the counter as we’re counting, Donna will snatch it up and buy it right away. Because THAT ticket is a winner. It doesn’t matter that in YEARS, a winner was that dropped ticket once and every other time it’s been a loser, that one time was enough to convince her” Tina said, tapping the tip of her coral painted nail onto the counter.

Darby could only blink behind her glasses.

“Oh, honey, that’s the tip of the superstitions” Tina assured her. “I’ve had patrons ask me to ‘stir the tickets in the box’, go to the far-left corner, or only get the tickets that are right up against the edge. Some people only want the white basket, or the blue basket. They’ll only get tickets in sets of 5 or only out of the even numbered boxes” she made a revolving motion with her hand.

“Mm” Darby bit the inside of her cheek and blinked again.

Tina full shrugged, palms facing the ceiling. “It happens. They are very superstitious.”

“But if something only occurred once and every other time it’s not worked...” Darby pantomimed balancing with her hands.

Tina pursed her lips, closed her eyes and shook her head. “If it worked ONCE, it will work again” she gave an exaggerated smirk and then looked around to see if anything else needed doing.

“But not everyone. The ‘players’ don’t do that?” Darby asked as if she wanted it to be true but didn’t believe it.

“Heh, some players have superstitions; they just admit defeat and know to throw in the towel.” Tina replied.

Darby glanced towards Donna. “And we can’t stop them?” she asked quietly.

“Not unless they run out cash.”

Tina then started showing Darby where they kept the recipes for fancier drinks that they rarely but occasionally got asked for and showing her where the supplies for said drinks were stored.

All of sudden Donna shouted, “You have GOT to be F***ING KIDDING ME! 200 tickets and NOTHING?!”

Tina and Darby looked over in time to see Donna burying her eyes into her palms and her fingers digging into her hairline.

Tina and Darby exchanged a knowing glance of empathy.

Just at that second the slot machine area started exploding with flashing lights and a loud robotic “Winner!” “Winner!” “Winner” over an alarm-like sound. Donald was clapping and cheering.

Darby and Tina jerked their heads to watch Donald’s celebratory dance.

Tina nudged Darby’s arm and gestured her head towards Donna.

Darby subtly glanced back to look at Donna.

Donna was fuming, her eyes wide and glaring daggers in Donald’s direction.

She angrily held out a $50 dollar bill between two fingers with one hand and ordered more tickets from between her teeth as she used her other arm to shove the opened losing pile of tickets to the counter’s edge.

Donald came over with his coins to the other side of the bar to cash out.

Darby looked at Tina.

“That’s why it’s called ‘gambling” Tina said again.


Council of the Zodiac Ambassadors

            Week of 4/8/2024             Agenda: Horoscope Town Hall with Ambassadors Aria (Ram District), Tori (Bull District), Gev (Twin District), Candace (Crab District), Leon (Lion District), Virginia (Maiden District), Libby (Scales District), Scott (Scorpion District), Satoshi (Archer District), Catherine (Sea-Goat District), Atticus (Water Bearer District), Pierce (Fish District)             “Order, everybody! I call Day 4 of the Convention of the Zodiac Ambassadors to order!” Aria announces, pounding the gavel to commence the meeting. A hush falls over the audience in the gallery – as leader of the Zodiac, Aria’s voice is quite commanding, and her flame red gown makes her impossible to ignore as she crosses the stage briskly to her seat at the head of the table. The eleven other ambassadors settle into their seats as well: Tori daintily crosses her ankles, Leon runs a proud hand through his honey blonde mane, and Candace smooths out her flowing, turquoise skirt.

            “Thank you for coming to the Town Hall with the Ambassadors,” Aria continues. “Each of the representatives will first give an update of the happenings in each of the Districts, and then give you the opportunity to ask questions and voice any concerns. At the end of the hour, we will discuss the upcoming solar eclipse. For now, we will begin going down the table. Tori?” she passes the microphone to her left.             Tori stands up with the charm and grace of a Southern belle, her pearly pink dress like a petal around her. “Residents of the Bull District should be cautious to watch their spending during the next month until the Sun moves into our District,” her twangy voice rings sweetly through the hall. “We have recently prospered and received a large influx of wealth, but what may seem like good investments now could come back to haunt us on a rainy day. We are in a solid economic place now, but we should beware of easy come, easy go.” She starts to sit down, then adds, “Oh, but our restaurant industry has really taken off since the start of the spring.” Constituents from the Bull District give a little cheer.             “Thank you, Tori,” Aria says. “Gev? News from the Twin District?”             Gev takes the microphone and straightens out his jewel-toned tie. His stylishly messy hair swoops as he stands up and a couple of girls in the audience swoon. “The Twin District has faced some problems getting projects completed. Management has promised one thing but done another, so I want to reassure you that it is my top priority to get those projects underway on schedule.” – the British pronunciation –  “I have already spoken with Representatives Castor and Pollux, and they’ve agreed to form committees to oversee each of the tasks. These include breaking ground on the new computer science wing at the main university campus, awarding the research grants from the record-breaking number of applicants we received this year,” a pause for applause, “and updating the exhibits in the museum. We have many good ideas in progress, but we are lacking in completion. Take this time to focus on priorities and make these ideas come into fruition. We will be very proud of the results once we put in the hard work.”

            “When will the grant recipients be announced?” someone in the audience asks.             “I anticipate by the end of Saturn in our District.”             “Will there be much disruption in traffic with the construction near campus?” someone else asks.             “Some road closures around the IT departments are planned, but it should not cause much more congestion than that.”             Candace is up next, tucking her thick red hair out of her heart-shaped face before she begins in a soft voice. “The Crab District has been functioning well as a community, but we’ve found ourselves closed off from our neighbors. Since we are an island, that is to be expected, but we need to be more open. I know we are often afraid of being taken advantage of or we can be overprotective, but some more trust will do us a world of good and allow us to make stronger connections with people who care about us.” She adjusts her seashell necklace as she sits down and passes the microphone over to Leon, who grabs it eagerly.             Leon does not need a microphone. He uses it anyway. “No matter which District the Sun is in, we are getting the best path of the Sun anyway,” he grins, confidence radiating around him. “The Lion District is prepared for being the hub on the Path of Totality for the upcoming eclipse, and we are ready for tourists to flock into our fine District for the sight. We are shining bright, and big success is in our future!” Big cheers from the Lion District audience.

            Virginia rises with a more subdued, down-to-earth attitude. “While we may not be as flashy as some of our neighbors,” she shoots Leon a cool look, “our District’s vegetation is in full bloom, which means that we will soon be able to export our harvests. Some of our main contracts are with the Ram District in exchange for coal,” she glances over to Aria who nods in agreement, “with the Bull District in exchange for timber,” Tori also confirms, “and with the Water Bearer District in exchange for clay and cement,” she shares a nod with Atticus. “We are refreshed and rejuvenated and ready to go with a renewed sense of purpose and energy.”

            “Would we be able to trade for shellfish from the Crab District as well?” a resident asks.

            Virginia glances over at Candace, who agrees.             “Yes, Candace, let’s work on a contract for that after this meeting.” She folds the creases of her green gown around her and passes off to Libby, who stands up poised and diplomatic. Her black hair is pinned up in perfection, and lace white gloves fit snugly to her delicate wrists. “As the center of legal doctrine,” she begins with masterful eloquence, “our District’s judges and scholars are preparing this year’s case studies for publication. We are still undecided on how to resolve a handful of technicalities, but we anticipate the volume to be available for all Districts by the start of Jupiter in the Bull District. At that time, our busy season will come to an end and we will be able to take a rest from our obligations. Until then, we are hard at work.” “Are there any new regulations the other Districts should be aware of at this point?” an audience member asks.             “We are finalizing some zoning and property permits, but nothing that should affect existing property laws. These will be more relevant for new construction projects.”             “Like the computer science wing?” a Twin District resident wonders, and Gev glances over curiously.             “Ah, yes, that is a very good point,” Libby answers. “We will be sure to publish any guidelines before breaking ground on the wing. Gev, you and I can speak on this matter later.” Scott addresses the audience next. “The Scorpion District has perfected new technology that makes the mining of ore and minerals much easier and faster. We have a large supply or quartz and silver –” a sliver watches flashes on his wrist under the sleeve of his black cashmere sweater – “that we are going to be putting on the market soon. Part of this week’s convention is to draw up contracts with the other Districts so they can get first purchase at favorable prices.” This creates a collective mutter of approval from the Ambassadors. “Overall, our District is aimed for success and forecasted to receive much financial gain.” “I would like to address the Archer District's spring health goals,” Satoshi says, brushing the jet-black bangs out of his eyes. “With the start of warmer weather, the District parks will be open for recreation again.” A soft wave of applause from its residents. “Air quality has been improving, and we also have some new greenspaces open. I would like to encourage our residents to get outside and be active this season. Take the opportunity to care for your mind and body, and spend some time in nature.” “I would like to echo Satoshi’s encouragement,” Catherine takes over. “The Sea-Goat District faced an exceptionally harsh winter this year that has made many people lonely and discouraged, but as some Neptune moves into the Scales District, this promises an improvement in both the weather and our moods. We should find ourselves motivated and energetic again in the coming weeks.” Atticus stands up, adjusting his glasses so that the sleeve of his denim blazer slips a little to reveal his

I know  wrist tattoo. “Our residents have been incredibly creative while Uranus was in the Scales District, and we have produced some wonderful artwork as a result. Therefore, the Water Bearer District would like to invite you all to our art exhibition in honor of the eclipse entitled,

From Dark Into Light: An exhibition of black and white photography . Entry fee is $10; all proceeds go towards scholarships for our art students and any remaining funds go towards local charities. The exhibit runs from the eclipse to the end the Sun in the Ram District.” The Ambassadors and audience give a round of applause.

Pierce closes out the line of Ambassadors. “The Fish District has been investing heavily into our education system, especially early education programs, and in healthcare for the elderly. These programs include art classes, social dances, poetry readings, gardening days. We want to make sure the most vulnerable in our communities are cared for and don’t feel forgotten. Our District’s residents are caring and compassionate, and we are dreamers because we believe we can turn those dreams into reality – and these programs are serving as proof that we can.” He takes a small, shy bow as he receives some applause, his green eyes crinkling happily. The microphone makes its way back to the start of the table to Aria. “Alright, thank you to all the Ambassadors for their updates. To close out the table, the Ram District has been very active in research the past couple of months. We are brimming with ideas, inspired by Jupiter in the Water Bearer District, and we are making substantial progress getting our results out there. I know that we are impatient to get things done, but I caution us to take our time – I know it’s hard for us – but really take a moment to step back to make sure we check all our boxes, cross all our t’s, dot all our i’s, so we don’t have to go back and redo silly mistakes. But overall, we are in a good place.” There’s a brief shift in the room as the Ambassadors wrap up their respective updates and field any remaining questions before focus changes to the upcoming solar eclipse.

            “Well, as we all know,” Aria continues to lead, “the solar eclipse is coming up. Atticus mentioned the art exhibit in its honor, and Leon invited everyone to the Lion District to best witness totality. Are there any questions about what to expect for this special event?”             “Is it a good day to work and be productive?” someone else asks.             “Well, I was thinking to take the day off from work to actually see it,” another audience member replies instead.             “I agree with that,” Aria laughs. “To answer your question though, yes. All signs point to any endeavors taken up on the day of the eclipse are more likely to succeed, especially before peak, so if there is anything you want to accomplish, I suggest doing it then – just don’t miss the actual eclipse!”             “Will it be a good day for love?” someone asks and people immediately chatter in interest – always a popular question for the Ambassadors.             “Should I go for the ‘total eclipse of the heart’ joke?” Scott teases.

            Libby rolls her eyes and answers seriously, “For that, I would recommend asking your local Constellation Consultant to look at your personal star chart.”             “Any other question?” Candace glances around.             The audience members, satisfied with the answers and guidance they’ve been given, start to mill towards the exit.             “Wait!” a child excitedly remembers. “Are there still eclipse glasses available?”

            “Yes, definitely,” Atticus says. “In fact, you can find them at the main entrance of the hall, so pick up a pair as you leave!”             “Have a lovely Sun in Ram District season and a wonderful solar eclipse, everybody!” Aria adjourns the meeting.


Reluctant Werewolf Being a werewolf wasn’t my defining characteristic, though there would be people who said otherwise. I just wanted to run my coffee shop and have enough money to break even, and to be left alone. An introvert I was not, not exactly. I’m a people person, but there are only so many times that fellow werewolves and vampires could come in, pretending they were there for coffee but actually heckling me, that I could deal with. Before I was bitten, I prided myself on being able to control my temper; I was pretty much a pacifist, unless I saw someone coming to harm. Now it felt like my anger was constantly bubbling just beneath the surface of my skin, and all it took for me to lose it was a minor incident. How foolish I’d been, not believing in monsters. They were all too real, and they were annoying. I walked downstairs and began to prep everything, unlocking the doors so my employees can come inside for their shifts. I make myself a cup of strong, black coffee, still fatigued from the night before. One of the baristas, Caleb, walked inside, cheeks flushed and chapped from the brutal wind. “Morning, Leo,” He said, sitting down at a table before he clocks in. I brought him a cup of coffee, along with milk, sugar, and cream. He gave me a grateful smile in reply as I set it on the table. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” He said after taking a few sips, “But the vampires are lurking again.” “Again?” I cried, rolling my eyes so hard it felt like they were going to fall out of their sockets. “At this rate, I’ll have to get a damn protection order. This has gotten way out of hand.” Leo smirks over the rim of his mug. “I don’t even get their problem with you. It’s not like you bother them.” “As far as I know, I don’t *bother* anyone! I just work and go home!” I said, exasperated. I didn’t want the authorities involved, necessarily, but I was so tired of being heckled for no apparent reason. It wasn’t my fault I’d been bitten, after all. I’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. As if reading my thoughts, a vampire walked up to the door, all clothed in black, a scarf around his neck to protect him from the cold. “Yo, Leo! You got any coffee? I have money!” He called through the frosty glass, waving a twenty at me. His fanged teeth were bared in a smirk, bright ruby eyes glinting in the winter morning. “You and I both know you don’t want any coffee, Vlad. You want to come in here and bother me.” He widened his eyes innocently, though his shoulders shook as if he were holding in laughter. “Who, me? I’d never. And besides, who are you to turn down a paying customer?” “Fuck off. You want some coffee so bad, you can hit up a Starbucks,” I growled, and to my own horror, it came out as a low, deadly snarl with a powerful timbre. Caleb was watching the exchange, and he smirked; I wondered if he was wanting to flip Vlad the bird. Vlad just shrugged, laughing. All he wanted was to get under my skin, and he’d succeeded. “I’ll be back later, Leo. With some friends this time.” “You’re lucky I’m not calling the police! Get out of here before I rip you to shreds!” I watched his retreating back as he walked down the street. When he turned the corner, I turned the closed sign to open. \*\* My next problem came at lunch time, which was already a harried time for us, even with three employees and myself. I was no Starbucks, but I had to admit that I made some damn good coffee. Our chef, Sam, took pride in what he put in the windows under the counters, both sweet and savory: paninis, muffins, sandwiches, cakes, soup, cookies. The kid was half the reason I got so much business; everyone loved his food, including me. If I could have, I would’ve hired him as my personal chef. Caleb was in the middle of serving a tray of drinks to two sets of parents and their toddlers when the werewolves walked in. I groaned; how many variations of the word no did I have to use for them to understand? The local werewolf tribe had been trying to recruit me since I’d been bitten, and I wanted no part in it. I didn’t enjoy my disease; I didn’t use my strength and new sight to any advantage. I liked pretending I was normal, and the monsters in my town seemed determined to shatter the illusion.


My neighbor and his family weren’t the sort of people I would ordinarily get to know. They are conservative Christians with an interest in guns and ‘survival’. Now let me state for the record that I’m neither opposed to guns, personal farming, or any type of religion (when practiced in moderation) but most individuals I know with those fixations, are deep into them. DEEP. To the point they often come across as ‘cult like’ to me. Sure, I was always ‘friendly’ and waved big when they drove by, but that was just my personal strategy. I figured it was much better to be on their ‘good’ side, than to be on their ‘bad’ side. Know what I mean? During the viral outbreak, everyone in our tiny community was already on edge. It didn’t take much more to push certain ‘agitated folks’ with apocalyptic views (like my ‘prepper’ neighbors) into believing ‘the end was near’. Once hoarding started of ordinary commodities, it triggered a fierce survival instinct in them which frankly, they’d been preparing for, for many, many years. In truth, there really were a few isolated pockets of crime occurring nearby; as our local society broke into panic and riots. A few unstable people jumped the shark and looted stores or robbed their neighbors (as if zombies had just risen from the dead). Meanwhile, the real-world mortality rate for those infected with the virus was only about 1%. The common cold, cancer, vehicle accidents, heart attacks, and a half-dozen other common ailments took more lives and yet it didn’t make the local news. It was the definition of overreaction and hysterical madness. The irony was that despite the circumstances not even being close to justifying real chaos, the exaggerated panic circulating around was rapidly edging us closer to the real thing. A loud knock on my front door jolted me awake. I don’t normally sleep in my recliner but then again, hearing shouting up the road at 1 AM wasn’t ‘normal’ either. It didn’t matter that the circumstances didn’t merit an actual apocalypse. No one told the panicked rednecks up the street so I had to adjust my way of thinking to match theirs. To my relief, it was my aforementioned neighbor. Frank looked absolutely triggered. He was clearly waiting for ‘the end’ to come. In his hand was a very intimidating military-style rifle. Luckily he wasn’t pointing it at me but I still didn’t feel safe with it so prominent in my view. Before I could ask what was going on, he stepped aggressively onto my threshold. I took an immediate step backward, yielding the floor in submission. “It’s finally going down.”; Frank deadpanned. The grave look in his bloodshot eyes spoke volumes. He didn’t have to explain. It was clear what he meant. I asked if he and his family were ‘ok’. He grimaced and nodded somberly. A look of relief crept over his face at my sincere question. I obviously exhibited some behavior which made him feel better about approaching me. I suppose that was because I’d asked about their well-being. It was proof to him that I wasn’t out to burn down their home and pick them off, one-by-one, as they ran screaming out the door. Besides being way outside my ability (or intentions), I only owned a small handgun. I think because they were hardcore doomsday preppers; they assumed everyone else was just like them. “We’ll need to band together to survive this thing.”; He began in earnest. The whites of his eyes were prominent. “I’ve been monitoring the police bands. Widespread looting and attacks are escalating rapidly in town. Things have fully collapsed. It’s only a matter of time before one of those greedy bastards comes to our dead-end road and tries to seize our munitions and supplies. You’ve always been friendly with us so I wanted to approach you about combining forces.” I started to try to get him to relax but he was clearly too wound up. There was no evidence the handful of local crimes were anything more than just a few isolated incidents. The problem was, Frank wasn’t going to be ‘calmed’. He was all ‘puffed up’. He was ‘vigilant’. The man was ready for a fierce battle and wouldn’t appreciate me trying to downplay his ‘apocalypse’ as mostly imagined, or one-sided. Not at all. I elected to play along for the sake of humoring him. After all, the AR-15 over his shoulder looked like it meant business. In the event of a pseudo apocalypse, it’s best to agree completely with the heavily armed guy in your doorway. “Frank, buddy. I’m here for you and your family. If things get rough, I’ll be right there beside you, ok?” That was as vaguely supportive (while not being contractually committal), as I could be. It seemed to reassure him. The rigid posture he manifested like an on-duty green beret, loosed ever-so-slightly. He ‘suggested’ I grab “all of my firearms” and ammo; and immediately join his family at ‘their compound’. I could tell that he wasn’t going to respond well to any hesitancy on my part. I just nodded and grabbed my never-used 9mm and two boxes of bullets. At his house, the family looked like they were already prepared for an all-out-war. His wife sized me up. I could tell she was against bringing me over. Their college aged daughters were dressed in battle fatigues and full military garb. I wanted to run away in terror at this surreal experience but it felt safer to be on that side of ‘the fortress’, than outside of it, viewed as an enemy. The latent sounds of gunfire in the distance snapped them into action. To be honest, it triggered me too. Up until that point I thought they were nuts to assume a societal collapse over a small, local uprising but it was hard to ignore rapid gunfire at 2AM. Frank’s family lined up like a well-oiled machine at the ‘command center’. They’d already boarded up their windows and barricaded both doors. Witnessing their assembled arsenal of weaponry, I had to wonder why anyone would be foolish enough to try to break in. My home was an infinitely easier target. Sensing my thoughts, Frank offered; “It’s well known by certain people in town that we are exceptionally ‘well stocked’. That puts a big target on our backs by savages who would try to take our things or our lives. Our mistake was not being more ‘low key’ during our previous supply runs.” I nodded appreciatively. Under the rapidly developing circumstances, I felt very lucky to be taken in by them. I had way less to offer our haphazard ‘apocalyptic’ partnership than I would stand to benefit. That being the case, it seemed prudent for me to keep my big mouth shut, lest they suddenly realize all of my strategic shortcomings. Apparently Frank had perimeter sensors around his property. When one of them suddenly went off, a spotlight lit up the entire area in blaring light. One of his daughters fired off a half dozen rounds at the intruder. He didn’t get back up. ‘It’ had begun. You would think having perimeter sensors and triggered spotlights would’ve been enough to discourage any sane person but it just seemed to appeal to their misguided sense of pride. Frank’s place was a real ‘challenge’. The thieves were apparently spurned on by the potential bragging rights and the massive spoils of their armada. They shot out the bulbs to effect a deep-cover of darkness. What the intruders didn’t count on, where Frank’s hidden infrared and heat-sensing modules buried in the yard. That led to three more bodies lying dead on the grass. I had to hand it to him, when the shit hit the proverbial fan, they were absolutely, positively prepared. How ironic it was that (if I’d known about all their detection gadgets on the property) I would’ve thought he and his family needed mental help. Now I was seeing how wrong I was. Their home was taking heavy sniper fire from the foothills behind the house. They had a number of protected gun turrets for a standoff. Frank himself took aim at the latest source of conflict while I stood ready to reload for him. It was something I could do to help during the tense crisis. Using night-vision goggles, he managed to triangulate the source of the shooter and pinned him down. It was amazing to watch him in action! With that shooter out of the picture, I assumed we’d finally have some peace but again, I was wrong. The individuals intent of seizing Frank’s huge stash doubled-down on their efforts. Maybe they were angry at having so many personal losses that they felt like they had to avenge their fallen partners. Whatever the reason, a cavalry of four rapidly charged the front gate. Both Frank’s daughters and his wife were ready and waiting. Two fell immediately. Another was grazed by a shot but must’ve been wearing body armor or something. He limped over to a makeshift shield in the yard to take refuge. What the intruder didn’t realize, was that they had left the barrier there as a decoy. Buried slightly in the ground under it was an explosive charge. He was blown to pieces. The fourth guy had enough and turned to run. In what could only described as being swept up by the hyper-intense passion of battle, I grabbed up one of their rifles and fired at him. To my great disbelief, I dropped him at 35 yards! Suddenly I too was a killer but if he’d made it inside, I would’ve been in his crosshairs. Up until that point I was a peaceful man but it was ‘kill or be killed’. Frank patted me on the back and told me I’d done the right thing. “The guy would’ve come back eventually for revenge.”; He consoled. Now I was ‘one of them’. Would the total routing of this band of apocalyptic marauders bring reinforcements, or did we get them all? None of us knew. We had to stay fully alert. Frank had been awake for more than 36 hours prepping. He was in danger of passing out. As a good commander, he knew when he needed to turn over command. He and his wife took the first shift sleeping while both daughters and I stood watch. They eyed the security monitors while I reloaded weapons and familiarized myself with their considerable arsenal. It was a long night but thankfully we didn’t have further attacks until several days later. We successfully weathered them too. Teamwork was key. What we didn’t realize was that simultaneously across the world, nearly identical localized battles were taking place for control and dominance. What started out as a regional overreaction triggered panic and a global domino effect. The pseudo apocalypse became a real one. Governments collapsed. Law and order became a thing of the past. Every journey begins with a single step. Not that it mattered but the fall of civilization possibly started at my neighbor’s house. At least Frank’s family came to accept me. I took his eldest daughter to be my wife once she turned 22. I’m a quick learner but she’s still the superior shot. Our children will be the first generation to grow up in the post American world.


Carl's mother used to say, "Curiosity doesn't kill the cat. Instead, it becomes a superposition of various phases." No doubt she was a theoretical physicist, well versed in the quantum realms and the Holy Book of Principia Mathematica, but Carl only understood its meaning now. Or did he? Because till the end of the horizon, there was utter, complete darkness. Even the grim reaper would hesitate to merge with this opalescent void of nothingness. Maybe she was highlighting the probabilities of all possible outcomes he would take to navigate out of this event horizon, which equals his current phase now. In other words, the apple is red in colour. Guess having a physicist as a mother when navigating through the blind room is futile. Who knew. Why did he have to reach out for the latest edition of the Asian Fever ? Why did the bookshelf topple on itself as if it were drunk with knowledge on its shelves? With the thousands of promiscuous students at the University of Candela, this black hole should have been populated with its own civilization of incelibates. Or no one reads Asian Fever anymore. Nevertheless, Carl wished he had time to contemplate his pitfall for years beyond yonder, but the chilling breeze heading towards the dingy chambers of nowhere signalled otherwise. The wind, as per the epic Cast Away, signifies an exit from the island of darkness he is imprisoned on. Arming himself with a confident smile, Carl merrily trudged along the invisible corridors, splatting and clucking seemingly muddy soil. There was a miasma of malodourous odour seeping out from the ground and sudden raspy creaks rattling out from the north, but such trivial matters didn't seem to bother the determined sophomore. He knew wherever the zephyr halted was the paradise of freedom. Then the breeze stopped. There was absolutely no cold shiver tapping on his shoulders. He looked around again, and it was no different with his eyes blindfolded. Pitch-black stillness again throughout. However, this time it was not the gentle cinches sending shudders down his spine. It was the horrifying uncertainty of losing yourself in a never-ending void in the middle of the universe. Or, as Einstein would say, Springfield. Frozen with terror, Carl huddled himself tightly, waiting for God to throw a twig for him to fetch. It wasn't a twig, but something dripped from the top. He did fall into a crevice of a cave, so it may be an indication of a stalactite yelling its existence to him. To check if there are other stalactites, Carl thought of an ingenious solution. He decided to hop up and down like a 500-pound kangaroo. Despite the thumps and rumps on the squiggly ground, there was no sign of other stalactites or rock formations. The only responses he received were the whining thumps he initiated. Or at least, that's what he thought for 10 seconds. An indescribable force from the depths of hell grappled him downwards as the ground erected itself rapidly, transforming into an impenetrable fortress. The Great Wall of China would feel like a noodle in front of this titanesque structure. As he skidded downward, there were tiny threads of light skipping off the edges of his vision, providing a surreal experience. It was Morse code exemplified visually while a man was falling to his death. When the tumbling stopped, he eventually found himself in a peculiar hallway with large, ruminating Greco-Roman pillars piercing through the heavens underneath. However, they were clearly past their glory days, moulding like stale bread left in a dark pantry. A faint, eerie voice attempted to reach out to Carl, hiding amongst the rotten pillars. C A R L. H E L P M E. P L E A S E. Trying to find the voice was like finding a candy wrapper in the hill of Cadbury . The voice came from everywhere and anywhere as it whistled and echoed unceremoniously around the vicinity. The further Carl ventured around looking for the voice, the more he was struck with pandemonium, as the pillars started to distort and curl like a reflection in the pond affected by ripples of water. From those pillars, a hand instantaneously thrust out vehemently, gripping Carl's neck and pulling him away swiftly from the defunct Greco-Roman verandah. At the very next blink, he saw himself staring at a greasy, warty face with hefty eye bags and puffy blood-red eyes. It only had a tiny cotton rag supporting its dignity, if it knew it had one. Carl promised he would never watch a horror film, but he was so moved by this creature that he had to scream as loud as he could. "Sh. Shsh. Ima Karloyung. Whassa name?", asked the son of Gollum. "Carl." The creature attempted to pronounce his name, grunting C A R L. "No, it's Car-il. Carl," emphasised the spooked 20-year-old. "Iknowa Karlo. Youara mees." Carl scoffed at it. "You're me?" "If youara doen belie'ee mees, my papa madezeze zweater." Carl slapped its face with the gentlest of pressure. It must have been a terrible joke, but a dry hiss snapped him out of his psychosis. His father did indeed sew the cotton sweater he was clinging dearly to. "Listeen caeefullee. Eez placa notta cave. Eez 'elly' of meenotaure. Eez dae'nger. To Azcap. Youra mist eat mees." Carl could barely decipher his hieroglyphs. But he was pretty confident he meant the following: "Listen carefully. This plaza holds a cave. This belly of 'Minatouri?' This day under. To escape, you must beat me." Carl could not understand what annoyed him more: being trapped in the belly of a Minatouri (whatever that means) or beating up the ghastly recluse of decaying Atlantis. The latter, however, was so much more fun to process. He grabbed out a scraped bone and hammered the weak beast continually. Despite the stings, Karloyung was laughing throughout, as if those hits were the works of the tickle monster. But he was clearly bruised in all his limbs, with innumerable reddened patches dispersed like the aftermath of a battle in the tomato garden. "Heeeta Harda! Youra mist eat mees!". It then forced its head closer to Carl's mouth. "EATTA MEES."

Carl stopped. Eat? Surely it must be beat. Surely offering his skull was to crack his orbitals, not munch on them. Surely he must be insane to beat a weaker version of himself. Did he care? Not one bit. All he wanted was to escape out of this hellhole. He whammed and whacked the remaining knuckles of the troglodyte, persisting until it heaved its last breath. A sudden silence enveloped the Olympian marshlands. Carl waited for a hint, for the clearance to finally escape. He tapped on his feet impatiently and placed his hands over his hips, hoping Zeus would fall off from the edge of Mount Olympus and destroy this filthy acid pool. However, nothing ever came. It never came for an hour, for days, or perhaps for years to come. Over the Ron's passed by, Carl found his skin shrivelling and wrinkling, collapsing under its own weight. He felt some spots and pimples spouting on his face as his shoulders weighed an additional 20 pounds more than they had before. Fearing what may come after, he whipped out his phone to check his reflection. The same weary eye bags. The same puffy red eyes. The same warts. It was too good to be true. "Why didn't you listen to Karloyung, Carl?", exclaimed a husky voice from the shadows. "All you had to do was eat him. Then, I would have rewarded you." Carl stuttered incoherently. "Wif.. what?" "Me." It was a human with the head of a seasoned bull, the eyes of a reticulated python, and the horns of the devil. His biceps were three times the size of Carl's head, and his chest rivalled that of Hercules. "The Minotaur?", the weak captive huffed in front of its master. "Yes, and more. Lust, hatred, and greed; The wretched men languish in these parts of the world. Never heard of the enigma?" "No."

"What? A simple search in Google Maps will show you!" The minotaur erupted. "But I have no signal reception here", gasped Carl. "You are joking, right? I thought you called your friends for help, but I assumed they didn't get back to you. You got yourself caught without even calling someone up? There's 5G reception everywhere, for Minos' sake!". Carl switched on his phone. There were 0 missed calls, 5 notifications on Instagram, and a post about the Minotaur. Carl didn't have enough saliva to even gulp in embarrassment, so he choked on the moist air of the Enigma. "I have never captured such an idiot before. Are you the son of Coalemus?" Only if he knew. If he knew Carl was lunging forward at him, cracking his jaded bovine skull. The Minotaur was bellowing with agonising pain but didn't take long to recover as he swung Carl to one of the marble pillars, nearly smashing the student apart. The energised demigod limped towards his paralysed aggressor, snorting out lava as his horns were on the verge of piercing Carl's forehead. "Don't you ever do that to me again. Is that understood?" Carl nodded his head reluctantly. Or it seemed so in his thoughts. But the Minotaur's attention shifted by then, as something else torpedoed out from the top and crashed into a soggy patch of goo. It was another human, adorned with a minimalist beige t-shirt and baggy khaki pants. He wore an unusual bracelet, clamped permanently to his forehead. "Uh, greetings, or salutations, or I don't know. I am Kal Young, batch 2055. Do you fathom the nearest exit?", as he adjusted his crown. The minotaur turned its face to me briefly, grinning wider than a Cheshire cat would ever try. "You will have to eat that recluse over there to leave." The newbie shook his head diligently, as if he were programmed specifically to follow instructions from a beefhead. He marched towards Carl with an uneasy glint in his eyes and the bracelet. The bracelet shone with the fury of a thousand betelgeuses. Carl scratched at his warts like a flea-smitten dog as he laid eyes on an abandoned tibia. Here we go again.