"That one looks like a dragon." Rupert pointed to the lazily drifting cloud. "I don't see a dragon," Steven responded. "I see a rabbit right there." His finger intersected Rupert's. "What are you talking about? That is clearly a dragon." Rupert scooted over closer to his friend and started tracing the shape. "See, there is the body, the open mouth, and it’s even breathing fire." Steven squinted, "OK, I guess I can see that." He started tracing the same shape at a different angle. "See? Here's the body and the ears, and he's eating a little carrot." "OK," Rupert conceded. "That proves that you're crazy." "Says the guys seeing dragons," Steven retorted. "Oh, look at that one! It's a turtle!" Rupert poked at another cloud drifting by. It started contorting immediately. "And now it's a sandwich." Said Steven. "It even has the toothpick and olive." "I guess it is just about lunchtime, huh?" Rupert observed as his belly gurgled. "I told you to pack a picnic." Steven stretched in a sunbeam. “But, nooo, you couldn’t find napkins.” He mocked. "You’re an idiot," Rupert muttered, then, "Where do you want to go to lunch?" "How about that deli with the patio? Their rye bread is amazing." Steven said longingly. "Oh yeah," Rupert's eyes sparkled. "Maybe that girl will be working the counter." "You mean the one you can never talk to?" Steven chided. "You can barely give her your order." "Shut up." Rupert pushed up from his belly. "It's right over there," he pointed down to the ground far below. "Let's go eat." Rupert grabbed his things and fell into a dive from their perch above the clouds. "Hey! Wait up!" Steven crawled to the edge and threw himself out into the sky. They tucked their bodies tight like bullets. The wind slashed and buffeted them. It was exhilarating every time. Once below the clouds, they arched their backs to angle themselves toward the target. The deli was under them now. Locking eyes, they nodded to one another. Simultaneously, the two friends flared their wings and swooped by one another. Rupert, with his white wings, and Steven, with his brown ones. They banked back to one another and started spiraling down to the deli in a tight formation. "Damn it!" Steven called now that the wind shear was lessened, and they could talk. "What's up?" Asked Rupert. "I left my shirt up there." "I bet you left your whole bag up there, didn't you?" Rupert asked suspiciously. "You left so suddenly, I had to catch up," Steven said with wide, innocent eyes. "How many lunches do you owe me now?" "Come on! You wound me.”- Steven held his hands to his chest, gripping the emotional injury- “Friends shouldn't keep tallies like that." "Easy to say when you never pay," Rupert grumbled. Their spiral ended in an alley behind the deli. A shirt hit Steven's face hard. "Hey! I wasn't ready." "You should be happy that I had an extra, and I'm not leaving you out here like a leashed dog," Rupert said as he retracted his wings into his shoulders. He covered his impressive pecs and abs with a shirt that, if anything, accented them more. Steven put his wings away as well. "You carry a gay pride shirt around just for me, don't you?" He asked as he put on an equally form-fitting rainbow shirt. "Makes you a better wingman." Rupert smiled at his friend. They rounded the corner out of the alley onto the sidewalk. The lunch rush was in full swing. The line was to the door. They had to stand there, holding it open. The deli was a neat little shop with bare red brick walls. A few black and white family photos hung. According to the sign above the counter, the place had been family-owned for five generations. The floor was mop-water-colored linoleum. The counter had a quarter dome of glass that showed various meats, cheeses, and bread. All were labeled simplistically. "Ham," "Turkey," "Salami," and so on. There were no complicated subcategories for people to try to wade through. Rupert was less interested in the contents of the counter than the attendant behind it. She was tall, about five-eight. Her red hair blazed and refused to be tamed in the ponytail it had been wrangled into. Strands still wisped about in a halo around her freckled, heart-shaped face. She had deep green eyes, like a forest. She wore an apron that still revealed some curves beneath the grease and flour. She was dazzling. They made it to the front of the line. Those eyes were so close. "What can I get you guys?" Her voice was cheery but brisk. Customer service meets efficiency. Rupert looked like a deer in a headlight. He had just been staring at her and forgotten to be sentient. "Um- Uh. I'd like-" "I'd like a ham and swiss on rye, please." Interrupted Steven. "He usually gets a club on wheat." "I thought I'd seen you guys before." The sandwich girl said, her smile turned genuine. "Do you work together? Is that how you can get lunches at the same time? It’s nice to see couples get lunches together during the week." "Oh," Steven smiled shyly. "We're not a couple." He looked coyly over at Rupert, "He's not into me like that, ya know?" "Oh," Her face reddened like the tomatoes she placed on the sandwiches. "I'm sorry to imply-" "Yes, we do work together.” Rupert spewed out quickly. “We're just good, platonic friends. Not that it would be wrong to be-” "No need to be sorry, dear," Steven cooed. "I wish you were right." He winked. “But I can’t convince him.” Rupert felt his face flush as he stared, gobsmacked, at Steven. The girl smiled a bit awkwardly. “What do you guys do?" "We work with climate control systems," Steven said before Rupert entered the conversation. “It isn't all that glamourous, and we don't get to see nearly as many interesting people as you do." "Yeah, interesting. Like two guys that should be models coming in, but they actually fix A/C units." A crooked smile split her lips as she finished wrapping the sandwiches. “See that?” Steven nudged Rupert with his elbow. “She thinks we’re interesting, isn’t that great?” “I think she’s great,” Rupert said suddenly. The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh?” “She’s great at making sandwiches and conversation, so obviously, she must be great in general.” Steven tried to recover. “I’m Steven, by the way. This is-” “I’m Rupert,” he blurted, awkwardly shooting his hand out at her. She leaned back from the abrupt gesture and scrunched her face, “Mmm, sorry, I can’t.” She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “I have the gloves on.” "It's understandable." Said Rupert. He scratched behind his head, embarrassed. Her eyes lingered on the scratching arm and traveled down to where the tail lifted slightly to reveal the last line of his abs. Her brows rose slightly. "My name is Cat.” Her smile returned. “I don't normally do this, but you seem like a nice guy."-she scribbled on a napkin- "Give me a call sometime. I get off at 7:30 every night." Rupert's mouth opened slightly as his arm moved from his head, and he grabbed the napkin. "He means to say thank you, and he'll do that," Steven said as he grabbed his friend by the shoulders and steered him onto the patio. "Thank you," Rupert called back as he put the number in his pocket, too embarrassed to look back at Cat. "You really needed a wingman. I’d say that was worth the lunch." Steven said as he unwrapped his sandwich. They sat and enjoyed their lunch, delighting in the view of the clouds from the ground. "See? Another dragon!" Rupert pointed. "You mean the kitty cat?" Their sandwiches vanished. They both looked at the wrappers with a sense of loss, wishing they had enjoyed the last bite more. "I guess we better get going before they decide to stampede," Rupert said, looking skyward. "Yeah," Steven groaned. They went through the deli to dispose of the refuse and leave a tip in the jar. To Rupert's relief and dismay, Cat was not at the counter. The shop had cleared out. She was probably attending to things in the kitchen or something. They left and turned back into the alley. "You gonna call her?" Steven asked, wiggling his eyebrows. "No." "What?! Why not?" Rupert inhaled deeply, let it out, and then did it again. "Say I call her. We go out and hit it off. I can't marry this girl. ‘'Til death' would only be a thing for her. Or say we go out, and it turns into an all-nighter." "That's the spirit!" Steven encouraged. "We have sex, and I lose my self-control. I could shatter her pelvis!” “That seems a bit unlikely,” Steven retorted. “True,” Rupert allowed. “Or let’s think a little longer term. Something goes wrong, and we end up being the point one percent that birth control fails on; would she have an angel baby?” “You’re catastrophizing.” Rupert takes off his shirt and stows it in his bag. Steven doffs his shirt and hands it to Rupert. "I'm just saying you've coveted her for a while now. Would it be so bad to go to a movie?" Rupert jammed the shirts into his bag, then slung it over his shoulder. "Drop it." "OK, sorry." "We have to go." Rupert rolled his shoulders, and his great white wings extended. "Oh my God!" A gasp slipped from behind him. Rupert turned, casting a gale through the alley, hurling trash, and pinning the interloper to the wall. It was Cat. "Well, shitballs," Steven said eloquently. Rupert rushed closer to block any escape and stood face-to-face with the beautiful woman. "What are you?" She squeaked through wheezes. Rupert gritted his teeth, frustrated with himself. "Angels," he mumbled. "Angels? W-what?! That's impossible." “But it’s true,” Rupert said, his wings flexing. "Yeah, it is," Steven said as he strode over to them. "Except you aren't supposed to know about us." "Why are you here?" She asked, not grasping the gravity of Steven’s comment. "It was a lunch break," Steven explained. "Break from what?" "We are cloud shepherds," said Rupert grim-faced. "What does that mean?" "We heard the clouds around." Steven provided. "If they gather in places they aren't supposed to, we move them. If they need to gather someplace, we get them there." "The wind does that," Cat said. Worry started creeping into her voice as she noticed Rupert’s stony expression. “Oh!” Steven threw up his hands and spun in a slow, dramatic circle. “The wind does that?” His voice cracked. “I guess we can relax, Rupert. The wind does our job. I guess it makes storms too?” “So, like lightning and thunder? That’s you guys, too?” Cat said slowly. “It is,” Rupert said calmly. “The wind is one of our tools.” "I guess that makes sense," Cat repeatedly nodded, fixating on the enormous wings. "As much sense as angels being real. So, what happens now?" "Now," Rupert sighed, stepping back. "We make you forget about all of this." "How?" Her head stopped bobbing, and she looked right at him. "We make your memory foggy." Steven provided cheerily. Cat’s confused expression whipped to Steven, who nodded and wiggled his eyebrows. "Yeah," Rupert slumped, dejected. "We use fog." “Are you fuckin’ serious?” Cat looked between them as a bank of gray fog started boiling in from the back end of the alley. It looked like a wall of smoke but heavier somehow. “What the hell is that?” she stepped away from the menacing mist. Then she looked at Rupert’s solemn face, "Is it going to hurt?" Rupert looked into her eyes softly. "No. You won't feel a thing." "How much am I going to forget?" "Just here in the alley. You'll keep the rest of the day. You'll even remember us in the deli earlier. You'll just think you zoned out while taking out the trash." "So, I'll forget how the hot guy I gave my number to is an angel?" Cat asked tersely. "Yes,” Rupert said, ashamed. “Wait, you think I’m hot?" "Why do you think you got my number? Your wit? Now I'm going to get ghosted." "Holy ghosted,” Steven offered. “If you like." "You are NOT helping," Rupert said with a glare. "Sorry," Steven said, retreating into the background. "Well, I guess if things are going to go that way-" Cat threw her arms around Rupert's neck and kissed him. The kiss was warm and gentle but charged like the hours before a summer storm. Promise and passion were ready to burst in that kiss. Then it burst. Her lips started to part to let her tongue swipe his lips. He sucked in her bottom lip, nibbling a little. His arms pulled her in tightly, conforming her body to his. She tangled her fingers into his dark hair, her leg riding up his. “Ahem,” Steven coughed. “My virgin eyes.” They broke apart, both panting and flushed, floating in mid-air. "Wow," Cat said. "We're missing out." "Yeah," Rupert said, catching his breath and his thoughts. "We are." He looked deep into those gorgeous green eyes and gave her another slow, soft kiss. "Good luck." He said as they lowered into the fog bank. The fog rolled away, leaving a bewildered Cat alone and wondering what she had been doing in the alley. Then she found the trash bag that she had sitting next to her. "I'd lose my head if it weren't attached." She muttered to herself, discarding the refuse. Rupert and Steven had made it back to the perch at that time. Steven punched Rupert's shoulder hard. The thunder was loud enough to scare away some of the closer clouds. "Ow!" Rupert rubbed at his shoulder and glared at his friend. "What the hell was that for?" "Now I can't go back there," Steven grumbled. "She makes the best sandwiches ever. And now, we can't ever go back because you flashed her." Rupert started rolling his now stiff shoulder. "Yes, that’s the big issue here. We memory wiped an innocent girl, but it's a big deal because you miss out on her sandwiches." He rolled his eyes. "She doesn't even know she's missing anything!" Steven cried, throwing his arms up. “What does it hurt her?” Rupert sighed. "That's the whole idea." He stared down toward the deli. Months after forgetting about Rupert and Steven, Cat started researching flight schools. Her father came to join her on the deli patio. "Why are you looking at that, Kitty Cat?" He was the only one allowed to call her that. "Wouldn't you rather put all of that money into a car? Or business college?" "I started thinking, Pop," She looked up from her laptop. "I want to know what it is like to be in the clouds. It looks so peaceful and happy up there all the time. Don’t you wonder what that’s like?" "The clouds? You can see the clouds down here just fine." "I know, Pop, and I still love doing that, but wouldn't flying be exhilarating?" Her eyes were sparkling. The furrow of concern and confusion smoothed from his brow as he looked into her eyes. "If that's what you really want, Kitty Cat, that is what you should do." He took her hand across the table. "But, for now, will you watch the clouds with your old man? From down here?" Cat smiled and sat beside her dad, setting her head on his shoulder. She pointed up in the summer sky. "Doesn't that one look like a dragon?"


Sweat was running down my back as I sat across from the police officer. These meetings had become so frequent that I should be used to them by now. Still, no matter how many times I sat in this chair, it never got easier. The officer whose name badge read “Perkins” cleared his throat and clasped his hands on the table. A cup of untouched coffee sat in front of me, the smell of Folgers filling the room. Oddly enough, it was the only thing settling my racing thoughts. It reminded me of Saturdays at my grandparent’s house when I would watch cartoons with them while they sipped away at the freshly poured cup in their hands. The smell gave me a sense of peace. It wasn’t much but it was something. Something I didn’t have much of these days. “A new piece of information has popped up regarding your case and we wanted to run it by you and see what you think.” I nodded instinctively, even though feelings of dread were slowly rising in my throat and causing my lungs to constrict. Words didn’t seem the appropriate response and honestly, I don’t know if I could speak them if I wanted to. Officer Perkins changed positions and leaned back in his chair, propping a foot on his knee and taking a long sip of his own cup of coffee. I couldn’t tell if he was just trying to act casual or if he was so desensitized to conversations like this, he wasn’t aware of his body language. Either way, it wasn’t helping my nerves. Then again, maybe that was the point. “We received multiple anonymous tips that your wife was killed, and her body was placed in a quarry a few miles north of here.” The ringing in my ears started at the word “killed” and I didn’t fully comprehend the rest. A quarry? Who could have possibly wanted to kill my wife? A million questions swirled in my brain. After 52 days of no word from her or idea of where she was, I had to admit that the thought had crossed my mind that she could have been killed, but it was too much to bear without proof. I hadn’t allowed myself to go there mentally or I would go insane. This is the first time the idea that she was dead was being presented to me.  I got another whiff of the coffee from taking a deep breath and I almost gagged. So much for the peace it had offered only a few moments ago. “We are sending officers there to go check it out now. Does this sound familiar to you in any way?” I was confused by the question. I shook my head, words again failing me. “The first tip came in last night, but our officers were caught up in another situation and we couldn’t execute a search until today. That’s when we received a few more calls with everyone saying the same thing.” “How many people called with this information?” I croaked, finally finding my voice. “Four.” He responded while looking at me intently. I knew he was studying my reaction, and that made me sweat even more. In my head, I prayed that this was a rumor and nothing more. “Were they all anonymous?” I managed, my voice sounding less shaky than before. Officer Perkins just nodded. I looked for sympathy on his face, but I found none. My brain started racking itself, trying to think of who would have this information. There had been two suspects in the case, not including myself, who had been cleared in the case of my wife’s disappearance. I had also been cleared, but I know there were people who had their doubts. Potentially the man sitting across from me was one with doubts. I wouldn’t be surprised. Suddenly there was a knock at the door and he excused himself to step outside and talk to whoever did the knocking. I leaned forward on the table after he left and removed my glasses and rubbed my eyes. The bags under them were prominent at this point, the worry racking my brain late into the evening and even the early hours of the morning. Officer Perkins came back in and said, “A report has come in from the officers at the quarry. A few things have been recovered from the scene and we would like for you to take a look and see if you can identify anything they found.” “Was there…” I swallowed hard, not knowing if I could say the word. “Was there a body?” He shook his head and relief flooded me. “There is no report of a body at this time.” I put my glasses on and nodded, trying to stop the tears that were starting to well up. “The officers should be back soon if you want to wait here. Can I get you a new coffee while you wait?” I shook my head. “I need to make a couple of calls.” He nodded and left the room to give me privacy. Well, a sense of privacy at least. I knew the room was being monitored. I spent some time calling family members and friends, trying to understand who would have heard anything about the tip that came to the police. No one I talked to said they had heard that rumor before. I felt discouraged, wondering who would feel the need to share that information and more importantly, who believed it enough to share it with the police. My search rendered no luck, and as I hung up the phone for my last call, a knock sounded on the interrogation room door. I motioned for them to come in. Two officers entered. One of them was Officer Perkins and another one I hadn’t seen before. He was carrying an evidence bag. They took a seat and emptied the contents of the bag. It took me a minute to register what I was seeing. There was a scarf and a ring. Both had the appearance of what looked like blood on them. A chill went down my spine at the sight of the objects. Not just because of the blood, but because of what they were. There was no question they belonged to my wife. The ring was clearly hers. A simple gold band with a ruby nestled between two small diamonds had our wedding day inscribed on the inside of the band, 04/15/2009. It would be hard to disprove that it did in fact belong to my wife. While this on its own was concerning, it wasn’t the ring that made the pit in my stomach grow to unimaginable depths. It was the scarf. The scarf with fresh blood streaks down the middle. The scarf that had still been in her closet a week after she disappeared. There was only one person who would have been able to get that scarf at a time when I wasn’t home. My wife. “Do you recognize these items?” the officer who brought the bag in asked me, although they had to know by the look on my face that I did. I nodded. Again, words failed me. “Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt her?” The other one asked. I had been asked this question before, and today, my answer was still the same. “No.” “Okay. Well, if anything changes, let me know. We will continue our investigation and be in touch with you.” They must have cut the interview short because they could see I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to continue this conversation. I walked out of the room and through the precinct, not fully registering my surroundings as I made my way outside to my car. I sat in the front seat and held the wheel as the realization of what had happened hit me like a semi-truck at full force. My wife was gone. Not dead, but something worse. She left. Of her own free will. She left me. And this was her sign for me to let go. She must have snuck in and grabbed that scarf when I was unaware. I kicked myself again for not putting up security cameras sooner. I finally did it, but it was far too late. As I drove home, I realized that all the calls were her. She led the police there, but more importantly, led me to the realization that she was never coming home.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Theme: Snowglobe** *Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.) - Use at least **three** of the following words: trickle, perception, decadent, lament, gaze.* This week’s challenge is to use the theme of ‘snowglobe’ in your story. It (or the idea) should appear in some way within the story. You may use if you need additional inspiration, but it is by no means required. You may include the theme word if you wish, but it is not necessary. Use of the bonus constraint is also not required. You may interpret the theme any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit a story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week There were so many wonderful stories this week. Thank you to everyone who submitted and left feedback on the thread. However, rankings are postponed until next week. If you still haven’t sent in nominations, please do so before Thursday. Thank you so much for your patience.   *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


 Dr. Keneth O'Shaughnessy and his four grad students Jacqueline, Blake, Denise, and Aaron, had been trudging through the thick jungles of the Amazon rain forest for nearly a week. It had not been easy, but the prize they were after would be payoff enough. More than enough as far as Dr. O'Shaughnessy was concerned. For more than twenty years, he had studied, researched, and explored in search of his prize. Not a lost city of gold, as some of his peers liked to say to poke fun at him. They thought it was a ridiculous endeavor. He might as well be looking for El Dorado as far as they were concerned. What a bunch of fools. He knew it existed. His research all but confirmed it. They would never understand until he brought the flower back. He'd had it already once before, that precious white-petaled flower. But his sample had decayed before he got back to the world. He'd been in too much of a hurry last time, hadn't taken the proper precautions. But not this time. This time he was completely prepared. That's why they were here, he and his illustrious students. He had hand-picked them himself for this incursion into the wild. Although they were young, they were nearly complete with the doctorates in their fields and were excellent students. Jacqueline was a chemistry major. Blake's degree would be in Botany. Dr. O, as they liked to call him, or 'Doc,' held a particular fondness for those two, as their degrees were the same as his. But where they had one each, he had both chemistry and botany. It is, of course, what made him superior to them he knew. Denise and Aaron both majored in Microbiology, a pivotal aspect to the Doc's work. Now they were only about a day away from what The Doc called "the Oasis." The place the flower grew.

I'll have to name it , he thought to himself. After himself, of course, nothing else but complete recognition would do. After all, it would change the face of modern medicine forever. That fool Fleming hadn't even named penicillin after himself. Dr. O would not make that mistake, he wanted that recognition, and quite frankly, he thought he deserved it. Why shouldn't I name it after myself? I discovered it.

"Hey, Doc, get a move on, or we are gonna leave you behind!" Blake yelled over his shoulder. Dr. O looked up. While he had been daydreaming, he had started to fall behind the group. "And reach the flower without me?" laughed Dr. O. "Not on your life!" He hurried to catch up with them. "We are only about a day away, so keep on your toes."

"Ya ya, Doc, we got our eyes peeled for the snakes, red capet and eveything ready for it when we find 'em," said Aaron in his thick Brooklyn accent.

"It's vital that we have a few samples," said Doc. "Normally, the fer-de-lance doesn't live this far south, but they seem to be drawn to this area. I believe it is because of the presence of the flowers. My data shows that the venom should activate the flower's abilities and that there is some kind of symbiosis between the two, although I'm still not sure what the snake gets out of it." "Well, that's what the data says," replied Jacqueline, in her 'London Tongue' as Aaron liked to put it. "But we still haven't confirmed it." "Always the skeptic," said Denise, rolling her eyes. "You've got to have more faith in the Doc." "I do have faith," Said Jacqueline. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. But I'm skeptical nonetheless of things that haven't been tested." "Don't you worry," said Doc. "You'll see. Once we have the flowers, I'll show you just exactly what they can do."

The party continued onward through the thick jungle. Although Doc was in the back of the little caravan, he would continue to point the group in the right direction, telling them when they strayed off course. He knew how to get to the flowers. How could he forget? What path in all of history had been more important than this one?

"This seems like a good place to make camp, I should think," said Doc. They had reached a clearing next to a small stream. They set up camp and began eating their dinners, which were military-style rations. They'd brought enough with them to last for weeks, as they had no way of knowing how long confirming the flower's abilities would take.

"Whaddya think ya gonna spend ya money on first?" Aaron asked Blake. "Probably grammar lessons for you," Blake laughed. It had been a long-standing joke between the two. Aaron's Brooklyn accent was often the target of jokes from Blake. Aaron didn't mind, he liked Blake, and although he sometimes thought Blake's sense of humor was dry, Blake usually managed to wrangle a smile out of the jokester.

"oh ho, sorry, Mr. Blake, I suppose ya gotta be born with that silva spoon in ya mouth in order to talk good," Aaron mused. "No, not that, you just have to be born with a tongue that does not waggle about all day trying to catch every word rattling around in that empty skull of yours." "That so? Well, explain me this smat guy. If my skull's empty, how come theirs so many words' rattling around' in ther'?." Denise burst out laughing at that one. She loved hearing those two go on. Although Blake was probably the smarter of the two of them book-wise, Arron had a quicker tongue.

"You guys are ridiculous," sighed Jacqueline, rolling her eyes. Although she acted annoyed, the slight smile on her face told a different story.

"Oh fo'give me ya royal highness, I did not mean to offend thyself or thy husband." For that comment, Aaron was met with a plastic plate to the face. "aw geez, I was only jokin'," he said, rubbing his nose. Although it wasn't anything too serious yet, Blake and Jacqueline had started getting closer on this journey, and Aaron would often joke about it, much to the annoyance of Jacqueline.

"Alright, campers," said Doc. "Let's not kill Aaron before we get to the flowers. The Sun is nearly down, and we should get some good rest. I want to start early tomorrow." With that, everyone started cleaning up the camp area and getting ready for bed. They slept through the night, with the sounds of the jungle soothing them to sleep. They woke up the next day just as the Sun started to rise. Because of the thick jungle, it was still quite dim where they were. It wouldn't grow truly light for them for another 2 hours or so. In the dim light, they started to pack up camp. Had they waited a little longer, or had the jungle been less thick in the area around the clearing, and they had had more light, it's possible that Blake would have seen the snake. As the group packed their things in silence, a yell rang out through the clearing. "SHIT!" Blake cried. "What the fuck, God damn it!" Blake fell back from his tent, clutching his hand.

"Hey, what the hell happened?" asked Aaron, rushing to Blake's side. As he kneeled next to Blake, he caught movement a few feet away. As he looked, he saw a snake starting to slither away. "Oh shit, man, did that snake bite ya?!" "Ya, it got me while I was rolling up my tent." "Let me take a look," said Doc, as he and the rest of the group hurried over to Blake and Aaron. "Professor, that's a fer-de-lance," said Denise.

"I'll get the anti-venom," said Jacqueline, rushing over to the medical bag. "Don't worry, Blake, you'll be fine," assured Doc, smiling down at him. "This is precisely why we brought so much anti-venom with us, just in case there was some kind of accident like this. A few hours, and you'll be right as rain." "Here you go, Mr. O'Shaugnessy," said Jacqueline handing him a syringe of the anti-venom. He took it from her and injected it into Blake's arm. "Aaron, would you please help Denise capture that subject while Jacqueline and I attend to Blake here?" "Ya sure, no problem, Doc," said Aaron. Suddenly Blake started to scream. "It feels like my arm is on fire!" he yelled.

"That's not possible," scoffed Doc. "You should be fine. We already tested all of you to make sure none of you were allergic to the anti-venom." "Mr. O'Shaugnessy, look at his arm!" cried Jacqueline. Doc looked down at the arm. It was turning black at the bite site. Even as he looked at it, the blackness was moving up Blake's arm in thin tendrils.

"What? What is this?" asked Doc. "Fer-de-lance venom does not affect you like this, and certainly not so quickly. Blake should have a few hours before any severe symptoms show up. I don't understand." As Doc contemplated what was happening, Blake suddenly passed out, slumping to the ground.

"Blake! Blake!" yelled Jacqueline. "Hey, wake up! Mr. O'Shaugnessy, he's not breathing! Please do something!" Doc started CPR While the others watched, each of them trading off once someone got tired. They did CPR for nearly 40 minutes, but Blake never woke up. They all sat back, exhausted from the CPR and in shock.

"Doc, what happened?" asked Aaron. "I never even heard of snake venom doing nothin' like that. And definitely not so fast as what just happened. Doc, that was minutes, and he was dead. What happened?" Doc sat in silence for a moment, deep in thought. "I... I just don't know," he finally answered. "I'm sure it has something to do with the flowers. It has to. Once we get to them, we'll be able to..." "What do you mean? We have to take Blake to a hospital!" Cried Jacqueline.

"What? Why?" asked Doc, looking confused. "I'm sorry about Blake, but there is nothing we can do for him now. He's gone." "Doc, we can't just leave 'em here, though," said Aaron.

"We have no choice, we don't have the tools to bury him, and we certainly can't carry him the rest of the way to the flowers, much less all the way back to civilization. Our only option is to keep going. Otherwise, Blake died for nothing." "Oh, what a load of shit, Doc. You can't just throw cliches at us and expect us to go along wit' you. Our friend just died, an you just wanna leave 'em here for da buzzards? Well, that ain't gonna fly." "What would you have me do?" yelled Doc. "If you have any other options, please, I would love to hear them!" Aaron looked around, desperate for an answer. "I don't know," he said.

"We must move ahead. Once we reach the flowers, it'll all have been worth it, and he'll be remembered in history for this discovery. Now come on, we are already behind schedule. Finish packing things up, and for Pete's sake, watch where you put your hands."

After they finished packing up the camp, they began to move out. "Wait," said Denise. She quickly gathered some large leaves from the trees around her and covered Blake's body with them. "It's not much," she explained. "But it's something at least." They marched in silence, remembering their fallen friend, still having a hard time dealing with the loss. The beautiful weather did nothing to lift their spirits. Only the hope of reaching the flowers kept them going. A few times, Jacqueline brought up the idea of turning around and coming back some other time. She thought that it was too dangerous to continue since they now knew that the anti-venom they had brought would not affect the Fer-de-lance. Doc insisted they move ahead because they now understood the danger they faced. But the jungle is an unforgiving place. No matter how prepared they thought they were, how careful they felt they could be, it didn't matter. Denise was now at the front of the caravan, which meant that she was the first one to step over a fallen log blocking their path. It's why she was the one the snake bit. It struck at her leg from underneath the log. The boots that she was wearing did nothing to stop the nearly inch-long fangs of the viper. She went down with a yell. "Ah, Christ, no!" screamed Aaron. He moved toward the log. "Where are you, you son of a bitch? I'll kill you!" He found the snake slithering away. He caught up to it and stomped it to death.

"Please, Doc, please, I don't want to die!" Denise was sobbing. "You're going to be OK," assured Doc. "We've got the anti-venom, and once we give it to you, you'll be fine." But he could see the black lines already moving up Denise's leg. Denise started to gasp for air, clutching at the Doc. He met her gaze and saw the panic in her eyes as the tears began to run down her face. She died in his arms, in the middle of nowhere, with her friends watching.

"Doc. We can't go any fa'tha," said Aaron quietly. "It's just too dangerous." Doc whirled on him, shouting. "I'm not giving up. We will still get there. We can't fail now!" "Look at her, Doc! That's the second person we lost today! I'm not risking my life anymore for this stupid flowa' we don't even know works!"

"We will continue forward!" shouted Doc. "We ain't doin' shit!" yelled back Aaron pushing the Doc. Doc pushed him back, each of them now grappling with each other. Each trying to keep their footing on the slippery jungle floor.

"Stop it, both of you!" cried Jacqueline. She rushed over to the two men, trying to pull the Doc away from Aaron. As she did, the Doc turned quickly, hand raised and struck her across the face with the back of his hand. Jacqueline stumbled backward, losing her footing on the slippery, rock-strewn ground. Her feet slipped out from under her, and she fell backward. As she fell, her head struck a rock protruding out of the earth. A large pool of blood immediately started to form around her. Both men stood there, shocked. Jacqueline laid there. Her chest didn't move with the rise and fall of breath. Her eyes, open, stared up at nothing. "You son of a bitch!" Aaron screamed and tackled Doc to the ground. "I'll kill ya, ya basta'd!" He began punching Doc in the face repeatedly. Doc felt around him for anything he could use to get the younger man off of him. His hand closed around a rock, and he swung it up at Aaron's head. The loud crack as the rock connected with Aaron's face could be heard for yards around if there were anyone else around to hear it. Aaron's face exploded in a bloody shower that rained over Doc, and Aaron slumped to the ground. Doc climbed on top of him, the rock still in his hand. He raised it and brought it down on Aaron again and again until there was nothing but a bloody pulp where his face used to be. He rolled off of Aaron and lay on the ground.

How did it come to this?

He thought to himself.

Why couldn't they just be more careful?

He started walking. He left behind the bodies, the gear, and the equipment. Once he reached the flowers, everything would be fine. He could still do this on his own, but now it would just take longer. He trudged through the jungle, being diligent to look at every step he took, aware of any kind of movement. And then, like the garden of Eden come to him, there it was. One of the flowers. Sitting on top of a small mound of dirt, beautiful and perfect. And behind it, more flowers. An entire field. Tears welled in his eyes. There were more than enough. The whole world couldn't go through this amount in a thousand years. It had all been worth it. He rushed forward and dropped to his knees in front of one of the flowers. Its white petals seemed to glow in the afternoon sun. The gold around the edges reflecting the light of the Sun like a small star. He'd have to go back to get the equipment. That was fine. It was only a fifteen-minute walk back to the gear. He just had to reach the flowers to see them. Now that he had, everything would be fine. He was just about to stand up when he heard something next to him. He looked over and met the gaze of yet another Fer-de-lance. He froze, not wanting to provoke a strike from the dangerous creature. He sat there for what felt like hours, but finally, the snake slithered off. He breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. He turned around to go get the gear and stepped right on another snake. The bite wasn't as painful as he thought it would be. He lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath, as the pain in his leg grew worse. As he lay there, he turned and noticed a mouse chewing on one of the petals. Of course. It all made sense to him now. That's why all the snakes. They eat the mice that have been feeding on the flowers. No wonder their venom was so deadly, so fast-acting. And why the snakes were so aggressive. The flower had, in a way, been ingested by the snakes. The last thing he thought before everything went black was,

Now someone else is going to get credit for finding these flowers, and I'll be forgotten.


(WP) A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste At the beginning of the Jewel Revolution, scientists were overjoyed when they discovered that the precious gems could be used as artificial brains for machines equipped with AI programming. But no one could have ever guessed the drawback that this boon held in the end. Depending on which stone was used to serve as the being’s brain, it developed a personality, and this quickly got out of control. After all, our government had implemented this technology to make life easier for humanity. It really threw a monkey wrench into things when the robots suddenly became the complete opposite of docile. It wasn’t just personality that these beings were suddenly given: It was free will. They’d been made to serve us, but now, they were sure that their purpose lied elsewhere. Even the threat of taking away the thing that made them almost human did little to quell their discontent. It got so bad that several of them were rounded up and executed, as a warning to others to keep in mind the directive. My team was one of the few to object: They might have been machines, but it was still wrong to be this cruel to them. “If you cannot serve the purpose you were created for, you will be terminated,” A toneless voice boomed over the square. The voice was so dead, so emotionless, that if I didn’t know better, I would have thought that the AIs were giving the announcements. But no, that was my boss, the man that had discovered how to use the jewels to form dependent neural systems. When I’d first entered the scientific community, I’d looked up to him, had leapt at the chance to work under him. He was using science and innovation to change the world and make humanity better. But I’d quickly discovered that humanitarian front was just that: a lie. He talked a big game, threw giant checks at the right people, made television appearances, gave lectures and speeches. But it was my team, fresh out of college, that did all of the grunt work. No one really minded except for me; for most of us, it was good enough just to be in his orbit. I’d wanted to leave, but one of my government contacts convinced me to stay on; who better than one of the man’s own subordinates to report on the inside details? If I didn’t hate the man, I would’ve balked. But if this helped get him out of power, out of this position over man and machine, I was more than willing to do it. Scientists were supposed to make the world better with their discoveries, not use their power to oppress others. What good was I to my profession and to my people if I didn’t right this wrong? And it wasn’t just semantics, though everyone loved to pretend it was. ‘What does it matter? They’re not human, anyway. Who cares?’ I cared, and other people did too.


Laramie sat on a tree stump. Laramie looked at the ground. Oh look, there's a spider, and there's a wasp, oh and some ants. Why did other people get to be so smart when all he got was stupid? Laramie didn’t recognize that he had a gift, being stupid. Laramie had the gift of seeing things for how they were. Laramie was a genius, but he didn’t know it because he was too stupid. That, however, was his genius. The insects crawling on his bare feet didn’t scare Leramy, Leramy didn’t really understand what they were. Laramie knew they were bugs, is a spider a bug? Yeah it’s small and it looks like a bug, so it must be a bug. Laramie didn’t see the danger in letting them move across his body like any other patch of earth. At some deeper level beyond Leramy’s understanding, he was a sailboat, but Leramy’s sailboat couldn’t turn its sail. It was being pushed along however the wind wanted. Everybody else's sailboat had a sail, some were bigger than others, faster than others, twisting and turning to a destination of their choice. Laramie didn’t know what his destination was, which made Leramy sad. This was how Leramy was created. What is the definition of this? Laramie was sick of the tree stump. Laramie stood up and crushed some ants. The wasp flew off his feet and so did the spider. Spiders can’t fly. What if they could? That would be funny, can you imagine a spider flying. Laramie walked back to town. Laramie had to cross a big road, with fast cars. Laramie looked both ways, nothing was coming. Laramie walked across the street and found a penny heads up. That’s supposed to be good luck, isn’t it? Laramie was hit by a truck. Laramie broke every bone in his body. Tall men, fat men, short men, all came to Leramy in the hospital dressed in fancy suits and asked if Leramy wanted a suit. Laramie told them he didn’t want a suit, Leramy said he couldn’t put on a suit if he tried anyway, at least until Leramy’s bones were fixed. But they told Leramy no, this isn't just any suit, it’s called a lawsuit and you have to be in a special situation to get one. Laramie got a suit, but all it got Leramy was into a stupid room with other people wearing suits and talking all smart and stuff. Since it was so boring Leramy guessed that was the reason, they gave him five million dollars. It was nice to have and all but Laramie didn’t want to sit in that room again. Laramie didn’t know what to do with so much money. Laramie bought a house, with a swimming pool, but Leramy didn’t know how to swim, so Leramy bought a raft. Laramie didn’t like getting wet so Leramy didn’t sit on the raft. Instead, Leramy paid to fill in the pool. They wanted to use concrete but Leramy wanted it to be filled in with dirt. So they did. Laramie wanted a tree put in there. So they did. When the tree was big enough Leramy chopped it down and it fell on his house. Laramie paid to fix the house. People told Leramy that it was stupid to chop down the tree. People really seem to like trees. Laramie sat on the stump but it didn’t feel like that other stump. There were no bugs crawling on his feet. Laramie went to the woods and found a wasp nest, some spiders, and some ants. Laramie put them in a bag but the wasps didn’t like that so much. They stung Leramy on his lip and his arm, and Leramy thought one got his leg, but Leramy wouldn’t know because Leramy couldn’t see the back of his leg. When Laramie got home he put the bugs on the ground. They were still angry and took out their frustration on his feet. Things seem to hurt less when they’re just a bump on a one-way road.


Logan could hardly believe their good luck. After all of these years, they’d finally done it. Vesper Cross, also known as the unbeatable superhero Spark, was at their mercy. She was currently chained to a support beam in this old observatory. The chains were non-conductive, obviously, and therefore able to resist her electricity-summoning powers. Logan was quite proud of that. Never mind that any middle schooler could have constructed them. All that mattered now was Logan’s revenge. They added the last few calibrations to their super computer, a large touchscreen monitor that took up a good third of their workstation. That is, if you can call a folding plastic table a workstation. The rest of it was littered with maps, equation papers and the odd takeout box. Shit. They’d forgotten about the boxes. Logan quickly scooped up the pizza box and styrofoam containers, searching for a place to dump them. There was no way in hell they were going to let Vesper see those. That’s what had gotten them in this whole damn mess to begin with. It had been their first meeting, almost three years ago. Spark had become a new hero in town, and Logan, known as the time-warping Specter, was eager to test her out. All it had taken was a little flex of their power here and there, just enough to cause trouble, and they’d left enough of a trace to lead her here, to the observatory. Logan’s home turf, their evil lair, if you will. As soon as the air crackled with her nervous energy, Logan had readied themselves for the grand entrance. It was a well known fact that PR won just as many battles as soldiers, and if they could get this first encounter right, it could change the odds in their favor. So, Logan straightened the collar on their suit, turned around and- Fumbled. Just like that. They’d screwed up right out of the damn gate. Tripped over the customary “I’ve been expecting you”, like they were a newbie. But she was stunning. Warm, dark skin, long black braids sparking like severed electrical wires. And eyes that were completely golden, like twin suns blazing in unison. Logan had felt their jaw start to drop, their mouth turn dry. Vesper had caught them completely off guard. Which was embarrassing. And awkward and just plain stupid, Logan reasoned. Not to mention completely unacceptable. So they hit the rewind and tried again. And again. And again. Each time, they’d fucked it up somehow. Tripping over their carefully rehearsed speech, or in some cases, their own feet. On the fifth try, they shoved their hands into their hair, groaning at the blush of embarrassment flooding over their pale face. “Keep going. You’re doing a great job.” A voice had said, causing their head to shoot up and stare at Vesper, who was grinning at them smugly. Logan started running calculations in their head, trying to figure out how- “It’s the whole electricity thing. Make me immune to time warps, I guess.” She explained, leaning against a support beam so casually, as if this were an everyday occurrence. Vesper waved a hand towards them, still smiling in that alluring mocking way of hers. “But please continue. It’s so cute the way you try.” That had been the beginning of their rivalry. Logan had thrown every obstacle they could at her since, only to Vesper to maneuver around or through them in some unexpected way. No monologue, no matter how detailed or threatening, seemed to distract her. In fact, she acted like she enjoyed them. Flirtatious banter was a norm for the two of them. But thing had gotten far more tense in recent months, the banter turning into something practically... genuine. “It’s such a shame, you know.” Vesper had commented the last time around, after she’d won yet again in the game of cat and mouse. Tightening the restraints around their ankles, just before leaving them in front of the police station. She’d caught their eyes, her iridescent suns opposite a pair of pale gray asteroids. “With a mind as brilliant as yours, you could be creating such wonderful things instead of causing mayhem. I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Specter.” The words had come out so earnest that Logan’s voice evaporated, confused by this strange hero, practically on her knees before them and speaking with such affection in her voice. She’d stood up then, taking a moment to brush plain brown hair of their eyes. “You’d be a terrible waste to the world rotting.” And with that, Vesper had left them there. It had taken weeks for them to shake off the longing? heartache? confusion and settle firmly into fury. She was probably trying to manipulate them into making some horrid mistake, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not this time. They finally shoved the takeout boxes behind a few crates and returned in time to see Vesper come to consciousness. Her head slowly rising, eyes fluttering open like a sleeping princess from some fairytale. “Wha- what the fuck?” Alright, definitely not a princess. She flexed against the chains, wrestling with them for a moment before scanning the room, eyes landing on Logan. “Glad to see you’re finally awake. Now the final phase of my plan can begin.” They recited, having practiced for at least ten minutes before deciding on the perfect way to phrase their intentions. “Specter? What are you doing? What the hell is going on?” She sounded so concerned, but Logan swallowed down any feelings of guilt. “I bet you honestly thought you’d gotten rid of me, didn’t you, Vesper?” Her face went from concern to shock in a split second. A smile grew across Logan’s lips at her reaction. “Yes, I know who you are under that mask. I’ve known for a while. I was simply waiting for the perfect time to use it.” Logan turned to their computer and pulled up a program, the window displaying a map of the city. They began entering in an activation code while still casually talking to their soon-to-be victim. “Originally, I planned to use this program to search for life forms on other planets. But you just had to try and manipulate me, didn’t you? Couldn’t let me continue with my galactic research, just had to interfere. Well, don’t you worry your little head over me. I’ll not bother you with my monologues tonight.” “Specter, what are you doing?” Vesper repeated slowly, the trepidation returning to her voice. Guilt and regret rose in Logan’s esophagus like bile, but they shoved it down again. Instead, they turned back to her and forced a tight smile. “Enacting my revenge.” They gestured to the map on the screen. “This program was designed to target life forms with similar DNA, but I made a few tweaks after that stunt you pulled. Now, it targets any life form you have formed strong attachments to. In short, I press this,” Logan’s gloved fingers moved to float over a large blue button onscreen, “and I will know the exact coordinates of those you love.” Vesper’s eyes widened, the usual golden fire that usually consumed them fading to an equally mesmerizing hazel color. “Specter. Please, don’t do this.” She struggled against the chains again, trying to conjure enough electricity to melt the restraints. But by the time they broke, it would be too late. Logan fought against the urge to turn away from her and pressed the button. The program began to emit a beeping sound as it searched out it’s quarry. Within seconds, a mechanical voice said, “Target acquired.“ Logan glanced back at the screen to take in the glorious moment they finally got the upper hand and- That couldn’t be right. They flashed their gray gaze from Vesper to the screen to Vesper again. It... It didn’t make any sense. Why would she- how could it even be possible? “Target acquired.” The voice croaked again, flashing Logan’s coordinates across the screen. They should know, because they ran a test before Vesper had even gotten here. But how? Why? “I didn‘t want you to find out like this.” She groaned, letting her head fall against the support beam. Logan was still baffled. “But... why me? What about your parents or boyfriend or-“ She cut them off with another groan. “Seriously? You think I’m straight? That’s a bit disappointing.” With a final spark and flex, the chains fell to the ground in a half melted heap. Rubbing her wrists, Vesper walked over to them, still not looking them in the eye. “My parents kicked me out because I’m bi. It’s only been a couple weeks, but I don’t exactly have a lot of love for someone who’d do that to their child.” A black bubble of anger started to form in Logan’s gut. They knew how rough the world was to people who were different like them. And it made them want to find and burn any who tried that shit on her. “As for why I like you,” Vesper continue, snapping their attention back to the subject at hand, “I don’t know. I mean, you’re cute and brilliant and so passionate about space, and we flirt constantly when we fight which is just a little bit hot, so...” She pushed past her braids to rub at her neck, blushing behind the mask. “Oh.” The embarrassment flooded through Logan at light speed. “You weren’t trying to manipulate my feelings into being a good guy?” “No! That experiment was just really dangerous and I didn’t want you getting hurt!” “Oh.” Vesper let her mouth quirk up into a little smirk. “You already said that, genius.” ”I know that, it’s just....” Logan clenched their fists. They had a chance, an open window, right here in this second. Were they going to go for it? Or let the possible future drift into the cosmos? Their gloved hand found another, weaving their fingers between her own. “I like you.” Vesper squeezed their hand, smiling in that alluring way of hers. “I like you more, Specter.” “I highly doubt that. And... it’s Logan. Logan Topolinski.” A weight lifted off their form, letting them smile back at Vesper for the first time all night. “Logan. I like that name.” A pause drifted between them, easy and comfortable. “Are those takeout boxes in the corner?” Shit.


Staring down at the two pearly white boxes she knew she had a tough decision to make. "Anna" called out Isabelle distracting the girl for a moment, Isabelle Anna's best friend since Kindergarten was as jolly as any young teenage girl should be. Although Anna wasn't as carefree as Isabelle was, she sure felt as carefree and as pure as a bird when she pirouetted gently across the ballet stage. "Hurry up and choose a pair Anna! we are going to be late for dance practice" Isabelle shouted over to Anna as she traced her fingertips along the pretty tutu's that were worn by stiff cold looking mannequin's before leaving the store to wait outside. Sighing Anna turned to look back at the pearly white boxes that hid inside of them two beautiful pairs of ballet slippers. How was she supposed to choose only one pair? LIFE was hard enough already with difficult choices everywhere she turned, How was she supposed to choose between the dark sooty black pair and the bright ruby red pair?

Almost like choosing between playing the villain or the hero, this decision, like all other decisions made Anna want to cry. Asking for a second opinion would be of no use, after all Anna never took other people's opinions seriously. Captivated by the two pairs of slippers Anna hardly even noticed a boy around her own age walk up behind her. "Still deciding?" he asked from behind the girl's shoulder causing Anna to jump up in surprise. "Who are you?" Anna asked, angry with the raven haired boy for interrupting her when she was trying to make a very important decision. "I'm nobody, you on the other hand are very bad at choosing between things, aren't you?" the boy asked cockily, tilting his head to the side as he stared at the two boxes that Anna held in her hand. Before the girl could even reply the strange boy knelt down beside her and took out one shoe from the two pairs saying "Although I've never seen one wear odd slippers before I do think that these would suit you rather well". Saying nothing else the boy stood up and walked away leaving Anna alone with her thoughts. Practice that evening was more complicated than ever before. As Anna danced along with the music she couldn’t get the strange boy’s face out of her head. Why for once did her indecisiveness start to slip away like melted ice. As if her imaginary shield had worn off Anna didn’t feel as scared or as cautious of life anymore. It was almost as if the strange boy had given her a glimpse of hope, when in this world hope was in short supply. Maybe she was overthinking it but she felt as though the boy’s calm aura had stayed with her. Too distracted by her thoughts Anna excused herself from practice for the first time and decided to walk home. Walking home in the pitch dark Anna didn’t feel as scared or as lonely as she used to. Strangely she felt comforted by the mystery aura which followed her home. Upon entering her empty house Anna went to the living room and lit a warm fire. On cold nights like this Anna felt lonelier than ever but tonight she could feel the presence of someone else in the room. Going over to her dad’s old rusty vinyl player Anna placed hers and her dad’s favourite vinyl onto the player and waited for the beautiful music to begin to play. Wearing her new slippers Anna danced and twirled around the living room as she laughed and smiled, enjoying the warm atmosphere that felt comforting to her. “Father don’t you just love this song” the young Anna asked her father who sat lazily in his armchair watching his young daughter dance around the room, the orange light from the fireplace glowing across the room. “Yes sweetheart, you dance perfectly to this song. I think this song was made for you” he said as he watched his daughter's face light up with a smile. “Come dance with me Father” Anna lay awake that night fondly reminiscing about her father who did everything for her. “Don’t worry It’s just a bit of thunder nothing to be afraid of” he used to say when she would sob into his neck afraid of the loud crashes and bright flashes of a thunderstorm. “One day I want to be a brave ballerina who isn’t afraid of anything” she had told him one night as they watched the bolts of lightning in the distance, from their living room window. “You will be one day and when you are, I’ll be there to see it” A few weeks later, Anna was smiling at her reflection in the mirror of the backstage dressing room. Anna was ready, she had been practicing for this day her entire life. Looking down at her odd pair of pointe slippers Anne felt like crying with happiness but also despair. Three years ago on a snowy winter's day her father, who had been driving home from work, got into a car accident and slipped into a coma. Since Anna had no other family apart from her precious father, it had been her decision to turn off her father's life support when it became clear he wasn't going to recover. Ever since that dreadful day Anna had struggled to make important decisions as she feared that the consequences would be too hard to deal with. But now as she waited to be called onto the stage, Anna felt as though her odd pair of pointe slippers would help her to glide across the stage just like she'd always dreamed about. Perhaps if she really focused, she might even see her father watching on proudly as his daughter floated along with the music, like a true ballerina. Walking onto the stage with her head held high and her legs steady, Anne caught a glimpse of a familiar looking raven haired boy sitting next to an elderly man who's eyes glistened when they caught hers. The music began and as a single tear drop fell down her cheek, Anne glided along the stage finally feeling like she had found her home again.


The audacity. I had peacefully made my exit, and all these cretins had "things to say" about my choice. I hated those asinine articles when I was alive… "So and so did \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_, sparking debate." So self-important were these lazy internet debaters. Because I gave a fuck what they argued about? It was my life, my choice. Another thing I absolutely hated to hear was "human life is valuable" and "suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Even now, without a body, I gag at the stupidity. A permanent solution, you say? That was the point. Who ever had a problem they agonized to solve, and went, “You know, I’m glad it’s solved, but I hope it comes back so I have to solve it again.” No one. Dumb fucks. Or the narc special: "Suicide is illeeEegaAAaal.” Ok, karens. So arrest me. Can't reach me in the ethers now can you?! I was already without the loves of my life, they were free. I wanted to be free, too. And what was the point of continuing to live only to keep enduring the multitude of idiotic human concepts that existed on earth. Like: The attempted legislation of all that was natural and instinctual, for one thing. Everything was illegal. Everything had a statute attached to it. Shit, I couldn’t even talk or write about killing myself without getting the dogs sicced on me. Not that I had followed any laws when it came to my own body or nature itself, but everything is still “ illegal” on earth, I’m just glad I’m not alive to be bothered by it anymore. If only all the remaining humans knew they could also free themselves from the encroachment. Whether in life, or in death. And the fact that cults existed - like christianity, government, and all the others. And the fact that they all got away with unnatural abuses on humanity, but defending yourself and fighting back could have lead to your death or punishment just because of the many whims of weak people. The fact that wars existed - and over nothing. All conflict was unnecessary. The list of stupid things and limitations that we had in those human bodies was endless. But despite being an observer to all that merde, I had had a pretty good life. And even if I hadn't, what was it to anyone else?! As if I needed to justify why I wanted to die. It wasn’t my problem that others weren’t so lucky to live as I had lived. I had been born for the simple yet cosmic fate of experiencing the greatest love ever known and I had been completed. The universe had provided my nuclii. And I couldn’t live more moments on earth without them physically there with me. Everyone there aspired to material achievements and trying to find “the one”, or multiple “ones.” Always seeking something or someone unattainable because they didn’t know true love, self-, or otherwise. As divine entities trapped in a physical meat bag, they just didn’t get it. They were lost. The world offered nothing more but to keep living for the sake of experiencing another thing, another moment, and another, with no end in sight. I didn't need that. While the physical wonders and pleasures of life were worth having indulged in, they were nothing to attain. Everything that ever was and would be, I already had and was. I already knew that in the depths of my being before I ever left my human body behind. But it was hilarious to observe the world, now that I had escaped that form. In my final days, I had left behind a note in my empty house before I disappeared. The gist was basically what I’m sharing now: I was over that stupid world, wanted better things, and that this was not foul play. Of course they had no proof. I disappeared every trace of myself one way or another. And none of it led to me, or where my body would be left. But the landlord that found the note took a picture and posted it online, unsure if it was a hoax. Of course it went viral. Everyone wanted to speculate. For a while, people thought it was a myth. Figured someone was only trolling them. But as more and more self-proclaimed investigators tried to find out the truth, they were left more confused. What a messed up joke for someone to play, they thought. If I was living still, I would have pulled up some snacks and watched them argue. They were so desperate for answers. So pathetic. Did she do drugs? Was she sick? How could someone do this? She should have gotten help! She was so selfish! This is an insult to those with terminal illness that wish they could live longer! If this is a joke, it’s even more fucked up! Ugh. The list went on and on. But for all the arguing and interloping themselves in my business, they would never be able to control my narrative. All the debates and laws in the world would never be able to change or stop what I did. Nothing they could ever do would anticipate another suicide, or be able to control the will of those of us that were strong enough to let go of those worldy attachments, and initiate whatever destiny we wanted. That type of freedom could never exist in their tiny minds. Some of us weren’t in a pain that could be solved by inspirational quotes or time. It wasn’t that we couldn't find a reason to live. It’s that we had already fulfilled our reason to live. I was ready to move on into an eternal form that didn’t reside in a world where you’d spent moments of your infinite experience doing something as idiotic as standing in line at a make-believe government building to pay for physical rights we innately possessed. The world was whack. And as an outsider now, it was very satisfying to see them scramble. They would say there was no such thing as the perfect “crime.” But I proved them all wrong. It would take someone purposefully going all the way to where I found my patch of earth to find my decroded skeleton. But I had left nothing to lead them to it. Years later, they still hadn’t found the body. I hadn’t planned all this just to have some internet or police trolls think they could ever find me, or understand my true reasons unless they could comprehend life as being something beyond human life. In time, being passed over for the next fad, I was quietly forgotten, just as I had wanted. My death was the greatest act I ever committed. It was perfection. My magnum opus: I died relatively healthy and young. Physically strong. No addictions (for those that thought they could put me in The 27 Club). No enemies. No debt. For all intents and purposes, if people had seen my life and finances before-hand, their narrow minds would have been dumbfounded as to why I wanted to die. No drama. Nothing that anyone could ever logically foresee. I was just done. I had experienced everything I wanted and was ready for what was next. And that killed them. Not literally, of course - unfortunately for them. They could have been existing peacefully without the fear of death or the need to survive. It made no sense that they feared physical death and thought trying to convince others to live would make them impervious to the inevitable. That it would somehow affect their perceived “salvation.” Ridiculous. The only reason I didn’t go sooner was because while I was planning out the perfect way to go, I had to wait for my connection to deliver on our deal. It had been a long waiting period while they sourced the pill I wanted. A quick and painless end. I remember when I finally had that tiny packet in my hand. I was excited that my end was truly nigh! Once I took that pill, I would be gone in minutes. I happily handed my vendor their money - the best $10,000 I ever spent on earth. “Peace be the journey,” they said. Indeed it would be. That’s what I wished people could have understood. The beauty of it all. We didn’t get to choose our birth, but if only people realized how liberating it was to choose our death. As soon as I had the pill in my possession, the clock truly started. It was summer. I had chosen to leave in my favorite season. At the tail end - with waning heat, and cooler afternoons leading into the still-sunny evening. I had planned everything down to the hour I wanted it to happen. Thinking it would be romantic to die on my birthday. In the late afternoon. Since I had already gotten rid of most of my belongings, closed all accounts, and deleted all evidence of my life, all that was left to do was simply enjoy the final month of my life, indulging in all my “lasts”: the many physical pleasures I wanted to experience before my adieu. Enjoyed all the decadent foods. Had amazing sex. Danced with great partners. Listened to, and felt beautiful music. Hiked amazing natural landscapes. Breathed in the fresh air. I attended every concert, event, and activity I wanted. Talked to many new people and old friends, heard their stories, laughed with them. Did anything to induce the adrenaline rushes I so enjoyed when I was alive. Enjoyed smoking sativas and doing shrooms, and escaping into the infinite mind that I would soon live in forever – finally boundless. And I had found a perfect spot for my final resting place. So remote, that no one would ever just "happen" upon my body —at least not until it was way too late. No one ever found it or had to clean up a “crime scene” for my sake. The spot I designated was somewhat hidden. Perfect for my body to disintegrate and become part of the earth. If there's one thing I didn't want, it was anyone manhandling me or hosting any type of burial or stupid memorial talking about "everyone loved her" and "she would have loved this.” No. I never wanted eulogizers waxing nostalgic about the person they never really knew. Taking a moment in the spotlight to express their feelings. All those worthless words just for show. For emotional clout. It was about me and only me. After that indulgent last month, I woke up on my final birthday with more motivation than I ever had for anything in life outside of being with my family. I genuinely felt excited to start the day, knowing that by the end of it, I would no longer be around. That day, I ate the last foods my body most enjoyed. Reminisced and laughed joyously at the beautiful memories of the loves of my life that were waiting for me. Then, by the afternoon I had gotten myself an untraceable ride up to the last checkpoint. The last time any human would see me alive. And from there, a lone journey to my secret place. I made it to the top. I looked far and wide at the beautiful mountainous forest my body was about to join. Then I hiked to the spot where I had previously dug out a space to lie down in. I’d cover myself with dirt and leaves and be mostly hidden in nature by the time it was all over. Once I reached it, I opened a small pack I had brought with me. All it contained was a small water bottle, my pill, and a tiny speaker to play my final song. I put them next to the place I would rest in. I sat down and looked around for an hour, breathing the world in deeply, that trademark petrichor. The rich inhalations of the mix of live foliage and all the fallen leaves surrounding me. And the smell of pine. Mm. Those five senses had served me well in my lifetime. As I took in the beauty of that world one last time, I wondered at all the creative energy that made up this marvelous universe. I sighed, then reached over to put the pill in my mouth, took one last refreshing drink of water to help it down, and I lied back. Next to me, I pushed play on the tiny speaker. Andrea Bocelli started singing Con te partirò. I smiled up at the trees and the clear sky above me. The birds chirped in the distance. Life would go on for those that remained. How beautiful it was to have lived. How beautiful to have loved, and been loved so truly. The only thing that had made that physical life bearable. And in that moment, a rush of knowingness coursed through my body. The last intuition I would feel in that form: the body’s physiological fear of death - of this great leap into an unknown I couldn’t possibly fathom. But in all my preparation for that day, I had mentally and emotionally subdued that primal fear. I did nothing to fight it. And my body followed. I felt the tinge of what my body knew to be the end - the last feeling to be felt - the certainty of my own undoing - only moments away from shutting down entirely. I took a deep breath and let it out long and slowly as I ran my fingers through the dirt next to me, grabbed fistfuls of it one last time, felt the soft dustiness of earth, and I let it go. "Time's finally up,” I smiled. A waterfall of tears suddenly ran down the outside corners of my eyes. I felt myself momentarily between a laugh and a sob. Looking forward to my family, I said "I love you" one last time with that voice. They heard it. I felt them pulling me to them in the ethers. By the final bridge of the song, it seemed that nature all around me had orchestrated a cool breeze, and the rustling of trees just for me. A farewell. The wind flowing through my hair. A soft sensation on my face. I smiled so peacefully looking up at the sky, feeling the darkness start to close in around me. Andrea was singing the final “Io con te” to accompany my last breath. My eyes fluttered as I drifted away, all tension left my body and I felt my frame relax into the earth. Weight no longer my own. I was finally free. And then I closed my eyes forever.


The strange phenomenon started for Karley one day as she sat in her favorite spot in her garden with her journal in her lap contemplating what to write or draw. She loved this garden and cottage which she had called home for ten years now since her retirement decision to leave the city and move to a much more bucolic environment. It was an overcast day. She wished the sun would break through. It wasn’t exactly gloomy, just overcast, foretelling the coming of rain with thick clouds blocking the sun. The roses about her in the garden seemed downcast because of the lack of sunshine to spur their blooms into opening so they could spread their perfume into the air as was their job. She was contemplating all this when the opening for a story flitted through her mind once, twice, thrice as if to say, “Write me down.” So, Karley clicked open her trusty liquid gel ink pen and wrote: “Once upon a time in a gloomy land where roses could not thrive, a fairy maiden took pity on these magnificent flowers and called upon the sun to shine upon them that they might bloom.” She felt an unfamiliar tingle in her hands as the words flowed forth upon the page. It startled her and she dropped her pen into her lap. She looked up from her journal and blinked. She shifted her gaze to the sky. Rain-filled clouds were dissolving. Sunshine was filling the garden around her. Roses were opening up. The air was quickly becoming suffused with rose perfume and rainbow- colored butterflies were flitting about. She blinked again and saw more clearly. What she had thought were butterflies at first glance now showed themselves to be rainbow winged beings distinctly akin to fairies from stories of old. An unmistakable vibration of magic shook her. Was this happening a coincidence? She retrieved her pen and wrote more. “The rainbow winged beings transformed into butterflies.” She looked up again. The rainbow winged beings she had seen only moments before now were clearly butterflies. Karley gasped. She was excited, puzzled, and a bit unnerved by what she had just observed. She had no clue what was happening or why, but she was also intensely curious. Curiosity had been a key aspect of her life as a child and had remained so all seventy-five years up to this moment. She wrote: “A cat entered the garden and stretched itself out lolling upon bench where a young maiden sat writing in her journal.” That same and now less unfamiliar tingle struck her hands again. She looked at her hands and saw the tell-tale age lines fade from them. Then, she felt a purring presence sharing the bench with her. She stroked the cat and its purr rumbled with pleasure. She wrote: “The young maiden welcomed the cat’s company. It was a beautiful tortoise shell calico cat.” She looked down at the cat lolling beside her and its perfect tortoise shell markings came into focus. She clicked her pen closed. The cat did not disappear. Karley rose and went into her cottage. The cat followed her as she walked into her kitchen. Karley offered the cat a bowl of milk and pondered all that had just happened. If this magic of her written words becoming solidly real was a lasting gift, she needed to think deeply about the meaning and purpose of this gift coming to her here and now. She left her journal and pen on her kitchen table, went to her bathroom and drew herself a hot bath. The cat followed her, making himself at home, even giving himself a thorough licking as she stepped into her relaxing bath. “You need a name,” she said talking to the cat. “I know! I am going to call you Geni cause in the Aladdin story, a Genie appeared like magic when Aladdin rubbed an old lamp. My pen was rubbing the paper when I was writing and you appeared.” “Meow…purr…purr,” Geni responded. He left the bathroom and jumped up on Karley’s bed awaiting her to join him for a good sleep. Karley chuckled and said, “You are right, Geni, a good nap is exactly what I need now.” She fell asleep quickly and dreamed. Her dreams were filled with images showing her different scenarios of what having this strange power might mean, of what she could bring into being. She awoke more befuddled than ever. What she knew without a doubt was that whatever she wrote in her journal would come true, and so she knew that her writing would have consequences beyond here and now. It was a realization of an overwhelming responsibility, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Before the events in the garden, her writing had mostly been for her own pleasure or a way to process her own pain. For the next three days she pondered and prayed for guidance without writing a word. On the fourth day, she opened her journal and wrote: “I accept this is happening. I ask for divine guidance.” She waited in meditative silence. Then, like a telegram word by word in her mind she read, “Follow your heart one word at a time.” She nodded and wrote in her journal: “I know my childhood friend Cecelia has been ill, but now she will begin to heal from the inside out.” She closed her journal. Cecelia lived about an hour’s drive from her cottage. They usually communicated every few days by phone. Sometimes Karley would drive to Cecelia’s house and visit with her for an hour or so and then return home. After writing the entry in her journal about Cecelia, Karley made herself some coffee and an English muffin. She had no sooner finished this light breakfast when the phone rang. “Hello,” Karley answered. “Karley, it’s me,” Cecelia knew Karley would recognize her voice. “Yes, Celie, how are you this fine morning?” Karley asked using the nickname Celie she had given her friend when they were children. Cecelia giggled and poured out her news that she had never awakened that morning feeling so good. She invited Karley to come over and Karley happily agreed to do so in a day or two. “Take care of yourself,” Karley ended the call, “Love you.” “Me love you too,” Cecelia gave her regular response, and hung up. Karley waited a day and then drove to Celie’s house hoping to find her increasingly better, and she did. They had a lovely visit. About ten days later Celie called to tell Karley that her doctor had pronounced her cured. He didn’t know why or how, but all the tests that had previously showed malignancy had come back benign. Karley told her that she was so happy for her and they would see each other soon. Karley went into the garden and sat with her journal in her lap and her pen at the ready. She knew from experiences with the Guardians, invisible forces of the cosmos, which she began knowing in childhood that this gift of pen power as she called it had not been given lightly. She also knew that she absolutely couldn’t abuse it or seek to profit from it. She was being trusted to use it to make life better. She decided to start typing her words to see if the power remained as when she wrote by hand. She decided to start small with a local situation. Many people in her village wanted curbside pick-up of recyclables. However, there had been a faction on the village council who thought it wouldn’t work and so had not passed a resolution to even put a pilot program into place. Karley secretly thought the reticence came from those who wanted to profit personally from such a program and hadn’t yet figured out how to best work that out. She sat down at her computer and typed: “At the next village council meeting a resolution will be passed that starts a nonprofit, member supported, curbside pick-up program in our village. The members will pay a reasonable membership fee. Any villager may join. The members will meet and peacefully work out the practical details for the common good of the village.” She saved the piece in a folder on her hard drive. She picked up her journal and trusty pen and with a cup of coffee went out into the garden to enjoy the beauty. The next village council meeting was a few days hence. She would attend and see what happened. She drank her coffee and drew sketches of the flowers gracing her garden. The village council meeting was well attended. Their agenda was posted and the item of curb-side recycling was on that agenda. There was much discussion about that item and to Karley’s delight, a resolution for curb-side pick-up of recyclables was written, voted on, and passed with a majority of the council. Karley walked home that night with her mind buzzing about items she could quietly tackle where her words meant to serve the common good would come to life. She kept thinking about what she had been told about following her heart one word at a time. She thought about the imbalance she felt in the world beyond the borders of her village. Imbalance that had materialized in greed, lust for power, and tyrants who had not an ounce of concern about the common good. She thought about the need for more empathy, selflessness, cooperation, courage, and understanding among her fellow humans around the world. That night, all those thoughts were swirling relentlessly in her mind. She sat down at her computer, but couldn’t type. She dug in a drawer where she kept a supply of journals. She pulled them out and laid them down on the kitchen table. She sat down and meditated calming her heart and mind. Then, she stood and ran her hands in the air above the journals saying: “Choose, oh Divine Guardians, place my hand on the journal where I will use the gift of pen power you have granted me to write into being a better world to help the people of the world and enhance the common good for all.” She stood with eyes closed and waited. The vibrational tingling started in her toes and moved up through her whole body even unto her crown chakra and then ended in her hands. She opened her eyes and saw that she was touching a beautiful red leather journal she had been saving for years knowing it would be special. She smiled, picked it up and thanked the Divine Guardians. Again, like a telegram a message came into her mind. “Use this well. Always follow your heart and keep the common good of all the people everywhere in mind as you write. You will have time to do all that must be done using Pen Power in this journal. But the changes you write will not all happen at once. However, they will all happen. The timeline is beyond your life time. Have courage, be love, and be the change you wish to see in the world. Do you remember who said this?” “Do you mean about being the change I wish to see?” Karley asked mentally. “Yes,” came the answer. “I’ve always thought it was Mahatma Ghandi,” Karley answered. “Yes, perhaps some others also, but Ghandi got the most press about it, so we Guardians are happy to give him credit.” The Guardian paused and then continued, “Are you ready?” Karley nodded her assent. “Start small and work upward,” the Guardian advised and left. He was no longer connected up in her mind. That very night Karley began her work, writing in that beautiful red leather journal. She wrote: “Let the people of the world start listening to each other in order to understand each other’s needs and work toward making opportunities for those needs to be met peacefully.” About a month later she heard on the news that a peace accord was finally being successfully being worked out in the Middle East where wars had ravaged for centuries. It was called a miracle. Karley knew it was just a beginning of her work with Pen Power. Karley lived and wrote in that beautiful red journal and two others many years before her death. She had received a communication from the Guardians shortly before her death that the journals were to be ceremonially burned. Their writings were preserved in the great cosmic Akashic Library and their truths would continue working themselves out until all had become reality and balance amongst living beings was restored and planet earth healed and made whole again. She did as she was instructed. She knew only time would tell the when, where, and how the full reality would come to be. She died peacefully surrounded by the invisible Guardians who welcomed her Spirit and left the perfume of roses suffusing the air where her body lay. When her cottage was visited a few days later, the perfume of roses still lingered, but her body had vanished and was never found. She passed into the realm of legend.


The path seems to be paved for me as I walk down the street. Taking in the crisp San Francisco air, everything smelt fresh and green. The flowers were blooming and the leaves were emitting a scent of spring. However, no one was paying attention to the beauty around them. Instead, they were looking at me. As a new person takes fond of me I can tell they had a look mixed with disgust and sheer wonderment, mostly the former though.

You might be wondering, “Well, why are people looking at you?” Well, that’s a question I’m trying to answer myself. I wonder if it’s my outfit. “It can’t be my outfit, I have dressed appropriately as any woman of this year.” Maybe it’s my hair. Maybe, its a bird’s nest and dear aunt didn’t inform me. With my head high, I walked to my destination, getting the same looks along the way. Entering the clinic, I was instantly hit with the big letter words “HEALTH CARE CENTER” surrounded by posters of the heart and other organs. “Hi my name is Alexandria Graham and I am here for my appointment.”

” Why yes of cour-’’ The woman’s voice was cut short when she noticed me, or rather, my hair. The eyes of the woman, which I assume is the secretary, looked at me with disgust. The no-name secretary looked at me with disgust. She spoke with a snide voice “Ma’am, I’m sure you are in the wrong place. This isn’t Sin City.” I laughed, knowing what she meant. “Whatever do you mean? I am here to meet Dr. Gregory for my eye appointment.” I was getting impatient. My voice was calm, but my head was anything but. “Why do you believe I was meant to be at Sin City… 10:30 in the morning?” No name’s mouth went agape, opening and closing, not knowing what to say. Is my hair really that bad? “Because of your out-” “Because of my what?” I interrupted, making sure not to let her get the last word. Make sure to tell Dr. Shane Gregory that Alexandria Graham is here for her appointment. He’ll know what it means.” Walking towards the chairs, I hear the secretary paging the doctor, informing him that I have arrived. “Alexandria Graham Sir.” She turned her head to me and I smiled, letting her know that I always win. Around me, patients were whispering, no doubt about me, but I pay them no mind as waited for Gregory. I didn’t have to wait much longer as I heard no name-calling for me. “Dr. Gregory is ready for you, Ms. Graham.” Seeing her forcing a smile made it all the while sweeter to smile back. It gave me a sense of happiness to smile at her while walking away.

As I entered the room, I noticed the doctor’s face going from annoyance to happiness. I walked to his standing form and sat him down and took a seat in his lap. “Are you that happy to see me, doctor?” His arms wrapped around my waist and closer to my bottom. He was still shocked. “Why are you wearing that?” I felt a smile forming, knowing exactly what he means, but I wanted to have some fun. “I know, I know. My hair is a mess. I thought I fixed it but I guess the wind was blowing really hard.” Practically seeing his questions his head, I gave him a charming smile. I saw that he was about to speak, so I quickly shut him up. He moaned through the kiss, his tongue trying to move in, with no avail. Fighting for power didn’t work, seeing that he won. We continued our "appointment" before I pulled away, regaining my power back. Dr. Gregory seemed to be into a world in his head, but soon came into reality. “Why are you wearing that? Everyone will be staring at you.” “What’s wrong with what I am wearing?” I answered feigning confusion. “What wrong? Come on Alex you know you’re not supposed to wear that. It’s frowned upon. Your dress is too high above your knees. You know how men are with that“ Ah, so he was talking about my clothes. I reckon people will pay attention to me” A lie, obviously, but he doesn't have to know.” Is that why people were looking at me? I just assumed it was my hair.” Another fib, of course. I knew why people were looking at me with repugnance and awe. I was wearing a fashion that was denied.” “Alex my secretary paged me telling me that someone is here to see me, in her words “ looking like a Sheba” and “with inappropriate fashion.” I rolled my eyes, chanting spells about no name in my head, wishing it would come true. “About your secretary,” I spoke, “she thought I was supposed to be at Sin City. The nerve of that girl.” I put my finger under Shane’s chin, lifting it to meet my eye. His eyes were filled with anger and lust, the former more than the latter. “I beg your pardon? She said what?” His voice was calm before a storm, hinting unpredictable explosions. I sat on his lap once again, trying to relieve his anger. I rubbed his back, calming him. “Relax, my darling. She was out of line but I put her in her place. She will respect me now. ” My words reassured him, he breathing slowing down.”Now, unto fun stuff.” Gregory’s power was emitted as he put me on top of his desk and kissed me. “This is your idea of fun?” Whispering in his ear, I taunt,” Come on baby give me more. You’ve got 20 minutes till your break is over. Show me what you’ve got.” His eyes that were once filled with anger turned to lust as he continued to kiss me, this time continuing the battle we once started. My legs found themselves around his waist as he put his mouth on my neck. I threw my neck back to give him access. Our passion continued for 15 minutes until his secretary paged him. “Ignore it”, my words barely audible as I proceeded to kiss his collarbone towards his neck. “I can’t. It can be important. I’m sorry my beloved.” I groaned as he picked his pager, “Mr. Gregory, your wife is here. She said she has something important to discuss with you.” Shane’s eyes widened and I quickly fixed my dress and lipstick, and my now actual messed hair. “Did you tell her I was with a patient?” Shane said, trying to stay calm. “She’s coming in now, Sir. My deepest apologies.” Shane could barely breathe as his wife barged into his office, her eyes immediately turning to see mine. Cool under pressure, I smiled before passing a hello towards her way. “Shane, I need to talk to you.” She spoke, not sensing the unresolved tension in the tiny cramped room. This is the story of a forbidden romance.