It’s a typical warm summer evening in Glendale. The summers are short, hot, arid, and clear, but winters are lengthy, cold, rainy, and partly cloudy. A city known not only for its offbeat galleries and museums but also for its beautiful scenic mountains. When the sun sets, one will discover live music and a variety of food options all across the city. In this lively town filled with interesting activities for anyone and everyone, a very curious turn was about to take place in the lives of two people namely, Lizzie and Paul.

At about 2 pm, as Lizzie sat in her chair, reading the book of her favorite author, Abigail Maiers, described as an epitome of success by the avid readers in the world of mysteries. It was at this time the Universe had decided to chime in with a small Bzztt. It was Lizzie's phone.She looked at it. It's from Paul. She opens it and gasps a little. The text read Hey Lizz, if you don't have any plans tomorrow,I was wondering if you would like to go out with me?

Lizz goes completely silent for a moment. She's been waiting for Paul to ask her out for 6-7 months and now that the moment is here she can't contain the excitement. They have been talking for quite a while now and though they haven't really hung out together even once Lizz gets a vibe from him that she hasn't felt with anyone. Her friends were of the opinion that it's all probably because they are both hiding behind a screen. "Hanging out and talking is a lot different than some hi hello on the street," Lizzie still remembers Ann remarks. She's probably right. But some or the other thing kept pushing this meeting until today afternoon at 2 pm. The only thing standing between the wait and the meet are three letters YES. Lizzie's smile widens with every letter. It's finally happening. Over at Paul's place ,things are equally interesting. He awaits the response with his fingers crossed. As he waits,his mind seems to be a few steps ahead already,which is quite normal considering his romanticized nature.Ironically he's usually ‘that one’ in a group,you know the one who appears all shy and quiet,till you get to know the person and then they are oops,still quiet. Unless it's something they know and love,then they just won't shut up about it. Paul knows this about himself and wonders “is it why my mind can't shut up about Lizz?” Paul shakes his head and says to himself, "No ,paul. That's impossible. I mean you need to get your head right.You have never met her and what's more she's not even said yes. " (He's unaware of how strongly Lizz feels for him,too.) It's strange though,he never thought or looked at Lizz in that way. He smiles a little, wondering how he fell for someone without ever even flirting with her. She is the only girl he never tried to impress, he never ‘tried to talk to’, someone with whom he could just be himself. Paul's thoughts are distracted by the ring on his phone. "Oh damn" Paul almost yells and hurriedly picks the phone. "Ah man! It's just another sales call from some telemarketers.Why would you pull such a prank on me,eh God?" He sighs in dismay and is about to put the phone back when his phone beeps with two words that will be one of the moments that Paul remembers forever. The words were 'Lizzie' and under that a big 'YES!' Paul can’t stop smiling, it’s actually going to happen. I am going on a date with Lizz.He becomes a bit teary eyed. "Okay ,Paul that settles it. You're in love. For real this time!" He wipes off the tear and picks up his phone and calls her. Lizz picks up the phone. "Hey,Paul. Oh gosh. I can't believe it took you so long to ask me out. I can't wait for tomorrow." "Haha. I know. sorry about that. I'm a bit of a slow poke,ain't I? Let me start by making it up to you." "And how do you plan on doing that,Mr.Slow poke?", says Lizzie in a mocking tone. "Um how about you meet me after your classes outside the station ,we go to your favorite cafe from there and umm..well we'll keep the rest of it a suspense."

"Ahem ahem. You have done your research,eh? So, tomorrow 10 am it is!" ,says Lizz with a giggle. "Yes! I'll see you soon, Lizz!" *** The next day arrives. Paul gets up early. The classes of Lizz are in LA about 20 minutes away. Paul decides to board the 9:30 train,so that even if there is a delay due to some reason Lizz wouldn't have to wait. He gets up early,finishes his chores and gets ready. He leaves home all dressed and as he starts walking to the station a little feeling of nervousness begins to dwell on him. It’s been a long time since he last went on a date. He reaches the station and tries to calm himself down. Luckily the train seems to be on time. He boards it and takes a deep breath, “It’s ok you got this. Just be yourself,buddy!” It's about 9:25 when he reaches the decided spot, his heart racing. Five minutes seem like a lot. He’s busy with pep talking to himself when there is tap on his shoulder. He turns, it’s Lizz. All of a sudden,surprisingly, all of the nervousness seems to have disappeared. Instead there is a silence within him. Paul can’t understand what just happened. Never had he felt such a feeling of silence from within. After they exchange pleasantries, they head over to board a cab to Lizz’s favorite cafe. He asks her about her classes, she shares a funny story that happened with her BFF, Katie and they have a good laugh. They reach the cafe and everything is going very smoothly for a first date,nay if someone was asked it would be hard to figure out for a person these two were on a first date. Paul orders the food and drinks and while they wait for their orders to come he asks Lizz, “Hey, didn’t you just go on that trip to Paris with your family. You said you’ll tell me all about it when we meet. Well here we are.Tell me about it!” As Lizz begins to describe her trip, how it was decided, her favorite spots, some fun facts about Paris, their hotel, the must visit spots, Paul becomes completely engrossed in it. With every little laugh, the way she describes things, her little quirky and cute expression, he seems to be falling for her. They talk and laugh, Lizz seems to like Paul’s sense of humor a lot, though his dimples might be the ones helping him more than his puns.

“You know, it’s so weird that I can be completely weird with you” says Paul with a little chuckle. Lizz starts laughing and says, “I know right. It’s like two weirdos in a pot. Haha!” They go on to a small dessert shop nearby after their brunch. After sharing it and having a cute-clichey moment, where a person pretends to feed the other and then takes the bite at the last second , they return to the station, waiting for the train to head back home. Lizz checks her clock and is shocked. It’s been more than 4 hours. She says to herself,smiling a little within, “Man! How did time fly by so fast? Are you in love,Lizz?” He asks her what had happened,seeing her smile. She says nothing with a smile and grabs his hand. He smiles. Their train arrives and after a little chit chat Lizz rests her head on Paul’s shoulder, hugging him a little. Paul holds her hand and as he sees her, that feeling of silence, a calm within once again makes him think. He smiles a little, you see it was at this moment, he knows. He knows she’s the one and that he is in love. “And that my dear little angels is the tale of the one where Lizz and Paul go on their first date!”, says a jolly looking,teary eyed,a little bald and now a 42 yr old Paul. “WOW! That was so cooooool!”,yells little 9-yr old Ben. Claire chimes in,too “ Aww! Pa, that was really one of the sweetest stories I have heard till now.Mommy and you are truly goals,aren’t they Ben?”

Ben,who’s not that old to understand such slang terms like goals and all just nods along in excitement.

“Kidssss, dinner’s ready!” Lizz calls them from the kitchen.

“Coming,Mommyyyyy”, they all yell, laughing and giggling their way to the kitchen. “Mommy, mommy guess which story dad just told us?” asks Claire. “It was the first date of Lizz and Paul!” Ben breaks the suspense and gets a friendly tap on his shoulder. “Gosh,what part of guess, do you not understand, B!” Claire frowns a little. “Haha. Now,now. Don’t you fight. How about mommy tells you something as interesting as your dad’s story?” They seem to like the idea and look up to her with curiosity. Lizz says, "Well,you know how your dad is always in awe of the food I make and keeps asking me about my secret ingredient?" "Yessss, hehe, we want to know it as well,mother. What is it? Oh,please do tell us!" "Woah! I want in on this,too!",says a shocked Paul. " How about I give you a hint,the story you just heard ,the answer's hidden in it only." Both Ben and Claire look at each other, gossip something in each other’s ears and Claire yells out, “LOVEEEEE!” Lizzie holds Paul's hand,looks in his eyes and says, “That is correct,dear,that is correct!”


      The barely legal tinted Challenger made everyone in the vicinity anxious. Not-so-subtle glances and obvious peeks were shot in the car’s direction from miscellaneous windows and partially open doors.             Despite all this, Asura walked confidentially to the car. His smile glistened through his hairy and unkempt face as he entered the car.             Not a single smile was present on the faces of the officers, all of whom were strongly against Asura’s release. He had been locked up for 2 years on some petty theft charges.             With each confined day, Asura taunted the other inmates and even cops about the day that he would be free. He chanted. He sang. He yelled. Anyway he could remind people he was only here temporarily, he did. Word about his release became a nation-wide controversy and many people thought it was dangerous and stupid to give Asura a second chance to living among normal civilians. “Deranged”  is what they called him. “Monster” “Inhumane.” He had thought patterns not even seen in psych wards. He seemed to only act on intrusive thoughts. He was respected out of fear. Fear of the lengths of his very-real delusion.             The driver revved the engine disturbingly loud and sped off joining the road at an illegal speed. Releasing someone like Asura may as well been the same as releasing Joker into the city. But they had no Bat-Man.             “Where we goin?” Asura asked ignoring the car’s seatbelt

beep, beep, beep, beep . “Where would you like to go?” Amon asked as he looked back on the road.             “Let’s get sumna eat?”             “Food?” Amon asked humorously.             “You think they were

chefin’

it up for me and my felon friends every night?”              Amon didn’t appreciate Asura’s sarcasm.             “You didn’t have friends in there.” He replied to scratch the

petty-itch . “But I know you well, so I know exactly where to take you.” “Better not be McDonalds or some crap?” Asura grunted with an attitude. Asura straightened in his chair. He liked to carry himself like he was better than everyone else. He liked to dress meticulously. To pick up Asura, he wore tan joggers that matched perfectly with his Balenciaga’s. A crisp, white shirt with Japanese-style art. The fresh length of his braids hung out of the edges of his white durag. “Is it at a bar? I could really use a drink.” Asura suggested. “Not tonight. Every bar in the city is going to be waiting for you to walk in. News of your release has reached every TV.” Amon explained. “Tonight, we’ll be going somewhere no one is going to touch me, spill a drink on me, or poke at my temper. However, if someone

does  force me to the extent, I

will

shoot them in the left eye.” A smile creeped on Asura’s furry face.             Asura was out of the car quickly. He leaned hard, stretching his abdomen before approaching the diner.             One by one, heads began to turn. Amon swaggered in. He picked a booth he liked in the middle of the restaurant and slid into his seat. All eyes shifted to the waitress who walked out from the back to approach the lovely new guests. Her legs quaked and lips quivered as she slowly attempted to make her way to the table. Amon read her nametag as she got closer. “Evening, Dorothy.” He greeted her. “It’s my friend’s first time here.” “What’s y’all’s best options?” Asura interrupted. Dorothy was frozen. “Well, our breakfast is most popular.” She said still with a dry throat. “That includes our four-stack waffles or pancakes, three strips of bacon, two sausage links, and scrambled eggs.” Her voice was shaking and cracking. “I’ll take that.” Amon said eagerly. Dorothy struggled but found her voice again. “Wh—which one?” She asked. “Oh, those were all separate?” Asura asked with a laugh. “I’ll take all of them, baby. If it’s the most popular, I gotta see for myself, don’t I?” Dorothy turned quickly. “Such a sweetheart.” “And gorgeous too.” Dorothy pushed the doors open and almost stumbled into the kitchen. She stayed back there until the food was ready. Then after getting herself as mentally prepared as her worries would let her, she brought all three plates out to the drooling man. “Anything else I can get you?” “Did I say a strawberry shake too?” Asura asked her. “I don’t remember. You?” Dorothy’s gut

screamed.  “I—I’ll get it for you right away.” She turned and darted. “You’re so kind, thank.” He called after her. She came out quickly with a large strawberry shake and sat it and the top of the table. Asura was starting his second plate. “Your service has been more than great; you have a good night.” Amon told her. Lightheaded, she turned around and headed to the back. “So, I was thinking.” Amon whispered to Amon. “Did we make the best decisions when we did what we did?’ Asura stuffed a bacon strip in his mouth and picked up his last waffle, folding it in half. He dipped it in his shake and took a big chomp. His eyes rolled back in satisfaction. “Huh?” He said and chugged what was left of his waffle-crumb filled shake. Asura wiped the corners of his mouth, stood up, and headed for the door. One of the chefs pushed past Dorothy peeking through the kitchen door. “Excuse me, you can’t leave un—” He had only taken one step out before he stopped talking. The ringing in everyone’s ears stopped, their eyes turned to the front doors. Amon had done a one-eighty and stood there, arm up with his gun in hand. The chef laid in a puddle of his own blood with his left eye missing. Dorothy was in shock. She stared at the empty middle table and slowly made her way over to it. Not only were the plates stacked neatly, but under it were two small stacks of money. She picked up first stack and realized it was the exact charge for the food. Then she picked up the second stack and it was the exact change for a twenty percent tip.

            “Any plans for tomorrow?” Amon asked Asura.             “Why the hell would I have plans? I don’t even know what day tomorrow—”             “Our birthday.” Amon interrupted.             “Oh.”             There was a brief pause.             “Oh!” Asura continued. “In that case, we should visit our friend, James.” “James?” Amon repeated with disgust. “I’m sure he knows I just got out. We should surprise him. Ya know, in memory of our

being , or whatever.” Amon could smell the violence Asura was suggesting. And he was up for it. “OK, we’ll visit him in the morning.” He replied. “Let’s get a motel for some sleep though.” Captain had personally driven to the diner to witness the atrocity that happened

directly  because of a decision that was made just three hours prior. His phone and radio had been going off nonstop and he had been in contact with almost everyone in his call log within minutes. He breathed deeply over and over and over again. He was able to create a small calm space in his mind to think clearly. He dialed a number from memory. It rang twice. “Captain Barry? It’s too early for—“ “Mary, you still in the hospital?” Captain interrupted. “I’m grabbing my stuff to go home now. Why?” “I need a favor. Can you get me some information before you leave?” “There’s an open investigation, you have clearance to come in and get most of that information yourself.” “I’m

too  far and have no time to make it there tonight. I just need you to check some records for me. Can you help me? Please?” There was a pause followed by a deep sigh. “Thank you.” He said. “ What do you need?”  She said seconds later. “I need information on the man that released just hours ago, you know which one.” “ OK .” Minutes passed and Captain spent anxious seconds pacing and biting on the nail on his thumb. He held the phone pinched in between his ear and shoulder, listening to the typing of keys, and ruffling of papers. “ That’s weird.”  Mary said under her breath. “What is it?” A couple seconds of typing and clicking. “ Tomorrow, July twenty-third, is his birthday. Captain was stunned. “That’s strange. Why would they let him out a day before his birthday ?” Mary complained.

“That just doesn’t

feel right.”             “OK, Mary listen. I need an immediate update on his last psych examination. I need to know when the last time his brain was examined.”             The typing speed doubled and fought audibly back and forth with the violent clicking.             Then it all stopped. Mary was reading. She was making Captain jittery.             “Oh, this is bad. It has been stated that Asura, for sure, has developed a fully functioning personality he now acknowledges in his own reality. He physically

sees

and interacts with this new personality.” Captain grabbed his phone and held it against his ear with his hand. “He was found referencing an

Amon  when speaking to himself and tried hard to hide it from others.” Captain was already running back to his car. “Does it quote anything he said? Any examples of the things he used to say to

Amon ?” His phone was pinched in between his ear and shoulder again and the car’s engine roared to life. “Unfortunately, he did a good enough job keeping his conversation quiet. A name was the only thing a few of the guards were able to get.” “He wasn’t

talking . He was planning! He knows exactly what he’s doing next. And whatever it is, I don’t think we’ll find out in time to stop him. We just have to be ready to chase whatever trail he leaves.” “So, I wasn’t supposed to do this.”

Mary started.

“But I read some of the older records not pertaining to the case, and I found out something creepy.” “What?” Captain asked, speeding left and right through the other vehicles on the road. “Asura was supposed to be a twin, but his brother died in the womb. Only one was born successfully.”

She stuttered. “ He killed the other one just weeks before birth .  Only

Asura  was ever born. I need to throw up.” Captain immediately hung up and dialed another number from memory. The phone rang and rang and rang and rang. No one picked up. “Requesting

immediate

backup.” He said into his radio.             The motel room was as spotless as when Amon had checked into the night before. He exited the room and entered the driver’s seat of the car.             “Ready to visit James?” He asked.             The first rays of the sun had just began to touch the sky. “Finally, some action.” Asura replied. When Amon pulled into the neighborhood an hour and a half later, he stopped at the house with the Benz and Tahoe in front. Asura picked the lock on the front door while Amon made sure to keep an eye out. Passed the kitchen on the right and living room on the left. At the end of a short hall, Asura slammed his palm on the door, pushing the frame off the hinges and dropping to a loud

wham! “James!” He shouted too excitedly. James jolted, and as soon as his eyes adjusted, he sprung reached for his nightstand. A fist reached his face first, breaking of bones in his nose and knocking out a couple teeth. “Did you tell someone, James?” Asura asked with blood on the knuckles of his hands. The woman in his bed screamed and fell off the bed with a loud

thud!

Then she proceeded to run out of the room. James denied all accusations and pleaded for his life. “People are

talking , James. Amon

knows . And Amon is

always  right.” “Asura! Please! I was your therapist! I’m legally not allowed to—” Asura stopped listening sent a hard backhand. /There was a distant crashing sound followed by rushed, loud footsteps. A few cops flew into the opened room. The fist cop was immediately snatched and, in that same second, placed on the floor with a broken neck. A bullet entered the next cop’s right ear and perfectly out the left. There was another single gunshot, but the last man heard two bodies hitting the floor behind him. The last man was Captain. And everything happened so fast, by the time he looked back at James, the man was kicking violently in the bed with a sheet tied around his neck with the ends of the sheet around the bed posts. He took one step forward and the cold barrel of a gun kissed his temple.

“Drop the gun.” Asura ordered him. He stared as the body in front of him flipped and flopped. James hands had been zip-tied behind his back, making an escape impossible. “Drop the gun.”  Asura repeated. Captain took notice that he held the gun up with his right hand and placed his left hand was behind his back. But he knew Asura couldn’t be

hiding  another weapon. He knew he was being held at gunpoint by Amon. Captain lowered his gun to the floor slowly, dropping it beside one of his dead officers and standing back up even slower. “Listen, Amon, we can help you.” He suggested. Amon froze. “Captain, do you need backup?”  His walkie shouted. His eyes met Amon’s. Slowly Captain moved his hand up to his walkie. “Cap, we’re coming in—” “Stand down.” He commanded. “Wait for my order.” Amon lowered his gun and stood right in front of Captain. He studied his face for a second. Thick mustache with a terrible attempt at a beard. He looked weak. Weak, but desperate to show his importance. His

value , if he even had any. Amon looked at the ceiling and let out a dramatic and judgmental chuckle. He lowered his sight back to Captain and stopped smiling. “How are you here?” Asura barked. “My

friend  James told you, huh?” “Asura. Introduce me to Amon.” Captain was sweating. Yet cold. The blood in his nose had begun to pool but he knew better. He desperately attempted reasoning with Asura in hopes to at least stall long enough for backup to arrive. He could already hear the beautiful ring of sirens in the far, far distance. “I wanna meet Amon.” He repeated. “I’ve heard so much about him.” “I don’t care what you’ve heard about me.” Amon replied. “Your opinion has no importance.” Before Captain could offer a reply, Asura began to speak. “You here to arrest me again?” He questioned. His eyes pierced through to Captain’s. From Captain’s perspective, Asura’s eyes were dark. So dark, they seemed hollow and deep with emptiness. Like something else had fully taken over. Asura was not gone, but he wasn’t there either. Like a body stripped of its soul. He could no longer tell who he was talking to. Staring at. But whichever one it was lifted the gun and swung it, slamming it against his temple. He felt like his eyeballs shattered. And for that split second before his vision faded to black, through the slits of his almost-closed eyelids, he could’ve sworn he could see two separate people standing in front of him. Captain’s eyes opened and he gasped and grasped along the bedsheets wrapped around his body. Multiple hands grabbed him forcing him back down. He struggled and struggled and let out a bone chilling scream. “No, no Captain. Relax, you’re fine. Open your eyes.” Captain recognized the voice. He stopped struggling and his eyes opened slowly. He squinted and blinked as his eyes got used to the light. When his pupils adjusted, he realized that he was in a hospital. On a hospital bed. Beside him were two officers and his wife. He was confused and felt distant. He felt like he was the only one lost in the room. “Baby.” He whispered weakly to his wife. “Why are we here in the hospital? Are you OK?” She stared at him and cried. She bawled her eyes out until she could finally speak. “You were in a coma.” She replied between disrupted beaths. “Coma?” He repeated, shocked. “What? For how long?” She didn’t answer. She just cried and cried more. Captain looked at the officers. “A couple months.” One said. “ Four  months.” The other one added. “Four! Months?” Captain asked. “Asura? Did we catch him? Tell me we had the whole house and neighborhood surrounded. There’s no way they got away. Not from so close.” Neither cop was eager to respond. “What happened?” He asked finally. Another hesitant second. “Since his release, he hasn’t slowed down. People are beginning to

despise  local police. They want him caught on some

real  charges this time.” Captain closed his eyes hard. “Besides the witnessed and surveillance footage of the diner murder, a couple other things have happened since then too. The problem is just

finding him .” Captain felt a chill fly up his spine. Something strangely felt familiar. The air seemed heavy and almost-tense. He recognized the feeling. And it was growing. Getting closer and closer. He struggled to breathe properly and felt the heaviest layer of fear he had ever felt in his life. It was a strong feeling of evil as he had once felt months before. “Baby?” His wife stated. “Baby, what’s wrong? Someone get the nurse

now .” One officer rushed out of the room and returned seconds later with a nurse following behind. The nurse closed the door behind him and turned around, facing Captain. “Hello Captain Barry.” Captain had heard that voice before. It belonged to the same

person  that put him into a four-month coma. He looked at the nurse and immediately was completely submerged under the heaviness he felt. Still, he was unable to tell which one of was standing in front of him, but he was certain he was staring at the face of Death.


There he sat, if you could call it sitting. Legs propped up on the console, arms crossed, eyes slowly closing. He had sunk so far down in his chair that his chin was pressed up against his chest. Kellek had only a day's worth of scanning left. His job was one of patience, or boredom, depending on how you look at it. The conglomerate would scan deep space for promising asteroid belts and when they found one, they would send him, all alone, to scan the asteroids for valuable minerals. The process was mostly automated. He would tag an asteroid with a small beacon, get into position and begin bombarding the asteroid with varying types and combinations of radiation. It took hours to scan a single asteroid. The cockpit of his small industrial frigate was mostly silent but for the humming of the scanner. His equipment had gone to sleep before he could. A few critical systems remained at attention but the rest powered down to conserve energy. His eyes finally closed and his mind transported him back home, alone still. He had spent most of his life alone, no family and few friends. You *had* to comfortable alone to do this job. Suddenly, he was jolted back to deep space by his ship; The nav system had emitted a short, loud screech. Kellek sprung up in his chair, swinging his legs off the console. This was a sound he did not hear often; Contact Alarm. He was expecting nobody. As far as he knew, the conglomerate were tight lipped about what they found, hoping to be the only ones to profit from it. 3 ships had been detected uncomfortably close. "Someone else must have found this belt.." he thought to himself. Although unlikely this far out, it's possible another corporation had stumbled upon the same asteroid belt as his employer had. The 3 vessels remained at a distance, not moving. They were just far enough away to prevent any kind of scan or IFF. The comm crackled to life. He had been so concentrated on the radar that he didn't even think to try to communicate with the vessels. "Industrial Frigate, power down and prepare to be boarded" That was all he needed to understand what was happening. These weren't other miners, these were pirates. They wanted his data for themselves so they could claim the site and start mining right away. By the time the conglomerate could get another ship out here, the asteroids would have been mined to the core. He also knew that they had no intention of taking prisoners, and they couldn't let him go free; If he could make it to the nearest come relay, he could inform his employer and that would allow the pirates less time to mine the belt. His only chance was to run, and he knew it. Kellek tapped furiously on the touchscreen in front of him, instructing the vessel to power engines and cease scanning. The cockpit slowly came back to life, screens lighting up, the sound of fans spinning. He reached for the long range comms. At this distance, and without a comm relay nearby, he wouldn't be able to talk to anyone but he could at least send out an SOS. Hopefully someone would pick it up.... A few key presses and the screen on the instrument read "SOS AWAY". At that same moment, the 3 vessels began accelerating towards him. "They picked up the SOS!" he said aloud with nobody to hear him. His heart was racing now, they knew he intended to run and their only chance of getting the data was to destroy his vessel and recover the computer core. He slammed the throttle as far as it would go and furiously grabbed the control stick. His ship was an older industrial model, not suitable for any kind of maneuvering let alone running from pirates. He knew his only chance would be to lose the pirates among the asteroids. If he could find a hole in one of them, he might be able to hide until someone answered his SOS. CRAAAAAACK! They shot at him! The ship momentarily lurched to the left as the RCS fought to keep it's bearing. "PORT RCS FAILURE". An error message appeared in red on the main console. They were firing on him; They had hit him. He was close to the belt now, a few more seconds and he would be among the asteroids. His assailants hot in his tail, and gaining, had no intention of letting him slip away. As he approached the nearest rock, ordinance could be seen exploding on it's surface. They were still firing at him. Kellek's hands were sweating and his grip on the controls was such that his knuckles were as white as his face. He yanked the control stick backwards swinging his ship around the back of the asteroid he was scanning. He was safe for a few minutes; He had put a rock between him and the pirates. His eyes darted around the asteroid frantically as he looked for a hole or crevice where he could park and power down. Absolutely nothing. The asteroid was as featureless as the prairies where he grew up. The pirates would easily spot his ship without any cover. He was about to re-emerge in view of the pirates. He had to make a decision; Should he try to make it to another asteroid, or should he surrender and hope the pirates were feeling generous. As he came out of the cover of the asteroid, the pirates came back into view, much closer than before. Without much thought, Kellek quickly flipped a switch labelled "BRDCST". "If you come any closer i'll purge the computer core and you'll get nothing!" he barked into the mic. The pirates slowed to match his peed. "If you do that, your dead anyways..." said one of them after a few moments of silence. He was right, if he purged the core, he would lose all of his navigational data. If they didn't destroy him out of anger, he would be stranded out here until he died of hunger. "Don't be a hero. Power down or be destroyed. No matter what you do, you are *not* getting out of this alive". Kellek was beginning to think the same. His ship was pointed at another asteroid, hurdling through space as fast as it's small engines could push it. He was a few minutes out from the next rock. "Have it your way." said the pirate. Kellek froze. Was this it? Was he going to die all alone in the middle of nowhere? The ship was screaming at him now; Alarms blaring. The pirates had accelerated again and were closing fast. He glanced at the radar and his heart sank when he saw that two small dots had left the pirates and were headed straight for him. Missiles. His hands fell away from the controls and he sank back in his chair. Hardly a minute left before the missiles reached him, Kellek had given up. He gazed through the window in front of him, rapidly trying to decide if he regretted anything. The missiles were only 10 seconds out now. At least it would be fast. The same alarm that had signaled the start of his demise rang out from the nav computer once more. "CONTACT: CRUISER CLASS - IFF: FRIENDLY" Almost as soon as the alarm sounded, the two missiles disappeared of the radar. Kellek whipped his head around in the direction of the contact. A conglomerate vessel! But how did they make it out here so fast? "Industrial frigate this is EV Xerxes. Set an intercept course to this vessel, docking bay 4 is all yours". It didn't matter how they got here. A few taps on the nav and his ship swung around to face the cruiser. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The pirates fired on him again! They weren't giving up. "PROPULSION FAILURE - RCS FAILURE" His ship began spinning slowly, unable to maintain it's bearing. The pirates had hit his engines, killing them. The starboard RCS thrusters were firing wildly. He was still a few minutes out from the cruiser, and the pirates would reach him before his would-be saviors could. "I can eject!" Kellek exclaimed, again with nobody to hear him. If he ejected now, the cruiser might be able to locate him before his life support ran out and the pirates would be more interested in fighting off the cruiser than taking him out. He swung his arms over his head, reaching for the helmet attached to the back of his seat. He jammed the it over his head and into the locking mechanism on his suit. A green light appeared in the top of his visor indicating that his suit was vacuum-ready. He reached for the two eject handles, one on either side of his seat but paused just before yanking them. Kellek quickly leaned forward and started tapping furiously at the console. He navigated to the reactor control screen and set the power 300%. The computer refused, informing him that anything above 130% would cause the reactor to overload. This is precisely what he wanted! After typing his override codes and dismissing a plethora of warning messages and confirmation dialogues, the ship reluctantly cooperated, setting the reactor to 300% power generation. "Industrial frigate, EV Xerxes. It doesn't look like we are going to make it to you in time... Can you eject?" Kellek was already sitting straight as an arrow in his seat with both hands on the ejection handles. SWOOOOSH! The now unattached canopy of the cockpit separated from the ship with explosive force as the atmosphere inside pushed it away. The cockpit chair unlatched from the floor and a small thruster underneath shot Kellek away from his ship with amazing force. His vision narrowed as he accelerated away from his vessel, the G force was tremendous. Kellek focused on breathing, not wanting to lose consciousness. He turned his head towards his ship and grinned at what he saw; One of the pirates had begun docking with it, undoubtedly to retrieve the computer core. He looked for the others. They had continued on to fend off the cruiser. In a spectacular flash of light, both his ship and the boarding pirate were gone. The reactor had given up and exploded just as the computer had foreseen! Seconds later, the other two pirates had broken off from the cruiser, one heavily damaged but still able to maneuver. They headed for the belt. It was their turn to try to hide. Kellek flipped open a small control pad on his armrest and activated a beacon hoping the cruiser would be looking for it. "We've got you! Hang on, we're going to grab you with the cargo scoop". The voice played loudly through his helmet. The cruiser was coming straight for him now, the cargo scoop on it's underside was wide open and as it got closer he could make out two men floating at the mouth of the scoop, ready to grab him as the cruiser swallowed him whole. "You are one lucky son of a bitch" said a young man with two chevrons on either shoulder as he unlatched Kellek from his chair. The cargo scoop had closed and had re-pressurized. It felt wonderful to take his helmet off. "How the hell did you guys find me?" Asked Kellek "That's.. erm... classified" Said the Corporal, avoiding Kellek's eyes. "Fine, I'm just grateful." "We can bring you to the nearest comm relay and set you up with a ride back home, but we need to get back to our assignment ASAP" said the young man. Kellek nodded with a look of immense gratitude, though he couldn't help feeling something wasn't quite right. How had they gotten to him so quickly? Why was the corporal acting so secretive? It didn't matter. He was safe, and he was going home. A voice came over the ship's intercom: "Contacts are leaving the belt, set condition 3 throughout the ship" "If you'll follow me to the medbay we can get you checked out." Said the corporal. The end.


Instant Theatre-Just Add Coffee I looked at the ad three times. Each time I looked at it put the newspaper down, but something kept drawing me back to it: Westchester theatre seeks actors, directors, and playwrights for a 24-hour Marathon . I always wanted to write a play. While I’d seen these marathons promoted in Off-Off-Broadway theatres, I always told myself this wasn’t for me. And it was too much of a hassle to get downtown. Now, this would be in Westchester, where I live. What was I afraid of? Only that: a)    I would never be able to write a play, overnight. b)   I would have my worst fear, that I have no talent, confirmed. c)    I would suffer abject humiliation, and as a result… d)   …I would never be able to leave my house in the light of day again And yet I still want to move forward and try and write a play, so I leaped into action. Not really. I procrastinated. When my wife told me that the shelf paper in the kitchen cabinets did not need to be changed, again I was out of excuses. I pulled up the theatre’s online application form, answered a few brief questions, and I was done. Although I don’t see how answering “Who is your favorite character from Harry Potter?” tells anybody anything. Not having read the books or seen any of the movies, I googled Harry Potter. I picked Prof. Severus Snape, only because he was played by Alan Rickman. I still didn’t know who the character was and prayed to God that no one would ask me about it. Still, there was a very good chance that I wouldn’t be accepted which meant I wouldn’t have to face my fear of failure. But, alas, three days later, while girding myself for rejection, I received an e-mail instructing me to show up at the theatre on the following Friday at 7:00. While part of me was excited, most of me felt the way I did when I received the notice from my draft board telling me to report for my army physical. At least, I told myself, I wouldn’t be nearly naked this time-it would just feel that way. The way the Marathon works is that people apply as either a playwright, actor, or director. They meet at the theatre at 7 pm on a Friday evening. No one knows each other. The organizer randomly puts people in small groups consisting of a playwright, a director, and actors. After an hour-long “getting to know you” period, the playwright goes off and writes. They have until 7:00 the next morning to complete a 10-minute play. The director and actors show up the next morning and are given the scripts to work on until showtime-7 pm that night. If I can’t produce anything, the people on my team will be screwed, and my fear of failure will be realized. No pressure. I’ve always been intrigued by these projects. They appeal to my sense of needing a deadline in order to write anything, my lack of commitment to any long-term project, and my abject boredom with anything I’ve ever created seconds after its completion. That Friday, I expected a large turnout of experienced theatre-makers and was prepared to be intimidated, which I hoped would fuel my resolve, and jump-start my creativity. Instead, I walked into the cavernous theatre to find fourteen other people representing various levels of experience, age, and ethnicity. The theatre’s Education Coordinator was a young energetic woman named Tracey. Tracey had the personality of a governor’s press secretary who believed in all of her boss’ bullshit as she waxed rhapsodic about her theatre. She engaged us all in exercises to help us get to know each other, so we could all get an idea about everyone’s personality, and how people expressed themselves. During the exercises I found myself making mental notes like, “She would be interesting,” “I like his accent,” and, “If you stick me with her, I’ll kill myself.” But I did get an idea of the talent in the group. When the pairings were announced, I was partnered with a director, Eloise, who had never directed before but is a playwright — so there was a real possibility that my play would be rewritten and badly directed. The actors were two young women from Brooklyn, Lisa, and Paula, in their early 30s. The four of us repaired to a quiet spot to talk. As for the two actors, I soon learned that English was not their first language (French and Portuguese). They’d been in the states for less than two years, but their English was just fine, and the women seemed to have a rapport with one another. We all shared a bit about our experiences in the theatre and how we work, and then we all left the theatre; the actors and director to sleep, and me to write. By the time I got home and had a quick dinner, it was 10 pm. I had nine hours to write the play and send it on to the director. There was a time in my life when being up all night was no big deal. (There was also a time in my life when I did cocaine every weekend but that wasn’t happening tonight. Also, I believe my dealer is now the social director for a cruise line, so I wouldn’t know where to score). But now, it’s a big deal. I didn’t dare fall asleep as there was no guarantee I’d get up in time to write the play. So fueled with caffeine, I proceeded. 11:00 Panic had already set in, and I made an aborted attempt to retrofit a play I tried to write years ago that had been languishing in a folder. 12:00 I realized why it was still in the folder-it was terrible. 1:00 AM   Rejected the idea of a zombie psychotherapist and vampire patient. 2:00 AM   I actually get a good idea for a ten-minute play. Thinking about the rapport between Lisa and Paula I stumbled onto a premise: A woman asks a close friend to seduce her husband. (Trust me it’s funny, and it has a twist). 4:00 AM I pushed “Send.” Truth be told, I wasn’t sure the play was ready, but my fatigue had rendered any further revision pointless. As Lorne Michaels once said about Saturday Night Live, “The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready; it goes on because it’s 11:30.” The next day I made it to the theatre an hour before the show. Eloise rushed up to me to ask if she could change a particular word. I don’t remember which word — but the meaning was the same and, for some reason, it was easier for the actor to say, so I agreed. Truth be told, at that point I would have agreed to a request that they perform the play speaking Aramaic. Eloise also explained that there were some cultural references she had to translate for the actors. I didn’t stop to ask whether it’s because the references were quintessentially American, or because they were born out of pop culture from thirty years ago. One thing I learned from this was when writing for younger actors don’t assume they’ll know anything about Hill Street Blues . Did I really need a reminder of how much older I was than any of these folks? I guess I did. The plays went on at 7 pm as promised and as with most projects like this, to varying degrees of success. I felt sorry for some of the “actors” (intentional quotes) who, from their expressions, looked as if they had just landed on the stage from Neptune; or the ones who, even with scripts in their hands were incapable of saying their lines. The actors in my play (because let’s face it, that’s what I was really interested in) did a really good job, as did the director. Much to my surprise, as I watched, I realized I might have a viable, ten-minute play. Would I do this again? Maybe. Or maybe I should sit down and without any outside deadline to move me, try to write another play. But first I think the bathtub needs grouting.


(Should've been marked \[HM\] Humor - whoops!) # My Favorite Things My favorite place to be is between two thighs. I can’t fully explain why. It’s warm. I feel secure. The sound is dampened from the outside world making my anxiety shakes not so bad. I moan every time I’m down there because it’s so comfortable, and anytime someone tries to move me, I moan even louder. I moan for comfort and discomfort alike! My favorite activity is peeing. Well, maybe it’s a tie for first, between peeing and chewing. Do you ever have something you’re gnawing on and there is something inside you that won’t let you stop? It’s almost like a special voice that only I can hear – “don’t you stop chewing damnit!” And so I listen and follow orders. I love to follow orders. Sit down. Stand up. Come here. Pretend you are dead. It doesn’t matter what it is, I just love it! And don’t even get me started on peeing. In the corner. On the grass. On the carpets. On the pee pad. In my crate. All those places are so fun to pee on. Sometimes mom yells loudly at me when I pee – especially when I pee in the corner. She’s always so encouraging. Sometimes I pee when she isn’t looking so she can come later and be surprised! I love surprises. Sometimes dad surprises me by making my ball disappear. He will throw the ball for me and it vanishes! Nowhere to be found; and then, out of thin air, he brings it back! He’s so impressive with his magical surprises. My favorite beverage is water! I usually have a little bowl that mom fills up for me, but sometimes I know she is busy so I go ahead and use the big bowl. The big bowl is where mom and dad go to sit and think. Sometimes they will be on there for 5 or 10 minutes looking at their glowy toys they hold. When they are not in there, sometimes I will go and try and figure out what they were doing in there for so long. I can never figure it out so I just take some water from the throne where they sat so that maybe I can figure out how they are so wise. Recently my favorite pastime has been finding the cloth mom and dad have for me to chew. Sometimes they try to play games with me and hide them. In a drawer. In the hamper. In a zipped up gym bag. But sometimes they are nice and just leave it out for me on the ground. It doesn't take long for me to chew and swallow all the cloth. So fun! One time after I chewed an entire thin lace cloth mommy left out for me, and because I did such a good job she took me to see our very good friend who lives in the small building and always wears a white coat. Sometimes I am nervous and shake when we go there, but our very dear friend is always so nice to me and asks me lots of questions. Okay. I hear mom coming home. I must go for now because I want to surprise her with a poop before she comes in the room.


Americans, unhappily, have the most remarkable ability to alchemize all bitter truths into an innocuous but piquant confection and to transform their moral contradictions, or public discussion of such contradictions, into a proud decoration, such as are given for heroism on the field of battle. James Baldwin            D’Mitri stumble-limped to his door, taking mental stock of his condition and his assets in the cool and quiet aftermath of Nick’s party. He didn’t have his keys, but he had somehow acquired a cute girl, and she had his keys. Check.            He looked at his shirt and frowned. There were flecks of blood on it, and an ominous brown stain of unknown provenance. He smelled it and decided that it must either be a mixture of whiskey and gooey fudge brownies or, more likely, vomit. Check.            What he didn’t have were either pants or shoes. That was odd, he thought, for he was sure that he had gone to the party with pants. And shoes.            Check. His right leg was festooned with gauze and tape and pain. It felt like someone had jabbed several needles into his leg and it looked like whoever did the bandaging struggled with the concept of gauze-to-tape ratio; the tape went all the way down to his ankle and as high as his knee to secure a small, square piece of gauze. Perhaps, he thought, I was being mummified and escaped just in the nick of time. Check. The couple fell into D’Mitri’s bed for the night, though it was actually 4:30 in the morning. D’Mitri wouldn’t be seen again until Monday morning, dressed for success. The cute girl left in the afternoon, telling D’Mitri that she hoped they could “do this again.” D’Mitri didn’t know if she meant the party or the bedroom antics or both, but he accepted the informal invitation in the spirit that it was given. He nodded dumbly and closed the door. Double check, with some stars and doodles thrown in for good measure. Let me tell you about the party and how D’Mitri lost his pants. ___________________________________________            Nick always threw great parties because he was rich and spent obscene amounts of money on food, booze, outlandish decorations, a DJ, party favors, and cocaine. He was a third-generation Greek-American who made it big writing apps for Apple and productivity software for corporate tax attorneys. D’Mitri would often tell him that he wrote code for the predators of the American Dream, but Nick would just shrug it off and point to his Lamborghini or his house by way of defense.            D’Mitri arrived at the party just as it was getting crowded. Supermodels from the Americas (North and South), Greece (of course), France (predictably so), and one uniquely pretty one from Iceland had just arrived. The guests were indulging in the expensive seafood, the expensive beef, and the expensive booze, all prepared by expensive chefs. The actual servers, however, were more like D’Mitri: foreign, and wondering if the cocaine laid out on the table was for everyone.            All eyes were drawn towards the towering ice sculpture upon arrival. It was a 17-foot-tall replica of the Statue of Liberty. The icy behemoth was surrounded by smaller ice sculptures of people kneeling in front of the lady, hands raised in supplication. What the fuck? D’Mitri wondered. He wasn’t drunk enough – or high enough – to ask Nick about it yet. No one else seemed to wonder about it; in fact, the party guests evinced a distinct lack of wonder at the message. They commented on the size and left it at that.            D’Mitri was suddenly accosted by a bear hug from behind and the smell of vodka and caviar on the assailant’s breath. Nick, of course.            “Hello, Russian friend! You like?” Nick had released his hold and waved his arms expansively around the room. The Icelandic model was by his side, smiling at us.            “This is Helen, my woman. Helen! Say hello to this man!” Nick pushed her forcefully towards me. Helen took it all in stride, literally and figuratively, holding out a hand with amazingly long fingers.            “You have the hands of an artist, Helen. Are you an artist?” I asked, trying to be polite in the face of Nick’s boorish behavior.            Her laugh was deep and scoffing, a laugh that seemed incongruous with her profession and with the types of people that Nick usually invited to his parties. Like she had brains and a a self-effacing sense of humor.            “Yes I am. I travel the world wearing beautiful clothes for which I am paid an exorbitant amount of money. Doesn’t that sound artistic?” She laughed that deep, throaty laugh again. What the hell, D’Mitri thought, is a girl like this doing with a guy like Nick? D’Mitri doubted that Nick even knew where Iceland was.            D’Mitri wandered around the rooms, marveling (again) at the size of Nick’s house and the decadence (as per usual) of the party. A bevy of pot-bellied pigs in lady liberty costumes passed D’Mitri. It was a sign of D’Mitri’s desensitization to Nick’s excesses that he barely gave them a look. Even the nude, snake-draped dancers in cages failed to elicit more than a cursory glance from D’Mitri.            The booze and the cocaine were starting to affect the party goers. Though Nick had eleven bathrooms, most of the guests were either too high or too drunk to find most of them. Long lines formed in front of the three easily-found bathrooms on the lower floor. Some of the guests, though, didn’t deign to wait. One man took it upon himself to relieve his urinary discomfort on Nick’s back fence. That’s what started it all.            “Hey! You! Why are you pissing on my motherfucking fence motherfucker?” The man on the other side of the fence couldn’t be identified, it being dark outside and the dim security lighting did little to alleviate this condition; likewise, the angry man couldn’t identify the mystery man peeing on the fence. I mention this because it is relevant to the story. (As I am the omniscient narrator, my word is inviolate. So go suck an egg if you don’t like it.)            D’Mitri heard this exchange and laughed quietly. Hijinks and outside peeing were always funny to guys. So were farting and witnessing someone else’s pain. And they wonder why they have such a tough time getting laid. But I digress.            The man with the pissy attitude (see what I did there?) arrived at the party, but he was not alone. He had a large and intimidating-looking pit bull with him, secured to the man’s hand with an actual chain. The dog strained at his metal leash, jerking the man’s arm as if the man were a marionette.            “Where the fuck is the pissing guy?” the man shouted at no one in particular. A hundred eyes turned towards the outburst. Most of the guests shrugged and returned to their conversations, their drinks, and the man or woman they were trying to impress. This served to make the man even angrier.            Striding inside with his dog, he toured the area with all of the aplomb and personality of a general who just found his wife in bed with a corporal. The dog barked and growled while the man looked for someone who looked as if they would be the type to piss on a man’s fence. What that would look like is anybody’s guess, but the man stuck to his strategy.            “Okay you fuckers! Who pissed on my fence? I’m not asking again!” But he did. Several times. No one seemed to care about the man, but the dog was scaring people. They moved away. Not to put too fine a point on it, they abandoned the immediate area that the dog occupied, and they did it with an impressive alacrity.            And then the dog got loose from the angry man.            It was inevitable, I suppose. The man, being who he was and the dog, being what he was, forced fate’s hand. The dog rushed to and fro, barking and growling and snapping at the well-heeled ankles of the now-terrified guests. This caused a chain reaction of events that resulted in…well, you know the state in which D’Mitri arrived at his house.            The angry man tossed the food table over, the crash of expensive food and crystal creating an expensive sound. Shrimp, crab, lobster and caviar slid across the floor and came to rest quietly and serenely against walls and shoes. The tablecloths folded themselves inexpertly, gathering stains the longer they remained on the floor. Guests were stampeding outside, causing a crush of bodies in the foyer. Yep. That’s where lady liberty was chilling.            Bodies bumped into bodies, some of the collisions causing some bodies to crash into the ice sculptures. This, in turn, caused the aforementioned bodies to careen into lady liberty. Lady liberty fell. The impact with the floor was resounding; the force of the impact sent shards of ice skittering on the floor, dancing merrily in a chaotic ballet of cold, making friends with the seafood that had been left to its own gruesome fate.            And, of course, the police arrived. Several cops were trying to simultaneously secure the dog and avoid its bite. As you can imagine, their success was nonexistent. They yelled at the owner to get his dog under control or else. The man yelled back that he would, after he found the guy who pissed on his fence. The cops retorted with their vague threat of “or else,” and this had the effect of the angry man taking a swing at one of the cops.            While all of this was going on. D’Mitri was being bitten by the dog. In a display of questionable decision making, D’Mitri decided to watch the drama with the angry man and the cops unfold. Unfortunately, the dog was doing the same, and the dog spotted D’Mitri’s right ankle as a likely target for his aggressive instincts. Soon, D’Mitri was dancing around, trying to shake the dog from his ankle. In a display of good (if desperate) decision making, D’Mitri decided to rid himself of his pants in an effort to dislodge the dog from his ankle. The trick worked; the dog was left with an empty pair of pants (which it quickly abandoned) and a puzzled expression on its face. D’Mitri was now in the unenviable position of wearing no pants and thus displaying his boxer shorts. The ones that were covered with bags of cashews, almonds and the like. Yes, he was wearing boxers that screamed that they were nut holders.            A pretty girl watched as D’Mitri tried to get away from the dog and recover his dignity. He was only half successful at this, but the girl still smiled at him and gave him an invitational wave of the arm. She was behind a trellis, holding a large bowl. The cocaine.            “You escaped with your life, at least. I escaped with the coke. I guess we both did a fine job in the melee,” she laughed out the words. The pretty girl frowned at the damage done to his ankle and quickly took sensible action in the form of retrieving a first aid kit from the kitchen.            “Bixby. Bixby! Come here! We have a hero in need of your expertise!” The girl looked at D’Mitri before responding, her eyes twinkling with mirth.            “Bixby’s a doctor. He’ll fix you right up,” she said. During the time it took the very drunk (or high – or both) Bixby to meander his way to the girl’s voice, the girl had unwrapped a gauze pad and soaked it with vodka and applied a small amount of cocaine to the pad. A paste formed on the surface, looking much more innocent than it was.            Bixby applied the gauze and the tape, being extremely liberal with the tape. He was also falling over as he knelt, so the tape often went around D’Mitri’s ankle in exciting and unique directions.            “Uh. Bixby. You own stock in this tape company?” Bixby looked at the girl, looked at D’Mitri’s ankle, and shrugged as he stumbled to his feet. The girl had to catch his arm so that he wouldn’t suffer the indignity of falling over the trellis.            “Let me take you home, sweetie. You don’t belong here,” she said. She intertwined her fingers with D’Mitri’s and led him to a nearby bench.            “What do you mean, I don’t belong here? I was invited!” D’mitri sounded more irritated than he was.            “Nick’s acquaintances are all the same types. The progeny of the super-rich, the professionally beautiful, the professionally musical, or the professionally athletic. You are none of these,” the pretty girl looked at D’Mitri and smiled. She smiles a lot, thought D’Mitri, but it isn’t always a happy smile.            “No, I still sing for my supper. My 120k salary isn’t especially attractive to Nick’s friends…”            “Acquaintances. Nick doesn’t have any friends. Except you!” The pretty girl had just realized why D’Mitri was at the party.            “But I get by, you know. I own a house with a nice lawn and a two-car garage. My dog has his shots and I always walk him on a leash. I use my outdoor grill often. I have cable TV and five streaming services. I don’t have Nick’s money, but I’m good.”            “I, on the other hand, came from the seed of a billionaire. I go to parties like this one, I attend charity functions for the family, and I am generally left alone to spend as much money as I care to spend, and to use my time in any fashion I choose.”            “That’s a nice life,” D’Mitri said, rubbing his ankle. It felt numb from the cocaine.            “Yours is better,” she countered.            The police were wrapping up the party. The angry man was handcuffed, the dog was under the influence of an electric jolt from a Taser, and tired, high, happy guests were straggling to their chauffeured vehicles. There was broken furniture everywhere, and lady liberty was melting away into an ugly amorphous mass. Vomit was everywhere, looking like a gargantuan Jackson Pollock work spread over grass, floor, and wall. The pretty girl patted D’Mitri on the arm, standing him up and leading him to her vehicle.            “C’mon sweetie. I’m taking you home.”            D’Mitri turned to her. He wobbled slightly because of his injured ankle, and he was wearing those ridiculous boxers. The pants were M.I.A. He held his head up proudly.            “I can make it on my own. Really. I’m fine,” D’Mitri sounded more defiant than he was.            The pretty girl looked at him and laughed heartily. He liked that laugh. It was genuine, like the Icelandic model’s laugh.            “You aren’t understanding me, sweetie. I am taking. You. Home.” She gave D’Mitri a significant look.            “Oh!” D’Mitri finally came to the right conclusion.            “Tell me where you live, sweetie. I can’t find your wallet.” D’Mitri patted where his pockets belonged, hitting only boxers and embarrassment.            “The cleaning crew will find it. You’ll get it back tomorrow, with everything intact.”            D’Mitri looked at her and shook his head.            “Maybe missing some money, though.”            The pretty girl shook her head forcefully in negation.            “No. It is an unfortunate trait in our immigrants that they don’t steal money from a found wallet or handbag. Nor do they purloin the odd piece of jewelry laying around. Deplorable, really,” the pretty girl mused.            D’Mitri frowned and faced her after flopping ungraciously into her waiting limousine. The driver was scary by his very implacability, so D’Mitri tried to put him out of his mind. The pretty girl simply ignored the driver after giving him a brief smile.            “Unfortunate trait? I don’t…”            “No, you don’t. Think like an American, that is. Sad, because you are very American success story. This is the land of the free and the home of the brave isn’t it? Free to pursue your own interests, brave enough to do it by any means necessary. You think my daddy made billions by playing fair? Or Nick?”            D’Mitri nodded at her logic. She was, in fact, just like Nick. Or her daddy was, at any rate. Either way, it was a philosophy that was deeply ingrained in her. Her voice broke in on these thoughts.            “Yeah, I’m like Nick. But I have lady parts and he doesn’t so…” she turned to D’Mitri and kissed him on the lips. It was one of those kisses that linger sweetly, like the smell of jasmine in the back yard. D’Mitri wanted the lady parts, and more jasmine-lingering kisses.            “Home, Jeeves!” he said boisterously.            “His name’s Sancho,” the pretty girl said.            “Home, Sancho!”            The destruction of the party receded into the distance; the aftermath would have to be dealt with in due course. There would be recriminations, wounds, and costs to assume. But there would be another party at some point. And another. And another. Their vague and ephemeral allure would just grow stronger with each subsequent party because…because…            “Why are you going home with me?” D’Mitri asked, genuinely intrigued.            “A girl has needs, you know?”            D’Mitri nodded. So do guys. Even bourgeois guys like him.            “Besides,” she said, turning her luscious face to him, “you might die of rabies soon, so I want to get something out of you first.” D’Mitri wanted to be appalled, but he wasn’t.            He was, after all, an American.


First there was the light. The light was brighter than the sun. Brighter than the ten-terawatt laser that the ignition facility used. Brighter than the light of a million, billion galaxies that we had yet to discover. It woke me from my slumber. I ignored it, thinking another police helicopter was searching. Then came the shockwave. It blasted across the city like the hand of God, wiping clean the dirty slate of civilization. My window shattered in a burst of glittering, sparking glass, and for just a moment, I was able to see the stars. My eardrums burst. I screamed, blood pouring from my ears, as the drapes covering my window burst into flame. Rolling to the ground, I crawled under the bed and bawled like a toddler. As the pain began to subside, I managed to get my wits about me. *What happened? A bomb, explosion, something nearby?* I shook my head trying to think clearly. *The army? They must need me. Something bad happened. Really bad. Where is Anita? She was in here!* A thousand thoughts raced through my mind at once. Half of the room was engulfed in flames as the light outside subsided. I crawled to the door and flung it open, gasping for cleaner air, only to find more acrid smoke filling my lungs. I half crawled, half tumbled down the stairs in a bloody mess to where the open kitchen was all but gone. The front door had been blown in halfway across the living room. I managed to get to my unsteady feet, my balance all but gone. Stumbling out onto the street, a wave of heat hit my face and made it feel as if it was going to boil away. Wiping away some of the dirt and blood from my eyes, I managed to look up, shielding my eyes from the heat and dust. *Dear god, and all that is good in this world. It happened. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit.* Ahead of me in the city center, a menacing mushroom cloud rose into the sky and proclaimed it's sentence of fiery destruction to all who were near.


Crash! Hailey fell down in the middle of the spin. Mr Guller walked over to her, his face a deep maroon color. “Jenny, what in the world was that?!” She stood up. “Umm, a spin-jazz hands combo? I just… tripped.” She turned to glare at the reason she fell - Tammy Sanchez, mean girl, popular, pretty, catches the eye of every guy. Her middle name was “evil”.

   They went to high school together, and every day there, she was tormented, ridiculed, intimidated. For no reason, whatsoever. And now, Tammy was trying to get Hailey kicked off the dance team. They were doing a performance at the Christmas Extravaganza, and it was less than 36 hours away.

   “What kind of spin was that?!” Mr Guller yelled, bringing her back to reality. “Again, I tripped,” Hailey said. Mr Guller’s face deepened in color, if that was even possible. “Bullshit! Take 10, everyone!” He stomped off to his office, most likely to scream in rage or makeout with a cardboard cutout of Jessica Alba.    Tammy sashayed over to where Haily had dropped herself. “The poor man… I’d think he would just be fed up with your stupid little mistakes by now, don’t you?” She said in a singsong voice. Hailey stood up again, standing a good 2 and ½ inches above Tammy. “Why do you hate me?” She asked. She was furious at this brat, but she couldn’t do anything to her, as her father was good friends with the principal of the school.

   “I don’t hate you.”

   “Then why must you make my life hell?”    “Peer pressure?”

   “If your dad wasn’t tight with the principal…”    “What? You’d beat me up? You’d trip me? Guess what, Hailey, you wouldn’t get a chance! The only time I’m not surrounded by my adoring fans is when I’m in the bathroom. But one time I did find someone in there…”

   “Ugh!” Hailey stalked off. She walked off the stage into the wings, backstage, out of the auditorium. She walked down the hallways until she reached her locker. “35-12-why is she so mean?” Haily asked herself, putting in her code and popping the lock off. She dug through her backpack to find her phone, and she unlocked it. No new notifications. Well, there was one from her mom, but that didn’t count in her mind.

   Laughter rippled down the hall from the auditorium, but Hailey ignored it.

   Mom: I’ll pick you up at 5? Love you, be safe! <3

Augh, moms. She glanced at the time. 4:36. Twenty-four more minutes. She heard Mr Guller screaming at everyone to hurry back to their spots, so she put her phone back in her bag, locked her locker, and ran back to the auditorium. She got to her place just as the music started, and she started dancing.

Step, step, shimmy, kick kick, swoop, turn, wiggle, shimmy shimmy, back step back step, point, 2, 3, 4, step step, shimmy, kick kick, swoop, “Whoa!”

   Hailey toppled on top of Tammy, who had just tripped her, again. Mr Guller slammed the pause button, and stomped towards Hailey. “Hailey, stop falling!” He screamed. “I didn’t! Tammy tripped me, again! She’s trying to get me kicked off the team!” Mr Guller looked at Tammy. “Is this true?”

   Tammy stood up. “No! I might have accidentally tripped her, but I’m not trying to get her kicked off!” Mr Guller turned his head slowly towards Hailey. “Hailey, it is one thing to be late, to mess up, or to fall. But falling on top of Tammy, and lying?! I AM THIS CLOSE TO KICKING YOU OFF THE TEAM!!” He screamed, showing her his pointer finger and thumb, just an inch apart.

   He stalked off into the wings. Tammy walked over to Hailey. “I expected more from him. Perhaps kicking you off. Sad.” Hailey whipped around to glare at Tammy. She had tears in her eyes and her face was red. “Aww, you gonna cry?” Tammy asked in a crybaby tone. She really didn’t like talking normally.

   Hailey had had enough of Tammy’s bullshit. She had been dealing with it since grade 7. So, instead of talking it out, she balled up her fist, and aimed right for Tammy’s perfect face. Tammy fell on the floor, and everyone immediately surrounded her. Before anyone could glare at her, go tell Mr Guller, or anything, she ran. Hailey ended up walking home. All she wanted was peace and quiet for Christmas. It was one and a half miles to get back home, but she didn’t care. She walked in silence, tears falling down her face. She really hated being pushed around and bullied. She also hated violence, though. She knew that she would probably be suspended, and her parents would ground her until her 21st birthday.

   When Hailey finally got home, her parents were standing in the dining room, looking worried. She closed the door, and her parents looked up to see their daughter. They rushed towards her, saying how scared they were, how worried, and “don’t do that ever again!”.

   She was looking down the entire time, but when she looked up, her parents asked what was wrong. Apparently, it was very evident that she had been crying. She tried to hold back tears as she told them that she punched someone, but the water flooded the dam. Her parents hugged her while she cried. They told her that she would be grounded for three days, no phone until then either, but she didn’t care.

The three days went by fast. She was still sad, and her parents were slightly disappointed (especially when they had to pay $485 for abuse to Tammy’s parents), but they still had a wonderful few days together. Then, the day before Christmas, her parents woke her up at 4:30 in the morning. They brought her to the car, and they started driving.

   She woke up at 5:03 at the airport. Her parents led her through check in, security, and finding the gate. First they stopped at Starbucks for breakfast. “OK, I’ve held it off long enough. Where are we going?” Hailey asked. “You’ll see,” her parents replied. After 10 minutes, an announcement came on overhead.

   “ Attention. Flight 294 to Hawaii is now boarding. Flight 294 is now boarding. ” Her parents grabbed their carry-ons and stood up. Hurriedly, she stood up too, thinking they were preparing to get on another plane. But they started walking to the Hawaii gate. Hailey’s eyes widened as she watched her parents turn around and motion for her to follow. When she finally did, next stop, peace, quiet, and Hawaii.


“Thomas, come here and add this log to the fire.” His speech was cut off with a big resounding cough. “But father, I’m cold and tired.” I squeaked out. I was always cold, but I knew that if I stood up, the tiny spot of warmth that came from curling up next to my sleeping mother would be gone. My legs shook at just the thought of crawling off the mattress and making my way across our tiny house my father build a few weeks earlier.

He looked at me from his position of the other side of my mother and gave me a strange smile that looked like he was hurting, “Thomas, we cannot let the fire go down, otherwise, you and your mother and I will be much colder than we already are.” “Okay.” I shifted out of the blanket, and struggled to stand; trying to force my numb legs and arms to move out of their position. I had barely managed to get my feet under me when the wooden walls spun around and around until I fell over, crying out as my knees crashed onto the hard, frozen dirt.

“Thomas baby, please do not hurt yourself.” My mother gasped. “He’s just fine Jane,” my father whispered to my mother. My vision cleared enough that I could see my mother, her eyes were squinted open and she weakly reached her hand out to me.

“I can do it mother, go back to sleep.” I took a deep breath and looked back down at my hands; I had fallen right next to the last dry log we had. I forced my fingers to curl around it and drag it over to the dying coals of the fire. I dumped it on the orange embers with a small grunt. Nothing happened at first, but I sat and watched as the outer portions of the log began to catch on fire. I waved my hands near the small flame, feeling the warmth wrap around my hands and seep into my bones.

“Thomas, come back now, we have to warm up together.” I wordlessly crawled back, not trusting myself to try to stand, and slid back under the thin blanket. I pressed my cold face against my mother’s shoulder and she responded by slowly winding her arm around me and pulled me close. Her skin was hot to the touch-even as I felt her shiver with a deeper cold that I did not feel.

I looked over at my father, curled up on her other side, mirroring me with his head resting on her shoulder and staring at me with sad eyes. “Is mother going to get better?” I whispered. He was quiet, and for a moment I thought I had asked about one of those grown-up things that grown-ups only tell you when you are grown-up yourself, until he whispered back, “I pray everyday that she will.” “That is why we sailed to the Americas right?” I asked, remembering the quiet and hurried conversation as my mother and father woke me up in the middle of the night when we left England. They told me then that it was so we could pray to God whenever we wanted, and so we wouldn’t have to hide or be afraid of soldiers coming to get us. “Exactly.” “Then why did we leave Holland?” He sighed, “go to sleep Thomas, get some rest so we can all get better.” I closed my eyes, and as I fell asleep, my thoughts unknowingly slipped out in a breathy whisper, “But if we stayed in Holland, we wouldn’t be so cold.” The comforting emptiness of sleep flew away as someone knocked on the door to our small shack. Bitter cold wind rushed through the fabric wrapped around me, but I was too tired to do anything but squeeze myself tighter against my mother and wait for it to be over.

My eyes were still squeezed shut as I listened to the soft voices of my father and the man that had entered our home.

“Mr. Tinker? It’s me, Myles Standish.” “Myles, how good to see you!” My father’s voice sounded so quiet and weak compared to the strong tone of this soldier. “I brought you something,” something landed on top of the thin blanket wrapped around me, I squinted my eyes slightly to see that it was another blanket. “Myles! Where did you get this? I thought there was only one per family?” “Well…” There must have been something in the sergeant's expression that I couldn’t see, but my father muttered a soft “oh” in understanding. I could smell the stench of old sick on the blanket, and wondered what happened to whoever had been sick on it. But I could feel everything getting a bit warmer, so I was glad he brought it.

“How are they holding up?” the man whispered, changing the subject. My father sighed, and a great sadness permeated his voice. It was so thick and overwhelming that it caught in his throat multiple times.

“Jane is close. She’s always been strong but, this sickness is keeping her out of consciousness most of the time now. And the boy is so tired and weak-I don’t think he has caught whatever this illness is yet-but once he does, I wonder if he will last to his 9th birthday. It is only 2 months away, in February.” His voice broke as he said these words. I was not sure what he meant, would I not have a birthday this year? “And what about you Thomas?” It was always strange hearing people call my father by his first name. I was named after him, so we are both called Thomas, but to me, he is just my father. “It has gotten a hold of me too. I can feel it in every breath I take. At this point, I know I am going to watch them go, and then join them myself in the heavens.” My father took a deep breath before asking, “How bad is it with the rest of the colony?” “It is not looking good. Right now there are about 2 or 3 passing every day. Even William Bradford has fallen ill.” “No…” “I am afraid it is true. But remember: Always hold onto hope my friend. I brought you this as well. Just some dried meat, and a pail of boiling water. It is still hot, so wait for it to cool, then it will warm you up nicely from the inside.” I heard a soft clink as the sergeant set something on the packed dirt floor. “Thank you so much.” There was a note of desperation in his voice now, as if this was the last thing he would ever say to his friend. “Not just for this, but for everything you have done for me and my family since we fell ill.” “Of course! You are my friend, and one of the best carpenters we have. You built half of the houses that we have now yourself! Anything I have done is repayment in kind for all the good you have brought to this colony. You deserve so much more than this.” My father responded with a round of wet and shaky coughs. All I could hear was the pain in each hack that turned into quiet sobs, and the soft murmurs of comfort from Mr. Standish. When all was silent again, Mr. Standish whispered a farewell, and slipped out the door. It was quiet for so long, I wondered if my father had fallen asleep. But then he gently shook my mother awake. I opened my eyes as well to see him smiling at us. “What is it father?” “Look,” he said, holding out a few strips of dried meat to us, “we are going to have a family dinner, just like we always do.” My mother looked at the pieces that he gave to each of us, before taking some of hers and pushing it into his hands. “If this is a family dinner,” she rasped, “then everyone in the family must eat.” My father smiled at her, before bowing his head and murmuring a quiet prayer of thanks.

When he raised his eyes again, he continued. “So, I realized there was something we are not doing,” he glanced at my mother and me in the eyes, “we need to feed our souls as well as our bodies." “How do we do that?” I asked, cuddling closer to my mother. “We need to remind ourselves of all the things we have to be grateful for.”

My mother interrupted by forcefully heaving a round of coughs. She spat whatever came up into the dirt behind my head. Her voice was a croak, but I could still make out her words, “We do have so much to be thankful for. Why don’t you go first Thomas?” She gently stroked my father’s cheek before falling into another round of coughs. I wanted to tell her to stop speaking, since it only seemed to make it worse, but stopped when I saw the radiant smile she gave my father. “I am eternally grateful for men like Myles Standish," my father began, "who have taken care of us these past couple of weeks.” He bit off a small piece of his food and drank from the pail of water Mr. Standish had brought. “It is your turn Thomas, say what you are thankful for, and then have some of your meat.” “But I am not hungry, father.” “Thomas, you must eat. You cannot get better if you do not eat.”

I wanted to obey my father, I knew I had not eaten in a while, and that I should be hungry; but the thought of eating something made my stomach clench painfully. “I am thankful for my mother and father.” I shoved a tiny bite into my mouth and my father handed me the heavy pail of still steaming water. I blew on it and sipped some of it down, feeling the warmth slide down my throat. I smiled back at my father and handed the water back to him. Then I looked up at my mother. Her face was shiny in the firelight. “Mother, why are you crying?” “Because,” her voice was still weak, but was choked with emotion instead of bile. “I just love you and your father so much. And I am so thankful that we made it.” “Made what?” She pulled me closer and whispered in quiet awe, “We made it to freedom.” I looked back to the selfish thought I had about staying in Holland. I had said that without thinking about how life had really been there. We were no longer under English rule, but we were not truly free in Holland. I remembered the tired look on my father’s face after coming home from a long day at the carpenter's shop with barely anything to show for it. I remembered the dread in my parent’s eyes when they spoke about a coming war between Holland and Spain. I remembered the frustration when dealing with other religious groups that disagreed with us. I remembered the fear we all felt when some of those sects threatened violence. And I also remembered the joy on their faces when the sailors first caught sight of land after our long voyage on the Mayflower .

My father helped my mother bring the food to her mouth, and pour some hot water down her throat. “I am thankful for Jesus Christ, and the sacrifice he made so that we could live in Heaven together forever. I know that one day, we will live together in true freedom, and be warm and happy and together as a family. No matter what happens, we are a family, and will always be together.” He wiped away the tears that rolled down his face; smiling through it all as we huddled together on a thin, dirty mattress. We finished the rest of the food in satisfied silence. And I fell asleep that cold winter night with a full heart, a full belly, and a mind full of thankful thoughts. “Thomas Tinker and his wife and sone all dyed in the first sicknes.” -William Bradford


A tense conversation with an armed man where I lost five hundred dollars. I rolled my car window down. The man's thin lips opened with his scripted, opening robotic speech. I assumed the role. “I'm officer blank.” I was half listening. More so skimming for important information. “I pulled you over because, blank. You are being recorded, blank.” I must’ve looked like a deer in the headlights or maybe dead eyed. I shook my head. I had smart ass comments to all these lifeless statements. Smart for me anyway. I was listening intermintly. I had all the soon to be requested plastic and paper in my hands. I was guilty. My fate sealed. No way out. I waited. Behind him the gawkers gawked. Rubberneckers failed to keep their cars straight. A single horn. No deaths yet. My only hope. The lights flashed & blinded. “You know why I stopped you?” Sterile. A statement rather than a question. Spoken down at me while he wore sunglasses as dark as an open manhole cover wearing a hat that no one would wear if it weren't a requirement. “Yes.” Attempting to play robot too. “License and registration please.” I handed it to him. “So I stopped you because you were going nearly double the posted speed limit. Why did you feel the need to do that? Are you going to an emergency?” Tell the truth I thought. What emergency? You know what you were doing. Tell the truth. There's no getting away from this, maybe lie and talk your way out of it. You're quick enough right? How bad can it get? Try it? You're definitely not getting your license back might as well double down and take a chance. Or tell the truth. Silence and then I firmly said “Sorry, no emergency. I just wanted to go for a drive and got carried away.” Damn. Without a change of tone. “ok. You know there’s a lot of deers on this road? In your little car and at the speed you were going you could have easily been seriously injured or worse. I’ll be right back.” I could’ve gone the death wish route, maybe I still can. It's kinda true. So was my kinda truth. I did leave my job in a hurry. I don’t like how my life is ending up. I’m not ok. What normal person would drive twice the speed limit on an interstate. I wouldn’t have minded it. Sure might’ve been dramatic but it would seem like a genuine accident. I wouldn’t have minded if it did happen. I know the risk. Unfortunately sober. I stewed in the silence knowing the truth. The officer returned. “Ok so I've knocked the fine down a bit. You can pay online or through mail and there's other options there as well. Do you have any questions?” “No thanks. You” I spit out. “Ok. Drive safe.” He walked away. I never turned my car off. I switched the car into sport mode, lowered the emergency brake, and slowly let the car move forward. I looked into the rear view mirror for traffic and the cop. I resumed the music that was never paused, only lowered. I then adjusted it to the proper volume for a late night drive. I accelerated. Foot about half way down. Fast but not as fast as I could. I still have a nerve. It was quick. Nothing dramatic. He didn’t follow. I hit the cruise control at the speed limit and exhaled. I made my way to an exit and hit a traffic light. As I waited I looked at the ticket. Bold letters said: **Speeding in excess of a posted speed limit of 65 miles an hour by 20 miles an hour or more. 5 Points and a 500 dollar fine.** Well, could’ve been worse.


I was starting my second year at The Academy. I had narrowly survived the first year after the minotaur stampede that the Dark Mage Halloran unleashed. Gods only know why he is after Johan. He isn’t that good a mage, to begin with. Always seems to be up to some kind of mischief. I make my way down the hallway and pass Johan and his friends. They are speaking in whispers. Clearly, they think Haloran is going to return this year. I really hope he doesn’t. I’m here for a simple course to research and get my degree in herbology with a minor in Artificing. I do not need mad mages ruining my experiments and burning the dorm where my thesis is kept. It is by the Gods mercy I used flame magic proof paper and ink. Giving a friendly wave to a pair of first-years who are gaping around the building. Oh, how I miss those days. So naive. So clueless to the hell they are about to step into. I finally reach my goal of the Professor's meeting room. I, along with a few other exemplary students, have been called for a meeting. Stepping into the room, I can see every professor lined up. There is even Lord Sloth, for once not in his research building. This must be an important meeting if he is here. “Thank you, Alan, for joining us”, Professor Alex says, gesturing for me to stand alongside five other students standing stock still. “Sir, why have we been called here?” Alora asks, flicking her hair in the haughty way she usually does. “That is…” Lord Sloth begins before trailing off. “Before we begin, we will need you to sign a blood contract that what we tell you will not leave your lips after you walk out this room”, Professor Yuu says, rolling out a parchment covered in ancient runes. “A blood contract?” I exclaim. Using such a thing on students means this is beyond anything a normal mage will be handling. Hesitantly I sign along the bottom along with each of the other students. Finally, we each prick our finger and allow a single drop of blood to fall on the page. The blood is absorbed and vanishes. “Good with that; we can continue,” Lord Sloth says with a smile. “We wish for you boys and girls and quex to become School Prefects”, Sloth explains. “Why the shecreshy shir?” Quexly asks, their tongue flickering. “Simple, while you’ll have your normal duties, you will have additional ones on top of what your fellows will do”, Sloth explains, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. “What would that be, sir?” I ask. “Simple, you are aware of Johan, I take it?” Sloth asks. The group of students all nod. “Perfect, your first task will be to harass him and his group of friends at every single turn. Every minor infraction you see must be punished with the maximum sentence”, Sloth explained. I and the others all had perplexed looks. While it would be enjoyable to exact some revenge on Johan, this seems unbelievably petty. “Why?” Alora asks, dropping her haughty act. “Simple, you will be ‘Under the Control’ of good sir Halloran”, Sloth explains, gesturing to a door that was opened. In stepped the Dark Mage Halloran, who gave a sheepish wave. I and the others instantly readied our wands and equipment. Prepared to fight this mad mage. Had he taken control of the teachers? This really was a worst-case scenario. A loud finger snap echoed from behind us, and I could feel my mana being suppressed by an overbearing level of mana. Turning around, I saw Professor Alex wag his finger at us. Before pointing back to sloth. “You see, you lot are the most exceptional students of the second years. So we will let you in on a little secret. We have a program where an old retired professor will return to menace some of the….” Sloth trailed off as if looking for the right words. “More problematic students. The simpletons. The legacies. The ones who think they have grand destinies”, Sloth explained. “So all the chaos?” I begin. “Completely staged. These brats who think they are the best are going to leave school realising they peaked and fall to the obscurity they so rightly deserve”, Sloth said with venom dripping from his voice. “I am aware how this will sound coming from me. But we do not like nor tolerate slothful students”, Sloth said sardonically. I, along with the others, was stunned and confused. “But yoush are meant to teash shtudentsh”, Quexly shouted. “And we do, but some students will never learn. We identify them in the first month and set loose a Dark Mage on them”, Professor Yuu explained. “But this is disruptive to other students”, Alora protested. “Is it though? Our attacking mages never harm other students. They ensure no work is destroyed. Professors even make sure any experiments that may be ruined are protected”, Professor Alex explained. “If anything, many students feel motivated to improve all the more to stand above this outside threat”, Grund, the combat teacher, added finally speaking up. “Indeed, we see an upswing in grades whilst doing these things”, Sloth nodded. “So we are to be Halloran’s cronies as it were?” I asked. Halloran nodded. “Bully them, punish them at every turn. Make their lives as difficult as possible if you are ever confronted, act ignorant. Worse case, they follow you, and we can pretend you were mind-controlled. Works every time”, Halloran said. So much for a quiet year was all I could think as I accepted the prefect's badge. At least I would get a bunch of extra credit points for this.