Christmas Eve at

Luiz’s Old-Fashioned Café by Joseph Morris

Old Town, New Arantes City, Jandira, Kuat Star System 24 December 423 SF Since Jandira's Founding j Old-Earth Christmas background music combined with the comforting fragrances of garlic and oregano to greet customers entering Luiz’s Old-Fashioned

Café. A holo of a red sleigh pulled by nine reindeer hovered over the dance floor. Every few minutes, the sleigh’s sole passenger changed from the North American Santa, in his traditional heavyweight red suit, to the New Brazilian Papai Noel wearing a lightweight red silk outfit. A live evergreen-like Christmas tree decorated with shiny baubles and red and white striped peppermint candy canes graced the right corner of the broad entrance area. Brightly wrapped presents for a planned after-closing staff Christmas party lay piled at its base. To the left, a long Earth-mahogany bar with four live human bartenders catered to a crowd that came for conversation, drinks, and some of the best food in New Arantes City. Live human servers were part of the Café’s lure. Anabel Alencar-Smith sat at a small table off to one side of the main room with her soon-to-be-husband, Lucas Andrade-Oliveira. She lifted her wine glass to her lips to mask her scrutiny of her future husband. To an outsider, the two looked pretty much like a typical couple. Some might consider Lucas a little old for her but that wasn’t uncommon in the twenty-eighth century. With lifespans extending into the third decade past one hundred, a difference of fifteen or twenty years was not considered an issue. Furthermore, Lucas didn’t have a reputation as a dabbler of women, no less, younger ones. More importantly though, few would dare risk the wrath of the Patriarch of the Oliveira Family, probably the most powerful crime family in Portown, by whispering unsavory rumors about him. Anabel shrugged. In the long run, it didn’t really matter what these Humans thought of her or her relationship with Lucas. She was a Human-Pheryl Marge and eventually all these Humans would be serving her. After all, Humans were just foodstock. She recoiled at that thought. She was losing her humanity as the Merge progressed and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. < Deal with it. You’re a Merge. > Messages like this from her Pheryl half were becoming rarer as the Merging continued. Pheryl and Human were becoming inseparable. Part of the unstoppable Merge process. She gulped down what was left in the glass. For a moment it seemed like swallowing the last of her humanity.

She sighed and signaled to a live waiter for a refill. Tonight, she was playing the role of Lucas’s love and future wife. She wore what had been for centuries called that “little black dress.” Materials and style changed over time with various fashion fads but someone from the twentieth or twenty-first century would have recognized it. To keep up appearances, she had chosen a mixture of modesty and a flaunting of her feminine assets. The dress’s transparency nanos that could expose various parts of her body on command were not activated except where modesty was not betrayed. Bare shoulders exposing smooth, olive-ebony skin. A demure cleavage suggesting the size of her ample bosom without being blatant about it. A dress length emphasizing her long legs but not so short beyond what some considered as good taste. Nudity taboos were a mixed bag on Jandira. It seemed like the further you were from Portown, the greater the taboo. Undyed black hair and no contact-lens-enhanced dark eyes complemented her modest approach. This had to be an outfit befitting the future wife of a Family Patriarch. Maybe she exposed more than the recently deceased Matriarch Sylvana would have revealed, but then again, she had more assets to display. She hid a grimace from Lucas behind the refilled glass. Feeding off her Tia (aunt) Sylvana had been necessary but distasteful. Distasteful? That’s all the indignation she could muster? How far she was falling. Her task on Jandira was to engineer the collapse of the Jandiran government, but her success largely depended on the continued maturation of her Pheryl. She had left New Berwick before she was ready due to the urgency of the High Priestess’ vision of the timelines. Fortunately, here on Jandira, the Family proved quite efficient in disposing of bodies, thereby allowing her a full feeding from which her victims didn’t survive. The feedings matured her Pheryl enough to soon allow her to insert a splinter into Lucas. A splinter: a small portion of her Pheryl transferred to Lucas’ brain to ensure complete, unwavering obedience with no chance of betrayal. The splinter allowed her to monitor all of his intimate thoughts and emotions and then easily project hers to become his. Inserting a splinter into Lucas was a bit of risk because it was difficult to mask its vinegary presence in his aura, even with the new mental stealth protocols developed by the High Priestess.  Still, it would take a deep taste to get to the Pheryl essence. That is, of course, if Humans could actually taste auras. And that was the crux of the issues with High Priestess’ visions: what these Jandiran Humans were actually capable of.

Lucas dutifully smiled back at her with the look of an older man completely flattered by the attentions of a younger woman. Exactly as she wanted him to appear. She had used her Pheryl abilities to help Lucas shore up his position as the de facto head of the Family. Whereas, in the past, his critics would have had to be eliminated, her Pheryl mental abilities enabled her to change their opinion of him. Fewer bodies to be disposed of and less risk of police involvement. Even some of Lucas’ most fervent opponents now believed he was the one to lead the family. However, some were too intractable and had to be eliminated. One of those had served the dual purpose of another feeding for her.

“Lucas! Nice to see you!” a gravelly voice called out. A short, stocky man, accompanied by an older-looking portly woman, strolled to the table. Marcos Barros, Mayor of Old Town. Anabel relaxed. A Lucas ally . “Good evening, Mayor. Natália,” Lucas said, rising to take the other man’s hand while sporting a warm, artificial smile. He bowed to the Mayor’s wife and kissed the back of her hand. “You’re looking exquisite tonight, my lady. Merry Christmas to both of you.” Natália blushed. “Merry Christmas to you too, Senor Lucas.” She turned to Anabel. “And who is this?” “May I present Anabel Alencar-Smith? A recent arrival from New Brazil who has captured my heart in a short time. We plan to marry in the spring.”  “Your Honor,” she said in a put-on, uncertain voice, extending her hand to shake his.

“Your Honor? Don’t be so serious? We’re all friends here, senhorita.” Marcos took her outstretched hand and kissed it. “Recently arrived from New Brazil?” Natália asked. Anabel pretended to shrink before the older woman’s frank gaze. “Yes, senhora,” Ana replied. “From Juiz de Fora on the southern continent. You wouldn’t have heard of it. A small farming village of less than a thousand, destroyed by a failure of a dyke during a hurricane.” “And what brings you to Jandira?” “A new start, my lady.” “Why not go to one of the larger cities on New Brazil like New Brasilia? Why come to a new world?” Natália asked. Anabel shrugged. “Like I said, I wanted a new beginning.” Short for “I had some trouble on New Brazil I wanted to get away from.” Natália nodded understandingly and smiled a suitable artificial smile. “Well, my dear, if you ever need any help with introductions or to adjusting to life here, Lucas knows how to contact me.”

Anabel tasted Natália’s aura. Duplicity. No real intent to help there. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Oh, not my lady, my dear, Natália is fine.” She turned to her husband. “Let’s leave these two young people to enjoy each other. Besides, I’m hungry.” Season’s greetings were exchanged again, and the older couple turned away. As they walked toward their table, Anabel probed them again. Nothing unusual about their auras. Meeting little resistance, she pushed inward.

She tweaked Marcos’ attraction to her as a beautiful young woman to allow him to be influenced through simple flirting. A manipulation accomplished without the need for any real pressure. He would be willing to help her in the forlorn hope of bedding her. Deep down he knew he would never have the courage to take advantage even if he had the chance. The fantasies of an older man given a little push. She moved on to the woman. Natália’s comment about helping Anabel had been political fluff. Anabel located the woman’s motherly instincts and pushed gently. Natália was now firmly imprinted with Anabel. Like her husband, simple influence not requiring distraction and much pressure. Natália would take Anabel under her wing and introduce her to Old Town society. Both of the Barros had been influenced just enough to eliminate any doubts about Lucas’ new consort. They now accepted her as who she said she was. A useful night, so far. Sometime later she would “recruit” them to worship the Goddess of Pherylahn. A local congressman and his wife strolled over. Another ally. A couple at the restaurant entrance caught her attention. Jandiran Investigations Bureau (JIB) Special Agent Ruan Beça with a stunning-looking woman in her own fashionable version of a black dress clinging to his arm. Anabel scowled. She had been warned about him. She reached out to the woman and probed. His wife, Melinda .

A JIB analyst! Were they here on business? A thin tendril wafted through the restaurant. Someone was tasting the crowd! Was that the jib? No sense taking a chance. Keeping hidden was the priority, even though finding out more about his abilities would be helpful. If it was him. She pulled up a protective mental block and activated a trigger. She was simply now Anabel Ella Alencar-Smith, an innocent immigrant from a small village completely overwhelmed by the attention of a man as powerful as Lucas and feeling desperately out of place in such a fine restaurant. She knew nothing of Pheryls. And hopefully the vinegary taste of a Pheryl was masked. Old Town, New Arantes City, Jandira, Kuat Star System 24 December 423 SF Ruan stepped through the heavy wooden restaurant door, holding it open for his wife. As he followed her in, he scanned the crowd with his Portal. A brief whiff of vinegar! A Merge? So brief. An actual taste? Or just his imagination. Damn! This was supposed to a quiet, romantic Christmas Eve with his wife at his favorite restaurant. Even though the Oliveira family sometimes seemed to hold court here, that was a fact of life in Old Town, with its proximity to Portown. Besides, he occasionally picked up a tidbit of intelligence while dining here. Before he could scan again, Luiz spotted him and ambled over. “Senor Ruan, nice to have you back. Merry Christmas.” He turned and bowed to Mindi. “Senora, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Luiz,” Mindi replied with a broad smile lighting up her face, her chestnut brown eyes warm at seeing the old restauranteur. “Give my love and best wishes for a Merry Christmas to Adelina and little Luiz Junior.” Luiz’s face reflected Mindi’s warmth. “I will. Your table is ready.” As they were led to a table off to the side, not far from the bar, Ruan reached out through his Portal again. No vinegar and no telltale indigo in the blue and yellow human auras. The table gave Ruan ample view of the restaurant’s patrons without putting him front and center. As soon as he was seated, he tasted again. The Pheryl essence was still gone.

“Hon, what’s the matter?” Mindi whispered after they were seated. “You almost jumped out of your skin when you walked through the door.” “A wisp of vinegar,” he replied to her question.

He sighed as he regarded his wife. As a JIB special agent, it wasn’t surprising she noticed his reaction. There was nothing wrong with her security senses. She was also on the Pheryl Joint Task Force and aware of Pheryls and Portals. The two of them were adapting to his Portal and the ramifications to their relationship. She was slated to get one, but exactly when was uncertain. She was a trained interrogator and was looking forward to the help a Portal would be in verifying the veracity of a perp’s testimony. That was the one thing she was allowed to do with a Portal during an interrogation under Duke Kaiden’s

Directive . A fine balancing act between constitutional rights and security. He reached out again, an allowed cursory taste of the surrounding auras. Nothing. “Pheryl?” Mindi whispered, keeping her voice soft and unconcerned as if in a romantic exchange with her husband. “Here?” She kept her eyes locked on his.  “Nothing now, but when we entered the restaurant. It was so brief I could have been mistaken. Damn, I hate this Portal stuff.” “Why? We use it responsibly to protect this planet, and Humanity.” She grimaced at her rote recitation. “The incongruities and inconsistencies. Two wrongs never make a right,” he muttered. Surreptitiously tasting someone’s thoughts and emotions even with a warrant didn’t seem right. Even if the enemy was doing it without restrictions. “And one unanswered wrong definitely doesn’t make a right either,” she replied. “You can use your Portal to taste the crowd in this restaurant for a vinegary essence and check their auras for telltale indigo, but not go any further without a warrant. We do it by the rule of law. The Pheryl don’t. And we don’t use Portals to influence others’ thoughts.”

Yeah. She’s right. There’s no other answer to the Pheryl threat except the Portals, a gift from a billion-year-old species. As for tonight, was that vinegary essence ever really there or had he imagined it? He visually scanned the room. There was Lucas Andrade-Oliveira, head of the Oliveira Family, but that wasn’t unusual. Alongside him was Anabel Alencar-Smith. He was aware of her, a new player who had appeared out of nowhere to become Lucas’ companion and apparent lover. She had been investigated, cleared, and yet, here she was, at the same time as a whiff of a Pheryl. He wanted to taste and dive into her aura but because his scan of the room had found no anomalies, the

Directive  allowed no further action .

Anything further would require him obtain a warrant from the PISC (Portal Intelligence Surveillance Court). Ruan grimaced.

Now that he was on the Pheryl Task Force, he was dealing more with that damn classified court. He had hoped because of the high planetary security risk posed by the Pheryl,  the PISC would be more friendly toward the intelligence and police agencies, but Kai had taken the lessons from the twenty-first century and made sure it was independent and rigorous in its application of the law. That was both good and bad. Good, if you took an overarching view of the Portals and their constitutional freedoms implications. Bad, if you were a cop or security operative working in real time. A warrant was needed to taste Alencar-Smith’s aura in depth but he lacked Probable Cause. Besides, getting one on Christmas Eve? Yeah, right.  Mindi placed a hand on his. “Okay, husband, what’s going on?” He carefully used his eyes to indicate a couple at a table across in the opposite corner. “Lucas Oliveira is here with Anabel Alencar-Smith.” He stopped as the waiter walked up with a bottle of Capelli Farms Chianti. “Merry Christmas.” “Our favorite. Please tell Luis thank you.”  “The Alencar-Smith woman. I thought you did a DNA scan on her.” “Yeah. But it was a remote DNA scan of her and probably not reliable enough to check for Pheryl DNA. We have so little experience in this area,” Ruan pursed his lips. This is war, not just some criminal activity. How could he just let this go by? Alencar-Smith superficially resembled the Merge they were chasing. With disguises using DNA sculpturing how could he be sure this really wasn’t the one? But without Probable Cause he couldn’t get a warrant. He could go ahead and probe Alencar-Smith more deeply. No one would know. But if he probed and discovered she was a Pheryl, what could he do about it? He couldn’t tell anyone without admitting he violated the

Directive . He probably could find a way to secretly incriminate her. He sighed. Then was he any better than the Pheryl? Isn’t that what everyone was worried about with the Portals? The temptation? He looked over at his wife.

She took both of his hands in hers and gazed into his eyes. “Don’t do it,” she whispered. “Do it right, Ruan. We’re JIB special agents sworn to uphold the law. We can’t be like them.”

Damn the way she always seemed to read his mind .

Did she already have a Portal? It certainly seemed like it. He sighed and squeezed back. She was right. For now. She erupted into a brilliant smile that should have lit up the entire room.  “Chill out, Hon. It’s Christmas Eve. The kids are at Grandma’s. We have a res at the Planetary Empire Inn. Let’s enjoy it. I wore this dress to package my Christmas gift to you.” Her smile morphed into something more sensuous and her eyes promised a reward later that night. No need of a Portal to interpret her thoughts. She definitely wasn’t in her official special agent mode. “I wore it because it allows you to view parts of my present while it’s still wrapped. Better yet, it allows your gift to be easily unwrapped when the time is right for unwrapping.” He blushed and gulped his wine.


“Why Now?” The first time he tried to come back into her life, Rebbecca was eight. Eight years old, but had lived a hundred with the beatings of her and death blows dealt to her mother; emotional scarring, like a cat scratch healed white on her arm, but never fades. He’d been in prison since she was four, and the memories scared her to the point where she had wet her pants. He wanted to see his daughter, but for reasons that were selfish. He figured if he inserted himself back into her life, he wouldn’t be bogged down by child support. It doesn’t work that way, the social worker tells him. He could see Rebbecca on the social worker’s terms, not his. So he disappeared again, leaving her to wonder if it had been a bad dream. She had lots of those – waking clutching her stuffed piggy, soaking wet from tears and sweat, heart thumping so hard she could hardly catch her breath. Every few months, waking in a different place, with different people who were only too happy to have her so to cash the check that paid them for keeping this broken child. Foster care they called it. Always lots of kids, but always so alone.

She was 10 when he came to the newest place, bringing dresses that were three sizes too big which she would never wear, or stuffed animals that would be taken away the minute he was gone by the foster monsters. He would ask if she wanted to come with him; she would just stare at him with her big blue eyes, begging him silently not to ask her that. The social worker, always in the background, would pipe up and tell him that is not an option. He visited two more days, but then was gone like a plastic bag twirling away in a dust devil, leaving her in relief but still very alone with the memories of a man who changed her life every time he saw her. In her solitude, at 13, she became a voracious reader. Anything she could find in a school library or the book-mobile that came once a month. Rebbecca learned the term “estrangement,” and thought that was what had been going on with her father most of her life. The dictionary became her best friend.  She was a good student, always at the top of her class. Her teachers praised her, even though she never truly felt it was deserved. The thing about being a foster is that no one really cares what she does, as long as she keeps quiet, does what she’s told and they keep getting their money every month to lavish on their “own” children. The other thing that she did quite well was swim. She was allowed to be on the swim team, excelled in the 300 medley, and gathering up first place ribbons that she hid inside a ratty old Converse shoe box. When he came again just before she turned 17, he had actually called the social worker and asked what I was like, what did I like to do or wear so he could try to get it right this time. The social worker told him that his daughter got high marks in school, loved to read, on the swim team, and was happy in t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers. She was not into makeup, or girly-type things. So when he approached her at the latest foster home, he told her that he was proud of her. Those words made her feel sick, and she didn’t know why. It was a mix of butterflies in her stomach plus the urge to throw up. Rebbecca had always wanted to hear that from someone who knew her, or possibly loved her, but it could not be him. Love was an unfamiliar word, as was the feeling. She remembered she loved her Mom, but could not feel it. Her father came to see her every day for the next week, bringing her new books, new shirts, and new shoes. He watched her win another ribbon at a swim meet, and clapped louder than any other parent there. It was a peculiar feeling; not quite happiness, but not sadness, either. She wasn’t sure what she felt, but whatever it was, it started to spread throughout her chest to the tiny, closed-off heart. Rebbecca asked her father after the meet why he clapped. He told her again that he was very proud of her, and by the look of his soft gray eyes, he meant it. He had to leave again, and this time, the first time, her tiny heart ached. He said he would be back soon, that he had to finish doing a few things that he hoped would make her proud, too. She wanted to tell him she hoped so too, but the fear was too strong, so she kept silent. True to his word, her father did come back after a few months had gone by. He told the social worker that he bought a house that was close, and wanted to visit more. The social worker told him that it appeared as though he was finally getting it right, that finding roots and a meaningful relationship could only strengthen his appeal to the court in order to finally get his Rebbecca back. But being a longtime member of a club she never wanted to be in, the foster system, it was all she knew. She still had bad dreams, still could see the giant monster that was her father covered in her mother’s blood when she was that knobby-kneed little girl hiding in the closet. Could she ever trust him? A month later, before the judge in Family Court, Rebbecca’s father laid out all the things he has been doing for the last 5 years. Having a steady job with benefits, paying the State for his daughter’s care, and buying his first home. He wanted to give her stability and not have to worry where she would have laid her head down next. He had tears in his eyes, and told the judge that he had so many regrets in his life, that he was a changed man, and could give his girl all she needed. Rebbecca sat in the back row of the courtroom, listening and trying not to hold her breath. She was hearing things she had always wanted, but still had that deep seated fear down in her soul. The judge then looked at her and asked if she had anything to say. After taking several deep breathes, she stood and faced the man who had destroyed her entire world so long ago. She had a thousand questions swirling around in her head, and trying to grasp at the very one that meant the most.

As she started to speak, she stopped, remembering that word, “estrangement.” He had drifted in and out of her life like a firefly on the breeze. He had never written letters or sent birthday cards. She never knew when he would show up, or the reasons why each time he did. He never once said he was sorry for doing those horrific things to her and the terror he caused when he killed her mother.

All those feelings came rushing like a river overflowing the banks that kept it reigned in. She was three months from turning 18, had earned scholarships to an Ivy League school, and plans that didn’t have him in it. That tiny heart ached once more, squeezing tight as she trembled, and she said two words: “Why now?” She then turned and walked out of the courtroom, into the warmth of the golden sunshine, and came to the realization of estrangement. It’s a two-way street, and she’s left him at a dead end.


## Home for the Holidays Snow crunched beneath my feet as I walked through the streets of my old neighborhood, my mother’s words from earlier that evening echoing in my head: *If you’re not my son, and you’re not my daughter, I don’t know what you’re doing in my house.* The Christmas lights, cheap, tacky, and beautiful, seemed to wonder the same thing. “Go back to the city,” they blinked on and off, never in-between. “Change isn’t welcome here.” “But I haven’t changed,” I wanted to say. “I haven’t.” But it was too cold to stop and argue. I had to move on. I didn’t mean to end up at Maggie’s Diner, but my feet had to take me somewhere, and there was nowhere else to go. I’d grown up with the owner’s daughter, Jess, and we’d spent a lot of time in that diner. But that was six years and a gender ago; Maggie wasn’t likely to recognize me like this – not a man, but certainly not the girl her daughter used to hang out with, either. A bell on the door jingled the same familiar greeting as I entered the diner, which was empty save a few homeless people at the counter. It was Maggie’s tradition to stay open on Christmas Eve, even though few paying customers came in, and to give the homeless a hot meal and an escape from the cold. A familiar voice caught me by surprise. “Hello, stranger, what brings you here?” I turned to a smiling Jess who, besides the uniform, barely seemed to have changed, herself. *Strangers, is it, now?* “I’m just passing through. I thought I had some family here, but I was mistaken.” “Oh. I see. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Take a seat, and how ’bout I get you some hot cocoa?” “That sounds perfect,” I said, taking a seat and picking up a menu so shiny it could have been a mirror. *Finally, something different*, I thought, but as I looked it over, I realized that despite the new look, it hadn’t changed, either. Jess returned a few minutes later with the hot chocolate, topped with toasted marshmallows just the way I remembered. Something, at last, to bring a smile to my face. “Do you see anything you like?” she asked. *I like you, Jess. I always have. But you wouldn’t like me if you knew who I was.* “I’ll have the turkey dinner.” “Comin’ right up,” she said, then flitted off. Just as I was enjoying the silence, the jukebox started up – *All I Want For Christmas Is You.* As far as Christmas songs go, not bad, but I was hardly in the mood. Jess returned and sat down at my table, in the booth opposite me, with a hot chocolate of her own. “So, where do you call home?” She hadn’t changed a bit – as forward as ever. "I live in San Francisco." “San Francisco? You don’t sound like you’re from California.” “Well, no, I didn’t grow up there. I moved there.” “Why?” *Why? To get away from here.* “I guess I felt I’d fit in better. In a big city, I mean.” Jess nodded. “I know what you mean. I don’t exactly fit in, myself.” Maggie approached with a tray. “Here’s your turkey dinner, and I thought you might like another hot cocoa.” “Ma,” Jess said, “you forgot to toast the marshmallows.” “Toast the marshmallows? What on Earth are you talking about? The only person I ever toasted marshmallows for was that girl you had a crush—” Her mouth dropped. “Victoria?” “It’s, um, just Vic now.” I looked at Jess. “You knew?” “Of course I knew, you idiot.” “Does this mean you’re into girls?” asked Maggie. “Ma!” “Well,” I said, looking at Jess, “you’re a girl, so I guess the answer is yes.” She blushed, and suddenly all her other blushes made sense. How had I missed so many signs growing up? What else had I missed? “Well,” Maggie said to Jess, “it seems like you finally got that Christmas present you always wanted.” And I had, too. “Being wanted,” I said. “is the best present I could have ever hoped for.


I opened my eyes and saw I was in a deep cave. Not some dark hole in the ground but a place full of light and beauty. A lush garden at my feet and a glow above me, melted together in the soft calm. I walked forward through gentle grasses that moved with me, while leaves fell silently at my feet. There was sound here but I couldn't quite hear it- a whisper just out of reach. I came to the centre of the cave, to the edge of a perfectly still lake. I knew She was there but I couldn't see Her at first, not until I peered over at my reflection and saw Her image smiling next to me. "You're here." Not a question. A quiet, gentle reminder of something long forgotten. "You knew I would come here." I heard the accusation in my voice. "Yes." Her smile was kind but edged with sadness. "I had hoped you wouldn't. But too many do." We stood in silence for a while, looking over the glassy water. Finally I turned to face Her and saw Her gazing mildly at me. "You have something for me." When I didn't answer She gestured to my hands which I still held tightly against my chest, hiding the tiny life I gripped. "You have carried it a long time." I looked down and opened my clenched fists a little. The life fluttered briefly and became still again. "It's too heavy," I sighed, "and it's too great a responsibility for me to hold. Will you take it from me? Just for a while?" She sighed too and smiled sadly at me. She held out Her hands and waited for me to pass it to Her. But I hesitated. "Will it be safe?" "None but you may take it back." "Can I retrieve it whenever I want?" She thought a moment and then replied, "Yes. But the longer it stays here, the harder it will be to take it back." I glanced down again, but it didn't move. "Did I... did I break it? It's so still." "It is tired. But it lives." All at once I opened my hands and flung it to Her. She caught it easily and cradled it lovingly against Her own chest, whispering soothingly to it. I thought I heard it sigh. "I was too hard on it." I said, bitterly. "I can't care for it anymore." She nodded and gave me another kind smile. "I will hold it for you until you come to reclaim it." "And if I never want it back?" She gave me a long look and then asked quietly, "How do you feel now? Relieved of your burden?" I held out my empty hands and gazed at them. For the first time I saw how scratched and bruised they were. "I feel... nothing." I admitted. "I thought I would feel lighter. But there is just emptiness." Her smile was sad again. "This is the heaviest burden to carry. But without it there is nothing. It will be safe here but it will not thrive. Neither will you." I was so tired and turned quickly to leave, but looked back briefly to see Her still watching me. "It was too heavy you know." As I walked away I heard Her say quietly, "You didn't have to carry it alone.


She was beautiful. Not because of how she looked, but because of who she was. I walked beside her, watching as her face lit up in awe. That scene was far better than the Christmas lights we had come to see. I wanted so much to reach out and take her hand in my own, to tell her that I loved her and that I never wanted to leave her side, but I couldn’t. Real life was never as simple as the stories in the books that I had eagerly consumed since I was a child. I still knew too little. In a book, an author who knows the beginning from the end guides their characters through a number of challenges to an ending that will ultimately be satisfying to the reader. This generally means a happy ending; that no matter how dark the story gets, there is promise of resolution and happiness on the horizon. I, in my life, have no such guarantee of a satisfying ending. It's like the world was trying to set me up for heartbreak. That’s not to say that I was excessively worried for my future. The thought of ending up eternally alone and lonely occasionally kept me awake at night, but I never truly believed that it would happen. I knew myself, and I knew that that very fear that kept me awake would act as a driving force, causing me to make sure that my fears never become a reality. I knew that I would someday find someone who I wanted to be with and who would want to be with me. I knew that I wouldn’t stop trying until I succeeded and, in this world where quantity always seems to be chosen over quality, that was the best way to guarantee success. Not giving up. I also knew, however, that the odds that I would end up with this girl, this amazing, beautiful girl who now stood beside me, were very low. And somehow, the idea of ending up with someone else had begun to scare me more than the idea of dying alone. I imagined a house, a big house in the suburbs. It’s my house. I live there with my wife. I love her. She loves me. Everyday, I get home from my office job in city. My two beautiful children run out to hug me and eagerly share whatever antics happened at school that day. We all sit down for a delicious home cooked meal and my wife lets me know what the youngest –he had just learned to crawl –had been up to. I tell her about the most recent bit of office drama. The two older kids keep throwing in stories of new things they’ve learned, friends from school, and what they did when they got home. We finish dinner. The children help as I clear the table and wash the dishes while my wife puts the youngest to sleep. I go back to the table and start helping my son with his math homework. My daughter lays on the floor and begins to color. I absentmindedly brush my fingers through her hair as I point out where my son made his mistakes. He’s a smart kid, a fast learner, and soon he is done with all of his homework. There’s still time left before the children’s bedtime, so we all gather around the table and play a board game for thirty minutes before sending them to bed. I kiss them both goodnight and turn the lights off. My wife and I go back downstairs. We put away the board game and begin chatting. Neither of us has anything important to say, but we both love the feeling of talking to someone who understands you so fully and loves you so completely that we find things to talk about, even if we know that it doesn’t matter. We sit down on the couch and resume the television drama that we’ve been watching every night. I love the feeling of her warmth pressed up against my own, my arm around her shoulder. After two episodes we retire to bed, eager to wake up the next day to continue the long string of perfect days that had become our lives. That wasn’t the life for me, and I knew it. I returned to the present, to the beautiful girl who was now trying to figure out how best to frame the lights on the tree in front of us through her phone’s blurry camera lens. Seeing her, I imagined a completely different scene. A tiny apartment in the city. It was clean, it had to be considering how few possessions were owned by its two occupants. A small table, two chairs, a few cups and plates, some silverware in the dining room. A bed, a small dresser, and a single bedside table in the bedroom. Shoes were kept by the door. They were all well maintained, but old, beginning to fall apart at the seams. Judging by the size and age of the apartment, their owners couldn't afford to replace them. I was employed at a job I hated, making half as much and having to work twice as hard as I should have had to. The dinner table was strewn with papers from work that I had had to bring home to finish. She hated when I brought work home, but usually she said nothing about it. She knew that I hated it too. She was still at the library, she always had to work late this time of year, and graduate school was hard work. I glanced at the clock, it wouldn't be too long now until she got home. I walked over to the fridge and scanned the paper stuck to it for today's date. I needed to see what rice or bean based meal I have to make tonight. I start cooking. Soon she gets home. We each talk about our day in short, clipped sentences. We are both too tired to hold a full conversation. We finish eating. She prepares for bed as I was the dishes and start going through what work I have left to finish. She goes to sleep, her day starts much earlier than mine and she needs as much rest as she can get. She has tests coming up. I stay up, working, until I can no longer keep my heavy lids open. I, determined not to fall asleep at the table again, quickly prepare for bed and then stumble, as quietly as I can, into the dark bedroom, doing my best not to wake her. All my efforts are for naught however, as I stub my toe against the bed frame and let out a muttered curse. She lets out a little laugh, apparently having been awake since I had entered the room. I whispered an apology as I climbed into bed. In the dark room I could just barely make out a smile on her face before she rolled over and went back to sleep. I closed my eyes as well, ready to fall asleep and begin another difficult, painful day on the morrow. I loved every minute of it. Though I had imagined it, just as I had imagined the house in the suburbs, it felt real. I could feel every bite of poor-man's food as I shoved it down my throat, concerned far more with survival than taste. I could feel every tired keystroke as I worked late into the night. I could feel every hour of lost sleep and every tired muttering as I struggled to say something intelligible. And, for just a moment before I snapped back to reality, I could feel the warmth of her sleeping body pressed up against my own. Every pain, every difficulty, every inconvenience, I felt them all, and they all felt like steps on a path to greater things. Our dreams would one day be reached, and then every effort we had made along the way would be completely worth it. And, if not, if the worst happened and our dreams were never achieved, if we were never able to move out of that cramped apartment, if I was never able to get a better job and she was never able to finish school, if that all happened, then I would have to consider myself blessed to have traveled the painful path to nowhere with her by my side. The big house in the suburbs seemed like the worst punishment Hell could offer in comparison. I returned to reality and glanced at the beautiful girl walking just a half-step ahead of me. I longed to take her hand in mine, to tell her of the beautiful visions I had seen, and to ask her to help me make them a reality. But I couldn’t. She didn’t see the world the way I did. She didn’t see me the way I saw her. That fact was so clear that even I, a generally oblivious person blinded by love, could tell. The fact that we were together this night, just the two of us, was enough of a miracle that I worried even the slightest of moves to try to make it anything more would shatter the fragile bubble of wonder that surrounded this night. She turned towards me—God, her smile was beautiful—and spoke. “Well, I think it’s about time I head back, see you later!” I smiled and, waving, said my goodbyes. Inside I was dying. I watched as heaven slowly disappeared from my view. Once I could no longer see her, I turned walked back into my unescapable daily hell.


I have been working as a housekeeper in this hotel for almost 5 years now. This was the last room that I had to clean before my shift got over and then I’ll go back home to my son, I thought. Managing time between home and work is tough for a single mother like me. I feel like I am always in a rush. In a way this is good as I become more efficient and have fewer things to worry about. I stood outside the room and checked the sheet, to see if the guest had checked out or not. The sheet said that the guest had not checked out so I rang the bell. Nobody answered the door for 4 minutes, so I followed the general protocol and used the master key to open the door. As soon I opened the door, I smelled the smoke of cigarettes. The smell of smoke always makes me remember my time when I used to smoke a lot, drinking scotch and weed almost everyday. I slowly entered the room, and walked across the restroom. What I saw really shook me. I saw a man wearing a grey suit outside the window section, who I believe was about to jump to end his life. I was in room 503, which meant the 5th floor of the building. I quickly needed to do something. I said “Hey Sir, Is there anything I can help you with?”. There could have been something better to say at this point I guess. The man didn’t respond. “Can I atleast get your name?” I asked. “Robert”, He quietly said. “Any moment now..”. I moved close to the window section to look down, to see the height of the fall. The window section was directly above the entrance of the hotel and there were a few people standing there probably waiting for the cab. Probably that is why he didn't open the door as he would have been waiting for the crowd to clear. “I am Lisa”. I didn’t know what else to say. You don’t get trained for this while pursuing your housekeeping course. “Lisa, I didn’t want to put you in this situation. You can go out and pretend that you saw nothing.” Robert said. I could do that, I thought. But I won’t be able to pretend that I didn’t know anything and couldn’t try to save a man’s life. I needed to buy some more time. Get him to talk. I need to know him in order to help him. What has made him think about such a horrible decision. I saw a pack of cigarettes on Bedside table. I grabbed it, and found 1 cigarette in the box. I asked “Do you want to smoke your last cigarette? Might help you numb your feelings”. I took out the cigarette and lighter and went close to him to pass them. I saw his face. He didn’t look nervous or scared. He had a clear face with no expression at all. It felt like he was certain about his decision. He seemed hungover yet calm and was constantly looking down, waiting for his right moment. It felt like he didn’t like me for staying there as I was invading his personal space. I passed the cigarette and the lighter to him. He put the cigarette into his lips with one hand and his other hand was holding the wall. I waited for him to light the cigarette and his first puff. I then asked him “Why are you doing this Robert? What is making you do this?”. I waited for half a minute for him to say something. He ignored me as if I wasn’t even present. I tried persuading him saying “You know, the crowd might take some time to clear and you should smoke this cigarette to the last puff. So while you are here let's make this less awkward”. Robert took a deep sigh, looked up straight to the opposite building and said “A month back my girlfriend left me. We were supposed to marry this month.”. I remained silent as I remembered my own past. “I had so many plans for our future. The trips that we’ll go to, the house we’ll buy… Now everything is ruined.” he continued. Robert looked like a fine gentleman and I couldn’t control myself asking him “Why did she leave you?”. He smirked, took another puff of cigarette and said “I really don’t know why she broke up with me but all I know is she found a new guy.”. I believe people who commit suicide are somewhat selfish. They think about themselves more than others. How their parents and friends would feel when they hear the news. Sometimes, people should see their lives as third person, and analyze their thoughts and mistakes they are making. In the current situation I didn’t know what to say to him. Should I just ask him to “move on, you’ll find a new partner”, or “she was a bitch, don’t take your life for her”. I really didn’t know. I just went with saying “Life is full of possibilities Robert. You shouldn’t give up on yourself. Maybe this is not the end of the road. Maybe it’s the starting of a new road.”. On hearing this, he started looking down again. He replied “Maybe this is just my end of the road. I truly loved her. I believed we were soulmates and were going to live happily ever after”. Well, I find the concept of these soulmates truly absurd. These are just man made stuff like casteism, religion and others in hope to keep ourselves happy. As stupid as this sounds to me, it is manipulating a man taking his own life. Pathetic. I asked him “And why do you think she was your soulmate... your true love?” He said “It's not about what I think, It’s about believing. I felt special around her. Our likes and dislikes matched most of the time. Also people used to call us that all the time. That we are made for each other. A perfect couple.” I explained it to him saying “I really know how you are feeling. I believe this concept of finding one’s soulmate is just over hyped. These movies, songs, fairy tail stories corrupt our mind into believing them. They are to blame for all the heartbreaks and crying.. They are all just liars.. ” He interrupted me furiously by saying “Maybe you believe it's a lie because it didn’t happen to you. And how the hell would you know how I am feeling.” I understood his bitterness. It’s hard for anyone to listen to conflicting beliefs. Beliefs that we learn from our childhood, from our parents and society. Beliefs that are buried deep inside our mind and develop an idea of a happy and beautiful life. A similar thing happened to me as well, I remembered. I also had the same beliefs and believed that me and my husband will live happily ever after. I wanted to tell him that he is not the only one going through this. It happens everyday. Such beliefs which worked for someone may not work for you. Finally I gathered courage to tell him my story. I told him “Guess what! My husband left me, just after 6 months I gave birth to our son. I also believed that we are made for each other, and will have a complete family. But it didn’t happen.” He turned his face towards me and looked me in the eyes for the first time. I saw his forehead getting wrinkled as if he had a million questions for me. His anger boiled down and politely asked “why did he leave you?”. I moved close to the window section and glanced down. The crowd below had moved out. I observed his cigarette was half over too. I had to change his mind before the rest of the half got over. I told him “He found a new girl. A younger and prettier one. We were in love for 7 years. Well, I think so that we were in love.”. We were both quiet for some moments. I think he understood that we both are in similar situations but our reactions are quite different. Well maybe he won’t jump If I make him remember his loved ones. People who are worth living for, I thought. I said “You know, in such depressed times your loved ones can help you a lot. I had my son in my weakest moments. I had to live for him.”. I waited for him to talk about his loved ones. His family, siblings, friends, someone to live for. But nothing came out of him. I looked around for any note, that he might have left for his loved ones. I couldn’t see any such letter. Then I asked him “Usually people who commit suicide, write a note for their family and friends. Don’t you think you should do something to tell them that you loved them, for the last time.”. He slowly said “I have no one.”. I saw his eyes were watery. He was probably missing moments he spent with his friends and family. I asked “Not even friends?”. He said “My parents died a year ago in a car accident. All this time I was so much focussed on my profession and my relationship that I forgot to make true friends and spend quality time with my parents. I worked really hard to get my dream job you know. For 7 long years I worked there. And a week ago they kicked me out because I wasn’t performing well.”. I realized that we would spend most of our lives making money, having a good lifestyle, running this race with no finish line. Most of our time we spend to impress others, to uplift our social status. I told him “Maybe in the end it doesn’t matter on what you spend your life on but on how you spend your life.”. “I guess so”, Robert replied. I realised that all of Robert’s loved ones are gone. He is directionless and aimless. His pyramid of having a good life has fallen. He spent all his life making money so that he and his family would live happily. But when his family was gone, then he had no interest in making money. And now he feels worthless. Also, putting all this effort and facing a rejection from his girlfriend, has pulled him down further. I am lucky to always have someone in my tough times which wasn’t the case with Robert. I said “Before giving birth to my son, Zack, I used to smoke a lot. Almost a pack a day. After my husband left me, I got used to smoking even more. So much that 2 months ago I was diagnosed with lung cancer. And doctors said I have around 4 - 5 months left. So I just try to cherish each day of my life, as I get to see him growing up”. I realized smoking cigarettes was more or less like a suicide. A slow suicide perhaps. Suffocating myself in the smoke, so as to live the present and forget the past. Unknowingly I was also taking my own life. “How old is he, your son, Zack”, Robert asked. I replied “He is 3 years old now.”. Robert asked with a lumpy throat “What will.. What will happen to him, when you are passed?” I said “I have looked for some orphanages. I believe Angel Guardian Home is good.”. He asked “Shouldn’t you be spending time with him rather than working here?”. I replied “I want to make sure I could earn money as much as I can for his education and other needs”. I sensed his caring attitude towards my son. He took the last puff of the cigarette and started to put it out. I took a pause as I wasn’t sure about my next statement. I asked him, “Do you want to take care of him when I am gone? He is a very sweet child. Perhaps you won’t feel lonely around him”. He looked at me with tearful eyes. I smiled at him and continued saying “All you have to do is take the leap, either this side or that side of the window.” Robert looked down for a few seconds, and then at me. He looked down again at the disposed cigarette and said “It's quite strange. The cigarette which has almost taken your life, has saved my life.”. My eyes were full of tears too. He started slowly moving to the open window so as to come in. I was relieved. I said “Indeed. It’s astonishing”. He came inside. Took some time to clear off his tears. Still, I could see some tears in his eyes. He said “Thank you for clearing up my mind... Would you like to grab a cup of coffee ?”.


As I came out of the toilets into the hall, music was blaring, lights were dazzling I wondered where my husband was. He was always the center of attention, drinking too much, laughing and having fun with everyone. Although not model handsome, he was definitely handsome, without a doubt. I smiled to myself, thinking how much I loved him and our little family. We had a nice house, horses, dogs and all the things I had wished for, growing up. I was a Southern country girl at heart and he was a Northern country lad. We had met through horses, it is what we had both done for a living before we married and had children, he still had a career riding and selling horses and I had, had kids and was struggling to stay thin and look beautiful. All in all it was pretty good but sometimes I wondered about the pretty girls in tight jodhpurs that giggled and flashed their perfect white teeth at him. I guess before we met I was one of them, adoring and besotted by his charm. He was a cheeky chappy, forever young and nothing was a problem kind of guy. Talented beyond words on a horse, which meant he could cajole any old nag to jump hedges, go over ditches and parade around like an Olympic showjumper. Then sell them for thousands. I was slightly envious to be honest but very proud of my hubby. His name is Ward. Mine is Rose. I am quiet and a great pretender. I pretend to be someone but feel like no-one special. Just a mum and wife, but I try to be a good one.

Amidst the noise and lights, I can feel a presence. Ward is walking towards me and by his side is one of those girls, the teeth flashing, young, thin, big bosomed. Need I go on! type. They are so close, I can see electricity bouncing off them. He came over flushed not hiding the excitement he was obviously feeling. I felt my body inwardly shudder, my heart seemed awkwardly heavy and I forced a smile. He was like a puppy dog with two tails I thought nastily. “Rose, meet Pen, sorry Penelope” “ Wow, you’ve already got nicknames” I said sarcastically, Oh my, I thought, I actually said that out loud. Ward shot me a harsh look “Hello Penelope” I said with a gracious smile. “Hello Rose, we have just been admiring your horses in the field” What the hell I thought, admiring my horses at 10 pm at night. Who the hell is this jumped up, snotty nosed, skinny assed, horrible, horrible woman. Suddenly, a man stood up and beckoned everyone over for the raffle to begin. I made a bid for freedom excusing myself and sprinting for the ladies. Telling myself to breathe slowly, The wine must have rushed to my head, why do I feel this panic, I had never seen my husband like this before. There was body language so intense, that I could not bare. I sat on the toilet seat feeling a desperate sadness.   That's it! I told myself. Many had warned me, I had always thought it was too good to be true. The handsome talented guy, wanting me. Why was I so stupid, why and what about the kids? Do I leave right away? What actually was my husband doing out in the field with another woman? Big, huge tears fell from my eyes. I could hear cheers outside in the hall. "Come on", I told myself. I opened the door and went to the mirror. Washed my face and looked at my reflection. My eyes flashed even more green than usual in a slightly crazy way. I gave myself a smile, whispering to myself ”Please, be cool”. As I came out, Ward was sat, next to Penelope, again strangely too close for comfort. I sat opposite, they carried on giggling. Anger filled every part of my body, I had on rather old fashioned leather stilettos with a point as hard as nails. With all my might I kicked out striking my victim right dead on the shin. “What the” Ward loudly jumped, then stopped himself. “I want to go” I said “I don’t” he answered in a defiant tone. “Are you serious, what is going on” I said softly, with no hesitation or care, he muttered “You can go , if you need to get back for the children” Fuming I jumped up, glanced at the grinning Cheshire cat beside him, had she put a magic spell on him? What was happening, how had we gone from the perfect couple, I admit, maybe not perfect but to nothing in one night. I got in the Range Rover, slammed the door. Tears streaming, hands shaking, disbelief at what was really happening. All the way back, I took my pain out on my poor Rangy, shoving and grating gears. Speeding, breaking and then finally skidding on the gravel yard, little stones flying up chipping the paint work. I didn’t care!. I put my hand on my head, sobbing uncontrollably. Slowly pulling myself together, I wiped my eyes, looked up at the stairs and the moon. It was a clear night, my Mother was looking after the children, She wasn’t expecting me to be back yet, so I crept to the stable, my horse quietly, whinnied and I buried my head in his mane. Life was never fair I thought. You think you're doing well and then somebody comes along and knocks you back down. No matter how many good years you have, a disaster occurs and blows everything up into smithereens. This was the story of my life and sure enough it was happening again. There was only one thing to do, I rummaged around in my secret old bag hidden under an old horse rug, a flask of port and a rolled up fag . I shuffled down onto a nearby mound of hay, wrapped the old, hairy horse rug around myself, lit the fag and took a drag. The moon was peeping through the open top door, I raised my flask and said “cheers” to my horse and the moon.

I awoke to the sound of giggles and my Mother chattering away to the kids. I smiled with a strange feeling of sadness. Tears fell down my face, I didn’t even know how I had got back to the house. I was laid on the sofa, still in the dress from the night before. Feeling pretty grim, I murmured “I’m going for a shower, you OK Mum” “Hello darling, all fine, are you?” “Not really Mum, but I really need a shower” My mother was the sweetest most treasured person in my life, she came over and said nothing, just gave me the biggest hug. "Ward bought you in last night, he was limping and had a nasty bruise on his shin” she chuckled "Did he deserve it", “I think so”, I answered. Hugged her hard back and waved to the kids with a smile. They had stopped giggling, realizing something was wrong. “Come on let's go and feed the horses some carrots" my Mother said, diverting the children's attention. I ran upstairs fighting back the tears, I turned the shower on, feeling the hot soapy water on my skin, I tried to wash all my toxic thoughts and grubby smoky smells of the night before away.

I suddenly jumped, holding my hands, covering my body. The image through the shower glass was Ward. “What the hell was wrong with you last night?” he shouted. Ward rarely shouted, but when he did you knew he was mad. “What was wrong with you, I’m surprised you're not still in bed with your floozy” “My floozy, whatever do you mean, you crazy woman” “ Sending me home! not coming home with me! you must think I’m stupid, did you both have a good laugh at me, your silly wife?” I gulped, trying to fight the tears back, standing pathetic in nakedness. He started to laugh "You are silly, I would never hurt you, I was excited over selling that old horse for loads of money to Penelope” I flinched as he said her name. “Rose, I could see you were mad with jealousy so I wound you up and played her, I am truly sorry, I should never have done that! I went too far. I have to talk to people to make a living for us but that’s as far as it goes, I promise” I sighed, I had to believe, for the kids, for my world to carry on. I was a little ashamed, I had felt and sounded like a jealous fish wife. I got out and sidled up to Ward, how could I resist this cheeky northern lad who still hadn’t realized how incredibly sexy he was yet. “ You should be sorry! I love you, how's your leg?” I asked with a laugh “You cheeky Mare, Bloody agony! You’ve got a kick like a donkey” he joked sweeping me up his arms.


There were streamers and noisemakers, singing and dancing, the crowd counting down the final seconds until they rang in a brand new year. Ella had never been allowed to stay up to join the New Years Eve celebration before, she had always been shuffled off to bed with the promise that maybe next year she would be old enough. Not this year, this year she had argued her case and to her surprise, her parents had agreed. This year would be the year that sweet, little Ella would experience what she had only dreamed of. She imagined a whimsical night filled with bright lights, glittering dresses, everyone laughing and joyful; she could barely contain her excitement at the mere thought of observing it all. Breathing it in, committing every detail to memory. If only Ella had known that the night she had been waiting for would never arrive, that her entire world would be turned upside down, everything she knew, changed forever. It was December 31st, it was one of those dreadfully deceitful days where you look out the window and see your previously gloomy gray world has been transformed into a bright, sunny wonderland. Only to find that when you step out your front door, the bitter cold slaps you in the face and steals your breath. Ella did not care, today was the day she officially became a member of the "big kids" group, no longer a baby to be teased about her early bedtime. She was determined to have the best day, even if she had to help with the cleaning, it was for the party which meant she would not complain. She hummed one happy song after another as she went about her tasks, giving it her best effort. She was glowing with pride as her mother praised what a wonderful job she had done.  And late in the afternoon, when every surface gleamed and not a speck of dirt could be found, Ella was released from her chores to go upstairs and rest before getting herself ready for the night ahead. She had just settled down onto her bed with her latest library pick, when she heard her mother's phone ring. There was no crash, no explosion, no violent, earth-quaking sign to hint at the events that were currently unfolding. Ella had given her mother's phone call no more than a passing thought before returning to her reading. It was only when her mother called her and her siblings downstairs that she would begin to understand something was not right. Filing down the stairs behind her older brother and sister, it was immediately apparent that whatever their mother had just been told had devastated her. She stood in front of the living room window, broken, something Ella had not witnessed in her short life. Trying to hold herself together to relay the tragic news to her sweet babies, to find a way to explain what she herself could not understand. She embraced her children, breathed them in, trying to gather up her courage. She could see their questioning faces, the fear in their eyes, they may not know what was happening yet but they knew it wasn't good. Several times she started to speak and nearly choked on the words she wasn't sure she could bring herself to say. Quietly, she began to tell them that their father had been in an accident, that he was hurt very badly and he would not be coming home, not today and not ever again. In the hours that followed, Ella would learn that it wasn't an accident that had stolen her father, it was not some unfair twist of fate, it was a methodical, calculated act that had torn her life apart. She would also learn, that her father was not the only one who would not be returning home that day, there would be a total of 259 lives cut terribly short when it was all said and done. A lone bomber, a single perpetrator, an act of domestic terrorism, that's what the news kept saying. Ella didn't know what a perpetrator was, had no idea what an act of domestic terrorism meant. It was all so confusing, her young mind trying to make sense of adult things that adults couldn't even understand. Why would anyone do this? Why did they want to hurt my daddy? She asked these questions over and over again, to any adult that would listen. They kept saying the same things, that the man who did this wasn't trying to just hurt one person, they wanted to hurt as many people as possible, that it wasn't about anything her father had done, that it wasn't really about him at all. To Ella, that didn't make any sense, how could it not be about her daddy? He was the most important person in her life, she could not understand what any of it meant. Her mother did not want them watching the news, she said they were too young to see and hear what the news was reporting but since almost every channel was reporting on what had happened, her mother told them not to turn on the tv at all. When she could Ella would turn the tv on with the volume off and try to quickly absorb as much as she could before shutting it off to avoid getting caught. The news said the man was 43 years old, a father of 2 children, that he had worked as a custodian in the building, that he had been planning and preparing for this for months. Months. That seemed like an eternity to Ella. The entire country was watching what happened, trying to understand what had led this man to commit this terrible crime. In the days and weeks that followed the bombing, reporters would camp out on the lawns of some of the known victims families, bombarding them with questions every time they opened the door. It almost felt like they were the ones who had done something wrong, prisoners in their own home. Ella's mother kept the windows covered, the doors locked, she could barely get out of bed her grief was so consuming. The police had come, like they always did on the tv show when something bad happened. They said how sorry they were for their loss, how much they wish something like this had never happened, wondering if it could have been avoided. She heard her mother ask about the man responsible, they said they couldn't give her anymore information than the news had reported, that it was an ongoing investigation and they would provide answers as soon as they could. Her mother raged at the police, saying she didn't understand why they couldn't tell her anything, that man was dead too. They repeated their condolences and made a quick exit. It had been five days since the bombing, since the world as Ella knew it, had been forever changed. The news showed pictures of the man and his family, played video of reporters trying to get a comment from his wife or asking his children if they missed him. It all made Ella sick, she wanted to be angry at them, the wife and kids of the man who killed her father, but she couldn't. In her heart, she just knew that they were hurting too and that they hadn't done anything wrong. Her mother did not want to hear this, she wanted them to be held accountable, someone should have to be held accountable she would yell, to no one at all. Thirteen days had passed before there was any report about why this man, this father, husband, had decided to carry out this plan of mass murder. The answers came in the form of an external hard drive, discovered in a storage unit rented by the family. The man had recorded a video and then tucked it away to be found only after he had left this world, leaving heartbreak and destruction behind. The video showed a hollow man, spouting his hate and contempt for a world that he believed owed him more than he was given. A man convinced that everything bad or wrong in his life was someone else's fault, he'd been dealt a bad hand and he wasn't going to take it. He showed no remorse, no hesitancy as he spoke, in great detail, about his plans and preparations. He did not apologize for the hell he was going to put his wife and children through, he did not acknowledge them at all. It was obvious to all who watched that he cared about no one but himself, he saw the success of others and not only coveted it but would sacrifice himself to destroy them.  Never again would anyone look down on him, he would no longer be made to feel inferior. This was his moment of glory and he was going to take out as many people as he could. Months spent attempting to build devices that would wreak the most havoc, acquiring knowledge of his weapon and his hunting ground, all leading up to the day when he would walk into that building and unleash hell on earth, what he called The Reckoning. Ella recounted this story many times throughout her life, watching tragedy unfold before her young eyes. She remembers every detail of that day, the clothing she wore, the smell of cleaning solution used to scrub the kitchen floor, the moment she was told that her father would not be coming home. She didn't realize it then but that was the day she lost both of her parents to the same monster. Her father was physically taken, her mother was a different story entirely. Ella would swear that she actually saw the light leaving her mothers eyes, like someone had flipped a switch and her whole world had gone dark. Her mother had always been energetic, optimistic, she made the best of every situation but after that day, that woman was gone. She tried for a while, after the initial shock wore off, but it was just beyond her reach. As time went on, she sunk further into her grief, she could not see beyond her pain and went looking for a way to forget. And forget is exactly what she did, forgot to take care of her children, forgot to take care of herself, forgot everything she could until there was nothing left to forget. The children tried to hang on, they didn't want to lose their mother, but she was already gone. Eventually, when they couldn't hide it any longer, they called for help. When the police arrived, they shuddered at what they found. Three malnourished, dirty, cold children who had been abandoned by the only parent they had left. They couldn't recall the last time they had seen their mother or the last time they had food in the house. Their story could have gotten worse, they could have been separated, shoved into opposite corners of the foster care system never to return to each other but luckily, that wasn't how their story went. Ella and her siblings were in foster care for a total of fifteen days before they were released into the care of their mother's sister. She lived on the opposite side of the country and was unaware of just how bad the situation had gotten. Apologizing over and over for not coming to check on them, for not calling more or demanding their mother let her talk to them to make sure they were ok. She would spend years trying to make it up to them, in any way she could. Money was not something they would have a lot of growing up, their aunt and uncle were not wealthy people. They were hard workers and they loved the kids with a fierce and unwavering devotion. Ella often wonders what life would have been like if the events of that horrible day had never happened or if her mother had somehow managed to pull herself out of the dark and love her children. Maybe there would have been another event that had led to a similar outcome or something even worse. There's no way to know, life is an inexplicable mystery that no one has yet to figure out. Tragedy has a ripple effect, there may have been 259 bodies laying lifeless that day but the total number of casualties is truly immeasurable. Unfortunately, all too often, history is made by extreme acts that are rooted in pure evil. Children are forced to witness the worst this world has to offer and somehow overcome all of that without being weighed down by the choices of those who came before. We are not responsible for the actions of our fathers but we are often held accountable for them regardless.


I woke up to the noise of heavy breathing that my 11-year-old younger brother, Aryan made. Every time he wakes up with heavy breathing and sweaty face, meant that he saw the same nightmare. Waking up like this, he would remain upset the whole day, probably searching for the meaning of it. As an elder sister, I am always concerned about his mental health. I have asked him about his dream on many occasions, and he always has the same answer, “I saw a woman screaming as if she was dying”. He started seeing this dream when he was 4 years old. He ran from his bed to our mother and hugged her like he always does, waking up like that. I wonder how terrifying it would be while dreaming like that. Horrific, or maybe this is one of his tricks to get attention from others. Thinking all this I went to sleep again. Later in the morning, I went down to see my dad and uncle Vinod. Uncle Vinod, My Dad’s younger brother visits us every day after the morning jog. He loves us a lot and often brings me and my brother gifts. He lives alone, as his wife, my aunt Megha died long back. My dad thinks that my uncle feels lonely, so we decided to move to a place closer to his home, to which we will be shifting today. It would be even more fun if he agrees to live with us, rather than living alone. I believe it's hard to live alone, no one to talk to, no one to tell how your day went, no good or bad news to share with. A pretty boring way to live I guess. Later that day, when we were shifting luggage to our new home, I slipped on the floor, while carrying a carton full of old papers to my parent’s room. Suddenly, when I was putting all the old papers back into the box, I found a medical report that stated an abortion that my mother had 13 years ago. I am 15 years old, so the report was 2 years since I was born. I was shocked to see that and began to recollect any memories of that time. But I couldn’t recall anything. Maybe I was too young at that time to remember anything. My mother called me from the dining room “Riya, is everything okay there? I heard some noise.” I replied, “Yes all good here. The carton box fell by mistake” My mother said “Okay, come to the dining room quickly. Dinner is ready. We can do this later.” I took a photograph of the report while searching for anything else and replied “Yeah, coming. In a minute.” With all the doubts jumping in my head, I sat with my family at the dinner table. I thought If I should ask mom directly what was the report all about or should I chose to avoid the awkward encounter. My dad started the conversation saying, “Does anyone remember how long we lived in the old house?” Aryan quickly said, “Oh! I know that. We shifted into the old house On 2nd June 2011. So, we lived there for 9 long years” Neither mom nor dad was sure about the date too I guess. Dad said, “That’s right, We lived there for 9 years. I miss the old house.”. Aryan is good at recalling distant memories, that are like his superpower. I asked him “How do you remember it so correctly ?” Aryan replied slowly, “I don’t know. I just remember... everything.” While the usual family conversations were going on, I thought it’s better to investigate about the abortion report myself rather than asking my parents. Anyway, in the end, I can ask my mum. I discreetly opened my phone to check the photograph and saw that the abortion was done at Apollo Hospital. I began to wonder where I was born, so I asked at the table “mum, dad, in which hospital was I born?” Mom replied, “At the Apollo Hospital. Why do you ask?” I replied, “Nah, just curious”. Aryan said, “I was born there too, right Mom?”. I replied, “Yes, you were too”. Later at night, while going to sleep, I thought Apollo hospital can be a good starting point. But why did my parents choose to abort a child? Maybe I’ll find something out from the records at the hospital. But the staff won’t give that information away just like that, I needed a contact. I remember my friend, Abha, mentioning that her elder sister Monika works there as a receptionist. Maybe she can help. The next morning, I contacted Abha for Monika’s number. I contacted Monika on call and explained to her the situation. She told me that they may find some information from the records but it can be risky for her job if anyone caught her. After understanding the seriousness of the issue, she finally got convinced. She told me to come to the hospital at 8 pm, as all the staff goes for dinner at that time, and would be least risky to check records at that time. Later that day, I reached the hospital and waited quietly for Monika to call me. Monika called me up saying “Riya, come here, quickly” I rushed there and told her “check the records for Reema Khatri“, which is my Mom’s name. Monika typed it in the records and told me “There are 3 records by this name”. I replied, “That should be correct, 1 abortion and 2 should be of me and my brother.”. She seemed surprised to hear that and said, “No, 1 record is by your name and the other 2 are abortion”. I was stunned to hear that as there was no record for Aryan’s birth and by the news of another abortion. Monika asked, “Your brother must be born in some other hospital”. I replied, “I guess so. Can you tell me the dates of the records”. She said, “The first one in on 23rd July 2005, when you were born. Second on 18th Feb 2007 and the third one on 19th April 2009”. I was completely puzzled, as Aryan was born on 23rd April 2009. The only explanation that came to my mind of this was that Aryan was probably adopted. I asked, “Monika, did they mention any reason for abortions?”. She replied, “Nothing as such. But both the fetuses were female. At that time, around 10 years ago, the abortion policies were not strict. Many people used to abort a female child, as you know the culture here in our country. Maybe this was the reason.” “Okay. Thanks a lot”, I said and left with a million questions. Nothing made sense anymore. I was baffled. I couldn’t believe my parents would opt for abortion. I felt like I didn’t know my parents as a person, who they really are from inside. And why do parents in my culture still prefer boys over girls? It doesn’t happen in other countries like the United States. We all want our country India to be progressive, but how would it progress if our mentality is not developing. In our minds, we are still old fashioned and believe in caste, religion, gender discrimination. I thought my parents were better than that, better than the rest of the outdated mentality of society. I guess I was wrong. They were also a part of the same society, another brick in the wall. I walked down from the hospital to my home, thinking if I should tell Aryan that he is adopted or not. I concluded that It would be better to let him know. He should know the truth, no matter how hard it is to swallow. He is strong and will take it positively. I reached home and went straight to our room and told him the whole thing, about the abortions and how he can be adopted. I regretfully told him, “So, I think you were adopted, because mom had the abortion around the same time you were born.”, I said. “If you want we can try to find your biological parents”. “I know that. I also know who my biological parents are. Well, you know them too.”, he replied. With all my confusion I asked, “Who are they?”. He replied, “Uncle Vinod and Aunt Megha are my real parents. She died while giving me birth.” I asked, “Since when do you know it?” He replied, “I can recall every memory since I was born. I checked online, It said I have this condition called hyperthymesia.”. “Is that why you have that same dream. Is that woman Aunt Megha in your dream?” I asked. “Yeah, It’s her. I hear the screams she made while giving birth to me” he replied.


I rubbed my eyes, but the genie was still there when I opened them again. His bulky, dark blue torso originated from a trail of smoke wafting from a broken lamp on the ground. "Oh, it's you. You poor soul." The genie said as he looked me over. "I suppose it's only fair I offer you the same deal." His massive figure was stooped over, and his eyes were downcast. I was running late to my own engagement party. The rain was pit pattering on the sidewalk as we stared one another down. My mouth was hanging wide open, as I struggled to believe what I was seeing. "Here are the terms." He said finally. "You're twenty-eight now, correct? So you'll be ten years old after the reset, if you choose to accept. You'll keep all your knowledge and memory, and the decision is irreversible." He scrutinized me with his large, pupiless eyes. As if assessing me, trying to guess how I might respond. "It is no understatement that your life's course will irrevocably changed. Think carefully - are you happy with things as they are?" I gulped. I've read about these hypotheticals on internet forums before. "You've got 10 seconds to respond. Do you want to turn the clock back eighteen years?" ****** I woke up in class, and blinked. A flood of memories came rushing back to me. I was sitting in my fourth grade classroom. The walls looked incredibly tall, like I was seeing the world from a much lower angle. I looked down, and saw two tiny, meaty hands attached to a pudgy set of arms. The genie's spell had worked. I pumped my fist and silently mouthed "Yes!". Ideas raced through my mind. This was my chance to fix everything. As soon as class was out, I ran to the library, but found myself wheezing before I even made it halfway. I went through a long pudgy phase as a child that had lasted until college. I had little luck with women, and my self esteem had shrunk as my gut grew. When I finally got to the library, I logged into a computer and searched for little league Football teams. In the years to come, my decades of being a sports fan combined with the youthful years I could now spend conditioning my body placed me at the top of my high school football team with ease. At the same time, I tried to convince my dad to buy Amazon stock. He was impressed with how much I knew about the company as a ten year old, but skeptical. "I've been caught in that trap before - the market's still not fully recovered." He argued. "And besides, what is 'Cloud'?" Money had always been tight around the house when I was growing up, and now that I was armed with knowledge of the future, I was determined to change that. I pre-recorded a few CNBC TV segments and left them playing for my dad to see when he got home, and after a few weeks, I finally convinced him to dip his toes in. The first few shares he bought quickly began to climb in value, whetting his appetite and persuading him to take out a large loan against our house to buy more. I felt briefly sorry for my mom as she chewed him out for taking such a huge risk, but the anger quickly dissipated as their investment quickly doubled, then tripled. By the time I was winning back to back state championships in high school, our family had rapidly climbed the socioeconomic ladder into the top 1%. As an awkward kid riddled with anxiety and ADHD, school had been hard for me. In my past life, I had barely managed to graduate, and the only school that accepted me was a local community college. In this life, I was confident, popular, and my family could easily afford my medication. I graduated with a perfect GPA and a sports scholarship to Harvard. There was nothing I could want for during my second go at being a teenager. I dated multiple girls just for fun, and lost my virginity at age nineteen instead of twenty five. However, when I was alone in bed at night, my dreams were still filled with memories of my fiance. When Facebook came around, I immediately made an account and looked for her, and was disappointed to find that she wasn't on the platform. Every year, I would search again, until her profile finally popped up in my sophomore year of college. Time froze momentarily when I finally saw her face again after nine years. She was as beautiful as I remembered, and I couldn't wait to meet her. Then I had a sickening thought. Nervously, I scrolled down her profile, looking for her Relationship Status. The display read back "No Info". I thought about sending her a message, but stopped myself, and closed the page. She had a life before she met me, and following her this closely on Facebook felt wrong. It reminded me of a story she told me about a guy who stalked her social media accounts on a daily basis, regularly sending creepy messages until she blocked him. The stalker had no profile picture, and constantly asked her to go on a date with him, stating that if she "just gave him a chance, he could make her happy." I shuddered at the thought of becoming like that stalker, and decided to wait until we met in person to talk to her. In my past life, I had an idea for a software business that I thought would change the world. When I graduated from the community college, I was nearly penniless. But instead of looking for a job like my parents recommended, I decided to take out a loan to start a company with a few friends. The idea had some legs, but I had no connections and no experience. After a few years of floundering with little to show for it, we shut the company down. It was that fateful day when I was sitting in a cafe, worrying about how I was going to pay my debts when she walked into my life. In this life, I was a Harvard student from an affluent family. I chose to major in Economics, and quickly introduced myself to every Computer Science student on campus. Before long, I put together a team and secured funding from a group of professors. We launched our product in my Senior year at Harvard, and by the time I graduated, our platform had over million users, and Forbes called me "The Most Promising Young CEO of This Generation". In the years following Harvard, our company grew exponentially, and my stake in the business increased in value to several Billion dollars - with a B. My parents were proud, but I didn't get to see them much, nor did I have much time for relationships. But every now and then, I would still check on her Facebook profile, just to make sure. Each time I looked, her Relationship Status displayed the same thing - "No Info". So when the day came, I gave my security detail the day off, flew into the town I lived in during my past life and waited at the same cafe where my fiance and I had met. I made sure to arrive a few hours early, just in case the timing wasn't perfect. I remembered exactly how our first meeting went - our gazes had met across the room. She was in line, and I was sitting at my table. She smiled at me, momentarily washing away my worries about my debt and my failure of a life. After she got her drink, she sat down and we talked the afternoon away. A few of the best years of my life later, I got down on one knee and put a ring on her finger. The wedding was two weeks away when I encountered that genie on the sidewalk. My daydreaming was interrupted by the door swinging open, and my fiance walking in. She looked exactly the way I remembered on that day, down to the white blouse and the straw hat with a pink ribbon, a smile plastered across her pretty face as she talked to the man she came with. The man she came with? I ducked behind my coffee, and peered over the brim at them. The man was tall and lanky, a thick scraggly beard wrapping around his chin. Their gazes were locked on one another, as if everyone else was just a background character. A million thoughts raced through my mind, and I dreaded the worst. Then he leaned in for a kiss, and to my chagrin, she smiled and returned it. Then the barista called them to pick up their drinks, and I began to pack up my things, hanging my head in defeat. Then she called out my name. "It's you!" She exclaimed, as she scurried towards my table. "You're the CEO of that startup!" I nodded, and tried to play it cool as I sipped my coffee. "Sorry, I'm a bit of a fan of your company's work." She said, extending her hand. "I'm Melanie." I shook it, and refrained from bursting out that of course I knew who she was. That I had thought about and missed her touch for the last fifteen years. That her hand felt so right in mine. "Nice to meet you." I said with a polite smile. I found myself at a loss for words. Fifteen years, and I didn't know what to say to her. I remembered our last conversation well - it was about her engagement gift. She wanted to know what it was, but I refused to say - she would just have to wait until the party. These thoughts triggered a flood of memories. Since I never arrived at that party, she never got to see her gift. "Um, is everything okay?" Her voice snapped me out of my misery. I realized my eyes had become moist, and quickly wiped them dry. "Yeah." I responded, clearing my throat. "So Melanie, what do you do?" It turned out that in this life, she was an Executive Assistant - otherwise know as a Secretary. It just so happened that I found myself unable to handle my own schedule anymore, nor perform any administrative tasks. So I took a perfunctory glance at her Linkedin, and then offered her a job, which she quickly accepted. "By the way, this is my boyfriend. Jacob." She said, gesturing to the tall man behind her. He smiled at me nervously, and shook my hand with a sweaty palm. Being a minor celebrity in this life, it was common for people to be a bit anxious when meeting me. In the years that followed, Melanie worked tirelessly to ensure that I never had to worry about any task or issue below my paygrade. I found myself relying on her more and more, and our friendship began to grow. I did my best to keep it professional and respect her boundaries. One night, as we were working past midnight, she quipped that I had become her "work husband". In a moment of panic, I promoted her to an project manager role, ensuring that we would no longer see each other daily. She was overjoyed, and we celebrated with a round of espresso shots and the last bag of kale chips. I had to push her away. It pained me too much to hear her say my name and the word "husband" in the same sentence. I should be her actual husband, and yet her relationship with her tall, bearded boyfriend had blossomed, and they were set to marry in a few months. "By the way, we're having an engagement party tomorrow." She said, artfully tossing the last kale chip into the air and catching it in her mouth. "It's a small guestlist. Jacob wanted to keep it down low. But you should totally come." I realized then that I was approaching the turning point - tomorrow was the rainy night in my other life that I ran into the genie with the broken lamp. Perhaps it was fate that their engagement party was on the same day that ours had been. After much internal conflict, I drove to the toy store and bought a giant shark plushie - the same gift I'd gotten her in the last life. She was deeply afraid of sharks, and so as a sick joke that was perfectly in line with our relationship, I had bought her the plushie for her to cuddle with, and face her fears every night. Keeping with my practice of amending the mistakes of my past life, I had my limo drive me to her engagement party instead of walking, saving the shark plushie from getting drenched in the rain. She greeted me with a bright smile and a peck on the cheek when I arrived. Then I showed her the gift, and her expression turned to shock. "Did you guys plan this?" She asked, after a few moments of pause. I shook my head, confusion darting across my face. "It's the same gift that Jacob got me." She said. "Like, a carbon copy." It took me a few seconds to register her words. Then I recalled the first words the Genie said to me. "Oh, it's you. You poor soul. I suppose it's only fair I offer you the same deal." The words caught in my throat, unwilling to face the horrifying reality, but I forced them out. "Hey Melanie." I asked. "Do you mind if I ask what he got you for your last birthday?" Her expression changed from distress to joy, like she was recalling a sweet memory. "It was super cute. He created a treasure hunt around the house, with each clue leading me to a gift. Hey are you alright?" I wasn't alright - I felt like keeling over. Running my hand through my hair, I asked "What about the year before that?" She laughed nervously. "What's going on? Trying to get inspired for someone special in your life?" Jacob appeared at the door behind her. He started to speak, but then his eyes skirted from her, to me, to the shark plushie I was holding. His expression formed an "o" shape. I looked at him, and felt a wave of fury washing over me. "Let me guess what it was." I said softly. "A watercolor set?" He looked like a deer in headlights, and she looked like she had just seen an incredible magic trick. "Yeah, that's right." She replied. "But how did you know?" "Maybe you told him at work?" He said quickly, trying to avoid meeting my gaze. "Let's get back inside, honey. It's cold out here, and we've got guests." I grabbed his arm, and squeezed hard. My high school and college years of playing football in this life ensured that he could not break free. "Stop it, you guys. What's going on?" Melanie was looking at me, then him, then back, searching for answers. Neither of us said a thing. I looked at him expectantly. He looked back at me pleadingly. "Why don't you tell her?" I said in a low voice. He shook his head. "Please." He whimpered. "You have everything. You spent these years bettering yourself, but all I have is her. All I ever wanted is her." "That makes two of us." I roared, charging into the house and knocking him into the wall, sending both of us tumbling to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, but I caught his ankle and pulled him down. There was a rush of feet as the guests crowded around us, phones filming away as a well known billionaire tackled a man at his own engagement party. "That stupid fucking genie." He yelled as kicked at my face, landing a few blows. "Of all the people to give the second wish to, it had to be you." I pulled him towards me and held him from behind, preventing him from moving. "Tell her." I hissed as I tightened my grip. "Explain what you did." A pair of arms pulled at me, and I turned to see her face close to mine, soaked in tears. "Please, stop." She said. "Let's talk this out. I don't understand what's wrong." "I should have shattered that lamp... into a thousand pieces." He croaked in short gasps of air. Then I remembered. The lamp. I let go of him, and he fell to the floor, wheezing for air. I turned to Melanie. "It's gonna sound insane." I said. "But you'll understand soon. This guy was your Facebook stalker in a past life." I ran out the door, and found the rain coming down in buckets, utterly drenching my clothes and hair. I ignored it, making a mad sprint down the road towards the street lamp where this all began. Through the wall of rain, I made out a glimmering on the ground. I stooped over and picked it up, and felt its cold metallic sting my skin. Though my hands were frozen from the cold, I began rubbing the lamp vigorously. "Come out. Please." I screamed. A pair of hands shoved me from behind, and I fell face forward. The lamp fell from my hands and clattered to the ground, shattering. I spun around and clocked him in the face, knocking him on his behind. The blood from his nose mixed with the rain streaming down his face. I grabbed his collar, and wound up for another punch. "Greetings, mortals." A deep voice boomed from behind. Slowly turning, I came face to face with the genie that I had met eighteen years ago. His deep blue skin shimmered under the street lamp's light, and seemed unaffected by the downpour. He towered over both of us, like a god speaking to his creations. "I see things have not gone according to plan." He said, looking at us with pity in his eyes. "For either of you." "Please, genie." I said. "Grant me one more wish. Undo all of this, and reset things to the way they were before." I dropped Jacob, and crawled towards the mythical creature. The genie furrowed his brow. "So you would give up all of your wealth, and return to destitution? Relinquish the memories of a happy and stable childhood, exchanging them for your old life of failure?" He asked, and I nodded vigorously. I no longer cared. Eighteen years of prosperity was not worth losing the two years of bliss I had with her. He seemed to think it over, but shook his head. "I cannot grant another wish to the same mortal." He said. "I'm sorry." His expression seemed downcast, but then he saw something behind me, and his eyes lit up. I turned to see Melanie standing there, her tears mixing with the rain drenching her face. "What on earth?" She whispered, seemingly in a daze. "These men have fought two lifetimes to be by your side." The genie explained, gesturing towards me. "He was meant to marry you in a past life." Then he pointed at Jacob, who was lying unconscious on the ground. "While that one pined for you from afar. When he found me, he asked to have his life reset by eighteen years. He used that time to carry out a meticulous plan to win your heart." Melanie's face was inscrutable as she took all of this in. "Then you gave him the same wish, right?" She said finally, looking towards me. The genie nodded. "Jacob mimicked everything I did." I said. "Down to the same birthday gifts. The man you've been dating was a copy of me." I slowly walked toward her, and took her shivering hand in mine. "Unfortunately, human." The genie interrupted. "Her feelings in this life are not for you." Her expression betrayed the truth. She looked at her feet, avoiding my gaze. My heart felt like it was dropping into the soles of my shoes, and disappearing into the ground below. "I love Jacob." She said, her voice cracking. "At least, I think I do. I don't know what to believe anymore. This is all insanity." She buried her face in her hands, and sank to the ground. "Fortunately for you, woman." The genie said. "My wishes come in threes." He placed an enormous blue hand on her shoulder. "Tell me what you wish for." Melanie wiped the tears from her eyes, and looked at me. I smiled weakly at her. I had accepted my fate. Whatever she decided, would be the life I had to live. My vision began to grow dark. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words were inaudible. I leaned in, trying to hear her, but felt the strength being sapped from my body. Then, darkness. *** I was late. I checked my phone again, and saw my Uber was still ten minutes away. A slight drizzle began to pit patter on my skin, and I looked down worringly at the shark plushie I was holding. My phone buzzed with the alert of a text message. It was from Melanie.