I take a sip of my beer and watch as the man on the TV has a mental breakdown. Tears stream down his face, and he sobs uncontrollably. I had thought watching a character drama would make me feel less alone. Maybe the urge wouldn’t hit me so hard. Maybe I could fight back. But it’s happening again. Bringing my hand up to my head, I feel the cold metal of the neural implant. The buttons wait patiently, and my brain longs for me to press them. I squirm on the couch and take another sip of beer. No matter how much dopamine I give myself through movies, food, drinks, or video games, my brain constantly wants more. It’s like there’s a hole in my soul that needs to be filled by my implant. I need it. But I had promised myself I wouldn’t use it again. I had seen videos and read essays about implants. It would keep me from wanting to meet new people. It would make me want to stay on my couch and watch TV all day. It would make me miserable for the rest of my life. The articles online suggested that I find a focus group to help me with my problem, but I refused. I’m too cowardly to talk to other people about my problems. It’s much easier to sit at home and let the implant keep me company. I feel for the button under my hair, but I stop myself. Would it be worth it? I keep pressing that stupid dopamine button over and over again every day. I promised myself I would stop. I wouldn’t be any happier if I did it, and I might even feel more miserable. That’s not what I want. I want to be happy. I want this feeling of loneliness to go away, which is why I got the implant in the first place. Every time I press the button that fills my head with dopamine, I’m not alone anymore. For as long as I press that button, I’m happy. But am I really happy? If it doesn’t last, can I even consider it joy? What’s the point of happiness that fades? I don’t want that. I want to always be happy. I don’t want to have to hold a button down to keep the happiness flowing into my brain, like holding a key on the piano to stretch out the note. Even if I hold it down, it still fades after time. That’s not happiness. Yet I still feel the urge. I want it. I need it. I keep telling myself it's not worth it, but my brain doesn’t listen and keeps shouting at me, urging me to press that stupid button and flood my mind with chemicals. I long for it. My mind starts to come up with excuses for allowing myself to do it. It’ll only be this one last time. I don’t have to do it again afterward. Just once more. Then, I can go about my life, ignoring the metal machine surgically implanted into my head, forgetting it’s there, and pursuing happiness in other ways. I reach my hand up again, but I remember this isn’t the first time I’ve told myself that. There have been many other “last times.” Yet here I am. I’m still hooked on pressing the button and making myself feel good. Why can’t I just be happy? It seems that everyone is except me. The man in the movie is saying the same thing, crying out in anguish and frustration. Why? Why couldn’t he be content with his wife? Why couldn’t he stop drinking? Why couldn’t he just be happy? Now, his wife is gone, and no one can help him. I squirm again on the couch. The man in the movie is eyeing a bottle of alcohol. I feel my implant, which is a big mistake because the urge to press the button only gets stronger. I long for it. I need it. Just this once couldn’t hurt, could it? It would only be one more time, feeling the pleasure course through my body and filling my mind, replacing that gaping hole in my heart called loneliness that I seem to be the only one suffering from. It would be ok. Right? But I had been over this before. I shouldn’t. I can, but I shouldn’t. The ads for the WonderTech brain implant are very deceiving. They convinced me that it would solve all of my problems, turn my life around, and put a wonderful smile on my face, replacing the existential dread that haunted me day after day. I could be as happy as the people in the commercials. There have been many lawsuits against WonderTech for false advertising, and I am considering adding myself to the list. Despite what some believe, the therapy business has exploded since implants emerged. I don’t have a therapist. I’m broke. Heck, these movies I’m using for therapy are almost too much. My journal is helpful, though. It’s affordable, and I can discuss all my problems without facing anyone as their gaze pierces my eyes. I like it. That’s good; thinking about other things distracts me from my implant and makes me forget about the strong impulse to press that button and hold it for as long as I can stand. But realizing what I’m doing brings me back to my implant, and the impulse returns, stronger than ever, causing me to squirm on my couch some more. Crap. I grab the armrest to keep myself from reaching up to my head. It’s not working. But then again, nothing has worked for me so far. Everything fails, and I always press that button, no matter how many promises I make or how many things I replace it with. I need to meet new people and form deep, personal relationships with them. I need to cure myself of this loneliness before it gets out of hand, and I give myself so much dopamine it kills me, which has happened to other customers of WonderTech many times before. I need to take care of this. But that can wait. I don’t have to take care of it now, do I? I’ll be ok. One more time won’t hurt. The man in the movie crawls across the room, reaching for the bottle. He grabs it, slowly sitting up and looking into it. Before I know what’s happening, my grip on the armrest releases, and my hand lifts to my head while my fingers feel under my hair for the cold, solid metal of the implant and the rubber nubs that are the buttons. I feel around until I find the right button and press it. The man brings the bottle to his lips and begins to chug the whole thing. I shut my eyes and feel the dopamine rushing through my head, filling my mind with pleasure and filling that void in my soul. My squirming stops. I don’t feel the urge to do anything anymore except to hold that button for longer, basking in the pleasure that rushes through my body, filling my head, drowning my thoughts, and curing my disease, which is loneliness and hopelessness. I sigh and hum. It feels amazing. My stomach begins to churn. It’s the side effect of holding the button for so long, but I don’t stop. I hold the button for longer, and nausea continues to build. My implant lets out a warning beep, letting me know I’m almost at the maximum dopamine level. But I ignore it and continue to focus on the pleasure of the chemical rushing through my head, flooding the hole that once existed inside me. The beeping stops, and the implant activates its emergency shut-off. The dopamine stops flowing into my brain. I don’t feel pleasure anymore. I’m hollow again. Alone. Empty. The nausea has reached its peak, and my body is ready to hurl. I stand and saunter at first but begin running to the bathroom as my nausea worsens and the pressure inside me builds. It doesn’t take long. My apartment is small, and I reach the bathroom in only a few seconds, which is lucky because I am just in time for my stomach to push its contents up my digestive tract, which spills out of my mouth into the toilet. I taste the bitter tang on my tongue and vomit again—my core aches. I hurl a final time and stand in front of the toilet for another moment, ensuring that my body doesn’t want to push anything more out. I slowly stand up, stepping over to the sink. I cup my hands under the stream of water and put it up to my face, washing the strings of vomit off my lips and chin before cupping my hands again and bringing it up to my lips, rinsing out the tang and the extra vomit under my tongue. I rinse my mouth out a few times before looking up at the mirror. I see my reflection looking back. The green eyes are watery. The face is pale. The brown hair is a mess. The lips are quivering. I breathe deeply. In through my nose and out through my mouth, calming my body, allowing the oxygen to flow through my muscles, relaxing my core, and closing my eyes. I feel my lips stop quivering, and I open my eyes again. The same mess of a person is still staring back at me. I take a shaky breath. Why did I do that? It wasn’t worth it, just as I said. I’m not any happier. In fact, I’m not even as happy as I was before, which was pretty hard to beat. The void has returned. I’m lonely again. There isn’t any hope. I’m doomed to live like this forever, always pressing that button, always thinking it will help me someday, feeling good and letting chemicals flow through my head, creating pleasure throughout my body until I vomit, washing myself up in the bathroom where that stupid wretch looks at me with judging eyes. Tears flow down my face. I start to sob, but that sob turns into a scream. The voice from the TV floats into the bathroom. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The tears slow down, and my breathing calms as I inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth, my breath fogging up the mirror in front of me. I trudge back to the couch and plop down onto its cushioned surface. I look at my can of beer and decide not to pick it back up. I wipe the tears from my face. The man in the film wipes his tears as well. I cover my face with my hands. I'm a wreck. I'm a complete wreck of a man with no purpose. I've dug myself into a hole that I can't dream of climbing out alone, but I'm scared of what others will think of me, so I don't ask for help. Why am I this way? Why don't I ask for help? Why must I be so alone with no one to be there for me when I need them? The movie cuts to a new scene. The man wakes up with a tear-stained face and a bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. His sheets are stained, presumably from the whiskey. The man goes to the bathroom to wash his face, cleaning the tear stains off his cheeks. This isn't the end of the movie. It's the beginning. The man's story doesn't end in despair. There is always tomorrow, and with tomorrow comes another chance. Not everything is lost, and he can still make things right if he wants to. I sigh and look around the couch for my phone. When I see it, I pick it up and open it, going to my web browser and searching for implant support groups near me. There's always tomorrow. It'll be ok. I will not do it again. Sitting on the couch, watching my movie, I renew my promises.


The rain thundered outside, echoing loudly off of the tin roof. A steady dripping sound came from the hole in the ceiling, the drops pinging as they hit the bucket. I bundled myself tighter inside my blankets, my flashlight brightening up the blank pages of a book.

I had been staring at it for two hours and flipped through every page, but there wasn’t a single word inside.

The rain picked up, hammering twice as hard against the battered windows. But as quickly as it had picked up, the rain had died down.

I stood up and stretched my sore legs. Running blindly through the rain hadn’t been part of the plan. He knew I couldn’t run to save my life.

I turned out my flashlight since I wasn’t staring at the blank book anymore. I took a step towards the window as something collided with it.

Just rain , I hoped. They didn’t know where I was. Then again, the fact that I couldn’t see anything when I was running didn’t mean that they couldn’t.

Again, there was a thud as something hit the window. I couldn’t mistake it this time. There was something or someone out there. Timidly, I approached the window.

Nothing. Just the hazy outlines of treetops and raindrops falling to the ground far below. Suddenly a face appeared, grinning wildly.

I screamed and stumbled backwards, flailing my arms madly in some pathetic attempt of protecting myself from the person in the window.

Once I pulled myself together, I hastily threw the blank book under the pile of blankets, hiding it from sight. “Oh, it’s you,” I grumbled, wanting to smack myself in the face. Griffon pulled open the window and clambered inside, dripping wet and laughing. “I know I make the girls go crazy, but you shoulda seen yourself!” he said, cracking up all over again as he imitated my freak out.

I chucked a towel at his face. “Dry off. You’re getting the place wet.”

“No, ‘Oh Griffon, I missed you so much’ or ‘I’m so happy you’re alive!’” Griffon teased.

I sighed. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t caught, but next time you come do you think you could try using the door? It’s what a normal person would do,” I added, crossing my arms. “Oh but Marah, we know I’m everything but normal!” he said, levitating a few inches off the ground to prove his point. “It’s Amarah, and does everything have to be a joke with you? I got the stupid book for you. What’s so important about it anyways? It’s totally blank,” I pointed out, fishing the book out of the stack of blankets. “Well then Uh-marah,” he said, emphasizing the start of my name, “The day I stop joking is when I’m dead-,” “Which is going to be sooner than you’d like if we don’t take this seriously,” I finished, finally wiping that stupid grin off his face. “Also, you said the book is blank? This might be a problem,” he said, pausing to think. “Yup, not a single word,” I said, opening it to show him the blank pages. “Ahh! Close it! Close it!,” he exclaimed, shutting his eyes. “What? Are you afraid of a little reading?” I teased.

“It’s part of the Cursed Pages ! You should know by now that Perpetuals like me can’t see cursed objects! Or else we become mortals!” he exclaimed, still terrified to open his eyes. “Oh! Sorry!” I said, immediately shutting the book again and shoving it back under the blankets. “It’s safe to look now.” Gingerly, Griffon peeled his eyes open. He let his levitating body dip back down to the floor. “Geez woman, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me!”

“Jokes aside, what’s so important about this book if we can’t even read it?”

“It belongs to Pliith, but was stolen. I had to get it back. Problem is, Pliith is currently in suspended enlightenment.” he said frowning, looking to me for an answer. I stared back, waiting for him to continue. “What? I don’t know what suspended enlightenment is.”

Now Griffon looked like the one who wanted to smack himself in the face. “Suspended enlightenment is… complicated. It’s something only Perpetuals can do. It’s kinda like sleeping, but you can only be woken up by a spell from our own cursed object,” he explained.

“Then why do it in the first place?”

“It’s a safe haven for Perpetuals, and when we come out, we can gain power. Pliith went in to hide from them. Now they’re onto me, but I don’t think they suspect you,” Griffon said, giving me an encouraging smile. “Yeah, about that…”

“They didn’t see you, did they? Were you followed? We need to move.” “Chill out, it’s gonna be fine. Right now, we should try and figure out how to read this so we can get it back to Pliith and get ourselves out of this mess. This is the last time I’m making a deal with you.” I declared.

“Er- fine. What have you tried on it? I can’t look at it, so this will be all you.” “I’ve only flipped through every page, twice, and tested for invisible ink.”

“And that’s supposed to help us, how?” “Right, magic. What do I need to do to read the book?” I looked up expectantly.

“Let’s see. I think we need to try Pliith’s chant. Stand on one leg, your arms need to be in a ‘T’ pose. The whole time you need to be saying ‘kish winkle jaquwey’.” “Okay then,” I agreed. Hesitantly, I lifted my arms up into a ‘T’, and raised one of my legs. “Um… kish winkle jaquwey kish winkle jaquwey kish winkle-” I stopped when I looked at Griffon to see if I was doing it right. Griffon looked ready to explode trying so hard to not laugh. “That was hilarious! I should’ve told you to hop too!”

I gave him the death stare. “What do I actually do, because I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not spend the rest of eternity stuck in this tree house with you trying to read a blank book.”

“Fair enough. There actually is a chant that I need to perform, but first, you’ve got to spit on it so you can read me the chant.”

“What? You’re kidding.” “For once, I’m not. Say ‘I desire that Pliith be free’ then spit on the book.” “Sure, what do I actually have to do?” “I swear that’s it!” he said, sounded offended. I glared at him, but did what he said. Eventually the book would wield words. With Griffon’s crazy chants or without.

“I desire that Pliith be free,” I declared, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Griffon closed his eyes as I opened the book, and spit in one of its ancient pages.

The effect was instantaneous. Five words appeared on the page in jet black, scribbled ink. As soon as I read them however, they caught on fire setting the book ablaze. “Ahhh! What do I do!” I shouted, the whole book now a flaming mess.

I frantically ran around the tiny room looking for something to quench the flames. All that came to mind was the pouring rain outside. When nothing else came to mind, I pried open the window and thrust the book outside into the heavy drizzle outside. “What’s going on? What happened?” Griffon asked, opening his eyes.. “It caught on fire!” I exclaimed, exasperated. I pulled the book back into the room, charred and soggy. Griffon looked thoughtful. “Probably should have warned you that would happen… oh well.” “You knew it would catch on fire!?” I shouted, sounding more and more incredulous. “It was a possibility but-” “But what?” “Nothing, you saw what it said, right?” he asked, concern creeping into his normally teasing voice. I racked my brains to remember what the ink had spelled before it caught fire. I tried turning to the page where the words had been, but as I expected, the page was entirely black, the edges burnt away.

“I think it said ‘water, stone, frostbite, moonshine, heartshine’” I recited, scouring my brain for any recollection of other words. “Marah-” “Amarah,” I interjected. “Uh-marah, are you sure?” He asked for clarification. “Yup. I don’t know what else it could have said.” “Okay then, it’s a recipe.” “What do you mean?”

“Kinda like a potion. We have to gather all the ingredients, put them together and then we can recall Pliith back,”

I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “You make it sound easy,” I remarked. He grinned. “I make everything look easy.” I rolled my eyes.

“We don’t happen to have any frostbite lying around, do we?” he asked, looking hopefully in my direction. “This is your place, you’d know better than I would,” I pointed out, glancing around at the nearly empty room. The only furniture present was a couch buried under the pile of blankets that had been my hiding spot for the book. There were two square windows, positioned opposite of each other, and trapdoor in the floor that opened up to a ladder that took you to the base of the tree. A tree house. “We’ve got water, stone, moonshine probably means we have to expose it to the moon, heartshine and frostbite might be more difficult, but I’m sure we can manage,” Griffon noted, though he was mostly talking to himself. “I guess we’re off to the Arctic circle to get some frostbite from Diamanda.” “How are we going to get there?” I asked, not able to think of a quick way to get to the arctic. “Teleporting,” Griffon replied like this was common knowledge. “Grab my hands,and hold on tight. I don’t know what happens to mortals if they get lost in teleportation, but let's try not to find out.” “Thanks for those reassuring words,” I said sarcastically. I picked up the sodden book, and tightly held onto Griffon’s hands. Griffon closed his eyes and muttered a few incomprehensible words. Suddenly I felt like I had been tossed into a washing machine on a spin cycle. The world tumbled around me with a dizzying effect, but as soon as it had started, it stopped.

I stood in a frozen, icy tundra with nothing but snow whipping past me. Griffon was already walking away. I jogged up to him.

“Took you long enough. I thought you were gonna puke on me!” he exclaimed. “Yeah, remind me to never teleport again.” Griffon’s hair looked white in the flurry of snow. He grabbed my hand and went barreling into a snowbank in front of us. He winked at me right before he dove into the frigid powder. With no time to argue, or even scream at him, he had yanked me through the wall of snow and into an open, icy cavern. After many near-death experiences with Perpetuals, I don’t even know why I’m surprised by these things anymore. The inside wasn’t just a cavern. It seemed to be crudely sculpted into a kind of foyer-like room. “Excuse me? This palace was sculpted to perfection!” a high pitched, feminine voice screeched, echoing through the ice cavern. Griffon rolled his eyes and shouted back, “Diamanda! We come in peace. We only-”

“What to rob me of my frostbite? Well I can tell you, the only way you’re getting it is if I personally shove it up your-” “We get it!” Griffon exclaimed. “But, can we at least try to negotiate something?” Diamanda sniffed in indignation. “What are you planning to cheat me out of this time? I can already see you scheming. And you keep saying ‘we’. What poor mortal have you dragged into this mess? I sense another mind, who?”

Griffon looked alarmed.

“I didn’t know you could read Perpetual's minds, I thought it was just mortals,” Griffon casually pointed out. “Enhanced enlightenment will do that,” Diamanda’s voice declared.

“You never said she could read minds!” I whispered.

“She can,” Diamanda said as she entered the icy foyer. Her stark white hair was frozen in tight icy curls, her pouty lips were a bruise blue and she had a long, pale face. “Ice to see you again Diamanda,” Griffon teased. She frowned at this. “Who’s this with you? Of course I already know, but I’d rather have an introduction,” “Irrelevant, she’s just-” Griffon didn’t seem to know where he was going. “Amarah is more important to you than you’re letting on,” Diamanda said in a sing-song voice.

Griffon looked like he was trying his absolute hardest to not lose his cool “Get out of his head!” I shouted at the ice witch. However, my head was still spinning with what Diamanda had meant. “How sweet!” she said, squealing. “Wait! Griffon! Don’t!” she shrieked, before collapsing on the ground. I turned back to Griffon. He seemed to be glitching in and out of sight. “Griffon!” I whispered. “Griffon! What’s happening! Are you alright?”

“Yup! Got the frostbite, now let's scram.”

Griffon said, smirking and holding up a glowing snowflake the size of a grape. Then he frowned. “It’s not her I’m worried about though. They’re here.” “Wait! What even happened? How’d you get the frostbite?” I asked, my thoughts jumbled from the quickest encounter I’d ever had with a hostile Perpetual. “It’s been a while since we’ve worked together. Since then, I now have super-speed. What about you?” he asked, grabbing my hands. “Real quick though, we should go somewhere else,” he added, before he threw me back into the spin cycle that was the world around me.

When I regained my balance, I inspected my surroundings. It looked like we were in the middle of a wheat field, muddy puddles of clouded water covering the ground.. Off in the distance there seemed to be a run-down barn, but other than that, it was wheat as far as the eye could see. The sun was dipping below the horizon, turning the clouds cotton candy shades of pink. “You were wondering what happened?” Griffon asked. “Yes! We can’t just storm into a Perpetual’s home and then leave right after they collapse for no apparent reason!” “Fair point. Diamanda kept her frostbite on a necklace. She would be temporarily weakened without it. With my epic skills, I stole it from her, and we escaped. I couldn’t tell you the plan because then I’d be thinking of it, then Diamanda would know the plan, so I had to do something irrational and without thought.” “Isn’t that what you would normally do?” I teased. “No…” he said, looking away. We both laughed. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy my adventures with Griffon, even when most of them are life-or-death scenarios. “Now we just need heartshine,” I said after a while. “Easy. It’s just a confession of the soul. So all you have to do is pour your heart out to me,” he said slyly. Then, mocking my voice he added, “Oh Griffon! I’ve always loved you!” “Oh shut up. We need to get working,”

I stated. “The moon is out, the sun is down, let’s get this over with.” In one of the puddles of water in direct moonlight, we placed a stone and the frostbite.

“Confession time!” Griffon said, doing sarcastic jazz hands. “I guess I’ll start-” I didn’t want to ruin anything between us by a stupid confession. I didn’t even know what I’d confess.

“Is it really necessary to wake up Pliith?” I asked gingerly. “Yes! What are you hiding from me, I wonder,” Griffon said smirking. “Fine! You go first.” “Amarah, ever since I met you on our first adventure, I knew you were a special mortal.” I wanted to roll my eyes, but for once he sounded serious about what he was saying. “Marah, you mean a lot to me, more than I can put into words,” My face felt like it was flaming. I had absolutely no clue what to say to that. “I-uh- wow. Griffon-” “Alright! Enough of the lovey-dovey stuff!” a voice demanded, and it wasn’t Griffon’s. “Pliith has returned!” Standing in the wheat was a glowing man, maybe ten feet tall.

“Thank you Griffon for bringing me back. You have done well. Take your girlfriend here somewhere else. If she’s mortal, they won’t be able to find her. Griffon however, you’ll be on the run for some time. You better get moving. I sense an unfriendly presence nearby.” Griffon looked awestruck. I’m pretty sure Pliith was really big in the world of Perpetuals. “Okay, I’ll uh, do that,” Griffon stammered.

Before we left, I handed the soggy, charred book back to Pliith.

“What in the blazes did you do to it?” he roared. “Just what Griffon said,” I mumbled, looking down. “Hey! Don’t put all the blame on me!” Griffon exclaimed, raising his hands in surrender.

“Relax, I’m kidding. I’m surprised the book is still intact. Thank you,” “No problem. We’ll go now,” Pliith nodded, giving Griffon a thumbs-up. He grasped onto my hands as we teleported back to my small town on the outskirts of the forest we had been hiding in at the start. Griffon looked elated. “We did it! Quick recap of our awesomeness: We stole a book back from some people who are now hunting us down as we speak, set that book on fire to get a magical recipe, took frostbite from the ice queen herself, and summoned the coolest Perpetual back to Earth! Thanks Marah,” he said, waving to me as he walked off into the forest. “And don’t worry about me! Those Perpetual hunters couldn’t find me if I glowed neon green!” “I don’t doubt it,” I smiled and waved goodbye, my heart pounding inside me for more reasons than one. I walked down the sidewalk, pulling my house keys out of my pocket and slipping them into the keyhole. It was good to be home.


It was thirteen hundred hours, time for one hour of recreation for the rehabilitants. There were several rooms fitted with an array of custom weightlifting equipment, state of the art electronic research centers, a fully functional gymnasium that was fitted with an adjacent squash court; though it saw seldom use by anyone aside from the guards and there short lived intermural league. Six task bots flow down the hallway and divide themselves equally amongst the cells. Once the monoliths become stationary, both sides of each cells glass wall, uniformly slides open for the prisoners to exit. The machines wait diligently till the one-hour of recreational time is complete, and the glass doors close, each inmate properly accounted for in their respective cell. The robots then file back to the center of the room where they reform their line and exit back through the large glass door. As the hallway becomes void of all machinery, water jets slide out along the base-circumference of the area. High-pressured air shoots along the floor creating clouds of fine dust particles. In the center of the room a large grate slides open for the water to fall into. The jets then resend back into the walls as the dust settles on the ground. The drain collects no water before closing and becoming flush with the rest of the floor. The prisoners’ quarters are there usual quiet with no irregular disturbances. A dim yellow light projects onto the glass wall of a prisoners cell by the name of John Glad. The main glass entrance to the quarters slides a slot open wide enough for a task bot to glide through and approach the radiant yellow wall. A soft chime rings in John Glad’s cell followed by a female’s voice. “Congratulations prisoner John Glad, you have concluded the remaining time in your sentence and have become completely rehabilitated, please allow the task bot to escort you to your shuttle.” The yellow tinted glass slides open with a task bot entering the cell. The skeleton of John Glad is laid out on the metal bench, his jaw slack as it rests on a wrinkle of his orange jumper. “Please allow me to escort you to your shuttle.” There was no response from the skeleton. “Let me assure you that the outside world is a beautiful place that is very accepting of formerly incarcerated and rehabilitees of the judicial system.” Again, the skeleton lied on the metal bench, unwilling to acknowledge the task bots assuring words. The task bot extends one of his metal appendages and forms a loose grip around the skeletons wrist. “Don’t be scared, I’ll assist you.“ The task bot pulls up on the skeleton, easily snapping off the forearm at the elbows joint. The task bot then exits through the opened glass wall, down the long hall and towards the entrance of the facility. At the main foyer is a large atrium where vehicles pull up to pick up or drop off prisoners. The task bot reaches the exit and pulls alongside a short pile of skeletal appendages. The task bot loosens its grip on the arm as it falls atop the pile. “Make the most of your newly acquired freedom, best of luck.” The task bot then returns to its usual routine. The yellow light that once reflected on the John Glads’ cell fades off leaving his partial skeleton lying in darkness.


"WHOOO, WHOOO!" I could barely make out the distant sounds of the ambulance as it drove in my direction. I was dripping wet with sweat and my whole body ached. "Lord, please don't let me die," I whispered in prayer. That was the first prayer I had managed to get out since I had left home 1 week earlier. My eyes fluttered shut. I could feel my eyelashes brush against the skin below my eyes as I faded into the darkness. Suddenly, I lurched awake from a deep sleep, wincing at the pain that shot through my body as I tried to sit up. Realizing I am in a hospital bed with tubes running in and out of my body everywhere. I had a breathing tube shoved down my throat, the uncomfortable sensation caused me to reflexively gag on the thing. I looked down at my arms and noticed the black and blue skin that laced them. I clenched my teeth as I looked over at my right arm and saw that the Doctor had made a two-inch incision in the crease of my elbow where I clearly had an abscess. The hole was packed tightly with gauze to soak up the fluids that were seeping out of my arm. My head fell back against the bed as I shut my eyes and drifted back into oblivion. I found myself back there again where everything began one week earlier. I'm driving to my friend's house all the way across town. I was on one hell of a mission and no amount of reason could rescue me from my desperate self. "Come on!" I yelled at the slow-moving vehicle in front of me as they took their time pulling into Walmart. I stepped on the gas pedal, going 13 miles over the speed limit. I didn't care at that moment if I got pulled over or not. I needed this, but I really didn't know why I was putting myself in this situation. However, I just knew it had to be done. I would never be able to stop thinking about it if I didn't at least try to go there and see if it was possible. I turned left off of Broadway Street making my way into the neighborhood my friends lived in. I find myself parked in their driveway as I glance in the rearview mirror, my eyes hollow and bloodshot. I put the car in park and made my way around back to the porch door. I checked the handle questioning whether or not it would be unlocked but deep down I already knew it would be. I opened the door walking up to the door that sat inside of the porch to the left. I paused, what if they don't live here anymore, I wondered. Anybody could live here now for all I know. I sighed, only one way to find out. "KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCKATY, KNOCK, KNOCK!" I hit my fist against the smooth maple door as the knocks rang out inside of my head. I stood really still, waiting and listening for the usual response from inside the house. "Who is it!" I heard a male and female voice yell through the door in unison. "It's Wendy!" I yelled back at them. I was happy that it was them answering the door and not some stranger that had moved into the house at some point. "Come in!" I heard Grace respond in her high-pitched voice. I wrapped my hand around the antique doorknob, the metal sent a shiver down my spine from how cold it was to the touch. I stepped into the house; their dark-lit hallway greeted me like it had a thousand times before. I took a deep breath, turning to my left; a thick white sheet stood before me and my prize. I pushed the sheet aside and turned the corner. The light was especially bright after standing in that dark hallway, I walked into the room and my eyes met the gaze of Jack and Grace sitting on the sofa that lined the back wall of their bedroom. "Hey you, how have you been? It's been so long since we've seen you?" Grace smiled showing her broken teeth as her lips split open from ear to ear. I smiled back at her and said, "well, some days are easier than others." I shrugged as I looked toward the flatscreen TV they had hanging on the wall across from them. I turned back around and I noticed Grace's smile had left her face as she glanced down at her hands neatly intertwined in her lap. Jack grunted, "We haven't seen you in forever girl, you sure you should be here?" He said through bites of Cheerios, as I watched milk dribble down his chin. I laughed and said, "Oh, I'm supposed to be here alright." I raised my eyebrows being overly exaggerated. "Well, if you want to know yes I have it," he said, winking at me. "You need some extra equipment? Or are you already packing?" he asked, squinting his eyes trying to make himself look very suspicious. I giggled and rolled my eyes. "Uh yeah, I'm going to need some extra equipment," I responded still amused. "Alrighty then," Grace said while slapping both of her thighs as she stood up. She stopped dead in her tracks and said, "are you sure?" I looked up at her worried face and shook my head yes. Finally giving in to the monster that had followed me around for 5 years straight. She nodded back at me, clearly empathetic towards me because she knew the game of tug of war I was playing at that time. And then she walked out of the room, gesturing for me to follow right behind her. I started after her, as she made her way down the long hallway to the open living room. She held out her hand and pointed towards the big leather couch that I'd sat on many times before today. She made her way to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and she came back in and sat down next to me. She reached under the coffee table for her purse and she pulled out a small orange and clear plastic bag. She held it out to me and I grabbed the slender syringe from it, cradling it in my hands. My heart began to thump rapidly inside my chest, I took a deep breath and waited for her to make her hit and I carefully and skillfully made my own. "Do you need help?" she asked me, looking down at my arms. "Um no, I can handle it," I responded, swallowing the saliva that began pooling into my mouth. Trying not to choke on it as I wrapped the band around my upper arm, pulling it as tight as was comfortable. I watched as my veins began to pop out of my skin like river beds overflowing from unexpected torrential rainfall. My blood flowed like the Nile curving this way and that way down my arm. "I think I have at least one more go in this one here," I said, pointing to the far left of the crease of my elbow. I flicked the syringe full of crystal meth that was dissolved in just a splash of water. I pushed the plunger up so the liquid was all the way at the top with no air bubbles to be found. I took my index finger and touched my blue-colored vein that was bulging so much you'd think it might actually burst and spray blood everywhere. I made sure I was in the right spot and stuck the needle into my skin and punctured through the fleshy tube that housed my flowing bloodstream. Dark scarlet clots sprung forth into the syringe as I pulled back the plunger to see if I had hit gold or not. I sighed and let out a big breath I didn't realize I had been holding in for far too long. Then I pushed the plunger in and the ice made its way up my arm and across my throat, making its way down to my heart then toward my belly and down along both of my legs and finally to my feet and back up again. I pulled the needle out of my arm and quickly unwrapped the band that was stopping the drug from completely making its rounds through my veins. I sighed, plopping back onto the comfy couch. Just enjoying the warmth like the sun that I could feel swimming inside of me and the surge of immediate energy I received from the shot. Grace was still trying to hit the right spot and I paused and said, "Ya know, I knew I would come back here eventually." I said as I glanced at her face as she scrunched her face in concentration when she was finally able to push the plunger in and feel heaven come from a syringe. "You do eventually." She responded holding her arm to keep it from spilling blood. "I need 3 balls for $360," I said as I reached into my pants pocket, grabbing the cash I had brought with me. I handed it to her and she nodded. "Okay we have that for sure," she said. I smiled and said, "Cool, that's great." I knew there was no turning back now, it only takes one hit and then you're hooked. I knew I would be shooting up dope for the next week or so. But a part of me was really worried and there was a frantic small voice in the back of my head screaming at me to just go home and keep the money. But I shook it off and ignored it. I was hovering above my body again like I had been many other times. It's disassociation on a whole other level. Something just takes over me and then there I am again up above myself looking down watching me make mistake after mistake and watching myself put my life in jeopardy. But I couldn't do anything to stop myself from moving forward with each bad decision that I made that day. Because I wasn't in control of my actions at that point. I roll my head from side to side as I come to, the images flashing through my mind as I lay here. It doesn't matter what happens, it always pulls me back in somehow. Meth addiction is considered to be one of the worst addictions a person can endure. I know that to be a fact of the matter. Whatever is in this drug consumes you, like you're given your very own personal demon that latches on to you as soon as you take that first drag, or that first shot, snort, or hot rail. It takes over your mind and your flesh. And the flesh only wants sin to satisfy its own pleasure. I opened my eyes and without notice, I found myself face to face with my husband. Creases were etched into his forehead from his constant worry over my foolish and selfish self. I took one look at him, gazing into those very familiar green eyes and then I squeezed my eyes shut. Tears threatened to spill over my eyelids as they stung the corners of them. He grabbed my left hand that was sitting in reach in front of him. "I'm so glad we found you, and that you're going to be okay," he said, his voice cracking as he fought back the urge to break down. I winced at his words, and my heart began to ache and palpitate at the pain in his voice. The pain that I caused him, just like every other time I've gone missing to relapse back into that dope stupor. I didn't want to hurt him, I really didn't. But he more than likely didn't know that to be true. To him and everyone around us they most likely think I just don't care about how he and my son feel. But that isn't true, I do care. I care a lot, but it's not that simple and easy to just rely on your love for your family to keep you from using drugs again and again. If that's all it took nobody would relapse, everyone would be capable of not only getting sober but maintaining their sobriety and maintaining it well. But addiction is a disease of the ability to make choices, which leads to bad decisions and uncontrollable urges to use that are just too much to bear and to be able to get by without falling back into that messy trap. Most addicts relapse multiple times while trying to stay clean, it's inevitable. I squeezed my husband's hand and opened my eyes glancing at him, my eyes heavy from all the medication in my system for pain and discomfort. I peered through my thick eyelashes at him and I realized that the breathing tube had been removed. I can speak, I thought to myself. I cleared my throat, and sharp pains shot through my whole throat where the breathing tube had scrapped the inside of my esophagus on the way in. I repositioned myself and said, "I can't believe I did this again. I want to tell you I'm sorry but that's what I always say and I always end up messing up again so the sorry isn't genuine." I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He squeezed my hand in response and he stroked his fingers across the top of my hand, tracing the tattoos on my fingers as he began to talk. "I know you can't control yourself sometimes, and that you really don't want to keep living this way. Maybe you just need some time to recover. Maybe almost dying for the first time might actually strike some fear in you to make you stop," he said blowing air through his pierced lips, as he sat back in his chair still holding my hand in his. "But what if it doesn't?" I asked, a lump developing in the back of my throat I struggled to swallow it down so I wouldn't become hysterical. "Then we'll deal with whatever comes our way. You're my wife and I love you so much, and I will be here even if you wind up back in this hospital bed 5 years from now, I can't imagine just leaving you to yourself. And I don't want anyone else but you, I need you just like you feel like you need dope. I need you, babe," he said, while he lowered his chin to his chest, tears welling up in his eyes. I burst into tears as I started to hyperventilate. I was sucking in air at a crazy speed, my chest hitching and caving in so much so that I thought I was going to die. He stood and leaned over me and pulled me close to him. "Just breath." He whispered softly. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly over and over again. He rubbed the back of my head with his left hand and grasped my side with the other hand, as I started to recall what really had happened when I was on my drug binge. I was staying inside my car in different areas of the city that were secluded and away from prying eyes. I hadn't eaten in over 3 days and only managed to get a whole 5 hours of sleep within that time period. I had been using dope nonstop practically since the moment I arrived at my friend's house. I knew my family would be out searching for me like they always did but I couldn't think about them right now. I was trying to shoot up in my right arm in the crease of my elbow but I accidentally ended up missing the whole shot. Pain seared inside my skin as the meth bubbled up underneath it. "Nooo!" I yelled in frustration. I couldn't believe I actually missed; how foolish I thought as I let out a sigh. My arm throbbed in protest at the liquid pooled up under my skin. I knew it would probably get infected as it tends to sometimes. But I didn't care, I loaded another shot and was able to go in my left hand. That very familiar feeling flooded my body overwhelming my senses. My heart began to pound in my chest and a cold sweat fell over top of me soaking me in my own perspiration. I hurried up and looked in the mirror, my pupils were only the size of pinpoints which told me that I was overdosing. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911. "911, what's your emergency?" a lady asked in a monotone voice. "Um I think I'm overdosing on meth; I shot up and I think I did too much," I said through strained breaths. It feels like my heart is going to explode." I cried. "Okay, where are you right now?" she asked, concerned bleeding over into the phone. "Um, I'm at Bay View Park, I'm parked inside my car at the top of the ridge. I'm in a black ford mustang." I let out right before I began to fade. "Lord, please don't let me die." I prayed. I hadn't prayed in so long and I know that's one of my problems. "I don't seek you, Lord," I said as I began to calm down from my panic attack. "At least you're praying," my husband said brushing my bangs out of my eyes. "That's all that matters." he smiled. And I smiled at him and I knew that I would fight harder and try harder to keep my promises. I've broken so many I've lost count. But I'm going to start counting how many times I keep a promise from now on.


Once, long ago, the barriers between worlds were thin - like the glass of a mirror. One could simply walk from our world into another, even by mistake. Now, though, the barriers are nigh impassible. And yet, one young woman made the journey, all to save her sister. --- ☾ --- Jules took a deep breath. “I’m coming, Lissa,” she breathed and began walking. The forest was silent. Under the night's sky, all the inhabitants hid, holding their breaths in anticipation. The ancient trees loomed over her: great pines whose feathery canopies scraped the sky, interspersed with oaks whose skeletal branches skewered the overfull harvest moon. As she stared up at the twilight sky, scattered with shimmering stars and constellations, a few leaves drifted to the ground, brilliant orange leaves, like flickering flames through the gloom. She sighed and turned. A path of stones were set into the ground, leading to the gargantuan tree growing in the center of the clearing she stood in. A large stone protruded from the trunk of the tree, ensnared by roots as thick as her arm. A symbol was carved into its bleached bone surface. Once she stepped closer, she was able to make it out. It was a crescent moon illuminated against the shadow of a full moon. It evoked a provocative, instinctive sense of unease but also wonder in her. It called to mind stories of the solstice, when the barriers between worlds were at their thinnest and allowed others to walk from their world into ours. And the other way around. She sighed. She dropped her backpack and fished for her butterfly knife. She stood and popped it open. She readied the blade over her palm. "I call upon you," she said, to the crisp, empty air and to the spirits that lingered there, "Spirits of the Between, neither Human, nor Faerie. I call upon you, speaking freely of my own accord. May you answer my call." There was an answering gust of wind. She shuddered. Was this how the heroes in the stories she studied felt? A deep sense of reluctance only overpowered by obligation? Taking a deep breath, she sliced open her palm and grimaced. She screwed her eyes shut, then began again: "With this blood I shed, I pay your tithe. With this pain I feel, I pay your tithe." She pressed her palm against the stone, gritting her teeth against the renewed sting. Blood oozed between her fingers. She continued. Her voice wobbled, but she spoke all the same. “Drink of my blood. Drink of my pain and be satiated that you may open this Gateway between worlds, and I might pass. So I speak, so mote it be.” For a moment, the air was still. Yet, it had a certain charge, an anticipation lingering as the spirits seemed to taste that which she offered to them. The moment seemed to last forever. So long that she feared the spirits might reject her offering, that her blood might have been poisoned. That she was not good enough. Lissa would be able to. Lissa can do anything. I’m just . . . nothing. Just as she was about to pull her hand away, the marking above her head glowed. The stone began to crack, and a crimson light glowed from between the split rock. The cracks grew, spiraling out from the epicenter, until it separated into two even halves - like doors.

They opened as she stumbled back, swinging inward. Between the slabs, there was a tunnel, round and formed of curved trees interlocked together. There was one last breeze, this one gentler than the last. It toyed with her hair, brushing along like a friend's caress. It pushed her along, and, though she hesitated for a moment, she walked forward.

A whisper seemed to echo, an assurance of some sort: Go in peace, challenger, and know this: we of the Nowhere stand with you. --- ☾ --- This young woman, guided by the stories she had studied in her youth and the stories her grandmother had told her growing up, crossed into the Otherworld. There, she made her way to the kingdom of the Raven King, a figure notorious for being implicated in the disappearances of thousands of women over the centuries.

It was he who had taken her sister, and she was determined to get her back. --- ☾ --- “Now, what have we here?” a disembodied voice called out. Jules glanced around, but she didn’t see the speaker, that is until she turned back to face forward again. There, standing in front of her was a man - or a humanoid being. Though masculine, he could not be called human. His features were too symmetrical, too sharp. And his hair, dark and falling to his shoulders, was made of feathers, thousands and thousands of feathers. She knew, upon seeing his face, that this was the Raven King. For a moment, both were silent, each studying the other, cataloging weaknesses and vulnerabilities. “What brings you to my kingdom?” he asks, with narrowed eyes. She takes a deep breath, her heart hammering in her chest, but she forces her voice steady. “I come seeking to bargain.” “Oh?” He arches an eyebrow. “What have you to bargain with?” “I offer you the amusement of a new challenger,” she said. “In return, you release my sister.” He chuckled. “As you wish,” he said and grinned, revealing fangs. “Should you pass through my kingdom and reach the castle within three days, I will set your sister free. Should you fail, she will never again see the human realm.” She swallowed hard around a sudden lump in her throat. Suddenly, the odds seemed insurmountable, her defeat guaranteed. Doubt rang in her ears like clumsy church bells. Can I really do this? She clenched her hands into fists by her sides. It didn’t matter. There was no other alternative. This was the only way. “Do we have an accord?” “Yes.” --- ☾ --- Upon agreeing to the terms, she was released into the maze which guarded the Raven King’s castle, and she began her journey. --- ☾ --- “Your time begins . . . now.” Between one blink and another, the Raven King disappeared. In his place was a raven, which flapped its wings and flew away, quickly disappearing over the horizon. Jules watched him go and sighed. She looked the way he had gone. It was a clear shot through the forest, and, through a break in the trees, she could see a hill ahead. She jogged forward and scaled the hill. Upon finding herself at its crest, she gazed out at his kingdom. She was overlooking a valley, across which an enormous maze sprawled. It was formed of high stone walls which merged seamlessly into immense natural rock faces on the edges and, elsewhere, crumbled into the vast evergreen forests. Splashed between the trees were hedges, decorated with strange flowers in every color imaginable. And rising above it all was a castle of dark, gleaming metal and thin spires and immense towers. Its surface caught the light of the moon overhead, but, rather than reflecting it, it seemed to absorb it. She shuddered. This land’s beauty was that of a black widow. Dangerous. Predatory. Lethal. Three days to cross all this. She gritted her teeth. Better get started. --- ☾ --- In those three days, she journeyed far. She faced great dangers and met the Raven King again and again and again. And, still, he could not dissuade her from her way forward. --- ☾ --- The Raven King stood between Jules and the opening in the rock, leaning against the stone wall. He was blocking her way forward, and she was not in the mood for him right now. She was still sweaty, muddy, and tired from the sink bog. When he saw her, he grinned, and the tips of his fangs glistened in the faint light. “Lovely to see you again, challenger.” Her nails bit into her palms, as though hungry for blood. “Wish I could say the same,” she snapped. Rather than being offended by her sharp tongue, his grin only widened. “Must you be so cruel?” “ I’m the cruel one?” He stood and stepped closer. He towered over her, but she refused to be cowed. “What do you want, Raven King?” He grabbed one of her curls, fallen loose from her ponytail, and wound it around his finger. “You know what I want.” Her eyes flashed. Her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. “Not happening,” she ground out. But he ignored her. “You must be so tired - poor dear. Are you sure you want to continue?” His grin turned cruel. “You know the terms of surrender.” “Did you hear me? I said, not happening !” she snarled and shoved him away from her. He stumbled a little from the force of her push, but he regained his composure soon after. He clicked his tongue. “Such a shame.” He spread his hands and gave a gallant shrug. “I was going to offer you a rest, but I suppose I will no longer.” She glared. His smile was mocking. He stepped to the side and gestured to the opening in the rock. “If you mean to continue onward, the path lies ahead.” Though wary and distrusting, Jules walked forward, brushing past him and squeezing through the opening. It was a tight fit, and she was all too aware that he was right behind her. All the same, she pushed on. When she reached the other side, she stood on a sheet of rock that stretched out to the overcast horizon. She couldn’t see the Raven King, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, that he wasn’t watching her. She jogged forward, slowly at first. When nothing leaped out of the fog at her, she pushed herself faster and faster, eventually breaking into a sprint. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The rock ended, breaking off into a sudden cliff. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she dug her heels into the ground. She barely stopped in time. Tiny fragments of rock bounced over the edge. She stood on the edge of a great chasm, panting. Her breath poured from her lips and hung in the air like a wraith. The wind whistled through the gorge, creating a low, mournful cry that sent chills up and down her spine. She leaned over the edge, but she couldn’t see the bottom. There was only a thick fog hanging between the two jutting cliffs. Her head spun, and she stumbled back. Her feet scraped against the stone. “Don’t . . . Don’t push me,” she panted. Please don’t push me. He stood behind her. Her back met his chest, and his hands came up to wrap around her arms, steadying her. When he spoke, the vibration of his words traveled through her: “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Her brows knitted. She didn’t understand him or his mercurial moods. One moment, he was her enemy, all sharp words and harsh threats. The next, he pulled something like this, all gentle embraces and sweet promises. She tore herself from his grip and turned to face him. Rather than question him on his shifting moods, she changed the subject. “You said the way forward was this way.” His lips gave a wry yet amused twist. “It is. I did not lie.” Her eyes narrowed. “There’s a cliff.” He looked past her, over the edge of the rock. “So there is.” His eyes flicked back to meet hers. “I hadn’t noticed.” She rolled her eyes. You’re so fucking funny. His grin widened. She turned. The way forward, huh? “Do you know what’s at the bottom?” “Haven’t a clue. The Labyrinth twists itself to be the greatest challenge to its runner - you’d have a better idea than I.” She sighed, closing her eyes. So that’s how it is. She turned and walked away from the edge, brushing past the Raven King. He turned to watch her go, an expression of surprise on his face. “What’s this, challenger? Where are you going?” A smile stretched across his face. “Have you given up already?” She didn’t respond. His needling wasn’t worth it. She had more important things to do. She walked until she deemed she had gone far enough, then turned back. She closed her eyes once more, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Her sister’s common encouragement rang in her head: “If you believe in yourself, you can do anything.” Well , she thought, let’s test that theory, shall we? She opened her eyes. She broke into a run, into a headlong dash forward. The Raven King begged her to stop. He shouted pleas, but she heard none of them. She ran past. He tried to grab her, to stop her, but his hand slipped right off. She caught the distress in his eyes as she brushed past. She wondered at it for a moment, but, then, she threw herself off the edge, into the void. --- ☾ --- It was the young woman’s leap of faith that proved her worth. It proved her worthy of her victory, and she soon found herself in the castle, where she and the Raven King would clash once more. --- ☾ --- Jules swallowed hard. I did it. I made it. I won. The Raven King stood before her, in his nicest waistcoat with a blood-red cravat at his throat. His expression was blank, his dark eyes cold. Beside him stood a blank-eyed Lissa, wearing a white dress that seemed to dwarf her now-skeletal frame.

The image she presented horrified Jules to the core, and she stepped closer. “I made it. I reached the center. I won . Now, let her go.” “By the terms of our wager,” he spoke, his voice frigid, “your sister’s freedom has been guaranteed.” He snapped his fingers, and Lissa disappeared before Jules’ eyes - again . “Where did you send her?” she demanded. At last, an expression, other than infuriating blankness, graced his face. He smiled, but the smile was hard. It was cold. It was the jagged edge of a broken piece of glass. “I merely returned her from whence I had taken her.” His smile widened. “She is safe at home.” Relief flooded her veins like taking a sip of a warm drink on a cold day. The words “Thank you” bubbled up, ready to spill from her lips, but she did not let them fall. She knew better. Instead, she inclined her head. “However, you never bargained for your own freedom.” Gratitude withered in her heart. In its place grew flames of fury, fanned into an inferno. She took a deep breath. She could have breathed fire. “What?” His eyes glittered. “Your freedom was not the promised boon. You must stay here in your sister’s place. Forever.” That . . . That could not stand. She was only 20. She had a life she still had to live. She had dreams. She had goals. She had family. She had friends. She couldn’t - she wouldn’t stay. She wracked her brain for solutions. In all the stories about faeries she’d read, maybe there was a way out. A way to defeat him once and for all. Her time was running out. The last grains of sand were beginning to fall. She needed to figure this out now. At last, the answer dawned on her. By bloodshed she came, through bloodshed she would return. She drew the knife she had kept with her, all this time. The Raven King took a step back. “What are you doing?” He eyed the knife. A smile stretched across her face, even as she cut her hand. Blood welled up and spilled over, dripping onto the ground. “I call upon you, Spirits of the Between, neither Human, nor Faerie. I call upon you, speaking freely of my own accord. May you answer my call.” “ No !” he cried, but she could not be stopped. “Come to me. Set me free.”


Tristan Frost blew the dust off of a stack of gold coins. His miniature tower of wealth was more money than anyone else had in Atlantis. He stood behind the counter at the trading post and awaited his next customer.

Atlantis, a forgotten town on the road to nowhere, was nestled deep inside the New Mexico Territory. At its height, Atlantis was a pit stop on the southern route to California. But now, after the gold rush, Atlantis saw more tumbleweeds than passers through. “Mr. Frost?” Jacob Smith said with sunken eyes and a dry mouth. Frost turned his head with the minimum amount needed to acknowledge Smith’s presence. Frost raised a thin eyebrow, as if to say, “Can I help you?” Frost’s eyes continued to ogle his coins.

“Mr. Frost, my family and I . . . we . . . we need food.” “That’ll be five coins for a week of rations, Smith.” Frost rapped the fingertips of his left hand on a nearby stack of canned goods. “But Mr. Frost, we don’t have any gold. We done gave you our last ingot and there ain’t been no shoes to fix cause no one done come through here no more.” “Five coins, Smith.” “But—“

Enos Smith, Jacob’s gaunt seven-year-old son peeked from behind his father and looked at Frost with similar defeat. “Please, sir?” Enos said.

“Five coins . . . or, get out!” Frost tapped his right index finger on the barrel of his Smith & Wesson, which lay on the counter. Jacob and Enos retreated to the dustbowl that was Main Street. A tumbleweed blew by. Jacob and Enos joined Mrs. Smith, who sat in a rocking chair across the street on the porch of McCoy’s Saloon. Anita was trying to breastfeed her infant daughter, but Clarissa wouldn’t latch on. Clarissa howled. The Smiths huddled in the hot desert wind and began to feel a hunger beyond anything they had ever endured. They began to starve. Frost returned his attention to his coins. He polished the stack before him with the cuff of his black shirt. He had so many coins. When the delivery wagon came through in three weeks, and he purchased rations and supplies for the trading post, he’d still have hundreds of coins.

“We’ll take a week of rations,” a doubled female voice said. Frost looked up and saw two rancher women dressed in white. Frost had heard that times were a-changin with the new territory and all, but he had never seen women dressed like gauchos, let alone donning white serapes, white hats, and white leather boots.

“Howdy,” Frost said. Their symmetrical white clothing impressed him, but their identical long blonde flowing hair, slender builds, and identical sharp faces revealed something even more unfamiliar. They were twins.

“A week of rations, please.” “That will be twenty coins.” Olivia, the twin on the right, placed five coins on the counter. Frost sneered and snorted. “You’re fifteen short, honey.” Alice, the twin on the left, said, “You quoted Smith five.” “Smith’s a townie, an Atlanteen. Y’all ain’t from around here. Twenty for you.” Olivia placed another fifteen coins on the counter. “Thank you much,” Frost said. He slapped five tin cans on the counter and stuck a toothpick in his mouth. The twins took the weighty canned goods from the counter and walked out of the trading post. The swirls of brown dirt and gray dust did not tarnish their white clothing. They crossed Main Street and walked over to where the Smiths had gathered. “Here’s a week’s worth of rations for you,” Alice said.

As the Smiths looked up, tears had traced trails in their dirt covered faces. Jacob returned his best smile, but it looked more like a sneer tinged with surprise and disbelief.

“How can we thank you?” The twins said nothing. Olivia handed Jacob a can opener from her white leather utility bag. Alice nodded at the Smiths. The twins walked into McCoy’s Saloon.

The Smiths opened their rations. While they curbed their hunger, Frost cackled alone in the trading post. He stroked his profits with his palms.

Alice and Olivia took up residence in the inn above the saloon. Over the next few days, they passed the hours by visiting with the major families of Atlantis: the Smiths, the Joneses, the Johnsons, and the McCoys. The Joneses were from Kentucky and ran the horse stables. The Johnsons had traveled all the way from Erie and took care of the town buildings and utilities. The McCoys got run out of Chicago but ran the inn and saloon.

Alice and Olivia also befriended Widow Flatley, an old woman from Iowa who spent her days sitting on a rocking chair on the porch of the saloon. They spoke at length with Old Man Kensey, the undertaker from Georgia, about grave stones and pine boxes. The also met Longines, the town pariah who usually stuck to the shadows because no one trusted him. In the evenings, everyone gathered in the saloon. Old Man Kensey played the upright piano and everyone sang along to “Camptown Races” and “Swanee River.” On that first night, Alice and Olivia just sat at the bar and took in the scene. On the second evening, Alice whispered to Old Man Kensey and asked if she and Olivia could do a number. “Sure thing, dahlin,” he said. Alice sat behind the piano and played a raunchy groove. Her left hand rolled out slinky bass notes while her right hand stretched far and high into the upper ivories.

“Here come old flat top. He come, moving up slowly . . .” Olivia sang with a power and might that moved the heavens. As she got well into the first verse, the whole gathering of townspeople clapped and stomped along. When she sang, “Come together, right now, over me,” the town gasped in awe. A few minutes later, as Alice and Olivia finished the song, the congregation roared with happiness. “What song was that?” Enos asked from atop the saloon table.

“Get off the table, Enos!” Anita said. “But, really, what song was that?” As Alice and Olivia explained how “Come Together” was a song from far away, Frost derided the town’s joy from the shadows, outside of the saloon. Through the window, he looked in at the jocund din and wanted to vomit. He held sleeves of gold coins in each hand, stroking them with this thumbs.

On the morning of the third day after the twins arrived, Alice and Olivia were up before dawn. They ventured just out of town and returned with a covered wheelbarrow, just as the sun rose. They wheeled it to the trading post.

Frost was sweeping his shop. Alice rolled the wheelbarrow through the stable gate of the shop and Olivia walked beside her.

“Whatcha got in der, ladies?” “We’ll take the lot,” Olivia said. “All of it. Everything you have.” “You ain’t got enough for that. I won’t let my stock go for less than a thousand coin.”

Olivia pulled the burlap cover from the wheelbarrow and the wheelbarrow was full of gold coins.

“How about two thousand?” Frost peered deep into the pile of gold. Before him was the sum of his ambition, more gold than he had ever seen in his life. He laughed and grabbed his side. He almost fell over he laughed so hard.

“It’s all yours,” he said. “Keep the wheelbarrow,” Alice said.

Alice and Olivia removed the canned goods, rations, and necessaries from the trading post while Frost salivated over his new riches. The twins loaded the inventory onto a flat wagon and rolled it to the other side of town. Frost peeked out of the trading post door and saw a small gathering where the twins had set the wagon. The townspeople stood before of the twins, who passed out the goods, distributing everything from the cart. The Joneses rolled barrels of oats from the wagon toward the stables. The Johnsons took tools from the wagon. The McCoys carried linens and bourbon away from the cart. The Smith children brought the Widow Flatley food and blankets. Mr. Smith gave Old Man Kensey a new sewing kit. Mrs. Smith gave Longines some food.

Frost’s stomach grumbled. He turned to look at his store and realized that it was empty—completely empty. He had sold all his food to the twins and forgot to set some aside for himself.

Frost walked out of the store and into the street. “Hey! Hold on now, I need some food. Let be buy back some rations. I have nothing to eat!” He walked toward the townspeople. As Frost arrived within 10 yards of the gathering, the twins—and everyone else—looked at him with stolid indifference.

“Jones! Jones, give me some of your rations,” Frost said. Mr. Jones shook his head. “McCoy! Tell him! Help me out, McCoy!” McCoy took a swig from his new bourbon bottle and spit it out at Frost’s feet.

“C’mon people! It’s me, Tristan Frost. I am your humble servant. I need some food. Someone give me some food!”

No one said a word. No one moved. “Give me some food God dammit!” “Mr. Frost,” Enos said from below, tugging on Frost’s black shirt. “Doesn’t feel so good does it? To be hungry.” Frost stomped his feet and caterwauled. He took ten paces back to his shop, but then stopped and turned around.

“Sabotage . . .“ Frost said, under his breath. He looked at the ground and then pulled his pistol from his side holster. “You’ll give it here, now. Just a bit of rations. Supply wagon gonna come through in a while and I’ll restock, recon?” Frost walked closer to the towns people. He cocked the hammer on his pistol.

Alice and Olivia walked in front of the crowd, shielding them, their white serapes mirroring each other, their pistol hands over their sides. “Oh, please, I’m already drawn. I’ll mow you two down before—“ The twins shifted their sarapes a touch and Frost fired twice. Bang! Bang! The twins hit the ground. Their white shirts bloomed in red, blood cascading out from their hearts. Alice and Olivia were unarmed.

“No!” Longines said. “Dammit, Frost!” Jones said. “You want some, Jonesy? Well, here you go!”

Frost pointed his Smith & Wesson at Jones and pulled the trigger, but his pistol only clicked. The town stood agape. “Mama!” Enos cried. Everyone paused and looked at the fallen twins, their faces now drained of life, their white serapes tarnished with dirt and dust from the street.

The Widow Flatley stood up from her rocking chair on the porch of the saloon and said, “Why don’t you done get out a here, Frost?!” Old Man Kensey stood up from his rocking chair, cocked his rifle, and pointed it at Frost.

The congregation gathered and marched toward Frost. They furrowed their brows. They did not smile.

Frost ran toward his shop. He grabbed the wheelbarrow of gold by the handles and wheeled it out to the edge of town at top speed. He kept going, out into the tumbleweeds, into the low desert. “Mama!” Enos cried again. “I know, dear,” she said. “No, Mama, look!” Enos pointed to the place in the street where Alice and Olivia had fallen. Their bodies had disappeared.


“It was Christmas morning, I woke up and realized there was a Christmas tree right in the hallway. It was all just fresh pine scent blended up with orange fragrance, hot gingerbread on the table and cinnamon hot chocolate flavor. Under the decorated there were 3 boxes, 3 gifts for 3 people, and a sock, that was for the dog, I assume. But who cared about those boxes, who? There was a bigger present, a present just for me. SANTA didn't forget about my letter, about the family I wished for. It was so real, a home where normal people spend every holiday, a fire in a fireplace, a joyful little dog running around, two loving parents and a welcoming home. It was the loveliest present I've ever received, finally my dream was coming true.” "Shut up there! It's sleeping time!" The housemother interrupted the little Kate "Oh, come on Miss Mary, I had such a beautiful dream, it's such a pity not to tell anyone! Said the little Kate, grumpy faced "besides, Denice is so willing to hear the end!" "Ok, ok, but try to whisper it, not saying it out loud, you two should've have a separate room, you're so noisy sometimes, and the others have to rest. Tomorrow's such a big day." Added the housemother "Shut your mouth, Kate!" Said the little Diane, rubbing her eyes "It's two in the morning, I need to sleep! Who cares about your stupid dream and stupid wish?” Added the malicious Diane "Girls, that's enough! Everyone go to sleep! “Miss Marie covering the girls with her high voice tone "Denice, Kate, downstairs immediately! The rest of you, to sleep right now, why I keep repeating myself all the time? Tomorrow is a big day for all of you, you just need to be rested and behave!” yelled the housemother exasperated while turning off the lights There was silence now in the old orphanage. All the girls looking forward the chance tomorrow will bring. Only three were impatient and sleepless. Be it between us, only two were sleepless, the “old miss” Mary was just exhausted, and the working day wasn’t over for her yet, since little Kate had other plans “Girls, I need you to be rest tomorrow, you just know that from tomorrow on there’ll be free for adoptions, and that the Smith’s will come. So, behave! They want a well raised little girl.” Exclaimed Miss Mary „Now go to sleep, please, tomorrow is a big day. I have to sleep as well.” Said the woman muttering how exhausted she was The Virgin Mary Orphanage for girls is shrouded in an oppressive quiet.  Probably, the young girls were all looking forward to the big day. Each of the 25 girls had an opportunity to spend the upcoming winter holidays within a family. Since neither of them had a mother or father, this was their most cherished wish. Everyone is sound sleeping, except Kate, who couldn't stop thinking about her amazing dream. It was like a fairytale for her, she was tired of oranges, a dark chocolate or a pair of shoes as presents for each Christmas. She thought : „If Santa won’t help me, as he never brought me what I wished for, I guess it’s time to act by my own self” While making plans for the big day, the little girl fell asleep, not before making a pray and promising God if she’ll have finally a family, she’ll behave and do the best to become a doctor as her dead parents were. The morning light appeared in a blink. And all the little ladies crowded into the 3 not very spacious bathrooms. It was an indescribable agitation, none of the girls can bear the turn in the order described in the orphanage regulations.

A scream like a loud roar came from below the stairs: Giiiiiirls!

Please wait your turn, you have plenty of time until the Smiths arrive! They'll come around the lunch time, Miss Mary added. The girls rushed this time to get out of the three small bathrooms, remaining the first 3 series to do their morning toilet, including little Kate and her friend Denice:

“Listen to me, Denice! These parents will be just mine, I have pretty good grades, I'm a sociable child, I'm always smiling to everyone, and I have manners. I've heard they'll come during the lunch time, I'm sure I'm gonna' make a good impression!” “Come on, Kate, you, don't believe it either! you always make jokes, and besides, you can only get along with me, Miss Mary. And let's not forget the puppies in the yard.

You forgot about your last quarrel with Diane?” “What about Diane?”  Asked Diane herself, her turn coming over “Nothing, it's nothing”, replied to stammering Denice. “Come on, Diane, I'm not in the mood for your insults, neither for your bad jokes!” Added the little Kate Look, Diane, you can't stand me, I know that you know that. But please, leave me alone, just for today, I need a family more than you think! I need it, I can't stay by my own for good.

I wasn't as lucky as you, your parents are alive, you don't have to replace them! I need it the most, please, just for today, don't be mean! Begged the little Kate  Diane stopped bothering the little Kate. perhaps she felt guilty for her naughty behavior and thought that maybe, maybe Kate was right. Her parents were alive, and she was there (in the orphanage) just for her bad behavior, because, perhaps she wasn't able to value what she already had: two loving parents, a home and much more opportunities besides the other girls.

Honestly, each one of all little girls would've preferred to be in her place. Who doesn't want to transform a nightmare in a fairytale? Diane for sure A couple of hours passed away, they took breakfast, had some math classes and lunch time was approaching. The big moment was coming soon, the chance for a family, a wish that any of the 24 little girls longed for. Meanwhile Diane, went to the little Kate and assured her that she won't ruin her chance. And, reconsidering the words Kate addressed her, she thought that, maybe, since there passed already 6 weeks, it came the time to ask forgiveness from her parents for her bad behavior and that she's a brand new person.

Said and done! Kate was now so sure that is not going to happen a thing that she'll be able to impress the couple looking for a child. The visit time arrived, the Smiths were parking in front of the building. Enough time for Marie to prepare the girls: “Girls, I need you to behave, as I've always said. These young couple is looking for a well-behaved, educated child with whom they may venture forth into the world of wealthy! One more time, Be-have! Shh! They're coming! “ All the 25 little girls quickly settled into the band, as Marie learned them. Then the poor wooden door of the orphanage opened. Everyone silent.

Just the lady Amanda heard while complaining about her new dress which had clung to the courtyard of the institution flowers. Her embarrassed husband trying to cover her wife's complaint with saluting the little girls and her housemother: “Good after noon, young ladies! How are you? Nice roses in the yard, by the way!” boasted the man in an attempt of covering his wife's while still complaint

All the 25 little girls replied in unison: Good after noon, you too!

While the rest of the girls were expecting new directions from their Miss Marie, Kate stood up in front the line and held out her hand: "Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith! How are you?" Little Kate noticed out the crowd

Marie insisted to them to start serving the lunch, inviting the two pretentious guests, and started pointing each one of the girls, introducing them this way, adding something good about each. When she reached pointing the little Kate, she, instead of answering the two's curiosities, began to sneeze uncontrollably, unable to say a single word.

Miss Marie didn't finish well presenting all the girls that Mrs. Smith began to ask if it takes much longer because she had an appointment at the hairdresser in less than half an hour, in the exclusive part of the city. The little Kate felt so disappointed, as that didn't seemed to be the family she hoped for. Even though, she breaks the line again and hugged Mr. Smith, which, apparently was liking her also.

Then, he saluted all the girls, thanked for the meal and leaved. Mrs. Smith, didn't said a thing, just rushed in a minute to her fancy car. Miss Marie, asked Kate: what was that? Why didn’t you listened to me? What if each one of you, would've hugged that man?

"I'm sorry, miss Marie! That's what I felt like, I liked that guy and I promised myself that I'm going to do whatever just to get off this place. I'm sorry!" Excused little Kate "It doesn't matter anyway, I'm not going to let any of you, to live such a life. You just saw that fancy lady, I don't know how he can stand her.

Anyway, will be waiting for other chance to come, ok?" All the girls sighed. Kate started to cry and left in the orphanage yard to see her puppies.

After a couple of days, Marie took aside the little Kate which was still upset about the situation:

"How are you, Kate? You haven't said a word in two days, are you ok?"

"No, Miss Marie, I'm not. I wanted a family so much, that was my only wish. Not that much, others have it and doesn't even know how lucky they are. Why had to die mommy and daddy in that car accident? Why? I'm so unlucky.” little Kate, bursting into tears "Oh Kate, my little one, I have some news for you, I don't know whether telling you or not. But I'm going to risk it" "What is it, Miss Marie? What happened?"

"Well, you know madam Amanda, which came the other day?" "How could I forget that fancy, disrespectful lady" "Oh, Kate, that even wasn't Mr. Smith's wife. She was his sister. Her wife didn't come as she felt sick that day" "There's still a hope, Miss Marie? That's what are you trying to say?" Shouted the little Kate full of hope "Oh, my darling, I don't know what to say. The only thing I know is that Mr. Smith's real wife resulted to be pregnant, that's why she didn't came that day"

"Oh, I have no hope then, Miss Marie. They'll have a baby now, won't need a "grown orphan girl" to raise", said the little Kate, very upset "I'm sorry my dear!"

"It's ok, it’s just not the first family which passes by without fulfilling a dream to any of us" Few days passed by and, while the winter holidays approached, the girls started to decorate the stairs railing with fir branches since the management of the institution never allocates money for another type of Christmas decorations.

Within these days, little Kate resigned herself, getting used to the idea that this Christmas will also be spent in a cold and not very welcoming orphanage, as she did in the previous years.

But one day, Marie gets a phone call. It was the Smiths; this time Rose Smith was calling. She wanted to see the little Kate, as her husband told her about the child. She had been impressed by what she had learned and decided to settle a visit to see the girl herself.

In a hurry Marie prepared the little Kate and told her not to make illusions because, there wasn't anything sure.

Rose Smith arrived within half an hour, entered the orphanage door, and saw a little hopeless, teared up little girl. She came across the girl and embraced her, assured the child it will all be fine and that, she needs some time to get used to the idea of becoming a mom for real. How would she handle this situation as the pregnancy surprised her for good. The little Kate didn't understand pretty much, but that she's not welcomed anyway since that lady was expecting her own baby. Why would she adopt one of 9 years old, thought Kate. The days passed away and it was already the middle of December and Rose Smith and her husband, Peter were visiting the little Kate every single day, reading fairytales, playing games, knowing each other, spending precious time together. The young couple spending few hours each day at the orphanage, surrounded only by little ladies and even more, by their favorite princess. But not such a big deal for Kate, since she was hopeless while Christmas was closer than ever and she was still in an orphanage.

Meanwhile the Smith's prepared all documentary for adopting the girl. The only one who wasn't aware of what was about to happen, was Kate.

The little girl was prepared something bigger. The first snow fell. Christmas Eve’s morning arrived, the young couple came at the orphanage, woke up the little girl and said:

"Wake up lazy! Pack your bags and let's go!"

Little Kate woke up smiling, she had another dream, it was like Rose and Peter took her in their home where a big tree was expecting to be decorated.

She told the whole dream to Rose, smiling, happy that, at least, she dreamed again about her biggest wish. Rose watched her, smiled, and said: "Pack your luggage, what are you waiting for? A tree needs to be decorated. Your present is waiting for you. Let's go home!


January 27, 1918 357 Kilometers east of Paris, France. The night was cold and wet, rain had fallen for 3 straight days and showed no signs of letting up now. Pockets of gunfire echoed through the woods, punctuated by seemingly random artillery shells. Corporal Georges McKay moved from tree to tree, careful to watch his footing as well as his surroundings. He pulled the Remington shotgun he carried tighter into his shoulder and took a moment to catch his breath. Georges had gotten separated from his platoon during the battle and lost his way in the dense forest. He wasn't even sure if they were alive. Snap! Georges spun around as the sound. A shadow. No, a man was staring back at him. "Shit!" He gasped realizing he was face to face with a german. "Warten!" The man shouted. Georges knew what the man said but he wasn't going to wait to be shot first. He raised the weapon and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening and it kicked hard into his sore shoulder. The german dove behind a tree just in time to escape certain death. He scrambled back against the tree, sitting in the mud he pressed himself close to his cover. Georges chambered another round and fired again, striking the tree and sending wood chips flying in every direction. The American took a stumbling step to his left and behind a tree of his own. He could hear the other soldier's heavy breathing, matching his own. They stayed like that for a long time, though neither of them was sure exactly how much time. Until the German spoke. "American?" The voice called out, causing Georges to flinch slightly. "Yeah?" He called back, readjusting his shaky grip on the weapon. It was impossible to tell if he was shaking from the cold or from being nervous. Probably both. "I'll make a deal with you." The man said. His accent was thick but his English was fluent, Georges found that surprising but didn't comment on it. "Oh yeah? And what's that?" Georges asked. "The way I see it," He stopped taking a deep breath. "I'm not your enemy right now, and you are not mine." The young German soldier was tempted to peer around the corner, but was sure he'd be killed if he did. Georges laughed. "Oh, I'd say you're wrong about that! Why don't you op your head back out so I can show you?" There was an audible laugh in response. "Nein, Tufelhuden, " He switched back to german briefly. Georges spoke enough of the language to understand. Tefelhuden. Devil Dog. He smirked at the nickname the Marine's had earned for themselves. "The weather is our enemy, Tufelhuden. We're likely to freeze before the night's over, unless..." He looked up to the sky, frigid rain still falling from dark clouds. "Get to the point, German." He said, relaxing slightly but still ready to fire. "My offer is we put our hostilities aside for tonight. I don't want to freeze to death in these fucking woods, do you?" "So what do you suggest? How do I know you won't shoot me as soon as I let you step out?" Fair point. The German tossed his weapon out from behind the tree. Much too Georges shock. The German pushed himself to his feet, making sure to stay behind the relative safety of the tree. He squeezed eyes shut as tight as he could and slowly turned the corner of the tree. Fully expecting the American to gun him down. But when the shot never came, he managed to force his eyes back open. Georges stepped from behind his tree as well, lowering his gun to his hip but still pointed at the other man. It was a tense two minutes, for both of them. "What now?" Georges broke the silence. "There was a cottage a bit up the hill, it'll get us out of the rain." That sounded great to Georges and it overrode his nerves. "Alright, lead the way." He agreed. "May I get my-uh-" He stopped, searching for the word. "Gewehr?" Georges asked in german. A wide smile spread across the other man's pale face. "Go ahead," The man reached down for the rifle, faster than Georges liked. "Ah-ah! One hand." He ordered raising his own gun slightly. "Right, sorry." The two soldiers began their hike up the muddy hillside towards the burned-out cottage. They both tripped and stumbled the entire way, finally coming to a spot Georges couldn't scale. His boots failing to get traction he slipped and fell into the mud over and over. Until a hand reached out in front of him. He took it without thinking and allowed his enemy to pull him up. "The guys wouldn't believe me if I told them about this." Georges thought with a small laugh escaping his lips. Inside the cottage, which was mostly intact, was damp and cold. But it did get them out of the pouring rain. Something they were both immeasurably grateful for. "So what's your name?" Georges asked the other man, finally really looking him over. The german was tall, far taller than himself, and lean. And young, maybe a bit older than he was, 25 or 26, maybe? "Ow-guwst Koch. Yours?" The taller man answered, leaning his rifle against the far wall. Georges furrowed his brow and thought about the answer. "You mean August?" He asked, slipping his pack off for the first time in 20 hours. "Is that how you Americans say it?" August turned and gave him an amused look. "Yeah, it is," Georges laughed. "You know, the right way." August laughed and shrugged. "Georges McKay," He extended his hand and they shook. "Pleasure," August smiled. "Thanks for not shooting me." "You're welcome, though it wasn't for lack of trying." August started a small fire with what little tinder he had. "Where'd you learn to speak English?" Georges finally asked as he watched the man warm his hands by the small flame. "My Mother," A smile appeared on his face. "She wanted my sisters and I to learn a language when I was small. I chose English, they all chose French." He finished and stretched out on the damp stone floor. "You," He pointed a finger at Georges. "Speak German, yes?" "Ein wenig," Georges held up his thumb and index fingers. "Why?" Georges smirked. "That way if I got captured I could tell you Jerries to go fuck yourselves in your own language." That earned him a laugh. August reached into the pocket inside his jacket and pulled out a small metal box. It contained a few black and white photos and a note. The German looked through them, and Georges could see the homesick set in. He recognized it because he often had that look, as did his comrades. "May I?" Georges asked, holding out his hand. August handed them over without hesitation, surprising Georges again. There were five photos. He stopped on one of August and a baby in his arms. "Is this your daughter?" He guessed the gender by the bow on the baby's head. "Yes," Georges handed them back. "Anna. She's 3 now, walking, talking-" August stopped and swallowed hard. His eyes found their way to the shotgun in Georges lap. Desperate to distract himself from the homesick that had hit him like a tidal wave. "Can I see that?" He pointed at it. Georges arched a brow and scoffed. "I've always wanted to see one up close." He'd only ever seen the damage they could do. "Fine," Georges removed the bayonet and the shells from the weapon. "Not looking to be killed with my own gun." Georges thought, though he didn't feel like August would do that. He trusted the German, even if he wasn't sure why. "Danke," August said, assuming Georges would know what he meant. It wasn't much heavier than his rifle but felt far sturdier. Less elegant, more brutish. Georges watched him as he looked over the weapon. "You don't strike me as a warrior. Or even a fighter." He'd been fighting the German's for 5 months and hadn't given much thought to what they were like. Hell, he hadn't even thought of them as PEOPLE. Just enemies. Something to be destroyed. "I'm not," August answered honestly. "I just want this war to be over, I don't care who wins." He thought of his wife and his daughter back home. And of all the countless families who'd been caught up in the conflict. "All this killing, it's wasteful," He paused. "And you, do you have a family?" August asked. Georges sighed and shrugged one shoulder. "No," He said simply. It wasn't something he wanted to discuss. August moved abruptly, causing Georges' hand to shoot for the pistol on his hip. "Be awfully rude to shoot a man about to offer you a drink." August laughed, presenting the American with a bottle of brandy. Georges opened it and held the bottle up. "To your family, may you return to them safely." He drank. "Uck!" Georges grimaced. "How do you drink that shit? It's so sweet." He wiped his mouth on his still soaking wet sleeve. "You get used to it," He took the bottle back and held it up. "To you, my American friend." August smiled at the younger man and drank. "Friend, huh?" A yawn came out with the words. The exhaustion of 24 hours of no sleep settled in on him. He wanted to let his eyelids to close and sleep, but wouldn't let himself. August watched him struggling to stay awake, sipping on his brandy. When something dawned on him. "Do you hear that?" He asked. Georges sat up slightly, his eyes only half-open, and listened. Nothing. "No, what do you hear?" "Nothing." A wide smile spread across his face. "The rain stopped." August, a religious man, chalked it up as a small gift from God. A reward for them proving human kindness and decency could still exist. With a smile, he settled back down, determined to sleep. And so they did, both of them, for the first time in months the 2 soldiers slept soundly. August woke first, the morning sky was overcast and he shivered in his still damp clothes. But no rain fell from the sky, and he found himself in good spirits. He turned back to the young American, who was still fast asleep. He almost didn't want to wake him. "Georges?" He shook him. Georges snapped awake. "What!? What is it!?" He began to scramble backward but August's grip on his shoulders stopped him. "Gimme a fuckin' heart attack why don't you?" He pushed the man's hands-off with a chuckle. They both collected their weapons and packs and stepped out of the cottage. "I guess this is where we part ways," Georges said, a small feeling of disappointment in his chest. August nodded and extended his hand. "When this war is over, perhaps our paths will cross again." He knew that was unlikely, but he would like to believe it. Georges smiled. "I'll be looking forward to it."