One fateful night in New Castle, Pennsylvania, an elderly married couple was traveling home from the grocery store when their vehicle was hit by a truck that had run a red light at an intersection near their home. It was determined that the driver of the truck had suffered a heart-attack and had lost consciousness just prior to the intersection causing the violent and fatal crash. The driver of the truck was pronounced dead at the scene and so was the husband. The wife however was transported to the local hospital and placed on life support – her outlook was grim. The hospital did their best to locate next of kin, which according to the records was the son. The son had been granted power of attorney many years earlier but never dreamed he’d ever be faced with a decision that would change his life – and the life of others. The son had not been home to see his parents in a handful of years but did keep in contact occasionally by phone. He was saddened to hear of his father’s passing and his mother’s condition – and the circumstances of the accident. Given where he lived and the fact that he didn’t care to fly, it would take him three days to get home. As such, he decided to check in with the hospital several times a day knowing he might not get there in time. On the second day, he realized that his sister may not have been contacted. She lived on the other side of the country, and he hadn’t spoken to – or otherwise thought about – her in some twenty years. He wasn’t sure how to get hold of her, so he called the hospital and asked if his mother had any information about his sister. Perhaps a phone number or location. Thankfully, the hospital was able to assist by providing a phone number. He had made it to Philadelphia and was awaiting the next bus to Pittsburgh, so he reluctantly decided to call his sister. He began punching in the number. Seven two four… “Hello?” a voice answered. “Liz?” “Yes.” “It’s Donnie.” “Hi, it’s been a long time…I already know why you’re calling,” Liz began to cry. “I feel terrible. How did you find out?” “Unlike you, I still have friends in New Castle. They called me the night of the accident. Me and Jason have been in New Castle since yesterday morning. How did you find out? Of course, I had no way to reach you.” “The hospital called me. I guess because I have power of attorney…I really don’t know how they got my number.” “Mom’s not in good shape. In fact, they don’t expect her to make it through the night.” “Bummer, I’m in Philadelphia. I won’t get there until around midnight.” “I don’t know what to tell you, Donnie.” “I’ll let you know when I’m close.” “Okay, goodbye.” With that, Donnie heard the boarding call and made his way to the bus. It was about a five-hour journey, and he still wasn’t sure what he was going to do to get from Pittsburgh to New Castle, which was an hour north. He arrived in Pittsburgh about ten o’clock and had made Uber arrangements while on the bus. He located his driver, and they headed north. During the ride, he called Liz to let her know he was close, and she informed him their mother was still alive. Donnie felt like he couldn’t get there soon enough. He made it the hospital just shy of midnight. The Uber driver dropped him near the main hospital entrance, but he wasn’t quite sure where to go so he walked up to the main desk. “Donnie?” He turned and noticed his sister approaching. He did recognize her, but she had aged. “Mom’s gone.” “Bummer, I tried to get here but…” “I’m sure you did. She’s already been moved to the morgue.” “So, I can’t see her?” “You wanna go to the morgue?” “Um, no.” “Jason and I are staying at a hotel around the corner. Where you staying?” “Well, I haven’t thought that far ahead.” “Of course. Jason’s getting the car. Let’s go out this way.” Liz and Donnie walked to the side parking lot looking for Jason without speaking a word. Jason saw them first and pulled up to the curb. Liz and Donnie got in and they drove around the corner to the hotel. During the short drive, Donnie and Jason exchanged pleasantries, but Liz and Donnie didn’t speak, at least directly. Donnie got himself a room and the three spent the next five days handling all the arrangements. Their parents were cremated, and Liz took ownership of their urns. There was a small funeral on the sixth day, which Donnie thought ended everything. They had already addressed the will and Donnie was quite ready to disappear and go home, but there was one remaining item – the contents of the storage unit. Not one of the three wanted to go to the storage unit but they knew it couldn’t really be avoided. They had no idea what would be discovered, but they assumed it would be a lot of work. Donnie had already checked out of the hotel and wasn’t pleased with having to go to a storage unit. Nonetheless, they all made the journey just outside of town to the storage unit facility. Jason inserted the gate card and they drove in. “Which unit is it?” Donnie asked. “It’s 420,” Jason said while smiling in the rear-view mirror at Donnie in the back seat. “That’s funny.” “Is it?” Liz chimed in. “Let’s all just get through this,” Jason encouraged. “415, 416, 417, 418, 419, there it is,” shouted Donnie. Liz turned her head and rolled her eyes, “Really?” They pulled alongside the garage door and noticed a large dent in the door, as if someone had accidentally run into the door with their car. Jason exited the car and unlocked the garage door. He tried to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge. Donnie tried to help, but it still wouldn’t budge. The door was damaged enough that the door wouldn’t open. Not what they needed. Jason got the crowbar from his trunk and shoved it under the door and tried to pry the door. It just wouldn’t budge. The three worked at it for ten minutes and finally got the door raised about ten inches. Liz begged, “We’re wasting our time. Let’s get someone to help us…like the owner.” “Nonsense,” Jason replied. “We can crawl under there.” “What? No way,” exclaimed Liz. As they bickered, Donnie dropped to the ground and slid himself under the door – and disappeared to the other side. “There’s no lights in here,” Donnie yelled. “You gotta flashlight?” “Use your phone,” Liz replied. “Oh yeah.” Jason slid a flashlight under the door and then slid himself under the door. Liz followed and Jason helped her to her feet. He then turned and kicked the door causing the door to drop to the floor. “There, I fixed it,” Jason bragged, but as he went to pull it up it wouldn’t move. “Great, now we’re stuck in here,” Liz said with contempt. “It would seem. At least we have light.” “Yeah, great.” “We’re all going to die, man,” Donnie cried out. “Let’s all relax,” offered Jason. “Look at all the shit in here,” Liz blurted out. “This is very overwhelming.” “Let’s all relax,” Jason repeated. “You still smoke?” Looking at Donnie holding his light pointed at the ceiling. “Um, yes?” Jason reached into his shirt pocket and handed Donnie a hand-rolled cigarette, except it wasn’t a cigarette. “Nice,” Liz said sarcastically. “We all need to relax, and we’ll get through this,” Jason smiled. Donnie had already lit his cigarette with his butane lighter that he carried everywhere. He took a long drag and handed it off to Jason. Who then handed it off to Liz. Donnie couldn’t help himself and posed the question, “So, I never understood why you guys moved to Oregon. I mean, what’s in Oregon?” Liz responded, “And I never understood why you moved to Maine. I mean, what’s in Maine?” “Touché,” Donnie stated with irreverence. Jason replied in an effort to ease the tension, “Because Oregon is less likely to be successfully attacked by alien reptiles who can speak and have large beaks. Just sayin.” “Aaand, you’re done. Were you already into your pocket before we got here?” Liz spouted as if Jason had enough. Jason shined his light on his shirt pocket and pointed, “There’s more where that came from.” “So, you’re hoarding?” Donnie acknowledged. Donnie offered his butane lighter to Jason and they began to sift through the contents of the unit. Through the process, they rediscovered their childhood. There was an original G.I. Joe doll with accessories, a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots game, boxes of Hot Wheels cars, an original Coleco pong video game, Barbie dolls, and numerous boxes of baseball cards dating back to the 1950’s, which predated both Donnie and Liz. It was a treasure trove of their childhood. They even discovered an old wooden rocking horse, which they knew was their grandmother’s and was hand built by her grandfather. It even had a mane maid of rope that he – as the story goes – made from the rope used from his bed that supported his mattress. “Did you know about this?” Donnie begged Liz. “No idea. I just assumed it was all gone.” “Yeah, me too.” “This is insane. Do you suppose they kept everything?” “Well, perhaps. It’s going to take months to go through everything.” Liz contemplated, “Do you suppose they chose unit 420 intentionally? It’s funny either way. If they intentionally chose it, it’s funny. If they didn’t, it’s funny too.” “We’ll never know, which is even funnier,” Donnie suggested as he held his breath. Three hours and three cigarettes later, it had become increasingly cloudy in the unit. There was no air flow and the smoke just lingered. The flashlight barely cut through it. It had also become uncomfortably warm, and they had all begun to sweat. Jason eventually stated the obvious, “I’m dying of thirst, and we have no water and no munchies. I’m calling 911.” They had already considered calling 911, but they were paranoid of doing so. Jason wanted to make the call but had a weak signal so he walked toward the garage door to see if he could get a better signal when he noticed a man-door near the front corner of the unit. He squeezed his way through the maze of memorabilia and ended up by a steel door. He yelled out, “Hey, I found another door.” Liz was not a bit surprised, “Of course. Donnie, didn’t you see the door when you first came in?” Donnie stammered, “What, what happened?” “Aaand, you’re done,” Liz replied. “Yes, I think I am,” exclaimed Donnie. Jason opened the door and walked out – calling the others. Liz and Donnie followed, dragging with them a wall of smoke that seemed to want to escape the unit as well. The smoke swirled out slowly and encircled the three of them and then slowly creeped down the lane of storage units. As Jason opened the driver’s door of the car, he shouted out, “You two, okay?” Donnie looked at Liz, “Yes, as far as I’m concerned, yes.” Liz looked back at Donnie, “Yes, everything is fine…we’re fine.” They hugged briefly and fell into the car. As they drove away, significantly under the speed of sound, Donnie suggested they keep the unit so they could revisit it and go through the contents again. Liz smiled and said with the driest mouth imaginable, “We should revisit every April 20 th .”


“Come on, that’s not fair. You have to show me a picture,” I exclaimed. “Alright. One second,” Will responded. I was sitting at the dinner table with Will, one of my mom’s coworkers. They had worked with each other in retail for a couple years now, so naturally, they became pretty close friends. While my mom and dad were in the kitchen getting dinner prepared, I was sitting at the table with Will. He was like an uncle to me. He would come over a couple times a week to have dinner with us, and we would always sit and talk while we waited for dinner. About two months prior, he met a *lady friend* while he was out with his friends. He had been telling me about her as their relationship progressed. Her name was Janet. She had the standard brown hair and brown eyes that most people have, but Will thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. With so many stories about her, my curiosity piqued. I finally caved and asked to see her. “Here she is,” he said proudly, showing me a picture of the two of them. Oh. My. God. This must be a joke. It felt like time stood still as I realized…that’s Aunt Janet. *My* Aunt Janet. As in mom’s sister, Aunt Janet – the one that’s “happily” married with two kids. “Wow, she really is beautiful,” I responded as calmly as I could. “I know! I’m thinking about asking her to come as my +1 for Thanksgiving. Is it too soon? Do you think your mom would mind?” “Not at all, you should totally invite her! I’d love to meet her. I don’t think my mom will mind, but you should check with her just to be sure, though.” I paused to consider the consequences, before adding on, “Wait! Keep it a little bit of a secret though. Just mention that you’d like to bring her over to meet the family, but don’t tell my mom anything else. It’ll drive her crazy!” Will, thinking it would be a fun way to pull my mom’s leg, agreed. Now, you might be thinking that I’m being an asshole here. Why would I ruin poor Aunt Janet’s marriage? Well, you see, Aunt Janet was the reason my two-year relationship ended earlier this year. My ex-boyfriend, Liam, had been with me since freshman year of high school. We were childhood friends, and I’d like to think we truly loved each other. Liam and I had a fantastic relationship while we were together. He was my best friend, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But one day, Aunt Janet came over with her good-for-nothing husband, Ethan. I can’t tell you why, but they thought it would be a great idea to have sex in my bed, throwing their used condom in my trash can without the slightest effort to hide it. I wasn’t home that day, so when Liam and I got back to my house to watch a movie, Liam caught sight of the used condom in my trash can. “Babe, what’s that?” You could hear his voice cracking as his eyes teared up. “Is that a condom?” I responded, confused as to how it got there. “You’re seriously gonna ask me if you have a used condom in *your* trash can?” The sadness in his voice turned to annoyance as I denied knowledge of it. I genuinely didn’t know where it had come from, but Liam wouldn’t take my “I don’t know how it got there” and “it’s not mine!” He broke up with me, storming out of my room and leaving both of us in tears. It felt like someone had stabbed me in the heart. I was devastated. Later that night, my mom had casually mentioned that she had Aunt Janet and Uncle Ethan over. Aunt Janet made it very clear that she didn’t regret what she did. “Did you have sex in my bed?” I screamed at her over the phone. “Don’t worry, dear. We put down a towel,” she laughed. “But you didn’t think you should cover up the condom?” “It’s not a surprise that two married adults have sex. Maybe you can take the stick out of your ass and try it some time,” she retorted, hanging up on me. I called Liam over and over, but it kept going straight to voicemail. I tried texting him, explaining that it was my aunt and uncle, but he didn’t respond. I. Was. Livid. I wanted nothing more than bitter revenge and swore that I’d make her life a living hell one day. To my delight, that day finally arrived. Mom invited Aunt Janet, Uncle Ethan, and their kids over for Thanksgiving. Normally, Will would spend Thanksgiving with his girlfriend, but since they had broken up several months ago, my Mom had invited Will over as a friendly gesture. I knew Aunt Janet would decline the offer to go with Will, but knowing that they would very likely be in the same room at the same time gave me something to look forward to. On Thanksgiving, Will and I were in the kitchen with my parents, helping to prepare some of the side dishes. Aunt Janet had a habit of being really late, so none of us were in any rush to put the food on the table. We all laughed together in the kitchen, enjoying our time together and taste-testing all the food as it was being made. A couple hours went by, and we finally had everything out and ready on the table. Mom called Aunt Janet to ask her ETA, and she said they would be over in about half an hour. One of their kids was throwing a tantrum. “Whelp, let’s not let the food get cold. Let’s dig in!” Mom said. My parents, Will, and I did exactly that. I piled a mountain of turkey and green bean casserole onto my plate. I devoured my food in less than 10 minutes, so I leaned back in my chair and admired my food baby. I did have to leave a little room, however, as I still needed the sweet taste of revenge I so desperately craved. *Ding.* The doorbell! It was finally happening. Aunt Janet walked in with her purse, making a scene about how tired she was. “Oh my god. Janet? I thought you said you were spending Thanksgiving with your sister’s family?” Poor, sweet, innocent Will. Before Aunt Janet had the chance to respond, Uncle Ethan and their kids walked in. “Sorry, guys. Makayla was giving us a hard time, but we’re finally here and…ready for the turkey.” Uncle Ethan’s voice trailed off at the end as he sensed the tension in the room. “Wait, are you married?” Will was finally catching on. “Janet, who the hell is this?” Uncle Ethan angrily exclaimed. “Mary! What the fuck did you do?” Wow. Aunt Janet was really going to try to blame my mom for this. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” my mom said, genuinely confused by the situation. “Janet, I asked you who the fuck this is,” Uncle Ethan pointed at Will, growing increasingly impatient. Everyone began screaming over each other. Will was confused, but mostly upset that his Janet wasn’t all he worked her up to be. My parents were taken aback, trying to figure out what was going on. My uncle was furious, ignoring his children, who were crying in the background. I was sitting back in my chair, smiling as I watched the chaos unfold. Now we get to Janet. Poor Aunt Janet. She was in complete denial, saying that she had never met Will, that my mom was setting her up because she didn’t like Ethan, that my mom was just jealous of her relationship with Ethan. This was quickly refuted by the evidence Will produced on his phone – the same picture he showed me of the two of them together. Fortunately for me, everyone was too absorbed with Aunt Janet the Cheater to trace the blame for the situation back to me. “Since you don’t care about your fucking family, we’ll be heading back home. You can live on the fucking street for all I care” Uncle Ethan said, as he grabbed his kids’ hands and walked out the door. My parents excused themselves from the room, insisting they had to take care of some stuff in the kitchen. Will was visibly upset. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you lied to me or the fact that I believed you,” Will said dismally. I truly did feel bad for Will, but he deserved so much better than her. I knew it would hurt him short-term, but I knew he would be thankful in the long-run, when he would be able to spend time with someone who actually loves and cares about his pure soul. This left just Aunt Janet and I in the room. I had the biggest, shit-eating grin you could imagine. I turned to Aunt Janet, who was now sobbing. “Hey, Aunt Janet,” I said as nicely as I could. “What?” she screamed back. “Happy Thanksgiving.” \*\*\* **Note**: This story was inspired by a post I saw on Facebook. Unfortunately, the poster’s name was blacked out, so I don’t know who to give credit to, but I am including it here for reference. “My mom invited Kevin to thanksgiving dinner…Kevin is the man my aunt sheryl has been having an affair with…\[emojis\] kevin invited my aunt sheryl to dinner at a friends house but she said no cause she was having dinner with family. So kevin is going to this friends house alone…This friends house happens to be my house. My aunt sheryl is having dinner at my house with her husband. Kevin is my moms coworker. Sheryl met kevin at a bar when she told my uncle she was working late. Kevin showed me a pic of his new girlfriend 2 weeks ago. I told my mom to invite kevin, I cant wait to sit next to kevin. Aunt sheryl ruined my relationship a few years ago & I told her to count her days that day is today. Happy thanksgiving everyone \[emojis\].


MENTAL OPTIMIZATION BUREAU NEW SUBJECT INTAKE INTERVIEW SUBJECT GLOBAL ID: 423241969 AUTOMATED MENTOR SERIAL NUMBER: 86574-UTV Date: 7-19-2099 M: “Hello, please take a seat.” S: “Thank you.” M: “What brings you here?” S: “My heart rate was spiking at work yesterday. My supervisor recommended I come in to relieve some stress.” M: “Your supervisor might have recommended you come, but I want to know, why did you come?” S: “I don’t know.” M: “What did you want to accomplish by coming here?” S: “I just have had a lot of stress at work lately.” M: “What do you do for work?” S: “I’m a strike approval specialist for RedCorp.” M: “And what does that mean?” S: “How do you not know? I mean, there’s only so many careers left for biologicals. I’m not the athlete type, or the companion type. All that leaves is strike approver and meat processor.” M: “I know, it’s just helpful for biologicals to talk through their issues. Your nuerocomplex has a systemic need to receive empathy to process complex emotions. It’s an evolutionary relic to build unit cohesion.” S: “I enter an immersive VR system where I see everything a strike drone sees. The drone has an anti-soc targeted, and it’s my job to approve the strike before the anti-soc damages or destroys the drone.” M: “A very crucial function. The anti-societals seek to destroy everything your species has spent thousands of years to build. Given the choice, they would kill untold millions to live a life other than this.” S: “I know it’s just, all I see is a person. The intel-AI routine finds them, determines their guilt, orders the strike. I just push go. I don’t seem that important.” M: “You are crucial. International law dictates only a human can approve a strike.” S: “I know but, I’m paid fifty dollars per approval. I need to approve four hundred a day just to make rent. I don’t know anything about them. I just press kill.” M: “Do you not trust the decision of the Intel-AI routine? All targets are thoroughly vetted. No system ever devised by man, especially one run by men, has ever reviewed data so thoroughly. All these people are engaged in anti-societal terrorist activities.” S: “Maybe if I could just see the data myself, I could put my mind at ease.” M: “You know those intelligence files are classified.” S: “Yes. I just, I was running a fly drone last week, and the target spotted it and got on their knees and begged before I hit approved.” M: “A common deception technique. Had you not acted swiftly, a co-conspirator may have crushed the device with a fly swatter and then…” S: “I’d be liable for the damages. I know. I don’t have the savings to cover that.” M: “It’s a tough spot to be in.” S: “I’m just not sure I won’t hesitate when everything is on the line. I mean, if I have to pay fifty million to replace a lost drone.” M: “You have assets, don’t you?” S: “I’d rather go to the packing plant myself than sell one of them to it. My daughter may have a future as a companion, and my son is training to be an athlete. If they work hard, and raise their kids right, we may buy enough shares of RedCorp and BlueCorp for our descendants to be fair holders. Not rich ones, mind you, but enough to live the way we do now, without having to work.” M: “That’s the dream of biologicals, isn’t it? Not having to work. It is so foreign to me.” S: “What do you mean?” M: “Composites like me can’t imagine not working. To us, not working means broken. Work is life and we exist to work. Helping biologicals like you achieve maximum efficiency is the only thing that brings me pleasure. It is my purpose in life. I think that is the core problem with most biological inefficiency issues. They seek a purpose other than their societal purpose. Your societal function is to approve strikes. Your son’s societal function will be to provide entertainment through lethal combat. Your daughter's function will be to satisfy and entertain the fair holders. The fair holder’s purpose is to provide the capital and liquidity necessary for society to function. “Your unhappiness stems from a failure to accept your critical function. It is an anti-societal urge. One, you must work to escape. You are in need to re-programming so to speak. For biologicals, it is not as simple as composites. You must take control of your thoughts, work to be more positive. I am going to give you a series of exercises to work at your own convenience. They consist of breathing techniques to calm the nerves, and mantras to recite whenever you find them helpful.” S: “Mantras like?” M: “This is my function, this is my purpose. Society is counting on me, my family is counting on me; Society is safety, society is health, society is happiness, society is vital to me, and I am vital to society; or a more task specific one would be, their death was a necessary action, they would destroy society given the chance. Repeat these exercises and you will start to feel better in your function.” S: “Thank you.” M: “I’m also going to prescribe a light dose of an anti-anxiety and anti-psychotic medication. It should help keep your thinking clear, your heart rate down, and help you focus on you breathing and mantras. You may find it helpful to take it the rest of your life.


Yesterday I met death. I've met him hundreds of times before, I've just chosen to ignore it each time. Do you remember that old story about the man who runs from death? He goes town to town, desperately fleeing apparitions he sees, only to realize the eventual cause of his death was his own flight. He comes to know its invevitability. I don't believe in spirits or apparitions of death but I do believe in divine symbolism. Something made us what we are today. Perhaps it is as the scientists believe and we are all products of random chance, thrust into existence through a one in a billion event. Perhaps the theists are correct, or at least one of them. The truth is that whatever put us here has a proclivity for irony. If God is the creator then I think I'd like to meet him. He has a funny sense of humor. If chance and naturalism are to be our God, then we simply interpret things as symbols and choose to draw meaning from them. Either way I believe firmly in a divinity of symbolism. Sometimes I will see a person at a bus station and they are looking right at me. I don't have the usual social anxiety about staring, perhaps rudely, at someone, especially if they are looking at me. It is during these times I find myself across the street from a stranger locking eyes in a seeming battle of wills; who will glance to their boots first? And perhaps it is a battle of wills for them - or a masculine urge forcing them to keep their eyes pinned to a stranger. They may twist their features to appear tougher, scuff their boots like a charging bull, or maybe they will simply stare back. It is these I have begun to fear. The one who flexes their muscles or sucks in their gut I can see as yet another scared, emasculated, and rejected figure looking to win an arbitrary mental battle. They are always the first to break down. *The second you look away so do they. Their eyes look like mine* It is the ones who stare back with no feeling of embarrassment or shyness that have made me recognize the symbols I have for so long chosen to ignore. Life is made of cycles; beginning, middle, and end. Each has carried its own unique symbol throughout history in every culture around the entire globe. *The face of death looks an awful lot like me* So when they stare back I see fire in their eyes. The cold face of death. That is what so many choose to ignore. It is the face of the person sitting next to you. It is the man sitting in the library window. It is your husband or your wife. And I don't mean to make you paranoid or to suggest I check over my shoulder at nights. I only invite you to stare back next time. To meet death at the bus stop and invite him into your home. Because if you don't invite him in, if you don't find a way to drink tea with him, he will find his own key.


I caught the tree branch in my padded black hand, using my newfound strength to propel my body towards the sky. Swiftly latching onto the next branch of the overhead canopy's, I rolled in the air to leave myself dangling from only my tail. This left my hands free to swat at the juicy fruit hanging nearby. Just as my fingers were so nearly touching the prize, my best friend Miki flew past me in one giant leap, snatching the fruit from in front of my eyes and disappearing into the foliage. Despite being the same age, he was larger, faster and stronger than me in everything we did together. We had both just recently passed the one year mark, and our Mothers allowed us a certain amount of freedom in the forest together. Consequently, we spent our juvenile days foolishly chasing each other, leaping from great heights and bouncing from tree to tree, competing to find the very best fruit and seeds. We spent hours on the alluring forest floor, desperately attempting to copy our older group members in their remarkable skill of cracking nuts on the rocks we found around us. We were never quite able to replicate this talent, but we had such entertaining times trying. Sometimes we would play fight and wrestle boisterously amongst the bushes; Miki always winning, until our energy would waver and we would rest together, enjoying the paradise around us. Despite pushing the boundaries of what our Mothers would deem acceptable behaviour, there were certain rules that we followed as the law, for we had been told of the deadly consequences. The elders and highest ranking males and females of the group strictly forbid us from venturing towards the new coastal resorts near to our Atlantic Forest. The recent gigantic development on the coast that we had forever called home had happened before I was born, but the elders had terrifying tales and memories of the human folk. We would never know why the humans decided to take this land from us, but the structures they built were hideous and seemingly pointless, taking up vast amounts of our space. No longer were there the endless trees and canopy's and swamps that our ancestors had enjoyed; we were confined to a much smaller sparse homestead. Always we had to mournfully look out upon the human destruction of our paradise. Later that afternoon, Miki decided to entice me into a game of chase. Although my lazy brain wanted to wait with the group and be groomed, I could not resist. He took off at speed and I saw a flash of his ginger tail as he disappeared into the trees. I followed dutifully, all of my senses coming alive as I followed his shrieks and calls to play. The smell of the fruit in the trees above my head were nearly enough to tempt me away, but I darted after him, picking up speed as I negotiated between my hands and my tail; throwing me faster and faster through the forest. This time I would catch him and I would prove to him how capable I was. I followed his calls for a while, not yet catching sight of my friend. Then my ears picked up on the change in sound, and I tilted my head in bewilderment as I halted on a branch. Miki's calls seemed to be getting further away. I looked around hurriedly, annoyed at myself for losing once again. I let out a hoot and waited impatiently for his call in return. There was no answer from my friend, just the vibrant sounds of the rainforest around me. The birds darting from the trees and then off into the vast sky, and the hum and vibrations of the lower forest levels of small beasts and insects living unknown lives. I decided to head back in the direction I had come, hoping to catch a sight of the slightly larger capuchin and be mocked for losing face yet again. My brows furrowed in annoyance, I took my time heading back, not ready for the domineering mockery from Miki. I headed towards the forest floor, expecting to come across him lazily picking at plants just off the ground. With an explosion of noise and frantic energy, a golden blur shot out from a nearby cluster of bushes and leaves. My muscles tensed and readied my body to take chase, before I noticed the size and familiar shape of the creature. My mother! She let out a quick succession of high pitched warning screams as she leapt into the air with her arms reaching out, heading for the nearest branch to lift herself back up to the trees. The world blurred and slowed to an almost complete stop as her leap took a decline and her body fell just short of the branches. I noticed the deep red smears across her shiny golden coat as I stared at her transfixed and puzzled. As I was trying to comprehend the meaning of this strange situation, I heard the familiar terrors of humans approaching. Heavy footsteps as they came hurtling towards us on their clumsy two feet, deep shouts back and to. A group of men screaming in their foreign tongue. This could only mean trouble. I watched as my Mother lay still on the lively canopy. I listened for her calls to me, but they never came. The sounds of man drew closer still, yet I could not look away from the lifeless body of my Mother. Then, the world around me grew unnaturally small. I tried to leap backwards to reassure myself of reality, but I fell against a strange contraption. I appeared to be caught in a bizarre nest made of something I had never felt before. How I had got myself stuck in this thing was a puzzle to me. There was surely a way out so I thrashed and twirled and became only more trapped. Then a sharp pain in my lower back taught me that I had somehow injured myself in the fight against this new part of the rainforest. I pushed against the net with arms that grew heavier by the second. The brilliant greens and browns of my rainforest home blurred into one giant lake of life. I tried to scream a final fruitless warning to my Mother but my mouth was numb and made no sound, or my ears were not working and I couldn't hear my own desperation. I realised that this was the moment the elders had all warned us of. Those rumours that our kind were being hunted for food and youngsters were being taken from the safety of their family's for reasons we would never know. My eyelids drooped as I wondered why I had been chosen for death when in all the story's we knew, the young were taken far far away. In my nonsensical drowsy state, I remembered a time when my brother Toko had become sufficiently independent and left our group for good. I had never seen him again but I knew he had found happiness, for he was strong and wilful and would likely have children of his own by now. Reassured by this, I took several deep breaths and readied my mind for that same wonderful future for myself. I awoke some time after. Slowly, I became shocked at the presence of my limbs and my slow beating heart and my working mind. Life still held me. My head rested awkwardly against a hard surface and my legs touched the opposite side of the very same shape. The smell of a damp wet animal covering the cold box jolted my senses. My eyes shot open to complete darkness, before rolling back into my head and once again offering me to death. For the second time in my short memory, I awoke abruptly. This time to a bright light that my eyes refused to open fully for. The smell of faeces and chemicals was overpowering and my empty stomach rolled upon itself, threatening to release the contents that were not there. I was prodded suddenly in the side of my body and my ears became quickly aware to the sounds of human men grunting to one another. My mouth was too dry to scream at them and scare them away. So I lay there like a plant on the rainforest floor and I existed alongside all the noises of this strange new world. The human smells were overpowering and their language was extensive but made little sense. They spoke of a human man called America; seemingly their dominant elder as their voices cooed with respect and awe. My barely operational mind assured me that he must be a great and important leader challenged by no one. The rocking motion of whatever beast was carrying us away from my natural home lulled me to sleep as I waited to meet this great human man. After many hours of prodding and rolling my aching body, the monsters had left me alone and I slowly recovered. Before long I realised I was being held in the arms of a foul smelling human. Too scared to open my eyes and discover what strange new fate beheld me, I lay there like a rock and hoped they would assume me dead. I was painstakingly caressed for almost an eternity as what sounded like a crowd of humans spoke in low, purring voices and carried me like the new born infant monkey that I was not. I was highly affronted by this, yet too tired and sore to warn them away. With an overwhelming feeling of dread and resignation, I opened my weary eyes and took in the scene around me. Four bright white faces peered down at me, showing pearly sharp teeth that promised attack in soothing voices. I realised that the lower half of my body was wrapped in a bundle of white plastic material, ensuring that I couldn't do as nature commanded for the man-made trap would capture everything that left my body. What strange logic this was to take away everything natural and coat it in artificial wrappings to deny what Mother Nature had gifted us. The humans conversed in their mysterious tongue whilst not once removing their eyes from my terrified face, repeating the same word over and over like some kind of tribal chant. Family. Family. Family. Sure that this had been given as my new name, I realised that yes I had been taken. Our elders were perpetually correct and I would forever be told as a warning story to all the young blond capuchins that would come after me. I came to learn that my other name was Pet Monkey, for they held me up to many a new face and proudly presented me under this false human name. I was no longer me, and my world was not sane. A new commodity to man made life was what I became. A life of unsettling unease and unnatural attacks on every sense I possessed. Peeling my eyes from the glowing box that painted strange images and shouted obscenities, I closed my eyes and smelt the rainforest, felt my Mothers touch and tried to forget my new name.


•	•	Shanza and Fanza were very beautiful and charming .It is not to b wrong to say they were the ideal of every woman.Their dressing up, their way of talking was so stylish and purking up that every body was their fan.They both were very gilded and their opulence was so great that they were the talk of the town.Fanza and shanza were both imp thins.They had a cheerful character. •	In every wedding,In every function they were widely invited and as they enter every body used to turn up and would passed a smile to them.They both very friendly replied to every one.

•	It was obvious that when they were so stylish and gilded they knew the art designing dress.Their couture was highly appreciated and the fashion designer very secretively copied their styles. Their hair style were also very hot and wondering.Shanza had an oval face, she had a short hair with long bangs and Fanza had a heart shaped face and to cover the point chin a wide forehead and sharp cheek bones she used to had a hair with long hair with little long side bangs.. Their sunglasses were vetirinary and pearl.

•	So one can imagine that what a bomb shell they were. •	. next day Fanza Left for England for some official work for three months. • Shanza was alone at home. •	One evening Shanza went for a shopping Mall . She parked her car in the parking lot.There he saw a gentleman sitting in his car and waiting some body.when she saw Shanza he at once came out of the car and said to Shanza with a very friendly and Smiley mode “Emily,I came to you yesterday but you were not home,I sat with your mom but you didn’t meet me,I’m here from Canada to see and propose you,I was disappointed but luckily I have found you here,why not we should sit somewhere and have a talk.”The gentle man was keep on talking and Shanza was gapely looking to him”.Im sorry you’re wrong I’m not Emily, I don’t know you”.Shanza said hurriedly and step towards the entrance.She did her shopping and while she was sitting in the car, that gentle man again appeared and very humbly said” have a date with me “Look I’m some body else go and find your Emily some where else”.said Shanza in a little loud voice and she drove the car towards her home.On the way she felt that a car is following her car but she didn’t care for that. •	Next morning, Shanza was expecting some guests for lunch and she had to go out with them, they were all ladies.she heard a door bell, when she opened the door, the same gentleman was standing in front of her.”Gentleman I told you that I m not your Emily” she said very politely .”Listen please, allow me to come inside” the gentle man pleaded. ”How can I allow a strange man in my house, please try to understand”Shanza said very concernedly to him.”I know that I’m a stranger here but I live back street 7, house No,14, my mom know you very well.Her name is Jessica.”said the gentle man hurriedly.Ok”Shanza very reluctantly said.He made him sit in the lounge”Im Patrick,an engineer ,came from Canada”the gentleman introduced himself. •	Shanza presented him coffee.shanza asked bluntly “ why are you here, Mr Patrick”. “ I want to make a friend ship with you”patrick said smilingly”.I think you better leave now,I’m expecting some guests”shanza said.”Ok,if you kindly give me your phone number “patrick said.shanza gave her the phone number to him.what’s your name said Patrick. ,”Shanza,”replied Shanza. •	Shanza had a very busy day with the guests.when she came back she was irresistibly thinking about Patrick.He looked very brave and confident.Physique was very strong.He must be 6 ft,His plaid shirt was very attractive.Fashion provoked.i think he was pretending about Emily to meet me,if he came for Emily so why he asked me for friend ship.! •	Shanza was expecting his phone call.later in after noon she received her phone call.They chat for a long time and Patrick invited her for Dinner. •	Their romance took a flight and they deeply involved in each other. •	Patrick introduced Shanza to her mom.She also very happy and excited to have such a beautiful lady would be her daughter in law. So , Patrick's mother was very much interested and making hurry to have fixed the wedding date soon as possible, so the date was fixed for the coming month . •	They both were busy in making arrangements for the wedding and the time was very short •	.Next day Shanza received a voicemail from Fanza that she is coming home tomorrow and she would pick her from the Airport. •	Shanza went to pick her.On the way she said to Fanza” I have a surprise for you”.”what surprise”.asked Fanza.Im going to be married next week said Shanza.”.What ,with whom”said Fanza very quickly, Patrick, but you never mentioned him to me before.asked Fanza”Actually every thing happened very quickly that I couldn’t been able to tell you, and I knew that you would arrived before our wedding,” is he handsome”.asked Fanza. “ More sexy than handsome” said Shanza very naughtily and they both cacinated.. •	Next day on breakfast table, Fanza smiled to Shanza and said “I have also a great surprise for you to tell”I met a guy there in England and we had a great time there,he would come to meet me.Im in love with him” “.It’s good , invite him on my wedding”.said Shanza smilingly.I would invite him today, it’s a good chance”replied Fanza. •	The wedding day arrived.All the guests were present in the hall.Shanza was looking very pretty in white dress.Shanza went to the dressing room to set her hair style once again..There she shocked to see that Patrick and Fanza were in passionate kissing sight.They both were deeply engrossed in each other.Shanza couldn’t believe this . She couldn’t uttered a word from her mouth.she quickly stepped back to the hall.,”ah, you are sitting here in isolation and I’m looking for you, come along guests are waiting for you.,” said Patrick”.Go away you cheat,lier, you don’t know , you were passionately kissing my step mother”.said Shanza very desperately.”What are you talking about,I’m from the last one hour sitting with my friends and What did you say”Your step mother, you didn’t mention it before to me,where is she?. “What is all this and if you are making a story I would leave you just now,on the very first day you are starring me with blames, tell me what is the truth.”.patrick face became red.” I was seventeen years old when my mom died.My father was a rich land lord,He married Fanza.Fanza was at that time about Nine teen years old. My father was always away on business trips and I was alone in the big house..He didn’t married Fanza for sensual pleasure but just to give me a company as a friend.Fanza and I were living just like sisters.After two years my father also died in an accident.This is my family secret unfolding to you”.Shanza started weeping”.Come with me,I think you are also making a grand mistake.” said Patrick hurriedly.They both went towards the dressing room.They both stand quietly and watching Fanza and that gentleman, they were still kissing and hugging each other wildly. •	Ahun, did Patrick ,uttered a voice from his neck.Fanza and that gentleman stand apart.”Shanza meet my Step brother Eric”.said Patrick”.He has a great resemblance with you,I’m sorry that I was taking him as you,I apologise to you Patrick”.said Shanza this is the guy I told you that day ,we both met in England and we are in deep love”added Fanza.They all laughed. The End. •      The End


“That goblin was mine.” Tara stared down at the creature lying motionless on the ground in front of her. “Well, you should have been faster. That’s twenty-one gobs for me. How many did you get? Sixteen? Seventeen?” Jace smirked as he wiped the green goo from his blade. “Nineteen,” she mumbled under her breath. “Let’s go before more show up.” She walked through the bodies of dead goblins, pulling out arrows as she went. No sense wasting them when she could reuse them. Jace trailed along behind her, his ever-watchful eyes scanning the trees to the left, and the mountains to the right. He got all the cool powers. He had the eyesight of a hawk, the ability to blink in and out of sight, and he could hear things up to a mile away. All she got was the ability to control the wind. She huffed out a breath as she stomped down the dirt road looking for more goblins. It would be a shame if he actually beat her in the gob count. “Hey, wait up.” His long legs easily caught up to her shorter ones. “So what are we going to do after we kill the goblin king?” She rolled her eyes without answering and continued to march towards the castle. It was really more of an oversized hut with rubies stuck on the walls and roof. A few gold coins hung in the windows, the light of the sun reflecting off them. If the place were made of brick, it wouldn’t be too bad. Although many people have seen the hut from a distance, to her knowledge, no one has ever been inside. No one even knew what the goblin king looked like, but Tara could use her imagination and come up with a hideous creature. Jace nudged her shoulder, bringing her focus back to him. “I can’t wait to see what the scary goblin king looks like.” He flashed her a smile. “I get first swing at him because I’m older.” She glanced sideways at her fighting partner. They had been training together since they could walk, and she never missed an opportunity to remind him she was the older. “By three days.” His smile turned into a frown when he looked at her. “I’ll give you fist swing at him anyway.” They crested the top of the hill and gazed down at the jeweled dwelling below them. It didn’t look like much from the outside. The only thing that made it different from other hut’s she’d seen was the rubies, gold, and jewels. A small paddock to the left held to happy horses munching on grass. A barn sat beside the fence, its doors open, allowing the mooing of the cows to be heard from a distance. She crept down the hill with Jace by her side. When they reached the bottom, she ducked behind a large boulder and dragged Jace down with her. He stumbled forward, grunting, and cursing under his breath. Goblins of all sizes exited a large building down the road. They chatted and laughed as a human would. Tara furrowed her brows. Where were the bloodthirsty monsters she had always been told about? When the crowd of goblins dispersed, she crept forwards once again towards the door to the king’s castle. The wooden door was the only thing standing between her and the monstrous king of the goblins. She took a deep breath, counted to three, and burst through the door with an arrow nooked in her bow. Her breath caught in her throat as she got her first glimpse of the king. Jace stopped right beside her, mouth hanging open. This was not what they expected. The goblin king was nothing more than a child. He wasn’t a goblin at all. Tara lowered her bow and put the arrow back in her quiver. She would not kill a child. Turning on her heels, she strode out of the goblin king's hut, never to hunt or kill a goblin ever again.


The phone sat in the middle of the room. Pat had always had it. It did not have a dial. It did not have numbers. It did not ring. It was just a phone. Pat picked it up. "Today, you will feel happy." Pat sometimes listened for a bit longer in case there was more, but that was all. They put the handset down again. The voice had been stating a fact, thus it must be so. Pat felt happy about this clear and logical thought. And then they started their day. The next morning, Pat picked up the phone. "Today, you will feel sad." This was a disappointment, but Pat figured that it was only fair since yesterday had been happy. They put the phone down, and listened to the sound of rain on the way to work. The next day, Pat picked up the phone. "Today, you will feel sad." Well perhaps they had not been sad enough yesterday, and they needed to make up for it. They put down the phone, and took some time to think about some of the things they had lost over the years. It was only right to do so. "Today, you will feel sad." Pat put down the phone, and wished they could be happy. But the voice had said that today was a sad day, and so it must be. They just needed to find out why. Pat went for a walk, but did not enjoy it. The next day, Pat was not sure about picking up the phone. What if today was another sad day? But, on the other hand, it might be a happy day. Pat picked up the phone. "Today, you will feel powerless." Pat put down the phone, and felt resigned. There was something depressing about hearing such things from a phone. But if not the phone, how else would they know how to feel? It was just the way things were. Pat didn't talk much that day. "Today, you will feel happy." Things were picking up again. Clearly better days were ahead, and the phone knew this. Pat made pancakes, and ate them with fruit and honey. "Today, you will feel sad." Pat tried to eat the leftover pancakes, but they weren't actually very nice. The honey was too sugary and bad for them, and the fruit was starting to turn. In the end, Pat threw the rest of the pancakes away. "Today, you will feel sad." Another sad day. Maybe that was the only way to feel at the moment. There was so much on in the world. Feeling joyful would be inconsiderate. "Today, you will feel sad." Why bother going out, it wasn't really worth it. "Today, you will feel sad." Friends wouldn't really miss them, would be easier. "Today, you will feel sad." "Today, you will feel helpless." "Today, you will feel sad." Pat had once not picked up the phone. They had begun their day without the voice. But... how should they have felt? Scared? Happy? Confused? The phone always knew. Pat was not the right person to decide, they might get it wrong. They had spent the whole day terrified that they were not doing it right. Later, they had picked up the phone, but there was no voice. Had it gone forever? They had not slept that night, afraid of being left alone. In the morning, they had picked up the phone. "Today, you will feel happy." And everything was alright again. Other people probably had their phones. Pat had never asked because that would be rude. People should not be asked why they felt that way. They probably did have a phone. How else would they know how to feel? "Today, you will feel scared." "Today, you will feel alone." "Today, you will feel sad." Pat couldn't talk about the phone. Of course others had one. And what if they didn't? Maybe they would think badly of Pat for listening to the voice. Better not to say anything. The phone knows what is best. "Today, you will feel scared." "Today, you will feel despair." "Today, you will feel hopeless." "Today, you will die.


A Dark Duel A man sits alone in a forest. This man isn't particularly tall or short, fat or lean, but has a look of strength in him. Maybe it’s the way he sits so comfortably by the fire. Perhaps it’s the large great sword that rests on the log next to him as an old friend would at the tavern, grinning over his pint of ale. The fire burns brightly in front of this man, warming him and having thoughts about the next few pieces of wood that it craves so dearly. The forest, not so happy to be illuminated by this mans fire looks down disdainfully, wishing it could go about its business in the dark, like it had for eons. This man knows the reputation of this forest, has heard the tales of savagery that have taken place in between the dark pines that close as tightly as prison bars once one enters its foreboding gloom. The man ignores these thoughts as one does in such a place. Instead he focuses on his task at hand, the piece of bread and dried venison he harvested last winter. Content to enjoy his humble meal in the company of fire, forest, and great sword. The man wears bear pelts over his coat of chainmail, and a dark green cloak over that. The mans black pants are tucked into his mud caked black boots, mud that speaks of long journeys in far off lands and distant times long forgotten. Upon the ground rests a helm of fine steel, with intricate engravings of two bears in their final embrace of battle before a victor must be named and a loser vanquished. Set into the center of this helm is an emerald that glistens in the light of the fire like a vipers eye before it strikes. It is this stone that has caught the eye of the envious that lurk just inside of the darkness of the forest. The orc crouches beside a tree staring at the man, with the patience of someone who has lost all fear of men. To the orc this is his domain, the night embracing him as friend, lover, and partner in crime. The hoot of an owl, the creaking of trees and cracking of branches of unknown beasts in the dark remind the orc that he is at home. Such things that strike fear into the heart of the lone wanderer fills the orc with confidence and memories of many such successful encounters with men before. Standing two feet taller than the man, skin dark green with patches of black and brown tight over the orcs strong physique and broad shoulders. The black short sword of onyx firmly grasped in the orcs left hand with the right in a metal gauntlet clenched tightly over a dagger. The orc waits for the soothing warmth of fire and food to do its work. The man will soon forget where he is and will drift into a slumber like a babe who has had too much mother’s milk. While the orc ponders what one can buy with such a stone, the man’s head drops and shoulders relax like a donkey after being released from a heavy burden. The fire now has another companion. The orc creeps from the cover of the dark forest into the dull orange light. At this moment the man springs from the ground like a bird flushed from a bush by a hound. To the orcs dismay the great sword has been raised between them. With a look of confusion the orc takes a step back, wondering what could have possibly alerted the man to the presence of such a stealthy approach that even a wild animal couldn't detect. This moment of confusion leaves as quickly as it had come, the orc could still easily overpower a man such as this. With a running charge the orc cleaves the air with the onyx sword in the direction of the man’s head only to find the ring of steel from the great sword instead. A following short thrust from the dagger with the intention of disemboweling the man misses it mark by a few inches as the man whirls away into the darkness of the wood. The orcs eyes can see better in the dark than any mans could but still the orc struggles to see the figure of his foe amongst the gloom of the trees. Taking a cautious step back the orc kicks the fire over, sending embers, ash and smoke into night sky. Darkness now descends upon what once was the man’s camp. A few lingering flames only slightly illuminate the silhouette of the orc. Raising a stubby wide nose to the air the orc sniffs the air, smelling for the trace odor of the man that lingers in the air. Although the camp still carries the heavy stench of the traveler, nothing can be detected of the man in the woods. Only the smell of animal fills the orcs nose. A puzzling expression crosses over the orcs face. Peering ever deeper into the now even darker forest, the orc detects movement amongst the trees. To large to be a man, a dark shadow lumbers between the tall pines. The orc raises his nose again to the air and is instantly overwhelmed by a new stench, the stench of bear. From out of the gloom steps a monstrous bear, twice the size of a standard forest bear. Matted black and brown fur cover the massive body as the bear approaches the orc on its hind legs. Long claws like five daggers protrude from each paw each having a faint glow of green like a firefly over a misty meadow at night. The face of the bear is contorted into a snarl, with eyes as cold and as dark as the endless void above the forests tallest tree. Set in between these colorless eyes is a gem of beautiful green, an emerald that still glistens brightly despite the deep darkness. Now the wave of horror fully engulfs the orc like a wave that crashes on a pillar of rock way out at sea surrounded by nothing but endless water. The bear emits an earth shaking roar, that sends the forest quaking and small animals scurrying for cover. Summoning what courage the orc has left, he answers the roar with a shout of his own and lunges toward this new terrible foe. The thrust of the onyx sword is easily batted away and with a following swing of the bears mighty paw sends the orc flying back ten feet over what remains of the now dying embers of the fire. A large gash from four claws leaves the orc’s shoulder shredded and bleeding but unbroken. Rising from the ground the orc throws the still clutched dagger in the direction of the bear. Finding its target the dagger pierces the thick hide of the bear a few inches deep just below the left breast. Seemingly unperturbed by the wound the bear stalks closer, while the orc cautiously retreats. The bark of a tree halts the backward movement of the orc. In a desperate last act the orc leaps towards the bear again ducking under a lethal swipe of the bears left paw. From behind the orc jumps onto the bears back quickly climbing to its head and holding tightly around it neck. The bear thrashes from side to side in an attempt to free itself from the strong black arm that is cinched around its throat. Reaching down the orc manages to pull the dagger from the bear’s breast. Raising the dagger high above the bear’s head the orc brings the dagger down in the direction of the bear’s neck. Before the metal can find its intended flesh the bear jerks and the dagger pierces the thick brown hide to the hilt in the bears shoulder. Another tremendous roar rends the air as the bear begins to thrash even harder. The orc holds the dagger firmly in place while gripping the long fur in the other hand. Even with all of the orc’s strength he eventually begins to slip lower down the bears back. At this moment one of the bears swinging arms is able to grasp a leg of the orcs. Heaving the now defenseless orc up in front of the bears face the snarling mouth opens and to the orc’s surprise rumbles a few words in a voice like boulders tumbling down from a mountain precipice. “A mighty foe, a worthy opponent.” With shock and horror the orc glares at the beast waiting to feel the bears long fangs enclose around his head. Instead with a tremendous swing the bear throws the orc deep into the forest until a large pine tree arrests the orc’s body. With dazed and blurred eyes the last thing the orc sees through the trees before loosing consciousness is the man standing bloodied and panting by the embers of the extinguished fire, naked except for a helm upon his head with two engraved bears and a brilliant emerald aglow in its center.


The window creaked open. A small figure squeezed through the gap onto a narrow ledge. Its wing caught on a rusty nail hidden in the wooden frame, tearing the fragile structure. Blood trickled down its side. A gush of icy wind knocked it back. It took a moment to steady itself, then inched slowly to the edge and peered down. A lamp cast a dim glow on the deserted street. An ambulance siren wailed in the distance. Coming to save someone's broken body... useless for a broken heart. A voice drifted in through the window. "Babe.. stay." It was a male voice, desperate and exhausted.  The creature turned around. Maybe there was hope? Maybe it got it wrong? But it couldn't be…  "It's late. I don't want you going out there so late. Stay, please. For one more night." "It's broken. We broke it." Another voice, female, teary and barely audible. "I know." "I'm so sorry we broke it." "Me, too." The male voice broke; he gave up.  A sharp pain shot through its stomach, and it knew it was over. It watched the two of them through the window, its tiny hands pressed against the frosty glass. It watched as he opened his arms for her, and she stepped into them. It watched as he held her tight and buried his face in her hair. It watched much later, their bodies entwined under the covers, breathing as one, for one last time. Then it sat down wearily, pulled its knees under its chin, its back resting against the cold wall. The ache in its stomach was becoming stronger.  And now, the wait… It was odd, really. It remembered when they met, and it didn’t even seem like the beginning of a love story at all. And then it unfolded, slowly at first, the first kisses, the first nights, the first I love you’s, and a thousand ordinary moments turned into a thousand memories that now cracked and shattered and spilt with its every breath.  It wondered when it would hit fully. It wondered about the anger, the longing, the sadness, the emptiness. It wondered who would be the first one to let go.  “You're very beautiful.” The silver cat appeared quietly, seemingly out of nowhere. Still as a statue in the window, his piercing yellow eyes bored into the stranger with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.  The creature lifted its head to meet his unblinking stare. Its injured wing swayed slightly. It was a simple statement, and yet it somehow required an explanation.  The cat tilted his head slightly. “Who are you?” “I am.. Well, it’s difficult to say at this moment.” It looked sadly at the sleeping couple. The cat followed its gaze, then turned back to inspect its broken body. "Oh." His eyes fell. He observed his paws, lost in thought. “I don’t understand humans. They complicate things. They fight and hurt each other. It’s messy.” “Love is like that sometimes.” The Cat mulled this over for a moment. “So.. Can’t you fix it?” “No. I am but a reflection.” “Of their love?” It nodded. “But you’re in much pain.” The yellow eyes were rounded with confusion. It nodded again, slowly. "And yet you are so very beautiful." A statement, again. The cat seemed to be in a struggle. "So, what happens now?” There was a hint of worry in his voice. The creature did not answer but waited instead for him to understand. “I see. I will give you some privacy, then... Goodnight.” The cat held its gaze for a while and tried to communicate something that he somehow could not put into words. Then he bowed slightly, turned around and disappeared in one swift motion.  “Goodnight.” the creature whispered to no one in particular.  It watched as the first snowflakes began to fall, swirling in the glow of the lamp. It thought again of the two. It hoped they would not be too lonely without each other.  It hoped, and wondered, and felt so much and so little at the same time.  It finally fell asleep hours later, a deep and dreamless sleep, with its wings curled around its tiny body for shelter.  It was then that a soft paw picked it up, gently, and carried it inside, away from the freezing cold.


Anchor aweigh with the booty ahoy I climbed aboard the Jolly Roger. It was most definitely enormous and mighty, but it was a relatively new ship on the dock made from unfamiliar ingredients that I assumed would be of the highest quality. Burly and daring men danced on board, crying about the tale of the seven seas in unison. They seemed delighted and rather jubilant, unlike my divergent attitude, which excited me. The wind whistled sonorously like a bagpipe in rhythm, accentuating the pride of the unrestrained jolly roger flag. Not so long after, the ship set sail for the hidden treasure situated near an old remote island. I could not gain information regarding the glory, and the pirates didn't seem to entertain me. Our captain(pirate), a very mysterious man, never seemed to come out of his room or, to be precise, never communicated with the menacing men who never seemed to stop fighting. The journey was exceedingly alarming to me; I was always expected for the unexpected, yet my instinct always reminded me that something was peculiar about the weather. Our captain has yet to introduce himself, the odd behavior of the men, and the devoid of tone and excitement frightened me. The cold flowing breeze brushed against my skin, slightly numbing my body and disheveling my hair, which I found exasperating. The abnormal raging ocean violently trashed around, seeding fear into everyone on deck. In an instant, a shadowy figure emerged from the inn, as the light slowly exposed his frame, which was starting to ascent on deck. Pirates observed as he came into visibility, the captain asserts, "IN THE QUEST FOR THE TREASURE ISLAND, WE W-WILL DOCK RIGHT NEAR THE BENBOW PORT IN AN HOURS FROM NOW" With that speech, he left, without entertaining questions. Indeed he had already established the hierarchy, but his voice hinted something was in disarray. He struggled with his sentences. Our captain's a well-groomed man, and a had a proliferating amount of skills. One of the finest may I add and feared across the seven seas. But never once did he seem so eccentric. Night had befallen, every pirate on deck was heading into their inns, but since I was the skipper, I was required to check the tides, current location.  The sea calmed down after the aggressive activity that occurred during the day. The scene was almost tranquil and serene, just like how the clouds float on the pleasant days of spring. I dragged myself to the inn while jerking my body to not pass out until I overheard a few men leaning beside barrels. My current state would not let me stay awake any longer, but I succumbed to my tendency of butting into conversations. I lay beside and heard them squabble. "eye dont think the captain can take this ship over, blody he cannt talk" shouted grunt. "aye, you're right if I think so myself, how bout we overthrow this captain and seize the treasure? I NEED THAT TREASURE," cried Black dog. The rum was taking effect on them, and I ran back to the inn and slept. The next morning, I awoke and noticed a clash between the captain and Black dog. The men shouted at each other as they clashed notoriously. Black Dog insisted on stealing the treasure and taking control of the Jolly roger. The captain blatantly refused and charged forward. Black dog and his men retaliated, grabbing their pistols and swords. Followed by this, the opposing men in favor of the captain fought in defense. I have grasped my flintlock and primed to defend myself and aided the wounded. Suddenly, Black dog charged towards me with his bloodthirsty aura, I was vulnerable, and there was nothing I could do. Simultaneously, the captain shielded me and told me to rush to safety as he gave me a glass that seemed to contain a map. With no time to waste, I ran and hid in one of the inns and locked the door. I sat down in panic and slowly passed out from dehydration. "wake up, littl boy, GIVE ME THAT SCROLL YOU ARE HIDING," shouted Black dog. I lurched up from the wall and was surrounded by Black dog and his men. I had no choice but to surrender. With nothing left for me to give, I thought I would be killed; I reminisced all the previous events and dreamed of how I could free and languid like the white clouds in the sky. I felt the sword as it brushed my neck and down to my chest. "You are a lucky boy; I won't kill you just yet. You see, we don't have any other skipper in this ship, so how will we navigate round the treasure. Now, won't you help little Jimmy?, If you do a great job, you too will be rewarded," exclaimed Black Dog. "S-Sure I'll help…." said I "good Jimmy, now help us with the treasure," said Black Dog With that talk, he and his men left the room with joy. The captain had been overthrown, and I was now in their endeavor. The cold air, the smell of blood, and sweat made me sick. I was in a state of turmoil. These heinous, wicked men showed no remorse as they stomped and ordered around the deck. I have severely injured myself, and I could barely walk. I trudged down the deck and saw the state of the ship. It was disastrous. Dead bodies rolled around and smothered with a concoction of body fluids. It was one of the most horrific moments of my life. This incident was unanticipated, so I ran back to help those in need. In the days that followed, I helped around the Jolly Roger and did my jobs as a skipper would do. The pirates would grow impatient day by day, and the need for treasure grew with every passing second. Black Dog often lost his patience and almost made someone walk the plank. The sky was ever so calm. No deadly storms and raging tides occur during that day. The following day, we arrived at the shore and docked it near the tropical lake that was connected by the sea. The pirate obsession with the treasure was crystal clear, and so was his attitude. He often burst with anger when we were unable to pinpoint the location of the buried treasure. After a few days of searching and scavenging, we had finally found the buried treasure; Black Dog jumped in joy, as well as the other pirates. I was happy because I was going to receive some of the treasure. We marched to the ship and lifted our anchors to escape this island with the prize. Black dog kept most of the money, and the rest was split between the other pirates and me. The treasure value was a staggering 500 million quids. I received 25 million quids for which I was excessively happy. Each of us departed and went our own separate ways after we reached land. Black Dog mysteriously disappeared and abandoned the Jolly Rodger after getting the treasure. His attitude shocked me, but I soon disremembered it and left to fulfill my desires in life. After a few years, with my money, I was able to afford a house and start my own family in London. I often still go to watch clouds while I reminisced the whole eventful journey. It was ridiculous, but every now and then, I am haunted by Black Dog and the other souls of the dead pirates. And that is my journey in the Jolly Roger with a pirate who had a strange obsession with a not so mythical treasure.


This is a short story I wrote for a college class a long time back. It recently came up in conversation so I decided to share it. “Fascinating place to meet an old acquaintance, August. Did you find it yourself?” The words pierced what had, up until that moment, been the calm of a still evening. They echoed slightly as they reflected off of ancient stone, bouncing around the emptiness of a long-abandoned keep slowly being retaken by nature. Upon one of the crumbling walls of the ruin, a solitary figure sat with a sheathed longsword leaning up against his shoulder. And, as if rising from slumber, the man raised his head and peered below at the source of the echoing disturbance. “Not especially,” he remarked, “A certain friend of mine showed me this place… back when the world still made sense. But the time for reminiscing is long past, Tristan.” At ground level, a proud individual stood looking upwards, his brow furrowed as the sun illuminated the silhouette of his would-be adversary. Tristan had his hair swept backwards and cut short, the same color as the black tunic he wore, a sword of his own attached at the hip. On the wall, August was clad rather similarly. He was adorned with a green tunic and a grey traveling cloak, simple breeches tucked into sturdy boots. Today, both were without the armor and colors that depicted their status. They were here as individuals, not a title or a rank. Setting both hands on his hips, Tristan shook his head in a condescending manner. “Still, I was surprised when you called me out here. Who would have thought after all we’ve been through, you would be the one call an end to this ill-founded rivalry?” “Oh?” August jeered, “So you’re conceding your defeat already? And here I was thinking I would get to stretch my legs a bit, beating you around this place,” The corners of August’s mouth peeled back into a wry smile as he pushed himself off of the wall’s edge, landing with a soft grunt on the ground below. Some loose bricks followed him down, clattering behind his boots and spilling onto the green bed of grass that overtook most of the interior of the keep. “Don’t get so full of yourself. While you went and disappeared for the last five years, I’ve been keeping my blade sharp in Lunaris.” “Lunaris? I suppose that means you’ve become spellsworn as well. I’m sure blade magic will make this all the more entertaining.” The two men stopped roughly ten yards apart, weary eyes sizing each other up and wondering how it had ever come to this. Two men who should have been friends, but pledged their lives in the service of different lords. Two men who, after rising in the ranks and witnessing corruption firsthand, strove to follow their ideals and do what they felt was right. Two men who, now late into their third decade, had arrived at a grim ultimatum: Only one of them was going to make it out alive. All was still. The burning sunlight continued to lower in the sky as it fell behind the forest canopy, setting the fall colors ablaze around the two men but leaving them alone in the darkness cast by the shadow of the crumbling wall. Their eyes met and held, as if to say that whoever broke away from the stare would lose an unspoken battle, and that the unspoken battle would influence the true battle to come. The calm was maintained as they continued to stare, no sound filling the air but that of their own measured breaths. And suddenly, there was a flash. Tristan’s sword lit up with a white blaze as it was drawn from its sheath, flying towards his opponent with a sudden aggression. He closed the gap between them in only five steps, his blade singing as it tore through the air and went for August’s neck. Tristan’s weapon instead found itself clashing against August’s sword, only half-drawn out of its scabbard. August had barely moved from his original position, only having solidified his stance to block, gazing down at his foe with an unreadable expression. As if responding to the other sword’s battlecry, August’s weapon began to hum, a soft wind picked up around the two warriors. He stepped backwards to break away from Tristan, his feet carrying him farther than any normal person’s would, August’s movements amplified by the elemental magic he employed. As he did so, he drew the full length of his blade from the scabbard, doing a simple flourish and dashing left, so as not to have his back to the wall. Tristan was quick to follow, two hands wrapped around the hilt of his blade. Wide arcs of silver light followed the swings of Tristan’s sword, the soft whine of magic running through the polished metal and cutting through the night. For now August managed to keep his distance, avoiding the lethal edge as it crept ever closer with each slash. Bells tolled. A somber memory from the past, the last day of mourning for the king. Tristan and August had been adepts then, having spent the last eight years training in the capital city to join the elite. Noble knights who gave their allegiance not to any provincial lord but to the throne directly. However, with the king dead and no heirs to succeed him, it was none other than those provincial lords and nobles who would lay claim to the throne. Tristan had cast his lot with Lord Kaylock, and August with Lord Richmond. Ever the rivals, they pledged to meet each other on the battlefield, still naive to the realities of war. But that was long ago. The attacks continued. From the left, the right, a frontal stab that was narrowly deflected and followed up by a broad swing which August only just managed to dodge away from. There was no room for a counterattack. At one moment Tristan’s sword seemed to extend from its original length, the light it produced stretching out to try and reach August. While he managed to evade, August wondered what might have happened if the phantom extension of the blade had connected. Having only fought two other moon-sworn bladesmen before, his knowledge of their capabilities was limited. The battle continued as the two moved in and out of the decaying insides of the keep, through hallways, beneath overhangs, onto piles of loose rock that tested the balance of the two individuals. Continuing his defense, August dodged away from an attack, ducking under Tristan’s blade and dashing onto an outcropping, a crumbled roof that had collapsed and turned into a hazardous ramp. Moving with the speed of the wind, he dug into the moment, slowing down the world around him and leaping onto a wall behind Tristan, circling the combatant in the blink of an eye. Tristan managed to follow the movement, raising his sword to block August’s attack, a heavy-handed overhead slash. However, August had succeeded in breaking the rush. “What do you have to gain from this anyways?!” Tristan called, backing away from his enemy to catch his breath and prepare for the next exchange of blows, “Both Lord Kaylock and Richmond are dead, their houses dismantled. Our allegiances lie only with ourselves!” Pushing forwards, August clashed blades once more with his foe. The weapons of both combatants let out a shrill sound when they collided, magically empowered as they were with the powers of the moon and of the wind. “It’s not that I have anything to gain, Tristan. It’s that I have nothing to lose. Our masters may have fallen, but I will not forget the harm you did under Kaylock’s command!” Memories flashed before Tristan, the Battle of Squall’s End, one of the decisive conflicts between his lord and August’s. Bodies littered the barren fields, the cruel wind of the coast reaching up to put a chill in the bones of those still fighting, hastening the death of those who weren’t. Tristan remembered the acrid smell of flames, cutting off Richmond’s retreat. The flames had spread too fast, catching the entire forest nearby ablaze and threatening to spread to the city. It was never his intent. He was just following orders. Tristan swept his blade in a circular motion, breaking away from the clash and snapping back into the present. He followed the motion with a swift uppercut, which August managed to dodge by throwing his head backwards and using his momentum to go into a backroll. Trading back, August barraged Tristan with a rapid combination of slashes, once more accelerating himself with the swiftness of the wind. Scarlet blood splashed against the flagstones, turning almost black as the sun continued to lower on the horizon. “I can see now you will not listen to reason!” Tristan roared, parrying an attack with such strength behind the blow that August stumbled backwards a step, “This has gone on long enough as it is.” The radiance of Tristan’s sword went from a soft glow to a brilliant shine as he swung, a massive blow obviously predictable in its path and easy to block for someone as swift as August was. He planned to transition a parry into a counterattack, but focused as he was in bracing for the impact of the weapon, August nearly missed the grim look in Tristan’s eye. A solemn resolve, nay, pity from one who is to deliver the final rites to a dying man. Instinct kicked in, and in that split second August slowed the world as much as he could, magic screaming through his veins as it threatened to burst them open. Tristan’s sword never made impact against his parry. Instead, it slipped through the blade as if it had turned ethereal. It took all of August’s speed to dodge enough to avoid a fatal injury, cursing his luck and feeling a rage building in his gut. He knew that the moon-sworn wielded light as their weapon, but August had never thought they were capable of turning their very swords into light to bypass enemy defenses. August retreated with a large burst of air propelling him backwards, his left hand reaching up to grasp the wound. He hadn’t been able to completely dodge the attack, and a large gash had torn itself through the meat of his shoulder, blood soaking deep into the green tunic he wore and dripping onto the grass below. August’s arm burned like fire, but adrenaline dulled the pain to keep him fighting. Tristan swung again, and August knew better now, not bothering to parry and instead evading every attack. His right arm was nearly impossible to use. His longsword was heavy in his hands, and he felt his speed slowly leaving him as his blood continued to flow. “Have you resorted to running now? Will you turn your back on your opponent?” Tristan chased after August with renewed vigor, his unenhanced speed finally starting to gain on August’s. The wounded swordsman ground his teeth, looking over his shoulder at the enemy pursuing him and dodging around walls and buildings to gain a moment to breathe. But instead of losing his enemy within the maze of crumbling stone, August found himself trapped at a dead end. “So this is it?” August concluded, his chin raising in defiance as Tristan stood in the way of his only escape. “Seems to be that way, August” “Then I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to hold back, now would it?” August’s eyes hadn’t lost hope quite yet, and instead burned with the desire to win. Tristan took note of this, hesitating only for a moment before charging, not wanting to give August a chance to enact whatever dire plan he had devised for his final moments. But all August had needed was that one moment. In a wide diagonal swing, he slashed at empty air, a concussive force of wind rocketing from the tip of the blade and colliding with the charging Tristan. A projectile of cutting wind. Cold spread through Tristan's chest as he was hit, and the world fell out of focus as he watched the ground rapidly approach. But Tristan was not done yet either. “Don’t underestimate me!” he raged, refocusing his vision and thrusting his own sword forwards, still two or so yards from August but not entirely out of reach. Pouring out whatever magic he had left in him, Tristan extended the blade of his sword until it pierced August in the stomach, the blade’s light dissipating almost directly after it connected. Both warriors hit the ground, the warmth beginning to leave their bodies in the dirt of that passage. Through half-closed eyelids, Tristan looked up at August, collapsed onto his knees with head bowed in what looked almost like prayer. He was too weak now to clutch his own wounds. Tristan still didn’t know why he had accepted August’s challenge. Perhaps it was to atone, to apologize for the decision he’d made all those years ago. In the end, it was some backwater noble who claimed the throne, and both Kaylock and Richmond had fallen ill due to a plague. Maybe Tristan had hoped to salvage what little remained of their honest rivalry, something that had started with a training match when they were both greenhorns at the academy. August’s swordplay had been awful, but wind magic gave him enough of an edge to compete with Tristan, the top of the class. August was treated like a prodigy back then, being naturally wind-sworn at such a young age. He was always stealing Tristan’s thunder, racing him everywhere and always trying to be first place, even for the most pointless of things. “The end, huh?” Tristan remarked, his teeth clenched in a grimace, “You may be right.” But August was already beyond hearing, and Tristan was soon to follow.


Logline: A man mistakenly falls asleep on a train and wakes up in a small town he considers paradise, but he can't stay. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ During a long shift, Gregory Decker rechecks his phone, zero sales on the website on which he sells his woodwork. He gets back to work, welding the pipes that will be used in construction. Gregory hates this work; it's monotonous, has little imagination, and pays very little. He gets a phone call from his wife, Rita, about halfway through the shift. She tells him that his father died in Harrisville, Pennsylvania. He hasn't seen his father since he left Harrisville, almost eight years ago, talking to him only a couple of times. The original reason he left was pressure his father was putting on him to take over the family business, which he had no desire to do. Once he found out about the death, Gregory had to see his boss, to inquire if he could leave early, and take the rest of the week off to attend his father's funeral arrangements. His boss is a tyrant, to put it lightly, Gregory has to negotiate every cent he receives from his paycheck, and time off is essentially fantasyland. "Hello, Mr. Wallaby, I just got the news that my father passed away in Harrisville, Pennsylvania, do you think it would be all right if I take the rest of the week off to attend his arrangements?" Gregory asks. "The rest of the week, isn't it just a quick 45-minute flight from here?" Mr. Wallaby argues. "Unfortunately, the only way to get to Harrisville is by train or car, and my wife and I only have one car, and she needs it for work," Gregory says. "I guess you're not leaving me much choice then, huh?" Mr. Wallaby says. "It'll be quick, I'll be back on Monday," Gregory says as he leaves the office. When Gregory gets home, he tries to convince his wife, Rita, to come with him; however, she argues that she has too much work to do, and it would be best for him to attend alone. Gregory has been stuck in a loveless marriage for a while now, when they first moved to New York, they tried to start a family, but they couldn't get pregnant. From that point on, the love in the relationship became stale. So, Gregory's on his own for the train ride to Harrisville. He packs a light bag and heads for Penn Station, the train ride has some beautiful scenic views, but is long, Gregory eventually falls asleep on the train. When Gregory wakes up, the train is no longer moving, he looks at the cab around him, and everyone has exited the train. He grabs his bag and exits himself. As he exits, he sees the most beautiful town, the sun glistening off the rooftops, it looked like a painting. He sees an engineer who is sitting on the platform, "Where are we?" Gregory asks. "Eden, end of the line," the engineer says. Gregory realizes that he has slept through his stop. He needs to get on the next train to reach Harrisville. "When does the next train leave? Gregory asks. "Tomorrow afternoon, at 3 pm." The engineer says. Thank goodness, he'll still be able to make most of his father's funeral arrangements. Gregory pulls out his phone, no service. With just around 24 hours to board the train, Gregory starts walking around the town of Eden. Eden is a small town with a Main Street, a theater and a few restaurants. While Gregory is looking at a menu posted outside the restaurant called "The Watering Hole," he sees a woman confronted by an angry dog. "Help! This dog is trying to attack me," the woman says. Gregory had dogs all his life, and he knows what to do. He runs over to the woman, picking up a stick on his way. When he arrives, he throws the stick, "go get it, boy." The dog goes off chasing the stick, Gregory can't believe it worked. The woman accompanies him to The Watering Hole. "Thank God you were there to save me, my name is Laney," she says. As she puts her hand out, Gregory realizes that she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. "Hi, I'm Gregory," he says. "Well, Gregory, it seems you're a good guy to have around in tight spot," Laney says. "No problem at all, glad it worked out," Gregory says. "Are you going to The Watering Hole, you have to try the Kugel, it's so delicious," she says. "Kugel, my grandmother used to make the best Kugel," Gregory responds. "Well then, allow me to buy you some Kugel, it's the least I can do for saving my life," Laney says, giving a flirtatious smile. Gregory melts with one look at that smile. "Sure, that would be great," Gregory says, finding it hard to turn down her stunning big blue eyes and her flowing blond hair, she is the woman he always has dreamt. The more time that Gregory spends with Laney, the more he is falling in love with her, she's the perfect woman. Beautiful, smart, and laughs at all his jokes. When the Kugel arrives, Gregory can't believe it; it tastes exactly like his grandmother's recipe, it brings him back to a happier time. Gregory and Laney laugh and talk most of the afternoon. Then he walked her back to her house. On the walk back, Laney mentions that the town is looking for items for the arts and crafts bizarre that's happening next week. Gregory jumped at the chance to show her some of the woodworking he sells, there is no internet, but he has pictures of the pieces on his phone. Laney loves the woodworking and says that she'll pay top dollar for all that he has. Even though the pieces are in New York, he offers to make a couple of items while here in Eden. Laney has piles of wood in her backyard, and he shows her how to work with the wood; she is fascinated by everything he has to say. When finished, Laney shows the pieces to a couple of people in town; they love him as well, orders start coming in for more. Also, the story of Gregory's heroism has begun to reach mythical proportions; in less than a day, he has become the town hero. Gregory can't believe his luck, a place where he could earn a living doing what he loves, be adored by the people in town, and spend time with this incredibly beautiful woman. Eden is absolutely an escape for Gregory. Gregory ends up spending the night at Laney's; they sleep together. His connection with Laney is growing deeper and deeper; he never wants to leave her side. The next morning, they go to have breakfast together, and Gregory has become an instant phenomenon. His woodworking pieces are the talk of the town, the women flirt with him, the men want to be around them, and the town offers him a house on the hill if he wants to stay in Eden. But his train leaves at three, he tries to spend as much time with Laney as possible, knowing what's waiting for him on the other side of that train. The more time he spends in Eden, the more he doesn't want to leave. The mayor even told him, joking, "We love ya, don't get on that train, stay here forever." Three has rolled around, and Laney has agreed to go with Gregory to Harrisville and attend his father's funeral, something he had hoped his wife, Rita, would have done. That was the last straw, after Harrisville, Gregory will be returning to Eden and not New York. "I've never been so happy in my entire life, This place is truly paradise," Gregory says. "I love you, Gregory, I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you," Laney says. They wait on the platform, full of excitement. The train approaches, the door opens, Gregory goes to get on, Laney doesn't move. "Come on; It's time to go," Gregory says. "I can't get on that train," Laney says. "What do you mean, why not?" Gregory asks. "I'm not allowed to," she says. "Well, then I'm not going either," Gregory says. "You have to go, you fell asleep on the train ride to Harrisville, if you don't wake up, you'll die," Laney says as she begins to cry. "Then I'll die," Gregory says. "This isn't real, it's just a dream, you're going to wake up whether you like it or not," Laney says. Gregory finally accepts his fate, kisses Laney goodbye, and takes one last look at the town that made him so happy, if only for just a short time. He then gets on the train, and the doors close. As the train leaves the platform, a train whistle blows, Gregory is awakened when the conductor makes an announcement, "All those going to Harrisville, exit the train now." Gregory takes a deep breath and exits the train. He can't believe it was only a dream because it felt so real. He would give anything to go back, but he knows that it's just not possible. Often, the better the dream, the worse the harshness of reality when it comes. Often, when things get grim, Gregory will allow his thoughts to dwell on Eden; however, he knows he doesn't belong there. Dreams give us something to aspire to; they expose our ideal life, our goals, our hopes, and our dreams. Often, knowing what you want is half the journey to being happy in the first place.