Wake up warm except a freezing cold face. Shout abuse at the alarm clock. Snooze 5-6 times. Mutter abuse to yourself as you flop out of bed limb by limb. Open the curtains to show a dark, overcast, miserable day. Sigh. Get in the shower and forget that the first 15 seconds are freezing cold water. Dance like a little girl while holding your privates and avoid the ice of doom coming from the shower head. The shower finally warms up and it's bliss. Stay in the shower for about 5 minutes too long because you can feel the cold air outside. Finally muster up the courage and get out to dry yourself in record time with the accompanying "brrrrrr". Make it downstairs, dressed. Just the collar and cuffs ironed because you know you're going to be wearing a jumper for the rest of the day. Have a cup of tea, some toast/porridge/cereal. Listen to the radio while you eat. Clean teeth, looking in the mirror and wishing that the person staring back at you would cheer up. It can't be that bad can it? Oh well, no time for this. You're late for work. Get in car and slam the heater on full blast so that the windows steam up and use the sleeve of your jumper to clear off a 3 square inch window on the windscreen. Repeat for 30 minutes. Put the radio on, turn it off. Radio presenters shouldn't be that cheerful in the morning. Maybe a talk show would be good. BBC Radio 5/2/4 should have you covered. Finally get to work. Realise you're late but just this once (which is what you tell yourself everyday) it won't be a big deal. It's only 5 minutes and that time in the shower was well spent. You know you're doing 2 hours of overtime anyway even though you know you schedule is clear for the whole day. Something will pop up at the last minute. Make mundane comments to your colleagues. Sit at your desk, check emails, start work with a cup of coffee. Make it through to lunchtime and then get a cheap, thin, limp tuna sandwich from Tesco just down the road. Get back to work. More tea. More emails. More work. At 1645 your boss does the rounds just before they leave. "Oh wait, we have a problem and I really need you to fix it or we will be in a tight spot. You will? Good lad. See you tomorrow!". Sigh. Join the rush hour traffic. Tomorrow will be better. It has to be. Thank God it's Thursday today. Oh no, it's actually Tuesday. Get home. Put the TV on. Look in the fridge and look at all the food you have that you can prepare into a tasty, delicious, nutritious meal. Take frozen curry out the freezer and shove it in the microwave and grab a beer. Wonder if you really do need to punch those little holes into the film on top of the packaging. Fall in to the sofa until the magical dings happen and you know you can eat. Watch something mundane on tv, start to snooze. Wake up at 2350 and realise with great sadness that you have wasted your evening again. You'll do the washing up tomorrow. That's what you tell yourself every day during the week. Go upstairs, clean teeth and get in to bed. As you lie there, tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow will be a better say. Tomorrow will b.....


I trace her smile, and then her blonde curls. I spray her scarf with her favorite perfume and sniff her as I place it around my neck. "Jillian! What are you doing?" I hear in the living room. "I am getting ready to leave. Aren't you coming?" The TV is blaring, and it sounds like a busy train station in there. "Leave me for a few hours. It's that time of year again," I yell back, a bit irritated that I have been interrupted. "I need the space please. Take a long time, and have fun!" I say in the most cheery, heart- felt voice I can muster. I retrace that intoxicating smile and her messy blonde curls, which instantly places me right back with her. Her scent surrounds me. He feel her breath, her calm voice in my ear. Now, I smile at the memory of those few Taco Bell splurges- when it was just the two of us." "Okay, I am leaving!" comes the intruding interruption again. With a furrow in my forehead, I yell back, "Okay, I love you!" To myself, "damn it. You know what day it is. Why are you assailing me?" I feel the furrow setting in, and it triggers her fingers rubbing out the number 11 in between my brows. I smile and try to change my expression to erase the already setting in lines, then I lovingly fall back to our Taco Bell memories of the two of us. She had such little money, but I was small and could only eat one taco. She had an Enchirito or a Beefy Tostada and we shared a small drink. (I still take a huge whiff of the taco before I take it out of the wrapper to remember those treasured moments.) I remember the chairs connected to the tables in the small restaurant, and the echo when adults spoke. I remember, her smiling down on me as she watched me eating my taco with my little mouse bites. I remember making her laugh so hard she would beg me to stop for fear that she'd pee her pants. I remember her silliness. We would laugh so hard, it would irritate my dad. I remember her rebellious stubbornness. I remember her struggles when her car broke down in the middle of the highway and my dad couldn't get us because he worked out of town. I remember she'd buy me a soup, 7-Up, and a toy after Dr's visits when I was sick. I knew she couldn't afford it even when I was that little. I remember her sandwiches. It took me years when I married for the second time to understand the ingredients of her sandwiches. I could never get them right even when I used the same ingredients. It was when my husband made me one that I put two and two together- I realized the ingredients were Love. I begin to go through her pictures, smiling as I do. Her skinny, young pictures, her pregnancy pictures, her get-that-camera-out-of-my-face pictures, her holding back tears pictures, her silly-faced pictures, and the countless holiday and vacation pictures. I sob when I think back to the first signs of her illness. Why didn't I do more? Why did I fight with her? Why did I move out at 17? Why didn’t I go to Walmart with her when she asked to keep her company? Why…, but I shake myself out of that bad state of mind. This is not what today is about, and I refocus on her goodness, charity, and self-sacrifice, love, generosity, her smile. I retrace it. I listen to the voice-mail messages she left me, crying again as I hear, “Hello Kitten, give me a call.” Time to watch the few videos of her, and it makes me smile again. Her goofy smile, her exaggerated smiles, her talking eyes, our inside jokes. It's now time for the long-winded but now very-much-appreciated words that she wrote in my birthday and Christmas cards. I take a deep breath and begin to read her sage advice, her feelings, her hopes, her dreams for me. I pull out the book she gave me. I smile and my tears flow readily as I reread the dedication that I have read easily thousands of times. She writes: “Jillian, This beautiful story is something that our family has also helped to fulfill. I hope you realize in honesty and heart-felt sincerity that I decided at a young age to do my share in bringing races together in true unity. I have recently realized that as far as the world has come, there is much progress to be made. I hope, though, my precious princess, that the part you played in helping to refine the world was not a difficult one. If it was, my love, I am sorry, but I hope you realize the importance of changing prejudices among the races. You, my love, are a great young woman. Excel and represent yourself and what I have taught you well, because you represent those teachings but also me as your parent. You are already a Great One among mankind, continue to be. Much Love”. Wiping my tears, I rifle back through the pictures after I read every single card, reset my goals to live up to her mission, and I smell her scent on her scarf as I bring it to my nose one last time. I look in the mirror to find traces of her in me, but my younger sister gobbled up most of her genes- the blonde hair, green eyes, skinny (but fitting for her frame) legs, her patience, and her kindness. I place my arms in the sunlight so I can see my mutant half blonde, half black arm hairs, and I know she's in there. I have inherited her stubbornness, attention to detail when putting projects together, her insatiable attitude for staying up into the next day to finish one of those projects she started way too late, and her self-righteousness. I gather her pictures, the cards, the book, her scarf, and her perfume, and place them into a sunflower box until next year. "I love you, Mama. You are the ideal Beauty because you were the first face I saw when you looked at me from your Love. I hope you are finding the happiness you lost those last twenty-five years of life. Please send us guidance as we try to mend our hearts. Happy fifth anniversary of your death, Mama. I will see you next year." I gather the strength I will need to continue living up to her ideal beauty as the lid closes on her scent, her smiling, hopeful face, her curls.


This is my first post here, hope you guys enjoy it! :) The cold wind blew through the valley; the trees shivered as it blew harshly by. It was the middle of winter and the trees should have been used to the cold, but they weren’t. They still trembled in the icy wind and broken blasts of snow. Their bows bent and even broke as the snow grew thick upon them: it was the middle of winter. The trees should have been used to the cold, but they weren’t. A man walked through the valley and clutched his jacket tighter around him, the wind racing about him. His name was Nathaniel Town, but everyone called him Nat. He had been through many winters and, like the trees, should have been used to the cold, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t more than twenty years old, and everyone in his hometown knew him as a happy, joyful person. He was known for his quiet but intelligent manner, his odd sense of humor, and his soft smile. Everyone loved him. Yet, even with all that love, Nat was alone. He lived in a cabin nestled in the valley, a few miles away from the town and far enough removed that he seldom had any visitors. It was because of this distance that Nat felt so alone. Most days he was fine with it; he had grown used to it after all this time. However, there were often days when he felt the weary loneliness seeping over him. Today was one of those days. “Should just get used to it,” he mumbled to himself as he pulled his coat closer to his shoulders. “Should just give up. It’s not for me.” The wind howled back in response and he shivered: it was the middle of winter. He should’ve been used to the cold, but he wasn’t. Nat thought back over the days’ events and frowned, his normally pleasant and hopeful demeanor crushed. The day had started out normally, he had made the mile and a half long trek into town and gone to work. He worked in the printing shop and seldom spoke to anyone other than his coworkers, but today it had been different. Mary Hamlet, a young woman whom he had known in school, had stopped by to talk with him. She had stayed there all day and the two had even gone out and had lunch together. There was nothing too abnormal in this as Mary had been visiting Nat more and more frequently over the past month, but then something strange had happened. Nat shook his head and grimaced, “Shouldn't have hoped it would happen. Should have known better.” He looked around and saw the trees, their boughs heavy with snow looked about ready to crack and break. He felt the wind rush around him, but his body had grown numb to the cold and he continued, unperturbed by the harsh wind. The snow gusted down in flurries now; it was the middle of winter. The valley should have been used to the cold, but it wasn’t. Nat dropped his eyes back to the ground and continued on through the painful part of his day. He and Mary had been sitting on a bench in the park when it had happened. He had reached over and brushed his hand against hers, almost as if it were an accident. Mary had looked down, noticed the attempt, and looked back up at Nat. He smiled at her warmly and she smiled back, but the warmth wasn’t there. “What’s wrong?” Nat had asked. Mary smiled, shrugged, looked at the snow dusted ground and said, “I’m not sure.” The conversation that ensued was too much for Nat to bear and he turned his attention back to the snowy path. He saw the distant shape of his home and plodded drearily through the snow. His boots were soaked, but he was used to the cold by now. His eyes listed from side to side as he searched for something to distract himself. He saw a rabbit spring quickly across the path, moving fast in an attempt to stay warm. Nat chuckled to himself darkly, “Silly Rabbit. Don’t you know it’s the middle of winter? Shouldn’t you be used to the cold?” But the rabbit wasn’t used to the cold. Nat felt himself drift back into the memories. He heard Mary’s voice, “I just don’t think we can do this.” “What do you mean?” Nat had been stunned and confused by the revelation. Mary had looked away, “I’m just not ready for it.” She hadn’t said anything else, just gotten up and walked away without saying goodbye. Nat was left on the bench, his face an expression of shock and utter confusion at what had just happened. Soon enough, the sadness had crept into his heart as he realised Mary wouldn’t come back. He had clenched his fists and stared down at the dusting of snow, watching small clear patches form as the tears dripped out of his eyes. It wasn’t the first time Nat had been turned down. He always seemed to be just about to start something when it was ripped away from him. “Stupid thing, hope,” he said to himself as he reached his house and opened the door. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, hope only brings sadness.” He walked into his house and started to build the fire. He didn’t hate Mary, or any of the others who had turned him away. He didn’t hate them at all. He was more angry with himself than anyone else, for ruining the chances he was given. He thought back to the moment on the bench, “What if waited a little longer? What if..” He pondered the question and felt a weight in his chest as he thought of the future. He knew he couldn’t blame her, that it wasn’t her fault, and he didn’t want to. Instead, he blamed himself. He put his head in his hands and cried; the tears flowed down his face like small rivers. “I shouldn’t have ever started. I should have just let it all go.” He spoke in between sobs, but no one could hear. It was the middle of winter: the world outside was frozen over. It should have been used to the cold, but it wasn’t. Nat stood up and walked away from the half-built fire. He made his way over to the door and stepped outside, his jacket still hanging inside the house. He walked barefoot in the snow, the cold unable to hurt him. He saw his breath come out, misty in the cold wind, and sighed. He kept walking. He walked into the woods, towards a place where he knew he could think clearly. He passed the frozen trees and bushes, his mind and body just as icy as them, but he was used to it. He walked deeper into the forest and lost feeling in his hands. He rubbed them subconsciously, not intending to keep them warm. “It’s the middle of winter,” he whispered to himself. At last, he reached the clearing he had been looking for. It was a dark glade, covered by the trees so only a dusting of snow lay on the ground. In the center of the clearing was a small pond. He drew close to the pond and looked down at his reflection. The icy blue water stared back up at him and he saw his bare face. It was the face of a broken man. He saw the red rings around his eyes, the tear stains down his cheeks, and the soulless frown that enshrouded his lips. He didn’t know how long he stood there. It could have been a few minutes or hours, the light in the deep woods was already so dim that he couldn't tell what time it was. He looked at himself in the water, thoughts floating through his sorrow ridden mind. He remembered times before today, times when he had fallen for the same trick. He began to hum a song to himself. He repeated one line more than the others. “I guess I should be used to it, Just go ahead and get used to it, Because I know it’ll happen again. It just seems no matter what I do I can’t win. And even if it seems like everything is great, The truth is the world ain’t so great. I guess I should just get used to it.” He stayed there, humming the song and singing what verses pleased him until he finally sighed and turned back the way he had come. His feet were cold and he shivered as he trudged back towards his house. “Should’ve worn shoes. It’s the middle of winter, who walks outside without shoes?” He smiled to himself, “Only idiots, Nat, only idiots.” He chuckled and grinned, color returning to his face as he felt his soul begin to reform. The walk back was much faster than the walk into the woods, and he ran through the frozen world rather than stop and admire it. Within a few minutes, he was back at the door to his house. He quickly swung the door open and walked inside. The fireplace was still ready to be lit and he walked over to it, “Maybe I’ll go on a trip,” he said as he pulled out a matchbox. “Somewhere I haven’t been before.” He smiled at the thought. The heaviness in his chest was still there, but he could bear it now. He glanced outside his window and saw that the wind had died down. “Good,” he said, “ ‘Bout time that storm stopped.” He smiled again. It wasn’t a happy smile, nor was it a sad smile. It was the smile of someone who understood one of life's greatest mysteries. Nat looked down at the small pile of wood as he struck a match and started to light a fire. The flames licked the wood and flared to life. He sighed in relief as he felt the warmth flow into his hands. He was happy to be warm again. He looked outside and saw the wind flurry one last time before it died out. It was the middle of winter. He knew he’d never get used to the cold, no matter how many times it came.


There comes a time in your life when everything seems to fall into place. That dream you have been working hard to achieve, but my dream turned into a nightmare. My name is Bobby Snow, and my story begins a couple of years ago; a week before my 30th birthday to be exact. I was born in the bustling, cold lonely city of New York. The Big Apple, whose slogan is if you make it here, you can make it anywhere. I was starting to feel like the pit from that rotted apple because my goal to live under the bright sun-palmed sky of Miami, Florida by the time I was 30 seemed to be eluding me day by day. Once a week, I wake up early and head down to the travel agency to see if there are any cheap flights going to Florida. Earlier today was no exception. A great sadness came over me as I was staring intensely at the travel agency’s glass door with the posters of sunny Florida for $125.00 on American Airlines.

The American Airline plane flying over the sunny shore representing the American dreams flying away from me. Maria, the travel agent, taps on the glass window and signals me to enter. I am halfway through the door when Maria happily calls out, “Bobby, thank God you came today. I've been trying to call you for the last couple of days, but I kept getting a recording that your number is disconnected.”

"Yeah," I sadly reply, “I couldn’t afford to keep the cell phone on anymore."

“We have a special sale on Spirit Airlines,” Maria says. “$20.21 going to Florida.”

“$20.21?" I question her, not believing what I had just heard.

“Yes, but the sale only lasts till tomorrow,” she says. I knew it was too good to be true. Taking my wallet out, I happily notice that I have $44. The last of the money I have left till payday. How do I tell Isabella that I am leaving for Florida the day after my birthday? If I want my dream to come true, I have to sacrifice something important or precious to stimulate my growth. I have to tell her.....she deserves it. "Bobby?.....BOBBY!!" The voice of my high school sweetheart, Isabella, snaps me out of my deep thoughts. We are having dinner at Johnny's Pizzeria. She scrunches her eyebrows together and asks, “Bobby, is everything ok? You zoned out on me again. You've been picking at that slice of pizza for the last 5 minutes.” Whenever Isabella scrunches her eyebrows together it means that she is worried or concerned about me.

“If you keep scrunching your eyebrows together like that you are going to give yourself wrinkles,” I respond.

“I wouldn’t get wrinkles if I weren’t worried about you all the time," she laughs. "So, what is it now?" I let out a deep sigh. “You know what it is,” I muttered, while picking pieces of pepperoni off my pizza and popping them into my mouth. “You should be happy, next week will be your birthday. The Big Three Oh…. you still have time to follow your dreams. It’s not as if the world is going to end when you become 30,” she says. I angrily replied, “I know that it won’t end, but it feels like that to me. You know I love you. I would love nothing better than for us to live together, but I live in a one-bedroom roach infested apartment in the Bronx project complex. There is always something going on at that building. The elevator’s constantly breaking down. The stairwells and hallways full of garbage thrown all over the place. Vicious drugged-out gang members hiding about waiting to paint the white walls crimson red from the blood of their latest victim. Puddles of animal urine or feces you must side-step or jump over to get to the other side.” I am temporarily distracted by a commercial on the pizzeria's television. It's a Spirit Airlines ad, offering discount flights to Florida. The images of palm trees and beaches bring me a very brief glimmer of hope before the commercial ends, and I am pulled back into reality. “There is nothing here for me. I am stuck in a dead-end job, washing dishes, and delivering food at Wang’s Chinese takeout. I cannot find any other job out here. No one is hiring. I have two years of college. I worked hard to get a college degree. I also have certificates in Hotel Management and Computer Science. They are worthless as the paper they are written on. I have sent countless resumes out and I still cannot get a decent job. I love you, ‘Bel, but I can’t even take you out to a decent place.”

Isabella reaches out for my hand, as I push the half-eaten slice away in disgust.

“You deserve better than having pizza for dinner," I say, while standing up. “I’ll be back, I’m going to go wash my face. “ Tears flowed down my face as I stared at my miserable reflection in the bathroom mirror. What new disappointments will the future bring? How long will Isabella stand being with a loser like me? Washing the shame off my face, I do not know how I will do this. Returning to the table, Isabella stares at me as a blue envelope sits on the table waiting for me. “What’s this?” I ask her. “It’s an early birthday gift. Maybe it will cheer you up," she says to me, with a devilish smile on her face.

The card shows a big bear throwing a ball at his son, who is holding a bat which reads “Happy Birthday, Daddy". Then a picture falls out of the card showing the sonogram image of a baby.

“That is an image of your son.... our son.” Isabella smiles at me. “Surprise! I am pregnant. I’ve known for a while but have not found a right time or way to tell you till now.” Instead of feeling happy, I felt as if the rug had been pulled from under me. Another obstacle to my future. I love Isabella, but what kind of life can I give her and the baby?

“Isabella," I say. "This is it. I cannot do this anymore. We are through. I have nothing left to give. How do you expect me to take care of you and the baby if I can’t even take care of myself? I am leaving New York to try to make it in Florida. I bought the plane ticket today.” “You do not have to sacrifice everything to achieve your goal!” yells Isabella, as tears fall down her face.

"I am just trying to save you from making a mistake that you will regret in the long run," I shot back. "I do not want you and our son to suffer like I did."

“Well, I hope you find all that you are searching for!” Isabella screams, before storming out of the pizzeria. Another travel ad about Florida pops up on the TV. "It's going to be worth it," I say to myself. "It has to be...."

The next day there is a knock on my door.

“Hello, are you Mr. Snow,” said a pale mousy looking man.

Not really in the mood for company, I ask, "What do you want?" “I am Mr. Gilbert; I am the lawyer to your grandmother, Katerina," he says. “I have some bad news. She died of a heart attack. As heir to her estate you need to come to my office to sign some papers and discuss your inheritance.” “I think you are mistaken. I do not know anyone named Katerina,” I mutter. “She is your father’s mother," he continued. "Your mother loved your father, but your father left her pregnant. He thought that he could find a better future in Florida. He died there broke and alone. Your grandmother tried to contact you, but your mother prohibited her from seeing you. Believe me, she tried. “ Mr. Gilbert hands me a stack of letters with the words "return to sender" written on them in my mother’s handwriting. “She tried to write to you, but your mother kept sending the letters back. There is more we need to discuss, so how does three o’clock tomorrow sound?” "Sure,” I respond. “I will see you then.” After hours of reading my grandmother’s letters, I started to tear up as I realized that my father had a dream. Just like I have mine. He went after his dream but failed. I know that I will go after mine and succeed. I must succeed for Isabella, for our child but mostly for myself. The next day I head to Mr. Gilbert’s office with a new hope for the future.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Snow," he says. "As I told you yesterday, you are the sole heir to your grandmother’s estate. She left you $100,000 dollars. I need you to sign these papers so I can release the funds to you." I fill out the forms and have Isabella and my unborn son as the beneficiaries if something were to happen to me. I rise to leave when Mr. Gilbert hands me an envelope. “This is for you also. I don’t know what it says, but I hope it answers any questions you may have.” I dash home, barely able to contain myself, both in anticipation and fear of what the letter might say. I run up the stairs, skipping steps as I go up. I burst through my door, not even bothering to close it behind me before plopping down on my worn-out couch. Tearing open the envelope, I pull out the letter. I close my eyes and take what seemed like the deepest breath I will ever take, and then I read: "Dear Son, I hope that you are well. I know that if you are reading this letter, then I am dead and gone. I wrote this letter to let you know that I did not leave for Florida to run away from my responsibilities to you. I left because I love you and your mother, and I wanted a better future for us. It is hard here in Florida. No friends nor family. I am trying the best in this life to give you something. To give your mother something. I will sacrifice anything for you, but I had to leave to find something. I had nothing to give you or offer you had I stayed in New York. I love you and hope your life turns out better than mine. Love your dad, Robert Snow." Tears roll down my eyes, as the letter falls out of my hands. He was just like me, looking for a better future; a way to improve our situation, but instead he found that there was nothing out there for him. No future. No hope. As my grandma wrote in her letters, he went from one dead end job to another, trying to help. The little money he could spare, he sent to us. Mom rejected any of his help, but grandma ever the wise woman, invested it in the stock market and placed all the money in the bank.

I grab a small pad and write a small letter to Isabella: "Bel, always know that I love you. You and our son deserve a better future. Turns out Florida is no longer an option for me. With New York killing me day by day, I may as well finish the job. I am no use to either of you alive anyway. The letter my father left me will explain everything. I am sorry. I love you." I grab the gun I had bought for protection and place it at my temple, slowly pulling the trigger.


They are all violently smashed into the egg shell-finish paint, various shades of brown. A few are old, most are new. “If you leave the bodies it serves as a warning for the others.” My husband joked as he stood on the bed, scraping an old paperback along the edge of the smoke detector. “That is easily the eighth spider in the last two days. This is so gross.” A faint chill ran down the middle of my spine as I clenched my jaw. “At least it’s only babies and not a big one.” As if that was supposed to help. “Where there are babies there’s a momma. And babies become grown spiders, and some of those become mommas. If we don’t take out the babies, I’ll end up with thousands of full grown spiders and I’ll have to burn it all down.” I could feel tiny beads of sweat forming at the corners of my hairline begin to evaporate. Always charmed by my dramatic nature, he grabs a tissue and wipes the guts from the back of the novel, all while planting a light kiss on my forehead. “You’re okay. I got you.” We leave the bodies as a warning for the others, but it doesn’t seem to work. Last night I woke up around a quarter to four, sweating, and opened my eyes as I rolled over onto my back. As I rolled my eyes came into focus with what looked like a spider descending onto me. I screamed as I threw the blankets over my face, begging Andrew to wake up. Startled, he started yelling back asking what was wrong. I kept screaming for him to turn on the light until I simultaneously heard the click of the switch and the room’s darkness blow away. “Casey, please, just tell me what it is.” “Don’t you see it?! The spider! It’s on me! Please just kill it and I’ll come out!” He inspects the covers and the sheets before telling me he can’t find it. My throat is burning with the acid from having nearly puked as a result of the adrenaline rush. I slowly bring the covers down off of my face as my eyes dart around for the spider. “Casey, please, there’s nothing here. I checked. It must just be another nightmare. Remember last summer? We had three nights in a row you swore you felt a spider crawling down your back. You would wake up thrashing. I had bruises down my right arm for a week.” “Andrew I swear to God, this was real. I SAW it.” “You were also half asleep… I don’t know, maybe you were dreaming. I promise there is nothing here. You’re okay. I got you.” He was too tired to keep up with my hysteria. Reluctantly, I settled back into bed as Andrew turned off the lights. He fell asleep approximately half a second after his head hit the pillow. I pulled the covers back over my head and breathed the same air until dawn. Andrew stayed home sick today. He sent me a photo while I was at work, showing three new spots on our bedroom ceiling. “Spider-murder-man saves the day!” read the caption. It wasn’t funny. During the summers when my house feels like my own personal, twisted hell born right out of my fear center, my office feels like a sanctuary. Sure, we get the occasional stink bug or industrial centipede, but rarely a spider. As I’m writing through my emails, movement from the corner of my white board catches my eye. A small brown spider seemingly throws itself out, only to use its web to crawl back up and under again. Frozen, I stared as I watched it reel itself back in with nauseating grace. I grabbed my coffee mug and made a swift exit toward the break room. Once there I took a deep breath and counted to ten. I then opened my eyes and reached for the cabinet to grab a coffee pod. I wrapped my pointer and middle fingers around the inside of the brass handle and begun to pull, expecting to feel the cool metal melt against my skin. Instead I felt something not unlike cotton. I pulled my hand quickly away and then grabbed the inside corner of the now ajar cabinet to continue opening. I leaned my head to the left to peak at the handle when I saw a crushed spider sac and something writhing inside. I dropped my mug, it shattered on the ground, and I vomited into my mouth. I stepped over the shattered “cat mom” mug to wash (boil) my hands. My coworker, Chris, came to my rescue after hearing the shatter. He helped me clean everything up but noticed I was visibly shaken. “What, did you see a ghost?” he teased. How charming. I wasn’t in the mood. “No, just, nerves. You know… busy season. We’re all frazzled and, well… Thanks for the help.” I threw away the pieces I had collected and washed my hands once more. As I used the sink, Chris grabbed a generic mug and opened the cabinet to grab a pod. He seems unphased. I couldn’t let it go. “Did… did you feel like… the handle…” “The handle…” he waited for me to finish, looking equal parts intrigued and irritated. “I thought I saw some crap inside the handle of the cabinet before I dropped my mug. I meant to clean it out but got distracted. Sorry I didn’t mention it before you went for the…” Chris began to examine his hand before inspecting the door handle. “I think it’s fine, Casey. I didn’t feel anything, I don’t see anything there. Must just be those nerves of yours.” I was at a loss. I know what I saw. “Hah. Right. Okay, then… Enjoy your coffee.” “Right… you, too…” forgetting I was leaving empty handed, “I mean, yeah...” He raised an eyebrow and shook his head as he reached for the sugar in the raw and I went back to my office. I walked back to my office concerned I was really fucking losing it. I walked past my colleague Laura on my way back. As I looked up to wish her a good morning, the faint feeling of walking through a web tickled my skin from the neck up. Naturally, I started to panic and thrash. “Oh my God, Casey, what’s wrong?” Laura put down her print she had just picked up to try and help me. In the midst of my visceral fight or flight reaction I realized I was making a scene. I threw my arms down and flashed a smile to the on-lookers and turned towards Lauren. “I’m so sorry, I’m fine. Swore I walked into a bug. All is good. Thanks.” I kept the smile on my face until I turned the corner into my office and closed the door behind me. “What the actual FUCK, Casey!” I whisper-screamed at myself as I quickly but firmly began to rub my hands from my head down my body, covering every square inch to get the disgusting phantom web feeling off my skin. I was certain at this point that I was actually losing my mind, not just in the way people threaten when they are having a bad day or when they are getting pushed to their last nerve. I was seeing and feeling things nobody else could. I quickly walked over to my desk and searched through my purse for my phone. I remembered the spider at the white board and looked over hoping I could still see a thin leg sticking out from the corner. No. It was gone. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.” My hands shook as I unlocked and navigated through my notifications. I had two missed calls and three texts from Andrew. No voicemails. My heart sank, he never calls. I read the messages first to see if I could get an idea of what may be wrong. Sandwiched between two texts was a picture message. My eyes darted quickly back and forth across the screen. 10:27am: “Case, something’s wrong. Spider situation getting worse. I’m calling an exterminator to come survey. I don’t even know if they do spiders? I’ll keep you updated.” 10:29am: The image was of the ceiling. Instead of dead spiders, it looked to be about two dozen live ones scattered among the bodies. 10:42am: “OK I have an exterminator coming around 2. No need for you to be here, I can handle it. Just wanted to give you the heads up incase you want to hear the status report first hand. Love you.” The phone calls are timestamped for 10:52am and 11:02am. I tried calling back, but it went to straight to voicemail. I sent a quick text back, 11:27am: “Hey, got your texts. Why’d you call? Everything good? I’ll be near my phone. Let me know. Love you.” I got up and walked across the room to open my door. I couldn’t bring myself to grab the handle barehanded, so I pulled up the hem of my blouse and used it to guard myself against any surprises. Nothing seemed to be there. I returned to my desk and resumed emails. An hour or so passes before I realized I still haven’t heard back from Andrew. I do the math in my head and if I take a half day and leave now, I’d be home just before the exterminator was set to arrive. I contemplate the thought a bit more before signing out for the day. As I pack up to leave, I see the spider once more hanging down from the corner of my white board. I pick up my note pad and slam it against the wall, silently apologizing to my neighboring colleague. Limbs shaking and battling a nervous sweat, I wipe the guts from the back of the book, grab my keys, and leave.


I woke up with a horrible feeling in my stomach all I could think about was whether or not what happened last night was real or just a dream. I got out of bed everything looked normal so I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and an Advil I had the worst headache I kept getting flashes of someone hitting me in the head with a bat I walked to the bathroom and inspected myself in the mirror there were no signs of any bruising so I sat down and tried to wrap my head around it. I got an idea to write and draw everything I remembered and go over it and inspect every detail for any proof I felt like I was going crazy. I remembered the day before I spent the night at my friend's house and somehow I woke up in my house I remembered being at lucys house my best friend and waking up to a loud bang I looked over to my friend's bed and she wasn't there so I went downstairs and saw lucy on the floor with someone standing over her I ran and grabbed the fireplace rod and tried to hit hem with it as I did lucy started crawling away and then he hit me in the head with a bat I don't remember anything else right then and there I panicked and tried to call lucy she didn't answer so before I could even change out of my pajamas I got into my car and quickly drove to her house he car was there but she wasn't her door was unlocked so I yelled lucy lucy are u here I touched the door very lightly and it opened so I went inside continuing to yell for her I took a second to inspect the house everything looked the same as far as I could tell. I searched the house and no sign of lucy or anything weird so walked outside and called the police and told them everything I knew. about 10 minutes later the police arrived and I explained everything I knew they looked at me like I was nuts they searched the house and didn't find anything they came out to me bombarding them with questions and they didn't answer a single one they just told me to go home and get some rest like I was just some psycho making this all up so I didn't leave without arguing with them so they told me to call in a few days if I was still worried so that's exactly what I did. throughout those days all I could do was think I made a whole case wall of all the evidence and everything I knew to try and figure anything out I hadn't slept for days every time I closed my eyes all I could see was that night replaying in my mind over and over again. It's been 3 days and still no sign of lucy I contacted her family and they didn't seem to be too worried they just thought that she left town for a while I tried to explain to them what happened but they just said that I was making something out of nothing. why wouldn't anyone believe me I was starting to question myself as well but then I thought about it and looked at my wall filled with pictures and a bundle of mess and though no there's no way this is just a coincidence so I called the police again and tried to explain they still didn’t, believe me, I was tired of not being heard so I did some more investigating on my own I went to Lucas house and went through all her stuff for any clues I found a camera on it was some weird pictures but nothing that could prove anything It was just unlike her to own a camera shes not into photography so I went home and printed out the pictures from the camera and taped them on the wall I stepped back and looked at the wall no of this is making sense I whispered underneath my breath. So I decided to go onto all my social medias like Instagram facebook snapchat anything I could think of to get the story out there and still everyone thought I was overreacting or crazy I decided to print out pictures of all lucys friends and tape them on the wall anyone that could have been involved I printed out I called the police again still nothing I was getting angrier and more and more worried bye the day its been almost a month and no ones even worried I don’t understand why isn’t anyone seeing what im seeing none of this makes anysense I called asking each suspect a series of questions first I started with jake her x boyfriend I thought he could have maybe been involved I asked hem were he was that night he said he was out with friends I asked what friends he said Jacob and lee I was writing all this down too I asked hem if hes heard from lucy he said no and that was it so I decided to talk to lee and Jacob next because he brought them up I asked them both the same thing they both said they weren’t with jake so I knew one of them were lying so they were my 3 suspects I decided to go to the police this time I went to the station in person and was yelling at them telling them they had to do something and I kinda got out of hand so I was arrested and was said to have issues like thinking people ar out to get me and fantasies so I was put into a phycward and from there I don’t remember anything else It was a year of doing the same things everyday at least I think it was I don’t really know I left the phychward not able to remember anything lucy was completely erased from my memory so I went on with my life and no one saw lucy since


The thing about death is that it takes a very long time. There’s planning to be done. There’s the wake and the funeral and the food and the gifts. There’s phone calls and texts to be answered. First there are sleepless nights. Then you have the days spent staring at the ceiling. Then afternoons clearing out the house. All of this turning into weeks in your planner that you never bothered to fill out. You knew there was someone in charge of watching you. There was always someone to usher you to the church or the house or the grief counselor. How did they plan this? Mark had been hard. Knowing Mark had been hard. Losing Mark had been hard. Standing in front of the group, trying to explain how you felt about your sponsor’s untimely death. . .that was hard. But that was where Kristi was now. Trying to put it all into words. Her coffee was cold but she clutched it anyway. It was nice to have something to do with her hands. She had carefully practiced what she would say. She wasn’t going to cry. She would explain that she wanted to drink but wouldn’t. “That’s all I can do for him now. Just stay on track.” She would wax poetic about everything he did for her. “He came to my house. It was the middle of the night. He was probably risking his own sobriety to be there. . .but he brought me to this diner and he talked to me forever.” She would say a lot of things, as beautifully as she could muster. These people cared about him too, after all. They wanted answers and justice and peace as much as she did. But there were things Kristi just didn’t have the words for. And even if she had them she wasn’t ready to say them here. She wasn’t ready to use them yet. They stayed half-formed and hidden. Almost sacred to her. She didn’t know how to explain the kind of love she felt for Mark. He had become a lifeline.

He had started as an annoyance. At first she wanted nothing to do with him. AA was something to do so her boyfriend wouldn’t leave her.

“That relationship is doomed. You don’t want to change, so you won’t. He’ll see through it. Let’s go get some food.”

She had refused. Then she got fired.

“We don’t have to talk about your job. But you do need a friend right now.” She turned him down. Then it was a Tuesday. No special Tuesday. It shouldn’t have been a life altering Tuesday. But the coffee was warm when she’d shown up to the church basement. The conversation wasn’t as grating. After she’d taken her chip she walked over to Mark. She didn’t particularly like him. He was loud. He was pushy. He told fratty stories about college. But he was still there. He was still sober. He still asked her to lunch. Kristi believed in moving forward; as far as you can, as soon as you can. And today she wanted to. And today she could. So she crossed the room. “Hey, Mark? Are you hungry?” “Always!” And that had been the start.

Mostly they ate. When Kristi’s boss had called her incompetent they went for steaks. When Mark’s girlfriend had left him they got burgers. Their relationship was milkshakes and pancakes and sushi and that new Indian place and the great waffle spot two towns over. But they stayed sober. Kristi had someone to call. Mark had an emergency contact. They were tied together by the most fragile of strings, but they were both dedicated to not cutting them. And that’s why she wasn’t headed to the bar right now. She wouldn’t cut the strings. Different strings. But just as fragile. Just as important. She zeroed in on their favorite coffee shop (in this neighborhood). Kristi knew what she had to do. Coffeeshop, straight home, an old Beach Body video to tire her out, bed. She just had to keep her mind busy. Today wasn’t as bad as the funeral. It wasn’t as bad as her 90 day chip. Mark would have told her not to be self-indulgent. “You don’t get to relapse because it’s poetic.”

So she bee-lined. “Coffee isn’t going to do the trick today, bud. We both know that.” Kristi spun around at the voice. It was rough, like cigarettes and sporting events. Then the outfit. Gray on gray. Sweats. Then the face. Oh. She was hallucinating.

“Sorry you look a lot like someone I know.” Shit. She had to get home. “Ha! I would hope so. Come on we’re getting pizza.” And he started walking away. The vision was exquisite. The person she trusted most in the world, here. He was right in front of her. His gait was the same. Cocky and slow. He ran a hand through his messy brown hair. He needed a haircut. He somehow miraculously climbed into the old Honda. The same car that she had ridden in countless times. The same car that had been scrapped last week. She got in. Of course she did. Mark was here. Mark wanted pizza. Years of alcohol abuse may have softened the mental blow of her dead best friend in the middle of the street, addressing her like it was any other day. But even if she wasn’t acutely aware of all the ways reality could blur, she would have climbed into the car. When your most important person asks you to get into the car, you get it. Even if they’re dead, apparently. She was quiet for a moment. “I suppose you have questions?” he asked kindly as he turned the ignition. Kristi was digging her finger into a hole under the seat, making sure it was still there. She checked the mirror for the old scratches. The dash for a packet of his favorite gum. All there. “Yeah. . .” “Welp. . .I’ve never been here to answer your questions. I’m here to shoot the shit and help you feel better and pay for your dinner and send you home a little better than I found you, same as always, alright?” “Mark. . .” “Same as always, ok Kristi?” She wouldn’t push. She was scared to. It was all borrowed. Hallucination or not it would end. Maybe she could lean into this. Maybe if she just sat back it wouldn’t dissolve. “Ok. Sure.”

They started winding through streets. He was driving more carefully than usual. Kristi wanted to say something, but there was a wall. She felt herself welling up just a bit. She sniffled, but Mark was kind enough not to comment. “I miss you.” “I miss you too.” She broke. The tears started rolling down her cheeks. She was usually a person more prone to anger. At her lowest points Mark had rarely seen her cry. Mostly she yelled. But here she was, a blubbering mess in his Honda. He just silently reached over her into the glove compartment and handed her some napkins. “Do you know why we always get food, Kristi?” She sniffled and turned to him. “No?” she sobbed. Mark was not phased. “Dopamine. When you stop drinking your body craves it. You can’t make it right anymore. And it’ll start up again and go back to normal, but that’s why it’s so hard in the beginning. Your body doesn’t have any dopamine and your brain wants it. So you drink.” “Ok?” Mark wasn’t usually very scientific. Death had changed him, apparently. “So when we eat like we do, our brains get a little dopamine kick.” “What are you even talking about right now?” “You need dopamine. We’re gonna go eat so you don’t go drink. And the dopamine kick will help. And also probably the guilt from seeing me again. Like. . .imagine how pissed I’ll be if you drink tonight.” “How will you know?” “Shit!” Mark laughed his huge, robust laugh, “No spoilers!” It was all surreal. Mark was in a restaurant, charming the waiter. Mark was folding his pizza in half. Mark was stealing a lone pepperoni off her plate mid sentence. He was the same. He updated her on the Cubs, even though he knew she didn’t watch. He asked about her love life. “Let me play on your dating apps! You need a support system!” He wouldn’t answer her questions or explain anything. But she didn’t really push. Like when you realize you’re dreaming, but you don’t want it to end. He was here in the booth. Even if it didn’t make sense she wasn’t willing to fight it. She wasn’t ready to give it up. She interrupted him. “We need to get ice cream.” “Ok, boss.” So they stayed out. The world grew dark around them. They slowly meandered down the street. There was a pretty good place nearby. They’d been there before.

“So, how long do I have you for?” She finally got the courage to ask. She was worried he would evaporate as some further punishment. “As long as you need me.” “Oh. That’s great. I’ll just keep needing you then.” “I was kind of hoping you would stop needing me after dinner.” “What?” “One day at a time, remember? Tonight will be rough. Tomorrow might be impossible. You’re always a mess at Christmas. But you’re going to do it. You’re already doing it. Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it isn’t worth the adjustment.” “So why even come back?” She was red hot for a second. It felt like anger but it might have been panic. “Maybe it’s not for you.” “Just wanted to support some local businesses from beyond the grave?” It sounded more bitter than she'd meant it to. “It was for me, Kristi. I had to make sure you were okay. It’s my job, right?” “Oh.” “Yeah. And I guess I needed a dopamine kick too. Don’t get a big head about it.” “Oh. Okay then.” Mark breathed out a heavy sigh. Maybe they would just walk for a while. Just until they were ready.


It’s just a part of the job I say. A Job I hate, and wouldn't do anymore if I didn't have to. My problems are not knowing what else to do, and being the only one who is able to do this right now. The nurses nod knowingly around me as I walk in the room. The hospital itself feels like it's alive. You can feel the energy of everything happening throughout the building. When you pay close attention it's almost as if the building breathes. Walking in the door you could judge how bad your day will be. Today started out okay, and felt better. Until the code white was called overhead. Infant emergency. It’s hard to describe the wave of stopping time, deep panic, and sadness that slams into the hospital the seconds after those words are called. I’m just an orderly in the emergency room, but I grabbed the code bag and sprint up the stairs. It’s really time to work. A team of doctors and nurses were already in the room. A few more doctors of different varieties gathered around the door as well. The critical care team started CPR. The new mother wailing in a broken defeated scream. Begging for her child. The father silently watching and preparing himself for the worst night of their lives. I got pulled from the doorway into the compression rotation. CPR itself was routine, and I've done it on dummies of babies so many times. I don't actually remember doing CPR but I remember the time of death, and that I was the one holding onto her. The family, having time to say hello and goodbye to the newborn, was now discharged and on their way home. Specialists would be sent to keep an eye on the grieving couple in the coming days. It was time to bring her downstairs to the morgue. A black baby cradle waited for her in the walk-in fridge. I opened the door, and motionless the baby laid. I’ve put over 100 people in bags and brought them down. The Body bag was so small. Not at all unlike a shopping bag. I gently picked her up and placed her in. I zipped up the bag and carried her out of the room. People passed by us unknowingly, and tried to stop me to say hello. I just kept moving. I did not want to do this. I walked up the hill with her. Unlocked the door, and placed her in the cradle. I stared at the bag. Turned around, shut the door and locked it. She sat there with Ann now. Ann was a regular patient of ours that had just passed away the night prior. A sweet legless old lady It brought me some comfort knowing they were there together. I turned the lights in the morgue off, and walked back down the hall. I went to the bathroom, and flushed away all the uneasiness inside me. I washed my hands. They’ll never be clean really now I thought as I scrubbed. I scrubbed and scrubbed. Dried my hands, and I took a deep breath. It’s almost time for dinner I realized. I had been looking forward to the spaghetti I made all afternoon. I was at work, and it was time for dinner. So I ate, and with every bite I forgot about her a little more. Before I was able to finish the Ambulance bay alarms were going off and a Code Blue was being called. I grabbed my code bag and ran. It was just part of the job I didn't want to do anymore.


I counted walnuts in my head, the shriveled tan hearts dripping into a bowl, somewhere hidden behind a rock.

This was only a fantasy now. Nothing grew south of the forest, and nobody left out nuts in the desert. Each piece of food was treasured by all creatures, and I was a small and unimportant one. We continued toward the sun, which blinded me enough to mask the change of color from evergreen to dusty brown on the surface below. The people moved around like slow crickets, headed the same way as us. They pointed in the air, so we did a few circles and formed the shape of a dolphin. I imagined each of them smiling.

I saw a girl smile once when I was as young as she. I landed on a bench beside her while she munched on some kind of mashed up peanuts. My feathers quivered at the scent. I inched closer, her tiny, buttery limbs and translucent hair inviting me in. She called out to me “Bird!”

Her mother swung her autumn hair off her neck and gave the girls belly an approving squeeze. Her baby blue shorts rode up near her diaper. She kicked her scabbed shins up off the bench.

I thought about my mother, who came back to me at the close of the sun each night. She asked me what I did during the day, and I told her about the girl and her mother in the park.

She reminded me that people are dangerous, and the woman in the park was trying to protect her child from me. She said they would hurt birds if they could only catch us.

I couldn’t imagine the girl hurting anything. She trembled with laughter and cried before bed. I watched through her window, where a small lamp, shaped like a mermaid, let off a gold light and blocked most of my view. Her mother nested different size pillows around her head while she dug her nails into a crocheted blanket with rows of pink fish. They both read words from a red and orange story book, as if the mother was also struggling with her R’s. I visited the window more often, searching for something although I didn’t know what. I had to scoot away from the ledge when she climbed out one night, a boy below with his arms out, ready to break her fall. They tucked themselves away behind a tree to hold hands and kiss.

He laughed out loud and she shoved her baggg sleeve into his mouth. “You’ll wake up my mother!”

This confused me; I saw her mother watching the two children from her bedroom window, where she normally slept with the TV turned on. Now she stood still, focused like a hawk on the back of the girls head. Her earrings twinkled in harmony with the night. Still, they were well disguised in the dark so I hopped closer. I was invisible against the Earth. For a moment, I craved the substance of those people, all the space they took up, like something more profound occurred within their bodies. They spread out their arms like angels, and didn’t look over their shoulder all the time. They seemed safe, free to wonder about things like their clothing or the decorations on their walls.

My mother whispered to me while I slept that night. Her course feathers smelled like Juniper berries. She told me we would return north the next morning. We’d leave at sunrise, with just a few minutes to find where the others landed. The rusty markings below her eyes shined like teardrops. She checked around us every couple seconds, rotating her beak back and forth.

I wanted to see the girl again before I left. After my mother tucked her head into her wing, I hopped down from our branch quietly and took off toward the house.

The girl rested her head against her mother’s frail hand. Her grey and brown braid laid long down her back. A curtain blurred the rest of the room, except for a vase of sunflowers on the nightstand. Her mother mumbled something I couldn’t understand and she giggled.

Then her mother sat up, her hoarse cough audible from the distant tree I watched from. She held the girls shoulders as she stabilized her walk into the bathroom. I noticed the girls hips were almost as wide now. Humans grew into so many interesting shapes.

I watched through the window long enough for the sun to peak over the roof. I jolted back and flew toward our nest. I arrived, cooing for my mother. She wasn’t in the nest or any of the surrounding trees.

I hopped from branch to branch, chirping for the other birds. The trees shook in the still silence, their bareness leaving me exposed to the sky above.

I returned to the house, wondering if I could make it north on my own. I didn’t know the way, and if I went in the wrong direction I might risk being washed away by unfamiliar winds.

After several hours I pressed my body against the trunk and rested my eyes. The middle day shined hard and long. The smell of walnuts captured me, so I started to count each nut in my head, imagining the soft center between my beak. I followed the smell on the off chance it wasn’t just a weary dream.

The scent took me back to the house. I peaked into the window, where room was empty and the furniture removed. The lamp and curtaime were gone from my view, and I clearly made out fresh repainted walls and a new matte carpet. I hopped around to the front of the house, where a woman stood on a chair near the railing. She rubbed water off her face.

Her black clothing stuck to her back. She lifted a tiny house, the same shape as her own, with a rope attached to the roof. she hung it near the front door. A man, also dressed in black, handed her a bag of walnuts.

“Your mom loved birds.”

She filled the house with nuts, through a hole cut out above the painted red door. She wiped the water from her face and her nose with the white towel she used to dust off little house.

I chirped to her.

“Oh, look!”

Both the people froze, and stared at me. I fluttered back.

“John, you’re scaring her. Get inside.”

They went into the house, their house, and slowly closed the door. I waited a moment, but the smell of nuts was overwhelming, and I hadn’t eaten since the last time my mother brought back her juniper berries. I landed on the railing, then spread my wings and elevated up to the bird feeder. The taste of the walnuts was real, and inflated my heart. The women behind the glass dug her head into the mans chest. He whispered into her ear, pointing at me and waving.


The rumors that spread throughout court are always fascinating. Unless they’re about you. This is what Sabine had to learn the hard way. It was bound to happen. She avoided any rumors being spread about her for nineteen years. Not a single person has passed through the Court of Aelharst and not had a rumor about them ignite. Still, she had hoped whatever they came up with about her was foolish. An unimportant piece of chit-chat that would die out in less than a day. Turns out, that was the last thing they were going to do. At first, she was confused. Most people avoided her gaze once she entered the Great Hall. Normally, many of the other noble families come up to greet her and her family. Perhaps her parents did something to annoy someone else? No, that wasn’t it. Once she separated from her parents, many made their way to greet them. It wasn’t until her best friend, Mizuki, made her way to her that she knew something was wrong. Worry was written all over her face. “I’m surprised you actually showed up tonight.” Sabine frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?” “Maybe because everyone thinks you slept with the prince?” “What?” Mizuki scanned her face. “Oh my stars. You really didn’t know, did you?” “I had no idea about this until just now. Would you care to fill me in?” “Of course. Basically, everyone thinks you and Prince Elias had a… romantic escapade. I’ve been trying to quell the story, but it has proved quite difficult.” “And when do they think this happened?” Sabine cannot recall a single instance where she had interacted with the prince recently, much less been alone with him. “Two nights ago, after supper. Remember how you went up to your room early? Well, he left at around the same time.” “Of course that’s all it took. I didn’t even know he had departed early. Do you at least know who started such a baseless rumor?” Mizuki snatched a drink from a server and took a sip. “No idea. I first heard it from Lady Ratterfield, who heard it from Lady Aaron.” “I see. Well, would you be willing to help me find out who did it?” “Absolutely. I’m not your best friend for nothing.” She winked. “I’ll talk to Lady Crawford, you talk with Lady Bardot.” “Thank you.” Ladies Eirene Crawford and Cecily Bardot are the closest friends of Suzana Aaron. Why anyone would share their secrets with them is a mystery. Anything told to either of them will be known by the entire court in less than a day. Sabine looked around, trying to spot her target. Cecily was in a corner speaking with her husband. Even though they’re both the same age, she was betrothed the moment she turned eighteen. Making sure to not appear suspicious, Sabine slowly moved towards them. “Hello, Sir and Lady Bardot.” Cecily turned towards her. “Lady Lancaster! Hello. How are you?” “I am well, thank you. What about you?” “I am fantastic, thanks for asking.” Sabine eyed Sir Bardot, wishing he wasn’t there. Cecily seemed to notice. “David, my dear, would you go fetch me a drink?” “Of course, my love.” He kissed her cheek and walked away from them. “So, Lady Lancaster, have you been up to anything interesting?” “I don’t know, you tell me.” “Well, Lady Owens told me all about your involvement with the youngest prince. I must say, I wasn’t expecting that from you.” “Ah, that. Lady Owens needs to find better sources, I’m afraid. I did not have an affair with the prince.” “You need not deny it. Some might be jealous of you, but not me. I am content with my husband.” “I am not denying out of modesty, Cecily. I really did not go to bed with him.” She hummed. “Unfortunate. The prince ought to be betrothed soon, and I was hoping it would be you. Seems I was incorrect.” That took Sabine by surprise. She knew that the time for Prince Elias to be betrothed was approaching, but she was not expecting anyone to consider her a possibility. Most assumed that he would marry outside the court for political reasons. “In any case, I am sorry to disappoint.” “Do not worry about it. I simply wish the prince would see he has perfectly suitable candidates here.” “Yes, well, royals tend to not make a lot of sense.” Cecily smiled. “That, indeed. It was nice talking with you, Lady Lancaster.” “I’ll see you around.” Sabine spotted Mizuki at the far end of the Great Hall, still in conversation with Lady Crawford. She decided that her next move would be to find Lady Owens. It was quite odd for her to spread such a rumor around, as she is considered to be one of the more trustworthy members of court. A quick scan of the room showed that she was not in attendance today. Not completely out of the ordinary, seeing as her health has been deteriorating. She tried to think of who are closest to her. Lady Owens is significantly older than her, around forty years her senior, so Sabine does not really know many of the people she interacts with.

Her mother was around the same age as Lady Owens, so she tried to think about who she gets along with. They both spend a lot of time together, so it’s not a stretch to assume they have similar circles. The problem was that, in all honesty, Sabine did not pay much attention to what her mother did. In the time she was thinking, Mizuki’s conversation with Lady Crawford had apparently come to an end. Sabine made her way over to where she was. Mizuki did not bother with any small talk. “She told me she heard it from Lady Owens.” “Lady Bardot said the same thing. I tried looking for her, but she’s not here.” “Hmm. The closest person to her that I can think of, aside from your mother,

is Lady Rossi.” The last thing Sabine wanted to do was talk to her. She did not get along with the Rossi family in the slightest. Their son was one of the most insufferable people in all of Aelharst. His mother was no better. Mizuki must have sensed her discomfort. “I will go talk to her for you. It would look weird if you went to her asking about this, since the rumor is about you.” She let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. “Thank you, Mizuki. Or should I say, Lady Saito.” “Shut up, Sabine.” There was nothing for her to do but wait. Not many people wanted to approach her. The few that did always asked questions about the prince. Time and time again, she denied that anything had happened. Most seemed to not believe her. She decided to stand in a corner, drinking champagne. Mizuki should be done talking with Lady Rossi any second now. She was not in the mood to keep hearing questions about the prince, especially when she had no answers. After what felt like forever, but was probably ten minutes, Mizuki found her. Whatever she had learned, it was clearly not good. She almost looked as if she was going to be sick. “Is everything okay?” Sabine said. “I would say yes, but I would be lying to you.” “What did you learn?” Mizuki hesitated. Clearly she did not want to share whatever she had learned. “Please tell me, Mizuki. You agreed to help.” “Fine. Just don’t take out your anger on me, okay?” “You’re scaring me.” “Good,” she paused, “because I found out that the one that started the rumor was your own mother.” Sabine was convinced she heard wrong. There was no way. Lady Rossi had to be lying, right? Her own mother would not create such a rumor about her. It simply wasn’t possible. She did not realize she was shaking until Mizuki put a hand on her shoulder. “Sabine, deep breaths.” She mirrored Mizuki’s breathing until she felt some sort of calm. There was no way to feel actually relaxed with this information, but she tried her hardest. “Are you going to confront her?” “Of course I am. I need to know why.” “That’s completely fair. If you need any support, let me know.” “Thank you.” Subtlety is of utmost importance in court. She waited until her parents were not talking with any of the other noble families. If anyone overheard their conversation, even more rumors would begin. That was the last thing Sabine wanted. “Mother, may I speak to you in private?” “Of course. Let’s go up to our rooms, shall we?” She attempted to put her hand on Sabine’s back, but she put distance between them. Affection from her was the last thing she wanted. The clacking of their heels filled the hallway. Sabine refused to look at her mother. Their rooms are not that far from the Great Hall, yet the walk felt like it took an eternity.

Once the door to their room closed, she wasted no time. “Why did you tell everyone that I had an affair with Prince Elias?” “You left me with no choice.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “This court is ruthless, Sabine. It’s better to have this spread around now so that no more rumors about you arise.” “This is ridiculous.” “It is not. If I hadn’t planted this, someone else would have come up with something worse.” “Worse than this? Really? Could you not have come up with something a bit more innocent at least?” “This is nothing in comparison to what others have gone through in this court. You of all people should know that.” Sabine knew that to be true, the own gossip surrounding her mother being horrendous. When her first husband passed away after less than a year of marriage, it was said that she had poisoned him. Even though the autopsy said otherwise, her mother brandished the title of murderer for years to come. It was only once Sabine was born that she was able to change her reputation. Still, it did not make what her mother did to her any better. “Just because you went through worse, mother, does not mean this was okay.” “You will thank me one day, my child. Trust me.” “I do not know how you expect me to trust you after this.” Sabine didn’t wait for a response. She stormed out of the room. The only place she could think of to go was the gardens. At least it would probably be deserted and she could cry in peace. She did not consider that there could be someone lurking in the shadows, ready to start another rumor. After all, the Court of Aelharst never sleeps.


I had recently been on a vacation to Jamaica. It was the summer, and I decided to make the most of it before I went back to college. Jamaica’s beaches were beautiful. They had the feeling that you get when you can't possibly believe that it’s real. It’s sensational. But there was something else. There was a guy. Not just any guy. I feel like he was the one. I felt the happiest I had ever been when I met him.

Why don’t I just go up to him? I asked myself. I remember what he looked like, though. He was tall, but slim with golden hair. I would say a dirty blonde. He had emerald green eyes. He had pale skin. How? We’re in Jamaica. But hey, most people are here for vacation for the summer. Unfortunately, the trip only lasted 5 days, but I somehow managed to see him almost every day. We did have one interaction, though. When I was walking by, I bumped into him.

I’m assuming he was drunk, because he was stumbling. He was also slurring his words.

“Ohhh- I’m so-... hic- sorry, what's your name again?” “Hi, my name’s liv-” and before I could finish anything, he got distracted and walked off. I noticed he was wearing a plaid shirt and baggy black pants. I’ve been thinking about him so much lately. I tried getting his attention when I was there, but it didn’t work. I need to find him. I have pictures of him, but they aren't very clear.

I went back to the airport with my sister. She was younger than me, so I hoped this would work. I knew I wouldn’t find him, though. I had to lie and ask one of the employees if they had seen him. I told the employee that it was my cousin’s boyfriend that I didn’t know the name of. I was ‘lost’ with my little sister and my cousin sent us to pick up her boyfriend. We didn’t know the name of him, and he might have left. “Well, if you don’t know the name, I can’t help you. Shouldn’t your cousin have told you?” the lady at the front asked me. Just then I remembered something. We had talked more than one time. The day after I saw him at the bar, he walked up to me.

“Hey, I’m real sorry for bumpin’ into ya yesterday.” He had walked up to me. He had the most beautiful eyes.

“It’s okay, I don't mind.” I told him with a warm smile. “I believe I tried to ask for your name. You probably tried to tell me, didn’t you?” He said with a chuckle. I had. I figured he didn’t even remember talking to me, but here we are.

“My name’s Liv. Yours?”

“Nice to meet you, Liv. My name’s Trent.” He smiled at me. Thank god I remembered that. Where would I be if I didn't? “Trent!” I yell, snapping out of my daze. “Was that his name, miss?” The lady at the front asked me. “Yes! Yes- yes. His name was Trent. He got back from Jamaica with us.” I hope he did, at least. I showed the lady a picture of him. I had to explain that they were going to be blurry because we weren’t really with him like we should have been. “Can I please have Trent come to the front on aisle 4B please? Trent with dirty blonde hair, green eyes…well you get it. Come to aisle 4B, please,” The lady cocked her head toward me. “Your boyfriend should arrive… hopefully.” “Thanks, but he isn’t my boyfriend.” I said. We waited. And waited. And then waited a little more.

“Honey, I don’t think he’ll be here.” The lady from the front spoke. Just then, I saw someone running toward us. Then, a familiar voice spoke.

“Hi! I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I-” he stopped when he saw me. “Liv?! I’ve been looking for you- I thought I needed to find you. I kne-” I stopped him before he could say anything else.

“Yeah! Cousin I love so much! Shall we go home?” I say, my eyes widening to hint to him that he was my ‘cousin’.

He got the hint.

“Yeah-let’s go.” We got just far enough away so that no one could hear. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Maybe I took it too far. “What the hell is this about?” He instantly questioned me. Maybe I did take this too far.

“I just- I can't really, I got this-” I was interrupted mid sentence.

“This feeling that you couldn’t just let the encounter go? You had to find me? You were changed by me. You were happier when you met me. That’s how I felt.” “Yeah. That was the feeling.” “Well then, let’s go home. Get to know each other.” he suggested.

“You’re seriously gonna let a stranger into our house?!” my little sister questioned. I completely forgot she was even here.

“For the record, I have many weapons.” I told my sister. “Wow, you think I’m gonna pull somethin?” he put his hand to his heart, acting offended. I just noticed the heavy Texan accent he had. I also just realized that this is Nevada. It’s a twenty-three hour drive to get there.

“Are you from Texas?” I ask. “Yes, I am. It’s that noticeable?” he replied. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” “Yes, technically. But why go home when I can just stay here a few days? I’m 23; a big boy. I can make my own decisions.” he said. He’s 23?! That works out just perfectly. I’m 21. “Well, I can drive, so that means you’re sitting in the back, Lily. Sorry, dude.” I know she won’t like that.

“What?! I’m in the back of my sister's own car, while a stranger gets to sit in the front? That’s bull!” told you. But she does have a point.

“Language! And you have a point. Trent, You’re in the back.” Trent didn’t complain and got in the back of the car.

The ride wasn’t bad. I did put on the radio for some white noise. Fun fact about me: I always like to have music playing. No matter what I’m doing. Trent, Lily and I talked the whole way home. Trent was a nice person. He grew up in Texas, and had gotten a scholarship to a nice college. He majored in history. He loves history, which was nice, because so did I. I didn’t major in it, though. It was nice to know him. Of course I didn’t know him, though. This ride was the perfect time to get to know each other a little bit, because it was a three hour drive to the airport. I like long

drives with friends. My sister is also extremely patient. When we got home, I gave him a little mini tour and showed him where he could sleep. I told him he could sleep. “Thanks for letting me stay. I appreciate it.” he said. “Of course!” I replied. “I’m really excited that I found you. I knew it was a good decision.” “So do I… I’m delighted!” “Would you like to go on a proper date this Saturday? With me?” “Yeah! I’ve been waiting.” “Ew! Gross!” My sister scoffs.


Police stop ahead, road closed, the sign said. The flashing lights of police vehicles blocked the road ahead. An officer with a paddle sign indicated that he wanted me to pull over onto the verge. My passenger took in a deep breath, I felt his tension as we pulled over. Bent over looking into the car the officer gave a friendly greeting. ‘Good morning sir, I am afraid you will need to find an alternative route. The road ahead and a number of bridges have been washed away in the storms. You can do a U turn here,’ said the young officer.

‘The alternative road will make the trip an hour or so longer.’ I said to my passenger as I executed the turn. The man next to me hadn’t said much since picking him up a few minutes earlier.

‘Yeah that’s fine’ he had relaxed somewhat from earlier when we had stopped for the police, his arm now resting on the windowsill, his hand around the assist grip above the window.

I made my way down the main street of the town to the country road marked as the tourist route. I had often taken this road as a quieter, more scenic and relaxed drive than the quicker direct main route along the east coast, this would eventually link back to the highway. It would be another hour and half before we reached the Pacific Highway on our way to Sydney. The road was in fair condition but the heavy rains had eroded some of the bitumen surface which would make the journey slower.

Visiting my parents on the farm was always a welcome break from my hectic schedule in Sydney and I tried to get up to see them as often as possible. They had a small dairy farm in the foothills of Barrington Tops in New South Wales and as with my previous visits it had been good to feel and smell the earth, my mothers home homemade cooking, as well as the early morning milking stints with my Dad. On my last night before heading back to Sydney we had followed a long held family tradition of a visit to the RSL club. A pub meal, a few ales and a catch up with friends.

I hadn’t come across Jock for a while. We had gone our separate ways once we had left school so it came as a surprise when he sidled up to me at the bar and after a short exchange of where have you been, what are you up to conversation he asked when I was returning to Sydney. An unexpected visitor of his needed a lift, his truck had broken down and he had asked Jock to arrange for it to be delivered to the garage after the weekend. ‘He is staying at the motel and I will give him the news and ask him to meet you outside at eight tomorrow. His name is Alan by the way’.

‘So Alan, how do you know Jock.’ I asked to make conversation as we left the town behind and settled into the drive past the small cluster of industrial buildings and modest homes that lined the road and onwards past farmland and through the rolling green hills of country New South Wales. ‘I met him on the mines in Western Queensland, we were both sparkies and Fifo’s he replied. ‘I didn’t know that Jock was a fly in fly out contractor on the mines, I knew he was an electrician but didn’t realise he had worked on the mines, that explains why I hadn’t seen him around for a while.’ ‘Yeah he was surprised to see me but he had told me that should I ever be down his way to look him up. Glad he has been able to help out with my Ute as well.’ He had noticeably relaxed even more now that we were out of the town. He kicked off his boots by levering them off at the heel with his toes. I noted that his socks could do with a wash in fact overall he could have done with a good scrub. ‘Where are you from’ All over the place mate, wherever I can find work.’ ‘Family’ I asked. ‘Nah, had me a woman once but she was a bloody mess, booze and drugs and that sort of thing you know. Mind if I have a fag’ he said pulling a twenty pack from his top pocket. ‘No I don’t like smoking in the vehicle if you don’t mind but I will stop later if you want.’ ‘Perhaps at the next big tree, I need a piss as well.’ he replied with a chuckle. We travelled in silence for a while as I started to regret that I had offered this character a lift, his clothes were permeated with tobacco smoke and I turned up the air con to refresh the air ‘Here we go’ I said as I eased off the road and pulled into a rest area. We both walked over to the toilet block and as we went Alan pulled out his pack of cigarettes pausing momentarily to light one. Back at the car I had opened the boot and pulled a couple of cokes out of the cool box. It was packed with fresh dairy products from the farm and a 6 pack of cokes and bottled water as well as a selection of chocolates and snacks. 'Alan’ I said, holding a can toward him. Alan leaned against the car, he had removed his socks and was walking barefoot ‘shit got me a bloody thorn’ he said as he raised one leg and crossed it over the other so he could see under his dirty foot and pull out the thorn. ‘That’s better’ he said, showing me the thorn held between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Big bugger’ he laughed followed by a chesty cough. ‘You got a woman’ Alan asked as we stood sipping our cokes and Alan lit another cigarette. ‘Yes she’s at home in Sydney and couldn’t make it this weekend as she had a number of work issues.’ ‘Where do you guys live.’ I felt uneasy and needed to think quickly and not be too specific. " We are on the Northern Beaches and you’ I said, trying to turn the conversation back to him. ‘Wherever I can find somewhere to shack up. I have some mates in Sydney and will probably find a bed with one of them for a while’ ‘’What’s up with your truck’ I asked, moving the conversation away from accommodation in Sydney. It was the last thing I needed for him to ask me for a bed for a night or two. ‘It's a load of junk, never buy a Ford I can tell you, Toyota anytime for me, bloody things go forever. My Dad had one and he clocked over 300 thou with it before he had a fight with a tree.’ He laughed, slapping his thigh ‘what a piss cat’ he sighed poor bugger is no longer here but Mum is still around somewhere in Queensland.’ ‘You must do well for yourself’ turning the conversation back to me. ‘Fancy wheels’ he said, patting the bonnet ‘Lexus top of the range mate.’ 'Let’s get going’ I said 'we have a way to go.' The damage from the heavy rains of the past days were now even more evident, road conditions had detoriorated, it was slow going avoiding wash-aways and some fallen branches. ‘Not another detour’ I said exasperated as we passed slow down signs and were directed onto a small unpaved track. ‘We need to keep going, surely we will be directed back onto a better road.’ I thought as I negotiated the rough surface and larger puddles. The farmlands we had passed for most of the journey had now given way to gum forests and there was little evidence of habitation anywhere.  ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere mate’ Alan said. Like I didn’t already know that. ‘Yeah sure feels like it’ I replied, holding my voice in check from sounding impatient. I didn't need any sort of confrontation, becoming increasingly annoyed with my passenger. I was beginning to have a sinking feeling that we were getting lost and perhaps the detour signs had actually taken us in the wrong direction. We had no cell phone reception either so there was no way to check google maps and try and get some idea of our location. We were heading away from a southerly direction in a more westerly direction. I pulled over on the verge in a clearing and decided to conduct a reconnaissance from a higher vantage point. ‘Thank shit’ Alan said ‘I could do with a smoke while you decide where we are. It seems you have got us lost up the creek without a paddle.’

I could clout this guy. He was really annoying me now and was in no way being helpful. I wanted to walk through the forest to find higher ground but there was no way I could leave Alan alone with the car, by now I felt I could not trust him. ‘I need to walk a way through there’ I said pointing to a fire trail. ‘You go mate, I will look after the car while I have a smoke, I have to be careful not to cause a fire’ he said chuckling in a sanctimonious manner. ‘On second thoughts’ I said as I opened the cubby hole and pulled out an old paper map that I suddenly recalled having just in case such a situation ever arose. I spread the map on the bonnet as Alan walked off smoking and whistling some unknown pointless sounding tune. He returned a while later ‘Figured out where we are yet.’ I was confident that I had worked it out, telling him that we would carry on. ‘Got anything stronger than cokes in the cool box’ he said. ‘Sorry no but help yourself to another coke or water if you prefer.’ He grabbed a coke and a Kit Kat popped the can and opened the Kit Kat without offering any to me as he put the chocolate wafers into his mouth two at a time and threw the wrapper onto the floor of the passenger side as he took his seat. Hairpin bends curved endlessly around the forested hills and our pace was now even slower as the road wound its way downward, Alan had stopped his annoying whistling through his teeth, he was fast asleep, mouth open in his unshaven face and straggly hair curling on his shoulders, it had been a welcome respite and given me time to think.

 I was confident this would eventually lead to the valleys below but with the swollen cumulus clouds now threatening rain I was doubting we could carry on traversing the slippery road if we had a downpour. Large drops of rain hit the windscreen and with the accumulation of dust and mud, the wipers at full speed smeared the windscreen and we could not safely proceed. I pulled over once more to wait out the storm. ‘’Journey from hell’ I cursed. Alan woke up with a start. ‘Would have been quicker by train I reckon’ Alan quipped.  ‘So what do you do for bob’ he said as he leaned the back of his head against the window and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. ‘No smoking please’ ‘It's bloody raining mate, I can’t go out in this’ his voice was now threatening and worried me. ‘I reached over the seat and handed him an umbrella. ‘Use this.’ ‘Bloody snob’ he muttered under his breath as he opened the door, holding it open longer than needed and letting in more rain. I watched him walk off into the rain to a tree sheltered clearing.

My phone pinged several times letting me know that we were now back in cellphone range. I opened the messages, ‘ Your passenger is a fugitive and on the run, dump him and call the police. Dad’. ‘We are worried the police are trying to track you down.Mum’ ‘NSW Police please make contact soonest. ’ Alan had wandered off and I could make out that he was obviously relieving himself next to a tree further down the clearing. I reached over the seat and pulled his bag over to the front, started the car, opened my window and threw the bag out as I pulled away.

The rain was pelting down but I had to take the chance, even at the safe speed there was no way he could catch up. The storm was short lived and the road was winding its way down into the valley and a straight road ahead. Pulling over to the side of the road I called my Dad first, he told me that Alan was on the run. He was suspected of murder and other crimes in Queensland and was now also wanted for questioning by the local police, Jock had been found seriously assaulted earlier in the day..

The flashing lights of police cars were in the distance coming toward me. I sat back and waited. I noticed Alan’s muddy boots and dirty socks on the floor of the passenger seat.


More @ r/TheAllKnowingOwl Ch.2 is all about how pointless life is. We work for those who are bigger than us. Rolling up thier leftovers like dung beetles. Ch.3 is about how we depend on others to live but can't escape their control.  # Chapter 2 – The droppings of others Eric woke up as a dung beetle. Not just an ordinary beetle that could fly about its merry business. No, a dung beetle. A beetle subject to a life of rolling balls of dung. A humble life it is to those who do not mind the smell of shit. Dung beetles do not complain. They know not more than the smell of shit and the urge to roll it into balls. And thus, was the life of a dung beetle. And thus, were the lives of Eric and Alex, when they reincarnated from goldfish. Neither Eric nor Alex thought more about their current circumstances than one might expect a dung beetle is capable of thinking. Instead, they rolled balls of shit, by instinct if nothing else. And thus, their life continued. There was no cat to taunt, just elephants, zebras, and giraffes that would deliver them their day to day work. One day, when Eric delivered his final ball of dung for the week to their cave, he asked Alex, "Why is it that we must collect the dung of the animals bigger than us?" Alex flicked his feelers in a body language only beetles could interpret. "It is what we must do. We are dung beetles, and so, we must collect dung. It's what must be done." It was a strange concept to grasp, Eric thought to himself one morning when finding a huge pile of elephant droppings. We were born to live off the scraps of the bigger creatures of this land. Alex did not seem to mind. He seemed satisfied by the balls of shit he would roll each day from what was left over from the larger animals. This idea, however, troubled Eric. Why should he have to roll the other animals droppings into balls of shit. Could they not do that themselves? This was what was on Eric's mind as he ran out across an open field, ignoring his duties as a dung beetle. He wanted freedom, a life away from the droppings of others. What he received, however, was the beak of a bird flying overhead. *I should have stuck to gathering dung*, thought Eric as the beak crushed his abdomen. *It was better than getting eaten by a bird*. # Chapter 3 – Anything for you, master Eric was a dog. He knew so by his tail that insisted to wag whenever he grew excited. Also, by the fact that his sense of smell was sharp, and he had a devotion to his owner stronger than any other bond one could expect in a lifetime. His owner was the one that fed him and Alex. Their owner was a god to be worshiped. They would do whatever their owner wanted, even if it meant not tearing shoes or sitting on the sofa. If they were lucky, Eric and Alex would receive treats for good behaviour. Oh, how they loved the treats. More so, the attention from their owners. How they noticed they could listen to their commands. Sit. Oh yes, I will. Anything for you master. And thus, the lives of Eric and Alex continued. Alex was content with doing just as their masters pleased, but Eric sought more. He wanted to know what was outside their home. There was a whole world out there. Alex, however, did not like the idea. He said it was dangerous and it was not worth discovering the world if they had everything provided for them by their masters. Eric could not handle this idea; living a world between four walls not knowing whether he was missing out on what was yet to be discovered. He had to know. This was the one and only thought of Eric's as he strayed from his house and walked across the road. He had to know what was out there. Although, Alex was right. Learning the truth proved dangerous. There were cars that ran you over in a heartbeat. And so, Eric lived a shorter life, in the vain hope he would discover more than he was given. Ironically, the car that ran Eric over was the car of his owner who had just returned from the shops with dogfood. Eric felt a sense of Déjà vu. Each time he tried to make his own way in life, but as soon as he did, he was swept into a path he did not anticipate. It did not matter what creature he was. He was subject to those who were bigger than him.