It all started with a smile... A beautiful, warm, and welcoming smile from a pretty stranger on the streets of Manhattan. If you know Manhattan, you know how rare it is to meet a kind face here. Let alone to see that same kind face more than once. The third time I saw her, I had to speak to her. I approached her nervously, and she again smiled warmly which made me feel more confident. Approaching women is scary because you never know the vibes... Is it giving bestie vibes or is it going to be more? This time though, I knew. She spoke to me before I even mustered up the courage. “Hi there, beautiful stranger.” She said cheekily. I just laughed nervously and asked her where she was headed. Turned out we worked in the same building, simply different floors. So, from that day forward we walked to work together every day and eventually even woke up in the same bed most mornings.

Christmas was approaching fast as ever. My girlfriend, my beautiful girlfriend whose name is Kaleesi, loves Christmas. It is not exactly my niche but for her, I will put on the act of the century. We bonded so quickly that we decided to spend our holidays together and not leave town for family. It was an easy decision for me since I do not even like my family much. Kaleesi has been ranting and raving about how much I am going to love my gift and how perfect it is for me which has been making me panic a little. I have no idea what kind of gift to get the woman I love for the holiday I barely acknowledge... “Haven, don’t overthink it! I will love any gift you give me just like I love you.” She reassured me over and over. But it just makes me think of how much she deserves the perfect gift because she is utterly amazing. We have been dating all of 5 months and I am entangled in her beautiful little web, more than I could have ever imagined. I could write you a five-page essay about it. But what I cannot decide for the life of me is what to get such a perfect person as a gift.

I relentlessly searched the streets of Manhattan for the “edgy” stores I thought I would find the perfect gift inside of. I even took a bus to this store whose catchline was, “Beautiful gifts for beautiful people,” but it was very anticlimactic honestly. One day I spent my entire lunch break searching for unique stores to try next instead of eating, like a sane person would. Kaleesi started to notice I was stressing and would bring food to my floor and force me to eat before she left. Her acts of kindness just made me even more frantic to find the perfect gift for her as soon as possible. Christmas was merely nine days away; shit was getting real.

On December Twentieth, we were walking to work hand in hand when we walked past this tiny, black owned shop that I had never seen before. I saw Kaleesi glance at it excitedly, but she did not say anything. It looked to be full of ancestral jewelry, paintings, oils, and things of that nature. I made a mental note and smiled to myself because I just had a feeling this was my sign that the weeks of searching were about to end. I rushed through my work that day, happy as ever to be focused on my work and not stressing about searching for the perfect gift. Kaleesi’s parents were from east Africa, they migrated to the U.S shortly before she was born and they did not hang on to a lot of their culture the longer they were here. Kaleesi often tells me how she wants to know more about her culture and how she loves admiring the beautiful jewelry. Before I spotted this store, I had not found any real African shops with authentic jewelry but this one gave me hope.

After work I sprint down the stairs and head towards the little shop. I shot Kaleesi a quick, “see you at home, baby.” text and made sure to avoid her seeing where I was headed. It was a quick, brisk walk and once I stepped into the store I was welcomed with the refreshing scent of, Uusi. Took me right back to the smells of my childhood days spent at my own east African grandmother’s home. At that moment I knew this was the place I would find what I was looking for. The owner of the shop warmly welcomed me like we were family and showed me around the store instead of just asking me what I was looking for. I wanted to buy the entire store, honestly. So many beautiful, cultural pieces to absorb I could not get my mind set on one thing. Until I saw it. A beautiful, bright, Maasai necklace. It immediately called out to me. I got the warmest feeling just looking at it, just like when I look into Kaleesi’s eyes. I picked it up and told the shop owner proudly... “This is it!” She smiled like she was just as excited as me. I also picked up a book explaining the significance of the oils and jewelry I purchased so that she could learn more about the culture in general. This day I was filled with as much happiness as I was the first day I got to go out with Kaleesi and experience her true warmth. Finally, I found the perfect gift for the perfect girl.

The last week until Christmas seemed to drag by. All the time I was searching flew by but now that I was ready to present her with my perfect gift, time slowed. But I decided not to be impatient and to just enjoy the week we had planned. I also picked up a bunch of other little gifts during my search for the perfect one. I got us matching hats and gloves because it is cold as HELL in New York. I got us some matching sneakers too, I know I am corny and that is okay! Other than that, I got a bunch of her favorite lotions, makeup, and self-care items because I knew she would appreciate it. Our little tree was filled with gifts, evenly split between the two of us. We agreed that the biggest gift we would exchange last and so we had our own secret hiding places.

Christmas morning arrives, I jump out of bed before Kaleesi wakes up and I cook her a bangin’ breakfast. She comes downstairs sneakily and smirks at me because normally, she is the early bird. I silently serve her and sit across the table with my plate. She looks just as giddy as I am and scarfs her food down quickly before asking... “Can we open some presents now baby?.” I laugh at her and just nod, heading over to the tree. We sort out each other's gifts and decide to take turns opening them. First, she opens the matching sneakers and nearly cries just from that. I open a box with 2 coats, one my favorite color and the other is hers. “We are so damn corny!” I giggle. She agrees happily. We finish opening all our gifts which already had us filled with joy. We both silently head off to our hiding spots and come back with our boxes with the “perfect” gifts we picked for one another. We decide to open them at the same time on the count of three... I rip mine open, gasp loudly, and my eyes meet hers. She looks equally as shocked as me and we both burst into tears. She holds the Maasai necklace up to her chest and just bawls, thanking me repeatedly. “This is so beautiful, Haven.” She says happily. I just stare at my gift still in shock with tears falling down my face. My gift is a beautiful, gold bracelet with a key charm as well as a few other ones meaningful to us both. She comes up to me and gently says... “Take off the key and read it.” I do just that and burst into tears again... “You are holding the key to my heart, and to OUR place.” I am speechless and we just cry into each other's arms. Later that day she takes me to look at our beautiful condominium which has already been furnished immaculately. Did I forget to mention, Kaleesi is my boss? Oops.


Dad and I had wandered the infinitely-colored slopes of the Talking Mountains for seven weeks, begging them to give us the answers we had spent our lives not hearing. We had both been failures--not even colossal failures, just boring, unheard, unnoticed ones, although he had been a bit bigger of a disappointment than me--so we journeyed here to the Talking Mountains, where the side of every peak cracked and split and bulged into a mile-wide face, where some lucky few would hear the mountains speak to them with the voice of God if they wandered long enough. We are both old men now, him 95, me 67. He’s so shriveled and weak that I have to carry him on my back almost always. I was happy I was stronger than him, although I had always resented Dad for being older than me. No matter how much we wandered and begged the peaks to speak, to tell us what to do, the mountains’ many mouths stayed closed, always, and when we drew near they seemed to twist into towering scowls, their silence amplified into agonizing nothingness. I could hear my father struggling to produce saliva, could hear my joints rubbing together, could hear our miserable rickety hearts crying out to stop working for these ungrateful and unhappy bodies as we ascended and descended the dizzying slopes of magenta and scarlet and yellow and blue. On the 8th week, Dad got tired of me carrying him up and down the towering, shimmering peaks and begging the stone faces for answers, and he whispered in my ear, his frail, ugly, liver-spotted arms clasped around my neck. “Just throw me off that cliff. There’s nothing here for us. I don’t know what we expected. We’re just not people the world has anything for.” Suddenly there was a great cracking and chaos, and we looked high above us to see a mountain’s mouth opening. In doing so it knocked loose several massive boulders, which chain-reacted with several others, until a vast sheet of stone was flying down the slope at us. The mountain spoke but we couldn’t hear because of the colossal din of the boulders burying us, crushing my arms, my legs, trapping my father underneath me. Finally the noise ceased, and Dad’s chest labored to lift me and fill his lungs. I couldn’t move. We were trapped in a stone coffin together, chest to chest and nose to nose. The voice of the mountain boomed, so deep my ribs rattled. “The advice you need will always come *after* you can make use of it--and if it comes at the right time, you won’t listen.” Dad and I breathed as one, processing this, my breaths making room for his. “So my advice to you: Look out! There’s a rockfall!” The mountain laughed to itself a little. Then it fell silent. We breathed together in the absolute darkness, and we agreed that it felt like we were in the womb. After a while, as we approached a seamless transition from absolute darkness to death, my dad spoke, in a tiny voice I could feel killing him with every syllable. “We’re so stupid, John. We should have come so much earlier... what did we expect the mountains to teach us *after* we’d already messed everything up?” I laughed a little, then he laughed, and for a precious second the magnitude of the mistakes we had made was perfectly hilarious, that even in our final, desperate attempt to find meaning we were mistaken and lost and too late just the same. I had the fleeting thought that there was something worthwhile in even a completely failed life. I realized how beautiful the mountains had been--how much I loved my dad’s weight on my back. I realized how lovely it was to be dying in a colored-stone womb, stuck atop him, breathing together, laughing together, reflecting on two lives that we had mostly wasted by believing we were wasting them. The mountain shuddered and shook and opened a mouth to speak directly below us, and we and our stone womb fell into the hollow mountain’s endless blackness, my dad clinging tight to my shoulders as the wind rushed past us. I tried to tell him I loved him but the wind howled louder than I could hope to speak. I began to cry. The mountain stayed silent and uncaring, so I decided to scream, louder than I ever had, every bit of my life’s frustration and anger pouring out of me into the darkest depths of the great throat of the mountain. Dad heard me over the all-consuming wind and he began to scream too, first in fear, then in anger, and then the mountain began to scream with us, its monstrous voice vibrating every atom of the cavernous darkness as we hurtled through our own cacophonous harmony. God moved through us and out of us and we felt the earth shift as we expelled every ounce of accumulated rage we owned through our voices, and I had another fleeting thought that maybe we were put on Earth to fail and to build this rage and to scream, to serve as living testaments to the world’s unfairness, and once I had that thought I knew that the mountain was grateful we were here. I knew that our bones and our flesh and our failure would become part of the wisdom of these glittering slopes and cliffs, and also I knew that I didn’t really know anything and that maybe I was just talking out of my ass. I hugged Dad tight the best I could with my shattered arms and legs, and he hugged back. Then the mountain stopped screaming and said “If you let go of each other, you’ll both live.” The advice came at just the right time, but we didn’t listen. We stayed together, clutching each other’s shoulders, screaming goodbyes over the shouts of the wind and the shouts of the mountain, who yelled “Look out, you’re going to hit the bottom!” Before we heard the first word, we were already gone.


My heartbeats were growing faster and faster as soon as I was getting close to the city, the city of my university that changed me forever. I reached in front of my university gate; a wide, beautiful gate which was wide open as if it had opened its arms to welcome me after six years. Here was the place that gave me my life’s best memories and best people. Yet, I have never dared to come to this city again, I was afraid that I may encounter him, and I never wanted to see him again.   I parked my car for a moment on the other side of the road in front of my university and went into a flash back to how this place changed me; from denying my feelings to accepting them, from hating love to falling in love, from Hitler to jolly girl, and from crying baby to smiling doll. The place transformed me or quite possibly love transformed me. I remembered the last day when I dared to defeat my fears, broke my rules, ego and shyness to confess; for the first and last time. Although I knew that he no longer loved me or maybe he never loved me, but I wanted to leave no regrets.

 It was our final Viva day when everyone was worried about viva and I had this one question in my head—should I talk to him or not?

He was looking same sarruuu (arrogant) whom I loved from the first days of our university life. The day when we collided; I was lost, and he gently showed me the way by the gesture of his arm. What a filmy start! But that was the only sweet start because there was a lot of drama awaiting for us ahead. I didn’t know what was his problem, he never missed a chance to tease me, and I was a girl who was intolerable to any joke. He knew that, but he never stopped, from my make-up to my clothes, he made fun of everything. Although he never meant to make any offense, he merely joked, but I started to hate him, or maybe I pushed myself to hate him because there was no place for love in my life. Time passed, we had many unreasonable fights, we started ignoring each other, our sweet, funny fights changed into the war of ego, and things got worse. I remembered the time when I wanted to slap him right in front of everyone because I never felt so insulted because no one had ever ignored me, but he did. He always did things that first seemed an insult to me but then changed me forever, I started becoming a normal girl who was not offended by jokes now, who loved to live, who freely laughed and started to dream.

 Suddenly, he confessed his feelings; to deny them at the end, I took it as a joke because I was afraid of dreams, and he was the most beautiful dream of my life. I prepared myself for the worst – that finally happened. "Saad, I need to talk to you." I finally gathered courage on our last day. He looked surprised, his eyes became more wide, he came close to me, and we took a side,

I started, "Best of luck for your viva, I just wanted to say thank you and sorry for many reasons” my voice shacked but I pushed myself after a sigh “there was time when I wanted to slap you, I reminded him about our hate-love story, I just wanted you to know that I still have feelings for you, I know that is not your problem and I don’t know for how long these feelings will stay with me but I just wanted to confess.” I said all that in one breath without looking into his eyes because I knew that if I had looked at him, then I would have burst into tears.

“I wanted to say sorry too.” He concluded. I ignored his words and started to go,  then stopped

“See it is proved now that I am not shy hunhh” we both chuckled. He always said that I was shy, so I proved him wrong. As for him, he was a mystery, and he remained a mystery. I didn’t know why he broke off, and I never asked. After that day we never saw each other for the coming 6 years.

“Ma'am, you have been standing there for so long, is there any problem?” The guard who was probably noticing me pulled me back to the reality from that past, the past that was full of unanswered questions. “NO, I am just leaving.” I said politely.

I started my car and called my friend’s husband to open the door as I would be there in five minutes.

I reached their place, jeejoo was already at the door, waiting for me. I entered their home when Hazel—my friend for whom I came to this city again, was busy in the kitchen, when I placed my hands on her eyes, and she recognized my touch in one moment. “Haya! You bitch, is that you?” She exclaimed with joy. We both hugged and moved into tears with a smile. It had been 6 years that I hadn’t met her. She was angry with me because I couldn’t attend her wedding as I was out of the country, but as soon as I came back, I decided to surprise her with her husband’s help. We sat together, had dinner, and I broke the big news, "I am getting married.” I said in a straight tone. “Oo-M-G... really?? Has Saad come back? Why haven’t you told me?” She asked with excitement. “No, he has not, I am marrying someone else.” I tried to cover my sadness with a smile.

She was the one who knew how much I loved Saad, she was with me throughout my story in university and knew that I was waiting for him. This news surprised her beyond words, but she was happy that I was moving on.

“Well, that is great, but are you happy, Haya?” She assured. “Well, Ahmed; my younger brother, is happy.” I smiled “Now what you mean by that, what he has to do with your marriage?” “He loves someone, and she loves him too, but their family will not agree to this marriage if I don’t marry their son. You know our traditions. So I just don’t want him to be deprived of his love; I don’t want him to suffer like me. So I have made up my mind.”

Hazel’s expressions showed her confusion, but she joked. “Have you met the boy? What is his name? How does he look? He must be handsome enough to match you.”

“Well, his name is Ali, apart from that, I don’t know anything about him. We are going to meet in Karachi next week,” I concluded.

Hazel and I spent the whole week cooking, playing guitar, visiting local parks and talked endlessly for hours. The days passed quickly.

“You have to tell me all the details after meeting him, and don’t you dare to disappear again, you won’t be forgiven now.” She hugged me and said good bye.

I started my journey towards Karachi, away from this city and its memories. Next day, I arrived at a cafe when a tall and handsome guy welcomed me. Here was Ali, in black jeans and a tight blue shirt that was showing off his biceps. Hazel was right, he was my match.

I had decided that I would tell him about Saad, but I couldn’t get a chance. Although it was our first meeting, but he possessed a frank nature. He talked about his hobbies, likes, dislikes and engaged me too while I was waiting to tell him about Saad.

Suddenly, he stopped when he recognized his old friend behind me and stood to meet him. “Oh man, what a coincidence! I tried to reach you out, but you became a ghost and disappeared!” Ali said with joy.

I turned my face to see his friend, but what I found was unexpected; the face that I saw in my dream every night and tried to forget during every day, same bright eyes, healthy hair and the cutest smile. I sat unmoved without blinking my eyes till his eyes met mine, equally surprised. I felt same pinch in my heart and just turned my face.

Ali forced him to join us, and he introduced me to him “She is Haya, who is going to be your Bhabhi (brother’s wife).”

 “Oh, nice, you both make a perfect couple, ” he seemed jealous.

I had no idea how to react. Luckily, the waiter arrived, and Ali gave the order; two teas for us. Saad looked at me because he knew I hate tea. Then Ali looked towards Saad for his order. To my surprise, he ordered juice; that was my choice. I tried to convince myself that it was just a coincidence—that he must not remember what I like, and why would he! At the table we were both uncomfortable and pretended that we had just met today.  Ali broke the ice, “You know, Haya, this man is a modern Majnoo, he pushed his love out of his life himself for some reasons and has decided that he would not marry ever. Can you believe it?” He looked at me for approval. This new twist surprised me and raised many questions in my mind; is that me? Did he really love me so much? But if he did, then what were those reasons!!..  I couldn’t stop thinking and asked directly

“Is that true? What were the reasons?” For the first time I looked straight into his eyes.

“Ah, no, you don’t know him, he keeps joking” Saad lied, but his eyes revealed the truth. The truth that I ignored the last day to believe his words, but this time I couldn’t ignore the words of his eyes that clearly showed his love for me.

Weather I should have been happy or sad? I didn’t know, nor I could sit there any longer. So I excused and rushed to my home.

I hugged my pillow tightly and cried, I let all those tears run down that I was holding for the last six years. I let my heart release the burden; I let myself accept that how badly I have missed him and how endlessly I still loved him.

Then I called Hazel and told her everything, she was jumpy, happier than me, “What are you waiting for, Haya? Just go and talk to him, ask him and sort it out, life doesn’t give a 2nd chance to everyone.” She convinced me to take the step.

But instead of talking to Saad, I contacted his sister, Marina, who liked me and knew about our story. I reached out to her and wished that I had reached her few years ago because of what she said, “Haya, Saad loves you, he still does. I asked him many times to tell you, but he always said that when you love someone, you don’t confine them in a cage. He knew that you were meant to be successful, but our family would never let you fulfil your dreams. So he chose to let you free.” Marina ended. I felt the warm tears wetting my cheeks and hung up the phone. I found the answer to my questions, I found the reason, my feelings turned out to be true, which always told me that there was something more to our story. A strange smile was covering my face, the smile that I missed during all those years, the smile that only came with his name. Life seemed merciful, and I was going in the world of dreams again when my phone rang; it was Ali, my present. Reality pinched me and woke me up, but I decided to change the course of time now.

“Hey, Ali, can I get your friend Saad’s number? It’s urgent,” without thinking about the consequences, I followed my heart.

“Okay, I will send you.” Ali replied in a surprised voice. I hung up the call. Peep, my phone rang, and there was Saad’s number on my screen. I held my breath and called him. “Hello, who is there” his voice rang in my ears. I became dumb for a moment but then broke the ice, “Mr. Saad, I want to see you right now, and I don’t want any excuse, hanhh.” My tone, my words surprised me because I talked to him with same comfort and authority. He couldn’t refuse me, and we met at the same cafe. I arrived there before him, and as I saw him, my heart skipped a beat. I had no idea what I would say, and what would happen next. “Congratulations, you found someone better.” His harsh tone reached me. “Saad, did you really feel that I would have chosen my dreams over you? Had you no idea how much I loved you? I talked to Marina, and she told me everything. You had no right to punish yourself and me in that way...” I said with a breaking voice. “No miss Haya, I knew that you would choose me over your dreams, and I never wanted that. I wanted to see you fly, but you know I hoped that one day we would meet. I kept you away from me so I could make my own home for us both while you could fulfil your dreams, but I was not sure about the future. I never wanted to keep you waiting, but I had faith. But I was wrong, when I found you with Ali, then I realized that I had been living in an illusion for six years. You surprised me, Haya... you proved my faith wrong.” Tears fell from his eyes with those words. His words touched my soul, and I told him that my marriage to Ali is just a compromise.

“So your love has not changed?” He asked innocently. “Did I have a reason, Mr. Phudhoo? Yeah, If I had loved you for your looks, then it might had changed for ghorazz (English guys) or if I had loved you for money, then Ali is no less, you know” I teased then continued "Saad, I have loved you unconditionally, and no one can ever take your place.” I got emotional. “Will you marry me?” His words stopped my breath, I became cold. The words that I died to hear from him finally came.

“Be sure, okay, I will not let you go this time.” I said with wet eyes.

“I will not leave you, Haya, I will be with you till my last breath.” His eyes approved of his words.

“So you found your Lela.” Ali’s voice came from behind. He continued with a smile “I doubted that you both know each other on that day, but I was not sure. When Haya asked me for your number, then I became sure”

 Ali supported us and promised to convince his parents for my brother and his sister’s marriage without any condition. He told his family that he didn’t like me as I didn’t match his standard because that was the only way to satisfy his parents. After some days their family approved my brother’s marriage, and I was free from that burden.

“Miss Haya, don’t you think you are getting old? You won’t look good in your bridal dress.” Saad joked during my brother’s engagement ceremony.

“So, Mr. Saad, are you waiting to see me old? Go ahead, it is our turn now” I joked shyly.

Life turned into a fairy-tale from a nightmare because his family also had no objection now. Our love and patience melted their hearts and changed their ideologies too.

“You know, Saad, I have always believed that when something is meant for you, it will come back to you, and destiny proved it” My husband’s hand was in mine while we were enjoying the sunset on a peaceful beach.

“Yes, it was my destiny to bear this punishment for my whole life,” his words never failed to make me smile.


"Miss..." The new worker paused trying to figure out how to say Danny's last name. "Gator....Hunt....were?" "Gatourhuntswere." She corrected the teen. "Gay.... Tour... hunthswere." He tried again and handed Danny her blueberry pomegranate frozen yogurt. She took the frozen yogurt from him, and got a small whiff of the treat, which sent her flying into the past. "Fro Yo at death dow!" Twenty employees sang together while they tried to clean up the mess the last group party made. Danny was only here right now because she promised her father they'd come here right after the funeral. She even booked the place for her family for three hours, though she was pretty sure they were not going to make it ten minutes. She cleared her throat loudly hoping to get the attention of the workers. A few turned her way and smiled cheerfully. "What can we get you?" Three of them asked at the same time. Danny pulled out the piece of paper her father left her family. It included the orders he wanted them to get. "Four berry tarts," That was for Aunt Trisha, Uncle Dave, and their two kids; Tate and Dill. "Eight candy canes one with extra mint." Those were for Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Liliette, Uncle George, and their kids; Hannah, Anna, Rhena, and Phil. "Three cake batters," Those were for her sister, Jill and her husband, Tom, and her mother. There was one last one, "And one umm... blueberry pomegranate." That one was for Danny. The one that seemed most in charge shrugged and went to go make the frozen yogurts for her. The rest of the workers went back to singing their odd song, "Fro Yo at death dow! Of course that's after the ice cream, and cheese we stole! Then we'll go get a troll!" They continued to sing while Danny stood their awkwardly. "Here's your frozen yogurt." The guy handed her the sixteen small cups with yogurt. Danny started to grab my wallet out of purse when the man stopped her, "On the house, for Waldo." Danny froze when he mentioned her father's name. "You look just like him." He explained when he saw her shocked look. Danny smiled trying to hold back her tears. She put down the rest of the frozen yogurts while she waited for her family. The temptation came to much and she carefully took her frozen yogurt and took a small bite, but got a good whiff of the treat to remember what it smelled like for the next twenty years. She even started to sing the Fro Yo song under her breath. "Fro Yo at death dow!" "Of course that's after the ice cream and cheese we stole!" "Then we'll go get a troll!" "Because the ice cream song is lame," "We'll get great fame." "Hey!" "While we don't scream for ice cream...." "Everyone will gleam as we hand out our double cream Fro Yo's....." "Hey!" "Fro Yo at death dow!" "Oh, the Fro Yo at death dow!" "Hey!" "Hey!" "Dough!" "Hey!" "Fro Yo at death dow." Danny closed her eyes trying to hold back her tears. Her father loved to sing that song around the house. Though her mother claimed to hate it, deep down she loved it as much as her father because it made him happy. "It was your father who made it." On of the workers interrupted her thinking. "Yeah?" She said. "Yeah," The worker put his arm on his shoulder. "You helped too, but you were so young you probably don't remember. You would go around the place singing anything that rhymed together." The worker stopped to laugh. "It was very impressive!" He paused for a second. "I'm sorry for your loss, Waldo was my best friend. He was all of ours..." "Yeah," The youngest employee ran up to her and started singing something very familiar. "I love my dad because he ain't bad." "I love my dad because knows how to make ice cream. "I love my dad because he screams for me." "I love my dad because his him." Everyone started to join in the song, singing softly. They put down their brooms and towels to sit around her to sing my dad's part. "I love Danny, she's the cutest." "I love Danny because she's great." "I love Danny because she loves me." "I love Danny because she's her." Danny wiped the tears off her cheek, getting ready to hear the next verse her and her father wrote together. "I love Fro Yo because Danny made the song." "I love Fro Yo because Daddy made the treat." "We love Fro Yo because it's means you and me." "We love Fro Yo so don't try to be mean." Danny knew this next verse it was a like a broken record in her head, it was the part she loved to sing." "Bean likes Fro Yo though he can't eat it." "Bean likes Fro Yo because Dad does." "Bean likes Fro Yo because Danny does too." "Bean likes Fro Yo because he eats off the table when we aren't looking." Bean was Her childhood dog. Why she had only this part memorized she had absolutely no idea. Maybe because she was only a child when she sung this song with her father and she loved Bean? Danny really didn't know, but it doesn't matter now because she knows the full song and will always sing it. "Ma'am! Ma'am!" The young worker screamed at me bringing me back to the present. "Huh?" Danny mumbled. "You okay? You were dazing off?" "I'm fine," She smiled and walked away eating her favorite Fro Yo flavor, blueberry pomegranate and humming to her favorite song she wrote with her father as a child. Except she changed a few things, "Danny loved Dad because he cared," was added on to the song. Danny also kept on singing her father's second favorite song, Fro Yo at Death Dow. She visited him every other day bringing him new frozen yogurts to try because even though he's dead, Danny knew somewhere he was scarfing down blueberry pomegranate frozen yogurts.


It was after midnight. Stephanie Armstrong stood on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building, an odd figure for this time of night. Her brown curls had been pulled tightly into a ponytail, her face wore light make-up, and she was dressed in a black business suit. She had a white purse slung over her shoulder, and a suitcase stood next to her. Stephanie stared intently at the entrance of the apartment complex where her ride would soon appear. Then she saw a white SUV, which came to a stop in front of her, and the driver leaned out of the window. In the darkness, all Stephanie could see was a head of bushy hair.

“My name’s Sarah,” said the driver, her cheerful voice almost jarring in the nighttime silence. “You’re Stephanie, Amanda’s friend, right?” “I am,” she answered. “Where would you like me to put my suitcase?”

“If it fits in the back seat, that’s fine, but I’m afraid you’ll have to sit in the back seat as well,” she said apologetically. “The floor of my passenger seat is kinda messy.” “Ok.” Stephanie did as she advised.

Sarah drove out of the apartment complex, and in a minute, they were on the highway to the airport.

“Thanks for picking me up,” said Stephanie, realizing she had forgotten this courtesy. “I was happy to get an Uber, but Amanda reassured me that you wouldn’t mind taking me out to the airport this late at night.” Sarah waved a dismissive hand. “Amanda knows I’m a night owl, don’t worry about it.” “Like staying up late?” “Oh, yeah. I love to game at night. That’s how I met Amanda, actually. We’ve never met in person but we’ve been gaming with each other for a year now. I guess when you’ve gone on so many missions to kill dragons together, you feel like you know each other pretty well.” Stephanie obliged Sarah with a laugh, but she was glad it was dark so she could bite her lip nervously. Amanda had talked about her “great friend, Sarah,” and she had naturally assumed she knew Sarah very well, but they were apparently superficial friends at best. However, there was nothing to be done about this now, and she resigned herself to a trip with someone who was barely a friend of a friend.

“So Amanda said you’re flying to New York City?” continued Sarah. “Yes. I’m making a new start.” “Well, I figure that’s the place to do it,” she said. “Got a job already?” “Not yet. I’m staying with relatives.” “Oh, how nice. Are you originally from New York . . .?” “Yes, and I wish I’d stayed there,” she said vehemently. “I only moved out here because my husband got a job. But Junction City is such a boring town, and Oregon is a boring state, at least compared to New York, New York.” She panted a little, a look of relief on her face at being able to vent. “I’ll never do anything for anyone again. I know it sounds selfish, but I want to be selfish, I do! That’s why I’ve left my family.” She laughed again, but it was slightly nervous this time. “I didn’t tell them I’d left, but I don’t care. I’m going to live for me now.” There was a brief silence, then Sarah said, “Sounds like you’ve put some thought into your priorities. Nothing wrong with that, huh?” Stephanie was surprised at the gentleness in her voice. She had expected shock, or even disgust. She hadn’t told either Amanda or her New York relatives that she had abandoned her family without warning. She had simply said that she and her husband needed some space.

“Thanks for being understanding,” said Stephanie. “I really appreciate it.” “Of course.“ A minute later, Stephanie heard a loud bang. “What was that?” “Oh, dear,” said Sarah, as both of them heard a repeated thudding. “Tire’s flat.” “What?” exclaimed Stephanie. “I‘ll miss my flight.” Sarah sighed and pulled the car over to the shoulder of the highway. “I’m really sorry about this. The tire must have rolled over something sharp on the road.” “I’m gonna call an Uber,” said Stephanie frantically.

“Good idea,” she agreed. “I’ll go check on the tire.” To Stephanie’s relief, there was an Uber nearby that could pick her up in five minutes. Carefully opening the door so it did not jut out onto the highway, she went around to the other side of the car, which faced a long stretch of grass running towards hills in the distance.

Sarah was examining the right rear tire from a crouched position. “Flat as a flapjack, as Dad used to say. I’ll need to call a tow truck.” “Well, don’t worry about me,” replied Stephanie. “I’ve got an Uber coming, so I should make it to the airport on time. Thanks for coming out all this way, though. Sorry about the tire.” “Oh, it’s all right.”

Sarah stood up quickly and moved around her towards the trunk. “I wonder if I have something in here that might help. Here’s something,” she said brightly, and pulled out a wrench.

The wrench gleamed dimly in the light of the street lamps. Stephanie did not know much about tires, but she was fairly certain that a wrench would not help. She was about to point this out when she finally caught sight of Sarah’s face.

Framed by curls that were just like her own was the same face that stared out at her every time she looked in the mirror.

Stephanie screamed. “What - Who are you?” Sarah seemed to have expected this reaction, for she smiled. “I’m everything you should be, Stephanie. Or, at least, I soon will be.” “What do you mean?” she gasped. “You know, when I found you on Facebook, I couldn’t believe it at first. I was you, and you were me. Then I created a fake profile, and I was lucky enough that you friended me, though you didn’t know who I was. You know me as Gemini.” “Gemini?” Stephanie then recalled all the conversations she had had with her, including one in which she had revealed her plan to leave her family. “I met Amanda through you, and it’s true we game together. But of course I couldn’t let her see me, that would freak her out. But you can understand why I was fascinated with you. How many people meet someone exactly like them? Well, I wouldn’t say we’re exactly alike, but in appearance - Anyway, you have no idea how envious I was of you. You had a husband who loved you and took care of you, and you have a young daughter who always wanted to be with you. But you kept complaining about wanting to be on your own, do your own thing. That’s when I realized it’d be better if we switched places. But how? And then you told me about how you were going to leave them. My luck changed, and I knew I could take your place. I offered you a ride, but you turned me down.” “I didn’t know who you were, but I thought if Amanda knew you - “ “Yeah, I convinced her to recommend me to you. And it worked!” Stephanie was breathing heavily. “But that’s crazy. You can’t replace me. You don’t have any of the same memories that I do - “ “You’ve told me a lot about yourself, remember? I’m sure I can bluff my way through the conversations. Your husband probably won’t care as long as he knows he can come home to a loving wife, and your daughter will get the affection that she deserves.” “No, no, no,” said Stephanie, panicked. “It’s wrong - “ “And what you’re doing is right? Oh, no, Stephanie, you’re in no position to judge.” During the conversation, Sarah had been lazily swinging the wrench. Now she walked slowly towards Stephanie, who began backing towards the grass.

“What’re you doing?” murmured Stephanie, frightened. “What if you change your mind and decide to come back? You’d ruin the life I’ve built for myself. Unlike you, I’m not letting anything get in the way of the family I want.” Stephanie tripped and fell on her back. She shrieked briefly as the wrench was raised in the air and came down. A little while later, the Uber driver arrived on the side of the road, and he addressed the woman leaning against what he realized was a car that had broken down.

“You’re Stephanie, right? Listen, I’m so sorry for being late. I thought I’d make it sooner, but this man had to run in and get his wallet and he took forever.” She beamed at him. “No problem. I just need a ride home. I’ll call a tow truck in the morning. I hope you don’t mind if I’m a bit dirty, I’ve been on the ground looking at my busted tire.” “Nope, glad to help.” “Thanks. You won’t believe what a night I’ve had. My car broke down, and I found this injured woman on the side of the road. I just got done calling 911.”

“Whoa, really? Should we wait?” “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do,” she said regretfully. “Looks like she got hit by a car. I’m pretty sure she’s dead. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get home. I’m exhausted, and I have to tell my husband in the morning that I blew a tire trying to get medicine for an upset stomach.”


After the attack, every new job started the same. When she filled out the hiring forms at the grange, her new boss Monica leaned against the counter and made a habit of nodding every time she flipped a page. Dust was rolling in from the windows whenever a car drove past, and the she would occasionally shake the page to clear off the dust. Monica nodded when she did that too. She mentioned how her aunt had learned sign language back in the 70's. "It's like any other language," she said, rolling her knuckles on the hardwood. "If you don't keep up with it, it fades like anything else." She wanted to say then how she hardly knew sign language. Around the time when she was first hired at the grange, she felt almost completely useless in social contexts. She mentioned it in one of her sheets. Monica had already briefed the others on the fact she couldn't speak. "You don't have to worry. They won't be asking you any questions." She imagined how some of them might have taken it initially, especially after she'd gotten to know them in the weeks since. She had a good idea of how it might have gone: who would have nodded, who would have asked questions, whose eyes would have widened as they remembered the story from a year ago. But Monica was right: no one ever pressed her about on it. Coworkers still conversed around her, though. The grange was right off the highway and when there weren't any customers perusing in the dust, the others would slowly congregate to whatever plant she was tending to. One of them, Cass, always gave her an expectant look when she wanted back\-up on a point she was making. In return, she would close her eyes and nod, making an 'OK' sign with her hand. Eventually Cass would slide little sheets of paper to her with little dinos drawn on them. Not after long, she'd been asked out for drinks. It only happened a few times: twice by Cass and Rob who were about as casual as you could get, and once by Cass and Mitchell, who after she politely declined the most recent time had stopped asking. The only other time it happened, it was a coworker named Johnny who approached her. It was around 8pm. He walked up to her quietly, saying hi with a hand in his back pocket. She felt her body tense in his presence. The sun was below the mountains at this point, and they were clearing madrones from the tabletops inside the greenhouse. A few customers were still roaming around under the white tents that were now grey. He brought up how a customer had spotted a praying mantis earlier. "It was resting on her shoulder, staring at her with its big eyes, and in a panic she swiped it away. She didn't mean to kill it, but it was dead before it hit the ground." He said he'd been thinking about it all day. She flicked on an LED light and turned to him, the orange glow lighting up his beard. He stared out into the distance for a second, opened his mouth but said nothing. Finally, he sighed. "You think it would have lived if she'd just taken a second? Even if she brushed it off anyway?" His silence hung in the air. She joined him staring out at the sky, at the black mountains that glowed with the sun behind them. He started to shift like she could hear his mind racing to pick up the mood. She knew he meant well by coming to her. Still, she declined when he asked her for a drink. Her body was still tense when he walked away. In the shifts after that, he'd continuously been friendly to her, and sometimes she thought about the way his beard had looked that night, like it was set ablaze. \*\*\* There was a reason she'd grown cautious with what she told people, especially coworkers. Before the attack, she made a promise to herself to stop telling meaningless lies, withholding things even if they were small. She had opened\-up about her history to some, and some kept it private while others didn't. "I'm not sure if it's mine to tell..." is a phrase she would often hear from her coworkers. Soon she would hear it from herself. It wasn't like she had anything obscene to hide\-\- she hadn't killed anyone. She just wanted to break out of that reflex, and the movie theatre felt as good a place as any to try. This led to a kind of conversation she grew to crave from others: conversations she would have avoided altogether were now the only ones she ever seemed to have. She talked about her mother and father, how they both slept around yet stayed together. She heard stories from her coworkers about their parents, about how one of their fathers would flail wildly for the remote during sex scenes when they were kids, yet had the loudest sex they'd ever heard. In a small circle, another coworker explained to the group that they had never kissed anyone\-\- never even felt the urge to. They were four years older than she was. On a night that reminded her now of the one with Johnny, she remembered how she stood outside of the theatre doors, waiting for her break to end. A couple were watching a show in a hotel room across the street, and a few floors above them three children stuck their heads through the balcony guard rail, pointing at the people below. Another worker approached her, someone she'd talked to a few times. He mentioned there was a concert after the shift that he and a few friends were going to. He said it like he didn't really care if she'd say yes or no. They slept together during her last chunk of time there. When they first spoke about it, she was relieved when he said he felt the same: he didn't want a relationship, just something casual. Soon she figured this wasn't the case. She didn't feel clear about it either, but something in her gut nudged her away from his embraces. Text messages that ended succinctly would be needlessly stretched on by him, and he would reply so enthusiastically about things that really didn't mean anything at all. It felt selfish when she admitted it to herself, but she knew she wanted to feel comfortable enough in her own body to have casual sex, to sleep with someone she didn't love. It didn't need to be with him. She needed to communicate clearly and transparently with him though, and this would be the way she'd avoid hurting him. During one of their late\-night discussions, she told him what she meant. "I want it to be something I can go out and do all these things with and come back still feeling good. Casual, you know. Not life or death like it's been." She hoped it would click for him then, that he would remember how she'd always put her shirt on right after they'd finished, or how she'd break away from him to turn a lamp off before they went any further. He stared thoughtfully at the wedge between the floor and the wall. "I just think my insecurities are what's holding me back from experiencing more things," she continued. "I would probably have more good sex with more people if I wasn't so hung up about it. I don’t want that to be the reason I say no." She made sure to tell him when their clothes were on and they weren't in the bedroom. He nodded, but she could tell he was hurt. He later told her that what she said had made him sick. \*\*\* They had been unloading several new ferns from a truck when Monica suggested this would be the last thing they did that day, cutting the day short by an hour and a half. They swapped uncertain glances at each other, but she quickly insisted she'd pay for the extra time. Everyone eased up then, thanking her. She lowered herself down, hoisting up another fern. As they filtered out into the central room of the greenhouse, she spotted Cass and Mitchell pulling out their phones to see what to do next with the rest of their day. She stared at the sun for half a second then felt herself walking towards them. They hadn't even noticed her when she saw something racing out from the corner of her eye. She spun. Her knees buckled, and her arms surged in front of her face. Her legs slid out from underneath, cutting a line out of the dirt. Dust kicked in the air. She was breathing in short, shrill gasps when they came for her. Rob was standing only a few feet away, looking stunned. "Why did you run up to her so fast?" Cass shouted, pushing him. "Give her some space." She heard him say sorry many, many times, swallowing then going silent, muttering 'fuck' under his breath. He was crouching, his arms over his head like a diamond. She felt Cass' palms press against her back, keeping her upright. Her own hand pressed over her heart, and she didn't know it then, but she had said something—what it was no one was sure, but they all agreed on it sometime much later. When it all settled down and she could breathe again, she saw Cass wiping her eyes. She hadn't even noticed Monica behind her, breathing slowly, having rushed in to grab a bottle of water from her mini\-fridge in the office. She handed it to her, repeating "You're okay. Breathe. You're alright." They discussed it with each other, but after she had continuously nodded her head no, they decided not to call an ambulance. They did speak with her mother, who lived across the country. She ended up writing on the back of paper lunch bag some things. As she and her coworkers sat in the hot office with nothing but the windchimes and light hum of traffic to fill the air, Monica had taken it to closing the grange herself. It wasn't until then, in that moment in the office, that she understood something. She knew they were aware of what had happened. But it hadn't occurred to her how they felt about it, how it sat in the back of their minds just like it did in hers. "Are you sure you're okay?" This time it was Mitchell asking. She looked at him and nodded, giving a thumbs up. Cass was sitting by her side and gave her hand a squeeze. Rob was still frazzled, leaning on the counter in the same way Monica had when she first got the job. He breathed out, distressed. "I'm sorry," he said tiredly. She brought her hand up, waving it to the side, then signed *I'm the one embarrassed.* It was simple enough by the way she moved her lips. She thought they understood. There was a huge part of her that wished it hadn't happened. If she'd spotted Mitchell running sooner, she might have simply stood still as he glided past. But it did lead to them asking yet again for her to join them as they figured out what to do with the rest of their day, and this time, she nodded yes. \*\*\* She saw the white gleam of a blade for months afterwards. If she could feel a sound, it was the sound of steel, the light flaying noise as it cut into something soft. When she closed her eyes, she saw it moving through the darkness without a hand to guide it. Every night her dreams replayed the attack with all kinds of subtle changes. Sometimes the crowds were sparser or gone completely. Sometimes they didn't react the way they had. Other times it was night instead of day, or she was in her hometown—not in the city. It was never exactly as it happened. She was moving through the sidewalk on a Saturday, looking at her phone as it mapped out a route to her friend Nina. It had been a week since she'd left the theatre. She had a backpack, nothing extensive, and a water bottle she was periodically taking sips from. It was her first spring break on the East Coast, a change her and Nina felt similarly about since they moved from the other side of the country together. They were two hours away by bus, but it felt good to be close enough where these little trips could happen. She was scanning to check her surroundings every so often, stopping when the crowds did and shifting her eyes up when a car honked. She heard a scream which caused her to jerk suddenly. A man in a heavy sweater was stalking towards her. His eyes were wild, red. She saw the knife in his hand too late to react, and remembered freezing slightly, almost falling to the right towards the cars. "Beautiful bitch" was what he said. The next parts people had to explain to her. She had her own version, though: one taken from a nightmare she would have in the hospital. She was grazing the rivet in her neck, slowly moving her hands up and down it. She thought of how it might look white like the belly of a fish if shined in the right light. She felt the cut was dry, like it had happened a long time ago and never healed. The crowd was motionless. The man stood across from her holding the blade. She stared into this man's eyes as if he were reflecting. Reconsidering. She shook her head, as if saying no: you don't have to hurt me. And some nights\-\-good nights\-\-she would hear the tatter of the blade as it hit the sidewalk, and the soft steps of the man as her turned his back to her, joining the crowd as it once again started to move. \*\*\* She didn't remember the last word she said. She supposed it didn't really matter now. She watched from the trunk as Mitch and Cass passed a cigarette between the two. The way the wind caught their smoke and whirled it into the air gave her a chill. Rob was leaning beside her, scratching a blot of dried mud off the Dodge. She wanted to fold her legs on top of the trunk and rest her hands against the rear window glass. Somehow he could tell. "You can sit on the back, I don't mind." She gave it a thwack, jumping on. After settling herself, she looked down at him. He was looking past her, gazing at the town that rested at the bottom of the hills. From where they were, it looked like a small river of lights. When she ticked at the car a few times, his eyes met with hers. "It's an old car. But yeah, car's a car, right? What do you think?" She signed to him, but he didn't follow. She pulled out her phone and jotted some things there instead, then passed it to him. He smiled. "Huh. No, don't have a name for it. What do you think it looks like? A Fred?" She shook her head. He folded his fingers and pressed them to his mouth. Mitch and Cass were still working on their cigarette, talking now about an artist. Rob pressed his face together. "He's more like an old man, isn't he? Like a Maurice. A grandpa type." She shook her head rapidly this time, furrowing her brow with a smile. "What, you don't have a grandpa named Maurice?" For the next hour or so, they traded the phone back and forth brainstorming what to call the Dodge. They started running down a list of other topics, things they had never talked about. Mitch and Cass were out of a cigarette by then and joined them by the trunk. They were passing the phone back and forth until she looked at the battery and reluctantly tucked it in her pocket. Cass had reached for her phone then, but suddenly moved off the trunk and took a few steps forward. There was something about them walking through those hills, the way they stopped at some houses and guessed how much they were worth, or speculated what kind of person lived where, that made the daylight burn away. The fields were growing red by the time they came back to the car. When Rob jumped in the driver's seat and revved the ignition, everyone went quiet as they heard the engine putter, then die. "Fuck me," Rob said, pushing his head towards the wheel. When he rolled the headlights switch off, everyone burst out laughing. One of the homes ended up coming to the rescue. As the man attached the jumper cables to the battery, they realized their predictions were mostly correct, save for Cass' insistence that one of the homeowners was a sculptural artist. He said he collected art and had a small gallery in his home, but never really thought much about doing it himself. This got Cass to talking with him, and this is how she found out Cass was going to school for sculpture. As Rob revved the car back to life, he let out a gasp of relief. They thanked the man and drove off into the hills, racing the sun as it fell back down below the mountains. When she found out later Rob had called the car Putter, she smiled. It was a good name. In her apartment that night, she sat by the wall of her bedside and wrote out the whole story to Nina. She included everything: the scare at the grange, the Dodge, and the man who brought it back to life. She even went back and mentioned the time Johnny approached her about the Mantis. She didn't remember exactly when she fell asleep, but she did remember the feeling when she woke up: an implacable sensation of images surrounded by dark movements and sound. She liked to think there may have been something there, something from the other night gliding in and out of the darkness. A car driving through a black scene, or a cigarette burning until its ashes caught in the wind like dust. She was looking forward to seeing where that would take things, and so she got in the habit of writing it down—to tell them how it happened, so the next time they could speculate together what it meant.


In the auditorium, a spotlight focuses on the beautifully furnished wooden lectern. The old mahogany fixture casts a long shadow that reaches far upstage, disrupting the flat expanse. Dust particles dance in the golden beam, some settling on the modest ridges of the podium, others disappearing in its silhouette. They are shaken repeatedly by the clicking vibration of high heel shoes. The shadow of the valedictorian’s square hat is lined with crisp edges, which permeate the bubble of light, as her dark outline merges with that of the lectern. The structure seems too strong to be made of wood, too welcoming to be made of stone and too freeing to be made of metal; but despite the lack of appropriate material, its tall shape conveys its purpose: to enhance and to create order. The very moment her hand touches it, time starts, and her heart rate quickens. “Every time I find myself at the podium, I forget how I got there. The podium is like a different universe in which materialistic things do not matter; only real human interaction. Unlike any concrete gift, my words speak for themselves; they have a rarely mentioned intrinsic value. Here I am, this evening, in front of you all, and I would like you to receive my words, for what I am about to tell you means a great deal.” She is not supposed to have uttered those sentences. When they found and destroyed the notebook containing them, she was physically reprimanded. Nonetheless, she cannot seem to find it in herself to care; the punishment is over. All she can do is enjoy the dramatic effect she produced. Through the blinding light, she feels the void before her expanding hundredfold with every passing interval, as five hundred minds parse her resonant words. The bright circle of the spotlight is a portal for a thousand keen eyes; the microphone, for a thousand listening ears. Looking at her paper, then at her family in the front row, she realizes she cannot be silent. “I am so fortunate to humbly represent my peers, to have grown up with equal opportunity and to speak on behalf of the group. This place is more than overseas financial safe haven. We are a community that proudly maintains both secrecy from the outside and absolute equality among its people. We feed on the wickedness of the world’s capitalism, and turn it into perfect equality. Those who can find us can join us. I am here to ask your forgiveness, because I have selfishly deviated from this ideal by overachieving, and thus overshadowing the greatness demonstrated by my classmates.” Whereas her first four sentences resonated, the flavour of these prescribed words has been lost after months of repetitive practice. A charming graduation speech is nullified by semantic satiation, in which phrases too often repeated decay into their constituent sounds. Perhaps, in going through the motions time and time again, the statements were subconsciously accepted as monotonous truth. Maybe, as the sound waves are processed by her mind, the brain juxtaposes each word with its antithesis until all that remains is silent void. Put simply, it is meaningless. In much the same way as the perfection of her words causes her not to hear them, the precise symmetry of her face cancels out her features. Large brown eyes tell of neither innocence, nor guilt. Tassels, from a strange hat resting on blonde hair, brush against her cheek, which has been blushed with makeup. The corners of her mouth are drawn towards circular earrings of brilliant gold in an artificial smile. However, beneath her articulate and eloquent demeanor, no one suspects that she is urgently stalling; that her life depends on the continuity of this speech. “With many losing their lives, the elders fought the costly battle for total societal isolation, giving us not only wealth and luxury, but also fellowship. Of course, while our cars are of the highest caliber, our houses made of marble, our people well fed and composed and our crime rate lower than that of anywhere else in the continent, the elders made sacrifices for a different reason. They fought an inadequate system for this lectern, or, rather, for the human right to speak the truth about the Gods; the Gods that gave us this good fortune; the Gods that protect us.” A sharp buzz in her right ear makes her wince. With the characteristic scratchiness of the crude system, her hidden earpiece orders her: “Valedictorian, we need three more minutes. Just keep speaking for three more minutes. That’s all we need.” She continues, “May I offer my sincere congratulations to this year’s graduating class, who has no doubt done them proud. I would like to commend those of you who were recruited into this community. Abandoning corrupt principles instilled in you by society takes courage and conviction. It is my wish that you are viewed and treated as full-fledged members from now onward.” People stand and cheer enthusiastically. Mothers burst into tears. The elders are beside themselves. “And for those of you who grew up here your entire lives, your unwavering commitment is invaluable. Thank you for your contribution throughout your childhood and teenage years. I know the merciful Gods will remember and cherish these moments.” Again, she hears the cultish applause. It causes the microphone to reverberate in repeating loops of feedback. The feedback becomes increasingly louder in a storm of cyclical noise; twisting; turning; morphing; growing. It is the feedback of five hundred cries, of people held captive their entire lives, of generations of falsehood. Her earpiece, too, is screaming. For a moment, she is consumed by the exponential increase in volume and pitch. It brings her back to the night she arrived here at eight years old. In a spacious room with a high ceiling, walls whiter than ivory and three beds, her family rested under feathered comforters and silken sheets with a thread count suitable for royalty. Despite the jetlag, they all slept soundly for the first time in what seemed ages; the dysfunction of months of family deliberation was washed away. Warm air drifted through the open window, gently swaying the blanched curtains. It brought with it the scent of smoke from a distant campfire, the soft sound of joyful song and the faint rustling of both pine and deciduous trees. The next morning, the summer sun reoriented her sleep pattern, as well as her sense of direction. In the following weeks, she befriended people from more countries than she could name, learned more than in all her years at a parsimonious elementary school and attended daily church services. The ambiance here was one of novelty, acceptance and indiscriminate luxury. The Velazquez family felt welcome here. During the months when the sun smiled down on the community, her skin became dark and her hair white. Later, when days shortened and snow fell, her pale body shivered by the fire and donned layers of clothing; she would do anything short of dying to avoid the foreign cold. The cycle of seasons repeated time and time again, until she had lost track, until she was living a life that was not her own. She never thought back to the summers, only the frigid winters. It was on the coldest day of the year that she was selected to represent her graduating class to the Gods. She woke the next morning to find her mailbox overflowing with letters of thanks and long since frozen gift baskets strewn across her doorstep. In her silent confusion, she opened packages, scanned through letters and placed bouquets in water, much to the delight of her family. However, there was one basket that appeared empty, save for some straw. Hours after setting it aside, she heard a small beep emanating from it. In a measly white gown, she snuck it outside, digging in the straw to unveil a satellite phone and a simple earpiece. The phone rang. The sound in her head grows louder and louder until she is brought back to the auditorium. After an infinite moment of echo, it finally stops, and she realizes she must answer her calling. “The reason I have the great honour of being valedictorian tonight is because my sacrifice will render me worthy. Every year, as is customary upon graduation, one student is chosen to be sacrificed to the Gods. When this speech is over, Elder Smith will put a gun to my head to commemorate and pay tribute to the sacrifices made by him and his generation here, and to show that excellence is collective, not individual. It is my honour to enter the afterlife before my peers, and to represent them and this community before the Gods. Now, let us bow our heads in prayer.” As she shuts her eyes, she is left with the image of Elder Smith bowing his head obediently. However, instead of praying, she begins to shiver feverishly, despite the warmth under the many layers of her costume. As her teeth chatter and her arms move toward her chest, she becomes obsessed with the idea of retaining—retaining body heat, sanity and belonging. It has to have been three minutes! Finally, her earpiece screams, “Commence in three… two…”, she ducks down and clings uselessly to the podium. “One.” Heavily armed government soldiers infiltrate the long hall from every entrance. Most of the crowd cries out or drops to their knees. Elder Smith pulls out the gun. “Disarm yourself, or we open fire!,” commands a young military voice. The elder exclaims, “Never! You’re disturbing a religious ceremony.” “Shut the hell up! You’re in violation of our laws! We have a warrant to take everyone in this room prisoner, except for the valedictorian.” There is one last moment of silence, in which one could hear a pin drop. Elder Smith quivers with the gun. “In that case….” He does not finish his sentence. Before she knows what is happening, bullets from his handgun fly through the fourth wall, piercing the useless furniture. Suddenly, in her left ear, she is bombarded with the overwhelming roar of machine guns. In her right, the earpiece rings louder than ever. As the spray of bullets shreds the crowd, she shrinks lower and lower into nothingness with the knowledge that all her loved ones are being massacred, so that she can survive. Part of her dies today, with the absolute conviction, founded on nothing, that she will overcome. Perhaps everyone maintains the illogical, subconscious belief that he or she will survive. It is the persistent feeling of persistence—the nagging emotion of hope. Pervading our instincts, the hope for longevity is an irrefutable prediction; no one can ever be wrong in making it because everyone who is wrong is dead. This stands true regardless of the existence, or lack thereof, of the afterlife. In thirty seconds, everyone in this godforsaken room who somehow believes they will be spared will be proven right. Emilia Velazquez will be proven right.


“The complete dismemberment of punctual holiness is utterly preposterous.” “Agreed. We ought to do something about this monumental injustice.” “Look here. This poor soul has denied the art of proofreading and has ended up concluding his statement with your trademark. A real pity it is.” “Well, I cannot partake in the observation of this crime any longer. If you won’t do anything, I will.” “But…we’re just a couple of forgotten ink splotches on a page most likely in the realm of ancient history my dear friend.” “Well, at least one of us still has hope.” “I have always managed to retain my hope on this matter but I’m telling you, we are just too powerless.” “Side by side we have fought through this time of desperation and now…now I sense the defeat in you. So do not lie to me.” “Well, sorry for being a realist. We don’t even have hands! I apologize for being so blunt, but I’m afraid this is the end. There’s nothing you or I can do.” “You’ve been brainwashed. You’re completely wrong. There’s nothing I can’t do!” “Oh, did you forget about the hands situation?” “I heard you the first time, and I assure you, I do not need them. Just watch me.


Auriel plummeted through the layers of ether. Dark colors spiraled behind her. It was the only evidence of her having passed through the thin atmosphere. This atmosphere was not made of air, however. It was of a spiritual substance. The ether was also her home. Looking to her south she noticed Michael struggling to catch his fall. His wings he depended on to keep him aloft in the ether had disappeared, much like hers. Streamers of red and green billowed out behind him. To the east she noticed Raphael blazing a purple and gold trail through the ether. The sword he was wont to carry had been left behind at their headquarters on a table made of silken wings. Angel wings were not made of bird feathers as the ridiculous humans thought, but of the astral substance that was left behind in the ether from the death of a silkworm. Gabriel, to her west, had used her voluminous blue and orange robes to stall her descent much like a parachute. She was falling slower than Auriel, Michael, and Raphael. Distance was appearing between them. Each angel's equipment had been left behind at headquarters as they had been cleaning their chattel at the time heavens floors had opened and they had begun a hasty descent towards Earth. Under normal circumstances when a Qabalistic magician asked for their presence, a ritual would take place and the angels would have plenty of time to adorn themselves. Auriel would carry an inscribed pantacle decorated in the colors of a lush, verdant, fertile forest. Raphael, as mentioned, would carry a shining sword which lightning flashed out of. Michael used a sturdy lance, sometimes as a weapon, sometimes as a pointing instrument. Gabriel held a beautiful, humble, potter's cup within which the glowing light spilled out, representing the Holy Spirit. This time there was no warning. One of the many Qabalistic magicians who knew their names and calls had summoned them without ritual. It was one of the many they knew and had formed close attachments with. It was the only possible explanation for the magician's ability to summon them with such ease and rapidity. Darkness leaped from beneath the descending angels. It was a forced deceleration. It was heavy, sticky, membranous. As Auriel sank further into the goo, she lost sight of her fellow angels. A panicked thought floated from her mind. As a rule, angels don't panic. The emotion of panic was strange, unfamiliar to her. A thought of agreement greeted her from Michael's particular mental voice. Good, thought Auriel. At least they could still communicate through this gloom. A resounding thud from above informed Auriel, Raphael, and Michael that Gabriel had finally joined them in the mess. It felt like an eternity to God's favorite four archangels as they struggled against the goop. Wingless, weaponless, and out of their natural substance of heavenly ether, it was of no use. The more they struggled, the denser their environment became. Soon they were released they were not exactly alone. A thought next to Auriel shocked her into stopping her struggles. A tiny mind-voice began to ask questions, not through the words a human would use but through vibrations. It had been a long time since Auriel had communicated with a human thus. Of human origin, it was. It came through in the energy. But of what age, impossible to tell. Then Auriel realized why the human was communicating as it was. It was a baby. In fact, it was a fetus. An unborn baby. The other 3 Angels had also found themselves partnered with questioning little minds communicating in frequency only. In synchronicity, the mental shout went up from the four that they realized they were in a womb occupied by quadruplets. That was when they understood the danger. The angels had descended from eternity into the flesh. There was no way back. At least, not the way they came. A squeezing shudder, a clamping sensation gripped the tiny bodies. The fetus's cried in agony as one. A frightening thought came from the mother. It was one of the angel's most loyal magicians whom they served. A prayer came from her. 'Please Auriel, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, save the souls of my babies'. The humming frequency of the minds of the babies began to diminish. Something was happening to the mother's body that was putting it through trauma bad enough to have made her reach out for the angels and summon them to her womb. Now that the angels were there, they could not leave nor assist her in any way. A tiny light beneath the fetus and angels had cracked open. Auriel said, “She is about to give very premature birth.” “Those souls won't live. They aren't developed enough.” Gabriel pointed out. The buzz of the fetus's mind decreased. One of them had winked out of existence. Michael noticed the soul leaving the body. With a few deft mental moves, he passed the soul onto heaven. Raphael nudged Gabriel, “Take it. Take the body. It's the only way. Remember, she prayed for this pregnancy. We were with her when she cast the spell. Taking the bodies, living a life, and dieing may be our only way home.” The 3 remaining fetuses mourned the loss of their sibling. Another contraction racked the mother's body, and the dead fetus was blocking the light. Gabriel zoomed into the body. It shuddered. Within moments, the lungs, brains, intestines, and heart, everything necessary for the baby to live had been developed to perfection. Gabriel disappeared down the tube. The shock of losing a sibling stopped the heart of another fetus. Gabriel gave a little giggle, “Mikey, do your thing. I'll take this one.” Again, the dead fetus began to live again. Again, it developed within moments enough of its internal organs so that it might live when it was given birth to. That fetus, too, disappeared down the canal. The last 2 fetuses sent a frequency as one to the 2 remaining archangels. “If you would be so kind archangel Michael, we would love to join our siblings in heaven. We had promised each other that we would always stay together when the call came for these fetuses to be inhabited. We had made plans to spend our entire life on Earth together. It was an eternity we waited for a suitable time to be born. Please send us up to our siblings.” Michael acquiesced. Auriel and Michael inhabited the fetus's developing them so that they might live when they exited the womb. Michael went first. Auriel took a last look at the womb, lamenting the fact it may well be 100 years before her or her siblings would assist another magician in their spell-work. Never mind, she thought. She wasn't the only archangel of rank Auriel, specialist work. There were many other Auriels, Michaels, Gabriels, and Raphaels, each with their weapons, and duties. The first thing Auriel noticed after sliding down the birth canal was the weight. Auriel had gone from light to solid. With a half-hearted effort, she lifted her hand to try and touch her face. She had no energy to fight the gravity. She opened her mouth and her lungs expanded, sucking in air. It was sharp, heavy. It hurt. She screamed. Halfway through her scream, she realized that her siblings were screaming too. These were the first breaths they had ever taken in their entire existence. They would be followed by many more. NEVER THE END


I spread out my hands, and the green light poured out of my palms. The villain screamed and floated up into the air suspended by my power. Suddenly, he stops, and tears started coming out of his eyes, “what have I done?” he whispers. That’s my power, to make the lowlifes worldwide feel remorse for what they’ve done. Now, you’re probably wondering how I got this power. Well, it starts on a cold day just two days back before right now. Like I said, it was a cold day, uncommonly chilly for this late in the season. I wouldn’t know though, I had recently moved to Michigan, and from what I’ve heard they’re cold year long. Since we were just arrived I didn’t have to go to school until the next week. Me and my mom went to the store to buy me supplies and new clothes. I discovered my power while my mom was outside reading a magazine and waiting while I browsed through the shelves of pencils, paper, notebooks, and so much other supplies I bet you you could build a house with them all. I think a teenager was trying to shoplift some stuff, but all I saw was a shape barreling toward me accompanied with the music of the store manager yelling. Like any natural human being would do I held up my hands to protect myself. That’s when the light oozed out of my fingers and encased the teenager. Everyone around me starred, I did too. The person in the bubble dropped the supplies, “I don’t need these,” she said. “ why am I stealing them?” Then, as if on its own accord ( I’m sure I did nothing) the bubble turned a darker shade of green and let the teen out. I think now, it does that when a person’s truly realized their mistake. I don’t know if it’s in the water supply, the atmosphere or what, but this was the first time I’ve experienced my power. I’m starting to suspect it was in me all along. I’ve always had a way with words, but my language hasn’t always worked, and light has never poured out of my hands. Well I would be happy to have a normal life and never have my power come up again, but just my luck two days after the shoplifting incident today, in fact, I was strolling down the street when I saw a jewelry store robbery. I chased after him knowing I was possibly the only one that could help right now. Even though he was larger he was slow, weighed down by his bags of jewels and gold. Just when I was behind him he turned around, “stay back!” he growled, and that’s when I held up my hands. Now that we’re all up to speed, let’s go to what happened after. “I don’t need that money,” the robber said, “ take it. Give it back,” and he held out the bag to me. I took it, and walked back to the store, surreptitiously dropping the bag in front of the shop. It was dangerous, sure, but I didn’t want anybody asking questions about how I got it. With my honorable task done, I turned and walked toward home.


“This is going to work. This WILL work.” … “This…this HAS to work…” “Keith…listen man, you know we can pull out of this if you don’t feel right about it. We’re not locked in. We can scout another job, find another mark, a MUCH EASIER mark, one that’s not a suicide mission…we don’t have to do this one. ” “No. We need this job, Miles. I need this. This is our ticket out. We do this…we pull this off, and putting dinner on the table is never a question again. You’ll never have to worry about those final notices waiting in your mailbox. No more counting each ounce of gas left in your car to make sure you’ll have enough to get to work. Don’t you get it? We do this, and the struggle is GONE. We do this, and everything can go back to normal. We get our lives back again. We do this…” Miles’ emotions boil over. He swipes at the table, knocking everything to the floor. “…we do this, and Sarah takes you back, right? We do this and you get to be a family again!? Michael and Chris will come running to greet you at the door!? And everything goes back to normal? The past three years just gets erased, right? Is that what you really think is going to happen?!? WAKE UP MAN!” Miles’ voice echoes throughout the garage. Silence follows. Miles sits down, his head lowering into his open hands. “Keith, my dude…I get it, man. I know what you’re going through…but this is crazy. We’ve never pulled a job this big before. We’ve never worked with this many people on a job. We don’t know this city. We haven’t had enough time to scout. We’re rushing into this. I don’t like it.” “Miles, you never like-“ “I DON’T LIKE THIS, KEITH!” “WE DON’T HAVE A CHOICE!! That clearance code we got our hands on is now five days old, two days away from being reset. Security is at its tightest on that 7th day, and we won't have another chance to grab any other codes, which leaves tomorrow, and ONLY tomorrow, to pull this off.” “Keith, we’re trying to steal from Falzone. A.K.A. Gideon Falzone, the most dangerous crime boss in the city. A.K.A. the guy the police in this city won’t touch. A.K.A. the guy who’s bathroom we’ll be hung up in while his GOONS TARE US APART PIECE BY PIECE JUST FOR SNEEZING IN HIS DIRECTION.” Miles’ expression shifts from rage and frustration, to one of depression. He knows he can’t stop Keith. He’s known him all his life. Keith isn’t going to stop now. There’s no turning back. “…why him? Why now? Dude, there will be other scores, other jobs that don’t involve stealing from ‘The Lord of the Chicago Streets’…” Keith perks his head up from the ground. “That’s such a dumb nickname.” “Yeah, you tell him that while your insides are pouring onto his shiny marble floor.” Keith smirks for a second, then returns to his stoic look. “He stole from us first.” “So we throw our lives away trying to get back at him?” “WE’RE NOT THROWING ANYTHING AWAY. THIS WILL WORK.” “Keep telling yourself that…” Miles stood from his chair, and slowly made his way to the door. “Miles, where are you going? We still have to figure out the vault gate.” “Keith…” Miles’ voice started to break. “I’m out, man. I’m out.” Keith threw his notebook across the room. He recognized that tone of voice. This wasn’t a bluff. “Miles, don’t do this. Not now.” “I’M OUT, Keith. I don’t want any part of this anymore. This is suicide, plain and simple. And you’re not right, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re blinded by, by rage.” Miles’ voice begins to break. “You’re blinded by your family problems. You’re blinded by…your own damn pride.” “This isn’t about pride or any of that. It’s about making things right. Falzone was supposed to set us up after we did those jobs for him, and all he’s done is play us. We haven’t seen a dime from him. Because of him, I lost my job, I lost my girl, my kids…I lost everything because of him. He won’t get away with that. I’m taking what’s rightfully ours.” “Keith…dammit Keith, you’re the best thief I know, alright? You’re a goddamn savant when it comes to this stuff, but when you get in your own head, you can’t focus, and that always gets us in trouble. You’re biting off more than you can handle this time. This isn't a couple of months in lockdown like how Virginia played out. This is our lives at risk. And it’s not just your neck on the line here.” Miles points at the door to the left, where the rest of the crew waits. “It’s MY neck. It’s Randy’s neck, Mitch’s neck, Carol, Lindsay, Tim…those are KIDS in that other room, Keith. They don’t even know what they’re signing up for. Most of them aren’t even from here. And you’re willing to put all their lives on the line, for what? To dig yourself out of a hole that YOU PUT YOURSELF IN?” Keith’s expression went cold. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Miles?” “Man, you didn’t need to get involved with Falzone in the first place. You knew the risk. I warned you. The Old Timers warned you. But you went on ahead with it. All this bullshit you’re dealing with? It’s all on YOU. And I’m not dying for that, Keith. Not me.” “Miles…we can’t do this without you.” “Good. Then the plan is off.” Keith dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He walked over to the notebook, returned it to the table, and began flipping through pages. “Keith.” No response. “KEITH.” “KEITH!!” “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, MILES, IF YOU’RE OUT, THEN GET THE FUCK OUT!” Miles began to respond, but the words froze in his throat. He’d never seen Keith this far gone. He was genuinely afraid. “Please, Keith. Please…don’t let this be the last time I see you alive.” Miles turned around and went for the door. He swung it open, only to find the rest of the crew waiting right behind it. It was clear they heard every word. Miles paused, giving each person a long look. He feared for them. This would most likely be the last time seeing any of them as well. “Guys…good luck.” Miles pushed his way past the crew, down the hallway, and out of sight. Keith, only noticing the rest of them now, collected himself as best he could. “Come in, guys. We’ve got some new plans to go over, and only a few hours before showtime. Let’s get this done.


„And we are back. We have reached the part of the Podcast that is dedicated to extraordinary People and their lives. “Extraordinary People, extraordinary Lives” as we so creatively have named it or EPEL for short as my Producer Michael likes to call it. My guest today is the extraordinary Person Sasha Gwynn. How are you Sasha?” “I am good, Nate. Thank you.” “Good to hear. We are glad to have you on today. So for our listeners, why dont you tell us about what it is that makes you extraordinary.” “Well hmmm… I don´t know. I mean you have asked me to be on this show so you probably know better what makes me so extraordinary.” “Haha, our guests are always so modest. We read your story online and were fascinated by you. But let me put it this way, what would other people find extraordinary about `you. After all there is a whole article about you in the New Yorker.” “What other people find extr… Well I have been called an extraordinary asshole a couple of times. But I am also quite good in the kitchen, I make a mean lasagne. So I guess I have a couple of things going for me.” “Ahem… We do have a certain audience and I don´t think they appreciate that kind of language. So please hold the swear words. But to get back on track and the whole theme of this segment. The article I am referring to has the title ´´"`Homo Immortales. Untouched by Time" and tells the story of your Immortality.” “Ah, yes. That piece. First of all that title sounds like I am a gay magician, and untouched by time? The molestation jokes are practically writing themselves.” “Jesus Christ. Please.” “I already changed my name from Sorcha because no one could pronounce it, and I most certainly do not want to be associated with that stupid name.” “Yes, well… anyway. Maybe we just start off slow. Can you tell us your birthday, just so our listeners get a sense of what we are talking about?” “I was born on the 7 th of August 1901.” “Amazing. That would make you 119 years old now. And you do not look a day over 16.” “I have never heard that before, thank you for saying that.” “I am sorry. You just mentioned that you changed your name from Sorcha to Sasha, is that Irish? Could you maybe tell us more about your background, where your family is from. You know maybe give us a little origin story.” “Yes that is Irish. Origin Story, that sounds so stupid. My family comes from a small town near Cork. The story goes that back in the 1860s or so my Granddad got into a fight with another guy, that guy stabbed him and threw him in the water at Cork Harbour. He should have been dead but a couple of days later some Sailors pulled him out off the water and he was still alive. That is literally it. The most boring origin story there is. Nothing you could write a novel about.” “Maybe not a novel, but perhaps a short story. Haha. But wow. All that took place in the 1860s? That is over 150 years ago. From what I know that was your fathers father right? He was the first one in your family to be immortal?” “I don´t know. He disappeared shortly after my dad was born. He kind of just stood up and left and no one has heard from him ever since.” “So you are the third generation so to speak. Your grandfather passed it on to your father and he to you. Is it safe to assume that you will pass it on as well?” “I eliminated that option a while ago so I guess we will never find out. The way I see it, me having a child could only lead into two different directions. I either pass this whole immortality shit on and trap another person in this never-ending life and probably earn eternal resentment for doing so. Greetings to my dad at that point. Or, I do not pass it on and have to watch my kid grow up, get older and eventually outlive my own child. I honestly think that is why my granddad left. Either that or he was just an asshole.” “That is… a lot to process. And on that note we will go in another commercial break, stay tuned.” … “We are still here with Sasha Gwynn, our extraordinary person of the week. So far we have talked about her beginnings but now I would like to ask the questions that everyone is probably dying to ask. Is being immortal a superpower?” “If it is it is one of the lames ones there is. Always knowing the exact time would be more useful than this. That would actually be awesome. No but immortality is bullsh..bullcrap. I cannot die and that is all there is. There is nothing super about it.” “There have to be upsides to it. I have read that you were in a pretty gruesome car crash when you were 16, were you not glad for your inability to die in that moment? 16 is an age, I think I we can all agree on, that is just too young to die.” “I probably would have been if I did not intentionally wrap that car around that tree. But hey, at least that is how I found out that I can not die.” “You did not know that you were immortal?” “Nopes, my dad did not tell me until he picked me up from the hospital a few days after my ´accident´.” “That must have been quite a shock I imagine. I cannot even remotely grasp how it must feel. That brings me to one of my other questions. You drove that car. You had a license and you had a 16 year olds body. Just as you have right now. Is that correct?” “Yes. Apparently we stop aging after our first death. Which I mean in some sense 16 is a good age. It is a struggle when it comes to alcohol, drugs or sex but over the years I have learned to manage that. Just imagine having my first death at the age of 80 and then being trapped in that body forever. That would fucking suck. My dad used to joke and say ´thank god you were a depressed teenager´.” “I have so many more questions but we are running out of time.” “Unlike me.” “Ha. Yes you could say that. The last thing I want to talk to you about. Why come forward now? Why let the world know now? Why not before or later or never?” “Quite frankly. I was bored and sick of hiding. I already told you I think this is not a superpower, I just do not die. It is something people will find interesting for about 2 minutes and then forget about it again. Unless medicine and science find anything of value in or on my body there is nothing to gain from it. And I have been tested and probably will be for a very long time. So far there is nothing any doctor could tell me about as to why or how this is working. It is how it is. And why not get my 5 minutes of fame for being special. It is not like I have anything else to do.” “I think it is fair to say I find you and your story absolutely fascinating and I can not wait to learn more. Thank you so much and hopefully we see each other again.”


"He needs the new set of photos by midnight." It's not my problem. How did it get this way? He used to shoot photos for high school graduations and weddings. The porn business just paid really well. Too well. Too well to quit his job. He walked up the narrow staircase muttering to himself all the while, trying to compensate for his nerves he began humming a little tune. He was supposed to meet this woman at 2pm at her studio apartment to take some pictures, and she didn't come to the door. Someone let him in, and now he was walking up the stairs feeling like a criminal about to be caught for missing a deadline. A porn magazine deadline... There was a brief but very noise of breaking glass and then absolute silence. What the hell was that?! Room 202 That was the apartment he was supposed to be in. Jeremy edged closer when he was knocked on side of the head by the door and dropped the camera as the door swung wide open, he fell back wheezing, clutching his chest having a panic attack. Someone ran out the door entrance and down the stair. “They’re watching” "Its broken." “Be Ready” Jeremy looked down at his shoes. The photo shoot was a failure "It can never be fixed." I'll never be able to prove it. Ghost would not be pleased. Ghost was his manager. Ghost ran a porn magazine business that scored the income and he was past his deadline, and he was underperforming and now, he had a broken camera. Jeremy collected himself and peered inside the entrance. Bad idea said his brain, good idea said his legs. He was already inside seeing if there was anyone in there. There was no sign of life. Everything was a mess, and the place had been turned inside out. He was relieved to discover the source of the noise was the chaos of this destruction, and not someone being murdered or hurt and hopefully his model/now potential robbery victim was ok. He thought to call her or text, but the next idea came to him. “I’m in her apartment. I’m a potential suspect.” His legs began to take life of their own when he saw it. One just like he had in his youth. A film camera in the corner of the room. He decided that’s all he would take – justice for the thief who broke his—and he would hide it come down to any pending investigation, after all he witnessed the real thief and he wasn’t the one who ransacked the place. He took the camera, barely touching the thing as to preserve its identity until it was safely stowed away and hidden. When he got home, he realized the camera also contained an old used roll of film still intact. He could take the film roll without the camera to be developed without drawing any suspicion. The next day was Tuesday, Ghost was emailing, texting about the importance of regular photo-shoots and how he had missed quota for the month. On Thursday there was a call that his film roll had been developed and the pictures were ready to be picked up. He was too busy that day with three photo shoots and on Friday he went to the store to retrieve his pictures. Well, they weren’t really his. And that was the problem. They were glamorous. Haunting. Surreal. They were pornography meets romance, desire and beauty. A woman with shadowy eyes holding flowers in a seductive way during a light rain, with the background of the rainforest. A hippie tanning on a nude beach, three friends naked in a sunflower field dancing, A threesome in a tree house with blacklights painting each other’s bodies in neon glow in the dark finger paint. A woman in a bathtub where you see only the bottom half of her and not the top. A man and a woman in a hot spring who both of long hair and look gothic. A gothic chic with tons of piercings on a motorcycle in the desert smiling. A lady with deep maroon lipstick, eagle spread on a white feather bed, dangling a cherry over her breasts, kissing a diamond, fully nude mounting another woman loosely dressed in satin, draping a scarf across the room words could not describe or do these images justice for the beauty of these women, their curves and bodies. Four thick curvy women and one heavier man pillow fighting in a hotel room. Pornography as it should be fun seductive happy flirtatious. A woman sipping a martini on a beach somewhere in only her sandals wearing a pearl necklace. Another image shows a man fully nude, with a woman. The content was explicit yet exotic. Jeremy did exactly what he thought he could and wanted to do, he sent them off to Ghost. Ghost liked the content and approved and published them in a magazine. There was instant praise, and then Jeremy found himself getting a knock on the door by the FBI. He was now the centerpiece of a sex-trafficking porn smuggling criminal investigation. Since Ghost was Ghost, of course Jeremy’s name was on the copyright, also giving him sudden full right to the royalties of the magazine he bought and hiring a lawyer before it would be seized by the FBI. As for porn smuggling, “it’s the internet” so a few images got sold on the dark web, that’s not porn smuggling, that’s inability for someone to protect data. And immigration laws should be changed so that women don’t have to resort to porn to make a living, or to live a better life in another country. Since money talks and Jeremy’s fingerprints were only on the camera, unlinking him to the model- --Jeremy’s defense worked—and since his accusers used the photos copyright ownership in order to pin the crime on Jeremy, he was able have the camera and retain the magazine royalties since no one else claimed them. Jeremy won the case and is now a millionaire. Ghost lived happily ever after too as ghost, where he may be…. probably living it up in Tijuana. The End