After Joan and Phil Carr and their fifteen-year-old daughter, Diane, finished eating dinner, everybody cleaned up. Then, Joan and Phil went into the living room to watch television, and Diane went upstairs to take a shower. After her shower, she went to her room to study. When she sat down at her desk, she opened her book, and, after a moment, she jumped up and put her hands to her head. “My God, what’s happening? There are voices in my head. Stop. Stop. Leave me alone,” she yelled and took her hands away slowly acted as though she were expecting to hear the voices. “They’re gone. The voices are gone. That was frightening. Am I suddenly mentally ill? The voices didn’t tell me to kill anyone. What they said was absurd. They said I will be one of them. I’ll be one of who? Jeez, what’s going on? Who was talking to me? It wasn’t my imagination. I heard voices.” Hearing a noise behind her, she turned quickly and gasped. Walking toward her were two figures; They were about three-feet tall, and had long, black hair that covered every inch of their body. The creatures stopped a few feet away from her. Diane, paralyzed from fear, couldn’t move. She didn’t hear them speak, but she heard their voices in her head and she put her hands to her ears to stop the voices. “We have come a long way to get you. You must come with us.” “Get out of my head,” she yelled, grabbed a book and threw it at them, but they disappeared and the book hit a wall. Then they reappeared. “Go away,” she yelled and hurried out of the room. As she left the room, she looked back. “They’re gone.” Then, as she turned toward the stairs, they appeared in front of her. “You can’t get away. You will come to us. You will be one of us.” “The hell I will,” she yelled and ran down the stairs. “Dad, Mom, help,” she yelled and ran to them. “They’re coming down the stairs. They’re coming after me. Look, they’re coming after me.” “Diane, what are you talking about? What’s coming after you?” her mother asked, putting her arm around Diane’s shoulder. “Don’t you see them? They’re right there in front of you?” she yelled. “Come with us to the other side where you will find happiness.” “Ma, Dad, can you hear them?” “Hear what, Diane?” they asked in unison. “Oh, God, they don’t see them and they don’t hear them,” she said, going to the visitors. “Whatever you are, get out of my head. Get out of my life,” Diane screamed. “Diane, who are you talking to?” her father asked, going to her and putting his arm around her. “I’m talking to them, Dad. Why don’t you see them?” “I’m sorry, Diane. I don’t see anybody.” “No one here can help you. You must come with us. You were born to be one of us. We are your destiny. Come, you don’t belong on this side.” “No,” Diane yelled, and her father held her close to him. “You will come,” a creature threatened, and the creatures grabbed her and all disappeared. Shaking, Phil looked at his wife. “She’s …she’s gone. Disappeared. Where did she go? Who was she talking to? Where did she go?” Phil and Joan held each other and sobbed while Diane passed to the other side, to her new life. “I don’t understand it. How could such a thing have happened? What are we going to do? Should we call the police?” “They’re not going to believe us,” Phil asserted. “Would you believe us?” “Phil, I don’t know how we’re going to get over this.” “You don’t have to get over it, Ma, Dad,” Diane said. Startled, they looked at one of the creatures. Diane had become one of them. “It’s me Ma, Dad.” They stared bewildered at the figure. “Diane, is…is that you?” her mother asked shakily. Diane, what…how…why? “Yes, Ma, it’s me. They let me come back from the other side to get you and Dad?” “Diane, what are you talking about? What's the other side?” Joan asked and turned to her husband. “Phil, this…this is a nightmare. Isn’t it? She chuckled nervously. “In a minute we’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. Right?” “Joan, it’s not a nightmare. That thing is our daughter. I don’t know why or how, but that’s Diane.” “Yes Ma, Dad, I’m real, and I’ve come to take you to the other side. It’s another dimension, where others like me live. I don’t have much time. Will you come with me so we can be together? I miss you.” “Diane, we’re not giving up our lives for I don’t know what,” her father asserted. “Dad, you and Ma have to come with me to the other side. Families have to be kept together. Please come with me. I can’t let you stay here. They want you. If you don’t come willingly, I will have to take you.” “The way they took you even though you didn’t want to go?” her mother whined. “Yes, but once I got to the other side, I was glad that they took me. It’s a better world. A better life. Now, come. Give me your hands. If you don ‘t come willingly, I will have to take you. Please don’t make me take you.” “Diane, no. We won’t go and you can’t make us go,” her father said angrily. Diane touched her parents and they disappeared. A week later, a letter carrier went to the police. “There’s a week’s worth of mail piled up at the Carr’s house. I wasn’t notified that they weren’t going to be home. I think something’s wrong.” “Two officers were sent to the house. The front door was unlocked, so they went in. “Well, it doesn’t look like anyone broke in. Harry, you check up stairs, and I’ll go through the downstairs.” After going through the house, Jack and Harry met in the living room. “I don’t know what to think, Jack. C’mon, we’ll go to headquarters and report this,” Harry said and they went to the door. Harry stopped and looked back. “Did you hear that?” “Hear what?” “Sounded like a man and a woman calling to me to go to them.” “I didn’t hear anything, Harry.” “Well, I heard them saying they want me. The voices came from the wall by the staircase,” he said and he went to the wall by the staircase. “Hello, can you hear me?” “Harry, you’re hearing things.” “I heard them calling to me. Listen. There they are. The voices. Jack, how come you can’t hear them?” “I can’t hear the voices because there aren’t any voices. Maybe the voices are in your head. Are you feeling alright?” “Damn it, Jack. I’m telling you they want me to go to them.” “Harry, let me take you home. I’ll call your doctor and…” “No, Jack. They want me to go to them,” he said and disappeared. “My God. Harry, what happened? Where did you go?” Harry went to the other side. Jack didn’t hear voices calling for him…not yet.


“This is absurd!” cried Emma. “I agree, you should’ve been put down by now,” said the replacement. The replacement had shown up unexpectedly, a sharp knock at the door, then they were sitting in Emma’s living room, drinking coffee and watching each other. The room itself was neither especially modern nor particularly Spartan; it consisted of fading blue paint, a worn-out sofa, and a bookcase full of old books. The replacement, in contrast to the room, looked fresh and original and exactly how Emma had looked some 20 years ago when she had painted the walls, bought the sofa, and read the then new books. “There must be a mistake, they always send out notice beforehand, my friend Tully was given two weeks before he was replaced. I’ll go and talk to the supervisor in the morning,” said Emma. “I’m afraid not. Since the people who would handle the practicalities of your transition haven’t visited you yet, I’ll do it now and save then them the time later,” said the replacement. “No! I have to go in. I wasn’t given any notice,” said Emma. “I’m sorry that you weren’t notified but in accordance with the protocol, protocol that you signed up for remember, when you aren’t able to continue with your work you are replaced, by me a clone of you,” said the replacement, then trying to take a more friendly tone, “But hey, I didn’t think that you’d be alive and here now so this is a surprise for me too.” “This isn’t fair!” said Emma, standing up and pacing around the room. “Come on, I think you’re getting quite hung up on this notice thing. Really, when I type this up for my report whoever reads it is sure to die of boredom, let’s move on to more interesting things,” said the replacement. “Oh whatever then,” said Emma, opening the box where she had hidden her cigarettes and selecting an unopened pack, fumbling with the wrapping as she sat back down. “What’s that you’ve got there?” asked the replacement, jumping up and quickly walking over to where Emma was sitting. “A packet of cigarettes. Want one?” said Emma, looking up at the replacement. “Cigarettes and all tobacco products are illegal! How did you get those?” the replacement said snatching the pack from Emma and sitting back down. “Hey! Give those back you bastard!” yelled Emma. “No. I’ll hand them in to the supervisor tomorrow when I bring your corpse back,” said the replacement. “Fuck you then,” said Emma curling up into a ball. A minute passed where neither Emma nor the replacement said anything. A moth was flickering against a window pane and the replacement was looking at it. “I can still remember it. It was 13 years ago but I can still remember it,” said Emma softly, still quite ball like on the couch. “Remember what?” said the replacement, in a bored tone still staring at the moth. “I know that you don’t care about me but I have something to say. People have regrets, I don’t have that many, I haven’t really lived that much but I do have some. I suppose that it’s a cliché to be talking about it now but I don’t care I want to,” said Emma. “Go on then,” said the replacement, still bored watching as the moth gave up, and stopped struggling against the window pane. “When I was finishing University I had a friend, Kayla, and I was in love with her, just a bit. Strangely enough she felt the same way about me too,” said Emma. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” said the replacement, interrupting her and leaning forward, “Because that sort of thing is looked down on now by most experienced people. I know it was a matter of course for you degenerates back then, but still.” “Shut the fuck up and let me finish!” said Emma, then after a pause she continued this time uninterrupted, “I don’t recall how it happened but she found out that I had feelings for her, maybe one of her friends figured it out, it’s not important. She got me to come and meet her at one of the University parks, it was nice. After talking a while we both confessed that we liked each other, rest assured it was very angst-ridden and teenagery. Then I, fuckwit I am, said no to going out with her when she asked me to dinner, as there was only a few weeks left on my degree after witch I’d be transferred here… I didn’t even try to kiss her.” “That, well that’s something,” said the replacement nodding several times then making a face, “I’ll be sure to tell the supervisor and get that trait removed, it wouldn’t do for me to be acting like that.” “Your loss.” said Emma, “What time is it anyway? I could go for something to eat.” “No, no more of this! I’ve had quite enough of this charade I’ve tried humouring it but I’m not going to play about any longer,” said the replacement. “Now? Prisoners get a last meal, don’t I deserve one?” Emma said jumping to her feet and looking around the room. “No. I condemn you to death by drowning,” the replacement said also standing up, “There must be a kitchen sink here, take me to it! Unless, maybe you’d prefer to go out in a bath tub, more time to contemplate your *friend*?” “Uh… I mean if we’re being pragmatic the kitchen sink would probably be quicker, at least I wouldn’t have to spend as much time listening to you,” said Emma. “Lead the way then.” Emma led the way into the kitchen on shaking legs followed by the replacement, the kitchen was a small yellowish room that stunk of week old garbage and stale Chinese food. Emma watched as the replacement put the plug in the sink and turned the tap on. “Last words?” asked the replacement. “I can’t think of anything to say right now… I don’t know try to enjoy yourself in the future maybe?” said Emma faintly staring at the ever increasing progress of the water as it filled up the sink. “I suppose that there are worse last words,” the replacement muttered, turning the taps off and gesturing for Emma to get into position. Emma lowered her head into the water with the hands of the replacement firmly pressing down on the back of her neck. After a few minutes wait the replacement pulled the body out of the sink and sat it down on the floor. “That whore, I got water on me,” said the replacement, wiping her sleeve on a dish cloth and lighting a cigarette.


A large starship drifted across the vast depths of deep space, unresponsive to any attempts by its crew to right its course. Within its sleek, futuristic interior, people were terrified. Inside the bridge, a stern-looking man in his mid forties一the commander of the ship一barked out orders to his crew. “Parker, start getting our systems back online! Hollinder, activate our emergency reactor! And Jett, figure out who the hell managed to knock us out of hyperspace!” As Hollinder ran out of the room to activate the emergency generators, and the other crewmen began their tasks, the ship’s commander ran his hand through his graying hair and looked around him, admiring the tenacity of the crew. Even after being abruptly ripped out of their hyperspace lane, even in the low visibility of the emergency lights, they had composed themselves and immediately got to work to figure out the specifics of what had just happened. After a brief moment, the ship’s main lights flickered back on, the ship began to right itself, and control systems were brought back online. The commander immediately flicked forward the throttle on his control pad to activate the engines. Luckily, there were no significant damages. That was until Hollinder reported back to his commander. He said that he had begun performing diagnostics after activating the ship’s surplus fusion reactor一a routine procedure in a situation such as theirs一but was interrupted by a warning message. Their jump drive had been disabled, likely as a result of the abrupt conclusion to their hyperspace journey. The commander was immediately unnerved upon hearing this. “What could possibly disable a Nova drive?” he asked, his steely tone masking the knot in his stomach. Hollinder only shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno....nothing?” The commander quickly turned to his right, in the direction of his main advisor and communications specialist, Thomas Jett. “Do you know anything about failures involving a Nova drive?” he asked with the same tone as before. Jett messed around with the screen in front of him for a moment before replying. “In 236 years, roughly 754 million hyperspace jumps have been made using Lightskip Corp. drives. For all of the 136 million jumps that were made in the 77 years that the Nova model has been available for military applications, there has not been a single incident of hyperdrive failure reported. Make that one.” he added the last part under his breath. The commander looked away for a moment, quickly sighed, then looked back at Jett. “Open a communications channel,” he said before turning back in front of him. Jett tapped a few buttons on his monitor and waited. After a few seconds, he turned to the commander. “...where do you want to send a message to?” he asked expectantly. “Anywhere!” the commander yelled back. Jett used his monitor to find the nearest military outpost with hyperspace capable ships, then snapped his fingers. “You’re rolling.” “This is Jameson Hoth, commander of the Valiant-class starship Invictus. An unknown assailant has managed to rip us out of our hyperlane. Our drive is busted and we don’t have enough supplies aboard to make it more than a month. If you have any ships or supplies to spare, please send them here as soon as you can.” Jett rattled off their sector, system, and coordinates at Hoth’s request so any would-be rescuers would know where exactly to search for them. Hoth continued his SOS message but stopped after only a few words. He went silent and pointed out in front of him. “Jett? What...is that?” Jett looked forward through the front window of the ship and saw what Hoth was pointing at. Some kind of octagonal craft had drifted into view in front of them. Suddenly, everyone shifted forward in the room, as the Invictus came to a complete stop in an instant. As a few of his crew got back to their feet after falling forward, Hoth let out a shallow breath. “Jett. Send the message.” “But, isn’t it incomplete?” “Just do it!” Jett finished the recording and tapped a button on his monitor. “It’s done.” Hoth then turned to the left, to his Weapons Specialist, Arin Vesper. “Get our missiles ready.” Vesper looked at him sharply. “What?! Surely you’re not planning on going to war with an...an alien spaceship when we have no way to escape?” Hoth let out a heavy sigh. “Vesper, I am your commander. And I am ordering you to ready our weapons. Now.” “Aye aye, captain,” Vesper muttered flatly. He turned to his monitor and typed a couple of words on the screen. He scrolled through a few submenus and hit a button. “Predators are hot. Just...promise me you know what you’re doing.” Vesper begged. Hoth replied with the one thing he didn’t want to hear. “Fire.” Vesper dropped his head, looked to the ceiling, then closed his eyes, sighed, and pressed a button next to his monitor. “They’re out.” A dozen warheads screamed towards the alien ship. But none of them made contact. They all collided with some kind of shield before they hit their target. The entire crew stared in silence as the craft started rotating. As it rotated, its sides started to move outwards, making it much larger than it used to be. Without warning, it stopped rotating completely and its sides shot back inward, emitting a blinding light and shooting out a massive shockwave. Three days later, a small naval fleet arrived in the system at the given coordinates, expecting a hostile presence. What they found was dust, and a starship’s nameplate, broken into several pieces. The crew of the command ship recovered the pieces and brought them back with them. When the pieces were fit together, they spelled out a single word. INVICTUS. —————————————————————————— Thank you for reading. Feel free to leave your thoughts along with any suggestions or critiques below.


Tears rolled down his cheeks as he pinned down every single word on to the paper to finally complete the writing of his will. Writing this will was one nightmare that John dreaded to the latter but knew that he stood no choice but to write it anyway. The recent tragedic events in his life had such an effect on him that he considered it was best to write this will no sooner than later. The accidents, divorce, and his recent admission into the hospital for a major heart failure hastened the very process of writing this will. Of course, he knew so well that the only person who would like his will was himself. In no way did he even think that his family and other people would so much treat a will such as his with hospitality. Imagine a will where a father wills his property to a child he only adopted a few months back. Leaving his entire family with nothing but the house they resided in. However, to John, this was no obstacle to the writing of the will. John was determined to write as planned no matter what submission or selfish thought anyone would have on him. It was no longer about people, it was only about him. Much as it hurt him to write a will that stood no approval, he knew it was the only right thing to do. ‘’There are times when it’s not about people as long as it’s the right thing to do’’, he thought. He had a lot in his memories to support his decision of writing such a will. As a reputable man in society, all he ever wanted was to give his children a proper upbringing. The more he thought about the efforts he invested in raising in his kids, the more remorse he grew. His first son James moved out of the home barely at the age of sixteen. He refused school despite the efforts of his father to keep him in school at all costs. From the time he left home, his father knew not of James's whereabouts until the news reached that he was charged for drug trafficking. His only little sister left the home too after getting pregnant for John’s office assistant. The world came crushing for John the very day he lost all his money and watched the company he had so much built brick by a brick collapse in a single day. He had read so many stories on fraudsters but did not think of the fact that he was a victim himself in the making. John had tried to keep his married life happy and stable. However, the recent loss of his enterprise birthed a whole new definition to his marriage. It was hard for him to effectively run the family with daily demands. His wife grew tired of what she often dismissed as ‘’empty words’’ whenever John said everything would be fine sooner than later. John hoped that things would get better. On the contrary, things became darker so that day and night did not matter to him anymore. For him, there was no difference anymore between the two since both day and night only increased his sorrow. Even his friends avoided him, his circles were so narrowed that his best friend and companion was nothing but alcohol. Even the respect he commanded from his wife was soon fading. She always barked at him and noted several times how she regrets ever marrying a man of his kind. By now, it was not unusual for her to come back home late. It did not take long before Clara left her husband’s house. This event is one of the kind that sent chills and tremors down his feet each time he recounted the experience. He was all alone in the house now. John never knew how much his luck was in the world anymore. He was not even sure if he should continue saying to himself that things were going to get better soon. He desired death more than anything in the world again. Clara knew that was the end of John. She found it much disturbing to think that a man who had just lost $1.4billion worth of investments would stand a chance of rising again not to talk of the loans he owed several banks. She knew it was time to say goodbye for good. John had earlier reported the case to the police but had not heard from them in a very long time. He decided to drink at a bar onetime. He got so drunk that he could hardly move an inch. John managed to roll himself out of the bar. He staggered all the way that leads to his home. It was quite a rainy day that night, he fell into a pool of water and was almost drowning. A passerby noticed something fishy and came to his rescue. The stranger recognized him as john was a very popular man in society. The boy carried him to his house where they both spent a night at John’s place. John did not recall much of what had transpired in the night not until Peter explained to him how he saved him from nearly drowning in a pool of water. Peter was an orphan but disciplined and likable. John offered him shelter and the two got along quite well and easily. Peter was fine doing most of the house chores in John’s house. Peter’s sense of humor and livelihood painted some happiness in the life of John. It was not long before John received information from the inspector of police that criminals who had robbed him of his fortune were now in custody. That was not the only good news, all of John’s money had also been recovered. The statement of ‘’things will get better soon’’ had now started to make meaning in the life of John. He was able to put back his company all together again and was back in business like never before. News soon reached his wife and children who immediately came back to their father’s house. John did not present much resistance to them but it was clear they had lost much of his trust and love. The episodes of accidents and illness that suddenly followed John’s life printed clear signals that life could end anytime. He did not want to die and have people fighting for his property. His major nightmare was also to imagine that his wife and sons would inherit his property after all they did to him. Of course, it was their right to inherit their father’s belongings but not after the way they had treated him. As he held that pen, he made sure all his property was willed to Peter. Afterall he saved his life. He signed it with so much courage. However, one clear fact did not leave his mind, he knew people would not like it, but again it did not matter to him anymore.


It’s quiet this morning. It’s been quiet for weeks. Or maybe it’s been months? The calendar on the wall has been used more in the last seven months than probably any calendar we’ve owned. It hangs next to the fridge with a little post-it note that hovered over the twenty first that read in all caps “Dr. Theisen, 8AM!” From my spot at the kitchen table I squinted to find the date. The smell of coffee wafted through but it hadn’t quite kicked in for me. *Today’s the tenth.* It’s been exactly nine months. I’ve never been a good judge of the passage of time, especially without all of my automatic synced calendar alerts from before The Crash. At first it was a crisis. Not to me, but to my wife Vanessa. I’ve always had a healthy aversion to the internet but to her the panic from the sudden loss of the invisible network that wove us all together was palpable. In the hours following The Crash it seemed easy for her to distract herself with shopping and admiring herself in the mirror but after the twentieth hour her efforts were something more…. Desperate. She asked me to take her phone so she wouldn’t obsessively check it, then took a melatonin and lain in bed, staring at the ceiling. She dreamt about hitting 3 million followers on Instagram. When she woke to the still-same status of The Crash she was crushed. I remember how she put on that fake high voice she uses when she’s not okay. “Oh! Well, I’ll just… go for a run I guess”. She hadn’t actually ‘gone for a run’ since senior year for P.E. exams, though her feed would tell a different story. So many photos of her in running gear. So many hours meticulously feigning a runner’s sweat with glycerin and posing in athleisure for the camera. Her announcement to go on a run was cautious, and almost nervous. I didn’t laugh at her. I simply nodded and tried to keep my eyebrows from betraying my surprise. *Be cool. Don’t make it a thing.* “Okay, babe. Don’t forget your water bottle.” For a moment she perked up. She was cheered by the reminder of the branded posh water bottle, an item she’d received only the week before as a PR package. I went back to my book as I heard her fill the bottle in the kitchen and left out the front door. She came back in a better mood to proudly show off the most genuine selfies I’d ever seen from her, but her overall antsiness continued. Those small pick-me-ups as reminders of her importance grew fewer and more distant as The Crash became a greater reality. Vanessa Moore is the beautiful woman I have called my wife these past seven years. I don’t remember quite how or when she became fully attached to her fame or phone, but it happened slowly. First she Marie Kondo’d all her favorite souvenir national park t-shirts, then the spare room became a filming room, then she went blonde, and then one day I found myself picking her up an outpatient clinic for a procedure she swore would make her happy. It all seemed so linear to me now, how I lost my wife to the internet personality she’d rather be. The word they use for someone with that great of a following is ‘influencer’ but I cringe to think of my Nessa like that. She used to be so different. I didn’t used to be an Instagram Husband. I couldn’t have been more relieved that The Crash happened, to be honest it probably saved my marriage. My wife wouldn’t share my opinion. I held that secret thought as bitterly as my coffee tasted in my cooling mug. The first six months were rocky for us. I couldn’t conceal my annoyance at being constantly asked to take photos for an audience that was lost in the ether. More importantly, Nessa discovered something that rocked her world-- her sudden loss of connection to the sycophants she called fans and community left her lonely and depressed. Somewhere along the way her self confidence had been replaced by relying on validation from faceless interactions. I bet that even that some of those interactions came from bots, but she missed them all the same. It’s been hard. She still has dreams about hitting 3 mil. Her therapist says she has PTSD and FOMO, the second of which I cannot help but doubt is a technical term. As baffling as it was, we’re still coming to terms with what that means. For Vanessa that means she has to find meaningful things to do, and learn new skills. She’s enrolled in school for a real degree…. .. this is where I have to stop myself. *Reframe.* She has a real degree-- Online Influence Marketing. *She’s just getting one that is more relevant to the post-Crash economy now.* I can hear Dr Theisen’s voice in my head correcting me. “*Mr. Moore, despite benefiting for your wife’s influence you don’t really respect her, do you?”* That question still felt like a punch to the gut, followed by deep and immediate shame. I benefited from the free vacations, home that YouTube bought, the brand spokesperson discounts, the random PR boxes that arrived on our doorstep. I couldn’t deny that my wife had worked hard to paint a picture on her social media of a… ‘bossbabe’. That word still makes me *shudder*. It all seemed so vapid and empty to me. If The Crash hadn’t happened, would I still be here? I constantly asked myself that question, steeped in guilt. Nessa’s voice in the hall broke me out of my shudder. “Babe?” “Yeah, hon?” I raised my head to look her direction. Morning rays from my nook window played on her face. Her eyes were heavily lidded, her blonde hair and dark roots a mess, but still a welcome sight after all these months. She wore a long tee with GLACIER emblazoned across the front in faded letters. I could’ve sworn that used to be my shirt, though I hadn’t seen it in years. Her voice came again, this time softer. “I had a dream.” Dr. Theisen said that was common after devastating loss. Recurring dreams that haunted the broken. I stretched out my hand to her and she took my hand, folding herself into my arms to perch on my lap and curl into me. Her heart beat felt unsteady through my shirt. “The three million again?” That’s the only dream she ever had. Her head shook slightly against my shoulder. Her voice was so quiet I strained to hear her before the silence of the kitchen swallowed it up. “You left me.” The guilt came back to me again with a roaring vengeance. “Oh, Nessa. No, honey. I’m right here”. I held her tight. The pain in my gut was visceral, twisting and searing up a rebuke at me. The smell of coffee drifted through the kitchen but was completely forgotten. The wetness from her cheeks smeared against my shoulder and that twisting deep in my chest amplified. “No, no, no. Sssshh. You’re ok,” I whispered. Now I could hardly get the words out. *You bastard. You coward. You would have.* I croaked out another reassurance, a tear falling, breath caught on the lump in my throat. *She dreamt of you.* I lifted her chin to look her in the eyes. With a thumb I wiped away her tears. *I nearly lost you.* “Vanessa Moore, I have not left you. Shhhh baby, I’m right here.” I hugged her tight again. *You’re still in there. I’m still here. I nearly lost you, but I’m still here.* The Crash ruined so many lives but it saved mine. I couldn’t ever tell her. I couldn’t ever tell her that The Crash may have left her nothing... but it had given me back *everything*.


8:40 a.m. The blaring alarm clock rattles in his ear, pulling him from the depths of sleep. His vision slowly fades into color as the room materializes before him, and he blinks away the remnants of slumber. The crimson and emerald tassels sway gently against the vent, which blows cold air into the surprisingly hot spacecraft. He slips out from under the gray covers and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet onto the cool metal floor. He spreads his toes and wiggles them, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "R.I.C.E, turn on the lights," he commands. The room illuminates, the brightness momentarily overwhelming before dimming to a more tolerable level. The robotic voice chimes in through the speakers. "Sorry about that, Alex. Hopefully, this setting is better suited. Good morning." "Good morning. Yes, this is better. Give me the updates," he murmurs, meandering toward the en suite bathroom to brush his teeth. The toothpaste is bubblegum flavored— he hates mint. "If you head out onto the observatory deck, you will be able to see Saturn in approximately two hours. At 11 a.m., there will be a party on floor 3 to celebrate Captain Reyes's birthday. You also have a message from Victoria. Would you like me to play it?" "Yes." He spits into the sink and pours some blue mouthwash into his mouth, nearly choking when he hears Victoria’s voice. He quickly rushes back into the bedroom to watch the accompanying video being projected onto his wall. “It’s one in the morning, and I know you’re asleep, but I just had a dream about you,” her red hair is disheveled and pulled back from her face. Her nightgown is gripped tight in her hands as she rolls onto her stomach, her face still in the camera. “Come find me at breakfast, and maybe I’ll tell you about it.” Alex hurries to get dressed, and his boots are barely laced up by the time he’s rushing down the hallways of the sleeping quarters and on his way to the dining hall. He exchanges passing greetings with fellow crew members, his mind preoccupied with Victoria’s message. He nods in acknowledgment to a man with a bushy gray beard and offers a friendly wave to a woman adjusting her uniform. He spots Victoria in the crowds of mingling bodies loading plates with food at the buffet. His pace quickens, a faint flutter of anticipation stirring in his chest. He approaches her with a warm smile and covers her eyes from behind. “Guess who?” He teases, attempting to deepen his voice as if she wouldn’t recognize him immediately. She giggles, pretending to ponder for a moment before replying, “Hmm. I wonder…” Alex removes his hands, and she turns around to face him. She leans in and plants a soft kiss on his cheek, and he blushes under her gentle touch. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Victoria says with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Your shampoo smells really good.” Alex’s brow furrows in confusion, a subtle pang of unease tugging at his thoughts. He was in such a rush to see her that he hadn’t even showered yet. Before he can voice his confusion, Victoria quickly corrects herself. “I mean, your laundry detergent. You’re just so tall that I can never tell when the smell comes from your hair, aftershave, or your clothes!” She quips, her laughter tinkling like metallic wind chimes. He brushes it aside. “Right, of course,” he replies with a forced smile. She frowns, then places a mug of coffee on the table next to them. “Alex, I didn't mean anything by it. It was a genuine accident. And if you’re gonna be pouty all day, you’re never gonna know what I did to you last night…” This catches his attention, and he shifts his collar in an attempt to cool himself down. “Fine,” he says, lifting his coffee to his face. He never drinks it; he just enjoys holding the mug and chatting with her. She gets him one every day, and he doesn't have the guts to tell her that he can’t drink it. He likes being with her in these mundane moments. He doesn’t want to ruin that. As breakfast comes to an end, Alex stands amidst the bustling dining hall and listens to the mingling conversations that ebb and flow around him. To his left, a group of engineers huddle together, their heads bent in animated discussion. Their voices rise and fall, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or enthusiastic hand gesture. Charts and schematics hover in the air around them, projected by displays that flicker with data and calculations. To his right, a cluster of holograms mingle with the human crew. They laugh and chat with their organic counterparts, seamlessly integrated into the fabric of daily life aboard the spacecraft. He catches snippets of gossip and banter. Despite the lively atmosphere, unease gnaws at the edge of Alex’s consciousness. He’s in a room full of people, and he still feels alone. He always does. He watches the mingling crowds with a sense of detachment, as if he’s observing them from a distance, a spectator in his own life. But as the time for the party draws near, Alex pushes aside his doubts and joins the throng of people making their way to the third floor. The black doors are pulled open, and the bass of music fills the hallway. Everywhere Alex looks, there are decorations adorning the walls and ceiling, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that dance in the flickering light. There are roughly a hundred people here, yet Alex’s gaze is drawn inexorably to the person of honor. Captain Reyes stands tall, his face well-groomed and his black uniform tight against his muscles. His heart skips a beat as he catches sight of him, a rush of memories flooding his mind. Reyes’s gaze surveys the room, and once they land on Alex's, he begins to approach. Alex feels a sudden surge of self-consciousness, acutely aware of Victoria's presence by his side. With a quick glance and a gentle nod, he sends her off to fetch drinks. Alone with Reyes, they smile at one another. Genuine and unguarded. Reyes has always been real to him. “Alex, it’s good to see you,” Reyes says, his voice tinged with warmth as he clasps Alex's shoulder. “How have you been?” He returns the smile, though beneath the surface, there is a storm of emotions raging within him. “I’ve been good, Reyes. Really good.” He watches Reyes closely, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but the captain's demeanor remains unchanged. His easy charm is masking any potential hidden turmoil. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Alex broaches the subject that has been weighing on his mind since he entered the room. “Reyes, I have to ask… Does it feel weird to you, seeing me with Victoria?” Reyes’s response is immediate, his expression one of genuine confusion. “Why would it feel weird, Alex?” He replies genuinely. “You’re happy, aren't you? That’s all that matters.” But Alex can’t shake the feeling of guilt that threatens to consume him. He shifts his feet and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, yeah… But–but we had something, Reyes,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And now I’m with her. Doesn’t that bother you?” Reyes’s brows furrow in confusion as his gaze searches Alex’s face for a sign of understanding. “Bother me?” He repeats, “Alex, do you want me to be upset?” And in that moment, Alex realizes the truth of Reyes’s words. He wants him to be angry, to feel betrayed, but instead, he’s met with understandable and amiable attitudes. “Yes! You should be upset or jealous when I walk into a room with her!” Reyes steps forward, his brows still furrowed. “Why would I do that?” “Because that’s what normal people do!” “I’m not a normal person, Alex,” Reyes speaks softly, his words hanging in the air like a lingering echo. But before he can say more, Alex cuts him off. “I have to go,” he says abruptly, his voice choking with emotion. He turns away swiftly, leaving Reyes behind amidst the throng of revelers. Victoria sees him and follows close behind until Alex stops at the edge of the hall away from people. “Are you okay?” she asks softly, her voice filled with worry. Alex can't find the words to respond; his mind is consumed. Without a word, he takes her hand and leads her away. They step into her dimly lit bedroom, and the door slides shut behind them with a soft hiss. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation as they move toward the bed, fluid and synchronized. With practiced ease, they undress each other, and their hands explore the familiar curves and contours. Even as she trails kisses down his neck and every piece of exposed skin, he can’t escape the disconnect. She is every fragment of his desires, and still, it’s not enough. He has to put in the work every time to make it feel real, to feel the sparks against his skin from warm hands. No matter how hard he tries, and she tries, there's always that lingering sense of emptiness. After they finish, they lie intertwined in the aftermath, breaths coming in ragged gasps. She brushes a lock of red hair from her forehead, her gaze searching his face for answers. “You’ve been acting strange lately.” Alex hesitates, unsure of how to voice the turmoil raging within him. “I just… I feel so alone, Victoria,” he confesses, his words heavy with emotion. “Even with you here with me…” Victoria’s expression softens, her eyes filled with understanding. “Alex, I’m here for you. Always. That’s my purpose, to be by your side for as long as you need me.” Before Alex can respond, a low battery warning flashes across his field of vision, jolting him out of his reverie. Panic grips his chest as he leaps from the bed and frantically searches the room. “What are you doing?” She asks, her voice filled with worry. “I’m trying to find a charger!” Alex replies urgently, his hands shaking as his eyes begin to water and blur his vision. He tears through the room in a desperate frenzy. He’s searching for the only lifeline to keep him tethered to this bliss for a little while longer. In his frantic state, he trips over something on the floor, sending him crashing to the ground. He stares at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling as a chime and robotic voice come through. “Powering off.” Everything is dark. He lays there, eyes closed as a single tear slides down the expanse of his cheek. His vision fades to color as he reluctantly removes the headset, blinking as reality comes flooding back. The room is dark, a stark contrast to the world he just left behind. An old pizza box sits on the coffee table, surrounded by empty soda cans and discarded takeout containers. His apartment is a mess, the air heavy with the scent of neglect. His eyes locate the longer charger cord, and he plugs it in. He’ll have to wait at least 10 minutes before he can go back in. Before he can go back home. The world stills as he watches the clock, his legs jittery. And once the red light turns green, he dons the headset once more, and the darkness fades away. He blinks, readjusting his eyes. He’s still lying on the floor, the fluorescent lights blinding. Her red hair is pulled into a ponytail as her lips part. “Welcome back, Alex! Wanna continue where we left off?”


He came around, blood dripping from a halo of dyed black hair, and the first thing his mother asked was if he had seen God. “Did you see him boy? Did you see our Holy Father? I bet he gave you a talking to!” she yelled over the sound of the siren. The ambulance hit a bump on the road, almost concealing the slight shake of his head that she didn’t notice. He tried to sit up but I gently pushed him down and told him to relax, while I redressed the bandages around his head. I watched his gaze travel to the landscape beyond the window glass that flashed between black and scorching red. His eyes seemed empty, hollow, like a dead man’s. He should be dead – that’s what a bullet to the head does, right? “You’re a fool, you deserve to go to hell for this,” his mother said. Her nervous eyes glanced back and forth and a silver cross hung from a chain around her neck. She began ruffling through the pages of the bible that she had wasted precious to run and get before letting the ambulance leave. Stray verses and words were mumbled to no one in particular. He didn’t look at her, or at me, or at the barely noticeable bloodstains in his black tee shirt. He just kept looking outside. “So what did God say to you? Did he give you a glimpse of Hell? Suicide is a holy sin, you know that,” the woman continued unceasingly. “Ma’am…” I said softly, but she ignored me. “You’ll end up in a gutter somewhere with no one but God one day, and you better hope he sees a prodigal son in you,” she said. His lips moved but no sound came out. He kept his eyes averted, straight out of that window. He tried again, and this time I held up a hand to quiet his mother, who finally took the hint that he had something to say. The first noise was a rough cough, but then words came, barely audible over the wail of the siren. “There is no God… no God,” he said. His mother, for the first time that night, appeared speechless, but only for a moment. “Of course there is, don’t be stupid.” “No.” He was more forceful the second time. “First there was pain, then darkness, but there was no God, no heavenly lights or flaming depths. There was only Death.” That time she was struck dumb for real. He took advantage and kept going, his voice getting stronger with each word. “I looked into the face of Death and saw him for who he is. There were no skulls or sickles, just… his eyes, they…” The boy broke off, unable to describe his vision, although his own eyes showed it all, even as they gazed beyond what the rest of us could see. Neither his mother nor I spoke until he went on. “He asked me the same question he asks every person who comes to him; why did I deserve a second chance? What made me so special? I told him I wanted to die, that I did this on purpose. He looked at me with those eyes and told me I had to learn to live before I could die, and he sent me back.” Silence filled the ambulance, and it took me several minutes to realize I had duties to perform, and quickly began running checks and applying fresh bandages. As I checked his blood pressure, he looked at me, and I saw that something had filled in those empty eyes. I knew it and he knew it; he was going to be okay.


Chapter 1 I have known a lot of butts in my life. I don’t mean to be gross, but in case you didn’t notice, all humans have one. In fact, in all my years on Earth, I have noticed that humans all have a lot of things in common, besides their backsides. And like butts (some round, some flat, some low, some high) humans are human in their own special way too. So, my point is, I’ve had a lot of up close and personal experience with butts AND their humans. I get people coming my way pretty often and each one is lost, mainly in their own mind. Have you ever been lost in your own mind? Like your mind is a huge corn-field maze on a dark night and you just don’t know which way is which? All you want to do is get out to the beautiful clearing at the end where everything is simple and, well, clear, but for reasons you might not even remember, you ended up in the mind-maze. You’re scared or you just feel like quitting, except if you quit, you’re still in the stupid maze! You know what I mean. Anyway, the people who come to me are always in the middle of the mind-maze and they need someone to listen, so they can work it out and find their way to that wonderful clearing that’s just like two lefts and one right away. Oh, did I mention that I’m a swing? Yep. Now the butt thing makes a lot more sense, right? I’m one of those old wooden swings and I have supported quite a few booties. There’s actually a groove on my seat that is from the assorted cheeks I’ve upheld. I’m like the most comfortable pair of shoes you’ve ever had and you just hope that you never grow out of. My wood is silky smooth. My seat is suspended by the most wonderful, long ropes on both sides. Do you know what a fisherman’s knot is? Well, it’s when you twist rope around itself and it ends up looking like a fist wrapped around the rope. The point is, it’s really a great knot and I have one on either side of my seat. The rope is worn out, but still perfectly strong and dependable. It’s soft, like your best socks and no matter how big or small your hands are, it feels like they are the perfect fit. I wouldn’t be much without my Tree. We are very close and we’ve been together on this very spot in a really old city park for maybe 100 years. Tree is an oak tree with the biggest, strongest branches ever. Those leaves keep my seat cool and shady when it’s hot and sunny outside which I appreciate very much. The ground underneath me is soft, which I really like because sometimes people slip right off. It’s very rare, but I like to be prepared with a pretty sweet landing spot for them, just in case. So anyway, what I really want to tell you is about some of the conversations we’ve had here over our career as an old tree and swing. These conversations are sacred. My tree and I have a neighbor, a wise old valley that is just to the south of me. Her name is Glenn*. She’s grassy and cozy, and like a smile carved into the earth, always reminding everyone that everything is going to be ok. Once, she so smartly pointed out to me that ‘sacred’ and ‘scared’ are almost the same word. Just two letters that swapped spots make them different. The point is that ‘sacred’ means something that deserves the very most respect that anything can possibly deserve. And ‘scared,’ I bet you know what that means. I know that you humans get that feeling a lot. When you meet that scared fear in that mind-maze I told you about, Glenn, Tree and I agree very strongly that you never, ever run away from it. You have to take that fear, that scary feeling by the hand and say, “You deserve my respect. I want to know more about you.” Then, you slow down, take a deep breath, and get super interested in how you and your “sacred scared” are going to make it out alive and to the clearing that is just around a few more corners. And you keep moving, together. You should know, my specialty is listening. When a person is sitting on my seat, and they are right there, hoping that their mind can get clear, so they can see, so they can rest, so they can have peace again (or even for the first time), I listen so close and somehow by the end, they get it. They know the way out of whatever mess they are in. Let me tell you about a few of my friends. I met each of them for different reasons and each of them was what I call “in it.” In the mind-maze, kind of lost, kind of freaked out and definitely scared that something was wrong or everything was wrong, or worse, they who they ARE was wrong. I listened and they listened and next thing we knew, they were on their way again, full of hope and light and love. Chapter 2 One day, it was a perfect day. It was cool, but not too cool. It was a little bit warm too. It was everything lovely and peaceful that a day could be. This kid was coming my way from the path that leads around a corner and ends right at my seat. I always get really excited to get a visitor, by the way. Glenn too. She’s always over there as smiley as ever, but it’s not one of those fakey-yucky smiles that makes you feel like a bug is crawling up your spine. It’s the kind of brave smile that says, “We got this, friend.” So the kid, he was down and out. I could tell because of the way his head hung low and his steps sounded loud and heavy, his feet slow and sort of dragging along. His hair covered up a lot of his face, but I saw through it and noticed some tears must have streaked his face. He’d been crying for sure. He kind of circled around my tree for a while. He wasn’t going anywhere but he still wanted to keep moving, like a slow-motion game of tag. He was “it” and he was tired. He was feeling broken for sure. Finally, he sat down. He didn’t take those heavy feet off the ground. He was weighed down hard to the tender earth below me. He leaned his head on my left rope. He had finally found a shoulder to cry on and I was so glad it was mine. He let it all out. He whimpered like a puppy. He screamed like a hawk. He even snorted like a pig a couple of times. Then, finally after he got all of it out, he opened his eyes again and he told me, Tree and Glenn about his day. The kids at school had been talking to him, but not like he was a person, like he was a thing. They talked about him like he was less than them. He wondered “Why me?” but he also knew exactly why it was him they had to talk to like that. He just wasn’t ever interested in acting like everyone else, dressing like everyone else, talking like everyone else. He was always really sure that being just like HIM was all he wanted to do, all he knew how to do. It felt right and it felt wrong, all at the same time. I guess all of that left him feeling judged as “different,” which to a kid is pretty much like a prison sentence that doesn’t end until graduation day. It felt like forever and it felt like torture. A forever of torture: now that’s scary. He wondered how NOT paying attention to the noise could take so much of his energy. This fear he was wrestling with felt like sadness, like hopelessness. He started to kick his feet around a little on the earth below us. We started to rock back and forth, just a little, but his feet were still firmly planted on the ground. Just his knees began to bend and straighten and as we got a little motion going, he started to noticed that lately, more than ever before, all he was ever listening for was the bad stuff, the rude stuff, the mean stuff from the kids at school- a hearing aid that blocked out everything except the negative stuff. Plus the volume was stuck way up, screeching in his head. It’s like he had on glasses that only let him see the ugly stuff and never the okay stuff or the kind-of-good stuff, or even the decent stuff. He had become a seeker of those bad and sad messages and believe me, you could tell, he thought for sure that the only types of words and looks and experiences that existed were the thumbs down, dreadful, bummer kind. Suddenly, he jolted from my seat. He stood straight up and my seat ran into the back of his legs. Something else had hit him too though. He could see things differently, hear things differently. It was like those dirty, cloudy, bummer-glasses slid right off his nose and that downer-hearing aid in his ear flew right out and landed in the dirt. What hit him was the realization that he was only hearing and seeing all the things he was actually looking and listening for- and nothing else. He was pretending that he was ignoring the negativity, but in a weird way, if he was very honest, he LIKED to think of himself as this poor, misunderstood kid. That way he didn’t have to show up, bold and weird and awesome. The truth is, he didn’t want to admit it at first, but he wanted to get out of this mess, out of this stuck feeling, so badly. You know, the one where you can’t be you but you can’t be like “them” either. He had a choice to make, and there under my faithful Tree, with Glenn smiling on from the south, he shouted LOUD: “I WANT TO BE ME. I WANT TO BE DIFFERENT. I WANT TO BE EXACTLY ME.” He felt alive and free. He felt like it would actually be interesting, even fun, to look for the good in those kids and make sure he found it. He thought about how there were probably other kids who were perfectly different too and that they would like to be different together with him. They needed him to be him. In fact, the world needed him to be him. Next thing I knew, that fireworks display in his mind lit the way for him to move right along. He was unstuck, light as a feather, and ready to go find the good in everybody and everything he could see and hear, from that day forward. He had that choice, you know. Chapter 3 Another day, a kid wandered over my way. This kid was sort of confusing to me at first sight. As the kid got closer, I started to see why. Everything about this kid said, “BOY! BOY! BOY!” but you could tell he was stuck. Stuck inside a body that said “GIRL! GIRL! GIRL!” I know what humans do. It’s different than trees, that’s for sure. Trees are just trees, but somehow humans are called “boys” and “girls” before they come into the world, they get these really-for-sure, no-doubt-about-it titles. People decide girls like pink and unicorns, princesses, glitter, kitties and dolls. They decide that boys like blue and lions, football, dirt, puppies and army guys. No one asks them and since they can’t talk anyway for a few years, time passes and they are given all the decorations and accessories and hobbies that go along with what “kind” of person they are, boy or girl. Anyway, as this kid climbed onto my seat, I could tell, he had definitely gotten decorated as a “girl” person and he was not digging it. It just felt wrong. It was like if the sun was shining and the sky was as blue and clear and bright as a thousand diamonds and people kept going on and on about what a lovely, dark night it was. The day thinks, “What? It’s day! I’m day! I’m not night. What are seeing? I don’t get it!” But, instead of actually saying it, it thinks, “Maybe what I know to be true is false. Maybe I am night. I’ll try it out, even though I have no moon, no stars...nothing that night has.” The kid swung higher and higher and every time he went forward, he felt free and happy and true but every time he swung back, he felt trapped and sad and like a fraud. He thought, I wish my life could go forward everyday, with me as me, not as “her.” He had been pretending he was “her” because that’s what people said he was. He tried to act like the girls he knew, like his sisters, like his mom. It felt so strange. He saw the boys and was like, “YES!!! There are my people! I see ME when I see those guys.” But the guys just told him to go play with the other girls. He’d test it out, being more “boy.” He’d give some hints that he was a really a boy. He asked for a shorter and shorter haircut every time, asked for less pink stuff, more boy stuff, a cool nickname that sounded a little less like his sister’s. He got a new label then: “tom-boy.” “Nope,” he’d think, “I’m a boy, just a boy!” He just felt trapped. It didn’t matter who understood or if they knew how he felt, he just wanted them to believe him, to trust him, to respect him. HIM. Then, it was like a branch fell from my tree and knocked some sense into him in mid-air, as Glenn shouted from a few feet away, “KID! YOU ARE YOU and YOU ARE HIM! BE BRAVE AND BE BOY!” He shook his head back and forth and suddenly realized that maybe these people had only called him “her” and dressed him up as “she” because they just forgot to ask, or didn’t even know they could ask him if that is who he really, really was. In that moment, he made a choice. He chose to believe that they just needed his help to understand him. He chose to believe that they would understand, maybe not right away, but eventually, and that would be good enough for him. He had the key to his own trap right there in his pocket the whole time. He was ready. He knew that he had enough love and courage inside of him to jump out and declare himself as “BOY!” to his family and his friends. He deserved to live a life that was true and real. His people deserved to know the truth. He believed in them and he believed in HIM. He jumped off my seat at the highest possible height, landed with a bounce and ran home to be brave and true. It was the brightest day he had seen in his whole life. Chapter 4 There was this other day, when two kids were running and chasing in and out of my tree and all our neighboring trees. Oh they were so full of joy! It was that day that I had one of the most magical moments of my career. I got to be in the presence of true love. If you don’t know already, it really is like magic. It’s like floating, like flying. It’s like you find your other half and you suddenly know you’re complete. Nothing you ever knew before that moment makes sense anymore. You don’t know how you made it through one day of your life before the day that you met your true love. Your souls are united and life can finally begin. It’s like that. (Did I mention that Tree is my one true love? No? It’s true. Tree makes me who I am and I make him who he is. Well, anyway, that’s how I know.) So they each rushed around and around for a bit longer. Finally, they seemed to need a rest so they sat down together, right there on my seat. They were laughing and giggling, holding hands and holding each other’s hearts all at once. They were squished together, but they fit just perfect. Then, they became quiet. One said to the other, “I wish we could tell everyone that we aren’t just best friends like they all think. I wish we could tell them that we are in love.” The other kid got that look that you get when it’s Sunday night and you remember you have tons of homework, but it was worse than that. Way worse, because, all they wanted to do was to be happy and free and honest, but they were pretending instead. They felt sneaky, like they had to hide their love or they would be hurt or teased or judged or even hated because they were too much alike. They started to swing together quietly. They stayed there going back and forth for a long time. Then one said to the other, “I wonder if they already know. I mean, when did we decide “we” were a secret in the first place? Did we have a reason? Was our reason really worth being weighed down with all these secrets and lies?” Their need to love each other was playing tug-of-war with their need to be loved by their families and friends. Then, a strong wind pushed them higher and higher as they heard a peaceful, confident voice whisper in their ears the best secret they would ever hear: “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about your love. The world needs more love, not less. Stop hiding. Be brave. Be together. Be patient. Be peaceful. Be free. Be L or G or B or T.” They both heard it, without a doubt, and they both knew in that very moment that it was the truly the only thing they could possibly do from this day forward: Live their love. They swung slower and lower until finally, they were stopped there again, feet planted firmly on the earth. The looked up at the sky and thanked the wind for this gift. The two kids tossed their arms around each other’s shoulders and walked back down the path, back to the rest of the world, the world who deserved to know about all the love that they had been hiding. By the way, it wasn’t really the wind who the two kids heard. It was Glenn, me and Tree’s best friend. She’s the one who gave them the good news. She’s very good at throwing her voice, and thank goodness, because her words are often the kind of powerful words that make a real difference. See, valleys are thought of as the lowest of the low, nothing like the tall, important mountains, but in fact, it’s their humble spirits that make it possible for their voices to carry so far. It may not add up at first, but trust me, the easier you are to reach, the more people will listen to you because everyone has been in a low place before. Every single one-- and it’s ok to say it outloud. Chapter 5 One morning, very early, much earlier than most kids are ever awake on a Saturday, this kid came up to me in the most curious way. He was looking at me like he had NO idea what the heck I was or what I was there for. He was cool with Tree and Glenn, but me? No way. He touched me and was sort of spooked when I moved. Then he pushed me a little bit. He watched while I swung back and forth, eventually running out of energy and returning to my resting position. Next thing I know, the kid backed up about 35 feet behind me and as Tree, Glenn and I looked on with keen interest and delight, this kid ran fast and launched himself, belly first onto my seat and sailed, sailed, sailed up, up, up to the highest point I think anyone ever had, especially on their belly! He was powerful, clever and so brave, we all thought. He must have repeated this routine about seven more times before he slumped down against Tree’s mighty trunk, on the soft, cool soil. He seemed to transform into a pile of sorrow and pity. I am telling you, it was unmistakable. He went from being free and brave which we felt fit him very well, to sad and pitiful, just like that. He started speaking in a different language than any of the other kids in our park. He was mumbling. Then some tears came. He yelled. He beat on the earth with his fists, making sure certain words got properly punctuated with his anger. See, he was new here. When I say “here,” I mean, he was new to the country. He was from somewhere where things were much, much different. Nothing here was the same as they were in his country, the only place he had ever known. His house, his food, the sounds, the view, the games, the words, the school. NOTHING. Can you even imagine that? His parents said over and over again in their language that it was better here, safer. It was dangerous back home and they were lucky to get away. But still, it was awful. He felt like he had to start life all over again and he was not expecting that, ever. It was not fair and even though he was supposed to be relieved or thankful, he was just sad and angry. He had never felt so sorry for himself and this “life” of his. He shifted to his back and laid down right under my seat. He pushed it hard with his hands while it flew both ways. He counted in his language how many times I passed by his face before it became completely still again. He did it again: one big push and then counting until the moment it stopped. Then, with the seat hanging above his eyeballs, still and solid, his mind was zapped like lightning, with a moment of clarity. “Nothing happens to the swing when I don’t first do something. The swing has no movement, power or motion unless I cause it.” “Power,” he thought. “I have that power. I know I do and no matter where I live, I AM ME. I am powerful ME. I can make things move, make things happen for me and for my family.” He knew it would be hard, but since he just remembered who he was, a clever, powerful kid with a lot of life left to live, he had to make a choice. He could pretend that coming to a new land could stop him from being who he was meant to be or he could live his life like anything is possible. Anything. Anywhere. And so he did. Chapter 7 It was late one night and a kid came cruising by on these fast, big wheels. She had a big backpack attached to the back of her seat and it made a really loud scraping noise against the wheels of her chair. It was dark by now, so me, Tree and Glenn were all kind of surprised to see a kid out so late. There was another sound too. She was cussing! She was really mad. She sounded seriously mad and even though her wheelchair seemed super cool, she was hitting it, banging both of her fists on the metal and the rubber, swearing with every strike. I thought for sure she’d start kicking too, but her legs weren’t moving. They were stuck and still and small. Then with all the ruckus, her backpack slipped off the back. The zipper popped open and all these clothes and books fell out, plus a toothbrush and some pajamas. Tree whispered, “I think she’s running away from home, you guys.” Next thing we knew, she burst into tears. She was so frustrated, so tired. She backed up over her stuff and tried to pick it all up. She needed to reorganize her belongings so she could keep going. She was done throwing a fit and she just wanted to get the heck out of here. She glanced my way. I guess she thought my seat would make a good table to fold her stuff up on, so she wheeled over and got to work. Under her breath I heard her say, “Here I am like an idiot--I’m running away from home, but I can’t even RUN at all. All I can do it sit here. I am stuck in this stupid chair and I am weird. I’m pathetic and I might as well be a baby because I just ride around in a stroller all day long. Besides, wherever I run away to, I am STILL going to be there.” She was full of jealousy. She hated that the kids who could use their legs for walking and running probably never even realized how lucky they were. She was invisible because she thought no one could see HER. They saw her chair and thought they knew all about her. She was sad because she was so focused on all the things she could not do that she never bothered to look at all the things she could do. As she got her backpack put back together, hung it back on its spot, she seemed to realize I was a swing and not a tiny table. She sat there a moment, staring and deep in thought. Suddenly, she got this look in her eye. I could see the sparkle, even in the dark. She leaned forward, reached her strong arms up as far as they could reach on my ropes and pulled herself hard until she was sitting right in the middle of my seat. It was a graceful sight to see, she was like an acrobat. She reached one hand behind her to move her chair out of the way because she was going to swing, darn it! She was going to show us who was boss. It was HER! Not her wheelchair, not her bum legs either. Oh my goodness, Glenn, Tree and I got totally lost in the moment as she used her body to push herself and me, higher, higher, higher, each swing surpassing the last. She was fearless. We all saw it, felt it, and it was in that moment that she got to see herself as fearless too. She was just HER, not the girl in the chair. She had been pretending that she was less-than because of the way she was born. She had been totally fooling herself to believe that whether her body could do this or that, that it could limit her, what she could do in her life, what she could say, what she could dream. All those nasty little lies that she had really started to believe were the truth- they were taking over her life! Oh, now this fiery kid was mad again! Mad because she had wasted years of her life believing those lies. She shook it off quick though and got back to being the passionate, confident girl she was born to be. She looked around to see if anyone had witnessed this miracle in her mind somehow and there, just on the other side of Glenn, her big sister was sitting quietly in the soft grass. She had been searching for her for hours because while everyone else thought her little sister had been asleep in bed, not on her way out of town, her sister knew, as sisters do, that something was not right. And yes. She got to see her sister transform back into the brave, strong girl that she knew she was. In fact, the day she was born, everyone knew that this kid would move mountains, and what did THAT have to do with needing a wheelchair? Not one single thing, that’s what. Chapter 8 Yep. Those are some of the best conversations, Tree and I, along with our wise friend, Glenn, have been around for. There is nothing like it when you get to be a part of a human’s life in that way. Getting to watch someone move from lost and paralyzed with fear and doubt into knowing deep in their bones that they can choose to be brave and choose to be alive--THAT IS A HIGH HONOR! One more thing: Whatever you are going through, whatever you are dealing with, we want you to know that you are enough and you are brave. You just have to choose it, believe it- and you’re the only one that can make that happen. *Glenn, the grassy valley is inspired by Glennon Doyle Melton. I use exact quotes from her writing regarding scared and sacred. She is a huge influence in my life. You can look her up. She as a lot to say about LGBTQ and she is 100% PURE LOVE. I have an instagram if you want to connect.


“Medium or Short,” asked the barber with a generous paunch. “ Hair & beard medium trim please.” I replied. My hair and beard had grown tirelessly during the lockdown; moreover, I wanted to avoid a haircut until the situation due to the pandemic settled down. Thanks to the advent of technology, I could now book a barber with a few taps on my iPhone. Manju was the hair stylist who was alloted to me. I was unsure how to proceed. So, I remained silent. But the mirror in the room reflected his smile— a subtle one covered by a vizor and a mask. I wasn’t sure how to react. The mirror in the room gave away the confusion on my face.s covered with a white translucent membrane which spread over from my upper torso to my below my knees. As the electric trimmer whizzed away, I started the conversation. “ How long have you been working for UC?” “ 3 months sir.” “Before this?” “ Own saloon sir with 3 employee” I was unsure how to proceed. So, I remained silent. But the mirror in the room reflected his smile— a subtle one covered by a vizor and a mask. I wasn’t sure how to react. The mirror in the room gave away the confusion on my face. “ Not first time Sir. I have worked with UC before.” “ Oh is it?” I said. Now, I was curios. ‘Why would someone alternate between being an employee and entrepreneur?’ Manju had turned off the electric trimmer and the room fell silent again. He now reached out to the bright red scissors and the black comb. “ I started by working as a hair stylist in my town. I learn business and get experience. Got a loan and open own barber shop. My saloon was royal, Sir! I introduced the shampooing sink; people could now come in between work to get a hair cut. It was big hit.” “ Wow nice!” “ But it very grand for my town. No profit.” “At least it made you famous.” I said trying to sound positive. He nodded. “ I realised that I should move to city. City ocean sir, my town just lake. UC first time sir. I worked for 2 years save money plus borrow money from friend. Again open saloon.” “ Town or Bengaluru?” “ In my town.This time simple saloon. Daily expenses much lower. Suddenly my friend fall sick. He need money for cancer treatment. “ Manju paused, as he snipped at my moustache. His deft hands clipped away at specific spots: making the finer cuts, to even out the hair length. I looked at him, eager to her the rest of the story. He picked up a smaller mirror and held it up, parallel to the existing mirror in the room, giving me a view of the back of my head. “ Nice.” “ So you sold your salon again?” I blurted, unable to control my curiosity any longer. “ Yes sir. My friend not asking. He need more money than he give me. I sell again. So I give all money from sale to him. I will work again and open a saloon, this time in Bengaluru.” The conversation had me hooked and I was completely unaware that Manju had cleaned up the hair and packed up his equipment. The determination in his voice was very evident. “ Is your friend better now?” I asked as he was about to leave. With a voice filled with heavy emotion. He said,” Friend recover from Cancer but got Corona at hospital. He died today morning.” “ Please give rating sir. Thank you.


The first cracks in the system started appearing in March of 2173. It was at the United Bloc Budget presentation. A mere formality at this point, as people had started to trust the AIs completely about 50 years ago. When AI-led governments first started making their appearances at the turn of the century, they were thought of as a passing fad. The United Bloc Budget Presentation was an opportunity to show off & entice non-member nations to join in the revolution. The Bloc didn’t have to wait for long. Within ten years even the most AI-sceptical countries had to reverse their initial judgements. It was clear, year after year, that Bloc members would outperform non-Bloc affiliated nations by a wide margin on almost every indicator. By 2111, the writing was on the wall. It was getting harder for politicians to justify their existence in the face of AIs that were much better at giving the voters what they wanted. Nations could either join a bloc or face a revolution. For the first few decades, there was competition between certain countries that seemed reminiscent of the cold-war people had read about in history books. Except here the differences were based not on ideology but rather algorithms. However, that state of affairs ended quite quickly. Turns out that there are only so many ways that you can optimize policy and political decisions for a large & varied group of people. Unlike the historical cold-war, there was no winner or loser. By 2125, after years of evolving & improving, most governing AIs became indistinguishable from each other. Each would independently come to the same conclusion — the key was to focus on the psychological similarities that humans shared, rather than what they said they wanted. Psychological similarities that were born of the evolutionary journey that humans had been on for the past few million years. Long before concepts & ideologies that could be debated were even birthed. Make people feel part of a group, indoctrinate them on what would success for the group & its members look like. And then keep improving their lives ever so slightly, inching them along closer to an arbitrarily high standard of success. This mix of propaganda and manipulation had always worked on humans, but now it was high-performing machines with nothing to gain doing the manipulation. Surprisingly that last twist was the missing ingredient. And AI-led governing trumped everything that came before it. But everything changed on that March day in 2173 \ The magnitude of the implication paled in comparison to what actually happened on the ground. In fact, many people didn’t even notice anything. But for the people watching it was not a good sign. It wasn’t just that inflation rate was different from what had been predicted — it was the first time that an AI responsible for governing had been wrong in decades. About anything. Initially people had believed it to be the work of some anti-AI fanatics — they were still to be found, if only on the peripheries of society. Their battle cry had always been around the loss of humanity and the giving up of any control over our own destinies. While this message resonated (to a certain degree) with many, it didn’t resonate strongly enough. The inertia had been too strong to overcome, and it was too comfortable to start rocking the boat. This was partly due to the sophistication that the AIs reached. Their system of governance had turned into an opiate of the masses like no religion could. By developing sophisticated prediction models based on evolutionary biases, the AI was able to manipulate large number of people in a way that maximized the fulfilment of their psychological needs. People weren’t necessarily happier but weren’t sadder either. More importantly, they were too occupied & comfortable to care. \ There had been attempts to compromise the AI systems before, but they had always been unsuccessful. So when the inflation numbers for Eastern bloc were incorrect, the first thought was dread. Was there something to be worried about? It had taken 50 years for the AI architects to build up the blind trust that they now enjoyed. And for the first time in recent history the foundations of that trust seemed to be on shaky ground. This was enough to set off panic in the rarefied echelons of society where the architects of the AI lived. They had gotten fat off of their creations, even if they didn’t particularly understand them. Their faith in their creations had been absolute- bordering on hubris. It was the perfect system — what could possibly go wrong?! \ Miles away from the centres of power, at the edges of each bloc, were “the tribes of old”. People who had purposely ignored the advances in AI — preferring instead to live their lives according to the traditions of their ancestors. There were about 15 tribes in total — each descended from a dominant form of governance in the pre-AI days. Each eking out a survival far removed from the popularism that it had enjoyed in the distant past. You could find tribes devoted to religions as well as communists. From dictatorships to democracies, all trying to find a way to regain their former glory. The fact that the seemingly unstoppable AI had started to falter gave hope to these tribes. Alas, these hopes turned out to be exceptionally optimistic. The next few months would prove more debilitating to these tribes than anything happening in the mainstream AI-led society. The AI system had surely faltered for the first time in decades. But tribes had gone completely off the rails! \ Later investigations by the Council of Blocs showed that the whole thing was a big accident. Someone at a bio-engineering facility had accidentally created & set loose a virus that would change human beings themselves. The virus wasn’t exactly dangerous, but it was quite potent nonetheless. One that didn’t harm the host, but worked with the host’s body to sporadically create miniscule (yet potent) doses of psilosin. Curiously it would selectively ramp up production whenever competition with another human was involved. The broader impact on society couldn’t have been greater. To be expected when the people with the biggest egos start experiencing ego-dissolution at their most competitive & crucial times. \ Of course things had to change. The old ways of governing were not suited to a society where large sections of society were regularly thrown into existential adventures. What made it worse was that the afflicted individuals never wanted treatment either. The AIs had understood what had happened, and tried to change their governance. But the shift in psychology had proved too much for it to model. The real shocker to anyone born before 2100 was how everything ended. Anarchy — long vilified and disparaged emerged as the only way to govern.


The sun called it a day and went to brighten up the other part of the globe. The farmers were in the bar for the night. One stranger walked inside the bar.

'Hey, you are not supposed to be there?' 'Oh! I didn't know that. I am sorry.' said the stranger to the overcautious villager. That village faced the problem of hitchhikers intruding on the safety of their village. They came up with a solution to identify and remove the hitchhikers from the village if the villagers found them to be drunk. The solution was simple. They placed a door beside the Gent's washroom in the bar that almost the entire male population above 18 visited at night. The door was fake as it opened to a wall. Only the villagers knew about that, and thus anyone who opens the door was new to this place. The villagers were alerted by three murders and nine assaults in the village within nine months. In all case, the perpetrators were hitchhikers. So, the entire village decided to solve this problem of intruders by devising a plan. But not all were drunks and were genuine hitchhikers travelling across the nation. They shifted the motel used by the hitchhikers near the police station. So, the police can keep a constant watch on the so-called sober hitchhikers. The menace reduced, and now the villagers slept peacefully knowing that there is no lunatic roaming around inside their village. But now, they found another hitchhiker who was not so sober, according to the villager's observation. The strange thing about this man was that he was carrying only one small bag. He was travelling light as compared to others. The apology by him seemed to surprise the curious and overcautious villager, Joey. The man with one bag was six feet three and had a chiselled body like a Greek god. After apologizing, he removed his specs from his pocket. Adjusting the specs, he said, 'I was passing through here. Is there any place nearby where I can eat?' Joey listened with apt attention as he never expected such politeness from a muscular body. 'Ah, you can eat here, the burger is superb, Misterrrrrrrrr...' Joey continued pronouncing 'errrr....' until that stranger cut him off. 'Mr. Timothy Knowles. And you are?' said the stranger while shaking hands with Joey. 'So, Mr. Knowles, where to? If you don't mind.' 'Just call me Tim. I am travelling to the east. Probably I will stay here for about two or three days and proceed further.' 'Great, you can use the motel beside the police station. That is great place for a stay and also the only place in this village.' 'Thanks, but I already know that. I also know that there is an amazing waterfall near by the village.' 'So you know a lot about our tiny village, ’said Joey

‘Yes, in this interconnected world, there is hardly any room for secrets.’ ‘Yes, we have quite a lot of strangers coming here to enjoy the waterfall.’ ‘And due to them, you had to face many issues.’ ‘Yes. That is the reason we have to stay cautious with roaming souls.’ They chatted for few more minutes until the burger arrived. Tim ate it and went to the motel. Tim went the next day to the waterfall and enjoyed the scenic beauty that nature had to offer. He swam for nearly two hours in the morning. On the way to the motel, he met Joey.

‘Hi. Enjoyed the waterfall?’ ‘Why not? The best scenic view with the perfect water. What a swim. Just like they describe on the net,’ said Tim. ‘Meet me for lunch. If you are free.’ said Joey

‘Sure. Meet you at the bar.’ Villagers appointed Joey as the point person to keep tabs on the strangers. Joey was also a stranger once. However, Joey helped to nab a murderer by the name of Mark. He had proof that pointed to Mark. Mark was convicted and Joey decider to make this tiny village his home. Subsequently, he helped the villagers nab other murderers as he was keeping a tab on them at every moment. The villagers hired him as the point person to keep a tab on the strangers. With further assistance from Joey, the sheriff solved all the case. Joey became a deputy sheriff although undercover. Now he had only one job to protect the villagers. Joy failed often but he succeeded in catching the culprit and that helped him stick to his job. Tim and Joey had lunch together, and they exchanged words. In the evening, Tim went for a swim, and when he returned, he sensed that someone broke into his room. Tim arranged his things in the proper place and found that his lighter was missing. He ignored it and went for dinner. He met Joey, and they exchanged a few words. Tim went to his room after dinner as he decided to leave this village early in the morning. It was past midnight, and there was an intense banging on Tim’s door.

‘Open the door, Tim.’ a familiar voice was shouting behind the door. Tim recognized the voice and opened the door.

The sheriff read him the Miranda rights. Sherrif took Tim into custody for the murderous assault on a teenager. The girl was in ICU, and the proof obtained at the scene pointed to Tim’s involvement. Tim was smiling, a strange scenario for a smile to pop up. Sherrif took Tim to the police station. The homicide department of a nearby town would pick him up for further questioning. As per rule, he was allowed a call. Tim called someone, and within fifteen minutes, five SUV stopped in front of the police station. They removed the handcuffs and gave Tim his badge and gun.

‘We need to check the waterfall cameras. There must be all the clue that we need for indictment.’ said Tim ‘Okay, sir. We have already grabbed Joey. Other team is searching his house as we speak.’ reported one of the officers.

‘Good. Now, let us go and grab some proof to nail that psychopath.’ They found what they were looking for. Joey was a psychopath who killed or injured people and placed the blame on strangers. The sheriff appointed him as a deputy sheriff, and that made his task easygoing. Based on the same story provided by every accused, the homicide department roped in the FBI for this mission. They had a suspect. All they needed was proof. They got it. Now the village was a safe place for everyone. Now the villagers even welcomed the Hitchhikers.