Even though it was 2:30 in the morning, Lucy couldn’t help but lean over a sleeping Gabe to glance at the text message on his phone. She looked down at the sleeping man, shirtless, the covers bundled around his waist. “Cheater,” she muttered under her breath. With a sigh, she lay back down. She watched the flashing neon of the vacancy sign blink through the motel room window. \# The next morning, he shuffled in as she prepared eggs and toast in the kitchenette just off the reception office. Gabe shuffled in wearing only boxers. “When you manage the motel, that means you get free breakfast, right?” he said, scratching his belly. Lucy, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead, sat down at the table and bit into her piece of toast. “None for me?” She ate a forkful of scrambled eggs. The reception door bell clanged. Lucy put her fork down and entered the reception. Amelia strode in, auburn hair styled like she was headed to some sort of society function in the city. Her blue eyes glimmered as if she knew where the party was. Lucy checked her watch. “Rooms 103, 212 and 116 need cleaning.” “What about that high school baseball team?” “No show,” Lucy said. She examined the almost-full wall of hanging room keys. “Jeeze, I’m sorry,” Amelia said. “If business doesn’t pick up…” Gabe peeked out from the kitchenette. “Oh, it’s just you,” he said, then stepped out. Amelia rolled her eyes and looked at Lucy. “Don’t worry. He wore his boxers until noon for me too when he and I were married. Except, I never ran a motel. Lucy shook her head. “Sorry. I’ll start on those rooms,” Amelia said. She grabbed a bucket, mop and cleaning caddy with various sprays, sponges and rags from behind the counter. On the way out the door, she ran into Officer Bond with a ding of the bell. The two gave each other awkward smiles as they contemplated which way each would go to get around the other. Officer Bond finally chose right, and Amelia finally chose left, and both swapped places with relief. Officer Carson Bond’s belly protruded over his utility holster and the wedding ring on his left hand was almost swallowed by the thickness of his finger. He leaned on the reception counter, tipped his navy blue cap and flipped open a notepad. “Good morning you two,” he said, catching his breath. He eyed Gabe in his boxers and frowned but said nothing. “We’ve got a report of a missing baseball team. I’m sure they’re just a little lost, but according to the school’s itinerary, they should have spent the night here.” Lucy furrowed her brow. “We were expecting ‘em. A no show.” “So, nothing?” Gabe offered a shrug. Officer Bond blinked rapidly. “Totally unrelated, but last night, we got reports of some sort of bonfire out this way. Did any of that bother you?” Lucy and Gabe looked at each other. Lucy lifted her shoulders and shook her head. “Sorry, no.” “I didn’t think so. Most people were in bed by that time, but I thought I should ask in case you saw anything.” \# Amelia climbed the stairs to 212 and unlocked the door, whistling a country song from the radio that morning. The room was in the standard post-guest disarray: Both twin beds torn apart, garbage overflowing and towels strewn across the room. She started from the back, in the bathroom. The small window over the toilet was open, and she stood on the closed seat to reach it. “That’s funny…” She squinted at the brush abutting the motel. In the woods the end of an old Greyhound bus peeked out between the foliage. Amelia shook her head, then shut the frosted window, beginning her cleaning routine for 212. \# “That’s pretty much all I wanted to talk to you about,” Officer Bond said, tipping his hat to Lucy and Gabe, exiting with a ding of the reception door bell. “I’m sure business will pick up,” Gabe said. “Not if you hang around here in your underwear,” Lucy said with a sneer. “Go put some damn clothes on.” She went to the window and watched Amelia in the gravel parking lot flagging down Officer Bond’s cruiser in the gravel parking lot. She leaned on his open window and motioned to the motel, then back at the reception, toward Lucy. Then Amelia stood, waved to Officer Bond, and the cruiser pulled away, merging into the flow of traffic on the highway. Lucy bit her lower lip. “What do you think that was about?” Gabe murmured from behind Lucy. “I told you to put some clothes on!” Lucy snapped. Gabe raised both hands, his eyebrow crinkled, a slight smirk of amusement on his face. He backed into the kitchenette and out the side door to the manager’s suite. Lucy noticed Gabe’s phone on the reception counter, glanced casually over at the closed side door and picked it up. The door dinged again. A grey-haired man entered, hair still wet from a recent shower. “I’m checking out of 102,” he said, sliding his key across the reception desk. Lucy left the phone and punched at her keyboard. “Credit card on file okay?” “Yep. By the way, I think you had vandals last night.” “Dang it,” Lucy said, exhaling. “What was it now? Swastikas? Racist things? Those kids are always spray painting something on the far side of the building.” “Graffiti?” The man looked confused. “I didn’t see any spray paint. I’m talking about the swimming pool.” Lucy waved a hand. “Pool’s been closed for three years now. Just full of dead leaves. We’ll bring it back one of these days, but right now it’s too expensive to run.” The man shook his head. “No. There’s more than just dead leaves in the pool,” the man said. \# Lucy and Amelia peered over the edge of the pool into the pile of dead leaves and scattered, melted red and white polyester clothing. “Are–are those baseball uniforms?” Amelia asked. “What kind of sicko would do something like this?” Lucy said. “There’s gotta be like thousands of dollars worth.” “Do you think it belonged to that baseball team?” “Your guess is as good as mine, but since the tournament’s in town, it could be any team’s.” “Think we should report it?” Amelia asked. The two women looked at each other. “Well, I saw you talking to Officer Bond about something already,” Lucy put her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you just go ahead and give him a call, since he’s your buddy now?” “It’s just that,” Amelia looked down at the ground and kicked at some stray gravel with the toe of her shoe. “What?” “I was interested in applying for a desk job at police headquarters.” “Damn it, Amelia. I need you. I’ll have to clean the rooms myself. And Lord knows I don’t have time for that.” “I know, I’m sorry. But the pay is so much better.” Lucy pointed a finger at Amelia. “Whatever. But for now, we don’t need any unnecessary police attention. Not with business as slow as it is. Pile some extra leaves on top of those burnt uniforms, and I don’t want to hear anything else about it.” \# Lucy pushed through the reception door with a ding in a huff. She stopped when she saw the black cardboard carton sitting next to Gabe’s phone on the reception counter. She approached it slowly. The kitchenette was empty, only the hum of the refrigerator kicking on and the buzz of the overhead lights. As she placed her hand on the box, Gabe’s phone lit up. It was a text message. From the same number as last night. Gabe’s \*mistress.\* “HERE’S A LITTLE GIFT FOR LUCY,” read the message. She read her own name and shivered, glancing at the door, then out into the parking lot. She scanned the windows of the motel rooms. “OPEN THE BOX.” Lucy picked up the box, hands trembling, she opened it. Looking at the contents, Lucy brought a hand up to her mouth and gasped. It was full of teeth. Teeth of various sizes shapes and colours, from alabaster white to corn yellow, sat jumbled in the carton. Ones that had silver fillings and others that were pristine. “YOUR BASEBALL TEAM HAS ARRIVED.” \# Her makeup streaked by tears down her cheeks, Lucy held the box gingerly and opened the door to the manager’s suite. The shower ran in the back washroom, steam fogged the mirror in the main bedroom. “Gabe,” Lucy called, voice trembling. She took a step into the room and inched toward the bathroom. The door was ajar, steam from the shower billowing out. “Gabe…” she said, raising her voice. There was no answer. Lucy clutched the box of teeth and entered the bathroom. \-- WC: 1,477 Feedback welcome.


Fred took in a deep breath of fresh air and looked off the cliff of the large hill he had ascended to reach this point. He enjoyed hiking, and was glad spring was finally peaking its head out. He took off his pack and pulled out his lunch. ‘Wow, what a great view to have lunch to,’ he thought, wearing a broad smile. Once he finished, he began his trek back down the wooded hill to where his car was parked. When he was about halfway down the long hill, a strange sight caught his attention in his peripheral. He dropped his walking stick, but quickly grabbed it again as he stood there paralyzed with astonishment. To his side stood a door, unattached from any structure. Fred quickly looked around, hoping to see another person who could reassure him that there was, in fact, a door standing upright in the woods, attached to nothing. Unfortunately, he as alone, so he as forced to examine the door himself, and hope that he wasn’t losing his mind. He started with a wide circle around it, expecting to find some kind of camouflage, but there wasn’t any. There was just the door, standing upright by itself. Once he felt a little more acclimated, he closed his distance to it, cautiously searching the ground in front of him for any booby traps. He wasn’t by any means a trapper, or a survivalist, but he was an intelligent, cautious man. The wood felt real when he was finally within reach to touch it. Now that he had confirmed its existence and that he was not hallucinating, he quickly began to examine it. To his surprise, the door was not mounted in the ground. There was no visible reason why it didn’t fall over when he pushed on it. ‘It must be mounted with spikes underneath,’ he thought, though it looked like it hovered above the ground, instead of resting on it. Another oddity of the door was that the door knob was on the left side of the door, regardless of which side he stood on. He was able to reason that they weren’t functional, but were partially mounted to look like they were working door knobs. He turned one of them and slowly pushed the door open away from him, as it only seemed to open one way. His legs almost gave out from underneath at the sight that awaited him when he opened the door. Through the door was the woods as expected behind it, with one major difference. It was night. He quickly looked behind the door to verify that it was still day around the door, and being satisfied, looked back through the door at the nightly reflection. He closed the door and walked to the other side. Once again, he opened the door, which only opened away from him, and was greeted by the same view of the woods behind the door, but in the darkness of night. ‘Now don’t be crazy. Go get the authorities, and let them deal with it’, he thought, but something inside him told him the door would not be there when he returned. Though cautious, he was a curious man, so he decided to venture through the door and take a peak. Fred stuck his head through first to check what he could see from the door. He scanned the area, but saw nothing that seemed overly threatening. With no immediate threat in sight, he slowly stepped through, turning to make sure the door was still there. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that it was. He laid his pack down by the door. He wanted to have it in case of an emergency, but didn’t want to carry it with him. He also knew that if he had to make a quick getaway, he could easily grab the pack as he ran back through the door. Fred felt a little off balance stepping from day to night. Looking back through the door where it was sunny didn’t help. He walked in an ever-growing circle around the door until he felt sure enough to start investigating the area. Except for it now being night, he didn’t see anything different on this side of the door. He knew that it must be getting dark on the other side of the door he had come from, so he walked back to see. He saw that it was indeed growing darker on the other side of the door, and instinctively he looked up to the sky where he was at expecting it to start giving away to its own morning, but instead it stayed dark, until it matched the darkness of night on other side of the door. Fred was no botanist, but he was sure that plants needed sunlight to thrive, but minus the sun, the plants and trees on this side of the door seemed to mirror the ones on the other side. Slightly confused, he decided to continue his investigation, when he heard a rustle. He took cover by a tree, trying to locate where the sound had come from. It seemed to be coming from all around him, so he kept glancing at all directions, determined not to let anything sneak up on him. All of a sudden, the tree he had been pressed against moved. It looked like it was trying to turn around to see who was touching it. Fred stepped backwards slowly, when he tripped on a branch and fell backward. He lost his footing, and soon found himself rolling uncontrollably down a hill. His roll ended with a splash, as he rolled into a shallow creek. A part of him wanted to stay partially unconscious, but the survival instinct within him jolted him awake, and he quickly looked around expecting to see a tree standing over him. Instead, he found himself alone, or so he thought until her heard a rustle coming from within the tree line. He wrongly assumed it was the trees, and the proof came in the form of a child like being with pointy ears. Fred stood frozen as the elfin creature approached him. They stood there studying each other, when another, louder noise broke both their stares. The elf began to quickly walk away, clearly frightened by the sound, but stopped and turned towards Fred. It looked back and forth between where the sound had come from, and where Fred was still standing in the shallow creek. It was clearly deciding if it should help Fred or not. Deciding to help, it motioned Fred to follow, which when the loud sound came again, he quickly began following the elf. The elf lead Fred to a hole under a fallen log, and there, they shared a small confined space. He was able to see more details of the elf. It was actually a she, and though she had the appearance of a child, certain minute details led him to believe that she was much older. She glanced at him and seeing him staring at her, gestured for him to look out and see what was coming. From the tree line emerged a tiger, the size of a giant boulder. It walked past them, stopping only to sniff where Fred had landed in the creek, looked around, and then continued walking away. Once the elfin girl was sure the giant tiger was far enough away, she squirmed out their hole, and began running back into the forest. Fred was torn between going back to the door, and following her. He was afraid of being trapped in this alternate version of the woods, but he was also a very curious person, and he feared even more that he would not be able to return to this place once he had left. He quickly made up his mind and ran after her. While they ran through the woods, he noticed more of the trees moving on their own, and the ones that were facing him, had faces. Their looks seemed more of curiosity, than threatening. After what felt like an hour of quickly walking through the woods, the elfin girl, dropped out of sight over a berm. Fred quickly followed her, but losing his footing, once again found himself falling down a steep ravine and having the air knocked out of him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself surrounded by more elves looking down at him with curious eyes. When he sat up, they all backed up, and then some of them began talking to each other. He didn’t recognize the language. “Uh, hi,” he said. When he spoke, they all went quiet, and then suddenly started laughing. Their laugh was infectious, and he began laughing to. Before they could fully enjoy the moment, another little elf ran into the room and began creating a commotion. A group conversed back and forth, and then they rushed outside a passageway. Fred was unsure what to do next, when he felt something touch his hand. He looked and saw that the elfin girl who had led him there had taken his hand in hers and was looking at him with a pleading look. He may not have been able to understand their language, but he knew when someone needed his help, so he gave her a reassuring smile, which was returned, and she lead him after the others. When they arrived above ground, where the others had gone, he found himself facing a small group of dwarfs, who stood in taller than the elves, but shorter than Fred. When Fred appeared, all the dwarfs stopped what they were doing and stared at him. The lead elf, turned to see what had their attention, smiled, and then turned back to the dwarfs. He began telling them something Fred couldn’t understand. The dwarfs kept switching gazes from the elves to Fred, and then back again. They seemed to be weighing their options. He got the impression that the dwarves where used to getting their way, but didn’t seem to know what to do with somebody taller than them. Reluctantly, the lead dwarf gave out a grunt, and then he and his men slowly began to walk away. Once they were out of sight, the elves began to jump up and down, celebrating. Fred looked down at the Elvin girl to see her smiling back up at him. They led Fred back into the underground lair, where they continued their celebration by presenting Fred with a magnificent feast, apparently in his honor. Though he had no idea what they were saying, he enjoyed watching them talk to each other, and from time to time, one of them would make eye contact with him and raise their glass, which he always returned. Outside, came a loud sound of a horn being blown. All the elves looked at Fred, and seeing the elfin girl grab his hand and try to pull him away, they all began to argue. Fred thought that the dwarves had come back, and they wanted him to face them again, but if that was the case, Fred didn’t understand why they would be trying to keep her from leading him outside. The elfin girl argued with the others, and seemed to convince them. Seeing them settle down, she turned back and once again grabbed Fred’s hand. She began to pull him with desperate strength. Fred didn’t understand what was going on, but he had come to trust the elfin girl, and allowed her to lead him away. She half dragged him out of their lair, and back through the woods from where he had originally come from. As they picked up the pace, Fred began to realize that she was taking him back to the door. He also surmised that because she was in such a hurry, that the horn being blown must have something to do with it. They arrived at the door, and he began to panic when he saw that the door was becoming translucent. He was about to run through the door when the elfin girl held him back. He looked at her to see what was wrong and saw that she was trying to give him something. She opened her hand to reveal a glowing key. Seeing that he saw it, she nudged her head toward the door to inform him know what it was for. She dropped the key in his hand, gave him a sad look of loss, and then ran back the way they had come. The horn blowing again broke his trance, and grabbing his backpack as he went, he ran through the door. Once he was safe on the other side, he turned to see that the door was almost completely invisible. Through the door came a distant sound of the horn blowing a third time, and with that, the door disappeared. He looked down at the key and saw it glowing. When the door was completely gone, the glow faded and it appeared an old, but normal key. ‘This key must be used to open the door again,’ Fred thought. Every weekend, Fred returned to where the door had been, but found the place empty. A year passed, and he was losing hope when he arrived once again to where he had first found the door, but found it still gone. He was about to walk away when saw a light coming from his hand. The key was starting to glow. He looked up and saw the door reappear. As before, he didn’t need a key to open it. On the other side, in the darkness, stood a group of elves waiting for him, each holding a gift to give to their lost friend. “Hello, my friends,” he said as he walked through the door in the woods once more.


If someone were to peek in on my room, they would probably see a pretty basic room for the average sixteen-year-old. I have a standard bed with a bright pink comforter, filled with numerous floral pillows. My walls are painted a bland shade of white, but they are decorated with numerous polaroid photos of me and my friends at the pool in the summertime. If an adult were to randomly go in my room, they would probably note that my closet, filled to the brim with numerous types of dresses, looks exactly like the closet of their own daughters or nieces. However, I don’t think that anyone would ever guess what I hide in my room at night (no, it’s not my phone or a TV!). The thing that I hide in my room is furry, yellow with brown spots, and very tall. In other words, I have a pet giraffe.

“How does one come to own a pet giraffe?” is a question everyone would ask me if they knew that I had a pet giraffe. The story of how I obtained my pet giraffe started out as just an ordinary summer day. I woke up, had some breakfast, and began texting my friends, trying to figure out a plan for going to the pool that day. But, then, my mom made an impromptu announcement:

“Kids, get dressed! We're going to the zoo!”

When I first heard the proclamation, I was a bit confused. Prior to this day, I had not been to the zoo since I was seven years old. I didn’t mind going to the zoo, but it was a surprising way to spend the day.

“Mom, how come we're going to the zoo?” I asked.

“I just won tickets for an exclusive tour of all the animals at the zoo!” my mom said excitedly. “I thought that it would be a fun thing to experience!”

“What do you mean, ‘exclusive tour?’” I asked, genuinely curious.

“We’ll be able to pet all the animals at the zoo when we get there!”

My younger brother, Luke, started jumping up and down. At five years old, he was obsessed with Animal Planet.

“Giraffes! Giraffes! Giraffes! Giraffes!” Luke started chanting.

“Let’s get in the car and go see them!” my mom said, pushing us out the door and into the car.

When we got to the zoo, we met our very friendly tour guide, Hannah. “Where to first?” Hannah asked.

Again, Luke started chanting, “Giraffes! Giraffes! Giraffes!” So, off to the giraffe exhibit we went.

When we arrived at the giraffe exhibit, I was awestruck at the beauty of the giraffes up close. The alternating tan and brown spots of the giraffe formed a checkerboard pattern, and the long fur on the giraffe was perfectly groomed. Before this moment, I had never realized how beautiful the eyes of a giraffe were: the eyelashes on the giraffe were a sharp black color, and they curled inward, protecting the fragile eyes. I understood at this moment why Luke was so obsessed with giraffes!

For the most part, the giraffes were experts at social distancing, and they kept a healthy distance from us. I was glad that none of them ran away in fear when we entered their small grassland home. However, one giraffe, a baby was especially friendly towards us, and she kept nudging herself over to Luke and me.

“Can I pet her?” I asked Hannah when the baby giraffe kept flinging its snout at me.

“You sure can!” Hannah replied. “Her name is KoKo; she was just born just two weeks ago! You must be the giraffe whisperer! I’ve never seen any giraffe be so friendly around humans!”

I was flattered by Hannah’s compliment, but I felt warmth fill my body the first time I stroked the luscious fur of the baby giraffe. Tears rolled down my cheek onto the giraffe’s tiny charcoal nose as I dug my fingers into the giraffe’s fur. KoKo kept cuddling my arm, and, although I felt a strong urge to hug her, I refrained from doing so, careful not to ruin our strong bond.

“Let’s go see the gorillas!” Luke shouted, arousing me from my intimate moment from KoKo. Reluctantly, I took my hand off of KoKo and waved goodbye. As I exited the pen, she made direct eye contact with me,and I could see through the slight curve in her eyes that she was saddened by my departure.

“Love you KoKo,” I said as I trailed away, already falling behind Luke and my mom, who were very eager to see the gorillas.

The rest of the day at the zoo was quite eventful; we visited the gorillas, penguins, and meerkats. Still, as fascinating as the tiny, yet speedy meerkats we're, I couldn’t help but revisit my encounter with KoKo. I could still feel the warmth of KoKo’s breath on my hand as I lay down in my bed that night. Little did I know that, in just a few days, I would feel that warmth again.

Five days later, I was in my bed, my eyes blinking rapidly, just seconds away from my head smacking down on my pillow when the home phone started ringing abruptly. Startled, I raced down the stairs to retrieve it.

“Hey, is this Mrs. Evaen?”

“Hannah?” I responded, bewildered. Immediately, I heard concern in her voice.

“Hey, Dominique,” Hannah replied, her voice heavy with stress. “Is your mom around?”

“Actually, yeah, she’s right here,” I said just as my mom walked into the kitchen, looking confused.

“Who are you talking to Dominique?” my mom questioned. “It's 11 p.m.”

“It’s Hannah.” I mouthed back.

“Hey, Mrs. Evaen. We have a bit of a situation over here at the zoo. KoKo, the giraffe that you guys saw here the other day, hasn’t slept or eaten in five days. She’s super stressed now that she’s not around Dominique, and, well, we think that she may have imprinted on Dom.” “Okay, well, what does that mean?” my mom asked tentatively.

“Well, we were thinking that it may be best if KoKo could be around Dominique for a few days, just until we get her eating again.” “I’m sorry, Hannah, but my daughter cannot sleep at the zoo.” my mom responded, slightly disgusted.

“No, it may be better if KoKo comes to your house.” Hannah spit out before immediately going silent.

“Is this some sort of joke?” my mother scoffed.

“No, if KoKo is around Dominique, then she’ll start eating and sleeping again, and, if she’s at your home, then she’ll eventually start to crave her natural environment again and want to be home.”

Before my mother could answer with a hard “No,” I snatched the phone away from her and asked Hannah, “What will happen to KoKo if she doesn’t come home with us?”

“Well,” said Hannah, “there’s a possibility that she could become too weak and die.”

I looked at my mother, tears welling up in my eyes. I didn’t have to say anything to beg her to let KoKo stay with us for a few days.

“Fine!” my mother yelled, repulsed at the idea of having a wild animal in her home but still too kind to let an animal suffer. “But, Dominique, she is staying in your room, and you will take care of her at all times.”

I began to squeal in delight, jumping up and down and making a big thumping noise that reverberated throughout the house.

“Great!” Hannah exclaimed! “We can drop her off tonight!”

“She gets forty-eight hours in my home.” my mom firmly stated.

“Perfect, that should be enough time for her to recover.”

“Yes!” I yelled as soon as my mother got off the phone. Immediately, I started showering my mom with compliments: “You’re the best mom ever! I love you so much! You are amazing! Have I ever told you how kind and loving you are!” “Enough,” my mom said with a chuckle. “You won’t be getting any presents on your birthday until you are thirty.”

While I waited for KoKo to arrive, I danced through the halls of my house, not even worrying one bit that I may be disturbing my dad and Luke, who were already sleeping. Finally, I heard a soft knock at the door, and I sprinted toward it, eager to see KoKo once again.

I opened the door, letting Hannah and KoKo in.

“Okay, “ Hannah said, making herself at home on our couch. “Here are twenty bags of carrots, hay, and acacia leaves for KoKo to eat. Just leave the food open and available in your room so that KoKo can just eat it whenever she’s hungry throughout the day.” I nodded excitedly, trying not to let KoKo, who was already smothering me with her tongue, distract me from Hannah’s instructions.

“Take her outside a few times each day to let her go to the bathroom, but try to keep her inside for most of the day. That way, she will begin craving her habitat outside at the zoo. Thank you for doing this!”

“It is my honor,” I beamed, petting KoKo. My mother sighed, seriously questioning her own sanity.

Soon after Hannah left, I led KoKo up the stairs slowly. Her legs powered up each step, surprising for the weak and emaciated state that she was in. When I got KoKo into my room, placing my largest and fluffiest blanket on the floor for her to lay on, I lugged all of her food bags into my room. I sprawled them all over the floor of my closet, which is where KoKo would be staying for the next two days.

The first day that I had KoKo, she spent most of the day eating her food, catching up on all of the nutrition that she had missed. I spent the day in my room with her, stroking her beautiful fur while she placed her head and hooves in my arms.

The second day that I had KoKo, however, she seemed eager to get back to the Zoo. When I tried to pet her, she reluctantly allowed me to, but she was no longer moving her neck towards me and embracing me. She continued to eat, but she kept walking towards the small window in my closet, almost as if she were searching for the zoo. Even though I still technically had until the night with KoKo, I knew that it was time to call Hannah.

“Hannah,” I said, fighting back tears, “it’s time for you to come get KoKo.”

As I led KoKo down the stairs, she began to hiss and kick at me. Still, I felt immense love for KoKo. I was proud of her for eating again, and I knew that she would be able to thrive at the zoo.

“Goodbye, KoKo,” I said as Hannah led her out the front door. This time the tears did spill out, even though Hannah reassured me that I could come see KoKo anytime at the zoo. My mom hugged me. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered. “You’re the best giraffe mother I know!” I couldn’t help but laugh.

Every once in a while, I go to the zoo to visit KoKo. Although she never runs to greet me anymore, I am always happy to see her frolicking with her siblings in the grassland area. I am forever grateful for our friendship, even though it had an abrupt ending, and I will always care about KoKo. And, let the records show that, I had a pet giraffe for two whole days!


The refrigerator hummed a happy tune of efficiency. Its various fans and coolants maintained its twin core temperatures. The fridge's cameras scanned, collected data and its scales weighed and measured. The fridge, in super modern dark-blue, knew the members of the family by sight and vibration. The fridge knew that six year old Jason liked to eat hot dogs more than anyone else in the family. The fridge knew that Mark, a work from home lawyer, always drank a single beer with dinner. The females of the house were also tracked. The fridge knew that Dr. Susan Carson was always at home between six and nine but rarely home at any other predictable time. Abbey, the four year old, had only recently started opening the refrigerator doors. The fridge couldn't yet create a pattern for Abbey because she grabbed food items at random. The fridge tracked the current level of everyone’s favorite foods in the house. At least once a week the fridge would text the Carson parents with requests to replenish the fridge's contents. If one of the Carson parents accepted a shopping list complied by the fridge then an order would automatically be placed with the appropriate online vendors. A truck or bicycle would be dispatched to the house to deliver the groceries. Modern builders allowed for secured outward opening exterior fridge doors on the side of the house. Through these insulated doors vendors could replenish the dietary requirements of the Carson household from outside. Which is how the fridge ensured the Carsons always had their favorite foods available. When family members use the fridge it would take pictures of the family members, per its factory settings. Mark had yet to figure out how to change this setting. The fridge displayed these pictures on its external LED screen. Often the family laughed at pictures of their giant heads leaned into the fridge to grab a drink or leftovers. The four year old loved when her picture was displayed by the fridge and would giggle and laugh at herself. On Thursday morning on her way to daycare, Abbey managed to smear cottage cheese across the main external camera that the fridge used to identify family members. The fridge had been programmed for this contingency. Its scales had a decent success rate at identifying users based on vibrations. The fridge’s subroutines alternately ran pattern recognition software that allowed it to predict when various household members would be most likely to access its interior in search of calories. Thursday afternoon the computer used scale vibrations and predictive software to identify one of its users. Every Thursday at approximately 1:30, Debra, a next door neighbor, used the fridge to access external, cold water. The fridge posted a picture of welcome on its screen showing Debra a picture from the previous Thursday. In the picture, Debra was wearing a cute, delicate, red teddy. At 1:31 the fridge’s external screen was smashed in and its French doors were thrown open. Using its internal cameras the fridge was able to verify that it had made a mistake. The user wasn't Debra but was instead, Dr. Carson. The fridge snapped a picture of Dr. Carson yelling into her phone.


“These rich bastards moved this fuckin’ house all the way from England,” Jim said “Wow, wouldn’t it be cheaper just to build a new house?” I asked “Probably, but rich people are fuckin’ stupid. Don’t matter, though.” He smiled his wide, toothless smile “I get paid either way.” We sat on the ocean-front porch of an old Victorian home. It was the end of November in the town of Falmouth. Tourism had died on the Cape by this time of year. The town was only filled with what few locals lived there year round. Nothing better to do than get drunk and watch the ocean. Not that this mattered too much. We were both such losers that this is probably what we’d be doing anyway. We drank Pabst after Pabst and shared a bottle of Canadian Club whiskey. We had three cases of Pabst and a handle of whiskey. Not quite enough to kill ourselves, but enough to kill some time. Our drinking was only interrupted by our smoking and our frequent piss breaks. Eventually we stopped even walking away from the house and just started relieving ourselves on the floorboards of the porch. I was 19 years old, skinny and undernourished. I lived mostly off of alcohol and cigarettes at this point in my life. I ate mostly everyday during the school year. Working as a dishwasher at a college was a shit gig, but at least you ate for free. The hard thing is that you’d get laid off during the summer and winter breaks. No free food during those months. I’d mostly fill my stomach with cheap beer and cough syrup. Periodically one of my neighbors would be kind enough to stop over with some food and to smoke a joint with me. Jim was a 26 year old. He was missing most of his teeth from a car accident earlier in his life. He was rail thin. He always looked pasty, even during the summer time. He had scars and patches of rashes all over his face from psoriasis. He rarely showered, and seemed to show little to no interest in women. He identified himself as a white supremacist and Nazi sympathizer despite the fact that the best friend he had in the world was a black man. I guess that he’s what you’d call my friend. He worked with me at the college. He liked a lot of the same music that I did. He also, much like me, lacked any motivation or ambition to do anything greater with his life. He was fine with homelessness. He was fine with sleeping on floors and couches. He was fine with making no significant impact on any part of the world. More importantly, he was the only person that I knew who had as bad of a drinking problem as I did. We’d blend into a party crowd on a Friday or Saturday night. Plenty of people I knew would go out and drink a 30 rack a night. Most of those people wouldn’t be scraping together nickels on a Wednesday morning to score a cheap bottle of Vodka, though. People would think I was a party animal on Fridays and Saturdays. They’d think that I should slow down on Sundays. They’d think I’d have a problem on Mondays. They’d wonder what the fuck was wrong with me on Tuesdays. By Wednesday, any sensible person would decide that their time would be better spent with somebody else. The sad part was, I hardly even felt drunk anymore. Blackouts didn’t come as frequently, as it took more and more booze to get me to that point. A dishwasher’s salary didn’t buy the amount of booze I needed to get drunk enough. Anyway, we sat there threw back gulp after gulp of this cheap beer staring off into the distance. We weren’t above drinking alone, but having someone there to drink with and hurl abuses at was always welcome. That is, as long as they drank as heavy as we did. Or at the very least, would shut their fuckin’ mouths about our drinking. I was absentmindedly staring doing the beach far away from the house. It was absolutely silent out there except for the sound of the ocean crashing on the rocks and beach below us. I noticed what looked like a couple figures probably 300 yards down the beach. “Who the fuck would be on the beach this time of year” I said outloud. Jim just grunted and said “Some people got no sense” right as he gulped down the remainder of his current can of Pabst. He let out a comically loud belch. I shrugged it off and we went back to what we were doing. Drinking and smoking. Smoking and pissing. Yelling and fighting. Drinking and fighting. Drinking and pissing. A lesser man than me (or maybe a normal human being) would be lying on the floor about to succumb to alcohol poisoning. Jim and I, however, were still standing with most of our faculties still in place. In my drunken state, I had forgotten completely about the presence of the people on the beach. I turned to my left, and they were probably about 100 yards away now. Walking down the beach straight towards the house. I could barely make them out, they just appeared as white silhouettes moving in the distance. The only way I could still tell they were there was when they walked under the light coming from the few other houses on the beach. “Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?” I asked Jim. He turned to me, smiled his cold toothless grin and said “Well, I am. Fuck do I care if you are?” “Go fuck yourself,” I said as I lit up another Pall Mall “Gimme one, dickbag!” Jim demanded as he yanked the lit one out of my mouth and starting smoking it. I just shrugged it off and lit a new smoke, cracked open a new beer, and stood up to take a piss. The entire porch smelled overwhelmingly like beer, but I’m sure that smell would fade tomorrow. I’m betting the stench of the rotten piss of two young drunks will probably cling to the wood for a little bit longer, though. I zipped up and glanced down the beach again, and the figures continued moving closer. They seemed to disappear between the lights the houses were giving off. I was too drunk and it was too dark to really be sure. Before I knew it, they were probably only 50 feet away from the house. In unison, they both stopped. I thought my eyes-or the alcohol-were playing tricks on me. On the beach were two pale white women in old tattered dresses staring back at me. I could feel myself getting nervous. “Dude, are you seeing that?” I asked. Jim turned and looked. “Huh,” was all he muttered out. A hard wave crashed on the beach and washed up to the figures feet. As the water hit their feet, they disappeared into thin air. “What the fuck? Where’d they go?!” I said. My voice beginning to shake from my nerves. Jim looked over with his usual apathy. He muttered a phrase that I can’t quite spell. It sounded like he said “I don’t know” without pronouncing any of the consonants. Something like “I-uh-oh.” I flicked my cigarette and opened another beer. “Alright man, I think I’m gonna get going.” “Fuck you. Let me get a few beers before you leave, asshole.” As soon as he said that, I heard the wood on the porch creak behind me. I whipped around. My heart dropped as I saw what was behind me. The two women stood in their tattered dresses behind me. In the light, I could see their details more clearly. Their skin was bright white, almost translucent. Their had sores and cuts all over their bodies. Their hair was matted and beginning to knot together and turn to dreadlocks on the end. They stunk of rotting flesh and low tide. Their dresses were stained with dark red and moldy yellow stains. They had strands of seaweed draped over their shoulders and mixed into their hair. They looked as if they had just climbed out of the ocean. Their irises were blood red and the whites of their eyes were a light yellow color. Their lips were covered with cuts and deep scars. They looked similar, but not like twins. They looked as if they were sisters, though The women appeared to be in their early to mid 20’s I realized that I had just been staring at these women for several uncomfortable seconds. Unable to truly comprehend what I was actually seeing. I blurted out “What the fuck?!?!” as it seemed the only phrase to make sense in that moment. They took a step towards me in unison. I stumbled backwards, and they started to walk towards me in unison. I turned to look for Jim. He was already drunkenly stumbling into the woods. He really is a fucking asshole I thought to myself. I stumbled to my feet and started to run towards my car. I dug my hands into my pockets to search for my keys. I tried to pull them up, but they were stuck under everything else in my pocket. I gave a final yank and everything in my pocket flew out at once. My keys fell to the ground. I bent over to get my keys off the ground. As I stood up, I turned around and saw that they were still walking in unison after me. I could hear them speaking, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I half ran/half stumbled the rest of the way to my car. I unlocked the door and yanked the door handle. I yanked with such force that I ripped the door handle clear out of it. “FUCKING FORDS!” I screamed I turned and saw that they were still walking in unison towards me. I could hear what they were saying. What they were chanting. In unison, they were chanting “Our house, our house, our house.” Over and over and over again. I panicked as they were still getting closer. I started to drop kick into my window to try to break into my car. The kicks did nothing. I grabbed some rocks from my feet and hurled them at the window. I succeeded in breaking the glass, but not in any useful way. The crack just spidered across the glass, but the pane of glass remained in place. I ran over to the passenger side of my car, and threw open the door. The chant of “Our house, our house, our house….” was growing ever louder and louder. Their voices sounded dry as they chanted, like their throats were caked with dirt. It sounded like they had just woken up from a hard night of drinking, and had eaten nails and dirt for breakfast. It was unbelievable how loud they were able to chant with voices sounding like that. I leaped over my center console and struggled to get my keys in the ignition. “Our house, our house, our house…” growing louder and louder. I managed to get my keys into the ignition and start the car. I threw it into gear, and turned out of the driveway as quickly as I could. As my car turned, I could see the figures were no more than 5 feet away from my car as I whipped out of the driveway. I hadn’t been able to see them until my car turned around due to the broken passenger side window. I drove as fast as I could down the road staring in my rearview mirror the entire time. I could see them still walking towards my car. I sped down the dirt road. Rocks flew in every direction away from my car as I drove. I was too panicked to even truly consider what was actually happening. Were I able to even feel anything but fear, I don’t think that I could make sense of what was happening. How do you explain two antique sea hags chasing you? How would you even begin to comprehend that? I continued down the dirt road. My foot had the pedal all the way to the floor. I turned a corner, and a figure was standing in the middle of the narrow road. I looked down through my windshield and saw that the figure was Jim. I hit my brakes as hard as I could, but it was no use on the cold dirt road. I was going too fast. My car slid right into him. He fell forward onto the hood of my car, and rolled over the top. I got out of the car and ran over back to him, not even thinking of the sisters that were still walking down the road towards me. My mind was on a new set of panic. I just killed the only excuse for a friend that I had. I was going back to jail, for sure. Jim was lying on his face in the dirt road. I went over to him and said “Holy shit dude! I didn’t fuckin’ see you there at all! Are you okay?!?!” Jim didn’t move. I put my hands under him and flipped him onto his back. I started shaking him by his shoulders shouting his name over and over again. I looked down and noticed that carved into his chest in big letters was the phrase “OUR HOUSE” It was only at that moment that I realized the sisters were still after me. I turned my gaze up the road and saw them still walking in unbroken unison with each other chanting “our house, our house, our house.” I ran back to my car, got in, threw it into gear and slammed my foot on the gas pedal. I couldn’t see out my passenger window or my windshield at this point, but my concern was not with safety. My concern was getting as far away from the sisters as I could. I stared into my rearview mirror and watched the twins walking down the road in the distance. To my horror, I watched in my rearview mirror as Jim pushed himself off the ground and rose to his feet. He turned towards me and started limping after my car. His movements reminded of slowly witted zombies in movies. Whatever that was, it wasn’t Jim anymore. I made it to the main road and turned the corner hard into the street. I heard the screeching of tires and the blaring of a truck horn behind me. I had no time to be concerned with that, I just drove. My foot stayed firmly planted with the gas pedal to the floor. My speedometer climbed higher and higher. My little Ford Escort was screaming under the strain of the speed. I was paying very little attention to where I was going. All that I could think of was their grainy dirty voices saying “OUR HOUSE, OUR HOUSE OUR HOUSE” without respite. Each breath was heaving out of my mouth hard. I started to gradually gain some semblance of composure. At this point I realized that I couldn’t actually see out of my own windshield. When I hit Jim, his fall onto my car must have shattered it. I had been driving for what must have been 20 minutes at top speed. Without thinking to check my mirror, I turned the wheel hard and pulled over to the side of the road and onto the grass. I threw open my car door. I leapt out towards the road and stumbled out of my car. I stood waving my arms as the truck started catching up with me. I was screaming “Help! Help me please!” I could feel tears streaming down my face. My heart raced as the truck came closer and closer and closer on the road. It drove past me without even slowing down. I can’t even imagine what he thought was happening. I just watched his tail lights fade into the distance. I fell to my knees and felt hopeless. I looked up and down the road, but it was dead. There was not another single car around. I knelt there with my hands on my head pushing back my hair in frustration and then collapsed down to a sitting position. I couldn’t even comprehend what had just happened to me. I sat there dumbfounded listening to the wind howl. I listened for noise up and down the road, but heard nothing. I saw nothing. Nothing living was around anywhere. That was somewhat of a relief. I figured if those broads were still following me, I’d at least hear them. My breathing gradually slowed, and my tears stopped flowing with such intensity. Eventually my breathing slowed to a normal pace. I looked down and noticed that I had pissed myself at some point in the night. I’m not really sure if that was a result of drinking or my encounter with the twins. Neither would surprise me, but I suspected it was from the later. What the fuck were they? Demons? Ghosts? Sluts of a bygone era? I didn’t know. I slowly pushed myself to my feet and tried to gain my composure. Whatever the fuck they were, they were gone now. I got back into my car and shut the door. I looked down and saw a half empty pack of smokes in my cup holder. I grabbed a cigarette and pulled a lighter out from the glove box. I lit my cigarette and sat back. I took a long drag and exhaled. I tried to think if I had passed any stores, houses, or really anything on my way to the house. I really couldn’t remember. That’s the danger of constantly being in and out of drunken blackouts. The details just don’t stick with you. I didn’t know if I could drive this piece of shit much further. There was no window that I could see out of. My mind suddenly wandered to Ace Ventura and Jim Carrey driving with his head sticking out the door’s window. Well shit, I thought, It’s not ideal, but I guess it’s my only option. Just then, it started pouring rain outside. Thunder and lightning started to appear unreasonably early in this storm. “Well this is just fucking perfect,” I said in disbelief. I started pounding on the steering wheel. I looked into my rear mirror and my fucking heart dropped. I saw the twins walking in the road maybe a quarter mile down the road. Jim was nowhere to be seen. I felt myself pissing again. Tears started streaming down my face. “Shit, shit, shit, shit” I said as I turned to the steering wheel. My keys were still in the ignition from earlier. I tried to start the car. I turned the key forward and heard nothing. I tried again and again “NO...NO...NOOOOOOO” I said as I turned the keys in the ignition. Nothing. I pounded on the steering wheel and looked back in the rearview mirror, the twins were still walking towards me. “Fuck fuck fuck” I said as I threw open the door once more. I stared back in disbelief at the twins walking towards me for a moment. Then I started to stumble into a run with my head still facing the twins. I turned and started running full sprint in the other direction away from them. I kept glancing every second or so over my shoulder to check their progress. Every single time I glanced over, they were still holding a steady pace on me. They were closing in amazingly quick for a couple of dead broads that were walking at their own leisure. I could now hear them. “Our house, our house, our house…” Each round of their chant, the words got to be more and more rhythmic. It was almost like a drum beat at this point. I was sprinting with every ounce of drunken energy that I could muster. I kept running until I checked over my shoulder to see that they had stopped walking towards me. Now they just stood in the road staring at me. I stopped running and just turned to face them. “What the fuck do you want?!??!” I screamed at them “Huh?! What do you want from me?” They raised their hands in unison and pointed in my direction. “What the fuck ever,” I thought and turned to keep going in the other direction. Standing in my way was Jim. Or at least, standing in my way was something that at on point had been Jim. A Jimposter of sorts. Carved in his chest was still the phrase “OUR HOUSE.” I stared into his dead lifeless eyes as I backed away from him. I seemed to have forgotten that the twins were in that direction. He just stared at me with dead eyes as I backed away. I turned my body to run in the other direction with my head turned towards his. After a few seconds of delay, the Jimposter started running towards me too. I turned my head in the direction that I was running and realized that I was running right towards the twins. I skipped to slow my speed, and turned towards the woods to my left and started running. I ran deep into the woods. Much harder to do when you're drunk. Much easier to do when you’re drunk if you’re also terrified. I ran between trees and back and forth. Every few seconds I’d be looking over my shoulder to see if I was being followed. It was a pretty pointless effort, because those woods were so pitch black that I wouldn’t have been able to see had I not also been drinking all day. I fell to the ground hard on my chest. I felt all the wind get knocked out of me. I couldn’t breathe and I struggled to pick myself up to my feet. After a couple seconds, I gasped in a breath to relieve myself. The first thing I did was start to puke. No time for that, I had to get back to running. I ran and puked, and ran and puked all over myself. I started choking on each mouthful of vomit that came up and spilt over my lips and dripped down my chin onto my neck. I lost my footing on the leaves on the ground and fell onto a stump sideways. I tried to catch my balance by grabbing onto something as I fell. My entire body weight fell on my shoulder on the tree stump. I felt and heard a crunch as something in my arm and shoulder shattered. I screamed out in pain and grabbed at my arm. I managed to stumble to my feet, but felt disoriented. I couldn’t even remember which direction I had been running. As I was trying to gain my composure, I heard a tree branch snapped behind me. I whipped around and saw Jimposter behind me. “Ouur h-h-house” He sounded like he was gargling as he said that. “What do you want fr-” I started out to say. The moon light struck Jimposter’s face and I could see that now he had razor sharp teeth where his old teeth had been. They look inhuman, and almost cartoonish even. He had a wide smile, though I don’t think that was intentional. I think the number of teeth that he had simply necessitated that type of large mouth that only a smile can house. His teeth began to separate. It looked like he was unhinging his jaw like a snake. I stood in horror watching as he did this and I turned to try to run again. When I turned around I bumped into the twins and fell to the ground. “Our house, our house, our house.” I screamed as I looked up at them. Jimposter reached down and grabbed me by the throat. He brought my head to his mouth. I could feel him putting my head in his mouth again. I felt myself pissing again. How is that even possible? I could feel his mouth closing. Around my head. I felt his teeth touch the side of my neck. Their chanting had stopped. I looked up and their eyes had gone black. Their mouths were open, and it looked like they were inhaling something. I couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked black. It looked like they were inhaling...ash or something. I looked down and saw that the ash looking stuff was coming from my mouth. I shut my mouth immediately, and I could feel pressure pulling my lips forward.


I remember since the age of four I would often think about wanting to live a different life. I was in quite emotional pain and longed nothing more for happiness. This is when I developed depression although at the time I did not know that. At this time in my life, my family was living together but had already grown apart. There was domestic violence and abuse in the household. I went into foster care two years later. In the second grade, at recess I would stare at the house across the street from the school. It was a blue little house and there were young children who often played outside in the front yard. The parents would be outside with the kids. I would wish to myself to have a family like that. All I saw was the perfect family. This family was so happy and "put together". When I lived with my former foster family, we attended church regularly. I would go to Sunday school so I learned about God. So whenever I was at recess I would pray to God and ask for a happy family like this one someday. Church seemed to be the only thing that connected me to my foster family. On other days of the week, we were not close at all. At the age of ten, I started to develop deeper thinking thoughts and processes. I would often ask myself if life was really a thing. "Is life real?" I became emotionally numb. I would have dreams about trading souls with people I admired. In my dreams, I would do anything to live another person's life. These dreams stuck with me for a long time and I became fixated on them. A year later, I started to feel very disassociated. I felt like life was an illusion. This was when I developed suicidal ideations. If I could go back to this time in my life before these emotions and thoughts had begun, I would tell myself to put myself in other people's shoes. It would be quite weird if I were to literally swap places with a person in a Freaky Friday type style. If I were to swap bodies with a person for a day, I do wonder what life would be like, but I also don't want to know. As I've grown older, I've learned that everybody has their own battles and pain; there is no justification. In case you are wondering, "if you had to swap places with a person for a day, who would it be?" I would say one of my favorite music artists. I have a burning passion for music, it touches me in ways that words cannot. Music is motivating and definitely helps me cope with emotions and life. So here I am going to swap places with Hayley Williams. Living a day as Hayley Williams, the first thing I would do is wake up at eight in the morning and take a shower. I would sing in the shower and listen to my beautiful voice, as sweet as an angel. I would then get out, dry off and get dressed, then look in the mirror as I'm doing my makeup. I'd brush my beautiful long hair and think to myself, "I wonder how I got this far? I wonder what kind of family I was raised in?" After finishing getting ready for the day, I would set mission to gather all the information about my family that I could. I'd find out that I have two half-sisters and my parents divorced years after I was born. I would come to the conclusion that I was broken inside because I came from a broken family; often I'd feel emotions of depression and anger. Later that day, I would skimmer through my journal and realize that music is what keeps me going, it's a way of expressing myself so I am heard. At the same time I hope others can relate to me and get the help that they need too. After reading the journal, I would ponder all the ways to create my own happiness. I'd go to bed that night and wake up the next day with the impression that I'd have a changed mindset. The next day I wake up and feel like a new person although I'm back in my own body. Hayley Williams does the same. She doesn't know me and I don't know her, but we both learn something knew. We both have gone through similar experiences and neither of us are alone. I look up counseling offices to set up an appointment so I can talk about my trauma and to deal with my emotional problems more easily. Hayley Williams continues to write and play her music, as well as feeling stronger emotionally. She realizes that she can battle depression but it will be a challenge. Sometimes friends are all you need, family isn't necessarily blood but it can be just as real as loyalty. Family is what you make of it. It can be hard seeing families not having marriage problems and they seem happy with their kids. It can be hard for some people like us because we have not experienced that with our own parents. That bond is something we all desire. However, we have to remember that every family does have problems. There is no such thing as the perfect family. We don't always see it because people don't like sharing their pain with the world, but people do have their own stories to tell. We need to give them a moment to gather their thoughts and to let them know that they are in a safe space. We all need to work together to make this world a better and happier place. One day I plan to have a family of my own. I like to write and create art so I hope to bring foster care awareness to the public. I hope to educate them on the effects of coming from a broken family and to help them find ways to stay together. I would also like to become a counselor for youth who come from broken families and the foster care system.


November 22nd, 2022 So, this is odd. After last night’s awkwardness with Mark, I figured everyone would be sleeping it off and this would be a bit of a late day - for a farmer that meant an extra 15 minutes or so. The thing is, I didn’t hear from him. I decided to have breakfast and if Mark still hadn’t called me, I’d call him. It’s weird, when I’m not expecting a call I could have happily gone days without talking to anyone. But when it’s expected and not coming, all I can think of is why not. Breakfast’s a chocolate bar. I was a chubby kid growing up. And when you really think about it, that wasn’t my fault. I mean when you’re under about 13 or 14 you’re just this ball of desire without any ability to self regulate or think critically about what you’re doing. That’s what parents are for. By the time I was almost done high school I’d ballooned up and was hearing about the “freshman 15”. So I went on a diet. I sat down and looked at everything I’d eaten in the past week and started thinking about where the easy calories to cut were, and how I could keep full. Soda, potato chips, candy, and chocolate bars all got cut. Then instead of having pasta and carbs I replaced it with cooked vegetables. Sweet potatoes, lefty greens (fun fact, choy is the Chinese word for leafy greens: bak choy, yu choy, etc.), asparagus, carrots, etc. I don’t want to get all preachy about this, but ultimately that’s what worked for me. The only reason I’m telling you this is because it has literally been a decade since I’ve had a chocolate bar and Jesus, Joseph, Mary and the little donkey, are they sweet. Like disgustingly sweet, like all I want to do is drink-water-and-floss sweet. I seriously think people must get desensitized to sweetness over time because I’m getting hit by full blast sugar overload here. Breakfast done, I broke down and call. “Morning Mark.” No answer. Five seconds goes by with no answer, five minutes, a half an hour goes by. “Artemis I to mission control - copy.” No answer. You may recall that NASA, repeatedly, told me not to touch any of the Orion’s controls. So, careful to touch nothing, I moved over to the commander’s chair just to have a look-see at what was happening. Now I like to think of myself as a smart guy. NASA engineer, degree in aerospace engineering, but looking at that nice, functional, multi-purpose LCD display, I didn’t have the damnedest idea what it was saying. My “pre-flight safety briefing” covered tool kits and flotation devices, not the Orion’s actual controls (which was probably all on its own a six-month training course). For the past six days NASA’s had me doing busy work that I couldn’t possibly mess up - not pushing buttons. Mostly the console is full of buttons I don’t know. “FCM 1”, “FCM 2”, “FCM 3”, “FCM 4”. Whatever the hell “FCM” stands for, it needs a lot of buttons. There’s also, “LVLh”, “Preddt”, and “Por”. The buttons I do know are either useless, “Cockpit Lights”, or “Strobe 1”. More practically though they are buttons that absolutely shouldn’t be pressed, “trj clr”, or “burn auth”. The problem is, there have to be about a hundred different readings and displays on this LCD panel and after an hour of watching them, I don’t think a single one has changed. They should change, right? Mental math time. Battery status 92.35%. So this is day 7. Just to keep the math easy let’s say 150 hours elapsed from 100% on the battery to 92.35% on the battery. That’s 7.65% in 150 hours, or 0.05% per hour, give or take. That means that battery % should be ticking down by 0.01% every fifteen minutes or so. I watch it. After twenty minutes it hasn’t changed. Well, this is why people invented writing… Anyone have a pen? Would you believe that the last page in the emergency procedures manual is actually a copyright page? Anyways, it’s scrap paper now. I record every number on the LCD panel, set a watch, and an hour later they are all, still, exactly the same. That’s odd. Bad odd. NASA’s also still not answering the radio. I check to make sure I’m not in the moon’s shadow - I look out the window and spot earth (that was easy). So why isn’t NASA answering the radio? Why isn’t the command console’s LCD display changing? I expand my search. There are exactly thirteen LCD displays in the Orion that are tied to the main computer and I record every reading on everyone. I wait two hours, then circle back and check. Every number, on every display, is the same. I think the computer's frozen. \*\*\* I’m Nathan H. Green, a science-fiction writer with a degree in aerospace engineering, and I’m going to be doing daily semi-fictional stories tracking the Artemis I mission. You can follow along through my reddit (u/authornathanhgreen). Artemis I Has A Stowaway is a work of semi-fiction. All incidents, events, dialogue and sentiments (which are not part of the mission’s official history), are entirely fictional. Where real historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, sentiments, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events, personality, disposition, or attitudes of the real person, nor to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. Save the above, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. © 2022 Nathan H.


I sat on the platform, anxiously bouncing my leg. Mass transportation was never my thing, but now there was an added source of worry. Another doctor’s appointment, but this time it was in New York City. Although I had loved The City in my twenties, the excitement of my youth was since replaced with the awareness of a woman who’s experienced enough to know the risks. Okay, so I’m a worrier by nature, but life has given me a lot to worry about. Segue back to my appointment. I once read somewhere that the things we worry about are almost never the problems that come to pass. I have to agree with this theory; not that it’s stopped me from worrying just the same. I can think of a hundred reasons to fear illness or death, but somehow I managed to create a few that never made the list. Life is funny that way. You think you have control. That you can decide how your life will go, and who you’ll spend it with. But it’s only an illusion. In fact, while we futilely plan out our lives, our fates are being orchestrated for us. That’s not to say we don’t have any choices. We can certainly choose our jobs, decide where to live, and whether or not to shove another donut in our mouths. I’m talking about the stuff that will take us off track, and derail our lives in ways we couldn’t imagine. Losing the partner we planned on spending our future with, or the job we devoted our lives to, or full use of our bodies or our minds. Those are the things that fate controls, and fate can be a bitch. Luckily, though, sometimes she throws you a bone. So there I was, anxiously waiting for the train to arrive, when suddenly I felt that frightening but familiar rumble. Apparently my stomach was as nervous about my little trip as I was, but where to go? The tiny station house was locked, and there was not so much as a Porta-John in site. I clutched onto my bag and swiftly made my way across the street. It wasn’t ideal, but the CVS bathroom was going to have to do. After all, beggars can’t be choosers. I searched through the store until I found the magic door, and as I rushed to turn the knob I captured a glimpse of the “Employees Only” sign. I fumbled through the aisles; hoping to find someone to save me. Just as I turned past the magazines I came upon my hero. She chatted on about the weather as I held my breath and prayed, and finally I was behind the door. As I let out a sigh of relief and buttoned up my pants I suddenly felt the panic rise over me again. It was 11:01 and my train was due to depart at 11:05. I raced across the street, puffing and panting in stride as I watched as the train pulled away. At first I felt despair. I had hoped that this doctor would be different, and that this time things would get better. Now I would have to reschedule, and I had already waited 3 months to get this appointment. Plus, I didn’t have a ride to get home, so now I would have to call someone. Enter the dependable mom, who can always be counted on in times of crisis. Thankfully she was just checking out at the market, and she said she could come within the hour. As I crossed back to the drug store I could feel the anxiety leaving my body, and I knew it was trying to tell me something. Now, it’s true that at times we all have to risk discomfort in order to grow, but somehow I knew that there was more to this than that. I knew that I was not supposed to be on that train. But what now? I still had this rare illness, and all of the pain that went with it. I still had a part time job; struggling to work in my condition, and I still needed help from someone who cared and understood, but I didn’t know where to find it. I sat on the curb wiping my tears, when I caught the distant sound of my name being called. At first I thought I was just imagining it, but as the sound got closer I turned to see a friend. This was a very dear friend, but I hadn’t seen him in ages. As he sat down beside me I found myself unable to contain my words, and my worries came pouring from my mouth. He had always been so kind, and even though many years had passed I still found it easy to let the truth flow. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to me, and I pressed it against my new tears. Then I sniffled and smiled and told him I hoped that things were going much better in his life. He chuckled and said that they were, as he began to tell me of his success. Apparently after we lost touch he had opened a small business. It was a quaint country shop in New England. They sold pure maple syrup and honey, as well as tea and organic chocolates. Against all odds they had survived the pandemic, and become a great success through word of mouth. I congratulated him and shared that I had a passion for such items.  For as long as I could remember I’d been enamored by tea leaves and nature’s sweet candy. Friends were struck with awe at my collection of beautiful loose teas, barrel aged maple syrup, and sweet, delicious honey. This store was my idea of heaven! He went on to describe the charming neighborhood and peaceful scenery, and my eyes glazed over as I imagined what it would be like to live in that world. Just as I was coming back to Earth he proposed an idea… “Why don’t you come and work for me?”, he asked.  My heart began to race at the suggestion. “But where would I live?” I responded. “I don’t have any money to put down on a place”. Quickly my hopes began to dwindle, but once again his words eased my fears. “There’s a small room over the shop. We were using it to make gift baskets… something I was hoping you’d take on. If you don’t mind cozy spaces, you are welcome to it. There’s a place for you to work, and of course, you are welcome to help out in the store any time.” “What do you think?” I felt the old me creep up and try to stop me. It fed me a string of excuses; telling me all the reasons to stay put. “The devil you know”, it sneered. But I was not about to let this pass me by, so before it could speak another word I blurted out in exclamation, “Yes!”. It’s been two years since that lucky chance encounter, and the day I missed the train. The life that brought me tears and so much worry is now only a memory. Some days I still can’t believe how things worked out, but I know that I owe it to the train that put me back on the right track.


SEEING THE SUNSHINE THROUGH THE STORM On a warm summer’s morning I was pleasantly woken up by the refreshing sprinkle of water from the ocean and a light kiss on my forehead from the sun that was just starting to rise. It was my 18 th birthday week so when asked what I wanted for my birthday I naturally asked my parents to take me to my favourite place, the beach. The night before   was beautiful, spent with my family, who brought in my birthday with a delicious tiramisu  cake and barbeque. The night turned to morning and everyone retired around 3am. I don’t know if it was the extreme heat, or the excitement but I was unable to sleep and decided to go for a walk on the beach. My sister also could not fall off to sleep so she decided to join me. We enjoyed walking bare-feet in the sand, as it was now cool enough to walk on compared to earlier that day. We walked as far as we could, lamenting about our childhood memories of years gone by and family holidays that would never return. I don’t know what time it was but I remember my sister still talking to me when I dozed off only to wake the next morning. I woke up to a postcard like image with the ocean glistening like diamonds from the sun’s reflection. The ocean and sun seemed to be one, separating as the sun rose higher and higher.  I watched in awe as the sun changed from red to orange to yellow and then a brilliant white, I watched till I could no longer look at it directly. My sister was still asleep, but I did not want to wake her up for selfish reasons of course, (my sister is one of those people that only keeps quite when she sleeps). I knew that if I woke her up, I would probably miss this, the most picturesque sunrise that I had ever seen. The morning was pleasant and all I wanted to do was lie there on the sand and take it all in. Being from the inland, it was rare for us to have moments like this, hence the love for the sea.

I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present than this. I felt like I was being blessed by the Sun God who gave me my first kiss, the God of the Ocean who blessed me with the gift of fresh water and the life giving God who allowed me to breathe in fresh air. I threw back my head, arms wide open and ran towards the ocean as if trying to grab as much of the sun between my hands as possible. I fell face front into the water, then rolled onto my back and lay there waiting for the waves to go back and wash over me again and again. I felt like I was five years old, holding my breath everytime the water washed over me and giggling as it went back into the ocean. I must have lay there for hours, enjoying every moment of that day. By now my sister and parents were frolicking in the water too, the happiness I felt surpassed any number of Louis Vitton or Gucci gift that I could have received. Gifts disintegrate or are forgotten in some cupboard, but memories last forever. I am overwhelmed with emotion whenever I think of my 18 th birthday by the sea. The next few days were followed by evening walks on the beach, meals on the loft and hours in the water. My heart was heavy when I left but vowed to come back soon. On our way back home, we were involved in a gruesome accident that left me in a wheelchair. Life was never the same. Everyone else had minor injuries and my dad was swimming in guilt, apologising everyday for my condition. I learnt to live with my disability. In the beginning I was depressed and bitter as I was about to leave for University when we got home after my birthday, but that didn’t happen. I was hospitalised for 3 months after the accident with the doctors attempting surgery on my spine and legs to get me walk. After the 7 th surgery I refused to have any more operations. I accepted the fact that I would be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. Although I could not go to the University of my choice, I was able to attend a local University and qualify with a Bachelor of Laws Degree ( cum laude ) in record time, I may add and have a very successful career as a Human Rights lawyer. I threw myself into my career and studies and obtained a Doctorate in Law by the time I was 28, just 10 years after that horrific accident. My parents were so proud of me that they wanted to do something special for me. They were in the middle of planning a graduation party, when I crashed their planning and asked if we could go to the beach instead. In the ten years since the accident nobody in my family had been back to the beach. I was in the next room, when I overheard my parents arguing about whether we should go considering all the bad memories connected with our last trip. I interrupted them saying it was all I wanted, I was not ready to face a bunch of people who would be dancing at my party, when I wasn’t able to. That settled it. The following week we were road tripping to the beach once again. Everyone was quiet throughout the 4 hour trip, not knowing what memories would be evoked. I looked out of the window most of the time, sometimes excited, sometimes sad, unable to understand  how I was feeling. We arrived at our luxurious bungalow around lunch time, we ate and retired to our rooms. I obviously had the biggest room to manoeuvre my wheelchair in, but it also had the biggest balcony with the best view of the ocean. When I woke from my afternoon siesta, the sun was beginning to set. I skilfully moved my wheelchair from my room onto the balcony where I sat watching the sunset. The sun went from a brilliant yellow to bright red and eventually disappeared behind the hills. I must have fallen off to sleep while watching the sun go down. When I woke I found someone had covered me with a light blanket, too light to keep the morning breeze at bay, nevertheless it helped. Sitting on the balcony I could see the sun rise up from behind the ocean like it had on my 18 th birthday, only this time, instead of running into the ocean I was sitting in a wheelchair on the balcony. How much had changed in 10 years I thought. How I wish I could turn back the hands of time and have things the way they were. I believe that God had heard my wish that day and sent an angel to my rescue. The man in the bungalow next to us happened to be a neurosurgeon and we got to chatting about how I ended up in the wheelchair. It so happened that he specialised in cases like mine and asked if I would be willing to give him a chance. After 10 years I was willing to try one more operation, but I wasn’t expecting too much, after all everything else had failed.  Fast forward a month, my operation was successful and I was on the road to recovery. In those ten years I faced heartache, depression, anger and sometimes emotions that I could not explain. Physically and emotionally I was drained. While I was going through those difficult years, I hadn’t realised how much I had grown. Sometimes we need to experience the storms to appreciate the sunshine.


Part I It was hard to tell if I was awoken by an outside force or the existence of my own anxiety. Nevertheless, my eyes open to a surrounding that only some would be able to dream about. My indistinguishable being was fragile as I attempted to discern the walls around me. I crawled through what I could, but my success was faltered at every turn. I was inches away from my future, but miles away from my past. One of the refractories knelt itself into my hand and I was faced with a choice. I didn’t know what choice I was to make yet, so I allowed my body to feel first: emotions, but with limitations. In my hand, the object shook, but it wasn’t the fault of the object. Hot air wrapped itself around it, providing warmth and the shifting ground below. It was only one of the memories of what seemed like trillions, but the same preservation was shared. All around, the warmth of my surroundings was illuminated by a circumference of light, which was shed for all to share. Rainbows danced in tandem as the protrusions of the object were traced along the crevices of my palm. One short Oh, another the same length Two the same length Oh, another two! A pointy top A solid base. The corners were given the shared color and my hand illuminated with clarity. The object was placed back into its spot, and I grasped for another a few places over and around three above. I was to choose wisely for another. I knew I wanted the same feeling, different perspective. There was one object not illuminated and I reached for it without question. There were cracks in the corners and scratches up and down the base. It hurt to hold it in my hands, but I knew that it was one that needed attention, so I didn’t put it back quite yet. My knees felt sprained, but I did not let it take me away from my goal: I must face my past memories in order to get out of this cave I’ve dug myself into. Setting it beside me, my hands felt free and liberating, but not with good cause. I decided to come back in due time, once I’ve dealt with others that didn’t feel as strong.            I felt the pain in my knees again and it brought a sting to my eyes. The floor below me began to shake and crumble as the memory tumbled around my helpless body. I scooped it up again in attempt to process it, hoping the cracks could be mended and the scratches could be healed. Escaping into the effervescent light, I was able to recall the day. This is the one that brought me here . I held it against my bouncing chest. It must be processed now. Part II A piercing buzz fills my ears and the room around me flashes crimson. I awake to find myself on the ground, the tile below me cold and sharp with broken edges. The flashing stops immediately, and the buzzing is replaced with a clack of heels coming toward my direction. My eyes blur because I lost my glasses long ago, but I am able to make out a ball of white that grows larger until it surrounds my entire being. Once it is near, I am able to make out that it is someone wearing a lab coat. “Take a seat on the couch,” they instruct, their voice surprisingly calm and reassuring. I am able to stand with the help of their hand encased in a rubber glove. My knees wobble, but I make careful strides over to a grey blob that I can make out in the distance that gets clearer the closer I get. I take a seat, but it doesn’t feel like a couch at all. “That’s the coffee table,” I am told. “The couch is behind it.” The person in the lab coat guides me to where the couch is and helps me down. I rest my head on the arm rest and close my eyes because I grow tired of the blur. “Where are my glasses?” My voice is paper thin. “You will get them back when we are through.” Their voice fills the room. It feels like rainbows and unicorns. I press myself deeper into the sofa as I attempt to grant myself comfort. “Tell me about the incident.” A flood of pain washes over me. I know exactly what they are talking about. “I-I can’t” “If you can’t talk about it, let’s process it. You must process this memory in order to venture forth.” The therapist clears their throat and taps their pen against the clipboard in rhythmic time. “As I tap my pen, recall the memory as it occurred and tell me what you see.” Part III            The voice of my therapist becomes null and void as I find myself in yet another room: this time, it’s pitch black. The pen tapping continues as an echoing void, but without diction and without tongue. This is how I am guided through the hole I have found myself in, scrambling for any source of light. In a hall of sensorial deprivation, it can be easy to get lost in the scam of nothingness.            “Find a source of light and you will get your glasses back.” This time, my instructions are comprehendible and by a human. My choice of fight or flight becomes one as my feet escape from under me. I trip, falling against a wall.            “Do the stars I am seeing right now count as a source of light?” I find my glasses back on my face and the room turns into a sharper pitch of darkness.            “That is a great start. It tells me you are trying.” The voice tells me to find another light source, so I feel around this time with more careful consideration. My hands become the vessel to create change as I feel for ways, I am able to help myself heal. On my hands and knees now, I slap the ground with more tenacity than my body was able to shed. Nevertheless, I find another light source.            “I think I’ve found a lighter.” I feel around for the spark wheel and flick it against the rawness of my fingertips. After a few tries with sparks but no fire, I assume the lighter is out of fluid. “Try something else.” The voice calls. “That was not meant for you.” The voice startles me, but I keep venturing forth. Find something meant for me.

My body summons me to walk against the barren ground in hopes something will come up that is meant to be mine. Even though I don’t know how large my surroundings are, I estimate and take chances. I count my steps so that I am not far from home. One Two Three Four— A sharp pain is sent up my foot after stepping on a small, hard object. Quickly, I kneel down to grab it.            “Is it a lightbulb?” I feel around its surface with my seeing hands.            “Try again,” my therapist beckons. In that moment I had realized what a fool I’d been looking for sources of light that were not mine. Of course, it was a prism! A prism is what got me into the hole in the first place.            “It’s a prism”            “Ahhhh” I am back on the couch now. The room I am in is a laboratory dressed in gobs of silver. My therapist is a human, but with no discernable gender.            “Are you ready to process now?” I steady the prism in my hands. The very object that will help me store, process, retrieve, and make my memories.            “Let’s do it.”


I am not Ana, but I’ve known Ana for a long time, we first met in my freshman year of high school. There was a big freshman dance coming up, I felt that I was too fat and would never get a date, so I was telling myself not to go to the dance but there was Ana, helping me lose weight to fit into anything, what I thought was encouragement and helpfulness at the time. One day a couple of weeks after we met she sent me to the hospital, I had started to fight her but she was too much, I left her and we didn’t talk until my last year of college. My girlfriend had just dumped me and Ana was one of the first people to give me a scapegoat, she was the first person to talk to me after the breakup so I listened to every word she said. I went online to chat with some of Ana’s other friends, they all boasted the same talk and propaganda as her so I thought she had to be right about what she was telling me about myself… right. For weeks, or maybe even months I lived by what Ana told me was right, what she told me was fine, what she told me was healthy, what she told me happiness was, how she told me to achieve it. My other friends saw me when I was with Ana, they tried their best but when I was in Ana’s arms I might as well have been deafened. Whenever someone tried to talk with me about Ana they’d yell at me about how she wasn’t healthy to have around, the stress pushed me deeper into the tunnel she had me for me. Until I woke up, I had woken up but barely had the strength to stand up, I lifted my shirt and the mirror and saw my ribs, what everyone was telling me about Ana snapped back into my head a speed faster than that of anything in my life had flashed before me. A haven’t talked to Ana in years, she’s tried to reach out whenever something bad in my life would try to consume me in its darkness. Almost every day she gave me her backhanded compliments and vaguely insulting remarks. We all know Ana, we all have heard Ana, what matters is what you believe from what she says. if you know her that isn’t abnormal or bad, what matters is if you believe what she says, if you do, I apologize for what brought you to that abyss. It is possible to leave her, you just always have to be aware, behind every corner, after every heartache, before every event, Ana will talk to you, tell you what in the deepest darkest parts of your mind, what you think of yourself, in order to move on, you have to accept, she is and was, always wrong about you. Remember, she has her other friends believing her, they are in the same darkness as you, what they say about you or even themselves isn’t true. You might know Ana, and that’s fine, but you might be friends with her, just keep in mind, she’s wrong.


“Daddy, I can’t find Hammie...” The sullen voice pulled Robert from the fog of sleep. Running a lazy hand over his face, he rolled out of bed and scooped up his 5-year old daughter. “Ok sweety, have you checked everywhere in your room?” She responded with a defiant stance of hands on hips. An annoying mimicry of her mother. “Well how about you double check everywhere while Daddy gets breakfast ready, ok?” “Mommie said you would find Hammie for me because you have nothing else to do today!” “Yaaa, well daddy’s eye’s don’t work without coffee.” The pair made their way to the kitchen, Maggie leading the charge with squeals of her hamster’s name. Robert lagged behind, yawing leisurely and finding random bits of black rock in his robe pockets. Too tired to think, be ambled through the kitchen. Rummaging through the breakfast cabinet, Roberts mood was further dampened by the lack of selection. “I thought we just went shopping...” With a shrug, Robert poured himself a bowl of bland oats and mixed in milk with ritual movement.

“Daddyyy! He’s not in the bathroom!” “Did you check the toilet? Maybe he wanted to take a bath?” “Daddy! Don’t be silly!” Chuckling, Robert slushed a big spoonful of bran into his mouth - which he immediately ejected into the sink with sputtering protests. “Blech! How did this milk spoil so fast!?” Finding no fault in the expiration date, he noticed the refrigerator unit was angled suspiciously. Noting the interior to be a disastrous room temperature, he found the unit had been unplugged overnight. “Dammit. I hope the eggs are still good.” “Daddy said a bad word!” “Yes I did, but don’t tell Mommie ok?” “Don’t tell me what?” Sasha, the missus of the house, blazed through the room with a stern aire. Already in her sleek office attire, she put Robert’s bedraggled bathrobe style to shame. As per usual. “Daddy said Bam-bit!” Maggie announced triumphantly. Sasha clomped through the kitchen in heels, shooting him a wry smile. “Oh? Well Daddy knows to put a quarter in the swear jar doesn’t he?” “Put it on my tab.” Robert grumbled. “I will, with interest. Keep it up and I’ll throw you in debtor's prison.” “Mommie, what’s dead-er prison?” “It’s a cage where we put bad people who swear too much.” “Does that mean Hammie swore too much?” “I don’t speak hamster, but if I did, I’m sure Hammie would make me sailor blush...” Sasha busily rummaged through her purse preparing for her morning commute. Robert leapt at the chance for distraction. “Apparently Hammie made a jailbreak again last night. Maybe he’s the same convict that unplugged the refrigerator?” Robert shrugged, tossing a granola bar in Sasha’s general direction. “Hmm... could the same furry convict be able to make off with my wallet?” She shot Robert a critical glance. His wife’s accusative nature was her best trait in the prosecutor’s office, and her worst trait at home. Being an out of work writer already cast a big shadow for Robert to live under. The tension between them was long brewing under the surface, and not wanting to put in the effort this morning, Robert diffused with a forced smile.

“If I happen to catch him, I’ll bring him in for questioning.” “Mommie? The pillows are all dusty...” Sasha crouched to pat her daughter and whisper with a sickly cute voice. “Really sweety? well maybe you can show your father what effort looks like and you can help clean up? Ok?” “Hey now! That’s not-” A phone rang with a noisesome chatter. Sahsa whipped the device out of her purse like a knife and yammered away as she continued the hunt for her wallet. Likewise, Maggie stormed away into the next room, grunting frustration. Robert was left to himself, feeling defeated yet again. Robert unwrapped another breakfast bar for himself, lodging the bar in his mouth and grinding away at it like an ass wearing a feed bag. The morning hours were too often filled with similar bouts, though the mounting inconveniences of today's match was needlessly irksome.

Robert was practically limping from the wounds as he stepped out to fetch the mail. Anticipating what new tragedies the papers might report, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Instead of the dopey family van he was accustomed to see parked in their driveway, there was now a jet black racing machine. Complete with neon stripes and overstyled spoilers, the interior just as visibly stylish through the smashed driver side window. A scorched trail of rubber marks led down the driveway. Robert followed the tire tracks

as they trailed through the neighbors lawns, all of the neighbors lawns, on both sides of the street. The neighbors likewise found the destruction astonishing, mouths agape as they followed the trails

end to a dumbstruck Robert. Shouts arose from every direction, and were fast approaching. Granola tumbling from his mouth, Robert stumbled back inside, to an equally furious wife waiting within. “Robert! What the Hell!? You booked yourself a trip to Bermuda? With my card?!” “Bu- whu-” “You selfish sunovobitch! You call the airlines and get my refund right now! ”

“It wasn’t me! This must be some prank or something!” “Oh so this is a prank to you!? My cards are completely maxed out! ”

“Mommie?”

“ Not now sweety! Mommie's gotta tear Daddy a new asshole! ” A resounding bang at the door announced the arrival of the neighborhood. Robert shrank back against the wall as Sasha stomped to answer the mounting madness outside. He didn’t want to be there when the two met.

Robert dashed down the hall, his mind reeling in confusion.

He yelped and in surprise as he nearly knocked over his daughter, standing in the middle of the hall, cradling a dripping bundle. “Daddy... I found Hammie. Right where you said he would be...” There was no denying the mangled sponge in her hand was the beloved family hamster. Equally impossible to deny was the teary-eyed accusation of his daughter's stare.

“Sweety I... I don’t know what to say...” “I hate you.” She ran to her room wailing, leaving him numb to the bone. From around the corner, a sea of faces came rushing at him. Fury, anguish, and loathing, all focused on him. It was as if he had broken the Guinness World Record of Horribly Monstrous Crimes Committed Before Noon. None of which he could claim to have knowledge of.

In likewise record speed, Robert dove into the bathroom and locked himself inside. The shouts and pounding that came right behind him. Sasha's shrill voice carrying over the crowd. “ Robert! These What the hell is going oooon?!” “I don’t know! I don’t know!” he shouted back. Rocking on top the toilet seat, Praying for some sense. “Enjoying the party, Robbie ma boy?” Robert’s head craning around the room to find the speaker. “Wha- who said that?”

“Over here, chucklehead.” He waved at himself in the mirror. Only, he wasn’t the one waving. Terrifyingly, his reflection seemed to move on its own.

“What in the- am I going crazy?” “Hate to break it to ya pal, but your sanity has been long gone for a while now...”

Robert’s mirrored image cracked a spiteful smile, the facial muscles stretching far too wide to be his own.

“This isn’t real. This can’t be real! This is obviously just a nightmare!” “ The real nightmare is this suburban hell you’ve sunk us into! With your damn hamsters and happy camper vans! Get real pal!” Robert’s reflection pounded on the mirror angrily, the wall shaking with startling force. “We got tired of watching you waste away our best years. So while you’ve been asleep at the wheel, we decided it’s time to shake things up!” Sasha’s shrill voice leaked through the door.

“Robert! The police are on their way! They say they’ve been looking for you!? You better get out here and explain yourself!” “Speaking of shaking, how about we start with throttling that snub nosed trollop you married!” The reflection let out a howling cackle. Robert wasn’t sure what to think, or do, or believe. He inched close to the mirror, terrified but unable to do much else. “Just... who the hell are you?” “ Not obvious enough for ya? Take a gander and see. ” The Mirror Robbie rolled up his sleeves. Flexing a muscular bicep, Robert recognized the tribal tattoo design that he had planned on getting back in college, but never put the money down for.

Around Mirror Robbie’s neck hung the gold chain that Robert had once owned, but threw away when Sasha said it looked ‘too effeminate’.

The mirror flashed a toothy grin, and Robert’s eyes noticed the cauliflower ears of a boxing pro. The boyhood dream he had given up on when his father laughed at him for using a pink mouth guard, even though it was the only one in his size. “You...you’re-” “ You’re me pal. All those years of living like a chicken-shit. Doing what you was told. ” Mirror Robbie guffawed as he lunged at the image of the bathroom door.

“But, why are you doing this to me?” The mirror man made a face of mocking thoughtfulness. “Because it's what we both want.” The door lock to Robert’s bathroom clicked, simultaneous with the mirror door unlatching. “And because we can get away with it.”