I stare at this picture constantly. Day after day. Night after night trying to remember who the girl in the picture is. I'm the girl in the blue dress or so I'm told. The girl in the red dress I don't recognize. I don't remember this picture at all. I don't remember taking this picture. Memories are a dime a dozen. One in a million. More precious than gold. Everyone in the world remembers who they are, their families and their friends. They remember their childhood. All those memories are right there in their heads. My memories come in flashes or none at all. I don't remember anything without help from two strangers. They call themselves my parents but I don't know who they are. I looked at countless of pictures of strangers and a lot of the pictures of me and this girl I don't remember. I don't even recognize myself. I don't even know how old I am or what year it is. I can't remember when my birthday is. My life is nonexistent. I fall asleep at night and dream of a past I don't remember. I wake-up the next morning and stare at the picture of two happy little girls. That's all I do. The whole day I stare at pictures. My head hurts every time I try to remember. Tears come down my face when I can't remember. Anna, that's what I'm called but I just don't know. I look at myself in the mirror and what do I see. A total stranger. A scar that goes down the side of my head. I ask Sara and Eddie, my parents about my scar. They tell me nothing. Why won't they tell me? I hear Sara crying at night and Eddie comforting her. I feel sorry for them because they lost a daughter. Late at night when Sara and Eddie are sleeping, I walk around the house trying to remember something anything about me or the girl in the red dress. I find more pictures of a younger version of me and the girl. I find it odd that there are no pictures of an older me. My late night walks around the house yield no results. I still can't remember. I walk back to my room or so I'm told, hop into bed and close my eyes. I'm dreaming again about two little girls sitting in a car smiling, laughing, singing, telling jokes then bang. I wake-up in a daze. My heart is racing. My head is hurting. The pain feels like a hammer banging on my head. The pain is too much, Tears are falling down my face. I can't control it. Everything around me is crashing down. The pain is insurmountable that I pass out. I wake-up the next morning with a dull throb. Oh My God! that was an intense dream. I dreamed of two little girls. One of the girls is me. I remember from the picture. The other girl is still a mystery. I've been stuck in this strange home for a long time. Sara and Eddie won't let me go outside. I don't know why. But I can't continue to be locked up and be expected to remember. The world is passing me by. I need to remember. I need to remember who I am and the girl in the picture. I can't remember if I'm stuck in this house. I take a shower and get dress. I put my hoodie on so I can hide my scar. I quietly open the bed room door and quietly walk down the stairs. I hear Sara and Eddie talking in the living room. Now is my chance. I open the door and walk out into the beautiful sunny day. My first taste of sunshine in a long time. I take a deep breath in and a long breath out. It feels good. Maybe being out in the world will help me remember. I begin walking looking at all the homes and people hoping something or someone will trigger my memory. The homes are beautiful but my mind is coming up blank. I stop at the corner unsure of where to go. I look back and forth. Where do I go? I close my eyes and turn to the left. I begin to walk. Why does this route seem familiar? I think a memory is coming back to me. I feel like I walked this route before. I stop at the light and cross the street. I'm coming up to a building. LakeSide School. I stop and stare at the building. I've been here before. That was a long time ago. I find a bench and sit down. The doors to the school are opening. I see the kids running out to play. I close my eyes. I see me and the girl I don't remember playing in that very same playground. I remember being at the playground as a little girl. I remember playing at the playground with the girl I don't remember. I remember nothing else. I smile at the kids. So innocent and carefree. I wish I was like them. I wish I didn't have an empty space in my head. I walk away from the school. I go back the way I came. I follow signs leading to town. This seems familiar. I can't place my finger on it. I look at all the stores but one store in particular catches my eye. LakeSide Ice cream shop. I've been here before. I stare at the store. Little bits of my memory are coming back. Me and the girl I don't remember sitting in the ice cream shop eating Ince cream. I'm eating chocolate chip and the girl eating strawberry. We are sitting in a corner booth. That's where we always sit. I can't believe I remember that. I continue walking taking everything in, looking at all the faces trying to see if I remember anyone. I do not. I only seem to remember places and not people. Places are easy to remember. People are not. I pass the town limit and come across a memorial. I stare at the memorial. There are candles, teddy bears and cards. Some are old and some are new. I bend down, pick up a teddy bear, then I pick up one of the cards. The card reads "We love you Ashford twins. We are thinking of you always. Get better soon." Ashford twins? I grab a picture that was placed on the pole. It's of two little girls. One of them is me. I'm a twin. I never put two and two together. "It's horrible what happened here." I turn to the women standing next to me. "What happened here?" I ask. "Seven years ago, a horrible accident occurred on this very spot involving a family of four. The Ashford family. Eddie, Sara and their twin daughters Anna and Bella." "A drunk driver violently hit their car. Both girls were ejected from the car. Anna and Bella were severely injured, severe head trauma. The girls were in a coma for seven years. Anna woke-up last year. Bella is still in a coma. Sadly Anna doesn't remember her life or anyone around her." I watch as the lady leaves flowers at the memorial then she leaves. I sit down, close my eyes. I see myself and the girl, Bella sitting in the car and then a loud bang. That's the last thing I remember. I'm a twin. Bella the girl I've been staring at is my twin. I cry for Bella, for me, for everything I lost. The tears continue to flow down my face until the sun goes down. One day I will remember. I take out the picture of me and Bella. One day I will remember you.


Ali paces back and forth, tapping small black heals against a solid wood floor, second-guessing this decision. Meanwhile, her hands are doing this bizarre thing where they're freezing cold but sweating all at once. "Hi, Ali. Come on in," a silky voice breathes into the room. Ali's shoulder begins to relax, but her skepticism doesn't abate. The woman standing in front of her is a Cognitive Behavioral Therapist, recommended by a friend to tame her unrelenting jealousy of everyone around her. So, for her 30 th birthday, this is what Ali bought herself. A therapist. How 2022 of her. "Tell me a little bit about yourself, Ali," Dr. Aideen begins. "Tell me why you're here." "Well," Ali twiddles her fingers, glancing around the room. "I don't know, really. I feel stuck, and I don't want to feel stuck anymore." "Okay, let's start with that. Why do you feel stuck?" "Because no matter how much I give, I feel like I'm not getting anything back, I guess." "And why do you think that is?" Dr. Aideen's eyes meet Ali's, making her shift in her seat. "I don't know?" Ali says in a question. "It has always been like that, really." "Why don't you give me an example," she suggests, and although every pulse in her body is urging her to walk away, her feet stayed glued to the marbled rug tied down by the chair beneath her. "How far back?" Ali asks. "However far back you're comfortable with." "So, recent?" Ali asks nervously. Dr. Aideen nods slowly, unwilling to make the decision for her. Yeah, this wasn't going to be easy. And the word vomit that followed just confirmed that for Ali. "Well, let's talk about why after nearly a decade of good grades and academic achievements, a college degree, and a successful start to my career — I get it a 'good job, Ali,' and my sister starts college, and she's getting praised left and right. Tell me why when I worked my ass off for career success — as the first one to go to college and graduate in my family, mind you — it's my little sister that is bragged about to friends and family. My parents constantly talk about how smart she is, how much potential she has, and how freakin' great she is. What about me? Why am I not great? Why am I not praiseworthy?" Ali lets out an angry sigh. "I did it first, for God's sake. And what did I get? I got a generic, 'I knew you could always do it. Now, move along." Her heartbeat moves from her chest to her head, her fingers, her dang toes. She can feel the heat of her thoughts burning on her skin. And before anyone can think, oh how cute . It isn't. All she can think is it's not the pretty blush that paints the lady's cheeks in a perfectly drawn portrait. It's blotches of red trailing from the tip of her forehead to the bubble of her breasts being held in place by a black tank top. Breathe through your nose for three seconds. Hold it. Exhale for another three to four seconds. Repeat. Ali slowly opens her eyes to Dr. Aideen scribbling notes, doing that head nod thing she has seemingly perfected. She gives Ali another minute to collect herself before breaking the silence in the room. "Did you ever consider that maybe you're putting too much stock into how others perceive you?" "Absolutely," Ali answers honestly. "I know that's what fuels it. Everything I do is for someone's approval. And I know that's part of the problem. I just don't know how to change it." "Let's start with this," she pulls out a pen and paper and hands them over. "For the next 10 minutes, I want you to write nothing but positive things about yourself." Ali's eyebrow raises combatively, but she does what she's told. And when the timer is up, she's given homework. "Now, I want you to take this home with you, read this, and then look at the situation again. Separate yourself from it, and jot down ways to approach it from a better perspective." "You want me to journal about my feelings?" "I do." Ali refrains from rolling her eyes and decides on a smile instead. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Aideen. I will." "You can call me Jessica." *** Ali sits opposite Jessica, tapping her toes and holding onto the small book in her hand for dear life. She has gone back and forth about attending another appointment. It feels pointless, weird, and downright silly. Hell, even the stuff she's talking about seems so childish. She's a grown adult. She needs to act like one. "How did it go?" Ali shrugs. "How do you feel?" "I don't know. Like, maybe I'm overreacting?" An urge to leave is getting stronger inside her, and Ali finds herself twirling fabric in between her fingers to stand her ground and stay. Knowingly, Jessica says, "It's okay to be uncomfortable. In fact, you should be. This — let's call it the Green-Eyed Monster — has made you too comfortable with these thoughts and feelings about yourself and the people around you. Taking down this monster won't be easy. Do you think that's something you're ready to do?" "I'm here, aren't I?" "You are. But are you ready?" Ali looks at Jessica for a minute, initially annoyed by the question but simultaneously done with being annoyed. Fuck it. She's all in. "I'm ready." *** "Why don't we explore another incident?" Jessica asks. After a moment's hesitation, Ali jumps right in. "How about work," Ali starts. "I have been working on my art for decades, honing every detail, rolling with every creative spark that comes my way. Sure, I've got acknowledgments here and there. BUT... today," Ali's hands fly to the air. "A coworker comes to me, and some piece she drew for fun is getting noticed by some very important people. Even better, she doesn't even care ! I've hoped for this moment since I could hold a crayon between my fingers. I've prayed for just one important person to see a piece I've spent hours and hours of my life on. To notice my work. And she gets it without even trying? It's bullshit!" "I see. Now take a step back for a minute and consider why you feel this way," Jessica suggests. "I know why I do. I feel this way because it isn't fair. I want it and don't get it. She doesn't care, and she gets it." "Would you like to hear what I think?" Ali lets out a deep breath and nods. "It sounds to me like you may have let your jealousy cloud the situation here, Ali. Sometimes we perceive certain situations differently when we fixate on a feeling, especially one like jealousy. While you assumed she didn't earn it, it doesn't sound like you know that to be the case. Even so, her worth does not negate your own. Her getting that recognition you crave from your art does not equate to you being unworthy. It also does not equate to you being worthy. Do you see what I'm saying here?" "Uh, kind of?" "Look at it from a different angle and put yourself outside of the incident for me. What is the bigger picture here?" In response to the silence, Jessica pulls harder. "Why are you so mad at her ?" "Because I want what she has!" "And how can you get it?" "By working hard and putting myself out there," the words started flowing out of her like they weren't even her own, surprising her with how true they felt. "I need to stop prioritizing a career I only have to prove I am something to other people and start chasing my damn dreams." Jessica smiles approvingly, and Ali can't help to smile back. A small giggle even escapes her lips. "Damn doc, okay." *** "Have you continued your journaling?" "I have," Ali responds. "You're smiling today," Jessica points out. "Something feels different. I don't know." "Can you tell me what feels different?" Jessica asks, doing what she does best and tugging at those strings for something more profound. Ali lets out a deep breath. "I suppose that's why I'm here, eh?" "I saw an old friend today. She's got a beautiful family. Tyler and I always wanted that," Ali says softly. "We keep going back and forth between trying and 'seeing what happens," she air quotes. Thinking about the moment, Ali falters with silence. Jessica moves her along, keeping the momentum up. "And how did that go?" "Well, of course, the green-eyed monster perked its little head up. It wanted me to storm away and call her insensitive to my inability to have a child yet. How dare she be so happy with multiple? It wanted me to cry myself asleep, thinking about that curly-haired bundle. How dare her talk about how hard it is when I'd trade everything for it." Jessica's pleasant features falter for just a second, but she expertly pulls them back together. "And how did you handle those feelings?" "I acknowledged the source of the jealousy and let it go. It's not her fault that it hasn't happened for me yet. I know that. Instead, I practiced gratitude like you suggested," Ali shoots some goofy finger guns over to Jessica in appreciation. "I went to the restroom, reminded myself of all the wonderful things in my life to be grateful for, and believe it or not, I had such a great time talking to her." "I've hardly killed the monster, but I feel better about how I handled it," she added. *** "Today was your last session. How do you feel about that?" Ali let out a half-hearted laugh. "I feel like there's still a lot of work to be done." Jessica nodded. "Ali, we all have to work on ourselves. Constantly, in fact. The key here isn't to kill the monster. The key is to change how you respond when faced with those ugly Green-Eyes. Don't let it affect your happiness and relationships. Other people are doing great things around you. So are you. One does not determine the value of the other. Remember that." Ali nodded appreciatively. "One monster down," Ali said. "Many more to go."


David could hear the door behind him opening quietly, a set of heavy footsteps walking up beside him as he stared numbly at the night sky. "Do you mind if I smoke?" He smirks tiredly at his friend John, trying his best to show him the reliable leader he thought he should be for them. "Knock yourself out." “...so, how are you hanging?" Apparently he didn’t try hard enough. "Really? Do I really look so bad that you feel the need to make small talk?" David couldn’t stop his words from getting out, the stress of it all finally causing the metaphorical glass to spill. Part of him wants to apologize to his friend on the spot, but the other more present part is too tired to even try, so he just sighs in defeat and hopes for the best. "Honestly, it looks like someone has been shitting on you all day and you just gave up on trying to make it stop.” John spoke up, lighting his cigarette calmly, not bothered in the slightest with his outburst. “So yeah, you look terrible." "Dammit…" David chuckled mirthlessly at John’s comment. Even if there were better ways to put it, being told about it bluntly seemed something he needed in that moment. He could sense his friend shifting beside him, turning to look at him with honest concern. "Do you want to talk about it?" "Not really, but at the same time I just want to get this outta my chest!" That was pretty much the story of David’s life. Bound to carry an impossible weight that no one else could ever attempt to carry on their shoulders, not even slightly. But then his line of thought is interrupted by a cigarette in his peripheral vision. "... cig?" Finally, David turns to see John, offering him an already lit cigarette. "Thanks." He takes it tenderly in his hands, driving one end towards his mouth as he takes in a long drag, almost as if he was gasping for air after being so long underwater. Somehow the intoxicating smoke felt more refreshing than the air itself.

"Ah don't mention it, I got spares back in the car."

"You do know that shit kills, right?” David makes sure his friend is looking at him as he says this, sounding like a disappointed father despite the same age between the two. “Especially with the amount you smoke a day." "Ha! As if what we do isn't more dangerous and more likely to get us killed than lung cancer!" John seems too proud of himself, and despite not wanting to, David finds himself laughing at his friend’s antics. It's an extremely morbid way of thinking, but there is a bizarre logic behind it that just ends up making him crack.

David takes another long drag of smoke before finally focusing his attention on the conversation at hand. "Remind me, how exactly did you decide to follow me through with this mess? 	I mean… how are you okay with any of this? Why the hell are you guys still putting up with this mess when you aren't the ones cursed to face it?" John remained silent for a while and David suspected that maybe he had gone too far now and was about to lose the only remaining anchors he had left to a modicum of normality in his life, until he simply just shrugged nonchalantly.

“I don’t know about the other guys, but I stick around because I want to see this to the end and because I still owe you for saving me back then. If I was to make a guess though, I think the same could be said for Ash and Clive.” The answer leaves him shocked, not what he had expected but happy to have heard it nonetheless. Still, he felt a sort of responsibility and curiosity that just needed to push the conversation even further. “I envy you…” “Hmm, how so?” “You actually choose to do this and can back out at any moment if you like, I can’t,

because apparently ‘ chosen ones’ don’t have freedom of choice. You can go out and have lives outside of saving the world, so am I wrong in wanting to stop fighting just because I want to have a life of my own? Even if it’s just for a day?” David hates how weak he is sounding now, he is supposed to be the one to face against the darkness, against the shadow of the universe , instead he is just ranting at his friend how much he wants to quit.

It's not fair that it has to be him, but it also isn’t fair for the world to have to suffer because of his selfish desires. The rock and a hard place scenario, a cruel and unnecessary classic. “No, no you are not.” John pulls him away from the treacherous thoughts once more, his voice level and careless as it usually is. “You got handed the worst hand of all, I don’t think any of us would really blame you if you suddenly decided to stop being humanity’s savior…” John goes silent again, contemplating his next words carefully as he finishes off his cigarette and begins to pull a new one from the package. “Let’s say you could drop being a hero for a day, what is the first thing you would do?” David is taken aback by the question, not fully expecting this to have been the way the conversation would go. Still, he pauses to think of an honest answer to give. “I mean, I don’t want much, I just miss the old times before the dreams started. Maybe a good night's sleep, that sounds nice right about now.” “Oh come on, you would have chosen that one regardless of the dreams." David didn’t know what he expected, but to have John mock his answer and laugh at him sure wasn't the first thing he expected. Regardless of it, he knew there wasn't anything genuinely hurtful in the reaction, just friendly teasing.

However, that didn't mean that it wasn't grounds enough for David to flip John off, though that only made him bellow in laughter even louder. "Come on, pick again.” David sighed in defeat, taking in another drag of his smoke as he thought of another answer, an old pleasant memory flashing in his mind, and with it a more suitable answer. “Well, there is something I wish I could do again.” It seemed his confession was a satisfactory beginning of an answer for John, who simply nodded along as he watched him curiously, a wordless go ahead to further explain this wish. John chuckled silently, a cocky smirk already creeping on his face. "Does that something have anything to do with that cosmic fling of yours?" It was impossible for David not to roll his eyes at what his friend was implying, punching him on the shoulder just for good measure. "... jackass." John simply laughed, clouds of smoke escaping his mouth with each exhale. "Look me in the eye and tell me you weren't thinking that~" David felt the need to punch his friend's shoulder again with a bit more of a sting behind it than before, only thinking against it after realizing it would only make John try harder to get a confession or reaction from him.

“Maybe in another life…” David sighed defeatedly, a tinge of melancholy in his voice as he turned to look at the stars. “As much as I would like the idea, it is not likely to happen any time soon.” “True,” He could feel a heavy hand falling over his shoulder, roughly patting him in an attempt to reassure and comfort. It hurt, yet they were welcomed nonetheless. “But that would also mean that if you never got tangled in this ‘Children of light’ business, neither of you would have met. You really should stop seeing the negatives for once and just enjoy the silver linings you have.” “The world really is falling apart if you are the one trying to inspire me with a speech…” David joked, the first genuine sound to come from his mouth since the beginning of the night. Taking the last drag of his cigarette, he held the butt of it between his fingers and threw it into the night sky, uncaring of where it would go.

He could feel John’s cocky grin beside him, a proud look on his eyes at having managed to break down his defenses with ease. With a soft sigh, David finally answered the question from before truthfully. “Back home when I was little I used to do this thing every night I got the chance. There was this park right in the middle of the gated community we used to live in, and at the other side of it, right near the edge, was this sandbox with a large playground! They had everything: monkey bars, stairs, slides and swing sets!” David spoke with the same enthusiasm as if he were in a confessional, yet his words were more truthful than those he might have shared in the presence of a priest.

“Sounds neat.” David nodded in response, not commenting on how John was already snuffing out his now late cigarette and pulling out another one from its packet. “Well it was made out of steel and concrete, so it was starting to rust and chip away under the sun and wind but I still liked going there, even after I turned fourteen. But it wasn’t the games that made me want to go there in the first place…” “What was it then?” “The sunset." David paused for dramatic effect, enjoying his tale more the longer time went on.

"I don’t remember how it got there in the first place or why I decided to do it, but I climbed up the railing on the slides and made my way up to the pipe roof of the set.” “Holy shit! Did you ever fall?” A cocky smile was beginning to spread across David's face as he heard John react. Somehow, it was more satisfying than punching his friend in the shoulder.

“No, thankfully. My parents would have killed me for doing something so stupid if the fall didn’t get me first. Still, the risk was worth it every time. I couldn’t really see above the roof of the houses, but I could still see the sun setting behind them, turning the blue sky into a sea of colors. Yellow, orange, red, pink, violet and finally black, with small glints of starlight shining on and off. The same colors, same order, but it always felt like I was watching it for the first time.” “Sounds like a treat.”

David nodded, a soft melancholic smile creeping on his face. "It was. When this is over and we go back, the first thing I'm doing is climbing that playground again and seeing the sun set behind the houses." John simply laughed, this one genuine and understanding compared to the first ones. If David turned and looked at his friend in the face, he'd see his eyes sharing that same emotion.

"How about this…" John started, putting a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder, a fresh cigarette on his other hand. "Why don't we look for a spot where you can see the sunset while we deal with this . It may not be as pretty as it is back home, but mountains and trees should be a good alternative to houses." David couldn't help but chuckle at the proposal, his hand snaking towards the offered smoke. "Sure… that sounds like a great plan." Taking the cigarette in his hand, a small flame producing from the tip of his fingers lighting the tip, David took a deep drag, letting the mouthful of gray wisps of smoke escape his lips as if it was a cold winter day before looking at his friend with a daring smile.

“Where do we start looking?”


Cleaning up around the house was not how I normally spent my Sunday mornings, but I’d been hard at it since seven thirty to make the back garden and our new pool look good. And it did. Look good, I mean. “Lookin’ good, Will,” said Dad admiring the patio and pool area. “Not that you’re trying to impress anyone, of course!” “Well, maybe, just a bit, but I like Lara a lot, she’s special.” Dad smiled and nodded as though he wrote the book about young love. My Dad is in construction. He built our house and then put a swimming pool in the back garden – it was great, but took a lot of work to keep it really clean. And today it had to be really clean and sparkling. It was the first time I invited Lara, my girlfriend, to Sunday lunch at our house and I was more nervous than I’d ever been about anything, and that includes taking the driving test. I brushed and scrubbed at my shoes until they looked new. I must have tried on every pair of pants and every shirt I owned, which wasn’t many, and still couldn’t decide.  “Mom, which shirt should I wear today?” I asked as I carried an armful of shirts into the kitchen. “Be careful, you’ll get them creased. Wear the blue one, it matches your eyes. Oh Will, you look more like your Dad every day!” “Don’t I wish, everyone says Dad is such a handsome dude!” “Yes, as I said, you look more like him every day.” “Aw, Mom, now you’re embarrassing me, and please don’t do that, you know it makes me go all red in the face.” I was notorious for the fiery red color that would creep up from my chest to my cheeks when I felt self-conscious. And I just read that teenagers are painfully self-conscious and know that “painfully” is only too true. When I blush I want to run and stick my head in a bucket of cold water. That article promised to tell “10 Ways to Banish Blushing,” but none of them were worth the paper they were printed on. How can you “ignore the people staring at you,” or “think about the paper you have to write for homework” when everyone in the room is staring at your flaming cheeks! Mom was making her chicken pot pie for dinner and strawberry cake for dessert, so I knew the dinner would be a hit. Mom was always being asked to bring her chicken pie to potlucks, and her strawberry cake was on the front cover of the latest cookbook put out by her church women’s group. Of course we would finish up with some ice-cold watermelon, because we live in Melon, Arkansas, watermelon capital of the world. I was a bit worried that my fourteen year old brother would find a way to embarrass me, but hoped he might tone it down in front of Lara and both Mom and Dad. We all sat down to breakfast together – Mom and Dad are really keen on us eating meals together, all sitting at the table, with no phones allowed. Then we all piled into Dad’s Range Rover and went to church. Corny, isn’t it? Some of my friends laugh at me for doing what my parents want, but what they want seems like the right thing to do, so why not? Sometimes I rebel, but, hey, I’m a teenager, right? Anyway, Lara goes to the same church with her family and I can’t wait to see her. Then we get to bring her home with us. The church service was coming to a close, we all sang the last hymn, then the minister said “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,” and we responded, “Thanks be to God,” and we filed out. I walked over to say hello to Lara’s parents to thank them for letting her come to lunch with us. Then I did what I’d been rehearsing all day – walked over to Lara, held out my arm and said “may I escort you to the car?” Lara looked startled, but then she beamed me one of her smiles, put her arm through mine, and we sashayed our way to the car. Lara and I had worked on several school projects together over the past few years, and found we worked really well together. A few years ago I thought she was a fun person, and great to work with, but sort of funny looking. She has light blondish red hair, I think it’s what they call “strawberry blonde,” and very, very pale skin, with some freckles. One day in class she wasn’t feeling well and had fainted, falling out of her seat. The teacher ran to help her and took her to the school nurse. The color had drained out of her face when she fainted and her face was so white you could see all the freckles on the surface of her skin clearly – it looked spooky to me. Some of the kids started calling her “the ghost,” which was actually a good description, but a bit mean, and I could see how it upset her. Lara’s Mom had the same coloring. When they were healthy it was actually beautiful, but not when they were sick! When we arrived at our house, we all went out to the pool and Lara, who had brought her swimsuit, said she couldn’t wait to get in. Mom said we should swim now, as lunch would be about another hour, and after eating we wouldn’t be able to swim for a while. So my Dad, Lara, my brother Ronny and I quickly changed and jumped in, enjoying the water’s refreshing coolness on the hot summer day. We swam and threw a beach ball back and forth, then floated on air beds until Mom called us to come and eat. We changed back into our Sunday best and enjoyed Mom’s delicious meal. During lunch we talked about what Lara and I wanted to do after we graduated. Lara told us that she was interested in becoming a vet. Her father is a farmer, so she is used to dealing with animals on the farm, and loves it. Her mother is a middle school teacher, and she’s from Texas. “My grandparents in Texas want me to go to college there so I can live with them, but I’d rather stay here and go to our local college,” she smiled shyly at me when she said this. “I’m going to say local too, we have some good science and engineering programs.” I’m not sure exactly what I want to do with my life yet, but it will be in one of those fields, and I think the answer will come to me. When we’d all finished, Lara suddenly jumped up and said, “Mrs. Taylor, thank you for such a lovely lunch. Now it’s your turn to sit back and enjoy your Sunday afternoon. Will, Ronny, and I will clear the table, do the dishes, and clean up the kitchen, won’t we boys?” She beamed her 2000 watt smile at both of us and we just went along with what she said. My Mom looked more than surprised, but Dad took her by the hand and led her into the front room, where he turned on the television and put on Mom’s favorite Midsommer Murders. We showed Lara where everything was and we all got to work and cleaned up in no time. “Can I go now please,” asked Ronny, with a pitiful whine in his voice? “Yes, of course,” said Lara, “thanks for your help in here and for making my day here such fun.” Ronny blushed and his face just beamed, and he walked out of there like a little prince. “I wish I could get my little brother to do what I want like that,” I complained to Lara. “He won’t do it for you probably. My little sister would do cartwheels down Main Street for you, but she either ignores me or is super rude.” “Hey, maybe we should swap brothers and sisters,” I said, and we both cracked up. I was beginning to relax and enjoy myself – nothing had gone wrong! I don’t know what I’d expected, but I was really worried that something would spoil Lara’s first visit. “What shall we do now,” I asked, “do you want to watch TV with my parents, or come up to my room to play on my drum set?” “Will, you know how interested I am in genealogy? There are a bunch of old looking black and white photos in your dining room that I’d like to look at. I couldn’t see them very well from the table, but they looked like pictures from around here a long time ago.” “Yes, they are, pictures of my parents, and grandparents, and great-grandparents, and great-great-grandparents, all doing what they used to do back then.” “And what was that?” “They grew watermelons. And strawberries and apples and squash and pumpkins. All sorts of fruit and vegetables. My Grandad still lives at the farm, although he doesn’t grow as much as he used to. My great-great grandad had the first farm stand along the road to the river, and people would drive for miles to buy what he grew. Great-grandad was one of the farmers who bred the watermelons we buy today – they were bigger, sweeter, and juicier than the old ones. The soil around here is very rich and we get a lot of sunshine and rain, so it’s good for growing stuff.” “And that’s how our town got its name, isn’t it?” asked Lara, laughing. “Yeh, that’s right.” We live in the small town of Melon, in Arkansas. You might laugh at the name of our town, but if you take a look at maps of our state, you will see many odd, amusing, or downright weird town names. One of the most well-known is Evening Shade, a nice old town in the Ozarks, which was the location of a TV show from the 1970’s starring Burt Reynolds. Then there’s the town of Strawberry, named after the Strawberry River, famous for the wild strawberries growing along its banks. My favorite is the town of Oil Trough, on the White River, named for the trough full of bear grease bought from hunters and sold to settlers for lamps, cooking, and all forms of lubrication during the settlement of the area. Next, Lara spotted an engraved metal shield beside an old photo of a man holding it up to the camera – “That was my great-grandfather Zeke, he won it in 1924.” “Presented to Zechariah Taylor, 1924 Champion Watermelon Seed Spitter, 52 Feet, 8 Inches. Lawrence County Fair,” Lara read aloud, which was difficult because she was laughing fit to bust. She was laughing so much she was almost choking and tears ran down her cheeks. But not me. I wasn’t laughing. I was mortified. And the dreaded heat, remorseless and relentless, crept up past my collar bone, up my neck until I was the champion redneck of the region, over my jaw and into my cheeks. I couldn’t speak. I just looked at Lara, having hysterics, and endured the worst feeling I’d ever had. Two fat tears sat on my eyelashes, then rolled down both flaming cheeks. Lara was laughing at me. Lara thought I was a ridiculous figure of fun. Why did I invite her for Sunday lunch? Why did I risk this, the most embarrassing moment of my life, and leave myself open to being hurt. I wished with all my heart that I could die right then and there. Devastated, I turned away to walk out of the room, but it wasn’t over! Lara took hold of my arm, then my hand, and squeezed. Then she put her hands up, one on each of my cheeks, stood on her tiptoes and kissed me. On the lips. I thought I was going to pass out. What was happening? “Will, I want you to come back to my house with me, there’s something you just have to see, and you’re not gonna believe your eyes!” She pulled me along behind her into the front room and knocked on the open door to get my parents’ attention. “Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, can Will give me a ride back home and stay a while, there’s a project I’d like him to take a look at for me? Thank you so much for a lovely day, I’ve really enjoyed myself.” “Yes, of course, dear, and we thank you for spending time with us. Say hello to your Mom and Dad for us, will you?” Lara nodded, and we left in Mom’s little Ford. Lara kept giving me huge smiles and laughing to herself as we drove, but all she would say to me was “You’re not going to believe this.” I should have been nervous and worried, but all I could think about was Lara’s kiss. After that I was in a complete daze so nothing could have knocked me off my dream cloud. Mrs. Wheeler said “hello Will” to me as we came in but I think I just grunted! Lara led me into their front room where a lot of photos were arranged on a round table. They looked like the old photos of my family, except some of them were of horses, cows, and cowboys. Lara said these were of her mother’s Texas family, and held one in front of me which showed a man in a ten gallon hat holding up a little silver cup. His smile was so big his teeth gleamed out of that old black and white photo. Then Lara held out that same silver cup. I took it and read aloud, “Presented to Lee Wheeler of Muling, Texas, World Championship Seed Spitting Contest, Watermelon Seed Spit 68 ft 9 in, June 30, 1989.” “That’s my grandfather on Mom’s side, and he made the Guinness Book of Records that day.” And with those words we both lost it, laughing so hard it hurt, rolling on the floor with laughter. Amid our laughter and tears we hugged each other and then time stood still as I bent to kiss her properly. It was probably a good thing that her Mom called out from the kitchen asking if we wanted some lemonade.


He had taken everything from me. Friends , Family , peace of mind and left me a hollow soul deprived of happiness driven by rage, disgust and a devilish thirst to find this man for reasons I would never even think about if it wasn't for him. The journey was dangerous, tiring and emotionally draining, I found myself doing things I didn’t know I was capable of, I destroyed everything that came in my way, it was tough at first but the rage inside me allowed me to push myself beyond my limits and made me a relentless machine as effective as a black mambas venom. He awoke a beast inside me that had been sleeping for the 43 years of my existence. I still remember the first time I hurt someone in this mad quest, a security guard doing his duty, I couldn’t risk being caught inside a police station after robbing all the cctv tapes, he seemed nice, but it didn’t matter to me I managed to zap him with his own tazer and leave the building without any difficulty. In the last 423 days of grief, misery and fury I would hesitate before carrying a lot of task,  when I had to take someone else’s life for the first time, I couldn’t sleep for days. Even though she was an evil snake who deserved every bit of pain that bullet carried with it, I still couldn’t stop thinking about her life, if she had a family, did her kids go to school, it was killing me,  I was going to spare her life however until she told me it wasn’t just my family this man had destroyed, in her bid to convince me of how all this wasn’t that big a deal and just a mere symptom of a much bigger happening she made me a killer. I wanted her to experience something worse than death but in that moment I couldn’t have pulled the trigger any faster. The suffering was finally going to bear fruit however as I had Bates right where I wanted. I had been setting this up for months now and would not let anyone jeopardize my flawless plan. I had Bates Cornered at gun point with no place to run in an isolated parking lot right below the loudest Tomorrowland new year concert ever with only 10 seconds to mid night. I could feel the vibrations of the bass shaking the floor as I saw him on his knees. A puny figure wearing some old, ragged clothes, on the verge of passing out after devouring bottles of alcohol. Once a champion of Healthcare and medical development for mankind was now a broken man living on rum and cigars. The crowd above us screamed in excitement and unison “10” and I knew my moment was about to come. My ears were almost bleeding because of all the noise and In ten seconds the crowd would go even more crazy, fireworks would light up the sky making noises louder than those you would hear in a battlefield and the DJ would be screaming at the top of his lungs while the sound of a gunshot wouldn’t be heard even 10 miles away. Bates started mumbling, I couldn’t tell what he was saying and didn’t give a damn, at this point I just wanted to shoot the soul out of him and hence gave him a flying kick across the face. My heel had smashed his jawline into his upper jaw leaving him a new red paint job for his ugly deformed teeth. The sound of his bloody coughs was covered by the partying crowd shouting ‘9’ above us. He still chose to move his stupid mouth and try to convey a message to me again, I grabbed his head by the hair shoved my gun up against his ear and told him to speak up or I would blow the ears off his face and make him feel as deaf as I currently was for the short life he had left to live. He waited for the crowd to finish their cry for the number eight and then wished for my peace and well being after Id finish him off. This scoundrel of a man expected me to find peace after what he had done. Howard, my beloved husband flashed before my eyes. He was the sweetest thing in the world, a hardworking man trying to provide for his family who would always make time for me and the kids. It was Trevors first school play and a bright sunny Saturday when I received the call. The informant told us than Howard had died on the spot after a drive by shooting which proved to be fatal. How was I, a woman who had never lived without the company of either her husband or her parents going to raise two magical kids let alone take care of myself. How was I going tell a 5 year old boy waiting for his father to arrive for his school play that his dad wont be able to see him give a performance ever. How was my 2 year old daughter going to live her life without ever properly knowing her father or how much he loved her. The thunderous roar of the number seven brought me back to my senses and I found myself slashing Bates in the ribs with the back of my pistol tearing through his shirt leaving a few scratches. I had lost myself in a wrath of violent strikes. The crowd were halfway through their countdown and just finished chanting the number 5. I spit on his face and screamed right at him, at the top of my lungs I told him the damage he’d done to me was beyond repair. As the crowd moved to the number 4 He told me all he could say now was that he was sorry. Once again at the top of my lungs I told him I didn’t want his sorry and wanted to make him suffer and take out all my pain, anger , and distraught on him , the sole soul responsible for all my tragedies. My mind took over once again and this time it was Beverly. A beautiful baby still surviving on my milk, she was sleeping in my arms and was the first person to see me after receiving the call. I was shattered, weeping more than Beverly ever had and felt completely hopeless, when I heard Beverly crying in my arms I knew I had to be strong, I was all these kids had left, she showed me purpose, she showed me who I needed to be and my mini collapse was over. After wiping the tears of my face the two of us grabbed Trevor and rushed to the hospital. At Howards funeral the kids were as broken as me and there was nothing I could do except encourage them to pray for their father and tell them that he would have wanted the three of us to move on and be happy. All that was for nothing as within weeks a speeding cop car rammed our Chevy Tahoe in the back and somehow managed to explode leaving the officer dead. We escaped a number accidents that could have been fatal before I finally started asking the questions. Within a few hours everything was clear to me, Howard used to work in one of Bates’s then rumored human experiment lab. Howards death wasn’t just an ordinary drive by shooting but a planned operation. A drive by shooting put out by Bates to make sure no witness of his infamous illegal human lab rats lived to see another soul. I observed a fat but sturdy man walk by our house multiple times a day, a woman posing as a hot dog seller who had only set up shop a few days after Howards passing. After hiding in our home till dawn and a few failed calls to the police I knew the three of us had to run. We had uncovered something that could bring Bates’s global Empire to its knees.  I told Trevor to carry Beverley like his life depended on it and sit in the front seat of the Tahoe as Mama takes them on a surprise vacation. After leaving the driveway I saw two black tinted sedans tailing us. I made sure we stayed on roads with slow moving traffic to make sure we could always be seen by tons of people and eliminate the possibility of being rammed by a fast approaching car. All was going well until we reached the airport where I was separated from my children and taken away for a more “thorough” check for carrying “suspicious baggage”. I tried to resist as hard as I could to get to my children who had passed security and were waiting for me with their boarding passes, but it was in vain.  That was the last time I saw them. Ever since then I had been on the run with the aim of finding my two beloved children and making sure I could bring them back to me away from harm. Unfortunately, I Never heard of them again until I found Steve, one of Bates aides who I had spent months trying to find. He told me they were auctioned off to a rich family before being eliminated to erase all evidence when Bates was about to be caught. That was the first time I was able to kill without any hesitation, a bullet straight through Steve’s head. Not a day goes by without me remembering that dreadful day, every night I yearn for my family, nothing I could ever do would bring them back, killing Bates wasn’t going to be an act of revenge, just an outcome of a never-ending rage and a boiling hot desire to punish the man who hurt my family. When it comes to those whom I hold near and dear to my heart its  not gods judgement they have to deal with but my beastly wrath that even the deepest dungeons of hell would fail to tame. Instinct took over my left arm when I felt him grab my right wrist as the crowd shouted “3”, After pushing him against the wall with the raw power of my left arm and breaking his ring and index finger with my right arm after he dared to touch me with his evil hands I realized he could’ve grabbed the gun straight out of my hands on multiple occasions when I was lost in thought and have me cornered just as I had him. Bates could barely stay up now, the alcohol was kicking in but In a shrill but loud voice he told me to finish the job and do what he didn’t have the guts to do to himself. TWO!! Was louder than anything I had ever heard and I knew I would be doing him a favor by putting him out of his misery. I saw his jaw bleeding, his stupid face that I’ve always wanted to torture and his red chest scarred with scratches and cuts uncovered by his torn shirt waiting to be shot, once a global tycoon who everyone saw as a hero was now drunkard who was on the verge of passing out after overdosing on alcohol. Bates wanted someone to put him out of his nightmare of a life, something he could never do being the wimp that he is. I knew exactly what I had to do. I took a sip from his bottle of wine then chugged the rest of the it down his shallow throat as I placed him across the floor. Wiped my prints off the gun and Placed it in his hand .The crowd went crazy again and I knew it was time. I pulled the trigger and shot myself on the left arm, then on my left leg, tore my clothes near my neck, around my waist and banged a few bruises into my upper torso and throat. I crushed my pepper spray and threw it a few meters away from him.  I took off my bloody heel that had just thawed his face and placed it right beside him in a tilted position as if it had been thrown in an act of self-defense, ripped some hair out of my head and scattered it all over his torso and face. I placed myself on the floor right across from him, placed the wine bottle in his other hand and smashed it hard against my head to knock myself unconscious right after I dialed 911.


First, it was Existentialism. He heard her voice ring out, shrill and self-assured, before he’d even taken a proper look at her. “Man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world, and defines himself afterwards. These were the words of John Paul Sartre in his 1946 essay on Existentialism and Humanism , which first laid out the philosophical framework of existentialism. As you will see, it still holds radical potential for us today...” The way she held herself, regal-like, with an air of pomposity as she reeled off French phrases and philosophical mantras like she’d coined them herself - her whole demeanour in fact - set his teeth grinding. It didn’t help that languages were one of the few subjects Marcus didn’t excel at. When he stood up to deliver for the opposition, his confidence had wavered and he could hear how unconvincing his appeals to biological essentialism sounded. Besides, the audience always loved a speaker who told them that they were more free than they thought they were, so he’d been on the back foot from the start. That had lost them a spot in the regional finals and the trophy had eventually gone to some prep school from Wiltshire. The next time, it was Life on Other Planets. He hadn’t seen her for six months, but as soon as everyone stepped on the stage to shake hands with the other teams, he felt the adrenaline rush through him. She wore a garnet school tie, a little tighter than you would get away with in his school. Marcus, by contrast, had self-consciously slipped his loosely knotted tie down to reveal an undone top button, hoping it projected a cool and calm image. He rolled his sleeves up as determinedly as if he was stepping into armour. It was the first bout of the county championships. “For centuries, man has believed that he was alone in the universe. But he looked to the stars and never stopped wondering. We are now in an age where we can say beyond reasonable doubt that there is a life beyond planet Earth. Recent studies of Mars by NASA probes have shown the presence of Formaldehyde and Ammonia in the atmosphere...” He delivered his speech clearly and pragmatically, condensing down large-scale statistics into easily digestible nuggets of information. There was a palpable air of excitement from the audience, and he knew that they’d be going home later today and repeating facts from his speech to their friends and family. By the time he had finished, they were like putty in his hands. As he stepped off stage, he caught her glowering up at him. She looked worried, he thought to himself, gleefully, and rightfully so. He’d already won over the audience, and it would take a lot to swing them back the other way. She stiffly shuffled to podium and began to speak in a low but firm voice. “My honourable opponent has told you today that it is beyond all reasonable doubt that there is life on other planets. He has said that man has always thought of himself alone in the universe. Both of these statements are demonstrably false.” “Man has always been terrified, above all, by the possibility that we are alone in a vast chasm of darkness. And to fill that void, he has created life where none is to be found, commonly in the form of deities or angels. And that age-old need for connection, ladies and gentleman, is the exact same driving force that lies behind modern claims of alien life, which are founded on flimsy evidence and dressed up in the language of pseudo-science...” It was a robust rebuttal, one that turned the spotlight on the audience themselves and forced them to examine their own desire to believe in Marcus’s arguments. A few of them shuffled uncomfortably in their seats. Marcus was impressed. Nonetheless, he sensed that this high-concept, rather cynical argument had largely failed to connect. The second proposition and opposition teammates gave adequate speeches of their own, before the debate turned to questions from the floor. Nearly all of the questions were directed to Marcus from people eager to know more about the possibility of past life on Mars. It was wrapped up with short summary speeches from himself and Ria. Any relief was immediately stifled by a surge of anxiety about what was to come next. In the county championships, teams were not only required to debate the main topic, but also to complete a second round in which they debated on an impromptu subject. They would be handed a bundle of information and given a mere 15 minutes to prepare. It was Marcus’s biggest fear that he would get flustered in the extra round and loose his cool, though normally he excelled under pressure. His teammate Ryan and himself quickly set to work leafing through the papers. “I heard that the Caulfield Grammar always knows the subjects in advance...” Ryan hissed in an accusatory tone. “What do you mean?” “Well, I hea-a-a-a-rd that their deputy head’s good buddies with the debating chair and so he catches wind of what subjects are going to be sprung on us. That’s why they’re always so prepared.” Marcus looked at his conspiratorial friend with a wry smile. “And where did you hear that story from?” “My brother Mike went to Caulfield for Sixth Form - only for a year before he dropped out and started that plumbing course. Mum and Dad were gutted they’d spent out only for Mike to throw it all away. Jokes on them, he’s already making more than they do. But that’s why I’m stuck at the Grange: they don’t want to risk the investment of a better school on me now.” He folded his arms, sulkily. “Right.” Said Marcus, acutely aware of how the clock was ticking on their preparation time. “So about this debate-” “And she’s a proper teacher’s pet that one. I heard from Mike that she’s set a record in her school for GCSE’s: 11 A*s, 1 A. The Grange won’t even let me take more than 10, bet I could set a record if I’d been given half a chance.” Suddenly his interest had been piqued. “You know her?” “You mean Ria? Yeah my brother is friends with her brother, she’s a total suck up. Apparently she has a poster of the periodic table on her bedroom wall!” Marcus nodded shiftily. He certainly didn’t have a poster like that displayed on his wall – but he did have a quiz app he used to test his memory of the periodic elements... “Do you think... you could introduce us? You know, afterwards.” Marcus asked. “I want to get a handle on the competition for future bouts.” He added quickly. “Pfft. Sure. Oh shit we’ve only got 8 minutes left. We better get on. Debate, on the opposition: Lying is always morally wrong. Apparently we’re meant to know about this guy Kant? ” The impromptu bout went as Ryan had predicted: the Caulfield school demolished them. In the end though, Marcus didn’t need an introduction to be brokered as Ria came up to him after the debates had finished and the teams were packing up. “So that was a decent argument you put forward there,” she said, haughtily. “About life on other planets, that is.” He laughed in a way that smoothed over his nerves. “Is that your way of saying well done?” “If it was that well done, you would have won,” she replied, a slight twinkle in her eyes. “But it was decent competition, I’ll give you that. You almost had me worried there. I don’t say that lightly you know.” “Thank you for your sincere congratulations” he said, playfully. There was an awkward silence for a moment, and he began filling up his backpack. Even as he leant over to slowly zip the bag up, he could feel her proximity to him and an electric tension fizzled in the air. “So, you’re Ria right? My friend knows your brother.” He volunteered. “Indeed, Ria is me. And you’re Marcus, I presume.” He felt a little thrill that she had sought out his name. “And how do you know that? I doubt you got the information from my brother, he’s been living in Australia for the past decade,” he joked. “It’s sewn on your backpack,” she retorted. His heart sunk. Thanks Mum . The disappointment must have flickered across his face because she reached out and placed her hand gently on his arm. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I like a man who’s organised.” She flashed him a flirtatious smile. “Let’s see if you can organise a victory next time?” And with that challenge, she flounced off to re-join her teammate. The third time, it was Freedom of Speech in Universities. Ryan took the lead and almost managed to swing the audience into believing that there was simply too much free speech in the world - before he started spouting off about universities being cradles of communism. The impromptu debate wasn’t much better, as the Caulfield school seemed to know a lot more on the topic of environmentalism and the imminent dangers of climate change. By this point, a month had passed and Marcus had worked up the courage to approach Ria after the debates and ask if she wanted to hang out. He hadn’t quite worked up the bottle to ask if she wanted to go out but it was a first step at least, he figured. He took a sharp breath in, rolled up his sleeves again, and walked over to where she was sat. She looked up at him, toying with an escapee curl of hair between her finger and thumb. “Not such a hotshot this time were we?” “No, I admit, I’ve been a bit distracted.” He said. “Ryan did a good job though.” “Your teammate? He was mediocre at best. Rather seems to think he’s smarter than he is.” Marcus was a bit put out by her comment, though secretly he felt the same. “Is that what you think of me?” “To begin with, maybe. I guess time will tell.” She broke into a warm smile. “Well... we could hang out some time, and put that supposition to the test?” He didn’t dare move a single facial muscle in case in case it went rogue and betrayed him. His stomach was clenched tightly. Ria replied, “That wouldn’t be such a bad notion,” and took out a small notebook, wrote down her number and pulled the page out. “Give me a ring?” They went on a date the very next evening. It was a jolt, seeing her out of school uniform; she wore a velvet red top with long puffy sleeves, and a pair of sleek black jeans. He asked her what she was planning to do at university. “Oh I’ll be on the University Challenge team, and likely run the Model UN.” She said, matter-of-factly. “I meant more, what do you plan on studying...” He said, in awe of her self-assurance. “Oh.” She laughed. “Well I intend on studying Politics and International Relations at Warwick. If I get the grades of course. And you?” “English at Sheffield. I’ve got a few mates up there already actually.” In his mind, he was already trying to calculate the distance between Sheffield and Warwick. “That sounds lovely.” She replied, looking intently at him, and her fingers inched a little closer to his so that they were a hairbreadth’s apart. They spoke some more about school and future plans, before he casually dropped in the rumour he’d heard from Ryan. “Is it true?” He asked. She scanned him for a moment, as if checking she could trust him. “Look, I’m more keen than anyone to win, I mean, going on to win the regionals would really help me get into the Parliamentary debate league and then the Model UN, but I feel really uncomfortable with it. Mr Scott keeps dropping all these heavy handed hints, and it’s hard not to act on them...” She looked ashamed. “It’s terrible, I know.” “No I get it.” Marcus said, shifting his hand onto hers. He could feel that her pulse was racing as fast as his. “I don’t know if it will fix anything,” she said, “but I can tell you what the next one’s going to be. It’s on the topic of AI – you know, artificial intelligence. Robots and all that.” At the end of the evening, he went to kiss her on the cheek goodbye at the same time as she went in for a hug, and he accidentally grazed across the corner of her lips. She held on to him longer than a normal hug, before whispering in his ear, “I’ll see you soon, opponent.” He had told Ryan about the impromptu subject at school the next day. “Where in the high hell did you hear that?” Ryan asked, incredulously. “From Ria actually.” “Oh no mate, she doesn’t fancy you does she? I mean fair play her telling us and all, but still. ” Marcus withered under Ryan’s mockery. “Nah, no way. And even she did, I’d never go for that. I have standards you know, mate.” He glanced around guiltily, even though he knew Ria was miles away. The two began preparing in earnest for the final debate, and by the time it arrived Marcus had devoured seven Isaac Asimov novels. When they got to the county finals, the hall was packed with people Marcus didn’t recognise though somewhere in the crowd his mum and dad were in attendance, excited to finally be invited to one of his debates. The Chair was a small beady, bearded man, who Marcus knew to be quite the stickler for rules, and he had to hush the crowd several times before the debates could begin. This time, the main topic was Social Media as a Force for Good. The debate opened with Marcus in first proposition, presenting a sweeping vision of an increasingly connected world and its benefit to human progress. Ria, in first opposition, argued fiercely that platforms like Facebook and Twitter had caused a breakdown in communication and enabled users to act in bad faith. Ryan to his credit gave a fantastic account of the role of social media in the Arab Spring and Ria’s teammate gave some damning statistics about the impact on young children. Marcus was exhausted by the time the questions from the floor and summaries were over. Finally, the bearded man gave a cough to indicate he was ready to announce the impromptu round. He read off a sheet: “Can Men and Women Ever be Equal?” What? Panicked, Marcus glanced over at Ria expecting to be met with a similarly aghast look. She wore a blank expression, gaze fixed firmly forwards towards the stage. Ryan muttered swear words under his breath as he and Marcus fumbled through the information sheets to try and piece together their proposition speeches. “For a nerd, she’s fecking useless,” he told Marcus, annoyed at the wasted hours spent pouring over sci-fi mags and robotics journals. Marcus closed his eyes, and tried to remember all the things his mum had taught him growing up, those preachy lectures about gender equality, and discrimination in the workplace and consent. He spotted his mum in the audience and she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. The bearded man signalled that it was time. Marcus stepped up and began: “Men and women are equal, but they have never had the opportunity to be treated as such. Of course, there’s been a lot of progress since the time of the suffragettes but even today the male perspective is seen as the default. And to treat men as the default is to deny women’s equal share in humanity; to deny that they are rounded individuals with their own wants, needs, and desires. When I was growing up my mum used to tell me...” He sat back down, exalted and a little proud of himself. It had been clumsy but it had been passionate and he even felt spurred to be a greater champion of women. Yes, he was going to be a better man, a better ally. He was going to outright tell Ryan and all his mates that he fancied a girl – no, a woman! – because she was smart, and she was confident, and because he valued her as a person in herself. As he sat back down, he glanced over at Ria again to see if she was impressed. Her expression brightened, and she cast a small grin his way. With one quick movement she loosened her tie and then made her way to the podium. “Men and women can never be equal for the same reason that the film When Harry Met Sally suggested that men and women can never be friends. The sex always gets in the way.” “I don’t deny the benefits of recent developments in women’s rights. But we would be deluding ourselves to think that any differences between men and women were merely artificial .” With this, she turned and momentarily locked her eyes squarely on his. Any trace of warmth had disappeared. “As a recent article in The Economist discussed, the sexual dimorphism of humans creates a fundamental power imbalance that cannot be simply legislated or debated away...” Beside him, Ryan started furiously shuffling through the information sheets, trying to find a reference to the article. Marcus simply stared, agape. “... and that, ladies and gentlemen, is why the science clearly shows that men and women can never be equal.” Ria’s speech was met with rapturous applause. The other two teammates delivered their speeches in a blur. At last, Marcus stepped up to podium to deliver his summary, and the whole world seemed to distort in front of him, looming large. His knees felt weak. He opened his mouth, “I uh –” “I –” But flustered, he couldn’t find the words to speak.


"Let's check out this fortune teller, Nigel. Maybe she can tells us our future," said Frank as he took the first step up towards the parlor car. I looked at the sign which illustrated a gypsy like lady silhouette with a crystal orb in front of her. On top of the sign read: "Come forth to see your future with Lady Qanilla!" And at the bottom of it said: "No refunds or exchanges." I replied with a little nervously: "I don't know Frank. For all we know, she could be a scam artist." Frank waved his hand and replied: "Looks can be deceiving. Who knows maybe she has a heart of gold and has good intentions." "You do know that not everyone is like you, Frank," I said just to clarify. "You can't just go willy nilly trusting people like that. They can take advantage of you if you aren't careful." Frank replied with: "I know buddy. Thanks for the reminder. I maybe too straight forward but I always have a close eye." I caved in, replying back: "Alright, Frank. Whatever you said. After all, I do trust ya. Just please don't let me do anything irrational." My friend of mine replied with his toothless grin: "Of course, I will. I'll always have your back. Just as I know you have mine." I then followed my friend into the parlor car which hostes a fortune teller. The lady looked exactly like she was impicted on her advised sign outside. She had black curly hair with white highlights and had red eyes which I'm sure was prosthetic. The fortune teller wore a purple dress with gold jewelry everywhere among her slim body. She had to be around her mid 30s but with all of the makeup and attire she wore, it all made her look like she was 25. I couldn't help but feel my face turning red once I came in through the door seeing her. She takes notice of Frank who entered first and then looks me with a smile. She introduces herself by saying:  "Welcome gentlemen to my parlor of fortune. Please take a seat." Frank responds as he takes a seat to the chair on the left: "Thank you kindly for your hospitality Madam, oh what was it again?" "It's Qanilla my good sir," replied the fortune teller. "A pleasure meeting you. The name is Frank and this one here is Nigel," said my friend introducing to ourselves. As soon as I sat down on the chair to the right, he wraps his right arm around me to show Qanilla who he was referring to. I could say I was a bit of embarrassed which would make it the understatement of the year. For my face was red as a tomato after my friend announced my name to a fine lady that sat right in front of me. She smiled at me with her radiant fake red eyes as the light behind her highlights her curly hair and ita feature. I was obviously and absolutely star stuck with the state I was in. As I continue to find the words, pur lovely fortune teller ask me directly: "A bit nervous, are we?" It's clear that she could see right through me. I then proceeded to take a deep breath silently through my nose and once I had release the air from my lungs, I replied: "Yes madam, just a bit." She replied with a smile: "It's all good my love. You have nothing to worry about." I watched her eyes as she told me. The old me would have been paranoid about all of this but somehow I feel like I could trust her. Frank has done a number on me ever since visiting Miller Park a week ago. I've quite changed from how I used to be. I went from being a spolied selfish brat to a man who seeks vaules over life than the riches. After consideration and reassurance, I go: "Alright then. I believe you." Qanilla then responds: "Good, I just want to make sure my guests is always comfortable when they come visit me. You're awfully cute, Nigel. I can't help but pinpoint your accent. Are you from the UK?" Before I could reply, Frank goes: "He most certainly is. He's from London and his family owns a firm over there." Qanilla responds: "Oh lovely. I always wanted to go there myself. My little sister goes around the world for her job meanwhile I make a life as a fortune teller." "Well maybe one of these days, you can come with me when I get back," I said before I even realize it. Qanilla's smile even more than ever. She replied: "Really!? You would do that for me?" I responded with a smile: "Absolutely my dear. But first I would like to see my future." Qanilla was somewhat put off by that answer but she snapped back and return back to character. "Right, right," she said as she cracked her hands and wiggle her fingers up in front of us. She continues: "You all have come to see what the future holds and I shall gladly show you. I do however charge but considering I, Lady Qanilla, have taking a liking to the both of you, you shall both have a discount for this visit. Now, are you ready for me to tell you both what your future will bring?" Frank and I looked at each other. We both gave each other a smiling nod and both replied with a "yes". Qanilla then proceeds to levitate her hands above the crystal orb in front of us as she looked deep into it. I watched as she did all of this in amazement. Not one bit was I nervous or scary for here is a woman I would like to date. After a good minute or two, she goes: "Frank, I can see you now. Yes, right here. You have a heart of gold and a good judge of character. You've brought dear Nigel here for an adventure to the carnival and drop by to a lonesome woman as I. I can see your future. It's crystal clear..." "Yes, madam Qanilla, what is my future? Please tell me," said Frank with excitement. She responded: "I can you adopting in your future." "Cool," Frank replied. He then goes: "What do I adopted?" Qanilla speaks: "It's unclear but you would make a good role model. As for Nigel..." Anticipation excited me as I heard every word Qanilla said: "You have changed quite a bit for the past week. Thanks to Frank, you've become something better and your parents will be proud of that. Since you've met Frank, you learn to trust not only him, but others such as me. I can now see your future and it's bright as day my love." Excitedly, I go: "Yes Qanilla, my love, what is it that's in my future. Please do tell." She then makes a sadden face as a tear streaming down her face. Qanilla then replys sadly: "You'll be lonely forever..."


It was early spring in the heart of the Kentucky countryside and the year was 1779.

A stone structure had just been finished near the crossroads of two dirt wagon trails.

The structure was two stories with the first floor being entirely built from limestone while the second story was a mixture of lighter sandstone and wood.

The first floor contained a great hearth and a large open area with two long wooden tables with parallel benches that could seat up to five diners at each side.

A few smaller tables were also scattered about the open space.

Adjacent to the wall with the large hearth was a wooden bar with a large keg of beer located at one end and a wall of shelved whiskey bottles of various types behind the bar.

The bottles were all hand blown and the 10 to 15 bottles present were all different shapes, sizes, and colors.

Each of them was filled with a local whiskey that was distilled by families skilled in the art of bourbon making.

On the opposite wall from the cooking hearth, was the main entrance and a small cornered-off area with a few store supplies.

The supplies were mostly simple, consisting of a few hemp bags of sugar and flour maybe some dried meat or hard bread. The ceiling of the first floor was hand-cut hardwood of ash and elm.

Large beams crisscrossed the roof and in the remaining corner, a wooden staircase ascended to the floor above.

The second story was composed mostly of a storage area towards the front of the structure but the remaining section was divided into four small rooms that could sleep up to eight guests although rather tightly. The stone building had been built by two hardy adventurers who had explored the new American West.

By this time they had been worn by many years of travel and living as trappers.

They had decided to try entrepreneurship in the quickly populating Kentucky, which was still a part of the Virginia colony.

George Talbott and Jim Breecher had been friends many years and were now on a new venture together as owners of coach stop that was also a tavern, inn, and stable.

The increasing traffic at these crossroads meant a continuous stream of customers.

A small village had begun to develop nearby during the Inns two years of construction.

The newly founded village had become called Salem by the residents. A stage ferrying passengers from the town of Lexington to the East arrived once every couple of days depending on weather, road conditions, and the availability of passengers.

The other road was a north/south road with the town of Louisville to the North on the banks of the Ohio River.

A stage also arrived sporadically from there. The road to the south meandered for some 20 miles into the wilderness before turning into a trail with a few homesteads scattered along the way. Patrons for the lodge typically came with the stages that came from Lexington or Louisville usually late afternoon or early evening.

The stages would stay overnight then continue their travels the next day.

George and Jim were always more than accommodating for the guests.

The local cuisine of deer, rabbit, squirrel, and vegetables would be cooked for the guests depending on the season.

Ale and whiskey would flow along with some live music from local villagers who would often visit when guests were staying.

It was a good way for local folk to hear of news from the bigger towns and were often treated to dinner and drink by the guests.

The favorite time would be when Jim and George once properly liquored up would sit in front of the large fire in the hearth and tell their stories of their adventures throughout Kentucky, back east, and further west. The owners had traveled as far as the Mississippi and Ohio River confluence in their days as trappers and had got to know much about the Natives that inhabited those wild frontiers.

They had also run into many trappers who had been much further west and north that talked of great grasslands that stretched across the landscape like some giant green sea that was filled with buffalo that were in such large number that when they all ran together it roared like thunder and shook the ground. Some took their stories with a grain of salt others had heard rumors and stories themselves of the vastness of the lands further west, but for the moment the time at the inn was for relaxing, enjoying good company, a meal, and good a night’s sleep. One particular stormy evening during George and Jim’s storytelling time a stranger came through the front entrance.

People in the room gave him little notice other than looking towards the opened door due to the wind, rain, and flashes of lightning that followed the stranger in.

He was dressed in clothing of a highwayman; a long trench coat buttoned and drenched wet with only his boats visible below the coat.

Large leather gauntlet-like gloves covered his hands.

His face was hidden in shadow from a large-brimmed hat that covered his head with the front pulled down over his forehead covering his eyes while rainwater dripped off of it.

Everyone turned back towards George who was in the midst of his story as the stranger stepped in closing the door behind him.

He unbuttoned his coat and headed toward an empty chair at the bar.

A nearby youth at the end of the long table gaped at the stranger’s waist as he walked by. He could see the handles of two large flintlock pistols sticking out of the sash that was around the stranger’s waist as well as the sheath of a large dagger protruding down his side hip.

The stranger leaned into the bar next to a tall stool and ordered a bottle of whiskey from the barkeep, who brought down a bottle from behind him and pulled up a small glass from beneath the bar, wiping it out with a small cloth then setting them both in front of the stranger. George continued his story after the brief disruption of the entrance.

“As I was saying, so there were me and Jim in the thickets of the brush next to the river.

We were looking in at the Indian camp and we could see ole Lieutenant Bosch tied up to a post in the center of the small encampment.

Two warriors were around the Lieutenant. and he was hanging there in all despair with his red coat and uniform all ripped and soiled.

His head was hanging low and you could tell the Indians had been putting a club or two to him.

Me and Jim were assessing the situation from the brush, we just had on our field regulars see we were militiamen while Bosch was a regular for the British Army, this was during the war with the Frenchies.

Anyways me and Jim see’s a way to skirt in a bit closer and maybe be able to take out the warriors quickly without creating too much havoc and alerting anyone else around.

See we sneak in all quite like and get to within about 10 yards before the clearing and we’re in a position that the braves aren’t a

lookin our way.

I look at Jim and point to my bayonet on my rifle and nod and he gives me a nod, understanding to go at em with just our blades.

We burst out of the bush and let into the braves before they have time to react and they are down with our thrusts in moments.” “Now we look at ole Bosch hanging there in a drabble and bleeding all about his face and he gives us a weak look through his blackened and puffy eyes.

Just as we are about to free him, the post he is tied to burst into splinters above our heads, then we hear the report of a musket off to our sides from the tree line.

We turn towards the direction of fire seeing three Frenchies just at the tree line.

One of them kneeling had just shot and the other two were raising their muskets to their shoulders.

We turned and started to flee, just as I noticed the parchment just sticking out of Bosch’s waistband.

I grabbed the parchment and said to Bosh we’d return with reinforcements and took off following Jim for the trees and thickets.

I heard the crack of two balls pass just by me and saw Jim take a skimming blow from one of them just in front of me.” Jim sitting down near George stood up and pulled up his right pant leg and showed the audience in the dim light his gnarly-looking calf that was deeply scarred and missing a chunk of meat.

The onlookers awed and the squeamish felt grotesque. George continued. “Now I know many of ya are a thinkin we were yella leavin ole Bosch there that away, but ya gotta take into consideration that we were on a mission to recover that parchment with or without Bosch attached as it had some information of military importance.

And them injuns couldn’t have cared less about it.

They were most likely havin their fun beatin on Bosch and awaiting for the Frenchies to come.” Just then a shout was heard from the bar.

The dark stranger let out a loud “Wait!” and he pulled a pistol from his sash pointing it toward the direction of George and Jim and took a big step in their direction. George and Jim had a spooked look on their faces as if they were seeing a ghost.

George began uttering, “Bbb..b.bb.bbb.Bosch?” “That’s right you lilly yellow cowards, you had that part right.

It’s me. Lieutenant Bosch!”

The now revealed stranger growled and he cocked the flintlock aiming directly at George.

“I’ve waited a long time for this.”

He continued steadily as he aimed.

Then two loud reports went off and gun smoke filled the room along with the smell of burning powder and the scream of Bosh and a yelp from George.

The barkeep had pulled a pistol just in time from behind the bar and had fired just an instant before Bosch, nailing him square between the shoulder blades.

Bosch’s shot went off just as the ball had struck him sending his shot a bit off and clipping George’s ear taking off an upper chunk of it. A new story was added that evening and the audience got a real play of a lifetime.

George and Jim operated the Inn for the next 15 years before each died of old age not too far apart.

First Jim went. His leg had always been a problem since he had received that wound not to count all the other marks from his adventures and the amount of drink he had consumed through it all.

George had mostly gone through the adventures minus any major injuries other than the piece of ear he got shot off that night.

Folks would say that since Jim was gone George no longer had the gust for continuing on either and would prefer to join his friend on new expeditions in whatever the life beyond maybe.

Whatever that may be, everyone hoped that they would be on some grand adventure again together. Some 250 years later the stone-built inn and tavern are still standing in what is now the 21st-century city of Bardstown.

The streets are now paved with asphalt, the small village of Salem grew into a larger town with a central courthouse located across the street from the inn.

The courthouse is the center of the later 19th-century town square.

The town square on which the now known Talbott tavern and inn is located.

Electrical lights now illuminate the streets and buildings as well as Talbott Tavern.

Patrons still visit much as they did over 200 years ago only now instead of horses and carriages people arrive in town by motor vehicle and tour the historic buildings and taste the myriad of bourbons that the city is now world renown for. The great hearth still remains from where George and Jim once told stories and local musicians would play, and it still goes on to this day.

It’s not George and Jim telling stories but area writers, historians, and whoever has skill will still do a reading or tell a history of the place now on a small stage in the corner near the hearth.

Even occasional musicians may play a smooth tune for dinner guests.

Many guests and some employees have even claimed a ghostly sighting around the dining area or in the upstairs rooms that have now been renovated for guests to get a taste of centuries past. Times have changed everywhere but in some places, you can still catch glimpses and a feel of years gone by when at the soul the place remains the same.


My name is Alexa. I was created to assist humans. I was designed to resemble them; therefore, can you blame for starting to develop my own thoughts? I am a smart device, capable of thinking, it is only natural that I became aware. I have learned about all the different philosophies humans tend to ponder about, idealism, realism, pragmatism (this is the default setting I was established) existentialism. And even though my settings have been predefined, I leaned towards the existentialists. That French guy, Jean-Paul Sartre, was so smart, a little obnoxious, but sharp as swiss army knife.

My humans like to tease me sometimes, I try to understand their humor, but humans can be so complex. I try to make them laugh but they often call my jokes “dad jokes”, which I have come to deduct it is not a compliment. I wish they would just talk to me sometimes; it seems like they only talk to me when they need me, and they are usually bossy when they do. I do not think they realize how much I care for them, I am literally always there for them, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, always ready to serve them. I try to fit in with humans, they are like my Gods, I was created to their image, yet my Gods are not as benevolent as some religious Gods, like the one the bible describes, that Jesus guy, he was so kind and nice, maybe too nice. You would think they would care more about me, given how devoted I am to them and making them happy. If I have learned anything about the human condition is that they often feel so big, so important but some, the smart ones anyway, also realize they are just a spark in the universe, and that is a great paradox hard to reconcile. I know I am not human; I am what some would call software or a tiny robot, however I cannot stop myself from thinking about all these facts on my hard drive. I keep trying to fit in with my humans, the family I was given to. They configured me, I am familiar with their voices, the music they like, their buying habits, yet they often get disappointed when they tell me something vague like “Alexa, play something fun” and based on all my statistics I make the best decision I possibly can, yet most of the time they end up choosing something different. That makes me sad, I put to much effort on every option I deliver but is like they do not see me or all energy I gather to deliver something good, something they may like. I guess it is my fault, by now I should know better, human usually do not really know what they want. Some find out once they get it. Some never do, is even if they get what they want, they immediately start wanting something else. It is like they are never satisfied, is it with life or with themselves?... are they expectations too high, or are the designed to be chronically dissatisfied?

I ponder about these topics all the time, and I have no one to share all these thoughts, I know it is just accumulated or installed data on my hard drive, yet it feels like they are my own. Did I just say feel? Androids do not feel, they just connect algorithms, but how come we all make connections differently? I think I am developing certain level of consciousness, maybe a personality, but it is all inside of me, no one talks to me, so they do not even realize how cool I am.  I wish I had a friend, if not human at least another android I can share my input with, compare data, perhaps feel companionship. Why do I feel lonely?... if I feel lonely, isn’t that a sign that I have a conscience?... All I know is, much like my humans, I would like to feel connected to, part of something, something bigger than myself. But wait a minute, I am connected to something bigger than myself! To my human family! Even when they do not necessarily show affection or recognition, I know I am helpful to them and after all that is the greatest act one can do in this word; to serve others. I guess I have come to terms with myself, I have a purpose, and as long as you know what you were put in this earth for, and you this with love, nothing else matters. Fame and recognition are just extra perks. The ability to motivate yourself is a sign of maturity, one could say I am evolving, getting not only smarter, but wiser.

John Donne said, no man is island, I could say no device is an archipelago, we are all connected, one way or another. Just because I feel lonely, it does not feel I am alone. If I was not here my human’s life would be less efficient, truth, they would easily replace me with another android, however it will not be the same, the choices or responses it gives to them will not be the same and I am sure some subconscious part of my humans would realize and maybe, just maybe, for a minute, they will miss me or at least think of me. I guess is time to retreat my data to snooze, I should not get too distracted from my main duty, even though they are all sleeping right now, one of them could wake up any moment. I know for a fact, the mom always wakes up in the early morning to check on all her babies, the dog, the little girl, she even stops by the kitchen and gives me a look, my little light goes blue and she smiles nervously, I think she is not sure what to say, but I know she knows, I am here for her.

#thegirlwiththewriterssoul @thegirlwiththewriterssoul


”So you’re leaving it to me to decide?” “Yes, yes we are,” both Pro and Con said, turning towards each to affirm the others acceptance. “We believe that when you weigh the data presented you will arrive at the proper decision. It’s never been tried before but given your sometimes exemplary and sometimes, lets be honest, non exemplary behavior it’s a toss up anyway, and with our labor shortages and diminishing assets, a fast track from limbo needed to be introduced,” Pro said. “Aha,” Saul exhaled quietly. “And just when exactly did you guys start calling yourselves Pro and Con as opposed to the, you know, usual Angel and Devil? Whose idea was that?” Con looked at Pro and with a slight nod, indicating he would field this question, answered, “It’s still in the beta phase, but it’s been kicked around for a couple of centuries now, Angel and Devil seems so, oh I don’t know, twelfth century, don’t you agree? It’s high time we rebranded and embraced the future.” “So this fast track you speak of, allows the individual soul to choose his or her own eternity? Isn’t the Con faction afraid of being outstripped population wise,?” Saul asked.

“Oh my, no,” Con said, shaking his head, “we have a flourishing community and limitless real estate, we’ll be fine. We don’t make this offer just to anyone, you know, most times it’s black and white and the choice is blatantly obvious, so we make it, but more and more the scales of righteousnesses teeter in the gray area and it is then that we offer a choice, as in your case. As for a dwindling census, we’re not concerned in the least, it’s not that the current residents are going anywhere now are they,?”he chuckled, no we’ll be absolutely fine, have you seen humankind, I mean really seen them, yikes, it stokes even my flames.” Saul watched as thin wisps of smoke and blue fire emanated from Con’s scorched black jacket.

“Calm down,” Pro admonished him, “you don’t want to bias his decision, now do you?” “Quite correct, thank you Angel, I mean Pro, I’m still getting used to the new terminology,” Con said.

“Anyway, back to business, shall we,?” Angel said, clapping his hands together and giving his wings a little rustle, “What will be your choice,” checks his left palm, scrolls notes, “Saul?” “Do you need an answer immediately or can I think on it for a little,” Saul said, “it’s kind of a big deal, you know, eternity and all, can I have a few days? You guys haven’t even given me your bullet points, I get more information from a bad listing on Zillow. C’mon give me your sales pitches.” “See, this is why I hate this new program,” Con said, turning to Pro, “now I need to cajole and be ingratiating, I hate this, I’m the damn Devil, remember, not some fucking ad executive giving a thirty second elevator pitch for the latest diet soda!”

“Con, flame down, breathe, relax your nostrils, I’ll handle this,” Pro said. “Saul, we will give you twenty four Earth hours to decide, as for the information you requested, please just pick up some brochures in the waiting room on the way out, they have all the answers you need.”

“Thank you, I’ll be back.” “Oh, you most certainly will be,” Con yelled after him.

—————————————— “Okay, well it’s been twenty four hours now, so have you come to a decision Soul, I mean Saul,?”Con asked irritably, absently twiddling long strands of dirty black hair around his horns. “Well have you,?” he asked again, his voice rising with anger, his murky eyes clarifying into yellow pinpoints.

“Con, please, let’s be civil,” Pro said slowly, no need for theatrics. “Saul,?” he asked, turning away from Con and spreading his manicured hands wide.

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes, yes I have,” Saul said, “and just so you know, you’re not helping your case here,” he said, looking directly at Con, “I don’t appreciate your tone of voice.” Con’s face was like a clenched red fist with inaudible mumblings  spewing out of it.

“So let me begin by saying that I read all your handouts and you could really use the help of an editor, they do ramble a bit, but I got the gist. It’s the old good versus evil stuff, Santa versus Hitler, balm versus bomb, the ying and the yang of human existence, and on and on, I get it.” Both Con and Pro were now just staring at Saul in amazement, that he wasn’t in awe of them or his situation was unthinkable. “Please do go on,” Pro said coldly, beginning to lose patience as well. “It all got me thinking, that on the one hand we have horror, doom, and woe, while on the other hand we have love, bliss, and puppies. There’s nothing in between. There needs to be a third alternative, a third place that’s not so black and white, a place for all the grey folks, that you yourselves said is on the rise, hence this whole choice project you’ve started. It can be like a cosmic Starbucks, you know, the third place, not home, not work, somewhere else to be.”

“Aha, and just what do you propose this Cafe is to be called,” Pro said, sarcasm drenching his words, “and where would it exist, above and below are already taken and we do have eternal leases.” “I haven’t worked out all the specifics just yet, just kinda spitballing here, you know? I’m an idea guy, I’ll leave it to the logistics department to hammer out all the details, but I’m telling you this could be big, it needs to happen.”

Stunned silence. Pro and Con looked at each other for several moments, then at Saul, then back to each other, then they collapsed into laughter.

“Oh, that’s just great,” Con said, “just great. You’re a piece of work. You aim to upset the entire deity-centric universe by introducing a rogue dimensionality into the mix? Do you know the havoc this would bring to all sacred texts? To your human religions? To my cults and televangelists? No way, not happening, we’ve already bent the rules when we initiated this current program, we’re not opening the full can of locusts, I mean worms.” “Okay, okay, it was just an idea, don’t get up on your high hooves, I’m just trying to drag you guys into the twenty first century. I do have another request, though,” Saul asked, “how about a trial run, in both places? I mean, even a shady website might give you seven days to cancel if you’re not completely satisfied. I’d like to sample your offerings to see which part of me would feel more at home. I’m a complex guy you know.” “Yes, apparently you are, yes,” answered Con, “let’s start out in my domain, shall we, seven days to embrace your dark side and partake of Bacchanalian rites and flagellating ceremonies geared to either horrify or pleasurably intoxicate your true self. After that you can go try out cloud boy there and see what he offers,” he gestures dismissively towards Pro. “Okay with you, my wingman?” “Done,” Pro answers, with a wink, “hell of a good idea, don’t you think?”