“ We shouldn't have done that.” “I know,” Sarah sighed, breathless. “ But I couldn't hold back any longer.” “ Me neither” Tom confessed, guiltily. “For weeks I've been thinking about doing this, but I kept telling myself that I shouldn't. It'll hurt me as much as everyone else.” “Sometimes, we have to give into our instincts. It's only natural.” Sarah reasoned. “But I can't keep this a secret. We're going to have to tell Mark what we've done.” Tom looked mortified. “We can't! He'd be so angry with us, me in particular. I initiated this.” Tom rung his hands together in an unconscious reenactment of what Mark would do to him, if he found out their secret. “We have to! I couldn't live with the thought of what we've just done.” Sarah lowered her head in shame. She had always been the type to tell the truth, even when the consequences, would be worse for her. When Tom and Sarah met two years before, she found herself telling him about her life, her family and her weight problems. She had never felt so comfortable with a man before then. She told Tom about the way in which Mark had made her feel ashamed about how she looked and she how he pointed out all of the things that were wrong with her. No matter how hard Sarah tried though, her efforts were never enough. It wasn't so much what Mark said, it was the looks of reproach and almost disgust, that made Sarah feel useless. He would look at her in the mirror and sigh at the sight of her. “But do we have to tell him the truth? This could be a one off and we can go on as if nothing had happened.” Tom shrugged to show that what they had done, was really no big deal. “How can I explain where I've been today then? I was supposed to meet him at three.” They both looked at the clock. The time was 4.30. It was getting darker early now, with the onset of winter. “You can tell him that you bumped into a friend, you got talking and lost track of the time. It's not exactly a lie, is it?” Sarah paused, thinking about whether or not she could say that to Mark. “I don't know,” Sarah answered, biting her lip. Sarah always did this when she was nervous or considering something. Tom found this very endearing, almost sexy. “Could I tell him that? Would he believe me?” “Of course he would!” Tom wanted Sarah to go along with his idea, not just for her sake, but his own. “It nothing out of the ordinary, things like that happen all of the time.” “Yeah, I suppose...” The pair remained silent. Tom was relieved that it looked like Sarah was going to accept his idea. The silence was broken by Sarah. “But what if we want to do this again? It was difficult to stop the urge the first time.” “We won't.” Tom insisted. “This will be the last time.” Tom was definite, but Sarah could detect a hint of regret in his voice. Thinking about it, Sarah wasn't sure that she wanted this to be the last time either. Without warning, Sarah rose, jolting Tom out of the way. “I've made a decision. I'm going to tell Mark.” “You can't!” Tom rose from his spot. “I thought we decided to keep this afternoon between you and me.” Sarah tied her trainers and grabbed her coat. “Sarah! Wait!” Tom called to the empty space, as the door closed. “Shit!” Tom grabbed his things and ran out, to stop Sarah from revealing their secret. It wasn't just the consequences of their actions that he was worried about. It was the fact that he and Sarah had a secret that was theirs, it was time that they had spent, just the two of them. He didn't want to admit it, but Tom had fallen in love with Sarah. He didn't care about the way she looked. He loved her sense of humour, they never had awkward silences between them and he loved that she loved geeky things, like he did. He had to say though, that when he thought about her smile, her eyes and her curvy body, a shiver of pleasure ran through him. “Sarah! Sarah!” Tom ran out into the car park of the fast food restaurant, nearly getting himself run over, by a car pulling out of the drive through. “You can't stop me!” Sarah strode with determined focus, towards her car. She pressed the fob on her key ring, the light flashed, indictating that the car was unlocked. “I'm going to tell Mark that we've just eaten a Double cheese burger and fries.” Tom reached Sarah's car. Out of breath, he leaned against the car. “Well ok.” Tom sighed in defeat. "Just don't tell Mark about the milkshake. You know how many calories are in them!” “Look!” the look of panic went out of Sarah's face. “We're adults. Why should we care what some bully of a personal trainer thinks? We don't have to hide our secret. If we want to eat a burger now and then, what's the problem?” “Exactly!” Tom smiled, suddenly felt more confident about confronting their personal trainer,Mark. “I mean, you don't need to put up with that creep. He's nothing but a power hunger gym bunny, who gets his kicks by putting people down. You're beautiful, just as you are.” Sarah was stunned by what Tom had just said “I....I don't know what to say. I thought we were friends.” “We are, but..” Tom wasn't even sure that he should say what came next, but he knew that he had to, “I had hoped that we could be a bit more...” Tom thought for a moment that his friendship with Sarah was over. They could never go back to being friends, if she didn't feel the same way as he did. Then, without warning, Sarah leaned in closer and kissed him. “Well I think we can arrange that.” They stayed silence for a moment, before Sarah opened the car door and got into the driver's seat. “Come on, what are you watiing for? We've got gym subscriptions to cancel.” Tom smiled broadly and got into the car. Both of them felt light, knowing that however Mark reacted to what they were about to tell him, they would deal with this together.


There were six of us sat around that table in The Crown on New Year’s Eve. The same six of us who met in the pub nearly every week; Dave, Chris, Tony, Karl, Simon, and me. Doing what we always did; drinking lots of beers and taking the mickey out of each other. We had all made New Year’s resolutions previous years, big fanfare announcements to the rest of the boys. Promises to give up bad habits, or to take up something new, change something in our personality, trying to better ourselves. None of them ever stuck, so we had a new idea this year, make secret resolutions. Not tell each other what they were. Instead, we would write them on a piece of paper, put that in our wallets, and then the following year we would reveal them to the others and see how well we did. Or more likely, how badly we did. So, we sat there in the pub drinking pints like they were going out of fashion, and each of us wrote some words on pieces of paper, one by one, as only Chris had a pen, then folded them and slipped them into our wallets. My own was simple, poorly written by alcohol impaired hands, “I will change nothing.” How could I fail? It would be easy. How little did I know then. In a haze the following morning I thought about our resolutions and wanted to check mine. I stumbled about the flat searching for my jeans, only to find them hanging off the handle of the fridge door. I got my wallet out and retrieved the piece of paper I’d written on the night before. Only the words I found there bore no resemblance to what I thought I had written. The writing wasn’t mine either, and far too neat to have been written under the influence. And it wasn’t as if what was written was even possible. “I resolve to take up whatever activity the other five gave up on their written resolutions this year. I will continue to do these activities until such time as the resolution has been broken by the person who wrote it.” I laughed, I didn’t know what the others’ resolutions were, so how could I possibly take up anything if I didn’t know what it was? I folded up the paper and put it back in my wallet anyway and went to make myself a cup of coffee. For some reason I just fancied one. It took me a few minutes to find the jar of instant coffee, stuck away in the back of a cupboard. Lord knows how long it had been there, but it took a few attempts to smash some granules loose of the lump it had become. I’d need to go and buy some new, I couldn’t be doing this a few times a day. So, after drinking my cup of coffee, which was more bitter than I had remembered coffee being, I threw some clothes on and went out. It was New Year’s Day so there wasn’t going to be much open, but the Best One up at the parade of shops would be, they were always open. I’d seen they were even open on Christmas Day, no rest for some nowadays. They had more brands of coffee than I expected they would, and not all of it instant, though the filter and cafetiere coffee would have to wait for another day; I’d need to get a proper coffee machine or cafetiere first. I put the coffee down on the counter and asked for twenty Benson & Hedges as well. I was surprised to see the box covered in images of cancerous cells. I was expecting the classic gold coloured box I remembered from years ago. I paid and took the bag they’d put the items in and left the shop, took the cigarettes out of the bag, took the film wrap off the packet and took one out and stuck it in my mouth. Only to realise I didn’t have a lighter or matches to light it with. Back into the shop to get a lighter then. I lit it and coughed with the first inhalation of smoke. I wasn’t used to smoke; it must have been ten years or so since I’d last had a cigarette. Yet the cough didn’t put me off, and I took another drag and started to walk towards home. Only for the bright lights of the bookies to call to me. I was surprised they were open, and as I walked in, I was shouted at that there was no smoking allowed. Another thing that was different from my memories. Bookies used to be smoked filled dens of iniquity when my dad used to go in them. I supposed that stopped at the same time they banned smoking in pubs. I finished the cigarette, stubbed it out on the wall and went back into the bookies. Only to realise I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t even know what events were on. Did they have horse racing on New Year’s Day? In the end I had to get the girl behind the counter to help me fill out a betting slip. The horse lost, but that didn’t deter me. I put bet after bet on races as they happened, bet on football matches, and even on the darts. And whilst waiting for results I played on their casino style fruit machines. I had a couple of wins but was probably the fat end of two hundred quid down by the time I was asked to leave as they were closing. I didn’t realise I’d been in there so long, but it was dark when I left, and I lit another cigarette as I wandered home. Four coffees and half a pack of cigarettes later I went to bed, but found myself too wired to sleep, the caffeine I supposed. So, I started some tidying up, putting stuff away, emptying the bins and generally clearing up. Whilst doing so I found a few of my girlfriend’s clothes in the airing cupboard. And before I knew it, I had them on, surprised by how well they fit me, and how comfortable they felt on me. So much so I wore them to bed and slept like a baby. The next morning, I got up and reluctantly took my girlfriend’s clothes off, got dressed in my own clothes, had a cup of coffee and a cigarette, and headed into town. I needed to do some shopping. Argos for a filter coffee machine and a cafetiere, Costa for a coffee, Sainsbury’s for some filter coffee and cigarettes, Starbucks for a coffee, and then into the charity shop. Usually, it would be for books and records, but instead I found myself perusing the women’s clothing. And buying skirts, blouses, dresses, and even some shoes, and a long coat. Only to nearly leave the lot in the bookies after a couple of hours of gambling. And losses. I went out that evening, wearing some of the clothes I bought at the charity shop, and I just hung about in the alley behind the local parade of shops, where there were no lights shining the way, hidden between the dumpsters. I stood there waiting until I heard footsteps, and then I stepped out in front of the person walking past, not knowing who they were, male or female, old or young, tall, or short. And then the knife was in my hand, I had no recollection of even bringing the knife – the big carving one from the wooden block in my kitchen – and then it was in them. It was a man, in their thirties or possibly forties, and they looked shocked. Whether it was at me dressed in women’s clothing, or at the knife that was now stuck in between his ribs, I wasn’t sure. He slumped to the ground, never crying out. I found that I was more prepared than I thought possible. I had just killed a man, yet felt nothing, I opened one of the dumpsters, took out a load of the black sacks full of who knows what, and then lifted the man into the dumpster and put all the black sacks back in on top of him. And headed back to the flat as if nothing had happened. It took ten minutes from getting into my flat for the crashing realisation of what I’d done to hit me. I passed the mirror in the hall and saw the blood on the clothes I was wearing. The blood of the man I’d just coldly killed and dumped. I ran to the bathroom and vomited my guts up, retching long after there was nothing left in my stomach. Although it would appear I only had coffee in there. I took the clothes off, and put them in a bin bag, had a long shower, got dressed in my usual clothes and took the bin bag and put in the bins of the next block of flats to mine. As I walked back to the flat sucking on a B&H I had the dawning realisation that I was doing five new things. The coffee, the cigarettes, the gambling, the cross dressing, and now the murdering. I spent the rest of the evening and most of the night thinking about which of my friends had had these habits. Things I had never noticed about them. Things I never knew about them. Things I didn’t want to know about them. Could I look at any of them in the same way. Their previous behaviours, the ones they had resolved to give up were going to cost me. My health, my job, my flat, my girlfriend, and my liberty if I didn’t sort them out. The cigarettes and coffee weren’t too bad apart from to my health, the gambling was more of an issue if I carried on spending at the rate, I had for the last two days. The women’s clothes were going to be an issue if Sue caught me doing it, especially in her own clothes. But the murder was off the scale. I needed them to start doing what they used to, and soon. But how could I get them to start over? For the next few days, I kept myself barricaded in the flat, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes whilst wandering around in women’s clothes – refusing to see Sue, and declining invites to meet the others in the pub. I opened half a dozen online gambling accounts to pass the time, all whilst keeping an eye on the local news, looking out for a story about a dead body being found. I hung as far out of the bathroom window as I could a couple of times to have a look if there was any activity in the alley behind the shops, but there was nothing. Until the missing person plea on Facebook. I recognised the picture immediately, and I knew where they were, not that it would help those looking for him. I’d seen lots of these appeals before, and now wondered about them. Could they be other victims? How many had one of my friends murdered? I took a swig of coffee. And spat it back out. I hated coffee, what the hell was I doing? And I breathed a sigh of relief. Whichever of my friends had given up coffee as a resolution had failed after only a few days. Perhaps there was hope. After having rung in sick for a couple of days I went back to work on the Wednesday. And was distracted all day. The knickers and bra I wore weren’t really big enough and cut into me, and they were as irritating as hell, I needed to get rid of them, and by lunch I had, they were dumped into the bin in the toilets, it should be an interesting find for the cleaners. Then there were the cigarette breaks and the dirty looks from some of the others in the office. Plus, I found that not all of the gambling sites were blocked on the work internet. I couldn’t wait to get out at five and head home. There was no rush, I trudged alongside the canal, a route I walked many times, even in the dark the chalky white path lit up against the murky darkness of the water it ran alongside. As I walked along smoking, I could see someone walking towards me. I bent down and picked up a rock from the edge of the path and as they drew level with me, I smashed the rock down on their head and pushed them into the canal. They landed face down and I watched as the water gently took them alongside the path in the direction I was walking. There was no movement, no attempt to try and get their head above the surface. No one could hold their breath for that long, they were dead, and I picked up the pace and continued to head for home. Once there, another bout of vomiting came as the enormity of what I’d done hit me again. I’d killed two people in under a week. I needed to find out who it was who had been killing people before. And so, I called around and arranged to meet everyone on the Friday night. I didn’t tell them it was about their resolutions. Work was still awkward, although it would appear I had lost the need to dress in women’s clothes. There was a report on the news about a man had been found drowned in the canal with a head injury. But the reports suggested that there were no suspicions of foul play, that it looked as if it was a tragic accident. The sigh of relief must have been heard all around the office. I just hoped the sob that followed as I read the man was a father of four wasn’t. More relief came on the Friday, I was in the middle of cigarette break number four when I coughed again and spat out the cigarette I was smoking, trying to spit out the disgusting taste of it in my mouth and lungs. The smoker had taken their habit back up, lasting a little over a week. I was down to two now. The biggest threat to my bank account, and the biggest threat to the population at large. I got to the pub early, bought myself a drink and went to feed the fruit machine. They used to be coin operated only years ago, but nowadays they took notes and cards. The thing was I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I didn’t know when to hold, or what the features did, I was just blindly pushing buttons and hoping for the best. As I was doing so, Karl sidled up to the fruit machine and started telling me where I was going wrong. I asked him to show me what I should be doing, and he stepped in to take control. A few spins later there was eighty quid in winnings spilling out of the machine. I took it and turned my back on the machine. I think it was safe to say Karl was the secret gambler amongst us. When everyone was there and we’d had a couple of beers I began to tell them of the strange things that had happened around the resolutions and the strange one I had found in my wallet the morning after, and without mentioning what I’d taken up I told them I’d picked up five new habits this year. They all laughed, more at me than with me, and there were a couple of uncomfortable looking lads around the table. At the end of the night, I still hadn’t worked out who was the murderer, Dave and Tony had looked the most uncomfortable as I had been talking about the resolutions, and no one had wanted to share their piece of paper yet. I left with Simon as he lived close to me, and as we walked alongside the church, he said he wanted to show me one of the gravestones. I laughed and said wouldn’t it be easier to see it in the light, but he insisted and so I followed him into the graveyard. As I stand here now, I realise I have made a mistake. Simon is standing next to a new headstone, shiny pink marble amongst the dark slate. Gold printed letters on the headstone. I recognise the name, we all knew Danny, he had hung himself three years ago. “Only he didn’t,” Simon said, “he wrote the note, but couldn’t go through with it, so I helped him complete. Pushed him off the banister and watched him swing there, fighting to get out of the noose he had tied for himself. I enjoyed it. Enjoyed it so much I started finding random people to kill, making it seem like accidents or hiding the body so well they weren’t found.” I’m flabbergasted, of all of us Simon would be the one I’d least expect to be a killer. “It was my resolution to give up killing people, but I like it too much, even after a week I’m missing it, but then you’d know about that now wouldn’t you. I will take the burden off you though, I will kill again, but as you know my secret, you can’t be allowed to go running around telling people.” And then I saw the knife in his hand, I saw it as it entered my chest, felt the cold metal penetrate my skin and then I felt nothing.


We just spoke last week, my friend and I.

It had been quite a while since we had spoken on the phone, though we frequently texted and sent voice messages.

She talked about her life and career, her new girlfriend and being stuck inside still.

I talked about problems at my work, comically awful dates I had been on, and the hobbies I had.

We had also talked about that place, the one where we had met.

It comes up in every conversation - even if it seemingly has nothing to do with our current lives.

The memories of that place are so strong that they affect us even still.

We talk about people who have met who remind us horribly of the ones in that place.

We joke about how we want to run away or smack these strangers who vaguely resemble them.

Laughing has become our way of keeping back the terror that we still feel towards even vague reminders of that place.

For beneath our mundane conversation, the effects of that place surface still.

I am afraid of making new friends, still scarred by the ones I knew, and so stay at home away from it all.

I tell her how I am looking for a new job.

Although I say it is because of coworkers now, the hours, etc., I realise deep down that it is because of that place.

The job where I work is similar to the one I had; the career I had always wanted to do has become stained with the tragedy of what once was.

Doing the same tasks reminds me of the ones I did before.

Sitting at my desk working on a similar document brings back memories of time spent at a different desk, feeling as if I could not breathe for hours on end.

She is one of the few people I can speak to about this, and yet, I can’t imagine that we would have met or even been friends in a different life, one where that place never existed.

I had already been in hell for a year before she came.

Even writing this, it is still hard to talk about that place.

Perhaps this is cathartic, to write out these repressed memories I had tried so very hard to forget.

That I still try to forget.

I often try to let them flow out in small amounts, at certain times, in order to let the poison that has taken root in my veins be free.

It is odd in a way, because talking about hell to people who have never been sounds delusional or insane.

How do you explain how you looked into the eyes of someone in the guise of a human, and saw that they enjoyed your pain. How do you explain a person who manipulates others so delicately, that you don’t even realise until it is too late.

How do you explain someone who makes you and those around you believe the worst of yourself.

How do you explain when you sit at your job and feel so nauseous that you go into your bathroom and shake and shake until you feel like you can’t breathe. It is something that is too cruel for good people.

It is something that is too abstract to explain - no, it’s not a death, no, it wasn’t an illness, no, no, not those.

Nothing you could see and everything you could feel. I watched as we all aged inside and out.

As the light that had been in us went slowly out.

As people I had considered friends tore me down to push themselves up.

People who I had considered friends that believed the worst that was said about me, about others.

It is a sad, cruel thing the way people are.

Perhaps this is why those who had light in them stood out that much more.

She only came in the second half of my second year, and we were not friends at the beginning.

We had different interests and wildly dissimilar personalities.

She was outgoing, always dating someone new, and became friends with everyone she met.

I was quiet and nerdy (and happily so) and madly in love with a boy I knew.

It wasn’t until a few months later that we became close, when her own personal tragedy brought us together.

She needed someone and I wanted to help.

Yet, as tediously cliché as it sounds, she did end up helping me much more.

Having someone with whom I could escape, through late-night talks in the park, drinks downtown, and exploring the city, made that the best part of those two years.

We would sit and talk for hours about anything and everything - religion, politics, economics, the boy I loved, the men and women she loved.

Odd looking back how much we ended up having in common after all.

Even though we loved different people and held different beliefs, we both cared about others at our core.

We both respected each other enough to listen, even if we did not agree.  That in itself is rare - finding someone who can listen to ideas they do not believe.

That bit of hope at the end of it all helped me recover as I knew that despite the frighteningly blatant darkness that I had seen - there was someone who was good.

I have only seen them briefly since then.

I went home for several months, to cry and sleep for hours and days and to repress what happened.

It is not until now, almost two years later, that I can begin to talk about it - and then only sparingly.

There are few people in my life that I trust now but her, I would trust with my life.

After you have been through something like that you know exactly the kind of person they are.

Monsters in books beget either heroes or villains, but at that place I found that it is not always so clear.

There are things I did that I am ashamed of, things they did that I hated.

Yet, both of us found the hero in ourselves and stood firm against the monster, in our own way, in our own time.

To have someone who knows.

Who went to hell and back with you; that is worth more than can be said.


There used to be a weeping willow tree at the end of my Grandmother’s street. I’m not entirely sure if it’s still there, but I remember thinking that if I could just climb to the highest branch, I would be able to touch the clouds. My Grandmother and I went to the tree every time my family visited from when I was a toddler until I was fourteen.

Whenever my grandmother and I visited the tree, she would bring her sketchbook and draw me sitting on the tire swing that was tied to one of the lower branches. Somewhere in a box there is a stack of drawings of a little girl on a tire swing.

I wish I knew where it was now. I was eleven when my older brother started visiting the tree too. Sam was four years older than me. He had no interest in playing make-believe with his little sister under the willow tree. Sam had discovered vaping and realized that the weeping branches of the willow tree that concealed my “fairy land” could also hide his bad habit. There were only eight houses on my Grandmother’s street. My grandmother had just been diagnosed with cancer when the Smith family moved into the yellow house on the corner. A week later, we moved in with my grandmother. All I knew was that grandma was going to be sick for a while and that we needed to be there to keep her company until she got better. Sometimes I would see a few kids playing on the tire swing or climbing the lower branches of the willow tree. One of them looked to be a girl around my age. I was enamored with her long, blonde hair. She could have told me her name was Rapunzel and the tree was her tower and I would have believed her. If I had the guts to speak to her, that is. Growing up, I never made friends easily. I wanted to be friends with the pretty girl who looked like the princesses in the storybooks my mom used to read to me, but I didn’t know how. My grandmother was my closest friend for most of my childhood. Not too long after moving in, my grandmother wouldn’t come to the willow tree with me as often as she used to. About two years after we moved in, my grandmother stopped coming to the willow tree with me entirely. I didn’t know what it meant the first time my grandmother said, “Maybe later, dear,” when I asked her to walk to the willow with me. And two years later, I still didn’t see the things that would be obvious to me if I were seeing them now. The collection of pill bottles in her bathroom that had been growing since she was diagnosed suddenly dwindled down to only a few overnight. The time that she had spent at the hospital lessened and yet she didn’t get any better. After a day my grandmother had said “not today”, my parents would shut their door and have whispered conversation with furtive tones.

On “not today” days I would go to the willow tree by myself and sit on the ground with my back against the tree and a good book. It felt wrong to sit in the tire swing when my grandmother wasn’t there with me, drawing in her sketchbook. If Sam had any such reservations, he didn’t show it. The tree wasn’t hallowed ground for Sam like it was for me. Rather, it was a place he could go to do illicit things with sketchy people.

One of the not-so-sketchy people Sam met there was the girl I had dubbed “Rapunzel”. Her actual name was Rena and she was sixteen at the time, two years older than me. As much as I disapproved of what she did with Sam at the tree, I liked her and I was thankful that she was around when my grandmother passed.

The day my grandmother died I was at the willow tree sketching the swing to show her later. She had given me a new sketchbook that morning and told me to fill it up with all the things that made me happy.

I can still remember that day with perfect clarity. I was alone at the willow tree sketching the tire swing to show her later. It had just been that morning that she had given me the sketchbook I was drawing in and told me to fill it up with all the things that made me happy. I had been planning to draw my grandmother when I came home from the willow tree. Instead, I watched as EMTs carried her out of the house in a body bag. Rena came to the funeral and I saw her leave with my brother after the burial. My parents were thanking everyone for coming and I had been left to my own devices. I wandered the halls of the funeral home for a while, but eventually found my way back to the main hall. I stood in front of a table that looked like a weird kind of shrine to my grandmother. I say it was weird, because despite there being a framed picture of her, it didn’t feel personal enough to honor the woman that had been a core figure in my life for as long as I’d been alive. Daisies had been my grandmother’s favorite flower and, sure, there was a bouquet of them on the table, but my grandmother had always liked seeing them alive in the ground rather than cut off at the knees in a vase where they’d wither and die in a few days. What really caught my attention were the pamphlets that reduced my grandmother to three paragraphs. None of them mentioned the way she smiled and laughed and hugged me as tight as possible every time I came to visit. There wasn’t a sentence that told of how she kept a secret cookie jar just for the two of us in the pantry. And I didn’t read a single word mentioning the willow tree that had been our place. Maybe that was egocentric of me, thinking only of my relationship with my grandmother. After all, my mom had just lost her mom. I knew that. I just didn’t really understand it.  Since the day of the funeral, I saw Rena almost every day for a while. She had a weird relationship with my brother, but I liked her nonetheless. I never heard her utter a mean word against anyone and she had a way of always saying the right thing. She liked to draw and I asked her to show me how to draw faces. I could never get the nose right, but she called it my signature style. If neither Rena or Sam liked vaping and they hadn’t been the only kids their age on our street, they would never have been friends. Even so, they were only friends over the summer my grandmother died and it didn’t last when school began. Sam played football and so did all of his friends. Rena drew in her sketchbook in her spare time. More to the point, Sam was popular and Rena was not. Sam and Rena didn’t meet at the willow tree anymore. They said hello to each other in school sometimes, but that was about it. Rena kept going to the willow tree, but now it was me she was meeting there. We brought our textbooks and sketchbooks and talked about making plans for homecoming, which was in two weeks. Rena and I never made plans, but we ended up going anyway. I think my parents said something to Sam, because he proposed the idea of the three of us going together, which I can’t imagine he would have done on his own. Homecoming came and went. Sam, Rena, and I had gone together, but when we got there, Sam disappeared. Rena’s friend drove us home and I didn’t see Sam until the next morning when he appeared at breakfast. For the record, I never snitched on him even though it was a dick move. Dick moves started becoming Sam’s thing after that. He fought with our parents constantly. Over what, I’m not sure. Our parents weren’t even remotely strict. Sam was allowed to come and go as he pleased for the most part. He didn’t even have a curfew as long as he told Mom and Dad where he was going to be. Sam was a junior in high school. He had good grades and played football pretty damn well. A few scouts even came out to see him play. Our parents were proud of that and told him so. It must not have been enough for him. Then again, there wasn’t much that was good enough for him. When he first turned sixteen, our parents bought him a beater car and told him they would pay for his gas during football season, but after that he needed to get a job. He complained that the car didn’t have Bluetooth built in. I kept my distance from him, which wasn’t hard considering that he was also avoiding me. I didn’t want to associate with him and he didn’t want people at school to associate him with me. That was fine. Although, I could tell it hurt our parents that Sam and I didn’t get along. I think it was the third week of October when I first heard the rumors. Though, I assumed the rumors had been going around before I heard them. That was the way of the rumor mill; the people closest to the rumor usually hear it last. Word was spreading that Rena had taken explicit pictures of herself and apparently those pictures had gotten out. My heart sank when I heard that, because in my mind there was only person that she could have taken them for and sent them to. My brother. The day I caught wind of what had happened, I flagged Rena down after school and tried to talk to her before she got on the bus.

“Rena!” She stopped at the bottom step of the bus and turned to look at me. Her eyes were red and she looked like she had been crying. I waited a moment for her to step out of line and come over to talk to me, but she just turned back around and got on the bus. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to go home right then and there and figure out what exactly had happened, but I had a community service club I participated in on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Looking back at it, I should have gone home. When I got home that night, I tore through the house and went right to my brother’s room, but he wasn’t home. My parents said he had gone out with some friends a few hours ago. I wanted to talk to them about what happened, but all I had to go on at that moment were rumors and the only confirmation I had was seeing that my friend was crying. For all I knew, the rumors weren’t true, but she was crying because everyone thought they were. The next morning the word “SLUT” was written on Rena’s locker in big capital letters. I stopped when I saw that she was standing right in front of it frozen. Her eyes were wide and there was a bright flush across her cheeks. I walked over to her and gently led her away. I could feel people watching us. Our school wasn’t that big. Everyone knew everyone. I’m sure that at that point, the only people who didn’t know what had happened were me, my parents, and the school administration. We made our way to the bathroom, which was empty when we got there. I pushed closed the door and locked it. If anyone needed to use the bathroom, they’d have to go somewhere else. “What happened?” Rena let out a shaky breath and a single tear spilled down her cheek. “Sam- Sam…” She broke off her sentence, but it was enough. I already had my suspicions that Sam was involved, but it still felt like a punch in the gut to know that my brother had done something to cause this. Rena told me how she had sent pictures of herself to Sam over the summer when they had been seeing each other. Sam had kept those pictures after they stopped talking and in the last month, sent them to a group chat he was in with some of his football buddies. An angry, burning sensation began growing in my chest. At myself for not knowing and at my brother and his doorknob friends for being such tools. Rena had been getting harassed for a month and I’d only found out yesterday. I didn’t even know how that was possible. Sure, we hadn’t seen each other as much recently, but I thought that was because we were both busy. I had my clubs and she had her art. I had no clue what to say. I scrambled to come up with the right thing to say, but Rena had always been the one who was good with words. Me, not so much. Her face crumpled and before I could say anything, she stepped around me and left the bathroom. I looked out for her the rest of the day, but I didn’t see her anywhere. I tried texting her, but she didn’t respond. She had mentioned in the bathroom, that stuff about her had been posted online and she had deleted her social media. It wouldn’t be so far-fetched for her to shut her phone off. Still, I worried. I knocked on her door after school and no one answered. Her parents weren’t home most of the time, because they were doctors, but Rena always answered if she was home. Something didn’t feel quite right, but there was nothing I could do from this side of a closed door. Or maybe that was just me trying to make myself feel better about being completely and utterly useless when my friend needed me. Early the following morning, a person walking their dog found Rena hanging from the willow tree. She had fixed a noose and tied it to the same branch on the willow tree as the tire swing before jumping off and breaking her own neck. I should have said something. I should have said anything rather than nothing in the bathroom that day she told me what had happened. I should have... I should have... I should have... Rena’s death was ruled suicide, but there was an investigation that revealed pictures of her on the phones of my brother and a disgusting number of people at our school. I’m not sure what happened to the other kids involved, but when Sam went to court, he received community service from the judge. It could have been a lot worse if he had been eighteen, but he was seventeen.  Our parents weren’t nearly as lenient. They took his phone, his keys, and his privileges. He wasn’t allowed to go anywhere except school. He was kicked off the football team and so were a lot of his friends. There was a great deal of unrest in our town. Some people were upset that such a big deal was being made over Rena. The girl killed herself. No one else did. Why are our kids being punished? These were the parents of boys on the football team who had pictures of Rena and as a result, were kicked off the team. They complained that it was unfair. Then there were others that were shocked and horrified by Rena’s suicide and what had driven her there. This was the majority of people. There was a sense of not knowing what to do next and that hung over the town like a weighted blanket. It was a claustrophobic sort of sensation that the town was too small for something so big to have happened there. The willow tree itself was a source of contention for everyone. Should the tree be taken down because it is a reminder of what happened or should it be left up because it is a reminder of what happened? I was torn, because the willow tree had been near the center of my life for almost as long as I had been alive. It was the special place I shared with my grandmother and then with Rena. At the same time, it was the place Rena and Sam used to meet for a brief time. And now it was the place Rena committed suicide. What the town decided, I never found out. My parents decided it would be best for us to have a fresh start in a different town, preferably in a different state. We moved barely a month after Rena’s funeral. At the new house, there is a little tree in the backyard. It’s just a little oak tree. There’s nothing particularly special about it. I like to think that one day it will be tall enough for me to climb it and try to touch the clouds. For now though, I pull out the sketchbook my grandmother gave me, flipping past the sketches of the willow tree, and begin drawing the short but strong branches of the little oak tree.


Where I come from, everyone avoids the rain. I slip out from beneath an awning and around blue puddles from the last thunderstorm. Windows cry long streaks and buildings are left stained with dark smears. Nature's paint. At least nature couldn't get arrested. After art became illegal, I watched cities lose their souls and the rain tried to paint it blue instead.

With free speech and creative voices out of the picture, the government’s new focus is fixing the weather. Except they were the ones to blame when the rain started falling in pretty sapphire drops about a year ago. The catch? Water became absolutely deadly to drink. I pass through a neighborhood drowned in silence. A couple leaves scrape against the emptiness. It's a reminder of the hundreds of deaths from the poorer districts, but no one to tell people about it. All journalism organizations were dismantled several years ago when the government realized that artists weren’t the only ones who could speak out.

The rain often still falls blue. I’m almost certain that they’ve given up trying to undo it completely. After all, now they can make money off selling bottles to the desperate people who don’t have access to clean water. My eyes fish in the dark pockets of alleyways and I hurry my pace. I catch a glimpse of my wavering shape in a window: dark jeans ripped at my knees, and an oversized hooded jacket. I cradle my own metal water bottle in one of my arms, feeling its contents shift with my movements. I never use it to carry water.

I slip into an alleyway marked with a faint yellow smudge against one of the bricks. A quick search leads me to a handle camouflaged into its surroundings to blend almost completely into the grimy walls and dirty cement. I tug at the handle and despite its aged appearance, the door opens without any creaks. I’m quick to disappear into the gaping blackness for fear of unwanted guests finding the way in.

Climbing down the ladder, I have to re-position the water bottle to make sure it doesn’t fall. The rungs vibrate with each step down until I jump the rest of the way. My boots hitting the cement sends an echo that’s immediately absorbed into the dark.

The tunnel’s mouth widens and the underground brims with fluttering life. New art decorates the walls. Fellow artists return my smile as I pass them in the midst of their newest projects. I walk through the art market where little cubed areas are sectioned off for traveling or permanent vendors to sell goods. There's anything from handmade paintbrushes, custom paints and inks, partly recovered makeup palettes, fabrics, paper, and I even know a traveling notebook maker. As for the prices…those could usually be bargained down. I touch my short wavy dark strands as I pass a vendor selling homemade hair dye. I really want to dye my hair, but technically I don't

need  to. I turn my gaze away from being tempted and keep walking.

Lights continue to trace the walls of the tunnel. Just like artists, to make our own little stars that brighten the lives of those who went into hiding like I did.

This is where the true city lives, not the empty shell that sleeps above our heads. It takes a few turns through the maze of tunnels until I come upon the entryway I had been looking for. There’s a fluctuating stream of people coming in and going out. I go inside and end up in a space pumping with music and dancing bodies. The Underworld never disappoints.

My guess is the room used to be water storage but since it had been drained, it now acted as the perfect underground club. The lights are covered with a type of red transparent plastic, so the room glows to complement the bar’s name. The red cushioned sofas line the walls while tall standing tables are spaced sporadically in the space. Each has a small fake candle atop it. Then, the centerpiece of it all: the bar.

I don’t know how they managed to install lit shelving to hold the alcohol, but I had decided a while ago not to question it.

The bar sits at the far end of the large room. Its glasses of alcohol fill the shelves and while the decorated shelves go to the ceiling, the alcohol remains at a height where bartenders could easily reach without a ladder. A long counter runs in front of it but surprisingly it’s not too crowded. Most people order their drink and then hurry off to some other part of the room. At the bar, the music isn’t as blaring as it is where a live DJ is performing. I find a seat on one of the black painted stools etched with white curls up the legs. Just as I’m debating a drink, I find that one has already been set in front of me.

“You’re back early,” says the bartender who gave it to me. “There weren’t any problems,” I shrug. I examine the drink in the faint light. Little bubbles rise in a liquid that’s either purple or blue. It was hard to tell because of the red glow around me. I take a sip. It’s good.

She hands another drink to someone before coming back to me. Tonight, her jet-black hair is scrambled back into a messy bun with a notable silver hairpin slipped through it. Silver earrings wink red light from the many piercings she has. Then her winged eyeliner is traced with silver lines to match the sequins which turn crimson when she glances to the side. “Sorry I couldn’t go with. Keeping an eye on some of the newbies. They just came out of recovery,” she says, tapping her ringed fingers on the bar. I look over my shoulder to see where she is looking. The new artists look out of place near the wall but they appear to be at least talking with one other. When I glance back, she’s smiling at them like a mother to children. “Did they find what their outlet is?” I hand her the water bottle.

She opens it and pours out the contents: a few skinny bottles of glow in the dark ink, permanent glue, a flash drive, and some wire. She lifts one of the ink bottles up to the overhead light. “One of them decided it's drawing. I think one might like poetry or short prose, but the other one isn't sure yet.” I nod and gesture at the contents. “Sorry, it's not much, but the store was pretty destroyed when I got there. I think one of the other Houses beat us to it." She sweeps the water bottle’s contents into her own bag to put under the counter. “At the next House trade, we might be able to bargain for things though.”

Another customer asks for a drink and she multi-tasks talking and mixing.

“Vynia and I are working to send out more scouts. Are there still things we could use from that store?” she asks.

 “We’ll

definitely  need more hands if we go back. It wasn’t really the type of arts I work in, so I wasn’t really sure what was ‘important’ enough to take.” I swirl the liquid in the glass cup.

“I’m surprised you found a flash drive,” she hands the drink to a waiting hand. “Maybe one of our media artists can use it. I think we have a few in Domino.”

Ever since I joined the House of Domino, Sera was the one who helped me with my recovery. Most House leaders were usually a part of that process. Mine had been a pretty bad recovery period, but I got through it. Somehow.

“Seraaa,” a voice sings slightly off pitch.

Sera’s girlfriend, Vynia dances towards us. The DJ’s violet lavender hair twirls around her and I can see that both of my friends have silver sequins under their eyes.

“Wow, where was the memo on the sequins?” I gesture to the couple.

Vynia walks behind the bar to kiss her girlfriend on the cheek before making herself a drink. “Sera said that you would be out for a while; besides, are you sticking around until we close?”

Closing time is 3 a.m. and like hell would I stay out that late. I'm tired. I don’t respond, so Vynia smirks at me.

“Aren’t

you  supposed to be DJing right now?” I retort.

Her violet hair shakes with her head. “I let one of the others take over. They need some time with music anyway.”

Vynia became Sera’s co-leader to the House of Domino once they made their relationship official. It didn’t feel like Domino without both girls at the helm. Vynia was especially terrifyingly protective of our artists. If a Domino artist was ever harmed, Sera had to hold Vynia back from tearing apart another House. Not that Houses fought very often, but it happened usually after we hold the mid-year art galleries. It sounds tame but it’s really a competition for which House has the best talent. All of the House leaders get together to vote and you’re never allowed to vote for your own.

Vynia jumps onto the stool next to me with her drink. Surprisingly, she doesn’t spill anything.

“So? How are you doing, G?”

Like a lot of recovering artists, I still was trying to remember my name. So far, all I got was a “G” in my head. Sera protects her real name under “Sera” which was inspired by seraph or seraphim, a type of powerful angel. Someone in Domino started a trend of calling her “Angel Sera” but she put an end to it because she said it felt weird. “I’m just an artist,” Sera had said at the time. “What I create as an artist might be magic, but I’m sure as hell not a goddess of any kind.”

Sera felt like a name related to an angel would protect her from being taken again, just as she could protect the artists in her House.

“It was okay,” I shrug. “I didn’t see anyone on the surface today. Not even any other House artists running around like I normally would.”

“It’s probably because of the rainstorm,” Vynia points out. “There were rumors that it now can poison by touch not just by drinking. Not surprising considering its frickin’

blue .” I add a mental tally to my the-government-messed-up-again chart. I down the rest of my drink and leave my friends to go back to our sector. As I leave, I see Vynia and Sera leaving the bar. They're engulfed by the crowd and then gone. “Why didn’t you say something last night?!” I hurry after Vynia as she ties her hair into a ponytail.

The day is going well. I went and did some food shopping at the market, made myself a sandwich, and was messing with a black market music software on Sera's computer. Then, Vynia appeared and said I was going with them on a rescue mission. “Some things came up, okay? You—” she shoves a backpack in my hands. “—are a stand-in on short notice. I told Sera that you would be good for this.”

I rub my hand over my face. Flashes of red and phantom pains rush at me when I close my eyes. I try to flick the anxiety from my fingertips but it just gathers again in jitters. “I’m not recovered enough for this.”

“Trust me, you are,” Sera appears, backpack slung over her shoulder and dressed in the white uniform from the facility.

I force myself into the white uniform and cross my arms. “And if I get taken again—” “You won’t be,” Sera reassures me. “Here.” She hands me the headphones that I had seen her rescue mission group using before. I turn it on and rest the headphones on my shoulders. I was used to being on simple observation missions and your standard art thievery. This was not what I was used to. Still, I realize too late that I should’ve just said no.

Our driver drops us off a block away from the Playground, a massive facility dedicated to one thing: holding artists captive. When Creatives are captured, they're sent to the Playgrounds to work for the government. Some remember the details like a puppet being controlled, unable to do anything. Others barely remember anything. I’m in between the two.

Sera leads our group of five. A usual mission saves one artist. A good mission saves two or more. A bad mission lost one of our own. Domino has experienced all three. Before we left, one of Domino’s makeup artists marked our faces to be unrecognizable by the face scanners in the building. We would be practically invisible to the digital eye.

“Our synced headphones play

one  song that starts when we get inside,” Sera had explained as they left the underground. “Once it starts, you have that much time to locate an artist. If you can’t get someone by the song’s bridge, meet at the exit. Do

not  be in the building without our music.”

Hypnosis. Apparently, that’s what Playground workers play on the speakers throughout the building. Our headphones blend right in because all the workers also wear them. However, since we had all been under it before, it will hypothetically be a lot easier for us to fall under again.

Sera leads us to the entry point, and we slip behind a back door. Everything is white and plain. White tile. White walls. I just want to splatter it with paint.

Domino’s House leader nods before pressing play and a song erupts into my ears. We each disperse into the building, tugging the facility’s standard white masks over the lower half of our faces. Sera said that we each would be tugged to where we once worked in the building. It's a strange autopilot feeling where my legs carry me away from the others to a room on the second floor.

As I’m heading down a hall, I see a Playground worker coming my way. I practically hold my breath, but they pass with barely a glance in my direction.

Good. Okay. I reach a familiar room separated by a glass wall. There's one facility worker inside managing a group of people. I’m surprised when my finger presses the button for the glass door to slide open. I present a fake holo badge which indicates I’m switching out this person for the new shift. They nod at me and disappear down the hall without a word. I’m only at the second verse of the song so I still have time.

I scan the room of people in cubicles. I look over the shoulder of one person to see them making cartoons. Really basic and boring looking cartoons. There’s a list open in front of them of everything the characters are supposed to be and the plot. I frown at the large group in front of me. I wish I could get all of them out of here.

Instead, I choose the closest person.

“Hey?” I say, unsure of how loud I’m speaking because of the song.

Their glassy eyes shift to me, slowly blinking.

I slowly help the person up as they look at me confused.

Was this what I was like?

I wonder.

“Come with me, we’re getting you out of here,” I say, gently nudging them forward.

Something startles in their eyes when I manage to take them beyond the room. That’s when they completely collapse.

Their widened mouth strains against their face in a scream I can't hear. I remember this pain. God, I remember this pain.

I try to help them but they’re thrashing so much I can’t get a good hold.

The song hits the bridge.

“Please—” I half mutter to myself but more to the person. In the corner of my eye, I see a fleet of white running toward me. I reach out one last time to the thrashing figure before giving up. I turn away muttering “I’m sorry.”

I say it to Sera too when I meet up with everyone again in the safety of our getaway car. “I’m sorry.”

Sitting beside Vynia is a young boy with his palms pressed flat to his ears. He’ll have to deal with pain for the next several blocks until he’s far enough away from the Playground’s reach. He’s the only one we could save today.

Sera nods but doesn’t say anything. I stare out the window, but I can still hear the boy’s whimpers above the car’s music. When I flinch it's not from the boy's cries, it's from the first blue raindrop against the glass.


Matilda was always the life of the party. She would be dancing and carrying on well past midnight, still having fun with the lampshade on her head, while Joe would have gone to bed around nine, maybe nine-thirty, ten the latest. When they went to the beach, she wanted to have sand castle contests with the rest of the beach people. She chased the little kids around playing in the water with them.  The woman would lead a huge chain of people dancing on the sand creating a truly amazing vision.  Joe was happy to bask in the sun far away from the other visitors. Matilda loved to attend the soccer, baseball, recitals that her nieces and nephews took part in, and made sure that everyone knew she was there.  Joe avoided such events always looking for an excuse to slip away. Once, they had been watching a movie during a storm when there was a huge crash. A tree had fallen on part of the house. The response teams showed up, as did the local news station. Matilda was out there giving them a step by step description of what happened, while Joe, the construction worker was figuring out how to fix everything, the time and the cost. They were best friends, but Matilda wanted more. She loved him and wanted to be married.

“Joe, maybe we should get married?” “Maybe,” was all he said and then shrugged his shoulders. He could read the disappointment on her face. “It’s fun just to be friends,” he always said. “I guess so,” she said. But, her heart was ready to break. They had met in the strangest way. Matilda’s favourite Aunt Tracy had taken the young woman shopping, for lunch and then a stroll around the park. The two truly enjoyed each other’s company and often spent time together. Aunt Tracy had bought a house in the new subdivision and they were coming back from one of their fun days when she suggested they go and check on the progress of the building.

“Sounds like a great time,” said Matilda. She was always up for whatever adventure her cherished Aunt suggested. So, the two stopped by and Aunt Tracy and Matilda who was twenty-one at the time, went to the building. The foreman, Chuck saw them and smiled. “Can I help you?” “Sure can,” said Aunt Tracy. “I bought this house and was wondering how the progress was coming along?” “Would you like a tour?” “That would be great.” So, Chuck took them around the half finished place and introduced them to all of the workers. One of the construction guys was Joe. He nodded their way and continued to work. It was about two weeks later, when Joe walked in a restaurant. He saw Matilda there working as a waitress at her summer job. He took a booth and smiled. “Hello, what can I get you?” “A burger and fries and a coke.” “Okay, it’ll be about ten minutes.” He nodded his head. A few minutes later, she arrived with his food.

“One burger with fries and a coke.” “I guess you don’t remember me?” She looked at him and shrugged her shoulders.

“No, I don’t think we’ve met unless you go to the same college I do. It is a big school and there are lots of students.” “I am a high school dropout. I work construction.  You came by the site a couple of weeks ago with your Aunt or mother.” “I was at a construction site about two weeks ago. It is the new subdivision called Seven Acres.” “I know, I was one of the workers.” “Oh, okay, you guys are doing a great job. My Aunt Tracy was really pleased.” “Thanks. Tell your Aunt Tracy that the house is in good hands. Joe is taking care of business.” “Okay, I will. I have to go now. Enjoy your meal. What did you say your name was again?” “It’s Joe and you are Matilda.” She was stunned that he knew her name. It was a week later and Matilda was driving through the new subdivision and stopped at the house. She hesitated to go in and then knew that she had to and did just that. “Can I help you?”  Chuck was there. “Hi, I was here with my aunt a few weeks ago and really liked these houses. I was thinking of maybe investing in one.” “Sure, you will have to take that up with head office. I don’t handle that end of things, I just build them.” “That’s fine,” said Matilda. Just then, Joe showed up and stopped. “Hi, Matilda, how are you?” “I am good. Hi, uhm,” she hesitated because the poor girl had forgotten his name. “It’s Joe,” he smiled and she almost melted. “Right, Joe, I saw you the other day in the restaurant. You ordered a burger and fries and a coke.” “You have a really good memory, sort of.”

He left.

“Thanks, I have to go now.” A few days later, he showed up in the restaurant again and she was just finishing her shift.

“Can I give you a lift home?” “Sure, that would be nice. It will save me taking the bus or calling for a ride.” He drove her home and all the way there they shared small talk.

I am so nervous. Why? Asked Matilda. Matilda who had sprung out of cakes wearing her bathing suit, had run down the street naked on a dare, had run up and given the principal a kiss while he addressed the student body, was not the shy type. She was voted by her high school peers as the one student who would have no problem greeting the aliens if they ever landed on the planet. He started to go to the restaurant and drove her home a few times. “Hey, we can be friends if you want,” said Joe shyly. And, they became friends.

They went to parties and she would talk up a storm, while he just sat there nursing a beer.  They introduced one another to friends and family, telling everyone that they were not dating.

They had never been on an official date, but just hung out. This had been going on for three years and Matilda made him laugh. In return, Joe was steady as a rock. He went to work everyday and was very quiet, reserved. They were quite opposites. He drank beer and she rarely touched alcohol. She was a career student, he had quit school at the age fo sixteen. He could build anything and she had a problem swinging a hammer.

One day, they were coming home from a party.

“So, Joe can I ask you a question?” “Sure can, you can ask any question any time.” “Do you have feelings for me?” Joe turned red.  “Well, you are a good friend.  We’ve had lots of fun in the past few years.” “I want more than just friends, Joe. I want a relationship. I love you.” She waited for it to be returned, but he went silent.

He dropped her off and left. Matilda’s heart was broken.

“Maybe, it’s best since we are so different. I am an extrovert and he is an introvert.” A couple of days later, there was a knock on the door.  Matilda opened it and it was Joe with flowers and a ring. He got down on one knee. “I love you too, Matilda, will you marry me?” The young girl was so overcome with emotions that she just melted. And, that was how two people, one an extravert and the other an introvert ended up more than just friends.


I had always thought a space walk would be an adventure, but now faced with that very task it only seemed terrifying. The computer had handled all of the leg work. It’s mechanical arms extended from the wall helping me click the helmet securely into place. I stared at the clunky metal airlock both unnerved and thankful that it could be my saving grace. “Computer, are you sure this suit will hold up?” I had been urging the computer to move faster as it helped me put everything on, but now I was wondering just how old the suit actually was. There were some things on the platform that were too old for comfort and doing a space walk would be useless if I didn’t come back. “I have done all the necessary tests, Aerie. There are no leaks. Proceed to the airlock” *** “Airlock’s secure Dimmer. Do you have sight on the target?” My eyes were twitching over the screen and my keyboard clacked as I moved my character down the corridor. There was a whole wall filled with monitors that lit up the entire room. “Not yet. Keep your eyes peeled.” “You’re the one with two sets of them.”

Dimmer along with myself were two of the dwindling population of people who hadn’t moved on to VR. I had never liked the idea of plugging myself into a computer. Virtual Reality would pull me too far out of the real world. I already spent most of my days playing games. That was why I took this job in the middle of nowhere on an empty mining platform orbiting an uninhabitable planet on the farthest edge of a galaxy. Oddly enough my gaming skills actually were an asset on my resume. It turns out the defense system of the platform had some similarities to gaming controls. My mother hated it. She also didn’t like the idea of me being alone in space, but it was only for a year while the planet replenished itself.

No one was going to come anywhere near the platform. Surrounding it was thousands of miles of empty space. *** Empty space lay just beyond the window. The computer had sealed the door behind me as it depressurized the airlock. My tether was hooked just beside the door, and I tried to take deep breaths. I had done training for this. It was needed to take the job, but I thought I would never use it.

I jumped as the computer came through the com in my helmet. It’s voice was too chipper for how tense I felt. “Depressurization complete. Deactivating simulated gravity.” My stomach churned and I was sure I could feel all of my organs shifting. I took one more deep breath as I slowly reached for the door release framed with black and yellow stripes.

I pulled it down feeling it click and the red light turned green. My nerves were yelling at me to move quickly, but the rules of zero gravity made that a very bad idea. The doors opened without a sound and despite there being no chance of me falling I felt a sense of vertigo as I looked out into the vacuum of space.

“Reminder to check your tether as you move. Ensure that it is locked into place before moving forward.” “Thank you.” “Remember I am here for your support.” I wasn’t sure how much support the computer could give me outside the ship. It wasn’t much use in the way of emotional support, but at the very least the words made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I slowly shifted out of the airlock attaching my tether outside and cringing as the doors shut without a sound. Now there was only the vastness of space and the thin tether holding me to the platform. *** The platform was not as boring a place to live as someone might think. It helped that I did most of my socializing through gaming, but I also had the computer which could do almost anything for me. The communication signal was one of the best you could get. I needed the boost, but if I were in any real danger it would take hours for anyone to get to the platform, hence the defense system. “Dimmer, the targets in the north eastern section of the building. It looks like my two eyes are better than your four.” I teased. He cursed at me in his mother tongue and I just laughed.

“Aerie, I am in need of external input.”

I sighed. “Duty calls Dimmer. Take them out for me will ya.”

I stretched as I got up. A lot of the external input meant a mechanical issue somewhere that I had to fix or a minor decision that needed to be made by a person rather than a computer. Everything that had to do with operating the platform was in the control room and that’s where I headed. “What’s the issue?” I collapsed into a seat waiting to be told which buttons to push. “It seems that ships have been detected nearby.” “How close?” I sat up straight looking out the window. There were windows on all sides to give a full view of the platform. I had only one other time that ships had come by. They were pirates and thankfully a show of the platforms defense system had been enough to get them to back off. After I stopped being terrified I felt pretty powerful showing off the big guns. “They will be in visual range within ten minutes.”

“Can you tell who they are?”

“They do not fit into any registered vessels in my database.” That was strange. “Can you make a conjecture about make and model?”

“I cannot.”

I looked out the window searching for the ships in the darkness but saw nothing. I sat down in the defense controls and started trying to convince myself that this was just a video game. When the pirates had showed up I hadn’t even needed to send off a shot. I hoped it was the same this time. “The ships should be in visual range.”

I squinted out the windows looking out all directions of the tower until I saw it. My blood went cold. Holy shit. *** “Holy shit.”

It wasn’t until I came around the side of the platform that I had a full view of ships. It was a whole fleet. I could only make out a few from the tower. If an entire fleet of ships hovering close by wasn’t worrisome enough, the fact that they had the Klarian symbol emblazoned on their hulls was. The Klarians were a race of people who were hell bent on spreading their ideals and conquering whatever planets they could. They hadn’t dared to come to this galaxy, but that didn’t seem to be the case anymore.

I wondered if they could see me on the outside of the platform. I had zero defense. This whole space walk would be useless if they could. “Computer record video.”

“Recording.”

I wanted proof of what was happening to send to the company. I barely could believe it myself, they would probably think I had just gotten bored and wanted to play a joke. I couldn’t expect them to take my word, and I kept my helmet towards the ships. I couldn’t see the small ship until it was nearly at the platform. My heart clenched as it landed and I knew the Klarian’s would be searching for any sign of a life. Any sign that someone could send an early warning. I concentrated on getting a full video of the fleet just to have a task to keep me grounded. “They have shut off the emergency broadcast. It seems that they are leaving.”

The emergency broadcast had been a long shot anyway without a message to go with it, but that thought didn’t make me feel any better. A few minutes later the ship took off again and I breathed easier, but I wasn’t out of this yet. I had something to do. *** I had to do something, but I had no idea what. My training hadn’t covered how to combat an alien race bent on dominating galaxies. Not to mention one person couldn’t stand against an entire fleet. “Computer, do they know that I am here?”

“Unclear. The platform is running on minimal power. The chances of detection are low.”

I nodded and I kept nodding until I realized I had been nodding for too long.

“Alright, send an automated message stating that they are entering protected space. If they continue forward there will be repercussions.”

“This platform does not have enough power to take on an entire fleet.”

“I didn’t say we would be the repercussions.” I snapped. The computer stating the obvious was not helpful at the moment. “Message sent.”

“Alright. That will probably do absolutely nothing. Plan B needed.” I scanned over the controls searching for some kind of answer. I pressed the emergency signal, but that would only go to the company. I started pacing. The company had no chance against the Klarians, but what else could I do? I had to get a message to them. If they came because of just the emergency signal they would be annihilated quickly. “Aerie, it seems that they have launched a small ship and it’s trajectory is this platform.”

My heart seized in my chest. I could take out a single ship, but chances are a bigger ship would take out the entire platform. If they found me there was no way that I would be able to warn anyone.

“Aerie, it seems that your gaming friend is wondering where you are.” “Shit.”

I ran out of the control room and back to my desk. I cut Dimmer off before he could speak. “Hi, yeah, there is a whole fleet of Klarian ships floating next to the platform.” “What?” All four of Dimmer’s eyes were wide and if the fate of the galaxy weren’t hanging in the balance I might have laughed. “Yeah me to, and apparently they are sending a ship here to check things out and well I would rather they not find me.”

“Go outside.”

“What?” My brain froze. “Go outside. Do a spacewalk. That way they won’t find you on the platform.”

“Okay. Okay. That could work.”

“Go, Aerie. Be safe.” Dimmer logged off.

I felt like all of my muscles were vibrating. “Computer, shut down all nonessential power. Make it look like no one has been here.” I headed to the airlock. *** I headed to the airlock relieved to be back inside. I stripped off my suit and quickly made my way back to the control room. I halted as soon as I was through the door. The controls had been blown to bits, melted metal curling outward from the blaster’s heat. “Computer, is it still possible to contact the company.” “Negative. Due to security reasons this is the only terminal that can contact the company directly.”

I dug my hands into my hair before looking out the window at the fleet. I had to send a message somehow. My eyes widened and I moved quickly towards my desk.

“Computer boot up my personal terminal.” I had no idea who I could contact, but I had to be able to get a message out to someone who could do something? The screens were shining bright as I fell into the chair and logged back on, connecting with Dimmer. “Oh stars, you're alive.” Dimmer was clutching his chest. In any other situation I would have called him dramatic. I had seen more emotion from Dimmer that day than I had in all the years I had known him. “Yes, I’m alive, but I have a problem. The Klarians took out my direct link to the company. This is all that I have left, but I don’t even know who to contact let alone how.” “How long do we have until they reach an inhabited planet?” Dimmer asked. I smiled despite myself as Dimmer’s tone shifted. Dimmer had always been a tactical gamer and I was thankful for that more than ever. “It took me about six hours to get here from the nearest inhabited planet, but that was on a transportation craft. Who knows how fast the Klarian’s ships are?” I tried digging through my brain, but fear had made it completely blank. “What if you did a live video? If you reach enough people surely you’ll reach the right people.” “Do you think that’s the best idea?” “Do you have any other ideas?”

I pursed my lips. I didn’t and I had to do something. I took a deep breath. “Computer, open a live feed to all my available channels and pull up the footage from my helmet.”

“I’ll send your video to as many places as I can think of. Aerie, get out as soon as you can.” Dimmer’s eyes shined with concern. “I will. You better get all the snacks I want when I visit you.” My chest ached at my attempted bravado. I’d send the message then get to an escape pod, but I didn’t let myself think past that. “I will buy you the whole store.”

I laughed. “I’ll deserve it.” “Your video is streaming and recording.” The computer said. I looked at the screen, my pale face lit only by the light of the monitors. A human gamer alone in the middle of nowhere. I took a deep breath. Here’s to saving the galaxy.


The sun-bleached envelope was no longer crisp but textured with a layer of age. John slid his gnarled fingers along the dried-out seal so he could wheedle out its contents. A folded piece of paper dropped to his lap followed by a second. His name was written on the top of each: one with the notation "age 20" written beneath and one tagged "age 25." The familiar handwriting on them was the same script as on the front of the envelope. It was his handwriting. He lowered the envelope to his lap with trembling hands and opened the page labeled "age 20." John blinked to clear the floaters from his eyes then squinted through the thick lens perched on his nose. To John (ie. future me), I don't know if you will remember writing this, but before too much happens I want to put some things down on paper. Okay, where to begin? You may, or may not, still be working at Tech Corp Advantage by the time you read this, but there's where I am right now. Dr. Whinehouse recommended me after my first semester and I was pretty much hired on the spot. Of course, you already know this since it's in your past, but I want to create some context. Do you remember all the fuss over product distillation, specifically nutrient distillation? Do you remember being asked to be on the research team to help refine the process? Well, I've been in that department for four months now and it's amazing. The things we're working with and all the possibilities that are opening up... well... I can't really put much on paper because of confidentiality but the products we've started to develop are going to make a world of difference. Seriously, we're in the process of designing something that will benefit everyone and everyone is going to want it. I want it.

I'm mostly writing this because I want to remember how good everything feels right now. I'm on a great team, working with some super smart, and I mean really smart, guys right now. We get along at work and feed on each other's energy. And the parties after work are... I probably shouldn't put too much of that on paper either. Just know that next week I'm being moved from refinement into product testing. They asked for volunteers and of course I said yes. I know there are risks, but that's a given with anything in life, right? I mean, the chance to test out what we've been working on is just too good of an opportunity to pass by. Of course there will be set backs, but whatever it is I believe we can find a solution. You must know that being on the other side of this already. You've seen the obstacles that arise and have had to work through them. I'm still at the beginning and am excited to take the next step. This is going to change everything for me, and I mean everything. I hope you're in a place to agree with me on this. I hope the world is in a better place because of what we've come up with. I guess you'll know these answers before I will. Sincerely, John, age 20 John stared at the sheet of paper as it shook in his unstable grip. His eyes skimmed each of the words without really dwelling on what they meant individually or as a unit. A small part of him recalled composing the letter, but if felt like such a long time ago. He dropped the page and picked up the second sheet labeled "age 25". He cleared his eyesight again. To John (ie. future me), I don't know where you are in life right now. I don't even know if you'll get the chance to read this, but things don't always go the way we plan, do they? I guess you have already experienced this. You're probably looking back and regretting a lot of things. I know I've started to amass a few of those. As I'm sure you can attest, the initial trials of the new product were successful. I can still recall the absolute elation I felt, the wholeness and wellness that came from the daily prescription. It had all the benefits of a balanced diet without all the restrictions. I never felt like I was hungry or undernourished and I never had the sluggishness that comes from overeating. I could also clearly think and reason no matter the time of day or night because my metabolism never had to slow every other function in my body down in order to perform its task. In that first year, I (we) accomplished so much. If only it could've been sustained. Right now we're working on a solution for some of the complications that arose. Those of us in the first and second series of testing have been moved back into development. We're looking at why the effects seem to decrease over time. I'm sure you already know all that we faced and have yet to face. That's the nice thing about being able to look back. You don't have to wonder about finding a solution to the degradation. You don't have to wonder if it can be reversed. There's a bit of doubt that's crept into the back of our minds. The most recent tests show that while the drug increased daily productivity and physical wellness, the long term effects may to do the exact opposite. I know I've noticed a difference, but I could just be paranoid. We're still compiling data. Between all of us involved in the trials there's a wide range of complications, but it's too soon to know if this is the extent of it or if there will be more down the road. We also don't know if it's temporary or permanent. Side effects are a reality in any developmental phase. We knew that going into this, but what will ours entail? Will we go back to the way we were before or will we be worse? The newest course of action is to introduce another drug to counter or slow the effects of the first medication so we can be weened onto the next iteration. Most are hopeful, but I have my doubts. It's hard not to after the first failure, especially since I will have to live with whatever the consequences are. But you already know all of this. You've been through whatever lies ahead. You can attest if my fears about reactions and potential regression are founded. I really do hope a solution is found, but I fear it may come too late. Already my ability to focus wanes more each day. I feel more tired and weak in the limbs. If I take a new drug, or another in addition to the first, I fear it will not help as much as everyone would like to think. It may even hurt more than it helps, but I am too far into the process to back out now. I have come to the conclusion that I will lose a bit of who I am through this process, but hopefully a solution can be found that will benefit others. If I (we) are lost during this next phase it will still be worth it if others can be made whole later on. I hope you feel the same way about this wherever you are. You may also disagree with me entirely. Maybe all of our hopes and dreams are about to unravel. You are on the other side of all this and know what the outcome will be. Honestly, I am concerned that this new drug will not solve the problem. It may even exacerbate the situation. I'm saying it now on paper in case you need to use this in the future, although you won't really have any legal power to do so. I think we've signed our lives away. I think the damage is done and I don't know that there will ever be a cure. I hope I'm wrong, but I've lost faith in the belief that all the good of something can be extracted without all the bad coming along. I think it's a package deal and the more we try to separate the two parts the more we create ill effects, even effect that had not existed before.

Again, I hope you're in a place to disagree, but... I guess I'll know what you know soon. Hopefully you'll still be around to read this and I'll be able to write another installment in the next five years. Until then, John, age 25 John's gaze slipped from the words as the page dropped to his lap. If only he had known what he was getting into sooner maybe things could have been different. Maybe he could have curbed his enthusiasm and used more rational thought. He stared at his hands, the way his skin was marked by spots and his knuckles had become hard knobs on the back of his hands. Within the last two years his strength had slipped away, his muscles diminishing until they could no longer bear his weight. He longed to leave the wheelchair he was bound to, but he could no longer move in it without help let alone stand. His chin sagged to his chest. He had been young and healthy once. He had embraced life's challenges and striven to gain more time by tweaking nature's design. But nature and the world had other plans. It had shown him just how small and naive he was. The reversal he had hoped to achieve had produced the opposite effect. He could not cheat death; no one could. Everyone has an end to face and running from it changes nothing. Perhaps a year or two more could be stolen away in a younger body, but that imbalance would eventually catch up. It would make those later years much worse to deal with. So was it worth it? Sitting in the commons room at a nursing home seemed to answer that question. Aching and arthritic, with his sight failing and his speech impaired, John knew the answer to that question. How foolish he had been in trying to beat the odds. If only he had known how much it would cost. He stared at the pages in his lap. That third letter would never be written. It was too late now. His gaze strayed to the plastic hospital band still strapped on his wrist. In neat print--almost too small for him see, let alone read--was written: JOHN TRUESET, AGE 28.


Disclaimer: This story is based off a real event and personal experiences of a child drowning. Names have been removed, genders and ages have been changed, some events have been altered, and location has been left out in effort to maintain patient privacy.

Child found floating face down. Bath water still warm. Mother desperately crying while trying to save her child who’s dying. Twenty-nine, thirty, off the chest, deliver two breaths. Child’s older sibling stands back and watches as she, the witness, the discoverer, the one who was supposed to be watching, calls 911. Her hands shake, voice quivers, tears drop, heart pounds as the memory of her mother continues to try CPR on her drenched brother, imprints itself. Guilt, pain, and blame is not something she can tame. Distant sirens wailing quickly turn into screams at the front door. Paramedics run in with life-saving supplies in hand. Police stand aside until it’s their turn to take the drive. Mother is pulled away from son. Her grief so heavy, it is impossible for her to stand. Pulse checked, none. Heart electrocardiogram (EKG) shows a small quivering of the heart, ventricular fibrillation. A rhythm paramedics can shock. Defibrillator charged. All clear, shock delivered, CPR restarted and epinephrine (epi) administered. Pulse checked, heart rhythm read, shock delivered, compressions restarted, epi given every three minutes, again and again as the lifeless child is placed onto stretcher and rushed to the hospital.

The sound of heart monitors beeping, IV pumps screeching, call bells ringing. People coughing, sneezing, many wheezing, and the yelling of nurse, nurse, NURSE!!! Hallways lined up with patients on stretchers and chairs, every room taken except the trauma room, nurses scrambling, doctors examining, triage (front door) overwhelmed, back door (medic entrance) flooding with patient after patient. A typical day in the emergency department.

Finally, a moment to breathe and a millisecond to chart. Patient disoriented to place and time. 20 gauge IV inserted to left upper arm, blood cultures and lab work drawn. Patient is tachycardic, hypotensive, and febrile. One liter of normal saline hung to bring down heart rate, raise blood pressure, and follow sepsis protocol. “Hey Dr. V, can you put- “, red phone rings. Everyone looks up, stares at each other, then stares at the phone. Charge nurse answers, we continue to stare in silence. Phone put down. Charge nurse speaks, “code coming in, three-year-old drowning, CPR ongoing, approximately three minutes out”. All eyes widen, action begins.  Respiratory therapist notified; emergency department pharmacist made aware, main nurse assigned. Rest of code team given tasks. One to two nurses for IV placement and lab draws, one nurse for medication administration, one nurse to obtain vitals, if possible, and use as back up to help with other tasks, two patient care technicians assigned for CPR. Police now take the wheel. Mother and daughter questioned. Daughter explained chain of events. Mother left household to pick up daughter’s seizure medication. Mother told daughter to do the chores. Daughter was vacuuming and stopped to check on little brother. Brother found facedown in bathtub. Brother unresponsive. Mother comes home to drowned son and daughter in total distraught.

Cries of grief unbearable to hear. Daughter is taken to the hospital by police. Mother placed under scrutiny. Police refuse to let mother leave for hospital. Mother is now under investigation.

Code team ready, waiting in trauma room. Paramedics appear through back door. CPR ongoing. Child is moved to stretcher and code team begins their assigned duties- IV placed, labs drawn, vitals taken, pharmacist draws up pediatric doses of epinephrine, respiratory therapist connects patient to ventilator. Heart arrythmia changed. Rhythm is no longer shockable. Doctor enters room. Paramedic reports to main nurse and doctor. Report given. Three-year-old child found face down and unresponsive in bathtub by older sister. Sister did not witness how even occurred. Downtime approximately 15 minutes since medic arrival. Downtime at home unknown. Patient remained in ventricular fibrillation. Three rounds of epi given, defibrillated three times. No patient response.

Daughter arrived and placed in consultation room with police officer. Triage nurse nearby kept watch, as daughter was a minor. Mother was still at home being questioned about child neglect.

Despite team efforts, patient condition remained unchanged. Doctor ordered to continue CPR efforts until mother arrived. Chest compressions, epi, ventilator, repeat. The team was silent. Every one of us were lost in our emotions. Due to doctor’s orders, the code team carried on with their duties. Not a single person wanted to prolong the nightmare they became a part of, but they did anyways.

Word is out. The mother has finally arrived. She is brought back to see the code team putting all efforts into saving her child. Dr. V approached mother and explained the enormity of efforts taken. Her child was without oxygen for too long. Brain death likely. Her son was not going to make it. The mother fell to her knees. Her howls of lament broke the hearts of all those around. Charge nurse assisted mother into an empty patient room. Daughter was brought back to mother. Doctor orders team to stop CPR. Time of death called. Nurses break down into tears. The doctor walks out. A solemn look on his face.

Inconsolable, the mother is admitted to the emergency department. Charge nurse assigned herself to the mother. She begged for the nurse to end her misery. Her wish was granted. Temporarily. Doctor ordered sedatives and anti-anxiety medications to ease her mental anguish. Wails turned to loud whimpers.

For the code team, remaining tears were wiped away. Sadness and thoughts about the situation were compartmentalized. All but the main nurse and a patient care technician walked out. They traveled back to the nurse’s station. Fake smiles on their faces as if nothing ever happened. Back to their patients, they act happy. They pretend a child never died. They tend to every patient request. They move on because they have to. The emergency department never sleeps, especially during a code. There are many orders to catch up on, medications to give, more patients to bring back to a room for treatment. The nurses who were not a part of the code show exhaustion. They ran the show while half of the staff was in the trauma room. Now it is time to help them while helping our own patients.

Chaos always exists. One way or another, it is always there. It takes a toll on the nursing staff. Just like it takes a toll on the families that suffer. Nursing isn’t for the faint of heart. It doesn’t matter how strong the nurse is, eventually the suffering will break them too.