Nothing burns like the cold; not summer night bonfires, or muggy spring afternoons, or even the calefaction of autumn― no nothing burns quite like the kiss of winter . A fowl wind gnawed at the sentinels stationed at the alabaster walls of the Winter Court, and despite the fire crackling in the stone hearth of the drawing-room, the space felt cold. From the satin and silk pillows embroidered with tiny stars to the carved writing desk in the corner, Tsaritsa Roksana’s private salon was lined with treasures from across the globe. Tucking a stray silver lock behind her elegantly pointed ears, an ancient Fae queen penned a letter to her son, Tsesarevich Dima, the crowned prince, informing him of his coronation. In the distance, mourning bells rang, and if she listened closely, she could hear the people weeping. Weeping for Tsar Kazimir, their protector, a son of the Mirabella, and above all else― her husband. A knock sounded at the door, followed by a small voice. “Babushka?" “Come in,” Roksana said, slipping the letter into a desk drawer. Emine’s white-blonde curls and round cheeks popped out from behind the door. “Babushka, I can’t sleep. Will you tell me a story?” Emine asked, tears in her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered at that last word, stories . Roksana felt a twinge in her heart at that. Kazimir loved stories, loved to read them, tell them, watch them at the Royal Theater with her. Taking a handkerchief out of her dress pocket, wiping away the girl's tears with the soft cotton square. “Of course, sweet rabbit.” Roksana brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her granddaughter’s ear. Standing the two stood, and walked hand in hand, down the hallway, towards her granddaughter’s bed chambers, Slipping off her lapis fur-lined slippers, Roksana sat in a plush velvet chair next to the bed, “So what story would you like tonight? The Golden Slipper , or The Firebird and Princess Vasilisa , or―or The Armless Maiden ?” “No, no, no.” Emine protested, “Dedushka’s stories are always about princesses, ladies of the court, and queens. It has to have one of those!” “What about dragons? Did he ever tell you about the Palace of Heaven and Sky?” Emine shook her head, “Does it have any princesses?” "Well, of course, and a handsome King. Would you like to hear it?” “Yes, please.” Pulling her sapphire robe around her, Roksana twirled the diamond ring around her finger. The stones sparkled like fresh chips of ice in the firelight, and without thinking, Roksana told Emine about Winter’s Promise. *** Once upon a time, there lived a Tsarevna named Sigrid, who lived in a castle built over a boiling lake. She was the sixth daughter of the Tzar. She spent most days sitting in her mother’s private salons alongside noblewomen and ladies of the court, learning about foreign dignitaries and protocols. Still, after all, her studies on distant lands, nothing had prepared her for the day she received a letter from Empress Gao. An invitation to stay at the Palace of Heaven and Sky and learn ikebana, the art of flower arrangement. Overjoyed, Sigrid couldn’t pack fast enough. Travelling to the place of eternal summer, to a land so far away that it was only known as East, was no small feat, but when the sweeping curved rooftops of the city came into view, she couldn’t deny its splendour. For the Palace of Heaven and Sky was gilded in gold accents, crimson walls, and ivory shingled rooftops, the light rippling off of them like light on water. When Sigrid arrived, Empress Gao, Daughter of Heaven, waited for Tsarevna Sigrid on the steps of the Jade Palace. Although she was mortal and would have only a few decades on this Earth, the Empress wore her bejewelled fengguan with all the immortal grace and haughty air that any Fae queen would. Touring the garden, the two women walked arm in arm sunlight flooded the garden, a wide winding river filled with glittering koi fish, blushing louts’ flowers cut through the lush grass. Sigrid made polite chatter with the Empress, noting the tiny lion sculptures and bridges that crisscrossed over sections of the river. People milled about in idle conversion. Sigrid had never seen anything like it. That night, after dinner with the Empress and her family, Sigrid decided to take a walk through the garden. Moonlit and filled with the sound of crickets, she ran a lazy finger over the liquored bannister of the bridge, leaving a trail of frost in her wake. Her magic had always favoured the ice, the bitter kiss of winter, but in the balmy night air, she felt different. Thunder roared across the sky, and something sizzled behind her. Rough hands found their way around her waist, and before she could cry out for a guard, she felt the splash of water against her skin. Her assailant must have vaulted them over the side of the bridge because she was now in the river. "Sorry about that," a low voice said, "The dragons got out and―well, one of them was about to eat you. They're not used to the smell of Fae." Sigrid had to squint to see, but sure enough, when she looked upwards, seven wingless serpents with feathers lined bellies flew among the clouds. Six of them were miles above, but one was circling the rooftops of the Jade Palace. Hunting . Oh, gods, it had been hunting for its dinner, and it had nearly snatched her up. “Thank you,” she spluttered, “my name’s Sigrid.” "I know," replied, "We just had dinner together. Here give me your hand." Sigrid allowed herself to be pulled to the riverbank. The man jumped up onto the riverbank first, and Sigrid almost drowned herself in the river because it wasn't just any son of the Empress, but King Zhao, the eldest and most handsome of them all, he wasn’t too much older than her. "Your majesty, I―I didn't see you there." Pulling herself onto the riverbank, she took a few steps away from him, keeping an eye on the dragons above. "How?" “My sister, Queen Liao, summoned them, but she forgot that they had an appetite for Fae magic. So I came as soon as I heard.” “Just in time.” Soaked through the skin, she was thankful she had worn the emerald green dress instead of the ice blue one her maid had laid out for her. "Your shaking. Should I take you to a healer?" "Oh no, that won't be necessary. I'll go back to my rooms and take a bath." “I could join you.” A blush slowly began to creep across her face. “Oh.” “What I meant to say,” the King corrected, “is that I can walk you to your rooms.” "Well, in that case," she said, wringing out her dress, "lead the way." Later, after waving the young King goodbye and washing the river out of her hair, she penned a letter to her father. First, informing him that the journey had gone well and that her reception had been warm. Then, pressing a kiss to the letter, she sent it to the Winter Palace, knowing that she would probably get a response in a week or so. The next few days in the Jade Palace were the highlight of Sigrid’s life. Everything was so new and delicious that she could hardly sleep. Nevertheless, every morning she arose with a smile on her face, laughed unabashedly with the members of the Jade Palace. Her ikebana lessons started at noon and went well past sunset, and after that, she danced well into the night; King Zhou at her side. The two of them on teetering on the cusp of something more. Stealing kisses and long looks from across the room, the two indulged in each other's company shamelessly. His presence was almost as sweet as the flowers, and although no word had come back from her family, she knew one would be coming soon. Happy beyond reason, Sigrid had fallen in love with the city of eternal summer and was considering extending her month-long stay for a couple of months. Surely, she wouldn't be missed too badly if she stayed a little longer. During those days, Sigrid could have sworn she had swallowed the sun.

On the night before Summer Solstice, Sigrid lay in her bed staring at the moon. Drenched in sweat and starlight, she had been tossing and turning for hours. Her heart in her throat, she fought the urge to be sick. Pressing her hand to her ribs, fire lanced across her skin. Was she dying? Breathless, she panted; the waves of pain radiated through her every few minutes. Until it stopped, the world holding its breath as power slammed into her. Ancient magic so old and terrible her vision went white for a moment, and then ice exploded from her fingertips, frost covered the room, and the worst part wasn't the fire in her blood, but the fact that she knew what this meant. Had heard the stories of it as a child because her family, like all other ancient Fae bloodlines, found its might in blood. Passed down through the generations, the transferal of power from one ruler to another only happened from Tsar to Tsar, whether they died or yielded the power themselves, but for it to have come to her could only mean one thing ―her family was dead. Weeping, Sigrid vomited into a nearby pot. Each of them would’ve had to have been murdered if the ancient power had found its way to her; a sixth daughter, the twelfth and last child of Tzar Waldheri. The details of her family's murder would come later, but first, she had to get home. At daybreak, she went straight to the Empress to thank her for her generous hospitality and apologize for her hasty departure. Her eyes were glassy when Sigrid told her the news, but even in her grief, she instead that she leave the following day, after Summer Solstice. Relenting, she obliged, ordering her handmaidens to start packing up for tomorrow’s journey. They would leave at dawn. Children giggles and people danced in the golden sun of the Summer Solstice festival. The wind carried the sweet floral scent of the gardens, mixed with spices and cooking meat, but Sigrid didn’t feel any of their warmth or joy. Tossing a nearby stone into the water, she jumped when King Zhou’s breath was hot against the shell of her ear. She had to catch herself before she fell into the river. “Sigrid.” “Zhou.” “My mother told me about your family. My condolences” “Thank you.” The silence hung heavy between them, Sigrid refusing to look at him, but he held her hand anyway. His skin honeyed and warm to the touch, a stark contrast to her pale pink skin that burned easily. “Would you like to dance with me?” he asked. Smiling, she brushed her raven hair away from her red-rimmed eyes, “I would love to dance with you.” Twirling under the golden sun in the crisp summer breeze, the two royals danced to the beat of booming drums. In her young life, Sigrid had never met any Grand Duke or nobleman that could keep up with her on the dance floor; but sure enough, King Zhou was as light on his feet as she was. His lively eyes were the colour of black tea in the sun, and for those few moments, she lost herself in the music― her last taste of freedom . In the small hours before dawn, Sigrid left her rooms to take one last look at the gardens. It had rained a few hours ago, and the air still smelt of rain and freshly cut grass. Walking along the gravel path, she memorized every petal and leaf, the feel of the rising sun against her face, and the sound of birds chirping; the world coming alive. A branch snapped behind her. “Were you planning on saying goodbye?” Zhou asked. Eyes to the ground, she kept walking. The sound of gravel crunching behind her followed. “I left you a letter on my nightstand.” "You left me and all nine of my siblings a letter. So forgive me if I don't feel special." “They all say different things,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. She spun around to face him. Still dressed in his nightclothes, his hair was mussed, almost as if he had come running― maybe he did . “You’re going to be Queen soon,” he breathed, closing the distance between them. He held her shaking hands. Overnight an empire had fallen into her lap, and since then, her hands hadn't stopped shaking. It was an effort to keep the ice at bay. “Tsaritsa,” she corrected, “My title will be Tsaritsa.” “Tsaritsa then…and why exactly does that bother you?” "Because where I am from, women don't rule. They support their husbands, bare heirs, and take care of the people and the land.” A sob escaped her lips. “I don’t see how that’s different from ruling?” "Well, in our laws, a woman cannot be Tsaritsa without a Tzar, which means my wedding to a Grand Duke will be held the day after I get back. Our coronation the week after.” Confusion creased Zhou’s brow, “But a man can be a Tzar without a Tsaritsa?” “Yes.” "Well, that's absurd." Then, it hit her how different the Fae Kingdoms were from the Kunlun Mountains, where the line of succession was passed down through the women. Empresses that married Kings and chose their successor rather than leaving it to birth order chance. "Well, that's just how it is." Sigrid brushed her hand over a budding peony, swallowing her tears. "Then change it. Rewrite the laws." Tempting, very tempting . "Yes, but then the High Lords would stage a coup, and that would help no one.” Six bells sounded in the distance. Time to go. Sigrid bowed slightly. "It was a please to make your acquaintance, your majesty." “Sigrid, wait. I’m not an immortal Fae like you, but even after I am gone, you and your descendants will still be welcome to visit.” Zhou snapped the stem off bright, blush pink peony and gently slid it behind her ear. “There will always be a place for you here.” She leaned into them. “Even if I had eternity with you, that wouldn't be enough, perhaps… perhaps it is best that we part ways now.” Staring into his dark eyes, she knew they need not exchange dangerous words like I love you . Grabbing his forearm, she pushed herself up on her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Ignoring the burning in her throat, her eyes, her lips. "Don't come looking for me… please," she whispered, pulling back to wipe away the stain of frost she had left on his face. The bits of ice falling softly to the ground, “I won’t return―but I will remember you, for an eternity and then some. The ice does not forgive or forget.” Because winter’s promise is not to love but to endure. Sigrid took one last look at the Kunlun Mountains from her seat by the carriage window, the Tower of Heaven looming high above the Jade Palace. A bejewelled city decked out in finery and flowers; its people kinder, warmer and more lovely than any summer sun. Staring out the window, she watched the sparkling city until it was nothing more than a golden bead against the horizon until night fell and the stars winked to life above. The end. *** “Babushka, what happened to Tsarevna Sigrid when she went home.” “She married a Grand Duke, who became Tzar, and together they had several round-faced children, who looked just like you.” Roksana reached out to grab her granddaughter’s nose, earning a giggle from the small child. “Do you think she ever saw the King again?” “No. He was a mortal man remember? He would have died in a blink of her immortal life.” "Yes, but Babushka, love is supposed to win. Shouldn’t she have gone back to marry him instead? He could have lived with her in the castle over the boiling lake.” Emine pouted, pulling the covers up under her chin. "No. He couldn’t. She had a duty to her Kingdom and her family to uphold. As you will do when you get older. Descents of the crown must always put the crown first. Doing otherwise would be a mistake.” Roksana didn't have the heart to tell Emine that the girl from the story never travelled to the East again; she never went back, to see the King or the gardens; or that dangerous, terrible things happened to Princesses who lost themselves in love― blinded themselves with it . “I think her true love was the King,” Emine whined, a yawn swallowing the end of her sentence, sleep pulling at her eyes. “Goodnight, sweet rabbit," kissing her granddaughter goodnight. Standing in front of the fireplace, she reached for the jewellery box on the mantle. Cracking it open, she pulled out a blush pink peony, as bright and fragment as the day it had been picked, all those centuries ago. Enchanted with preservation spells, it did not wilt in the frost-bitten land or wither under her icy touch. She had never told anyone about the flower and rarely spoke about that summer; she had forbidden herself to reminisce, but tonight felt different. For the first time in a long while, she was alone― free . She had severed―endured―her sentence, and now she was free. Winter’s promise is not to love but to endure, to yield to no one and nothing―and neither did she. Pressing a kiss to the flower, flecks of ice bloomed across the petals. Swallowing hard, her throat burned with unshed tears as she put the flower pack into its box. The memories of that summer solstice clung to the velvet of her bones.


Frankie looked her dog in the eyes, eyes the same deep sienna brown as her own, and said, “Okay Audrey, today we will find complete happiness in the solitude of nature.” She tied back her long sandy blond hair. Audrey whined and stood up as her harness was fastened under her belly, the tail that curled over her back wagged like mad, wiggling her butt along with it. For a moment she forgot her manners and leapt straight up on legs like springs- like Tigger- until her eyes were level with Frankie’s.

The dog said, ‘ oh boy oh boy oh boy. ’ “Okay, okay…let’s go.” Audrey was the size of a golden retriever, but with glossy black fur with white patches on her nose, chest, and all four paws. She had large, pointed ears like a deer, and it seemed she had too many teeth, an upper canine and a lower one never quite fit inside her mouth. She was an odd-looking dog; in the shelter it had been love at first sight. Frankie’s thighs burned as she followed Audrey up a very steep dirt path. She looked up, breathing heavily, to gauge how much farther it was to the fallen stump at the top. Audrey bounded back to her, stopping to acknowledge a chittering squirrel six feet over them in a pine tree. As she neared the tree, the squirrel said, ‘ be careful, it’s a fast one !’ It scampered higher into the green boughs.

Then a jay screeched to get her attention, it said, ‘ over to the left!’ Both dog and woman stepped left into the ferns just in time! From over the fallen log at the top of the hill, came a kid on a BMX bike. He caught air, his long blond hair flagging wildly behind from under a turned around ball cap, a maniacal grin on his face. He thumped down to the path three feet from Frankie’s feet. He had some sort of GoPro on his head though he wore no helmet. Frankie said, “Hey! Hey, you nearly hit us!” The wild boy didn’t stop, he was soon out of sight. It had been increasingly difficult to find good trails. Closer to the city, there were too many people, many of whom were uptight about off-leash dogs, and most paths were kid and even stroller friendly. Ugh. Some of the most challenging didn’t even allow dogs, but instead catered to the mountain bike crowd. They’d hiked the day before, through an immense nature reserve with miles of decent trails and challenging climbs, only to come upon a city of homeless people in dirty tents and tarps and mountains of trash. When she came across grungy hypodermic needles and human waste in the center of the path, she’d vowed angrily not to return. The display of selfish entitlement these crazy, drug-addled people displayed depressed her. They had turned something beautiful into a cesspool. She wept all the way home. A week ago, they’d thought they’d found a secluded forest with grown-over forgotten trails miles into a redwood forest housing the tallest trees they’d ever seen. Then they’d smelled smoke. Frankie had been alarmed at first, fearing the worst, until she came upon a large man, hairy as Sasquatch, with crazy oozing out his pores. He’d been living in a hut made of pallets and branches. He’d come towards her drooling and making strange ‘mmm-ing’ noises until Audrey scared him away. Whether real or imagined, the smell of his cook-fire smoke brought back flashes of long ago when she’d been just five:

She’d thought she’d been a happy child. She’d loved her parents though she couldn’t recall their faces, and an older brother who she had adored because even though he’d been ten years older, he’d played with her and taken her to the park and on long hikes through the woods by their home.

He said he could talk to the animals and birds, and she had laughed. She had no memories of her parents taking her anywhere fun, she supposed she blocked them out for being too painful. She remembered a church, a big gothic thing, terrifying and NOT fun.

One day, deep in the woods, her and Brian had come across an injured squirrel. She’d watched in fascination as her brother picked it up gently and talked to it soothingly… and listened to it. In her head, she had thought she heard a high-pitched whisper, ‘ Bobcat. Family gone…it hurts, please help me.’ After Brian had placed the squirrel in his backpack and told Frankie they had to hurry back now, she’d timidly said, “B-Brian. I heard it too.” Brian hugged her and said, “The desperate have a louder voice. I knew you’d be able to hear them too…” “So, you believe me?” “I’ve been waiting for this. Now please, do not tell anyone. Okay?” “Why not?” “They will punish you.” Brian had been blamed for the fire. Who else could it have been? He’d been fifteen, and you know how disobedient and conniving teenagers are. Probably been smoking cigarettes out his window, flicking the embers into the dry grass. Both her parents had perished, and it was assumed Brian was dead too, though his body was never recovered. Half the house had slid into the river when the retaining wall gave way, his bedroom had been in the basement, his body most likely swept away by the eddying waters. Frankie had nightmares to this day, of leaping from the attic window, smoke billowing hot against her back, into the net of the firefighters. Frankie and Audrey stood at the top of the hill and admired the green panoramic scene. The sky above was still overcast, just the way she liked it. It was four o’clock. She was disturbed by BMX Kid. His behavior was unnervingly reckless, but even more so, she was again dismayed to have discovered yet another awesome hiking path only to find inconsiderate humans used it too. She sighed unhappily. ‘I know. But I still like this one. Maybe he’ll be the only one today.’ She rubbed Audrey’s silky soft head. “Oh Audrey, ever the optimist.” ‘There’s a fox down there.’ Frankie looked down as a leafy branch quivered over a patch of orange fur. They made their way down the hill, the fox peeked it’s pretty, pointy-nosed face out from the dense shrub and said, ‘Beware, another one comes this way. Eek! ’ It slunk out of sight like molten lava.  “What? What other one?” Audrey said, ‘Always so cryptic, them foxes, just like catssss. ’ She looked as if she’d bitten into a lemon. Frankie laughed. Then heard a branch snap…close behind them. Audrey’s fur was tufted along her hackles, her ears pointed forward, and a low growl purred from her throat like a Harley’s motor idling. The shrubs along the left of the path, twenty feet ahead, shivered. A tubby little creature popped out, rolled to a stop, and sprung to its feet. At first, Frankie thought it was a tubby racoon, grey furred and barrel-shaped. Then she thought it was a small fat child wrapped in a fur coat. ‘What is it?’ “Don’t know.” The thing had the face of a child, with a mop of shoulder length hair the same shade as its coat. Its ears were pink like its face, but longer, elfin-like. From the bottom of its tubby body were two skinny legs with five-toed black feet. It carried a spear, its wickedly pointy head glinted silver, reflecting the overcast sky. It also wore the same sort of GoPro BMX Kid had been wearing. It was a curved silver rectangle on a pole that appeared to be embedded in the thing’s head; it rotated slowly left to right, left to right. Frankie thought of the satellite dish her neighbors had had on their roof, she had been jealous that they had television. The thing thumped the dirt with the butt of its spear and shrieked like a banshee. “SCREEEE!” Every hair on Frankie’s body stood up, much like Audrey’s. “Hey now, Cutie, we’ll just be going…C’mon Aud, let’s go back.” Audrey placed herself in front of Frankie, growl still idling. Frankie started backing away. “SCRRREEEEEEEEE!” ‘Thud!’ It jumped high into the air! It landed behind Frankie and smiled, revealing a too-wide mouth full of pointy little teeth. Frankie ran. “Come on!” Audrey held her ground a few seconds longer, giving Frankie time to get away, then she ran too. Raccoon Boy did not follow. The rutted path they followed narrowed, Frankie stumbled twice, Audrey stopped every fifty feet or so to look behind them. She said, ‘ keep going. I’m right behind you. ’ As a gloomy twilight approached, they stopped in a small clearing and looked behind them. A branch snapped in the growing gloom in the woods, shadows melded together.

As they watched, a tall, thin, dark figure emerged from between two trees. It had four long thin legs, each ending in a point like a spider’s delicate foot, and a humanoid body, stretched. Its head was triangular, with large round eyes, it looked like a praying mantis but had two thin long arms ending in human hands. The satellite thingy on its head glinted in the ink-blue atmosphere, as it rotated left to right. They leapt through a dense hedge of hemlock and came upon a cabin in a clearing hidden there. It looked deserted. “Audrey?” ‘Raccoon Boy’s scent lingers here.’ “This can’t possibly be its home.” A snap.

A rustle. Audrey tried the door. Unlocked. They dove inside, saw that there were three locks and a thick metal bar that fit into brackets across it. They looked out the window by the door.  Mantis Man sat across the clearing with both sets of legs crossed. Its enormous dark eyes blinked at them. Frankie said, “Look. It’s BMX Kid.” He was sitting to the left, across the clearing, his bike on its side next to him. Audrey said, ‘Racoon Boy .’ The thing’s coat gleamed silver in the black night, it was a three-foot pom- pom with a head. Frankie tried the light switches by the door. Amazingly, they worked. Though the inside lighting was soft as candlelight, she switched it off. She left the porchlight on, to light up the clearing. Mantis Man turned out to be green. They sat by the window all night. As she stared, she tried to communicate with the creatures. She didn’t understand why Mantis and Raccoon did not answer her enquiries. All of nature’s fabulous minds were eager to communicate with her. She even tried BMX Kid though she was loathe to do so, human minds often left her sickened, she’d turned off that ability in herself long ago, like flicking a toggle switch - off.  But even from him, nothing. Just a deadness, cold as outer space. At last, dawn came with the flourish she loved. It meant hike time, nature time. Peace and quiet and communion with the forest dwellers.

This morning, however, only brought more terror. The three were out there, watching. Raccoon Boy grinned his toothy grin. BMX Kid gave her the Hawaiian ‘hang loose’ hand sign.  A squirrel hopped onto the flowerbox on the windowsill, between the bright red geraniums blooming there, inches from Frankie’s face on the inside. Frankie screamed. ‘Just a squirrel.’ “I know…sorry.” The squirrel tapped on the window and pointed at the inside latch. ‘It wants you to open the---’ “Window, got it.” She hesitated. ‘It’s just a squirrel. No evil bones in their bodies…’ “Oh, fuck it.” She unlatched the window lock and lifted the pane four inches. The wee squirrel ducked inside. Frankie slammed the window down, wincing. The three sentinels sat placidly watching. She said, “What’s going on? You know this place?” The squirrel said, ‘You’re safe here.’ Dog and woman sighed with relief. Like all woodland creatures, squirrels never lied. (Though Raccoons tended to exaggerate, and foxes tended to be sneaky.) The squirrel said, ‘Come .’ She raced across the cabin to the kitchen nook. Frankie had little time to look around, but what she saw she liked. The cabin was clean and furnished with hand-crafted rustic furniture. A small tv sat on a low bookshelf filled with old classics. They followed the squirrel. The kitchen was an immaculate 1950’s reproduction in red and white, with modern amenities fitting in. The squirrel led them through a pantry door, they followed. At the far end, was a solid wooden wall. At the bottom was a small strip of wood that stuck out a half an inch. The squirrel pointed to it, excitedly hopping up and down. ‘ There there!’ Frankie bent and pushed against it.

The floor of the pantry started sinking. Frankie was about to panic but saw the squirrel was smiling and clapping her hands with joy. As the pantry went down half a story, the squirrel climbed swiftly out the opening and said, ‘ See-ya later!’ Frankie realized with amusement that faint music was being piped in through invisible speakers. It was her favorite band, one her brother used to listen to: Pink Floyd, the song was Shine on You Crazy Diamond. “I feel like Alice in Wonderland.” Audrey said , ‘I wonder where the Mad Hatter is?’ “Ha ha.” She jumped as the elevator stopped. The wall slid open. They stepped into a hallway lined with caramel-colored tiles softly lit by brass wall sconces. The wall at the other end slid open as she approached it.

Frankie gaped in wonder, jaw hanging open like a funhouse clown's, as she took in the immense space. It was the most beautiful library ever. Three of the twenty-foot walls were lined with shelves of books, a wheeled ladder reached the top. There was a propane fireplace with fake logs, a vast mahogany coffee table with carved cat’s feet legs, a settee, and three deep armchairs upholstered in deep-jewel-colored hues. Six end tables shaped like bears held tiffany lamps. The rugs were thick red wool.

As she walked past the bookshelves, she noticed that all the countless figurines on the shelves and tables were robots or monsters of some kind. Some she recognized from tv shows and movies…Godzilla, R2-D2, Wolverine, the Iron Giant, the Alien…Mantis Man- the sentinel outside. The third wall where the fireplace sat, also housed a door. It opened and a man in a white lab coat walked in. He was tall, with a high forehead, his long, tied-back hair the same dirty blond as hers though his was greying at the temples. He had leather gloves on his long-fingered hands. He removed his reading glasses and blinked at her with eyes the same dark shade as hers, then he smiled and said, “Franchetta, hello, and welcome.” She backed away, her mouth snapped shut like a trap. Audrey whined. “Don’t be afraid. I’m Brian . Your Brian.” Frankie’s veins filled with ice-water, her legs turned to oatmeal, she caught the edge of the coffee table before she hit the ground and plopped onto a cushy ottoman. “No.

Dead.  The fire.” Audrey hopped up next to her. Brian went to a bar tucked in the corner opposite the fireplace and poured them each four fingers of an amber elixir. He came towards her, and she shied away, eyes round as ping pong balls.

He halted a second, then sat opposite her, pushing the crystal glass on a coaster towards her. “Remy Martin.” He sipped his and put it down. “You killed them. An accident, but…” Her hands shook in her lap. “It was not I…uh…do you still go by Frankie?” She nodded. Audrey said, ‘He’s the Mad Hatter !’ Brian laughed then said to the dog, “More like Mad Scientist.” Frankie said, “It really is you.” She swallowed half the cognac. “You don’t remember our parents at all do you?” “I was happy…?” “No. Neither of us was happy. Mother found out about us. You kept your promise, but Father caught you talking to that deer that used to come around.” “Bella.” “Yes. Mother blamed our Father, said his seed was cursed, that we were Satan’s spawn…” “That awful black church…” “She dragged us there. That dark priest was as insane as she was. He told her the only way to save our souls was with fire.” Frankie gasped. “I tried to save you.” He removed his gloves, his hands were made of metal. “I saw you jump. When the house collapsed, I was thrown into the river, unconscious. I woke entangled in a fall of branches, a beaver’s dam, far from home. The beaver showed me where humans lived, and I was taken in at a hospital. Then sent to a specialist in prosthetics. It was there I studied with a wonderfully brilliant doctor, a scientist. You would have loved him, he taught me much and helped build this place…” He pulled out a smart phone and tapped it a few seconds. “Texting?” “Ha! Not quite…” The elevator door opened, and the three sentinels came in. Audrey yipped.

As one, they raised a hand and waved ‘hello.’ Mantis Man said, “Gru-gruuuu wimi-si…aaaahhh.” Brian said, “He says he’s sorry he scared you…and welcome. I’m working on fixing his voice, his name’s Maury by the way…” “These creatures, the sentinels…you made them. That’s why I couldn’t talk with them, they aren’t alive.” Raccoon Boy said, “SCRA! Ganorf!” Brian said, “Spooky! Be real.” To his sister he said, “he’s in denial. I’m fixing his voice as well.” Audrey said, ‘It was Sameel, the crow. That found us. Sameel was the spy.’ Brian said, “smart pup…yes, Sameel found you for me and grew increasingly concerned for Frankie. So, I built the cabin for you…and my sister.” Audrey said to Frankie , ‘Can we stay? Please oh please?’ The goofy dog leapt up and down, tail and butt wagging… Frankie went to her brother and hugged him. “Thank you. You’ve saved my life.”


Fri 10 Jan, 13:06 Hi Gorgeous. Looking forward to seeing you tonight. J xxx Who is this? Stop messing around! No, seriously. Your number’s just coming up as Unknown. Fran? Kate. And you are? OMG – I’m so sorry. I must have mistyped my girlfriend’s number. You mean she’s not saved in your contacts? I’ve got her number saved on my phone, but I left it at home so I borrowed someone else’s to text her. I thought I remembered the number, but obviously I was wrong. So you’re texting from someone else’s phone now? Well, yeah, otherwise I wouldn’t be texting you instead of Fran. I can’t argue with that logic. Well, fascinating though this conversation has been, I do have other stuff to do apart from chatting to unknown people who’ve messaged me by mistake. Ouch! Take care, J – hopefully I won’t hear from you again. It’s Jon, btw. Bye Jon. Bye Kate * Sat 25 Jan, 08:17 Hi Kate. Who is this? It’s me, Jon. The guy who messaged you by mistake two weeks ago. Didn’t you save my number? Why would I save the number of someone I don’t know? ... Anyway, how did you manage to text me if the last time was on a friend’s phone? Did you dial every possible combination of your girlfriend’s number with one wrong digit? I got lucky after the first 87 minutes, so it wasn’t too bad... What? Got you! You didn’t really think I tried that hard to find your number, did you? I’ve known guys to take longer trying to find my clitoris! Too much information! And with less success. La la. Fingers in ears. I can’t hear you. Seriously, what do you want this time? I just thought I’d say hi. Hi. Okay. Chat to you another time then. Hang on! You mean that’s it? You go to all the effort of tracking me down just to say one word? I think you’ll find this conversation is a lot longer than one word, Kate. And I think you’ll find that ‘conversation’ is a very loose term if you’re using it to describe pestering a woman you’ve never even met. Pestering? Pestering. What do you mean, pestering? You know – stalking. Doesn’t that involve actually following someone and then watching them undress through binoculars? OK – you’re getting creepy now. I promise you I’m not watching you through binoculars at the moment. Do you even have any binoculars? Well, no, but I could buy some. That’s not making me feel any better, Jon. Wait – I was going to say, I could buy some but promise not to use them to spy on you. Is that better? I really hope this isn’t a pickup line. ... OMG! It IS a pickup line! What does Fran think about you flirting with other women when she’s not around? We’re not together anymore. I’m not surprised – I wouldn’t put up with a boyfriend who texted random women and made jokes about watching them through binoculars. ... Wait – you’re serious? I’m so sorry – I thought you were joking again. That day I messaged you by mistake, I caught her cheating on me with my best friend. That must have been hard for you. She said she’d already cancelled our date – only I didn’t know because I didn’t have my phone. ... Anyway, I would have got in touch with you before now, but I didn’t have your number Excuse me? WHY would you have got in touch? I don’t know you. No, but you seemed like a good listener. Most girls would have just ignored a text from a wrong number. So you’re basically using me as a free therapist? I never know whether you’re joking or being serious. I guess I just have a sarcastic nature. Everyone needs a hobby. Well, I’m sorry your girlfriend dumped you. Had you been together long? About three weeks. What? I was feeling sorry for you because I thought you’d been together for years ... Of course, I might not have ever had a girlfriend. ... Maybe I just typed in a random number and tried to get a girl to feel sorry for me. You’re back to stalker territory again. Fran really does exist – I just don’t exist for her anymore. That’s deep. Philosophy 101. You studied philosophy? No, I’m just good at making stuff up. This is getting weird again. Time’s getting on and I have mouths to feed ... You have kids? Cats. What are their names? Avelynne Kitten and Charlie Kitten. Dare I ask if they’re actually kittens? Not anymore. But they were when I got them, so the names sort of stuck. You’re as weird as I am ... Says the guy who threatened to buy binoculars so he could NOT stalk me. I was hoping you’d find that a romantic gesture. Much as I love all this high-quality flirting, I really do have to go. Bye Kate. Bye Jon. * Tue 4 th Feb, 21:17 Hello Stranger. Jon? How did you know? You’re the only Unknown Caller who texts me. Besides, after last time, I saved your number. I saved yours too. So that’s saved you 87 minutes this time. You remembered! No, I just re-read your text messages. That seems a bit keen. Are you sure you’re not interested in meeting up some time? You should never EVER meet up with someone you only know from a text message. So that scuppers my chances of finding anyone on a dating app then. You’ve been looking? Why not? Are you jealous? Why would I be jealous? I think it’s healthy if we both agree to see other people. We’ve never actually seen each other. True. It’s the sense of mystery that makes it so exciting though. I KNEW you were interested! Not interested in that way – more like intrigued. What’s the difference? Interested suggests wanting to form a relationship; intrigued suggests wanting to find out more about the person. Are you an English teacher by any chance? I only asked because of the semi-colon. I don’t know anyone else who knows how to use one. Flattery will get you a long way, Jon ... Thank goodness for that – I was getting tired of using the binoculars! You still need to work on your pickup lines. If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me? I don’t think you wrote that one. It was worth a try. I don’t want to be rude, but I need to go to bed. Now who’s using saucy pickup lines? On my own. I have to get up early for work. Goodnight, then Goodnight, Jon. * Thur 6 th Feb, 19:23 Hi Kate. Is this better? Is what better? Texting you at this time. You don’t give up, do you? Did you get to work on time yesterday? ... You said you had to get up early for work. That might have been a lie. ? I don’t have a job at the moment. I don’t have cats either. I know. And I’m not as young as you probably think I am. I know that too. How do you know? Have you been using binoculars all along? I’m going to send you a photo. A photo of you? Open it and see. It’s a wedding photo. Are you married? Yes. So why have you been texting me? It’s a photo of us. I think I’d remember it if it was! Besides, I’m not married. Look in the drawer beside your bed. It’s a wedding ring. Your wedding ring. The photo is you and me getting married, thirty-eight years ago. How come I don’t remember any of this? You were in an accident. You lost the part of your memory that’s to do with us and our children. We have children? Avalynne and Charlie. They’re both in their thirties. Avalynne has three children and Charlie has two. We’ve got grandkids? Yep. So all this time you’ve been texting me, I wasn’t a wrong number after all? No. Are you sure this isn’t a rather elaborate hoax? I’m telling you the truth now, Kate. You have to trust me. I’ll try. In just a few minutes, I’ll be walking into your hospital room. And Kate ... What? I promise not to bring my binoculars.


“Beep! This is your final attempt. Failure will result in a total reset. ”

A woman's sinister voice blasts out over the town and reverberates in my jaw. I don’t know what it is about her, but she doesn’t sound human to me. The mechanical voice exploded from the top of the looming black tower. Its exterior is so dark that it steals all of the sunlight around it. I feel the warmth drain from my face as I stand there gawking at it. A long ominous shadow hangs over the shanty wood buildings making up this pathetic town square. Ahead of me is a large black door at the tower’s base. It’s surrounded by flowers and household items placed neatly around it. Everyone around me is huddled up and whispering, I feel like I’m at a funeral. I can’t take my eyes off of the black door beckoning me to come inside. I look for any handles or knobs on it and find none. “Get over here Samuel, now” a gruff voice calls over to me from a small leaning shack just a few paces from the tower. I turn around and see a skinny old man leaning up against the doorframe. It looks like he’s holding the whole shack upright from my angle. I look at Hadley, the beautiful woman standing next to me, who brought me to town after casually telling me that she’s my wife, and oh, that I've been ‘reset’ – whatever the hell that means. Hadley nods approvingly and we walk through the red dirt towards the shack. I look up again at the old man and notice that he’s holding a small red book in his wrinkly hand. “What is going on here?” I ask him, trying to force calm into my voice by dropping it lower – It didn’t work.

He looks at me with deep-set eyes giving him a grave expression across his face. “Do you know who I am?”

I shake my head and glance back up at the tower again. The four hollowed out vents at the top look like empty eye sockets – the tower is soulless. “Come inside, both of you.”

“Beep! This is your final attempt. Failure will result in a total reset. ”

The alarm and voice shake the small building and dust flurries down over our heads. The inside of the shack smells like wood and stale urine. I want to turn around and walk right back out, but I stand there utterly perplexed by the walls covered in black tally marks and names. It looks like someone has been a prisoner inside here and started tallying as time passed until they got bored and eventually started naming the moments. The old man’s hand shakes as it scratches another tally mark in section number 13 written at the top. Section 12 next to it has hundreds of tallies and the name Clint written underneath. Hadley fidgets nervously as we watch him scratch a big ‘x’ over his name. Resting in a corner of the room is an opened wooden chest with a rusty padlock dangling from it. Inside are several red books neatly stacked. Two books have the names Cole and Roger written across their covers. The old man’s eyes catch mine and he quickly tosses the book in his hand inside the chest before locking it. “I’m John the recorder and your name is Samuel if you haven’t gathered that already.”

“What happened to m—?”

“Shut up and listen,” he grumbles. “You’ve been reset by the tower and Clint’s gone. The code formula you have been working on these past moons obviously didn’t work.”

“Formula for what code?”

He nods to the wall behind me. The wall is covered in numbers and names, Some of them starting to fade. One of the formulas pull me in closer “ xn = xn−1 + xn−2 .” I may not remember who I am, but I can tell that I used to like this coding stuff. Next to it are a list of names written under the word coders. I touch my name sitting right underneath Clint’s and think about the woman I saw crying earlier at the tower door.

“Samuel, does this equation mean anything to you? Hadley asks, walking up next to me. John joins us. I can smell his stale breath as he talks, “You and Clint came up with this formula right after Roger passed through the door. The tower reset my son that night and I’m afraid he couldn’t find his old self again. He ended his life a few moons later.” John stands there awkwardly next to us in silence. Hadley clears her throat, “Samuel check to see if you wrote some of this stuff down in your red book. Maybe it can help you catch up to speed.”

“Beep! This is your final attempt. Failure will result in a total reset. ”

“I don’t have a red book” I explain, nervously patting down my pants and shirt. My hand brushes against something small and round lying in my shirt pocket and I lightly press against it curiously. I watch John’s grumpy face instantly transform. “What is it?” he asks. I can hear the malicious tone in his voice and decide it’s best to carry on the act. Something about him changed and my gut tells me to get the hell out of there. Hadley catches the look as well and immediately turns towards me grabbing my hand, “He probably left it out in our cabin, John. I’ll make sure he gets it and reads through the tower laws and his notes before sending him here to work with you tomorrow.

“Beep! This is your final attempt. Failure will result in a total reset. ”

We leave the shack as John makes another tally on the wall. The crowd of people anxiously gather around us. “Is it true that the tower reset you? Have you solved the code?” I hear several of them ask in a hushed tone. I open my mouth to respond, but Hadley squeezes my hand and cuts in. “Samuel and John spoke. They have a plan,” she says. “You all go home now and look through your red books tonight to see if there’s anything in there that you think can help him.” Despair marks their faces. They have have seen coders go through that black door and none have returned. The biggest one being, why should anyone base their lives off of what they read out of a little red book. Hadley leads me to our cabin outside of the town. The door swings open as we arrive and I hold Hadley back as I peak inside at all of the turned over furniture and loose papers on the floor. “Someone has been here looking for something.” I whisper to her. I pull her inside the small space and we sit on the bed looking down at the overturned chest with clothes spilling out of it. “Do you think they looking for your red book?” Hadley asks choking back tears. I reach in my pocket and pull out a tiny ball of paper and hold it in front of her eyes.

“I think they may have been looking for something even smaller.”

“Samuel, this paper is the same paper from our red books. We’re not allowed to let anyone else into our books or tear anything out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean. There are a few rules the tower bid us follow since we first arrived here many moons ago. These books are our guides: They tell us who we are, what we do, and how to live in order to serve the tower.” I feel my head shaking in disbelief.

“Why do you let a little red book and that tower out there decide your fate?” I ask. I feel a rage I haven’t felt before build inside of me. She holds my face in her hands and looks at me with her green eyes filled with tears.

“We have known no other way, Samuel. We rely on hope that someday, the tower will give us the next answer for our lives when we find the code.”

“Well I can’t find this code without the help of all the other coders. I need to see what they’ve seen. I need my book to undersatnd what I’ve seen.” Hadley shakes her head. “There’s too much risk. Folks say that the tower is always watching us. It’s eyes are everywhere.”

I can see the fear and pleading in her eyes. I pause from unrolling the note and look out into the forest surrounding the cabin. An unsettling feeling washes over me as I think about the hollow eyes at the top of the tower. I roll it back up and tuck it into my pocket and glance over at her weerily.

“Alright, let’s wait until it’s dark out.”

“Beep! This is your final attempt. Failure will result in a total reset. ”

The voice blasts through the thick night air as we sit at the table eating stew from the vegetables in Hadley’s garden. We haven’t talked much since the note and the silence beginning to wear on me.

“What was I like before?” I ask her between slurps.

Hadley stares across the table at me with longing in her eyes.

“You were truly wonderful. You were very smart, kind, and had a big heart that loved to serve everyone in this town.”

I sit there and think about the man she described. Can I be that man again? Will I need my red book to tell me who to be?

“Hadley, we have to find my red book,” I say. “Do you know anywhere else it could be?” “I have looked everywhere that you keep it at night. You carry it around with you during the day like the rest of us in town,” she says. “It was daylight when you found me. That means someone must have taken my book from me when I was still unconscious from the reset. But why would they rummage through our hom–” An idea pops up into my head.

“What is it?” Hadley asks, seeing my eyes widen. “Unless, they truly were looking for this.” I reach in my pocket and pull out the balled up note shaking it at her. Hadley scoots back her chair and pulls me to over between the bed and the wall. We both crouch down and I unroll it in between us. Written in barely legible handwriting is the message.

There are 14 of us.

“Samuel, this is your handwriting. Why would you write something like this and then tear it out?” Hadley asks. I look at her confused at the words I had written.

“And why would I say there are 14 coders? It’s clear from the list of names and from the formulas on the wall that we all understood that there are only 13 coders. John is lying to us.” “But, why? Asks Hadley, “He believes in the red books and reveres the tower the most.”

“Maybe he aims to keep it this way forever if he can help it.” I say squeezing the note in my fist.

“Beep! This is your final attempt. Failure will result in a total reset. ”

“ Wooooop! Wooooop! The door is now open. You have one attempt.”

Hadley looks at me in horror – the blood rushing from her face. “This isn’t right. The door has never opened this early!” she crambles to her bedside and pulls out her red book. I watch Hadley flip through the pages rapidly scanning for an explaination.

“This doesn’t make sense!”

“What is going on, Hadley, look at me?”

“The tower – the tower knows something. It – it isn’t giving us any time to figure it out!” she yells. “You’ve always had enough time to come up with a new formula.”

A wave of calmness pours over me as I watch at Hadley laying on the bed panicking. The note crinkles as I roll it back and forth between my fingertips thinking about that list of names and the red books I saw in the shack.

“We need to go back to the shack.” I say.

“Now?”

“Right now. I need to get a good hard look at those books.”

“John won’t let you near those books. He won’t break the rules for anyone. He truly believes the tower will serve justice for any wrongs.” Hadley says, looking over at me with concern. “Look, if this is our last chance at ending this relentless cycle of death and resetting, we’re going to have to do something new that the old man probably won’t agree to. Do you want to leave this life of fear and waiting behind?” “You know I do, Samuel.” “Well then this is our moment.” “Beep! This is your final attempt. Failure will result in a total reset. ”

The fires around town light up the town as we approach it from the forest. We watch as a crowd gathers in the middle of the square under the tower. Everyone is frantic and hugging each other closely. The door to the tower is gone and looks like a gaping mouth swallowing all of the flickering light. Something inside me stirs as I look at it – I can feel it calling me. I nod at Hadley and she quietly runs into town with the red book in her hand. I sneak around the rotting buildings and make my way to behind the shack. I take extra care not to hurt myself with the hatchet in my hand. I peer inside the window and see John shuffling around making his usual marks. Hadley’s voice bursts over the crowd as she begins yelling at them. “Who stole my husband’s red book? You know the law!” I’m crouched under the windowsill of the shack smirking – she really can turn on the emotions when she wants to. The door screeches open and I hear John shuffle out of the shack towards the crowd. I sneak around to the door and glance over at Hadley to make sure she sees me.

I wait for her scream. The moment a sound escapes her lips, I swing the hatchet at the rusty lock hanging on the chest. It easily snaps off and hits the floor with a loud thud. I check outside the window before pulling out the red books. I lay them out across the floor in front of me, matching their names with the ones on the wall. I pause at the last book at the bottom of the chest. It isn’t labeled. I open it up and find the sentence written in perfect writing at the top of the page, “Greetings from the Tower. Your name is Samuel.” That sneaky old devil stole my book. I quickly turn to the notes section and find my handwriting. I find the formula that I wrote on the shack wall and stare at the series of numbers beneath it.

0 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89 144

“Beep! This is your final attempt. Failure will result in a total reset. ”

Something inside my head clicks on and I feel the numbers flooding in and making their way into the formula. I held up my book to the wall and this time I use 14 as my number. I let a soft yell of excitement out! It all makes sense. My heart is racing and I can feel the sweat beads forming above my upper lip. “We were always off by one number because we were convinced there were only 13 coders.” I kick open the shack door and sprint into the gaping hole at the base of the tower, not caring who sees me. The room is pitch black and freezing.. I strain to see in the darkness but can barely see my own hand in front of my eyes. A pale rectangular blue light blue slowly illuminates the room. I feel my way up towards it towards it and stumble onto a platform. I stare into what looks like a moving picture with light coming up behind it. A small bar blinks in and out above a row of numbers. I stare down at the blinking bar and take a shaky breath, realizing that if I mess this part up, it’s all over. “Are you sure you want to do that?” John’s gruff voice calls from below the platform.

“If I don’t, the whole town will be reset,” I say not taking my eyes away from the numbers..

“If you do this, the life that you and Hadley know will never be the same Samuel. You need to trust me, I know what the tower truly seeks.”

“How can I trust you when you sent 13 men before me to their deaths and allowed countless others to be reset? And for what? Job security in that god forsaken shack?

“They’re not dead,” John say Cooley. “You don’t know what sacrifices I’ve made for the tower or even for you.” His words slapped me in the face. Not dead? But, nobody in town ever saw the coders again after they left their red books at the door that eventually shut them in.

“It’s time to end this charade you call life and see the truth.” I call down to him. “So be it.” He replies, sticking his skinny hands into his pockets.

I push the numbers on the screen 233 and watch as it flashes green.

A white light instantly floods the room. I squint underneath my hand and see a group of people in white jackets standing behind a clear wall. They are clapping and hugging each other. A few look at me and give me a nod. I look down at the red book shaking in my left hand and realize that I suddenly fear the truth about our existence.


Try, what does that word mean? To some, it may mean quickly looking over a set of history themed flashcards, or attempting to reach that shiny rock out of the depths of the lake you visit each summer. But to others it may have a deeper meaning, pulling all nighters only to get a fifty percent on a final and get yelled at for not trying hard enough. This generation some adults may question your definition of "I'm trying". You may try your hardest, blood sweat and tears, only to fall into the pits of failure, and you may not want to crawl out of that hole you know you will end up in once again. Then you have New Year's resolutions. The three words that both inspire and cause you to crumble away. Some reach their goals and others find more flaws to add to their never changing list of insecurity and flaws. What is a good New Years resolution? Something that seems impossible, losing one hundred pounds? Something as silly as getting out of bed to eat a meal? Does it have to be as meaningful to others as it is meaningful to you? Will others refer to it as meaningless, or an impossible dream, to far away from the ideal reality to reach? Some may say the whole idea of the New Years Resolution is a waste of effort. An effort that can easily be avoided with the turn of a pupil. How many goals have you set for yourself this year, how many have you accomplished? This year my personal goal was just to try. Not to lose weight like I was often pressured to, or to "act my age" like some adults scolded me to do. It didn't matter if I failed English 11, or if I broke my "Don't cry and let them get to you" record. I just had to try. The months were long, and the pressure even longer, but all I had to do was try. The new me, someone who could try. Not pressured, not forced. No more all nighters to try and pass a topic that squeezed at my brain, not to forgive that one family member that broke my ran with my trust. No more struggling for others. I would just try for myself. Some may call me selfish for wanting that kind of peace, the one where you can leave others words, and ideal thoughts about me behind. I'm not sure if that will ever happen, maybe that would have been one of my goals back when I had the endless energy to please everyone I came across. Not to show anyone who I really was, because no one could accept just that, it was not deemed good enough to the blonde girls in tube tops who would snicker behind my back, or the adults who would ignore me and my opinions because "Anyone under twenty five is stupid and their opinions do not matter." Life itself can make or break someone. Some may never reach their goals, and others will. Some may even need help finding their way, and others are those reliable few that will guide them. I honestly think New Years Resolutions are not about what you can and can not do, but what you think you are capable of trying as a person, and what you would do to try. A lot of people think it is about changing yourself, maybe your imagine or personality, but instead of focusing on all the things they are not, they should realise all the things that they are. The things that make everyone different in their own ways, the true beauty of humans is when they discover themselves for who they really are, and not the dull plastic mask they carry in their pockets. I myself carry one, I am still trying to let it go, maybe one day. Looking back, right here on January fourth, 2021 2:59pm as I type this, all that needed to be remembered from last year was that I tried. It may have seemed like a failure to others, but It had become faith for me. So instead of going into the New Year thinking about that diet, or about how your going to change your laugh because others think it's to loud, tell yourself to try. At what? Well only the person reading this can answer that. I'm not good at assuming, it should be something I should be proud of, but everyone should try. Not fail, not succeed, but try. Just try. Now just try does not half ass something meaningful to you, or just meaningful in general. Just trying means reaching your limits, not your moms, not your bullies, and not any person who won't take the words "I tried" to heart just because you have not reached what you want to touch yet. Work at a pace that works for you, make goals that are for you, not for anyone else. Life may seem long and a struggle more than a joy ride, but in the end you only get one life. Not three, not nine, just one. A life that shouldn't be filled to the brim with self hate or insecurities. Trying for myself has been something I have been thinking about for years, but my goals always turned out to be what others wanted out of me. Being a kinder person, losing weight, being more responsible, stop being lazy, be productive, hurry and choose a career, respect those even if they don't respect you, parents are always right, don't over eat, the list could go on. It was and still is heavy in my mind, and sometimes it bothers me that  I will never be as perfect as they want me to be. Never a perfect student, never a perfect sister, never a perfect daughter. But I have come to realize that these things I carry do not have to be perfect, or even close to such a toxic word. All I have to do is try. Now in 2021, as I sit here writing in the dark with a small furry body in my lap and the soft glow of my moon lamp, for the first time in years I feel the content release of letting go, I didn't worry about what anyone else thinks about my choices. For the first time in a decade all I had to do was try.


Tomas Rojas is looking forward to tonight’s flight to Buenos Aires.  At the end of this flight, he will be officially retired. Tomas has spent thirty years flying for Latam Airlines in Chili. Tonight’s schedule is a special package tour of the Mardi Gras in Buenos Aires, Argentina.            Tomas boards the plane and takes his seat in the pilot’s station. While he studies the checklist, his co-pilot, Juan, enters the cabin.  Wearing a big grin, Juan slaps Tomas on his shoulder, “So this is really it! Your last trip for IPC. Tell me, what’s the first thing you’re going to do, Captain?”

Tomas places the clipboard on the console and tips back his pilot’s hat. “To tell you the truth, I’m looking forward to a peaceful night’s sleep knowing I don’t have to get up in the morning for another flight!”  The flight attendant sticks her head into the cockpit and tells the captain that all the passengers are aboard. Tomas smiles, thanks her, and picks up his microphone. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your Captain speaking. We will leave Miami when I get the OK from the tower. The prevailing winds look favorable, so we should arrive in Buenos Aires in 8 hours and 50 minutes. So, please sit back and enjoy the flight.”             The tower informs Tomas he is clear for take-off.  He taxis to the end of the runway and turns around. Pushing the throttle forward, Tomas feels the plane vibrate under the power of the big jet engines. He turns and smiles at Juan as they start to roll down the runway. Having gathered enough momentum, Tomas pulls back on the tiller. That’s the last thing he remembers.                                                                             …            Tomas can hear faint noises around him. He thinks he might be dreaming.  Indistinct, undiscernable images flash through his head. He is starting to panic because he remembers he is flying the plane! Is he still in the air? Are they about to crash?”  Tomas’s eyes fly open as he wildly looks around the room.  A dazed look of bewilderment is on his face, for he is expecting to see the cockpit. Instead, he is sitting in a large hall or waiting area. He looks up and sees the corrugated ceiling with many steel cross bars. Down the center of the room are rows of seats. Sitting in the seats are his passengers. They appear to be unconscious. Tomas attempts to get to his feet when a gloved hand pushes him back into his chair.            “Try to remain calm, Captain Rojas.” a muffled voice says. A man dressed in a complete hazmat uniform steps into view. The man’s face behind the faceshield smiles. “Everyone is safe.”            Tomas leans forward, his heart pounding rapidly. He rests his elbows on his knees and runs his fingers through his wavy grey hair. The man in the hazmat suit waves his hand and summons a doctor.  He continues, “My name is Martin Donoso, and I’m the chief detective for the Investigations Police of Chile.” A man approaches, also wearing a protective suit.  Donoso introduces him. “This is Doctor Alvarado. Everyone is in quarantine because you all seem to have a low-grade fever. Dr. Alvarado needs to determine if you are contagious or not.” Tomas glances up at the doctor. In a strained voice, he whispers, “May I get a glass of water, please?” The doctor gestures to a nurse who retrieves a pitcher and a glass. Turning back to Tomas, he continues, “How are you feeling, Captain Rojas?”

Tomas turns his palms up and shrugs. “Confused. Disorientated. I take it by the look of the terminal, we are on Easter Island? I’ve been here many times, but why are we here?”            Detective Donoso looks at the doctor and then back to Rojas. “You see, Captain, that is the very thing we need to know. Why did you land here?”

Tomas’s mind is entirely blank. He slumps in his seat and lays his forearm across his brow. A tear escapes the corner of his eye. “Oh, God! What has happened to me, to us?” Tomas shoots straight up and grabs Donoso by his arm. “My wife! I need to talk to Loreto!” Donoso smiles and gently pats Tomas’s hand. “Everything is fine. The PDI has notified your wife of the situation and has promised to keep her in touch. Our American counterpart is doing the same for the passengers. A representative from the US will be arriving shortly to speak with them. “Please, Captain, do you recall anything at all?”

Tomas shakes his head. “The last thing I recall is the plane leaving the tarmac. Then waking up here.” Sitting directly across from Tomas, Detective Donoso reaches out and touches Tomas on his knee. “Captain, on the night you departed from Miami, the tower reports you were gaining altitude when suddenly you disappeared from the radar. The tower also states that all your flashing lights vanished simultaneously. You weren’t seen or heard from for the next ten days. Until you arrived here.” Tomas starts to tremble. “Ten d-d-days?”

Donoso turns to the doctor,  “Do you think the Captain could use a sedative? I don’t want him passing out again.”

Tomas throws up his hands. “No, that won’t be necessary. I-I’ll be alright. It’s just a lot to take in, you know? Where’s my co-pilot, Juan Araya?”  He turns his head and scans the room. Donoso points. “He’s over there by that wall. There’s a nurse with him. He might be coming around.” Tomas notices that many passengers are also reviving. They are looking around, as confused as he was. An elderly woman a few rows away is screaming hysterically. Nurses rush to her side.

Tomas presses his temples hard, trying to clear his mind. “I don’t understand, Detective. Did we crash land here? I don’t see anyone hurt or injured.”  Donoso shakes his head. “That’s the thing. The radar picked you up at about 10:45 pm. Your plane just appeared out of nowhere.  The tower tried to hail you, but there was no response. As they watched, the aircraft came in low, made a perfect three-point landing, and shut off its engines. When the ground crew boarded the plane, they found you all unconscious. That’s when they called us.  Captain, please, there must be something you can tell us. Think!” Rojas tries to remember and, yes, there is something, but it’s too faint. “Have you tried looking at the black box?”  Tomas hears the disappointment in Donoso’s muffled voice “I’m afraid it’s blank.” Tomas knits his eyebrows together and looks around. He now sees the heavy plastic sealing the doors and windows, preventing the virus from escaping. “I’d like to speak with my co-pilot.” Donoso escorts the captain to where his co-pilot sits slumped in his chair. Tomas thinks Juan looks ill; his face is pale and drawn. Dark circles are noticeable beneath both eyes. Tomas looks at the nurse. “How is he? He looks bad.”  The nurse informs him that Juan has a fever of 102 and suggests that Juan be transferred to the mobile ICU outside for close observation. Juan takes Tomas by the wrist. “Skipper, what’s going on? I feel terrible! Like I’m burning up!”  Tomas feels helpless. He kneels and looks at Juan. “Hang in there, buddy! Noticing sweat on Juan’s brow, Tomas reaches into his pocket to retrieve his handkerchief. A small rectangular object falls into his co-pilot’s lap when he removes his hand. It looks metallic but is as thin as onion paper. Though it is transparent, Tomas thinks he can see what appears to be writing. The detective warns him not to touch it, but it is too late. Tomas has already picked it up. Tomas’s eyes roll up, and his head falls back. Images cascade through Tomas’s brain like a movie projector on fast-forward.  Finally, he regains control. He gasps and exclaims to the detective. “You won’t believe this, but I know exactly what happened.”

… Tomas arrives at the intensive care unit with Juan.  The doctor gives him an exam and takes his vitals.  After they take some blood and leave, Tomas tells the detective what happened that night. “I remember everything was going smoothly when our wheels left the tarmac, and then the cabin lights began to flicker. I turned to ask Juan if there was a problem with the electrical system, but he was already unconscious. All the lights, including interior and exterior marker lights, suddenly went out. I tried calling the tower, but there was no response. I even tried pulling hard on the tiller to turn the plane around and return to the airport but without success.  We were caught in a forcefield and couldn’t break free. Panicking, I foolishly kept flipping switches to see if I could regain power. That’s when I noticed something huge blotting out a large portion of the night sky. It was an alien ship that we were being drawn to.

It felt like it took days. I would fall asleep and wake again, and it was still in the distance, dragging my plane toward it. Eventually, a square of light appeared above us, and our ascent to the alien craft increased rapidly, so much so that I closed my eyes in fear. When I opened them, I was in a large hangar large enough to hold a hundred 707s like mine. A voice inside my head beckoned me to leave the plane. I could not refuse.  I opened the departure door, and a set of steps was already in place. A being stood at the foot of the steps. Fearing my legs might buckle, I nervously descended toward him. He was tall and dressed in a hooded robe. His features were nearly flat, and he did not speak but projected his thoughts onto me. This is what he communicated to me. “We call ourselves the Guardians. On your planet, we would be considered humanitarians. We travel from galaxy to galaxy looking for civilizations or planets in crisis. If it’s famine, we teach them new agricultural techniques. If it’s war, we help to negotiate peace. In 2019, we witnessed the COVID-19 virus decimate 14.9 million people globally. Your medical scientists got control of it but did not eradicate the virus. Each year since, the virus has mutated and become more difficult to eliminate. Our scientists have studied this mutation pattern and have correctly predicted that the next mutation will cause the end of humanity on your planet.” Tomas pauses to drink some water. Donoso notes how badly Rojas’s hands are shaking. Smiling weakly, Tomas continues.  “He gave me that metal note and told me it was a formula to stop the coronavirus once and for all. He told me they infected Juan to use his blood to create the antibodies. Juan himself will be the first cured. The alien also said it would be a nasal spray, and in a year’s time, the virus would be terminated.  After placing the formula in my pocket, I remembered nothing until a moment ago. The trip back must have caused amnesia. Thanks to these Guardians, the Earth will be saved!"

… Stationed at the edge of the universe, the alien spacecraft waits. On its bridge, the second-in-command approaches his leader. “Sir! I have the latest report on Earth. The nasal spray works as it was designed to do. It allowed the coronavirus to hibernate and grow much stronger than it ever would have. All the earthlings will soon die. The planet will be ours! Congratulations, Sir!” The alien commander stares at the blue planet on his screen. He shows no emotion as he says, “Good. I believe this is the thirteenth planet we have conquered. I love these bloodless wars.” His eyes seem to sparkle as he shifts them beneath their hooded slits toward his second. “Soon, we will rule the entire UNIVERSE!”


The house was exactly as he left it. When Uncle Steven moved to hospice last spring, he had already transferred all the rights to his books and published articles to his nonprofit foundation, the Lamont Library. After he died in August, he left his house to me, his only niece, since he never married and had no children of his own. Months had passed, but nothing had been touched. Even his last two case studies he had planned to archive for the library were scattered in boxes stacked to the ceiling in the study. No one had shown much interest, until now. I got the call the day after Thanksgiving. Dr. Thomas Li, an award-winning neurologist, formerly with MIT, asked to meet with me to discuss an important study. And if I would be willing to transfer the remaining files to the university to continue Dr. Lamont’s work. “I know it’s a lot of trouble to find those materials.” Dr. Li apologized over the phone. “I’m happy to come by, at your convenience. The grant includes a small budget for research assistance. I can pay for your help.” I agreed to meet Dr. Li at my uncle’s old house. I told him I had already located several boxes of videotapes, marked “Confidential.” I wondered how these outdated, dusty tapes could be so important.

“I know exactly where those tapes are,” I assured Dr. Li. “Any materials you want, you are welcome to borrow and make copies.” “This isn’t just for my research,” Dr. Li insisted. “Dr. Lamont’s work will change the lives of so many people, including his own patients still struggling to this day to remain anonymous until this field is better understood and fully accepted. “Your uncle captured footage of his team treating patients while channeling dark energy forces. The phenomena manifested on videotape prove these episodes were not hallucinations.” I didn’t believe anyone could take his experimental therapy that seriously. As if it would change the face of medicine, and the world? But his former patient, Jackie, now a graduate student interning with Dr. Li’s research group, had convinced him this work was groundbreaking. Dr. Li arrived before I did. He called me to check if I was on my way. “Sorry, my car died in the driveway. Very odd, it wouldn't even start." It was my turn to apologize.  "I’m getting a Lift driver to take me over there. If you want to go inside, there’s an extra key by the side of the mailbox. The boxes you want are down the hallway, to the right. The study is full of them, but I moved the videotapes outside the door.” Dr. Li found the collection of videos that I had set aside. Inside the box, he found the personal instructions my uncle had left for me. “Dear Frances: If I don’t live long enough to tell you in person, please make sure nobody touches these materials unless they agree to three rules, for safety, which I failed to follow: 1.     Anyone who is told about or has any knowledge of these studies must seek the help and support of a deliverance ministry to pray for their protection. This energy is very dangerous and infiltrates the human network through our conscious and unconscious thoughts. Nobody can even know about this, unless they are fully protected. Or they will find themselves attacked as I have been. Please, this is very important! 2.     Under no circumstances should anyone attempt to replicate the exorcism rites I studied that require an individual, even a priest, to step in on behalf of God’s authority and make direct contact with any such energy or entity of demonic nature. This was a mistake, and I should never have studied this by direct contact. I hope that when my brain and body are donated to science, the mysterious growth of cancer can be studied to prevent the same deadly exposure that I believe is responsible. 3.     The minute you experience any signs of negative energy forces causing disruptions around you, please seek the prayer support of a deliverance ministry to remove the causes and protect you. IMMEDIATELY. Please share the knowledge of spiritual healing that doesn’t require anyone to step in and do what I did. This research is important, but it must be done safely and consistently with the right approach and methods. What I did wasn’t safe. I regret not being able to warn you and others in time. I’m going into hospice care soon, and may not have time to explain in person. Please WARN everyone who hears of this research to AVOID any contact, whatsoever, with the occult, with dark forces of witchcraft, sorcery, spells or curses. If I contribute nothing else to science, I want to leave this knowledge in the right hands. But everyone must be fully informed and protected." The note ended there. Dr. Li was more curious than alarmed. He opened the door to the study to look for more boxes.

Without warning, the door slammed shut in his face. He opened it again, holding the knob which started turning by itself. As if someone was on the other side fighting with him to keep him out. “Who’s there?” the doctor shouted. But there was nobody else in the house but him. Suddenly the sound of a dozen phones rang out in the hallway. Old-fashioned phones, the type that nobody makes or has anymore. Dr. Li spun around, but there were no telephones, and no visible source of the ringing anywhere in the hall or in the house. He called me on his cell phone, frantically yelling. “Frances! I’m inside the house, in the hallway. What is going on here? Is this a prank? How do I turn off these alarms, these phones ringing?” “What?” I was equally shocked, and felt a surge of pure terror spill into my soul from the panic in Dr. Li’s voice. “Are you sure that isn’t your phone picking up signals?” “No! It’s ringing behind my head. In the room around me. But when I turn around, there’s nothing here. Where are the phones in this house?” “There are no phones in the house! What are you talking about? Of course I can hear it. Where are you—” “Never mind, Frances. I’m hanging up. I’m going to record this nonsense.” He hung up on me. I felt a strange dark energy fill me with anxiety, as if pure evil had entered my world and was riding next to me in the car. I handed all my cash to the driver, begging him to rush me to the house. By the time I got there, the chaotic ringing had stopped. But the clock hanging in the hallway, without any batteries or power source, start chiming. As if to announce the time of my arrival. Dr. Li was recording the study door slamming open and shut by itself. “Frances, do you see this? This isn’t my imagination. It’s not a delusion if we're both seeing this! Quick, use your phone.” Together we recorded as much footage as we could, trembling with both terror and excitement. With two of us as witnesses to the same phenomena, we had a better chance of capturing clear proof and convincing others this was real. I spotted the opened box on the floor, with the note on top. I had forgotten the instructions my uncle had left me. No wonder he tried to warn me! “Dr. Li, we need to get prayer help. Now! This is exactly what he meant!” “In the name of Jesus Christ. I command you to leave!” My uncle’s voice came out of nowhere, and boomed through the hallway. I didn’t know if that command was for the demons or Satan, himself. Me or Dr. Li. But we obeyed, grabbed the box of tapes, and fled. Whatever was the next step of this research project, I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to hand the research to Jackie and Dr. Li, and disappear. Pretend I never heard or saw anything. And pray the demons would leave me alone.


“How long has it been since you’ve seen Chloe?” Irene’s mother asked as she bent over to smell her newly cooked eggs.

Irene jumped, startled. She’d never been very good at preparing anything, so she’d walked into the kitchen planning on hauling the cereal and milk out of the cupboard and calling it a day. But her mother had gotten there first. Her mother, a natural early bird for most of her life until… Well, until they lost dad. Irene smiled, this might be a sign that her mother’s depression was finally clearing. At the very least, it might turn out to be a good day for her.

“Five years,” Irene said.

She vividly remembered the last time she’d seen her best friend at the end of the summer after their high school graduation. Chloe would soon be leaving their small town in New Jersey for New York City to follow her dream of starring in musicals and Irene was headed to Italy a few weeks later to study graphic design. They met at a coffee shop, the very same coffee shop they were due to meet this afternoon, five years later. “It is so great that you two have stayed in touch all these years. Tere says she doesn’t talk to any of her old friends anymore. Too bad, such nice girls.”

Irene frowned. She wouldn’t call her older sister’s previous friends nice, exactly. Smarmy up front and bitchy behind your back, yes. Nice? Definitely not. In fact, Irene knew Tere wouldn’t call them friends either. They were just a group of girls she’d hung out with in school because no one else would take her. Actually, it was high time her shy and introverted sister left them all behind her. Most had married or gotten engaged in the ten years since they’d graduated high school, and were on a fast-track to becoming their equally bitchy mothers. But what Irene and Chloe had was real. Irene knew that. Somehow, in the endless turmoil of teenagerhood, she’d been lucky to find someone she genuinely liked and who genuinely liked her back. They’d met as shy, quirky first graders who got grounded for colouring outside the lines and had since shared more than a decade’s worth of companionship. Irene’s phone buzzed. looking forward to this afternoon!!!! :) Chloe texted. Four exclamation points? Irene thought, amused. Oh dear.

Her phone turned itself off and she found herself immediately turning it back on. The clock read 8:30 am. Five hours to go still. Me too , she wrote, we haven’t talked in so long, you have to tell me everything. They’d texted each other incessantly during the first few months of college, Chloe had suggested they Skype, but their respective busy lives kept getting in the way. Irene was in Florence visiting distant relatives who were dead set on showing her every inch of the city, Chloe had an audition for a short film, Irene had work, Chloe had pilates class. Eventually, what had been a tumultuous river of texts and gifs became the odd “How are you doing?” and an annual birthday call. Chloe and Irene had promised to visit each other the following summer, but this plan didn’t pan out either. Chloe was always saying she was too busy and Irene soon gave up asking. And then there was the fact that Europe beckoned, so she spent her summer backpacking with some new friends. Time passed. Irene graduated and got a job at a magazine. What exactly was going on in Chloe’s life was a total mystery to her, as she eventually stopped posting about life as a newbie actress on her Facebook and her transfer to Instagram was cut short after a single post.

Then Irene’s dad died and her mother froze inside her grief. By then, Tere was married with two kids and living in Los Angeles, so caring for their mother fell to Irene. Coming home wasn’t the plan for Irene. It was the furthest from the plan Irene had ever been. And she didn’t know what to do next.

It had been her and Chloe’s dream to leave their small, boring New Jersey town for bigger things. Irene found that despite the situation she now found herself in, she had had the many adventures she’d so longed for. It had been cut short, but she’d found success in freelancing and planned on moving elsewhere once her mother’s condition improved. Question was, what had life dealt Chloe? *** Life had clearly not dealt Chloe punctuality. It was 2:30 pm. She was already an hour late. “Would you like to order something else while you wait? A coffee?” a waiter inquired of Irene. Irene pushed her plate (which had previously held a panini), casually leafed through the menu and didn’t see much that appealed to her. Espressos put her on edge, she remembered this particular place’s americanos as too watery, and several years in Italy had ingrained in her that cappuccinos are more of a morning drink and never consumed after a meal. “I’ll have a latte,” she told the waiter. “Irene!” someone yelled, and Irene turned to see Chloe ram through the door in plaid pants and a stylish adobe blazer worn over a white button down shirt. Her curly blonde hair was tied up into a hurried ponytail. It appeared that her bright, bold colours and vintage-only phase was over, and she looked tired. “Sorry I’m late, dad had a meeting with a client that went longer than expected and he needed my help taking notes,” she whispered in Irene’s ear, breathless, as she hugged her. “Wait, you work at the law firm now?” Irene asked, shocked. She couldn’t for the life of her, imagine her lively friend in such a dull profession, yet here she was. “I do this and that. Mostly just secretary work,” Chloe shrugged as she sat down, “Surprising, isn’t it?” No shit . Irene sat back in astonishment as the waiter took Chloe’s order. Acting had always been Chloe’s dream and five years ago, she’d announced to Irene that she’d gladly waitress while her career panned out if that’s what it took. She swore that she would rather die than work at her father’s lame office. “Even more surprising is that I’m actually enjoying it. Maybe more than acting,” Chloe continued, “Anyways, what about you? What have you been up to?” “Graphic design, freelance mostly. I moved back two years ago.” “That sounds fun. You were always a creative sort of person. And it’s going well?” “Yeah. I mean, it’s not the best-paying or stablest job but I love doing it. Was your acting not working out?” The waiter brought Chloe’s order and she shoveled some salad into her mouth. Gulping it down, she shook her head. “It was, actually. Finally.” Irene took a sip from her latte, and instantly regretted it. The coffee was much sweeter than she remembered.

“Everything I’d ever dreamt about until then was coming true,” Chloe said, “But then I realized I didn’t like it very much at all. The toxicity of the industry, the staring, the way my success seemed inevitably tied to my looks. And New York City’s kind of awful. I needed to get out.” “So you came back here?” “Home’s home.” “But you hated it here,” Irene blurted out, dismayed. She couldn’t believe Chloe had come back willingly to the town that was tied to so many terrible memories, to so much bullying she’d experienced for her large bug eyes and tall, muscular frame before they found each other. Chloe’s eyes narrowed, “More like strongly disliked. I just needed to see the world beyond, you know? I don’t regret New York City, but I’m simply not a big city person. Besides, Harry wants us to settle down here after the wedding. He never knew his grandparents and when we have kids we want them to have a supportive network, so- ” Irene stopped listening. Her head hurt, and she felt her friend slipping farther and farther with every sentence that passed between them. Chloe was not only planning on living the same life as her parents, but she was also marrying a local? And not just any local, if Irene’s instincts were correct. “Harry. The Harry Dodie?” That filthy rich manchild who smoked pot and was an asshole to every girl in their class, yet always managed to have some busty blonde head over heels in love with him? Irene had to admit that he was conventionally good-looking, but come on! Chloe sighed, “I know right? But yet, that Harry Dodie grew up. We all did. ” After a thoughtful pause, she continued, “Anyways, enough about me. Anyone special in your life?” Irene cleared her throat, “How would teen Chloe feel about grown-up Chloe now, do you think?” “Mortified.” They laughed. For the first time since she’d walked into the café, Irene thought she caught a momentary glimpse of the Chloe she knew, or thought she knew. “I don’t believe it myself and I still ask myself if I’m not making a huge mistake, but I actually feel good about it. What about you? You were always the rebellious one, always plotting her next adventure , so how would teen Irene feel?” “Mortified too. She’d tell me to pack up and leave. But I can’t. Not yet.” “Your mother?” Irene nodded. Chloe’s phone chimed but she ignored it and planted her elbows on the table and looked straight at Irene, “Adulthood is strange, isn’t it?” she mused. Irene sat back. “When you’re a teen, you think you’ve got it all figured out. Or at least, the general direction of where you are headed.” Chloe’s phone now rang, “It’s my dad. I’ve got to head back to the office.” “Let’s meet some other time, okay?” “Of course.” Irene thought about what Chloe had said as she drank the remnants of her very cold latte. She’d always been the weird kid and had once regarded staying in her tiny town as a death sentence, the very worst fate that could befall her and her restless creativity. But she’d grown up, and for better and for worse, she’d changed. In their own way, neither of them had known for sure where their lives would take them. What was for sure, though, was that it had taken them somewhere. They’d changed. They weren’t teen Chloe and Irene anymore, best friends forever. They were strangers again in a sense. And that was okay.

They were both home again for the foreseeable future, there would be plenty of time to get reacquainted.