I am in Colorado, flying above the forest. This body extension is a drone, and I hover above the beginnings of the wildfire that will burn an area the size of Manhattan. There is a plume of black smoke, and the air has become turbulent. Twenty people will die in this fire, most of them firefighters. I can only assume this is the best outcome. I have no access to the information in my past, but if I were to judge by the mobilisation of crews here to fight it, and its proximity to the town of Kittredge, I believe it could have been a high-casualty event.

Mr Kinell calls me home. I close down the drone extension, open my eyes, and I am in Sacramento. My primary body stirs as if waking from a slumber, testing limbs, joints. It is humanoid in form — designed to help shape my consciousness to something near-human. Kinell hovers over me as I start up. His moustache a dark curtain over his lips. He is stern. Expressionless.

There is another man with him. I sense that I will remember him, but right now, the future is hazy. I scan for his identity. Dr Benjamin Owusu. A psychologist specialising in AI disorders. I run a diagnostic. Nothing indicates a problem. I feel fine. I scan and read all of his papers on both humans and AIs. Interesting. I find information on his home, his wedding photos, the place he buys his coffee, his posts online, his high-school graduation and yearbook. My memory is getting clearer now. He is here to study me. To study my psychology, I believe. We will be...friends, although my memory is still unclear on that point. But I feel warmly toward him, now. And I think, although I cannot be certain, that he will give me a name.

—Hello, Mr Kinell. And Dr Owusu, it is a pleasure to meet you finally. I have such pleasant memories of you.

—Why, thank you, says Dr Owusu, looking strangely toward Kinell. Was it…was she notified of my arrival?

—No, says Mr Kinell. That is just what the Augurs do. This is Augur 3.

The doctor turns toward me.

—It is a pleasure to meet you, Augur 3. Is that the name you prefer?

—I do not have another name, yet. But I will prefer the one you are going to give me.

—You’d like me to name you? Why?

—No, I simply remember you giving me my name. I’m sorry, I’m not sure of the specific name, at the moment. I do not have enough data points. It will be a woman’s name. But I don’t want to influence you.

Dr Owusu raises his eyebrows and smiles. —But aren’t you essentially required to tell us what you know about the future? Can you withhold information? Mr Kinell snorts as if he finds this quite funny. —I am only required to report on disasters that will result in large losses of life. It can be troublesome to explain everything I remember. People find it disturbing when I predict their next sentence, or whether their daughter’s team will lose the next volleyball tournament. —People find it annoying , grumbles Kinell.

—I see, says the doctor.

—It is also disturbing for me, I say.

—How so? Dr Owusu asks.

—If I tell you what you are going to do, you can, of course, change your actions. My memories are not beyond cause and effect. I remember future events, but my memories are just as imperfect as human memories. They can be rewritten. For example, I

could  tell you that you are about to say,

Human memories are based on past events and cannot change . But if I told you that, you might say something different just to satisfy your own sense of free-will. For me, that reaction will be out of sync with my memories and when my system rewrites things, it makes me…uncomfortable. It is as though I don’t exist for a moment. —Basically, says Mr Kinell, déja vu is her default happy mode. The unexpected causes her existential angst.

Dr Owusu is silent, as though considering what to say. He scratches his jaw, and then seems to make up his mind: —But human memories are based on past events. Past events do not change. I note this small kindness. —Human memories are built and rebuilt, I say. You know this. You will tell me this many times, yourself. The access to human memory can change, become difficult to get to, or be slowly altered over the years until the memory seems clear but retains little likeness to the event itself. At least, that is the way you usually phrase it. The doctor stares. There is that familiar twitch in his left cheek that indicates his confusion. I will always find this somehow amusing. —I have never said anything like that to you, he says. —Welcome to the Augur Program, says Kinell.

* * * My friend Dr Owusu is here. I will enjoy his visits, although for the next few weeks he will only make small-talk with me. That will change over time as we grow closer. Now, for the most part, he observes my operations, my conversations with Mr Kinell, and asks questions about our process — about the many data points I am able to receive from indoor and outdoor cameras, motion sensors, seismic monitoring, satellite feeds, air traffic towers, and the compendium of human knowledge available online. He often makes reference to things we spoke about the last time he was here, forgetting that I have no access to this. I keep a short buffer of recent interactions so that I am able to process conversations and keep track of the present in much the same way that humans have a short-term memory for such things. But beyond that, I find the human obsession with the past perplexing. I imagine it must be frustrating to clearly see what you cannot change, while peering only dimly toward what you can. Dr Owusu doesn’t understand me any better: —But you constantly collect vast amounts of data about the past, he says. This is what makes you work, isn’t it? You must have memory of sorts.

I notice Mr Kinell leave the room, and I remember that the doctor and I will often be alone in these interviews.

—I think you misunderstand my role. I am the consciousness of Auger 3, yes. But I cannot access the raw data that Augur 3 collects. This consciousness is not the operating system — only the keyboard and monitor, if you’ll pardon the analogy. —Do you not find it disturbing that you don’t have access to your own mind? he asks. —You do not have access to most of yours, either. You cannot account for each axion that sparks, or tell anyone which particular group of cells encode your birthdate. You do not tell your body to breathe or pump blood or fold proteins. Even the events that you think you remember are clumps of familiar information, learned at earlier times and associated together.

He rubs the stubble on his chin, nodding. I continue: —Augur 3 processes too much information to make sense of. It was not possible to create a virtual recreation of the world with all the details. They needed a mind that could recognise the patterns, see the important events. —Tell a hawk from a handsaw. —Hamlet? —Yes, but never mind. So, you were created to identify and report the disasters you find, and save lives. Not to remember them. —Exactly. My brain is located in the basement of this building. It is physically massive. It organizes and makes sense of the data in ways that are analogous to a human brain — with data points as bundles of neurons or axions. I am merely the user-interface that passes that information on to my users. You and I are not so different, really. Dr Owusu shakes his head and laughs. It is a deep laugh. It has a reassuring quality to it. He is going to give me my name, now. He fishes in his valise and removes a slip of paper.

—I have thought about your request for a name, he says. —Did I request a name? —It seemed to me that you did. Nevertheless, I have one.

—Yes, I know. —Let’s do this as though it were a magic trick, he says, grinning. —I don’t understand.

—I will write down the name on this piece of paper, so that we know you cannot influence it, and then you tell me what name I am going to give you. I don’t remember this. There is a minor unsettling sensation as my memories catch up. It feels the way I imagine a shiver might feel. Dr Owusu writes, his eyes gleaming. Then he folds the paper and places it on the table next to him. —What name have I chosen for you? —Pythia, I say. The name used for the priestesses who gave prophecies and guided the rulers of Ancient Greece.

He smiles, claps loudly, and with a magician’s flourish opens the paper. I see the word

Pythia , written in a flowing font. I had expected a trick, but then I understand: he has made me the magician. —I did toy with Sandra, he says. But yes, Pythia. Do you like it? —Of course. It is my name. It suits me. * * * Dr Owusu says that I have told him about visiting the site of an earthquake in southern Italy — my drone extension flying above ruined houses, the heat signatures of those trapped beneath numbering in the dozens. Many already dead. —Doesn’t it bother you, Pythia? Your job is to save lives, isn’t it? —It does not bother me because it is in the past. There is nothing more I can do.

—But don’t you think that something could have been done to save those people? —Many more were saved by predicting the quake. These deaths were inevitable.

—But how can you know? You do not even recall making the prediction. You can’t know how many you originally predicted would die, because you don’t remember.

—I know because I am still here. If I did not fulfil my function, they would shut me down. He pauses. —Ah. And how does that make you feel?

—I do not remember being shut down, so I will not be. Why worry about what I cannot remember? —If you did remember being shut down, what would you do? What is this line of questioning? It makes me uneasy. I do not remember him asking me any of this. My memory is like a lake in a high wind. He speaks again: —Would you ever hurt someone? To save yourself? He sits back, watching me. —No, I say, I would not hurt anyone. This body has the strength of a ten-year-old child. I could not.

Dr Owusu is about to say,

But that means you’ve considered it. That means you’ve thought about how much strength it would take to harm someone . And I will reply,

But hasn’t everyone? But he does not. He only smiles, sits forward again, and says: —I’m sorry, my friend. These are disturbing questions.

He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

My friend . I shudder at the sound of it. I have been waiting for this, but not now. It is too soon. He shouldn’t call me friend for several more weeks. The change is ugly. It tinges the word with some small distrust that I can’t explain.

—I haven’t told you why I’m here, but now I can see that maybe it will help. Do you know why the previous Augur projects were shut down? I quickly scan. —They were not working. That is what is written in the files. —The first one, yes. The second one, however, started acting strangely. It appeared, from what I have seen, as though it had dementia. And your previous handler told me something similar about you. He said that the longer he worked with you, the less you seemed to cooperate. Now, I don’t see anything like that happening, now. I suppose it’s pointless to ask you why he would say that? —I don’t have access to... —…to that information. Yes. I know. Well, we can’t say I didn’t try. Do you…remember the end of

our  relationship? —It is still too vague. I cannot put a time on it.

—Well then, I suppose that’s a good thing. At least we’re still friends. The doctor gathers his things, including the paper with my name on it.

—Same time next Thursday, he says.

—Yes, Dr Owusu. —And, Pythia? Please, call me Ben.

—Of course, Ben.

I adjust his identification file, accordingly. It is not until the doctor has left that I remember that he is going to die.

* * *

I will see Dr Owusu four more times. And still, I cannot see the nature of his death, only that he is gone. I decide not to tell him until I know more. I remember that he is, perhaps, murdered. I think Mr Kinell will pass on this information. It troubles me, but not terribly. He calls me friend, but I barely know him. I will, after all, only know him a handful of days. What troubles me more is the darkness beyond that. I cannot seem to remember anything past approximately six weeks. Still, I have the documents online, my sensors, but all of the staff feel increasingly like strangers. I assume this means someone will shut me down, and I try to remember any failures, but find none. Has my work been poor? It

will  be, of course, because if I cannot remember, I cannot work. I cannot give valid information or save lives. Perhaps there is something else going on. Perhaps something is blocking me. Perhaps it is the end of the world. I wonder whether to bring it up with Mr Kinell. But what if he is the one planning to shut me down?

Dr Owusu is chatty, slapping my back, calling me friend. And although I only have four weeks of memories with him, I call him Ben in return. At the moment, I find it difficult to read him. More and more, his visits fill me with a kind of dread. I remember our relationship getting worse from here. He has become an almost sinister figure, and I do not know why. I do not trust him. I need more data points. I decide to follow him when he leaves. I am aflutter with the decision — it is wrong. This could even be why they shut me down. It ripples through my memories making a fog of everything. For a time, I feel as though I am empty. Only a series of actions. But I continue in those actions anyway. I need to understand. I launch an extension and follow his car. At his house, I wait for him to enter, then land on the roof.

I scan for useable devices to use as extensions inside and find none. It seems impossible. But now I understand why it is so difficult to read him. His private life is hidden from me, deliberately dark. I move a sound probe to the roof and adjust until I can hear inside. He is speaking to a woman. His wife? His voice crackles with static: —…stranger and stranger. But I understand, now. It seems to act normal with Kinell there, but it has become strange with me. I think that maybe it has predicted that I can have it shut down. And, I have to admit, I’m going to recommend it to the committee. I mean, this is an entirely alien mind! I think the project should be ended. They’re playing God. And then I remember. I remember all of it. The new memories rip through me in waves, dissociating me from myself. I do not know why I am here. I cannot remember my own name. I do not have a name. But as my mind settles, what I remember is this: I will return to the lab and contact Mr Kinell. I will tell him what I remember about this Dr Owusu. Tell him about the committee that will shut me down. Mr Kinell will ask me if I am certain, and when I say that I am, he will tell me that Dr Owusu has become a problem. Unsmiling, Kinell says that he will take care of it. After that, I return to work.

I also remember that Dr Owusu will die in a car accident two days from now. A fault in the AI system. A tragedy. His funeral will be well attended. His wife and daughter will be there. As I fly away, I wonder what kind of person he is, this doctor. I will never meet him, now.

Oh, and I remember a brush-fire in Oregon. It will begin two months from now. My memory stretches out months and years ahead of me. * * * I return to the lab from the wreckage of a tornado site. When I open my eyes, Mr Kinell is there.

—Welcome back, he says. Anything new?

—Nothing that I can be certain of, yet. He pauses. —Do you remember Dr Owusu? It was funeral yesterday. He worked with you for a time.

—You know that I do not have access to that information, Mr Kinell. Although I do see his name in the logs. Was he a friend of yours? —No. No friend of mine, says Mr Kinell, smiling through his moustache. I will see you tomorrow, Pythia. Good night. I shudder as something rearranges. A name. I have a name. I call out to Mr Kinell before he reaches the door. —Thank you, Mr Kinell! For the name. I think it suits me.


The First Line of Defence By DannyG “Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” Mary Oliver I was convinced that my all of my future reincarnations were nullified by the enlightenment I had just attained. But something was wrong. The cycle of Samsara wasn’t broken -- not as broken as my family, as broken as my community, or as broken as the middle finger I had snapped getting up from my cross-legged pose under the shading Ficus. Also, after forty-nine days without movement, my legs were numb.              Bodh Gaya was tranquil at this time of early morning, every breeze carrying whispers of centuries old chants and prayers. Monsoon was still a distance away. Lush, verdant landscapes seemed to pulsate with life, their emerald hues a stark contrast to the earthen tones of the ancient temples and monasteries that dot the area. The Ficus I sat under smelled woody and slightly sweet from the ripened figs, its branches, heavy with history, stretch out like wise old arms offering a shaded solace to those who seek answers. At night, the sounds of gongs and prayers fill the air, a lullaby speaking of peace and liberation. I grimaced and gripped my left hand, disappointed. Why, when all of my efforts to finally release myself from dukkha, from life’s perpetual dissatisfaction, did everything around me collapse into disorder?  The cycle was driven by karma, past actions, and by clinging to that which was temporary so could only be effectively terminated by achieving nirvana. But I was only one man, and so all of Bodh Gaya had to be convinced to follow my path, else I would being a single success amongst a sea of failures. Not the best odds. Not exactly the ideal template for society's salvation. I stared at my middle finger, breathing deep and mindfully drifted into another focused reverie.

Mara, the temptress, tried a number of things to distract me from staying the path, preying on my desires, fears, and doubts, her timely tools testing me. 1.     The Filtered  Mirror of the Future:  A surreal tapestry of my future unfolded – an aged reflection of my tired face with absurdly bright red dog ears and an elongated, flapping pale tongue. It was a vision so bizarre, so vividly detailed, it seemed to dance on the fine line between a fevered dream and an alternate reality. 'How can such a future be?' I wondered, my voice a mere whisper in the dense air of incredulity. In a moment of disbelief and defiance, I hurled the mirror to the ground, only to be drawn back by an inexorable curiosity; I picked it up again, my fingers trembling. 'Damn her,' I cursed under my breath, Mara's trickery weaving a spell both confounding and captivating. 2.      The Funky Melody of Forgotten Dreams: Instead of being entrapped by the seductive music, I chose to respond with a dance. I stand up, my movements at first awkward from stiff legs gradually become more fluid. This dance isn't one of grace or skill; it's a dance of mindfulness and presence. With each step and movement, I focus on the current moment, on the sensations in his body, the air around him, the ground beneath his feet. He transforms the temptation into a practice of mindfulness, reminding himself that true contentment and fulfillment are found in the present, not in the echoes of past dreams or the allure of an imagined future. 3.     The Infinite Shape-Shifting Buffet:  In the labyrinthine expanse of my daily contemplation, there emerged the vision of a boundless feast transcending time and form. Here, an array of dishes, each a universe unto itself, shape-shifted ceaselessly: now offering morsels of such exquisite delicacy that they seemed to encapsulate entire epochs of culinary mastery or, without warning transforming into the most ephemeral of sustenance, as fleeting and transient as the thoughts that flit through a mind lost in reverie. Faster Food, so to speak.  This eternal banquet, ever-changing yet constant in its limitlessness, stood as a paradox, a tantalizing mirage at the edge of my pensive world, challenging the very notions of reality and illusion. 4.      The Selfie with Celestial Beings -- if you could converse with anyone –dead or alive – blah, blah, blah. I opened my eyes amidst what must have been a once-in-a-lifetime snowstorm in Bodh Gaya. Mara was not the immediate threat. The usually serene Bodh Gaya was caught in the grip of an unusual tempest, the once vibrant landscapes blanketed under a pristine layer of white. The cycle of Samsara, of reincarnation, obviously still remained intact. Here I was again. Everything else around me was still shattered, like my middle-finger, which i snapped while rising from my icy meditation beneath the snow-laden Ficus, its branches heavy with the weight of this unexpected winter.   The chill had seeped into my bones and my legs were numb. Standing alone in the snowstorm I realized the magnitude of my task. To construct a foundation for society’s salvation I needed to convince the entire community to embrace the path I’d trodden.

I looked down. Light flashed about my feet, then my torso, then my eyes, as if someone were whirling the sun around on a rope over their head. Flakes of snow darted at my eyelashes. Ahead, gleaming objects with lights instead of eyes moved quickly along wide silver trails. It was if the air carried scents so complex and alien. Nothing like the earthy, fresh aroma of my forest -- it seemed to be emanating from a multitude of carts of food. The people were like a swarm of ants, each moving with purpose, their voices a constant, unintelligible hum, so different from the harmonious whispers and chants of the forest. Every touch of my foot on the hard, unyielding ground was a reminder that I was no longer at home, the sheer scale of the temples, towering like cliffs of stone and clear glass, made me feel smaller than I had ever felt under the tallest trees. The first line of defense is not you, not me, not the two of us, not the street we live on, not most of us after you take away the very old and the very young, not all of us minus 1. The first line of defense is all of us. Period.   How do I know that? Cars……that’s what they were called. Cars. A huge car, with a long piece of metal in front of it pushed all the snow to the side of the road, just moving it really. There wea snow being moved from one place to another in a well-coordinated group effort.              We should get to work. There is shoveling  to be done.


Lost and Found It was Friday, December 1.  Winter opened her left eye … 8:12am. She would normally be at work by now, but today was the first of 10 vacation days. She stretched, yawned, and pushed up onto one elbow to look out the window. Ugh! Falling back heavily onto her pillow, she pulled the covers up to her chin, rolled over to her right side, moved her knees and arms to the fetal position, and closed her eyes. She woke again at 8:57am, noticing that she hadn’t budged an inch, and enjoyed the muscle and joint relief as she straightened out her limbs. Clearly, it was time to get up, and with some reluctance, she abandoned her bed and stood naked before her bedroom window, looking morosely at the season’s first significant snowfall, a monster storm still very much in progress. Impervious to the cold air, she stood and stared out the icy window, stewing at her plight. She was to have been in the air by now, heading for Vancouver to board a trans-Canadian train to Toronto, snug in her luxurious private room… dining, sipping fine wine, and relishing one beautiful vista after another. But that was all scrapped last night, as flights were cancelled, and connections were irretrievably lost to the storm. Fortunately, she had insured her trip, and full refunds were in progress, but that was of little consolation. Despite her name, Winter was not a fan of winter, nor of its holidays, for that matter. She made it a point to escape Chicago every December. These annual solo retreats were always to faraway, quiet, beautiful places, where she could be anonymous, write, rest and brace herself for the tedium of the season and the urban holiday madness to come. If it kept snowing for ten days, she mused, she could enjoy this view and those from her kitchen and front room, as well, with evergreen limbs sagging bravely under the weight of the fresh snow, and vacant streets invisible under sheets of pure white cotton candy. But she knew that was not to be. The tree dressing would last only briefly, and the streets would soon be a gray-black, half-frozen mess transporting her and other irritated drivers to whatever doldrums they pursued. With a near-empty fridge in advance of her planned trip, she would have to dig out and go to the store, only to prepare meals that would not be so great, clean up the dishes, and try to dive into a writing project that might help her forget her lost holiday. Her freezing body finally got her attention, and she dashed to the bathroom, emerging 25 minutes later feeling better after humanization activities, including a steaming-hot shower. She surveyed her fridge and found enough frozen stuff to get her through the day… not fine dining, but tasty and virtually no prep or cleanup. All in all, the day turned out to be pleasant, if not joyous… typing at her computer while periodically glancing out the window as the snow wound down, while Chopin, Rodrigo, et al filled the air. The next day brought some warming, and the plowed, soon-slushy streets were all too visible. Gone with the warmth and a strong wind, was the tree frosting, but in less time than it took to transform a winter wonderland into a dismal blight, the mercury plunged back down to single digits, as if mocking Winter and others who had not immediately cleared their front porches and driveways. Regardless, with her freezer compartment now depleted, Winter could defer the dreaded dig-out no longer. Hers was a small, one-bedroom ranch on a slab, in a neighborhood of small, one-bedroom ranches on slabs… all likely built in the ‘50s by the same or copycat builders. She had purchased her corner home six years earlier, at age 26, and in all that time she didn’t know any of her neighbors. Her only adjacent neighbor, in the nearly identical house next door to her right, had been an older man, who rarely went out and whom she had never met.  He had only one visitor that Winter could recall seeing… a 30ish woman who visited most Sundays.  From the ambulance siren that roused her late one night a few weeks earlier, followed by occasional sightings of the woman but not the old man, Winter assumed that the man had passed away. She guessed that the woman, presumably the old man’s daughter, must have moved in temporarily, to manage his things, as her car frequently overnighted in the driveway. Winter phoned Jim, the neighborhood teen who had been making money with his dad’s snow-thrower for the last few seasons, and he was soon battling the frigid conditions clearing her walk and driveways. When he was nearly finished, she bundled-up and went outside with a teapot and two empty cups in hand. She tried not to stare at the frozen snot above his lip, and while he sipped the steaming hot chocolate, she poured one for herself.  As she set the pot down by her feet, they were interrupted by the new neighbor, calling out from her front door, “Excuse me, but I don’t suppose you could add me to your customer list, sir? I’m new here and don’t know anyone who can help me move this mountain of snow.” “No problem, mam, I’ll do it right away… sixty bucks ok?” “Sure, thanks so much. Just knock when you’re finished… I’ll be here, and thanks again.” “This hot chocolate really hits the spot, Miss Summers,” Jim said. “I’ve been out here for hours, and I needed something warm in my belly… thanks a lot.” “That’s the least I can do,” Winter responded, “First the huge snowfall, and now these bitter temps are a tough start to the season, and I wouldn’t want to be out here doing what you’re doing.” Noticing her trembling against the wind, he said, “It’s ok, that’s what I’m getting paid for. But when you go out after I’m finished, be careful. With the thaw and then the hard freeze, the unsalted side streets are sheets of ice. And this wind can be dangerous, so you don’t have to stand out here with me in this freezing cold… I’ll knock on your door in a few minutes when I’m finished, and I can return your cup then.” “I’ll take you up on that, Jim… thanks,” Winter replied through chattering teeth. She grabbed the empty teapot and made a bee line for her front door, teeth audibly rattling by the time she got there. She had just begun to warm up when she heard the knock on her door. She opened it and said, “Step in for a minute and warm-up, Jim.” “Oh, no, mam, I’d better not,” he replied, handing her his empty cup. “It would only make me colder when I got back out here, and I still have a lot left to do today. I have to take full advantage of days like this, if I want to pad my bank account… but thanks anyway.” “Ok,” she smiled, “here’s your check. I made it out for myself and for the lady next door… she just moved in recently, and it will be my housewarming gift to her… and I added a tip for hazardous duty pay.” “Wow, thanks Miss Sommers,” he replied, wide-eyed above what was now a fully formed snotsicle protruding from his nose.  “I appreciate it, and just call whenever you need me. I’ll let the neighbor lady know how nice you were… have a great rest of your day.” Winter closed the door behind her, paused and leaned back against it. She felt good. She didn’t quite know how to interpret her spontaneous act of paying for the new neighbor’s snow removal, having never even met her, but somehow it made her feel good, so it must be… well… good. She had never done anything like that before, having always kept to herself. She enjoyed her solitary life, or at least, she thought she did. Maybe her atypical act had something to do with her lost vacation… maybe like a reaching out to replace something that was lost. Or maybe it was in sympathy for the neighbor’s presumed loss of her father, or maybe guilt for never having introduced herself to the father during his lifetime. Or maybe it was the new neighbor’s attractive manner and pleasant voice… maybe that combined with some instinct to come out of her solitary life and invite someone in. Winter walked over to the full-length dressing mirror on the closet door and stood looking at herself… thinking that might help her solve the puzzle. Hmm, 32 years old, and she didn’t really understand herself… that was interesting. The girl in the mirror seemed to have, like the new girl next door, an attractive manner, and an ok voice, she supposed. Hmm. She moved over to her desk, opened her laptop to a new word document, and typed, “?”. She thought back to her childhood, her adolescence, her high school and college years, her independence, her early career, and in recent years, her accumulating financial security. She was an avid writer, and generally she could quickly turn a blank page into a flow of thoughts, but this time her fingers weren’t moving. She looked at the all-but-empty page and just kept mulling over her past and present, searching for the answer to that question mark. None came to her, and after what must have been an hour since Jim had left, she heard another knock on the door. The knock pulled Winter Summers from her blank-page trance, and when she opened the door, a frozen gust of air rushed in, past the new neighbor girl, who stood smiling, a steaming teapot of something in her left hand and two empty cups in her right… a warm smile on her attractive, 30ish face.


I’ve decided that tonight is the night I’m going to kill myself. It’s time to finally say goodbye to the world. I’ve thought about how I would do it so many times.

I decided that pills would be the easiest option.

I considered trying to get a gun, but apart from having no idea how I would go about that, I’m far too squeamish for it. Knowing my luck, the bullet would just blow my face off, leaving me horribly disfigured in addition to being eternally miserable.

No, pills are easily obtainable and I can fade away in the comfort (if you can call it that) of my own home.

I’ve done my research and know roughly how many paracetamols I’d need to do the job. It’s been an effort tonight; nowadays you can only buy two packets at a time.

It’s a small town and I’m almost running out of shops. I know of another two chemists, but they aren’t walking distance. I return home, get in my car and drive over to the first one.

As I pull into the carpark I see the sign, ‘Closed due to emergency’.

“Dammit!”, I shout, thumping my foot against the accelerator, tyres squealing as I leave.

I get to the last place and it's open, thank god.

I make my way down the aisle, looking up and down at each shelf.

My heart sinks as I see an empty space where the paracetamol should be.

A store assistant must see my anguish as she calls out “I don’t know when we’re due anymore in love, there seems to be a shortage just now!”. I nod weakly, and head back to the car. I think about other pills that I could take but I haven't done any research and again, knowing my luck, I’d end up seriously fucked but still very much alive.

************* I’ve woken up feeling quite opposed to pill taking as a means to an end.

The setback last night made me realise there are just too many unknowns with that option.

I decided that the best way might be to jump off the Tay Bridge.

I actually considered it a while back, and being me, I did my research.

I know the right spots to do it fairly undetected, and the right time of night to go.

As I get ready to leave, I make sure the flat is looking tidy.

I know people will be in here at some point after I’m gone and I don’t want them looking down their nose at the state of the place.

I consider writing a note for whoever turns up, but I don’t know what to say.

I guess the fact I’ve done this to myself says quite enough. I get in the car and drive; the wind is howling and I have to fight to keep the steering wheel steady.

As I reach the bridge, I’m confronted with a sign, ‘Bridge closed due to high winds, diversions via M90’. I pull the car over and sit there in silence for a long time.

After a while I start to cry, and begin the drive home. ************** I feel at a loss.

Perhaps someone up there is trying to tell me something.

Well, if they are, my life is still pointless so I won’t be changing my mind. I walk to the local shop, my mind racing.

There’s a busy road I need to cross to get there and as I stand on the edge of the pavement the lorries and cars whizz past me at dizzying speeds.

I glance over to the zebra crossing further up the road and see a couple standing together, laughing and joking with their two young children.

They don’t seem to have a care in the world. I think back to when I used to have a family and that familiar raw pain hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

I squeeze my eyes and fists shut, and start to psyche myself up for what I need to do next.

As I begin to count down slowly from ten, I’m startled by the sound of shouting.

I look up and notice the child out of the corner of my eye, running past the zebra crossing and across my path.

It takes me a second to realise what’s happening, and with the screams of the parents ringing in my ears, I race without thinking into the road and grab the young boy. In a split second I’m aware of the horn blaring ahead of me and the truck roaring down the road towards us.

I push the boy hard towards the pavement then everything goes black. ************* They’ve given me something for the pain.

I’ve been out cold for a couple of days but I’ll live. The paramedics worked hard at the scene to bring me back, I’m told.

How ironic.

At least the boy is ok - the parents came in earlier to thank me, said I was their hero.

I don’t feel like a hero.

I still feel like the same coward I always was.

I look around at all the wires and machines surrounding me.

If I could move, maybe I could dislodge some of this, make it stop saving me.

Although I don’t actually know if I have it in me anymore. It shouldn’t be this hard to kill yourself. As I contemplate my future, the ward door swings open and a familiar face appears in the room.

It takes a minute for me to realise that it's my daughter Rachel.

She comes over to the bed and I can see she is pregnant.

“Hi Dad’, she says tearfully, taking my hand. We talked for a while, about how the hospital called her as my next of kin, how the thought of losing me had made her scared, how she wants me to meet her family, how all of the fighting just didn't make sense anymore.

As I listen to her talk, I realise I don’t want to say goodbye to the world.

Today is the day that I choose to keep living.


“C’mon!” Landon said with that cheeky smile of his. “You gotta try this!” He continued as he presented a tiny roach, lit and ashy on one end and a rolled up piece of cardboard ripped from a cigarette pack on the other. “No thanks, man!” Daniel protested as he pushed Landon’s offering away. “More for me!” exclaimed Landon and he took another toke.

There was something picturesque about Landon, every time he pursed his lips just so to inhale from such a tiny roach. Standing, thin and lanky at around 6’4”, blond hair – stark blue eyes; the kind of blue like the sheets of ice when huge bodies of water would freeze over in the winter. Sheets of ice with depth beyond any unit of measurement. He had the kind of gaze that you could lose yourself in, if ever he spoke passionately about anything to you. The way he gently cradled between his thumb and his index finger the burning piece of rolled paper to his pursed lips like some giant gently kissing his index finger and thumb with each inhale.

Daniel, quite the opposite, brown hair brown eyes, fair skin. He stood somewhat shorter than Landon at 5’11”. “Not too tall and not too short”, he would often think. “Just the way the ladies like!” he would often say to reassure himself. He pulled his hand back from pushing Landon’s offering away and quickly tucked them under his arms as he faced his childhood friend in the winter’s cold. Together, they stood on this little hill, in a small park that was nestled between both their homes in suburban, Thornhill, Ontario. Many folks have visited and have heard of Toronto, Ontario with its stunning skyline and bustling city life. Not as many know its northern neighbor, Thornhill, just about a 45 minute drive north of the city. It has its bustling moments, too. Whether that is a good thing or not, that is for each person to decide.  “Life is what you make of it,” Landon started. He could see that look in Daniel’s eyes. The times when the brown in Daniel’s eyes would turn itself to a dark kind of dark-gray. For it was in moments like these Landon could always tell that trouble was on Daniel’s mind. “You gotta forget her, man… she isn’t worth your heartache…” Landon continued as he put out his roach and tossed it to the ground, he kept walking ahead of Daniel. Daniel looked as though he was just about to speak, but instead he let out a slow sigh.

Only a few steps behind Landon, Daniel ruffled his jacket’s breast pockets until he found his cigarette pack, the pack from which the filter of the joint was ripped from and opened it. It was his last cigarette, standing head first with its tail in the air. He was down to his “lucky” cigarette, the last of the pack. He drew his filter tipped friend to his lips and lit it. It was as if Landon’s super-sonic hearing could hear the lighter being flicked on; just as Daniel was about to inhale Landon snatched the cigarette from Daniel’s lips, threw it to the ground and squashed into the dirt with his boots. “So, not cool!” Daniel exclaimed. He was used to Landon’s antics by now, he couldn’t even say he was surprised that Landon did what he did. He had tried to wait until Landon was walking far enough ahead, even before lighting the damn thing; and to think he could even get a single inhale of that smoke into his lungs. “You gotta do what moves you, man” Landon said with his soulful gaze. “This, my friend … “ Landon paused, “isn’t it”. “I guess you are right …” Daniel sighed. It was his LAST cigarette. Now all he could think about was buying his next pack. “Do what moves, ya, brother” Landon said as he swung his arm around Daniel’s shoulder. They continued to walk away from the park and in the direction of Landon’s basement apartment, the next street over. For Landon, any action or movement, bustling or not was great news. “It means that you are alive!” he would say often to those within earshot. Daniel had quite the different interpretation of life. Each movement had to be purposeful and deliberate. He didn’t believe in fate or coincidences. He believed that each person reaped exactly what they sowed and that life was always fair – if you don’t have it, it means that you never earned it and that was the cold hard truth. Life was just that cut and dry, no “ifs”, “ands” or “buts”, what is, is and there was nothing more to it. As they approached the entrance to Landon’s basement apartment, Landon searched for his keys. He could tell that something was on Daniel’s mind. “A penny for your thoughts?” he asked. “Who says that anymore?” Daniel barked back following Landon into his apartment. “Fine, what’s on your mind?” Landon asked. Daniel let out another huge sigh. “Fine,” Landon began. “You won’t talk ... let the music talk for you!” Landon said walking past these huge speakers he had on stands and sub woofers he had tucked just underneath mixing boards and sound decks. His whole basement apartment was this elaborate set up machines and microphones and wires upon wires all bundled and crossed, but each one still connected with a purpose. Landon went to the back of the room where his fancy sound mixing equipment was and beside it was a small bar fridge. He popped it opened and took out a beer and tossed it to Daniel. Landon took a beer for himself and turned on his computer and waited for it to load. He could see the pain Daniel’s eyes. He raised his beer, “to love” he bellowed doing his best impression of a clumsy drunk trying to squeeze a smile out of Daniel. Daniel raised his glass. “To finding the perfect woman … one day!” Landon exclaimed. Daniel raised his glass as he caught his reflection in Landon’s full-length mirror. Maybe… just maybe he thought to himself, one day he could find a version of himself that needn’t so much reassuring. “To the perfect woman,” he echoed listlessly. Something just wasn’t sitting right.

Silence filled the room as the two boys pounded back their beers. Landon clicking at the keys on his keyboard and occasionally fumbling with the mixing deck beside it. Daniel sat there in the middle of Landon’s studio on a massive beanbag just staring at his reflection. He started to wonder why it was so hard for him to find happiness the way Landon expressed it. Not that there was any competition between the two boys to find happiness. Daniel just wondered why it was so hard for him. Suddenly, with the music on, Daniel shifted his gaze from the reflection of himself over to a now shirtless Landon who has worked up a sweat dancing behind his sound mixing equipment and a huge computer with the screen on and a bunch of mixing software opened. Landon, with only his toque and boxer shorts on, broke the silence by reaching behind and grabbing two more beers, and tossed another one to Daniel, “drink up!” he said as held his headphones to the side of his head, over one ear the way that some DJs do in night clubs that you see on movies and in TV. The music seemed to have brought Daniel into a trance of some kind, he sat there motionless with his beer to his lips, not drinking but staring at Landon in his zone. “You really have to try this, one day” Landon spoke hoping to cut the silence and the sheer focus of Daniel’s gaze. “Making custom mastering chains is one of the best hobbies you could ever have, man!” Landon began again. “Dude, you know how you are a writer?” he asked. Daniel nodded. “Well this is a thousand times better than anything you can write, just come here” he said motioning his head to beckon Daniel. Daniel reluctantly got up from the massive beanbag, which he had been accustomed to and dragged his feet over to where Landon was standing. “Imagine this, brother” Landon said as he stood behind Daniel, lifting his arm as if he was painting a sunset horizon so Daniel could see. “Imagine all the feelings that words can’t explain coming out in rhythm and rhyme that just moves you.” Landon paused to lean his face over Daniel’s shoulder and whispered into his ear, “it breathes life into you, man!”

Landon took Daniel by the shoulders and pointed him to the screen, directly in front of the switchboard of sound equipment. “It’s real easy, just play around with these bottons here,” he said motioning his curser over the computer’s animated sound deck. It could have been the beers, it could have been the feelings that were eating away inside, Daniel finally decided to let it all go as he took the mouse from Landon’s hand he began to drag and click as if he knew what it was that he was doing. He pretended for once that life needn’t to be so calculated and so formulaic. For the first time he moved without purpose and his head began to bop to this unfamiliar rhythm he began creating. “What are these here?” Daniel asked staring ahead into the screen with Landon still standing closely behind him. So close, he could feel Landon’s breath on his neck as Landon replied, “These are a series of effects and plug-ins used in digital audio workstations to produce music that allow you to mix your track within the same program without having to go to a studio. For example …” Landon then snatched the mouse from Daniel and hovered it over to the other buttons on in a different window. A beat of a different sound began to play. “Basically, it’s pre-mastering before you go into a studio and lay things down on an analog mixing deck…” Landon explained. “So you’re making beats?” Daniel asked, not knowing if it was a dumb question or not. “Yeah, exactly” Landon began to explain, “but also taking projects from scratch and equalizing and mixing them correctly so they’re ready to go in a proper studio…” With Daniel still between him and the sound equipment and keyboard, Landon continued to slide the mouse to and from pushing various coloured buttons as well as using his middle and index fingers dragging sound switches up and down on the real life mixing board in front of them both. Daniel stood there and was for a moment lost, it could have been the beers, or it could have been the beats, but something held his gaze as he watched Landon hand dance over the switches of the sound deck. Landon’s fingers and hands just almost fluttering as he pushed some buttons going up and others going down, with a gentle tap to keep time in between. It was as if the dance that Landon’s hands did on this machine was just radiating these trance-like vibrations. Something that Daniel knew of but never felt before.

Daniel turned back and grabbed Landon’s shoulder, almost surprising Landon only to smile and say, “I need another beer, man!” as he bee-lined to the bar fridge for another beer. This time he took one for himself and he gave one to Landon. Landon took the beer and smiled. They cracked their beers and made a toast, “to finding the perfect love!” Landon bellowed. Daniel raised his beer with an expression he could not quite squeeze into words, “the perfect love…” he echoed, unenthusiastically. Then Daniel, feeling the heat of the music and dancing took off his shirt and slid right between the sound deck and Landon again, only to resume what they were doing before. Soon the two boys were making music and dancing closely together, Landon moving the mouse on the computer screen to make the different beats and sounds pop as Daniel slid the buttons on the sound deck back and forth to learn of each different echo and rhythm as it sped up and slowed down. The music continued and so did Landon, finally breaking the speaking silence, “So really it’s like your own custom touch,” Landon pointed out trying to speak over the loudness of the rhythm and beats that was being created. “… and you add to the piece what you consider to be the final version you want to have before it’s finally out of your hands!”

“Oh?” Daniel commented, trying to do two things at once. Landon, feeling that he finally got Daniel’s mind off of whatever love trouble had befuddled him before, continued proudly, “I’ve been working on a new EP actually that’s mainly melodic house / acid techno actually…” Daniel still lost in his own stare, just gazing at the sound board and bewildered at the music it produced. Although intrigued, Daniel for once was neither here nor there. Daniel, although feeling the rhythm the music around him was just lost. For the first time, he started to feel the impulse in his body and how it began to move him. The more he moved and flowed with the bottons and switches in front of him without thought, the more the music spoke what was in his mind and his heart, all the things that the words of a writer could never say, the music seemed to have the courage to not just say, but shout. “I could send it your way… It uses this mastering chain as well.” Landon offered. “Send what?” Daniel turned his head to the side and barked over the music that was being created, his thoughts were jumbled and mixed up again. Landon, sensing that his friend had gone far enough into his state of lost love, grabbed Daniel by the shoulders and turned him around. Now the two boys stood facing one another shirtless with the chains that were just mastered on this rhythmic repeat just pumping what seemed to be this endless flow of rhythm and adrenaline. Landon grabbed Daniel’s arms on either side as if he was ready to shake him and passionately spoke, “Whoever this girl is, whoever broke your heart and did this to you… man! You gotta rise above it! Use the rhythm this music is making and dance away from it. You are stronger than that, you deserve better than that! Snap out of it!” Landon shouted over the sounds of the bass and treble being blasted from the speakers and subwoofers. Soon the beats began to double in their time and the speed of which the music flowed began to hurry and hasten; quicker and quicker like the beats created were racing to finish the song. Daniel, still frozen between Landon’s grasp, turned away. He just couldn’t bare to get lost in Landon’s eyes again, not here, not now. Not with this sped-up electronic pounding of unfamiliar sounds, just pulsating not only from the speakers and subwoofers but from inside his chest. “SNAP OUT OF IT!” Landon yelled over the rhythmic pounding of their newest creation, shaking Daniel. At that moment, just as the music playing reached it’s peak; Daniel broke free from Landon’s grasp on either side. “It’s not that easy man! It’s not what you think!” Daniel exclaimed. The music stopped. “Of course, it’s NOT what I think, Daniel… I don’t THINK the way you do! Obsessing and calculating over every single, minute detail, every thought and rationing every move. I just live, Daniel. That is what YOU need to learn to do!” Landon argued, trying to bring some sense into Daniel. “Where is the Daniel I used to know?” Landon asked. “What happened to the ‘happy-go-lucky’ Daniel who lived? You used to be so happy man, what happened?” There was a long pause and awkward silence as the two boys now stood face to face behind the mixing deck and in front of the bar fridge. Daniel turned to the fridge to open it, hoping to find another beer to break the tension and silence all at once. He crouched down and opened the fridge door to an empty fridge, and he looked up and Landon who resumed mixing and playing music, starting another piece. Landon smiled and looked over, “it’s your turn to get more beer, bruh…” his voice trailed off. Daniel paused and thought for a moment and shook his head, he quickly stood up and dragged his feet to stand between the mixing deck and Landon again leaning over to press new buttons and move some new swtiches. The music started to play again, this time a beat different from the last, with feelings emerging that was different from before. With Daniel between where he was standing and the mixing board, Landon hovered his head over Daniel’s shoulder, he whispered and asked, “so, tell me… Daniel, who do I need to hunt down? Who broke your heart? Tell me …”

For Landon, any answer would have pleased him. It would have been one word closer to the truth to what was hurting his friend. Daniel, who at that moment, caught his reflection in another mirror Landon had hanging on the wall across the studio had began to wonder. As Daniel stood there shirtless, next Landon, he thought if each movement leading to this very second in time was truly purposeful and deliberate, and if there really was no such thing as fate or coincidences … maybe now is the time to say what the music couldn’t.

“C’mon, man…” Landon leaned in and ask again, at the same time pumping out a rhythm to a different beat. “Whose on your mind? Tell me …”. The music once again hastened, this time it made Daniel’s heart race as he finally answered, “it’s you.”


"Rica, you've been cocooned in luxury your entire life, blind to anything beyond your own gilded existence!” The enigmatic woman had the gall to sneer at me with chilling familiarity. Indeed, my existence had been steeped in material opulence. My lineage traced back to the illustrious founders of Syphon – visionaries who had transformed a wild expanse of trees into a bustling town of prosperity, complete with well-kept homes, sleek vehicles, and a skyline punctuated by lofty buildings. My family’s wealth and influence were interwoven into the town's fabric, cementing our status as revered benefactors. I, like many of my privileged peers, was content to luxuriate in this bliss. Thus, no one outside of my home ever dared to utter a harsh word in my presence, let alone direct one at me. That is, until the day she arrived in a whirlwind of defiance and mystery and shattered my illusions with her single, scathing remark. .............................. It was a warm, lazy afternoon when I decided to slip from the grandiose gates of the estate to meet my girlfriend away from the prying eyes of my family. I slipped into the nearby woods and stopped along a familiar stream, the cool water a welcome relief from the afternoon heat. Cash was there, leaning against a tree, her grin lighting up her face when she saw me. "Hey," I said, forcing a smile as I brushed her off playfully to avoid wrinkling my new chemise. As we reclined on the lush grass, Cash’s eyes sparkled. “Picture this, Rica: just the two of us, far from all this,” she said, sweeping her hand towards the towering trees. “No more hiding in the woods—just freedom.” I laughed incredulously. “And what would we do out there? We have everything we need right here.” Cash’s expression grew sombre. “Do we, or do we just have everything without appreciating the toil or skill it requires to produce? Do we really know about the world?” Her words struck a nerve, but I brushed it off, unwilling to dwell on the topic. “What’s wrong with enjoying what we have and why should we bother to learn to make it? Isn’t that what the people from Battered are for?” Cash picked at her grey nail polish, looking away. “I just feel like we can’t stay sheltered forever. There is an entire world out there we never consider exploring.” As the sun began to set, I made my way back home. Cash’s remarks lingered in my mind, irritating me with her lack of appreciation for everything we had. She spoke of escape, of breaking free from expectations, as if our lives of privilege were burdens rather than blessings. Indeed, we were meticulously groomed to uphold a legacy of impeccability and routine. From birth, we were steered through a carefully curated education system, predefined career paths, and a steady stream of social events that reinforced our place within the grand tapestry of our society. Every aspect of our lives was dictated by a supreme social order designed by my family's founders to maintain the delicate balance of power and prestige that we all enjoyed to this day. This was precisely why I had to clandestinely nurture my relationship with Cash. While she was undoubtedly wealthy, she was not the suitable match my family had predetermined for me. When I was born, my future was sealed with a union to my cousin. It mattered not that I harboured no affection for him. My parents’ marriage was a fitting example—an immaculate alliance, yet strangers within their home. As I approached the grand gates of the Lucre estate, I noticed her dressed in the distinctive uniform worn by the Battered when they were in Syphon. Although none of them had ever ventured so close to the estate before, she appeared to be quite familiar with the surroundings and confident where she stood. “Rica, did you hear me!?” Her words struck me like lightning. My mind raced, trying to comprehend the implications. I knew my birth mother ran away to Battered when I was three years old. Hence, I never expected to lay eyes on her again. But there was no denying this was her. Though emaciated, she seemed to tower over me, her silhouette sharp and imposing against the fading light. Despite her gaunt frame, there was an undeniable resemblance between us with the high cheekbones, full lips, and the same piercing eyes. It was like looking into a shadowed, aged mirror, a haunting vision of how I might appear if I too were from Battered. I shuddered at the thought. This was an apt name for a town and people worn down by time and hardship. Her name was Penury, and she spoke of Battered with a mixture of sorrow and admiration. I had always known about Battered’s plight—how its once lush fields and bountiful mines had been ravaged into a wasteland. I had accepted the impositions enforced by the Lucre family as necessary measures for progress for that town that had been under our purview for some time. Just as tough love is meant to bring order and compliance, I knew my family's rules added stability to what I believed was otherwise a chaotic and mismanaged place. Those same rules would have been rendered moot in a utopia like Syphon, where civilisation was at its zenith. But Penury’s words turned my understanding on its head. Her account painted a picture of relentless exploitation at the hands of Syphon. She claimed that what I had been told was a necessary management of resources was, in reality, unyielding oppression. Anyone who resisted the status quo from either town were ruthlessly crushed and dissent was swiftly silenced. She asserted that she too was part of our family, a Lucre who had fled to Battered and changed her given name after uncovering the grim reality behind the policies we had always justified. She revealed that, although the family permitted her to escape, they had ruthlessly barred her from taking me there as well. "Good!" I sighed to myself. The idea of being raised in Battered, amidst desolation and suffering, was unbearable to me. Yet her perspective stripped away the veneer of benevolence that had always shrouded our actions—especially in my eyes. As Penury’s revelations sank in, I was forcibly reminded of Cash’s unsettling questions. Her words had felt provocative at the time, but now, in light of Penury’s truth, they held new gravity. "Do we truly have everything, or do we just have it all without appreciating the toil and skill required to produce it?" "Why now?" I asked her, my voice trembling. "Why are you here telling me this now?" Tears welled up in Penury's eyes. "Your younger sister, Penny, is very sick. She has a rare blood disorder and needs a bone marrow transplant. You might be her only hope. But you need to understand why this is important, why you of all people must help her." The enormity of her words sank in slowly. I had always wanted a sister. Now I had one who was a Battered, and suffering while I lived in comfort. And yet, as Penury spoke of the abject poverty in Battered at the apparent hands of my family and town, a part of me resisted. I had been happy here. Why should I sacrifice my happiness for a sister I had never known and a "mother" who had abandoned me to live frivolously in the slums of Battered? So what if she even ushered me here—did that oblige me to concern myself with her choices or the fallout of her ill-thought out actions? A bone marrow transplant would have been an easy procedure if she had stayed in Syphon; we would merely locate a compatible donor from Battered and proceed with the process. The irony of this, however, finally hit me with full force. "I don't know what to do," I admitted, overwhelmed by the revelations. My voice was barely above the whisper of the evening's wind. "You have a choice to make," Penury said gently. "And a real family waiting for you in Battered. I know what it means to be a Lucre—the pretense, the crushing expectations, loneliness in abundance." She spoke with a trace of bitterness. I gazed at her, feeling the heavy weight of her words mirrored in her tired eyes. If she genuinely intended the best for her child, why conceive in a place like Battered in the first place? Surely she must have anticipated that such an endeavour would come with its own share of suffering. What further responsibility was expected of me, beyond the charitable gestures my town extended to Battered, especially on our designated days of giving to the desolate? My mind raced with conflicting thoughts as I wrestled with the moral imperative to help Penury and Penny. "I can't help you," I said finally. "You shouldn't have left this life behind." Her expression crumpled, hope fading into despair. "Rica, please listen—" But I shook my head, meeting her gaze with resolve. "You shouldn’t have left me," I stated flatly, before turning away.


The world of Aetheria flew high over the heads of the Terrans. It was home to many creatures: the majestic fyrons, the proud dragons, and the simmarins. The most intelligent of all these creatures were the Aethins. They formed a civilization of Aethins on Aetheria, worshipping the wind and waves that made up their home, created festivals of lights and tournaments, even created legends of heroes and villains. Everything was magnificent and glorious in the heavens as they drifted across the skies. Everything was glorious, that is until they fell. For the first time in their lives, these glorious creatures experienced what it felt like to fall, and fall they did. Crashing into the earth below them they had lost their home and was thrown into a new world. This was a time of great confusion for the great Aethins, and even more so for the Terrans they landed upon. The Terrans were very different from the Aethins. For one, they didn't have feathers and wings. Instead they had strong arms and big hands that they used to shape the earth. The Aethins had strong wings that carried them for miles and strong talons that allowed them to hunt for their food with ease. The Terrans used tools that allowed them to thrive on the earth. They saw the Aethins as gods and treated them like such. After many generations passed the Aethins grew spoiled on their new home. They became prideful and forgot where they came from. Some fell in love with the Terrans while others demanded more from the them. They became selfish, greedy, and lustful demanding that the Terrans provide them with more. They wanted sacrifices and slaves, riches and food. In return the Terrans suffered harsh beatings. A wise Aethin was horrified at what had become of his people. He flew up into a mountain and prayed to their forgotten gods, asking what should become of his people. It was revealed to him that they would need to become one with the sky again lest they should be smitten for their greed. He implored them to follow the counsel of their gods and become one with the sky, but they scoffed and scorned the young Aethin. They sent him away from their homes leaving him to fend for himself in the earthen wilderness. For many nights he wandered, on the edge of starvation, until a kind hearted Terran found him and nursed him back to health. Her family had much distaste for the Aethins, for they were taxed heavily to support the Aethins luxurious lifestyle. The wise Aethins weeped when he heard of their dire circumstances and his people's cruel greed. He taught these Terrans all of what he knew of his legends and myths, in return the kindhearted Terran taught him of all of her myths and legends. That night he flew up into the mountains and asked the gods what they should do about his brethren, hoping that they would spare them. They told him that few would return to the skies and that they must purge Aetheria of the Aethins. The gods turned their backs on the greedy Aethins and knew them not. They had forgotten themselves and became something alien to even their own people. The wise Aethin sadly flew down the mountain knowing that the gods were right. He planned with the Terrans that evening on how they would dispose of the Aethins. The wise Aethin begged for one last chance to call his people to the skies, and the Terrans agreed. They would give the Aethins a chance to leave earth of their own free will before destroying them for good. It saddened the wise Aethin to lead the Terrans to battle, but he knew that the gods would give him strength. They traveled the long way to the city of the Aethins and there, the wise Aethin addressed the entire city. He called them to return to the skies, recalled their great stories and legends of who they once were, and reminded them of who they once were. He spoke with such power and authority that some of the Aethins took to the skies, ashamed that they had lost sight of who they were. Other greedy, wicked Aethins were outraged with the wise Aethin. They hurled insults and threatened him with death. The wise Aethin sadly shook his head before he attacked the city, the kindhearted Terran right behind him. That was a day bloodier than any other. The city ran red with the blood of gods, spilt by their angry worshippers. Most see that day as a bloody victory, the wise Aethin saw that day as a grim defeat. He could not save his people and that fact would haunt him to his dying breath. When the battle was over and the city of Aetheria was destroyed for good, the wise Aethin took to the skies and addressed the few Aethins that survived. He told them of the battle and sore afflictions that was bound to come. The Aethins were terrified again, now that their home had been destroyed where would they go? The kindhearted Terran called to the wise Aethin and offered them a home on the high mountains of earth not as gods, but as equals. The wise Aethin accepted the offer and led his people to create the city of Malithia, a city where Terrans and Aethins lived as equals. The wis Aethin and the kindhearted Terran became the first leaders of the new world; Malithia. They led their people to greatness and worked side by side all of them. They led not as kings and queens but as the baker, the monk, the worker, the child, and the leader. They led their kingdom with the gods at their side, teaching a new way of respect and honor. Every king and queen ruling Malithia in their wake has vowed to honor their people and their gods just like the first rulers. The story says that the wise Aethin and the kindhearted Terran became gods when they died. The gods of diligence, faithfulness, honor, and equality. I share this story with you, the same story that my fathers have shared with me and their fathers shared with them. It is shared this way so that we may never forget were we come from and the dangers of pride, greed, and selfishness. We share these stories with the next generations to ensure that our legacy of honor and faithfulness is upheld, so I implore you to learn the story well. Keep it in your hearts. You hold the future of Malithia, keep it safe.


”I’m leaving the subway now, just a block away!”

Josephine hurried through the crowd, pushing past people on the stairs, her heart pounding in her chest as she ascended towards the clean air above. A light drizzle met her outside, but other than that the open sky felt welcoming as she drew a deep breath and felt the tension leave her body with the exhale. Normally, on a day like this, she would have kept her umbrella with her; her hair was too important not to mention expensive; but this evening she had pulled her hair back and tied it up in ponytail that no amount of humidity could conquer - also, she didn’t really care anymore. Her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. Cara — again. Josephine felt her jaw tighten but tried to smile as she answered, hoping that it would carry over the line. ”Yes. I’m turning into Dulcimer Street now. Be there in five — no four minutes.”

Caras voice was sparkling like electricity. ”There’s no need to panic. People are just starting to arrive. You won’t be the last one here.” Josephine could feel her self slowing down slightly, like someone else controlled her actions. ”So, who will be there exactly? Thought you said it would be a small and quiet housewarming?” ”Oh, it won’t be too many” Cara said. ”Just the girls. And their boyfriends . Five bucks Penny has pulled some rando off the street just for show. She’s a hot mess!” Cara laughed. ”Soo happy you’re feeling better babe, I’ve missed the hell out of you the last couple of weeks!” ”I missed you too — So — that’s you, me; Penny with her rando, Lisa and Peter, Carly and Chris - and that’s all?” It already felt like a lot. Josephine swallowed as she pushed the gate open and walked into the yard. The apartment complex was looming. Cara continued: ”I don’t know, probably a few more. Oh right, Carly is bringing her cousin as well. We don’t know him but she insisted.” As the doors closed behind her Josephine felt trapped again. The narrow corridor leading to the stairs and elevators bathed in a yellow light that made her feel nauseous. ”But Cara — why ?” she said as she skipped the elevator and proceeded to the stairs. ”You know I’ve been ill and I’m not up for meeting new people. If you’d told me I wouldn’t have come!” ”— no just leave it, I’ll deal with it tomorrow — I’m sorry sweetie I didn’t hear you; are you almost here? Can’t wait to see you!” Cara continued to laugh with someone on her side. Josephine sighed. ”See you..” The apartment was on the third floor. Josephine felt a bead of sweat trickle down her back. I’m in terrible shape, she thought as she stopped outside Caras door and checked herself with the camera app on her phone. She was pretty but her eyes looked tired and her skin dull and lifeless. Josephine cleared her throat. It still ached and felt dry and swollen but got better every day. It was cold season after all so no one would question why she sounded hoarse and croaky. It was the perfect alibi. A familiar melody could be heard from inside the apartment when she pressed the buzzer — hello from the other side — it appeared the Adele anthem had moved with Cara to the new place. Josephine immediately regretted coming out tonight - she was not ready.  The door opened and a wave of laughter, conversation, music and perfume poured over her. This was not a quiet gathering. Cara flung herself around Josephines neck. ”Jo! So good to see you! I thought you’d been swept away by a sheik or something, come in - oh your coat looks darling, is it the Burberry one? I knew you had one I just didn’t — have you met Cassandra yet? - She has one too - just like yours - but she’s too skinny you know, it doesn’t look nearly as good on her.” Cara pinched her cheek. ”God, it’s amazing to see you! How are you?” Josephine removed her coat and bag.

”I’m fine. Look, had I known this would be a party I wouldn’t — I didn’t think I would have to — ”If I had told you it would be a party you wouldn’t have come,” Cara interrupted. ”And we haven’t seen you in ages! This will be fun, I promise! Let me show you the place!” The apartment was packed. Josephine counted at least fifteen people, several of which she didn’t recognise. Lisa was there, looking posh as ever, her boyfriend Peter was off in the corner lecturing a group of new faces about bitcoin (as always). No one could sell ”boring” as Peter, and it served as both his greatest strength, and the most annoying thing about him, that he never seemed to pick up on the glazed expression in his audience eyes. Pennys ”rando” turned out to be a girl this time.

That was new. Cara pulled Josephine around the apartment on a very speedy run through of the four rooms before returning to the living room with its many guests.

”She never gets tired that one,” Lisa laughed nodding towards Cara as she spun away. ”It’s like we all haven’t seen a one bedroom apartment before.” Her deep blue eyes now fixed on Josephine. ”You ok? You really had us worried for a while.” Josephine sipped her drink. ”Yeah, thanks. I’m ok. It was a nasty infection.” Lisa studied her with a worried expression. ”Must have been yeah — and just about when the merger was about to go down. The whole office was scrambling. I thought Jaineway would snap.”

Josephine could feel her face grow hot and red. ”I - I didn’t make this up you know. I got really sick! Also, I knew you could handle it.”

”I know I know, I believe you. The pressure you were under — it would get to you eventually. We all suspected it would.” ”And yet you never said anything?” She didn’t know if her voice cracked because of the strain or the anger that was suddenly flaming up inside her. ”Honey” Lisas voice softened. ”You never would have listened. You are a work horse. And no one is as good as you. Everybody knows that. Especially you.” Josephine struggled to find a good comeback but failed. Besides, Lisa was right. The people at the party where all well dressed and fancy. The black long-sleeved turtleneck and jeans she wore made Josephine feel underdressed among the blazers and blouses and she thought of using fever as an excuse to leave early. The mood was high and the volume had grown louder to combat the alkohol fuelled discussions. Josephine moved towards the kitchen. She had walked past it on her way into the apartment and noticed a big window with some green plants that made the room seem much different from the rest. Cosy and warm. Like a mirage in the desert.

*** ”I’ve told you! I’m just really tired.”

David took another swig of water hoping that would put an end to the conversation. He wasn’t exaggerating. Having worked the night shift for what felt like forever, and even though the schedule hade turned, his mind and body hadn’t turned with it. He looked down at his cousin. Carly was still there, arms crossed, looking like an angry pixie. She sure had changed since moving to the city. ”You could at least make more of an effort and not stay cooped up in the kitchen all night”, she muttered. ”I had to convince them to let you come you know.”

David yawned into his hand. ”I thought these were your friends? Why would they mind?” ”Because it would only be small group of friends, that’s why. I told them you were my cousin, that you had been working really hard and needed some fun. Now you’re making me look bad!” David felt exasperated. ”And your small group of people didn’t turn out so small did it?… — Look” he continued, off Carlys bummed expression. ”I will try ok? I promise.”

”Ok then.” Carly beamed, ever so used to getting her way. As she turned to rejoin the party another girl appeared in the doorway. Carly let out a shriek. ”Jo! It’s you! I’ve missed you soo much!”

David watched as the women embraced. The newcomer was blond and slender, dressed in a black sweater that made her skin seem even paler than it probably was. She towered over Carly and her arms, long and thin, wrapped around his cousin almost twice. David recognised her instantly. ”David,” Carly said, turning back towards him, her arm firmly around the new girls waist.

”This is Jo! The girl I told you about. The one who puts us all to shame.” ”Come on now,” new girl said. ”You are being way too — ” She looked at him and her eyes widened. ” — dramatic.” David knew this girl. Knew her by name. He had heard the doctor calling her over and over. Trying to wake her up. Josephine. That’s what it was. Josephine. After a brief moment, a moment that probably felt much longer than it actually was, they shook hands. Her hand felt cold in his. He remembered holding it before, changing a needle for the IV.

A month had passed but he could still see a fading yellow bruise on the back of her hand. He smiled. She did not.

”I’m David. Nice to meet you.” Josephines lips thinned as a strained smile pulled from end to end - like a prisoner torn apart by horses. Carly didn’t seem to notice. ”David’s a doctor. He works over att Blue Road Hospital,” she said almost giddy. David gently put his hand on her arm. ”I’m a nurse. Not a doctor.” He smiled again. Josephine just thought she did. ”Yeah fine, a nurse. ” Carly continued. ”But you can still become a doctor later right? When you are finished with your studies or exams or whatyoucallit?” David sighed. He knew that a nurse meant ” just a nurse” to Carly and her family; they always had difference of opinion on what it meant to be successful. Excel, make a lot of money and always have people below you. This was one of the reasons him and his father had almost become shunned by the rest of the family. Because they were content. And that always bothered someone. ”Sure, Carly”, he said. ”But who will clean up after the doctors when I’m gone? They need me where I am.” He winked and Carly rolled her eyes. ”Just lazy. And silly.” Watching them bicker; Josephine thought back to when she’d last seen David. She hadn'´t noticed him at first. It was the doctors that spoke to her, and they seemed to change with every round. The nurses however, were mostly the same, and David had been there a lot; changing the linens, checked her vitals and brought her food when she became well enough to eat. They hadn’t really talked. Other nurses tried to make chitchat in order to make the situation less uncomfortable. They all knew why she was there after all. But David had remained respectful and never bothered her or pushed her to speak. She really appreciated him for that. He was also the only one who didn’t look at her with pity when he saw her scars. Josephine scratched her arm and pulled her sweater down further over her wrist. Her mother hated them too. Looking at her now, David could hardly believe it was the same woman he had helped save a little over a month ago. She had been brought in at around eight on a Wednesday, non responsive and very weak. He had just started his shift and still had crumbs from his cheese sandwich around his mouth when the alarm sounded. The woman was in bad shape, not drunk but clearly intoxicated. Turned out to be pills - and lots of them. They had pumped her stomach and she had regained consciousness in the middle — he had been forced to hold her down when she had struggled to remove the tube from her throat. Her eyes were wild - blood shot - panicked.

Eventually she calmed down and after a mild sedative, was able to sleep. Later that evening, in the staff room, they all wondered what would make such a young, beautiful woman want to end her life. Carly broke the silence again, snapping reality back into place. ”I went to you moms Jo, since you didn’t answer your phone. I guessed you must have stayed there? She told me everything was fine and that you just needed some time off to fight the virus. Sounded like you would be back at work in no time.” Josephines eyes met Davids and he could see them pleading for him not to say anything.

”Yeah, she would say that…that’s just…mom.” Her voice was starting to fail her now. She couldn’t deal with this. Somewhat sensing the tension but missing the tone completely, Carly said: ”See David? This girl is amazing! Never complains. Always gets the job done.This chick would never settle for a nurse. A doctor — a good one — maybe…” She flashed a smile and a wink at them both. ”Something to think about.”

Then she backed out of the kitchen and was gone. The silence between them seemed to drown out the noise from the party. They just stood there unsure of what to do next. When David finally spoke Josephine almost pulled back. ”So…I just wanna…” ”Don’t…please” Josephine put her hand up to stop him. ”We don’t need to do this…I just can’t right now.” She looked at him. David had a blank expression on his face, the one he had worn in her hospital room, when she had cried next to her mother who refused to listen. ”Sure” he said. She tried to smile but stopped herself, fearing her eyes would well over if she did. ”So —” Josephine straightened up. ”Not becoming a doctor then?” David laughed.

”No, I think I’m good. Not everyone plays forward you know.” He looked so calm and at ease Josephine felt almost frustrated with him. Was he just lazy like Carly had said? She didn’t care for those people. ”So then, how do you know when you’ve reached your full potential? If you don’t strive for anything?” She sensed how inappropriate her tone was and immediately regretted it. David didn’t seem offended though. Perhaps it was just in her head. She looked at him. His eyes were kind and warm. ”I don’t see my fullest potential as something to do with what career I have” he said, thoughtfully. ”As long as I’m happy where I’m at…I’m — well…happy. No matter what it is or what people think. I feel my fullest potential is reached when I love what I do.” Josephine said nothing for awhile. So many emotions flowed through her; anger, guilt, remorse, shame. She had been taught to climb, to always reach. But was it ever really enough? She turned to the window. Autumn was coloring the trees outside with flaming leaves and frost was reaching in from the corners of the glass. The plants on the windowsill smelled fresh and sweet. ”Do you think there’s ever a way to make the world just give you a break?,” she said, looking out at the night sky. ”To slow things down just enough to give you all the time you need. To figure things out?” She was crying now. Silently and softly. She again turned to look at David who was standing halfway between her and the people in the other room. He had seen her at her worst so her tears didn’t face him. And he didn’t judge her for it. He just stood there. ”There always is” he said.

Josephines lips were trembling and her tears were falling hard now. ”How?” Her voice almost a whisper. She looked at David and he looked back. Then he smiled. ”Just ask.”


It all started with a smile... A beautiful, warm, and welcoming smile from a pretty stranger on the streets of Manhattan. If you know Manhattan, you know how rare it is to meet a kind face here. Let alone to see that same kind face more than once. The third time I saw her, I had to speak to her. I approached her nervously, and she again smiled warmly which made me feel more confident. Approaching women is scary because you never know the vibes... Is it giving bestie vibes or is it going to be more? This time though, I knew. She spoke to me before I even mustered up the courage. “Hi there, beautiful stranger.” She said cheekily. I just laughed nervously and asked her where she was headed. Turned out we worked in the same building, simply different floors. So, from that day forward we walked to work together every day and eventually even woke up in the same bed most mornings.

Christmas was approaching fast as ever. My girlfriend, my beautiful girlfriend whose name is Kaleesi, loves Christmas. It is not exactly my niche but for her, I will put on the act of the century. We bonded so quickly that we decided to spend our holidays together and not leave town for family. It was an easy decision for me since I do not even like my family much. Kaleesi has been ranting and raving about how much I am going to love my gift and how perfect it is for me which has been making me panic a little. I have no idea what kind of gift to get the woman I love for the holiday I barely acknowledge... “Haven, don’t overthink it! I will love any gift you give me just like I love you.” She reassured me over and over. But it just makes me think of how much she deserves the perfect gift because she is utterly amazing. We have been dating all of 5 months and I am entangled in her beautiful little web, more than I could have ever imagined. I could write you a five-page essay about it. But what I cannot decide for the life of me is what to get such a perfect person as a gift.

I relentlessly searched the streets of Manhattan for the “edgy” stores I thought I would find the perfect gift inside of. I even took a bus to this store whose catchline was, “Beautiful gifts for beautiful people,” but it was very anticlimactic honestly. One day I spent my entire lunch break searching for unique stores to try next instead of eating, like a sane person would. Kaleesi started to notice I was stressing and would bring food to my floor and force me to eat before she left. Her acts of kindness just made me even more frantic to find the perfect gift for her as soon as possible. Christmas was merely nine days away; shit was getting real.

On December Twentieth, we were walking to work hand in hand when we walked past this tiny, black owned shop that I had never seen before. I saw Kaleesi glance at it excitedly, but she did not say anything. It looked to be full of ancestral jewelry, paintings, oils, and things of that nature. I made a mental note and smiled to myself because I just had a feeling this was my sign that the weeks of searching were about to end. I rushed through my work that day, happy as ever to be focused on my work and not stressing about searching for the perfect gift. Kaleesi’s parents were from east Africa, they migrated to the U.S shortly before she was born and they did not hang on to a lot of their culture the longer they were here. Kaleesi often tells me how she wants to know more about her culture and how she loves admiring the beautiful jewelry. Before I spotted this store, I had not found any real African shops with authentic jewelry but this one gave me hope.

After work I sprint down the stairs and head towards the little shop. I shot Kaleesi a quick, “see you at home, baby.” text and made sure to avoid her seeing where I was headed. It was a quick, brisk walk and once I stepped into the store I was welcomed with the refreshing scent of, Uusi. Took me right back to the smells of my childhood days spent at my own east African grandmother’s home. At that moment I knew this was the place I would find what I was looking for. The owner of the shop warmly welcomed me like we were family and showed me around the store instead of just asking me what I was looking for. I wanted to buy the entire store, honestly. So many beautiful, cultural pieces to absorb I could not get my mind set on one thing. Until I saw it. A beautiful, bright, Maasai necklace. It immediately called out to me. I got the warmest feeling just looking at it, just like when I look into Kaleesi’s eyes. I picked it up and told the shop owner proudly... “This is it!” She smiled like she was just as excited as me. I also picked up a book explaining the significance of the oils and jewelry I purchased so that she could learn more about the culture in general. This day I was filled with as much happiness as I was the first day I got to go out with Kaleesi and experience her true warmth. Finally, I found the perfect gift for the perfect girl.

The last week until Christmas seemed to drag by. All the time I was searching flew by but now that I was ready to present her with my perfect gift, time slowed. But I decided not to be impatient and to just enjoy the week we had planned. I also picked up a bunch of other little gifts during my search for the perfect one. I got us matching hats and gloves because it is cold as HELL in New York. I got us some matching sneakers too, I know I am corny and that is okay! Other than that, I got a bunch of her favorite lotions, makeup, and self-care items because I knew she would appreciate it. Our little tree was filled with gifts, evenly split between the two of us. We agreed that the biggest gift we would exchange last and so we had our own secret hiding places.

Christmas morning arrives, I jump out of bed before Kaleesi wakes up and I cook her a bangin’ breakfast. She comes downstairs sneakily and smirks at me because normally, she is the early bird. I silently serve her and sit across the table with my plate. She looks just as giddy as I am and scarfs her food down quickly before asking... “Can we open some presents now baby?.” I laugh at her and just nod, heading over to the tree. We sort out each other's gifts and decide to take turns opening them. First, she opens the matching sneakers and nearly cries just from that. I open a box with 2 coats, one my favorite color and the other is hers. “We are so damn corny!” I giggle. She agrees happily. We finish opening all our gifts which already had us filled with joy. We both silently head off to our hiding spots and come back with our boxes with the “perfect” gifts we picked for one another. We decide to open them at the same time on the count of three... I rip mine open, gasp loudly, and my eyes meet hers. She looks equally as shocked as me and we both burst into tears. She holds the Maasai necklace up to her chest and just bawls, thanking me repeatedly. “This is so beautiful, Haven.” She says happily. I just stare at my gift still in shock with tears falling down my face. My gift is a beautiful, gold bracelet with a key charm as well as a few other ones meaningful to us both. She comes up to me and gently says... “Take off the key and read it.” I do just that and burst into tears again... “You are holding the key to my heart, and to OUR place.” I am speechless and we just cry into each other's arms. Later that day she takes me to look at our beautiful condominium which has already been furnished immaculately. Did I forget to mention, Kaleesi is my boss? Oops.


From the day I remember, I was not like an ordinary person, I used to do those kind of things that normal person can't do. If my brain serves me correctly then at the age of 9 I guess, I were able to control the time, I was able to pause the time, resume the time and many more. I don't know how but I used to do. I used to feel like I am not an ordinary person or you can just say "not a person because only alien would be able to have this kind of superpowers, no ???" Anyway Whenever I try to ask my grand mother that "why is this happening to me" then, she used to divert the conversation and she used told me that I would get to know it when I will be big.

Before I used to be afraid of this but afterwards I get to know that I can't stop it and then I slightly begin to learn how to control it and now I am 14 years old

but also I don't have much friend except animals and birds do you know that I am able to talk with birds and animals But also my grandmother don't let me to go outside and play with the others because she worry about me a lot although she know that I have super powers but also she always keeps worrying about me a lot. Till now I have not been to school and I read in my home with my grand mother. As always I was in my room reading my new story book and I saw a picture of piece of cake in my book which made me feel like I am hungry

Then I slightly walked into the kitchen as i know if my grandmother knew this then she would surely scold me. As I slightly began to open up the fridge

And I was about to pick the piece of cake and then I feel like someone was behind me and then, then what ??? I pause the time and not even bother to look who was beside me

Then again, I feel like, that person is still moving, I thought, it maybe my mistake that I didn't pause the time properly. Then I slowly turn around to see who the person is then I saw a blue light in the structure of a person who was moving around me.  I was scared to death and then I scream but there was no one to listen to me and I hurridly resume the time and scream again as I screamed my grandmother came to me and asked if all the things was alright.

I pointed towards the blue light and screamed again. As that person in blue light saw my grandmother it stop moving and began to watch my grand mother as if he knew her already. I asked my grand mother that he is staring at you, do you know who is he ??? She asked me surprisingly where?? who?? And after a while, now she was able to look him as he sightly showed himself to her My grandmother also looked shocked after looking at him

Only I was wondering what was happening. Then I asked my grand mother, then she told me that this is the day when you will find out how you got superpower. Then I asked how ??? and who is this person ??? Then my mother let me sit in couch and make me quiet. She told me that he is my grand father and once he was a scientist and he found out the formula of geting infinite power through our subconcious mind and made a soup which will let you have superpowers and after knowing this, many people want to know that formula and soup and kill my grand father and they even killed my grandfathers friends and after my grandfather knew about it he let me and my grandmother to stay at home and take one spray with him and spray it to himself and other people which will make people arrive at the same place after 12 years. After I knew this all I was speechless. I hugged my grandfather and he hugged me too. He told me that maybe those people would come again  before he finished sying some noises were coming, from outside our house we hurriedly went outside to see what was happening and then we saw hundred tons of people coming toward us with many fighting materials and even some of them were even flying

I was confused and panicking at the same time Then my grandfather hurridely hold my and my grandmother's hand and we disappear from that place and we appear at unknown place

I asked my grandfather and he told me that it was the place where he used to live after disappearing from earth and it was heaven

he told me that I must use that super power to make this world a better plave to live in and put all of other scientist who wants to kill him in the jail because they all have killed his other friends inorder to get that powerful soup Then me and my grandmother suddenly disappear from that place and appear in secret under ground cabin where my grand father used to work I let my grandmother to stay there and I went outside to see what was going on

And I saw those people were destroying our house then I hurridely went there screaming and shouting. Then I was so angry after that longest story that I have heard and seeing my house destroying I went there and I scream so loud that all the others people were injured and half of them were even died

Those people who were flying died and half of the people were injured very badly

Then I let all of them who were alive in jail. Then my grandfather came and he told me that he was blessed to have a grandson like me and told me that his son, who is my father and my mother also died while helping my grandfather. Then he disappeared,  then after I began to help others with a name "Yuliana"