You Know How I Recognized You? I am a police officer who specializes in doing undercover work. In all modesty, I got the gig because I am good at being hard to recognize, being anonymous, non-distinctive. The clothes I wear in the drug-dealing, prostitution, mugging area of this fair city is instrumental in my blending in with the environment, and being hard to remember, like a crack in the sidewalk that I walk on when playing my role. I wear faded jeans, with slight rips in them, not the big ones that are now reborn as fashionable apparel for a second generation of young women. I wonder whether they buy them like that. I pre-faded mine, and made the small holes with a very sharp knife. My shoes are Nikes, first bought and worn in 1984, when Michael Jordan was the advertising star for them, and “Just Do It” was still four years away. My shoes should be called “They once did it.” My shirt once had a logo on it, but it cannot be distinguished now, and I often fail to remember what it once was. I think it was from some local band that I liked, the name of which has now slipped out of my mind. Perhaps if I took some of the same drugs that I did then I would remember.

My jacket is especially important, because in the inside pocket I am, as the expression goes, ‘wearing a wire.’  This old gray jacket was my father’s and his father’s before him. It doesn’t look like it was ever new. Finally, there is my gray hat. If this hat could speak it would say ‘My owner is an immigrant from a warm country, so he has to wear a dorky hat with the flaps pulled down to combat the cold weather we have here.’ I didn’t want to wear this hat, but my boss said I needed to do so. I have reddish coloured hair which can be thought of as somewhat distinctive, thereby making me noticeable. The hat covers all that hair. I do not shave, as that is not what my ‘street person’ character would do, so I dye my slightly reddish stubble a kind of ashen gray. A Working Night It was a working night, so I was walking down one of the city’s sleazier streets, getting ready to sit on my designated begging spot, to observe, record and remember who I saw doing what. Just before I assumed my sitting begging position, a very drunk man exited from a bar, stumbling, beginning to tumble towards the road. A flashy car was approaching rapidly. I recognized it as being owned by one of the main drug dealers whose territory this is.

           I realized that collision between the two was imminent, so I rushed over to the falling man, and pulled him away from danger. He grabbed my head so that he wouldn’t fall backwards, but lurched forward and hit the sidewalk, safely, but somewhat painfully.            He thanked me profusely, in a deep, drunken voice, following this with a “I don’t usually drink this much, but my wife just left me. I have no one.” Then he hailed a cab and left.            The rest of the night was relatively uneventful. I came very close to falling asleep several times. The Next Night The next night was more eventful in a positive way. I felt that I had truly earned my pay.  While sitting at my usual spot at the corner of the front of the bar and a decidedly seedy-looking alleyway, I witnessed close by something incriminating – a drug deal orchestrated by a one of the men who worked for the guy with the flashy car from the previous night. He was a local big shot in the trade. The negotiations were loud enough that they were recorded by ‘the wire’. I was nearly invisible as a non-person sitting by the bar, occasionally begging, so I thought I would not be noticed.  I hoped that with this evidence, we could finally arrest him and put him away for good. Eventually, finally, the time came when I felt that I could leave my post. The bars in the area were all closed and emptied, the streets seemed abandoned except for those who slept in the alleyway. I was somewhat energized by what ‘the wire’ and I had witnessed. So I decided to make my way to the station not too far away to deposit my flash drive and write down what I had seen and heard. What I didn’t know at the time was that I was being followed. The guy at the desk gave me a look, wondering what this aging street urchin was doing walking boldly through the front door of a police station.  So I took off my ear-flapped hat, and got a smile of recognition when he saw my reddish hair. I did what I came to do, and left for home and some well-earned sleep. I successfully managed not to wake the kids, who would later be told by their mother not to wake their dad, with a lot less success. They wanted to know whether I had caught any criminals. I told them that ‘it was possible’, not a very satisfying answer for them to hear. The Next Night The next night began in the usual way. Nothing much was going on, at least in the first few hours. Then it happened. I had just stood up to stretch my legs a bit, looking through the bar front window to see who was there could be a suspect, when I felt something very sharp poking me in the back. Then the voice that I remembered from the night before spoke to me sharply. “So, you’re a cop, eh. We can’t have you interfering with our business”. He pushed me forward towards the alleyway. I tried to remember what I had been schooled to do in just such a situation. Nothing useful came to mind. I was getting frantic. I didn’t have to think long. Another voice spoke up, deep and authoritative, with a touch of the drink. “Back off, buddy”, he said. The sharp pain in my back stopped. And I could hear the sound of my assailant crashing head-first to the hard surface of the sidewalk. I turned to see the smiling face of the man whom I had saved the night before. He looked at me and said, “You know how I recognized you?...It was the hat. You’re the only one I’ve ever seen with such a hat.” We hugged over the motionless body of my attacker. He must have hit his head hard when he was thrown to the sidewalk. The Next Day When I went to the station the next day, and told my story, I was given another assignment, one that involved a lot of paperwork. My cover had been blown. I didn’t mind. I could see my wife and kids more often. I still wear the hat sometimes still when the weath gets cold. I don’t care what anybody thinks.


To say I’m nervous would be the understatement of the year. My hands are shaking where they sit in my lap, but I can’t let it show because I acted way too calm when she came into our store earlier. I think it was a mixture of absolute shock and mild panic that made me act that way. I was in the middle of teaching an oil pastel class on how to blend darks to lights when the windchimes on the door jingled. Violet was in the front of the shop, so I expected her to get it, but when a voice that sounded a little too eager and too familiar called my name, I wasn’t expecting to see her . I knew I should’ve called out sick.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long, it was work. Where were we again?” Lillian sits back down at the table and I do my best to maintain composure. Her plunge black v-neck blouse was more than revealing, but I didn’t let my eyes linger. She wasn't this dressed up when I saw her earlier so it's a little jarring. It shouldn’t be this easy to still idealize someone who dumped you out of the blue. I mean, we’ve barely spoken thus far, and it's not as if our conversations are meaningful. So then, why? “It’s fine. The food got here while you were gone, so at least you don’t have to wait.” I forced myself to smile, trying to fix the coils I had diffused only 30 minutes ago. I don’t know why she invited me out for dinner anyway. I mean, what was there for us to talk about? Remember that time we killed the guy who groped me on the bus and followed us home? Or maybe the time I cried in a jail cell after you had already left? Good times, huh.

“So how have you been lately?” She smiles, knocking back the last swig of her second glass of wine since she’s gotten here. Her fingers linger by the half-full bottle on the table which is being emptied by her alone.

“Good, good. Going to City College is okay, and I work at the art store down the street, but you probably know that by now.” “Yeah! I was so surprised to see you there. I was only in this part of town to see someone and they wanted to drop by that little store since they're a painter -- it was total luck!” “Avery,” I mumbled. They’re a regular and pretty good friends with Violet, so of course I would be familiar with them. But, who would’ve guessed they kneow Lillian. Small world, unfortunately. “Yeah. They told me they go there often, but I would have never guessed to see you there.” She smiles and some of her red lipstick has transferred to the glass, leaving a lightened pink stain on her mouth. Her steak sizzles on the plate before her, which she promptly drowns in A1. I hate the fact that I knew she’d do it -- that I remembered. “Well, what have you been up to? I heard you got into NYU forever ago, so how’s that been?” “Wonderful! I thought it would be overrated and full of snobs whose egos are bigger than their bank accounts, but everyone seems really down to earth and all of the teachers have been great. I actually have an internship at the court of appeals in Albany next semester, so things are looking up for me.” Good to know the criminal record point on your transcripts was wiped clean. “That’s amazing! I’m happy for you.” She pours herself another drink before taking a bite from her steak. “Yeah yeah, but enough about me. How’s your Mom? It’s been years since I’ve seen her.” Well, she reminds me of my no-good white friend anytime I do something that displeases her but, “She’s doing good. I’m sure she misses seeing you around.” “Yeah well, I miss her too. Dinner was always better at your house.” She sighs and the awkward silence when I nod my head in response was deafening. I take a sip from my glass and push my pasta around the plate. I’m too nervous to eat, but Lillian looks like she’s out-drinking herself. It’s pathetic in a weird way. “Why aren’t you eating?” She quips and her blonde beach-waves bounce with her tilted head. “Don’t tell me you're still doing those stupid diets.” “I’m not, and they aren’t stupid.” I frown, taking a bite of the pasta I don't want and forcing it down to prove a point. She doesn’t know anything about me, so why is she so comfortable. “Looks like I’ve struck a nerve,” she giggles a little too loudly and I’m afraid the alcohol’s gotten to her. “You were always so cute when you were mad.” ‘Lillian--” “And stop calling me Lillian. We aren’t strangers Rose.” I take a deep breath before continuing. “ Lily ,” I take the bottle of wine and move it to my side of the table. “I think you’ve had enough .” “Awww, but I was just getting started,” She frowns and I hate that my heart stumbles. It’s been five years since she left, and I thought I was finally over her, but this , this isn’t helping. It’s so unfair. “You’re so cold, Rose. Do you treat the girl with short hair like this?” “What girl?” I frown when she takes another bite instead of answering. “Lillian, what are you talking about?” “Y’know, the one at your job with the short braids and circle glasses near the cash register.” Violet? “Why do you care about that?” “Cuz,” She mumbles. “She kept staring at you when I saw you earlier. I thought you guys were like a thing or something.” She’s… jealous. But I don’t want her to be. I don’t want her to feel anything towards me. I don’t even wanna be here but everyone was looking at us and I couldn’t really say no to dinner with fifteen people watching. “It doesn’t matter whether we are or not. Aren’t you with Avery? You two seemed mighty close.” “We’re not… official… or anything. We just talk.” I sigh and feel disappointment settle into my bones. “Why did you ask me to dinner, Lily?” “Cuz, I haven’t seen you in years, and we ended on bad terms.” “You moved. We could’ve just ended like that--” “I wanted to see you.” She places her hand halfway across the table and I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out to grab it. “I missed you, Rose. Really. I- I wanted to apologize.” “You don’t have to say anything,” Please don’t make me want you again. “I already know.” “But you didn’t get to hear it from me and I’m sorry. I should’ve told you, but I was a pussy, and I was scared, and I didn’t wanna see the face you’d make when I told you.” “Lil--” She continues talking anyway. “But I’m sorry for moving away. My parents didn’t want me living there anymore after what had happened. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I was leaving, or that I loved you, or that I was going to miss you. I was… so scared, But I treated you badly and that was wrong.” “Lillian, you're drunk.” “Drunken words are sober thoughts, aren’t they?” There’s a look in her eyes that conveys more than her slightly slurred together word vomit does. “Now can you be real with me? Instead of putting up this long time friend charade. I don’t wanna know how you’ve been Rose. I don’t care about work, or how school is, or small talk. I just wanna know about you. What happened while I was gone?” “You won’t remember in the morning.” She finishes the rest of the glass she poured before I took the bottle. “Then humor me.” “Well, my mom hates you now.” “I had a feeling,” she laughs, but this time it’s how she used to -- high and whimsical like music to my sore ears. “And I hate my job, but the people there are nice.” “Also had a feeling. You looked miserable before I walked in.” “And I hated you. I don’t know if I still do, but I hated you so much it made my chest hurt.” She’s silent this time only nodding along when I continue. “You were… my everything. I would have followed you no matter where you lead me, I even lied for you. I loved you, Lily. So imagine my surprise when the case was dropped and you were gone the next day. I thought… I thought it was all my fault or that I did something wrong.” “I’m sorry, Rose. I was stupid.” “Yeah, you were. You really, really were, but I don’t hold it against you anymore. I mean, we were what, sixteen? Everyone thinks they’re in love at sixteen.” “Do you think you’re in love at twenty-one?” she asks dryly and all the words I had planned to say were gone in an instant. “No…? I mean, you were gone for so long that I--” “It’s okay. Forget that I said anything.” She nods, pulling her hand back from the table. “Are you sure you don’t wanna eat? I’m paying.” “I can pay for my own--” “I said, I’m paying, Rose. Why don’t you get your food to go? I don’t really wanna eat anymore.” “Well you drank three whole glasses, so I’d expect that.” She flashes me a smile that turns into a grimace. “Sorry, I drink when I’m anxious. You’re done though, right?” “Yeah, I guess. But I wasn’t done speaking.” “What d’ya need to say Rosey?” She rests her chin in her hand on the table, letting her eyes flutter close and I feel myself get hot in anger. She does this thing where once she doesn’t get the answer she wants, she just shuts down. It used to happen with trivial things, but whenever we argued, this shit would happen too.

“I just… I just wanted to say that what you did wasn’t fair. I’m glad that you walked into the shop today though because at least I don’t have to keep wondering about how you are and where you’ve been.” “I know it wasn’t. I know sorry can't fix what happened, but I’m sorry Rose. “ I look down at my still trembling hands, picking at the nail polish when I realize there's nothing more to say.  “Well, at least you don’t have to lie about your Mom liking me anymore.” I snickered before looking up at her. She smiled wide as if that was the funniest shit she’s ever said, and with the mix of bloodshot unfocused eyes and giggles, she looks drunker than she should be. It makes me laugh harder than I should. “Shut up.” # “Why are you still standing here?” “Because you drank the rest of the bottle even though I told you not to. I’m not just gonna leave you on some street corner by yourself when you're drunk. “Aww, how sweet,” She puts a cigarette between her lips, lighting it, and letting smoke spill everywhere. “I didn’t know you cared so much about me.” “Shut up.” I snapped, yanking on her arm so she wouldn’t fall over. Being this close, I could smell her perfume and the faint -- now strong -- sickly sweet smell clinging to her hair. “I didn’t know that you smoked.” “I don’t do it often.” She pulled the stick from her mouth and exhaled -- the white paper now stained pink where her lips had been. “You wanna try?” “Not really, no.” “That’s a shame. I think it’d be cute.” “Watching me smoke?” “Watching you cough.” I have the sudden urge to drop her. “Y’know, you were kinda cute when you were tipsy. Now you’re just annoying.” Her head whips around and her eyes nearly sparkle. “You think I’m cute? Really?” “Shut up,” I grumble and she laughs way too hard and way too loud. Passerby look at us and she cackles, leaning into me like a wall at a frat party. “Did you mean what you said about NYU earlier? I wanna transfer there once I get enough credits, but I don’t know.” “Well, half of it anyway. I’ve met a lot of nice people, like Avery for example, but there are still people who blow smoke up their own asses. I mean, it’s an expensive school for a reason. They’ve got good resources. I’ve interned a bunch of local courts”

“Oh god, I forgot you were a law student.” “Doesn’t look like it on the surface but, I’m kinda smart.” She giggles in a way that sounds extremely dumb but is still endearing. I hate how even if she’s adorably drunk or obnoxious, I still can’t deny her. It’s… upsetting. “Rosey Wosey, pay attention to me," She sing-songs in my ear annoyingly loud. “Don’t make me run into traffic.” “How much longer till your uber gets here.” She opens her phone which takes a painfully long amount of time. “Like four minutes, probably longer. Getting tired of me already?” “Yes.” She hits me on the shoulder before swaying lightly. “Gimme your phone.” “Why would I do that?” “Because,” she suppresses a hiccup. “You want my phone number.” It never even occurred to me that I didn’t have it. Instagram served as a perfect place to type out messages I’d never send, but I guess iMessage made more sense. So, against my better judgment, I hand it to her and watch as she stumbles through the contacts app.

“There we go, now you can bug me at any time.” “Whose to say I’ll text you first?” I tilt my head and she reopens the contact list, scrolling all the way to the bottom to look at the ‘My Card’ info. “I was going to text you, you didn’t have to do that.” “I don’t trust you. You hate me.” “You think I hate you?” I raise an eyebrow at her and she pouts at me like a child. “Yeah. I was an asshole at dinner, and now you’re babysitting me. I feel bad.” “I don’t hate you, Lily. I thought I made that clear earlier.” She squishes the cigarette she barely smoked under one of her heels. “Well, everything's a little jumbled, all I remember is the part where you said you hate me.” “You’re an idiot.” “Your idiot.” I freeze almost instantly, but she opens her phone again as if nothing was wrong. My heart ached at the memories in her bedroom: fighting over Mario Kart, crying over chemistry homework, all of the cuddles, the kisses, and playing Just Dance in her bedroom at 2 AM. “Earth to Rose? I said it’s okay if you leave. I think my driver’s lost. I should call them.” She slurs a little. Her lipstick is smudged against the corner of her mouth where the wine bottle was. Without thinking too much about it, I rub my thumb against it, smearing the pigment off of her skin. When I look at her again, her eyes don’t meet mine, instead focusing a little lower on my face before we make eye contact again. Most of her red lipstick’s been wiped off at this point in reality, but I guess my lips couldn’t make it worse, right? My forehead is against hers before our lips are touching and my hands are on her waist. She tastes like cigarettes, a lot of wine, and something else, but I can't tell what it is when I pull away after only barely kissing her. Her eyes are a little dazed and that’s when I remember, fuck, she’s drunk. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have done that! You’re drunk and that wasn’t okay, and I don’t wanna take advantage of you--” She closes the gap I made between us before cupping my face in her hands. “You’re so cute when you blush.” I avert my eyes out of shame. “You can’t see--” “I can tell. You always blushed when you kissed me.” She mumbles against my lips before yanking on the collar of my sweater and crashing her lips against mine. Steak sauce . That’s what it was. She tastes like cigarettes, and red wine, and steak sauce. She tastes like the past; like ice cream after passing a quiz in biology, like sunshine on the pier in summer, like getting to play Princess Peach in Mario Kart. She tastes right. Her waist feels like I miss you in my hands, her hands feel like I’m sorry in my hair. She feels and tastes like Queens, she smells like regret and missed opportunities, but it’s all so her.

And even when her Uber driver gets there and we slide into the backseat as a mess of limbs, unable to tell where one begins and the other ends, it feels right. It feels like Lillian.


Gabby double checked the address in her phone as her small Toyota climbed over rocks and roots down Orchard Road. After confirming she was indeed going in the right direction, she squinted at what appeared to be a massive, ivy covered, red brick building in the distance. The morning sun was cutting through just enough autumn fog to allow her to see it must have been built ages ago. The brick was crumbling, the ivy stretching, the windows coated with dusty memories.

She had received an email giving her a heads-up that a very worthwhile estate sale was taking place Saturday morning. She often received announcements from realtors, and was on several lists to be notified when local sales would be taking place.

Gabby had a keen eye for antiques, and the ones she didn’t hang on to, she sold for top dollar. It wasn’t so much the money she was interested in, but in being able to earn enough to keep investing in more treasures.

Every old vase held memories of flowers long gone, perhaps given by a doting husband, or an enamored lover. An antique sewing machine hummed its stories of a struggling mother, making clothing for her children in the late night hours after a full days work. Depression glasses were filled with the tears of hungry children, opening the boxes of Quaker Oats to find the free glassware placed inside as an incentive to buy their products. So many stories, so much history. It was the people Gabby had in her heart, their lives and what they had to say.

And she wanted to know all of them, all their stories.

She slowly pulled closer to the once majestic home. It surely was a sight when it was cared for and maintained. Now, the grass was overgrown, the flower beds filled with weeds, and the shrubberies threatened to overtake the entrance.

Gabby pulled all the way up in the long driveway adjacent to the house. She must be the first to arrive, she thought to herself. Which was just how she liked it. Gabby was not a haggler, or one to try to outbid another interested party at estate sales. It just wasn’t her nature. She had the mindset that if it was meant to be, it was meant to be. If she was the one meant to take home a piece, then she would.

She closed her car door, and began to approach the front door, an old wooden one with cracked paint and splinters spiking out, daring one to knock.

From the corner of her eye, Gabby thought she saw someone move past a second story window. Likely the person in charge of the sale.

Gabby lifted her hand to knock on the worn door, but it seemed to open before she could make contact. Just as well, she thought, she probably would have ended up with wood in her knuckles.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

Gabby slowly took a step inside, and tried to adjust her gaze to the dimly lit rooms. She looked to her right for a light switch, just as a voice echoed down from the long stairwell in the foyer.

“Good morning, Gabby. Thank you for coming today. I knew you’d be interested in this sale,” the voice called out.

Slowly, a figure descended the stairs, almost appearing to float downwards.

“Oh, hello! I received an email about the estate sale today. It seems I’m the first to arrive,” Gabby replied to her host. She extended her hand in greeting, and the old woman accepted it with a wrinkled smile.

“The first, and only. I’m Genevieve. I’m taking care of my sister’s estate now that she’s passed. Helen has a house full of very special, very unique things. Why don’t we look around.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, thank you for having me here today.”

“No, thank you for coming. Let’s get started,” Genevieve said and began to make her way into the parlor.

Gabby followed, and gazed upon a room filled with paintings, china, handmade blankets and quilts, and…something caught her attention on an end table.

Gabby walked toward the table, and glanced back at Genevieve.

“May I?” she asked, gesturing to the table.

“Please do.” Gabby picked up an ebony box, crafted of wood, with ornate patterns carved into it. Despite its age, it was far from faded.

“African Blackwood. Open it,” Genevieve instructed, as she soundlessly appeared at Gabby’s side.

Gabby opened the Black Box, and inside found a mirror on the inside of the lid. The interior of the box was lined with black velvet. She ran her fingers over the smooth material, seamlessly attached.

“This is gorgeous. Such a treasure…is it part of the sale?” Gabby hopefully asked.

“Yes. I was hoping you’d like this piece. It was very special to Helen. I believe you will find it special, as well.”

“How much are you asking for it?” “Not a thing. Only the promise that you keep it, and use it as Helen had. That will become clear soon,” Genevieve said, closing the Black Box in Gabby’s hands.

“Are you…sure about this? I really don’t mind paying you what it’s worth,” Gabby said, taken aback by the thought of having the Black Box for free. “It is as Helen would want it. Please, on your way out, stop in the garden where her memorial stone is placed.”

“I most certainly will do that. Thank you so much, Genevieve.”

Gabby left the house, Black Box in her hands, and saw the memorial Genevieve had told her about. She stopped to read the words written in the stone. “Our Beloved Helen” was clearly visible. But then, something underneath appeared to be written backwards.

“How strange. I wonder what that says…” Gabby whispered, as she traced her fingers over the cold stone. Then she realized something.

“Wait! Maybe if I…”

Gabby opened the Black Box, and used the mirror to read the cryptic writing. She saw in the mirror, “Our last secrets, secret no more.”

What could that mean?

As Gabby furrowed her brow in thought at this message, she heard something coming from the box.

Quickly, she looked inside. Rather than the mirrored message, she now saw a face. It was the face of a woman who had a striking resemblance to Genevieve. Could this be, Helen? “You’ve discovered the secret of the Black Box, Gabby. It’s a very special box indeed. It reveals the last thoughts, the last words, our loved ones wanted to share right before they left the world. To use the box, simply allow the mirror to reflect their picture. They will appear, as I am now, and reveal the last thoughts they have for their loved ones. This box will help with healing after a loved one passes on, and Genevieve and I knew you were the one to have it. She will be gone soon too, and will join me. It’s now up to you to help others,” Helen said.

“But, why me? Why did you choose me?” Gabby asked, not knowing if she was experiencing reality or a dream of some kind.

“We’ve known you since you were a child. The mirror has let us see your life, just as you will see the life of the one who should inherit the Black Box next,” Helen gently said.

“How will I know who needs my help? Who needs closure?” “The mirror will show you that too. Once you see who is in the mirror, you will find them and ask for their loved one’s picture. Only you will be able to hear their last words. Then you must tell their loved ones,” Helen told her.

“But what if they don’t believe me? What if they think I’m crazy?” “Trust me, they won’t. This will be what they need, how they can move on. And they will only be thankful to you for giving them that gift. And now, take the Black Box and trust in yourself. Goodbye, Gabby.” And with that, the box closed.

Gabby sat staring at the box in her hands. Did that really just happen? She stood up, and tried to collect her thoughts.

As she went back to her car, she saw a white light start to slip from the carving in the front of the box. Gabby opened the box, and saw an image in the mirror. It was not someone she recognized. Then, as if someone were writing on it, she saw the name “Charlie Gardener” appear below the image.

This must be the first person she needs to find. Gabby closed the box. She started her car, and set out with her new responsibility. One that she felt honored to now possess.

Gabby paused on Orchard Road, typed “Charlie Gardener” into her phone, and found an address. Placing her hand atop the Black Box, she drove to the main road.

It was time.


The train’s sharp whistle startled her out of a restless sleep. Though the benches were upholstered in plush velvet, being squeezed between Mr. X’s boney frame and Mrs. Y’s overflowing one, Caro was trapped. Across the narrow space were the sleeping figures of the young girl, her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Z and, near the door, a young man. Caro had tried all afternoon not to ogle him, but her eyes had a mind of their own. Using the half-light from the exit sign over the door, she stole another glance. He smiled at her. Tipping his head toward the door and the hallway beyond, he whispered. “Fancy a walk?” Hoping that the lack of proper light was hiding her blush, Caro nodded. Twisting and turning, she slipped out from underneath Mrs. Y’s crushing weight. Her short fur cape in one hand, he held out his other to help her to her feet. The soft sigh when the door slid open did not seem to disturb anyone. They stepped into the hallway. A porter, smoking a cigarette at the end of the hall, nodded and turned his back to them. “The bar car is still open, I believe,” he mumbled. “Come let’s get a drink and …” Not finishing his sentence but, still holding her hand, he led her toward the dining room and bar car. As if expecting the rendezvous, the sleepy looking waiter nodded toward a table at a window and brought an unopened bottle of slivovitz and two short glasses. “Now, Caroline, let’s talk.” The young man poured a generous shot in each glass. He raised his glass as if making a toast, savored the taste before swallowing. “My name is, …” he paused. “No, let me tell you what I know about you.” He drained the rest of his drink, put the glass on the table and leaned forward. “You, Caroline van Buuren, are the last of your family who, for generations were prosperous beyond belief. Your ancestors, bankers every one of them, made under-the-table bargains with their friends and charged usury fees to lend money, never losing sleep over what happened to the wretches who were ruined when they couldn’t ante up.” He paused and refilled his glass, held the bottle out to her. “Drink up, my dear. Enjoy it while you can.” Topping up her glass after her modest sip. “Now that the bottom has fallen out of the stock market” he continued, “and wiped away your family’s fortune, you are on a hunting trip, are you not? You, having lost your fortune, I would say ill-gotten gains, but that would be so dramatic, wouldn’t it, are traveling to your maternal homestead, in the hopes of finding peace, or riches. Have I missed anything?” Eyes on the table, fingers gripping the sturdy short glass, Caro shook her head. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” Her voice, tight with fear, was low, barely audible over the relentless clack-clack of train rushing on. He reached across the small table, one finger under her chin, he lifted her head, made her look at him. His smile was benign, but did not reach his eyes. “I have a proposition for you. It so happens that someone, a noble, shall we say, needs a new bride. Of course, any chit would do, but he happens to be particular. He wants a beautiful wife. One who is educated, knows her way around the dining room and leads the conversation that ensues. One who knows her way around a Pound, a Frank, a Dollar. One who will do as he says and never question him.” “You want a pretty, smart, pet. A monkey, a slave.” She shuddered. He smiled and shrugged. “As you wish. However, this monkey would be well taken care of, lack for nothing,” he stared out of the window into the black night. When he continued, his voice was low, distracted. “She would be dressed in silk, adorned with jewels and live in palaces.” He turned back to her, is voice sharp again. “In other words, Caroline, you would continue your life as you were meant to.” He drained his glass and leaned back. “Who are you?” “My name does not matter. I am merely a messenger. Say yes and we go on toward untold riches and unbelievable power. Say no and you will travel alone into poverty.” “Then who? Who?” Frowning, she searched his eyes but found no answer in their black depth. Caro finally lifted her glass, let the sharp liquor touch her lips, roll over her tongue and let it burn as it slid down her throat. Another swallow while she thought. She had spent the last of her money and several pieces of heirloom jewelry to come here and still had to travel second class. If her mother’s family in these remote mountains of Hungary would not welcome her, she’d be on the proverbial street, cobble stoned streets, most likely. If the man were speaking the truth, she’d be on easy street. He was right, she had been raised to preside over a dining room table, be charming at all times, to marry for wealth. Caro drained her glass, barely aware of the bite of the liquor and held it out to the man, wordlessly demanding a refill. It was her turn to stare out into the black night, the window a mirror to the bar car. There, on the other side of the car sat a man, older, yet virile, black hair smoothed back showing a widow’s peak, dark, deep-set eyes, sharp cheekbones. Was he watching her? His evening clothes spoke of wealth, the large diamond tie pin alone would feed a family of five for a year and have money left over for the rent. The sapphire in his pinky ring would pay for any lavish wedding and an extensive honeymoon. Was he studying her? The ice bucket at the side of his table held an unopened bottle of champagne. Was he waiting for her? She blinked and looked back to the man across from her. “Why? Why me?” He smiled. “Maybe because you were meant to have everything you had been promised. Maybe because your desperation and inability to negotiate through the real world will make you more grateful, maybe because he … No, I doubt that would be it.” He smiled secretively. “What’s your answer, Caroline?” She tossed the drink back, shuddered at the sharp, intoxicating liquid, put the glass back on the table and nodded. “Yes. I’ll take the offer." The handsome young man turned and pointed to the man Caro had seen mirrored in the window. “Go and meet your groom. Count Vladimir.”


Stella threw a stone in the river and got a rebuke. "Don't do that! It may disrupt my wish." They were the only ones at the river bank, which was strange at this time of the year but was expected, due to the pandemic. The three girls had figured it would be a nice time to visit the much talked about Ile-Ife especially since the tour guides had no customers and could give them all the attention. Two girls looked back at Tina in confusion. Tina sighed, hoping her wish would still be valid as she explained. "This, is the Osun River" she spread out her hands. "And people make wishes here." Stella scoffed. "Don't be so gullible. That stuff is a myth." Tolu gave her a jab. "Be nice." "What? I like to say it as it is. I mean, that's why we're educated." Stella shrugged. Tonia shook her head and went to sit on a bamboo chair, whilst her friends followed. "So, what did you wish for?" Tolu raised her brows in curiosity. "Now, don't tell me you wished for Segun to change his mind, cause we all know that's not going to happen." "Stella! For once! Let her talk." Tolu glared at her. "But you know I'm right. A guy doesn't say he no longer loves a girl if he hasn't given it a lot of thought." Stella began fishing out some dirt in her nails. Tolu rolled her eyes. "You're right and thankfully, I'm not that stupid." Tina agreed. "Anyways," Tolu clapped happily, "we're here to celebrate Christmas and make you forget all about that - that - that man." She took a deep breath, "for a lack of better words." "I'm not about to start insulting him. I guess he did what he had to do. Let's just enjoy this trip without any mention of him." "Now you're talking!" Stella cheered and hugged them both. *** "Hey!" It was eight a.m. when Tina came into the small office of their tour guide, catching him unawares, about to wear his suit. "Hello!" He looked embarrassed to have been caught dressing up.

"Did you need something?" "We've been able to attend those awesome carols and visit the museum, what's next?" "Nothing this morning, but I was about to go for a rehearsal at the theatre. I didn't think you three would be interested." "I don't know about the others but I am. Can I tag along?" "Sure," he shrugged. "Give me a minute to inform my friends." Tina ran up the stairs and barged into the room. "Guys! The tour guide is going for this theatrical play, anyone interested?" "Na, not my scene." Tolu shook her head and continued with her phone. "I would have come but I'm really...tired." Stella yawned. "Alright! See you later." She changed to her shoes. "Wait, you're going with him, alone?" Stella looked at her from her half sleepy state. Tina nodded. "Be safe. It's christmas and there are strange people out there. Besides, we don't know this place so well." "True, thanks anyways. Bye." She waved at them and rushed downstairs. Thankfully, there was no traffic. People were probably staying indoors due to the pandemic. The only sign of the festive season were the carols they attended the first day and the lights on the streets - even that, wasn't so bright during the day.

"You said earlier that you didn't think we'd be interested." "And I was right." The tour guide glanced at her as they stopped at the traffic light. "Partially! Now, what did you mean?" "Well, not to insult you, but you three seem like the party kind. I'm still surprised you want to tag along, how come? "Honestly, I'm truly not the theatrical kind, but it's nice to know what goes on backstage. If this were the actual play, I doubt I'd have agreed to come. Besides, I'm not so busy." "Right. An idle mind is the devil's workshop?" "Correct!" She answered just as the car began to move. They discussed Christmas and what they loved about the season, entering into an argument but managing to settle as they got to their destination. "Follow me." He led the way, greeting people as they moved. "This play is for when?" "Christmas day. Today's our last rehearsal." "Hmmn..." Tina nodded and followed him backstage. "Do you mind helping me rehearse before I get on stage?" "Uhm, no problem." "All you need do is read out Juliet's part." "Alright." Tina smiled and waited for him to change into his costume before they started the rehearsal. *** "Hey! You're back, how was it?" Stella looked up from their game of scrabble. "I don't know, something strange happened." Tolu paused. "During the play?" "Not really, cause there was no play. It was just practice for tomorrow's play." "Okay...so what happened?" Stella got up from her playing position and handed Tina a bottle of water. "Thanks." She took a huge gulp and took in a deep breath. "So, I was assisting the tour guide-" "You still didn't get his name? That's rude." Tolu shook her head. Tina opened and closed her mouth, unable to defend herself. "As I was saying," she pouted, "I read the lines of Juliet whilst he acted his, you get?" "Please get to the juicy part already." Tolu clapped, making Stella shake her head. "It was going well until it was time to propose to Juliet." "Wait a minute, did Romeo ever propose?" "I don't know," Tina shrugged, "he mentioned that it was a contemporary version of the story though." Stella and Tolu nodded simultaneously. "Then he started saying, "oh Juliet! I have watched you since you came on the trip and you're the most quiet of your friends. You're the kind of woman I see myself with - honest and thoughtful. Let's court." Stella's eyes rounded. "Was that in the script?!" "No!" Tina cried. "Wait, does this mean he thinks Tolu and I are lousy?" Stella asked in shock. "You mean to say, he proposed, truly proposed?" Tolu had moved to the edge of the bed, looking excited and shocked at the same time. "Exactly! I can't believe it." Tina held her face. "How was his facial expression?" "I don't think he realised what he had said. He was staring into my eyes so intently, it was so creepy!" "Wow... What do you think about him?" "Tolu! Are you well at all? You want her to consider a man she just met two days ago, a man whose name she still doesn't know." "Strangers become friends and then, something more." Stella rolled her eyes. "It's those movies you spend all day watching. If a stranger proposes to you, he definitely has an ulterior motive." "I agree. He should have thought of it, I hope he wasn't expecting me to say yes. Besides, I'm on this trip because Bode dumped me. I need a break from relationships." "You won't even consider him?"

"Tolu!" Stella hissed and went back to her playing position. "Better come here and let's finish this game." "I don't think I can continue with this tour, especially since I ran out on him. It would be embarrassing. And...we can't leave here because he's getting his pay from people like us." Tina told them a few minutes into the game. "Aren't you so nice. I guess, if you insist, we could complete the tour. What would you do though?" Stella tried to think. "Maybe go window shopping?" *** Tina went to Afere Mall. It was the biggest in Osun state and by far the most beautiful she had seen since their arrival. It was a good place to window shop - a lot of things caught her eyes and she was tempted to buy.

Thankfully, she only took her purse and her ATM card was in her bag. As she looked around, someone suddenly approached her and got on one knee. "Uhh, I think you're mistaken." She looked around and tried to move away from him but he grabbed her hand. "Please don't say no." His gruff voice was way too loud and a crowd began to gather round. "I love you with every fiber of my being and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you. When I met..." Tina tuned him out and settled on his features. He looked rough, too rough to be taken home to her parents as a husband. His beards were bushy and he was on dreadlocks, definitely not her kind of man. "Are you done?" She finally asked when he went silent for a minute.

"I don't know you, so I can't say yes." The crowd began to murmur. "I think this is some sort of mistake but-" The man got up and told her, "it's a joke." "What?!"

"You're on our show...those are the cameras up there." He pointed her towards some people who waved at her. The crowd began to clap and soon dispersed. "Well, that was mean... You couldn't even say yes." Tina felt angry but didn't want to say anything. "You can check out our comedy skit on Instagram. It's titled, different reactions to a proposal." Tina shook her head and left the mall, branching at a restaurant to calm herself. After ordering, her phone rang and she saw it was Segun. She contemplated picking it but dropped it, doing so three times. A man suddenly approached her. "Is this seat taken?" He was already seated before she could say no. He began to whisper and leaned towards her. "I've been trying to call you, why aren't you answering? You didn't change your mind about the date, did you? I mean, you're here, right?" Tina leaned far away from him with an annoyed look on her face. "I don't think you know who or what you're talking about. I'm not here for any date." "Come on. There's no need to lie. See, we're no longer young." "Excuse you?" "If you say yes to marry me, we can get married as soon as possible. I know we just met but I've been following your profile weeks before now." He rushed out, looking anxious as he sat at the edge of the seat. "Let me get this straight." Tina took in a deep breath. "You're here for a blind date with this lady for the first time, and you're proposing? Already?" "I don't appreciate you speaking like you're not the one." He brought out his phone and showed her a picture. Tina's surprise was written all over her face. "She does look like me, but I'd know if that was me, alright? That's not me." People had begun to stare in their direction and Tina had to lower her voice. "I have had enough - of this madness for one day. Good day." She got up just when the waiter approached with her food. "Take away please." She told him. *** "Wow, that's crazy, girl." Tolu clapped happily. "Who does he think he is? Proposing to a girl on the first date." Stella rolled her eyes. "That's not even the point guys!" "True, three proposals in one day, I'd say you're too pretty to be ignored." Stella smirked. "Or... It has something to do with that Osun River?" "No way!" Stella glared at Tolu. "What did you wish for?" She turned to see Tina with rounded eyes. "I wished for -for - for suitors for Christmas." "You did what?! Why would you wish for that?" Stella groaned. "I was feeling down about Segun breaking up with me, and he's the only suitor I ever had." Tina frowned. "Sweetheart, you don't need anyone to make you feel special or beautiful, you are..." Stella engulfed her in a hug. "Exactly, and if those men can't see that, they aren't yours in the first place." "Wait...does this mean...the Osun River wishing thing actually works?!" Stella stared at them in shock. "Let's go take a bath in there! We need several miracles this Christmas." "We are Christians Tolu, we can pray." "Okay, I feel hot." Stella rolled her eyes whilst Tina laughed. The three ladies went to get a bathing suit and hurried to the Osun River. *** "Better make your wishes ladies!" Tina laughed at the upset look on Stella's face. "For the last time Tina, we are Christians!" "If only Segun could see all of these curves." Tolu splashed at her friend. "Oh please! I'm not showing anyone this beautiful body until marriage." "Great idea. That Segun wasn't even reliable." Stella wiped her face as she rose from under.

"Speaking of which, he's here." Tolu looked in shock. "What?!" Tina froze. "He, as in, the tour guide?" "He, as in, Segun." "What?!" The other girls whirled to see Segun approaching the river. "How on earth did he even know we were here?" Tina cried, watching Segun approach them like a man on a mission. "Probably through the dozen pictures we've taken and posted on IG." Stella shrugged. "Don't tell me he's getting in the water." "He can't try it." Stella shook her head and shouted, "don't come in the water oh!" "What are you doing here Segun?" Tina shouted "I made a mistake!" His voice echoed. "I'm sorry. I was so anxious about meeting your parents that I broke up. Please, marry me! I love you."

The three ladies watched him get on one knee and bring out a little red box. "He's joking." Tina looked pissed. "You can't just come back, asking me to marry you, with such a useless reason for dumping me. You could have talked to me!" "I'm sorry!" "Do you guys think this is the Osun River at work?" "Definitely." "Of course! Someone that says he no longer loves a lady gave it a lot of thought and he's changing his mind in three days? I can't believe it." "Go home Segun. I'll think about it and give you a call."

"Please sweeth-" "Go home! She said she'd call you back." Stella hissed and splashed him. "Bye-bye!" Tolu waved. After he left, Tina sighed. "I think I need a walk." "I can't agree more. Four proposals in one day! Even I can't handle it, and I didn't get proposed to." Tolu sighed. "You need it babe." Stella patted her shoulder.

Tina got out of the water and waved at the girls. "Just make sure you keep your phone on, alright?" "Yupp." *** It was seven p.m. and whilst Tina walked down the beach, she noticed a handsome man staring at her. It wouldn't have looked strange asides the fact that he was at a table with candles lit and flowers all around, balloons tied.

It looked really special but the man at the table looked anything but happy. "Hey! Are you alright?" She approached him. "Yes, I am. You look really pretty though." Tina laughed, blushing a lot. "Don't tell me you're about to propose." "Actually, I already did and she said no." It took a while for Tina to realise he wasn't referring to her. "Wow... With all of these pretty things?" "And for the third time." "No way...." "Oh no! Here comes the cake, and he's with people." He whispered. "Help a guy out here, alright? When I propose, just say yes?" Tina chuckled. "Alright. If it will make you feel better about the no." "It will, trust me. And it will save my face in front of these strangers. I mean, after all these plans!" Tina nodded with a smile as he got on one knee and proposed. "Yes!!!" She shouted, with a bit of tears in her eyes and her hands over her mouth as she gave him a big hug. "In this pandemic?" He laughed and put the ring on her as their viewers clapped. Once their audience left, he asked, "did you forget to tell me what an actress you are?" Tina laughed. "We didn't get round to that part." He sighed, looking at the cake. "Would you care to join me? There's wine."

Tina laughed. "After the fifth proposal today, I think I need it." "Really? How did that happen?" He poured her a cup and gave her a slice of cake as she explained how her day went. "Wow! Five proposals in one day! Aren't you the dream?" "Oh please, I think it has a lot to do with the Osun River." "Yeah, I was going to ask about that. First, there's no Osun River close to that hotel. Second, there's no way they'd open the Osun River in this pandemic." "What!? I don't believe it, how then do you explain the entire day?" Tina asked in surprise. "I think it's the magic of Christmas. After all, it's christmas Eve. That, and the fact that you're so beautiful, let's say it was love at first sight for us." Tina laughed and got a slice of cake as they took a walk round the beach. "I'm Martins, just in case you were wondering." "Really? After proposing." The smile was etched on her face as they clinked their glasses and talked through the night. *** "And that! Is the story of these two love birds." The host announced. "Yes! One year and counting." They flashed their rings at the crowd who couldn't stop cheering. "Any questions?" Someone got up. "How did you know she was the one?" "Honestly," Martins took his wife's hand, "when you meet a woman willing to boost your ego and cover your shame, you know she's a gem. Two, five proposals in a day, that - was a dream! Besides, we pretty much sealed the deal when I refused to take back the ring." "And I'm glad you didn't." Tina blushed. "Just as I am glad Ola said no, three times."

He gave her a kiss as they joined in the countdown to Christmas.


One day, the Angel–named Emil–is left alone in the cage that he spends all of his time in. The metal bars dig into his knees and the chains around his wrists and ankles rattle with each movement, catching on his skin and scraping it raw. There’s dried blood on his back, infected wounds all over his skin and Emil thinks there is nothing worse than this. Even Hell itself is a better fate. At one point he thinks he can see the figure of a tall, slender man leaned up against the corner of the room. He has a familiar way about him; the way he stands is so casual, so friendly… something that Emil hasn’t been used to in a long time now. He’s dressed in a French Soldier’s uniform, hands coated with dirt, hair a disheveled mess from being beneath a hat for quite some time. The man is dirty, but he’s inviting… something Emil finds comforting. Still there is this familiarity about him and the Angel whimpers, reaching out a chained hand to try and grasp at him. Alas, he is too far. The man steps forward, just in reach of the cage and he crouches down in front of the bars, reaching a hand through to touch Emil. His fingers are gentle across his wrist and the Angel lets out another whimper, trying to scoot closer into the touch, so deprived of it. Now that the man is closer, Emil does recognize him… they fought together, so long ago now it feels like. “Ludvig…?” Emil’s voice is hoarse from lack of use; he isn’t sure the last time he’s had a proper drink of water either and speaking feels like scraping his throat raw. “Gosh, Emil. Didn’t recognize me?” The man has a playful smirk on his lips and Emil huffs a tired chuckle, glancing down at the wood panels beneath the cage.

“No… no, not at first. How did you– how did you find me?”

“We always find each other, Emil… don’t we?” Ludvig tilts his head with a small smile, and the Angel nods. Ludvig keeps brushing his fingertips gently across the skin of Emil’s forearm, but Emil can’t actually feel anything. It’s odd, but…

“Yeah, I guess so. Ludvig, can you…” Emil chokes on a breath, lips parted as a tear falls down a dirt stained cheek. “Can you let me out?” “Let you out?” He laughs, shaking his head. “What do you mean?” The question confuses Emil, because how clear could he even be? “Of the… the cage, Ludvig, what else?” His voice sounds so weak and there is that confusion laced in it as he watches Ludvig, who just stares at him with a mostly blank expression. “Are you playing jokes on me, Emil? There’s no cage.” Ludvig chuckles, and all of a sudden the Angel is being wrapped in a warm hug and Ludvig is right– there isn’t a cage, not at all. Instead they are in a grassy field sitting comfortably beneath a willow tree, the wind blowing gently through their hair. Emil tilts his head to look up at Ludvig, who leans down to capture Emil’s lips in a gentle kiss. It isn’t warm, isn’t cold… just a kiss. Emil chooses not to focus on the fact he cannot feel it, instead just running his fingers up through the light brown strands of Ludvig’s hair.

“No cage… I’m free?” Emil says it like a question, looking around at the grass around them, taking in the leaves scattered throughout the field and the windmill turning several feet away. Emil feels a relief that takes the weight off his shoulders, leaning into Ludvig tiredly. Like finally, he’s done fighting. He’s safe. … But is he? Still even this close Ludvig’s touch feels distant, like something he craves so badly but is just out of reach. No matter how hard Emil tries, he will never quite reach through the bars and grasp a friendly hand. The Angel looks upward at Ludvig, squinting in the sunlight. Something feels… it feels off, and Emil isn’t sure why.

Ludvig looks real— sounds real even but he doesn’t feel real. Emil’s lips part and he lets out a quiet breath, brown eyes tracing every line of Ludvig’s face as if committing it to memory. “Ludvig…”

“Yes, Angel?” Emil smiles at the nickname, rubbing at his knee; the action hurts but not his knee, his wrists. They hurt, sitting here with nothing hitting up against them— they hurt.

“You’re not real… are you?” Emil chokes on the words, more tears rolling down his cheeks. Ludvig notices and wipes them away, concern clear in his gaze. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, holding Emil’s face in his hands and then suddenly they are back in that room… Emil back in that cage. Ludvig is on the outside of the bars, holding them gently as he had been holding Emil’s face. He frowns again, leaning closer to the bars as he watches Emil. “… You want me to be.” The words strike through Emil like a knife to the heart. He didn’t want to be right.

“I need you to be.” Emil cries, and it hurts his throat. “I need you to be,” He starts repeating this like a mantra, rocking forward in the cage with blood dripping down his forearms from the wounds around his wrists, having reopened them with the constant movement of his chains.

“Emil… Emil, I’m not, but– you’ve gotta hold on. One day I will be and we don’t want to miss that, right?” Ludvig, or this mirage of him, tries to reassure Emil, still just holding onto the bars of the cage. His image is starting to get fuzzy, slowly starting to fade into the background, and Emil watches as he flickers in and out of his vision. Not real… not real. It’s just another reminder and Emil sobs, reaching his hand out to try and grasp the other but the reach is too far. “Don’t leave me… don’t leave me alone here, I can’t do this without you.” He hiccups, voice still weak.

“I’m not real, Emil. You have to help yourself.” Ludvig is slowly fading out now, the more Emil fully realizes that Ludvig really is in fact not there. He sniffs, looking down for a moment. “O-okay… okay.” Emil isn’t sure if he could, but he has to. He will, for this visage of Ludvig that his mind conjured up. He’s about to say something else when he looks up, noticing that Ludvig is gone and Emil is once again left alone in the cage, with nothing but his overwhelming thoughts. Grief, sadness, anger… pain . He feels so much all at once and the only way Emil can deal with it right now is by curling in on himself, forehead to the ground and knees tucked beneath him as he sobs into the wooden floor. Emil will wait. He will wait until the day that Ludvig being there is real, and that’s what will keep him going. Seeing the love of his life again… … For real this time.


Connor settled on his couch at the end of a long day. Not that he didn’t like his work in the library, he loved it. A little peace and quiet was just what he needed in his job. Just sometimes, the peace and quiet could drag a little. It also made times when it was disturbed even more jarring. If he had to have the same conversation with Miss McPherson about her late return fees again… Still, going down to the beach before coming back for the night had helped relax him. He’d always loved the smell of the sea, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. It helped remind him there was more to the world than what happened in his little corner of it. He’d even done something of a good deed for the day, returning a beautiful for coat to a woman down near the water’s edge. She’d behaved a little oddly though. She was a sight to behold. Big blue eyes with a long matching gown, shimmering like it was crafted from the very waters of the sea. Flowing waves of ginger hair. Skin so pearly smooth, she wouldn’t look out of place curled up inside an oyster. When he’d returned the coat to her, she’d given him this look like he was from another world. No thank you, no words at all. Just staring at him. He’d made some excuse and left. When he looked back before leaving the beach, she’d vanished. It was something of a strange encounter to say the least. There were some fine looking girls in the town of their island home, but nobody like her. It wasn’t even tourist season. Maybe she was one of those backpacking types? Oh well, it was over and done now. He was about to turn on his TV and sign into Netflix, but something happened that he didn’t expect. There was a knock on his door. A very frantic sounding knock. That in itself would be a little odd. What was even odder was the fact that Connor lived above the library, which was closed and locked for the night. The only way to get in touch with him up here was the buzzer outside the main door and he’d have to come down to let them in. Was it a burglar? But then what kind of burglar knocks first? Maybe it was someone really desperate to return a late book. He looked around for the nearest heavy object, a rolling pin from the kitchen. Just to be on the safe side. He slowly approached the door. The knocking had upgraded to a hammering. “Alright, alright now,” said Connor when he reached it. “Calm down, I’d rather not be spending money on a new door. Who is it?” “You know fine well who it is!” a musical, irritated voice snapped back. “Can’t say I do. If you’re wanting to check out a book, you’d be best coming back during normal opening hours.” “Opening hours?” She scoffed. “Well that’s just daft. What kind of place isn’t open all the time?” “Most places. Now get going or I’ll be calling for the Guard.” “Oh I don’t think so! Don’t you think you can just brush me off after the stunt you pulled on the beach!” “Beach. Wait a moment…” He unlocked the door and opened it. “You?” “Oh, now he remembers.” It was her. The woman from the beach. She held up her coat. “You mind telling me what the hell this is?” Connor stared at the coat. “I’m trying to think of an answer that’s not the obvious one.” “You think this is funny? Do you have any idea what you’ve saddled me with?!” She stormed past him into his home and turned to face him. “Now, let’s try this again. This time, you’re going to do it properly.” With that, she dropped her coat on the floor and looked away from it. She folded her arms and started tapping her bare foot. Connor looked at her, then down at the coat and back to her again. “Well?” she snapped after several seconds had passed. “Come on now, I don’t have all day.” “I… think I must have skipped a few pages here,” said Connor. “Look, miss, I’m going to have to ask you to-“ “My name is Niamh,” she interrupted. “And since you’re obviously daft, I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you.” She spoke like she was addressing a slow child. “You take my coat. I am betrothed to you. We have children. That clear enough?” Connor stared openly at her. He stared for a long while. Then, he did the only thing anyone else would do if a beautiful woman demanded you take her coat so she can marry you: he laughed. This did nothing to improve her mood. “Oi! Stop that! Stop it, it isn’t funny!” “How… how can it not be?” he managed to say when he stopped. “You’re calling me the daft one? Steal your coat so you marry me? I didn’t realise I was talking to a selkie.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “Ah, just when I started to think you were entirely devoid of common sense. I’d have thought the signs were obvious, but I suppose you can be forgiven if you’re daft in the head. Now we’re both on the same page, we can-“ “Hold on now, hold on.” He had to fight back a fresh round of laughter. “Now, I’m not sure who’s put you up to this. Was it Seamus, down at the Rock and Shoals? This seems like something he’d do.” Now, it was Niamh’s turn to stare. “Who in the hell is Seamus? Look here, if you’re not going to stop fooling around-!” “I think it’s clear who the one fooling around is. I know full well that selkies are children’s stories, myths. Fine stories to be sure, but that’s all they are.” He paused. “Well, perhaps not fine. Stealing some poor lass’s coat and forcing her into marriage. That can’t be right. But still, that’s all they are. Stories. Now, if you don’t mind, while your company has certainly been interesting, I’ll have to ask-“ “Just stories? Just stories, he says?!” Niamh looked like Connor had accused her mother of impropriety. “Fine. Looks like I’ll have to make this clearer for you.” She stepped into the coat and pulled it up over her shoulders. The moment it touched her body, she began to change. Her legs merged together, developing a furry texture. Her feet morphed into appendages more akin to flippers. Her hands and arms took on the same colour and texture, her fingers becoming like flippers too. Seal flippers. Her face too adopted this quality, her hair changing from fiery ginger to as pale as the moonlight. Her eyes widened in their sockets, their pupils growing until they were almost completely black. Even long pale whiskers sprouted from the side of her face. All of this happened in less than a minute. She curled up on the floor as she transformed and when she was done, threw her arms out. “There we are, see?” Her voice had a slightly bubbly quality, like she was talking underwater. “How’s this for ‘just a story’, eh?” Connor had nothing to say. He was fairly certain he’d have to pick his jaw up off the floor. A selkie. A selkie in his home. In his home, on his floor. The stories his mother used to tell him before bed, right here in his living room. “Now we have that cleared up, I think it should be clear to you what comes next.” As casually as if she’d just sat down to tea, she slipped the skin off and it turned back into a fur coat. She stood up from the floor, back in her dress and once again turned her back on it. “Go on now.” “But… but I…” Connor shook his head to clear his thoughts and managed to arrange them into words. “Now, you just hold your horses a moment. I’m not just going to steal your coat so we can get… well, so we can be… you know, so we’re-“ “Married? It’s not a dirty word, you daft bastard,” she said impatiently. “The daft bastard has a name and it’s Connor,” he replied. “And I’m not forcing you to marry me by stealing your coat.” “But that’s how it goes! You steal my coat, we get married, have children, they get my coat back to me and I go home. It happened to my mammy and her mammy and her mammy before her and on and on.” “Well my father never married a selkie and I’m pretty sure none of their fathers did either, so I’m not keen on starting some new bizarre family tradition, thanks.” “Why? What’s the matter, not pretty enough for you?” She folded her arms and glared. “Or do you think you’re too good for a selkie woman, is that it?” “No! No, none of that! You’re gorgeous,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks go warm. “B-But I’m not just going to force you to marry me! You’ve only just learned my name for Christ sakes!” “What was it again?” “For the love of…” He pressed his hands to his face and groaned. “Right, how about we have a sit down and sort this out?” Connor moved to the sofa, gesturing to an armchair next to it. Niamh regarded it warily before settling into it. She kept her back straight all the while. “Right then, Niamh. Do you want to get married?” “Want? Not really. Not right now, at any rate,” she answered. “So why the rush? You followed me back from the beach, broke into my place of work and have done all but throw yourself at me. Am I really that desirable?” “Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not that good looking.” Her cheeks flushed a little at this. “I just… you wouldn’t understand. You’re human.” “Right now, for all intents and purposes, so are you. Try me.” She gazed at him searchingly with those wide, fierce blue eyes. After a moment or two, she broke off eye contact and stared across at her coat. “I just thought… this is what was meant to happen,” she said quietly. “You mean like what happened with your mam and all the others?” “Aye,” she said quietly. “I just thought that, if it’s going to happen at some point, might as well get it over with. No-one else came by the beach the whole day and when I saw you… figured I could do worse…” She hugged herself closely, looking at anything in the room except for Connor. She was practically squirming in the chair. He didn’t know what to say, not at first. “Niamh,” he began softly. “I’m sorry that’s happened to your family. Sorry they were treated that way. It wasn’t right, what they were put through. Nobody should be forced into anything, especially not marriage.” When she spoke, her voice was just above a whisper. “So… why did it happen?” “Because some people, some men, don’t care much for right or wrong. They just care for what they want, damn anyone else who says otherwise.” “And you’re not?” “Well, call me old fashioned but when a woman of the sea comes to my door proposing marriage, I’d like to get to know her a little better first.” That prompted a laugh from her. She had a nice laugh. “When my mother told me those stories, about selkies, she always made sure to tell me that it wasn’t right, what happened to them. I was always a bit sad they left their children without a mammy, but they never wanted it in the first place. Sometimes, they already had husbands and children. The men in those stories just didn’t care. Some people just don’t, so long as they get what they want. I can tell you, I speak from…” He trailed off, wincing at the memories that crept back into his mind. The dread. The fear. All from someone he thought that… “Speak from what?” He looked up in surprise. Niamh was looking at him expectantly. How long had he been quiet for? He instinctively wiped at his eyes and tried to smile. “Doesn’t matter. But regardless, Niamh, my point stands. You’re a fine woman, both in your looks and your bearing. Nobody but yourself should decide if you’re ready, or even wanting, for marriage. We understand each other?” She nodded. “Aye, I think so. Thank you.” “Happy to help. Would have preferred you not breaking and entering to have this little chat, but I won’t get myself in a tizzy over it.” He frowned. “How’d you get in, anyway? You use your selkie magic?” “You left a window unlocked downstairs, you daft ba… lad,” she corrected herself. “Selkies don’t have magic like that. You want creeping inside your house when you’ve got your doors locked, ask a banshee.” Connor chuckled, then suddenly stopped. “Wait, they’re not real as well, are they?” “Might be,” she said with a teasing smirk. “Right, I suppose I’d better be going. Leave you to… whatever you humans do after your ‘opening hours’. Sorry.” “Water under the bridge. You just take care.” “Yeah. You too.” Neither of them rose from the chairs for a bit. When Niamh stood up and went over to retrieve her coat, she seemed almost reluctant. “Wait.” Niamh stopped and looked back at Connor. She seemed just as surprised as he felt at his call. Connor had to admit as well that, barring the unusual circumstances in both her arrival and nature, he didn’t want her to go just yet. “Look, like we’ve said: marriage isn’t something either of us are looking for. But that uh… well, that doesn’t mean we can’t get to know each other a little better in the meantime. If you want to, of course,” he added. “Well…” She pursed her lips in thought. “I suppose that, if I ever do decide to find myself a husband, might do well to understand the goings on up here.” “No selkie men where you’re from?” She scoffed. “Trust me, no self-respecting selkie woman wants to get with a selkie man. They’re an incorrigible lot, especially with human women.” “Not much different from men up here?” “Seems so. Besides, humans are all the rage where I’m from. If I do find myself a man, I at least want him to be interesting.” “You’re not going to leave your coat around for me to ‘find’ then?” “Oh no, you had your chance. This coat stays with me.” She scooped it up and plonked herself next to him on the sofa. “So, what were you up to before I so rudely interrupted?” “Well, I was about to put on the show I’ve been watching on Netflix recently but we could always watch something else. I’m a fair ways through and you may not get what’s going on.” She tilted her head. “What’s Netflix?” “Oh, you poor deprived lass.” He flicked his TV on. “Consider this your first lesson of human life.” “Is there going to be a test?” “Maybe further down the line.” They both laughed and sank into the sofa cushions. As they ended up in something of an impassioned debate of what exactly to choose, Connor remembered thinking how much he usually enjoyed the peace and quiet. Not just in his job, but his life too. He remembered thinking how jarring it could be if it was suddenly disturbed. Well, he thought, maybe the occasional disturbance wasn’t entirely unwelcome…


A yearning propelled me forward. Freezing water lapped over my toes and made me gasp. I hesitated. Resolutely, I took a deep breath and shuffled a few more inches in. The murky water eddied around my ankles, but I already felt like I was in over my head. What was I thinking? Over my shoulder, onlookers gathered on shore.

“It’s a cold world out there,” they warned. The older ones huddled in their cozy blankets, staying warm and dry and safe. The younger ones built castles on the sand, watched the surf melt them, then started over. Yes, I was doing the right thing. There had to be more to life than the shallow monotony they represented. I broke out in goosebumps, more from exhilaration than the temperature. I waded in further and jumped up as a swell approached, only to have my legs jerked out from under me as it receded. Floundering, I was sucked into the fray.

Hecklers jeered, then quietened down and sank back into their chaise lounges. Now one of the flailing crowd, I swam blindly through the swirling mist blanketing the surface. I wondered what the others were after — a hidden treasure, an elusive 'happily ever after,' a missing piece to life’s puzzle? Who knew?

I sought meaning and purpose, and prayed I'd recognize it when I found it. Tossed by uneven swells, dumped on by crashing waves, and pushed around and down by others in their own selfish pursuit of what evaded them, I questioned my sanity. "Rocks!"

"Sharks!"

"Undertow!” Warnings hollered out, usually too late, caused a frenzy of thrashing as everyone did their best to steer clear of the dangers. Nearby, screams muffled to gurgling, then silence, as people were dragged under. A wave crashing on nearby rocks ended with a sickening grunt, the sound of a body slammed down like a discarded rag doll. Squawking signaled the scavengers swooping in and fighting over the choicest morsels. Shivering, I put more power behind each stroke and swam away as fast and as far as my tired limbs allowed. Unable to see through the hazy veil over the water, I couldn’t be sure I was safe. Tears and saltwater stung my eyes. Who was I in this sea of humanity, anyway? I certainly didn't know. No one seemed to care if I was struggling out here or back on land, as long as I didn’t interfere with them doing their own thing. I swore some were swimming in circles. Like everyone else, I worked to keep my head above water. Prickling at the back of my neck told me someone was watching me. I didn't know who was in the shadows, and I didn't want to know. I focused harder on the task at hand to distract myself.

A glow in my periphery revealed Father hovering nearby. I ignored him. He waited patiently. Stubbornness and pride spurred me on. Every now and then, his alluring song or reassuring whisper reached my ears, "I'm here for you when you're ready.”

Fueled by a determination to make it on my own, I doubled my efforts. The frigid water numbed my extremities and dulled my senses. This wasn’t the 'more' I’d been seeking when I started out. I doubted the outcome of this fateful quest. Fatigue and hopelessness settled in my bones. How could I find something when I didn't know what I was looking for? Was this even the right way? Exhausted, I sank to the rocky bottom, resigned to my soggy grave. A shaky voice I didn't recognize as my own caught me off guard, crying out from the depths of my being. My world dimmed. Rays of brilliant sunshine illuminated my Father’s hand as he reached for me and lifted me into his boat. I clung to him. My thankful tears mingled with the dripping seawater. “Dear one,” he said, wrapping me securely in his strong arms and kissing the top of my head. His embrace and the sun banished any hint of a chill. It dawned on me, this is what I'd been searching for all along. "Why didn't you tell me before I ventured out?” "Would you have listened?” he said, lifting my chin. There was no condemnation in those loving eyes. He raised an eyebrow at me. I shook my head and lowered my gaze. “At least you were bold enough to step out. Some people feel the cold, wet sand underfoot and retreat. Some like to test the waters and go their own way, no matter what. Everyone's free to make their own choices, but they must live — or die — with the consequences.” I knew it was true, but that didn’t mean I liked it. We groped blindly but were oblivious to the pointlessness of it all. We were directionless despite our perseverance, clueless but too arrogant to admit it, and our mindless activity only wedged us deeper in our quandary. *** My mission, now, was to help others come into the light. We launched the boat once again. Father sang his usual love song, dispelling the darkness from around the boat, and I used his strong searchlight to part the fog further.

I wanted to trawl along with a net and scoop everyone up. Then they couldn’t choose to argue with me when I tried to get them to understand what they were missing out on, but I knew that wouldn’t accomplish anything except make people mad.

I spotted my brother Kamron plowing through the throng of people. I was relieved he was still afloat, but then, he was smart, athletic, and up on the latest of everything, the polar opposite of me, so I wasn’t surprised he’d do well for himself. He forged on, sometimes grabbing the shoulder of someone nearby to help propel him forward. Despite the increasing waves, he made good progress. Part of me thrilled at his success, part of me was saddened by it. Why would he be interested in anything I had to offer? When a burly man pushed him under, he sputtered and choked, but recovered quickly and pressed on. Father maneuvered the boat closer. “Here! Grab the rope!” I yelled. Several people scowled at me.

“Nah, don’t worry — I’ve got this!” Kamron assured me. I’d thrown the life preserver within arm’s reach, but he swam on. Tossed around in the melee, his lifeline soon drifted away, but others could still grab it if they wanted to. “Anyone?” No takers, only mockers. “Are you saying we’re weak and need rescuing?” “You think we can’t handle this?” “Come on — that’s for wimps!” “You’re going the wrong way! I know what you’re looking for,” I said, tugging on the rope and coiling it around my arm. I readied it to throw out again.

“You’ve already given up, so how would you know, Miss High-and-Mighty?” someone said, splashing me. “Just 'cause you’re up there and we’re down here, you think you’re better than us?”

“There isn’t a wrong way!” someone else piped up as they backstroked by, “We’ll all make it there eventually.” “Where is there? Do you even know where you’re going?” The sloshing of the ocean was my only answer. “Everyone’s going this way, so it must be right,” Kamron said. “What? And you’d swim through a swarm of box jellyfish if everyone else was?” I said, under my breath. Knowing him, he’d do it just to prove he could. “Sharks circling!” someone yelled. Screams followed by an ever-widening expanse of blood proved it was too late for at least one person. “Well, this is getting fun, isn’t it?” He laughed nervously. “Best get going then. Catch you later.” “Come on, Kamron! If you get in the boat, you’ll be safe. Then we can go home together.” “If I wanted safe, I would’ve stayed on the beach. Should I throw in the towel because you have? Don’t you see? I’m doing what’s best for me! Why is that so wrong?”

I guess I touched a nerve.

“I see more clearly than you do!” I said. I interrupted Father’s beautifully haunting singing and said, “You could make him get in.” “Yes,” he said, smiling, “but it’s got to be his choice.” “Yeah, I know,” I said, my voice flat, shoulders sagging. When I turned back, Kamron was long gone. “Let’s go. This is pointless.” “Listen!” Dad whispered, “There is one.”

I cupped my hand around my ear and focused. In the distance, a tiny voice pleaded, “Help! Please save me!” Warmth bloomed in my chest. Yes, someone was ready!


The sister was shaking as her hand tremulously unlocked the front door using the key on the small key ring with a miniature slipper. She let herself into the familiar flat and looked around. The light shone in and threw dappled shadows of the tall Parlour Palms gently onto the cream walls. She turned the salt lamp on in the corner and a soft, hazy orange glow diffused through the room. The flat exuded style and taste. She was sure she had left the boots by the entrance- yet there they were by the window: slim, tall, polished and proudly standing. Beautiful brown heeled, leather boots, much like the black stylish panama which was hanging off the coat stand behind the front door. She walked over and slipped off her shoes and then stood in the long brown boots, feeling tall. She then perched herself on the edge of the luxuriously snug sofa and peered down to the river below, sitting on her hands. In a moment, she would get up and make an elegant lunch, perhaps add smoked salmon to a crispy salad, with crusty baguette on the side.

Long, dreary prayers a week later were still being chanted at the house, and her family had looked at her wild eyed self; mad they supposed with grief, too restless to remain amongst friends and family in calm supplication for her deceased sister. She had cried, yes. Genuine tears. But it was a week now. And in actual fact, she had had to leave when she caught her Mum’s face smiling at a neighbour who had dropped by to pay her respects, and then instantaneously turn to distress and potential tears when her Mum’s sister-in-law walked over to hug her. That smile and then instantaneous wail had been hilarious! She kept her head concealed, hidden into her scarf to muffle her laughter. 'I need to be alone' she managed to get out, and then fled the family home, face covered and down.

Such a deep love between the sisters, mourners were mumbling as she put her plain, black, flat shoes on in the corridor. The chanting of prayers continued, and she left the house to find the Volkswagen. She had not allowed for the notion or the space of being able to mourn for long. While her sister had lain in hospital, she had aggressively been seeing to her poor sister’s every wish and need. ‘She doesn’t want to talk, she’s feeling unwell. She says thank you for coming. She wants to be left in quiet- she’s not feeling up to visitors’. Her sister had been quite touched with such tender devotion at the end as she rapidly wasted away from the illness which had now clamped down upon her. How her darling sister had lovingly handled all of her correspondence and letters, outstanding bills, unfinished obligations. She had sat over her, brushing her hair away from her dying sister’s eyes, stroking her cheek, moisturising her sister’s skin as it grew more wan and pale; it was like gazing into a mirror. The flush and rose hint to her cheeks had been reduced to tired browning blossom, its colour turning sallow and fading away. Her poor sister didn’t even have the energy to speak or recognise anyone before long, but must have felt cherished to the end. Delicate flower that she was. Her erratic written requests had promptly been scrunched up and carefully thrown into the waste bins outside the room.

She wondered, sinisterly, if her sister was hovering above her now, watching her, observing her, noting her actions, her intentions, her motivations; eyes narrowed and regarding her with the same suspicious wariness she always used to. A rook landed outside on a branch and she stood up promptly to shoo it away. She could taste the grilling baguette as it browned nicely in the oven, and swallowed back a mouthful of nauseous, bilious unease. She stopped, and supposed, and surmised. Her sister had always forgiven her so much, as any loving, three minute older sister should. Like the time they had been 8, and Yazmin had told Rainie when they had been walking home with their Mum from school, how the shattered glass at the bus stop looked like sugar. Silly observation. And so that evening Rainie had taken a clear glass bangle and crushed it with a rolling pin she had taken from the kitchen. Quietly, on a sheet of newspaper while she kept the bath tap running so it wouldn’t be heard, she had then taken the crushed glass remains and delicately, with diligence poured it from the fold of the newspaper, discreetly into the sugar bowl from the kitchen cupboard, meticulously and with great care.

Of course the screams the next morning had been horribly horrendous. She had looked interestedly on as blood had poured from her parents’ and sister’s tongue, and had then smoothly rolled the blame onto her sister. ‘She told me the broken glass at the bus stop looked like sugar. Isn’t that funny?’ with an earnest expression. In the end the weekly cleaner had borne the brunt - a new girl who scowled behind their Mum’s back, Rainie said. But Yazmin had never looked at Rainie with fond eyes since - though she never said anything openly to her. Neither, thought Rainie, had their Mum looked very fondly upon her again.

Since then, Rainie wore her envy for her sister around her like a tightly intact, steel armour, from which she silently judged, examined, and critiqued her. They both had long, wavy black hair that cascaded down their backs, and slim, defined figures, straight teeth and pleasing smiles. But if one looked closely, a very tiny, unseemly wrinkle appeared under Rainie’s eye at odd moments, such as when she frowned or looked worried, which Yazmin never had. Yazmin was practically perfect. The relationship was fast dissipating between the two sisters by the time they had reached their A levels; the casual acts of careless cruelty from younger sister to older were getting easier and easier. Yazmin almost lined up the high points or joys of her life like dominoes; so easy were they to knock down. When Sammie, the son of their father’s friend who also happened to be in their A level Maths class had been messaging Yazmin, and was obviously, magnetically drawn to her like a bee to the honeycomb, the way he gazed at her incessantly and accompanied her to the bus stop and around college had irked Rainie no end. As though he needed to be in the canteen when she was, or discuss the same programmes on TV as she watched, like he watched exactly the same programmes and with as much zeal as Yazmin. Huh. Therefore it had been easy to take her phone, which Yazmin left unlocked, and message Sammie back one day and then delete: ‘I think I need a break from our time together. I’m too occupied with stuff. I’ll let you know when I have more time.’ Sammie had glared at Yazmin and been gruff and cold with her from then on. Yazmin shrank from the rejection and became inadvertently hurt and injured to her core. Moped for days, didn’t comb her hair - dishevelled and dismal. Common looking for once, like a trampled daisy. All for a guy? Yet Sammie had never turned to Rainie with a smile or a chat when there was a perfect window for her. What was the difference? They looked the same. Perhaps Rainie dressed worse, or wasn’t as amusing or entertaining as Yazmin. Perhaps she didn’t think of the right retorts at the right moments. To Yazmin’s delicate floral notes, she knew she was wilted and dry. Try as she might with offhand greetings and anecdotes, Rainie could not charm him. The phone suddenly rang and she looked down at it as she fished it out of her bag- their Dad.

‘Dad?’ ‘You left so early.’ ‘I wasn’t feeling too well.’ ‘My poor daughter’ his voice caught as he sobbed. She wanted to reassure him, everything would be okay eventually. She would give him the love of both of his girls. So many years left for him-he was only in his 50s, far too young to lose a daughter. She would make it up to him. This was her purpose now. She felt herself fused into a strange, intertwined, unnatural identity. So much upon her shoulders- she was the powerful Janus, bestower of love and comfort to her parents. Now her cunning competence and capability would save the family. She would be the provider of security, love and dependability. She would be masterful in her silver - tongued eloquence. ‘See you tomorrow Dad’. Her verbal skills and confidence in them already waned. Rainie felt most unexpectedly now this current boyfriend made her skin crawl; his kisses and over eager arms spread all over her, his encircling, suffocating presence always requiring her to talk, or just sit in comfortable silence while he was just there. She had imagined the warmth and closeness of the boyfriend would have been richly satisfying; instead it all felt soulless and empty, dull and dreary, like a pair of little gold earrings that had lost their shine. His startled expression now hung in front of her eyes, the drained, face depleted of any warmth when he had said to her the other afternoon, while kneading the back of her head as though it were a hunk of dough, : ‘What a falling off was there, hmm?' Something so random and odd! Rainie just smiled back weakly, murmuring: ‘hmm’, and had somehow wrongly responded.

‘Well?’  Oh. I’m not feeling well.’ He had blanched at her explanation, and looked painfully puzzled. * Anyway, it had all started out as a twisted joke, because when Mum came and looked down at her sister in the hospital room, all love and tenderness in her eyes: ‘Rainie?’

Rainie had simply answered: 'Yes she's resting Mum’ .

That’s how the idea had dawned upon her. It was planted - it hadn’t been her idea.


THE FOGGY MIST ED WOOTEN Physical fitness, confidence, and drive for exploration have been my assets since high school. I’ve always maintained good physical conditioning and regard myself an avid outdoorsman. I’ve even considered auditioning for the Naked and Afraid television series. I recently celebrated my fortieth birthday and decided to prove I still possess my prowess in mountain climbing. In addition to mountain climbing and exploring nature, I also pride myself as a novice writer and a photography buff. Six days ago, I began this midlife challenge of reaching the pinnacle of one of the plethora of mountain peaks in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I started along a familiar path with nothing more than an aerial photo of the area, three bottles of water, and four Granola bars. My past physical achievement awards include awards for mountain climbing, map reading, and orienteering as well as cross country running. Within a half hour of climbing, a dense fog moved in and blanketed the area. Four hours later, I arrived at this summit, a breathtaking view with just a few sunbeams penetrating the still dense fog. The last quarter mile was a challenging climb with vertical rock walls that tested my upper body strength and  years of experience. After admiring the breathtaking view and eating a Granola bar, I realized this was not my intended peak. I explored the immediate area to get reoriented and match my location with the aerial photo that served as my map. The rocky terrain showed no well-used paths and its magnificent trees seemed to touch the sky. The situation was peaceful and serene until I slipped on a rocky slope, twisted my ankle, and crashed to the ground. I pulled myself to an upright sitting position and reached for some water. I opened a bottle, took a couple of sips, and tried to clear the cobwebs from my head. Ugh, I must have hit harder than I thought. My head ached from the sudden stop and for a brief moment, I was dizzy and disoriented. I got to my feet and hobbled around searching for a trail or path that would lead me back to the base of his mountain. I found no visible paths. It appeared the only way off this majestic perch was to retrace my steps down the sheer, granite-like walls. This sounded like a good plan; however, it couldn’t happen until my sore ankle got better. I kept walking…trying to get the ankle to function again.

I stopped and reviewed the events of my day. I traversed a couple of streams, passed a roaring waterfall, and then contoured an area of challenging rock formations and cliffs. I attempted to match these landmarks with my aerial photo.  Evidently, I got disoriented and then ended up on a ridge to another peak instead of the one I was supposed to be navigating. Orienteering maps are much more detailed than this aerial photo. For a moment, I questioned if I had allowed my confidence and prowess to cloud my better judgement. I made the mistake of taking off my boot to check my ankle. Swelling so severe that I barely got the boot back on. “Not a problem,” I assured myself as I limped back to the epicenter of the summit, my foot throbbing with pain. “I’ll call a friend, have him locate me via my phone signal, and dispatch a forest ranger to rescue me.” Oops, my newest version of iPhone had no bars and the “No Service” message kept flashing. What the hell?  I had a full bottle of water and two Granola bars. Three days passed. “Had” became the operative tense to describe my water and food situation. They were gone, had been for a couple of days. My phone died. Its final message, “No Service.” I’ve made it through the days fantasizing that I’m training for Naked and Afraid , and my partner has already tapped out. Hopefully, before the twenty-one day timeframe for the TV series, I will be found. I think dehydration has set in. My thoughts are unclear, I’m having trouble analyzing situations, and I think I’m hallucinating. The night air is very cold and damp, so sleep escapes me. During the day, my strength is zapped to the point that my movement is sluggish and nonproductive. Maybe my movement is sluggish because of my ankle and not lack of strength. The swelling and pain are still present. I can’t take a step without the pain piercing my brain sensors. The only food I’ve had for the past days has been black berries, or I should say, green berries…black berries that have not matured to become black. I can hear birds, but haven’t seen any other animals—no rabbits or squirrels. Not even a chipmunk. I need protein, but a source is not within reach. Fortunately, it rained briefly last evening so I swallowed enough to rehydrate my body. Unfortunately, the rain caused me to be both cold and wet during the night. At least the morning sun provided enough warmth to ease the chills and dry my clothes. Again, I try to find a way to get down from this peak. I think I’m moving in circles instead of descending. I know going down the rock face is the best option, but I need two, stable ankles for that manuever. On a positive note, I’ve taken some beautiful photographs of this area. One constant, other than the excruciating pain in my ankle, is the ever-present foggy mist that prevents me from seeing the valleys that I know must exist. I also cannot clearly see other peaks. Where am I? [NOTE: The above entry was found in a small, spiral notebook three years ago. To date, the author has not been identified, a body never recovered, and no record of a missing person’s report has been filed in this area. Other than the notebook, a camera with beautiful photos is all that was found. US Army Ranger students found them when their recon patrol got disoriented and ended up on this summit during the Mountain Phase of their rigorous training. Signed, Thomas Jones, Deputy, Missing Persons Unit, Dahlonega, GA.]