Today, I ate five times. The day was so boring, that eating five times is the only thing I could recollect doing. My days are never this boring usually; because I was always surrounded by my two idiotic friends, Dooby and Doo. Actually my mom nicknamed us this way; because together, we are known as Scooby, Dooby, Doo and we did the stupidest things with a lot of impenetrable unity. After being the victim of boredom for a long time, I Played Ludo online and that game planted a doubt in me. I didn't like that doubt. That doubt disappointed me of the fact that I thought in that way. So, I just quit both, the doubt and the game. The reason I was left alone today, is Jasmine. She is Dooby’s girlfriend. Despite having a girlfriend, Dooby was always with us. Not because he is one of those rare species who cared friends more than their girlfriends, but only because theirs was a long distance relationship. She lives in Vishakhapatnam, which is quite far from Hyderabad, but she somehow, due to some reason was going to be at Vijayawada, which is also quite far, but comparatively less. She was going to be there only for one day. Dooby, to meet his sweetheart, came up with a plan to rent a car, go to Vijayawada and be back at Hyderabad within a span of 15 hours. It takes 6 hours car drive to reach Vijayawada. The plan was too risky for our age, and our parents shouldn’t know about this at any cost. Initially, I was not at all interested in this plan. Not because it was risky, we’ve done twice as stupid as this (but never this risky for sure), I was not into it just because it was for Jasmine. She, to me always seemed like a threat to our friendship. Doo was stupid; he never actually analyzed or took the situations seriously until they burn our pants. He just lives in the moment, which is reasonable to some extent. They both convinced me and went to look out for rented cars that could fit in our budget. The day light almost faded away, and these guys were still in search. I was waiting for their call. I was not going to call anyway; I don’t want to catalyze the process; I still wanted some or the other thing to go wrong to ruin this plan. They finally came and showed their incapability in executing a plan. I was the one who used to set up things every time, as I had a very good contact list. Then they did the most obvious thing - pleading me. They really know how to convince me and they did it. I very reluctantly called Aamer, my super senior at college. We had some negotiations about the budget, I convinced him anyway. But the thing is, he is a very commercial guy. He helped someone, only if he finds the guy promisingly profitable. Next day, early morning 5 am. The three of us started on Doo's bike to Aamer's place. It was a particularly cold day. It was freezing and we hugged each other as if we were never going to meet again. I signed the document; I didn’t read it but I knew it was an assurance contract. We left Doo’s bike as an assurance. It was all properly documented, and we all felt like this guy was a bit overdoing things, after all it was just a 20-hour rent. I took the keys and was just going to start the car, suddenly Doo with his high pitched, over excited voice said "Guys!! We forgot something" Dooby and I looked at each other and began to extensively think for a few milliseconds, as Doo resumed, "Selfie guys!!" in a 'why are you not as excited as me' tone. I always get awkward while taking selfies. Like, how do you pose or smile! I never understood them. But Doo was an expert in selfies and also driving. We began this journey of love and for love, with a cup of tea and a cigarette. Those highways, at that time looked so heavenly. The sun just rose, and the light when hit the road was so pleasing to the eyes, everything it touched was gold. I was just slouching on the rear seat and was enjoying the scenery passing by. Those morning greens with dew on them, when hit by golden sunlight turned into pearls. As I was so busy analyzing and understanding the beauty, I realized Dooby and Doo in the front seats were crushing weed only after they threw the waste from the window. I was a bit worried and said to them "Guys, Do we need this now? Why should we take risk"; for which Doo replied, "Dude, chill. You know my skills and please enjoy the moment bro! Don't ruin this for god's sake with your daddy instincts." "Chill dude! Take this joint" said Dooby, passing the joint. I didn't refuse. I smoked half of it reluctantly and the other half shamelessly. That was such a beautiful vibe. I could hardly open my eyes. The forces of dark energy wanted to see me and they pulled my eyelids together. I was high. Really, really high; and also were Doody and Doo. The drive was so pleasant that, even the steady linear movements of the car began to reciprocate in my ears as an orchestra. I was lying in peace. All of a sudden there was a bang. I hit the front seat and fell down. I didn't know what happened. I was not able to process that whether something hit us or we hit something. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. I got up and looked back through the mirror, a car hit us. And when I looked in the front, we hit a car. The car in front of us hit a buffalo. He quickly drove away. We were still not able to process what was going on and whose fault it was. We were definitely not going to wait for the police. Doo just took off rapidly. All of this happened in the time gap of less than 5 seconds. We didn't stop, as we thought we were being chased by the car behind us. We were in that imaginary chase for at-least half an hour. We didn't know how bad the car was damaged, but everyone passing by glued their eyes to our car. "Guys, It must be really damaged. I think we've to stop and have a look at it" said Dooby. We didn't want to stop immediately beside the road so we took a detour to a village and stopped at a small shop. As soon as I looked at the car I knew that we screwed things a big time. I became insane. I was sweating with a terror in my eyes. Dooby and Doo were too tensed but they tried to calm me down first. They bought a cigarette and gave it to me. We three sat there on the rock beside the shop and were just staring at the car for an hour; and the curious villagers did not let our tension come down. "What do we do now?" I asked them; and with this one question, I lost the command over them. They both already decided to continue with the plan. Meet her, eat lunch and reach back to Hyderabad as soon as possible. We were only a few miles away from Vijayawada, so it not a bad plan; but the thing that's back on my mind, and making me restless was they both are not as serious as I was; and that's pissing me off. I was just hiding my panic behind that 'everything's okay' face, just because I didn't want to ruin their date. We met Jasmine, and she was not at all an evil girl, as I thought she would be. She was very nice to us. Most importantly, she understood the seriousness of the issue and started blaming herself. I said, "No Jasmine, it would have happened anyway, we always are into these kind of troubles, we manage it, don't worry", and thought that I took the situation under my control again. They had their goodbye kiss, which made our hero turn into pink. Then,we got into our severely dented, badly sandwiched car, and started to discuss about how to handle the situation. Dooby said that these rental cars definitely have insurance, so no worries. The way he said made my heart a little lite. We called Aamer and told him that it was hit. He calmly asked me to send the pictures. I sent them. He called and said to come as soon as possible and we'll talk the things out. The way he said, was so polite and calm, which made me even more relaxed. By the time we reached Hyderabad it was 11 pm. We went to him. He examined extensively and all the four of us drove to a mechanic he knows. The mechanic took a look and said, "70,000 rupees minimum, these dents, the bonnet, the air conditioning, lights and many things are damaged." Our hearts collapsed. 70 thousand rupees was a really big amount, we definitely couldn't arrange that amount. Aamer also knows this. He just said "Pay the amount and take the bike, until then don't come to me." He said it as calmly as he spoke us on the phone. That's when I understood that being soft can also be a powerful command. We didn't know how to manage money. Doo said, "Dude, I'll manage 10-15 thousand." , and for that he has to go to his Dad's place. He lives with mother and their parents are divorced. He has seen many tragic incidents, and maybe that’s the reason nothing hit him hard. On the other-side, Dooby was talking like he was just not part of this incident. He was saying that he can't arrange any money and was going to his village as his grandmother was ill. At that moment, I just wanted to slap him on the face. Never did ever we have an issue with or for money until then, and I think that's why we never really didn't know who our friends really are. I knew him from childhood, I knew him only the way he wanted to show himself. The doubt that Ludo planted in me showed itself comes into reality in less than a couple of days. 'If it’s for you to be safe, you never care about any others more than you’. Doo had no choice, he had his bike on stake and otherwise I don't think he also would have stayed. Most people always find detours to escape in hard times, leaving alone those who are with them. All these thoughts, which made me feel bad about myself a couple of days earlier, now made sense.  Man is that kind of animal which survives in clans, but hunts for itself. Maybe, I would also be really mean if I had not signed those documents; who knows? After a month, I and Doo cleared the amount. I took loans from student loan apps, and Doo stole it from his Dad's thick pocket day by day. I, also had to give away my savings, which I was saving to gift myself a guitar. Vinay disappeared for a couple of weeks. Even after he came back, he didn't meet us as he used to do. Don't know whether it was guilt or whatever, he was dodging us. We were not even caring about him; and honestly, even if I was with Tharun, I stopped caring about him too. The hug we shared on the bike that day was really the last hug of ours and I'm glad that, the last hug seemed really like a last one.


“Let’s pretend, just for a minute, that I believe everything you say,” Officer Scott Wilde began, pushing the evidence bag toward Nikolaus as he edged about uncomfortably in his plastic chair. “The whole story, from the beginning. What is so special about this.” The clear wrapper of the bag chuckled as he pressed it and Nikolaus flinched before speaking. “It’s too complicated and…” He paused before continuing, “Outlandish for you to understand. If I tried to tell you even half the story, you’ll either loose interest or try to get me sectioned.” Officer Wilde raised his blonde eyebrows and smiled encouragingly “Please Niko, can I call you Niko? Try me.” Niko twirled his long dark hair between around his index finger for a while, his eyes constantly flicking back to the book. “It’s not a major crime, body-snatching, but it turns a few heads…” “It wasn’t the body I needed.” Niko interrupted irritably before nodding to the bag on the table. “It was that thing.” The thing he referred to was a book bound in what appeared to be moleskin with a strange yellow sigil on it, like a twisted question mark, or several fused eyes looking in indeterminable directions. “So, it’s robbery then? Because that is a little more serious.” “If it is robbery, you accuse me of sir then I will take it on the chin. But please do not detain me for anymore that what you need to because I really must be on my way, and that must come with me.” “See Niko.” Wilde pressed his hand onto the bag. “It’s evidence now. I’m afraid it can’t go anywhere.” Niko expressed an unreadable expression of both astonishment, horror and pitiable anguish before lounging back in his chair as if all vigor had been sucked out of him. “Then you doom us all officer.” Wilde cocked an eyebrow. “That’s a threatening word Niko, is there more you want to tell me?” “Only if it’ll get me out of here sooner.” *** Firstly, I don’t know what that book is called. It’s just got that symbol on it, no real title so I just call it “The Twist”.  The Twist is different to other books because it was not written. It was imagined. See, you already don’t believe me I can see, but I’ll tell you anyway. There was a man or a woman, either way they were a magician who knew a great deal about alchemy and black magic. They both eluded and shaped history in ways far too subtle and overarching for you to appreciate in the short time I have to explain it. Anyway, their knowledge was originally written down in a great many books and note pads that they kept in a library. Alas, for them, during the great purge their library was burned down and all the writings were lost. Reaching the end of their lifespan they came up with an ingenious solution to preserve the knowledge so that it may be passed on to a worthy successor, and that was this. In a single ritual they transferred all their dark knowledge into this tome, extracting the thoughts and memories like straining bones from a stock. That’s what you’re looking at right now. That is a grimoire of memories of that long dead sorcerer. No. I’m not a power-hungry grave robber keen on uncovering secret powers from the past to thwart my enemies. No indeed. What we forget about memories, is that they are the construct of a personality. They are alive in themselves, but they are shapeless with a will all unto their own. So, tell me. What do you think happens when the mind of a man sorcerer is stowed away in a magical tome with the ability to shape spirits out of the air itself? *** Wilde blinked and shuddered. He touched the back of his neck and realised that he had been sweating, cold sweat apparently for some time. His shirt clung to him in uncomfortable cold patches and he unbuttoned his collar. Niko still sat across from him, a vacant expression on his face and a narrow track of red running from a nostril. “It’s here.” He said, both calmly and shakily. Wilde frowned a prickle running across his skin like the brush of animal fur as Niko’s voice shivered the words. “What’s here Niko?” The head tilted and the eyes focused, but Niko was hollow now. He had hidden away within himself, too afraid to face reality. “Hastur. The Twist. He has come for The Twist.” *** You see, my bloodline is tied very closely with that nameless sorcerer, and it was to my family that The Twist has come to. *** Wilde staggered out of the interview room and into the corridor, lined with grey carpet, skirted in blue and painted bone white. He rubbed his eyes, still seeing the interview room as if through a third eye. Niko was speaking. *** The book brought power, but it also brought its twisted self. It’s alive you see. Well, I say alive. It’s more of a living imagination if you will. It kept making things happen. Bad things. Bloody things. *** “Niko…Have you done something to me?” *** It imagined itself drifting from place to place, room to room unmaking things as it went. Treasures, nature, laws, families, lives. But eventually relentless destruction became tiresome and it decided that it wanted a body. Like it had used to have. *** Something had been in the station. Windows were smashed, tables and chairs were overturned. There were scratches on the walls, and ceiling as if a storm of knives had come spinning down it, rending gleefully as it went. *** So, my father took it to the grave. Buried it with himself but not after sending me away to an orphanage, in the hope that I would forget. But of-course I didn’t I couldn’t. The Twist wouldn’t let me. *** Wilde found himself back outside the doorway to the interview chamber, in darkness but for a ring of yellow candles that hung in the air like sinister fireflies. Niko was still sitting at the chair, and a figure unnaturally tall stood straight and hunched forward over him, a thin, crooked hand trembling over the volume. It exuded an overwhelming malice as its focus twitched in Wilde’s direction, and its appearance was akin to drowning. The eyes see so much that the mind simply gives up and succumbs to madness. *** I thought I was going to take it back, but I was wrong. I wanted to take it to the foundations of that first library that had burned down and cast it into a fresh flame, but little did I know, they had sown that idea in me. To make me come. To make me find them. To make me dig up my own father and lay my hands on its cover. To turn those pages. They needed me. They chose me. I was the body. *** Officer Wilde did not die as such. He didn’t collapse, burn away, crumple to the ground in fits of agony or begin to bleed out. He simply ceased to be. Becoming ashes, which became ash, which became light, which was then gone. Where does the flame on a candle go when it is blown out? The Twist seized itself up from the table with slow delicate fingers and then the three of them unfolded out of room.


This is all my fault. This is happening all because of me. A person is going to die because I ignored the facts that warned me to stop this from continuing any further; to stop this before it was too late. It all started with that stupid pink dress. Fashioned from the finest silk in the kingdom, and sporting the perfect combination of ruffles and simplicity, it made me come across as too elegant--as too refined--for a woman my age. Mother always taught me that every female with a crown on her head should be the perfect picture of elegance, but I’d picked the wrong day to do so. Not knowing the trap I was walking into, I gave a polite curtsy to my father’s esteemed guests. “This is my daughter, Eloise,” my father informed them as I straightened up. “Eloise, this is General Whitkin and his son, Sir Antony Whitkin. General Whitkin has been fighting some of the greatest battles for our kingdom since before you could walk.” “A legacy my Antony will no doubt carry on,” General Whitkin had said with a proud smile. “It would be my honour to fight for my crown and my country.” Like I haven’t heard that one before. But knowing that my actions as a princess always impacted my king, I flashed our guests a polite smile. “Any warrior that fights for the good of the kingdom is a friend of the crown, and thus a friend of mine. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, General Whitkin, Sir Whitkin.” The pleasure of their acquaintance was short lived. Maybe my father had mistaken my polite smiles and friendly conversation as consent, or maybe the crown on his head was so heavy a burden that it had addled his brain, but as soon as dinner was over, he’d decided to drop the bomb he’d apparently been planning for a while. “The union between our households will indeed be a strong one. Besides the royal family, the Whitkin name is an esteemed one. You’ve built quite a reputation and following amongst the people of this nation. Your son will make a fine king, indeed.” I nearly dropped my soup spoon. It took me a while to really absorb what he’d said, but my shock at the news of an arranged marriage was nothing compared to what I felt when I realised that all three of the males seated around the table seemed unsurprised. I was the only one who didn’t know. Me. The princess of the kingdom wasn’t informed of this while the knights of a lower status than me were. The only female involved in this matter had been purposefully kept in the dark. To this day, I can’t believe that I hadn’t been involved in deciding my own life partner. While my smile had only dipped slightly, my father must have gauged my mood, because he made a point of saying, “I know Eloise would agree. As the princess of our great nation, her decisions are always mindful of the best interests of the people. The people are willing to support Antony’s reign as their future king, so I know she’ll support this union, too.” If my mother were still alive, maybe I would’ve had an ally in going against my father. A queen is the only person able to reign in a king, after all. But help came in the form of a surprising source. “With all due respect, your majesty,” General Whitkin said, “it seems that the princess would rather marry for both love and for her people.” “Don’t you worry, father,” Sir Whitkin spoke up. “We’ll have lots of time to grow to love each other once the vows are read.” My father smiled. “You will make a fine king, indeed.” Without me saying a word, the matter was settled. The three of them carried on talking about other political matters with the broadest of smiles. I couldn’t find it in me to force any more smiles for the sake of the clearly power hungry Sir Whitkin--a man I still refuse to acknowledge as my future husband. I excused myself just as the ball slowly forming in my throat grew too painful to choke down. I calmly walked out of the room, but ran down the hallway as soon as I was sure that my footsteps were out of hearing distance. My ladies were hot on my heels until I snapped at them to stay where they were. I wanted some time to think. I needed some time alone. I picked up the skirt of that stupid pink dress and ran out into the garden. I ran past a few of the servants tending to the roses, and bumped into the back of one of them as they were turning around. I continued to run until I reached the entrance to my mother’s alcove at the other end of the castle grounds. I slammed the door, ripped the tiara off of my head and threw it somewhere into the darkness. The clang of the expensive metal against the floor was so satisfying. Being able to let the tears fall down where nobody could watch me was so refreshing. I stood there with my back against the door and let the floodgates open. I hadn’t been to my mother’s “secret” alcove in years, and I wasn’t quite ready to turn the lights on and have a look around the room, but I felt a lot closer to my mother in that moment--in that room--than I had anywhere else in the castle. Just as my sobs were starting to subside, a tentative knock sounded at the door. I jumped away from it. A thin stream of light seeped in through the tiny space between the bottom of the door and the floor. I could see the shadow of two feet positioned directly opposite me. The person gave another knock, this time slightly louder; more confident. And then a voice floated to me through the wooden door. “Princess? Your Highness, are you okay?” I didn’t answer him. From the genuine concern in his voice, I could tell that whoever he was, he meant no harm to me. But this was my sanctuary. My make up and hair were ruined. I looked nothing like the graceful, elegant princess everyone in the castle knows me to be. Regardless of how upset I was at my father, I wasn’t going to ruin the royal family image. A moment passed without a word from either end of the door. I kept my eyes on the shadow. I waited for it to leave. Instead, it grew larger and longer. I took another step back, but instead of opening the door, they slid something under the door. It slid across the dusty floor until it hit the edge of my dress. I picked it up just as the shadow disappeared. Through the light that their absence left behind, I crouched down, opened the envelope and read the words written on the single slip of paper hidden inside. The jewels that sparkle on your many crowns do not compare to the sparkle you emit as the ordinary woman I see you to be. I hope that one day you can embrace the fact that you are a person before you are a princess. When the crown feels too heavy on your head, I hope that you can comfortably take it off for a few hours and enjoy the kind of life your people want you to live. If you feel that it’s a luxury you can’t afford, then I hope you can enjoy this luxury in your mother’s room in secret, as you are now. If you decide to take my words to heart, let me know by keeping the envelope of this letter by the door. I promise to guard the entrance for you every time you come here to shed your burdens as a princess. I’ll come back later to see your answer. That’s where this whole mess started. With a stupid pink dress, an arranged marriage between a princess and a complete cad, and the letter that calmed the storm brewing within me. Because of my curiosity, because I opened that envelope, a person was wrongfully imprisoned. An innocent person is going to die tonight, and it’s all my fault. As soon as I finish reading the letter about his execution, I storm out of my bedroom with the envelope in hand and run into two heavily armed guards. They immediately spring into action and block my path. A laugh bubbles in my throat at the unfairness of it all, but I choke it down. “You’re still not letting me leave?” I ask. They don’t turn to look at me. I push against their chests, but they don’t move by a single inch. “I command you to get out of my way this instant!” “Deepest apologies, your Highness,” one of them says with a small incline of the head, “but I’m afraid we can’t do that.” “Do you know that I can have you killed for this gross display of insubordination?!” “With all due respect, your Highness,” the other guard pipes up, “our orders come directly from his Majesty. Disobeying the king’s orders will lead to our immediate deaths. Disobeying your current orders will gain us favour with the king.” “When I become queen, I’ll have you beheaded for treason!” I spit at them. “Come, now, Eloise. That’s no way for a princess to behave.” The guards parted and stood at attention on either side of my door. I instinctively took a step back at the sight of my father, and immediately chastised myself for doing so. I have to appear strong. I can’t crumble--not when he is about to be executed at any second. I take a deep breath and choke down the lump in my throat. As my father stands with an amused smile in the doorway, I stand before him and motion to the dress on my body. “I’m wearing it, like I promised.” His eyes glossed over my mother’s crown amidst the braided updo of my raven hair. They surveyed every inch of the white dress with its many ruffles on my skirt and the length, golden laced train that billows out on the floor behind me. My father’s eyes softened. “You make a beautiful bride, Eloise. You look just like your mother did on our wedding day. She always wanted to see the day our little girl becomes a queen.” I stifle the sob that threatens to break free. “Father, I’ve kept my end of the deal. It’s your turn now. Please let him go according to our original deal, not the one in the letter.” My father’s eyes harden. “I can’t believe that you have the audacity to mention that boy at a time like this.” “Eli has been stuck in the dungeon for days, father. You’ve tortured him enough. You’ve punished us both enough already. Please just let him go. He did nothing wrong, father.” “You clearly haven’t learnt your lesson,” my father says, his voice raising in volume. “You are a princess, Eloise. A princess. Your life is not your own. Rebelling against my wishes, against my orders, is an act of treason. I’ve tried separating you. I’ve warned you that if you spoke about that garden boy again, I would stop making decisions as your father and start ordering executions as your king.” “As the princess--” “You don’t possess any authority that surpasses mine, Eloise, so don’t even start bringing up your title. If I tell the guards to starve a servant in my castle, they will starve the child for weeks. If I tell them to keep you locked up in your room for the same amount of time, they will keep you hidden away until your wedding day without hesitation. If I declare that your wedding date will be moved up, or that a servant who dared to so much as look at an engaged princess should be executed, it will be done immediately. And there’s nothing that you can do about it. You may be the future of this kingdom, but as the current ruler, my word is law. Try and order any of our servants to go against me again, and I will make sure the boy is executed immediately instead of in a few hours. Do I make myself clear?” I look away from him as a tear escapes from the corner of my eye. I close my eyes as a tidal wave of pain surges through my core. Everything had been on the way to ruin for weeks, but now it’s all spiralling out of control. I have to save him. I need to save him. But I don’t know how the two of us can make it out of tonight alive; how we can make it past my father’s wrath unscathed. “Do I make myself--” “Yes,” I choke out. Without turning around, I whisper, “You’ve made yourself clear.” I hear him let out a sigh of relief. “Good girl. I’ll send a handmaiden to touch up your make up. The guards outside will escort you to the ballroom in ten minutes, where you’ll be wed to Sir Whitkins. If you’re even a minute late, I’ll send a servant to relay a message to the executioner.” As soon as he leaves, as soon as the doors lock me inside again, my knees give way. I collapse onto the ground as the pain of the past few days streams down my face. My handmaiden touches my shoulder. She tries to get me to calm down, but all I can see is Eli. Poor Eli, who was only ever guilty of watching me from afar and slowly falling for me. Sweet Eli, who was perfectly content with standing guard before I started visiting my mother’s alcove daily just to see him. Innocent Eli, who was only ever at fault for being the one person who sees me for who I truly am; who made me feel loved and human instead of as some princess to put on a pedestal. Through the tears, I remember that I have one chance left to save him. Even if it means we can’t be together. I allow Marie to fix my make up and hide my puffy eyes behind a veil. I follow the guards silently out of my room and towards the ballroom. Every step feels heavy. I feel like crying. I feel like screaming. But I can’t do any of that. I am a princess. I have to start living for my kingdom, as someone else’s wife, or else Eli will die. I curl my hands into fists at my sides as I see my father waiting outside the ballroom with his crown and kingly robes. He tells me to smile. I feel the corners of my mouth pull into a smile my heart isn’t involved in. The guards open the doors. The interior looks beautiful; fit for a princess. The roses lining the aisle remind me of Eli, who always brought me a rose during our secret meetings. The wedding march starts to play. My father intertwines our arms. The words of the letter ring in my head as I take my first steps onto the carpeted aisle. I bring urgent news from the dungeon. The eyes of the nobles and royals from other kingdoms follow my every step; my every smile. His Majesty has ordered for Eli’s execution when the bell tower strikes its twelfth chime tonight. I draw closer to my future husband. The crown on my head grows heavier with every step. My father slightly squeezes our interlinked arms--a reminder to keep smiling. We have orders from the king to inform you that the execution will commence if you fail to say “yes, I do” tonight. My father places my hand in Antony’s. We walk the short distance toward the priest. Objections are asked for. I wish someone would see the anguish in my eyes and object. But nobody does. If you do, however, manage to say said phrase, his Majesty will let the boy live. “Do you, Princess Eloise Renetta Stone, accept Sir Antony Wilkins as your loving husband, to have and to hold, until death do you part?” With clenched fists, I close my eyes. In the distance, I can hear the bell tower near its twelfth strike. With Eli’s face burned into the back of my eyelids, I open my mouth and say the words. “Yes. I do.”


“Are you coming out tonight?” Alex's voice rang through FaceTime as she rummaged through her closet looking for an outfit. Alex burst out laughing at her best friend’s horrified face. Even though Mila was an extrovert, the pandemic drastically increased her social anxiety and now she was terrified to go anywhere. Australia had finally opened, and they were finally able to go out to a party. Last year of high school was meant to be full of activities and fun before they headed off to university and Alex promised herself during the pandemic that as soon as everything opened, she was going to take Mila out everywhere and help her readjust to post-pandemic life. There was no way she was going to let Mila miss out on final year experiences of high school! They only had a couple more months until they graduated, and Mila left for the University of Oxford while Alex stayed in Melbourne. “Listen” Mila dragged out her words, huddling even closer to plushie. “Nope, I don’t want to hear it! LA LA LA LA LA! I can’t hear you! You’re coming with me no matter what so get your cute butt up and go shower Mils.” Alex was having none of it. She pulled her stern face and her best friend relented. Secretly Mila was happy that Alex was making her go to Chris’ party, but her social anxiety was through the roof! She felt sick and a constant dread filled her stomach to the brim. “Come on Mils, one step at a time. All you need to do is take a shower right now. If you’re not feeling like going to the party it’s fine, but it’ll make you feel better if you have a shower! So come on, get into the shower and wash your hair please! Bird’s nest hair is so not in trend right now Millie.” Alex snickered to herself at the flippant glare she received from her best friend. Mila’s heart seemed to calm down at the fact that Al wouldn’t force her to go if she didn’t want to. And surely even if she didn’t go it would be nice to have a shower, the sticky heat was doing nothing to help her nausea. She finally got herself out of her bed and washed herself clean (including the bird’s nest on her head). “Millie why is your door locked omg. Hurry up, slowpoke.” Alex’s overly excited voice penetrated through the wooden door. As soon as Mila opened the door, she got tackled into her bed. “Alex as much as you love me, I don’t think you want to see me naked so please let me go.” Mila laughed out clutching her towel tightly against her body trying not to reveal any skin to her best friend. “Oh whoops. Oh, heh heh are you trying to seduce me, Millie, because I can tell you right now it’s working.” Alex’s shrieks and laughs only increased in volume as she got shoved to the floor getting hit with all the pillows on the bed. Taking in her friend’s tomato red face, Alex pulls herself together and goes the closet a cute outfit for her friend. “Are you feeling in the mood for a dress? Or maybe a cute skirt and top?” “Alex, I’m not sure I’m ready to go out yet.” Mila’s small voice cuts through the dreamland Alex was in. Sighing she sits down facing her on the messy bed. “Hey, I know it’s scary being out for the first time, but we promised each other that we would try and live it up this year. Who knows what the pandemic will disrupt again so we might as well seize the opportunities we have now? Plus, it’s no one new at Chris’ party, so wouldn’t it be nice to see old friends again? I know you’re scared but what if we take it one step at a time. Like let’s get dressed now because you can’t stay in a towel and if we end up wearing some cute outfit ready for a party, well I’m not gonna complain” Mila contemplated for a moment; she was scared but Alex was right. This was her last summer of high school and last summer before she went to the UK for university. And one step at a time sounded good. Alex handed her a black leather mini skirt and a satin white cowl top. This was fine. Mila was okay, she was just getting dressed. Nothing else. Alex handed her a minimalist gold chain; a matching bracelet and a couple gold rings for her to slip on. Mindlessly she started to blow-dry and style her hair while Alex chose her shoes. This is going great; I’m just dressing up to feel good for myself. Nothing else. There’s no pressure. Even though a slight feeling of dread started to fill her body once again, but Mila stuck through it. She looked her reflection in the eye with a determined glint in her eyes and grabbed her makeup. “Mils if you don’t feel comfortable going, we don’t have to. We could just order pizza and watch the new Gossip Girl.” Alex had been studying the girl for the last few minutes and hearing her lightly laboured breath made Alex feel guilty. “No, it’s okay, I want to do this. You’re right I don’t want to miss out on anything, especially since I’ll be leaving Australia soon and I’ll need my social skills for university.” Smiling at her amazing best friend’s response, she hands Mila some black platform lace-ups. They finish dressing up and grab a couple bottles of alcohol before driving over to the most anticipated motive of their high school. Getting a couple gulps of alcohol into Mila really seems to loosen up the tension and they grin widely when Chris greets them at the door. “Welcome beautiful ladies! Mila, it’s so lovely to see you again gorgeous.” Chris flirts with them over the thundering music and pulls them to the dance floor squirming with people. The bass vibrates through Mila’s heart and a familiar happy feeling rushes through her. She grabs Chris and pulls them together laughing at the joy she feels to finally be out again with friends. Winking to Alex over her shoulder Mila loses herself to the music, dancing with Chris, a slice of pizza, and a bottle of vodka.


The Sky – Alan Hancock 2024 With thanks to the illustrators of the cover to Ian McEwan’s novel ‘Saturday’ – this image inspired my story 1, 150 words He doesn’t go and make that coffee, he doesn’t check the NASDAQ and the Dow Jones Index, the DAX and the FTSE, the Brent Crude spot prices or US dollar exchange rate forecasts, not that day, or ever again. Because he lingers at the bedroom wondow and watches Venus beaming down on North London, next to her the Post Office Tower lit by its electronic and neon beacons that outshine any star or planet. He’s not sure which comes first, the thought or the vision that arrives, and stays for only moments, but then stays in his mind for the rest of his life. And not just in his mind. It’s a presence he can feel as it courses through his body, lighting up a tracery of nerves and neurons like a coloured Taoist body map. The thought goes like this: If I have a grandchild and they are alive in this city in 2084 – Why 2084? he wonders later, but the date arrives ready formed, implacably precise - what if they look out, one night sixty years from now, when I am long gone from this world - what will they see? Will this city, this country, this world still be a pleasant place to live? And what have I done to help ensure that it is? He’s unsure whether the vision comes as the thought unwinds, or a moment earlier. But he sees it, as real as the plane trees that line the street beneath his bedroom window. Afterwards he often asks himself exactly what he saw that night, as if he might rewind a video and pause it at 03.09 on the third of June 2024 and examine the picture in detail. But his mind has no such function, as well he knows. He’s read all the articles on unreliable witnesses, on the frailty of human memory, on the way we create and recreate the remembered moment each time we recall it until it wears out, until it becomes a Chinese whisper version of the original that no longer bears any resemblance to the moment lost in the flow of time: a fake. But no – this is different. It remains clear, timeless, vivid both for those short moments and then for him to hold for the rest of his days. In the years since it happened he has told only one person what he witnessed. They had listened, nodded, and then said just three words: “Yes, of course.” Of course. In that moment, at three oh nine precisely, a disc of light descends, concentric circles centred on the top of the Post Office Tower. It is all colours at once, ripples of violet, green pink and dull red running in together to form a tight ball above the tower’s summit. There is a sudden burst of white light out of which a figure emerges, in silhouette. It must be many metres tall to be clear at this distance: feminine but not human, that’s all the information the memory holds about its form. It is definitely not human. And feminine - maybe it’s the effect of Venus, shining close by in the pre-dawn sky. Then in a shift of perspective he realises that the figure isn’t a giant, far off on the top of the tower, it is person-sized, and close. In fact it is no more than a few feet away from him, poised in the air above the rain-slick tarmac of the street in front of his house. It raises an arm as if in greeting, or recognition. Without hesitation or any awareness of deciding to take this action, he finds himself lifting his own arm in reply. He’s not fearful, but intrigued and delighted. It is as if he’s seeing a strange new species of bird or butterfly in his neighbourhood, something that is normally restricted to places far from the concrete and human din that is central London. Then it’s gone and the night sky returns to its usual state. But something remains and hangs in the night air – an idea, a message, wordless inside his head, but still clear. He cannot say if it is spoken, or comes to him as a piece of music or some kind of song. It is simple: ‘We are waiting for you.’ Over and out. Later he thinks it might be, ‘Come and find us. You’ll know.’ And he has the realisation that what he witnessed was like a bridge between worlds, or a mobius strip that joins up things that occupy different dimensions in time and space. What he saw, and heard inside, was both happening in 2024 and in 2084, with his grandchild. He sleeps long and well. Next day he wakes with a decision: he will go and find them, or it, or whatever it is that is not here in this house, in this life. He makes a number of phone calls: he’s taking leave, needs a rest, the last few years have been gruelling. He will travel, get away from city and work; he’s not sure when he’ll be back. There are protestations, which he ignores. He has decided. This phase of his life is over, now it’s time to find out what will be the next. When was the last time he had travelled footloose and free? he wonders. Before he married, before the children were born, grew up, and left, followed not a long time later by a wife who had expressed a desire to leave the confines of a comfortable life where she came second to a husband’s career and find her own way in the world. It would have been the late-70s, and he had spent three months taking a random tour through Eastern Europe, Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan and Nepal. Well he wouldn’t be repeating that trip. No wad of US dollars and travellers cheques packed into a body-belt wallet this time: just the app on his phone. ’Come and find us.’ But where to look? He’s on the flight-booking website when it comes to him. Without knowing how he knows it, he now has his destination. He resists the urge to question, analyse and look for other options. For a man who has spent the last thirty years making large amounts of money for both himself, and for his employers in the hedge fund business, out of making carefully considered decisions about which option to take, for a man who has lived his adult life through the application of rational thought and the rejection of intuition, this is at the same time deeply uncomfortable and thrilling.  A few minutes later he has booked a flight for the following day to Denver Colorado, with a connection to Santa Fe Mexico, then a Rail Runner Express to Taos Mexico. He’ll sort out the rest when he arrives. The instructions that had come to him had been precise. Then what? ‘You’ll see’. He digs out from the recesses of a cupboard a North Face backpack that he hasn’t used for years. He’s ready.


You always think about how you want to get better. But maybe it's just a lie you keep telling yourself to feel better. To keep the darkness away. I thought so, too. That if I got rid of the darkness, I would get rid of the struggle. But it also used to scare me a little. Losing it. Because it´s there, living inside of you for so many years, and the thought of not having it anymore – the darkness – well, it kind of scared me, honestly. It´s inside of me. Part of me. You can´t just rip some of your part out and move on.     I learned to love the darkness that clouded my head and my soul. I´ve loved it since elementary school. And I was afraid the pills would make it go away. How would I exist? You know, the problem is, I want to get better, but I am afraid of it. I´m afraid it´ll change me into a person I will not like. But I´m also petrified of the darkness taking full control. It´s like being constantly on the edge. Trying to find the balance. And when I say people wouldn´t understand, I don´t mean it as some nowadays attention-seeking bullshit. I mean the thoughts ARE different. And I like them, but sometimes they can also get weird, confusing, twisted, dangerous, abnormal. Sometimes, that scares me too, and sometimes it makes me laugh. But I can´t tell. No, no, I cannot. They might make me get rid of my darkness. But I like it here, only sometimes, it can get too much.     I'm the disease. It's me.     Maybe the darkness wins over the people. Conquers them. So, the only way to stop the disease is to stop yourself. I don´t have any motivation. It´s just my stubborn personality that won't let me give up on anything.     Maybe people decide to end it because there is only one physical death but so many mental ones. Every time you start to feel a little joy, a little bit alive, it ends eventually. It dies. And because it's part of you, you die with it. Over and over and over again. So, why die one hundred times when you can narrow it to one?     My train of thought was disturbed by the phone ringing.     Timothy.     “Hey, Tim.”     “Hey, I'm just checking if the cinema is still on.”     “Yeah, of course. I would let you know if something changed.”     “Okay, love, I pick you up at eight. Bye.”     “Bye.”     I took the wine from the kitchen counter and sat on the sofa. My thoughts wouldn't stop now. I had to give them the space they so horribly needed.     I didn't even want to go to the cinema, but I promised myself, and I like to think of myself as a person who keeps her promises.     When you are ill, your thinking changes into something so different. When I look at the wine, I can only see the pills that I drink down with the wine. Or the glass that could make a nice deep cut.

    I want to see the blood.     I should just make a deep, deep cut. Deep, bloody cut.     But I have the cinema in two hours. I can't. Just not yet.     I'm always thinking about getting hurt. Not by my doing. But like in a car accident, being tortured by some mafia men, driving Formula I or just driving an average formula and some driver crashes into me, breaking my arm, cutting myself while doing something…     Usually, after the car accident, I end up wearing glasses due to some leak of fumes, which makes no sense, but I needed a reason. The doctor can't tell if it's temporary or not.     I'm still on antidepressants. Well, to be honest, it hasn't been that long. For these types of pills, I mean. I was thinking about stuffing a handful of pills down my throat the other day. Changed my mind, though. No, lack of braveness would be more correct.     I don't know what is true anymore. If life is too short or too long.     I thought I would be better. Doing big things. Maybe ending this whole misery might be the bravest thing I would have ever done.     We are all hiding behind the big, loud laughs, anyway.     I got used to the world in my mind so much that my conditions for reality were too strict. And that's not good. It's awful, honestly.     I took a big gulp from my wine and cherished the bitter taste. I never even liked wine, but today I wanted to be a lady. I leaned back and closed my eyes. And it was one terrible idea, for the thoughts started rushing through my mind like they were never supposed to stop. The thoughts are always there, but feelings, it´s harder with them.     I've been feeling nothing recently. Nothing really truly brings me joy. Not art. Not music. Not movies. Books are becoming harder to pick up and read. The world is faceless once again.     The feelings. The nice feelings. They vanished. All I feel is shame and disgust.

    Oh, I am so dead. But nobody can see. Even if their eyes are open.     I feel like these pushed feelings and emotions are going to cause something someday. And it's not going to be pretty.     So much pressure. Sometimes, I even wish for a mental breakdown. I don't know if I mean it seriously or if it's only a momentary slip. But wouldn't it be easier? No more drama. No more shame. Or a lot of shame. Hundreds and hundreds of tons of shame.     Oh, how will I ever get out of this labyrinth of thoughts?     I desire an escape from this dreadful reality. That is why I spent so much time inside my head. Living the life, I will never have. Imagining the whole new world with a whole new people.     Funny how can insanity keep you sane.     Perhaps I should tell Tim. At least a tiny, little part. But at the same time, I don't want him to know. I don't want his view of me to change. Or do I? What is his view now, anyway?     I need someone by my side. I thought I didn't, but let's face it, everybody needs the presence of someone. Maybe not constantly, but for some period of time. Because then, life gets lonely. It is breaking your heart. It shatters into a million pieces. And it's almost impossible to clean that mess and return everything to its original state. But what if even Tim decides that is too much to handle and leaves?     He doesn't know because I always laugh it off, treating it like it is only a harmless, black humor. And I don't mind most of the time. Because if he knew, if he understood those awful feelings, it would mean he felt them too, and you don't want to see your family or friends suffering.     What dress am I going to wear? Am I even going to wear a dress? Maybe some pants would be better. Or I could just stay in. No, come on, think positively. People do it all the time. No more bad thoughts. Just clothes and other shallow considerations.     It's quite cold outside, so I should wear something warm. Possibly some scarf, too.     So, I can suffocate myself with it.     So much for the positive thinking.     I don't believe those visits and sessions with my psychiatrist are helpful. And neither are those pills. The only thing that is keeping me, still barely, sane are those little escapes into my mind. It really is a whole new world up here. And it's delightful.     I'm slowly losing it. And one day, there will be a definite defeat. I'm sure about it.     I am missing out on everything. I'm losing the best years of my life. And the worst thing is me realizing it but being too powerless to make a step. It's such a helpless feeling. I want to get rid of it. I want to get rid of everything. I want to enjoy life. Someone should write a manual on how to actually do it. Pathetic.     Oh, this activity is not helpful at all. It gives me a stomachache. And stomachache is even worse than soul ache, sometimes.     You see, when you are depressed, yeah you feel sadness, and pain and sorrow and all that shit, but sometimes, you just become numb. And yeah, that fucking sucks but waking up every fucking day and the moment you open your eyes is the exact moment you feel stressed and nervous... I mean already? And why? What is the reason? Exactly! Not a fucking thing! So yeah, I choose my depression over my anxiety. And how fucked up do you really have to be, when during the process of comparison of depression and anxiety you find depression quite comforting?     But still, depression is not poetic.     It's fucking devastating.     I thought I had learned how to tame the darkness inside of me. I even fell in love with it, but now, I can feel it taking over. All over me. And it makes me so sad. So desperate.     I am so lonely. I feel so lonely around people. And so unwanted.     I'm just so sad.     And so sadly lonely.     I…just…what if a car ran over me? I don't want this anymore. I am so alone. So, so lonely. And even sadder.     The tears started running down my cheeks, and I could feel the loud sob trying to escape my throat.     I am so stupid.     I just want this to end.     But I don't have the courage to end this. Someone has to do it for me.     Only now do I fully understand the term “walking dead.” Funerals are useless and pointless if you were dead a long time ago.     I could drown in my tears. It would feel like a salt lake. And I would be finally calm, knowing that the darkness would haunt me only one more time, and then there would be nothing. Nothing at all. Just the sweetest death.     I would lay my head under the tears, lakes, and lakes of tears until the sweet suffocation would come for me. And I would never hurt myself again.     The thoughts would win. Committing a suicide for me. And I would be forever in their debt.     I wish I could love myself as much as I love the darkness.     And I wish I could hate the darkness as much as I hate myself.     Giving up on everything is the saddest thing a human can experience.     Never mind, I'm going to take a bath. If I was strong enough, I would just finally drown myself.     I want to ruin myself. Like totally.     Forever.     But I can't today. I made a promise that needs to be kept.


France, Near the Front Lines, November 11, 1918 The cognac was deep amber, in a corked bottle with the brand name Martell scribbled in sky blue across its white label. It sat on a roughshod table that looked as if it had been constructed by a buck private with nothing better to do—four uneven cuts of plywood supported by four legs that bowed outward.             Next to the bottle was a worn crystal tumbler, fingerprinted with a crack along its side, and next to that a dove-white silk scarf folded into a neat square, a crimson five-pointed star facing upward.             That was the prize, the German pilot had said in Second Lieutenant John Ruland’s dream. That was what he had earned.             Wear it proudly. You vanquished your enemy.

Der Sieger bekommt die Beute.             He didn’t speak any German, but somehow Ruland knew what that meant: To the victor go the spoils.             “Welcome to the club,” Major O’Leary said in a bright tone to Ruland with a hint of an accent from the old country, before holding his arms high to get the attention of the fellow pilots and assorted officers that had gathered in the drab khaki tent for the ceremony. The sunlight from the entryway created long shadows of men along the walls. The tent itself smelled like the sweet tobacco of Bull Durham cigarettes.             “Attention please,” he went on, looking past Ruland to the gathered crowd. “We are here today to celebrate the induction into a prestigious club a man who has only been in France for two months. In those two months—eight weeks, no less—he has shot down five Hun planes. He is now an ace.”             “Hear, hear,” came a chorus of voices surrounding Ruland.             Hear, hear, added the German-accented voice located deep within the caverns of his mind, which Ruland tried to silence by inconspicuously shaking his head.

Das ist dein Moment..  Ruland knew this to mean: This moment is yours.             But the only German words Ruland knew for sure were curses like

scheisse .             “Now, if I may have the squadron leader approach the table,” Major O’Leary said, which prompted a pilot bearing a striking resemblance to the gallant motion picture actor Douglas Fairbanks to rise and step forward. Around his neck and over the chestnut uniform Ruland, too, wore, was the same silk scarf, the crimson star pointed outward as if to make a point. It complemented his prominent jaw, seizing black eyes that seemed to cut through Ruland’s torso, and equally dark hair combed across his head from left to right. The only thing missing was the fetching actress Mary Pickford on his arm, the fancy of every man Ruland knew.             This man was Captain Charles Baines, the unquestioned commander of the 44 th  Pursuit Squadron of the United States Army Air Service. It had taken Captain Baines just three weeks earlier that year to become an ace and earn promotion to his current rank. Rumor had it that the reason for his success had been the shot of Martell he took before every mission. He now had twenty-two kills, closing in on the Air Service record of twenty-six by Captain Rickenbacker in the 94 th .             Hence, the ceremony, the ritual. The scarf had become something greatly coveted by many, and achieved by few.             Captain Baines spoke.             “Second Lieutenant John Ruland,” he began in an imperious tone, crossing his hands at his belt line. “Yesterday, you achieved a major milestone, destroying your fifth enemy plane, making you a flying ace. As such, I am proud to award you our squadron’s highest honor, admission to the Legion of the Silk Scarf. My congratulations.”             Captain Baines held out his hand, but Ruland didn’t take it.             He hadn’t intended to kill yesterday. The mission was to be a routine reconnaissance flight, but the German air corps, sensing the end of the war to end all wars, seemed bound and determined to fight to the last man. He saw the Fokker biplanes on the horizon—six of them, in front of a sun that made them appear to be specters. He had assumed the captain would order retreat in order to avoid any loss of life with such little time left in the war.             Instead, he pointed forward, his own silk scarf trailing straight and true behind him.             Engage them.             Destroy them.             Truth was, Ruland didn’t remember much about the dogfight, save the fact that the German had made a mistake by attempting an Immelmann turn that dropped him within Ruland’s gunsights.

Clip-clip-clip-clip , and moments later it was over; the Fokker’s engine caught fire.             There was no escape, so the German pilot jumped.             He seemed to hang there in the sky, as if he was willing himself to land safely on the fertile French farmland below. Simply sailing along gracefully.

            He was a bird, a falcon perhaps. Or an eagle. But not an American eagle.             Then in an instant he became helpless, both arms and both legs waving until Ruland saw him no more.             That moment felt like ages ago.             So did this moment.             Captain Baines lowered his arm, and in order to save face, he turned to an aide, who handed him a small, perhaps foot-long and -tall box, white with a cover, the kind that one saw at those new department stores back home. The captain returned his attention to Ruland, and attempted to hand him the box. Ruland demurred.             “And that’s an order,” he added, which elicited snickers and guffaws from the men gathered.             Ruland accepted the box, fumbled with the cover, looked up at Captain Baines and then down again at the box.             No. He wouldn’t open it.

            No, no, no.

Verstehst du, was ich sage?             Do you understand?             Captain Baines leaned forward and said, this time with no mirth but a cold command, “That

is  an order, second lieutenant. Open the box.”             Ruland slowly tugged at a corner and pulled it up, then looked at Captain Baines.             Now smiling again, the captain said, “Go on.”             The box cover landed on the table next to the bottle of Martell cognac.             Contained within was a black leather flight helmet, German standard issue. Ruland took it in his hands and it was cool, but there was no blood or any other indication that a dead man had been wearing it upon colliding with the earth at the conclusion of a two-thousand-foot drop. Etched in the leather inside was the name Schmidt.             But Ruland already knew that. The dream had revealed he had shot down

Leutnant

Jurgen Schmidt. Same rank, different insignia.             Different army.             “He must have somehow pulled off his helmet while he was falling,” came a voice from behind Ruland. “We found it about twenty feet from him. We couldn’t find his goggles.”             There were now murmurs, and someone muttered, “His eyes were open, laying there in the field. I saw him.”             Ruland had troubled sleep last night. He hadn’t—couldn’t have—seen the German pilot’s face as he whirled in the air like a dervish, but in his dream, it was quite clear. Wavy blond hair with dimpled cheeks from excessive smiling and the ocean-blue eyes of not a killer, but an adolescent, a call-up from someplace like Munich or Berlin to try to stave off inevitability.

            He had killed little more than a child, a child that had more to say beyond death.             Jurgen Schmidt. Maybe nineteen. Maybe twenty.

            Second Lieutenant John Ruland had just turned twenty-one.             You bested me, he said.

Herzlichen Glückwunsch .             Congratulations.             Ruland had awoke in the soft hours of that morning realizing what was coming at 0800, the face and the voice of Jurgen Schmidt fading into nothingness. He had considered volunteering for another morning reconnaissance flight, possibly even with a different squadron, but this would only delay the inevitable. Plus, word in the army traveled fast: the expectation would be that he would pridefully don his new uniform accessory as the latest member of the Legion of the Silk Scarf.             But he simply didn’t want it.

            There was no escape, however, so he rose, put on his uniform, slicked his hair back, had a cigarette, and walked across the aerodrome to the ceremonial tent.             Captain Baines was now staring at Ruland, brow furrowed, apparently unsure of what to do next. But he was in command. The show would go on.             After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he took hold of the bottle of Martell, pulled the cork, and poured two fingers into the tumbler.

Leutnant

Jurgen Schmidt’s flight helmet was back in its box, though uncovered. Ruland’s purported silk scarf sat undisturbed, but Captain Baines gently took it up and unraveled it, holding it in both hands across his chest, with the intent of placing around Ruland’s neck.             “For God and country,” the captain said, bowing his head slightly, a cue that Ruland should do the same.

            He did not.             Captain Baines lowered the scarf and spoke.             “You’re a man now, son,” he said, the daggered words cutting through the now-silent tent. “You’ve done man’s work. This is your reward. Don’t you see?”             A voice behind Ruland muttered, “This is bad luck for him.”             Ruland considered speaking. He considered telling the captain and anybody else who would listen about Jurgen Schmidt, everything he had learned overnight, including the fact that almost all of his schoolmates from home, mostly infantry, had been killed in the trenches. That he was an only child and that his

Eltern , his parents, were unaware of his demise, to say nothing of how it occurred. Word travels slow in a country that is being destroyed from without and within.             He considered speaking on Schmidt’s behalf.             Instead, he spoke on his own.             “I respectfully refuse to participate,” he said, his voice not wavering, though clipped, on the cusp of cracking, but he caught himself. His strength, and that of Jurgen Schmidt, carried the moment.             Captain Baines was now frowning. He peered down at the tumbler of Martell.             “Drink it,” he demanded.             Ruland didn’t move.             “You want to be on desk duty, son?” Captain Baines said. “You really want to ruin your relationship with your mates? I suggest you change your tune.”             “What’s he doing?” came a voice on the other side of the tent.             “Yeah, what are you doing?” said another pilot, the handsome son of a rich New Yorker, one born with a silver spoon in his mouth who was not a member of the Legion of the Silk Scarf, and likely never would be.             “Leaving,” Ruland said, and he turned on his heels and departed the tent.

            As he trod across the uneven, truck-scarred dirt toward his own tent, voices erupting behind him, Jurgen Schmidt spoke to him again.             I have no ill will toward you,

Kamerad.

Du bist mutig.             “That’s right,” Ruland replied. “I am brave.”             Ruland never flew again, at least not for the United States Army Air Service. The war ended three hours later, at 11:00 a.m. on the 11 th  day of the 11 th  month of the year of our Lord 1918.


I can feel my heart jump and sink when I look back on this day July 21, 1951, when I was 14 years old. Her name was Francine, and she was the most beautiful girl I ever laid my eyes on. We met at Timber Lake Camp in upstate NY. She was a late arrival to our campground. She wore a stunning light green sundress that made her striking blue eyes shine like diamonds. I knew the moment I saw her glide across the grass at the camp I was smitten. But I wasn’t the only one who took notice as Jimmy Lorenzo stopped in his tracks to gawk at her.

As quick as she came into our line of sight she was gone just as fast. I had to find out more about her, so I ran up to the head camp counselor and asked who my future wife was. He told me her name was Francine McDougal and this was her first camp experience. She was staying in cabin 14. I knew I had competition as Jimmy overheard the conversation and bolted over to her cabin in search of her. Jimmy thought of himself as a ladies’ man around the campsite and would pursue her just as did other girls over the years.

I arrived at her cabin door just behind Jimmy and heard the conversation between them. “Hey there gorgeous, my name’s Jimmy and I am kinda the man around here. I know all the good hotspots and what and who to avoid in camp. What’s your name?” Jimmy said She started to rub her neck and avoided looking right at him. She stuttered out, “Hhhhhiiii Jimmy, mmmyyy naaaammmee is Francine.” Jimmy at 6’3 was a towering figure even more so to Francine who couldn’t have been more than 5’4. Jimmy continued the conversation while Francine looked at the floor the entire time.

I stood outside the doorway while Jimmy rolled right by me without saying a word. I was frozen, petrified and didn’t know what to do. I took one last whiff of her scent, a mixture of strawberries and lavender, before she shut the door without seeing me. I walked back to my two buddies and told them I fell in love with the new girl, Francine. They took the news just like any other fourteen-year-old boys would. ‘Francine and Billy sitting in a tree K I S S I N G first comes love then comes marriage then comes a baby carriage.’

I didn’t care what those guys said, I knew what I felt even at that young age. I was gonna marry this girl one day and I didn’t care how. Lunch time arrived as I sat at one of the long tables with my two friends while Jimmy worked the room with a couple of girls he was always flirting with but they kept rejecting his offers.

I scanned the room looking for Francine amid the chaos of teenage boys and girls running amok. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her. She was sitting at a table by herself, and nobody seemed to notice or care. This was my perfect opportunity to introduce myself.

I walked toward the table she was eating at but when I got there I chickened out and made a right turn. I slinked back to the table where my two buddies teased the hell out of me.

Wallowing in self-doubt I blew my chance to meet the girl of my dreams again. As I sat there pitying myself, I saw Jimmy sitting at her table. My teeth clenched, my stomach turned as I got angrier and angrier at myself.

I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but he has an uncanny knack of sweeping numerous girls off their feet over the years at camp. Jimmy is always persistent and never gave up until he got the girl. Looking over five minutes later Jimmy was gone but Francine remained eating her chicken salad sandwich. Fate gave me a second opportunity and I wasn’t about to blow it. I gave a quick pep talk to myself and marched over.

Francine looked up from whatever she was reading to a trembling 90-pound kid ogling her. “Hello, can I help you?” she said I froze for a split second before I uttered “Hi I’m Billy.” Well, I think that is what I said.

“Hello Billy, my name is Francine,” she answered.

She extended her beautiful, well-manicured hand waiting for me to place my hand in hers. I paused and lifted my arm shaking all the way.

“It’s ok I don’t bite. Would you like to join me?” she said My heart felt like it was riding one of the horses in the Kentucky Derby and sweat dripped into my right eye.

“Yes, I would,” I said trying to sound cool and calm.

We sat and talked for the whole entire lunch hour until it was time to resume our camp activities. I stood up, walked over to where she was sitting and pulled the chair out for her.

“Wow what a gentleman,” she said She leaned over me to grab her jacket off the back of the chair. “Bye Billy see you tonight down at the lake at 8 o’clock,” she said I smiled and nodded my head as she breezed by me while Jimmy and his friends watched her in horror.

Jimmy’s head flew around, and his eyes glared right at me. I smiled which seemed to enrage him even more. He always got the girl and wasn’t going to go quietly.

I sauntered back to the table like I just won the Super Bowl and saw the look of astonishment in my buddies’ eyes. My smile stretched as wide as a six-lane highway.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Francine and our date on the lake for the rest of the day. Time was moving so slow, and I thought the day would never end.

I went through the motions during the activities that were planned in the afternoon and a few of the kids knew it. During a game of capture the flag I wasn’t paying attention and got knocked on my ass by one of my teammates. I don’t know if he did it on purpose because I was daydreaming.

Dinner time came at 6:30 and I inhaled my burger and fries as fast as I could so I could go back to my camper to get ready for the date. I knew I had plenty of time and didn’t have to rush.

I jumped in the shower and washed my hair body three or four times. I didn’t want to miss a spot and be embarrassed if she noticed or smelled something foul. I wasn’t taking any chances.

It was a quarter to eight and I walked out the front door of my cabin. The moon shone off the dark lake water and provided a light so I could see if she arrived yet. She was there but wasn’t alone.

I could hear them talking aloud and stopped dead in my tracks when I heard his voice.

Jimmy. I picked up my pace and could hear her say, “Leave me alone Jimmy. I’m not interested in you.”

“Oh, that’s right you’re interested in that nancyboy Billy. What’s he got that I don’t?” “Well for starters he’s not an asshole like you.”

Jimmy kept tugging at her sweater asking her for a kiss as she was able to push him away. But he persisted until he saw me coming.

I froze like a deer in headlights as he had the most menacing look I ever saw on a human being. He turned towards her, waved his hand like he was swatting a fly and said, “You ain’t gonna do anything anyway.”

He marched over to Francine, pulled her in tight and tried to lay a big smooch on her again. She turned her face away but couldn’t get him off, he was too strong.

She stomped on his foot with her right shoe which made him jump off her. She tried to run, and he tried to grab her by the arm. She was able to pry him off, but she slipped and lost her balance falling over the side of the dock into the water.

I ran over to where she fell in but didn’t see her. I ran over to the other side of the dock hoping for a glimpse but nothing. Panic set in as I yelled at Jimmy to help me look for her. Jimmy just stood there expressionless and didn’t offer to help.

I dove headfirst into where she fell and swam as far as I could to towards the bottom. It felt like I was underwater for days, but I wasn’t gonna stop until I found her. When I came up for air, I saw Jimmy was gone.

Time was quickly running out and my desperation kicked in. I swam around the dock grabbing and reaching for any piece of her but came up empty. I heard voices when I came up for air and saw many faces looking down on me.

“Billy the cops and ambulance are on their way,” one of the camp counselors said

“I have to keep looking,” I said just about to go back under. I glanced at one of my buddies who pointed to the side of the dock.

I looked over and saw the sweater hanging from the spot he pointed to with her lifeless body dangling.

I pulled myself up from the water right next to where she hung. I don’t remember exactly what happened right after that. All I did know is the love of my life was gone. My parents came to get me the next morning.

The incident was ruled an accidental death and there was nothing I could have done to save her.

Every year on this day I relive that horrible nightmare again and again.


“Jacyn come on, this isn’t funny!” I screamed into the empty void around me. I was standing in the middle of my dorm room when it happened. My boyfriend suddenly disappeared before my eyes. It was almost as if he never existed. I balled my hands into fists, getting angrier by the second. “Jacyn I swear, if you don’t come back in the next—“ He appeared again, cutting me off. “Relax babe. I’m here.” He placed his warm hands against my cheeks. My eyes shot up to his green ones. “I don’t like it when you do that. I feel like… sometimes you won’t come back to me.” I relaxed my hands and wrapped them around his waist, pulling his body into a hug. “I will always come back. You won’t lose me. My traveling is based on emotion, meaning, I’ll always come back to you because,” Jacyn paused, “I love you.” That was the first time he said it. I pulled back and stared deeply into his eyes. “I love you too.” The phrase made me smile. Jacyn placed a quick kiss to my lips and grabbed my hand suddenly. He started toward the door, reaching for the knob. “Wait. I have a class in thirty minutes, I need to prepare,” I blurted as he pulled me along. “Allie, you really need to loosen up. I’m just taking you to grab something to eat,” he looked back at me with a mischievous smirk displayed on his lips, “it’ll be quick.” I sighed, hiding my smile. I intertwined my fingers with his and caught up to him. We left the dorm building pretty quickly and headed toward one of the many restaurants on campus. I looked around at the other students wandering the campus as we walked. One of the reasons why I wanted to come to this university was because of the diversity in the area. There were several different types of people and I felt at home with them. They were all very friendly and welcoming during my freshman year and I really appreciated that. I’m currently in my sophomore year, majoring in information technology. I’ve always loved working with computers when I was young so I chose to major in it. And that was where I met Jacyn; the tall, blond, handsome devil that he was. It was almost like love at first sight, except that he really made me mad when we first met, or at least, tried to meet. I would always stare at him during class and sometimes I would catch him doing the same. I tried to stop him after several lectures and talk to him but he’d always disappear once he left the room. I never had the chance to talk to him until I accidentally ran into him outside of class, it was sort of an embarrassing situation. I was at one of those sorority parties, one of my friends invited me to go along, and he was there. Obviously I’m not the type to drink but that was a difficult situation. Basically what went down was, I was just slightly tipsy and struck up a conversation with him, but it didn’t go as planned. Anyway, after that, a couple days later he stopped me after class and we started talking. Sooner than later, I figured him out and I knew that he was hiding something from me — that he had powers, that he could travel through space at will. He’d come clean and tell me everything that happened to him. He told me he was born with the powers, that his parents didn’t understand him but accepted him either way. And now that he made it to college, he was free to do what he wished. I mean, he could teleport anywhere he wanted at any time. Crazy right? “A BLT sandwich for the lady and,” Jacyn looked at me, expecting some kind of further acknowledgment, “yeah, just make that two BLT sandwiches.” He gave the cashier a dazzling smile and she quickly set up the order. I walked about the restaurant and found a place to eat while he paid for the food. Jacyn came over with a tray that held two sandwiches, a bag of BBQ chips and two soft drinks. “So, I’ve been wondering,” I spoke in between mouthfuls. “Is there a way for me to travel with you?” Once my eyes met with his, he was caught off guard. “Huh… I actually never thought about that.” He swallowed his bite and scratched his head, ruffling his ashy-blond hair. There was a silence that fell between us as we ate, I decided to drop the subject. I only had about ten more minutes before my next class started. Once I was finished with my sandwich I stood up and threw the wrappings in the trash. Jacyn did the same and we walked out of the restaurant and onto the grounds of the campus. We locked hands as we walked beside each other. I decided to go back to my dorm building and grab my things. On our way there, I felt a sudden loss of touch in my hand. I whipped my head around, observing my surroundings. Jacyn was gone. Again. In exactly one minute, he reappeared back in front of me holding two chocolate ice cream cones. “Where—“ I started to protest. “Just enjoy it,” Jacyn chuckled and began to lick his ice cream. “See, that’s what I’m talking about,” I huffed. “But, I’m glad you got me an ice cream, thanks.” Jacyn hugged me closer once we got to the dorm building. By that time we’ve both finished our ice creams and I quickly grabbed my things, checking the surroundings of the room in hopes that I wouldn’t forget anything. I noticed Jacyn checking his watch. He looked at me with pure eyes. “Listen babe, I’ve gotta go. I’ll meet you later for dinner and a movie? We can watch it in your dorm since you’re the only one living here,” he proposed, his words felt rushed. Concern washed over my face. “Yeah definitely, I’ll see you later tonight,” I said, clearing my throat of any worries I had. “Good,” was all he said before he kissed my forehead and disappeared right in front of me. ☆☆☆ After the remaining classes I had that day, I headed back to my dorm to get ready for our date. I wore an elegant, blue dress that ended around my knees. I put on makeup to compliment the look and flattened my dress to make it look neat. I sat down on the bed and waited for Jacyn to arrive. In a few short moments, Jacyn appeared in the dorm room. He wore a casual tuxedo, nothing too fancy — there’s no need to draw any unwanted attention. His blond hair was slicked back with a little grease, complimenting him well. Almost a little too well... I stood up swiftly and wrapped my arms around his neck, crushing his body against mine. He let out a surprised groan and my lips touched his. Our mouths danced around each other for a moment before I pulled away with a questioning look. “So?” I paused before continuing, catching his jade-green eyes. “Where are we going?” “I’m taking you to...” Jacyn trailed his words for a dramatic effect. “Fiola. It’s a high-class Italian restaurant in the city, and I know your parents are Italian and I know you love Italian food, so that’s where we’re going.” Hearing the thoughtfulness behind his words almost made my heart ache. He knew so many things about me, I mean it has been a year so I guess that’s understandable, but I was still concerned about him. I never really got the full extent of his powers, he never really opened up to me about it. I was always the one to pry, I was just curious. “Okay,” I bubbled and grabbed his hand as he led me out of the dorm building and into the darkness of the night. There were lights that lined the sidewalks, illuminating our path through the campus grounds. Once we arrived at Jacyn’s car, a freaking Mercedes by the way, still don’t understand how he could afford that... I hopped in and he drove north toward the city. The whole car ride was full of karaoke singing, dancing, and goofing around. We also talked too, about future plans, upcoming events, things like that. It took about an hour to get to the restaurant from the campus. Jacyn had already made reservations so we were seated pretty quickly. A waiter made their way over to the table and took our order. I ordered a dish of their famous chicken parmesan and Jacyn ordered the classic spaghetti and meatballs. Once the waiter was gone, I remembered what happened back at the dorms — I had a few questions to ask. “Back in the dorm room after lunch, you were hurried to leave,” I saw his eyes shot up to mine, “I was wondering where you went...” Jacyn sighed and placed a hand against his forehead, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t want to bring it up...” His serious tone alerted me. I sat up straighter in the chair and leaned forward to listen better. “I’m sorta... on the run,” he scrunched his face, expecting a bad reaction from me. I leaned back in my chair slowly and ran my fingers through my hair, processing the information. “Okay... from who?” “Scientists, basically. They found out about me and want to make me their test subject,” he spoke through his teeth. I could tell he was struggling as he told me about them. He told me about how they got to his parents but didn’t do anything too serious. Jacyn’s parents slipped and it accidentally came out that he had teleportation powers. He couldn’t resent his parents for an accident, but he knew that he needed to keep himself safe — and that meant he couldn’t meet his parents for a while. “I’m so sorry, Jacyn.” I reached my hand out to hold his, and just as my fingertips grazed his skin, a gunshot was heard from the far wall of the room. In a flash, Jacyn was gone, disappeared into thin air, the shot would’ve pierced through him if he hadn’t teleported. He reappeared again, grabbed my hand and stumbled through the screaming chaos that surrounded us. We ran out of the restaurant, barely touching our food — I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. He lead me far away from the restaurant and into an alleyway, squishing his body flat against the wall. I did the same as footsteps were heard, advancing fast on our location. The screams from the restaurant echoed in the streets, people were running out of the building and scattering across the area. Jacyn turned to me, helplessness in his eyes. He hugged me tight and whispered, “I hope this works.” And suddenly, we jumped through space.


I stared at him across the table. He was stirring sugar into his coffee, clinking the spoon against the ceramic edges. I sat with my hands curled around my cup, the coffee in it still black and bitter. Cracks in the faux leather booth dug into my thighs, my skin chilly from the blasting AC. My palms began to burn, and I let them, imagining the heat seeping up through my arms into my heart. Ian sipped his sweetened coffee, his eye twitching as the flavor hit his tongue. A 24-hour diner was not the place to go for the best roast. "So. What do we do now?" he said, staring down at the ring his cup had left on the table. A brown crop circle in a field of corn. I shrugged, tense neck muscles complaining from the movement. "I don't know. You tell me. I was… Everything was fine for me." Tears welled up in his eyes. I waited for pity to rise in me to match, but nothing came. Just emptiness, or at best, something crumbled and sour. "I just… I thought that I could get over it. I did, I truly did. We've had such a beautiful relationship since then, and you've been so perfect. You've done everything for me, for us," he said, putting his coffee down and putting his head in his hand. "But your demon is back." "My demon is back," he breathed, letting it out like a sinner confessing to a priest. He looked lighter after he said it, and I resented him for it. He'd placed his coffee cup down slightly to the right of where the coffee ring was. My fingers itched to move it back, to fit it into the ring from before. "The wedding was incredible," Ian continued. "You were so beautiful, and it's not that I regret it - it's not - it's just that I don't know if I can let go of this sadness in me. From before." He reached over and pulled out a thin paper napkin from the dispenser, jostling several condiment bottles. Ketchup, mustard, malt vinegar, and honey. Sour and sweet. "It was years ago, Ian," the words fell out of my mouth like they had countless times before. I imagined them on a long string, bungee jumping out into the air only to be sucked back in and repeated at a later time. My voice sounded hollow, forced. "I know, I know!" Ian rolled his eyes up to the sky and ran his palms down the sides of his face. His bright gold wedding ring left a red mark on his pale cheeks. We hadn't been on the island long enough for a tan to develop. "I just wanted our story to be different, you know? And what you did… what if I never get past it? What if I'm sad about it forever?" He shifted his gaze to meet my eyes, waiting for my response. A response to a question he had posed so many times before, and that I had answered just as much. Matching his stare was like staring into the depths of the ocean.

I fell in love with those eyes.

The thought came and went, and left more in its wake. I thought about the moonlit swim in the bay the night before. How the water was like glass, and reflected even the craters on the moon. Those eyes that had stared into mine and professed love deeper than I could even imagine. Slipping into the bay like silk and losing track of what was water and what was skin. A start to a honeymoon that should only exist in movies. "I just think I need more time, you know?" Ian said. The absurdity of the phrase snapped me back to the present. "To what?" I hissed. My tone of voice took him by surprise. He was used to me comforting him, soothing him whenever his demon reared his ugly head. This demon of jealousy, he called it. The demon of pride was my secret name for it. "To…" he shook his head slightly as if to clear it. "To be on my own, to make sure I get rid of these thoughts. This demon." The demon. The demon inside him that he blames for everything. For this back-and-forth, lack of commitment, lack of emotional maturity. The demon that comes out whenever he wants to be reassured of my love, as if years of therapy, devotion, and a damned wedding haven't been enough. The anger in my chest formed a hard fist and shot its way up. I opened my mouth to let it out. "What can I get you?" The waitress' voice was low and scratchy, and spoke far more to a lifetime of smoking than the tobacco stains on her fingers could. Her heat-fried hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and the swipe of blue eyeshadow across each lid touched my heart far more than Ian's pleading eyes. She pulled out a pad of paper from her apron and a short pencil from behind her ear, hovering the tip over the pad, ready to not waste a second. "I'm fine with coffee for now," I said, giving her a slight smile as an apology. We were taking up a breakfast table, and although the last thing I could stomach was a greasy fry-up, I felt guilty for not ordering. Without batting an eye, the waitress turned to Ian. "What about you, honey?" The term of endearment scratched at me. "He'll take some perspective," I growled under my breath. Ian coughed to cover it up and said that he was fine with coffee too for the moment, but could he get some water? The waitress nodded and swept away, her pad of paper unblemished. "Hey, are you mad?" Ian asked, a small line forming between his brows. "You know I can't help it. We've talked about this. Sometimes I just wake up like this, with my demon on my shoulder. I want to forget, I do. You're the love of my life, and I can't imagine being with anyone but you. And now we're married, and maybe that just scares me, and I'm worried because I still have these damn thoughts in my head, and I thought..." "Wait," I almost laughed. "You thought that marriage might be a

solution  to getting rid of this demon in you?" "Well, maybe!" he shrugged, sitting back into the booth which let out a soft

hiss  as the cushion compressed. There was a pregnant pause as we both processed the madness of it. He broke the silence first. "I just want to be alone. Without this demon. And when I'm with you, it's here. It's with me and I just want to forget it and let it go. Can we just have a break? Just to give me time to forget all the sadness so we can move on." He reached across the table and cupped his hands around mine, which were still gripping the now-tepid coffee. His palms were large and warm. I wanted to sink into them and let them hold me. Instead, I pulled my hands away. "Husband," I said, for the first and last time. "I have proven again and again how much our love means the world to me. And how I would do anything for you." "Oh, I know, and -" I held up a hand, annoyed at the interruption. He was probably expecting the same speech I gave every time. "And now we are bound by law and faith. Until death do us part." I leaned in slightly. "And now, there is a part of me that is dead. Your demon has killed it. And so, may you two live happily ever after." I stood up and walked out of the diner. I felt the waitress' eyes on me as she half-heartedly listened to the orders of a rowdy family a few tables over. I saw her glance back to where Ian was sitting, but I didn't follow her gaze. I know that his face would show puzzlement, but not panic. He knew I would come back. But this time… I pressed open the front door, heat and humidity hitting me without mercy. I smelled the wet earth from the early morning rain and heard the ocean waves in the distance. And then I felt the weight on my shoulders. My own demons, settling in. I wasn't any better than Ian, really. Each of us, on this honeymoon, had some uninvited guests. 'Til death do us part.