A thump, twin shouts of surprise, and the sight of a lone ski continuing on after it had escaped its owner. It all culminated in Amy laying on her back in the snow, staring up at a blue sky. After a moment, her vision was blocked by the helmet of the other skier she’d run into. “You alright there, hun?” Amy lifted one hand in a thumbs up, “right as rain. You?” The other woman let out a snort, “a sight better than you I think. Let’s get you out of the snow before you become an ice cube.” Amy let herself be pulled upright and steadied as she glared at her runaway ski while the other woman brushed some of the snow off her back. “I take it you’re not a snow bunny?” Amy huffed, “how’d you guess.” With a chuckle, the other woman pulled off her helmet, revealing short, side shaved, grass green hair and a freckled face with the cutest button nose Amy had ever seen paired with beautiful chocolate brown eyes. “Just got lucky. The name’s Jessie, you want a hand with that?” “Amy, and I’d love one.” She replied, running a hand through her own short jewel purple hair, “I like your hair.” “I like yours too.” Jessie said, giving her own a little flip with a bounce of her head. “You want to try again, or are you heading back to the lodge?” she asked as she grabbed Amy’s ski. “I’ve fallen twelve times and I haven't even made it to the rope for the beginner slope. I think I’m ready to head back to the lodge for some hot cocoa.” Jessie’s laugh made Amy smile. “Can’t blame you. Here, I can walk you back if you like?” “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Amy hurried out, “I’m a klutz but I think I can manage walking.” “It’s no biggie, I was on my way back anyway.” “Well, if that’s the case,” Amy said as she took her ski back. “Lead the way.” A twenty minute walk later found Jessie laughing in the lodge's lounge. “So, your friends told you to try something exciting and new and you, in your infinite wisdom, and despite your hate of all things cold, chose skiing?” Amye sighed, “I know I know! But it was the best thing I could think of and it wasn’t booked for months.” Jessie smothered a chuckle in her cup of coffee,” why did your friends think you needed to do something anyway? Bad break up?” Amy snorted this time, “ hardly. My lack of love life is probably part of the reason, but they knew better than to tell me that. No, apparently I don’t get out enough, in other words, I’m boring.” “Boring?” “Yeah,” Amy shrugged, “they think I spend too much time in libraries and on my computer.” Jessie tilted her head, “yeah?” “Yeah. They mean well, but I think they forget that my writing is my job and it requires researching.” “woah, wait, you’re a writer?” The wonder in Jessie's voice made heat rush to Amy’s cheeks. “Oh, yeah, yeah I am. Well, I freelance anyway, little things, nothing big just, you know, until I get my first real book done, you know?” “No way, that’s so cool!”

After a moment of digging in her pocket, Jessie produced her phone. “You’ve got to tell me the name of some of your stuff, I need to read it.” “Well, I mean, I haven't done anything big, I told you that.” Jessie shook her phone, “alright alright, I did some writing for a food blog a few years ago, here, let me pull it up.” That night and the two days after seemed to race by after that, every morning after the first night Jessie would meet Amy and help her up the slopes. Between the impromptu lessons they talked about everything. They talked about how Jessie used to have a crazy little dog named princess who would try to gum people to death even in her old age if they got near her when she was napping. They talked about Amy’s first ever story for school being about the life of a piece of popcorn, about Jessie’s inability to cook, about Amy’s irrational dislike of spaghetti. Jessie's dreams of living with her little family in a little house with a little corgi named Gurgi, of Amy's, to own a tiny flock of chickens in a tiny blue coop in her own tiny yard.

Before Amy knew it, three days had passed and it was her last day. The pair stood beside Amy’s car, Jessie having helped her load her baggage in its trunk. “So, I guess this is goodbye then.” Amy said with a shrug. “Hey, don’t say it like that.” Said Jessie as she put a hand on Amy’s shoulder, “I mean, we have eachother’s cell numbers don’t we? We’re just a text away.” “Yeah, I know.” Jessie smiled and before Amy knew it, she was being pulled into a bone cracking hug. “You better text me when you get home, okay?” Amy giggled as she returned the hug, “yeah, I will.” Only, she never did. She never got the chance. It happened while she had stopped to fill up her gas tank. It was nothing but a spat of bad luck that had her cell phone fall from her pocket as she passed a backing up car. By the time the driver had stopped, it was too late, the phone was ruined, along with all the everything she’d had on it. Along with a number she hadn’t been able to memorize yet. That had been four months and a move to Maine ago, and Amy still found herself scrolling through her contacts for a name that wasn’t there anymore to tell her about the newest book she was picking up. With a sigh, Amy shoved her phone in her pocket and stood from her crouch as she added a fourth book to the growing stack in her arms. As she turned to move on, there was a thud, and a yelp, and a lone book bouncing away as it escaped its owner. “I’m so sorry, are you…. Amy?” Amy looked up, and met a pair of beautiful chocolate eyes, paired with the cutest button nose she’d ever seen, a freckled face, and grass green hair.


Alma Perdida stared at the abstract popcorn ceiling above her. With her arm extended out, she finger-painted the air, trying to connect the popcorn dots. Alma was waiting for a figure to reveal itself. Twirling her fingers, she finally lined up a shape to which she thought resembled a face. Smirking and releasing a small breath of triumph, Alma sat up from her squeaky twin sized mattress.

Alma made her way into her bathroom --- a whole three steps to the right of her bed. As she flipped on the bathroom light, the mirror revealed dark bags under her eyes and quite a messy bun. Alma stared at herself for a solid minute. She skimmed her cheeks for clogged pores and glared at the mole that made its home above her left eyebrow. Intoxicated with her negative body image, she sighed and reached towards the cabinet for her medication. As her fingers grazed the prescription bottle, a bing came from her phone. Alma left the bathroom and looked at the notification. The screen read, “Happy Birthday Onawa! A Gift from Your Local Coffee Shop!” A grin grew across Alma’s face. It was not her birthday today, but she decided she would accept the gift of a free coffee on behalf of Onawa. Alma slid on a pair of sandals, grabbed a soft brown jacket from the floor and headed out of her cramped studio apartment.

As Alma made her way down Fugue Avenue, she scanned the street, and happily watched the people around her. She glanced at the store to her right for a brief millisecond, and before her attention was focused back to the street, her gaze returned to the store window. Alma stopped walking and curiously looked through the glass. There was a middle aged woman staring back at her from inside the store. The lady was in a strange outfit --- a fancy coat, pink pajama pants, and flip-flops. Her hair resembled a bird’s nest --- coarse with stray hairs everywhere coming out of a bun. Alma was confused as to who let the lady leave the house looking like that. She waved at the lady awkwardly, and the lady waved back at the same instance. Alma smirked at the timing of their wave, and turned back to the sidewalk ahead of her. The coffee shop was two stores away. This was Alma’s first time ever going to the shop, since she does not drink coffee. As she opened the door, a familiar sounding whimsical alarm went off. Alma quickly scanned the shop. There were three mirrors on each wall, with typical coffee shop art hanging in between. From behind the coffee shop’s counter, there was a young man named Guia, who wore a 5 o’clock shadow. It was Guia’s one month long attempt to grow facial hair, as he was trying to get rid of his notorious baby-face. “Good morning, Onawa! Happy Birthday!” exclaimed Guia.

Was it possible that Onawa came to claim her birthday beverage at the same time as Alma? She looked behind herself, but there was no one else entering the shop. Alma was confused, but pretended to know the young worker. She smiled back at the baby-faced man and stared at the menu. The mocha latte seemed to pop out at her, but she was unsure what that drink was. “Typical mocha latte?”

Alma’s eyes widened. This worker must be a mind reader of some sort. She nodded to the mocha latte suggestion. Guia grinned and began to make the birthday drink. As Alma was waiting for her beverage, she glanced along the coffee shop walls and she was surprised that her eyes met someone. Another customer must have walked in, but Alma did not recall hearing the whimsical alarm. She must have been preoccupied with the menu at the new customer’s time of arrival.

The new customer had a mole that was hard to miss on their brow. Alma tried not to stare at it for courtesy reasons, but the mole stared back at her. Bird nest styled buns must be of a new style, because the customer was wearing one. Strangely, the customer had on a brown coat with pink pajama pants and flip-flops... It was the same lady that Alma encountered through the store window.

Alma was trying her best not to be rude and stare, but she could not help to judge the lady. What was bothersome, was that anytime Alma looked away, the stranger would look away too. It was as if the stranger was mirroring her movements. “Fancying our new mirrors? We thought we could give the shop a more modern vibe... By the way, here is your latte! I added 3 pumps of sugar free vanilla--- just how you like it, Onawa.” Guia handed Alma the latte. Alma slowly grabbed the drink. The worker must have been mistaken; she was not looking at a mirror, she was looking at the stranger --- and she had no idea what 3 pumps of sugar free vanilla meant.

Alma turned away from Guia and once again caught eyes with the mirroring stranger. The lady now had a drink in her hand. Alma wondered if the stranger had a drink this whole time. Maybe she overlooked the beverage due to the crazy outfit of the stranger. Alma looked away from the stranger, making eye contact with only the ground, and walked quickly to the shop door.

Leaving the stranger behind her, Alma took a sharp right turn and started walking. She noticed that people were staring at her, but she did not understand why. She nervously took a sip of her latte. Her taste buds rejoiced and she had a sense of familiarity. The latte was a perfect choice for her “birthday” beverage.

Ignoring the weird stares, Alma came across a bench which faced an empty store building that was recently a boutique. As Alma made her way to the bench, her eyes met a reflection in the store window. With her mouth wide open, she could not believe what she saw. Was it just a coincidence, or was she being followed? Alma was looking at the stranger once again, and the stranger was looking right back, mocking her with the gaping mouth.

“Are you following me?” remarked Alma blatantly. The stranger did not respond, but still mirrored her movements. Alma’s heart fluttered. She made her way closer to the stranger, and the stranger walked towards her. Alma’s sandals got caught beneath her, making her trip and hit the ground at an abrupt pace. After realizing that she tripped on her sandal, she looked right and left for the stranger, but the stranger was gone... Alma saw that a sandal was a couple feet away from her. It flung off of her foot during her journey to the ground. While she stared at her exposed foot, her eyes made their focus to her legs. She was wearing pink pajama pants. Strange, because Alma did not remember putting them on.

Alma flinched as something was poking her. She slid off her fancy brown jacket and noticed that she had a name tag on. It became unpinned and was softly stabbing her chest. She ripped off the name tag and blankly stared at the name. It read: ONAWA.

Alma shuddered and flung the name tag, which conveniently landed in a puddle. With instant regret, Alma folded herself over to fetch the name tag. She wanted to make sure she read it right. As she reached for the name tag, Alma peaked at her reflection. In the puddle, the stranger looked back at her, with the monstrous bun, the mole, and bags under both eyes. The reflection was not a stranger at all. It was Alma...who was in fact Onawa. Onawa let out a shriek, as she was unaware that she was suffering a psychological episode of dissociative fugue.


I read a funny quote once.

The problem with stupid people is that they don’t know they are stupid. The joke is a paradox. Stupid people read it and they laugh. The problem is we’re all stupid. That’s the joke. And it’s not funny. It’s not funny and I’m certainly not laughing. If I’m honest, I doubt I’ll ever laugh. Another oft used quote is something along the lines of

we all make it up as we go along . We’re all muddling along and trying to make the most of things. Making the best of a bad situation, and grinning and bearing it as we go. Life is a state of denial. You can disagree with that if you like. That just proves that I’m right and you’re stupid. Denying that you’re in denial is right up there with

as stupid as it gets. Of course we’re stupid! We were born knowing the square root of bugger all and then, somewhere along the way our egos kick in and we think we know it all, which locks us into a perpetual state of idiocy. Think? You’re having a laugh there aren’t you? We don’t

think  we know it all. That’s another self-refutation. There is no thinking going on here. Instead we

believe. Belief is the single most stupid aspect that we are possessed of. We all believe things and we carry a belief system around with us. Even those who spend a huge element of themselves refuting the belief systems of others whilst denying they have one. I’ve put your back up haven’t I? No, I have. None of us like being challenged and the worst of all challenges is against our belief systems. What gives me the right to be so appallingly challenging? Well, I’m about as stupid as it gets. I believed I was alive when all the evidence pointed to the contrary. I held on to the fact of my existence as proof of life. I refused to believe that I could be anything other than alive. My twisted logic was that if I was dead, then I would have ceased to exist and I held this absolute certainty that I would surely know if I were dead. Death is after all the one absolute certainty in life.

My argument was flawed in the presumption that I was alive. I’d made that arrogant assumption because I didn’t have anything else. I could not stomach an alternative. But I

knew. Underneath the lava flow of denial I could still feel the truth. As much as I tried to burn it away, it remained constant. Truth has an annoying habit of clinging onto its constancy. Let me tell you something, when you’re dead the dimension of time holds less meaning. It is demoted in the pecking order and down in the bowels of the organisation of your existence it is overlooked, ignored and treated quite badly. Honestly, it should file a grievance and HR should do something about it. I joke of course, because time conspired against me and managed to embarrass me. I remained in a state of abject idiocy for the best part of a century.

There. I’ve said it. I’ve admitted it.

I was dead for almost a hundred years before I could countenance the fact of my demise. I would refer to myself as a loser, but I’d already lost everything and by rights should have had nothing else to lose. That should have been such a liberating state of affairs. I’d done my living and I’d gone through the worst part of living; death. We fear death. We loath and resent it. Death gets in the way. Death ruins the party. We would get so much more done if it wasn’t for the stone faced denizen who insists on turning up to cut the cord of our life as the sands of our meagre existence are ebbing away. I would tell you that I believed in oblivion at the point of death, but that would be a blatant lie. I cannot tell you anything about how I was prior to my death because I cannot remember who I was.

I do not remember my death. Of all the things you think you would remember about your existence, it has to be your death. But then, I don’t remember my birth either. I don’t remember my mortal birth and there is nothing there when I attempt any sort of recollection of my coming into this existence of mine.

I think I must have come into this state of being fully formed. A facsimile of the mortal I once was. No infancy or childhood. Just the shade of the man I might have been. If I ever was like the man who lived, a hundred years of denial have followed. More than a life time of not living but refusing that I did not live. You must wonder what I did in all of that time. That ridiculous era spent in a state of splendid misapprehension. I suppose I went through the motions. I did what I could with what I had. I ploughed a rut and I read a lot of books.

There were other things I did to pass the time. Things that I am not proud of. Pursuits that are seldom spoken of in polite company, or if they are, we all dismiss them as ribald and meaningless comments spoken in order to illicit a cheap laugh.

I sinned. I did a lot of sinning. What else is there to do when you live a solitary life. I considered myself a loner and convinced myself that this was a choice that I had made. The truth is that I had no choice and my complete and utter isolation was another sort of death. You see, some of us die more than once. People are social beings and if we are separated from that which makes us make sense then we cease to be. We are that proverbial tree that makes a habit of falling in a forest at a time when there is no one to hear it. I heard it though. I was there. I just wish I’d listened. I am a ghost. Being a ghost is not fun. Being a ghost is a terrible eventuality foisted upon you when you are distracted with the prospect of your end. Everything happens in a chaotic frenzy and you are burped out into another sphere of existence like a morsel of food from a choking diner. I was ejected into this world by the Heimlich manoeuvre of fate. I doubt I will ever cease fumbling around for a reason for my being here. My quest for meaning is ceaseless, for what else is there? I understand that this is a futile pursuit. The diner did not place me in their throat on purpose. They intended to swallow me. Fate intervened because it saw the diner choking and could not stand idly by. No one goes in pursuit of the globule of meat that was launched from the dying person. That person holds the stage. I was the sleight of hand. I am here thanks to a magic trick that went awry. There are others. Not once did I think that I was the only one. After all, for such a long time I thought I was in the land of the living. There is something about the nature of our existence that prevents any sort of connection. We are not built for that and we are not meant for that. I just wish I knew what we were meant for. Maybe I knew that once and forgot it along with everything else I have forgotten.

Worse still is everything I have overlooked and ignored. Those things I have forgotten are a mere drop in that ocean. I have been deliberately blind. Pinballing myself through this existence in the vain hope that I would miraculously hit the jackpot. Once I calmed down, after nigh on a century of cartwheeling and spinning through my existence, I began to see a little more clearly. Ghosts aren’t white sheets with eye holes badly cut out in a rushed after thought of a Halloween costume. We are not cheap special effects.

No, we are something altogether different to those twee and half thought out tales. It's been two generations now. Soon to be three. I suppose there is a chance that I won’t move on when my current host passes, but somehow I doubt it. I think I’d know. It’s not like knowing when it’s your time to die. This is a twisted inversion of living and dying. I just don’t think I’ve done anything worthy of my ceasing to be held in this state. I have not fulfilled my purpose. I have not fulfilled by destiny. The living have it easy in comparison. They can coast and fail to be anything of worth and they will suffer the same fate as everyone else. Many of them live longer. After all, the people who do what it was that they were meant for shine more brightly and the light that shines brightly does not shine for so long.

I know I did not shine brightly in my former life. I doubt I was a dullard either. That only leaves one other possibility.

For a century I have existed in purgatory and I have watched as my granddaughter led a bitter and twisted life. She punished an undeserving world and in taking her pain out on those around her, failed ever to live. Then I observed her son spoil the world around him. He was a baleful poison that blighted everything he laid his eyes upon.

Now I have the sad and pitiful prospect of following the bleak and tormented life of his daughter.

Sometimes I wonder whether Elizabeth is here with me. Will George follow me as we transition?

I don’t think they will.

I think I have always

known

this. And if that is the case, then I am beginning to understand why that may be.

I started this. It’s all my fault. I broke things so badly that my descendants cannot live properly. In fact, they live so badly that their offspring are broken in childhood and they carry on my evil and broken legacy.

For a hundred years I have witnessed this and thought I was living it. In a way, I suppose I was.

I started this. I wonder whether I can ever finish it.


Old Recipes

She crushed her pills into her water and swallowed a swig before raising a dry hand to her moist lips. Her eyes darted to her daughter, standing tall on a bar stool stirring something in a bowl. Katey loved to cook and bake, a passion she seemed to just inhabit out of nowhere. Fingers dawdled over the shelf that held the cook books from generations ago, concealing recipes of many family favorites.

Today she’d be cooking something simpler, something she’d love eating, but not so much for her mother, as nutrition was getting steadily more important in her coming years. She’d be making chocolate chip cookies, and she had to have a certain recipe to feel as if she was satisfied. Things like that had to be specific, crucial to her cooking manner.

Katey sat down on the bar stool, her legs swaying just over the ground, hovering in a timeless air. She was pondering what recipe to use, as if her brain had memorized all the cookies she had ever eaten and already knew their recipes.

She looked up from her magazine as she heard her daughter call out to her from the kitchen.

“Where’s grandma’s recipe book?” She asked. Pushing her glasses up on her nose, she began to look around for an excuse. She didn’t even know where she put the damn thing; she buried it somewhere, just like she did with everything her mother had touched after she passed. For the first time in a while, she felt as though remnants of her were beginning to sprout.

Trying to find it would be like finding a needle in a haystack, and opening something that still had grandma attached to it would open up something her mother did not want to invite in.

“I don’t know, Katey. Try the top shelf.” It was where most of the cookbooks were anyways. “I already did.” She responded, as she began to hear the cabinets close- like the doors slowly closing in on her. She felt she would never be able to escape her mother’s wrath, her grasp from beyond the grave, something coming to take her life back. “Is there another recipe you like?” She asked, looking for an answer that would be a way out.

“No, not really. Grandma always made the best cookies when we visited and had the best recipes. She gave them all to you, so I don’t know where you put them.”

Whether it was just an old excuse or genuine memory loss, she really didn’t know. She just wished it would store itself away instead of dumping it onto her shoulders, like everything her mother had given her had done.

There was no legacy for her kin, no memories lively enough to look back to, no inheritance besides the mental illnesses she received from her mother. She didn’t want to even think about trying to find the book, but it felt as if Katey needed to have it in her hands in order to make these cookies.

There was silence in the house as Katey began to continue gathering her supplies and scour for new recipes. She felt guilty about not being able to provide for her daughter’s needs- even the small things like this, making it feel as if she was stranded, so she pushed herself up and made way to the closet in the hallway. Legs that knew the hurt and truth behind the thin door of the closet wanted to turn around and escape it, hoping that her daughter would find a new recipe and go on with her routine, but she willed herself on for her daughter. It was the grave of her mother, and going near it felt ominous. It felt as though she lingered near, wanting to protect the things she left behind.

She swung the door open, a mountain of memories like an avalanche, came crumbling down. Smells of worn out years, black and white candids, bags of jewelry that would never be worn. Frames like white bones, earrings like teeth from a carcass.

This really is that bad. I didn’t think she was this much of a collector, consolidating her whole life into all these belongings. It’ll take years to go through all of this.

A roach appeared from a small corner where there were scattered belongings and it scurried behind some bags of items that were never discovered, at least to her knowledge.

Great. It felt like she was at a cemetery, watching maggots feast on her mother’s body.

She began to peel back one of the trash bags, by some luck containing books that used to be strewn all across her mother’s house. Only true fortune would bring her to find the book as quickly as possible so she could please her daughter.

She opened a leather-bound book, revealing yellow pages of scrawled handwriting. If this was the book, there was no way Katey would be able to read the scribbles. She tossed it back into the bag and sighed heavily.

She tried to think of the last time her mother had done something for her daughter, and almost laughed as the thought seemed improbable. It was almost like a joke. The only thing her mother had given her were years of trauma and depression. Katey’s grandmother was no joyous angel as was often described. She was an avid alcoholic, smashing bottles against walls and things in the house that were closest to her. Very short-tempered and bipolar, often crashing without her daily medicine prescribed over-the-counter. The whole town knew her name, knew her legacy- mainly from the hospital visits.

It had become her job to call the cops when she passed out on the couch or was raging wildly. She shuddered at the thought of leaving that behind for her daughter, for her to cope with that legacy always at the back of her mind. For her to continue on life when she was gone and still feel that presence of her terrifying mother was unbearable.

That’s why she moved when she became pregnant with Katey. Staying posed the risk of an highly unwanted miscarriage, and leaving meant new life, new opportunities for the both of them. It was a clear decision to make, but not exactly proving easy.

It had always made her sad when Katey began to ask questions about her relatives, where they were and why they never visited. It was the same ordeal with all of them, scrambling as soon as they could, not keeping in contact for fear their mother would come after them and plague their new lives with her distress and wild temper.

She searched deeper into the bag, arms being impaled by the edges and spines of weary books. Randomly, she pulled another book out, and flipped to an open page. The writing was cleaner, more organized, obviously implying its older age.

There was a diary heading.

November 18, 1978 Elli has her third grade fall pictures soon, and Charles and I have scraped together just enough money for us to have three pictures. One for us, some for her- if she wants them. She comes home from school, goes into her room, and waits for dinner, expecting it to be made. I worry about her sanity and expectations of other people. I hope she has friends at school. Then, she would have something I didn’t. She got a lot from me - my hair, my eyes, my nose. It seems as though my whole identity has been robbed of me.

I want the pictures now. I’ll see myself in them. I can make her just like me, something of my own. Maybe I can envision the life I never had.

She rubbed her finger over the worn out and dried ink, like raisins sucked of their very being. She held her breath in her throat, not wanting to let it go because she felt it would disappear into the hands of her mother.

She flipped through the pages, trying to look for the date after she had left with Katey. She knew that would be an interesting entry.

March 17, 1992 Elli has left me. Charles has left me, for a while now. I knew Elli was pregnant, and I will find that child. I will find her. They are the closest things to me because Elli has a life destined just like mine. I want to be there to see it crumble. I want to raise another child like my own- and start over. Elli doesn’t deserve that child. No. No. No. I do.

Some day I might miss them. She threw the book away in another trash bin, one that was going to the landfill for sure. She wouldn’t read any more entries, not that she wanted to anyways.

She continued to file through books, albums of pictures of her younger self that were kept clean in her mother’s presence, but had now grown layers of dust around the covers. It felt strange to look back at that, and being able to pinpoint the exact moment in time it happened because she had the traumatic memories so dramatically engrained in her head.  Looking at her younger self, felt like she was looking at another person, only a small thread connecting the two. It felt like two strangers, bound together by two seats right next to each other in the city tram, left to sit in each other’s wake of silence and intensity as they said nothing until their next stop.

She could hear Katey whisking up some things in the kitchen, occasionally hearing the pitter-patter of her feet as she walked to and from the pantry gathering supplies and rounding the countertops to check in the bottom drawers for larger bowls.

She was a very disorganized baker, very frenzied, but it made her delicacies all the better. After hours of searching through the legacies of a broken mother, there were three books left in the bag. There was a red cover on one that seemed appealing enough to pick, so aching arms and fingers flipped open to a random page, landing on a cream pie recipe. Her mother had made this once for a bake sale at school, but had caused a scene the day Elli was supposed to help run the sale. It felt like a wave of relief washed over her, no one would remember that except her, and that embarrassment was all taken away with her mother.

Her shoulders sagged, relaxing, as if to say, ‘ at last’.

She continued to flip through the pages until she found chocolate chip cookies, and dog-eared it. She blew the dust off the cover, and tucked it endearingly under her arm as she strolled into the kitchen with a pleased smile.

Her mother left her a legacy she would use to her advantage, she was no longer controlled by her, no strings attached to her. It felt like all the feelings, all the cherished and not cherished memories, all the collected items were being uprooted for good, and some were being buried. Her mother would be buried with them, taking them wherever she went now, a load onto her shoulders.

She shut the door behind her, like closing the lid to the casket, and took a deep breath. This was her legacy now. One for her daughter, and continuing on. She would see the joyous spark in Katey's eyes and that would be enough to fix all the hurt, all the glass shattering of bottles and all-too-easily-broken hearts.

It would be enough to fix the shaken nights, the nights in hospitals and the evenings after school, everything that led to the crushing tentatively of pills plopped into water. And it started with this, a new life, a new legacy for herself.

She found Katey stooped over in the kitchen, displeased, going through recipes that weren’t ‘just right’. With a smile, she exclaimed brightly,

“Katey, I found an old recipe book. Want to make some cookies with me?”

Katey’s head turned sideways and looked at her with an expression of joy and excitement.

“You found it!”

Katey ran to her and crashed into her mother’s legs, now weakened from being bent while going through the closet. She nuzzled her head against Elli’s thighs before running back to her position at the bar stool.

She opened the dog-eared page and began calling out to her mother for certain ingredients. Her mother internally laughed as she followed them like orders, collecting the needed supplies from the fridge. Katey mixed and mixed in the larger bowl she had retrieved, and with the work of the duo, were able to get the cookies in the oven in no time.

Despite her promise, Elli had a few bites of the soft cookie, teeth sinking deeply into the cookie and embellishing her mouth with the chocolate gooey-ness. It felt amazing to be making new memories with her daughter, ones that her daughter would carry on forever.

With big eyes that seemed to hold every emotion Elli had ever experienced, Katey looked up to her mother with a warm smile. She was relieved to pass something down to her daughter that wasn’t unpleasant or something of a burden.

It felt like she was truly a mother despite spending countless nights awake by her bedside, changing diapers that threatened to extinguish her sense of smell. She felt like she was truly leaving a legacy for her daughter, like footprints in sand.

And Elli knew that one day her daughter would be stepping in those footprints, following the path her mother set out for her.

She looked down at her daughter, the red-cover book of recipes embalmed in sweaty hands. She pushed it into her daughter’s still-growing palms and bent down to whisper in her ear,

“This is my legacy to you. Take good care of it for me.”


I'm Cassandra Autumn. I'm twenty-five years old and I love birds. When I was a little demon, I have a friend named Mr. Wilson. He loves birds too, and he likes to tease me. It annoyed me, but in the end, he taught me a lesson about life and birds. I never forget him. After my classes ended, I fixed my things and Mr. Wilson appears in front of me, again. "What do you want?" I asked him. He smiled and hold my hand, "Let's go to ten day vacation." I was about to complain, but in the blink of an eye, we were in an unknown place. The place is full of lights. Yellow, green, red and have a weird sound. It's my first time I came here. Many humans eat popcorn and happily walking with their parent and friends. "What is this place?" I asked.

"We were at an amusement park." My eyes wide because of... Excitement? "Weh? Are you serious? Mr. Wilson, please I want to go home." I was about to punch him that time because Mr. Wilson is so annoying. I want to kick his toes because of his freaking trick. But instead, his signature smiled curve in his face and teased me again. "Are you sure? But your eyes say something to me." My jaw dropped and my hand froze. "I know that you want to go in this place, but your father doesn't allow you to go." I bit my lips because of anger. He's right, my father never allow me to go in this place. For him, this place is not for demon like me. This place is for happy humans only. My clan is the bad demons and Mr. Wilson is a magician clan. Okay, never mind. I froze because Mr. Wilson pats my head again. "Don't worry, I talked to your father and he gives me a permission to come here with you." After he spoke, I hug him and cried again in his shoulder. I really, really want to go in this place. I want to eat popcorn, ice cream and ride the extreme rides. "Such a crying demon." After the dramatic scene, we enjoy the rides, foods and laughing others kids because of extreme rides. "Here, take it," Mr. Wilson said. I accepted the ice and eat, "You said we will go at ten day vacation. What place next?"

"Hmm, secret. Just eat that ice cream immediately." Mr. Wilson fixes his hair and said that we will go to a hotel. Hey, we just sleep at all and my room is separate from him. Don't assume. I woke up and fix my things. It's second day and Mr. Wilson said that we will go to the river for fishing. Honestly, I hate fishing, it's boring and the worms, yuck! Their soft, dirty body. It's a big yuck, but in the end, I'm sitting beside him and waiting for the fish. "It's boring," I sighed.

After an hour, he caught a ten tilapia and one goldfish. Seriously? Why that goldfish is swimming in the river? "Aw, you didn't get any fish. Poor Cassandra." On the third day, Mr. Wilson used his power to fly and invisible power. We fly at the town of Majayjay, Laguna in the Philippines. The place is nice, we eat at a famous restaurant named Jabella. Mr. Wilson ordered buffalo wings with chilly flavor and I ordered lemonade and clubhouse. The buffalo wings are not literally the meat of buffalo and instead, it's chicken wings. Mr. Wilson gives me one and when I bite, it's so delicious. Seriously, super yummy, but Mr. Wilson didn't give me one so I enjoyed my clubhouse. It's a sandwich with many mayonnaise, ketchup, lettuce, tomatoes and bacon. It's yummy and have good much for my lemonade. In my fourth and fifth day, I want to punch his face because I am searching him. On the fourth day, I dive at Puerto-Princess Underground River, Palawan to find him. Even it's dark and the tour guide shouting at me, I'm still searching him. I know it's weird, but so what? I'm a powerful adult demon so I can do whatever I want. In the end, I didn't find him and sleep with bats At fifth day, I fly at Chocolate Hills at Bohol because the one female bat told me that she spotted him. So I traveled and I saw the beautiful Chocolate Hills and not his annoying face! I enjoyed flying at that beautiful place, anyway. At sixth day, I finally find him. He just stands in front of Pyramid of Giza and taking pictures. I was about to run and punch his face, but I realized something, if he didn't do that, I will never have time for myself. I will never enjoy and making friends at humans. Hmm, not bad. On the seventh day, where here in Iceland to sight the Aurora Borealis. I was amazed because the green light in the sky. That's my first to see that thing in the sky so I take a picture with it and Mr. Wilson. The face of him is annoying, but because he is with me, I consider his handsome even he is seven-hundred-years-old. In eight days, we spend together at Seoul, Korea and eating kimchi. I even spotted my idol walking with her assistant. I'm so happy so I stopped the time and take a picture with her. So I used my power and Mr. Wilson scratch his head because of my childish behavior. "Nice one, Cassandra."

At ninth day, I'm counting my all souvenirs from the places we travel. I laughed because the spoon in Jabella is in my bag. "Bad, why the spoon is there?" Mr. Wilson laughed at me. "I don't know. Hahaha, at least every time I see this spoon, I will remember the buffalo wings and the clubhouse." Mr. Wilson smiled at me and help me to arrange my things. On this day, we will go at the place where humans buried, at Manila Cemetery. This place buried my friend named Harry. He's a human and he died in a car accident. I clean his place and light the candles. "Hello, Harry. It's been a while. I know you didn't hear me, but I know where you are now, I know you're okay."

"You know, I go beautiful places in this country. It's so many beautiful places in the Philippines, the Aurora Borealis at Iceland, and your favorite place at Pyramid of Giza." I wipe my little tears and I continue, "I'm with Mr. Wilson. You know, that old demon talked my father to give me a permission to go on an amusement park. He taught me about how birds fly and lessons about life. He is annoying but have a good cold heart." After an hour of telling my eight days vacation, I stand up and Mr. Wilson opens his umbrella. "Let's go, Cassandra."

On the last day of vacation, we are here at the playground. "Are you happy, Cassandra?" "Yes, I'm very happy. I wish we can travel more than ten days."


Lan’iell swam as if his life depended on it. And, in a way, it did. Life as he knew it, anyway. One might say the situation was one of his own making; after all, he hadn’t had to respond to the princess’s rather blatant flirting, at least not beyond the bounds of a few proper sentences and a polite, but firm, refusal. As the youngest son of a lowly viscount, it’s not like he would ever be considered a match for the king’s only daughter anyway. Which was actually more than okay with Lan. The princess was, admittedly, gorgeous, but shallow and petty and not at all someone he could see sharing a home with, much less a marriage bed. (Or even a pre-marital bed, despite his reputation at court. He’d only been out in society for two years, but already had something of a reputation.) He breached the surface, gasping for air and taking a quick look around to get his bearings. No one was in sight, and he breathed a quick “thank you” to his childhood swimming instructor, who had insisted, since theirs was an island kingdom, that he should be able to swim well enough to escape a shark, if need be. Escaping from other things was a side benefit. Coast clear, he veered west, heading for shore. Twenty minutes later, he’d made it to shore. It was rocky here, and it took a moment for him to navigate his way to dry land. Once he did he took a moment to stretch and look around. Still clear. Good. The shore was wooded here, the treeline growing to a few hundred yards of the shoreline. Great for cover, not so much for navigation, and he studied the forest as he thought. There was a reason he’d cultivated his reputation. Part of it was that he was something of a natural flirt, and good-looking enough to attract attention- tall, with his father’s dark hair and his mother’s jade green eyes. Lan wouldn’t call himself classically handsome, not in the way some of the favorites at court were, but he was lean and muscled, a love of swordplay evident in powerful arms and shoulders. If he’d wanted to, he could have cut quite a swath through the court ladies. Too bad it wasn’t the ladies he was interested in. Picking a path that seemed to head in the direction he wanted to go, he headed inland. The ship he’d escaped from had probably gone back to port at this point. Lan’iell felt a small stab of pity for the guard that had been supposed to be keeping watch on him. It wasn’t the guard’s fault that he’d made a number of friends among the palace security force during his time at court, nor was there any way for the poor fellow to have known that one of his colleagues had taught him how to break out of shackles (in exchange for a small favor of the matchmaking sort) after a similar… misadventure. Eventually, Lan’iell’s feet brought him to a small clearing. There wasn’t anything terribly special about it, if you discounted the ring of guards trying (and failing) to hide in the surrounding trees. Lan had spotted at least four in the last half hour. He snorted. City boys. It was easy enough to slip through the ring. Even easier, since the one guard who’d actually spotted him had studiously pretended Lan was merely a squirrel. It was far from the first time this particular situation had arisen, after all, and he restrained a chuckle as he reached the edge of the clearing. Before him was a small encampment- a fairly nice tent, campfire with something tasty-smelling cooking over it, a couple of chairs, and a pair of blankets laid out, close enough to the fire to be warm but far enough it would be hard to see them from the edges of the clearing. Lan had very fond memories of those blankets. Standing by the fire, stirring the cookpot, stood a figure, and he took a moment to stare appreciatively as the other spoke. “Took you long enough. Dinner’s almost ready.” “Sorry, love. Your father’s men were more persistent than usual. I had to go a little further than planned to lose them,” Lan said easily, moving into the firelight and wrapping his arms around the figure’s waist. The other squirmed. “You’re still damp. Go change. There are dry clothes in the tent.” “Why? You’ll be taking them off soon enough.” That earned him a swat with the spoon, and he chuckled. “So violent, your highness. Is this how you treat all your subjects?” “Only the ones who stir up family drama. Do you have any idea how long it took my sister to stop screaming after that little stunt you pulled? Father was pissed. You’re lucky the guards gave up. If they’d caught you and brought you back he probably would have made you marry her just to shut her up.” The prince turned in the circle of his arms, wrapping his arms around his taller paramour and pulling him down for a kiss.

Lan leaned into the kiss for a moment, then pulled back with a rueful shake of his head. “Not exactly what I was going for. Guess I won’t be welcome back at court for a while, huh? Too bad. I was just starting to get good at sneaking into your chambers, too.” The prince snorted, pulling away to check the stew. “Yeah right. You’re lucky you’ve done such a good job charming my retinue. You’re a rogue, but stealth is not your thing, love. Stick with what you’re good at, we’ll all live longer.” That put a damper on the mood. What they were doing was technically illegal and extremely ill-advised. “Darling…” “ Stop. ” The word was short and clipped, the prince’s voice a mix of warning and resigned. “I know what you’re going to say. And, if I were my brothers, or even my sister, this would be a problem.” The prince lifted the stewpot, setting it on a convenient stump. “I”m seventh in line, and my eldest brother’s wife is pregnant. If it’s a boy, it’ll more or less knock me out of the running entirely. My father could care less who I marry, or even if I marry, and he’s known of my preferences for years now. If his advisors weren’t all old and too conservative for anyone’s good, he’d be the first to approve of this. Your father is one of his oldest friends, after all.” “I know,” Lan said with a sigh. “Alright, I’ll be good.” “I highly doubt that. But come eat.” Lan’iell laid back, sandwiched between two warm cotton blankets, his royal lover curled tightly into his side and snoring lightly. It was a gorgeous night, and he stared up at the night sky, letting the stars' peace creep into his soul. Tired as he was, sleep would not come lightly; his mind was too busy chewing over what the prince had said earlier.

Marriage. Maybe. Someday. Until then, I’ll take what I can get. You’re more than worth it, my prince.


She moved her now heavy body through the waves, slowly getting closer and closer to the shore. Beneath her feet, the sand slid so that she could hardly keep her footing. After nearly five minutes, she made it out of the Pacific. Then she fell just pass the line of the tide and rested her weary head. It was the first time she had done dawn surfing in years. She must have been a fool to come out here alone, but she never minded taking risks. She must've surfed for at least three hours but the way her body felt, it could have been three days.

As she lay on the shore, her body continued to move with the force of the waves that toppled her over and over. The last time was just too much. It brought with it the realization of the preceding months and the massive weight she had been carrying. All of this combined, she had to get out of the water. Here, on the sand, she could rest. It didn't matter how many people passed or how they looked at her. She was warm, it was sunny and she was coming toward a great precipice in her mind. The thoughts would not stop this time as she allowed the first trickle to come through. Usually, she kept them dammed up, like the little Dutch boy, always hoping someone would come save her. To hell with that now. There was nothing to stop them here. Everyone was gone, no one who mattered was around. At least not now. So she let go.

The tears were as massive as the pressure behind them. They rolled in long streams down the side of her face, into her ears, and down into the soft sand. She wept silently for a while. The initial wave only just beginning to build. Her mind was empty, the thoughts had transformed themselves into pure emotion and there was no reason to think. Nothing seemed real, even the people seemed to regard her with a wide berth.

As the energy built up, her body began to rock slowly like a hiccup and then more forcefully, like a laugh with no mirth. She allowed a small noise to come out of her, sounding more like a dog whining than anything else. Accidentally, she let a more female like whine escape. This gave her the go ahead to cry. To really cry. And she did. Loudly and wholly, exploring the full range of her voice. From a moan to a shrill shriek, she cried. It sounded like murder, childbirth and betrayal all in one. You would've cried just to hear it, it was so true. As always, it came in waves like her favorite pastime. She would rally through a deep downpour of crying and then it would subside. Then moments later, the energy would rise again, and again, she would wail. In this moment, there was nothing but she and the ground beneath her body. The air around her like a sacred hush. No one came to check on her, there was no way they'd allow themselves to go near that sort of pain. It was something most people wouldn't face.

No, she lay there alone crying for hours. It wasn't until she was all cried out that she remembered her home. Her real home, not the one she had shredded herself to pieces to build. She remembered her home and all of her family. She remembered that from which she came. It was a miracle to remember and she said a prayer of gratitude for the memory. She was proud to remember, always she was proud. No matter how deep she was mired in the turmoil and tragedy, she always remembered. There was a time when it was years between remembering. Decades would pass in slumber and then she would awaken and see herself as she really is. These were the moments to live for. The moments to create from, to love in and to expand upon. She loved these moments, minutes at times, and she was always amazed how she came down from them, slowing down gradually, angst building up, causing her to walk as though she were exiting the ocean: slowly, sinking into each step, taking forever to get anywhere. When she was whole, she was whole. She was love and she was resilience. She was fury and fire. She was the best that ever was. But when she was broken, she was slain. Completely obliterated. She was dried up and a succubus to everything in her wake. And she despised it. But she always crawled out. The moments between sleeping and waking were becoming more frequent these days and she found herself awake for longer periods of time. But in the break between night and day, she longed for the white hot fire of light. Sometimes, she forgot that she had it at all. Here on the beach, she was experiencing the break. She did remember but it wasn't enough. Knowing wasn't enough, she knew that too. She must act. But that was always the struggle. She didn't want to act. She never knew how. Everyone else had their own ways of acting but her way never seemed quite right. It wasn't as though she was jumping hills or flying airplanes. She was mainly documenting and creating but in ways that she couldn't seem to let loose into the world. She always dreamed of doing just that, excelling to fame, but when she got close, she ended up thinking she was more suited to the cave life, the underground life.

It was a constant exhalation and inhalation, ebbing and flowing. There was no middle path for this one. Absolutely abstinent or complete drunkard. She never knew how two opposites could be housed in the same body. And more importantly, which one was really her? And the ever present, looming inquiry of "Now, what?" burdening her path. Surely, she should act. That is what anyone would do. But truth be told, she didn't care about anyone and she had done enough in the last three years to fill a decades worth of action. So, let's just lay here until nightfall. It's already getting close, she thought. So there she lay, snuggled down in the sand, still warm with the summer time heat. She was fully prepared to accept her fate and allow death to overcome her. But at the last moment, she remembered again who she was and she jumped up and ran as hard and as fast as her body knew how. As she looked above the horizon, she could just see the first star making it's appearance, and she knew she'd make it yet.


A strange sound of thunder crashed through the peaceful cerulean sky. I braced for impact, expecting to see the terrible ribbon of lightning that was guaranteed to follow. I waited and waited, and was finally greeted by a light spray of rain. “Oh great,” I muttered to myself, “you just had to forget your umbrella.” The thunder continued, growing more and more violent and ominous, a complete contrast to the peaceful street bustling with unfamiliar faces. No one seemed disturbed by the assault. Passersby kept their lighthearted pace, birds manoeuvred through the rain like trained pilots, and store owners didn’t budge to move their outdoor furniture. The storm itself was a mere mirage to them all; and I couldn’t help but feel mesmerised by the scene until the storm picked up and the rain became shards of glass cutting into my skin, making me wince and washing me over with a terrible dread.

   I ran to the nearest restaurant, in hopes to find safety, coffee and breakfast; and to my surprise, the scene around me remain undisturbed. “This is what you get venturing too far off Alice,” I joked with myself as I ordered a coffee.

I was several blocks away from my neighbourhood but the buildings and sights were nothing too new or too out of place from the usual suburban neighbourhoods. A bookstore replaced by a coffee shop. A bank replaced by a Walgreens. Same landscape, different mapping. And, although I was unfamiliar to this area, I felt connected to it somehow. There was an invisible ribbon that was tied to this place and my heart was flooded with love and peace for the quaint space.

I stood outside by the restaurant sipping my coffee, lulled by the sounds of the deadly rain falling on people nonchalantly walking the street, when my name was heard faintly. “Alice….please….” The voice trailed off.

“Alice…..stay with me…..” The voice continued.

The voice almost melted with the rain, which made it harder and harder for me to identify. I tried scanning the street but the rain was thick enough to be a smokescreen, masking the faces and bodies of pedestrians strolling along. I waited for the voice to call my name again but nothing. Maybe there was an extra “kick” in my coffee that had me hearing things, possibly the voices of ghosts long passed.

I figured it would be best to cut my little adventure short and find the quickest way home. I bowed my head and closed my eyes slightly as I stepped back out into the rain. I was expecting its cold grip, but instead I felt nothing. Surprised, I looked up and saw…him. There he was my ex, Harvey, standing over me smiling with an umbrella in tow. “Harvey….I thought….but you’re dead…” My body froze. It was him, “Danger Prone” Harvey, the love of my life whom I hadn’t seen for over a year. Harvey reminded me of a mahogany tree; extremely tall, kissed by the sun, riddled with scars from the wear and tear of life, sturdy and reliable as can be and topped off with a mop of ruffled hair that crowned the frame of his face.

“Dead? Wow, I mean I did leave suddenly but that’s harsh, even for you,” he joked.

Dumbstruck. I was absolutely dumbstruck. My hands, having a mind of its own, reached out to touch his wet cheek. Using his free hand, he cupped my hand into his, brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. My heart skipped several beats, the blood in my body raced, my breath shortened. He was real! He was alive and with me! My mind was reeling with questions, so much to the point that I pulled my hand away and cradled my head. I had to stop the typhoon of thoughts that thrashed through my brain.

“It’s okay,” he assured, “spend the day with me and it’ll make sense.” He was my Aladdin, and almost on cue he outstretched his hand and smirked, “Do you trust me?”

I took his hand. I did trust him. He was my life, my world. He left but maybe this was the closure I needed. The storm cleared up; the thunder, like myself, surrendered to his voice; and, the rain evaporated as suddenly as it appeared.

People were still walking, life was still existing, but time was standing still for me. I scanned the neighbourhood, and realised that the familiarity that I felt was because of him. This was his neighbourhood! My mind had somehow subconsciously led me here, to where he lived…to find him? Was this the first time in over year that I had thought to visit here? Had there never been a time when I retraced my steps to his doorstep in search of him? I searched within myself for the answer but nothing revealed itself. I felt confused, overwhelmed and slightly disappointed.

“You think too much you know that.”

Harvey broke the chainsaw thoughts that were severing my peace of mind and mended it with his smile. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me from the restaurant into the direction of the street— the actual street. Half laughing, half screaming we bobbed and weaved through oncoming cars and motorbikes until we had safely crossed over.

“I swear, you’re trying to kill me,” I panted between breaths and laughter.

His bushy eyebrows frowned slightly for a second before wiping the beads of sweat off my face.

“I want to take you someplace.” “Harvey, where have you been? You can’t just appear out of nowhere and then say you’re going to take me someplace,” I began to argue. My body felt like an act from Cirque de Soleil, doing somersaults and other gymnastic feats due to his presence, while logic remained the skeptic audience. I had to know where he went. He ignored me. Instead, he grabbed my arm and dragged me to the corner where his black BRZ Coupe was parked.

“I see you kept the death trap,” I joked. Harvey had insisted on purchasing a used coupe that he took his time to refurbish, driving it with or without working lights, gauges or brakes.

“It’s almost fixed,” he shrugged, half embarrassed.

He opened the doors, threw the umbrella in the back, and like prince charming bowed with a playful boast, “Your chariot awaits milady.” I couldn’t control the laugh that escaped my lips. There was a beauty to Harvey, even with his scars and burly exterior. He was the sweetest; daring and bold and filled with so much life. I couldn’t help but follow along like a zombie to his wishes.

“Sure,” my voice imitating tension, “but only if you tell me where you’re taking me.” “I’m taking you to see the lights.”

We drove in silence.

The road seemed endless with trees blending into each other like a watercolour canvas. The sun seemed to be frozen between the sky and earth, a never-ending sunset; not quite dipping beneath the earth but not quite postured in the sky, creating rays of deep reds, oranges and purples. Music played through the radio but blended into the scenery. The only fixed state was Harvey as he made narrow turns around the winding corners, eyes fixated on the road and deep in thought. Normally, I would’ve screamed or yelped at his reckless driving but I couldn’t stop staring at his profile. He was serious, so lost in thought that I felt like he was drowning in them. I contemplated being a life vest to save him, but I was nervous myself. I had so many questions, so many feelings. And the longer we drove, the more everything felt like a memory.

We took a wicked turn, grazing the barracks of the road, before meeting a new scenery of a shore. We were going uphill, maybe to the end of the city? “I’m sorry.” His words came out almost like a whisper. “For endangering our lives just now? Yeah, you should be,” I teased. Nothing.

Something was wrong. Harvey wasn’t this quiet. He would’ve swerved the car once more or maybe stop abruptly to scare me. But this time he seemed lost, in a trance, following a script that only he knew the ending to.

“Harvey, are you—” “Remember the last time we drove up here,” he interjected. The last time? There was no last time. We hadn’t taken this road before as far as I knew; but as we continued to drive, the blurry scenery became more in focus, each tree becoming more distinct to my right, and the waves more boisterous to our left.

“I wanted to take you to the lights because I love you. They’re beautiful. I don’t want you to keep doing this to yourself Alice. This isn’t a life worth living.” “What are you talking about Harvey?” “I know it’s selfish, but I want you to come with me. I always want you with me, but maybe….maybe you don’t want to be with me.” His voice was agitated, his fingers curled tighter to the steering wheel. The car jolted forward slightly, increasing in speed.

“Harvey, slow down.” “Do you want to see the lights with me? Do you want to go with me? Please say yes Alice, it kills me every time you say no.” “Harvey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s pull over and talk about this.” My heart started racing. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead and I felt the goosebumps rear their heads under the thin layer of my cocoa skin.

 “I’m such a fool. I wanted to marry you, you know. I had it all planned out,” he started with a melancholy chuckle, “I would take you to the hill at sunset. The ring was— is in my pocket. I wanted you to see it shimmer with the sun. But I wasn’t going to ask, not officially ask, until we stopped.” The car sped up. My heart was racing. I saw a glint from the corner of my eye and finally noticed the ring on his pinky. It shimmered against the backdrop of the water; and for some reason, both joy and dread beat upon my heart.

“Yes, Harvey, I’ll marry you. Just slow down. Or at least for God's sake, put on your seatbelt,” I screamed over the engine. Everything started to speed up and I swallowed my spit, trying not to barf. Harvey stared at me, tears falling from his face, “I love you so much Alice.” “I love you too, Harvey.” “Then come to the lights with me. Be with me.” My heart winced. My head burned. Memories crashed my brain. We had taken this road before. This was in fact a memory, my memory. But Harvey wasn’t this upset; he was nervous, chuckling like a kid hyped up on sugar, fumbling with his hands trying to put the ring on his finger. He hadn’t seen the last curve that took us to hill overlooking the sea. He hadn’t seen it. And, he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.

“Harvey,” I whisper, “you’re dead aren’t you? Am I? “Will you see the lights with me Alice?” That was his only answer, but it gave me what I needed. Tears poured from my face in uncontrollable sobs with Harvey following suit.

“I love you so much Alice and I understand if you don’t want to stay with me but please, think about it. I hate losing you like this,” he voice trailed off.

We were going to die.

“Will you see the lights with me? They’re just up the hill.” “No Harvey,” I screamed, “this doesn’t make sense. No, I love you but I can’t. I just can’t.” His face disappeared between his chest and hair for a moment before he remerged as his usual self. The car seemed to slow down but the uneasiness in my soul refused to leave.

“Alice,” he started, fumbling with the ring on his pinky, “you’re my world. You’re bright and beautiful and if I could I would give you the moon and the stars.” “Harvey, what are you doing right now?” “You’ll see,” he beamed, “we’re almost there.” He stared at me, his eyes filled with so much hope and love. This was the Harvey I knew, the Harvey that was as sincere as he was reckless.

“Harvey, focus.” “I am,” he laughed.

“No, I mean on the road. You’re not wearing your seatbelt and I don’t want us to crash.” “Oh come on! You’re my good luck charm there’s no way I could—” The sound of the car hitting against the barracks was like thunder and proceeded with other ominous rumbles as the car went spiralling down the hill into the ocean. Harvey tried to grab my hand but kept missing from the sudden jerks and pulls of the vehicle. Sprays from the ocean could be felt as we continued closer and closer to the sea. Our bodies thrashed about into the car until we were stopped by a huge boulder that sat on the shore. Harvey’s body flew through the front window, onto the shore. The shards of glass pierced my skin as I cried in pain for myself and my love. The waves continued to splash into the boulder, adding literal salt to my wounds and slowly pulling Harvey away from me, with me being unable to save him due to the seatbelt that held me hostage.

“Alice….please….” The voice trailed off.

“Alice…..stay with me…..” The voice continued.

It was the voices of paramedics. There were lights flashing and I saw myself being carried into an ambulance while Harvey’s body was encased in a black bag. No….no….no… A strange sound of thunder crashed through the peaceful cerulean sky. I braced for impact, expecting to see the terrible ribbon of lightning that was guaranteed to follow. I waited and waited, and was finally greeted by a light spray of rain. The rain felt like shards of glass piercing into my skin; but, before I was able to run for cover, an umbrella miraculously sheltered me. I turned to thank the kind stranger and was shocked to see who it was. There he was, my ex Harvey, standing over me smiling with an umbrella in tow. “Harvey….I thought….but you’re dead…” My voice trailed off, dumbstruck from seeing him for the first time since over a year.

“Dead? Wow, I mean I did leave suddenly but that’s harsh, even for you,” he joked. Suddenly gripping my hand he stared into my eyes deeply and said, “I want to show you some lights, will you come with me?” Still in shock, I allowed myself to be led by him across the street as the storm cleared up; the thunder, like myself, surrendered to his voice, and the rain evaporated as suddenly as it appeared.


It’s a one of a kind place, this Inn is. It’s where dreams are kept and where peace is found. It’s where memories are made and memories relived. It’s where time stands still and your mind goes into solace.

It’s nestled right on the banks of the Cape Fear River in a small beautiful North Carolina town. It only has eight rooms, each with it’s own charm. Six of the rooms have a semi-private porch divided by some wooden slats that go almost to the ground. The old wooden porch swing is my favorite. Each of the river side rooms has one. They still have keys for the rooms.

This quaint place is named, The Grand Banks Inn. This time we are staying in room number six for the whole week. Upon arrival, we were greeted by our host who told us, “if you need something, just call me, the keys are on the table in the room.”

We were unloading the car for what seemed like an eternity. I complained as usual and Lisa just looked at me and smiled. As that event went on there were other things unpacking in my mind. Who’s in room seven I thought, who’s in room five? These are all the things I think about when staying in a Inn. I think if you played the song hotel california it would match this Inn. I would like it to anyway. The song goes, you can check out but you can never leave.

As we were finishing the unloading process room seven door opens and a younger couple emerged. They looked like they were in their forties or so. I made eye contact and I shook hands with my eyes. Only a few people will ever get this. It’s a silent gift that some have. You can have a complete conversation with just your eyes, and we did. It went like this to the both of them, hello, how are you, you’re in seven and we are in six, good to meet you, we can chat later….then blink.

Well, wouldn’t you know it I got sick that week and was unable to do anything. So, while Lisa went to walk each day I sat on the old porch swing and enjoyed that breeze that came off the river from the ocean. I was working on a previous story titled, Oh Snap. It’s what I call a dark story but it does have a hopeful ending. As I pressed through it I realized that room seven was in and out on their porch. They were very quite. Not conversing a great deal. I was able to get up enough strength to get to the swing each day and focus and write the story I was working on. I usually wear headphones and listen to what I call my writing music but for some reason i decided this natural peace was just enough to listen to. The swing would rock back and forth and back and forth. I had the lap top in my lap writing what I thought was a master piece. I laugh at myself saying that because each write I do is not for you but for me, it’s a release of emotions and brings healing to me each and every time. In the back of my mind I do hope these stories will help someone.

Lisa had gone on another long walk about midday, I was in the swing writing and enjoying the sun and then I heard room seven door opened and close, I hear her talking on the phone. He was already sitting on the porch. I could see his feet dangling. I couldn’t make out what she was saying other than, are you sure. Are you one-hundred percent! The wind had silence in it as if I was supposed to hear something. There were no boats, no people, no birds, no nothing, just her saying, “are you sure.” She told the caller, “ok.”

There was silence like I’ve never heard. I was still trying to focus on this real story I was fully involved in. It was so difficult to focus. She then told her husband, “ the test results are in and I am terminal.” The cancer has taken a turn and there is no hope of recovery, I am terminal.” I have two weeks to live. She joined him on the swing, both feet dangling in the sun barely touching the ground. They pushed back and forth, back and forth. He got up and walked in the yard by the river, looking up as to ask God himself for help. I could see the distress in his countenance. She joined him with a beautiful hug in the sun light as to say, it’s going to be ok. We’re going to be ok. They both started to walk back to room seven and our eyes took yet another handshake. It’s going to be ok, I said. You are going to make it, I promise you that. Never underestimate the power of the eyes, the look, the glance, the stare, the hug, the kiss, the touch. It’s all real and it brings comfort. They knew what I was saying, they understood. I had overheard a conversation that wasn’t meant for me but it now involved me. Later that evening Lisa and I were swinging on that old porch swing in room six, over looking the cape fear river. I had not told her what I had heard earlier that day as I was still processing. Lisa is a cancer survivor so this is a very sensitive topic for her. I had finished writing my story and shared it with her. She always gives great insight to my stories and as we chatted about the story it led into a very common conversation for us. We just started talking about what we always talk about, things of life. As we looked at the stars in the heavens, and the waters all around us. We talked about God, we talked about Jesus and the peace and life He brings to us each and everyday. We talked about the plans He has for us and the future He has for us. We talked about His amazing grace, from where we were to where we are today. We talked about His saving grace and why we are who we are. This is a regular conversation for us.

I then shared with her what I had heard from room seven. Lisa was so torn, she wanted to go over and pray with them to bring some hope, some type of rescue to them but realized this was their battle, if they needed to include us then only God would make that happen. We agreed to pray right then and there for them. We prayed out loud on that porch swing outside room six for those in room seven. PLEASE GOD HAVE MERCY ON THEM, MAY YOUR WILL BE DONE, IF THEY DON’T KNOW YOU THEN LEAD THOSE THAT WILL SHOW THEM THE WAY, AMEN. With that we went to bed that evening, not sleeping too much. I was feeling better the next day and got up a bit early. I noticed that room seven was packing up the car and preparing to leave. At the Grand Banks Inn it’s not unusual to have both the front and back doors open at the same time. As I stood in my door way with my sweet Lisa by my side we all shook hands again with our eyes. Saying to them, we love you, it’s going to be ok, we will be here if you need us and most important, we love you! Not knowing who they were we often included them in our prayers. A year has passed now and we are back for our annual vacation time, a celebration of our love and our restoration, which is for another story. We always try to get room six. As it was this year room six is where we are. We are unloading and in the back of our minds we are wondering about room seven. We get all settled in and the sun is bright and the wind is blowing ever so soft.

I peered over to the porch at room seven and noted it was empty, then I heard a door close, I rushed back to my place on the porch, sitting quickly on the swing hoping that room seven was occupied. A man came out and sat in the swing, I could see his feet moving back and forth. He started talking to someone. I was wondering if it was him and maybe the doctors were wrong.

I stopped and got up quietly and walked out into the yard toward the river. A voice came from room sevens porch. I turned and it was him. He greeted me with a very soft, “hello.” I returned, a “hello.” He just stared at me as if to say something. He said, “you were here last year about this time, right?” I said, “yes, we were.” I didn’t act dumb, I knew she didn’t make it.

We made past the introductions and he told me the whole story about her cancer and the diagnosis and the final two weeks of her life. Our eyes engaged and once again we communicated in silence. He then said, “I have a letter here for you, she wrote it and sealed it up before she passed, with the hopes of one day me seeing you again to deliver it.

And the letter read: Dear Room Six,

I know we only shook hands with our eyes but I did overhear you and your sweet Lisa as you called her talking. I did overhear you taking about this God and this Jesus that brings peace and hope to your souls. I did hear you talking about a life everlasting and a life in this place called heaven. I wanted you to know that the last two weeks of my life, God has brought some amazing into my life. They have shared with me this love of Jesus. I overheard you room six and I am thankful that I did. Thanks to you room six my husband now understands and has this same hope.

He knows God’s plan for him is to prosper and not harm him, he knows his future is even brighter with this everlasting love. If you are reading this now you know I overheard, for that I am grateful beyond words. See you soon! Signed,

Room Seven With that, you never know the power of the spoken word, choose wisely.


One hundred and thirty-six years it took me to find the one I needed. One hundred and thirty-six years of standing in Tallmand’s shop, watching the days pass and the people change. From my spot in the back of the store, I was ever reflecting on my environment, noting the myriad facets of the objects in it, the way the light shone and scattered through the windows across the many items for sale. Many people passed me by over those years, taking a peek at themselves in my silvered glass. I didn’t like most of them. They were incomplete, most of them, but not in the way I desired. Not in the way that could set me free. I glimpsed him through the wide display window as he trundled past the frontage, in the gap between a stately fifties dresser and a horrible late nineteenth-century vase. His shoulders were bowed, his head slumped, his eyes empty as they swept unseeing across my face. He looked utterly broken. He was perfect. Look , I called as he left my view. Several seconds passed before he reappeared. His face was the picture of vague but indifferent interest, confusion and complacency swirling as he puzzled over what had drawn his attention. Come to me . He squinted through the window as his eyes focused on me. His head cocked slowly, his lips spreading slightly. His breath frosted the glass as he peered at me. Come here , I whispered. He stood there for perhaps half a minute before he shook himself, muttering, his lips too clumsy for me to read. He shook his head and turned to resume his journey. Come! I fairly shouted. He twitched and fell against the window, suddenly breathing hard. He looked at me sidelong, the beginnings of fear in his eyes. Still, moments after he steadied himself and left my view again, the bell tinkled him into the store. As he walked past the fifties dresser, he looked around with vague disinterest, as though he expected nothing in the shop could please him. Perhaps he thought no such thing could be found anywhere. Then he saw me. His eyes went wide and round. Shortly, he was standing in front of me, gazing into my depths. From here I could get a better look at him. He wore a faded green winter jacket over a plain brown hoodie and an oversized t-shirt advertising The Grateful Dead. His dirt-stained jeans were torn along one thigh, in a way that suggested damage rather than fashion. His face was lined beyond his years, which I guessed to be late twenties. The sparse curtain of brown hair shading his eyes was already showing signs of gray, though his patchy beard was still a rich auburn. His fingers rose to touch the features I’d noticed, brushing the lines in his forehead, sweeping slowly through his fading hair. His lips parted as he whispered to himself. “Do I really…” he mouthed silently. It’s not fair , I suggested. Why should time have been so unkind to you? Sourness pinched his lips, and his nose wrinkled in disgust. You need to see what you’ve become, if you can ever hope to change. He sighed, fingering his boxers through the rip on his pants, a stain on the hem of his jacket. What do you see? “A bum,” he murmured glumly. “A piece of shit.” You know what I see? He couldn't really hear me. I had no voice, no way to reach his ears, but he leaned forward anyway. The echoes of my words rippled into his mind, suggestions of meaning. So much potential. You've wasted yourself. “Fuck.” You've hurt so many people. “I didn't mean to.” A tear budded in his left eye. “I never wanted to hurt anyone.” Of course you did. I couldn't see inside his mind. I didn't know if I was right before I spoke. But I could read on his face the regret, the self-hatred. I dug in deeper. They never really cared about you. You wanted to make them hurt like they hurt you. “No.” The tear pushed out and tracked down his cheek, blazing a path for other drops of pain. “They were trying to help me.” You were only ever a nuisance to them. They're glad you're not around anymore. “That's not true.” His voice trembled, his fists clenched, his whole body vibrated with frustration and denial. They won't be satisfied until you're dead! “No!” he shouted as his fist lanced forward, his knuckles slamming into the center of my face. A web of cracks shot out from the point of contact. The sharp edges of my splintered glass sliced through the skin of his first two knuckles, carving out drops of his essence. I had him now. His face paled. He took a step back. “Kerchief, sir?” The man whirled to see the store owner, Tallmand, standing beside him, a rail-thin man with a thin black mustache and thinning hair in a tuxedo. The proprietor held a folded white cloth towards the man. “What?” “You’re bleeding. Please take the kerchief.” Tallmand pressed it over my assailant’s dripping hand, positioning the man’s other hand to hold the cloth in place before letting go. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I gotta go,” the man stammered. “Of course, sir. As soon as you’ve paid for your merchandise. You can follow me to the register.” The man winced with his whole body. “But I don’t want anything!” “Sir, I’m afraid you’ve broken the mirror. You’ll have to pay for it.” Tallmand glided away, the poor man following as though dragged, fumbling protests as he went. I let them go. Corey’s blood was seeping into the cracks he’d made, and I had a lot to peer into. *** Corey followed the strange man to the front of the store, still apologizing. That mirror must cost a fortune. There was no way he could afford it. Why the hell had he punched it? The store owner stepped behind the counter and bent down to retrieve a binder, labeled INVENTORY. He opened it and ran his finger down the list of items. “I’m sorry about the mirror, but I can’t pay for it right now,” Corey insisted. “Give me some time, maybe I can—” “Ah, here we are,” said the man. “Ten dollars, please.” “—find enough to—huh?” “Cash or credit?” “You’re kidding. That thing’s an antique!” The man smiled patiently. “Of course it is, sir. That’s my business.” “But ten bucks!...” “Would you like me to charge you more?” The man’s eyes twinkled. “Uh…” “Cash or credit?” Corey fished in his pocket for a five and some crumpled ones. “There goes my joint,” he sighed under his breath. And just when he could use some mellowing, too. Why had he punched the mirror? *** Corey checked the hair was still held in the doorjamb before he turned the knob. That’s what spies did in the movies, and you had to be careful if you were homeless. A desperate person would jack your shit without a second thought. He kept his gaze lowered as he stepped into the apartment he was squatting in. He knew what he’d see if he looked. Torn red veneer over fading yellow wallpaper. The taped up window in the living room. That leak from the ceiling. Besides, with all the broken floorboards and rat droppings, he had to watch his step. His stomach growled, reminding him of the hours since he’d last eaten. He slouched his way towards the bedroom, hoping that his past self had left half a candy bar under the mattress, a weed gummy in the closet shelves, something to take the edge off one way or another. He entered the room and finally looked up to see his reflection. He flinched. “What the fuck?” When he’d left, the gray walls had held only faded rock posters from the previous owners. Now there was a mirror on the wall opposite the door. The same mirror from the antique shop? But how could that be? It certainly looked the same, from the twisting silver dragons around the rim to the golden eye and hand-shaped hamsa at the very top. But this mirror wasn’t broken. He looked down at the raw, scabbing cut on his knuckles. Could it be the same one? How had it gotten here? And when? He had come here straight from the store. The man at the shop hadn’t taken down an address, not even his name. Corey had been so desperate to get out of there that he hadn’t realized at the time. But now questions swirled in his mind. I have answers. Corey started. The voice he heard in his head seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Who’s there?” He turned to look back out of the bedroom. Look here. Heart pounding, he swiveled back towards the mirror. “The mirror?” Look closer. Slowly, Corey walked towards the mirror. “What is happening?” he whispered. His reflection stared back at him with sunken eyes, the same eyes he always saw these days, in every puddle, every piece of glass. The eyes he’d seen in the shop window. But were they? There was something different now. A glimmer he hadn’t seen in a while. Hope . He didn’t feel hopeful. He wasn’t sure he remembered how. I’ll help you . “How?” You carry a great deal of pain. Self-hatred. Self-doubt. You don’t know if you can go on, or if you should. You need to confront it. Corey shook his hanging head sadly. “It’s too much,” he mumbled. I can see into your heart. I know that you have the strength to recover. You just need to see yourself from new angles.


“I dare you.” The words rang in my head as I clapped a hand onto his shoulder, and my lips curved into a smirk. “I accept.” Afterwards, I suffered the consequences. I quaked in my shoes, because I had accepted a dare to ask the most popular girl in our school out, and as I looked down at my loose shirt and scruffy shoes, running a hand through my messy hair, I knew I had messed up badly. I should never have accepted the dare. But my headstrong, stubborn self had to accept the dare because I refused to seem weak. Cursing my Taurus stubbornness, I headed back to the dormitories, where I planned out a course of action. *** It had been two days since I accepted Vic’s dare, and still I had made no progress. I had yet to work up the courage to ask Leah out on a date in public, but the girl was simply a flame in a swarm of moths—attractive to everyone. I refused to give up, and, gathering my wits, I strode across the pavement confidently towards Leah. I bit my lip nervously and called out, “Leah?” She turned towards me, a look of confusion flashing across her face. Then she seemed to recognise me, and a pretty smile spread across her cheeks. “Josh?” She asked politely, still smiling. ”Er... actually, it’s Jo,” I said, plastering a fake smile on my face as my heart dropped in disappointment. “I’m from your English class, don’t you remember?” She nodded, but I could see the hesitation in her eyes. She was obviously lying, I could see it in her furrowed brow as she tried to recall. ”Anyway, I was just wondering, do you want to go for a cup of coffee sometime?” I pushed my luck, crossing my fingers behind my back. Leah looked around, and slowly said, “Actually... I’m busy. I don’t think I’m free anytime soon...” I nodded, but inwardly I was panicking. I couldn’t not finish this dare, I had a streak of 5 completed dares at stake! Fortunately, Leah continued, “But I might be able to go next week. What time are you free?” After switching numbers, we agreed to meet at A Cup For A Smile after English the week after. I grinned triumphantly as I waved at her and walked away. *** Vic was quick to get on my case that afternoon, pestering me on my progress with dating the hottest girl in school. His smirk covered my entire field of vision, and my attempts to push him away proved futile. ”So... how’s it going? You’ve got to do it quickly, you know, it’s not fair to make the rest of us have a dare drought just ’cause you’re slow.” Vic slung his hand over my shoulder, and I squirmed at the unwelcome heat in the blistering afternoon. I had just shrugged his hand off my shoulder when Max piped up. “Yeah, Jo, that’s just mean to us.” He pouted cutely, and his sulking face, as always, made me relent. I laughed loudly. “I’m trying, guys, I really am. Look, I got a date with her Monday, okay? This should be going along just fine.” Max kicked the pavement before looking up at me, a bright smile spreading across his face. ”Okay.” *** A week later, I sat in the blissfully chilly café, awaiting Leah’s arrival. It was two minutes before the time that we had agreed to meet, but I had decided it was better to be early than to keep her waiting. Suddenly, the sound of a bell rung through the chatter in the café. I whipped my head towards the glass door, and, sure enough, Leah stood there. She locked eyes with me and headed towards me. I felt my heart pounding in my chest as she neared the table, and I took a deep breath to calm myself. Leah flashed me a dazzling smile as she slipped into the seat beside me. “Hey,” she said. That one syllable was enough to reduce me to a stuttering mess, but I drew myself up, and mustering the little confidence I had left, I replied, “Hey.” I mentally slapped myself. “Hey”? Was that really all I could say? No “how are you” or “how’s school”? I was so pathetic. Leah laughed, a tinkling laughter, and I felt my cheeks flush red. She placed a cool hand on mine, a small smile at the corners of her lips. “Don’t be so worried. It’s not like I’m going to eat you.” No, but the whole school would murder me, considering she was so out of my league. A relationship between us would cause a huge scandal. But my stubbornness, for once, proved useful. You can do it! It shouted in my ear. Don’t give up, you can’t prove Vic right! Grinning, I pushed the menu towards Leah. ”So, what would you like to order?” It had only gotten better from there. We had talked about school, but we avoided her friends—a touchy subject for both of us—as we got to know each other better. *** A month after our first ‘date’, I mustered the courage to go to one of the large parties, which Leah would be attending. By the end of the party, drunken people were everywhere, swarming the tables to grab more alcohol. I narrowly swerved to avoid a stumbling wreck of drunkenness, and caught sight of Leah. My breath hitched in my throat as I saw a male youth, barely taller than me, attacking Leah’s lips with a vigour that would be admirable had I been another person. But I wasn’t. And seeing Leah kissing him back passionately, I couldn’t help but cultivate the seeds of jealously planted in my gut. Impulsively, I stalked over to the couple and ripped them apart. I tilted Leah’s chin towards me, and I could see her glassy eyes widening in shock. Her swollen lips parted to form an ‘o’ of surprise, as she let out a soft gasp. I roughly turned her head away from me, inwardly guilty, but I knew she was drunk. She was drunk and kissing a stranger, whom she would probably forget in the morning. Just the thought of it made me stew in rage. Consumed by this fiery anger, I whirled around to face the male, who was a few centimetres shorter than me. I gripped his chin, forcing him to face me. His eyes, also clouded over, betrayed his apprehension. He nervously toyed with his lower lip as I heard a voice that sounded unlike mine resounding from my throat threateningly. ”Stay away from Leah,” the voice said, tersely. “You’re not fit for her. You’re not even sober, you’re high on drugs.” I turned away in disgust, and faced Leah’s guilty, pleading gaze. My heart softened. I don’t know why I’m doing this, I thought as I trudged towards my car, a drunken Leah staggering across the carpark with me, leaning against my shoulder. “Who’s your designated driver? Why aren’t they here?” I asked, annoyed that Leah didn’t care about her own safety. Leah pouted, smoky salmon lips frowning adorably. “I don’t know. Cassie said she wouldn’t drink, and that she’d always be downstairs, but I didn’t see her just now.” I groaned in frustration, buckling Leah into my passenger seat. “Look, I’ll drive you home, and if anyone asks, I’m the DD, okay?” She giggled. “Okay.” I sighed, rubbing my hand across my face. I was not ready for this. “I need your address, Leah.” She spewed a string of numbers that I entered into the GPS before sending her home. *** Later that night, Vic and Max called. They asked why I had left so early, and I mentally slapped myself. I was their DD! What were they going to do, out so late at night at drunken as can be? I knew from experience that both of them were lightweights, and knew better than most what was going to happen if I didn’t pick them up... Vic assured me that they were fine, and that a pretty girl had offered to drive them home. The girl’s name was Cassie. I sped back to the house immediately, both worried for my best friends’ safety and to give the girl a good scolding. I arrived at the gate of the majestic house, illuminated by strobe lights, loud music blaring through the speakers. Now that I was paying attention, I noticed bodies grinding up against each other, sweaty skin sticking to tight, skimpy clothing. The music thundered in my ears and I felt my eardrums throbbing. I stumbled through the dense crowd, eyes scanning the sea of people frantically, hoping to catch sight of Max or Vic. While being tall was a good advantage, it was rendered useless by the fact that both Max and Vic were... kind of vertically challenged. I sighed in frustration, ready to yell out their names, only to hear wild screaming from outside the living room. I ducked and squeezed my way through to the glass partition separating the living room from the backyard, which was now wide open. I caught sight of Max with an arm draped around a girl, swaying on his feet, swinging a mug of beer in his hand. Despite the circumstances, I scoffed. He got drunk drinking beer ? Seriously? I strode towards Max, my height an advantage in intimidating the people. They parted for me as I gripped Max’s shoulder tightly. “Dude, what do you think you’re doing? I leave you for half an hour and you do this to me? Really?” Max turned to face me, jaded eyes turning sharp and focused for a second before losing focus again. He gazed at me with a puppy-dog look on my face. I groaned. Every. Single. Time. When Max was drunk, he always pulled the guilt-trip card. And I fell for it every time, just like I did this time. I slung his hand onto my shoulders, staggering from his weight. I lifted him into my arms—a more convenient alternative to supporting him—as I let my eyes dart around the room, hoping to catch sight of Vic. Just as I had suspected, Vic was in a corner of the backyard, smoking with a small group of two girls and another boy. At least he was smoking something legal this time, not marijuana. I tore the cigarette from his fingers, ignoring the searing pain that scorched my fingers as I accidentally brushed them against the flame. I threw the cigarette to the ground. I was sure someone would pick it up later. I dug my fingernails into the soft flesh of Vic’s shoulder blades, spinning him around to face me. Under my breath, I hissed, “Just what exactly do you think you are doing?“ Vic sneered, not an uncommon occurrence when I confronted him in front of his smoke-buddies. “This,” he said, ignoring me, “is Cassie. That’s Jack, and that’s Haley.” I smiled tightly, my gaze falling on Cassie, sizing her up. The girl didn’t have much muscle, but anyone so stable on stilettos—in the grass, in the middle of the night, probably drunk, no less—was to be feared. Once again, I ignored my gut feeling, and unleashed my rage upon her. “How dare you,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “How dare you! You left Leah alone, in the middle of the night, alone and drunk, and didn’t keep to any part of your deal! You’re a designated driver for a reason, and yet you choose to shirk your responsibilities!” I drew a breath to calm myself down, my face red hot with fury. “Bitches like you,” I spoke hoarsely, menacingly, “are the reason I have trust issues.” With that, I grabbed my friends and left. *** I smiled at Leah, who eagerly grinned back. In just a few weeks, I’d gone from “Jo the loser” to “Jo who was friends with Leah”. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t about the dare any more, although the stubborn part of me would beg to differ. It was about Leah, wanting to be with her, wanting to be hers. I wanted to be hers, and her to be mine, both of us consensually agreeing to be one. But first I would have to get her to agree. We were at A Cup For A Smile again, and this time I knew she was getting an iced double shot espresso, while I got my iced latte. I hesitantly began our conversation with something casual, something to get Leah to open up. “Leah?” ”Mm?” ”I was just wondering... do you... think we could go on a date?” I asked, analysing her reaction to gauge her feelings about this. ”Hmm? Sure! Isn’t this one already?” Her reply threw me off a little, and I laughed in response. “No, I meant a proper date.” “What, one in the cinemas with popcorn? We did that last week, dumbass,” she grinned coyly, displaying her pearly white teeth. “No, I- I meant as... girlfriends. I’m lesbian, Leah.” I was used to coming out, and didn’t really hide my sexuality, but it felt awkward coming out to my new crush, who was sitting right across me. “I’m bi,” Leah said, rolling her eyes. “I really am. And I mean it. I want to be girlfriends.” With that, she leaned across the table and kissed me. I pulled away first, getting out of my seat and sliding in next to her. I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her, hard. And I smirked. I’d completed my dare and confessed to my new crush—killing two birds with one stone. Her hands pried mine from her face, and she entwined our fingers together, my coarse palms in her delicate, cooling ones. ”Remember when you asked, two weeks ago, what ‘Jo’ was short for?” I asked, smiling against her lips. They quirked into a crooked grin. “Well, I thought I’d tell you. It’s short for Joanna.”