Hey Redditors. Iv'e decided to share my story. Iv'e always been fascinated by breaching security, exploring things or secrets that weren't available to other people. Both in computers and physical matters. This is my story so please enjoy it. I don't know if this really belongs on short stories, since it's not a fictional story, but I thought you guys might find it interesting. **TL;DR** Some friends and i discovered unknown secret tunnels under our high school. Over weeks we discovered and mapped out a big part of the tunnel system. I'm now 18 and only have memories and pictures to look back at. Last school year (2011/2012) I was an exchange student in USA, Wisconsin. (I'm from Denmark). Btw best year iv'e ever had, with lifelong friendships made. I returned home to Denmark 7 months ago, and started school. This happened exactly one year ago. It all started with a friend of mine (senior at the time) came to me and said he had something crazy to tell me. It was kind of a rush hour so i didn't have time to stop and listen. Later that day we met in lunch break and he told me that he had been in the schools maintenaince room and had seen a dark square (3x3 ft) in the wall down a staircase. He that it was some kind of underground tunnel system under the school. I thought he was stupid and didn't think much about it. Now in the school i attended for a year and the daily routine consisted of normal classes and a 9th hour/homeroom in the end of the day, where it was possible to study or do your homework. The class was from 3:00 to about 3:40. I forgot all about his little tunnel story and almost two weeks went by till we came by the subject again. I was sitting peacefully in 9th hour and doing my homework when i saw someone knocked on the door. I looked up and there was my friend, lets call him Christian. Christian had excitement in his eyes and he did a throw with his hand plus a nod with his head to signal, that I should come out. I asked the teacher if i could go to the bathroom quick. (At this school you could get in trouble if you walked in the hallway without a pass for the restroom or wherever you were going) He wrote me a pass and I walked silently but determined out. Christian basically bombed me with the information that he had been "in the tunnels". I thought he was being crazy again and laughed at him, but he kept explaining the whole thing precisely and trustworthy and I started believing him more and more. My eye slid down to his knees and palms and I was soon to discover a enormous amount of dust and dirt on them. The tip of his shoes had some on them as well as he had been crawling somewhere. A few days later I couldn't help my curiosity. I had to see if this was true. In 9th hour I got a pass to go to the restroom and knowing I had limited time i rushed down the long hallways with a friend to the mechanical maintenance room. I quickly entered, put on a flashlight on my phone and started searching the big dark room for unknown enterings or exits. Two minutes after my friend had to leave of fear from getting caught by one of the janitors that could walk in any second and get our butts in trouble. I took me 15 minutes, but finally, down a staircase, down a ladder, into what seemed like a small pool around 7 ft deep, in the corner was a little square entering. I could barely spot it with my phone light. I crawled down and had a quick peek inside. After this i was eager to crawl in and look, but i had already been gone for 20 minutes, and i knew that would only cover for a long toilet visit, and I went back to the classroom. At this point I was hooked. No matter what I did, or when I did it, for the next 24 hours, this was permanently on my mind. I was curious and excited to figure this thing out. The next day I couldn't wait for 9th hour. The day went by so slow and it seemed like forever till the class started. Thinking that the teacher wouldn't write me a pass if i asked to go to the restroom right after a 6 minutes break, I waited. at 3:20 i got my pass, rushed to the maintenance room, ran down the stairs, down the ladder in to the pool and went in the tunnel. I had asked Christian to meet me there at 3:20. He showed up and told me that he actually didn't go in that hole, but in another path about 6 ft long that went into the basement in the other side of the room. I checked it out and it wasn't even a path, more just like a whole into the basement. We went over to the path i discovered and peeked in. It was a 3x3 ft hole going in as far as we could see. I jumped in first and Christian after and we started crawling on hands and knees in the dark. We were soon to discover turns in the tunnel everywhere. Everytime we took a right or left turn there were turns both ways, and the path would always end up in to seperate ways. Shortly after, due to physical requirements, excitement and a crapload of dust and dirt in the air, it got really hard to breath in there, and we went out. Up in the normal school light we were sweaty, and covered with an orangy dust powder. We had to see more. But we needed to plan it out. We couldn't just go to the restroom every day and coming back looking like we attended World War II. Teachers would get suspicious, and the risk of getting caught was too high. Therefore we went back to class and made a shopping list of what we needed. Same day we took a trip to Walmart and got the necessary things. Flashlights, kneepads, gloves, painting masks for dust, camera, change of clothing, blueprints and pencils. I managed to steal a whole block of passes so we could fake signatures and write passes to study hall, library or other teachers classrooms to cover up our actions. Also we needed a different time to enter, and a different way to get out. We came up with bringing a mirror to look around the edges when we exited the room. In the school there was a red blueprint painting hanging in the wall. I took a snapshot of it and after 15 minutes with my enormously bad photoshop skills i made it black and white and printed some copies out. We were now ready to note every single little turn we explored under there. We also got two other friends involved, and we created a hidden closed Facebook group for us. Friday night there was a basketball game at the school. What a perfect opportunity. School was open and no one in the hallways. We packed bags from home. Once the game was on, we four friends snuck into the maintenance room, and into the tunnel. We equipped all of our gear and began our journey. We had a lead guy at front, a flashlight guy, a map writer and a camera guy at the end. We had also purchased 1000 ft of line that we tied somewhere in the maintenance room. and took with us in. It functioned as a kind of safety so we always could find our way out. After almost 2 hours in there. We went out. We had discovered endless turns and paths and about 700 ft of tunnel was mapped down. The following fridays we planned to go down there again. We knew the routine, once the game started we snuck in the tunnel and started our mapping. We took a whole new section of the school every time. We could hear and calculate due to the game when we were under the gym, the cafeteria, classrooms and and all the other rooms. I'm a big guy 6'4", and i had quite some trouble crawling around down there. One of the times i was freaking out because I was running (as good as possible down there) and I got breathless because of the dust. After that I never did anything physical exhausting while in the tunnels. We went down there about four times and the last time was the most interesting. It was only me and Christian, and we decided to explore the left side of the school. On our way down the tunnels we saw writing on the walls. It looked like someone made arrows down there. There was also a few cigarette butts and some cans of some kind. We continued and saw a yellow pipe running across the path. We spend about 5 minutes discussing what it was, but it seemed like the answer came to us. All of a sudden two girly voices got exceptionally clear. We looked at the blueprints and our position fit perfectly under the girls restroom. The voices were clear and we were sure we were just a few feet under the restroom. Even the footsteps were clear through the floor. We sat there for about 10 minutes enjoying our achievement, but then decided to keep going. (We weren't able to see anything) We continued into a big wide space. The feeling of standing up for the first time in three hours was amazing. It was exactly under the staircase. There was a metal plate in the wall, and we recognized it from the hallways. We had found another entering. Unfortunately it was locked. We also looked up in a hole with a bunch some pipes and wires and discovered a bag of funions shoved up in there. How the heck did these come up there? We took a few pictures and took the 25 minute journey crawling all the way out. We jumped through the little hole to the basement and exit through there. No one saw us. Monday morning we went above ground of where we were on the friday. We looked down the thermostat of a radiator and concluded that the bag of funions were down there, most likely shoved down from above. The basketball season ended a few days after there. Even though we talked a lot about going back, we didn't To this day i still regret not finished the mapping down there. Later on we explored some abandoned buildings and train wagons, but nothing gave me the same adrenalin kick as these tunnels. We talked about them to my friends father who knew a janitor on the school. He told us that these were quite common tunnels in every high school design. They were made to access all the heat, and water pipes running to all the classrooms. After some research we found people all over America that had discovered these tunnels too. I guess in the end they weren't that secret and exciting, but I got my rush from them. We told a few people about it and showed them the pictures, but it's kind of forgotten to this day. Only my memories and pictures keeps this alive. Here are the whole picture album. Unfortunately I didn't take enough photos, this is all I have. Iv'e decided to hide our identity since I haven't asked or have got their permission to post their faces. I am the guy with the blue gloves. I put a lot of work and a few hours into this post and I'm new on Reddit, so if you read the whole story please take your time to share your response, your thoughts or similar stories with me :-) Please excuse me for grammar mistakes etc. -Johspwns.


Back in the Days of wind powered Sailing Vessels, Sailors used to warn each other to avoid the Horrors of the Horse Latitudes. A colonial ship headed to the New World loaded with farm animals and supplies once drifted too far south, about 30 to 35 degrees north of the Equator. In this particular region of the ocean there is little if no Wind. A Ship caught in the windless environment would be stuck for weeks or possibly months without changing location. The Sailors used to refer to this phenomenon as "the Doldrums". After weeks had passed with no Wind, water reserves had begun to dwindle. The sailors decided to throw the Horses they had brought overboard to conserve water. The Horses were thrown off the ship but not without a fight, and when they hit the water, they tried desperately to swim back to the Ship. The Horses were terrified and made horrrific, shrill sounds similar to screaming. Eventually, the Horses drowned, but it had shaken the Sailors tremendously. Some of them who were superstitious saw the event as a bad omen. The dead carcasses of the Horses floated to the surface near the Ship and did not drift away. The stench of the rotting flesh was a constant reminder to the Sailors of the recent tragedy and of their hopeless situation. Some of the sailors went mad and were never seen again. Eventually, the Ship made it to safe harbor in the New World of America, but the Sailors who survived were forever changed. It is said that most of them had True Nightmares the rest of their days, hearing the screams of the drowning Horses and remembering the awful stench of the rotting horseflesh in the Doldrums.


This is a story that takes place between four walls. Walls that once used to be white but are now a light brown shit yellow, from all the cigarettes smoked during bowel movements, and other activities. Now, if that didnt give away the fact that i was talking about a bathroom, then im not completely confident that there is hope for you, and your advancement in this floating ball we call home. Anyway before i go off on a long tangent that has really nothing to do with the story, but yet again everything to do with the story. The bathroom, where daydreams can be relived, pressures can be relieved, tanks can be emptied, and where unborn children are given mandatory flying lessons. But im not here for any of those reasons. Im not resting on the cold pot, or washing my face in the dripping sink, or even trying to find the frustrating medium of cold and hot water to take a replenishing shower. Oh no, i am here for reasons much more dark, dark enough as to the sun couldnt even keep it lit. And the funny part is, this is no tunnel, theres no light at the end of this cave. As i climb the rocks in the cave, i sweat, i cry, i laugh, out of psychosis of course, but laughed nonetheless, and most of all i wanted to be out of there. I walk, i run, i jump, and i never rest, getting out of the cave is my only goal any more. I need to see who is waiting for me at the entrance, who missed me, who cared enough to wait because somewhere deep down they knew i would make it out. How long have they been waiting, but the more important question is, how much longer will they wait. Enough with the metaphorical speak. When i say climbing rocks and caves, i mean pressing my whole body weight against the bathroom wall in an attempt to make my self upright. Everything is heavy, standing is now a task that deems harder that solving a rubiks cube with one hand and color blindness. All i can see is the mirror, and what i saw, oh man what i saw, is what really makes this story take off. My eyes met my own, my stare shot right through me. this wasnt a mirror anymore, this was a theatre. A theatre with only one seat, way in the back. And there was only one occupant in that seat, and that occupant was me. Every memory i have ever had all at once, in a split second it all flashed. I knew every mistake i had made, every wrong i had done someone. I faced my wrongdoings and was apologetic, and ready to change. I tried to find an old memory that could arise a smile, but the muscles were to sore to muster one up. I want to be a better guy, i want to do it right. I want to apologize. Then a sharp, harsh realization, its too late, i think i finally see a light. Im back on the floor, my body just as heavy as ever, back in the throne room. Drip, Drip, Drip is all i can hear from the sink. how long was i out? Who Knows, who cares.


She opened her eyes, and all she saw was a searing white light. She felt a biting cold metallic surface beneath her. She was laying down, in a metal room with only one door; a heavy, solid metal door. The florescent lights: the searing light, buzzing incessantly above her. They were driving her mad. She suddenly felt a pool of warmth beneath her head; blood. It was bleeding. To her relief it was only a slight trickle. To her horror there was a large dried pool of blood below her. A few drops trailed off to the opposite end of the room. And she saw him. Lying there on the floor, opposite to her was a man. She saw no blood around him, but saw blood on his hands. Lying between them were a syringe and a keycard. The syringe was empty; what was in it? She wondered. Did he attack me? What is this place? Why am I here? Why can't I remember? She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything at all; who she was, where she was, and why she was here. She couldn't remember; and she was afraid. Did he lock me in this room for something I did? Was this man a guard at this facility? Or were this man's intentions more...malignant? She didn't want to know. She wanted to get out; she had to get out. She had to find some answers. She stood up and made her way towards the door, still slightly ajar. As she approached the threshold, she noticed a camera. What is this place she thought and what is it for? She left into the hallway, and stared down its sterile walls, glistening in the white light. There were more cells, but there was silence. She was unsure of whether that was a good sign or not. She made for the door at the end of the hallway; it looked different from the rest, perhaps it wasn't a cell, perhaps it was a way out. She hoped it was. When she reached the door, her heart sank; it was locked. The key card in the room! It was the only thing she had to go on, the only ray of light in her frightening nightmare. Feeling hopeful, she raced to the end of the hall for the key card. When she reached the cell she had awoken in, she entered and made her way for the card, not noticing that the man had woken up, and was watching her. As she goes to leave the room, she hears an unsettling, animalistic growl. She turns back to see the man, crouching, staring at her with a predator's gaze. Looking closer at his eyes, she notices that his eyes are a yellowish color; like a cat's eyes. His nails had sharpened, and were more like claws. What was in that syringe? Was he planning on doing that to me? Suddenly, the feral beast leaped. Thinking quickly, she pulled the door closed just in time. She started to run down the hall and then she heard that noise. The feral creature let out a sickening roar. The nightmarish noise paralyzed her with fear. For an eternity, she could not move, could not think, could not breath. What made her move wasn't fear of the beast behind her. It was the new sounds she heard. The other cells were alive with movement; something was lurking behind their walls. With an ever deepening sense of terror, she ran towards the door, inserted the key card, and turned the handle; the door opened. The minuscule amount of relief she felt was extinguished when she heard the footfalls of the beast. Without even looking, she went through the door and into the new room. She turned and closed the door, seeing the beast lunge forward, more feral in appearance than before, just in time for it to crash into the closed door. She was safe, for now. Turning to examine the room, she saw monitors. Monitors that showed the horrors in the other cells. Creatures that lurked and prowled with vicious intent. Creatures that writhed and squirmed in agonizing pain. This facility...was for experimentation on human beings. Just who the hell are these people? What are they doing? What are these vile bastards doing to these poor people? Sitting down, she started to go through some notes lying on the table. They were of someone named Dr. Moreau. This despicable person wrote about these people, his "patients" with no empathy, no remorse. He was now one of his own experiments. "Doctor, are you there? The Colonel is waiting for the latest results of your testing." It was a man's voice on the other side of the door opposite from the one with the cells. She sat frozen with fear. What would happen to her when he found out what happened to the doctor, that he had become one of his pets? "Doctor? I'm coming in..." The door slowly opened, and a man wearing heavily padded, black colored clothing came in. He was holding a gun. When he stepped into the room, he raised it and fired. At that moment, a life was silenced. But it was not hers... Lowering his weapon, he turned to her and said, "Your bleeding, come with me to the infirmary." When she didn't respond, didn't even breath, he said it. Those words which shattered her utterly and will haunt her for the rest of her days. It was just a simple question, yet it implied so much.


Here I am sitting once again, my bare back against the rough concrete wall in this small, dark room. I feel a dampness under me, it reminds me of when I was younger and would play in puddles after a storm; the only difference is now I am a middle aged adult and I don’t have any shoes. Chills race through my body as my weak heart pushes me through another cold night. I can hear pain-driven moans of other middle aged men in other rooms much like my own. I haven’t been able to keep a meal down for days and I think my body is finally giving up on me. It smells like a high school bathroom that hasn’t been washed in weeks, but I have become immune to the putrid smells that would sting the nose of a hog. All I wish for in these hopeful final hours is a room mate, someone I could talk to and tell my final secrets to; someone to tell my story to, or at least make up a story. The moans are getting louder. I could try and lay in my mattress, but I don’t want to die laying on something that isn’t mine. This isn’t the jail life that is romanticized on TV and in books, this is the real jail life of Sector 858. It all started in the year 2024 when the government started telling everyone of the wonderful life that could be possible if we accept a few changes in how society is. That should have been the first indication of hell; we should have known from the beginning that nothing good comes when people try to change what feels natural. We embraced it though, we trusted them, we thought the people behind the locked doors knew what was good for us. They told us the only sacrifice we would make is breaking a few friendships and that this would only be a sacrifice for a closer society and a closer web of companions. Their big plan in a nutshell was to organize people like files in a computer. We would be organized by occupation, and further organized into a bureaucracy of social status. The people never really changes, the only change was a mass feeling of loneliness; that was our second chance to realize this couldn’t work, we ignored it trusting them. Within two years, everyone was moved into cities, sectors as they became known as. There was a business sector, a factory sector, an art sector, a sector for just about every occupation, or at least somewhere every occupation would fit into. The worst of these sectors was Sector 213; this was where they sent everyone that could not work or was not willing to work. I was never there, I only heard stories, rumors. Nobody left their sector, there was a commitment that was needed in the new society. The only way information was spread between sectors was through the internet, but the internet turned out to be as honest as the men that set up our new lives. Sector 213 consisted of everyone from drug dealers to hitmen to the mentally handicapped to the mentally insane. The types of people varied drastically, and this led to chaos. At first, stories on the internet were trustable, they seemed realistic for the people living in Sector 213. Everyone knew what types of people lived here from the handbook given to every citizen of the new society, which listed all 914 sectors and what group of people belonged to them. Sector 213 consisted of “noncontributing individuals.” The details of Sector 213 are not important to the grand scheme of what ended up being this nation by the year 2031, present time. Times were alright after awhile; people were feeling connected and sector life became centered around what people actually did with their lives, which looked like it would make life more bearable. Problems started coming with the children. Children could not be born into an occupation; as much as the they wished we could be computers, we weren’t. They found a solution. They promised happiness and wellbeing to our children. This was our third and final chance to see where this was all leading, we missed it. They took away our children to Sector 864, “schooling and developing.” Our lives became more and more centered around work, less and less around relationships and family. People began to forget what having a family even was. Stories of pain and chaos stopped showing up on the internet, replaced by stories of success and happiness in other sectors. I thought my sector was special, I thought maybe this sadness was special to me and my brothers and sisters, that’s what we called each other in my sector. We wrote manuals, manuals for putting things together, taking things apart, pretty much anything that needed a manual. I thought maybe my sector was sad because there was no advances to be made in our occupation, nothing new ever; it was always the same, typing steps to putting together and taking apart things made by other sectors. Honestly, I never minded it, it was easy and relaxing. I had a few close friends that I worked with and got drunk with occasionally. It was one night in particular that really got my thoughts changing. We were drinking beers and sitting in my friend Mark’s living room. We were laughing and making fun of some of the things we were writing manuals for, it was a fun night. Then Dan, a friend of mine from before all the changes happened, brought up something from before the change. He started talking about this book that people would write in and it would help others understand what you do for a living; you would write in as much depth as you chose about your job and what you do. There was obviously no need for it anymore after all the changes, but Dan bringing this up brought up a rush of nostalgia. I felt myself sink into the couch I was sitting in as my mind began to wander into memories of my family. I had a brother and two sisters, they were twins. Luckily they ended up in the same sector because they were exceptional athletes. I felt my heat sinking a little into my chest and I began to miss my life from before the change. The change that struck me at that moment that I never realized before was the lack of curiosity. There was nothing new, nothing to wonder about because there was nobody else besides yourself. Everyone in a sector was almost an exact clone of each other. I began to feel more lonely than I did ever before that moment. Every day after that dreadful night felt like a repeat of the day before, but every day got worse in some way. I felt my hair getting longer, my sighs getting longer and my body getting weaker as I began to lose hope in a life that meant anything. I wanted to matter, I wanted more than anything to not be a clone in some sector where everyone is the same and just another gear pushing this nation along. I decide it was time for change. I began working out a way to escape my sector. I looked through the handbook and found which sectors I wanted to go to: Sector 213, “artists,” Sector 457, “scientists,” Sector 110, “psychologists,” and Sector 54, “weapon experts.” My final location would be Sector 1. Sector 1 was where the leaders were living; nobody knew anything about it. I had no idea how I would even get out of my sector, it took more planning and surveying of the wall that confined my sector. I planned on leaving and heading east, looking for any sector to see if I could find a pattern or organization of the sectors. I finally left in 2030. I found a hole in the wall that I could crawl through. Outside of this hole, I saw sunlight like I have never seen before, it burned my eyes. Freedom, an open land that people could not even dream of anymore. I smelled trees and nature, it smelled like a park I went to as a child, I felt a smile slowly overtake my face, then tears leaking from my eyes. I stepped out of the bubble that help my life for a few long years. I forgot what real weather was like, I felt a frigid cold begin to climb up my legs. I took a few steps, it felt like hours, I was overcome by happiness and this new feeling of freedom. I was about twenty feet from the wall when I heard a loud, high-pitched noise pierce through my skull. An alarm. There was an alarm going off in my sector, time slowed down even more as I turned around to look. I felt every muscle in my body begin to tense up and every hair on my arms and legs raise, this made the cold air feel even crisper. I saw a tall tower that I somehow missed while living in the sector, and in this tower was a few men staring at me. I could see the look in their eyes, they looked like leopards that just saw a deer that walked away from its pack. The look that burned into my brain and felt like hours as I saw the man raise a gun, I was frozen. There was nothing I could do anymore, I waited for whatever was in that gun to pierce my skin and take me away. I was unaware of what happened next, but I woke up in a dark cell; my new room. This is where I am now. My life lasted another year I estimate it to be. After everything that happened, after everything I wanted to change, all that resulted was me sitting in my own sweat, slowly dying as alone as I was in Sector 858. I don’t know any of the other men in this jail, all I know is they are men I may or may not have worked with. I never learned about any other sectors, I can’t even be sure there are other sectors anymore. I can’t be sure there are other people besides the ones I hear moaning every day. I guess you can never be certain of anything that isn’t you. I realized the only truth I ever knew what what I felt inside. I wish I had realized what was happening from the beginning, I wish I had trusted myself instead of the people trying to change what I knew was natural. I don’t regret anything I did, I only regret what I didn’t do sooner.


Deliver, scan 06:05. Deliver, scan 08:17. Deliver, scan 09:10. Deliver, scan 09:54. Deliver, scan 13:12. Deliver, scan 18:34. 18:52 Six newborns today to six sets of parents; a clean day, no twins would need to be separated. The last child, a boy, was delivered at 18:34 today, just making the final cut of the day before the clock struck 19:00. These six infants will wake up tomorrow out of the hospital and in new homes to their new parents. Some will be reunited with their biological parents; others will end up in completely new homes. That decision will fall on the lottery now. Once the baby is delivered, it is out of our hands, it is out of the parents’ hands; fate guides all. It has worked this way since the machines were introduced in 2025. The baby is delivered and immediately taken from the parents into an isolation room. The newborn is scanned, receives two options, and is put to be fed, cleaned, and laid down with all the other newborns of that day until the lottery begins. The newborn will always receive two options. There is ‘option A’ the good news, the option we all hope will become the truth. And of course, there is ‘option B’ the bad news, the ultimate worst. At first they were called ‘positive’ and ‘negative’, but too many parents were leaving their children in the care of the hospital, placing too heavy a connotation on the ‘negative’ aspect. We have found that providing parents ‘options’ allows them the illusion of choice. In the last thirty-nine years not a single child has procured himself an adulthood that has not proved one of the options true. The machines are foolproof in the sense that one of two will be fulfilled. However, with every machine comes a unique disparity. Our machine predicts ‘option A’ correctly 82% of the time. Not as good as other area hospitals with 90% success rates, but better than the others that can only guarantee a 64% chance. It is those lucky ones that hit ‘option A’ who run the world as we know it today. If an infant is unfortunate enough to hit their ‘option B’, well… we’re lucky enough to be operating at 82% “Doctor” the nurse called from the hallway as she walked towards the shut office door, “It is after 19:00, the parents need to be informed and the lottery must begin.” Getting up out of this chair and walking those fifty feet to where the parents await could feel as if you were walking for days. This walk that feels like days is one that takes place every day in hospitals around the world. We are always walking, always. 19:09 “Parents, thank you for your patience. You are all well aware of how we are going to be managing this system.” The speech is always the same, learned as a code, an oath, by every Doctor whom this task is given to. “A lottery has already taken place, and you know whether you are number one, number six, or any number in between. You know that we cannot inform you how the lottery system works, or which child is your offspring.” The words fall off my tongue flawlessly as my mind drifts to what is on the dinner menu tonight. “We can only inform you of what their options entail, and it is up to you make your decision. Remember, this hospital runs at an 82% success rate, so please keep that in mind. You have the choice of selecting a child, or passing, and we will not leave this room until all the parents have taken their choice. If a child is left in the care of the hospital by the end, the parents will have a chance to claim this child along with the one they have already chosen.” “Let us begin.” 21:20 The lottery always takes longer than it should. Two future professional athletes, a future diplomat, a police chief, and a successful entrepreneur were all given new homes. ‘option B’ scenarios tend to blur together as the days go by. Murders, war criminals, even those who will suffer from psychosis. We encourage the families not to hang their heads on these 18%, yet most days we end up with a child who will not have a home, and parents who will have to wait another year to try. Today was no different. Five adopted children, and one that will remain in the care of the hospital. ‘option A’ Olympian. ‘option B’ child molester, 18%. This newborn, the one who was delivered at 08:17 is now in the care of the hospital, and his options will not pan out. Those who are left in the care of the hospital are trained to become a Doctor. There is no glamour in this job as there is no pain. The ultimate neutral, the middle ground between ‘option A’ and ‘option B.’ Going through life knowing you were left there by all potential parents, the unwanted. Growing up knowing your ‘option B’ was so bad it turned everyone away. Pain. One bright side to this life of a neutral comes on your 25th birthday when you finish your training, and are introduced to the system, how the lottery works, and why the machines were brought in. The Doctors are the only ones who know, the only ones who will ever know. In twenty-five years the baby delivered at 08:17 this morning will know. He will know how the system works, and he will learn what his options were to get a feel of what potential parents choose not to select. He will have to live from age twenty-five on knowing what his life could have been, and what it became instead. We are given no names, only the title of ‘Doctor’ and enough knowledge to keep the system moving. My title is Doctor. I know how the system works. I was born with two options, as was everyone else who was born on this planet since 2025, in a hospital that guaranteed an 86% ‘option A’ success rate. All eight parents that day passed on me, and I was left in the care of the hospital. My fates were unique in the sense that they were identical. Had I not been left at the hospital, today I would be the leader of the world. My title is Doctor.


“Do you remember that time that you and I drove around looking at green hills, and we hooked up, our bodies entangled in a kaleidoscope of shapes and movements? We had taken my mother’s Jeep Cherokee to the end of the road and then hiked along the Caney Fork. You made me bring a full backpack stuffed with your favorite blanket, and a shit ton of rubbers, I mean, so many that there was no possible way we were going to use them all. You said we would, and you did that smile you always did when you were up to something. Your lip curled in the corner, and your teeth just barely peeked through their coral covers. You forced me to carry the backpack because after all, ‘I was such a big, strong man.’ “I was barely a man at all, more like a boy. I was twenty, and we had only been dating for four months. This is going to sound childish, but, I was so excited that I was able to get laid that those first few months were a complete blur. I remember this moment so clearly though. It’s surprising what sticks with you. Anyways, we had hiked along the Caney Fork and made it to Scott’s Gulf. Remember that waterfall? And how it snuck out of the canyon wall, came out, fell, and when it finally reached the bottom it snuck back into the ground? Goddamn, it was almost as beautiful as you were that night. The water was so clear. "We laid the blanket down, wrapped in each other’s arms, and stared at the waterfall for what felt like ages. There was something hypnotizing about it. You turned away from the water and towards me. You whispered in my ear, ‘Is it going to be like this forever?’ I was staring at the sky, which was melding colors like melting Neapolitan ice cream. I hesitated, thinking about it for a second, you might not have known that, but I was young, and I’m sure you’ve had the same thoughts before too. ‘Yeah, I think so.’ I responded, the words seem so far from me now, like it was a totally different conversation than what I remember. You kissed me on the cheek and said, ‘I hope you’re right.’ I turned and kissed you on the lips, before I knew it we were a sweaty mess of skin, and shapes. "We eventually headed home; you fell asleep in the passenger seat with your feet on the dash, and your hand clutching mine. That day was so passionate, and uncanny, so unlike us now. It’s not the same as when we were younger. Maybe we can rekindle those feelings. I want to make love to you, not just love you. We could go back, maybe, and hike along the Caney Fork. What do you say?” “That wasn’t me.


Dr. Francis was waiting for his 9 o'clock patient. The doctor was sitting at his desk, scribbling down some notes with his illegible doctor calligraphy on a scrap piece of paper. He let his hand take total control, swiftly moving up and down across the white sheet of paper. His mind was somewhere else. He was thinking about something. He had been thinking about it all day. Since he opened his eyes. Since his brain had fully activated itself. While he was having breakfast. While he was drinking his daily glass of O.J. While he was reading the newspaper on his precious eReader. While he smoked a cigarette on his petite balcony, puffing away in the cold winter air. The entire morning, he had been thinking of the previous day. The previous dinner, to be specific. Which happened about 10 hours earlier. Dr. Francis heard a knock at his door. "Come in" he said, with a tone which was about to fall off the edge of politeness. A short little man with tiny squinty eyes entered the room. Armed with a gigantic smile and a blatantly recognizable toupee', he said "Hello, sir! What a pleasure to see you on this fine day!" "Yes..." replied Dr. Francis, trying to sound a tad less sad and gloomy than he actually was, "a fine day indeed". While the pig-man jabbered on about his tooth aches and his head aches and his back aches, Dr. Francis nodded seemingly apprehensively, while playing, pausing, rewinding what he had been playing, pausing, rewinding for the entire morning. He ate at Le Chateau Imperial. Last night of course. He didn't eat alone. He had company. Somebody very special. Not Darren, no. His one and only son, Darren, was far too busy to go out for dinner with his father, his biological father. He had serious business to take care of, which required most of his time, strength and energy. "So what should I do?" asked the pig-man, desperately trying to un-squint his eyes, as if the doctor's next words could only be seen and not heard. Silence ate up the room, for a a couple of terrible, terrible seconds. "Sir? Siiiir?" Dr. Francis snapped back to reality. He paused the Blu-ray he was playing in his head. He left it there, in his HD DVD/Blu-Ray player which he had bought only a few months ago. Which Claire had begged for. Which was now stacking up dust, under his majestic LCD Television set. "Yes, of course." said Dr. Francis, showing his patient that he had been paying attention, and that he was about to grant the pig-man with a delightful solution to his problems. He told him to sleep more, to go out for walks (in this cold winter weather? What were you thinking Dr. Francis?), to have decent meals, to avoid junk food, and to take painkillers if the pain didn't subside. "Thank you sir, I very much appreciate it." said the squinting pig-man, cupping his hands together, humbly expressing his gratitude, like a plebeian at the feet of his lord. Claire looked amazing last night. She wore a black dress, which Mr. Francis had carefully picked and bought for her previous birthday. It was sophisticated, yet it underlined Claire's natural curves, making her stand out in Le Chateau Imperial. She captured every male eye in the dining room, enveloping them in the black bliss which covered her voluptuous body. She gracefully walked towards Mr. Francis, her ex-husband, who immediately stood up as soon as she approached the table. The pig-man stood up as well, thanked the doctor again, and shook his strong firm hand. The rat-man walked out of the office, while jollily shouting: "See you next time sir, have a good one!" Dr. Francis was finally alone. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his paused Blu-ray. He let it play one more time. He helped her sit down, like a true gentleman, fooling all the other men in the room into believing that she was his personal trophy-wife. Or trophy girlfriend. That he was the one that could pass his hands over her silky caramel skin. Only him. Nobody else. "Hey honey!" shouted Melissa. "Honeeeeey!" "What do you want?" shouted back Dr. Francis, slightly irritated by the abrupt interruption. "Do you want a coffee? Or maaaybe a cappuccinoooo?" shouted Melissa with her benign but rather fastidious high rising terminal. Dr. Francis pictured her sitting on her leather chair, behind the counter of the reception, slightly leaning towards his door. She was very young, much younger than him. She was in her early twenties, full of life and libido, full of the desire to live, do things, go places. "I'll have a coffee, thanks. Black!" shouted Dr. Francis, picturing Melissa's looong red hair, and her looong soft legs, sitting there, only a few meters away from him. Only a white glass door with a light brown border separated them. "Oookay sweetie!" happily answered the girl, probably smiling at him behind that door, with her big warm smile inhabited by a perfect set of candid precious jewels. Only a few meters and the door separated them now. Only a few centimeters of air separated them 5 weeks ago. Only a few centimeters. They were lying on her bed. Naked. Breathing softly. Both staring at the ceiling. Not really looking at it, but just letting their eyes rest in one spot. Melissa opened the door and walked into Dr. Francis' office. She handed the cup of coffee to the doctor and said "Here you go, Dr. Francis" winking while pronouncing the sibilant "s" of Francisss. He thanked her with a smile, and romantically shooed her away. "Damn, she's gorgeous" he thought, while his personal secretary walked out of his office, gently shaking her cunning caboose from side to side, the sexiest and most hypnotizing pendulum you'll ever see. The Blu-ray un-paused. It was a different scene. It wasn't in the restaurant. Not in Le Chateau Imperial. Oh no. It was in his office. On the patient's bed. The type of bed with a large roll of Scottex at the top of it, so that each patient gets a personal and exclusive strip of Scottex. So that they don't end up sitting or touching where some other filthy patient sat or placed his body parts upon. She was on the bed. The Scottex was all crunched up. Her soft derriere was on the dark blue leather of the bed. The leather was cold. Smooth, but cold. He was standing in front of her. Her legs were on his shoulders. He was holding them. Holding her thighs. Her marble thighs. His pants were down to his feet, clumsily resting on his polished Cesare Paciottis. His shirt was on the ground, lying there where he threw it, looking at him with a scrumpled look. She wasn't wearing much. Her black skirt was somewhere on the cold floor. Her white shirt was half open, stuck to her sweaty skin, revealing her black lace bra. It seems as if she was trying to hold up the wall behind her with her hands. It seems as if she was having quite some fun. Dr. Francis was too. She was moaning. Looking at the handsome doctor dead in the eyes. Biting her lower lip. His eyes were locked into hers. She lured them in, locked them in, and threw away the key. He didn't know what it was exactly, but he couldn't stop looking at her. He couldn't stop admiring her beauty. Her long hair. Her emerald eyes. Her... He was looking out the window for quite a while now. Not really looking at anything in particular. Just resting his eyes out there, in the concrete jungle. He glanced down at his agenda, the one Claire had bought him only a few a months ago. The one with his initials inscribed into it, on the back cover, in small, classy, golden letters. M.F. He scribbled down some notes, and checked when his next patient would arrive. He had some time before his next appointment, so he got up, walked to the sink, had a glass of fresh tap water, and sat back down at his desk. He moved mechanically, like a robot. As if someone had switched the autopilot lever inside his brain. His thoughts wandered off again, while his eyes were fixed outside, in the frozen gray jungle. He didn't know which Blu-ray to play anymore. It's as if the memories were fighting each other, trying to defeat one other, and take the highest spot on the doctor's mental podium. Last night, his mind was free. When he saw her, with her beautiful black dress, his only thought was: "Damn, I'm a fucking idiot." He wasn't sad. He was just happy to finally see her. Even though she would probably never come back into his life. Even though he wanted her to bits. Even though she had probably moved on, found some rich guy or a random douche bag, he was happy. She seemed happy. Or maybe it was because of all the make-up, covering up her underlying facial expressions. He didn't care too much. He was simply mesmerized by her presence. They said Hi to each other, had some small talk, you know, how are you? How have you been? How's your job? You got a promotion? Really? Wow that's amazing! Yeah I've been pretty good myself. Darren? Oh he's great... Are you gonna come pick him up on Friday? Okay, perfect. Just make sure he brushes his teeth. And does his homework. And doesn't eat cyanide. Or any type of poison. So yeah... Mark paused the memory. He left it hanging there, in mid air. A knock on the door. "Come in" said Mark, suddenly making himself look busy, quickly throwing the remote of the Blu-Ray player in the corner of the room. "Hey, uhmmm" said Melissa, holding a pen between her luscious lips. "Your next patient is here, should I let her in?" "Who is it? I'm sorry, I just looked at it but I can't remember." answered Mark, raising his hands outwards, palms down, as if trying justify his momentary amnesia with that simple gesture. "It's Mrs Sheerer." said Melissa, cutely frowning at her boss. Dr. Francis rubbed his hands and exclaimed "Mrs. Sheerer! Of course! Well send her in." He looked at his wristwatch. 10:30. "Jesus Christ" he thought. "Why does time have to go by so goddamn slowly?" "Why hellooo Mrs Sheerer!" shouted the doctor, "How are we feeling today?!?" A fragile little lady had walked into the room; she looked as if the wind could take her away, rise her up into the sky, and move her around like a crunchy brown leaf. "Excuse me, Dr. Francis, I didn't quite catch what you said." Humbly answered the shaky old lady. Her ears hadn't been working very well for the past 2 years. "What I said was, HOW ARE WE FEELING TODAY?" shouted the doctor, not mad, not irritated, but with the patience of an American suburb high school substitute. "Oooh I'm okay my dear." replied the golden girl, holding her dark red leather purse in her hands, scared a ghost would snatch it and vanish in thin air. "My hearing device hasn't been working very well lately..." "Could you give it a look please?" shakily said Mrs Sheerer. "Of coourse I can" answered the doctor, extending his hand so that his ancient patient could hand him her audio-enhancing device. "Let's see..." he said, observing, analyzing, detecting any flaws in the small miraculous apparatus. "So how are you my dear? How's Claire? Is she at home taking care of Darren?" Dr. Francis kept his gaze on the device and said "Claire isss uuhhh..." A brief pause followed, disguised as distraction. "She's fine. Darren's probably in school by now." "You know" said the doctor, lifting his gaze up from the device, placing it out of the window, where it always found a comfy place to rest. "Life is pretty strange sometimes.You share your life with a person, for years and years. You share amazing experiences, you bond, you start relying on each other, needing each other. You live together. You do everything together. Or almost everything. And then, something happens. Either you fuck up, or they fuck up. We're only human in the end right? But that one thing can shatter whatever you had built till that moment. Everything you lived for is gone. Finito. Caput. It's incredible isn't it?" Dr. Francis paused for a moment, pondering on what had just spilled out of his mouth. Like a dirty vicious secret, which is meant to stay deep inside us, lingering beneath the surface. "I mean sure, sometimes you keep in touch. You see each other every now and then, to catch up and what not. But sometimes you're just erased. For the other person, you don't really exist anymore. Not physically. Maybe mentally, as a distant memory. Waving at you, moving further and further away, while the volume of the sad melancholy music gradually rises." Mrs. Sheerer was fidgeting with her thumbs, looking at them like a wise ancient ape. She looked up at the doctor and said: "Sorry did you say something dear?" Dr. Francis snapped back to reality once again. He had let the Special Features play. You know, the version of the movie with the audio commentary? "NOTHING, MRS SHEERER, I WAS JUST THINKING OUT LOUD!" shouted the doctor, cupping his hands around his mouth to make sure the old lady would hear him. Not sad, not irritated, quite happy actually. The Golden Girl's precious smile, her glazy eyes filled with cataracts, which had seen who knows how many things and bewitched who knows how many laddies; they bewitched the doctor as well. He couldn't be mad at the poor old lady for not having heard of word of his heart-breaking rant. He handed the hearing device to her, waited for her to put it in its place and said with a smile: "They should work perfectly now, Mrs Sheerer." "Thank you darling." replied the ancient patient. "Oh and, the best of luck to you and Claire!" she added, with a warm wrinkly smile. The doctor chuckled like a teen hitting puberty and said: "Yeah... Thanks.


"I was trying to describe you to someone a few days ago. You don't look like any girl I've ever seen before. I couldn't say "Well she looks just like Jane Fonda, except that she's got red hair, and her mouth is different and of course, she's not a movie star..." I couldn't say that because you dont look like Jane Fonda at all. I finally ended up describing you as a movie I saw when I was a child in Tacoma Washington. I guess I saw it in 1941 or 42, somewhere in there. I think I was seven, or eight, or six. It was a movie about rural electrification, a perfect 1930's New Deal morality kind of movie to show kids. The movie was about farmers living in the country without electricity. They had to use lanterns to see by at night, for sewing and reading, and they didn't have any appliances like toasters or washing machines, and they couldn't listen to the radio. They built a dam with big electric generators and they put poles across the countryside and strung wire over fields and pastures. There was an incredible heroic dimension that came from the simple putting up of poles for the wires to travel along. They looked ancient and modern at the same time. Then the movie showed electricity like a young Greek god, coming to the farmer to take away forever the dark ways of his life. Suddenly, religiously, with the throwing of a switch, the farmer had electric lights to see by when he milked his cows in the early black winter mornings. The farmer's family got to listen to the radio and have a toaster and lots of bright lights to sew dresses and read the newspaper by. It was really a fantastic movie and excited me like listening to the Star Spangled Banner, or seeing photographs of President Roosevelt, or hearing him on the radio "... the President of the United States... " I wanted electricity to go everywhere in the world. I wanted all the farmers in the world to be able to listen to President Roosevelt on the radio. That's how you look to me.


I had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Looking around, the car was immaculate to the point of obsession. Each item in its appropriate place was just begging to be disturbed. My sister sat beside me, silent and restless, as I fought off an intensifying urge to do something irrational. Our cassette tape had ended long ago and the resulting silence tormented my already listless mind. The cloying smell of antiquated perfume hung stagnant in the air, and the skin on my right arm was baking in the sun and making my blue jeans begin to burn my leg. For the hundredth time, my eyes scanned the familiar house looming before me. The paint that now peeled and bubbled off the crudely built wooden frame had been pure white at one time, but was now a defiled mushroom beige. Two gaping curtainless windows gazed down at me with an air of secrecy and disgrace. The garage was an open mouth, inviting me to enter and learn its mysteries. I stared and imagined what it would be like inside, having only familiarized myself with its outer shell. And I waited. My sister and I visited our grandmother, Amma, about once a week. Our usually monotonous visits would sometimes be interrupted by a spontaneous trip to Uncle George’s house. Uncle George was Amma’s brother only by marriage. His wife had recently passed away, however, leaving Uncle George incapable of doing even the most insignificant of domestic undertakings. Amma quickly and readily stepped in to assist the incompetent man at his every request. My sister and I were taken along at instances like these and were given explicit instructions to remain in the car. “I’ll only be a second,” Amma would tell us in an uncharacteristically hurried manner. “Just wait here and I’ll be right back.” My sister’s foot kept tapping the back of the driver side seat in front of her. Up and down it went, as if this one extremity of hers was the only part of her body that remained alive. Tap, tap, tap, tap it went. My arm seared in the heat. That house was staring, taunting. Tap, tap. The sickly sweet fragrance made it difficult to concentrate. Tap, tap, tap. My overactive seven year old mind was an explosion of troubled anxiety. It had been too long. This was getting ridiculous. How can she expect this from us? Tap, Tap, tap, tap… I turned to my sister and immediately she saw the resolution on my face. She stared open mouthed as I gently opened the car door and stepped out onto the cracked gray driveway. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.” My stomach was a rock within me and at each step my feet felt like lead. I stopped and took one last look up at that grotesque staring face with the gaping mouth, then I entered the garage. I walked slowly, unsurely. Each common object I encountered seemed exotic to my nervous eyes. There was a doorway in the shadows up ahead, painted with the same sour yellowed paint. The entrance into the very bowels of the house. My hand was sweaty on the gold doorknob, but I quietly turned it and entered. Immediately the odor of dust, unwashed linen, and old age filled my nostrils. Fingers still on the doorknob, my first instinct was to recoil in fear and repulsion. I took a deep, putrid breath. I needed to know what was going on. At the end of the long hallway I saw a thin sliver of harsh florescent light cast onto the wall from the adjacent room. I could hear someone inside. As I walked along the wall, a growing sense of trepidation filled my small body. I shouldn’t be in here. I was going to get caught. I neared the opening from which the glaring light was coming, and hesitantly peered in. What I saw was a standard laundry room. Lint covered button-down shirts hung from hangers on a clothesline to dry, while neat stacks of folded slacks lined the top of the dingy grey dryer. A blue plastic hamper sat on the cement floor holding a jumble of clothes that I assumed were unclean. The air was moist and smelled of mold and powder detergent. Standing in the middle of the room, however, was the most alarming sight that I had ever witnessed. My Uncle George was stooped beneath the glaring light, putting on a pair of rumpled black dress socks. Those were the only item of clothing he was wearing. His ghost-white skin was a stark contrast to the bleak surroundings. With a naive terror, I looked up the long, gangly legs and over the flat, drooping buttocks. The backbone protruded under loose skin and my gaze involuntarily traveled upward as if on some skeletal highway. His extended neck was crowned with a mop of disheveled grey hair that sprung greasy from the pale veined scalp. He was arched over, translucent flesh sagging off the wiry frame like some prehistoric amphibious human being. Claw-like hands were ferociously pulling at the sock on his left foot as he struggled to maintain balance. He had not seen me. With my heart pounding so ferociously that I was sure I’d be caught, I bolted. Shaking with unadulterated horror, I retraced my steps as soundlessly as possible. Safely back in the car, I waited. My sister questioned, but I couldn’t tell her. When Amma finally returned, I hysterically relayed what I had seen. All at once a look came over her worn face that I couldn’t identify. Fear? Insecurity? Anger? She quickly told me that I had seen nothing and warned me never to tell my mother what I had just described to her. She told me that it was going to be alright. That it would be our little secret. And that we were going for ice cream. Sixteen years later, the story once again surfaced in my memory. As I relayed it to my astonished mother, the truth was deciphered. Unbeknownst to their family, Amma and my Uncle George were having an affair. What seemed like a considerate sister-in-law helping her less than capable brother was, in reality, a covert sexual escapade begging to be uncovered by the unassuming granddaughter. As the situation was discussed, the pieces fell into place like some sort of perverted relational puzzle. To this day, Amma doesn’t know that we’ve uncovered the disgraceful skeleton in her closet.


>**[QUICK NOTE ALSO WARNING]** I already posted a little bit of this and I've since updated it with quite a bit more. I wasn't totally motivated to keep writing but I've since gotten a job and any second I have free I write. Now for the **[WARNING]** bit, this story is a graphic first person telling of a child killer; he's based off of Albert Fish so he does eat them. Lastly this is an ongoing project, all criticism or advice is greatly appreciated. A stone cell Each stone in the wall had more age and life than I could comprehend, my fingers play upon the cracks careful not to break the aged lines. My hands find themselves tired searching every message these rocks have to give, nails run raggad clicking in rythem to the music preserved to each crack, like each note to a score. My wrists hurt from the shackles bound to them, their embrace neither tight nore loose. The pressense enough to remove any will to break the binds, or even to perppetuate an imagination capable of the thought to escape. The air so thick from a rippled blanket of decay, my nose burnt by the remains of those I once considered brothers. No family behind these walls, no blood between those too weak to shed it. To say that a life without these walls isn't but a distant memory is a mockery of what I've suffered here. Every second of my life prior to its cage blazes past my eyes in patterns so inense that I've lost the sight for anything else. My memories of the is world as I now know it are by no means a life to live, regardless of how long my stay is to be, I was dead long before my last breathe. My mind still in its endless walts at intances takes certain pauses, eyes of miasmic storms just large enough to allow awarness. During these opressive voids, I torment myself with the beckoning of questions. As my body turns to dust, I always have the same inquarie, forever wondering why had this not happened sooner? Had my life been ended early, the temptation of a return would be weaker, the husk left behind stronger enough to face its abysmal excistance. Mercy be it too sacred of word to pass these pale lips, I have known my deeds as foul from their conception to their sin soaked execution. The eyes of my victims forever surround my walls, pealing away at the unstable sanity that had been clung to with a feveroris grip. As I would ask the same given the placement of your eyes, I wasn't born into confinement nor was I placed by a careless agent of justice; I defined the layer of hell that holds me. Innocence was the target of my wrath, I could not say it was taken as I didn't leave a single drop to exist. The year of our lord where I resided, I walked among the alleys, and the sewage that fell upon them; a voyeur to society and its civilized inhabitants. Give it not the size, one could not see difference between my brethren and the bloated rats that plagued the streets. Do not attempt sympathy, or consider my bedfellows the reason to this corrupted path I limp through. Given the choice between lands of furnishing or moist decay, I'd always take the latter; more freedom to be true to my manners. Secondly a demon be it dressed in rags or lace is still a forked tongue devil, as I've seen my same wrong doings in the eyes of others. We all have our vices, as we all worry to what ends we'll be drowned by them; my personal brand was the hands of the young and unwilling. While my mind never had been upon other thoughts, I was only spellbound via eclipsed moments where the thought of not would sear until I had begun. At this point I was taken, my body moonlit to another, a beast of sin and flesh. While I knew the crime being committed, I was never ostrisised by the lingering eyes, only by the broken symphony in my head. It was not until my hands fell upon royal blood did a whisper of my existence fall among the civilized. Yet the sin itself felt no worse than anything I had done thus far. Her cries no more refined, her tears no less salty, and her blood showed no sign of any more imperfection compared to even my own. Her flesh bore little resistance to teeth, as is the same for the rest. Once I awoke from my lustful haze, I began the process to hide my shame while also immortalizing it all. There was a shelf in an abandoned shack of which I considered my abode, on said shelf were little trinkets set in neat little rows. The only vanity I held was for these treasures, each one from each potential full life lived who crossed my gaze. My favorite was a set of pearls as I had taken a foster role for a time with this child, they enjoyed walking the shores and these pearls were a present from them. My method of disposal is simplistic while just as vile as the first act, as we humans have the same savory taste of pork, the trick is merely to complete the illusion. The easiest method is to have the remains submerged in scolding water until even the bones are the consistency of soup, as for the head however there a problem arises. My method of habit is to sever the cheeks, nose, and ears as they are still succulent; with the rest I make a contribution to the gullets of the wild including their clothes. Children were always told to stay away from the forest, such tales humane compared to my own sins. After the clean up for this child, with body set to roast I took to her clothing, the nobility was off putting however I couldn't see how countless youth being taken prior would have any less ramifications. That's when my gaze focused on the crest upon the late child's locket, while I knew nothing regarding politics of this country, I was very aware I was staring at the crest of the king. I sat ever so still, in naive hopes that may also soon pass. Night was still defended, but it didn't matter anymore, the child of royalty was dead and my hands more so than ever were stained. I knew I had to attempt something, so after hours petrified in fear I ran to the forest with the child's clothes and partial remains. The forrest reserved no strength against me, the long reaching arms of the trees tearing away at me, the howling faces in their knotted bark. Voices of the vacant were nothing new to me, however nothing of this intensity. "He's here!" "Burn the demon!" "Kill him, rip him limb from limb!" The voices fell to whispers and quieter still as I reached my planned resting grounds. I marked these grounds by a rusted spade set to a rotted stump, while I never used it to turn soil as the point was to give the illusion of the corpse being taken by wolves. After hours of toiling finding a suitable place for the remains, I came upon uplifted roots that had been shaped in such a manner to only allow access to that of a child. I placed her face down into the roots, and shredded her clothing haphazardly from there. As the last bit of cloth was placed I filled my lungs for what felt as new a experience, my flesh constricted from the night's in forgiving chill, never have my hands felt so unclean, my mind with such unrest. As my heart began to slow I heard a voice, to my dismay it was not of my own corrupted design. "Damn fucking snakes, get away from me!" To what ends will I be tested this day I thought, no one of sound mind traverses these woods, so this voice was not of an innocent man. Regardless of their transgressions I had to act as I did not want her to be found premature. I took towards the voice careful not to be revealed, as I crept closer still the voice still proclaimed on about the serpents. I was finally able to lay sight on the figure, he stood seven heads tall, dressed in fatigues of a royal guard. I sat still for moment to calculate my next action, as were it to be too rash I'd find my head on the chopping block. On one hand I've committed no wrong doings to his knowledge, however I parish the thought as no innocent men traverses these woods, unless hunting the wicked. I know what needed to be done to rid myself of this trial, I turned back to the resting grounds as I required a tool to complete the task.


Hello all, my sister is super timid about her writing, but she always seems to impress me. Criticism is welcome, but please be kind. She e-mailed me this, so it's a rough draft. “Alright, man, it’s been a long day. Time for me to make my exit!” Wyatt downed the last of his beer and decidedly plopped the pint glass down on the bar. He gestured for a bro-handshake toward the bartender. “See ya, man,” said Greg, the bartender, and reciprocated the bro-man-shake. Jason waved casually and called out a brief salutation to a couple at the end of the bar who were engaged in a giggle-rich conversation. Jason knew the bartender from back in his community college days, before he was even a bartender there. He knew most of the regulars too. The cozy neighborhood bar: a perfect place to chill with a drink after a long day. It was a good night. A trip was in the works with Greg to visit the guy’s brother in Texas. And he got the number of a pretty sweet piece of ass, good personality too. Jason stepped out into the cool, damp night and began the three-block strut home. Some quick movement caught his peripheral, but he paid no serious mind. It was probably some animal raiding the garages from the restaurants. The ones where people wasted half of their food because they were too rich to care about economics and wastefulness, and their appearances took precedence. Hmph, “high society,” to Wyatt, was simply a lack of common sense where narcissism took the place of thought processes. He passed a good-looking couple that looked healthy, clean, well off. Not a care in the world they had for a passerby. A counter point to the young couple was the man who passed by him next – a man that wasn’t quite yet middle aged, a little scruffy, a gate that adjusted to the clear burdens he carried throughout life, a gaze that seemed to look right through you, to see your true nature. Another brief movement caught his eye, a swift shadow that disappeared around the corner. Wyatt took a little more notice this time, but remained unconcerned. He swung right into his apartment building and gated up the stairs. It didn’t take him long to eject the shoes, shirt, and pants from his body. Surrendering the day to the night, he tumbled into bed and hastily threw his blanket over himself, already on the brink of snores. Right before his consciousness left him, he heard a barely audible voice… “Are you ready, Wyatt?” He yawned and slapped both hands over his face and stretched his way out of bed. Time to get up and weld some shit. He didn’t like showering before work, since he was always getting sweaty. So he slathered on some deo, brushed his teeth, and put on some shitty, worn out clothes. He took notice of the nice sunny clear sky and retorted with a grin. Today seemed like a breakfast burrito and coffee day. He moseyed his way out the door. Wyatt then stopped short. Even his breath stopped. Everything around him was the same – same shops, same clear blue sky, same cars and streets. But the people… The peoples’ faces were all glowing. They all glowed in different colors and different intensities. But they ALL glowed. He just then realized in his half-asleep construction of the day, he never looked in the mirror. Wyatt whipped around and inspected his own reflection in the glass. Sure enough, his own face was glowing an intense yellow. His first thought went to the possibility of a hallucinogen. He felt fine before he went to sleep. And this theory wasn’t really viable, because everything else was completely normal, unlike the total world-altering effects of a hallucinogen. Was he going crazy? No family history of schizophrenia that he knew of. He stood panicking, staring around at all the colored, glowing faces that stared back in confusion, wondering why this man was in the middle of a crisis on such a normal day. This ws something he needed to figure out. Wyatt ran back upstairs to phone into work. He made up a lie about some stomach flu then sat on the edge of the bed – just sat for a moment, questioning the validity of his reality. He stood up slowly as if laboring to move through a pit of tar. That’s what this was, a tar pit of confusion and doubt. Taking leave of the heavy pit, his feet traveled hungrily and curiously toward the window for further investigation and confirmation. “Yep, still certifiably amok,” said his brain to his senses as he gazed out the glass. Was there some meaning to this? Had he somehow crossed over into another dimension? Wyatt decided that hell, if it was going to be this way, he needed to get IN it, see what this is all about. If this WAS some sort of other dimension, maybe he would have a really amazing job, and maybe the beer was better and the women were looser. Probably not, but there was no harm in hope. He descended the stairs to step back into the day to face the faces. They all glowed, as expected, and all in a wide variety of colors – some putrid in hue with a heavy glow, and others vivid and lively. He saw groups lunching outside and took note that many of the groups shared similar styles of light and intensity of color. Not all of them however, as there were groups of people that made up the colors of the rainbow. These people seemed to smile more often; their intensities took turns flickering brightest from one color or the next. That was another peculiar thing, the groups that WERE all the same color didn’t share intensities, just one person seemed to drain the others of their light, and all of them smiling less, the jovial nature decreasing as the glowing distributed itself to the one or two in the group. It was as if they didn’t want to give the light, and the person didn’t wish to receive it. Like being sapped for energy, then the energy becomes poison for the receiver. Jason decided that if this was going to happen, he wanted to explore as much as he could, discovering patterns and possibly uncovering a reason for why this was happening now. But first, he wanted to visit his father. His father drove truck, and 14 months prior had been in a bad semi accident, rendering him comatose. Jason liked to go visit his dad and imagined he could hear what Jason was saying, and tried to imagine him responding in some sort of telekinesis style of communication. It felt like it kept his heart strong to imagine his father, even while lying comatose, participating in some sort of active communication. He hopped onto the downtown bus that circled around downtown and ended at the second largest hospital in the city. He entered the rotating doors and immediately noted that the patients in their rooms, and the ones carted around on wheelchairs emanated a different type of light. Instead of beaming in sharp clouds of color, the seemed to drip slowly like waves of different, less brightly colored jellies. The elderly and the more apparently sick peoples’ glows were comparably slower than the children’s and the less severely injured patients’. It felt slightly comforting for him to find a pattern among the madness of the situation. Jason took notice of all the lights and flows and colors, on the way back up to his father’s room, a path he had come to know very well, from every nick in the wall to stain on the carpet and even some of the faces of the orderlies and staff that would frequent this particular path. On this particular day, however, he could see everyone in a little bit of a different light. The lights that emanated from the staff seemed to have a consistent glow, but it wasn’t exactly bright. It was duller, and faint. The visitors all varied in color and intensity, while in each of the rooms the lights from their faces took on varying colors but were all immensely faded, the most sickly patients seemed to barely glow at all. He stood outside of his father’s room a moment, almost frightened to see what condition of faded his father’s light could be. No matter what it was, it couldn’t be changed now. There was nothing he could do but observe. He took a deep breath and stood in the doorway staring at the floor. His eyes slowly reached his father’s bed. His tensed shoulders dropped. His father’s light seemed to be not quite perfect, but not as faded as he had feared. It was deep and purple, but bright enough not give Jason concern. He pulled his usual chair up to the side of the bed. “Hi dad, it’s your son. I know I’m a little early, but I just really needed to talk to you.” His father’s light seemed to brighten a little at his words. ‘I woke up today, and everything was a little different. I don’t know if I’m going mad, or there’s something seriously wrong with me, or if it’s just something wrong with the rest of the world. Hell, it might even not be anything wrong with me or the world, maybe it’s just… changed… But dad, I can see everyone. Like, really SEE them. It’s not that I can see their insides, it’s more like, their insides are reaching out to me. Like their souls or whatever that even means. They’re all different colors, intensities, it seems like I can really see how they are, if they’re ok or not, if they’re good, or bad, predatory, good. I have to admit I was scared to come in here, dad, I was scared to see you. I was scared you’d be… faded. I know it, though, in my heart that you’re still here.” His father’s lights grew even brighter. ‘I love you, dad. I don’t know what this all means, but I feel like I’ve been shown something really valuable today. I’m not sure what I’m gonna have to do, or why it’s me, if I’m the only one. But I feel like I need to use this. I’m just glad you’re here to talk to.” Jason sat for a moment of reflection and relief that his father really was still there, and that he could see, with evidence, that he could also hear. Then began to go on about sports, his trip with Greg, and a few women – the normal things he would go in with. Then he leaned over and kissed his father’s head and gave his goodbyes before he ventured back out into the new world. He decided to go about his day as normal, and that entailed visiting his friend Greg. Everyone seemed to be getting off work. These people all remained a slight glow that was reminiscent of the sick. They all seemed tired and overworked, in their facial expression as well as their glow. It was clearly unhealthy, as unhealthy for the soul as sickness must have been for the body. He walked down to the bar, and was happy to see that his friend was indeed working. Something concerned him, however. His friend also had a glow, and the glow was a sickly, dull, yellow color, much the same as patients on the oncology floor at the hotel. He wondered if his friend felt this. Even if he did, he wouldn’t say anything. He wasn’t the type of man to worry about it. Still, Jason felt a deep pain in his heart. It may not be cancer, but his friend was still sick. He sat and drank a beer and chatted with his friend. He just wanted to laugh and bond with him as much as he could. He started feeling a small bit of acceptance underneath the pain, and decided it was time to find his own solace and reflection. He headed to the park for some serenity. He noticed some couples picnicking in the grass, some people with binoculars watching for birds and other animals, some people playing with their dogs, and some children simply playing in nature. They all had something in common, their glowing auras were all very strong and colorful. Their smiles at one another even intensified their glory. When the people first came into the park, they had similar differences as the folks that meandered around the streets. However, as they allowed themselves to bond more and more with nature, they began to change into stronger, brighter souls – that couldn’t help but to shine in the way they were intended. He decided that maybe this was the way it was going to be forever, or maybe this would pass, but that it was happening, and there was really nothing he could do about it. He did know, however, that he felt exhaustion. He began his route home, taking notice of all the different glows of the people, and what that meant for their inner state. Some were at peace, some were drained, sick, overworked, joyful, and everything in between. It gave him a fine insight, and an opportunity to help people become their true light, if he decided to use it in that way, which was really only right, as his father would tell him. The father that he now knew could feel him there even in his deep sleep. He turned the corner and passed down an alley, taking a small notice of something moving in the distance. It was similar to the movements he previously ignored the night before this oddity happened to him. This time he faced it. He walked down into the alleyway and approached the area behind a dumpster that concealed the movement. As he approached, however, there grew a great and white glow. It was a glow with such intensity that actually produced a sound. He felt it warning him to stay away from it. It didn’t seem to want to be approached, but instead wanted to be the one to come to him. The source was so unknown, and if it didn’t want to be bothered, there was no telling what would occur. So he turned back away from the alley and went home. It was unnatural to disturb whatever lurked behind that dumpster. He walked along his way home and went back to bed. As he slowly fell asleep he thought he heard a voice in the distance. “You see, son, it’s always been this way, you’ve just been so blind. Now you can see, and now you must do.” And he fell asleep until the morrow.


The first thing you do is butter the bun. Then you drop it down the toaster. The toaster takes approximately eighteen seconds to toast. You then put the top and bottom together, place them on a red tray and then cover the twelve buns that fit on the tray, 4x3, with another tray and place them to the side. Once you are ready to make the sandwich you place two pickles on the bottom, no more than a quarter inch over lapping. Then you place the chicken filet with the smooth, round side facing up and then place the crown of the bun on top. Finally open up the sandwich bag allowing enough room for the sandwich to easily slide in, then fold the bag over twice and place it in the warming drawer for five minutes. Any sandwich that sits there for longer than five minutes gets trashed. If you would like a deluxe sandwich then place either a slice of American, provolone, or pepper jack cheese on top of the filet, then put two, whole, tomato slices on top of the cheese and two pieces of lettuce, shiny side up, that frame the bun on top of the tomatoes. Then repeat until your soul has been crushed, pissed on, and every dream and fire that has ever existed in you has been stomped out by the ceaseless, monotonous work you subject yourself to in order to not even get by. They, being the people who don’t work with you, will remind you that you chose to be there, just be thankful to have a job, or that it is just temporary. You know that isn’t true though. You can’t find a better job because you are working 50 hours a week and you are too tired to do anything else. You can barely even find the energy or will power to get out of bed in the morning. Every once in a while you feel like you have enough energy and fortitude to say enough is enough and move on but then you realize your life revolves around this job. All of your friends are there. They are the people that deal with all of the shitty customers who think they are the Queen of god damn England, the ones who think they own you because you stand behind a register. Your coworkers are the ones that after all the shit you put up with tell to forget the customer, he is an asshole, you didn’t do anything wrong, people like that just happen. You have a bond with your coworkers, like brother in arms who are united by their common misery. So the cycle repeats, week after week after week after week after week after week as if your days are manufactured on an assembly line. Then you find yourself waking up in the tiny room you call an apartment. You shower and head to work and start your day off like you have the past, seemingly, five thousand days. You clock in, take your slip that shows the time you clocked in and put it your wallet. Then you say high to everyone. Then you either go to the kitchen or the front counter depending on what you are assigned that day. Then you spend the next ten hours slaving away like the robot you are. You listen to the exact same orders, make the exact same food and you have the exact same routine to live by. Then you watch your boss drive up in his new, gas guzzling behemoth of a truck and say “Hi!” to everyone as if he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. It is as if he has no idea what the people he employs put up with on a daily basis. It is as if he hopes his friendly disposition will be contagious but what does he do besides sit in that office of his in the back while you are the one who gets burned at the fryers and the one who has to choose if it is worth turning the heat on at night. You are the one that has to decide whether or not to fix your car or just walk the five miles or so. The one who should just deal with the tooth ache or dish out the three thousand dollars for a root canal because god forbid giving his employees health insurance would just decimate his profits. No one likes the boss. Between the shitty boss, shitty job, and shitty house and lifestyle what can you find to be joyous about? You are simply a tiny little speck. In fact you aren’t even speck in the scheme of things. You are less than a pixel, you are less than even the red, blue, and green lights that make up a pixel. You are nonexistent and utterly replaceable and no one will notice if you go. Just like no one has noticed the billions of stars that have existed and perished and no one ever will. Just like no one ever notices the trillions of bacteria that are beneath our feet. That is what you amount to. At some point we have all been there. The thing is though that not all of us end there. That is the saving grace. There is a glimmer of a hope that one day you can escape the cycle of the daily grind. Get a degree if you are young enough, have a support system while you find a better job, or maybe you are stronger than most and do it all alone. Not everyone is lucky though. Sometimes the grind wears you down and grinds you to you are so thin that you become a part of the walls there. You are an everlasting stone that will be a part of where you are stuck, just like the walls. Bills add up and sooner than you know it you are living out on the streets and left with nothing but free time. Maybe you cope with a steady dose of drugs. Maybe you cope with a healthier method. Either way it leads to the same thing. If you aren’t apart of the club, the haves, then you better get used to meaningless, mindless tasks that ask nothing of you but obedience. The boss, the haves, will tell you that working at these crummy soul devouring jobs is fine. What would they know about what you do though? It is not a matter of them being any less hard working but it is a matter of having something to show for it. If you work at a restaurant and you can’t even afford to eat there they pay you so little then what is the point? It gets to the point where thinking physically hurts. It breaks you just as bad as your job does. You think of all the things that you gave up, that you let slip by and you think never again will I let that happen, but it is too late. You have already buttered the buns. You have dropped them in the toaster. You have placed them on the tray. Put the two pickles on the bun, then the filet, and then the top part of the bun. You have wrapped the sandwich and placed it in the warming drawer until you throw it up for the next customer to devour or for it to get thrown away because it has been the warmer to long and has grown hard and unpleasant and unwanted.


Me, My Mum and I I’ve never had a very good memory. Not really. People always say things like “do you remember when…?” And I always say: “No? When was that?” It’s not embarrassing or anything. Just a pain. It’s just like a blank. I mean – God, I cant even remember where I was when I remembered this…but I'm pretty sure its my first memory. I don’t even know what I was doing. Maybe having coffee, or watching TV but it struck me – like I just got winded…Yeah…it was just like that…just like ‘doof.’ Wait, now I remember. I was on a bus coming home from the supermarket. There was this little boy who got on. He had this big bag on and her was wearing this puffy jacket. He was also wearing this beanie that was miles too big for his head. It was funny how it kept falling over his eyes. He waded up the aisle as the bus rocked from side to side. He was all by himself, and I thought I bet his mum gave him heaps of instructions for the ride… ‘sit at the front,’ ‘say thank you’ ‘remember to get off at the pools’, and then, there she was, my mum, just like doof. At first I remembered, well had this image of my toes, teeny and tiny, and how I could only see peaks of the hard wood floor underneath. It was varnished and had all these holes from people wearing heels at dinner parties and stuff. Mum, well I'm not sure ok? But in my head, my Mum was wearing these violet blue heels. They were her favorite pair. They had this big thick heel with like a silver broach thing on at the front. My feet were so soft and pudgy and I always remember thinking that her feet, in those heels, looked old, ugly and thin. I was looking down because she was above me, giving me instructions on how to get to the diary. “You go down…Grace, are you paying attention?” She paused and coughed into her fist. She had her eyes closed and when she opened them again, catching her breathe, she continued. “See this shape, this L – that your hand makes when you hold it up like this?” She grabbed my hand in her cold thin one and traced the lines from the tip of my small index finger to the end of my thumb. I looked at my hand, they same way I stared at the glass wind chime that hung from our doorway or bugs in the dirt…I had no idea what she was talking about. “You see this L?” She asked. “That’s left; you take a big L, a big left, at the end of the street. Then you just keep going to you see the place with the big ice cream on top. You know, the diary?” Of course I knew. Its where I use to get pies with dad on Sundays, its where I got lollies with Joan. It was the place I stared at from the car window as we drove past. That big plastic Ice Cream cone on top was so cool. Sometimes it lit up at night, it glowed like the moon. I use to stare at for hours. “Take this money and get me some milk please and if you want you can get a mix while there. We can share the lollies ok?” I smiled. “I’m not going to share any with you.” She put her hands on her hips and stuck her tongue out at me. I copied her and then we both laughed. I can see myself. Brown eyes, hair pulled back in a loose plait, two strands falling over my face. But I can see her more clearly. She stood tall over me, with her peach dress. It looked like the smell of peach lollies, or maybe, peach lollies reminded me of the dress. Both are sweet I guess. She was always in that dress. If I think about it, I doubt she was wearing that peach dress with those violet heels that would’ve been ghastly. But as I say, in my head that’s what she was wearing. She wore her hair like mine, hazel brown, loose plait. Except her eyes were cloudy blue. She had thin lips and small teeth. She was my Mum and despite her hands and feet, I though she was pretty. I remember walking out the door and I knew that the world was too big for me. Not consciously, like I didn’t think that, but I knew that the world was too big – it was way too far to go. But Mum was sick, even then and that was greater than the size of the world. I squinted down the street. I was determined to get that milk. It was a really hot day. The kind of hot you only remember when your little, like when you stare mesmerized, by the heat waves radiating off the cars or you have to lick your hand cause there’s melted ice cream all over it. It was that hot, cicadas blasting away hot, old men fanning their faces with their hats hot. I wiped my brow with the back of my arm and walked out, trying to remember what Mum said. I kept holding up my hands up in front of the sky, but they both made L’s if you turned them around, and I suppose I confused myself. By the time I reached the end of our street, I had no clue where to go. Fuck it was scary, I stood on the street for ages looking both ways, my little ponytail wiping back and fourth and I needed to pee so bad. I was getting so worried. I kept imaging mum in her peach dress coughing over the sink or on her knees leaning over the toilet. My lips began to tremble. Luckily this old guy in a hat ended up coming along. He had a moustache that reminded me of polar bears and snow. He was real nice. He asked me where I wanted to go then walked me to the store. When we arrived at the store he let go of my hand and asked if I was going to be ok. I pulled at my dress and looked around the store, it looked huge. Even if I stood on tiptoes I couldn’t reach the shelves and everything was so bright and confusing. “Um yup I think so.” I said. He smiled at me, and then I remembered, “thank you for helping me.” “You’re welcome little lady” and then off he went, out of the doorway. I never saw him again, I never found out who he was. Inside it was cool, all the drinks were so colorful in the fridge, they glistened behind the glass. I couldn’t see above the counter, but I could feel Eric’s (that’s the guy who owned the dairy), I could feel his eyes on me. I tried to act all grown up so I walked past all the lollies and junk, pushing my hair out of my eyes and went straight to the milk. The big bottles where up top and they were really hard to reach. “Do you want a hand?” Eric called out “No thanks” I called back and I grabbed the biggest one I could. It was so slippery, I remember it just falling to the ground and plopping open. Milk went everywhere. Eric came over and I was just standing there watching the milk move slowly across the floor, like it was invading the shop. I looked up at Eric with my mouth open, my eyes big like circles. He said, “Now what has happened here?” It was then, that I burst into tears. Eric must have come over mopping up the white milk as it seeped into the store, but I can’t remember any of that. The next thing I remember was Mum. She was there in her peach dress. She stood flushed in the face. She looked round the store then down at me, and gave me the best smile in the world. For most of the journey home, I had my face buried in her shoulder. I could smell her skin. It smelt just like powdered peaches. “Ssssshhhhh” she said. “ssssh sssssh its ok, its ok, Mummy’s here now, everything’s going to be ok, I promise” Her words tickled my ear, they were soft and flawless. I raised my head, wiped at my eyes with my fist, and licked the ice cream she bought me, before it melted all onto my hand. The last thing I remember about that day, was that her promise came true and everything was ok. * Later, I remembered, I was holding her much older, much thinner and much more spotty hand. She lay on her side and breathed in slowly, they spaces in between filled only with my heartbeat. She stared at me with her big blue cloudy eyes. I looked back; my brown eyes were red and wet. Mum was waiting to die. Her mouth was open and she had no more of her little pretty teeth. Just a black hole. Her long hazel hair had turned white and curly. She continued to breathe slowly…slowly, slowly. She never blinked. She never took her eyes off me. There was no one else in that room. Just me and Mum. Outside, everything carried on as usual but inside my Mum was dying and there was nothing I could do. I squeezed her hand and said to her “Mum, its ok, I'm here now, you can go, don’t be scared, everything is going to be ok” She looked back at me until something inside disappeared. My mum had continued to breathe, until she stopped. Her old, thin, spotty hand, cold already, grew colder. I realized I was no longer holding a hand. Now it just felt like a cold thing. She no longer moved. Not even a flutter. The little that was left behind those blue eyes had gone. I continued to stare at her only now there was no one looking back. I breathed in as my eyes grew wet and said, “Its ok, its ok, you’re alright now mum, I promise, everything’s going to be alright now.” And as I breathed out, I hoped that it was.