    Fiery red wings flutter agitated, the tips transition from a bright red to burning orange and ending in an effervescent yellow, patterned and striated like the hissing motions of fire. A feathery body of deep crimson red coming into the size of an eagle. An s-shaped neck like a flamingo or goose, and a series of long flowing tail feathers colored reminiscent of the wing patterns. They were longer than the body, and despite this, he flew gracefully. He was a majestic creature, a Phoenix, and last of his kind. And in his talons was a silver platter, and in it, what gave the Sun to the realms.

“Duke! Avel!” A woman shouted as the bird flew in closer to her. The Goddess of Fire, lost in a Necrotic Forest without her spouse.

“Found the Sun? Well, we gotta get it back to the Altar in the Tree of Life.” She said cheerfully, leaning back as she extended her black wings before adjusting a sturdy chest plate made of a nearly chrome-like metal.     “Just need to get out of the Kingdom of the Diseased.” She muttered to herself solemnly as the bird hovered above her, with the Goddess taking the platter of liquid Sun and then set it on the ground, kneeling on one knee as she removed a leather satchel and took out a container. Almost a metal flask or vial she could seal off, she poured the liquid Sun as it radiated a pure, almost holy and immaculate light, watching the ethereal fluid glisten in the chromed vial. Once full she screwed a cap on, and slid it into a pocket on her leather pants.

“Stuffs hot Duke.” She said as her companion stretched his neck out and put it against her shoulder as she chuckled. “Still won’t answer me who stole it this time. If it is Yalun’s father again then we’ll have to have a talk. Still, what’s that, the Kingdom of the Diseased? Eh, alright, alright Duke, we’ll talk to them.”     Goddess of Fire and the Hunt, Tailka Ogonyon, the last Phoenixborne. Tasked with guarding the only source of light, the only way for crops to grow, and the single most powerful source of magic for the Twelve Kingdoms. It seems everyone wants to steal the Sun and use its power. Yet, Tailka is used to this, she has seen it before, five times in fact. And every time she learns a bit more about the realm she lives in.

“Avel, avel!” She said as Duke’s nearly five foot wingspan was on full display, beating his wings and squawking as he took off into the air. Tailka chuckled as she followed the bird through a forest lit up by the moon. Trees with a rotting black bark, the ground corrupted by fungal growth, and the air unwelcoming.     The Kingdom of the Diseased, those who lived here, well, were sick. A disease of the Soul. Like a city of lepers they lived in fear, they lived in agony. Neglected by the other Kingdoms, their lives were lonely. The forest got thicker, and large mushrooms could be seen kissing the canopy sky. And as Tailka watched the fiery bird above soar, she saw him come down to a clearing where she thought she could see smoke. Her black wings unfurled as they began to flutter quickly, and she took off, knowing where she was at.

    Grodon, their one true city. Walls made out of logs of living mushroom trunks, with a larger foundation made out of cobblestones mortared together with dirt. She could smell the smoke, breathing it in as she did from her volcanic home in the Kingdom of the Sun. She began to flutter her wings, beating them harder and harder. Slowly those black wings lifted her up into the air as she soared over the walls and met up with her companion.

“Quite the sight isn’t it? Gotta meet up with Valya, maybe she can be honest and straight-forward. One witch to another ya know.” She chuckled as their eyes landed upon the crown jewel of the Kingdom of Disease, Valana's Keep.

    Where every other building is mossy, moldy, covered in fungal growth, Valana's Keep was ornate, made of porcelain marble with delicate painting work and artisanal decorations. Sure there were the overgrown mushrooms protruding from the lower floors and even one spiraling up the center spire, but it felt like it belonged. The majestic blue star mushroom, every once-in-a-while one stumbling through the Necrotic Forest will find one of these cork-screw bodied behemoths, towering above the canopy, with small bioluminescent bulbs hanging by long strands of mycelium. They cultivated them, using them as lanterns, lighting up the city beneath Tailka and Duke. “Od Hayla, it is beautiful, isn’t it?” “Yeah it is, Tal, what are you doing here? And is that Duke? Oooh, I haven't seen him in so long!” A young woman said as Tailka smiled, watching from the castle a woman on a sorghum broomstick, the bristles facing forwards, and the handle going behind her, floated on over. Wearing dark green robes with a brown hood and cape, her blonde hair mostly covered though strands of it stick out from across her forehead with a dark green witch’s hat to boot.

    Tailka smiled in excitement, though declined a hug when Valana offered one.

“Vala, I need to speak with King Syphus, Duke found the Sun here.”

“Tal, he actually wants to talk to you too!” Valana said and Tailka nodded. “I’d give you a hug but given the fire goddess thing, I’m afraid I’m going to burn you if I touch you. But Duke seems so happy to see you!” Tailka chuckled boisterously as Duke landed on the shoulder of Valana, his long neck wrapping around hers as he gave a hiss.

“Such a strange creature Phoenixes are! It…it…it is a shame what happened to them. An immortal species somehow extinguished.” She held back tears and tried to find something to be happy about, smiling, chuckling even, as Duke untangled his neck and leaned it against hers.

“But you’re lucky to have him!” She said, as Duke almost squawked in agreement.

    The two flew to the balcony of Valana's castle. Landing and being met by the dull natural lighting of mushroom lanterns.

“Our apologies for borrowing the Sun. We needed it momentarily.” A jagged and sharp voice pierced the air as Tailka turned around. “Syphus, you need to talk to me first, why did you take it anyways?” Syphus sighed and shook his head in negation.

“You do realize how powerful the Sun is right? You can’t just take it.” She added on seeing Syphus lower his head. “Our people rarely see the light as-is. The Sun never rises here, and it feels so good on us. Our skin is welted and covered in bumps and warts. Hayla blessed you and Valana with smooth, whole skin. We, we’re just hideous abominations. And yet, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

    Tailka was taken back, curling her wings as she landed on the beautiful wooden floor and slowly approached.

“If it is comfort you want, the ash of a Phoenix can help. I can provide ten feathers, simply burn them in a high enough heat and they’ll catch on fire and turn to ash. It is easy to dilute into water or soap.” “Yes but the light helps the luminescent mushrooms too! The Sun being here makes the shroomlights glow so brightly!” Tailka nodded as she thought. “How long does it take and how long until they need to be ‘charged’ eh, so-to-speak?” She asked as Syphus thought. “It has been three days and the city is ablaze! I’ve never seen it so lit up! And as for how long before we need the Sun again? I’m quite unsure.” “Well we can experiment. Mychor Whale oil from the Kingdom of the Frosts, or the Kingdom of the Seas, burns brighter and for longer. I’ve almost convinced them to enjoy wormroot vines that grow beneath the Kingdoms in the Kingdom of the Caves. So many flavors you know. Anyways, Whale Oil for a large supply of shrooms is a good trade if you ask me, seeing that you grow so many mushrooms you practically make your homes out of them!”

    Syphus smiled eagerly. “Oh Wormroot is what we prefer, and Liverlung fungus! Tastes like liver and lung! The Black Pot fungus is quite good for tea, oooh and the green oak fungus that grows on the moldy oaks has a fruity almost melon like flavor!” Tailka smirked eagerly as she looked at Syphus. “Okay, so how about we make a deal? The Kingdom of the Mines, which their entrance isn’t far from here, can be a liaison between the Kingdom of the Frosts and you guys. You trade mushrooms, they provide Mychor Whale oil for lanterns!”

    Syphus pondered this, his mind running through the requirements. “It’d be a massive change in lifestyle. For the Two of us! But….but I…I think as King it is my choice and yet the choice of my people, but our people will probably accept.” Tailka smiled, and began to cool herself off, nervously reaching her hand out. “If my hand is burning hot just let go. My apologies, it's hard to control my temperature.” Tailka sighed reluctantly, nervously holding her hand. She was about to reel her hand back but Syphus reached out and shook it quite firmly, smiling. “All we ask of you is the feathers, and speak with the Ice King about our deal!” “Yeah, I’m on my way to return the Sun, and then speak with the Ice Queen.”

    Tailka turned to Valana as she leaned against the wooden panel wall near the balcony. “Well, ‘Auria, Goddess of Fire’ you better be good on your promise.” “Yeah, I am. Since me and Yalun became God’s we’ve been trying to fix these twelve messy Kingdoms.

“You cannot fix the Kingdom of War, or the Kingdom of Sands. Hell, the Kingdom of the Dead and those damn racist elves who run the Kingdom of Merchants ain’t going to break.”

“But I’m willing to try. Words speak more than violence you know.” Tailka gave in, leaning in and hugging Valana before opening her wings and taking off with Duke.

“Well, time to meet my wife. How do you think ‘Friea, Goddess of Ice’ is doing huh Duke?” She chuckled, hearing the bird make a squeal almost like it was chuckling.     When she departed the Necrotic Forest she was met to a golden prairie, endless fields of what as they flew towards a large tree at the center. The trunk was massive, bigger than any man, bigger than any troll, bigger than any God. The tree was like a nation, a country, with breadth and width, depth and height. The world surrounds this tree, and within it the Sun is supposed to rest peacefully. Traveling into the trunk following winding corridors, she made it to the center, the center of her realm, the center of her world. She removed the silver platter, set it on a gold inlaid marble altar and then the vial of the liquid Sun, pouring it in as light began to radiate out and from the tree, the Sun was restored to the Kingdom.

    Echoing behind Tailka were footsteps, and she quickly turned, drawing her aiodium maces, the metal being the same one her chest plate is made out of.

“Look, I just restored the Sun, I don’t want to deal with another theft.” “Seriously Tal, you’re real uptight.” A woman said as Tailka lowered her maces and breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright Yalun, we need to talk.” “Right? About?” She said as Duke took off from Tailka’s shoulders and flew toward Yalun, hovering above her before landing on her right shoulder and snaking his head across to her left shoulder, cooing like a dove.

“He-he. He likes you mea.” Tailka said as she crossed her arms. “Look I need you to talk to your father, Salun, eh, so Kingdom of the Diseased stole the Sun, I got it back thanks to Duke, talked with Syphus and he can provide a trade deal. Mychor Whale oil in exchange for their edible mushrooms. Trust me, they are good. That way you don’t have to rely on the sun for only one part of the year and not the entire year.” “Tal, that is a good idea. I don’t know though. But I’ll talk with my father.” Yalun sighed as Tailka smiled.     The two held hands but steam began to radiate off of them. They let go, and chuckled. “You’re doing everything you can for the Kingdoms. Maybe Hayla is right, maybe peace will come to the Twelve Kingdoms at last.” “Peace? You really think that? How do you find peace with a Kingdom that believes in war, worships it like his life depends on it. Worst of all, he’s my father.” “You do things peacefully, and yet you’re not afraid to fight.” “My father killed me a few years ago when I tried to talk to him.” “Just put them to the side. Unite the reset of the Kingdoms. Eleven against one, and possibly the rest of the Gods. That is all it takes.” “I have to convince so many Kingdoms, and yet, I feel, I feel I can do it.” The two Gods turned to leave, with Duke in pursuit.

“So, who is next?” Yalun asked with a smile as Tailka began to cackle. “Your father, then the Kingdom of the Dead.”


The corpse laid about ten feet away from Remy, and he intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. The line of people waiting to greet him and his mother with their potentially genuine condolences were stretched outside of the door and lingered down the hallway. He noticed how most of the people were pleasantly chatting while exchanging smiles and muffled giggles just before approaching the altar and then suddenly donned their impressive looks of despair. They would bend down to his eye-level, making it feel like they were trying to probe his mind with their sympathies, when telling him how sorry they were for his loss. Remy’s mother was better at taking the brunt of the crowd, allowing his gaze to silently linger until he felt someone emerge beside him. “I feel like most of these people all bought new outfits just to show off at this wake,” June grumbled from behind him, making Remy almost crack a smile which encouraged June. “I’m only guessing that the crowd is this big because the church is expecting a sizable donation from Herb.” Remy winced. He hadn’t heard his grandfather’s name in over one week and somehow had already tried to forget the sound of it. Remy turned to look up at June who crouched over him with a warm smile and bountiful wrinkles. Her hair was pinned on top of her head and sprayed into place until it held like concrete. There was a smidge of lipstick on her front teeth, and she wore her usual blue afternoon dress. She beheld Remy warmly. “It’ll be over soon kiddo. Once these phonies clear away then you and your mom can go home.” Home…Home where Remy had always dreaded. Always created excuses to avoid. His home had become far too quiet after Grandpa Herb’s passing, too still for him to withstand it without biting his nails or humming to fill the void. He hated how the stillness made his mother just as on edge. An elbow caught him in his thin ribs, making him jolt and turn around to see his mother looking down at him with distraught features from grieving. Her bloodshot eyes and quivering lips made Remy feel rotten as she pointed to the stranger in front of the boy. “He’s trying to speak with you,” his mother told him before resuming shaking hands and welcoming others expressing condolences. Remy slowly looked up at the gangly old suit that stood before him with a man trapped inside of it. Only three hairs remained on top of his head, the rest of the hair was replaced with liver spots to detract from his tremulous hands reaching out to Remy. “Young man, I’m sure you’ll turn out as strong and as kind as your grandpappy,” he hoarsely greeted, not knowing how sick his words made Remy feel. As the hand reached and tried to clamp onto Remy’s shoulder, he instinctively flinched while raising his hands to his face with anticipation for a wallop that never came. He froze and waited. Slowly, Remy glanced between his fingers to see the old man confused and staring at him with his shaky hand paused in midair. “Let’s go,” June murmured from behind him. Remy abandoned his mother and the line of all-too-important grievers to scamper out of the great room, down the hall, opening multiple random doors until finding an empty meeting room with a single table and chairs. There were bibles and pamphlets scattered across the room that detailed support groups for those experiencing loss. June attempted to pick up one to fan the hyperventilating Remy. “That was Charles- Herb’s old high school buddy. They played ball together, I think,” June informed with one hand on her hip. “I don’t think he had spoken to Herb in about twenty years.” Remy didn’t feel any relief as he plopped into a chair that was far too big for him. He still couldn’t fathom Grandpa Herb passing. He had always been lively. Too lively. Far too much energy and spite for someone who had survived two heart attacks and one stroke. Despite being given so many chances at life, Grandpa Herb never did seem all that grateful for it. Remy’s knees bounced up and down as he tried to breathe through his nose. He could feel the pleather chair beneath his keister, the air conditioning above blowing the hair from his face, and the polyester fibers of his suit biting at his skin. He could hear the chatter and soft piano playing outside. He could see the beige patterned carpet below with mint walls adorning the room, along with June standing there watching him. He could taste a tinge of blood on his tongue as he bit down on it to keep his teeth from chattering. “You’re lookin’ thin,” June remarked, distracting Remy from trying to ground himself. “There’s a horde of older ladies out there that would love to feed you.” She wasn’t wrong. At least it didn’t include addressing people who wanted to say how sorry they were for losing Grandpa Herb. He nodded and stood, trying to sneakily duck out of his hiding spot before bee-lining for the kitchen, like a derby horse straight out of the gates, all the while trying to avoid eye contact with his mother. He couldn’t understand why she was crying so much. She had even started crying when making coffee in the morning. It wasn’t as though Grandpa Herb had been any kinder to her than he had been to Remy. He was the only one who knew to look for the small scar behind her ear that his mother kept concealed by wearing her hair down. June followed hastily behind Remy to the kitchen, scanning their surroundings to alert Remy if needed. They luckily both made it to the kitchen unscathed from any grievers so that Remy could wrench for one, two, three ham sandwiches and a chocolate chip cookie. He didn’t bother eating them there, but instead stuffed them into his coat pockets for later just in case of…Remy paused at the thought…He didn’t need to stash his food. The only reason he would have was laying fifty feet away in a wooden casket. He peered down at the sandwiches in his hands before bothering to take one bite, but out of habit, returned them safely to his pockets. When Remy drew his attention away from his food, he found June wasn’t there. He was once again surrounded by other busying bodies. The crowd could have easily swallowed him. They brushed past him in their own quest to fill their grieving bellies, heckling and jeering yet still so close to a corpse. Remy thought he’d be able to emerge intact until he heard someone calling his name behind him. He slowly turned to see a pair of lips masked in lipstick and a sequin black dress that hit the floor with a woman squeezed inside of it. She smiled and bent down to him followed by a cloud of her perfume that made Remy’s eyes water. “You’re Charlotte’s boy, ain’t’cha?” she asked. Remy nodded. The lady tilted her head to the side and clicked her tongue. “Tsk, tsk, sure is terrible what your poor family has been through and not long after the death of your sweet Mamaw. Well,” she said while pointing at Remy, making him want to recoil. “I know your grandpa was a wonderful man of God and must be overjoyed with your Mamaw now in heaven. Don’t you think?” Remy mindlessly nodded while reaching to chew on his nailbeds. The lady’s smile widened as she reached into her purse and pulled out a cookie. “Have another on me,” she offered. Remy glanced behind her at the bountiful table of free cookies but reached out to receive her supposed gesture of kindness. She held tight onto the cookie. “And my thoughts and prayers are with you,” she said before releasing the cookie and finally freeing Remy from her miasma of perfume and half-hearted sympathy. Remy had to get out of there. He quickly paced out of the kitchen to veer into an adjacent hallway where he finally found June speaking with some stranger. They were quietly nodding and mumbling while Remy could feel his patience dwindling with the daylight. Remy marched up to her with a scowl and his hands thrown out to the sides, before gesturing to the stranger next to her. June scoffed and waved him off before turning to her new friend. “Remy, this is Louis. He was just next door and got a bit lost.” Louis had wide eyes and a potbelly with about two double chins that were exacerbated when looking down at Remy. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t meant to steal your friend.” “Oh, you did no such thing. You can hang out with me if you want until you feel like trying to find your family,” June comforted while sending knowing looks to Remy. Remi’s shoulders fell in exasperation before nodding in agreement, making Louis once flat affect gain a little glint of hope. At first, Remy didn’t mind when June befriended strangers, but it was starting to feel as if she were actively seeking them out rather than looking out for him. At least Louis seemed harmless enough. Remy just hoped that he didn’t follow them home. The boy coped with the annoyance by cramming a cookie into his mouth, letting it absorb all the moisture on his tongue before he dryly swallowed. He almost choked when he heard the screeching. Everyone jolted as the hollers boomed and penetrated the walls of the funeral home, making Remy cringe as he recognized the sound of his mother at her wits end. “I can’t look at him anymore!” her broken voice found his ears just as June rapidly emerged next to Remy. “Go take care of her,” she ordered, and Remy did so, almost automatically like an endless and cold routine for him. Having tried to avoid the altar beforehand, Remy actively sought it out and dodged around curious grievers as he dove between legs and around pews before finding his mother on her knees with the palms of her hands pressed into her eyes. Mascara was dripping down her cheeks as wails erupted from her gaping mouth. She was surrounded by curious and concerned strangers who all tried to reach for her, but Remy found her first. He knew to reach and cradle her head in his arms before softly stroking her yellow hair. He intentionally swept her hair over her ears so that no one saw her secret scars. Remy hummed lightly and could feel his mother relaxing against him.  Her breathing shuddered but gradually evened in Remy’s grasp. Mascara was still making roadmaps across her cheeks when she looked up to her son and grasped his shoulders. She saw his forced, gentle smile and squeezed him. “My brave boy, don’t you take a day off?” she asked like it was supposed to be a joke. Neither of them laughed. Instead, a mighty hand was placed on Remy and his mother. They both glanced up to see one of the younger grievers whom Remy had seen at school a few times. His gym teacher? He couldn’t remember, but he recalled feeling thankful as the man helped his mother to her feet and ushered her to a nearby pew “Let’s take a break, Charlotte," he murmured to her, almost enshrouding and shielding her with his massive shoulders from other nosy grievers. He looked down at Remy. “You’ve done well, young man. I can sit with her if you’d like me to,” he offered, which was refreshing. He nodded in response, with the gym teacher stating, “Say no more,” as if they had some pact between them, from one man to another. And it was strange to Remy...but good. It was as if the larger man had an understanding as he sat next to his mother who voluntarily lost all her composure in the man’s arms. Her cries were the familiar foundation of Remy’s bitter memories. He slowly turned away from her and looked at the casket before him. It was a plain brown box. There were hardly any flowers that adorned it, and even the supposed shine on the wood looked dull in the overhead lights. Grandpa Herb still probably would have thought it too extravagant. His mother couldn’t stand looing at Grandpa Herb, and Remy had outright tried to avoid it. But…could he do it so his mother didn’t have to? “If you want,” June’s voice lulled beside of him. “I’ll stand there next to you.” Remy glimpsed to June, seeing her sweet disposition clouded with Remy’s mirrored discomfort, before looking back to the casket and taking a large step forward. He held his breath and clenched his hands into white knuckled fists as he approached Grandpa Herb laying motionless in his box. As Remy dared closer, he saw the corpse’s hands folded over his chest with his jaw protruding from his face. His skin almost looked waxy and shined more than the wooden casket, like an uncanny mannequin. Remy shivered. Grandpa Herb’s shoulders were sharp even when being buried in a suit with shoulder pads, and despite being completely motionless, Remy fully expected to see the waxy lips curl into a snarl. For once, Remy didn’t want to chew his nailbeds. He didn’t tap his foot nor chatter his teeth while gazing down at the corpse. It looked fake. Somehow the real Grandpa Herb was going to pop out any second and curse Remy for being so meek. The boy even dared to lean over the casket to get a closer look, seeing how the eyes were glued shut and fingers stiffly weaved together. Grandpa Herb was still. Still as death, and somehow that made Remy release a long sigh he didn’t know he was still holding onto. The muscles in Remy’s face almost burned with the want to smile. The thunderous nights were over for Remy and his mother. They could find their own peace, their own happiness, in a life without Grandpa Herb. Remy thought he knew how to find that kind of happiness. He had known it when his Mamaw was alive and was the shield that every child deserved. Maybe he could recreate that someday if he tried. Looking next to him, Remy saw June’s eyes transfixed on Grandpa Herb as she reached to place a steady hand on Remy’s shoulder. He felt nothing. Her head shook and sucked in her wrinkled lips when saying, “Damn that man. Damn him and everything he ever did.” Remy reached to place his hand over hers, only experiencing a cool gust of air rather than the warm touch he remembered. “Will I see him?” he croaked. “Like I see you, Mamaw?” “No, baby,” she hushed. “No, I would never let him appear to you. I promise.” Remy smiled. His hand fell while he turned away from the casket. He knew Mamaw June was behind him, always following him, always watching, and he felt as he neared an unfamiliar peace that she too would soon find hers.


"Jason!" My eyes snapped open as my teacher walked towards me. "You were sleeping. Do you find this lecture boring?" I shook my head. "Now ma'am." The teacher gave a forced smile. "Good now could you tell me the last name of our eighth president?" My stomach felt like it had been twisted into a knot. "Um...well you see...I...he" My teacher was about ready to talk when the quiet girl of my class with waist length, wavy, blonde, hair, and blue eyes stood up. "Oh that's my favorite president his last name was Van Burien." I almost laughed as my teachers frown almost touched her chin. Before she could say anything the bell rang. "Class dismissed." As I walked out of the classroom my classmate who had helped me caught up to me. I nervously reached out my hand towards her. "Thanks..." the girl smiled and shook my hand. "The names Lindsey and your welcome." I tried to think of somethingto say."So your favorite president is... Ven Buran?" Lindsey slapped her face. "Of course not, I said that to help you out, and its Van Burien." I gave a nervous laugh. "Oh." Lindsey gave me a playful elbow in the side. "Stop acting so weird I don't bite." Then she walked ahead of me. I felt really bad and decided to find an opportunity to apologize to her. I walked towards her when I saw she was heading outside. We were supposed to be heading to class. I decided to spy on her And see what she was up to. She went outside and stopped and stared at something in the distance. I strained to see what she was looking at. I almost jumped as I saw an eight foot tall black alien . He had spikes down his back and on its tail, a mask covered his face. His eyes were completely white. He walked towards Lindsey calmly. He spoke in a raspy voice that sounded like it was coming from the other side of the world yet you could still hear it clearly. "You actually thought you could hide." Lindsey took out a sword. "Why hello Vexok. The creature gave a screeching laugh. "Why hello progect 23, ready to go home? The masters waiting." Lindsey clenched her teeth. "I am home, my names Lindsey, and he's not my master. You won't bring me back there." Vexok laughed. "I'm fully improved and am the fastest alien alive. You won't get away." I cocked my head. Why had no one noticed this Vexok guy, they would walk right past him. I snapped out of my thoughts as Vexok lunged at Lindsey at amazing speed. I noticed he also took Lindsey by suprise. Vexok grabbed her arm and twisted it so she would drop her sword. He then said a word I was unable to hear. Immediately she fell to the ground crying in pain, her eyes turned completely white. Vexok then said the word again or at least I think it's the same word. Lindsey's eye's turned back to normal but she was still weak. Vexok lifted her up and cried out a word I could never spell or pronounce. An alien spaceship appeared in front of him. He started to walk through the door and I sneaked in behind them. Vexok shoved unconscious Lindsey into a clear tube and then call out a name. "Tenenial!" A white alien peaked through a door, she also had white eye's and a mask like Vexok "Yes Vexok?" Vexok smiled. "I got progect 23, let's head to the ship." My heart stopped as Vexok turned around. There was nowhere to hide. Vexok saw me and before I knew it he grabbed me and slammed me against the wall. The lights started to go dim but I snapped back when I saw Tenenial run to Vexok and grab his arm. "Dont kill him, he can see us, and only aliens improved by the master can see us. Let him down." Vexok dropped me to the ground. I was in terrible pain. Vexok turned and faced Tenenial. "How could he have been improved by the master, progect 23 is the only human to ever be slightly improved." I noticed Lindsey waking up. "My name is Lindsey." Tenenial turned and saw her. "Ah, your awake. Now tell me progect 23, why can your friend here, see us?" Lindsey looked at me with suprise and then sadness. "Jason, you shouldn't be here." Vexok grabbed me and pulled me back. "Tell us why he can see us or he dies." Lindsey nodded. "Mabie he somehow absorbed my power when he touched me. Probably just a flaw your master made." Tenenial screeched with rage. "He is your master to and he will make sure you know that." Something hit me. "Wait, how could I see Lindsey before she touched me?" Vexok threw me to the ground. "Because she isn't fully improved." Lindsey leaped up. "I was fine the way I was before the improving nonsense!" Tenenial shook with rage. "Enough! We will discuss this later. Put the boy with project 23." Vedox obeyed and Lindsey and I were left alone trapped in the clear tube together. I grabbed Lindsey's shoulders. "Explain please." Lindsey looked away from me to hide her tears. "I suppose I should. It all started about two years ago when I was about twelve. I was playing in my yard when believe it or not I was abducted by aliens. I was taken to a ship just floating there in space. I met an alien there. Everybody called him the master. He told me to call him that to. He smiled and told me to walk with him. He started to explain why I was there. He told me that I was one of the thirty different aliens he was improving. I asked what the improvement was . He laughed and told me that it was exactly what it meant, he was improving us. The master then led me to a room and told me that he would show me. He pointed to the chair and told me to hop in. I did as he said. He turned it on and I felt like I was being burned alive. It only lasted about three minutes when it stopped. The master walked up to me and unstrapped me. I was shaking all over. He helped me off. He told me he turned it off early when I started to scream in pain. I didn't remember screaming, only pain. I told him the pain I felt and he looked at me confused. He told me that had never happened before. I begged for him to take me back home but he said that I would stay. He told me I was quite a scientific experiment and that he would work on me himself. He then said my name was project 23." Lindsey stopped as she started to cry but she quickly recovered "He then led me to a completely empty room and said I'd be staying there. Every day from then on I was tested and I felt the same burning pain. I was being improved, but the master told me that it was extremely difficult to so. He told me I was already growing very powerful. One day he said that there were now becoming side effects. Every time he touched me my eyes would go completely white and I would fall to the ground screaming in pain. I felt worse pain then ever before. The master started to help so that only my hand would make me react like that. He told me the reason that happend was because my body wasn't prepared for the power I held. He then decided I would be a secret project. I could see no one. I asked him what about me was improving besides pain and he told me I would find out on my last day of improvement. I asked how much longer it would take. He told me about a month more of it. At that moment I knew I had to get away. I had never tried before I was to afraid. I risked opening my door. I jumped when I saw a little pink alien girl. She saw me and asked who I was. I told her my name was Lindsey. She smiled and said her name was project 18. I frowned and asked her real name. She looked side to side and whispered to me that it was Shuyal. I asked her to join me in my room. We talked and she to didn't like the improvement business either. So we hatched a plan to run away. The next day Shuyal had found out were the escape pods were. The two of us sneaked into one. The escape pod asked for a voice recognition. Me and Shuyal had given up when a gaurd came. Shuyal ran up to him and asked his favorite color. The gaurd cocked his head and asked what in the universe she meant. Immediately the escape pod turned on but the doors shut. I clawed at them trying to open them. I screamed at the escape pod to open up but it wouldn't listen. It instead asked were I wished to go. I had no choice but to leave her. I told it earth. I came to where you were. The aliens had killed my family and I was forced to go to an adoption center." The two of us sat in silence for a while. I shook my head. "Im sorry Lindsey." After a few more minutes of silence Vexok walked in. "Were here." Me and Lindsey stood up as Vexok opend the door. We walked out Vexok following close behind us. An alien I assumed was the master smiled at us. "Project 23 how good it is to see you again." I was surprised that she didn't argue about her name. Instead she looked down at the ground. The master looked at me. "Tenenial told me about you and how you can see us. Spectacular. I can work on you to myself. What do you say, progrect 31?" I backed up shaking my head and bumped into Vedox who held me still. "N...no thank you." The master frowned. "You humans are so stubborn. I suppose we must take you by force then." I turned to Lindsey who looked up at me and then looked straight at the master. "Please, let him go. He has nothing to do with me." The master laughed. "I could use another human. They are quite powerful. Tenenial find an empty room for the two." Tenenial obeyed and brought us to our room. When we were alone I paced. "How can we escape?" Lindsey laid on the empty ground looking at the ceiling with grief. "There is no way Jason." I shook my head and was about to try to open the door when it opend and a small pink alien looked through. "I will be guarding you two just to let you know." Lindsey leaped up. "Shuyal!" Then Lindsey's face saddened. "You are all the way improved. Do you remember me?" I noticed Shuyal had completely white eyes. Lindsey was right she was improved. "I do not know you neither do I care to." Lindsey collapsed onto the ground. "Were never going to escape." I decided to lay down and wait. After a while the master came in. "It's time!" I got up but Lindsey was frozen. I leaned down and helped her up. We slowly followed him. We walked down hall upon hall until we reached a room. Lindsey froze again and wouldn't budge. The master shook his head, grabbed her hand and pulled her to the room. The master set Lindsey in the chair and carefully strapped her in. He turned it on and immediately Lindsey's eye's turned white but this time there was more. Her hair turned dark pink and her skin turned very pale. She remained silent but I could tell from her expression she felt horrible pain. It took about thirty minutes when the master stopped it. He unstrapped Lindsey from the device. Lindsey fell onto the ground barely catching herself with her hands. The master helped her up and motioned for me to go. I slowly walked to the device. The master strapped me in. He walked toward the device and I held my breath as the tube lowered over me. I could see nothing but blackness. Then I felt a tingling sensation. I tried to remember who I was. Then, just like Lindsey I felt terrible pain. It felt like needless were stabbing me and felt like I was being burned alive. It seemed to last forever until it finally stopped. I saw Lindsey yelling at the master. Then she saw that I was awake. She ran to me and squeezed my hand. "I begged him to stop but he wouldn't. You were in there for three hours. The normal time is a half an hour. Your eyes turned completely blue and strands of your hair started to turn blue to. Oh, and of course you screamed in pain." She glared at the master. The master put a hand on my shoulder. "I simply need to speed you up so you can catch up to progect 23." This time Lindsey did argue. "It's Lindsey, ok Carl?" The master cocked his head. "My real name is not Carl." Lindsey grinned. "It is until you start calling us by our real names." The master rolled his eyes. I realized that the master didn't necessarily seem like a bad guy. I dismissed the thought. After that horrible nightmare I confirmed that he was definitely a bad guy. The master unstrapped me. "That's all for this evening I'll get project number 31 back at midnight." Lindsey gasped. "That's way to soon." The master ignored her and led us back to our rooms. When we got back I started to pace again. "Lindsey, we need to find a way to bring everybody's memory back." Lindsey nodded. "But how can we?" I started to pace again. "I guess we'll have to try and think of something that would jog their memory, we'll test it on Shuyal." Lindsey nodded. "Well then let's get her." I went to the door and opened it. Shuyal was there. "What do you creeps want?" I smiled. I lunged at her and pulled her into the room. Lindsey shut the door behind us and helped me pin Shuyal down. " Shuyal, you have to remember me." Shuyal screamed. "Get off me!" Lindsey calmly let go. "Tell me Shuyal, whats your favorite color?" Shuyal immediately stopped struggling. "Lindsey?" Lindsey laughed and helped her up. Shuyal smiled. "Pink was always my favorite." Shuyal eyes stayed white, she was still improved but she remembered everything perfectly. All of a sudden Vexok stormed into the room. "Whats going on, I heard screaming." Shuyal ran to him. "Vexok weres Cenie?" Vexok froze. "She... She's..." Shuyal put a hand on his much much larger one. "She's waiting for you at home." Lindsey looked confused. "How did you know that Shuyal?" Vexok frowned. "I used to talk about her all the time. She's my wife." I spoke up. "We have to make the others remember." Vexok smiled. "Easy I can get Tenenial and a few others. They can get other aliens to. Let's get to work." Me and Lindsey had to stay but Vexok and Shuyal went." Me an Lindsey's hopes were high until the master walked in. "It's midnight, project 31." My heart sank as he lead me to the room. He strapped me in. It turned on and I felt the same pain all over again. It felt way longer then normal this time. I woke up to see Lindsey smiling at me. "Mission accomplished." Lindsey helped me up. I looked around and saw the master surrounded by a few aliens. He saw me and grinned. He then said the same word Vexok had said to Lindsey. All the aliens surrounding me collapsed to the ground crying out in pain. I wasn't affected. The master walked toward me and grabbed my shoulder. Everything went black. * The pain stopped and Lindsey stood up. Jason stood at the side of the master. A grey mask was over his now completely blue eyes. He held a sword in his right hand. Strands of his hair were completely blue. Lindsey looked at the other aliens. They were also awake. Lindsey looked back up at the master. The master smiled. "Glad to see you are up." Lindsey was confused. "Am I mistaken or are the others asleep?" The master laughed. "There under our control now you see progect 31 focuses all his energy on them and I focus all of mine on him." Lindsey knew she had to quickly react to get Jason's memory back. "Jason, remember me, I'm Lindsey." Jason didn't flinch. The master laughed. "You cannot bring his memory back. Soon all of us including you, when your under my control, will each rule a planet and mabie we'll all rule the universe instead." Lindsey desperately tried to think of a way to make him remember. Then it hit her. "Who is our eighth president, is it Ven Buran?" Jason laughed. "It's Ven Burien." He then remembered he had been under control of the master. He hadn't been able to move or speak but he could hear everything. He knew what he had to do. He knew the master would soon gain back control over him. He looked at Lindsey. "This is my choice and it's not your fault. Remember that." Lindsey turned completely white. "Jason don't..." Lindsey didn't finish. Jason plunged the sword into his stomach. "Bye Lindsey, punch Carl for me will you?" THE END


Fourth Floor To Yesterday—George Davis   The tallest building in my city is six-stories. My insurance company, City Casualty and Life is on the fourth floor.   It was on a Monday morning when I drove to the Liberty Building on Congress Street.

  The entrance to the establishment was revolving doors. I hate those contraptions. I always zig when I should zag.

  After going around two or three times, I ended up in the lobby.   The entrance is 30’s art deco-style, with the ornate reds, golds and chrome. There are two elevators, one on either side of a large portrait of the man who designed the building, Arthur Alexander.   Before the door closed, I heard someone say, “Hold it!” The intruder, I call him an intruder since I had already pushed the button.   “Good morning,” the stranger said, keeping his head down. He was dressed funny. His clothes would be more apropos in a 19th century setting. All black long coat, dark suit and vest with a gold watch fob decorating his clothes.   Why does he keep looking down at the floor.?Why doesn’t he look at me? Am I that repulsive? I didn’t think I was. I’m five-ten, two-hundred pounds. I have light brown hair sprinkled with a touch of gray. I’ve got all my own teeth, and I don’t think my nose is too large.

  “Nice day,” I said. He didn’t answer. “Nice day,” I repeated, thinking maybe he was a little deaf. Still no answer.   Okay, I get off this car in another minute. “What the…” The lights in the elevator went out, and the car came to a jumping halt.   I said, “What’s the matter?” As if he would know.   He finally spoke. “I think this elevator is having a problem.” No kidding, you think just because the lights went out and the car stopped, there is a problem.   This is not the time for my claustrophobia to kick in. But, guess what? It did. I froze, clutching the chrome guard rail with a white-knuckle death grip.   The stranger asked, “Nervous?”

  “I don’t like closed in places.” I could feel the sweat rolling down my back, and my hands were swimming in perspiration.   I thought back to when I was seven years old, and my older brother locked me in my father’s tool shed. I was in there for two hours before my dad unlocked the door when he heard me screaming. This, I believe, is where I acquired this fear.

  “Rest, relax, the company will have this car fixed in no time. Let me tell you a story that happened to me a few years ago. My tale will help pass the time.”   The stranger began to regale me with this weird tale. To this day, I don’t know if it is true, or if he made it up as he went along.

  “When I was in my twenties, I worked for the railroad in Kansas City. A job I was not trained to do well. I was a conductor. It was my job to collect the tickets and to wave the red lantern to the engineer signaling it was okay to move the iron horse.”

  Though I was fascinated with his story, I maintained a certain amount of skepticism.   “One day while collecting tickets, I came across a man who looked very familiar, though I couldn’t place his face. I asked him his name, he smiled and said, you can call me ‘Doc.’”   “Okay, I said, Doc it is.” I went about my business until we came to Tombstone Arizona where Doc got off the train. Before he exited the car, he said, “nice ride, conductor. Hope to see you again someday.”   It was two months later while getting my haircut at the barber's, I picked up a magazine with an article about early western gunfighters. And there on the inside cover was a picture of the man on the train; dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a wide mustache on his upper lip.  it was a picture of John Henry ‘Doc’ Holliday, Wyatt Earp’s friend, and companion at the OK Corral.

  Even so, how can that be? I asked myself. Doc Holliday has been dead over a hundred years.

  I didn’t believe his story. It was too ridiculous. However, it had a feeling of being true. I was still skeptical as he finished his story.

 Believing I had met Doc Holliday on that train, that day. On Tuesday, my day off, I went to the local library to research Doc’s history.

  I found that he was born on August 14, 1851, and died on November 8, 1887. He was a dentist, graduated from Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery. Tuberculosis soon diminished his ability as a dentist, and he moved to Arizona.

  It is said, he killed more than a dozen men in various conflicts throughout his lifetime. “It was more like fifteen,” the stranger said.   The stranger continued. “I still believe Doc Holliday is alive today. Don’t ask me how or why, but I know one thing. I saw him on that train that day in Kansas.”

  Stranger things have happened, I guess, but nothing would be more uncanny than Doc Holliday being alive today.

  After a half hour, the lights in the car came back on, and the car began to move. The stranger got off on the third floor. As he exited the car, he turned and smiled. His appearance was that of a man from the 19th century. He had black hair under his hat, dark-brown eyes that pierced my soul, a large black mustache on his upper lip. He winked at me as if to say, 'good-bye, my friend. Today. You have met John Henry ‘Doc’ Holliday. Have a great life.’

  I too, went to the local library and researched Doc Holliday. I don’t know how to explain this, but the man in the elevator was, or is, Doc Holliday. I shook my head, and decided I had truly met John Henry 'Doc' Holliday.   It is true; truth is stranger than fiction!


A Sympathetic Interlocutor by D.A. Cairns

Decorated was the word that first came to mind when he noticed her cheeks. Breaking eye contact only very briefly because he wanted to hold her gaze as long as possible, the strange patterns on her cheeks caught his attention. They might have been scars, burn scars or, had they been located somewhere else on her body, the kind of scars left after a surgical attempt to remove tattoos. The thought intrigued him and suspended the moment of greeting in time.

Suddenly aware of her soft hand inside his, he let go and stepped back gesturing for her to take a seat. When he had settled himself opposite her, he saw that she was watching him and he instinctively stiffened. Her eyes were huge, round and dark chocolate. Adorned with lid liner and shadow, her lashes were spruced and unnaturally thick, and she would have elicited a comment in his mind about her being overdone had she been someone else. Had they been somewhere else. Everything seemed different. He felt different. She shifted her weight slightly and tilted her head to the right, apparently waiting for him to speak.

Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and summoned sufficient strength to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. But even as he spoke, those funny marks on her cheeks wrestled for his attention. They could have been freckles, although they were lightly coloured in contrast to her olive complexion, but not single freckles gathered together in clumps. More like thousands of them packed into adjacent rooms for all night dance parties. This thought amused him, and his accidental smile was returned warmly and sincerely. This woman was breathtaking. Not classically beautiful because of her cheeks and the way her thick black hair was held away from her face in a clumsy ponytail -she looked like she had spent all her preparation time on her face and not left enough to do her hair properly. She was indisputably stunning nevertheless.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked her. ‘Why have you come here today?’

‘Well,’ she began slowly, finally looking away and thus releasing him from the spell she was casting over him. ‘I think I need to improve my reading and writing.” A perfectly constructed sentence delivered in a languid Middle Eastern accent. Improve, he thought, how could you improve on perfection? ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Is not being able to read and write as well as you would like to stopping you from doing something you want to do. Like further study, for example?’

She thought for a moment, averting her eyes and thus giving him the chance to study her more closely. From her full lips dressed in red, over her chin and down her slender neck, his eyes stopped when they reached a golden angel sitting astride her cleavage. The line of the thin chain which suspended the angel matched the low vee cut of her white dress.

‘I would like to go back to work now that my children are older.’

He loved the way information was revealed slowly during these interviews, morsel by juicy morsel, peeling away the layers of protection, the walls people built around their personal lives. Those walls invariably crashed to the floor as the interview progressed. Whether verbally, in their speech or their writing, or non verbally in their body language, they communicated their lives to him, their hearts and minds and he was an avid reader.

‘How old are your children?’

‘I have three. Thirteen, eleven, and nine. All girls.’

It was impossible not to stare as the enchantment grew, filling the room like fog. He had thought she was probably aged in her early thirties. It was hard to tell sometimes, especially with women who were able to hide their age so much more efficiently than men. However with children that age she was more likely to be in her late thirties, even early fortes though that was scarcely believable. Desperately curious to confirm his suspicions that she was older than she looked, he selected a piece of paper from the pile on the desk which filled the space between them and placed it in front of her.

‘Please fill in this form.’

Date of birth was the fourth question so he watched eagerly as she wrote, his eyes glancing occasionally past her hands and jeweled fingers, to her breasts which seemed to have risen higher, threatening to spill out of her dress. Maybe it was the way she was sitting, leaning forward with her arms pressed tight into her sides.

She wrote 11/9/64. He wanted to tell her how surprised he was that she was forty three and how beautiful she looked but he couldn’t. How could one compliment a woman without her thinking that you were a pervert at worst, or a sleaze at best? The words would always be construed as flattery with intent, no matter how politely you phrased them. How could one be sure in himself that the words were merely a genuine compliment and not expressions of desire, or worse: lust? How could he be sure? There was a place, an inside world where he could be alone with his thoughts and feelings, where he could sift through memories and adjust them as necessary and use them however he wished. A place to fantasize and twist reality to feed his insatiable lust.  It was a place of both refuge and repression. A haven and a hell.

The interview proceeded normally; she answered questions, did the tasks, the reading, the writing and the mathematics while he filled in forms, ticked boxes, interpreted and analysed both her and her work, made her laugh, made her blush, made himself blush with his boldness, noticed the delicate chain around her ankle and her painted toenails, and averted his eyes when she needed to adjust her clothing to recover what was being gradually, conspiratorially revealed. All the while he wondered whether the chemistry he felt between them was real or imagined, and whether the way she tilted her head and played with her hair was flirtatious or merely absent minded. He even went so far as to suggest they could go on talking for the rest of the day, and she had agreed, and although the exchange was lighthearted he felt the words expressed genuine sentiment. He really did enjoy her company. This admission was followed by a fist of guilt jabbing him in the ribs a few times. He was married and so was she.

‘The interview is finished now. You can go and have a nice cup of coffee. Thanks for your time and good luck,’ he said, slowly standing up.

She smiled as he took her soft hand in his and he wished her well a second time.

They stood behind the door in the small interview room savouring a ridiculously long good-bye. The truth was he did not want her to go and she was in no hurry to leave. In the pregnant silence, he began to feel dizzy and was still holding her hand when he opened his mouth to speak. Nothing but air escaped his nervously dry lips, and soon he felt as though he was drowning, like he had fallen into the deep, deep pools of her eyes and they had magically stolen his ability to swim. Seconds passed recklessly into what felt like long minutes as they stood there. Still, no words were spoken and the door to the outside world remained firmly shut.

Finally he released her hand, more from the carelessness of drowsy enchantment than deliberate action, and she looked away. The moment was over. The spell, shattered.

‘Goodbye,’ she said quietly as she opened the door. ‘Thank you.’

He swallowed and managed a very faint, ‘You’re welcome. Good luck.’

Then she left the room and walked away down the corridor. Away from him, away from the mysterious connection they had just undoubtedly shared. He smiled. She was now a new resident in his inside world. A traveller who had landed on his planet and not been allowed to leave, despite wanting to. A fellow prisoner, though not consciously aware of the fact, or even vaguely impacted by the reality of her incarceration.

‘Liliane,’ he breathed wistfully. ‘Goodbye Liliane.’

He sat down, and when he had completed the paperwork and written in his comments and recommendations, he collected all her papers and placed them neatly together inside a red manila folder. He closed the folder and read her name one last time.


"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Kid Quarterstaff asked. "Well, I'm trying to decrypt the directions from a secure message, using only a pencil and paper, and writing on the dashboard of tricked out RV. I'm good at math, but these are not the best conditions for trigonometric decoding," Miller's Son said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "So, no. I'm not sure if we're going the right way." "Why don't you just use the car-phone and call them?" Will Stoutly asked. "It's a secret safe house in the middle of nowhere. No phone, no internet, no electricity. Completely off the grid, Will." "So?" "So that means we can’t call, Will," Alain-a-Gale said kindly. "I would love to study your brain," Reyna Greenleaf said with a smirk. "Exponential strength. Below average intelligence." "Hey, Miller's Son is the brains," Will Stoutly said. "He solves the puzzles; I punch the bad guys." "Okay, enough talking guys. Help me look for the turn-off," Kid Quarterstaff said from the driver's seat. "It's a right turn. Either next to a big blue barn, or a split spruce tree," Miller's Son said, erasing a line of calculations and starting again. All five fell into silence as they stared out the windows of the RV into the dark winter night. The five teenagers called themselves the Merry Crusaders. None were yet old enough to become Church sponsored heroes, but that didn't stop them from doing their part to fight crime, protect their nation, and uphold the ideals of their faith. Each aspiring hero had been taken under the wing of first-generation hero, Guy of Gizbourne. The famous inventor and decorated crime-fighter had provided them with a high tech and fortified RV that acted as the team's mobile headquarters. The Merry Crusaders traveled around the United Catholicity of the Americas, helping communities that were too small to have their own Church sponsored hero. They fought against threats and criminal elements that were deemed too small or insignificant for the Church's official heroes to handle. Such problems were normally left to Peace Officers, but their resources were already stretched incredibly thin. The Merry Crusaders were glad that they could do their part to lift some of the Peace Officer Service's burden and to help out those in need. Guy of Gizbourne occasionally passed leads or missions along to the Merry Crusaders. Such was the case on this night, and the reason they were driving down an icy country road. They were on their way to give aid to another veteran hero. Members of the Vindices Catholicus of the United Americas, the premier team of Church sponsored heroes, had been escorting a witness named Ekram across the country when they'd been attacked by a group of assassins known as the Houri. The Houri had attacked Ekram's transport, drawing the heroes of the VCUA into a fierce battle. During the fray, the hero Colonel Chaplain had snuck Ekram aboard a plane. They had been on their way to the United Catholicity capital city when the Houri found them and shot down their plane. Colonel Chaplain was an expert pilot and managed to bring the plane down in the midwestern portion of the country. He rigged the plane to explode upon landing, before bailing out at the last moment with Ekram. Afterward, they had disappeared, presumably unable to contact anyone without risking the message being intercepted by the Houri. Based on the area where the plane went down, Guy of Gizbourne surmised that Colonel Chaplain had taken Ekram to an old safehouse near the crash site. Guy of Gizbourne then sent the Merry Crusaders to find the safehouse and offer whatever aid or protection they could to Ekram and Colonel Chaplain. For security reasons, Guy of Gizbourne had encrypted the message, encoding the directions to the cabin. As such, even with Miller's Son's advanced intellect, the Merry Crusaders were having trouble finding the safehouse. "Do we even know why we're going to this safehouse?" Will Stoutly asked. "Why, yes. I have managed to decode that portion of Gizbourne's message. " Miller's Son answered, happy for a break from scribbling equations on his notepad. "The VCUA has long suspected that the Ayatollah of Guinea is responsible for a major drug smuggling operation that has been flooding our country's streets with narcotics for decades. This would obviously violate the International Doctrine of Peace, but so far, the Church has been unable to prove it."

"The other Ayatollahs of the Coalition of Islamic Oligarchs deny knowledge of the operation and refuse to help investigate. Luckily, a cleric named Ekram has agreed to testify against the Ayatollah of Guinea. That is, if he survives to make it to the official hearing. The Houri aren't known for easily giving up on their targets. Once we find the safehouse, we'll need to be ready for anything." "Hooray, we get to face the Houri!" Kid Quarterstaff said with a chuckle. "This is our chance to prove ourselves to the Church. Maybe they'll make an exception and let us join the Junior-VCUA before we turn twenty." "Clever wordplay and dreams of future heroics aside, how much do we know about the Houri? What exactly are we going to be facing if we go up against them?" Reyna Greenleaf asked. "There's not much information about them in the database Gizbourne compiled for us," Miller's Son said, as he manipulated a cursor on a screen set into the center of the dashboard. "I assume that’s because not much is known about the assassins or their organization." "Can you at least give us an idea of what we can expect?" Alain-a-Gale asked. "The Houri always attack in groups," Miller's Son read off the screen. "They are a covert unit, and there's evidence that they may possess some sort of cloaking ability. Reports seem to vary as to if they have superpowers or advanced technology. There’s even some evidence to suggest the Houri are clones and each has been genetically modified." "Deadly and an affront to God. Sounds like your kind of enemy, Kid," Reyna Greenleaf said, rolling her eyes. "If we face them, I'm sure you'll be the first one I have to patch up. As usual." "I may rush into fights, but I get results," Kid Quarterstaff said with a shrug. "I won't become a renowned hero if I don't challenge myself and --" "There's a blue barn!" Will Stoutly yelled, cutting Kid Quarterstaff off. He pointed toward the windshield and asked, "Is this where we're supposed to turn." "Good eyes, Will," Miller's Son said, as Kid Quarterstaff turned the RV onto a poorly maintained dirt road. "As far as I can tell, this road dead ends. The driveway that leads to the safehouse should be the only turn off we come across. They drove along for several minutes. The tires of the RV crunched through densely packed snow that covered a road pock marked with potholes. The RV bounced along, the armor plating attached to the vehicle’s sides shaking with every pothole and dip in road’s surface. The RV's headlights lit a large swath in front of the vehicle, but the view from the side windows was obscured by deep shadow. It was hard for Alain-a-Gale, Will Stoutly, and Reyna Greenleaf to make out what they were passing. The combination of darkness and falling snow made it look like the world fell off into nothing at the sides of the road. After nearly ten minutes, Kid Quarterstaff spotted the turn off. The cabin stood perpendicular to the road, surrounded by thick woods. Kid Quarterstaff turned into the driveway and slowly pulled up in front of the cabin. Suddenly, he saw a pair of eyes staring at him. The eyes were jet black, and it was only because of their contrast to the headlight beams' reflection on the snow that he noticed them. Squinting, he could make out a figure standing in the snow a few feet in front of the RV. Kid Quarterstaff could only see a vague outline of the person, their edges seemed to shimmer in the bright light. The figure raised an arm and a dark cylindrical object slid from between their fingers. Realizing it was a gun barrel, Kid Quarterstaff acted on instinct. He pressed the accelerator to the floor and the RV shot forward, ramming into the figure, preventing them from firing and sending them sailing backward several feet. Kid Quarterstaff slammed on the brakes and the RV slid to a stop. "What the heck, man?" Will Stoutly asked, annoyed. "Tell me you saw that, Mills," Kid Quarterstaff said. "I saw it," Miller's Son replied. "I guess we know the rumors of the Houri possessing cloaking abilities are true." The Houri assassin Kid Quarterstaff had struck with the RV stepped back into the area illuminated by the headlights and began to fire at the vehicle. Seconds later, more gunfire erupted from the woods to the right, the bullets ricocheting off the reinforced panels and bullet proof windows of the RV. "Everyone out," Kid Quarterstaff said, killing the engine and opening his door. "Stay on the left side and use the RV for cover." The Merry Crusaders climbed out of the RV just as the first Houri assassin stepped around to their side of the vehicle. As the assassin fired, Will Stoutly sprinted forward. The bullet bounced off Will Stoutly's body and he acted as a shield for his friends as ran across the snowy ground. Will Stoutly reached the assassin and punched her in the face. He threw three more punches, and the Houri dodged the first two and blocked the third. The Merry Crusaders did not kill and so Will Stoutly was used to holding back his full super strength. Yet, he quickly realized that the Houri were not ordinary enemies and he would need to put more force into his punches. Blocking the Houri's counterstrikes, Will Stoutly punched her in the gut, doubling her over. Then, using close to the full extent of his strength, he brought his fist down on the back of her head, knocking her unconscious. The gunfire stopped and the Merry Crusaders heard multiple sets of footsteps crunching through the snow and moving toward their position. Unlike the other three members of the Merry Crusaders, neither Miller's Son nor Kid Quarterstaff had superpowers. Miller's Son compensated for this fact by creating gadgets that aided him in his crime fighting endeavors. Miller's Son pulled three motorized drones out of a large duffel bag and turned on their battery powered floodlights. Then he activated the drones and their spinning turbines lifted the machines into the air. The drones spread out in a wide triangle and floated ten feet over head, their floodlights illuminating the area in front of the cabin. Peeking around the sides of the RV, the Merry Crusaders could clearly see a group of eleven Houri walking toward them. Each Houri was pale white, nearly translucent. The light seemed to bend around them, rendering them practically invisible. The only feature that stood out were their jet-black pupils that seemed to fill the entirety of their eyes. Each Houri was nearly identical to the others and all were obviously female. None of them was wearing clothes, yet they seemed impervious to the cold. Five of the Houri split off and began to fire at the cabin as the other six moved toward the Merry Crusader's position behind the RV. As the Houri's bullets tore through the walls and windows of the cabin, Kid Quarterstaff took charge. "Mills, you're on containment. Alain-a-Gale, you handle the shooters. Everyone else on me. The priority is keeping the Houri from reaching the cabin." The Merry Crusaders split off and leapt into action. Miller's Son pulled out a fourth drone and sent it hovering into the air above. This drone possessed a powerful magnet that pulled the Houri's bullets toward it, rendering their guns useless. Alain-a-Gale's superpower allowed her to generate and control wind. She created a whirlwind around the five Houri with gun barrels extending from their arms. The swirling vortex of wind slammed the Houri together, pinning them within the center of the whirlwind. Miller's Son pulled a launcher out of his bag and fired a canister into the center of the whirlwind. The canister released knock-out gas and soon all five Houri had fallen unconscious. Alain-a-Gale moved closer to the cabin, in case any of the remaining Houri made it past her friends. Miller's Son grabbed several sets of handcuffs and began putting them around the wrists and ankles of the unconscious Houri. The other three Merry Crusaders ran around the side of the RV and engaged the remaining Houri. The Houri stopped their advance and each took on a defensive stance. The fingers on their left hands lengthened into talons. The index and middle fingers on their right hands split apart from their pinky and ring fingers and long blades extended from within their hands. The Merry Crusaders moved into a triangular formation, with Will Stoutly in front. He burst through the Houri's formation, creating distance between them. Then all three Merry Crusaders picked a target and engaged. Reyna Greenleaf's superpower allowed her to absorb energy. During the day, her body absorbed and stored energy from the sun. Just like a plant pulling water out of the soil, she could also drain energy from living beings, just by touching them. She could then use the stored energy to heal herself or her teammates. Reyna Greenleaf caught the clawed hand of one of the Houri and held on, slowing draining the assassin's energy. When another Houri flanked her. She leapt back, dodging the Houri's blade, and waited for an opening to place a hand on the assassin and drain her energy. Kid Quarterstaff was a master of martial arts who he specialized in fighting with pole weapons. He sprinted forward and then slid on his knees through the snow, passing between two of the Houri. As he slid past, he struck one of the Houri in the back of the knee, knocking her off her feet. He then spun around and struck the second Houri in the back of the head. Unfazed by the blow she turned around and slashed at Kid Quarterstaff with her blade. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and the Houri in front of Kid Quarterstaff crumpled to the ground. Another shot and one of the Houri Reyna Greenleaf was fighting was knocked back as a rubber bullet slammed into her chest. The Merry Crusaders quickly realized that someone was firing from inside the cabin. Will Stoutly knocked out the two Houri he was facing. Then he and Alain-a-Gale converged on the last two assassins and helped Reyna Greenleaf and Kid Quarterstaff take them out. With all of the Houri assassins defeated and restrained by handcuffs, the Merry Crusaders cautiously approached the cabin. The cabin door opened, and Colonel Chaplain stepped out. He looked over the heads of the Merry Crusaders, scanning the forest for signs of more Houri, all the while keeping his rifle at the ready. Satisfied that the coast was clear for the moment, he asked in a gruff voice, "Who are you?" "We're the Merry Crusaders," Will Stoutly said. When Colonel Chaplain only gave them a blank look, Miller's Son clarified, "Guy of Gizbourne sent us to assist you. So you know we're legit, the call sign is fruit basket." Colonel Chaplain, satisfied by Miller's Son's response, motioned to the RV with a jerk of his head. "That thing fortified and ready to roll?" "Yes, sir," Kid Quarterstaff replied. "Then climb in, and let's move out. There's bound to be more Houri on their way here," Colonel Chaplain said to the Merry Crusaders. Then he turned back toward the cabin and called, "Come on, Ekram. We're moving to a new location." Ekram, a short man of Arabic descent, quickly exited the cabin and scrambled toward the RV. He looked rattled and had obviously been shaken by the multiple attempts on his life. Alain-a-Gale offered him comfort as they climbed into the back of the RV. Colonel Chaplain took the front seat and Kid Quarterstaff got behind the wheel. Turning the RV around, the group drove back down the dirt road. When they reached the main road, Colonel Chaplain told them to head West. They drove for twelve hours straight, Kid Quarterstaff, Miller's Son, and Reyna Greenleaf all taking turns behind the wheel. Colonel Chaplain stayed in the front seat, never resting, his eyes switching between the windshield and the side mirrors as he scanned the area around them for enemies. They made it to the St. Augustonne military base without further incident. Ekram was escorted inside to await the hearing where he would give his testimony against the Ayatollah of Guinea. Colonel Chaplain thanked the Merry Crusaders for their help and the Church commended them for their exemplary service to the faith. After resting for a few days, the Merry Crusaders returned to the road, in search of their next adventure. "I'm proud of you guys. Few can say they faced off against the Houri and survived. Let alone triumphed," Kid Quarterstaff said. "I'd say we're truly on our way to becoming the kind of heroes we all dream of being one day."


I haven’t been home in 20 long years. Everything felt different. Old memories reappeared. Wish it were cold. Everyone outside looked dead, or old. Bummed a smoke from a punk on a skateboard, close by a woman on a bench who reminded me of someone. Her face hit me like a truck. She was my high school love. My heart dropped, and my throat became dry, thinking of the right words to say this time. Our breakup was bad, like all high school relationships I suppose, just cold. Continued through our school years acting as if every relationship since ‘us’ didn’t come up a bit short. I understood why past relationships were considered old flames because aroused fire always leaves an exhausted trace. This woman was the arson of my fairy tales. I risked being burned again, skipped any rehearsal, and decided to approach her. I had to tell her how I felt. I got closer, and her dimples that stole the spotlight from any crowd cut corners into her caramel skin. She didn’t smile much, but I remembered her wet lips.

“Joanne, Joanne, it's me Titus,” I said.

She smiled. And then turned her attention to the train tracks. “Joanne, before I knew how soft a woman’s skin felt there was you. And before I understood the power of a kiss there was you. And before I felt what butterflies felt like there was you.” I expected a euphoric reaction.

“I know we ended on bad terms, but time has a way of revealing what truly matters. We were good together. We should catch up,” I said. Her beautiful, hazel eyes looked toward the orange sky, like a rainbow was on the move. Maybe, it was something about my personal maintenance. Heck, I’ve been cutting my hair with a rusty razor for years. Now I’m a little upset and annoyed because this skateboard kid’s giving me a tough guy look. I just came home. And I will shape him up with this same rusty razor. “Dude, she’s fidgety on most days,” he said to me. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“She doesn’t remember anything. Sometimes she forgets I’m her nephew. Been taking her to this train station for 2 years now. She wakes up at night screaming, says she’s waiting for someone to return.” I wanted to cry. Yes. The tough guy. Her clothes were tailored for simple folk who don't keep the time of day and preferred to stay out the way of people. And then she called my name. "Titus, yes. I’ve got a sink full of icky, dirty dishes to wash. I hope you're not hungry. Don't have much. My arms are always tied. When I see you again join me and I’ll give you a big hug. What have you been up to my dear? Don’t you ever leave me. You want to be somebody else, get surgery, but you’ll never leave me again," she said. "See, she can't fill in the puzzle," the skateboarder said. "How long has she been like this?" I asked. "Maybe 4 years." She made a gesture that floated over me, like a mist over a pumpkin patch. A train pulled into the station, brushing the onlookers with textures of graffiti. Kids ran through the patiently waiting crowds. I grabbed Joanne's hand, and had hoped our memories returned with a 'splash.' Children continued to enjoy their long-sought connection with air, and dirt. I still swooned over this woman. After all these years. She inherited her good looks from her mom, and what she wanted in life from her pops. She had an attitude from a rough block, but honestly, it turned me on. "Joanne, remember the Sadie Hawkins dance you wore those red bottom pumps?" I asked. The high heels matched her candy-colored thong. That night we created new ways to use a hotel shower rod. She was high maintenance but I loved to make her smile, like Thomas the Train. The effects of her disease were apparent; involuntary shakes, staring into space and acted as if she were looking for the conductor in the motorman’s cabin. But none of that mattered. I smiled at her as if in front of a camera. “Where do you know my auntie from?” Skateboarder asked. I still held her hand.

“We were close friends,” I replied. “Some of us chase who we once were. Some of us want to forget,” Skateboarder said, then he performed a trick that reminded me of these old knees. A nurse approached the platform. I didn't know they made wireless headphones. T.V.s' showed a commercial on Alzheimer's. A disease no one thinks about until it affects a loved one. Joanne. My one true love. Memories are all we have. We must make meaningful relationships. If she couldn’t remember anything I would because that’s just how much she meant to me. But I'm lost myself. Misplaced in a time where we once young and free. It's not fair we live only to die. “Sometimes the things we’re forced to let go free us,” I said to the skateboarder.

Joanne looked straight ahead; patience for something that could be her dreamcatcher. The train took off. Not even a deadman’s brake could have stopped things from rolling downhill any faster!

“We have to go. See you around,” Skateboarder said. He put the skateboard in one arm, and with the other, we helped Joanne to her feet. She asked my name again. And I thought it best to tell her I was just a friend than to have us shuffling cards. Her hair was wild, like vines in a dead orchard. I still found beauty in her. A breeze brushed against our skin. Its timing was perfect, invigorating. Maybe that was the moment I could have. Nothing more. Nothing less. Our train left. And just like that, I realized oxygen must be present to ignite a flame I was right when I stepped off this train. My hometown was filled with people dead, or old!


"Grow up; that's what I want him to do," Vic growled as he stormed out of the cabin and off the porch, the squall of anger stinging his head and warming his ears. He blinked at the bang of the screen door he slammed for exclamation.     "Damn her," he mumbled as he stomped along a path leading into the woods. The morning dew felt cool on his sandaled feet and turned the kicked-up dirt into mud on his toes.           How could she bring this up now? This was supposed to be their 5th-anniversary trip. Spend a long weekend at the cabin they first made love in, rekindle the old flame, and remember why they got married in the first place. But she goes and brings up her brother Brad. How he lost his job AGAIN, needs a "small" loan, and might be moving in with them for a while. Brad's a bum; her parents and everyone else have coddled him his whole life. He will never learn to stand on his own two feet unless everyone stops bailing him out.

          Vic was far into the woods when he stopped to catch his breath, the first one he was conscious of since he rushed out of the cabin. He put his hands on his knees then stood up with his hands behind his head, a trick he learned in peewee football. He was quite winded for only having walked a short distance. The cool air dried his mouth, and he licked his lips with all the moisture he could muster.

           He looked up at the azure sky through the bare branches of the trees above him. A tree stump sat in the middle of a glade like the main stage of a theater-in-the-round formed by the surrounding foliage. He sat down on the stump, rested his elbows on his sore knees, and let out a final hard sigh that returned his breathing to normal. He rubbed his fingertips over his eyes, still feeling the itch of early morning. The sweat on his face cooled as a breeze whispered through the leafless trees. His mind couldn't focus on any thought other than how this trip wasn't turning out the way he had imagined.

           He heard footsteps rustling through the woods toward him and felt somewhat vindicated, thinking Wanda had followed him to apologize, not noticing that the steps were coming from a different direction than the cabin. Conjuring up his best look of defiance, he waited for Wanda to appear out of the trees and come running to him filled with remorse and compunction.

           But instead, an old man appeared. He reminded Vic of the old pictures of the miners who flooded San Francisco during the gold rush of the 1840s. A dirty gray beard covered most of  his face, allowing only his nose, eyes, and preternaturally red cheeks to peek through. A brown, frazzled hat sat on top of his head, covering a gray, ochlocratic mass of hair that was peculiarly long for a man his age. Vic's eyes locked with the intruder's and stayed there as the man calmly, almost surreptitiously approached.

    "You look like your mamma done reached out and stung you with a switch young feller," he said in a gravelly voice that seemed to whistle from the breath that carried it.     "No...no," Vic stammered, bewildered by the surreal character standing in front of him. "I'm just out getting a little fresh air...um, do you live around here, I thought this area was pretty darned secluded."     "I live around everywhere, son," the old man said with seeming familiarity, "don't like to call no place home, cause when you do, they can take it away from ya. But if you ain't got no perticular home then there ain't nothing to be taken away. Don't get me wrong, I've had plenty of homes, just none that grew on me enough to make me stay there too long. But, I'll tell you son, I know a troubled young man when I see one, hell I was one myself once"      "Nah...it's just...nothing..I mean my wife and I...no, I'm just getting a little fresh air. Where did you come from?" Vic asked, hoping he had changed the subject.     "Bloomington, Oklahoma, down abouts Greer County. You probably never heard of it have ya. I never even seen it on a map and I been around and seen quite a few maps. They taught us to read maps in the navy, though they was nautical maps, but what's the difference, its just about findin' where you are and findin' where you want to go and figurin' the best way to get there. There's times when we could use a map of life, so we could see where we are and figure out the best way to get where we wanna go.

           "You look like you could use a map just of that sort about now. By the way, what's your name….mine's Nicholas. You think with this beard and all that comes from my lookin' like St. Nicholas, but it doesn't. Nah, my mamma named me after the last Russian Czar, you know the one they murdered, him and his whole family. The killers were the ones who brung in communism to Russia, my mamma used to call them the Bullshits or somethin' like that. She and my daddy left Russia and came here to America right after that group took over. She told me she named me after that Czar because he was the last good leader Russia ever had. I never used to tell people that story, knowin' that most aren't too fond of Russians. Did you know czar is actually a short form of Caesar?" "No, I..uh..didn't…uh…know that," Vic stammered, "but what I meant was where did you come from just now. There is only one road and that ends at the cabin, and there's nothing but woods for miles in every other direction." Vic wondered if he should have mentioned the cabin, still too unnerved by his new companion to relinquish suspicion.     "Well, I's tryin to get through these woods, to go from Route 8 about nine miles back that a way and head over to the next town, maybe find me some work and make some money to live on."  Vic wondered what kind of work a man this old could find.            "That's quite a long walk old-timer, you must have been on the road for some time now."            "Since I was nineteen," Nicholas answered obtusely. "It's a tale I'm none too proud of, but since you're askin', I reckon I can tell you about it."            "No I mean…" Vic attempted.            "Ya see, my older brother, there was just the two of us, was in Vietnam, you know the war. Well, him and some others were on a mission one night when they got ambushed by a group of Charlies. Most of the Americans with my brother was killed, but my brother was only wounded in the leg. Them Charlies took him prisoner and didn't really give a shake about his wound. Well, by the time they brung a doctor to see him, the leg got the gangrene and they had to cut it off, right above his knee. When the war was over, he came back and we saw he had no leg and we was horrified. You see, he was a ballplayer, probably coulda played in the big leagues. But there weren't much call for a one-legged ballplayer. He went to coaching, but you could see he never forgot that he'd lost his chance to be a ballplayer. He said he really felt good about helping those people against the Charlies and that they were real appreciative of the American soldiers who were over there. They was mostly farmers and couldn't fight Charlie themselves. “I admired what my brother done, so I joined the navy. Learned real good how to be a sailor, and I was lookin' forward to being a hero like my brother. And then they told me I was going to Vietnam too."

           "That was probably pretty scary," interrupted Vic. "I guess I better be getting back now, I think I've had enough fresh air."            Nicholas didn't react to Vic's voice. As Vic got up to go the old man sat down on the stump, fixing his stare straight ahead, not looking at anything particular, just looking with a wide-eyed intensity.

           "Anything you need sir, a few bucks or something until you can find that job you're looking for?" Nicholas continued to stare. "Nah, I'm alright," he answered softly, folding his brown hands tipped by cracked, yellow fingernails. Then the old man looked at Vic and forced an ersatz smile, a replacement for the one he had lost long ago.            What the hell, thought Vic, I can go back to the cabin and argue with Wanda, or stay here and listen to this man's war stories. Probably is a bunch of crap, but he looks like he might be entertaining, so I guess I'll humor him. "I imagine you were quite a war hero, huh," Vic patronized.            "Nah," Nicholas responded, his voice regaining volume. "When I was to get on my ship to Vietnam, I kept thinkin' about my brother and how he had lost his leg and I got real scared that I could lose mine or worse, get killed. I told my brother I was thinkin' about not goin' and he told me there were people over there who needed help, how the Charlies were killin' em all. I heard what he was sayin' but couldn't take my mind off where his leg used to be. That night I snuck away, and never went to Vietnam. I been gaddin' about ever since, sometimes livin' in one place for a year or so, when I can find work, but I always been afraid the government would come lookin' for me because of what I done. The old man's hands squeezed together into a two handed fist. "I never went home 'cause I knew my brother would be ashamed of me for runnin' instead of fightin'. But enough about me, I'm just a silly old man, what about you young feller, it was more than fresh air you come lookin' for out here ain't it."

           Vic looked at Nicholas and his feelings changed from amusement to pity for the old guy.            "I'm sure the government quit searching for you. Me, well I just had a little spat with the missus, you know how it is."            "No, I don't son. Never been married myself. Movin' around like I do it's hard to find a woman. I had a girl though, but when I took off, I didn't even call her. I always wished I'd a written her a note or somethin' explaining everything. She was very beautiful and sweet. Many a times I wondered what happened to her, whether she was married and if she had kids and all. We had talked about getting' married when I got out of the navy, but like I said, when I took off…" Nicholas' head slowly bowed down as he spoke and he was talking to the ground now, oblivious to whether Vic was still listening or not. Vic pawed at the dried leaves with his foot, both to fight how uncomfortable he felt and to determine if Nicholas still knew he was there.            "I’m sure she is doing fine,” Vic mumbled, swallowing dryly, wishing again to change the subject. “My wife is beautiful and sweet too, heck sometimes she’s too sweet and let’s others take advantage of her. Take her brother, for example, he is a no-good bum, but every time he needs help she gives it to him. I tell her that she has to say no to him sometime or he will always take advantage of her,” Vic wondered if he should have used the word bum. “That’s what I’m doing out here in the woods, I had a fight with my wife over her agreeing to let her shiftless brother come stay with us until he can find a new job; I’m sure he was fired from the one he had. And it’s not just her family, she is always donating money to some cause or another. I tell her most of them are rip-off artists and that they are just after money to get rich on, but…” Vic felt his voice rise and his ears get warm. He saw the old man looking at him with a pathetic look on his face. Great, Vic thought, I’ve gained the sympathy of some homeless tramp, I must sound pitiful.” “You ever seen movies of the Hindenburg goin’ down?” Nicholas asked suddenly. “Well, sure I have, they always show that old news reel of it crashing in a ball of flames,” Vic responded glad the conversation was moving on. “I really must be going now, nice to meet you Nicholas, good luck.” “That crash killed 36 folks, but I mean have you actually looked at the movies?” A confused grimace and a shrug were all Vic could muster, now feeling discomfited as well as confused. “Most people look at the big dirigible and the fire and all that. But if you look at the folks on the ground, you see they was doing different things. Some of them was running from the Hindenburg, while others were running toward it. That’s all there is to it. Those are the only two kinds of people in the world, those who run to the Hindenburg and those who run from it.” A single tear ran from the old man’s eye and disappeared into his beard before reappearing as it leaped from his chin and landed on the dried leaves below. “Well, take care,” Vic said as he patted Nicholas on the shoulder and started to walk away. He turned once to look back and saw that Nicholas was still sitting on the stump, head down, eyes fixed on the ground.            Vic picked his pace up and headed back to the cabin, noticing that the sun’s heat was gaining intensity as it continued to burn off the morning haze. He was almost jogging, listening to his feet crackle against the terrain. When he spotted the cabin, something caused him to stop and look back, but he was too far away, and the woods were too thick for him to see Nicholas in the clearing. He continued to look for a few minutes, trying to figure the whole thing out, then started briskly toward the cabin, hopped up the steps, and went inside, gently closing the screen door behind him. He entered the bedroom where Wanda was folding clothes and putting them into a suitcase that lay open on the bed. “We could clear out my den, and Brad could stay in there until he gets back on his feet,” Vic said in a low voice so as to not startle Wanda. She dropped the shirt she was holding onto the bed, walked over to Vic and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face on his shoulder. Vic embraced her and felt the tingle that always accompanied her touch. He caressed the back of her head with his hand. A tear escaped from his eye, ran down his cheek, leaped from his chin, and landed on the dry, wooden floor below.