[This story includes gay romance.] The long black hand on the living room clock crawled, marking time as it marched past the minutes. Eddy didn’t think he’d ever seen it move this slow. Funny thing, though…hands on a clock in any of his classes seemed to race around when he took a test. He waited for the hand to set off chimes in the old grandfather clock, sitting sentry over the living room. Eddy knew it was safe to talk on the phone in here. Neither his mother nor father entered this room on any regular basis. The furniture here was formal, unfaded, and a bit stiff. But Eddy thought it was the neatest room in the house. It had the clock, for one thing, and a fireplace that was rarely lit. Despite all that, Eddy felt like ‘Lord of the Manor’ when he took a seat in the highbacked chair. It fit his body perfectly, and though he was nervous as hell right now, he felt safe, surrounded by the elegance of the room. Eddy felt like his enthusiasm would make him burst before the dulcet chimes, but when he thought he’d reached his limit, seven chimes struck the hour. Finally, it was time. His cell phone never seemed this heavy. Shaking hands scrolled through the contacts looking for Tom’s name. When he found it, he took a deep breath before hitting the green phone icon. “Hey! You called. I’m glad. I was afraid you’d lose your nerve.” Eddy tried to keep his voice even. “No, I didn’t lose anything. I just want to talk to someone who might understand me.” “Oh. It’s that bad for you?” “Well, last night, I came out to my parents. My father didn’t take it well at all.” “What did your mom do? Moms almost always know, you know.” “Really? I didn’t think my mom had a clue, but now that you say it, she didn’t seem surprised. She just wanted to know how I was doing, and my father kind of phased out of the conversation.” “Dads can be tough. So…you just needed another gay guy to talk to? I thought…” “Well, yeah, I needed someone who would understand this stuff, but I wanted to talk to you because I think you’re…” Eddy searched his thoughts for the right word. He couldn’t blow this. But how could he tell Tom how he felt without sounding too gushy? “I just wanted to talk to you because I, uh, like you.” Silence. Eddy sat in the awesome chair, but he didn’t feel like the Lord of the Manor anymore. He felt defeated, deflated, and embarrassed. “Tom?” Finally, a noise. It sounded like a sniffle. Is he crying? Eddy stared at the ground. Should he say something? Or would that make the situation worse? Should he offer words of comfort? Should he start crying in solidarity? Finally, Tom spoke in a blubbery voice. “This is all my fault.” Eddy felt confused. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand…your fault?” “All this crying and sniveling. I know you’re over there a bit freaked out, right? But, you see, I can’t believe it. You like me, and you admitted it. No one does that anymore. Everyone is so afraid that their feelings may be hurt, or they are too afraid to tie themselves down to one person. I’ve been lonely out here. The world is cold for most people, but for gay men who are looking for love and acceptance, well, it’s downright frigid. You have absolutely no idea how happy you’ve made me.” The large lump at the base of Eddy’s throat slipped like Tom just paved the way with honey. The tension in his shoulders eased away. He wasn’t tired or defeated anymore. Those feelings left, allowing joy and jubilation into his world. “I make you that happy?” "Why don't I come over? I think this is a conversation we need to have in person. Would your parents be cool if I showed up?" Eddy knew he wanted to see Tom and hold him close. "Well, dinner is over, and everyone's scattered through the house. I don't think it will be a problem. Just drive carefully 'cause I don't want anything to happen to you. You are way too important." Tom's sob answered those words and then, "I'll be there in about fifteen minutes." With a full heart, Eddy went to the kitchen to find something for him and Tom to munch on. ** When the doorbell rang, Eddy’s dad beat him to the door. “Who are you? And what do you want? We’re not buying anything if that’s what you're here for.” “No, sir. I’m here to see Eddy.” Eddy walked up behind his dad to greet Tom. He felt the scorn in his dad’s voice as he begrudgingly waved Tom in the door. Dad turned to yell for him, but when he saw Eddy, the shout shriveled in his throat. “Oh, you’re there. I guess you already know your ‘friend’ is here.” “Hi, Tom. Please come in. Thirsty?” Eddy tried to avoid his dad’s gaze. He couldn’t completely ignore the smoldering eyes, but he forgot all about it when his eyes met Tom’s. After pulling a few sodas from the refrigerator, both boys entered the living room. Eddy watched Tom’s reaction to the room closely. He hoped Tom would appreciate it and understand why he loved it so much. “Cool room. I love the furniture,” he said. And then his gaze fell on Eddy’s chair. “I bet you love that chair. It looks like it’d be the perfect place to dream or read or just think.” “You’ve got that right,” Eddy said. His voice was full of emotion, and his heart thumped against his chest. He could feel the rhythm in his ears, and he just wanted to be close to Tom. “Hey, wanna see my room?” “Sure. That sounds like a great idea.” Tom smiled widely at Eddy’s suggestion. They head upstairs quietly, and Eddy only hopes his father was deeply involved in one of his cop shows. Too involved to hear their tread. As soon as the door was shut, the boys stood close together. Heat came off them in waves, and Eddy could only hope they’d control themselves. Tom looked deep into Eddy’s eyes as he came close. He ran his fingers slowly up the curve of Eddy’s face with his eyes closed like a blind man memorizing the shape of a beloved’s face. “Yes, sweetie. You make me that happy and so much more. We should celebrate that we found one another so early in our lives. We will not have to live like the pathetic gay men who slip from one relationship to another, always feeling like something is missing. Always hurting deep down, and even afraid.” “Afraid?” “Eddy, we have something special. We understand one another. We really love one another. This isn’t about some quick romp in the sack or a cheap hook-up. This is about building a real relationship and planning a real future together. We may be young, but we complement one another, and…I refuse to let someone like you go.” The silence both young men heard now was one of solidarity. No one was speaking because they were each absorbing the truth. They were lucky. They’d found one another early. Their lives would be more prosperous than most gay men’s. And they would build a life together. Tom broke the silence. “So, I heard you playing some Billy Joel as I got here. You like 80s music too? My mom played the best stuff, and her era was the 70s and 80s, and though few of my friends understand, I’m pretty sure you will. The boys spoke in unison, “Music is the song of the soul’s heart.” “Did you read that on Facebook?” “Yup – you, too?” “I loved it so much that I hit Love, and then I shared it with everyone. It saddened me to see how many folks didn’t recognize the importance of the post. Maybe if they’d paid real attention, they could evaluate the importance of music in their lives.” “Oh well. We no longer have to worry about those poor unfortunate folks – we can listen to the music we love and let it soothe away those long days and prepare us for some long nights,” Tom said as he shot Eddy a smoldering gaze. Eddy was happier than he’d ever been; he went into Tom’s arms for a long, languorous kiss. It felt like home. Until there was a rapid knocking on his door. “Just what are you two up to in there?” Dad’s angry voice reverberated through the room. …to be continued


“That’s the thing about this city,” I tell the young girl. “You don’t want to go out at night. Monsters lurk in the shadows, and who knows what they will do to you.”

She looks up at me with fear in her eyes, and I know she’ll take my words to heart.

“I just wish we didn’t have to go out and get her medicine,” I say, nodding toward the bundled up figure on the couch.  “Me too,” she whispers, glancing at the motionless figure. “We’ll be back,” I call out to the figure. “We’ll be careful. Take care until we’re back.”  The figure doesn’t respond, so I shrug and open the door.

 “Quiet now,” I tell the girl in a low voice. “Follow close behind me.”  She nods, and we head out into the night.  The moon gives us enough light to see by in the dark alley, and the streetlights will light the way. We creep down the alley, hugging the walls until we reach the street. I glance out, looking both ways, and see the way is clear. Waving her to follow, I slip out into the street, hurrying across it to the other side, where I dart into the next alley. The girl follows behind me, a little too slow for my taste, but I have no choice but to bring her. I’m too big to fit through the window where we need to get the medicine. I hurry her into the alley, looking up and down the road. I ducked back into the alley as I heard footsteps hurrying our way. I pressed myself against the wall with my arm holding the girl to my side. I closed my eyes. I heard the footsteps slowing as they neared us and stopped breathing for a moment. I let out my breath as I heard the steps go by, then breathed a sigh of relief.

 Opening my eyes, I look down at her. Her eyes are wide with fear, and I can feel her shaking.

 “Was that…?” she asked in a shaky voice.  I nodded and said, “We need to be more careful. Stay close to me.”  She nodded back and swallowed.

 We moved down the alley to the end. I looked out, then drew my head back in when I saw the figure standing under the streetlight. It had been looking away from me, so it didn’t see me.

 Kneeling down, I looked the girl in the eye, putting my hands on her shoulders.  “There’s one out there, so we need to be extra careful.”  She nodded, swallowing again. She looked out of the alley, then back at me.

 Giving her a smile I hoped would give her some encouragement, I added, “If we can do this, we will be on the backend of the building we need to get the medicine from.”  She smiled, but then it disappeared as she looked back out of the alley again.

 “Focus on me,” I told her, giving her a small shake to turn her attention back to me.

 Her gaze met mine. I blinked, then smiled again.  “We’re going to make it,” I told her. “I can feel it. Then we can get the medicine back to her.”  She nodded, then I could feel her straightening her shoulders under my grip. My smile got wider, and I let her go, getting to my feet.

 Turning, I peeked out once more. The figure was still turned the other way, and nothing else was in the vicinity.

 “Ready?” I asked her, glancing back.  She nodded.  “Let’s go,” I said, pushing her out in front of me.

 She ran across the road, ducking into the shadows of the building on the other side. I followed close behind her.  A sound came from up the street. I glanced toward the stoplight, and my heart nearly stopped when I saw the figure hurrying toward me. Crap! We’d been spotted.  “Go through the gates!” I hissed at her.  She nodded and darted through the gates that were just wide enough for her. I put myself in between her and the figure, waiting. The figure got close, but didn’t enter the darkness of the shadows. I eased back toward the gates, keeping my eye on the figure pacing back and forth but not coming closer.

 Letting out a sigh of relief when I reached the gates, I pulled them apart so I could go inside them to follow the girl. I knew we’d be safe in here, but we still had to find the medicine and get back.  I saw the girl ahead of me, so I hurried toward her.

 “Do you see the building?” I asked her when I reached her.  She pointed toward the structure ahead.  “Let’s get what we need and get back as quickly as possible,” I told her, heading toward it.  She followed me until we reached the side of the building.  Pausing at the open window, she looked up at me and said, “Boost.”  I linked my hands together and held them out for her to step into. She put her hands on my shoulders, and I lifted her to the window. She scrambled inside, and I leaned against the wall to wait for her.

 I looked around and noticed the moon was peeking out from behind the clouds. I shivered as I remembered the stories I’d heard as a child about what happens during full moons. Shaking it off, I listened for the girl’s signal.

 Hearing her whistle, I looked up at the window. Perched on the ledge, she waited for me to help her down.

 “Did you get it?” I whispered.  She nodded, so I held out my arms for her to jump down.

 Once on the ground, we headed back to the gates. I peered out to make sure it was safe to leave, then slipped through. She followed me, and we made our way back to the alley.

 I looked up and down the street, but it was empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, we hurried across and ducked into the alley on that side of the street.

 Just as we reached the opening, a figure stepped into the alley. I pushed the girl behind me.  “Who’s there?” I called out.

 The figure crouched down, and I told the girl, “Run as fast as you can while I take care of this.”  We both headed toward the figure, but I got there first, leaping at it to distract it from her. She darted past, and I saw her head into the building with the medicine.  I turned my attention to the figure who pushed me against the wall and was clawing at my eyes. Snarling, I pushed off the wall, using my weight to push my attacker away from me. It circled around me, trying to find an opening to attack, but I kept it at bay.

 It lunged toward me, only to pull back. I kept my eyes on it, not realizing another had come up behind me until something jumped on my back, wrapping its arms around my neck. Taken off guard, I fell to my hands and knees, then let out a howl of pain as something sharp went into my side.

 A blow to the head had me seeing stars, but I tried to shake it off. I let out another howl of pain as what felt like claws raked down my side. Struggling, I swung out my arms, but didn’t connect to anything.

 The grip on my neck tightened. I gasped for breath as I clawed at the arms, but wasn’t able to break its grip. I could see blackness clouding my vision and knew I would not last much longer.

 Just before I blacked out, the grip released, and I could take a deep breath. I looked up to see a large wolflike figure attacking one figure and a smaller one snarling at the other. I smiled, glad to see the medicine had worked.

 The moon overhead came out from behind a cloud, and I lifted my head, filling my eyes with its beauty. I knew the transformation would heal the wounds the humans had inflicted on me. My last thought before the transformation was that it was a shame the humans couldn’t co-exist with us as we just wanted to live in peace, but they had to be greedy and be the only ones at the top of the pyramid.


Time to Blume Are you there God? It’s me, Manolo. Ever since we moved to America Mama is not the same. Sure she looks the same. She has the same dark hair pulled into a ponytail and the same hands that make my favorite dish, Gallo Pinto, but she is not the same Mama. God, I need your help to get my Mama back. We left our farm in Nicaragua before the first rays of sun one December morning. Mama led the way carrying my little sister Ana. Mama wanted to leave before Ana woke up. Before the crying and whining. We were lucky she was sleeping. We tiptoed past the banana tree heavy with green fruit. If Ana saw bananas she would scream and then hold her breath until mama broke down and gave her a green unripe banana. Afterwards she would pat her tummy and cry. Up in the trees woodpeckers tapped tree trunks and spotted birds chirped. I waved goodbye to the monkeys pinching bugs off each other’s backs, cleaning up for their day. I understood the monkeys and the birds, without speaking a word. Mama told me we were going to a place called Wisconsin and I would have to learn some new things for my new life there. I would have to learn English, no more Spanish. I would get to see my Abuela. Mama said we were leaving and going to America for a better life. What better life did she want? I wondered as I looked at my best friends and the rising sun, a sliver of beetroot in the sky.

Dear God, please come quick Mama is a puddle of tears. I don’t know what to do. Every morning in Wisconsin Abuela turns on all the lights to wake us up. The house is cold and the sky is the color of Mama’s bean pot. This world is silent, no sounds of birds and no chattering of monkeys. I miss my animal friends. When I was on the farm in Nicaragua I always had a few chickens and piggies to keep me company. When I was on the farm Mama would scatter maize for the chickens on the patio and sing every morning. When I went to school I played marbles with my best friend Antonio.

 Abuela has a job cleaning houses. She said that the houses are tall like the colonial houses in Granada, but not painted in happy colors; yellow or orange like in Nicaragua. These houses have second floors and so many bedrooms. These houses have big TV’s and machines that wash the clothes and the dishes and even a little round machine like a stack of dinner plates that cut the grass. And now that we are here Mama has to clean the big houses too. Everything in Abuela’s house is crammed so tight. Couches crowd the walls and a table is piled high with envelopes. Abuela says those are her bills. Abuela uses the word “dollars.” She says “dollars” is a very important word in English, maybe the most important. I don’t know what “ dollars” are but they must be special because Abuela is always talking about them. Is this the English Mama was talking about learning? I wasn’t sure about learning this new word or any other words in this new language. English did not make Abuela happy. I was not interested in learning this new language.

Dear God,Can you send us some “dollars” to make Abuela and Mama happy. Abuela has so many bills to pay and she needs help. At school I sit in the back of the third grade classroom. I can see tracks of braids running down a girl’s back and a boy's short hair sticking up like the coxcomb of a rooster. I watch Edward pull faces behind the teacher’s back. I notice Esther with hair the color of straw sneaking looks at me with her eyes the color of ocean water. I look away, in a trance, watching the snow swirling outside. I fold my cold fingers into the sleeves of my sweatshirt to stay warm. Mrs.Meyer, our teacher, is drawing a corazon on the white board.

“Who can tell me what Valentine’s Day is?” she said. I sink into my seat hoping she doesn’t call on me, but Mrs. Meyer stretches her neck long and calls my name. “Manolo, Do…You…Know…What…This… Is…?”

My face heats up and sweat beads pop up on my forehead. Thirty pairs of eyes are burning me. Everyone is waiting for me to speak. I know what a corazon is, I know Dia de San Valentín, but I don’t know how to say it, not in English. Dear God, I’m having a hard time at school. I don’t think I will be able to stay here. Do you think I can come back to Nicaragua? I think the teacher and the kids think I’m stupid, but I know the anwer I just can’t say it. How can I learn English so I can make friends at my new school? After dinner I play with Ana. I give her a little squeeze and she bites me and leaves teeth marks on my arm.I push her away. I try not to cry but the tears come anyway. Ana winds up like a crazy chicken. She yells and stomps her feet and before we know it she is like a hurricane whipping through the living room. Abuela is trying to scoop up the bills that are crashing onto the floor. Mama is chasing Ana and rescuing a tipping lamp. I don’t know if I should cover my eyes or my ears. When Mama catches Ana, Ana belts out a scream and stiffens her body like a rocket. Mama’s eyes are wet with tears too. I look at everyone in the room. I don’t think this is a better life. I am worried about Ana and Abuela, the bills and the dollars, but most of all I feel stupid because I cannot say Corazon in English.

Mama puts Ana to bed and then she tucks me under Abuela’s fluffy quilt. Mama asks me how my day was at school. I tell her about the corazon and she says it’s time for me to learn English. The next day Mama takes me to the community center. All the kids are playing. Some are throwing a ball while standing in a circle in the Activity Room. I want to play too, but a worker lady leads me and Mama up to a different room with a computer screen and a box of Legos.

“Por favor Sientate” the lady said. I am surprised to hear Spanish from a face that doesn’t look like mine. Inside the computer there is another woman. She speaks Spanish too. “Hola, Voy a enseñarte Ingles. I’m going to teach you English.” I dump all the Legos onto the table. This is my second time playing with Legos. They are new to me. Back in Nicaragua I only played with marbles. I click the bricks together and make boats and houses. Using Legos with the teacher on the computer, I learn about colors and the words above and below and in the middle. I still want to go downstairs to play in the Activity Room in the circle, but I think I will be okay here. I am learning English and I think very soon I will be in the middle of two lands, two cultures and two languages. Dear God, I miss my old home so much. I miss the color of the sunrise and all the animals. Do you think you can take care of everything for me? I think I’ll stay here a while. I think I’m going to be just fine.


Mrs. Watts settled into her desk chair and breathed in the cold air, smiling. The house was one very large room, really; her desk sat against the wall next to the couches in the living room. The kitchen was in one corner, and the bedroom in another. It all felt so cozy to her, especially with a mug of coffee in one hand, her writing pen in the other and a spectacular view of Earth spinning slowly in the window. “Perfect. Just perfect,” she murmured. She took a sip of her coffee, thankful they'd found a way to make houses with Earth's gravity. Mr. Watts suddenly burst through the door carrying two bulky shopping bags. He unzipped his suit and hung his helmet on the hook by the door before stomping over to the kitchen and tossing the bags onto the counter. “Got the meals,” he grumbled. “Thank you,” said Mrs. Watts stiffly. “Anything for you, dear .” Mrs. Watts slammed her coffee down on the table, spilling it everywhere. Mr. Watts stalked over to the couches and sank into the large blue one by the bookshelf. He folded his arms moodily as Mrs. Watts snatched a paper towel off the kitchen counter to clean up the mess of coffee. “That’s enough !” snapped Mrs. Watts. “I’m sick of that tone!” “Well, I’m sick of a lot of things around here!” “Not this again!” said Mrs. Watts exasperatedly, throwing her hands up. “You agreed to this.” “I agreed to a new life, not this—this slow death .” “Millions of people would die to be here.” “And most of us would die to go back!” They stared at each other and narrowed their eyes. This was their third argument this week. Mrs. Watts jabbed a finger at her husband. “ You wanted to do this.” “Who wouldn’t?! Real estate on the moon? It’s all anyone would talk about. Never mind what it would actually be like!” “And what is that? Because I find it incredible.” “ You like it. You . You can hide yourself away all day and write your heart out, while I do what, exactly? Twiddle my thumbs? Tend to the moon rocks outside?” “You know full well that there are plenty of jobs up here. You’re just too busy complaining to apply.” “Because I don’t belong here! Where are the trees? Where are the hiking trails? What am I supposed to do as a park ranger ?” “The whole damn moon is a national park! Of all people, you should be thrilled to live here!” “I only agreed because you brought it up—" “Oh, so this is my fault? You agree to do this, and the whole thing is my fault?”  “You were complaining about the city every day! We could have gone to the mountains, or the beaches, but you just had to go ahead and choose the moon !” They were both on their feet, shouting. Mrs. Watts blinked away tears; she hated that anger made her cry. “You know Sarah and Kit Wheaton, at the end of the block?” said Mr. Watts fiercely. “They’re going back at the end of the week. And the Fredericksons have had their space shuttle booked for a month.” Mrs. Watts slid back into her chair and pressed her hand against her forehead. She took a deep breath. “It’s just...it’s perfect here,” she said wearily. “It’s quiet enough that I can concentrate, and beautiful enough that I’m always inspired. It’s a writer’s dream.” Mr. Watts sighed and fell into the blue couch again. “I know. I know, I really do. It’s just...a bit much.” “What are we supposed to do? We just got here. Why can’t you give it some more time?” “I’ve given it six months! Is that not enough?” Their voices were beginning to rise again. Mrs. Watts opened her mouth to angrily retort and then quickly snapped it shut. She didn’t want to shout anymore. “Fine. Say that we don’t move, yet. What would make this better for you?” Mr. Watts looked at her and raised is eyebrow. “Humor me,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe...maybe being able to go for a normal hike again,” said Mr. Watts. Mrs. Watts jumped up to the kitchen table where she’d put the stack of mail that morning. She rifled through the letters until she came across a small pamphlet, which she tossed to her husband. “There. The new initiative by the Council: gravity suits that mimic Earth's gravity. So we don’t have to bounce around when we leave the house.” Mr. Watts looked impressed as he examined the pamphlet. “That’s quite a feat.” “What else?” pressed Mrs. Watts. “Um—I miss food. Real food, like the lemons and avocados that used to grow in our yard back on Earth....” Their shopping bags were full of the freeze-dried meals that Moon Residents ate for every meal. Mrs. Watts nodded toward the window in the kitchen, the one that faced the sun most of the day. Mr. Watts glanced over and widened his eyes. He hadn’t noticed when he’d first stomped in. There, on the windowsill, was a clear container lined with small pots filled with dirt and skinny green tubes. “Supply shuttles brought them in this morning. It’s not much—it’ll still be a while until the farms are fully functioning, they keep running into problems—but it’s a start. Green onions.” Mr. Watts stared at the green onions in wonder. “That’s...that's a surprise, I have to say.” “They call it ‘miniature farming.’” They sat in silence for a moment, not meeting each other’s eyes. “It’ll get better,” said Mrs. Watts finally. “It’ll take time, but I promise. Little steps at a time.” “Sometimes the little steps are the hardest to take,” said Mr. Watts quietly. “I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Watts. “I should have thought this through more.” “I’m sorry, too,” said Mr. Watts. “I should have been more open and honest.” “So, what do we do now?” asked Mrs. Watts, rubbing her arms. Mr. Watts picked up the blanket draping over the back of the couch and walked over to his wife. He gently laid the blanket around her shoulders, and she reached up to squeeze his hand in thanks. “I guess...we keep talking."


Note: This story contains notions of addiction and sexual violence For nearly 20 years I solemnly perched on my twig-like swing, day after changeless day, singing melancholy melodies. My feathered bodice, once vibrant, shiny, and tamed, turned lackluster and disheveled at best. Long ago, I was a young, adventurous, and naive little hatchling. Nothing struck me as dangerous or frightening until a concealed felon decided to take advantage of my innocent undisturbed life. Little did I know that moment in time would etch away at my internal being and morph me into a helpless little blue bird.

My child-like state did not realize the ramifications of following you to your nest that night. You lured me in with ease by glamorizing your nest; detailing jewels of beauty, golds speckles across the delicate imported twigs, and moss as soft as clouds. Stealthily, you tricked me into believing that you had something of incredible rarity to dazzle me with back at your luxurious home. “What an exceptional opportunity,” I thought, so I abandoned my zone of safety just for you—excited for something magical.

Your nest was set in a secluded area and truly was as captivating as you had described. Filled with unique décor and iridescent items, I was not disappointed. They were beautiful, but later I realized they were items collected from prior victims.

A natural predator, you waited until the right moment to execute your strike. Once I was under a dazed-like spell, unaware of nothing but the charm of my surroundings, you struck your prey. More agile than I, you had me in your piercing talons instantly. Harshly pinned against the twigs and leaves you inserted yourself into me despite my cries. I attempted to claw against you as you violated me, but your strength was overpowering. Clawed down, body immobile, seconds went by like hours. Eventually I stopped trying to fight you. I knew I could not defeat your sickly desires and I grew tired of your bladed beak perforating every part of me every time I fought back. Just like all your other victims, you chained me to a cage so you could continue to batter me and my soul, until there was nothing left to take. Afraid of further harm, I let you continue to take advantage of me. The nest was so hidden, no noble flock could hear my cries. It was apparent that I needed to learn a way to survive the cage of horror.

Since I was alone, except for when in your company, I decided to create a version of a friend. A friend that possessed unique qualities. One unique power was that it could shape-shift into many forms to attend to my ever-changing needs. It provided feelings of numbness, emptiness, and the feeling of nothingness that I craved. It could even make me invisible at times, so I could hide from the monster that originally shoved me into metal bindings. Bindings with minimal space. This friend told me to harshly rub my wings against the sharp edges of the metal to create wounds. Told me to refuse the little food my perpetrator set aside for me daily, claiming it would leave me empty and numb. And for a while it did work. That friend seemed like a blessing. Unfortunately, my friend eventually shifted into a friend and a foe. In friend form, it was small and skeletal. Fragile. In foe, its evil demeanor presented as a cloaked shadow. The shadow, authoritative and dominant, quickly forced my friend into the shadows. It began telling me lies. At first it was a lie here and there; the lies only grew more frequent until everything my foe said was a lie. Trapped by one suddenly became trapped by two.

Who was this foe? Meanwhile, the untamed hawk continued to feed his repulsive acts. First a canary, then a starling, magpie, and swallow. What surprised me the most was when he seduced a hummingbird. The hawk always complained that they “hummed” too loudly and weren’t his type. Fortunately, the monster did not satisfy his needs with this selection. The hummingbird was agile and he, a large hawk, was not. He wasn’t able to recapture this prey. On the hummingbird’s frantic escape out, she saw me. She stopped at my cage and told me that although she could not release me from my entrapment, she could help me. After she flew away, I cuddled up and sat there confused. I could not understand why I was the hawk’s trapped prize possession when he let all the other victims go. He said something about “liking pretty little blue birds.”

One night, while the haw was out hunting, the hummingbird hummed near a small cage space; she did hold to her word. Her long delicate beak pushed in a small bag of strange looking pellets.

“What kind of bird seeds are those?” I asked innocently.

“These are not bird seeds; these are better than that.” Before I could ask more questions, she was gone. My claws sifted through the small pouch of pellets. There seemed to be two different kinds, one labeled “Special K,” and the other, a large “X” in the center. Cautiously, I took one at a time. I started with the one with the “X” in the center. It made me feel calm, almost like there was a void around me and nothing mattered. I embraced this feeling. Excited that the hummingbird really did provide help, I swallowed the special K pellet. This pellet was like no other; my world became distant and a kaleidoscope appeared in front of me. It was the most wonderful and invigorating experience since I was a free and innocent blue bird. One pellet of each a day soon became two, then, three. Then came the black outs and the cravings for more of each wondrous pellet. Although I knew my stash was dwindling, I could not stop myself from indulging. I did not want to feel like I did the night the hawk lured me into his hidden nest. The “X” and the “K” removed that feeling completely and silenced my internal screams for help.

At times, the hawk would have to fly my intoxicated body to one of his trusted healers (one that shared the hawk’s same wrongful acts). The healer would expunge my feathered body from the drugs, to allow me to breathe and flutter around. For selfish reasons, the hawk refused to let me pass into the darkness of the sky because he wanted to inflict more damage. It would be too kind to spare me of my troubled mind. What used to be an open sky filled with rays of sunshine narrowed into a dark and stormy hurricane where I could only see fragments of reality.

Confused about my situation, I continued to hurt myself. Why? Because that was what I learned over time. I was unaware that there was another way out. Funny enough, the hawk had unlocked my cage door years ago; he knew I would never try to spread my wings and fly away; he had trained me well. I did the hawk’s and the shadow’s job for them; all they had to do was watch me repeatedly tear myself down until I was unable to perch and cry my laments. They were the ones who initiated my pain and suffering, but I was the one who perpetuated it. It took me what seemed like ages, to understand that I was my own undoing; however, the mere thought of spreading my wings to fly seemed unattainable.

What had become of me? To be honest, it was a question I could not answer; one I was afraid to find out. I did know that I was no longer an unsilenced, carefree nestling anymore. It made me feel sad at times.

Despite fear of the unknown, and the comfort and familiarity of suffering, I grew tired of my circle of self-destruction. I wanted at least one thing in my dreadful cage- no cages, to change. My mind trapped me just as much as the metal bars that surrounded me. Unsure of how to make change, I did what I thought would help. I’d move my water bowl here, move a twig there, attempt to sing neutral harmonies, and even stuck my beak close to the open cage door. Other than the appearance of my destructive shelter, nothing changed. My inner being was still the same, my sorrows untouched.

It wasn’t until I took a deep look into myself and my previous actions, did I understand how to shape-shift into someone new. Previous attempts failed because I tried to fly on my own, expecting an easy flight after leaving the sky un-soared for quite some time. It did not occur to me that change does not happen instantly, without work or transformation involved. One day, lost in thought, I observed a yellow butterfly delicately flutter through the nest. This is when the answer came to me. Butterflies are not born in their state of beauty, they must transform. And that is what I did.

I constructed new friends (their names were Hope, Trust, Faith, and Forgiveness) that I could furrow into during times of distress or difficulty. I created a unique and personalized plan of transformation. Slowly, I relied less on starvation and the use of pellets laced with drugs. I did not feel the need to inflict self-injury as often. Eventually, I developed enough confidence to spread my wings and soar into the vast blue openness of freedom, where I could belt out peaceful rhythms and chants with the rest of the birds.

After all these years, the hawk no longer owns me. I can finally say that I am uncaged and I am free!


Many people outside of the entertainment world might just believe that being and entertainer is a glamorous life. It is but it isn’t. With that being said, let me introduce myself. My real name is Royce Nesby. Yet everyone calls me Dancer! I been dancing longer than I been walking. My mother would tell anyone who would listen that I even danced out of her womb. Maybe she drank one too many Margarita’s the late morning I was born. My father is a classic pianist, while my mother dabbled in the arts. I was destined to be a star in which never quite materialized as everyone believed. Oh, I did quite well for myself. You see, I’m a back up dancer. For those of you who may not know what exactly a back up dancer is I’ll try an explain. A backup dancer also known as background dancer is a performer who dances with or behind the lead performers in a live musical act or in a music video. Their movements provide a visual symmetry and rhythm to accompany the music. Dancers like myself must regularly attend rehearsals, costume fittings, tapings and concert dates as part of my job. While it's not necessary to have a college degree in dance, but it doesn’t hurt. I attended New York University Tisch School of the Arts by acquiring a full four year scholarship. The synchronized steps, glamorous costumes and proximity to stars make a career as a backup dancer seem like a dream come true for many. While the finished product may seem polished and desirable, however, the long hours and physical strain make dancing one of the most demanding careers today. Depending on the type of job, its length and other factors such as skill and experience, a dancer salary can vary from modest to lucrative. Mines was lucrative. Dancers are typically paid by the gig and pay-per-gig can reach over $1,000. Outside of money, compensation also comes in the form of lodging, exposure and/or costumes. It’s important to remember, however, that pay can be contingent upon other factors including ticket sales. Because of the gig-to-gig nature of dancer income, dancers also find other ways to bring in money between performances; this can be through teaching, food service or arts administration, among other day jobs. The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics reports the hourly wage of a dancer at $17.15 per hour as of 2017. The dancer salary in companies and on Broadway is about $1,861 a week. Depending on the gig, your dance job may also come with benefits including health insurance, dancewear (shoes, sweatpants, etc.) and access to massage or physical therapists. This truth I share with you today is what most people believe a back up dancer truly, is behind their backs: A person who isn't important. A person who hides in the shadow of the star or someone else. A copy cat fake moon walker. Yo, Sis did you hear about that back up dancer Royce we went to dance school with? Na, what's up with him? He's just a back up dancer! Okay, enough with the shop talk. Let me give you the real low down and dirties about back up dancing. For 12 years straight I never had a vacation or basically a day off. My first video was with an entertainer known as Vanilla Ice. Myself and another dancer danced along with Vanilla Ice to Ice-Ice Baby. Much of the video was filmed inside a rat infested dingy warehouse. I remember because one of the stagehands got bit by a rat the size of a small armadillo. I was paid a measly $300. I must have did something right because my mother who had volunteered to be my manager got a call from Madonna. When I went to audition for her Blonde Ambition World Tour I was immediately told never to speak personally with the star. I stayed with her for four years. To me it was a gig I really made good money. I got along with a few of the dancers. I never liked the ones who tried to upstage her or suck up to her. Her name truly fit her. Because it seemed that we dancers were always competing for her attention in this concentrated amount of time, we weren’t tight at all. I think a lot of that is positioning, for her and it kind of put us in relation to her in a certain way that I guess she felt it benefitted her. But I didn’t feel like we were a family. It was a job and it was really cool and we were sharing our art; that’s what my relationship with her always felt like. It was different, totally different when I started back up dancing for the King of Pop Michael Jackson. I’m not here to throw no shade on that wonderful entertainer. He out danced and out worked all of his back up dancers. He was the constant pro and a real perfectionist. I can say that for the 3 years I danced along side him I learned more about dancing than I did in College. I was truly sadden by his untimely demise like many of his fans. But like in show business the show must go on and I danced along the sides of Luther Vandross, Patti Labelle, Mariah Carey and Mary J. Blige to name a few. It wasn’t until I sprained my ankle that I realized that I had never spent a holiday with friends nor family or even by myself. Those holiday occasions were for the fans and when I made the most money. All I really wanted to do for the first time in my dancing life was to do what normal people do during the holidays. You know like read a novel, fly a kite, let off a few fireworks, get drunk and have my ex girl friend call the police on me, walking a neighbor’s dog to pick up chicks, eat until I have to unbutton my pants, wait up all night to actually see how Santa Claus comes down the chimney in my condo, go to a nice restaurant at around 7pm, go to church, truly honor our soldiers who fought to protect us, to know what labor day is and celebrate a birthday. Like I said earlier having a back up dancing career isn’t that bad unless you consider all the enjoyment you miss during the holidays.


Daniel Patterson was an inventor. He invented things--Or at least, he thought of himself as an inventor. You know, someone who invents things.

He didn’t listen to the people who told him that he would never amount to anything. Those that said things like, “Don’t quit your day job.” and “Why do you waste your time with these stupid inventions?” or Like, “That will never work?” and “I bet You’re really bad at sex.” However, Daniel was determined to show them all, to prove them wrong--Not necessarily the sex one, but you get the point.

Daniel locked himself in his work station and got to work on his latest invention. He was determined to succeed this time if it was the last thing he did, he would create something of importance from scratch from the blueprints of his mind.

Minutes passed while Daniel brainstormed. Hours passed and Daniel added scrapped paper to an increasingly large pile of balled up failures. Days passed and Daniel saw the empty bottles that lay scattered amongst the items that cluttered the floor fill up with his own urine. He couldn’t even bother wasting time leaving the confinement of his workspace. Not when he was this close--and he felt very close indeed, to a breakthrough. He was standing on the verge of something great, he just knew it...

Days stacked upon days, until Daniel had home a few months without ceasing his search for his breakout project. And when he found it. It was nothing short of glorious.

When Daniel took his polished plans to the nearest patenting office, they informed him that his idea was in fact not patented yet and that if he were to succeed in creating his invention (which, they made sure to add, did not seem to be of any great importance or usefulness to humanity) he would be able to patent the device and conclude that he was truly a bonafide, certified, and successful inventor.

The days ahead were going to be grueling, and Daniel knew it.

“Bring it on,” he said, as his car idled in the McDonald’s drive-thru. “I’m sorry can you repeat that?” a static riddled voice responded from the speaker box.

“Just a large fry,” Daniel responded, then returned to his daydreams. “I can see it n--” “Alright,” The speaker's voice boomed. “So that’ll be 2 Big Macs, 3; 8 piece chicken nuggets, 2 filet o’ fish sandwiches, one add pickles, one double cheese,” A brief pause. Daniel waited for the speaker box to finish repeating his order back. He tapped his foot on the floorboards of the car. Opened his mouth to say something, “Uhhh. . .” “One large Coke, 2 small Sprites, an oreo McFlurry, and 7 apple pies. Will that complete the order?” “Diet coke,” Daniel said. “Now, repeat it back.” The man in the speaker box did, this time mentioning the diet coke rather than Coke and Daniel pulled his car through the drive-thru lane, grabbed his wide assortment of foods and drinks, and headed home for what was going to be the breakthrough of a lifetime, he just knew it. They forgot the large fries.

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SEVEN YEARS LATER

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> Daniel sat behind the panel table on a spotlighted stage. A large audience just beyond the glare of the lights could be heard, but not seen.

Daniel shared the stage with some other famous inventors who have contributed to the advancement of civilization. ‘None to the extent that l did,’

Daniel thought to himself.

He glanced around at the other participants at this question panel. His eyes landed on the inventor at the far end to his right and stuck there.

The man sitting in the last chair held a smug, pompous expression on his face. Rage built up inside of Daniel, and he did everything he could to contain himself--even though he wanted nothing more than to burst from his seat, charge over at Vladamir Cryma, stabbing him repeatedly with his novel invention that laid on the table in front of him.

Daniel didn’t know that you could hate a man with such passion. With a furry stronger than any creative inclinations that had burrowed itself into his consciousness.

The host of the event came onto the stage and a cheer erupted out in the crowd. The Q and A  was just about to begin.

The host, who looked a lot like Ryan Seacrest--but wasn’t--, introduced the panel. Each member waved and said a quick ‘thank you’ or ‘nice to be here’ . A few just nodded.

Daniel stood and took a bow, to the loud applause and approval of the crowd.

‘Top that,’ Daniel said in his head to Vladimir. Vladimir, feigned humility and dismissed the applause when he was introduced to the crowd. Daniel imagined a faulty stage light, falling out of place, swinging onto the stage, and smashing Vladamir with a burst of exploding electricity.

His mouth curled into a half-smile at the thought.

After a few moments of the host setting up the rules and procedures for the Q and A session, it had officially begun. Daniel sat up in his chair, took a sip of water from his complimentary water bottle, and folded his hands on the table.

The first few questions were directed at a couple of the other panelists. Daniel eagerly waited for a question to address him.

It happened roughly 7 minutes into the session and Daniel perked up, ready to answer the questions and soak up the flattering.

“Ah yes, this one’s for Dr. Daniel Patterson,” a young man from the audience said, holding his phone out in front of him. “Dr. Patterson, as a man who has done so much for the advancement of humankind and all of civilization through your groundbreaking work in so many of the fields that scientists and historians alike now call you ‘the father of’ , with such amazing and seemingly impossible feats and accomplishments as curing cancer, discovering evidence of an afterlife, figuring out that the chicken did, in fact, come before the egg and the invention of time travel and the first time machine--” “Daniel held the microphone to his mouth, “don’t forget the discovery of why and how Stonehenge was built.” His comment was met with a collective chuckle from the audience--he ate it up. “Right, that and countless other achievements,” the man continued. “I’m--” “You mean like, the development of hovercrafts? Complete city electricity grids reliant only on solar power, the harnessing of cow’s farts to fuel watercrafts that happen to seek out and remove all contaminants in all the world’s oceans, and being voted the world’s sexiest scientist in Science USA 4 years in a row?” Again the audience pooled together a respectable laugh at Daniel’s demonstration of feats, he finished with, “and who is really, really good at sex.”

‘They must have not heard,’

Daniel told himself, and repeated, “and who is really, I’m talking, really good at sex now.”

The man who stood at the mic, huffed a short laugh, and continued his line of question, “ I’m curious Doctor, how does it feel to sit just a few chairs away from the man who was able to successfully create a prototype of your first invention at the mere age of 15 years? The only one you were never able to successfully create?” Daniel’s smile faded.

“Excuse me.”

A hush fell over the audience.

 “Vladamir Cryma, who took your failed attempts at creating a--” “Mmm, yes. Well of course I’m well aware of what his invention is.” “Right,” The man looked back down at his phone, and read “My question to you is, how do you explain his ability to do the only thing that you’ve seemed unable to do in your accomplished and successful life?” Daniel thought about his answer for a moment. CHewed on it. Mulled it over, fought every instinct in his body to look over at Vladimir and see what kind of smug look was on his lying, no good, cheating thief's face.

“Well,” Daniel started. “Beginner’s luck.” At which point Daniel jumped from his seat and ran full sprint towards Vladimir, yelling “I’ll kill you, you son of a b!+(4 !!!” Only to be tackled by the event security, throwing him sideways into the table, knocking it over, and spilling the panelist's belongings and microphones all over the stage.

Daniel suffered three broken ribs, two sprained wrists, a mild concussion,

and a gut-wrenching low blow at that year’s Q and A panel for Leading Scientists of the World.


"What a pretty room I possess! My Dream Room." Lis said it inside her mind already three times this morning. Maybe she has started noticing her room way too much after staying at home for a whole year. But really, pretty or not, this is her dream room. A small but cozy one with a dark type white color! A study table on the right side of the door, a small closet, a bathroom on the corner and a cute bed on the other corner with a large window. Pretty tidy room, well except for the 'large window'. Its glass is at a breaking stage, hanging from the rods of the window. So anyone who notices her room from the inside sees the 'almost' broken window before her tidy room. And those who see it from the outside, they see nothing but that annoying window. Lis sometimes feels sad, because that is her favourite place in her room. That window is why it's her dream room. A rainy dark night with cool breezes coming inside and a cup of coffee while spreading her legs on the bed- ahh! Relaxing chills starts flowing through her body. She thinks of doing the exact same thing now. She does exactly the same. Well, maybe except for the rain and coffee and spreading legs like that hurts. Also it is not night, it is an unusually bright morning. "Maybe next time a cozy weather" and she starts her usual, staring outside from the window. Sometimes the window glass starts creaking so she has to become careful to open and close it. What does she stare at? Her lawn, the empty neighbour house on the corner, the river behind that, the trees behind that, the sun staring back at her with terrible bright light, the people, the road in between and pretty much everything. She doesn't like to study anymore. It's not like she ever liked it. She loves to eat. But she is not allowed to eat many things.

Time past and it was past 11 in the morning. It was the same as usual. That's what she thought. What she didn't expect is the arrival of the new neighbour in her town. She watched the private car as a old couple came out and started some work with the truck. They were moving in, to the empty house. Suddenly her eyes went to person who came out of the truck's front seat. It was a boy. A boy?!!! She watched him closely, but not to much cause she must hold her respect she built for herself in her mind. A bit pale skin, normal sized mesomorph body, looking much taller than her and a baby face. He looked like he was 19. Lis was always good at guessing age and she was sure of it. "A boy my age?!!" She controlled herself. She kept her hands in a cool way and looked the other side so that he notices her. That'swhat normally any girl wants. She will sit normally and the boy will notice her and she will notice him too but pretend not to. And then he will want to be closer to her and she will act like she doesn't know. Right? Simple. But not for her. Maybe she never noticed the boy noticing her. She never had a male friend either. She was trying pretty hard to be noticed. Smiling a bit, brushing hair to the side of the ear etc. But the window was constantly disturbing. She felt angry at the window glass. She told her mother to change that but it'll take a long time. She didn't tell her mother anything after that though. Managing their life alone is a great deal. And she also doesnt seem to come of any help. Anyway, noticing that the boy didn't even see her, she laid down on bed. And the day went on usual. At night she gave herself a goal, the goal of being noticed by the boy? At least. Her goal was to make the boy talk to her and be friends with him and secret crush of the boy on her. But that is impossible in five days. Five days? Yes. This was the goal set by her. If five days are over, she will take this marvelous chance away for him. And give it to

another one? Maybe or maybe not. Because there are no boys the same age in this town. This was her chance. This was day 1 which is over. She must take action quickly. Useless but fun! On the second day, she wakes up early as usual. She loves waking up early in the morning, you can see the sunrise from the start. What about the darkness before it? Well, she isn't scared anymore. Darkness seems to be scary, but if you find the real peace in it, you won't feel scared anymore. Or if you can let your fear be defeated by the fact that darkness is nothing but the absence of photons. Anyway, she carefully opens the window. It creaks a little bit. She gets scared. Well that's one point for the window. Then she waits for the sun to wake up. The scenery is so pleasant that you can look at it all day and night. Except the sun is not seen at night. When the sun rises she, guess what? Stares through the window until she gets bored or the window gives her a sign. There are a lot of snacks beside her bed because getting out of bed is hard for her. Maybe it's laziness, or not.

She waits for him to show up but he doesn't. Maybe they are busy with moving in. So she doesn't bother. In the night after dinner she sees him on the road with a bag of groceries. She becomes excited but controls herself. It is not good for a lady to get all excited and happy over a lad! It makes you attract less male towards you and you seem like a self respectless easy target. Suddenly he looks up and she instantly moves her eyes away. She thought he was seeing her. Haha, when she looked back again, he was gone. She felt embarrassed but didn't give it too much of a thought. She thought of dropping him out of anger. She knew she was being too sarcastic so she calmed herself down. "Oh Shoot!" She panicked again when she realized that Day 2 is already over! These days are really magical. In her nineteen years of life, Lis has never woken up at exactly 5 AM in the morning. Hah, Truly miraculous! Today she saw the sunrise and slept again because she stayed up late yesterday. A chit chat in the living room woke her up at around 11 AM. She knew there was guests in her house. Maybe her mother's friends, although their days have been going all alone since her father, never mind. She didn't bother knowing who came. She doesn't go to any other room in the house, it tires her out. Anyway she started her usual, reading a book for a while. "The while" ended in 10 minutes. She doesn't have a habit for books, maybe that's why. She easily feels bored doing anything at a stretch, well maybe staring through the window is very interesting. The irritating window has given her patience, she believes that. Once out of rage she tried to break, that's when the never ending creaking started. Then one day she tried to fix it, and the rest is History. She looks at the river and the boredom goes away. Impressive part is that she can even hear the sounds of the waves too. Advantages of a less populated small town!

The volume from the living room slows down. That means the guests are leaving. She looks through the window to see who came. Yes, the entrance to their house can be seen by her room. She stares through the window as she sees the 'boy' and his mother coming out of their house. "They were here all along?!!!" She felt guilty for not trying to know who came. Suddenly they both look at her. She couldn't handle such a sudden challenge so without knowing what to do she laid down suddenly. Later she cursed herself for the fact that how awkward and embarrassing a person can be at that point. She even started feeling second hand embarrassment for herself! "I bet they saw me. Bye bye world"

"Stop the drama!" She listened to herself and tried to pretend that nothing happened. Then she thought, why didn't she hear his voice a single time? A shy one. "Aha! I knew it! I'm so smart these days." She stopped brainstorming over these things. A sudden thought came over her mind. Why am I giving so much importance to him? Because I am bored? No. At least not for it. For some useless experience? Maybe or maybe not. Maybe there is something deep that she isn't understanding. "What's there to understand? He doesn't even know my name. And there's even no point!" Whatever! Day 3 ends with those irrelevant or true questions. "Why am I the one sitting with the driver? I am bad at talking. Mom could replace me too. God! So uneasy." "Don't worry, young man. I know the address." Aiden just startled with the sudden talk of the driver. "Oh… okay" He said with an unnatural forced smile. To cool it down he looked through the window. Hills, trees, birds, flowers, sky; these can easily ease a person's mind, especially if he is moving into this amazing place. He was neutral about 'moving into the' plan for his mother's work transfer. His father is a freelancer. And he is a 19 year old stuck in the late teenage life with nothing to be overwhelmed by. "This is it. A few houses ahead is your new home". ''Beside the river?" The driver didn't respond because he didn't even hear what he said. He felt embarrassed but quickly cut it off with the truck window. Suddenly he saw someone on the window of a house on a little height. "Oh my God! Is that a girl?!!!" "We are here." "Oh right." He got down and was too shy to look at her again. When he got inside his house he took a sneak peak but she was gone. He felt sad. But thinking that a pretty girl's house is beside his just made his mind blow off.

At night he looked through his window and saw her face. Wow! OH MY GOD! SHE'S SO… He tried to calm down. But he notices that her window was broken. Well a part of the glass was hanging with the broken rod. It is not broken but it is. He tried to observe her. "Oh my God! She's 19. Thank God!" He was always good at guessing age. It developed because of practice since he always needed to know who to talk to, who to respect and who to do whatever you wanted to. Why the 'thank god' Well, very unusual but he was 7never interested in older or younger girls. So he used to use his ability to identify same aged girls to date with. But he is like that polite type male one in a billion who doesn't think of anything else other than love. So he used to like girls but never thought of dating because he is always looking for his soulmate. It seems like he doesn't date girls but in the case of every male and for Aiden too, girls don't date him. And for that girl too, he is thinking of becoming friends, not more.

He couldn't sleep at night at all. Looks like he couldn't adjust to the new environment. It was morning but it was dark. He went to his window to clear his mind. He got scared when he saw someone through the window. He got in a fighting stance out of fright, but soon found out that it was her, the girl. What is she doing so late at night? He was confused when he saw she was doing nothing but just staring through her window. "A mysterious one. I like it" He tried to observe what she was doing. Was it stalking? He forced his eyes to look down. But he couldn't resist. Why was he so much obsessed with a girl who he doesn't even know? It's not beauty, maybe it's something else. He didn't know why he wanted to talk to her, to know her name. UHe wanted to know her name. He was devastated to see her face to face. He had never obsessed over a girl like that before. He wanted to know her. But his mother might suspect him of doing those things. They are not that close, Aiden and his parents. But he wanted to overcome all that and just meet her in person. "Why am I doing this? Who is she? Isn't it going too fast? If this is going like then is she… is she my… No! It can't be. Huh! Stop that. You do that with every girl you meet. Whatever!" But he just wants to meet her. 5 days! He will overcome his obstacles of shyness and parents to meet her. Why did he give himself 5 days? Maybe just like that. Maybe Destiny. Who knows? What he knows is that day 1 was over. The next day was really busy for him. Moving in and all. He didn't go out of the house at all. Only at night did he go to get some groceries. It was not that hard to find shops since the town is really small. He was heading home and suddenly saw her at the window. She quickly looked away so he was embarrassed. "Why did I look straight up at her? Now she will be disgusted with him for life." Out of embarrassment he ran home. Only before sleeping he realized day 2 is over and things just got worse! "Wake up… wake up Aiden" "What happened mom?" She wanted him to buy some gifts as they were going to visit the neighbours. NEIGHBOURS! That means he'll get the chance to visit her!

Anyway, there weren't that many houses in this area. Actually not one except the one in front of them. His mother and Aiden went there. Her mother opened. They greeted each other. Aiden was always an unsocial type, in a bad way. So he did nothing but sit like a statue throughout the whole time. Also it was her house. Oh Crap! IT WAS HER HOUSE. "What if she comes out? I can't show my face. I can talk to her though. What am I thinking? Both of the mothers won't let me do so, I think."

"Who do you live with?" " Only my daughter and I" Aiden noticed a psychic change in her mother's voice. He somehow knew she didn't want to talk about it. "And your husband?" "He left us for another woman" "Oh" Complete silence. He was feeling uneasy. But his mother seemed to enjoy it. "I am sorry." " No, it's not your fault" "Where is your daughter? Won't she come to meet us?" His heart started pounding. "No, she can't. My daughter is unable to move her legs. She is paralyzed." His mind just went numb. He didn't know what to feel. He never fell into any circumstances like this before. "Oh, sorry. What actually ha…" Aiden pushed his mother with his elbows. This was too much. His mother was crossing the line and it made him super angry. "My daughter's maybe resting now. And at thus time of pandemic, it's better for her to stay at her room." "Oh right. We'll take a leave. Here are some gifts. We need to organize everything in our house." They greeted each other and started leaving. When they reached the yard door, Lis's mother told them that they could have a look over the window. Her daughter

is usually there. They both turned to see. She WAS there but suddenly moved away from there. He thought it was for him. "Haha, I saw her. A shy one I see. Just like my son. What's her name?" "Alisa, Alisa J. Morphy." "Name starts with A? Wow! What a pretty name!"

He went home and just thought about her. "Stop it, man. You're cringy."But why was he doing that? Isn't it a bit awkward? Is there something deep that he doesn't understand? What is there to understand. She doesn't even know his name." Whatever! Day 3 just ended with those questions. Day 4. Lis's mood is pissed off since her mother started talking about some boys stuff or something. Was it because of him? She hates that kind talk. Well, the useful thing she found out was that his name is Aiden J. Mcarthy. Name starts with A. Wow! Tomorrow's the day. I don't wanna listen to my mother. Just because father left doesn't mean every boy's bad." A strong wind blew through the room and she saw the window swinging. She carefully closed the window. "Whatever,I WILL MEET HIM." "I WILL MEET HER." Maybe he became more determined because his mother came to indirectly tell him not to fall for an impared girl. Both of their Day 4 ends. He woke up at the dawn of the 5th day. He knows She wakes up around that time. He fled through his window and secretly went to her house. Nothing will stop him now. He quietly forwarded to her window. He was finally about to do what he has never done in his life. But he saw no one in the room. What he was left with was nothing but the broken glass pieces

of that 'large' window on the grass bed.


The cloak of brume was lifting. Once released from its shadows Greta was afforded a clearer view from the dew-damp park bench. Ah! Yes, that’s better . She absentmindedly scratched the ears of the chubby little black and white dog on her lap, her fingers settled upon a gnarly patch of hair. She gently worried it back into smoothness while watching her grandson Dillon’s elastic smile grow wider as he was projected higher and higher by daddy. Observing their game filled her with sunshine. The mood seemed to transfer to Sushi too, who jumping down, danced, Lipizzaner like, from one foot to another in rhythm. “C’mon girl, let’s go for a walk and explore old Katoomba town eh?” Sushi responded eagerly. Meandering past an old Edwardian house with dust white walls and loganberry stained trims, Greta paused. Her eyes drank in the details. Its worn stone steps, beckoning them to enter. Sushi had always struggled to pull her tummy over the first one. It was inexplicably a couple of inches higher than the others. Remnants of deep red paint clung tenaciously to the outside edges. The slight dip in the middle of the stone from one hundred years of use exuded homeliness like English muffins. The variegated holly still stood in the front garden, its bramble invader still visible. And lilac-lush wisteria enveloped the old wire fence covering up its out-of-sorts utilitarianism. Greta recollected the nut roast, followed by raspberry pavlova she had shared with Brendan. Just the two of them, in the house’s comfortable flag stoned kitchen. It had been during that Christmas meal she had realised how very ill he was. “Haribol you two! Fancy running into you here.” She turned towards the unexpected greeting unique to Hare Krishna devotees. “Goodness! I was just thinking about you and that Christmas lunch and here you are.” “Well you know you should be careful what you wish for,” he quipped. Greta, wrinkling her nose in response, threw him a look that assured him he was not on her wish list. “I’m just heading for that antiquarian bookshop on Waratah Street, care to join me?” “Why not,” she replied. Unhappy memories ran like tributaries into the river of their past, yet somehow it all seemed insignificant now. Brendan certainly showed no sign he was concerned she might harbour any resentment. Best cling to happier times Greta decided, under the changed circumstances. “I am just surprised to see you here, how’s your Mum and Dad?” “They’re great, and here with me now. You are bound to bump into them one of these days walking around here.” Greta decided not to think too deeply about Brendan’s parents in case they might also appear around the next corner. It did seem quite likely. Odd things had been happening. But some adjustment was to be expected, she thought. Quatermain’s Books was not far, so they had little time to swap stories before the shield-shaped black sign embellished with its traditional gold leaf loomed above them. Entering through the narrow mahogany double doorway Greta noticed a faint smell of Nag Champa. The shop’s floorboards had been polished to a soft sheen by its many visitors and were graced by a rather ancient Turkish rug. Greta had always liked bookshops, especially the old ones. The kind with shelves full of forgotten memories in foxed pages, their thick paper sometimes not quite separated. Her eyes were soon attracted to some old leather-cloth covers with embossed lettering with titles like ‘ The Builders’ . She moved towards the small Masonic history section. Smiling to herself, Greta remembered how affronted Brendan had been when she had compared the Krishna’s to the Masons. Sushi stayed quietly at her feet, while she and Brendan browsed among the steeple-tall shelves so expertly fitted jigsaw-esque into the limited space. Noticing the afternoon had drawn in, Greta resolved to move on, she still had a few more places she wanted to re-visit. Brendan had not changed much, he was totally absorbed in the books. She might as well not have been there. “We’d better be getting on, I have a bit to do still”, she said. “Nice seeing you.” “No worries”, was Brendan’s mumbled response, still too deeply engrossed to pay much attention. Making their way back out into the late afternoon sun, Sushi instinctively turned towards the highway. Greta glanced down at the old railway station signs as they crossed the bridge. There was something wild-west about the lettering. She imagined a steaming iron-horse screeching to a halt before whisking away its passengers clad in their Stetson and gold watch-chain finery. They walked on, the oak-lined pavements slipped silently under their feet. The road bowered by these relics from the days of the Empire. As they approached the cottage on South Street, the old rambler’s heady perfume brought the garden’s charms back. She noted the two cherry trees she had planted on the left side were already heavy with fruit, affording the resident sparrows a seasonal feast. These gentle little brown birds had always been welcome when she had lived here. She was heartened the new owner had not driven them off and, for a while, she tarried, amused by their dust-bath antics. A passing breeze sharpened her mind a little. Her thoughts turned back to her son and grandson in the park. “We best be heading back my little Soosh, we have quite a way to go.” The willing dog trotted out in front, her short legs carried her along jauntily, as her long coat followed the direction of the light wind. Greta smiled. This lovely little soul had been her companion for seventeen years. She remembered Brendan saying that Sushi would take a human birth next time, such was the goodness of her spirit. Considering he thought dogs were unclean when they first met, this was the highest praise he could have bestowed on any animal. An old photograph danced across her mind, Brendan and Sushi in bed on their backs, both fast asleep, their heads together on the pillow. How quickly that undershot smile had wheedled her way into his heart! Funny how things change, the same but different. They turned the corner to the park but the swings lay empty. Greta walked over to where the family had played, in the hope of finding some lingering trace of laughter. All was quiet now. “Looks like they have gone home”. “Well if we hurry we may be there before Dillon’s bedtime”. They walked on together, past the old laundromat with its flaked paint lifting from the walls like tortured petals. Past the takeaway Chinese, its occupants just warming up for the evening. Through the City, on up the hill, the one she used to find too difficult to climb. Yes, funny how things change, the same but different. “Almost there old girl.” The sun had gone to bed as the flats loomed out of the dusk. Greta weaved past the green bin blockade, through the entrance to the block at the back. Katy and Eric had been so happy when they found this place with its distant glint of the sea across the old Randwick cemetery. It was home to the three of them now. Climbing the flight of stairs to the landing, she wondered if the bats had already left for the night from their roost in the eaves. The light spilt yellow from the lounge window. Looking in, she could see her grandson in his bouncy chair. Still smiling, always smiling. Eric was in the kitchen, cooking. It was painful to be so close. Stepping into the room, Greta knelt beside Dillon and stroked his hair. He turned towards her, puzzled to find no one there. She ached to be able to hug her son and cuddle her grandson but they were oblivious to her presence. The closest suggestion she was near, might be a waft of her favourite perfume, or perhaps thinking they had heard her call their name. She had found her darling Sushi waiting for her when she arrived. And Brendan was around too it seemed, even if he was someone she could easily do without. There was a lot to learn about this place. Others she had met told her it was possible to communicate with the living. She hoped she could learn how; because it was going to be a long time before Dillon and Eric would cross over to the dimension she inhabited now. Funny how things change; everything the same but different.


Shelby the rat skidded to a stop on the dew-slick grass when she saw a black cat. No, not just a black cat, but the jet black cat Jack, an insufferably arrogant cat that only ever ate, lounged, disdained, and occasionally partook in his sole hobby – mousing. And he was a savage mouser. Hallowe’en was without a doubt the worst day of the year, and this one was already shaping up to break records. Of course, the stupid shindig yesterday wasn’t much better. Shelby knew better than to spend all night partying, but in her defence Ramón was there, and they danced and he was just so damn chiseled she could barely stand it. But she had a bit too much to drink, because she didn’t quite make it home and woke up under a shrub. And now she was going to die. Unless she managed to sneak away, since Jack hadn’t seen her yet. She tucked her tail and back-pawed. And then stepped right onto a crunchy fall leaf, which tore, crackled, and shattered under even her meager weight. Jack snapped his head in her direction. His eyes found hers, and then his pupils ballooned as he locked on. Ah, balls, she thought. She bounded away with a squeak , and the cat-in-black followed. Shelby sprinted under a shriveled rosebush, but Jack gracefully sidestepped it. She dove into a carved jack-o-lantern ( Terrible name, she thought) and Jack pounced on it, knocking it over. She crawled out its mouth, and his paw whipped after her and just missed. She leapt off the pumpkin and Jack meowed! fiercely, stuck. Ha, dumbass, she thought. Jack violently jerked his arm out of the pumpkin, tearing its face apart. The cat, his gleaming black coat draped in strands of orange gore, flashed all his teeth and hissed loud enough to set off the three closest murders of crows. Aw, Jesus, seriously? she thought. Shelby bolted as Jack pounced. He just missed her with his paws as she ran into the street. No, she didn’t look left and right. Yes, it was dangerous, because of humans and their dumb cars. She had other things on her mind. She sprinted across the street just as the Kelleys’ SUV drove up. She cleared it with tail to spare, but Jack wasn’t so lucky. But he wasn’t all that unlucky either, as the Kelleys must have seen him. After all, everyone in the neighbourhood knew he belonged to the crazy lady. They slammed on their brakes, and the car squealed to a stop, as did the cat. The bumper juddered a whisker’s width from Jack’s nose, and for a moment, everything was quiet. Serves you right, you dolt, Shelby thought, and then she slunk under the Bakers’s fence. Jack drew back, sputtered indignantly, and slapped the bumper over and over and over, because honestly, the audacity of it all! These people almost pancaked him – him of all people! – with their careless humanness. The Kelleys honked, and when Jack wouldn’t leave, they honked again, and finally just leaned on the horn. Jack scrammed just as other neighbours screamed at the Kelleys to shut up, and so Shelby had earned herself some reprieve. But she wasn’t familiar with the Bakers’s yard, nor sure how to get to her home from there. Everything would be so much easier after midnight, but when she looked up she saw it wasn’t even noon. Maybe I can just wait it out, she thought. And then her stomach roiled. More hangover than hunger, and with the adrenaline of Jack’s chase fading, she felt acutely thirsty. She stuck to the begonias and peonies growing alongside the Bakers’s house, each of them losing a battle against autumn. Old Lady Baker was always puttering around with her plants, which meant a garden hose somewhere. Shelby crept along until she came to the end of the plants, and surveilled the back yard. And there it was, coiled in the grass. She slunk towards the hose, sniffed at the head, but it was dry. Blast it! she thought. Her tail swished back and forth. She snuffled the ground, but it too was most unmoist. Then she side-eyed the nozzle. Could she trigger it? How hard could it be? Harder than it seemed, it seemed. When she pushed the handle she just ended up sliding the whole nozzle around. She realized she’d need to brace it against something. She skulked around the garden until she found a stone, then rolled it towards the hose. She jammed it into the ground and braced it against the nozzle’s handle. Then she took a run at the trigger and slammed into it. It depressed! The whole hose thrummed with the water’s violent rush, and then the spring shot back and flung Shelby into the air. She spun twice and crashed, but when she rose with a grunt, she realized she had succeeded. The grass was freshly beaded with water. She lumbered towards it, already able to taste that refreshing liquid, but then a trio of squirrels tore onto the lawn. They chittered madly with their ridiculous teeth and darted after Shelby. Damn it! Shelby thought, scramming away from the lunatics. The squirrels chased her all over the lawn and to the fence, which she crawled under. They didn’t follow her, so she took a breather, but it turned out this new yard was the home of the Chens’s Dobermann, Chainsaw. Chainsaw growled a single warning, sounding like his namesake, and then he lunged. Shelby flattened her ears and ran like she’d never run before. Under garden chairs which Chainsaw knocked aside. Under a barbeque which Chainsaw leapt over and tipped. She sprinted towards a riding mower but at the last moment veered left. Chainsaw, too committed, slammed right into the machine, causing it to rock. He yelped once. It was enough of a break for Shelby to slip under the next fence. Behind her the fence boards shook as Chainsaw slammed into them. He barked and tore at the ground with his paws. Shelby put another three yards between herself and the dog. When she cleared the third she found a shrub and collapsed under it. Oh yes, this Hallowe’en was on track to break all records as the worst. When she opened her eyes again she saw the shadows were longer, and she realized she must have passed out. This sent a chill through her veins, but nothing had eaten her. Then she heard the distant shrieks of children, all crying in unison. The trick-or-treaters were out. The little terrorists would be crawling all over the streets, making-believe they were monsters and never once realizing the real monsters were under the masks. All it would take was just one of them to spot a rat, and they’d all scream and throw rocks and stomp. Shelby shuddered. But then she noticed this yard had a bird bath. It was a three-foot-tall marble bowl on a carved column – well, okay, it was probably plastic – and as there were a couple hummingbirds there, there must have been water too. A bit of a climb, but… her stomach roiled and settled the debate. Shelby scrambled up and startled the birds. They glared at her, but she ignored them and dunked her face in the water. It was so cool and refreshing, balm for her parched soul. When she had her fill she looked down at the water, watching the playful waves ripple across the surface. She saw the reflection of the darkening sky, and there , she saw the mirror image of the full moon rising. Oh, how she hated that moon. It was the worst of all possible moons, especially on this, the worst of all possible days. And then she saw the reflection of something moving quickly, quickly looming larger, and largely resembling an owl. Shelby threw herself from the bird bath with a squee! and the owl whooshed by, talons just missing. It glided soundlessly and looped around for another pass, while she plopped to the ground with a burp. She had drunk too much water and felt the start of a cramp, but she put it out of her mind and once more cannonballed away. The one time she looked over her shoulder she saw the owl diving, and she let out a panicked squark! Death loomed from above, but in front of her, perhaps salvation: a vast cave of shadows beneath a minivan. And maybe, just maybe, she saw the gleaming black eyes of another rat there, watching her approach. Safe harbour, if she could make it. She dove at the last moment and felt the rush of talons ruffling her fur. But the owl pulled up, not wanting to slam into the van. Shelby hurtled under the vehicle and skidded to a stop beneath it, less running than bouncing, rolling, and flopping. She could barely breathe. Her heart again hammered her ribcage and every muscle hurt, and for a moment all she could do was lay in the darkness. But eventually she caught her breath, and noticed the other rat had sidled up to her. He sat up on his haunches and sniffed at her. Yeah, I’m okay buddy, thanks, she thought. She rolled over and got up. The other rat snuffled her snout. Yeah, thanks, she thought. She patted him on the shoulder and then stretched. That was a close one, wasn’t it? He snuffled at her side, and then her legs, and then behind– Hey! Shelby swatted his ear. Not interested, buddy! Jesus, at least buy me dinner first. The other rat retreated, sniffed in her general direction. And then Shelby got the hiccoughs, so he lost interest. They stood like that for a while, as night crept in. The trick-or-treaters were out in full force, and every few seconds they heard the shrill battle cry of the sugar addict, “TRICK OR TREAT!!!” The little maniacs did everything with extra exclamation marks on Hallowe’en, and the streets became a terrifying land that honest animals didn’t dare to tread. So Shelby and the other rat were stuck for the foreseeable future. And since it was getting colder as the night dragged on too, she started shivering. By the time it was fully dark out, the youngest trick-or-treaters retired. That meant the worst ones would be out in bigger numbers. They weren’t so much treaters as trickers. The other rat started shuffling to the edge of the minivan, apparently tired of waiting. Maybe it’s not a bad idea, Shelby thought. She didn’t want to get caught outside with a bunch of teens running around. The other rat sniffed the air at the edge of the minivan’s shadow and poked his head out. He sniffed some more, and turned back to her, indicating the coast was clear. Shelby breathed a sigh of relief. Then an inky mass of black dropped down on him, tearing him clean in half. Shelby let out a forlorn squee! The shadowy mass lowered its head, and looked under the van. And again, Shelby found herself looking into Jack’s eyes. The other rat was already forgotten, as the cat crouched and assessed the minivan. It wasn’t about food with him – Jack would never deign to eat something as lowly as a rat. For him, it was about the sheer joy of the slaughter. Shelby didn’t know what overcame her. She let out a torrent of squeaking and charged right at him, her jaws snapping and her claws swiping at the air. Jack’s eyes widened and he let out a miserable mreew! He leapt clear away from her. Jack stared at her as though he had seen a dog ghost. One paw was in the air and his tail twitched nervously. Shelby kept her eyes locked on his, and then she… well, she made a noise. A kind of grunt, or bark. It was a little hissy, since her lungs were small. In any case, it was a strange noise and it unsettled Jack, and he flinched and moved a couple more feet away. Shelby backed out down the drive way, keeping her eyes on the cat. She put good distance between them, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before the psycho overcame his shock and reset to factory defaults. Still, there must have been a solid ten feet between them before Jack dared a step in her direction. That’s when she bolted. Jack followed, at first keeping pace but then indulging his instincts and resuming the hunt. Shelby ran unnoticed by a group of trick-or-treaters, but when they saw Jack they shouted “Black cat! Black cat!” and startled him anew, which gave her some elbow room. And then, the damned full moon actually helped out for a change, because in the distance Shelby saw the little house on the corner where she lived. She dashed for it. But when she looked over her shoulder Jack was gaining on her. She scurried up the driveway of the house and ran at the side door, but of course it was closed and she had no way of turning the knob. She slipped into the back yard and Jack leapt over the fence. She thought she might be able to make it into the shed, but she’d been running around all day and Jack was a well-rested, well-fed house cat. She realized she wouldn’t get there in time, and then Jack pounced. Shelby stood by awaiting her fate. And then the sky nudged the moon an inch to the left, signalling midnight had come and gone; the day was officially over. Jack sailed through the air with his claws out and Shelby caught him by the scruff of his neck, with her once-again human hand. “Bad cat!” she said, shaking her index finger at him. He flailed about half-heartedly and mewled most piteously, but in truth he liked being carried around by humans so it didn’t bother him too much. Something about the arrangement was just so proper . “I swear, I’m going to put you up for adoption.” She dug out her spare key from under a garden gnome’s hat and unlocked her side door. A part of her was worried about the neighbours seeing her naked – a minor consequence of the wererat’s curse, which was arguably the least useful curse – but after the day she had, she thought, Screw it. Inside she set Jack down, filled his bowl with kibble, and petted him once, because psycho-or-not, he was her fur baby. She swore off liquor, prepared for bed, and then noticed the trees in her front yard were draped with TP. She sighed. “Worst day of the year.”