Detective Tina Monroe saw the rose sitting on the dead woman’s chest. The musky scent of the killer’s cologne fermented the air. It seemed morbid, but Tina admired how the killer painted the prostitute’s body with her own blood. The delicate rose that he laid between her bare boobs was the finishing touch. Tina could tell that the killer used a switchblade to carve into the prostitute’s torso. They were clean and precise incisions. “So what are we looking at?” Police Chief Danny White asked Tina. He kneeled over the dead woman with a lit cigarette penetrating his lips. “We’re looking at a dead prostitute. I just found out that me and her share the same name,” Tina stated. She turned her head, glancing down at her police chief, causing her silver earrings to dangle against her neck.

“Whoever this guy is, he loves roses.” The police chief chuckled. He examined the prostitute’s body before slowly rising back to his feet. The big man stroked his silver goatee before placing his hard, Arctic steel eyes on Tina. The chief could see suppressed anxiety on Tina’s pale and delicately pretty face. He knew her thoughts since this was the third woman she discovered that shared her name. Tina tried to hide her fear. She fixed her lips to say something, but her superior interrupted with his words of comfort. “Don’t worry, darling. I know this is unnerving, but it probably means nothing,” Chief Danny’s rugged voice had an unsuspecting essence of tranquility.

“How can it mean nothing?” Tina took a deep breath behind her question while placing her hands on her hips. Her hand accidentally bumped into her gun holster, which remained locked around her curvaceous waistline. “This is the third woman we’ve found, slaughtered. And she shares my name just like the other two women. Someone is trying to send a message. They’re killing women who share my name so they can torture me first,” Tina stated her theory. She felt concerned for the safety of her husband and her 4-year-old son. Tracking down a killer was bad enough. What do you do if a killer is tracking you? Tina asked herself that question. It was a question she tried to avoid. Chief Danny shook his head while releasing a rumbling sigh. “Don’t worry. We’re going to find the killer and my men will protect you and your family.” Chief Danny wanted to be a comfort to Tina.

Tina’s mind would not find peace until she captured the killer. She needed to see him in a prison jumpsuit wearing wrist and ankle chains. This would put her mind at ease. Tina shifted through her thoughts, trying to figure out if she pissed off anyone during her years as a cop. She even thought about her past flames. Tina only had a few ex-boyfriends, but that didn’t stop her from wondering if any of them wanted her dead. These mysterious deaths of the women who shared Tina’s name began when Tina reluctantly indulged her mother in a seance.

A seance is an attempt to communicate with the dead. Tina and her mother, Nora, found a ouija board app on Google Play. Tina’s mother downloaded it. A few nights ago, she talked Tina into joining her in a seance and using the digital ouija board to see if they could communicate with a dead loved one. The dead loved one was Tina’s dad. Tina got drunk and wild with her mom that night. The mother and daughter lit up the night like two drunken party girls.

Tina and her mom didn’t see the danger in playing with a ouija board app. They just played with the Devil’s toy while sharing a bottle of Crown Royal. Tina missed her father, Peter. He died when she was 21 years old. Her last memory of him involved holding his hand during his last hours in the hospital. To stop herself from crying about her father’s death, Tina thought about the happier moments she shared with her father. She thought about when he taught her how to drive, and how he kept making her laugh by doing an impersonation of Tony Montana from the gangster movie Scarface , which was Tina’s favorite film.

Every memory of her father seemed vivid. Tina would always see herself at the local fair, sitting on her father’s shoulders again, holding a pillow of cotton candy on a stick. Tina felt like her 6-year-old self, coasting her fingers through her dad’s thin snow-white hair. She could see the ends of her long white spring dress cascading over her father’s broad shoulders. The smell of popcorn and hotdogs serenaded the air.

Tina never lost the memories of going to the local fair with her dad. Those memories were never distant. They helped Tina forget about her father’s sickness and his death. Would an unhappy daughter engage her mother in a seance so that she could bring back her father? Would she get drunk with her mother to hide her depression? In Tina’s case, yes.

Tina thought her mother’s ouija board app would help her reconnect with her father, but what she got was a series of murders. A killer was sending Tina a message by murdering prostitutes who shared her name. A game of death haunted Tina, and she didn’t know how the game would end.

*** Tina laid in the bed beside her husband. Tossing and turning for hours made Tina long for the sunrise so she could escape her restlessness. She turned over on her husband, putting her delicate fingers through his dreadlocks. Tina wanted to kiss her husband, but she didn’t want to wake him.

She decided to kiss him. While kissing her husband, Jamal, she tried to figure out a way to cure her insomnia. Tina knew that kissing on her husband’s lips and waking him up wouldn’t help her sleep, but it felt good at the moment. Jamal groaned and smiled a little when he felt his wife’s lips tickle his face. He knew his wife couldn’t sleep again. This was her pattern. After 6 years of marriage, Jamal became accustomed to his wife’s make love if you can’t go to sleep strategy. Jamal also knew that his wife loved touching him in bed. “I’m sorry, baby. I know you were sleeping,” Tina whispered guiltily with her lips lingering over her husband’s bearded face.

“It’s okay, Sugar Plum. I know you’re having a hard time sleeping,” Jamal whispered up to his wife. He lifted his large and sturdy hand, casting a soft touch against Tina’s face. His smile morphed into a full-blown grin when Tina kissed the palm of his hand.

Tina loved it when her husband would call her Sugar Plum . She knew Jamal could sense her troubled spirit.

Lovemaking wouldn’t completely eradicate Tina’s anxiety. With her lips locked to her husband’s handsome face, she eased her way on top of him, sliding her fingers down his bare muscular chest. Tina loved how the heavenly moonlight coming through the bedroom window revealed the tattoo of a Siberian tiger’s maw on her husband’s chest. She also loved how the moonlight accentuated her husband’s flawless Nubian black skin.

Tina straddled her husband. She leaned down to give him a more sumptuous kiss while resting her prominent cleavage on his tattooed chest. Her ocean-blue satin negligee draped over her husband’s tall body. Tina was on an island of ecstasy, spreading her thighs farther apart and allowing her husband’s manhood to bloom further within her vagina.

Nothing could go wrong now. Once Tina felt penetration, she couldn’t turn back. Maybe falling into an erotic embrace with her husband might help her sleep afterward. Tina faced some guilt for feeling like a woman who was treating her husband like a sex toy. The guilt nagged Tina, and she tried to put it on the back burner.

Tina wanted nothing to interrupt the intimate moment with her husband.

After ten long minutes of pleasure, something happened. Tina had her hand resting on her husband’s chest. Her lips melted with her husband’s kiss. When Tina’s fingers breezed across what felt like a gaping bullet hole in her husband’s chest, her lips froze. First came a gasp, then a loss of breath. Tina disconnected the kiss with her husband. Her eyes zeroed in on the hole in Jamal’s chest. There was blood on her fingertips.

“Baby, there’s a hole in your chest!” Tina released a breathless shriek. She leaped up, flicking on the bedroom light while still sitting on her husband’s abdomen.

“What’s wrong?” Jamal asked. He sat up in the bed, watching as his wife frantically rubbed her fingers across his chest. There was no bullet wound. Jamal flinched when he felt his wife’s glossy fingernails pinch the skin around his nipple. “Ouch! Baby, that hurts!” Jamal grabbed his wife’s wrist, gently taking her slender hand away from his chest.

“I’m sorry, I thought there was a—” Tina stopped herself, not wanting her husband to think that she had lost her mind. She examined her husband’s chest again with the help of the bedroom lamp’s artificial light and saw nothing but smooth skin and the edge of a tiger tattoo.

“You thought there was what?” Jamal wanted his wife to finish her sentence. He had to know what disturbed her to the point of losing her breath. “Come on, you can tell me anything. I know you’re stressed out about a few things.” Jamal caressed his wife’s cheekbone with the back of his fingers.

“You know I’m stressed out about a few things? Is it that obvious?” Tina felt embarrassed while gazing into her husband’s chestnut brown eyes. She told herself that she would never bring the problems from her job back home. “I’ve been trying to hide my troubles from you. Being a nightclub security guard is stressful enough. You don't need to have a crazy wife too.” A giggle escaped from Tina. She thought about how her husband had to deal with the stress of being an African-American man. Tina thought about how her family treated Jamal when she first introduced him as a boyfriend. Tina never forgot how her mother read an article that talked about the problems that interracial couples face. Her mother read the article off her phone right in front of her and Jamal. Tina’s mother even had the nerve to bring up Prince Harry and his wife Meghan Markle, and the troubles they faced.

Tina's mother made Jamal feel uncomfortable at the dinner table because of the exotically beautiful melanin in his skin. For the first time, Tina saw the insidiousness of racism in her family. Tina’s father was more accepting of her new boyfriend. At least that’s how Tina perceived it. “This is going to sound crazy, but I thought I felt a bullet hole in your chest,” Tina’s words eased from between her lips. She brought her full lips close to her husband’s face again. On the inside, she wanted to kick herself for telling her husband what she imagined.

“You felt a bullet hole in my chest? Goddamn, I told you not to smoke that weed. It'll make you crazy,” Jamal said jokingly, causing Tina to crack up. Tina muffled her laugh with both her hands, not wanting to wake their son in the next room. “Yeah, you’re right, baby. Your wife is one crazy bitch,” Tina whispered in her husband’s face through her laughter. She leaned forward to kiss her husband but stopped midway when she heard distant whimpering. “You hear that?” Tina pulled back while scooping her long lava red curls behind her ears.

Jamal leaned forward when he heard a child crying softly. “Is that Omar crying?”

A wave of panic followed behind Jamal’s question. He bolted out of bed and so did his wife when they both realized that it was their son crying.

“Omar! What’s a matter, sweetheart?” Tina rushed into her child’s bedroom to see the little boy curled up into a ball while sitting on the floor in a corner, away from his bedroom window. “Baby, what happened?” Tina almost lost it when she saw her child in an extremely distressed state. Omar had his blondish, curly afro buried in his little palms. He used his knees to hide his divinely adorable face, which was drenched in sweat.

The child saw someone or something. Omar woke up suddenly to see a shadowy, hooded man standing outside his window. The man waved at Omar. The child’s breath became trapped in his throat when he realized that the man had to be on the roof to peer into his bedroom window. Omar couldn’t scream. Only soft whimpering escaped his throat.

Jamal felt his heart sinking when he saw his little boy curled up in the corner of his room. The father reached down to scoop the child into his arms, but his wife beat him to the punch.

“What’s wrong, my Little Prince? You all right?” Jamal put his fingers through his son’s afro. He watched as Omar shook his head, letting his father know he was not all right. “I saw him,” Omar spoke those few words to his mother and father. The little boy buried his face into his mother’s shoulder after wrapping his bare, pint-sized arms around his mother’s neck. “You saw who, baby?” Tina asked through a half-whisper after kissing the side of her son’s face. She cradled her son’s body securely in her arms, trying to stop him from trembling. Tina looked around at her husband with an unnerved haze in her eyes. Her mind immediately directed her thoughts toward the serial killer and the three dead prostitutes. Did he find my house? Is he coming for my family? Those thoughts hijacked Tina’s mind. Tina held her son’s face against her cheek, doing her best to comfort him. When she turned around, she noticed a small wet spot soaking through her son’s bedsheet. Her anxiety went into overdrive when she discovered that something disturbed her little boy so bad that he wet his bed.

“I saw a man in a black robe standing outside my window. He waved at me,” Omar whispered into his mother’s ear after gathering himself. Soon after the child told his mom what he saw, a loud crash, followed by a thud, radiated from the master bedroom.

“Shit!” Tina surrendered to her panic. Without thinking, she ran toward the doorway, slamming her son’s bedroom door and locking it. “Tina, what’s going on?” Jamal couldn’t believe what was happening.

“He’s in the house! The killer!” Tina shouted. She needed her gun, but she always kept her gun locked away in her car. There was nothing Tina could do now. She stood beside her husband while holding her son, in shock over the fact that someone was attempting to knock down her son's bedroom door. It didn’t take long for a burly man in a black robe to knock the door off its hinges.

“Jamal!! Honey don’t! He’ll kill you!” Tina screamed at her husband when he sprung into action, defending his wife and son. Jamal tackled the robed man. He threw a few punches into the man’s torso, but the intruder remained on his feet, unmoved. Tina watched as the robed man waved his hand across her husband’s face, causing him to fall into a deep sleep. Jamal collapsed to the floor like a tall building with no foundation. “What did you do to my husband?!” Tina roared at the robed man. “Your husband will be okay,” A soothing and familiar deep voice emerged from beneath the man’s black hood.

Tina recognized the voice. “Dad?” She uttered, trying to see the man’s face.

“Your mother is the killer,” The robed man spoke again. “She killed the three women who shared your name. She also killed an innocent black man. Your mother’s racism drove her into insanity. She hated your husband so much that she shot an innocent black man to death. She wanted to murder your husband and you, but she took her murderous impulses elsewhere. It gave your mother pleasure to kill women who shared your name and to kill a black man. Your mother still loves you, so she couldn’t bring herself to kill you and your husband,” The robed man spoke gently.

Tina edged closer toward the man while still cradling her son. When she reached up attempting to remove the man’s hood, that’s when her world changed. *** Before Tina could comprehend what happened, she found herself back at the crime scene, standing over the prostitute’s body.

“So what are we looking at?” Tina heard Chief Danny’s question. She turned to see her boss kneeling over the prostitute again. Tina couldn’t speak. She wasn’t sure if she was losing her mind or if some mysterious entity was playing tricks on her. Tina looked down to see the same red rose sitting between the prostitute’s breasts. The memories of holding her son while standing in his bedroom were still fresh. She still had the memories of kissing her husband in bed. She remembered the man in the black robe breaking into her house. Was he real or was it a dream? Pieces came together when Tina pulled out her phone to see a text from her mother. The message said ( Hi Honey, I’m sorry about getting you drunk that night. I’m at your house right now, sitting at the dining room table with your beautiful husband. Jamal loves the bouquet of roses I gave him for Father’s Day. He told me that my grandbaby is upstairs sleeping. Omar looks so much like his daddy. I just wanted to let you know that I’m at your house. So hurry home, because I have a delightful surprise waiting for you .) Tina knew she had to get home immediately after reading her mother’s text. All she could think about was making it home in time so she could protect her husband and her baby. A voice inside her head told her she might not like her mother’s delightful surprise. The man in the black robe told Tina that her mother was a racist murderer. Tina had to find out the truth. She needed to know if her mother was the killer, or did the Devil play a trick on her?


Laid on her bed horizontally, her chin propped up on one of her pillows. Bani watched her fish swim around its tank moving from the right side to the left side, pausing there for a moment, and then from the left to right pausing there for a moment over and over, as it usually did. While watching her fish whom she had named Venus, Bani talked about her day and whatever else was on her mind as she usually did. Bani was a very intelligent young child and perhaps somewhat related to this, she was also quite a lonely isolated child. She had bad social anxiety and a set of parents who also suffered from various social anxieties. As a result, Bani had a difficult time communicating especially to kids her own age and struggled to make many friends during this early part of her life. In a sort of way, at this time, her best friend was her fish.

Some of the greatest conversations she ever had were with Venus, she would tell her everything, unhindered and unincumbered. She would complain to Venus about her parents and teachers, she would tell her what she was sad about when she was sad, what she was happy about when she was happy, what she wanted to do, and who wanted to be when she was older and so. All the while Venus swam its few routes back and forth, every once in a while, stopping and starring with its naïve eyes back her direction.

Still at an inevitably naïve age, Bani felt the inclination to believe that in these moments, Venus understood and personally love her, like a friend. Although its possible that Venus did at some point started to recognize the recurring patterns of Bani’s facial arrangement and associating her likeness with food, it of course it did not actually like nor know Bani in real sense of these terms at all, it was a fish. It hadn’t the slightest clue as to how to form the slightest clue of what or in this case whom Bani was. Its mental framework far too small, its perceptual and cognitive capacity essentially null.

Venus would go on to live 15 healthy years, aging with Bani through her adolescence. Sort of out of habit, Bani continued to talk with Venus throughout the rest of its life. Of course, Bani soon realized how foolish it was talking with a fish, understanding that Venus certainty did not get her or like her on level at all. But nonetheless, she still enjoyed the routine.

Now though on the occasions that Venus’ eyes looked back at her, Bani found herself wondering instead that if nit really her, what exactly was Venus really experiencing. Could it recognize her in any form at all, could it understand her at all, did it really process anything as the reality of what was actually happening. Bani reflected on the fact that Venus obviously knew that she was some sort of something that was happening around or to it whenever she did something like feed it or put her hand in the tank and so forth. But at the same time since Venus did not or could not know what that something actually was and why it was doing what it was doing. Bani’s image and touch and vocal vibrations or things happening to it with no conscious source. Or for it to understand that Bani was a living being that loved it, that she cared for it, that those sounds emitted had meaning contained inside of them.

Although Venus could never know, it had a huge impact on Bani’s life. Their sort of relationship greatly influencing her as she asked these sorts of questions. Learning more about herself and her interest of the world. Between the bond she found with Venus, her social anxiety and her hard time communicating. Over the course of her early teens Bani became deeply interested of how species developed and carried out language. Delving further into this research field known as linguistics.

A long long time ago lived an intelligent interestrial being evolved from the earliest lineages of life. As it successfully formed through time it developed intelligence-built technology eventually breaching the bonds of biological and neuro biological conditions and finally harnessing the total energy of its whole galaxy. Over time the super intelligent specie had gotten smaller and smaller until it became what would appear immaterial to all beings’ other dimensional levels. Now the species traverses the universe exploring and perceiving things outside it and in between time, not confined to it nor the same physical material conditions that confine 3,4,5,6,7,8 and 9 dimensional spaces. Bani’s reality is accessible to the interesterial species in a way that might be sort of similar in a way which Bani accesses information from an external computer hard drive.

Specially the interestrial specie is an intelligent being, perhaps somewhat related to this, it is also a very lonely isolated intelligent being. It has a bad form of what would sort of be the equivalent to social anxiety, as a consequence to overthink some of its maladaptive input codes. It usually has a difficult time communicating with others especially its own kind. It has and continued to struggle to make many friends, in a sort of way at this time Bani is its best friend. Some of the greatest conversations it has ever had are with Bani, it tells her everything, unhindered and unincumbered. It complains to her, it tells her about its life, to be alone and to exist in a condition that it does, its favorite places in the universe and so on.

Early on when the interestrial being by chance picked out Bani, not too dissimilar in which the way Bani picked out Venus. It initially thought that she sorts of understood and loved it like a friend. But of course, it didn’t take long for the interestrial being to understand that there was no way for Bani to understand and know of it, at all. She couldn’t know that it loved her, that it cared for her, that the frequencies emitted had meaning contained inside of them. That there were even any frequencies at all. To Bani and the rest of humanity, there was no real source, her mental framework far too small, her perceptual and cognitive capacity essentially no in comparison.


Grey clouds had been promising rain for hours. Leonor city needed the rain to wash away the blood of the siege. Its people were exhausted. The army had been slaughtered. Most men who had not fought in the battle at Worldworm’s Bridge had died defending the wall in the first attack of the empire.             Queen Malin had turned the tables with a curse, not a miracle. Danielle saw, as all the defenders on the wall saw, that the northern wall was now surrounded by a line of deadly trees. When those trees weren’t feeding it was only the long black thorns that gave them away as something sinister.             Though they were only hours old the well-fed trees looked older than the granite walls of the city itself. In the clear summer’s day, the imperial camp could still be seen on the Crosston Hills.             Cursed trees had brought the city a reprieve, not a victory.             “The enemy remains beyond the walls,” called Queen Malin throough a cone which somehow amplified her voice to the crowd. “They are licking their wounds and planning their next attack. We must be ready. Our dead will be buried in due course but for now we will make use of theirs.”             Queen Malin was not Crannan born. She hailed from the Kingdom of Eira Mynydd to the north across the Worldworm River. Her family and her nation were gone.             She looked as tired as any of the defenders. Bags beneath her eyes suggested that she had slept less than even Danielle. Her dark brown hair had new streaks of grey. Her eyes had always been a point of interest for people. The left was blue. The right eye was brown. Both were veined with red. Her pale hands were muddy.             “We have more shards of the Hungry Trees to use now than we did before. There is already one tree along the eastern wall. We have enough enemy corpses to plant a new tree every ten paces along that wall. Use gloves when handling the thorns. Wear your armour as you work and remember, have the body over the wall before you prick it with the thorn. Then drop it.” She looked around, weary eyes making contact with all the trusted warriors around her.             “That is our defensive strategy. We must also go on the offense.”             Murmurs passed through the gathering. Danielle heard her friend Fabian gasp. He was a knight, the son of a knight and had studied strategy.             “My Queen, with all due respect, the walls are our greatest defence. More so now with those monstrous trees outside,” said Fabian. His left ear, facing Danielle had swollen and was hideous shades of purple and black. Though his helmet had saved his life the night before, he had taken an awful blow from a war hammer.             “Those trees can be burnt, can be cut down or worked around,” said the queen. “I want to scare off what’s left of the enemy before they realise that. Our children have been industrious while you fought to defend them. They have been making arrows and bolts. More trusted women have been fitting those arrows and bolts with the cursed wood before adding arrowheads designed to punch through armour.             An attendant handed the queen a quiver of arrows. Checking she had her exquisite leather riding gloves on she pulled one of the arrows from the quiver and raised it cautiously for the crowd to see.             “We only need a drop of blood to touch the cursed wood. Just a drop to begin the transformation,” it was Lupita Smith who spoke. Daughter of a woman burnt at the stake for witchcraft. She had become Danielle’s closest friend.             Lupita’s dark brown skin glowed as she spoke for the queen, who seemed to be asleep on her feet. Danielle caught a flicker of a smile from Miss Smith and returned a wink.             “From you to you.” The queen pointed around the circle. “Organise those needed to plant new trees along the eastern wall. Guinevere here will see that you have the thorns you require. Go.”             Most of the collective left to be about their work.             “Miss Smith, if you wouldn’t mind explaining the plan for the counterattack. I need to lie down; else I will collapse.” Queen Malin’s eyes were drooping, and she seemed drunk, such was her exhaustion.             “Of course, my queen.” Lupita bowed low as did the gathering. The queen was taken away, leaning heavily on her bodyguards.             “The plan for the counterattack is this,” Lupita began. She stopped when someone whispered to ask what had become of the king. “He’s recovering is all I’ve heard, now listen.” She had the voice of a commander. “You here have been chosen because you have the most experience with ranged weapons. Bows and arrows. We are going to sneak towards the enemy camp and attack them when the rain falls.”             There was silence.             “That’s suicide,” said a haggard survivor of the city guard. His green Crann colours over his chainmail were as much brown from blood as they were green.             “Not when the spell takes hold, and the rain falls on the enemy.”             “Spell?” Fabian asked. She might as well have told him their great hope was a pig in armour.             “The queen has sworn to do anything in her power to protect the city. That includes using magic.” Lupita’s eyes were steely. She could see that there was growing resistance among men and women who had cheered on the fires as her mother burnt at the stake.             “There is no honour in this,” Fabian said. “We have been dragged down to the level of foul sorcery.”             “YES, WE HAVE,” roared Lupita. “We face utter annihilation. We are outnumbered ten, perhaps twenty to one by the army that camps on Crosston Hills. We are women and children, trained in one week. They have years of experience wiping out civilisations that have survived for thousands of years. They kill the men. They rape the women. Gods know what they do to the children. They burn the cities and salt the fields. That is our fate if we fail. Not even weeds will grow in memory of Leonor.”             Someone coughed. Most of them stared at the ground, imagining their whole world crushed beneath the empire.             “The queen is exhausted because she has not slept since the first attack. She is exhausted because she helped me curse the clouds that loom over Crann. When the rain falls it will addle the minds of the enemy. Their fears will turn to living nightmares. When their minds are gripped by terror we will attack with the cursed arrows.” She looked around. Her eyes were sharp. No one questioned her.             “They will be disorientated by the hallucinations; they may very well attack their own comrades, but they will still have full use of their bodies as far as we know. Fear will be our shield. We have costumes for you.”             “Costumes, like were acting in a damned play?” asked someone Danielle couldn’t see.             “Exactly,” Lupita nodded. “You will play the part of demons, monsters, gods of death. As you advance make them bleed with your arrows. We want to turn the camp on the hill into a grove of cursed trees that will forever remind the empire the strength of Crann.”             A woman brought their costumes. They were wild. Helmets made from animal skulls with deer antlers attached. Fur hides dyed as red as blood, almost the colour of the imperial uniforms. Necklaces hung with bones.             Thunder rumbled overhead. The sky darkened. Lightning arced across the sky on the horizon.             “Put them on,” Lupita said with the authority of the queen. “It’s almost time.”             Danielle was given different chainmail. Short sleeved to give her the flexibility she needed for her bow. Arrows rattled in her quiver as she walked. The fake monsters learned to walk at arm’s length from each other to keep their antlers from smacking together.             “What the fuck are you lot wearing?” asked a guard at the northern gate.             “Nightmares,” Lupita answered. She had come to the gate to see them off. She had not made the cut for the mission because she was a poor shot with a bow.             They numbered three and fifty. All antlered. All in red furs. All waiting for the rain.             Danielle held out her hand. A single drop hit her palm.             “Open the gates!” Lupita yelled. “It’s time to unleash the beasts!”             “Whatever you say miss,” said the gate guard, who might as well have told her she was mad. Danielle half agreed.             Men and women in bloody uniforms removed first one, then two giant beams from across the main gate. The doors creaked; wood protested. Giant iron hinges groaned. Bodies full of arrows or broken from the fall had to be shoved aside as the gates swung out.             The burnt remains of a battering ram blocked the way. A crowd of volunteers hurried to shift it. All of them gave the mock monsters a sideward glance as they passed and muttered mutinously.             When the path was clear the monster’s brigade marched on. Despite knowing he was one of them Danielle couldn’t pick out Fabian at all.             The road was a muddy mess torn up by thousands of feet. The dark oak trees of the Oldwood shadowed the right-hand side of the road. It was torn up grass and mud all the way to the castle on their left, south of the road. Off in the distance to the west they saw Crosston Hills.             When they were halfway there, they began to hear the racket. The clash of sword on sword. The screams and cries of battle drifted down from the enemy camp. The antlered monsters gave each other looks to see if anyone knew what was happening. Some shrugged.             “The rain,” Fabian hissed. “The rain’s turned them all mad.”             “Let’s help them along,” said an antlered nightmare with chicken bones hanging over a wolf’s hide.             “We should spread out,” said Fabian. “We don’t want to stab each other with the arrows getting them out of our quivers. Others agreed. The monsters spread out in a long line from the Oldwood to the new trees along the northern wall. None of them wanted to be closer than an arrow’s shot to the cursed branches which had swallowed imperials the night before.             The clash was fierce when they neared the camp. None of the imperials in their red uniforms seemed to notice the monsters drawing their bows. They were screaming about the enemy. They were screaming about nothing at all. Danielle had never seen anything like it. Panic. Chaos. Men turned this way and that from shadow to thin air with wide eyes.             “Take aim,” called a monster. They all pulled their bowstrings back. “Fire!”             Having closed around the enemy in a horseshoe the arrows and bolts struck their targets on the outer edges of the camp, some of whom fought on oblivious for several moments.             Then the screams grew louder.             “Reload.”             Danielle had seen the process in the dark the night before. It was nothing to seeing it in the daylight. Branches tore their way through the mouths of men who tried to run this way and that. Soon they fell. The branches grew, bursting out of the soldiers in every direction. Armour was carried up into the air as the thorny weeds became bushes.             In their terror of each other many of the imperial soldiers ran straight into the ravenous plants and were snared around the ankles where they wore no armour.             “Fire!”             Danielle aimed at soldiers further into the mess and found one already dead on a spear. The plan of the counterattack didn’t require the Crannan monsters to hit the living. Her arrow hit the target, which started moving instantly as if coming back to life.             The thicket of the monstrous trees was growing above head hight.             “We need to split up and move forwards!” Danielle had no idea who was yelling the orders.             The antlered warriors took a moment to decide who should go which way then moved on. Whoever had been giving orders had clearly taken the northern path for the attack. After a while Fabian filled in the leadership role.             “Keep moving as you reload. Strike those at the outside and keep your distance from them and each other. Ready?”             “Ready,” Danielle replied with two dozen other voices.             “Aim.” She found a target, a man without armour curled up in a ball. “FIRE!”             Three people had chosen the same target. He gasped more than screamed and began the evil convulsions as the branches tore their way out of him.             “Reload,” Fabian yelled in a voice that was hoarse. Danielle guessed he had been coordinating soldiers on the walls the last two nights.             A man stumbled out past the sprouting nightmares towards the monsters.             “Demons,” the man gasped. “I shall slay you in the name of the gods and justice. For the empire!” Danielle guessed the man wasn’t the sharpest blade in the armoury. He thought he was going to take on demons, alone?             “Don’t shoot him!” yelled Fabian, drawing his sword.             The man made a feeble lunge at the knight with his short sword held straight out as if he was fencing. Fabian sidestepped the move and swung his sword horizontally at the man’s neck.             Off tumbled the head. The expression on the face as it rolled through the mud was that off confusion. He had been quite certain he would prevail despite the odds.             “Aim and fire!”  Fabian ducked down to be sure none of the monsters would hit him with their arrows. A volley sailed over him into the camp.             “Keep moving,” said the knight as he stood and readied another arrow.             They began to slip in the muck around the camp torn up by the army and made slick by the rain. Danielle was conscious that if she ended up with the wood of the cursed tree in a cut, she would suffer the same fate as the imperials.             “Aim.” Fabian waited a moment. Danielle saw a man with a sword and helmet but no armour swinging it around in circles as he faced off his demons, having killed all his friends. Knowing most of the archers would shoot that man she aimed instead for one of the furthest bodies.             “Fire.” The whistle of the arrow leaving the bow and the twang of the string hit her ear. Her aim was true. The lone warrior hit the ground before the change began. Five arrows had penetrated his torso.             On they went around the perimeter. Danielle looked back. What had been thorny bushes behind them had become small trees.             Each of them had ten arrows. They used them all, then drew their swords. Standing closer than before they moved to the edge of the camp and roared at the madmen within.             Danielle’s sword was slick with blood in no time at all. Though the warriors of the empire had all their strength, their coordination had been hampered by the hallucinations. They struck too high, too low, too far out or fell over themselves fighting other foes that weren’t there.             “Demons,” yelled one man in the imperial uniform, slick with the blood of his comrades. “They are demons.”             “Leave Crann,” Fabian roared in a voice hoarse and entirely unlike his own. “Leave Crann and never return.” He repeated his chant in the same growl. Danielle joined him.             “Leave Crann and never return.”             The army of the empire began to run. Falling over themselves to get away from the monsters. Goodness knows what they saw as they looked upon the blood-soaked warriors of Crann. Many dropped their weapons and pushed at their friends to get away.             “LEAVE CRANN AND NEVER RETURN.”             The southern party of monsters met those from the north in the middle of the camp. Queen Malin and Lupita had chosen their warriors well. They swept through the tents and the campfires putting the slowest of the enemy to the blade.             Though she hated them with a vengeance Danielle would never take pride in that slaughter. Fear had turned the hardened killers of Righteous Cane’s army into frightened children. She helped slaughter them. Perhaps it needed done. Perhaps it was for the greater good. Leonor City certainly would have been laid to waste. The imperials would have done the same to them. It still made her sick to watch them cowering in fear.             The enemy tripped on the bodies of their own or slipped in the mud. They were held back by others trying to get away. Some just turned and whimpered.             Danielle slowed and let her sword hang limp at her side. As she looked around, she noticed Fabian behind her.             “This is foul,” said the knight. “This is hideous. I cannot go on like this.”             “Neither can I,” said his friend. “They’re like children with this curse upon them. Feeble minded children.”             Antlers bobbed up and down as he nodded. “I feel the blood stains on my soul. This day will haunt me forever.”             They looked back together. Mighty trees had grown from the meat of murder to the east. Bodies piled on bodies were being swallowed by the roots and branches of the Hungry Trees. The ground beneath them was wet as much with blood as rain. Tents which had been the colour of potato sacks were splashed with red, or crushed, or burnt. Armour lay scattered and useless in the mire.             “We should keep up,” Danielle said, nodding to the relentless march of the antlered monsters.             “I suppose,” the knight whispered. If not for the dead silence that had taken the camp behind them, she would not have heard him. “Onward march. To our bloody victory.”


It was a great day. I had just finished my last day of work before I go on vacation for a month. This year, I decided to take my vacation during the month of November. Why? Maybe because I am a Scorpio. Maybe because I enjoy Halloween (my vacation starts on October 29 th ), maybe because I love the fall weather, or maybe because, it is the time of the year that covers Halloween, Thanksgiving, Black Friday, and the beginning of the holiday season. Simply put, all of the above maybe… My girlfriend, Jennifer, wanted us to get costumes for a special, a VIP event, for a Halloween party held in downtown. The entrance free was $120. However, several prizes were to be awarded at the end of the night. Especially for best costume and best couple costumes. Personally, Halloween has always been my favorite time of the year. The mystery, the supernatural, the paranormal, the unexplained, the death, the ghosts, the spirits, the goblins, the horror, the suspense, its movies and tv shows related to it… What was I to wear for Halloween this year? No clue. Jennifer kept telling me we should dress up in characters that come as a duo, a team. Some famous people. A famous couple. I was into that idea. I thought it was a good idea. Why not? I love her so much, and this would be a great opportunity to be closer to the love of my life. I am soon about to propose to her. That would be after the holidays… It was Friday afternoon. The party was held on Saturday night. We have a little more than 24 hours left. I am thinking that Jenn probably has booked or bought the costumes already. If not, I doubt we will find unique looking disguises for the party. My cell rings. ‘’Hun, did you get a call from the store?’’ It was Jenn. ‘’Which store? You mean for the costumes?’’ I reply. ‘’Yeah. I gave your cell number in case I miss the call.’’  ‘’What are we dressing up as babe?’’  ‘’Ah, that…I will let you find out with the call…’’ ‘’Oh yeah? Hahaha! All good. I hope you got something good, unique, original, so that we can win maybe a prize or two.’’  ‘’You will not regret it. I promise my love.’’  ‘’I trust you, Jennifer. If they call in, I will go pick up the costumes. You should be home within two hours, right?’’ ‘’Yes darling. I see you soon. Later then.’’ My work is done. I am closing my laptop. Yes, I work from home. I was just wrapping up my email account to setup the auto-reply that I am gone for a month. I don’t want to be bugged by my colleagues. Now, if Jenn does not get the call for whatever reason, I shall get it on my cell. She will be home soon and be on vacation also for a month.

At around 4 PM, I get a call from the costume store.

‘’Hi there. May I speak to Jennifer or Bruce?’’ ‘’This is Bruce. Whom am I speaking to?’’ ‘’This is Jim from Party Cos Inc. I have the costumes ready’’ ‘’Ah awesome!!! When can I come pick them up?’’ ‘’Before 9 PM tonight, if not tomorrow before noon. Also, your wife told me she would like to dye.’’ ‘’Pardon??? Die??? What are you talking about?’’ ‘’Jennifer told me that to bring the characters to life, you will need to dye.’’ ‘’No one is going to die. I think you are drunk or confused Sir.’’ ‘’No, no, I have clear instructions that were given by your wife…’’ ‘’Stop it! She is not my wife!’’ ‘’Oh, I apologize! Did I misdial perhaps. I think I got the wrong person.’’ ‘’Well, what is the name of the client and the phone number you dialed?’’ ‘’Is it 250-644-068 and it is under Jennifer and her husband or boyfriend, Bruce?’’ ‘’Yeah, that is me, Bruce, the boyfriend, but no one is dying here!’’ ‘’Your girlfriend told me that some green would look nice to match the costumes and the origins of the characters.’’ ‘’First tell me who Jennifer and I will be?’’ '’She is She-Hulk and you will be the Hulk. So, a little green in the hair will make you guys look great. Also, your girlfriend told me that your height is 6’6’’! So indeed, you can make a great Hulk. She told me you used to play volleyball at the national level and you have stayed in shape,’’ says Jim. ‘’Damn it! Why did not you just say dye hair! I thought dye meant as die, meaning as to cease to live,’’ explains Bruce. ‘’Pardon me Bruce. My error.’’ ‘’If I understood well, you offer also make-up and dying services at your shop?’’ ‘’Yes Sir! We are extremely busy this time of the year and people go to extreme length to look like a character from a novel, comics, books, tv, series or movies.’’ ‘’Tonight, will be to late to pick the costumes, accessories and get the hair done. How about tomorrow? Then from your store, we can go straight to attend our party.’’ ‘’Sure, so tomorrow, be here by noon. We close at 12 PM but to try on the costumes and get the make up and dye your hair, we will need more time. For clients with an appointment, we will close at 5 PM.’’ ‘’Thank you, Sir, and sorry for the misunderstanding.’’  Finally, all this is sorted out. I felt like this was a prank. Once Jennifer was home, I explained to her how the call went…  She started laughing. Also, maybe she did not know, but I reminded to her that we will be going to the Halloween party as cousins. ‘’What do you mean?’’ Asks Jennifer. ‘’Well, She-Hulk and the Hulk are related in the comics. They are cousins. Also, the irony is that Bruce Banner is the Hulk and Jennifer Walters is the She Hulk. So…’’ ‘’Oh wow! I honestly, did not know all these!’’ The costume party on this Saturday night went well. We did not win individual prizes but we won a prize as a team/couple category. A weekend trip to Whistler, for the holidays. That is when I decided to ask Jennifer to be my wife. She said a big yes!


The needle of the fuel gauge exhaustively twitched above the empty line. Those things always lie, right? Adam wondered. He shuddered from the panic that pulsed through him as he realized the gauge was probably fairly accurate, but he brushed the notion off and kept his attention focused on the road. It had been hours since he’d seen a gas station, so he assumed there must be one not much further ahead. I knew I should have gone back to that one I passed , he bitterly thought, cursing his lack of foresight. There was even another exit you could have taken a mile later. Idiot.

To be fair, he had been rather distracted at the time. Minutes before, he had received a text from his fiancée, Lynn, saying that she wanted to “think things over” and “needed some space.” Because he’d been driving, the message had been relayed via his phone’s AI, and the robotic imitation of a sultry woman’s voice failed to match the tone of Lynn’s words. To make matters worse, Lynn’s phone had a nasty habit of “butt-dialing” the first number listed in its contacts, which just so happened to be Adam, and it resent the message for five consecutive minutes. All the while, the AI read each out loud with its robotic voice that seemed increasingly mocking, as Adam struggled between driving and turning off his phone. By the time he realized he’d driven past the station, he was too emotionally exhausted to interact with another human, and the thought of dealing with the station attendant genuinely repulsed him.

Yeah, but I looked at the gauge , he guiltily admitted now, I knew I was pushing it. Depression’s no excuse, I should have known better. He shook his head and refocused on the road, realizing he’d once again let himself get distracted. He could beat himself up later; right now he needed to concentrate on reaching his destination. Too much depended on him getting this job, and he only had a few hours to get there. “Be here at 8:00 AM Monday, and the job is yours,” he’d been told by his new boss. She’d sounded professionally sincere, yet there was an undeniable hint of joy in her voice, as if she was genuinely happy for him. This only helped to confirm his belief he’d landed his “dream job.” He hated the colloquialism, and vowed to never belittle his writing with such a sophomoric term, but he had to admit that he could think of no better way to describe the position. Years of hard work- and perhaps a year or six of apathy and laziness- were finally about to pay off, and he knew he was lucky he’d managed to accomplish everything he set out to do in life.

Minus getting married , he unpleasantly reminded himself, feeling a surge of heartache swell through his body. He racked his brain for what could have caused Lynn’s change of heart, desperately searching for a moment that might have foreshadowed her sudden betrayal. Oh, come on , he scolded himself, it’s not a ‘betrayal,’ don’t go that far. I’m sure she had her… reasons. But what were those reasons? Was it something he’d done, some unremembered action that crossed the line? Or was the cause on her end, and her severance of the relationship was an act of guilt and/or insanity? Or maybe-    A shudder rippled through the car as the lights flickered, then slowly dimmed as the vehicle finally lost all fuel. “Great,” he muttered, sullenly swearing under his breath while pulling over just before the car died. “Exactly what I wanted to happen. Fantastic.” He sat in the silence of the deceased sedan, unsure if he was angry, sad, scared, or perhaps just imbued with the confusing mix of hunger and the need to defecate. Ultimately, he settled with anger, and suddenly yelled at the car’s console with all the volume and animalistic hostility he could muster, then gave the steering wheel a swift jab, which set off the horn. It was a feeble and pathetic sound, flatulent and fading, and despite the seriousness of the matter, Adam couldn’t help but give an exasperated, bemused chuckle. “Don’t worry, buddy,” he told the car as he opened the driver’s door, “I’ll tell everybody your last words were better than that.”

   A gust of cold wind greeted him as he exited, and he wondered if he should remain inside and wait until someone else came along. But it was impossible to foresee how long that could take, and he figured he could walk while he waited. It’s the same road, either way , he reasoned, and if it became too cold, then he’d just jog back to the car and wait there. I gotta try, at least. I’ll lose my mind if I just sit here and think about Lynn. He groaned as he realized he’d now be thinking about her anyway while he walked, but he decided that the inevitable internal monologue over his spousal shortcomings could wait until he’d chosen a direction to walk.

   Probably just go the way I was already going, right? he reckoned, squinting as he peered at the horizon ahead. Almost as if to reaffirm his choice, a small but distinct shape of a wooden post was visible off in the distance. “An emergency phone!” he excitedly shouted to his dead car as he noticed the distinct rectangular shape attached to the wooden post. “Oh yes, I’m saved!” If his car had any capability left to show emotion, it chose not to do so as Adam left it behind and walked towards the phone. He was nearly skipping with excitement, grateful and relieved that he wouldn’t have to endure what could have been a potentially lengthy and grueling trek. Some people are just lucky , he smugly thought, and continued towards his target with a mighty pep in his step. Distracted with the comfort of arrogance, he managed to avoid any thoughts of Lynn.    It wasn’t until he was almost fifty yards away from the emergency phone that two things became instantly clear: 1) someone was sitting by the phone, and 2) it wasn’t a phone. BUS STOP was boldly and distinctly displayed on the rectangular sign Adam had mistaken for a phone box, and sat upon the small platform provided as a “chair” was a disheveled and unkempt old man. His beard, while not very long, was scraggly and stained with yellow amongst its grey and white hairs, a yellow mimicked by the broken and jagged teeth that crookedly formed an impish if not charming smile between red, veiny cheeks. He wore a suit of brown tweed, faded and torn in several places, with a cream-colored tie that matched a handkerchief peeking from the front pocket. A sky blue insignia of a water droplet was stitched onto the tie with what Adam assumed to be a very amateur hand, and he suspected the handkerchief bore a similar logo. He debated whether or not he should just head back to the car, as he still wasn’t in the mood to socialize, but that question was quickly rendered moot when the old man noticed him and enthusiastically waved him over.    “Great,” he muttered again, faking a smile as he waved back at the old man, and continued walking towards him. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and this guy’ll buy my soul for a couple gallon of gas , he half-heartedly wished, though given the alternative meant waiting with this elderly stranger for an unspecified amount of time, he didn’t put the idea of agreeing to such an offer out of his mind just yet. For all I know, this dude could literally bore me to death , he considered, thinking of all the excruciating conversations with his grandfather he’d been forced to endure during his youth, or maybe he’s a serial killer, and he‘ll kill me to death! He pushed aside such an absurd idea and kept walking. As he neared the old man, Adam gave him another friendly wave and said, “Hey there! How you doing?”    “Oh, just fine, thanks,” the old man kindly responded, his voice shockingly pleasant despite being very gravelly. “Rather nice day to be outside, don’t ya’ think?” Adam nodded in agreement, albeit a little reluctantly given his reasons for being outside, and when he was finally close enough, he extended a friendly hand towards the stranger. “Nice to meet you, name’s Adam,” he told the old man as they shook hands.    “Sharon,” the old man informed him.    “Ah,” Adam replied, a little taken aback for a moment. He’d always thought of Sharon as a woman’s name, but then he realized that was perhaps an antiquated viewpoint. Hey, I got no right to judge this guy , he reprimanded himself, suddenly feeling guilty for the serial killer thought, too. This guy- or whatever!- is a person, so just treat them like one and be as pleasant as they deserve. Fearing he might have taken too long to properly respond, he suddenly blurted out, “Nice, dude.”    “Uh huh,” Sharon hesitantly agreed, looking rather puzzled.

   “Um... do you mind if I join you?” Adam unconfidently asked, anxiously hoping to skip over the sudden awkwardness of the situation.

   “Oh, of course not!” Sharon exclaimed, unabashedly delighted by the prospect of having company. “No, not at all. I, uh, I can get up if ya’d like to sit down for a-”    “No, no, you don’t have to do that,” Adam quickly and politely dissuaded him, “that’s perfectly ok. I’m totally fine standing, honestly. If I want to sit, I’ll just sit on the ground.”    “You’re sure?”    “Absolutely, hundred percent.”    “Alright,” Sharon shrugged, confused but clearly not bothered by the refusal. “Whatever you like.” Several moments of cringe-inducing silence went by as Adam stood next to the old man, unsure if he should speak first or wait for the geriatric stranger to say something. The longer he considered the quandary he was in instead of speaking, the longer he was forced to endure the nearly unbearable silence, and he was on the verge of blurting out whatever random thought came to mind, when Sharon suddenly chimed in with, “What brings ya’ here, Adam?”    “Oh man, well, my car broke down, and I had to walk quite a ways-”    “No, no, no,” Sharon interrupted, solemnly shaking his head, “that ain’t what I mean, man. Why ya’ here, why ya’ on this road?”    “Oh! Gotcha, I thought you meant- I guess, um, hmm.” Adam thought about the question for a moment, caught off guard by Sharon’s bluntness, then cleared his throat. “Well, I got a pretty important interview for a position writing for this magazine, and it’s basically my dream job, so I’m headed to their headquarters to meet up with their editor, and get interviewed and integrated into the system and all that.” He gulped, realizing he’d suddenly begun speaking much too fast. “And of course- wouldn’t you know it?- my car just has to run out of gas. My fault, though, I knew I should’ve filled up earlier when I had the chance.”    “Mmm, ‘bsolutely should have,” Sharon muttered, shaking his head.    “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was a bit distracted, though, so I guess I can't be completely blamed.”    “Hmph. That ain’t how life works.”

   Adam looked at the old man with the skepticism befitting of a younger man speaking to his elders. “What do you mean?” he snorted.    “Guilt ain’t something ya’ can divvy out in different portions; ya’ either completely guilty of the action, or ya’ completely innocent of it. One or the other. Ya’ said it yaself, ya’ knew ya’ should have filled the tank, and then ya’ didn’t do it. The car would eventually run outta gas, ya’ knew that, too. And ya’ let it anyway. Sounds like ya’ know exactly who to blame.”    Adam stared at Sharon, studying the unknown man with a look of petulant curiosity, yet the intensity of the wisdom in the tired blue eyes that stared back bore into him and humbled him. Unable to find a retort, he settled for staring at the ground at his feet. Silence rang out once more, but several moments later a curious concern overcame him, and he asked the old man, “What time does the bus come?”    Sharon pondered the question with the utmost sincerity. “Hmm,” he finally uttered, several seconds later, still seemingly in deep thought, “I’m not really sure. Could be a while yet still. It’s coming, though. It’s coming.”    “Oh,” Adam sighed, his shoulders sinking at the prospect of waiting a long time. “Well, how long have you been waiting?” he asked undecidedly, nervous to hear the old man’s answer. Again, Sharon considered the query with full seriousness, before finally saying, “S’been a while. A long while. Not really sure of that either, to tell ya’. All I know is… it’s been a while.”    Adam wasn’t sure why, but there was something in Sharon’s tone that sent a chill down his spine. He studied the old man again, and looked at all the minor details he hadn’t noticed earlier. The right shoulder of Sharon’s suit had the crusted remains of bird feces. His fingernails were long, pointed and cracked, and also complemented the yellow of his teeth and beard. And a small patch of moss was growing on the toe of each of his worn boots. Adam shivered as another chill slid down his spine, suddenly quite unnerved by Sharon and the bus stop. Everything in his being told him that although he wasn’t in any immediate danger, this bus stop just wasn’t the place for him to be.    “I think,” Adam started as he slowly stood, not entirely sure how his sentence would end. Sharon slowly turned to him with indifferent anticipation. Adam gulped, and finished with, “I think I’m gonna keep walking. Try to get to a town or something, I don’t know. Hitch a ride if I can, I guess. Just… I think it’s just better if I keep going, you know?”    “Ya’ sure?” Sharon asked with apparent empathy. “That bus, it’ll be here. It might be a while, but it’ll be here. It’s coming.”    “Yeah,” Adam agreed reassuringly, “it absolutely is. It’s just- I don’t know, I feel like walking, I guess. I like walking, you know? Good time to think, feel nature. All that jazz.”    “Alright,” Sharon shrugged, eerily echoing his earlier behavior. “Whatever you like.” Without another word to Adam, Sharon stared ahead at the road, his expression one of a sentinel statue, and Adam continued his trek down the road. He looked back only once, hoping he might get a friendly wave from the old man, but he was unsurprised to see Sharon stoically maintaining his vigil. Hope that bus comes soon, buddy , he thought as he turned around and resumed walking.    As he walked, Adam thought of everything that had led to that moment. The times in his life when he’d been guilty, or when he’d been innocent. Lynn, and the endless list of possibilities hiding in that topic. And although he’d decided to dedicate the walk to contemplation rather than solving anything, he did manage to reach one solution: Lynn asked for space, so give her space. In fact , he chided himself, don’t even think of it as ‘giving’ her her space; it’s already her’s. Just don’t invade it, dude. If she takes you back, awesome. If not… I just hope she’s happy. Only moments later, he heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching car, thankfully heading in the same direction as him. He extended his thumb and hopefully attempted to flag the driver down.

Yes! he happily thought as the car slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. Finally a lucky break. He eagerly jogged to the car and opened the front passenger seat with a grateful sigh. “Thank you so much,” he breathily told the driver as he entered, who only nodded in response without looking at Adam, and resumed driving the moment Adam had closed his door. “Wasn’t sure anyone was ever going to come,” he nervously finished, a little uncomfortable by the driver’s continuous staring at the road.    “Someone always comes along, eventually,” the driver flatly stated, still without looking at Adam.    “Uh, yeah, I guess,” Adam responded, still bewildered. After a few moments, he asked, “Do you know if the bus came for that old man yet?”    “Bus?” the driver asked, the confusion on his face quite clear despite still not looking at him.    For a moment, Adam considered clarifying he was speaking about Sharon. It was possible that this man could provide some sort of insight into the odd interaction, or would at the very least find the whole affair to be a rather amusing anecdote. But something inside Adam- some innate instinct or perhaps even a loosened pebble of an ascended wisdom- told him not to say anything about the matter, either to the driver or anyone else. That conversation had been for him and Sharon, and maybe even just for him alone. It was his to ponder, to digest and deconstruct, and his task to discover whatever elusive meaning or message that may or may not have been laid in the words said. Had he been in the car with him, he was sure Sharon would’ve agreed.    “Never mind,” Adam said to the driver, casually waving away his earlier question. “Doesn’t matter.” The driver shrugged and didn’t respond. As he continued to drive, the two of them stared ahead in complete silence, never once looking at each other, all the while thinking about what awaited them at the end of road.


Tami rushed into the room, the biggest smile on her face. “Guess what?” She plunked down on the couch next to Amber. With a sigh, Amber put the bookmark back in her book and closed it. “What are you so excited about?” “I’m going to throw Cindy a surprise birthday party!” She clapped her hands excitedly, then hopped off the couch and practically ran down the hall. Amber closed her eyes, wishing she could go back in time and not hear Tami's plan to surprise their friend Cindy. Secrets were not something she could keep. And living with Cindy meant, at some point, she would ask a question that would lead to the surprise party. Picking up her book again, Amber tried to focus on the words, but she found herself glancing at the clock as the minutes ticked by. Twenty more minutes, and Cindy would be home. She should hide in her room. This way she wouldn’t even have to talk to Cindy. She closed her book and got up off the couch just as Tami walked past and grabbed her jacket off the hook. “Where are you going?” “I have to get supplies. I only have two days before the big day.” She slipped her arms into her jacket and picked up her purse. “Have you even invited anyone yet?” “Well, no. But I’m sure when everyone hears about it, they will come. You can help me spread the word. I’ll make little postcards you can hand out.” She dug around in her purse, smiling when she pulled a set of car keys from its contents. “Be back shortly.” Tami opened the door and stepped outside. The door had barely clicked shut when Cindy came bounding in, a scowl on her face. “Tami is way too happy.” She threw her purse on the counter and kicked off her shoes. “Yep.” Amber nodded her head and turned to escape into her bedroom. “I wonder why. Do you know?” Cindy plunked down on the couch and propped her feet on the coffee table. Amber stopped mid-stride “umm… Yes.” she tried once again to retreat to the comfort of her room. “Are you going to tell me?” This time she spun to flash Cindy a big fake smile. “Nope. I have to get to my room.” She made a beeline for the bedroom, but Cindy was faster than she expected. Within seconds she was right behind her. “Tell me what she’s up to.” Why did the hallway all of a sudden seem so long? “She's planning something.” “Is she planning something for my birthday?” Amber stopped and took a deep breath before turning to face her friend. “Yes. Now please stop asking me questions.” She turned and continued her trek down the hall. Cindy followed along behind. “What is it? What’s she planning?” There it was, the dreaded question she was trying to avoid. She couldn’t lie, and telling the truth meant revealing Tami’s secret. With her bedroom door in sight, she quickened her pace. “She’s planning…” The rest of Amber’s words squeaked by on a whisper so quiet Cindy couldn’t possibly hear. “What did you say?” Amber reached her bedroom and quickly retreated inside. She slammed the door shut in Cindy’s face. A little rude, but it was better than ruining the surprise. “I couldn’t hear you, Amber. What did you say?” Cindy knocked on the closed door. Obviously not deterred by her sudden rudeness. A gargled mumble seeped through the door, but nothing that Cindy could understand. Amber flopped down on her bed, exhausted from trying not to lie and keep the surprise party a secret at the same time. This was all Tami’s fault. Now she would have to avoid Cindy for the next two days. Amber bolted upright in the bed as she remembered she was supposed to drive Cindy to work tomorrow. How on earth would she avoid all her questions? The night dragged on, and Amber hardly slept at all. She was so worried about the car ride that the alarm on the bedside stand made her heart jump with its annoying beeping. She slapped the button, quieting the room once more, and crawled out of bed. She dressed and marched out to the kitchen where Cindy was sipping on a cup of coffee. Amber grabbed her purse and turned to look at Cindy. “I will drive you to work, but you may not ask me what Tami is planning, or I will drop you on the side of the curb.” Cindy nodded her head in agreement with her mouth hanging open. She traded her coffee cup for a briefcase as she followed Amber out the door. Five minutes into the car ride, the questions started. Cindy cleared her throat. “So, Tami is planning something for my birthday?” Amber cast her a sideways glance. “yes.” “Is it a gift?” “No. I thought you agreed not to ask me about it?” “No. I agreed not to ask you directly what she was planning. I’m playing twenty questions now.” Amber knew she was in trouble. Sooner or later, Cindy would get it out of her. That’s what she gets for being so precise. “Fine. Ask your questions.” Cindy beamed a smile. “Is it alive?” “No.” “Is it something for the kitchen?” “No.” Cindy frowned and took a moment to come up with the next question. “Is it something outside?” Now it was Amber’s turn to frown. Tami hadn’t given her any details about the party. “I’m not sure.” “What do you mean you're not sure?” “Well, I wasn’t given a whole lot of details.” Amber turned the car into the parking lot and parked in the first available spot. “You are making this difficult. Wait, does it involve a lot of people?” “Maybe.” It was an honest answer because she didn’t really know how many people would show up. She turned off the car and stepped out. “I know what it is! A surprise party. Tami is planning a surprise birthday party.” Cindy jumped out of the car with a big smile on her face. Amber’s shoulders slumped. Tami was going to be so mad at her. “Cindy, do you think you could still act surprised, so Tami doesn’t find out you know?” Cindy stopped her celebratory dance and drew her eyebrows together. “Yes. I think keeping the fact that I know a secret is a good idea.” She gave Amber a little hug, and they went inside the building. Two days later, the surprise party was a big success. Cindy did an amazing job of acting shocked and surprised, and Tami never found out she knew about it. Another secret Amber would have to try to keep.


Title: I'm Just a "backup" Author: Haripriya Author's Note: Hello everyone! This story wasn't one of my best ones because I included the prompt at the end of the story, so it might be a little disappointing to many of you. But either way, I just wanted to post this story to get some feedback and suggestions for this story. Other than those quick words, I hope you kind of enjoy what I've written, and please feel free to comment down below on what you think about this entire story! I hope you have a great, lovely Saturday and happy holidays!! My favorite thing in this whole wide world is being a ballerina. I feel really proud of myself when I dance. It's almost like I go into my own world, my own place. As I move, as I close my eyes, I just dance my heart out. Learning new techniques, more advanced steps, doing all of that is my favorite thing about being a dancer. I love being myself, and just doing my steps without anyone bothering me. Like I'm in my own secret world, where no one ever bothers me at all. It's my passion, and I just love doing it.

"Hey Bella!" my friend, Anna calls out. "Hey! I'm just doing some warm-up moves and practices before class starts. Anyways, why are you here so early?" I ask. "I should be asking

you  that question. I'm early because I want to practice my whipped throw. I did terrible last class when you all did it so perfectly. So I'm going to redeem myself from that humiliation." she said as she put her backpack down.

"Well, I can give you some pointers...maybe you can use that?" I suggest. "Sure Bella. But let me ask you know. Why are you here so early? You're always early for every class." she points out. I feel my face flushed. Getting tomato red. I try to hide my face from her, to not get embarrassed. "I—Well, I'm here because...I just want to practice for the audition for the Nutcracker." I admit, and without even looking at a mirror, I can tell my face looks like I just dipped my head in a bucket full of red paint. "But that isn't until another week. Besides, we have other things to practice too," she says and continues practicing the whipped throw. "You're right," I say, "You know, if you want, maybe we can learn the whipped throw together?" I ask her. Anna chuckles, and after she gets her breath, she makes out these words, "Of course Bella. I love to do anything with you." I smile too, feeling quite happy. "Well, the professional and more of a correct term to say the whipped throw is Fouetté," I say, not trying to look

too  smart. "Yeah, I know, it's just that no matter how hard I try to pronounce it, the word doesn't stick to my head. Also, saying whipped throw/whipped turning is just much easier than pronouncing that word," she replies. I just nod my head, and we both start practicing together. "After we do the Fouetté, we're going to do the Pirouette. That way, for this class, we'll be good to go. According to my watch, class starts in another fifteen minutes." I tell her. "Ok, so let's start." she agrees back. I take a deep breath, and officially start telling her how to conquer the move.

"To do the Fouetté, you need to first turn on one foot while turning it fastly outward, then quickly inward, just like how I'm doing, see?" I explain to her while demonstrating how my foot moves. "Ok, so all I do is turn, turn my foot outward, and then inward. Then repeat these series of steps and do it fast later," she tells me. "Exactly Anna!" I encourage her. "No wonder why everyone tells you you're a fast learner!" I add, and I see her smile becoming wider. "Thanks, Bella," she says.

I coach her on how to do this move a few more times so that she could memorize it quickly and learn it faster gradually. Soon, I even asked her to do the step alone while I counted her beats. "One, two, three...one, two, three—Anna, you did it! That's all it takes! You're so close to mastering it!" I exclaim.

"Really? Wow I—I didn't even know that! Th..thanks, Bella! You really are the best friend." she tells me, which makes me feel happy. I quickly glance at the time to see that it's already 10: 50 am.

"Hey Anna, we still have ten more minutes, do you want to start doing the Pirouette?" I ask her, trying to wait to hear her opinion. "Umm...sure! But, we haven't learned that in class, so how can you teach me?" she questions, and I look down. "Well...you see Anna, when I'm at home, I kind of teach myself all the moves. I look at famous plays and shows, which is how I learned all these moves really quickly." I confess. I didn't know how she would think about me when I told her this. "Really Bella? That's amazing! You know, you deserve to climb higher in your ballerina career." she says. "Thanks, at least I hope so. So far, I haven't gotten picked in any auditions...so maybe? But thanks for always cheering me up Anna." I tell her as we start to practice the next move. I do some quick stretches and warm-ups in my legs for us to start the next move. "The Pirouette is a very important move in ballerina. It is when you spin on one foot while the other foot is on the knee. The foot which is on the knee is kind of supporting the leg while you do the dance move. But sometimes when you try to spin on one foot, people tend to break their toes and things like that which is why I'm going to show you the simplest method of learning the move." I explain to her. I show her how to carefully spin, without breaking bones or any other parts of your foot. I help her try to balance the foot, and I continue to show her.

"Look carefully Anna, the spinning foot should move in a smooth direction for the flow to be a bit better," I suggest to her. To help her learn the move a bit easier while keeping on the beat, I show her some guidelines and let her try to do it by herself. "Wow, Bella! When you break the movements down like this, I feel like I can do any steps! Thank you so much!" she yells in joy. "Your welcome Anna, and look! We finished our practice right on time for class!" I tell her. "You're right, I guess I'll see you in class!" she waves, and I wave back at her. 🟑🟑🟑 "Students, please sit down. In this class, we're going to take auditions for

The Nutcracker,

because Christmas is coming up and holidays are coming up, we need to pick the best of the best students to perform," Mrs. Juan explains. "So, how many people will be picked, Mrs. Juan?" Anna asks. "Good question Anna. I will pick 25 students, and from those 25 students, I will pick 6 of them to do multiple roles. Plus, we're going to be performing out of town! So a week before the performance, the 25 students will go on tour with me, and there we will set up everything for the performance." Mrs. Juan continues explaining to the students.

Oh my gosh! Will all my practice and hard work be enough for the surprise audition? Will there be, even a sliver of a chance that I can get the main role, Clara? Or the Sugar Plum Fairy? Was I meant for this all my life?  questions fill my mind as Mrs. Juan tells us all the directions. "Now fellow ballerinas, the auditions will begin. Each student will show me what we've been practicing so far. They will also show separate moves and will have to answer questions." Mrs. Juan clarifies. "Will the audition for each girl be done in front of everyone, or separately?" I ask, my heart pounding nervously for her answer.

"To answer your question Bella, yes, they will be done separately. No one should receive help from any other students under any circumstance. To avoid that, we are going to test each of you for different moves." she construes. I feel so much better that I don't have to be in the spotlight, and do it in front of everyone. If I mess up, only Mrs. Juan will be there to see.  I think relieved. "Any other questions girls? If no, we are going to start the auditions. The first person I have on my list is Anna C. and Bella L." she continues. "I wish you the best of luck Anna, I know you'll do great," I whisper to Anna quietly. "Really? I know you'll do an amazing job too," she whispered back. It had been some time since Anna was in there and the rest of us were out. We were waiting for about ten minutes, and out of curiosity, without anyone seeing me, I peeked at the door to see Anna doing the Pirouette. I hope she does great.  I pray. But after some time, I see that she's done with a smile on her face. "Hey, Anna! How did it go?" I ask. "Well, I did everything the way you taught me, and I saw she was impressed, but she said she'll only announce the results at the end of everyone's audition, basically next week," Anna told me. "Ok. I can wait that long." I tell her, and as soon as I do, I hear my name called next. 🟑🟑🟑 "Bella Lemaire!" Mrs. Juan called. "Sorry Mrs. Juan! I'm here!" I holler back. "Good. Now Ms. Lemaire, let's see what you got. Do a Foutté, then slide onto an Etendre, and end with a Plier. Finally, stand in the second position." she instructs me. I hold my breath really deep, and then I close my eyes. Her moves chorus through my ears as I hear the music played. I tried to be calm and more swift, as a real ballerina would do. After I was done, she stopped the music, and smiled, then looked down at her paper, almost like she was writing something down. "Very good Mr. Lemaire, now I want you to answer me this question. In ballet, what three things do you need to be an excellent ballet dancer?" she asks. I look down anxiously and look up at the ceiling. "Umm...you need—poise, hard work, and...and—determination," I respond hesitantly. "Very well then Mrs. Lemaire, you may go out and the results will be announced next week," she says. "Thank you, Mrs. Juan!" I say as I walked out. "So? How did everything go Bella? Did you rock it? I mean—did you gracefully rock it?" she asks which makes me giggle a little. "I tried my best Anna, but only next week will we know the audition results," I say as a twirl out of the common room to get some water. "See you next week Bella!" she shouts. "See you too Anna!" I yell back as we both head out our separate ways.

🟑🟑🟑 "Girls! The audition results have been announced. As the role of Clara, we have Anna, and the back-up dancer of Clara is Bella," she announces. "...and then for the Sugar Plum fairy..." she continues announcing, but I don't listen to any of that. I'm happy for Anna, but why am I a backup dancer? I thought I would at least any role.

I question myself over and over again. Next to me, I see Anna happy, so I congratulate her, having a fake smile on my face. "See Anna? I told you that you rocked the audition!" I exclaim, but still, the melancholiness doesn't disappear in my tone. Luckily, Anna doesn't notice that. "Thank you so much, Bella! Without your support, I couldn't have got this role!" she says, and I smile at her, though deep down, I still feel pretty upset about being a backup dancer. When we're going on tour, I just want to have a peaceful trip, without any distractions. After all, I'm just a backup dancer. I'll have a lot of free time to hang around by myself while the others are rehearsing.  I say to comfort myself from everything that had just happened to me. ~The End~


Prompt: Write your story against the backdrop of a storm. Storms a brewin’ My joints really ache today more than the typical soreness I feel in my older age. A lot more than any other day. I think I may have slept like a pretzel twist.  Then again, when the weather changes all holy hell breaks out in my body. From my bedroom window I checked the skies. Not a single cloud; the sun was brilliant and hot. To confirm my amateur weather interpretations, I listened to the radio forecast.  The weatherman was so confident that for the next seventy-two hours our town would be basking and roasting in ninety-degree heat.

I was relieved to hear that second opinion.  There is a lot going on today and it would be a disaster if the weather was unkind to me; actually, to all of us. Time was catching up on me. I paid the price for eating a leisurely breakfast, consequently I had to quickly dress. I could not be late for the opening ceremonies. It would be horrid if I missed them since I was the new president of our local Chapter for the Special Olympics. Dozens of special needs kids, teens, and adults from surrounding communities were meeting today for a variety of trial competitions. Winning participants would compete in the state finals in two weeks. The body of officials, participants and spectators took their respective areas.  One could feel a tempest of excitement brewing.  The athletes paraded onto the field holding their respective local town flags waving and smiling ear to ear.  The spectators, although few in number were raucously loud with cheers of support. The warmth of the day complemented the intense enthusiasm. It would soon be time for these athletes to shine after much preparation and training. There would be several sprint and long run races today; teams and individuals would compete in volleyball, softball, tennis, badminton and even cycling.

This was my first year as president of the Special Olympics for my Chapter. Previously, I was involved in collegiate prep high school sports and was well aware of the expressions of elation for winning and the disappointment of defeat when losing an event. Winning was paramount to further success in sport, at college and life in general.  But I had my doubts about these Olympics. I had little faith that these participants would really grasp the value of the competitive spirit.  I had a heavy heart for those participants who would not win today. I was concerned how the losers would take it personally. I was troubled that most of game time would be spent in consoling the losers.

The races began. I was flabbergasted to see that after each race the winner was swarmed with congratulations by the other participants. It was more than a simple pat on the back or handshake. There were smiles, deep hugs and serious embraces by the losers. Amazingly, I saw no signs of defeat or disappointment expressed by the losers.  They were genuinely happy for each other.

Similar emotional responses occurred from the other events whether it was jumping, throwing or any other sport.  I was overwhelmed that the athletes thought more about each other’s efforts than just winning the event.  I asked myself was this the goal of winning a sport? To celebrate victory no matter who takes the crown? Then, a vile thought occurred to me. I whispered, “might as well give them all participation trophies. Winning then is inconsequential. Why bother with competitive sport?” I was really uncomfortable with these cynical thoughts. Now, I sensed a change in the weather. The humidity in the air became oppressive. I was sweating profusely.  Although the skies were still clear blue, I could smell the oncoming rain. A storm was brewing.  I knew it would not be long before a deluge of water would fall upon us. I was concerned about lightning strikes and the athletes’ safety.  There was a storm brewing but where?  I actually began to be fearful that a disastrous situation might happen. My anxious and doubting thoughts made me wonder was there another storm? One that was brewing inside of me? A few lazy clouds hovered above our heads blocking out the hot sun.  Unexpectedly, those clouds gave up their moisture falling down upon the athletes.  It was a welcomed relief from the intensity of the hot day. All of the competitions stopped momentarily. The participants danced in jubilation with one another. I was so taken back by the simplicity of the moment that my tears blended in with the rain falling upon my cheeks. As quickly as it had started it ended. The athletes stopped dancing. All heads were turned toward the sky as an incredible double rainbow appeared. The field resonated with voices crying out in a delightful and joyous crescendo.  In my days in athletic sports, I had never witnessed such a scene. I had to swallow my heart as I filled up with intense emotion.  These athletes were amazing. They displayed such a zest for life and a genuine respect for competitiveness. I was sullen about my earlier attitude. But after the rainbows, I felt something different. These disabled athletes displayed a zest for life and camaraderie more so than any high school team I had ever been associated with.

Our local Chapter offered a small copper medallion to the winners of each event. Presentations were done on a trilevel platform. First place on the highest tier, with second and third place taking their respective places on the raised platform. No sooner when the medallion winners would accept their prize, they jumped off the platform to gather around all the participants for the event. Each medallion winner would share their medal with the others. They took turns wearing the medallion smiling for pictures and celebrating as though each of them had won the prize. That day of the trials left an indelible mark on my thinking and most importantly on my heart. I left the field with a new perspective on what it means to win. It was given to me from people who knew and respected the value of hard work to compete. It was these special Olympian athletes who never considered themselves disabled. They had and continue to experience huge struggles which began at the beginning of their lives. They were not envious of the winners but celebrated jubilantly in victory whether it was theirs or not. I still can “smell the rain” just before the storm clouds come. I watch for the warning signs. And now I am carefully watching for those storms in my faith that are a brewin’ deep in my heart that may cause me to be judgmental, to be cynical, and skeptical of other people.

One day Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side of the lake.” So they got into a boat and set out.

As they sailed, he fell asleep. A squall came down on the lake, so that the boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger.

The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!” He got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm.

“Where is your faith?” he asked his disciples. (Luke 8:22-25, NIV) Author: Pete Gautchier Acknowledgement: Reedsy Prompts


Journal Entry 236: Winter’s Day, 1347 I think that will do it. The last injection should be the correct formula to introduce plant cells into the human body. Hopefully this will allow me to use the infernal sun’s power as a food source to survive in this accursed winter wasteland. Journal Entry 237: Winter’s Day, 1353 It’s been almost a week, and I’ve been terribly sick. I can definitely tell that the bio serum I injected myself with is working. It’s changing my very genetic structure. I’ve noticed that my eyes are turning yellow, and my skin has a green bioluminescence to it. I guess I should have thought about the fact that my skin would be the primary source of dietary consumption, if I really am turning into a plant. Does this mean I’ll have to walk around naked all the time? Good thing there’s no one else around to see my tree stump. Lol. Journal Entry 238: Winter’s Day, 1354 First report of sun feeding: I’m totally sunburnt! I spent three hours topside yesterday afternoon, walking around in my birthday suit, and I’m burnt from head to ankles. I have a stupid tan line where my boots were, and there’s funky tan lines also where my backpack straps were. I’ve been lonely for so long that I never thought I’d actually be glad no one is around to see how stupid I look. Journal Entry 239: Winter’s Day, 1364 It’s been ten days since my last report. I’m struggling to eat solid foods. The canned goods I have stockpiled in the bomb shelter are not staying down. I’ve had violent diarrhea every time I eat, and I’m manically thirsty. It’s like I’m addicted to water. I think I’ll try infusing water with fruit sugars for added nutrients. I feel like I have to start experimenting with plant fertilizer just to feed myself properly. This experiment is just getting weirder and weirder.

Journal Entry 240: Winter’s Day, 1374 Another ten days. I’ve been spending significantly more time topside, naked. Emerging from the bomb shelter no longer hurts my eyes, but being inside actually does. I think my eyes have adjusted to the serum injection, and become sunlight dependent. It’s like my very eyeballs are sunglasses now! Journal Entry 241: Sun Day, 1 I’ve pretty much stopped eating solid foods. My primary source of sustenance is now the blazing sunlight. I don’t even burn anymore. I can actually feel my body absorbing the sun’s rays, and there’s a tingling sensation after about thirty minutes walking around. I think I can actually feel the chlorophyll in my skin cells converting sunlight into energy. I think this mad scientist plan I had of turning myself into a plant has actually worked! I’m officially changing the name of my calendar system to Sun Day, as the nuclear winter is no longer a limitation for me! I’m restarting the number system of how I count days as well.

Journal Entry 242: Sun Day, 10 Another ten days has gone by. I think I can officially say that I’m no longer reliant on basic human foods. I have the digestive system of a plant now, requiring only sunlight. I’ve decided to pack up my belongings and start searching for other survivors. The last survivor I ran into was two years ago, and they mentioned a settlement near Taos, New Mexico. I think I’ll head down that way and see what I can find. I’ll need to follow the river though to make sure I have water, but that’s good desert country and I’ll have plenty of sunlight for food. How neat to say that!

Journal Entry 243: Sun Day, 16 It took about a week to finish packing, and I’ve been walking for a few days. I’ve walked about sixty miles, and it’s a barren wasteland out here. The city of Denver is still a smoldering heap of bombed concrete and ash, and I didn’t see or hear any survivors. Perhaps if I find smaller towns away from the major blast centers, I’ll have more luck finding survivors.

Journal Entry 245: Sun Day, 30 Another ten days have gone by. I’ve walked a long way, and still haven’t seen anyone. Am I the only survivor? I have to believe that’s not the case.

Journal Entry 246: Sun Day 36 I found people! I’m just outside Chama, New Mexico, and I found a small village that’s established like a trading post. I got some strange looks because it’s not everyday that A: a wanderer comes in from the wasteland, and B: wastelanders probably don’t stroll around wearing only a loincloth. I’ve even stopped wearing shoes because my feet are barklike now so I don’t even need any foot protection. And I’m overall just a green color now, so that scared quite a few people.

But these folks, who call themselves Chamites, were overall hospitable. They don’t see me as a threat, although they were rightfully wary at first. I had a great meeting with a group of five townspeople- three women and two men, who gave me a bit of their history. They said they’ve been in Chama ever since the bombs went off. The bombs tended to hit any sizeable population center, or anywhere that there were military installations. So Chama was saved, as it’s always been a small crossroads between Colorado and New Mexico, and not deemed a military target.

I spent enough time with the town council to understand that these are not war-like people, but they’ve been having trouble with a group of local raiders that are desperately trying to break into the underground quarters where the people are. Most of the surface level of Chama has been pilfered by this group of marauders, and they want my help as I seem to be the only one who can openly traverse the surface without suffering health consequences. I think I’ll help this group, and maybe they’ll let me stay on with them.

Journal Entry 247: Sun Day 40 I’ve been out in the Waste for over a week, surveying the band of raiders harassing the Chamites. There’s about twenty of these scoundrels, but it’s hard to tell who’s who because they are covered head to toe in rags and gear to protect from the sun. They’ve got a cage of Chama captives sitting out in the sun, and they absolutely torment these poor people. The town council told me that I can bring the captives back to the Chama Underground if I can figure out how to spring them.

Journal Entry 249: Sun Day 52 I got ahold of one of the smaller raiders, and stashed him in a pile of rocks outside their encampment. He was terrified of my green skin and thought I was an alien. I laughed at that, as Roswell isn’t too far away. But I realized that I have the power to make roots and plants grow now, and I used them to wrap this guy up. Pretty awesome superpower! I’m going to go into camp while everyone is sleeping and quietly wrap vines around the doors of their poorly built housing structures. I’ll free the captives, and come back for my prisoner tomorrow. As soon as the sun goes down and everyone is sleeping, I’ll make my move.

Journal Entry 250: Sun Day 53 Last night was terrifying, but successful! I got rolling late, as most of the raiders stayed up drinking some kind of homemade moonshine. Most of them were drunk as skunks by the time they went to bed, so I didn’t have to be as quiet as I had thought. But, I was sneaky and silent, and terrified beyond anything I’ve experienced since the day the bombs fell twelve years ago. Heart thumping out of my chest, and skin tingling with anxious excitement, I made my move.

I crept into camp, and tested my powers of growing plants. Reaching out my hands, I concentrated on extending my fingertips. Little shoots sprung out of the ground where I directed my focus, literally willing plantlife to emerge. These neophyte plants grew up, and I was able to use my mind to twist them all together. Once I had created a thick lattice work over the door of the first hut, I focused on hardening these green shoots and turning them into brambles. This made them thick and tough, almost like dead vines. And the beautiful thing is that this only took about a minute of deep concentration! I moved from hut to hut, keeping a careful watch for any guard patrolling the camp. But these raiders didn’t feel the need to be cautious, convinced they were the only ones foolhardy enough to survive topside in the wastes. The sun is so strong on the surface that it burns anything in its view. So I quietly crept from one hut to another, closing off doors and windows. In about an hour, I had the whole camp on lockdown.

Just before sunrise, I headed towards the cage holding the captives. There were seven of them, and looked almost dead. Skin burnt, hair frizzled, and dehydrated almost beyond salvaging. I quietly dispatched the lone guard, with the captives watching in wide-eyed fascination at this green plant-man. They had just enough strength to sneak back to my hideout in the rocks where I had left the last captive. We decided to leave him trussed up, either for dead or for finding by his comrades.

It took us nearly three days to get back to the Chama Underground. I grew a crop of cactus plants, and cutting them open created enough fresh water to rehydrate the captives just enough for the journey to safety. The people of Chama were ecstatic that I had freed their family and friends, and regarded me as a superhero. They asked what they could call me. I said, call me Chloro Phil.