THE PROBLEM WITH CREATIVE PEOPLE            I happen to be one of those type people. Right now it is 2:15 AM…..yeah, I am one of those guys. For the past few weeks I have been working on a painting and hitting the sack at 4 or 5 AM with my dog Luther, he sticks around when I do this stuff. I also play the guitar and will start playing at midnight and go until I fall asleep on the instrument. Normally this is not a problem until I keep my wife Janice awake. She already has a problem where she gets up a couple of times a night to pee. Thank God that is not me; tomorrow she is going to get a cat scan to check that out.            Anyway I will stay up until the wee hours of the morning working on something like this story. For a few weeks I was working on a fake receipt to return a stereo to Target. This was an attempt to get over on them. I finally gave that idea up and dumped it at a store where I got a tax credit. When I get going though, I will put on some quiet music and type or paint. When I was working on the painting I would put on a cheap boom box which also I had gotten from Target. This worked well; I would put in something like Segovia or some classical music and keep going. When I was working on the painting this was the result of a photo I had taken in Key West about five or six years ago. The original painting had been printed out on and 8 ½ X 11 piece of paper and looked me in the face for several years. I finally decided to try to do this with watercolors. I have never been too good with that medium and the few good ones got sold off immediately. I had done that one using a photograph and carbon paper. I traced the design onto a piece of watercolor paper and then used watercolors and India ink to pull off the card. I have a friend who makes custom greeting cards by cutting out designs and pasting them to make 3D cards. Very cool stuff, her name is Janice just like my wife.            I have always been a creative type as my twin brother John. He is mentally retarded but the man makes the best abstract art work I have ever seen, he makes mine look like crap even though I have an art teaching degree. I can kick his ass with realistic work. I will stay up working on a website, or an idea for a painting or a piece of music. The only problem with the music is that it sometimes gets stuck in my head and I have problems getting rid of it. I have sort of solved that problem by taking deep breaths and thinking of good looking women at the same time. I am sure these women would feel a bit put off if they knew I was doing this. Right now I am in the back bedroom doing this; normally I would type on the laptop in the front bedroom but the LED bulbs kill any chance of Janice getting any sleep so most times she is back here.            When I had my first home in Beechwood NJ it was a small place 26 feet square and I am not a TV watcher. This is why we don’t have cable. When I lived there the reception was bad so when Lorraine moved out the TV went in the attic and I lived without it for the next two years by playing guitar all night or painting or doing some other kind of  artwork. Now I don’t really need money from artwork but I have a ton of old hardware that I am working with to make abstract sculptures that I am gonna put into art and craft shows or online stuff. It is a matter of getting rid of this stuff and at least making a few bucks while blowing off some creative juices. I had a friend of mine who used to do art work her name was Rose Brancati. I met her in college and dated her for a few weeks until I started with Lorraine. She turned out some incredible ink work and many times at night she would call me at midnight to talk about artwork, her problem is that she had gotten MS which left her with only the use of her left arm and her head. She was like that for at least 25 years and I would visit her and help her put work into senior art shows. The last thing she did was a drawing for calendars I still have this in my music books.            Speaking of music books I have played guitar since I was 11 and I am almost 76. I taught it for 45 years and have a bunch of videos on Youtube. I was doing that before and came up to the bed rooms and found Janice in the front one because I was being too noisy. In recent times I have built a PVC fence from fittings; and a stained glass window that went into the front of my home. Even when I was home I was always fooling around with some type of creative or technical work. When I was in high school I was into model trains. I have the set under my Christmas tree right now and in the next week or so that is coming down. I am also in a writing group this is not the first one I have been in. When I was in college I used to drag a guitar around so in between classes I could get in practice time.            I get this bit from people that I don’t get enough sleep. I am wide awake right now and I don’t see that is gonna change in the next five or six hours. From what I can see I will be here typing until the sun comes up.


       Jason opened the passenger door emblazoned with black lettering advertising " F and F Antiques - PHONE 371- DEAL" . He climbed into the seat of the late model 1998 fire-red Ford-150 truck with great care and excitement, making sure he hadn't tracked in any mud. The vehicle had all the bells and whistles and a matching enclosed utility trailer hitched to the back. Freddy Foster, the proprietor of the business and deluxe transportation package, slid behind the wheel. He started the engine and pulled into traffic. Freddy wasn't tall or handsome, but maintained a crisp and neat appearance. His eyes were crystal blue and penetrating-even his jeans were pressed and there was never a sandy hair out of place on his expensive toupee. It was carefully placed on a mannequin head every night and combed out by Freddy or his wife, Frannie. He conquered the art of applying just the right amount of Polo, achieving a pleasing scent without bathing in it. He looked over at his seventeen year old assistant and asked, "You ready to learn the ropes, Jason?"

      Jason nodded his head and his dark hair flopped in his eyes, which he pushed back in place. He gave a two "thumbs up" with his large fingers and asked, "Where are we going again, Mr. Foster ?"        Freddy answered, "An on-site auction in Oneonta-a little over an hour away. There's supposed to be about 500 lots-tons of merch." He gave Jason a quick appraisal and asked, "How come you're not playing football?" Freddy had forgotten he had not allowed his own son- now forty-years old - to play any sports so he could be put to work helping his father.

       Jason replied, "Well, Mom doesn't like football and I really don't care. " Jason had repeated this half-truth several times. Jason's father could be described as a deadbeat dad. Jason's mother, Janet, worked two waitressing jobs to keep Jason and his two siblings fed and clothed. He had been relied upon to babysit his younger sisters while his mom worked crazy hours. They were now self-sufficient, but Jason felt his skill-set was lacking to try out now for sports that his peers had been playing for years.

        Freddy asked, "How is your mom doing? I saw her the other day when I stopped at the diner for breakfast. I might pop over later to take a look at the dishwasher. "        Jason said, "That would be great." Privately, he thought Freddy was sweet on her. Jason had always been proud that he had a pretty mother who liked to joke and have fun. This combination made her the largest tip earner at the diner. Freddy's Frannie, on the other hand, might make Jack the Ripper run in the other direction. She had a voice that cut right through you, no matter what her mood might be. Their aggressive mixed- breed family dog, Baby, slunk to the ground when she called out to Freddy when he was in the garage with his antiques.

       Freddy turned the radio on and Elvis belted out "Jailhouse Rock ". "Your generation has garbage music compared to this. I was about your age when Elvis first became popular", Freddy said. Jason learned Freddy's taste in music two months ago when he first started working for him, learning to refinish antiques.

      School had just gotten out for summer between Jason's junior and senior years and he was at loose ends. This apprenticeship was arranged by Freddy. He floated the idea to Janet at the diner. It made perfect sense-he needed a helper. Jason could earn extra money and learn the trade. Besides, their duplex apartment was only two houses down from Freddy's house and antique business. Janet agreed without consulting Jason and he started working the third week in June.

       When Elvis finished up, Jason leaned over and changed the station. They often played this game with each other while refinishing furniture or while dealers browsed the offerings in the garage. Last year's hit single, "My Heart Will Go On", belted out by Céline Dion, had just started. Jason joined in with his powerful voice as he knew the lyrics and Dennis listened attentively and with admiration. When the song ended, Freddy said, "That was great, kid." Nonetheless, he reached over and moved the dial until he found a Pat Boone song. Although it wasn't much of a compliment, Jason couldn't remember his father giving any. They rode in companionable silence, except for the radio , until they were five miles away from their destination.

      Freddy broke the silence and said, "I want you to remember a few rules since this is our first road trip. Don't be overly talkative with anybody. There are no friends at auctions and we don't want to let on what we're interested in. You might see some dealers here that buy from me and the same holds for them. Don't question anything I do. If you want to ask me something, wait till the ride home. People are jealous of me and might say something nasty. Ignore them and don't say anything. Understand?"        Jason nodded his head , a little surprised but not shocked. When he first started working, he realized what a tremendous work ethic Freddy had. He had great organizational skills and everything was kept in its place. He was meticulous in repairing or refinishing furniture and paintings . He brought in fresh merchandise on a regular basis to supply the dealers with items for their shops. He accomplished this by rising at the crack of dawn to hit estate sales, flea markets, auctions and house calls. He had developed a very practiced eye for hidden gems and desirable objects to wholesale to the trade. He taught Jason how to strip, stain, repair and glue furniture. Jason was able to patch holes and small rips to paintings under Freddy's tutelage. He learned the human element of the business as well-how to talk reluctant buyers into purchasing, driving hard deals and pitting the dealers against each other. At least once a week, Freddy ordered Jason outside while he discussed "business ". Jason could sometimes hear the fighting and cussing.

       Jason talked about his family, friends and school while they were working and Freddy seemed to take a real interest. While curious about the reasons for the arguments with the dealers, Freddy deflected most of Jason's questions and the subject was dropped.

       After two months, Jason accumulated quite a stash of cash, giving a lion's share to his mother. He was able to buy designer clothes and sneakers and appreciated the luxury of spending money. Sometimes, he saw thousands of dollars exchanging hands in a matter of hours. He enjoyed the work and thought maybe he'd stick with this trade next year after graduation since his grades weren't the best. Freddy became a substitute father of sorts and Jason was a grateful recipient of his attention and knowledge.

       They pulled into the on-site auction and were among the first arrivals. Freddy wanted a good parking spot and a two hour preview of the items for sale before the action started. Freddy registered at the desk and covered two chairs under the auction tent with newspapers in order to reserve them. Jason and Freddy prowled the house and grounds, examining the merchandise. Freddy made notes on his bidding card-number 66- of the lots he was interested in. Just before the bidding started, Freddy asked Jason if he saw anything he liked.

       Jason replied, "Mom would like that huge blue vase with the hand-painted flowers. It's her birthday next month. " Freddy nodded and said, "I'll be back. "

        A dealer who looked familiar to Jason who was seated across the aisle said, "You're just like that Van Halen song." When Jason looked confused, the man provided further explanation. "You know, 'Running with the Devil'. " He glanced at the bidding card with the number 66 laying on the empty chair. "One more 6 and it would be the mark of the beast! ", he laughed. Jason followed Freddy's orders and ignored him.        Just then, Freddy came back carrying hot dogs, chips and sodas for them both. Jason thought Freddy was a mind reader. "How did you know I was starving?", he asked.

      Freddy replied, "You're a teenager ." They both laughed and the auction started.

       Over the next hour, Jason observed while Freddy bought six lots, mostly furniture. The merchandise was dispersed outside the sale tent and marked with the bidders' numbers with chalk when sold and the smaller items brought directly to the buyers. Freddy pulled one of the auction runners aside, whispered to him and shoved cash into his hand. Within the next ten minutes, Freddy bought three lots, including the vase. Freddy handed the $200 purchase over to Jason and said, "It's on me." Jason was overwhelmed and couldn't speak. Nobody had ever been this generous. Jason examined and admired the 150 year old piece of fine porcelain while Freddy paid the tab. Freddy returned and then said, "Come with me."      They walked back to the truck with the vase and Freddy's smaller purchases. The finds were packed in boxes with newspapers. Freddy and Jason started loading the furniture- roughly a dozen pieces in all. Jason didn't remember Freddy buying two of the dressers, one chest, a table and an oriental rug, yet they were marked "66". They completed their task without anyone paying them the slightest bit of attention. When they got to Schenectady , Freddy pulled into the parking lot of an Italian restaurant. Jason heard his mother speak of this landmark and hoped to bring her here sometime. "Still hungry?", asked Freddy. Jason rapidly nodded his head up and down.

       When they were working their way through huge portions of lasagna following appetizers and salad, Jason worked up the courage to ask about the extra lots they loaded on the truck "Gee, Mr. Foster, I don't remember some of those things being sold."         Freddy said, " There was too much stuff to get through and the auction manager let me buy those extra lots directly because I told him I had to leave. Even if I stole them, they had it coming because the auctioneer ran me up, taking bids from imaginary buyers." Jason digested this information, not knowing whether to believe it or not.

       Freddy studied Jason carefully and said, "You remind me of my son, Frankie, when he was your age."        Jason seldom heard Freddy discuss Frankie but knew he was in the business as well. "How is he doing?", he asked.

       "I bailed him out of jail last week", said Freddy. He went into an explanation that mostly went over Jason's head about check kiting. Jason gleaned that it was a scheme used to purchase items using various accounts that had insufficient funds, buying time until the checks cleared.

        "I learned him better than that", Freddy said. He sighed as he paid the bill and pushed himself out of the booth. He said, " There probably will be the usual suspects waiting for us at the garage. "        Sure enough, there were about six pickers and dealers waiting for them at Freddy's. There was a buying frenzy, as they had to make snap decisions while competing over the haul. Most of the items didn't make it to the garage-they were unloaded from Freddy's truck to the vehicles of the new buyers. After the flurry of excitement died down, Jason got a quick glimpse of the auction receipt on Freddy's desk. There was no record of four items Jason helped load. Freddy said he turned a $3000 profit and handed Jason $200. "See you next Saturday", he said.

       Jason showed up at 9:30 the following week, expecting to refinish furniture. Instead, Freddy announced, "Road Trip !" They drove north for forty minutes, headed for the multi-dealer shop in Glens Falls. Again, Freddy gave a pep talk just before they got there. "Jason, remember that dog painting I sold to Ron two weeks ago?", he asked.

       Jason thought, and then recalled. "Yes, it was a pug on a red velvet sofa. He paid $300 for it," he said.

       Freddy continued, "Well, the check bounced and I'm getting my dog back. Mary is working the desk today. I'll show you Ron's booth and you'll grab my painting and take it to the truck while I'm distracting Mary." Freddy fended off Jason's objections. He assured him that he hadn't been paid, that the surveillance system wasn't working and he knew how to handle the situation in the slight chance anything went wrong.

       Jason's hands and knees were shaking as he lifted the disputed dog down from the wall and walked past the empty front desk. Mary was showing Freddy a piece of jewelry in a distant case and he was charming her. Jason's heart thumped loudly in his chest until they were five miles down the road. He and Freddy "high-fived" and Jason realized that he got a thrill after all was said and done. Freddy yanked off the price tag and called Ron a thief when he saw it was marked $2500. Freddy sold the painting for $1000 on a picking/selling expedition in Connecticut a few days later.

       The next road trip the following week was to an estate sale in Amsterdam. Jason and Freddy set out early at 4AM so they could get the first numbers handed out at 6AM for the 9AM start time. They were #1 and #2 to gain entrance, but Freddy sold Jason's number for $200 to another dealer who overslept. Jason waited in the truck while Freddy bargain -hunted. He was on stand-by to help Freddy load. A picker coming out of the sale noticed Jason and yelled, " You're working for F,F,and F Antiques ! Flimmed, Flammed and Effed !" Jason got angry and his face became flushed, but he said nothing.

       At 10AM, Freddy came out of the grand house. He motioned and Jason sprang into action.They carried out a few rugs, several bronzes and five pieces of furniture. The last lot was a small pine chest of drawers. Jason was surprised because it seemed to be of a cheaper quality than Freddy usually bought. He noted it was heavier than it should be and could hear a few objects rolling around in it. He suggested they take out the drawers and Freddy said sharply, "Shut up!"        Just as they passed the checkout desk, the bottom drawer gave way and several objects within crashed on the floor. Candlesticks, small bronzes, sterling silver and various small items clanged and rolled about while the shocked audience stared at the treasure trove. A few workers came over to help out. The checkout clerk yelled, "Those items haven't been paid for !" There were audible gasps and Jason felt the heat rise up in his neck and face. He never felt more embarrassed.

       The staff ordered Freddy and Jason to stay put while the next strategy was mapped out. The estate sale head was familiar with Freddy and had a plan at the ready to deal with him. It was decided that Freddy and Jason must empty their pockets and allow a voluntary search of the truck. Otherwise, the police would be called. Freddy consented to the humiliating procedure. Every item in the chest, two bronzes on the truck, a wristwatch and diamond ring found in Freddy's pocket were returned. They were banned from any future sales. It was a quiet return trip.

        When they arrived at home base, Freddy and Jason unloaded in silence and Freddy directed Jason to strip an oak table. The mood was tense and awkward until the regulars showed up at 3PM , looking for deals. When Freddy went into the house to use the bathroom, Kevin said in a low voice, "We heard about the sale ! A word of advice- get a different job!" The other three pickers echoed his sentiment and quickly changed the subject before Freddy walked in.           All that night, Jason tossed and turned thinking about his relationship with Freddy. He had been so grateful to be taken under Freddy's wing. He earned more money than his classmates, learned a useful skill set and was able to help support his mom. The intangibles were just as important. He felt important, valued and listened to. The void of having no male role model was somewhat filled. He wanted to believe in Freddy, but the events of the day left no doubt there was a dark side to his mentor. He wrestled all week whether he was going on a house call with Freddy on Saturday. Ultimately, he went with Freddy to the old woman's house. He didn't know what he'd tell his mother about the job if he quit. She'd been through so much lately.

        The drive to the Saratoga house call went better than expected. Last week's episode wasn't mentioned, and Freddy was very attentive as he asked about Jason's week at school. Freddy worked his charm on Beatrice, who was downsizing to a senior apartment. She had a lot of great stuff and seemed interested in giving Freddy the deal-she would let him know. Just as they were leaving, Freddy told Beatrice that he hoped she'd choose him-that his wife Frannie was fighting cancer and he could use the business. Beatrice was moved to tears and waved goodbye to them both.

        It was quiet on the way home until they pulled in the driveway and got out of the truck. Jason said, "I'm so sorry about your wife-is it serious?"        Freddy said with a laugh," I made that up to get the deal !"      The white-hot anger rose up in Jason and his face turned beet-red. "My mother just went through a cancer scare. What kind of sleeze bag lies about that?"        As he stomped off towards home without looking back, Jason realized how fuzzy his moral clarity had gotten in pursuit of filling the hole in his heart. He hoped his judgment and trust in others would return.


Marcus was going to be late. He couldn’t afford that, he would have to wait until sunset to get the picture he wanted. He didn’t have that long, the pilot told him to get back as soon as the sunrise ended or it’s an extra charge. Since he doesn’t make near enough money to warrant that, he runs. The desert is draped in thick, dull orange and the long shadows cast by cacti and boulders over sand smooth hills. The sun isn’t yet peaking over the horizon, but it will soon, and he needs to be in just the right spot. Dead centre of where it will rise. He took all of the measurements, checked the weather to make sure it wouldn’t be overcast (wouldn’t be a cloud in the sky) and made a point of scheduling the plane to take off from that little rundown airport before sunrise. He planned everything. Everything except the extra half hour he slept in. His foot slid out from under him as he ran, putting him halfway into a split before he righted himself and continued up hill. He swore passionately under out loud, a steady stream of “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” that echoed off the cascading rolls of the barren wastes that he was so feverishly trekking through. When he gets up to the top of the hill he’s panting, and when he turns around, his heart flutters with joy. The sun is still down. He has a chance. He positions himself flat on his stomach, ignoring the sensation of dry, still freezing sand getting under the seams of his clothes, and raises his camera up so he can see through it. It’s blurry, blurry, then it is clear just as the sun rolls up in front of him. It is swollen huge and coloured a deep reddish orange that glints off of the shimmering, distant landscape. It paints the wasteland a warm, glowing orange and elongates the shadow of every standing thing within it. He snaps the photo. He snaps another. He snaps ten of the fucking things because every passing second produces a greater result. Every photo is money, every speck of detail a dollar sign in his mind. It’s gorgeous out here and no one would want to come see it in person so they hire him. They’ll get their money’s worth alright, no doubt about it. By the time the sunrise ends he’s snapped twenty two pictures in total, so when he stands up he’s ready to leave when something groans behind him. Something metal. His stomach drops and a million possibilities run through his mind in the span of time it takes to turn himself around. Wild animal. Wild local. Tribe of savages. Herd of beasts. The pilot deciding he wants more money. No thought made with rationale and logic in mind, but still more realistic than the sight that actually did greet him. A submarine. An enormous, pill shaped behemoth of steel sat at the bottom of the hill behind him. It was caked in rust that ran the colour rainbow of shit brown to blood red to pitch black. It was listed a quarter sideways, half sunk into the ground, and Marcus could see sand running off of the jutting tower hatch like dribbling water. He blinked. He blinked again. His mind drew a blank as the frigid night air slowly morphed into a dry, angry heat around him. “That shouldn’t be here.” He mumbled to himself. He stood there for half a minute more before his brain abruptly lit up with inspiration. He raised his camera up and snapped a photo of the rusted metal thing before him. What’s a little side project? Someone’s bound to get a kick out of this. The pilot can wait a few more minutes. He snaps another picture as he makes his way down toward it. Snaps another. It looked somehow smaller as he got closer, though not by much. When he gets to level footing with the thing, it lets loose another metal groan that stops Marcus dead in his tracks. He sidesteps around it, cautious enough to give it a wide berth for fear of being crushed. The tower with the hatch on top of it looms large above him. He snaps a picture before taking notice that, from where he stands at least, it appears that the hatch is open. What’s the harm in checking it out? The pilot can wait a few more minutes. The hull of the submarine was close enough to the ground that he could leap up and pull himself on with his upper body. He wipes his hands free of any residue that might have gotten on them. He takes great care to keep balanced as he walks toward the submarine hatch. It is open, and, for the first time on this excursion, Marcus hesitates. The hatch is all of the way open, and he can smell something foul wafting out from inside, like moist garbage. The sun is relentless on his back as he stands there, debating himself. It serves as a point and a counterpoint for either of his internal arguments. Go back to the pilot, it’s too hot for this. Go inside the sub and out of the sun. Marcus pinches his nose at the rank odour the sub is producing. It’s not any sort of fear he feels, hardly even apprehension. He just doesn’t want to think about how bad the smell would be inside of the thing. He just about turns around when a new thought hits him. The thought of Johnny Brennan, the smug prick, getting his grease mitts on photos of the inside, taking the credit. Stealing credit from Marcus. Again! He grits his teeth and turns back to the submarines entry way. He’s racked with coughing first as he leers down into the dark rusted hole. He points his camera down towards it and takes a picture, flash on. It illuminates a discoloured ladder. The brown-red walls of the inside. The floor inside. Nothing noteworthy so Marcus, in an ill timed fit of unwarranted pique, descended that ladder and found himself surrounded by darkness on all sides. The pilot can wait a few more minutes. He turns behind himself as soon as his feet hit the metal grating of the floor, which echoes inside of the land locked vessel. He snaps a picture. It illuminates a rust soaked wall. He turns to his right and snaps a picture. It illuminates a corridor. A row of doors, two on the left and one on the right. What he thought might be some kind of cafeteria at the far end. He faces the opposite way and snaps a picture. It illuminates another corridor. A row of doors, two on the right and one on the left. Someone holding a short-handled machete, standing dead centre. Before Marcus can move, or react with the appropriate amount of panic, the sound of echoing footfalls starts up. In front and behind him. He starts scrambling, his camera jostling around is neck with a weight that may as well have been that of a noose as he grabbed a ladder rung in each hand, beginning to climb. He’s not even two feet off the ground before bodies descend upon him on both sides. He screams at the top of his lungs as his attempts to swing at them result only in his arms being grabbed in strong hands. When he sees those hands he screams so loud he goes hoarse. The men grabbing him are pallid and near skeletal, those who still possess all of their skin at least. The two grabbing him offer Marcus the only glimpse he’ll ever of his killers. They are dressed in military fatigues and their faces are visibly decayed, green and black with rot and death. They are without eyes in their half flayed skulls and their lips are shredded to the point of non existence. The only lights in their heads are green pinpricks deep inside the dark caverns of their eye sockets. One of them, one that he can’t see, puts a knife in his gut while he registers this. Marcus feels a sharp, blistering wave of agony melt all of his resistance as the rest envelop him, blocking his view of the sunlight and clear blue sky they are dragging him away from. More blades enter and exit his body. No one place is spared from the onslaught. He can still vaguely see silhouettes of these monstrous things, and, through the haze of pain consuming him, he can feel gripping fingers of sharpened bone rip away the last bits of stringy flesh blocking them from their prize. He can feel them dislodging his coiled intestines, and, in the dim light of the submarine, he can see those same intestines being yanked with great force from his stomach cavity. Suddenly, sight leaves him, and a new pressure makes itself apparent over his bulging, desperate eyes. Greater pressure pops his eyeballs like particularly juicy grapes, sparing him the sight of his attackers shoving his red steaming guts into their lipless mouths. He is not spared the feeling of it, not until he passed out much, much later. The pilot would wait much more than a few minutes.


  I used to be a book worm who like read many books and make a summary of that books but one book has changed my life, i like to share that incident with you.    It was a Sunday morning I have to complete my project. So, for that me and my friend Adam both are going to the nearby library. There are so many libraries in our town. Some of these are hundreds and thousands of years old. And this gives me a goose bumps. So, I mostly spend my time in the libraries.   That time my project topic is ''magical book" for this. me and my friend have to find the magic based old and ancient books.

  So, I had done my breakfast and taken the way to the library in the way I took Adam with me and he also lives in my neighbourhood and we both were close friends.   As we met he asked me" hi Kevin what's up bro. What are we goanna do today?". Then I replied "bro I have got a new project in which I have to make an article on the magical stuff or on magical books. Mostly on books. So, today we are both going to search for those magical books for a whole day until I find the right book or enough information.

   So this is our plan for today, are you ready? By making an excited face he said" yes sure let's start from the newest library. I always wanted to see that how is the interior design of that library. This is the newest library this means that it will have the fastest way or trick to find the book this will makes it easy to find our desired book. Both friends nodded yes and begin to walk.    So, "Adam where is this newest library of which you are talking about?" I asked. "It was in the woods near the exit of our town". He replied.

  The location of this library is little strange. Because mostly libraries are not built in this kind of place where it's hard to reach.   On the way we were near to the railway line. We have to cross this railway line to reach the exit. And there we met Bell.

   Bell is our one more close friend. She is an introvert girl, she talks very less. Now she is coming from her tuition.    By seeing her I asked "how are you bell?” she replied " I am fine, what’s up guys?, where are you both going?, both of you were not usually come here" I said "yes we are actually going into the woods. Adam is heard about a new library. Which is recently made. So, we are going to visit that library."

  "Yes Kevin had an interesting project to work upon" Adam said. "Would you like to join us?". I asked Kevin. Bell replied "yes why not I love to. Let's get on the way."

  Now three of us are on the way to that library. On the way Bell asked me about my project. I like to talk with her, I replied to her " it's a work of writing an article on magical books." I thought that she would think that I am a boring guy and think and work on silly things like magical stuff and books. But then she replied "kind of interesting". Hearing this I got the feel like she is really interested in these things. I liked it,

  Now we are on the exit of our town. In front of us there is a small library and behind it there is a vast and dark woods. Me and Bell are a little scared to enter it. But not Adam, he is so excited. Now we entered that library, this library is very strange. From outside it is not bigger than a bookstore. But from inside it is as big as a mountain of books.   As we entered, we were welcomed by a librarian who was dressed up in the style of an ancient prince. Big leather coat, tight pants, heeled shoes. He said" come here and put your entries here only then you can enter." I said "okay" then I made my entry in the register. I saw that there was no other entry like we are the first to enter in this library.

  This library is so big. I thought that it's good to ask the librarian about the book which I need. Then I asked him " hello sir I need to that where do you arranged the books which are based on magic?"

He answered " ya sure I like to help, let me check." He just looked over the mountain of books and said " there it is you have to pass the thirteenth shelf, then take right and you will get there what you wanted."   We said thanks to him and continued on the way to the shelf. As we reached to the shelf I said " Adam and Bell to find the oldest magical book okay" both nodded their heads in yes and started to put out every book they get. I started to make points from the books which I got.  On the other side Adam started to play with books. Bell told him to keep the books on their places, but he is not listening to her. Here the librarian is coming to see that what's happening.

  Here Bell is placing books on the shelf and I am also helping her. Because my notes are complete. I also made the Adam to help me and Bell to put the books. We are arranging the books on the 4th shelf. Then as the librarian saw me then in the sudden a book from the 6th shelf fallen on my face and I stumbled on the floor.

  In the bold voice librarian said "do you want any book to borrow from here".

  Then I replied " yes I would like to borrow this book, which is fallen on me." Then we left that place and I came to me my home. I kept my bag on the desk. I am too tired, I just lying on the bed. Then I noticed that I borrowed a book and I haven't checked it. I took my bag and seen that book.

 The book, is very strange, it is not having any kind of name on it, and the front cover is having an eye photo on it which is very real. It's only having a blank pages nothing is written on it. The most weird thing is that on the back cover their is a hole in it.

 I looked through that back cover and I seen nothing, but then on the first page something starts to write on it by itself. I got scared with this So, I just left the book and continued to my regular routine. In the night I kept that book on the desk and slept.   On the next day,    On Monday I went to college. In the lunch time I noticed that I accidentally brought that weird book with me in college. And Adam also noticed this thing, he took that book and started to take a look in it.

  There is only first page, which is written and other than that there is nothing written in it. But, then he used the back cover of the book to see through it, and looked through it and his face was like he had seen a ghost, through it he was scared. Then I calmed him and asked him what happened bro are you okay, he replied "bro I have seen a ghost behind you, and also seen that something terrible is going to happen with you."

  Then I said "see bro I am okay don't worry nothing is going to happen to me, so calm down and my book back." After taking book from him I opened the book and took a look on Adam through it, I still don't believe on, what I have seen,

There was literally a big shadow like figure standing behind of it, on the next blink I seen that Adam is seriously injured. But as I just closed the book then everything thing is normal.

  I was scared that if I have seen these terrible thing, then I was able to imagine that what kind of fear does Adam has experienced. That time I am in the shocked state. Now from today I am going to follow the Adam and always try to protect him it is my final decision. Because, he is the only one who understands me like a brother. And I am never goanna leave him in any condition. But still I was unable to protect him, an terrible accident is happed with Adam. I don't know how is this happened, I am feeling like it's all my fault, because this accident is happened in seconds.

Accident,

  Me and Adam were walking on the foot path, I was constantly keeping an eye on Adam, on the crossing I heard like someone is called me from behind, but when I turned back i seen that there is none on behind of me. On the other side a terrible thing is happened, a disaster for me, Adam is got hitted by a car. But, I have seen no car coming towards us. Holding tears in my eyes and with stoned heart, I called the ambulance, and took him to the hospital. Their I also informed his parents about this incident. They came and seen Adam in hospital ward. Doctors are telling that his condition is very critical, their are many fractures in his body, it will take few month to recover. Listening this words of doctor me and Adam's parents were in too much pain.    So, to give moral support to Adam's parents I decided, stayed their in hospital with Adam's family till night. I am sitting on the chair outside the ward. I was now trapped in the memories of Adam. He is a kind of childish person. He likes to make joke, and make everyone happy. Adam is my best friend we were childhood friends. We always play together and stay together in every occasions. Coming out of the memories Its getting late it's almost 12:30 Am. I don't know when I was slept. In the dream ,

  I am holding that Eye book, I open it and then readied the first page. And now this shadow figure is standing behind and takes me in the dark. This made me wake with a scream.   Then I think that I must read that book and complete it. I took that book and seen where is that shadow. It was just sitting on my left side. Then I started to read that book with heavy heart.    On the first page the intro was written and that is this,

   " We have to fight with our fear, this will make you tough against your fear.    we were not able to change our past, but we can make our future better.    We must leave our bad past and just move on to make a better future ." On the second page,    Adam is going to die on tomorrow's sunset. And there no any to save him. There is also not much time left for you too, because you also seen through this book. This book shows the death of your loved ones.

  After reading all this, it feel like I am also dead, in mind only one thing is banging on my brain. That is what should I do to protect my friend's life. Then in the first thought I got the point, that what if I burn this book then, it will help or not?

  Help or not, help or not, this thing made me made, then I made my mind to just burn it, or otherwise it will take my friends life. Then I just left the hospital and went near to the dust took some paper and then borrowed a lighter burned the book. Then I seen the true self of book a spirit came out of fire to me, and said "thank you Kevin I was cursed to stay in this book and to see, how the people get sad, get scared, get helpless against their emotions.   All this because of my greed and my habit to hold the past, then I did the worst thing and that is I done a deal with a wizard. To change my past and correct all the mistake and turn my pain in happiness.

  In the previous days I was a king and wanted to become immortal, For this I called my wizard, and told him to find told him to find a way to become immortal, then he said to me that it was it was against the nature of law if you do this it will ruin your life and others life too.

  But, I was stubborn, I forced the wizard after many years we come to me and said" I found the way to to make you immortal but there is some consequences and I still don't know about this consequences and what are they. After all these things my lord are you still want to become immortal".

  Now see my stubbornness had to pay my life in captivity for thousands of years in a magical book. And experience the pain of every dying person who owns this book. The person's sadness, pain, tears. But don't do that mistake which I did.

My last message is the thing which I learnt in these thousands of years is, " To stay always stay positive, and always stay in present and enjoy it. Leave the past behind and leave the worries of future." "And don't get trapped by your emotions. Life and death both of things is a part of life. "    After saying this spirit got disappeared. In the sudden from the hospital I got the news that Adam is completely healed. That is the best thing that ever happened with me in my whole.  From this incident I learnt the most important lesson and got the secret of always staying positive in life. ****


Author’s note: This story is written from the perspective of an orthodox Jew, so very few concepts are explained within the story. To better understand the story, please refer to the glossary I have included below. "Happy Chanukah," Bubbie told me as she handed me the small gift box. It looked like it could hold jewelry, like a ring or necklace. "Thank you!" The box opened on a hinge. Nestled inside the velvet was a small dreidel. Its four faces were each no bigger than a squared off nickel, and the tapered part beneath seemed worn down. The stick for spinning the dreidel was glossy from all the fingers that had gripped it over the years, and there was a chocolate stain on the light wood. On closer inspection, the letters on the sides had been painted over at some point, but even the newest layer was faded. 'It's not about the presents. It's not about the presents. It's not about the presents.' I repeated in my head. And really, at fifteen, I should have known Chanukah is not about the gifts we give each other, but the miracle(s) that took place for my ancestors. But... Who doesn't like a nice gift from time to time? I looked up at my grandmother's face. She looked back at me with pure joy, like I should be excited about a tiny dreidel. I tried to smile. "Thank you, Bubbie. It's..." old. That was all I could think of. My grandmother laughed. "I bet you think I'm crazy. You're at that age where you consider playing dreidel childish. In the days of the Beit Hamikdash you would have been married by now. You're wondering why I could possibly think you would want an old dreidel." I smiled in relief. It was a joke, then. My Bubbie knew better than to give me this. "This dreidel has a story," she continued. Of course it did. "A Chanukah miracle of its own." She took a deep breath, as if to begin the story, but then stopped and looked around. I looked around too. We were sitting on the overstuffed couch facing the table where the menorahs belonging to my father, my Zaidie, and my three brothers stood. Each menorah proudly bearing the flames for the first night of Chanukah and the shammash. The windows beyond the table showed the dark streets beyond, and one of the houses across the street also had a menorah up. I sniffed the air. The smell of fried oil let me know that my mother and older sister were both in the kitchen making latkes for the Chanukah party we were going to have as soon as the cousins close enough to drive over got here. The men and boys had been watching their candles for a while, but they left that to me and Bubbie and went to help set up the dining room and kitchen for the party. "We should go help your mother," Bubbie said finally. "Chedva is helping her. We would just be in the way," I pointed out. Bubbie nodded. "Okay then. Do you want to hear the story?" So I leaned back on the couch, turned to face my grandmother, and waited for her to begin. *** "Many years ago, there was a little girl named Yehudit. My grandmother. She wished to be an ordinary girl, go to school and jump rope, but she was not. She and her mother, Bubbie Shaina, had come from Russia to escape the communists, but her father had been sent to Siberia by the time the boat left with my grandmother and great-grandmother on board. "You know that when Jews in this situation came to America, they chose one of three options. Either, they threw away tradition and threw themselves into a new life, or they lived in the same pattern all Jews who held on to their faith lived. On Sunday morning they would find a job, and then they would work from Monday to Friday. Then, they would hurry home from work and light the Shabbat candles. At this point, there was another split. Some people went to work on Saturday, despite it being against the laws of Jewish tradition, and some just didn't. Perhaps they claimed they were sick, but sooner or later, they lost their jobs for not coming in to work on Shabbat. "This was the way that Yehudit and her mother lived. Every Shabbat, they lost their jobs. Every Sunday they found a new one for that week. So they were very poor, and Rosh Hashanah was coming. Bubbie Shaina wanted very much to get a few of the simanim, or at least a bit of meat for the meals, but she doubted she would be able to. Although Yehudit and her mother worked very hard, they barely made enough money to get fish for Shabbat, and even that didn't happen every week. "So Bubbie Shaina decided to take in some sewing as well. If she worked in the supermarket during the day and then sewed by candlelight, she could perhaps afford a small piece of meat." Bubbie paused, then thought about what she said. "At least, I think the two of them were working in a shop of some sort then. They probably didn't have big supermarkets yet." "Anyway," she continued "The plan worked, and Bubbie Shaina was able to buy a bit of meat. More than that, she was so successful with the sewing, and had enough people asking her to sew for them, that she was able to quit her job and make her own hours. She wanted to teach Yehudit to sew as well, but she had no spare scraps to practice on. All the fabric she had was given to her for the clothing her customers wanted. "Yehudit was fifteen at the time, like you, so she was old enough to continue the cycle of losing and finding jobs on her own. The difference was that while before they had been working on shops or sewing factories, Yehudit found a small shop that sold wood carvings, and walked in without hesitation. The man behind the counter told her that they would teach her to carve for free, if she agreed to work for them for free for the same amount of time it took to train her. The man even agreed to give her Shabbat off, saying that he was Jewish too, but felt that he was unable to make a living without working on Shabbat. But that didn't mean he didn't feel guilty about it, so he was happy to let her skip Saturdays. "So the man's daughter taught Yehudit to carve simple things, like a spoon, and then more intricate detailing. Eventually, she could carve extremely well, and, as a happy side effect, she had a friend. So Yehudit was very happy, which made her mama very happy, except for one thing. "At that point in time, Bubbie Shaina's sewing business had expanded. She had a small shop where she took customers, and she had hired another Jewish woman to help with the sewing. She had saved enough money to send some to her husband in Siberia, but she didn't know if it would reach him. She decided to take a risk, so she sent a small package just before Pesach, so it might be good enough weather to not get lost. She had no way of knowing if he got it, though. "The next year, Yehudit started selling her own carved wares in her mother's shop, but she kept in touch with her friend. In fact, she carved a very intricate dreidel for her friend as a Chanukah gift, saying that life in America was full of excitement, and you never know quite where you'll land when you stop spinning. Yehudit's friend responded by carving a simple dreidel for Yehudit, saying that sometimes plain and simple is better, but even then, there is an element of uncertainty. The part they found the funniest, was the fact that when spinning, you couldn't tell whose dreidel was whose. "Then Yehudit's friend got married and moved to her husband's town which was not close enough to visit regularly, and the dreidels were all they had of each other. The day after the newly married couple left, Yehudit sat playing with the dreidel. She spun it many times to remember how life could give you a gimel or a shin. You can gain or you can lose, but either way, you have to keep going. You have to try again. “Yehudit spun the dreidel, and I imagine she sighed and decided this would be the last time before she put the dreidel away and went to help her mother. "She watched the dreidel spin. Its carefully painted letters a blur barely visible on the wood. And then it fell. She looked at it, and even though she was not playing against anyone, even though she was not playing to win anything, she cheered because the letter on the top was a gimel, so if she had been playing against someone, she would have won the pile. "And then she heard a knock on the door of the small apartment. She figured it was for her mother, but she had been avoiding helping for long enough. So she went to answer the door, and she was sure glad she did, for it was her papa who stood there. Exhausted, but alive and within reach. "From that day forward, she considered the dreidel a messenger of G-d. It was a memento of both the friend who taught her to carve, and the day her father came home." *** As Bubbie stopped speaking, I suddenly remembered that I was not with my great-great-grandmother as her father arrived in America for the first time, but sitting on the couch, safely wealthy, and able to be an orthodox Jew without too much trouble. I didn't have to worry about getting married yet, or even about getting a job. All I had to deal with was school and disappointing presents. "Wait," I realized, "This is the dreidel that her friend made?” Bubbie nodded. "I know you're a bit old for a dreidel, or a bit young since I believe Chedva likes playing dreidel again, so if you would like, I will take that back and get you that necklace you've had your eye on." I smiled. "I think I'll keep the dreidel. I may not appreciate the dreidel itself, but I really appreciate the story behind it. Besides, Chanukah is not about the presents, it's about how the past gave us the present. Right?" I grinned, satisfied with my pun. Bubbie laughed. "Right. Now let's go see if there's anything we can help with. Your cousins should be here any minute." Glossary: Chanukah: An eight day long minor Jewish festival which celebrates the rededication of the Beit Hamikdash, celebrated mainly by lighting a menorah although many Jews also make latkes and doughnuts, play dreidel, and give each other gifts and/or gelt (either in chocolate form or actual money) Bubbie: Yiddish for Grandma dreidel: 1 a small four sided spinning toy with a Hebrew letter on each side, the letters: Nun, Gimel, Hey, and Shin stand for the sentence Nes Gadol Hayah Sham, which means A great miracle happened there (there being Israel during the time of Chanukah. In Israel, the last letter is pey, which stands for po, meaning here.) 2 a game played with a dreidel and coins (real or chocolate) or nuts. How to play: Each player has a few coins, preferably an equal amount to each of the other players. Players sit in a circle, and start by contributing one coin to the middle pile. Players take turns spinning the dreidel and complete their turn based on the result. Nun – nothing; Gimel – gold, take the whole pile; Hey – half, take half the pile; Shin (or Pey) – shove/put one coin in the middle from your pile. When the pile in the middle is emptied, all players put one coin in the middle and play continues. Beit Hamikdash: The central Temple for Jews which was built and destroyed twice; the second destruction took place in the year 66 CE at the hands of the Romans. Still considered the holiest site, located in Jerusalem, Israel, the only remainder being the Western Wall. Zaidie: Yiddish for Grandpa menorah: Hebrew for lamp, but in this case, a nine branched candelabra or oil cup holder with eight of its branches in a straight line, and one branch or cup offset from the others. On the first night, the offset candle and the one on the far right are lit, on the second night, the offset candle and the two on the far right, and so on. shammash: literally, helper; the offset flame on the menorah, often used to light the other candles latkes: potato pancakes fried in oil Shabbat: from Friday at nightfall to Saturday at full dark, a festival on which a Jew may not do many forms of work Rosh Hashanah: the Jewish new year, also restricted, though less so than Shabbat simanim: symbolic foods over which certain prayers for a good year are said


She couldn’t make up her mind as to what to do with them. It had been long enough since the death of her beloved husband for her to feel strong enough to sort out a few things and move on. Of course he was the love of her life and they had many years together but she couldn’t be sad any longer – it was time to find new things to do, grow and flourish….’goodness only knows how much time I have left on this earth’. June had decided to sort out the attic once and for all. Bill had been gone for a year now and she had felt for a few weeks that it was the right time to get cracking on it. She really didn’t know if she was going to sell the house and downsize yet, but no matter what, the attic needed sorting. The big cardboard box had been sitting up in the attic for a long time. It was covered in dust and she wiped it all off with a dry cloth. “Look at all this tape I put on it. If Bill was still around he would be telling me how wasteful I was!” she said aloud as she broke a nail trying to take it off. “What I need is a knife or some scissors to open it”. She climbed back down the stairs and into the kitchen to find her scissors, took them back up with her to the attic and cut down the middle of the tape. The top opened up with the smell of moth balls still quite overwhelming even after all this time. ‘Oh yes, of course’ she thought ‘it’s mainly all the children’s clothes. I forgot about this box. I’ll just tape it back up and take it straight to the charity shop. I’ll have to get John, when he visits next to carry it down for me though’. Plonking herself down on a stool she surveyed the room – ‘oh dear’ she thought and sighed. She took her asthma puffer as it was so dusty and not being able to breathe was the last thing she needed! Standing up June wandered over to the doll’s house that was leaning against the far wall. It had been made by her husband when the girls were little. Meticulously crafted it had taken Bill months to make, but he did start before the first one was born! The tiny doors were all hinged, and opened and closed quite easily. June touched the curtains she had sewn for the tiny windows, the white and floral cotton was now a light brown because of all the dust that had settled on it.  At the top of the tiny stairs and inside the bedroom were two little wooden beds with the same coloured bedspreads as the curtain and in between the beds a very small dressing table. June’s flair for arts and craft were highlighted by the mini rug she had crocheted and even a painting on the wall. By the time Bill had got to the stage of making furniture for the downstairs kitchen he had run out of enthusiasm and time, so it was a lot sparser than upstairs! June opened the window at the very top of the attic to let in some fresh air – it was a bit stuffy and a light breeze flew through the skylight window. Some papers that were on top of a cupboard rustled about, with a couple of them blowing on to the floor. June bent down to pick them up and a sudden pang of loneliness ran through her as she saw they were sketches that Bill had done. “Those beautiful trees he sketched when we were on holidays together” she said aloud, placing them down on the table, vowing not to get too sad while up here. She looked around not knowing where to start and feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the clutter that was up in the attic. ‘I’ll do it another day’ she thought beginning to feel tired even before she had started. Then she looked once again at the big box and decided that she would sort through it after all. ‘I’ll need to go through it anyway to see what I can give to the charity shop – it could all be moth eaten for all I know’. Just as she was about to begin the front door bell rang. ‘Oh bother’ she thought, ‘who’s that?’ Climbing down the stairs once again she opened the door to find herself face to face with two of her daughters, the youngest and the oldest! “Hello you two” she greeted them with a hug. “I thought you were shopping together for the day?” “Hi mum. Yes we were but we got there, had a coffee and then decided we couldn’t be bothered. Lisa’s tired and I just don’t feel in the mood”. “Well I’m up in the attic sorting – actually I’ve decided I can’t be bothered either but I am just about to go through a box of your clothes from when you were all little girls”. “Bring it down and we’ll go through it with you. Jessica might be able to use some of it when she has her baby”. Between the three of them they managed to get it down the stairs from the attic although June did scrape the skin off one of her knuckles as they shoved the big box through the doorway. “Oh my, I need a cup of tea before we start sorting that big box. Put the kettle on please Pauline”. After the mother and two daughters had finished their cuppas it was time to get stuck into sorting the box and see what clothes were in it, salvageable or not? The moth ball smell permeated the air so June opened the front door so let it out. “Now remember girls, a quick job is a good job. Let’s not take too long with this”. “Yes agreed”. They all reached in for a pile of clothes and sat down to look through them. “Oh it must be all sorts of clothing and not just children’s  – here’s one of your dad’s shirts”. “I don’t remember seeing Dad in that” said Veronica, the oldest of the three girls “that’s quite funky and back in fashion now”. “Yes well he did look rather handsome in it but it got a wee bit tight for him. He always told me “Keep that shirt love and I promise I’ll fit into it again one day!” June held it up to her face and sniffed hoping to catch a tiny piece of his smell but it was overpowered by the camphor -  she still rubbed it on her face, and with a wistful look told her girls..“You know your dad proposed to me in that shirt”. “Did he have pants on too” asked Pauline thinking it very funny. “Of course he had pants on, it was in my day not these days!” replied her mum, smiling. “Yes we were at the drive in movies “she continued “and when it was intermission he left me in the car and went to buy hot chips for us both. When he came back he handed me my chips and sat next to me – we were eating away when he suddenly said  “Oh my goodness look what was in my bucket of chips, and he holds up a ring”. (Veronica went to say “You’ve told us a million times Mum” but her sister looked her in the eyes and shook her head). June looked at her two girls with glistening moist eyes and concluded with “Will you marry me June? is what your dad said to me”. “Oh Mum” said the diplomatic one, “I think you’ve told us that before and it’s so lovely but we’ve never seen the ‘proposal’ shirt he wore!” June dried her eyes with a tissue and folded the shirt carefully saying “Well let’s hope whoever wears this is as happy as your dad and I were”. As the clothes were unfolded and checked over they were either put it in the ‘good pile’ for Jessica’s baby and others or on the charity shop pile. “This must be difficult for you mum bringing back memories of when we were little, a big happy family and dad was around too”. “Well I decided before I climbed up to that dust old attic that I would try to be sensible and not too emotional today, but yes it is hard for me. I’m glad you two came – you’ll let me know what to keep and what to get rid of I’m sure!” “I remember you in this little dress Lisa. We bought it for your second birthday, but you didn’t get to wear it for your party. We had it all planned; it was in the park up the road from where we lived”. “You mean that tiny house we all squeezed into, two bedrooms and a back verandah, one bathroom and a tiny square of a garden?” “Yes that was the one, although it wasn’t that small, you and Jess shared a bedroom, as did John and Martin but that’s what you did in those days”. “Anyway, I had the table all set up with the party food and the parcels wrapped for the games, you girls were all dressed up in your little frocks when suddenly your dad came running into the garden yelling that your cousin Margaret had been knocked off her bike and been taken to hospital. She was seriously hurt with head injuries, and it was ‘touch and go’ for a while”. “So why didn’t I get to wear my dress?” “Well we couldn’t hold your party when your cousin was seriously injured and in hospital. Your dad and I went straight there to support Aunty Liz. Grandma came over. We let the other children know it was cancelled but there was plenty of food for you and your brothers and Gran”. June picked up a very small pair of blue leather shoes and sat staring at them, a far away look on her tired and wrinkled face. “Are you ok Mum?” Lisa came over and put her arm around her mother’s shoulders telling her that maybe they should put all the clothes back in, tape it up and drop it somewhere. “No love, it’s ok, it’s just that I haven’t seen or touched these for years. It just makes me sad that’s all, wondering what he would look like now and thinking of all the life he has missed out on. I’m ok, honestly. She fingered the tiny shoes lovingly “Your dad actually took Martin to get these shoes. I remember how he came back home, it was in the afternoon, and dad put the shoes on him so he could show me. He was so tiny for his age and still a bit wobbly on his legs, he was only two. He stood in the lounge holding on to the arm of the sofa and then ran full pelt towards me. I caught him in my arms and he laughed. His bright blue eyes twinkled and I thought them how lucky I was to have such a happy little boy”. She took a deep breath and put the shoes on the ‘charity shop’ pile “someone will be very fortunate to buy these”. “Oh look at this number” Jessica yelled as she held up a fuchsia pink dress “Did I really wear this to my year 12 ball? Now that’s embarrassing!” “Well we’ve got the photos of you in it!” chimed in her younger sister. “What was the name of that guy you ended up going with? Ray, Roger?” “It was Rick and to be honest, he was awful. He came to pick me up in pants that were too short for him and a pimply face! So between us both, because my face wasn’t much better then, we looked like the ‘worst’ couple at the ball. I hated the whole night!” “You didn’t look that bad darling” said her mum loyally “You had a nice soft stole around your neck and I think you looked lovely”. “Hey here’s the stole…take a look at this” and Lisa put it around her neck and danced around the room calling out to an invisible ‘Rick’ about how much she fancied him and her and Jessica rolled around laughing. ‘What did you wear to your year 12 ball Lisa?” asked Jessica when they had settled down “Umm a lime green dress, it had buttons down the front and tied in a bow at the back. I felt so happy that evening, the hottest guy in the room and he was with me”. I remember how he gave me a sweet little corsage just before we got out of his car. And three years later we were engaged”. “And” added Jess “a year later your husband……. and then your ex-husband. Let’s look for your dress”. They pulled out fabric and clothes until the bright dress was in sight. “There it is” beamed Lisa holding it up - a couple of sizes smaller than I could get into now but that’s to be expected. I don’t remember what I did with the corsage. I said on the night all those years ago that I would keep it forever, but I probably ground it underfoot when I found out Dave was cheating on me!” “Strange question Lisa, but if you could see into the future and knew that Dave was going to cheat on you when you were married, would you have married him?” “That’s a stupid question to ask - of course not. Why would I have – all that heart ache and sadness, the divorce, the cost, children without a dad at home….who would want that?” Jessica was just about to say something else to her sister when she pulled out of the box a pair of black shoes, shiny patent leather with heels at least four inches high. “Oh wow look at these!” she said quickly taking off her own flat shoes and sock and trying them on. “I think these were mine?” she asked “and if they still fit I’m having them”. She tried to squeeze her foot into the left shoe but it was like trying to get a sausage back into its skin! “Too many lumps and bumps on my old feet now” she lamented. “Give me a go, my feet are smaller than yours” said Lisa snatching the shoe off her sister. They fitted her and she happily stood up in them and walked towards the door of the room. “Oh I can’t walk in these, I feel like I’m going to fall over. They are so high. Do I walk funny?” “Yes you actually do, get them off and put them back in the box. I guess neither of us are good in high heels anymore!” June had been sitting watching and listening to her girls in amusement but it was her turn as she pulled out a two piece suit, light blue lines with fabric buttons down the front and a darker blue piping around the lapel of the collar. “Look at this girls” she beamed holding up the articles of clothing. “Oh Mum isn’t that what you wore when you graduated from University? The top student from your class and we were all so proud of you Mum. We still are but to get a University degree at your age was amazing, and then to use it.  Dad cried – I remember looking over at him – I’d never seen him cry before and being a young girl, I didn’t think men cried!” I bet that still fits you, you’ve never put any weight on you lucky thing!” “It probably does still fit me but what’s that matter now after all this time? How many years have I been retired? Too many to count and most of what I learnt and practiced for quite a few years after I graduated has escaped out of the box of information in my head!” The three women sat back down and sighed. “I’m tired of this now” said Jessica “Me too, let’s have a cuppa” added Lisa. “Why don’t we just fold it, put it all back in the box and call it quits” said June. “I’ve had enough of going down memory lane, the dust is making me sneeze and I’m tired. It’s nice to re-live the past for a little while but I’m actually ready for a new beginning now”. “Good idea Mum” said one of her two girls “I’ll drop it off for you tomorrow and then at the weekend we’ll finish sorting upstairs in the attic”. “In fact” continued June “I’m fed up of being inside today and going back in time - let’s go out for coffee and look to the future”.


   It was a quiet fall evening, in which no birds sang, no cars hummed. The frigid air bit Abigail’s cheeks, and she shivered, wrapping her scarf tighter around her.    The bright leaves looked like flames as they fell and piled up under the old oak she used to climb. Abigail let out another breath, warming the air around her. Finally, she stepped off the old creaky porch and headed down the well worn path to the woods.

   It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. Looking around at the trees and giant moss covered boulders, a small smile spread across her face. Ghostly memories danced around the forest. She saw herself pretending to be a ship’s captain on top of the biggest rocks, swinging on the frayed rope swing that still stood there, droopy and worn, but still usable. She glazed her fingers along the frayed edges, and remembered. Remembered a time when she was happy, and there wasn’t a care in the world. She could be whoever she wanted to be back then.

   Her auburn hair whipped in the wind like the tail of the kite. She spread her arms wide, feeling the wind all around her. The leaves flew up and spun around in a dance.    Then, the wind picked up and she hugged her arms, and the moment was gone. She sighed, and continued walking.    Abigail soon came upon a clearing, and a flood of memories came rushing back; picnics in the warm summer breeze and staring up at the stars on the enormous rocks that stood to the right of the clearing. She circled the area, remembering. Behind her, she could hear a trickle of water from the river. She turned around and reminisced of when she’d jump into the cool water and the sun would hit it just right. She thought about the days in the winter when it was below freezing and she’d dance across the ice with her plain and worn boots and pretend to be a world famous ice skater. She’d been saving up all her life for ice skates, but even she knew it would never happen. But somewhere in that tiny girl’s heart, there had been hope. Hope that things would change and she would one day be in the spotlight with a beautiful glittering dress, not sitting behind a desk watching the time go by and waiting for the chance to go home.

    Tears ran down her cheeks, and her eyes became wet. She tried to slow her uneven breaths, and started to walk back out of the forest.

   “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

   Abigail turned around suddenly. She quickly wiped her eyes, and stuck her hands in her pockets. A boy stood in front of her, with brown hair swept to the side and a mischievous smile on his face. He wore a dark brown beanie and a black heavy jacket.

   “Carter, what are you doing here?” Abigail said disapprovingly. He was the last person she wanted to see right now. “Same as you. I wanted to see the old place. Man, those were the days.” Abigail didn’t want to say, but she agreed with Carter. Instead, she frowned. “I don’t remember anything good about this place.”

   “You can’t remember anything? But Abi, you—”    “Don’t call me Abi. We aren’t friends.” She said. Carter’s smile faded, and he looked down. “Are we gonna do this again?”

   “Yes, if you keep talking about it. And this is your fault, you know.”    “I know,” he said, kicking at the leaves. “I just hoped you would—”    “Forgive you? Forget about it? It’s always forgive and forget with you, Carter.”

   “I’m sorry!” He shouted. “I’m sorry! But that was ages ago! You really can hold a grudge, Abigail!” Birds flew off of the trees, squawking and flying away. The woods were silent. Carter picked up a rock and skipped it across the surface of the crystal clear water of the river. “I’m sorry, okay? But we were kids, and—” He paused, his words drifting away. He walked back toward the clearing and leaned against a boulder. Abigail climbed up to the top, and Carter followed.    “All I can remember are the times when I ran here to get away from them.” She said silently. “When they were yelling—my—my parents.” Neither of them tried to say anything. They just lay down, staring up at the sky that was slowly fading away. The oranges and pinks and golds of the sunset slowly became the dark black of the night. Stars shined above them. The sky hung over them like a wide expansion of fabric.    “Sometimes, I wish I could go back in time, when things weren’t so hard.”    “Things were still hard back then,” Abigail whispered.

   “You’re right, but life—” Carter thought for a moment, searching for the right words. “Life is just as hard as it was back then as it is now. I thought it would be better when I got older. I would be away from my parents for a change. But things never got better.”    Now the moon was right above their heads. Besides the moonlight, it was pitch black. The stars looked like grains of salt.

   “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” Abigail said.

   “It’s alright,” Carter said. Then he paused. “Remember when you would come out here and pretend to ice skate, when the river froze?”    “Yeah,” she said wistfully. “This place used to be our own sort of paradise.”    As they stared up at the sky, hearts aching, hands clasped together, Abigail said, “It was a safe haven, these woods. A place to go when we needed to get away from our families. I miss this so much.” She turned and looked toward the path back out of the woods reluctantly.

   “I don’t want to leave. But our life is out there.” She turned and looked back at Carter, asking him the one question she didn’t want to answer.    “Are you ready to go?”    “I don’t think I ever will be.”

   “But we have to.” She wore a melancholy smile when she said it. Her wet eyes shone in the moonlight.

   “I guess this is goodbye.” Carter said, looking around at the place. The wonderful place that had kept him safe through terrible times. They embraced, and Abigail felt warm inside for the first time in so many years. Slowly, she started to walk away. Carter watched as his best friend walked back out of the woods, a bird floating on the wind. Inside, he knew that she had forgiven him.

   The only reason they used to come here was to get away from the wretched world; from the people they had used to look up to, but now looked down on with pain. But these woods had given them friendship, security, faith, and so much more, and that was all that mattered.


Every time I’m unsure, I look in the mirror and remind myself of the re-birth I’ve been allowed through this arrangement. My eyes scan the sheer baby blue fabric clinging to the soft lines of my body, when a pair of arms wrap themselves around my waist. He nuzzles his chin in the space where my neck connects to my shoulder. The beginnings of a smile tugs at my lips and I turn my head to connect our lips, running my fingers through his salt-and-pepper curls. He pulls me in closer and there’s a friction from our abdomens touching that elicits a moan from my mouth. I grab his elbow and gently guide him towards the king-sized bed that he purchased specifically for our activities—the contrast between his strong pale hands and the black satin sheets is striking.

A few hours later, I slip out from under his arm and make my way to the bathroom, thankful for the silence that marble floors provide. I turn the carved glass knob inside the shower and stick my hand under the rushing water until the temperature becomes satisfactory. The steam obscures my surroundings and for a moment I don’t feel like a ghost haunting the vacant rib cage that is Antoine’s summer home—just a molecule in the condensation. I could slip out of the window and evaporate without having to face how deep of a hole I’ve dug myself into, but there’s no turning back at this point. The redness of my body from scrubbing on autopilot is a testament to that. This isn’t about me, it never was. It’s always been for Jamie.

I can still hear the high-pitched shriek of his laughter, tears welling at the corners of his eyes as he clutches his stomach. The sound echoes off the bathroom walls and rings in my ears. The five-year anniversary of his passing is in a week, which means this chapter is finally coming to a close. Seven days before his body was found under Antoine’s front porch, curled up into a ball and drenched in blood—Jamie came to my doorstep in the pouring rain. His mascara had run down his face, streaky gray lines disappearing under the hem of his black t-shirt. I held him in my arms as he shook from the cold, using his chattering teeth as an excuse not to tell me what happened.

“Is it that man you’ve been staying with? Did he do something to you?” I whispered into his neck, the taste of salt and rain mixing on my lips.

“No,” he sniffled. “No, just me.”

Jamie slept on my couch that night, curled up in the same way he was found—like an abandoned dog. That was the last time I saw him. His younger sister, Gretchen, gave me his phone after the funeral, she told me to keep it safe while the investigation transpired. Apparently, he’d given it to her “in case anything happened to him”, he didn’t want Antoine tied up in the aftermath. The guilt wore her features like an unsettled spirit, she couldn’t even meet my gaze during our conversation. I haven’t been able to contact her since, even though I see her around town when I visit home. She must have my number blocked.

After reading every message between him and Antoine, I understood the shape of what had happened between them—what Jamie meant by “the aftermath”. It was clear that he was taken under the wing of this older wealthy gentleman under the guise of safety, a transactional relationship that benefited the both of them. My friend got to stay off the streets and live in a luxurious summer house for free, the only exchange being his body, time, and devotion. He would even pay Jamie for his services, or so he promised. Antoine is a twisted individual that preys on vulnerable younger men that he can strip of everything until they become emotionally, physically, and financially dependent on him. It was clear from their messages that he was being manipulated, bent backwards until he was seen as useless by his “lover”, then cast aside—a broken doll.

It never became clear to me whether Jamie being found under Antoine’s home was meant to be a personal message or a sad coincidence. He could have come to me, but I understand it could have felt like too much to explain from his perspective. Either way, my next steps were clear. Although the older gentleman was never charged or arrested for the incident, it did put a target on his reputation. Whispers of his name and description were spread throughout the queer community in my home state, so it was almost too easy to sidle into his space. It had been exactly two years since Jamie’s death when I approached him. He was vulnerable, in desperate need of validation, for someone to make him feel in control again.

“You look like you could use some company,” I sat down next to him in the red corner booth he’d been occupying, two drinks in my hands. Antoine looked up at me in surprise, wide eyes never breaking contact as his fingers curled around the cold glass.

“Do I know you?” He narrowed his eyes, visibly shrinking into the leather cushion after noticing everyone’s eyes on us.

“I’m new in town,” I grinned brightly. “I would have come sooner if I knew that I’d find a man like you.” I trailed a finger from his knee to the top of his thigh, earning a mischievous gleam in his eyes—cutting through his pupils like a sword.

It didn’t take much after that to get into the backseat of his car, fogging up the tinted windows from the inside. Antoine didn’t bring me home for a few weeks after meeting. We’d go on dates at various high-end locations in the city and end the night at my apartment or in the back of his Bentley, on a sandy towel at the beach one time. As the sun began to rise over the horizon, casting dancing reflections of light on the water’s surface, he interlaced his fingers between mine.

“None of my exes have ever taken me to watch the sunrise on the beach before.” I looked deeply into his eyes and gave my best attempt at a sincere smile, tugging at the thread that would unravel the walls he’d put up.

“I guess you can say I’m a romantic,” he mirrored my expression and leaned in for a kiss. I planted my palm firmly in the middle of his chest and pulled away.

“Not so quickly, tell me something about yourself. I feel like I barely know you,” I pouted, allowing my palm to slowly slide down to his lower stomach. Antoine closed his eyes, as if deliberating the right answer to my request—and when he opened them again, his eyes were half-lidded and gazing at something beyond me.

He told me everything, some parts in excruciating detail and others glossed over almost completely. I didn’t prod or ask questions, trying to express the appropriate amount of curiosity, not like I’d been enduring the hours of his company just for this. It started off innocently enough, he told me that they met at a club and he could tell right off the bat that the younger man was enamored by him. Then, he proceeded to completely twist the events, snapping back each finger and dislocating the joints out of their sockets of Jamie’s metaphorical corpse until he was made out to be an obsessive stalker. An endless abyss opened up in my core and began to pull my organs into its center of gravity, a tornado ravaging my insides. I gasped at all the right beats and widened my eyes as his sentences suffocated the candlelight that held my friend’s spirit. By the time Antoine reached the end of the story, the sun was high in the sky and its rays were beating over our heads. I squinted up at the blinding light—the only witness to his false confession.

“You can imagine how this would affect a man’s reputation,” he looked down at the space between us mournfully.

“Why didn’t you just move away, then?” It came out of my mouth like a jagged edge, causing him to flinch at my tone. I quickly put a hand over his and apologized, blaming it on the intensity of the moment. Antoine shook his head in reassurance. “Because then it would look like I did it,” he answered. “I have nothing to hide.”

When the cold water reverses the redness of my skin, I turn the water off and wrap a warm robe around the length of my body. The thing about this plan is that I’m not going to wait until the five year mark, because I don’t actually know the exact date of Jamie’s death. I tried asking his sister about what the pathologist concluded after the autopsy, but by then she was already out of reach. So, I decided it didn’t matter when I did it, only that it was in the time-frame of this week. Call it impulsive, but after the ways he touched my body today I decided that this would be the last time. Everything is already in place.

I’ve used my assets and skills to earn a bold and italicized place in Antoine’s will, which we had written together after a particularly sudden health scare last year. I played the dutiful toy, falling apart at the thought of losing him and staying by his side every waking moment—with a healthy sprinkle of tears shed and holding hands while he was unconscious. The nurses would tell him about it when I left to use the bathroom or fetch him food, it would reinforce my loyalty. His life partner, he would never have another after me because he couldn’t with his ruined reputation, but he never said that part out loud. It helped that I was a perfect doll, broken in all the right ways that got him off, but not too broken that he had no choice but to toss me. I kept all his secrets and told him all of mine, or at least that’s what I promised him one night while I rocked on top of him.

As far as anyone knows, I’ve been outside the country for the last month. I’ve hired someone that’s off the grid to stay at a hotel on the coast of Sydney with one of Antoine’s credit cards he’d given me, free to spend any amount he liked. In the meantime, I’ve been staying on the grounds of this summer home the entire time, careful as to not be spotted by anyone. The only witness is the man that I’m going to kill, then make look like it was a suicide. I gave my vacation double my old phone then got a burner before “leaving” from a friend for the time being, guiding him to orchestrate a text thread between Antoine and I on the old business phone he gave me a few months ago. When the investigators find this phone hidden under the mattress he’s found on top of, they’ll see an exchange of me “becoming wise” of his manipulation and fleeing to Australia to get away from him. They’ll see his pleading, begging, and manipulation tactics over the span of days, before a final threat of goodbye that he ends up following through with.

Once dry, I begin the process of putting on a commissioned wig and doing a makeup routine that I haven’t re-visited in years. Looking in the mirror, it doesn’t look exact but it’s close enough. I slip into sweats with mud stains all over them, drenched in water to mimic the effects of standing in the rain. Hopefully, this will jog his memory quickly enough. Finally, I slip on each leather black leather glove and double-check the gun in my duffel bag, registered in his name, to make sure I only loaded it with two bullets. One would be enough, but two covers the potential margin of error.

I’ve thought about this moment every day for the last three years, writing the script in my mind then on paper, lighting them with my cigarettes afterwards until they were nothing but ash. But in reality, it doesn’t really matter what I say. I just want to see the look on his face when Antoine connects the dots and the world begins to fray at its edges behind his eyes.

I stand at the side of the bed for seconds that feel like hours, but he finally mumbles something in half-sleep and squints up at me. He widens his eyes, the memory clicking in his mind but not enough for him to put his finger on the exact coordinates.

“Do you remember me, darling?” I try not to grin at the jarring image of my voice coming out of this face.

“Where have we met before?” Antoine whispers, disappointment settling over my shoulders as I realize he must think this is a dream.

“Across your lawn, the night they found Jamie. We locked eyes, remember?”

He nods slowly, rubbing his fists into his eyes vigorously in a poor attempt at waking up. I plant my palm firmly against his chest, the new leather squeaking from being broken in. “Do you want me to help you wake up from this?” Antoine grips my wrist, nodding fervently now. “Can I ask you a question first?” He asks almost innocently, pupils flitting around the room wildly in search of proof that this is an unconscious moment. “Why do you sound like Emil?”

I lean over and whisper in his ear, “I am Emil, I always have been.” This entire time I’ve been struggling to suppress a joyous smile

from stretching over my lips, but I don’t hold back.

He shakes his head, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation. Antoine puts both of his hands around my head and pulls my face close to him, scrutinizing my features. This startles me, I pull the gun out of the holster around my thigh and put it in his hand. He looks down at it and gasps quietly, I watch the gun vibrate slightly as his hand begins to tremble.

“I’ll wake up if I do this right?”

I nod, forcing the last kind smile I can manage towards him. “Works like magic.” Antoine puts the gun into his mouth and points it at the roof and I already know this is going to traumatize me, but it’s the best possible outcome. I remind myself of what he’s done, dehumanize him and compartmentalize his existence in a box that will sit at the back of my mind. He looks up at me like he’s still unsure of what’s going on, debating the possibility of this being real—which is dangerous.

“Don’t drag it out,” I caress his cheek with a gloved finger. “It’ll be over soon.”

A determined gleam sets in his eyes, then he closes them to prepare for the impact. But, nothing will prepare him for what’s about to take place. He pulls the trigger and blood splatters everywhere, it gets on my face but I close my eyes to avoid the horrific scene. I turn around and exhale, the room suddenly tilting on its side, but I push forward and head back into the bathroom.

My face is pale when I look into the mirror, eyes wildly dilated, and I clean the blood off my face with violent tremors in my hands. I don’t check to see if he finished the job, I walk right past his bedroom and run down the marble spiral staircase for the final time. It’s over now, the back door slams shut behind me and I walk straight into the woods, taking the trail that leads into a field just outside of town.

There’s no longer anything behind me, Jamie would have never asked for this—but I did it for him anyway. It’s what he would have done for me, although more impulsively and violently. All I need to do now is catch my flight to Sydney. I travel in the wig and makeup, the final shedding of my past life’s skin.