There was a sound from the attic next door. It was an indescribably unusual sound. I stared at the neighbor’s door. I heard the sound again. It was a loud sound. So I tip-toed to the door, not fast, but steadily. AAAW, Bang, Bang, AAAW . . . aaaw . . . u. Then I heard no more noise. 5 minutes later I see a big box of ice and a man walk out the house. He was wearing skinny jeans, Adidas socks, and an Adidas shirt. On top of that he had a coat, it was a fancy coat with gold stripes but rain proof. It was an old looking leather coat, with modern technology; they waterproofed it. It looked like my best friend’s coat, but I was not sure. I do not know how he carried it. He was a strong man. I could not have carried the box of ice, not even to have saved my life. I had on underwear, ankle socks, and Ultraboost shoes. I was shivering, clacking my teeth, and I could see my breath. My hair was getting wet, my shoes got soaked, and my clothes were doused. I packed a gun, an umbrella, and got into the 2021 Ram 1500. At that point we were in Atlanta, GA, on a Saturday. I glanced at the guy in the other car. Their phone's directions were going to Little Tybee, GA. I went the opposite way to Tybee. I took the back roads, he took the highway. The back roads were bumpy, irregular, uneven, potholed, pitted, lumpy, stony, and rocky. I was getting very sick. I had a headache. Not only were the roads horrible but they started getting dusty. Now I snot was coming out of my nose and my head was bulging. I tried to put it on the air recirculation but dust was still coming through. I was also messing up my new shiny truck. I guess trucks are supposed to get dirty. On the way I saw an electronic billboard that said there is a $25,000 dollar reward (un-taxed!!!) if you find the guy with a 30078W license plate. When I arrived at Little Tybee, Savannah, GA. I saw a guy, it was the same guy. The guy had changed clothes. He was in a swimming suit when the sky ‘came orange, bright, and yellow. It was the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen and 83 degrees Fahrenheit in Little Tybee, GA. That was a huge change from the weather in Atlanta, GA His swim suit was jet black, with yellow and orange stripes. I do not know why he had stripes on his shirt if he did not want to be caught. He got out of the car with a human sized box of ice. The box was clear and he pulled it out with ease. I still wonder how people can be that strong. He goes to the ocean and dumps the ice in the ocean. Then I see blood, blood pulling out of a source; it was like an ocean of blood. “It is a human”, I say. I called a police officer. They came on their way. Once he saw the police he quietly got in the ocean and swam away. The police and I saw the body. I say, “ That looks like it could be my best friend.” We picked him out of the water into the boat. The motor went bump … bump … chchchchchch and the boat went to a stop. The police officers started cursing and complaning because they were on call. So I jumped into the ocean and got him from behind. I do not even know how I got a man so strong. He cursed me out for a solid 25 seconds. I got so mad, and when I mad people get hurt, and I am never mad. He could barely move after what I did to the person. A police officer threw me a rope and I pulled him to the boat. The police found a gas container in the boat. I almost cursed the police officers too. My shoes were wet, while 25,000 dollars were being added to my name. I guess I should be happy. Then I kicked the guy in the gut hard while punching him in the face. It looked like I was a black belt in Israel, even the police officers thought I took Krav Maga. I mumbled to him Fu*k you criminal. We put handcuffs on him and went back to shore. Luckily I had new clothes in my car other than underwear and socks, sadly no shoes, so my shoes were wet. We looked in the suspects car. I saw the owner of the coat; I started weeping, and weeping, and weeping. I was a single child, an orphan with no family; so I was devastated when my best friend died. My best friend was also an orphan but they became a millionaire. He was so much smarter than me. When we walked farther to sit down, there was the MSNBC news crew there. I told them what happened. Now it was 103 degrees Fahrenheit and 12:30 in the afternoon. It was scorching out there. Ev’rybody was complaining ‘bout the heat. A guy came in and gave me a flight to D.C. from the Airport in Savannah. The weather was so nice in The District of Columbia. It was 81 degrees for the high, and 68 for the low. The next day I got the President’s Award for Distinguished Federal Civilian Service Award and $25,000 (un-taxed!!!). I was crying on stage because of my friend’s death. The president was very nice; I even had a 3 hour conversation with him. After I met the president I went back to Atlanta. I turned on the news; the criminal got the death sentence.

The very next day, someone came to my door and told me to go to a huge government building. It was nice and fancy. When I walked in people talked to me then I was handed a check. It had my best friend's name on it. It was for $907,977,162.96. I know he masked his riches, but no one thought he was almost a billionaire. Plus I got their house, and 78 Amazon stocks, and 67 apple stocks, and 18 Zoom stocks. That was the best 2 day of my life, and the worst 2 days of my life. Now I live in a 8 bedroom home in New York and have 7 other houses; 3 in GA, one CA, one London, Main Tybee Island, The District of Columbia. My friend was the nicest guy. I met him in foster care. We got adopted by the same mom. We went to church every morning together. I feel so bad whenever I think about my brother. He did not even know Zoom stock could get so high. Now I am worth 9.78 billion and a national hero when my poor friend really deserved it all and more.


 The storm engulfed the valley. It unsheathed its wrath on the Glen below; mercilessly. Arrochar, the valley of the two lochs, hidden among the Trossachs mountains. The village bared the angriest malice of the Scottish weather.  The young boy stood at the bank of Loch Lomond, his gaze fixed on the towering mountain that pierced into the clouds. His breath held, listening to the melody of the storm. The roaring skies that bellowed thunder from its belly, the wind’s howl echoed through the Munros, and the waves crashed its jaw on the bay. Mostly he'd hear nothing out of the ordinary. But still, he listened carefully to catch the song in the storm. HER song.  He traced over the empty gap on his boot where his sgian-dubh once rested. His grip tightened around a marble conch shell, wondering if its owner would return. Many full moons faded since that evening. He waited out every storm since then, listening for her voice, reminiscing that fateful evening... *****  Angus clawed his way up the mountain, his frail hands struggling to catch grip on the waterlogged gravel. He could hear his older brother calling out from far below; his voice fading with each rock he’d scale over, slowly ascending into the mist. He had to lose his brother off his trail. He knew he’d be dragged back home if Fraser ever caught up. He couldn’t bear to face his bullies having failed his challenge.  Bring back a stone from the cairn at the mountain summit, they said, and show them the so-called might of the MacFarlane clan. Perhaps then he’d be released from their torment. Their taunts echoed piercingly in his head. He didn't know what he feared more. The never-ending jeers of his failure, the battering winds that could fling him away with one swift blow, or the unearthly creatures that hunted unsuspecting travellers who’d strayed from their path.  “Kelpies haunt the foord by your direction, an’ nighted trav’llers are aluur’d to their destruction”. He knew the stories were only made to scare children away from danger. He couldn’t let silly folklore scare him anymore. Though he could not help but wonder if the legends were true. The tales of a shape-shifting water horse, who’d lure men with alluring beauty, only to feast upon their victims. The storm raged violently. The heavy gust edged him towards the drop. His heel off the ledge, gripping down with his toes and worn fingernails. He glanced down at the bottomless death he avoided; very narrowly. He traced the rocky path with his eyes, but it faded into the mist. The summit remained shrouded among the clouds. That was when he heard it. An ominous melody in the wind. Something was out there. Though the mist rendered his vision shorter than his arm’s reach, he sensed something tracing his movements. He reached down for his sgian-dubh and took arms. The fragile stone blade shuddered under his numb, blue grip. He cursed his father for believing him to be too young to wield a real blade. Slowly, he etched forwards, darting his eyes in every corner of his fading surroundings.  Left. There was no mistaking it, something dashed across his left. The wind had come to a sudden halt, and the rain had silenced. He held his breath, listening to every leaf rustle, and every raindrop. He could hear the song getting louder and closer. Its breath was on his neck. He slowly turned his head to the tree beside him.  There it stood, behind the twisting dead tree that clawed out its branches. He kept his gaze on the red eyes, glaring hungrily at him. The mist faded to reveal the creature hidden within. A stallion with blood-red eyes piercing into his soul. It gills ripped across its neck, and its fangs poised like daggers. Its black body was a dark abyss, consuming the fading remnants of light.  The wind howled in fear at the creature’s presence. Its blow swept Angus over the cliffside. He clawed into the rocky ledge, desperately climbing away from the bottomless void beneath him. The creature bellowed a haunting cry and hurdled towards the mountain edge. The rock shifted under Angus’s weight and pelted onto his forehead. His senses withering as he plummeted down. The final traces of light reaching his eyes watched the blurred creature shoot its hooves down to reach for his arm. As his vision faded from red to black, to nothingness.

*****

"Angus! Angus!" Fraser yelled with all his might, yet his dim cries were no match against the roaring wind and the canon firing raindrops. He cursed the other village boys for constantly tormenting his poor wee brother. He had a right mind to wheech them off the mountain summit. That would show them to challenge the might of the MacFarlane clan.  Nightfall was fast approaching. It was difficult enough to make his way through the shrouding mist, but the darkness would render it impossible. He was drenched, blistered and bruised. Yet the thought of his younger brother's lifeless body overwhelmed his sense of pain, as he continued the chase. He knew better than to let his fear fall prey to silly folklore of the unearthly creatures dwelling in the mountains. He knew they were only tales to scare the children away from harm. Yet he could not shake the lingering unease lurking within him. Perhaps it was the way the wind seemed to whistle back and forth to itself, as if it were communicating. Or perhaps it was the way the mist that had engulfed him, creating the sense that he was being watched...

*****

 The eruption of lightning jolted Angus awake. He gasped for air, coughing uncontrollably. He could hear the waves of the loch crashing onto the harbour bay. Just how far had he fallen? Was he dead? His vision sharpened back to him slowly.  He found himself shielded away from the spearing storm within the mouth of a shallow cave. His stone blade placed delicately next to him was enough to work out he hadn’t fallen here by accident. Someone, or rather, something had brought him here. Carefully, he picked up his blade and scanned the cave.  He turned towards the song coming from within. The flash of lightning revealed the pale, ghostly face, watching him from the shadows. He poised his blade at the creature, waves of terror flooded his veins, as he shook uncontrollably in terror and agony. "Show yourself!" he demanded. Desperately praying his squeaky childish voice was threatening enough to scare it away  "I've been told to never reveal myself to a man" it replied with a playful tone.  Angus lowered his blade in defeat and sorrow. He sat back on the rock, tucking himself into a ball. "Then you have nought to worry about", he said with a melancholic sigh, "I'm not a man. I never will be one, just a wee runt who cannae fend for himself". The pale face gave a beaming smile that lit up the cave, as it slowly rose from the shadows.  Angus watched in awe as the girl emerged from the rocks and skipped towards him. His face helplessly reddened at her beauty, mesmerised by her heavenly choral voice and the sweet melody she sang. Her ebony hair glistened with the fading light of the evening. Her smile radiated through the shadowing mist like a beacon, with a row of pearls glimmering in her mouth. But above all else, it was her ruby eyes that charmed a spell over Angus's heart. But the spell broke just as quickly as Angus backed away wide-eyed in fear at the sight of her hooves.  He cowered back with his blade trembling in his hand, pointed dead at the girl. "You...you’re a Kelpie! You’re a man-eating Kelpie ain’t ya!"  "That's right!" she said, the same smile still beaming ear to ear  "I won't let you eat me!" he closed his eyes and swung his blade in frenzy. "I'll fight you to the death I will!" She gently placed her hand on his and lowered his weapon. "Father was right about men, nothing but war on their minds" she tutted, and gently placed his hand over his bandaged forehead. "Don't you think if I wanted to eat you, I would have by now?"  Angus slumped back on the cave floor in shame and confusion. "So why have you kept me alive then if not to eat me?", he asked, looking into the girl’s piercing ruby gaze, as if disappointed in not having the worth to even be eaten. The girl sat beside him and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't enjoy the taste really. I prefer deer, fish or sheep really. Men are nutritious for us, but you all simply taste sweaty and horrible to me.”   Angus let out a small chuckle but stopped abruptly at the sharp pain on his forehead. “Hope you don’t mind” she began, “but I had to rip off a bit of that cloth you’re wearing to stop you bleeding to death.” He stared miserably at the muddy, shredded remains of his kilt. The regal red and emerald tartan of the MacFarlane clan soiled brown. He deserved it, he thought. Better left to rot in the earth than soil the name of a mighty clan with his measly existence. “Cheer up!” You’re alive, aren’t you? You’re lucky that it was me who found you and not one of the others. They love the taste of man meat. Storms like these are when we go to hunt. We hide ourselves in the mist, hunting for dwelling travellers who’ve lost their way in the mountains. We’re always hidden away, so we forever remain only a myth, unknown to the world on the truth of our existence.” The girl kicked her feet in the air and continued to sing, tuning her melody with the whistling of the wind. Angus was mesmerised by every note she sang. He closed his eyes, hypnotised by her soothing song, he felt his pain slowly ebb away. “What’s that song you keep singing?” he asked when she finally finished. She placed an arm around him and returned a sly expression, as she leaned close to whisper into his ear. “It’s our hunting song. It’s what we sing when we’ve found a prey to feast on, our signal to call upon the others to ambush our victim.”  Angus froze, his heart stopped dead. He gazed into the creatures menacing eyes, as she revealed a row of teeth, each as sharp a dagger. She couldn’t hold back anymore. She threw her head back and burst out into laughter. “Sorry,” she croaked, struggling to catch breath between laughter, “couldn't resist! Don’t worry, the others can’t hear me. At least, not without this.” She revealed a marble conch shell, glimmering in the fractured light refracted through the raindrops.  Angus’s anger quickly subsided by the glistening treasure. He looked at the shell, then back at the creature with great curiosity. “So why aren’t you on the hunt with everyone else?” The girl didn’t reply, she merely gave him a smile and continued to hum her melody. But Angus understood. Though the shape sifter could eloquently disguise herself with her smile, she could not hide the loneliness that flickered in her eyes. The same pain that was in his own. He understood all too well the misery of an outcast. He heaved himself up from the rock and offered his hand to the lonely kelpie. “I’m Angus, wee’un of the MacFarlane clan.” The girl giggled and took the young boy’s hand. “Marie” she replied.

 ***** Nightfall was nearby, and the final traces of light would soon disappear. Yet still, there was no sign of his younger brother. There would be no way of finding a path down if he continued to climb. He’d be trapped on the mountain at the mercy of the storm. His brother’s fate unknown, praying that he was at the very least alive.

  A sudden gust catapulting him across the path. He tightened his white-knuckled grip onto a nearby tree branch and shielded his face against the barrage of rain. The wind howled stronger, determined to blast him off the mountain. Fraser darted his head at the creaking beneath him and dived away from the branch. But it was too late. The tree was hurled clean off its roots and crashed onto his body. He wanted to scream, but the weight had winded the air from his crushed lungs. His vision blackened and his mind blurred by the pain. The last thing he heard was a gentle song humming in the wind, as his senses faded away...

 ***** Marie’s ruby eyes flared blood red without warning, as her fangs began to emerge. "Blood of man" she growled, "the smell is nearby". Angus stumbled back in fear at her sudden outburst. He had let his guard down and now was helpless to defend himself. Marie quickly dimmed her eyes and retracted her fangs at the sight of the frightened boy. She apologised and helped him up, dusting the gravel off his skin. "Listen", she whispered.  Angus held his breath, gazing into the Loch. He put his ear to the roaring wind and picked up the melody of her song. He could hear multiple voices echoing back and forth, hidden within the uproar of the storm. "There's another injured traveller up there. I can smell their blood. The others must have picked up his scent too". Angus gazed onto the mountain and wondered about the poor soul who'd fall prey to the Kelpie hunt. His face suddenly whitened pale, and his eyes widened.  "Fraser!" He jolted up as the lightning struck the bay with full might. Marie held onto him dearly, urging him not to take himself back to the jaws of danger. She knew there was no way to protect him from the hungry herd on their hunt, but Angus wouldn't let down. "Please! I can't let my brother die!" Marie returned a heartbroken expression to the boy. She didn't want to lose the only person who she could seek refuge from her loneliness. Though she’d never felt the compassion of a friend before, she knew the duties of one, and was prepared to help her friend in his time of need. She transformed into her true form and heaved the boy onto her neck. “Grab hold of my mane, and don’t let go.”

  The deafening roar of thunder followed the bolt of lightning as it crashed into the bay. With a bellowing shriek, Marie charged into the mist at the foot of the mountain. She scaled the unforgiving terrain effortlessly, her galloping strides gliding over the rocky path. Angus clutched her mane in fear and awe. He felt the freedom of an eagle, soaring over the mountain towards the never-ending horizon. His eyes vigorously scanning for his brother “There! It’s him!” He leapt from her back and darted towards Fraser. He feebly tried to lift the crushing tree away off his brother’s, but his strength could barely catch grip on the bark of the hardwood. He leaned close, praying to hear even the faintest of living breaths. The songs in the storm were getting louder. The kelpies were edging closer. He desperately clawed away at the bark and heaved the trunk with all his will. Finally, he could feel it slowly budging. He rammed into the side of the trunk, but it didn’t shift, instead it began to lift upwards. He watched open-jawed as Marie lifted the giant pine tree over her head, and launched it over the cliff, as it soared into the horizon. The songs surrounded them with the mist, rapidly closing in on them. They were out of time. With another burst of strength, Marie heaved the two brothers into the air and caught them on her back as she transformed once more. She took a few trots back, before galloping at full speed, leaping over the cliff edge, down into the bottomless void. The songs fading as they fell deeper into the abyss. *****

 Angus dropped to his knees in relief when he opened his eyes and found himself back safely on the bay. He held his brother tight upon hearing his breaths slowly strengthening. He exchanged an expression of gratefulness to his new friend, but she returned it with a melancholic smile, as she turned away from him. “Wait!” he cried. He opened her hand and placed his treasured sgian-dubh in her hold. “Something to remember me by. Made it myself. Hopefully won’t need it since I’ll get a real blade soon.” Her tears held back in futility. She tightly threw her arms around him and embraced the love of her new, and only friend. Angus couldn’t help but shed a teary smile when he noticed the flickering loneliness had faded away from her piercing ruby eyes. He watched her run back towards the mountain, as she galloped away disappearing into the mist.

 *****  Angus stood at the foot of the loch, inspecting the marble shell she gave to him in return. The final words they exchanged on that eve echoed in his mind. “Will I ever see you again?” he had asked, his voice breaking with sorrow. He turned his gaze to the mist that consumed the mountain, towards the song that pierced through the dark. His face beamed as she emerged from the haze. The two sprinted besides the crashing waves and threw their arms around each other, welcoming the warm embrace of their newfound friendship. “Wait for me by the loch when the storms rage across the Glen”, she had said to him, “the kelpies hunt among the mountains when the mist shrouds their presence, when the roaring winds carry their melodies. But I’ll be here instead, waiting for you. Listen for the sound of my voice, listen for the song of the storm.”


Our story begins, in small town, in late November. Where a bakery opened up, down the street from another one. In a small town like this, that was big news and everybody knew and talked about it, and what it meant. Competition. The bakery, that had been there for generations, had just been handed down, to the daughter, of the former owners, who had retired. Her name was Amethyst Thompson, Amy for short. She was 29 years old. Her parents had her, when they were quite old, having only found one another, later in life. Amy had worked in the bakery, all her life, as it was, and always had been, the family business.

The bakery, had originally been opened, by Amy’s great grandparents, then passed down, through the generations and now it was hers. She was proud and happy, but she also felt the pressure. What if she couldn’t do it. What if she failed. If she lost the bakery, that had survived, for three generations, before her... but that wasn't an option. Amy had been running the bakery, for just under a year, when the new bakery, was opened, near by. This had never happened before, there were, and had always been, just two bakery’s, in the town, and they were at either ends of it, so they didn’t really compete, for customers. Luckily, people tend to be loyal, in small towns, like this one was, so Amy wasn’t too concerned, for the immediate future, but further down the line, it could turn into, a real problem. With the holidays coming up, and the annual bake-off, along with it, Amy’s bakery, was busy as ever, so she didn’t have, a lot of time to worry, about the new bakery. There was simply, too much to do and too little time, to get it done. Though she was busy, Amy noticed, that there were less customers, then there had been, in the years before, during this time. She didn’t think too much of it, and even found herself grateful, for there not being so many. Leaving her more time, to deal with the rest. Like preparing for the towns bake-off.

Her bakery, her family, had won the last three years, and she didn’t want, to be the one, to lose their streak. So she was working hard, to come up with something, that would get her that win. One evening, she was closing up early, locking up and going home, to get some rest, when Amy saw, some of her usual customers, in line, at the new bakery. Wishing it didn’t, she felt her heart sink, to the pit of her stomach. So this was why, she hadn’t been, as busy as usual. She wasn’t angry, but a small part of her, felt like those people, had, in some way, betrayed her. Knowing that she was overreacting, she pulled herself together, and continued home, where she went straight into the kitchen, more determined than ever, to win the town bake-off.

She would prove to them all, that she was the best, even without her parents help and that hers, was still the best bakery in town. The bake-off, was a three part and three day, competition. The first day, was bread, second day, small baked goods and the third day, was basically your chance, to create a masterpiece. You could make what ever you wanted, though most people made cakes, with many layers and colors. It was always worth seeing, even for those, who didn’t care much, about baking. The one with the highest score, at the end of those three days, win. They win ten bags of free flour and a thousand dollars. With her eye on the prize, Amy worked all night, perfecting her bread and small baked goods, and trying to come up, with something great, for the third days challenge, something, that would make sure, she would win. Amy continued like this for days. Barely sleeping, and always working. She had decided on, what she would make, in the third challenge, now she just had to perfect it. She worked, night and day.

10 days left, until the bake-off. It was December now.

One week left. She was getting close, but it still wasn’t there. Five days left. She was barely working in her bakery anymore, leaving the most of it, to the other employees. This had the be perfect. With only two days left, she finally got it. It was perfect and she was ready. Ready to win and to beat the other bakery, and show the people in town, that she was the best and show those, who had started going to the other bakery, that they should have never stopped, coming to hers. Feeling confident, she worked in her bakery again, like nothing had happened. She was ready. As she closed the store, the night before the first day, of the competition, she smiled to herself, before locking the doors and walking home, to get a good nights sleep. When she got home and into bed, it suddenly hit her, that she didn’t even know, what the person, who ran the other bakery, looked like. She didn’t even know, if it was a man or a woman. Laughing to herself, over the absurdity of this fact, she closed her eyes and went to sleep, ready for the day to come. Waking up the next morning, to the sound of her alarm clock, Amy stretched and sighed, before getting out of bed. She stood up and pulled on her slippers, before going to the bathroom, to get ready for the day. Having showered, dressed and eaten, Amy started packing up the things, that she would need, at the bake-off and double checking, to make sure, she had everything. She wasn’t going to lose, because she forgot something at home. After having checked for the sixth time, she finally put on her overcoat and boots, and then she left. Walking through the town, to where the bake-off was being held, she met many of the other people, who lived in town.

Smiling and waving to everyone, she made her way there and put her basket full of things, on the table, that she would be using, for the next three days and started to unpack her things. After a while, some of the other contestants, began showing up, with their own baskets full of their own things, and placing them, on what would be their table, for the next three days. Looking around, Amy only saw one person, whom she didn’t know and knew, that that must be, the owner of the new bakery. Amy was shocked, as the person before her, didn’t look anything like, what she had been picturing. Standing before her, was a tall, young and beautiful woman. She looked kind, sweet and caring. Amy had been picturing a mean face and a cold heart, but, unless she was very much mistaken, the woman before hers heart, had never known a chilly day, in its whole life. The woman, having spotted Amy, walked over to her, put out a hand and said, with a sweet and mild voice, “Hi, you must be Amy. We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet. I’m Abigale, but you can call me Abbey, if you want.” And she smiled at Amy, who came to her senses and took the extended hand and shook it. Finding herself unable to speak, Amy simply nodded and returned Abbeys smile, then returned back, to unpacking her things, not knowing what else to do. While, she unpacked the last of her things, Amy thought to herself: people don’t look like that in real life. And usually, they didn’t, Abbey was an exceptionally beautiful woman, who looked like she belonged, in a Hollywood movie, or somewhere similar. About an hour later, the judges showed up and day one, of the bake-off had begun. The bread, was the easiest job for Amy, her great grandparents, had perfected a recipe, while they ran the bakery. A recipe that had won their family, the highest score, in the bread category, every year they had entered, the bake-off. Amy could bake it, in her sleep, if she wanted to. The competition officially started, Amy tried to get in the zone, but for some reason, she couldn’t focus properly. No matter how hard she tried, her mind kept wondering and she kept thinking about Abbey. Why was she stuck in her head? Amy didn’t know her, she only just met her, yet there was something about her. While Amy was thinking about Abbey, trying her best, to keep from looking at her, her hands and arms, were going through the motions, making the bread for her. Then all of the sudden, she felt a hand, on her shoulder and the touch of it, sent electricity down her spine, and she knew, without having to look, that it was Abbey and she jumped. “Hey, I dropped my flour bag and...” Abbey gestured at the ground behind her and when Amy looked, she saw the flour bag, spilt on the ground and the white flour, laying all over the ground, slowly blowing away, in the wind. “Oh yeah, no sure, have the rest of mine, I’m done with it.” Amy responded nervously, feeling her blood, rush to her cheeks and trying not to look her in the eye, and wondering why this stranger, made her so nervous. Abbey smiled and grabbed the open bag of flour, on Amys table, said “thank you.” And left, to walk back, to her own table. The time was almost up, on the first day, and all the bread, was in the ovens, so everyone were standing around, talking to each other. Amy was talking to an older woman, about her parents and how they were, when she, once again, felt a hand on her shoulder and knew, that it belonged to Abbey. Amy turned around, to see the smiling face, to whom the hand belonged and sure enough, it was Abbey. Returning the smile, nervously and felling herself begin to blush again, Amy forgot all about the conversation, she had been having and the woman, whom she had been having it with, left the two of them, looking slightly offended. “How do you think you’ve done?” Abbey asked Amy, still smiling at her. “I did fine. I’m not worried, how about you?” Returned Amy, trying not to sound too nervous, but failing. A grin appeared on Abbeys face, most likely because of Amys nervous tone, as she said: “You don’t sound too sure. I think I did well, I’ve always had a way, with bread.” With these words, Abbey put her hand, over Amys, which was laying on her table and Amy froze, not knowing, what to make of it, she didn’t move nor speak, hoping that she wasn’t imagining it and, that the moment would last forever. Never having felt this way before, Amy didn’t recognize the emotion, for what it was. Or maybe she did, but didn’t want to openly admit to herself, that she was falling, for a complete stranger. Thinking, in the back of her head, that things like that, didn’t happen in real life, only in movies and fairytales, and that this was neither, no matter how much Abbey looked like a movie star. Still standing there, it felt like they were the only two people in the world and that nothing else mattered and never would again, when suddenly, Abbeys hand closed tightly over Amys, and she pulled her away from the crowd. Amy felt powerless and that, even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to fight back, against the pull. Stopping in a corner, out of sight from anyone, with one last pull, Abbey was holding Amy, in her arms and for a moment, time stood still. And then Abbey kissed Amy. It was magical and it was perfect, Amy felt weightless and in that moment, anything was possible. Pulling away from Amy, Abbey began to apologize “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I swear, it was like I lost control over my body. I am SO sorry...” She was rambling and Amy, was staring at her, not sure of what just happened, and then, throwing caution to the wind, she grabbed Abbey and kissed her. They stood there, in each other’s arms for what felt like hours, neither of them wanting it to end. When they finally emerged from each other, they went back to the bake-off, laughing to themselves, until Amy spotted smoke, coming from her oven. She ran over there and opened it. When she pulled out her bread, she discovered that it was black. Burnt all over and completely ruined. But she didn’t care, after the initial shock, had worn off, she began to laugh again and, spotting Abbey, she began to laugh as well. Amy dropped out of the competition, because she simply didn’t care, about some silly prize anymore. She had something way better now. She had a partner and she had finally found something, other than her bakery, that meant something to her, and that made her happier, than she had ever been. After the last two days of the competition, Abbey won the prize, having blown everyone away, with her masterpiece on the final day. A year later, Abbey closed her own bakery and came to work, with Amy in hers, and they were more successful together, than Amys parents, grandparents and great grandparents had ever been. Six months after that, Abbey proposed and Amy said yes. They got married, on their second year anniversary, as a couple. They even got the town, to push the bake-off, to one day later, so they could have their wedding there. Abbey and Amy were happy, and they loved each other, until the day, they died...


There is something beautiful about the fire. Frightening—it’s frightening, I must remind the voice in my head. The fire is beautiful, burning red and orange and so warm, but it is also frightening. It’s frightening because it is dangerous. Because it is dangerous for him .

      My Rochester is strong and tall and brave, but the fire will burn him alive. It will burn him until his bones are ash and his blood is smoke, and I can’t have that. I look at the fire, and it frightens me, but he can’t be burned. I cannot let him burn.       Smoke fills my lungs as I enter the hall. Warm, so, so very warm. The walls burn, and the house creaks, and the fire laughs. What a haunting sight. What a horror that befell this house. That is what people will say if we burn up here. A tragedy, it will be called. There has been too much tragedy within these walls already.

He  has faced too much tragedy. My Rochester, whose fate has been marked by an unlucky star. To think that this happened to him along with everything else—his home, his livelihood going up in smoke. He won’t join it. I won’t let him. This will not be a tragedy. Not another one. There has been too much tragedy in both our lives. Too much loneliness. I think of the first time I recognized that loneliness in his eyes, the same sort that I met each time I looked in the mirror. There are few in this world who can find value in such pain. I found mine in his eyes. We matched, two missing pieces that could fit nowhere else in this world. My loneliness meant something because it made me perfect for him. The thing that could save him from these dark and dreary halls that now threatened to collapse and burn him whole. I know this house as well as I know my own mind. The halls are long and dusty, the rooms large and empty. He never opens the windows, I think. He doesn’t like the sunlight anymore, but people can change. They can learn to love what they never saw value in before. I know that they can. Sprinting down the halls, I shout for my Rochester to answer, so that I can know that he is safe. He will be in his study because that is where he always goes to getaway. That gloomy little study with the heavy lock on the door. He used to never let me sit with him inside. Slowly, ever so slowly, that changed. The room I was once forbidden has become my favorite haunt. It is still gloomy, even when I leave him flowers by the latched window. Even when I spray my perfume on the cushions of the couch. Without sunlight, I don’t think it will ever brighten up, but my Rochester keeps everything under lock and key, and he is slow to change. The glass in the windows crack as the house boils. The locks cannot keep the sunlight out now, not when the glass has shattered. That glass grinds into the heels of my boots as I run. It cracks and grinds against stone floors and it joins the cacophony of the laughing fire as I sprint through the smoke towards where I know my Rochester to be. I’m getting close, or I think I am, but everything is so much less clear with the smoke. So much smoke. More smoke than I imagined. But I can hear movement that isn’t a result of the flames and that smoke clears. A cough, a shout, a gasp of pain. My beating heart nearly stops. I cannot be too late; even if he is in pain, he is still alive. Covering my nose and mouth with the neck of my shirt to keep the smoke from my lungs, I break into a determined sprint towards the sound—towards the study. The door is already open, my Rochester, leaning against the wood, crouched towards the ground. Falling to my knees beside him, I try to get him to stand. Initially, he meets me with resistance, but then he looks into my eyes and is quelled. This was always our way. The push and the pull, but in the end all we had was each other. As I bring one of his arms to hold over my shoulder, I notice the burn on the hand. Round, the imprint of his family’s crest—a brand given when he opened the door to the study in his attempt to get away. Under the heat of the fire, the metal burned too hot. He had underestimated how much this house wanted to hurt him. I would soothe the wound once we made it out of the flames. I swore I would. I’d wrap the brand in linens, I’d clean it with alcohol and tinctures. I would be kinder and softer than this house ever was. I would not punish him for his devotion to me like this place always did. I would not drown him in shadows and lock my doors to keep him trapped. I would not weigh him down with vines and ivy and old rotting bricks. When this house burns, we will not burn with it. I help my Rochester stand, and we begin to stumble forward the way I came. The fire has grown hotter, the smoke, almost debilitating. I can feel my Rochester swaying against me, his weight is nearly too heavy for me to carry. The burnt hand hangs near my chin as I drag us through the house and I begin to worry. Will he notice that while his hands smell like melted flesh and smoke, mine smell like kerosene. There is something pulling at the back of my head—a thought, a memory. I can’t be sure. Maybe it is the recollection of the first time we met. When I first came to this home looking for work, and that fire crackled in the stone hearth in his study, and the night felt so calm. Our beginning, though neither of us could have known at the time. Or maybe it was the kerosene. The red curtains in my childhood home on fire as I stood in the street and watched. That night was cold. Was this the memory pulling at the back of my head? That horrible night when there had been no sunlight, no warmth, no arm slung over my shoulder, or a second heartbeat that told me to keep moving forward. I heard my Rochester cough, and I shook the stupor from my brow and kept forward. Down the hall, down the winding staircase, flames licked our feet, but I did not let them stop us. I did not stand still to admire their red dancing lights, nor did I listen to their laughter as I passed. And the door to the home that was always bolted shut was now hanging open and wide as I had left it. The broken hinge creaked as we stumbled out and into the open air. The smoke cleared, my Rochester gasped as he stumbled to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. I wrapped my arms around him to drag him further away. The house could collapse, the wooden beams could fall, the foundation crack and swallow us whole. This home was still dangerous— the fire , I corrected myself,

the fire  was still dangerous. But as we got further away to the far end of the property, I set my Rochester’s weary body down beside me and turned back to look at the flames. It was different seeing it from this distance. The old Victorian home was alight with a red glow. The flames lunged from the broken windows, calling to me, waving us goodbye. The billow of smoke from the roof was black, as if purging the house from the dark spirits that once haunted these halls. Cleansing it from the inside out. All the massive doors that kept him locked away, all the dark corridors that once haunted him, were gone. There is nothing frightening about this at all.       The fire is beautiful because it is mine. And he will be too, my Rochester.


October twenty first was the special day we met. As our five year anniversary gets closer I reminisce the fond memories we have created and hope to form future ones. The day you were born had a bright blue sky, cool weather that signaled the end of summer and an unexpected gift as it was the first time Gizmo, your mother, gave birth to her children in our home. The subtle cries in the house peeked our curiosity to search for the source of the sound. After minutes of searching, the bathroom was the last place. We opened the door and notice four little furry bodies and a bloody floor where we built a tent for Gizmo to comfortably give birth to her kittens. It was a joyous yet dreadful day as two of the kittens were born still but two were healthy identical brothers later named Droopy and Raptor.            A few weeks passed and the two kittens were growing healthy. They were cute and small and at this point they were able to slightly walk with a few wobbles along the way. The bond between Raptor and Droopy was supposed to be unbreakable until I destroyed it. Unable to cater for three cats including the individuals living in our apartment. The struggle was not only unbearable but becoming unmanageable. I had recently been through a break up and was severely wounded. I was emotionally and physically exhausted and the only thing keeping me going was the innocence and pureness of the kittens. The last week of November was the last day all three of them would be together and that day came and went.            The days and nights became cold and sad. The memory of giving Gizmo and Droopy away was painful. The sight of foster homes coming to pick them up in cages. I requested to have them adopted together and they promised they will. I kiss Gizmo farewell and pet her one last time and thank her for all the years and memories she gave me. She was a loyal, kind soul. She was always there for me through thick and thin. Tears well up my eyes as I recall the day. Gizmo purrs and rubs on me but at that moment I knew that she would be better off at another home who could cater to her needs and give her a filling loving life without struggles. Tears begin to roll down my cheeks and its followed by a tiny yet powerful purr. Raptor makes his way towards me wobbling from learning to walk, circles around my legs and eventually cuddles against my legs to keep me company. At this point I sob alone in my room at the fact that I solely separated his family. I vowed to be the best cat mom, but the guilt engulfed me in the end.            One year is enough for a lot of things to happen. It was all I needed. Within the following year, Raptor became more of a male cat as he was destined. He was small with a huge head for his body but was loyal and sweet. He was a hyperactive cat but mellow at times. In this year he would get sick with worms for two months and fleas and end up at the hospital. Once again, I felt ashamed of owning a cat since I failed to take care of him. I felt resentment from him and that he hated me for being a horrible cat mom. It took me one year to realize my answer.            The days grew long and tiring. Raptor was constantly visiting the vet once a week. He would get the worms out of his body and in two days they would re appear in the feces. He would meow loudly all around the house every day from being in heat. He was starting to lose weight from the worms eating him alive and the fleas not wanting to leave his body. It was excruciating to watch him suffer. His once happy eyes became dull and sad. His walk became more lethargic every day. I wanted Raptor to be a happy cat and at one point I considered giving him up for adoption since the only thing I could do was make him sick and unhappy.            Even after all of this, Raptor would make his way to me in the middle of the night, get under the sheets and keep me company as I sleep. He always managed to comfort me and looked happy being next to me. During the day he would come and lick my hand and face. He would bring his favorite toy and still want to play with me even though he was not healthy enough. Raptor would jump from the highest point from his cat tree, a squeak sound comes out of his mouth and gallops his way to the sofa where I would sit. He would gently stare at my eyes and gently lay his head on my legs. I would caress his fur gently and lay my hand on his tiny waist to comfort him and let him know that he was not alone.            This continued for weeks until he contracted scabies. His immunity was almost nonexistent. He was placed on watch at the vet for two months. I would visit him daily and at times I would stay with him until closing time. Raptors eyes would light up when he noticed me in the room. I would gently touch his face and talk to him even though he didn’t understand me, but maybe he did. I would tell him to get better so we can hang out more and intime he did. He was released from the hospital just in time for Easter. I rearranged his cat tree, bought him his favorite treats and new toys he would enjoy hoping our bond would strengthen.            The night everything changed was stormy. Raptor and I were watching television when the power went out. I immediately stood up and turned some candles on and grabbed the portable air conditioner. It circulated carbon dioxide into fresh air. I built a little fort for Raptor to make him feel comfortable at a time like this but instead he was by the window enjoying the light show. His eyes lit up from the lightning, his ears perched at the sound of thunder. He turned his head to me and I could see his eyes were wide and dilated from happiness and excitement. I raised the blinds up, turned the candles off and let the lightning fill the room.            I called for Raptor to keep me company on the sofa and he did. I felt the need to talk to him. It was silly but I did. I had a heartfelt conversation with him. One I should have had a long time ago. I started with:            “I know that you probably hate me, but I want to apologize for separating you from your family. I am not a good owner, but I love you. You are not only a pet to me but a friend. The only friend I can trust and will always love me and not judge me…” My thought drifts to an epiphany.            “I always thought you hated me but you are a cat and all you have done for me was help me heal. Even though I only cause you pain, the only thing you have shown me has been loyalty, kindness, and unconditional love…” I stop midsentence laughing hysterically at the silly realization.            “That is it…You don’t hate me. All you give me is unconditional love. I am an idiot. Thank you, Raptor for helping me heal and always loving me even in my worst times. I know you are only a kitten but you make a difference. I promise to only give you the best of all worlds. You cannot speak to let me know what I am doing is right or wrong but that is okay. Together we will figure it out.” I say to raptor as he sleeps in my lap and continues to loudly purr. I cover him with the nearest blanket and watch the rainy show.            Months passed by and he was finally flea free. I invested in preventative medicine, had him nurtured which helps expand his life. Bought him quality food, many scratchers, window perches, taught him to use a harness to safely go out and had him vaccinated every year. Raptor and I build a bond strong enough that the guy I dated didn’t like Raptor I would break it off with them as Raptor was family to me and refused to lose him the same way I lost his family. The guy can leave anytime but Raptor was one of a kind. He would stay until it was time for him to go.            Raptor and I would make memories going hiking, walking in the park, binge watching movies. He was the best friend anyone wished for. During a breakup he would lick the tears away and lay next to me and purr me to sleep. During Raptor’s sick moments I would make a bed next to me and I would keep him company until he was feeling better.            February twenty fourth something unexpected happened at work. The company hired a new male employee. We spend the majority of our time together with the graveyard shift. That day the sky was clear blue and air was chilly. We both realized we had feelings for each other the more time we spent together. He did not care about owning animals because it came with a lot of responsibilities, but he accepted Raptor. He came over to our apartment one day and soon the guy grew fond of Raptor.            In a blink of an eye the years flew by and Raptor would showcase his personality more. The sassiness he would get when told no. The gentle cuddles he would give in bed and sofa. The way he would follow me around the house being not only a partner but a bodyguard. The different faces he would make when he was sleepy, moody, happy, sad and more. The most powerful sign of trust he would show me was when he would lay on his back and expose his stomach for me to touch. It took me a while to accept that Raptor trusts me. It was a relief as for many months I thought the opposite and now it was made clear by him showing me that he trusted me. He would carry his tinsel ball in his mouth and would bring it to me to inform me it was play time. At times he would sneak into his snacks or would make a loud noise to let me know he wanted some. We had become inseparable. The bond I once severed with his brother, I managed to give to him. Raptor was one of a kind.


It was September 1989. I was drowning in my huge new school uniform. I know a lot of parents buy a few sizes up to save money but is a sack appropriate for a first day at school? I exaggerate slightly. I was wearing my XL Navy Blazer with the school crest ‘Veritas’ embroidered on top of my non-existent right breast. My Navy V-neck jumper hung past my waist and my ridiculously long navy skirt was a tripping hazard. I remember standing for assembly in the main hall next to a girl called Denise. She had latched on to me right away, but she seemed nice enough. We looked at each other as if to say, 'What were our parents thinking sending us here?'

‘Good morning, ladies’ began Mr. Murphy, the ruddy-faced headmaster. When I filed into the hall, I heard a brief snippet of conversation between two of the older girls. ‘Have you been in his study? There is a cabinet FULL of whiskey.’ ‘No, I haven’t been in his study Jemima. You have because you keep talking over the teacher in class.’ 'Bitch.' 'Cow.' Mr. Murphy continued. ‘I do hope everyone has had a good weekend. I’m going to start by telling you all a story about a fellow who finds himself in a desperate situation and in need of help. The story is called ‘The drowning man’. I think I heard the Jemima girl say ‘sounds like a laugh’ to which a few of her classmates giggled.

A look from Mr. Murphy silenced the sniggering and he began.

‘A fellow was stuck on his rooftop in a flood. He was praying to God for help. Soon a man in a rowboat came by and the fellow shouted to the man on the roof, “Jump in, I can save you.” The stranded fellow shouted back, “No, it’s OK, I’m praying to God, and he is going to save me.” So, the rowboat went on. Then a motorboat came by. “The fellow in the motorboat shouted, “Jump in, I can save you.” To this the stranded man said, “No thanks, I’m praying to God, and he is going to save me. I have faith.” So, the motorboat went on. Then a helicopter came by, and the pilot shouted down, “Grab this rope and I will lift you to safety.” To this the stranded man again replied, “No thanks, I’m praying to God, and he is going to save me. I have faith.” So, the helicopter reluctantly flew away. Soon the water rose above the rooftop and the man drowned. He went to Heaven. He finally got his chance to discuss this whole situation with God, at which point he exclaimed, “I had faith in you, but you didn’t save me, you let me drown. I don’t understand why!” To this God replied, “I sent you a rowboat and a motorboat and a helicopter, what more did you expect?”

A few of the teachers smiled and Mr. Murphy continued. ‘a truly valuable story girls about accepting help. I’m sure we can all learn to accept help from time to time. My wife, Mrs. Murphy is always telling me to let go and accept help. It’s sometimes the hardest thing to do. I would like to welcome everyone who has joined us this school year and please don’t be afraid to ask for help from your friends, fellow classmates, and teachers. We are all here to support one another.’

After assembly, we filed into our classroom and focused on our studies. But that was all I had to think about back then: Acing my exams and staying in the top five in my year in each subject so my parents could brag to their friends about it and feel that all the money they had spent on my private school education had been worth it.

******

Every day during our lunch break my husband John and I walk down the road to the beach that runs along the rugged North Cornish coast. How I love this stretch of coast. Full of wonderful memories of running up and down the beach with our young son, throwing or kicking a ball back and forth. A stretch of coast that has so much hope associated with it. ‘One day when we have a dog, we can run up and down with our doggy and train him/her to fetch the ball.’ or ‘ooh mummy can we come back in the summer months and swim in the rock pools.’ ‘Of course, darling, that sounds wonderful.’

But it is now winter and on exceptionally windy days, we feel the force of nature pushing us back, telling us ‘You don’t want to come too close today’ but we always push past it and find a sheltered cove to explore and enjoy being battered by the wind. However, in recent weeks, I haven’t felt so strong. What would happen if I just let go. Would I end up being blown about and spat back on to the beach like the bits of debris I find after a rough storm?

Sunday night mood: Calm (rippled), Wind: Light air

It is Sunday night and as I must get up early to travel the long journey from North Cornwall to London the next morning I say to my husband ‘I’ll sleep in the spare room, so I don’t disturb you my darling’. My alarm is due to go off at 5am. I have an engrained anxiety about Sunday nights which I know a lot of people have. I forever feel that ‘back to school’ ache where I feel overwhelmed at what the week has in store for me. What others have in store for me. I read my book, Joan Collins latest autobiography for a bit of humour and sensible reason but find myself unable to switch off. I turn off my bedside lamp and then think I can hear my son coughing. Oh no, I hope he’s not coming down with the latest bug from school. I then fall asleep but then roll over and check my phone and I’ve only been in bed for an hour. I go back to sleep and then what feels like only an hour later, I hear movement in Ben’s room. He runs into our room and when he doesn’t find me there, comes bolting into the spare room. ‘Are you ok Benji?’

‘Yes, mummy but my throat hurts.’

‘Ok you go back to bed. I’ll get you some milk, water and calpol’ and then I head downstairs, notice by the kitchen clock it’s 3am, look out at the garden thinking have I even slept? And then head up to Ben. ‘You go back to sleep now darling. Mummy needs to get up soon, so I need to sleep.’ ‘Ok mummy will you get me a toy in London?’ ‘Yes, darling I’ll get you anything if you go to sleep now.’ I then head back to the spare room and attempt to sleep, conscious that the remaining hours are passing at the speed of sound and my 5am alarm is about to go off any moment. ‘Brrrriiiinnnngggg’ Oh, there we go. I have this down to a fine art. I throw on my underwear, my navy jumpsuit and pashmina, check I’ve packed my toothbrush and have phone, debit card and train tickets. I make a quick cup of tea and grab a fruit scone and as quietly as I can lock up the house when I leave and walk the 10 minutes to the bus stop feeling slightly concerned that I didn’t call a cab or take that offer of a lift from my husband and dad when it’s pitch dark and I’m a woman on my own. I feel slight relief when I arrive at the bus stop and see several people waiting, mostly young people who look like students heading to college in the next town. Once the bus arrives, I get out my book and read a bit in between dozing. Once at the train station, I check there are no delays and then settle down for a Starbucks cappuccino and a bacon roll. Before I jump on the train to London, I grab another cappuccino as the coffee on the train in the trolley service is usually rank. Once on the train I can settle in and do a few things. Read/ write. It is my time but I do spend a lot of the time wishing I was at home so I could take Benj to school and I hope his cold is ok.

I arrive at London Paddington station on time and have done this journey often enough that I know to get my head down, head to the Hammersmith and city line and jump on the tube for 20 minutes to King’s Cross. There is something exciting about being surrounded by so many people and I usually forget where I am and start chatting to total strangers on the tube. My husband who grew up in London always says, ‘don’t make eye contact with anyone on the tube and definitely don’t speak to anyone’. He worries. I guess that’s normal. He’s always telling me that ‘me and Benj are everything’.

When I arrive at my premier inn hotel next to my office, I pay for an early check in. Once in my room, I ring John: ‘Hey darling how are you?’ ‘Hello. How was your journey?’ ‘It was fine. I’m going to have a quick shower and then head to the office. I’ll call later.’ ‘Ok speak later.’ I then have a quick wash, apply more foundation than I normally would, eye liner and a subtle lipstick, oh and brush my hair. There is something about heading into the office that makes me feel young and nice to have an occasion to look smart. At the same time, I feel as if I’m about to put on a show, so I practice my work voice as I walk up the three flights of stairs to my colleagues.

‘Helen, hey!’ ‘Hey there Richard, how are you?’ Best to start with the Head of the department. Richard is a lovely guy. He is Australian and looks like he’s enjoyed a fight in his rugby club many years ago. He has that slightly battered look but still has a twinkle in his eye. He enjoys telling me how his children are doing now they’ve flown the nest. ‘The thing is Helen I feel as if my wife and I are having a second life. Our kids have flown and we’re now able to go out for dinner and see plays. It’s great.’ ‘That’s wonderful’ ‘And how are you? How’s the family?’ ‘Oh yes you know all fine. Husband and son always have a breakdown when I’m not there but all fine.’ ‘Oh good. Now I was going to speak to you about work if ok?’ ‘Oh yes of course.’ ‘I’m conscious you do a lot.’ ‘Yes, it keeps me out of mischief.’ ‘Ha. Well, I wanted to say thank you so much for doing the department newsletter and helping with training sessions on top of your regular work. I would like to reorganize our intranet and I’m keen to bring everyone together. If I set up a chat with the other department heads, would you be keen to get involved with that?’ ‘Yes definitely’ ‘Great. Well, it’s great to see you. I’ll let you get on.’ As I returned to my desk, I could hear my husband’s voice ‘they do know you’re part- time don’t they? Just refuse to do all this extra stuff. They’re not compensating you for it and you want to do other things with your time like writing.’ I sat down at my desk trying not to feel disgruntled. I phoned my manager in New York who is an absolute peach and looks like she walked off the set of 90210. ‘We can tweak it Helen so you’re not doing more while Richard needs you. I don’t want you working more than your contractual hours.’ ‘Thanks Samantha.’ And with that I wade through the treacle-like pile on my to do list.

Wednesday afternoon mood: Slight to moderate, Moderate breeze

I’m back in the car driving the 18 miles to Ben’s school. When we moved over the borders from Devon to Cornwall a couple of years ago, he was so settled at school that we didn’t want to move him and as I am only ‘part- time’ I pick up most of the runs. I call my mum on the drive over. ‘Hello, its only me’ ‘Oh, hello darling. How are you?’ ‘Oh yes fine thanks’ trying to hide the creeping veil of tiredness that wants to take over. ‘How’s our gorgeous boy.’ ‘John’s fine thanks.’ ‘Ha, the other gorgeous boy.’ 'Oh, you mean Ben. Ha! He’s fine. I’m just driving over to watch him thrash Kingsley school. I wasn’t sure if I’d make it but decided to run away from work.’ ‘Is there anything we can do to help? Do you need to work? You know your sister would always help with the school runs.’ ‘No, I’m fine thanks. I don’t need to work but I enjoy it and yes, it’s a bit manic now, but I just need to pace myself.’ ‘Well, I won’t keep you. Hope hockey goes well and Benji bunny enjoys.’ ‘Thanks, I’m sure he will. He loves anything with a ball.’ I was so pleased to have escaped from work and watching Ben do well on the sidelines was so invigorating. This is the stuff he’ll remember. ‘I didn’t think you’d make it’ said one of the mums. You know, Rob said to me the other day, we’ll happily take Ben to school. He gets on so well with our Ella and he’s such a poppet.’ ‘Oh, that’s so kind thank you. I don’t mind. Gets me out of the house.’ Although Helen thought to herself that a lie in occasionally would be amazing or a bit more time back.

Wednesday night mood: Violent Storm/Hurricane

After putting Benj to bed, I thought I better log on to my emails to check nothing had come up. Big mistake. Meeting requests to discuss new project. Check in on where current department newsletter was. Clients applying red exclamations left/right and centre to emails. The word 'disappointing' in a couple of emails. Urgh. So, I text my friend Zoe. I had met Zoe at prenatal classes when I had Benj and we had formed a strong bond. She saw a bullshitter a mile off. She had also had every single job under the sun which fascinated me: make-up artist/candle maker/ singer/PA/ marketing professional and despite running her entire household/managing her husband's tailoring business, she had also secured herself a book deal for a Children’s Picture book. I sent her a WhatsApp: ‘Hey gorgeous, how are you?’ ‘Hey lovely, how are you? All fine here, just trying to shirk my day job so I can write my next book.’ ‘Amazing, you are an inspiration.’ ‘Aww thanks, you are too. What's up?’ ‘I feel completely snowed under.’ ‘oh, I’m sorry. Do you know what though?’ ‘What?’ ‘Now is the time. Carpe diem.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You and I have been talking about this for yonks. Carve out more YOU TIME. Prioritise YOU. Start tapping again.’ ‘you’re right. I feel completely lost as to where to start.’ ‘a friend of mine recommended said she started using daily writing prompts to get her in the mood for her poems. She sets her alarm 15 mins early to have a go. Do it!’ ‘Ok I will. Speak soon. Thank you, lots of love.’ ‘Lots of love. Just remember the laundry will always be there but it doesn’t have to be your soul purpose.’ ‘you’re so right. Thanks again.’

With that I typed in writing prompts…what is this? Reedsy writing prompts…


It’s Monday morning. In times like this, I tend to understand where the stereotypical Monday-morning mood comes from. After having finished a box of chocolate cereal before school—which I have started regretting—my belly and my palms feel nice and warm inside the huge pocket of my oversized black sweatshirt. I am comfortably sitting at the back of the classroom, when the happy-go-lucky art teacher comes in. “Good morning, everyone!” she screams in that piercing tone that makes my poor ears tingle. “Let’s take our sketchbooks and have an outdoor lesson today. Spring is here, the birds are singing!” she sings like a wannabe soprano.  I can hear the class’s reluctant murmurs as the background sound while I’m still half-asleep with my head against the wall. I cannot even imagine myself trying to discover where my sketchbook is, which I doubt I have purchased since the beginning of the term. Even worse, the thought of having to go out in the chilly, humid air makes me want to die faster. “We can exercise on depicting the shades of the trees…” I hear her voice fading while the rest of the class follows her outside. At the same time, I can feel my bff, Penn, smiling from cheek to cheek next to me, without even looking at her. I’m sure she can’t miss anything out of an ordinary, dull class. She’s already piled a messy sketchbook and a quite huge collection of pencils on her lap when she ruffles my brown curls with her long, red-knuckled fingers. “C’mon lazy bones. Get up. Can’t you feel the inspiration running through your veins?” I attempt to shoot her a blank, cold look, as if I can’t stand her messing my hair; though she’d the only human being whom I let to touch me.  “No,” I grumble. She shoots me a half-smile and her left dimple comes to light. I see her carelessly tearing off a piece of paper and handing it to me together with a full set of art tools.  “You could at least try.”            A chilly breeze slams my face and I start hating my life a bit more. The rest of the nerds are already sitting around the greenery, supposedly interested in sketching the trees. The rest of the bastards are simply ignoring the poor lady. The even possibility of spoiling my black pants with soil is disgusting, but because everyone is down, I sit too. My eyes immediately search for Penn. I finally detected her from her beloved green hoodie. She’s perfectly engaged in her artwork while typically biting one side of her bottom lip. That means she’s completely tangled up in her imagination. I approach and stand behind her without saying a word. My eyes follow the tense lines and smooth curves that her left hand creates. The blank paper comes to life, I tell myself. Sometimes her fantasy flows out, to add her own elements in the drawing. I take a miserable look at my empty paper and notice it’s used at the back. The other side is full of destroyed or scribbled sketches. I kind of feel sorry for all those works of art that she finds rubbish. One of them looks lots like me, though it’s is certainly a much better version of my face.            “Why do you like drawing?” I ask after a long time. Penn’s familiar voice fills my thoughts, while she never takes her eyes off the drawing. “Just look at the beauty, Georgi. Take spring, for example.” I don’t quite understand, but I try to follow her thought, which is entirely abstract for my cynic logic. “All you need to do is look around. The sky, an endlessly bright thole, an ethereal and clear light blue, so pure that the eyes sometimes hurts if you stare at it for too long. And even the clouds, always changing in a way they can never be just clouds. They take shapes that tell magnificent stories.” I observe her almond-shaped eyes glowing out her passion. Those silken lashes curve joyfully at the corners when she smiles and the galaxy of freckles light up her face. I’m glad she can’t see my emotional side. “What about the sun? Its warming gold shines upon everything and everyone, giving life to all those spring blooms. Their colors, they just fill you up with admiration as they blend one next to the other. The shades, the texture of the trees, you feel an urge to touch them, to smell the soil. And all those different greens everywhere, they’re so magically combined, so varied that I could spend hours trying to capture every hue.” She puts her pencil down. That’s when her eyes, shining like melting honey, rest on me. “That’s why I love painting, ‘cause it’s a chance to depict all that beauty.”            I don’t say anything and I bet she thinks I can’t understand her. Because I’m not like that, I don’t think in colors. Life can be strictly black or white, I used to think. Yet, today I tried to see through her eyes and this crispy Monday morning truly looks a lot better. At least I got Penn, a friendly reminder that it’s not only a Monday morning; it’s the dawning of spring.

It’s 4.00 a.m. and this memory fills the hours. I lie on my bed, wide-eyed and unmoving, just like every sleepless night. It came to my mind, since it all happened a year ago. This spring, I’m starting to realize that I have gone back to my black-and-white theory about life. Penn isn’t here to show me the colors of the first blossoms. She’s in the US, making her dream come true after getting a scholarship for a year. And I’m still here, dully wearing my Air pods without paying attention to the lyrics of ‘Wish you were here’. Maybe they’re already out of battery.            My knees curl up as I sit against the head of the bed. I rest my head upon them so as to calm down; I’m having a panic attack. My chest is becoming heavier with every breath. After several moments covered in cold sweat, the numbness retreats, but I still feel the pain. I miss her, I’m realizing I miss the most important person in my life as I panic. She’s the only one who knows how I feel.            With the thought of Penn, I turn towards our friendship lamp. The next moment, I press blue, the color I use for sadness. Yet, I doubt she’ll see it or answer back now, she’s got a load of things to do there, rather than deal with another night crisis of mine. I keep staring at the lamp, till my numbness drags me into a dizzy, half-sleeping condition.            Next to me, the lamp begins to glow.


The air was shivering. Practically could cut through bone. Joseph made his way down the street to catch the 105 bus to Langston. He shivered, but not from the cold but from his impending meeting with…her. As he sat in the back of the bus, he contemplated intentionally missing his stop and just keep going. “I worked a double shift-yeah that’s right-I was too tired and couldn’t make it.” a thought he seriously considered, but he knew if he missed this meeting, there may never be another. As time passed, the bell on the bus rung aloud, “NEXT STOP! LANGSTON!” the annoyed driver annnounced. Joseph stared out the window, focusing on each and every passing street, until he dreadfully reached his destination, Langston. He took his time getting off the bus, dragging his last toe for as long as he could before it would just be him standing on the corner, looking ahead to see her house. “Better get this over with.” he exclaimed, exhaling a deep sigh of angst. Joseph knew she always turned her hearing aids up higher than they needed to be, so he knocked softly on the door so he wouldn’t cause her any discomfort. Plus, she had this old grouchy dog that would bark for what seemed like an eternity when ever he heard any sort of noise, and on top of just being there, an angry dog was the last thing he needed added on to the night. He could here the sound of the rocking chair legs creak back and forth from her getting out of the chair, so he knew she was making her way to the door. He could see the shadow outline of two feet from under the door, he knew she was looking through the peephole by now to see who it is. And just as she was about to ask, Joseph said, “Hi mom.” The woman’s excitement exploded with glee as her impatience to unlock her three door locks resulted in many colorful words uttered under her breath. When she finally opened the door, she practically leapt at Joseph, her arms tightly wrapped around his slender figure, squeezing the life out of him. “I’m so glad you came Joshy-it’s been so long!” his mother claimed still tightly latched onto him, giving no empty space between the two. A she started loosen her grip, she ushered him to go inside and out of the cold. Joseph stepped into the house he grew up in. He felt as though he was entering it for the first time. As he took off his coat to get a little more comfortable, he looked around the house. He looked up at the stairs. Running up and down those bad boys, always headed to the next stop in life. The livlingroom he watched the boys win the big game with his dad, also where he had his first drink with the old man. And then there was the kitchen. Where he told his parents he was going to be better than they ever were. “So…how ya been ma? You doin’ alright?” Joseph politely asked, looking her over like he was the parent concerned. “Oh you know me, I can’t rest until this house is spotless.” she replied, folding his coat and placing it over the chair by the door. “It looks great in here, like always.” “It would look a lot better if I could just get these old bones to move like they used to.” Joseph peered down, and sure thing his fathers steel toed work boots, almost exactly the way he remembered, were lying by the door, heavily covered with old dirt stains and grease like he never left. There was even pieces of debris still left underneath. “Something smells good. What is that, tortellini?” His mother smiled bright with pride, like her kid just won the spelling bee, pinching his cheek, “That’s my boy, you know your motha!” With that sentiment, Joseph returned a pleased grin and followed her into the kitchen. Joseph help set the table as his mother carried a steamy pot of his favorite three cheese tortellini to the table. As the two sat down across from one another, Joseph pulled out his phone. His mother noticed the angst on his face and decided to ask what was wrong, “Everything okay hun?’ Joseph, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, closed his phone immediately, darting his eyes up to look back at his mom, nodding his head obliviously, taking a bite of his food trying to hide his lies. “You seem nervous.” she pried, as she sipped a cup of water. “I’m fine ma.” he replied slightly annoyed, grabbing his glass of water. “You don’t seem fine.” his mother asked again, staring blankly at him. “I’m fine!” he snapped back, drinking his water angrily, shoving another helping of food in his mouth. His mother was taken aback by his behavior. Without pressuring him, his mother decided to also change the subject. “How’s work? You still working at the store?” “Yup.” Joseph replied sharply not even looking up from his plate. “Have they moved you up to management yet?” “Nope!” “Well don’t worry hun, I’m sure you’ll find something better soon.” “Yeah. That’s what I tell myself everyday.” Joseph uttered under his breath assuming his mother couldn’t hear but she did. She was growing concerned. “Joshy, honestly what’s wrong?” “Nothin’ man, I’m fine really, can we just change the subject?” “You know you can talk to me about anything.” “I know ma.” “No matter what. I’ll always be here to listen when you need—” “I know ma, I know.” Joseph replied before his mother could finish her sentence. The two sat briefly in silence. Joseph kept stuffing his face, deciding not to look up, hoping his mother wouldn’t ask him any more questions. “Is it girl problems?” his mother asked nurturing. Joseph threw down his fork and flung his arms up above his head “Here we go.” he exclaimed exhausted. “You can’t just let it go can you?” “Is this about Easter-‘cause I already told you, it was an accident.” she pleaded, gently blotting the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Accident?! You ate her mother!” Joseph cried, standing up from his chair in anger. “No, no-no I didn’t. I just simply took a little off the top, she would of been fine if she didn’t freak out about it.” “You bit into her skull like she was a ripe piece of fruit, who does that?” “Well hun, incase you haven’t noticed, we do. We’re monsters. Monsters eat humans. That's what we do. Like duh.” his mother explained, casually picking up her plate and taking it into the kitchen. “But did you have to eat my girlfriend?” Joseph pleaded. “Oh please. Like you two were ever going to last.” his mother replied snarky. “I asked her to marry me and you know what she said?” “How much did you spend on the ring?” Joseph didn’t answer immediately, “You’re not supposed to eat people ma! It’s 2021!” “And how are we supposed to survive, on that tofu nonsense you eat? I tell ya, ever since you moved to the city, you’ve really changed.” “Know what I knew this was a mistake. I didn’t want to come here in the first place.” As Joseph grabbed his coat to leave, his mother called to him. “Joseph Axel Rose Hopper!” his mother called out firmly. A notion he knew all too well when he was in big trouble. Joseph carefully turned around and respectfully acknowledged her, “Yeah ma.” His mother walked to him, and gave him a hug and kiss. The two embraced in a warm huge before he left. “You want some tortellini to go, I made too much.” “Yeah sure.” Joseph replied submissively, following her back to the kitchen. Joseph caught the bus back to the city that night. On the ride back, he found himself still a little hungry and decided to pick at his mother’s tortellini. While sampling, he noticed something stuck in his teeth. When he finally fished it out, a thin brown hair string lied entangled in his fingernail. He looked it over for a second, and then stuck it back in his mouth, letting out a pleasing, “Yum.”


(I'm sorry, I accidentally submitted this story to the wrong prompt- supposed to be in 'Write a story set in the hottest day of the year.' But can't change it now! Sorry again! Please consider it for the intended prompt!) --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Simon listened to the radio as he washed the dishes. The young weather girl with the soothing voice told him today would be the hottest day of the year, 'tropical', she said, and told him to stay hydrated, and not to stay in the sun for too long. She reeled off some mumbo jumbo about warm air trapped in the atmosphere, plus a bunch of meteorological numbers Simon didn't understand. He didn't much care for numbers. Data, statistics. He was decidedly an arts guy, and today he was especially happy with himself for finishing Crime and Punishment, a book he'd long wanted to read but never had the time. Now that Isabel had left him, he could indulge in those longer, more intellectual novels. Just one of many positives, he was sure. Not wanting to squander the sunny spell, he decided he'd go to the bookshop and pick out a new book, and spend the afternoon on the lounger, reading and sun tanning his back... If, of course, Daisy would make do of the heat in the back garden, and stop being such a nuisance and shitting all the time. Simon stood the last plate on the draining board and marveled at the sudsy phalanx he'd created. A job well done. He put on his sunglasses and bundled Daisy into the back seat of his little fire red Mini Cooper. Daisy whined and fidgeted on the hot sticky leather. 'Oh, shush,' he said. 'We'll be back before you can say Dostoevsky.'                                    *** The air conditioning at Milly's Bookshop hit him in the face like a snowball. He breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his eyes, and hooked his sunglasses on the collar of his green tank top. Almost a decade he'd been coming here. It was a snug little building tucked between a bakery and a second hand jewellery shop. For its size it had a splendid repertoire, displayed in rows upon rows of bookshelves on every wall, top to bottom. In the back corner furthest from the till, under a large aquarium that twinkled with Guppies and Cherry Barbs, sat a little rosewood table and two armchairs in Cambridge blue sheepskin, set there for patrons who wished to sit and read a chapter before making their purchase. The till was unattended. They were probably out back enjoying the sun, thought Simon, and proceeded to browse the center aisle. He ran his fingers across the shiny book spines, inhaling the earthy fragrance of the paper. Any book. He could now read any book he chose to. He drew one from the end of the middle shelf. 'Ugh. The Handmaid's Tale.' It was Isabel's favourite book. Simon had read the first few chapters in college, Isabel had nagged him for years to finish it. She nagged him about a lot of things. After the kid was born, she lost interest in books altogether, so he never finished The Handmaid's Tale. He would have, eventually. If she'd stuck around. If she hadn't been so weak. He put the book back and continued to browse till he found a three-inch thick, important looking tome entitled Swann's Way. He held it at arm's length and jounced it on his palm: it was as heavy as Crime and Punishment. Perhaps not quite. But heavy. 'Cracking the flags out there, ay!' came a voice from behind him. He turned to see a little blonde girl in a white crop top leaning over the till. He didn't recognise her. She must be new. 'Aye, you could cook a steak on that tarmac,' he said and walked over. 'I'll take this one, please.' He handed her the book. As she checked the sleeve and drummed the buttons on the till, he tried hard not to stare. She was chewing gum with her pink mouth wide open. Her shoulders were burnt and sequined with peeling skin that glistened under her sweat like pearl. He could smell her body odour scratching at her perfume; a sweet and obliquely vaginal scent, one that would follow him in the decades to come. 'Do you want this gift-wrapped?' she said. 'No. Thank you, it's for me.' Simon swiped his credit card and scurried out of the shop. The sun dropped its burning heel on him, pinning him to the pavement. He hung his head and clasped his hands behind his neck. How old was that girl? Eighteen? Seventeen? He was about to walk to his car, but glancing into the shop window he saw something he hadn't noticed on the way in: a book he'd recently heard about, propped center-front of the dressing. He turned around and marched back into Milly's. 'Hello, it's me again.' 'Hi! What can I do for you?' said the girl. 'Can you get Milly for me, please?' 'Milly? I think you mean the old owner. She hasn't been here for almost a year, I'm afraid. Me and my Grandad run the shop now.' Simon shook his head reprovingly. Black circles of sweat were budding on his tank top, on his shorts. 'Sir? Are you all right?' 'That book in the window,' he said. 'I saw that book on Youtube. Why are you selling it?' 'I... I don't know.' 'Do you know what that book is about? That book is a step-by-step guide on how to clean out a man in a divorce! A step-by-step guide . Ten years I've been coming here, I tell my friends to come here, I even told my wife about this place! And you throw that shit in my face?' 'Mister,' said the girl, crossing her hands over her chest. 'I'm really sorry. I don't have a say in what goes in the window. I haven't even read it myself.' 'Of course you haven't. Why would you? What are you? Eighteen? Seventeen? You don't know what a divorce is like! You don't know what parenthood is like! Shit, you don't even know what life is like, do you! But you'll prance around in your short skirts with your breasts spilling out of your bra like you can't wait to find out, won't you! I can't even be me in my bookshop any more, can I!' The girl took a step away from the till and wriggled a hand into her skirt pocket. 'I'm calling the police.' 'Well, you don't have to find out, girly, because I'm gonna tell you right now. I'm gonna teach you a life lesson- right now. Do you have a dog?' 'What?' 'Do you have a-- Put that fucking phone back in your pocket, damn you!' The girl screamed and tossed the phone in the air. She backed up and slid down the wall and hid behind her knees. 'Do you have a dog!' 'Yes,' she sobbed. 'What's her name?' 'W, Willow... He's a he.' Simon mounted the till counter and crossed his legs. He looked down at her. Her tears were spilling over her knees and streaking the fake tan on her legs in little white scars, like an infection spreading. 'Let me paint a picture for you,' Simon said. 'You come home one night after working a straight twelve hours hard graft. This won't be a familiar picture to your kind, I'm sure, but do your best to imagine it.' 'Please! Please don't hurt me...' 'You walk in and nobody's around. Hello? Hello? The house is a mess. Dirty dishes left in the sink. There's no dinner for you in the oven or in the fridge. What has happened here? Willow? Here, boy! You go upstairs to your bedroom. And this is where it clicks, baby. This is where it all starts to make sense.' Simon jumped off the till counter and knelt in front of her. He slid his nose in-between her shins and pressed his brow on her knees, on her cool tears. She squealed but didn't move. 'You won't even know how you did it,' he whispered. 'But this is where you find the box, this, thisss ... is where you lift the lid off and you see, not like Pandora, but like Plato. The big reality. Do you know what you find? Huh? When you pull back the blanket? You know what you find underneath?' The girl was shuddering violently. Terror screeched up and down her bones like an axe on a whetstone. Simon stood up and rolled back his shoulders and shook the sweat from his hair. 'A big, black, imprint where your family used to be. Combusted. Like a firecracker, burnt into the mattress. And on your side of the bed is Willow: he's scorched the deepest and the blackest into the fabric; his figure is a gaping black hole that you can't take your eyes off. Then the truth hits you and hits you so damn hard, like... like an ant under a magnifying glass in tropical sun. The truth is, they're just shadows, lying together, having the same dream... Nothing more. They've floated right past you, under you, in the tunnels, the brightly lit tunnels that you built .' Simon put his hand on the girl's shoulder. 'Hey... I'm not going to hurt you, whatever your name is.' The girl had stopped sobbing. She lifted her head tentatively and looked up at him. 'But I'm not weak. There's no room in the shadows for men like me, because we aren't ashamed to be men. We don't dream, so that you can dream. Dream of whatever it takes to forget about us. Do you understand that? Tell me you understand that... Tell me, damn you!' Kshhhhk! The aquarium in the corner shattered, water gushed and fish tumbled out and flapped around on the table and in the sheepskin chairs. Simon turned around to see an old man pointing a pistol at him. He looked down his tank top where a black circle was expanding a couple of inches above his hip.                                    *** Simon survived the gunshot. After he was taken away in an ambulance, the policeman that first arrived on the scene, Officer Bruley, discovered Simon's Mini Cooper. He broke the window with his baton and lifted Daisy from the back seat as fast and gently as he could. But she had died from heatstroke a while ago. Isabel was notified, she identified her baby daughter's body later that day. That night in bed, Officer Bruley said to his wife, 'This bloody heat, will it ever end?' 'Oh, stop it and go to sleep,' said Mrs. Bruley. 'Did you let the dog out?' 'Yes I did.' 'Don't be stealing my side of the mattress again, will you?' 'Me?' protested Officer Bruley. 'What about you!' He sat up and switched on the television. By the time he had to get dressed and go to the station, he hadn't slept a wink. There was so much more work to do than he'd planned on. He loved his wife and his children very much.


Having a hobby is a good way to pass your free time. It also helped you to discover many different strengths and weaknesses that you had or needed to work on. However, some people didn’t like hobbies and having to do something in their free time made them feel like they were working. At least, that was how my friend felt when I told him to get a hobby. “What’s wrong with a hobby? At least, it gives you something to do when you’re bored.” Hobbies made me feel like I could discover my new passions. As I grew older, I always had a passion in different things. But that was not how Kyle felt. He preferred the lazy hobby, where he could sit in front of the TV and watch Netflix all day. “If I can watch my Netflix, I’m passing time. No need for exhausting yourself for no reason.” He was a complete couch potato. I thought that I should get him to try out things, even if it is sports, to see what he liked but no matter what he kept telling me the same excuse. I visited the art museum or the history exhibition to find out more of my passions, but all he did was hunt for places to grab a snack. It became irritating at times. Yes, some people said that eating was a hobby, but that was if they were lazy people! A hobby didn’t have to be something tiring. It could be something you did for fun and watching a movie or playing a computer game wasn’t doing something for fun! “Why are you so negative? Just try out something and see if you like it. But don’t say you don’t like it because you want to go home and be a slob on the couch!” He just gave me a look. I felt that there was more to life than just being in front of the TV. I knew that he collected antique vases that dated to the first Queen of England and other ancient artefacts. And I found a stall that had those exact items, but instead of him looking at them, I found Kyle eyeing out the cake stall next door. The poor girl who stood at that stall looked horrified at him. “Kyle! You are scaring the girl. Look at this, I found your collective items.” He sulked for a minute, but then I saw a slight interest in his eyes when he saw the vases. “I haven’t even touched them in years, why would I want to collect more?” I saw a delicate vase with ancient Egyptian drawings on it. Since he had a variety from all over the world, I decided to get this one for him. He didn’t have an Egyptian vase and this was a perfect item. “It’s a beautiful vase. Wise choice. But the vase contains a hidden secret in it.” The vendor made a chilling comment on the vase in my hand. I knew that any treasures stolen from the Pharaoh’s tombs were cursed, but could this vase be too? Perhaps his warning meant something and I didn’t want to leave without finding out what he meant. “What is the secret? Should we be worried?” He gazed at me for a minute before looking away. “It cannot be said in public. But it might change your life and reveal hidden thoughts, feelings, emotions or whatever you may want to call it.” This made me even more suspicious of the vendor’s warning. What was he trying to tell us? Since he didn’t want to say, we left with the vase in hand. “This vase is incredible! It can make things happen, as if it is a magic lamp!” I was surprised by Kyle’s excitement with the vase I bought him two days ago. First, he was in a mood and didn’t want to do anything…practical, but now he can’t step away from the vases, especially the new one! A part of me was happy that he was back to his new found hobby, but another part made me think back to the vendor’s warning before we paid for the vase: ‘The vase contains a hidden secret in it’. If the hidden secret was that it could make hidden hobbies ignite in someone’s heart, then I didn’t see that as a negative side nor a warning. But his excitement was a bit too sudden. Perhaps there was more to this vase than met the eye. Whenever I wanted to scan the detailed artwork on the vase, he would harshly pull the vase out of my grip. That behaviour of his also seemed sudden. I had to find out what this vase had. Was it a curse? Or just some strange spell? Or was it all in my head? I revisited the stall where I purchased the vase for Kyle. The vendor recognized me, but the look on his face meant that he wasn’t too happy to see me. “Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?” I reached my hand into the Tote bag I carried on me, and took out the vase to show him. “Two days ago, you mentioned that this vase had hidden secrets in it. When I asked you what they were, you didn’t reveal them. I want you to tell me, right now and right here, what those secrets are and I demand an explanation!” He looked around him as if he was on the lookout for any suspicious listeners. After a moment’s silence, he directed me to an area where only the staff were allowed to go. “We shall talk in here.” I followed after him and there he sat me down to explain the history behind this antique vase. “I take it that your friend has returned to his interest in antique vases?” Before I could ask him how he knew, he raised his hand to silence me. “Please, let me finish: The vase was a precious gift that was given to Queen Cleopatra on her 30 th birthday. She loved the beauty of it and kept it hidden in a secret room, where only she knew and had access to. However, after she kept this vase she had many tragic losses in her time. Her life began to become miserable and every suitor itched to get his hands on both the beautiful vase and its extremely beautiful owner. Her guards, who protected her from any threat, managed to ward her off them. But one of these men secretly got into her room and stole the vase. It was from then that she ordered all her magicians to place a curse on this ornament, but if it was in the hands of someone who bought it for another’s interest, then it might bring more than happiness for that individual.” His story made me think that Cleopatra had a specific reason for the curse or spell that she had placed on this vase. I was more intrigued after hearing about the history of this vase only increased my interest to learn more.