With all that has happened these past few months, my life has been the public announcement of a town crier. It’s quite daunting when I think about it. It’s scary living in a glass box. Tessa was the only way I made it through. She’s an open book. Didn’t believe in keeping secrets of her own.

Whenever I was blue, she would regale me of a story about her childhood or her fiance or things the boys did before I came. Merlin was limited with his stories. All of them - the few he shared - were before the age of ten and after he went to Camelot to live with his uncle. I guess that was when Alwyn came to live with him and his mother. Alwyn was a steel trap. He only talked about things that happened since I came to live with them. I don't know if it hurts to remember, he's trying to hide something, or he's just a private person.

I never knew where I stood with him. He was quiet, rarely talked without being talked to first. And when we were alone, he would go about his chores and tasks like I wasn't there until I needed help. After the years we were all together, I only remember one time when he opened up to me. ●●● It was close to evening and we were getting ready for supper. Alwyn’s job was to collect more firewood and Tessa was starting a fire with what we had left. Mine was to start dinner as Merlin prepared the fish we caught earlier.

Not long after we started, Merlin and Tessa were called away. Two children from the nearby town fell into an old well. Our cabin was the first place their friends found. Merlin and Tessa were more than eager to help, leaving me alone waiting for Alwyn to come back.

I don’t know how long it was before Alwyn’s voice boomed from the doorway. “Dorothy, do you need some help?”

I was fully extended on my tiptoes, trying to reach the top shelf. It was probably a good six inches from my fingertips. Merlin always got things down from there before I knew I needed them so I was determined to do it myself. I told him no before giving my best jump. I closed in. Only an inch away, before falling back to the ground. I landed hard on my rear and was sprawled out like my last ice skating fail. With my hand on my face, I whimpered out a yes. He quietly walked over and stopped right in front of me. He pulled down the bowl I was trying to get, not even needing to extend his arm all the way. After he put it on the table, I thought he would leave until I felt his rough hands on mine.

“Dorothy-” he guided my arms away - “it's okay.” He wiped the tears away from the corner of my eyes. “You still got some growing left in you. I see it every day. It might not happen as fast as you want it to, but it's still there, little by little.” I didn't know what to say. What could anyone say to that? The words could ever express what that meant to me, so I went with the next best thing: a hug. I think I scared him when I latched onto him. He gave a pretty loud grasp when he fell off his feet.

Lightly, he pushed my arms away. “Do you need any more help?” he stammered, scuffling to his feet. “I should be fine until Merlin gets back,” I mumbled back still on the floor. I felt like I did something wrong and it ran to my cheeks. By the time I got up, he had bolted out the door.

I moped to the table. I wanted to follow but my feet refused to go in that direction. They decided it was better to finish my work.

When it was done, the fish were staring at me. Merlin still wasn’t back and the sun was crawling into the window. When I walked outside, Alwyn was still trying to place wood on Tessa’s dead fire. His back was to me, so I couldn’t tell why he had a hand by his face. I stepped on a stick about a yard away. He immediately shot his arms to his sides. “Can you do the fire thing?” He moved away as I came close. I knelt down close to the pit. With a snap, flames popped. “They’re not back yet, are they?” “No,” he said, sitting adjacent to me. “But don’t worry. I bet they’re just taking their time.” “I know you’re worried, too,” I said, drawing my knees close. “I’m always worried.” He mimicked me. “For a good reason,” a voice boomed. A pair of glowing golden eyes and a beaming white smile appeared on the other side of the fire.

In his usual lightning fashion, Alwyn grabbed my hand and yanked me into the woods.

“You can run but you can’t hide, Alwyn!” the man yelled into the night, launching his followers. “Alwyn! Slow down!” I begged as I tripped over another root. “Alwyn, what’s going on?! Who was that?!” He stopped like a cliff. “I promise,” he ran his free hand over my cheek, “I’ll explain, but not now, not here. We need to keep going.”

As he took another step, a humongous shadow landed in front of him. “Don't you think you've gone far enough.” Alwyn drew me close as he backed us away.

Thudding into something behind them that was there before, they yelped. “Where do you think you're going?” In the space between, a new person ripped me from him. “Who's this, now?” they said as another lifted Alwyn by his collar. I could barely see with the thug's fat hand covering most of my face to stop me from screaming. Through the cracks, I made out Alwyn thrashing and kicking at his captor. Then with a laugh, the man dropped Alwyn back to the ground that was no longer near his feet. Golden eyes wasn't far behind. He knelt and pulled Alwyn's head up by his hair. “You should know better than to run away from home. Prince!” he spat. Dropping Alwyn's face into the dirt, he shot his beams at me. “Load them up, King Folen will want to know what his son's been up to.” At the man's words, Alwyn leaped up and got his arms ready to push.

The man turned and without moving a muscle sent Alwyn backward into the closest tree. With my elbow at the right height, I sent it back into the thug. As he fell back, I ran to Alwyn's side.

I was barely there a second when Golden eyes picked me up by my braid. “You foolish girl,” he said, making my world go dark. When Alwyn woke up, he was laying in a four-poster bed. He stretched until he realized where he was. He whipped all about before his ears perked up. “Don't cry, Dorothy,” he said, hopping off the bed.

He sat next to me on a bench. “Everything's going to be okay,” he continued, partway putting an arm around me. “Why did he call you Prince?” I squeaked through the tears. “Dorothy,” he groaned.

“Why did he call you Prince?” I repeated, lifting my head. “Who is he? You promise to explain everything!” “And I don't break my promise,” he said pushing his shaggy hair behind his pointed ears. “He called me prince because I am one. And it's not the first time this has happened…” ●●● Four figures in dingy clothing and face covering laid in the shadows of the growth next to a forest road. Their leader gestures to the incoming carriage. They all got ready to pounce.

Alwyn - about five or six years younger - stayed low behind a row of bushes further back, spying on the figures. When they went into action, so did he.

Halfway through his bounce over the bush, a hand rip-corded him back. The hand gripped like a dog to its bone. His golden eyes pierced Alwyn's. “What are you doing out here?” He snarled.

Kicking his feet, Alwyn yelled, “Put me down, Vamir!” “As you wish.” He released his hand. Not catching himself, Alwyn pancaked on the ground. “You know that's not what I meant!” “Come on, kid,” Vamir picked him back up by his collar, “before you get us both killed.” He started dragging him away from the violent scene taking place on the road. Alwyn barely got in any steps as they went back home. They approached a crumbling castle. With Vamir watching their surroundings, they disappeared, engulfed by light. Now, they were facing a pristine kingdom. Vamir slowed and made Alwyn stand up straight as people began to stare. “Don’t draw any attention!” he whispered. “You know who I am. They know who I am. Maybe you shouldn’t have forced me to my father’s parties,” he smirked. “Just keep moving, or else-” “Or else I'll be sleeping in the dungeon or the stocks or whatever old contraption you've found that the humans left behind.” Pressing his nails into his palms, he opened his mouth, saying nothing. They walked in silence until they entered the throne room. King Folen was talking with his advisor. However, when he saw his son and Vamir, he ordered everyone. Knowing all too well what was going to happen, the members scurried out like rats on a sinking ship.

"Can I have a moment with my son, Vamir," Folen asked, sitting on his throne.

With the doors closed, he continued, “Come here, Alwyn.” Alwyn’s gaze dropped as he walked forward. He sat down on the steps in front of his father’s chair, the usual spot for his lectures. “Where did you go this time?”

“Just past the ravine,” he squeaked. “That’s a few miles from here. Why were you there?” Alwyn crossed his arms and lowered his head. “Why were you there?” he insisted. “There’s been a string of robberies on the road.” The words were barely audible. “You went that close to the humans. What were you thinking? Did anyone see you?” “No, no.” He threw his hand to his face. “You could’ve been hurt.” “I was just trying to help,” he said, with tears bubbling up. “I know you do-” he placed a hand on his son's shoulder- “it’s your best quality. But you can’t just go running around. You’re endangering all of us every time you leave. You’re endangering the peace we’ve had since your great grandfather.” Everything dried but Alwyn still couldn’t project. “This isn’t peace.” “Excuse me!” “This isn’t peace!” He jumped to his feet. “I don't want to hurt you. Or our people. But this is no life for me or them. We can't keep hiding in this bubble hoping no one will find us. Every year inching away from the border to make sure of it. This isn't peace. This isn't freedom. We locked ourselves in a cage before our enemies could!” “Go to your room!” In horror, Alwyn shrunk as he was knocked down a step. His mouth dropped. He mumbled some sounds. “Now!” Folen raged, throwing his hand up towards the door. The word sent Alwyn down the rest of the stairs and the length of the room. With his hand on the door handle, he turned back. “You know one of these days, I’m not going to be afraid and you’re gonna have to listen to me.” With a slam of the door, Alwyn ran past Vamir. The stone walls closed in the closer he came to his room. He face-planted into his pillows. With a swirl of his hand, he caused the curtains to blow closed, stopping the world from crushing him.

“Alwyn,” Folen announced, making his usually later that day apology knock on the door, “can I come in? Alwyn?” He knocked again before entering. “Alwyn, can we talk?"

Walking towards the bed, he asked, “Son? Are you awake?” When he whipped the curtains open, he was thrown back. The bed was empty. The curtains on the other side were wide opened, revealing the torn through wardrobe and the opened window that recently started chilling the room.

“Vamir!” he shouted, fleeing the room. In the full moonlit night, Alwyn landed heavily on his hands and feet to the ground below his window just moments before his father found him gone. He wiped the streaks from his face. Barely back on his feet, Vamir's name sent him running as fast as he could.

The ground around the castle was fairly flat. But, as the sounds of Vamir and his men got louder and closer, he zoomed through the shield into the rough terrain of the forest. The more he tried not to, the more he tripped over everything in his path. He had a big spill over a decomposing log. Rolling down the hill, he scraped his arms and legs on protruding rocks and twigs, landing halfway in a stream. Laying there, he looked back up from where he fell. The blurred lights from Vamir's men's lanterns ran across the ridge and onward. They missed him. With a burst of enthusiasm, Alwyn sat up gritting his teeth with a grunt. He rocked himself, getting momentum to stand. Falling immediately, he splashed fully into the stream. The water had tints of red as it flowed back the way he came. Soaking wet and freezing in the summer night, he shimmied away from the hill. He crawled a bit before shifting up to his feet. Every few steps, he fell forwards onto his hands before regaining the strength to walk again. His eyelids fluttered like the moonbeams through the canopy. Though he was hunched over, looking straight at the ground, he tripped over another root.

After the cloud of dust settled back down, he faced a hollowed tree big enough for him. Shaking like the twig in the wind he was, he snuggled into the space. His eyes closed as the rain started to fall. “Are you alright?” A quiet and gentle voice called out. Alwyn’s eye trickled open until he saw the figure. He immediately patted his hair over his ears.

“Are you alright?” A boy came into view, leaning in. Alwyn groaned with his head sunk into his chest. “Come on,” he said, hoisting Alwyn up, “I’m taking you to my house.” Alwyn was shorter than the boy even more in his limp state. He dangled like a necklace. Lightly swinging, his side burned as the boy gripped him. The trip was short in distance but took far longer than it should between Alwyn’s weight, the boy’s small frame, and heavy rain. The village they came to was small. There were a few dozen houses and a small patch of farmland. They came to the closest house to the forest. Nearly dropping Alwyn’s dead weight, he opened the door. “Where have you been, Merlin! You’ve been gone all day!” A woman panicked. She sat with her back to the door, working with a loom. When she finished her line, she turned, knocking over her chair. “What happened?” “He’s hurt. He fell down the hill that most people do.” “Set him on the bed-” she took some clothes from her basket by her chair- “and go get some water.” With the speed of a hare, Merlin did as she said. He only slowed to make sure he didn't hurt Alwyn any more than necessary while laying him down. In a flash, he came back with a bucket of water that he carried with straight arms that were already strained. "Is he going to be alright, Mother?" he said, staring at Alwyn's fluttering eyes. "I don't know. We will have to wait until morning." She soaked a towel in the water then pressed it against the gash on Alwyn's forehead. "Go to sleep, dear, I wake you up if things go wrong." "Yes, Mother." In the morning, Alwyn woozied awake. He exhaled heavily with his gaze scattering everywhere. Trying to prop himself up, he wasn't in the clothes he ran away in. Now, he was in a baggy russet shirt, similar trousers, and cloth-bandages wrapping most of his limbs.

"Good morning," Merlin's mother said, coming to his side, "I'm Hunith, and you already know my son, Merlin." "Hello," he stuttered, "Alwyn." "Hello, Alwyn. Are you hungry? Breakfast will be done soon." The next week was the same. Alwyn woke to Hunith and Merlin's pleasantness. He would help Merlin with his chores then they would spend the rest of Merlin's usual chore time goofing around. The afternoon of the seventh day they were playing hide and seek. Alwyn ran through the field between Merlin's house and the forest. He snickered as butterflies floated alongside.

He turned his head back then found himself on the ground with the field mice.

“The fun's over, Prince,” Vamir said towering over him. Vamir ripped him up before he could say anything. “You waste my time. I should have known you would be here.” “Let go,” Alwyn cried, “it hurts!” “Good! You can sympathize with the mess you've put your father through.” He moved back towards the forest.

“Vamir, please!” “Not another word!” He yanked Alwyn forward. Merlin came around the house. His head scanned across the field. “Hey! What are you doing?!” He ran up to them with ease. “What are you doing?!” “Get away. This doesn't concern you.” Vamir pushed him to the ground. “Merlin!” Alwyn shouted as Vamir yanked him again. “Let go of him!” Merlin said, popping back up. Vamir ignored him. “Let go of him!” he repeated. He stared intensely at them. Vamir was thrown forward. Getting back to his feet, he fleed. “You alright?” Merlin asked Alwyn in his arms. “I guess we both have some explaining to do.”


Vincent stretched and climbed out of bed. He made his way to the corner of the room and gingerly stepped out of the frame of the picture, carefully gasping the sides, and lowering his body to the floor below. The hallway of the museum was semi-dark, but Vincent could make out the details of each of his works that hung on the walls.

He had no way of knowing that his evening wanderings were within the confines of the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, nor that it was the largest collection of his art in the world. All he knew was that during the nighttime hours, he could emerge from his yellow bedroom in Arles and explore some of his favorite familiar haunts, from the south of France to Paris to the Belgium of his youth. Loneliness was a familiar companion, but he had his work and certain friends he could visit on his nocturnal wanderings. Depending on his intended visit, Vincent would don his favorite straw hat, or when he planned a visit to Madame Agostina Segatori at the Cafe de Tambourin from his Parisian days, he carefully placed his gray felt hat at a jaunty angle. Vincent could still step into his studio and dabble with his brushes and canvases, but for some reason there was never any completed work anymore. He could still seek out his brother Theo, with whom he bore such a striking resemblance, and converse about the art market for his works as if time had stood still.

He occasionally dropped in to see his friend Paul Gauguin, with whom he had shared an apartment in Arles before their falling out. He recalled this as if it were yesterday and was puzzled that he could reenter Paul’s presence by stepping into the frame of his portrait, and still engage in heated artistic arguments. Van Gogh spent his youth in Belgium, and he still admired his work of the common man and the honest labors of the field workers. Tonight, he entered the world of his Potato Eaters. The family had the simplest of means and sat as always huddled around their meagre meal of potatoes that they had just cleaned and cooked.

Despite their frugal bounty, they met Vincent’s entry with a cautiously welcoming gaze and a seat at their table. “Will you join us, sir?” He would defer their offer of food but welcomed their simple company and to learn of their days’ activities and honest day’s work. He would return to the Yellow House, stepping into the street in front and exchanging pleasantries with the neighbors he would pass by enroute to his house. “Greetings Vincent!”, offered the local postman. “I’ve left you a post from your brother”. “Thank you Monsieur Roulin, I bid you a pleasant good night!” Vincent had to follow the same sequence each night to arrive home, first entering his street scene with his home in Arles, then crossing down the hallway to the portrait of his room. Entering his private domain, he could sink into his bed and let sleep overtake him. Today he planned to visit Madame Segatori at the Cafe. He shared a special connection with her in his Parisian days, and her colorful presence brought him enjoyment whenever he stepped into the cafe’s picture. There she always sat with her red hat, buttoned blouse with long skirt, and pitcher of beer. She h ad helped him mount an exhibition of his Japanese prints in the cafe.

“Good evening, Vincent.” “A pleasure to see you Agostina. How has business been today?” “Ah as well as I could hope my friend. For a rainy Friday.”

Vincent could not see outside and had no concept of the weather, the day of the week, or even the year. He had grown accustomed to these mysteries, accepting his current existence despite its confines. He had his memories and could revisit where he chose.

Perhaps it would be a walk along the Seine, a stroll through the olive orchard and a visit to a neighboring farmhouse, sending his greetings to the workers of the field sewing hay, or shearing sheep. At night he would sift through the piles of French novels he had collected, picking one up at random to enter a different world, an escape from his own. His provisions were scarce, limited to his own artistic creations. He could enter his still lifes of apples or grapes and have his fill of the fruit that always seemed fresh, and the bowl curiously was never depleted each time his pangs of hunger prompted his evening visit.

He returned to his room, buoyed by his visit to Madame Segatori.

The next night Vincent explored further down the darkened corridors, and hesitated as he saw the entrance to the asylum at San Remy. He recalled his time here and stepped inside feeling immediate regret. There was the one-eyed man who was a fellow inmate there, casting suspicious glances in his direction.

Vincent left through the entry vestibule and went into the garden. His time in nature always lifted his spirits, admiring its bounty, whether in the beauty of a pink peach tree or the sunflowers or irises he loved to paint.

The only exception was when he walked through the wheatfields and scared up the crows, who frightened him, making him feel a sense of foreboding, providing somehow a reminder of his own mortality. Sometimes he was still startled of late when he saw his bandaged ear in his looking glass and recalled he had cut it off after a furious row with Paul. This morning Vincent awakened not in his room in Arles in his familiar bed, but with a view of the Garden of the asylum at San Remy. He froze, not remembering how he had arrived here, as he did not like the restrictions here though he had been able to do some of his most creative work in these surroundings.

Vincent looked for the exit but found none. He imagined the worst. He searched for the square picture frame that would provide his escape to another aspect of his life but found only an inky black void.

“Theo, are you there?” No response. Vincent sat alone in his thoughts, contemplating his own mortality. Oh, but for one more glass of absinthe with the company of Madame Segatori. Instead, Vincent heard the distant cawing of the crows in the wheatfield and reached for the revolver he had carefully hidden amidst his belongings.

He took hard his sense of dwindling creativity in his painting. Tomorrow he would venture out into the fields with his easel, looking for inspiration in the quiet of the field and the swaying wheat. But tonight, he stared into the darkness, his fingers gripping the pistol tightly.


Looking at the fascinating starts a teenager girl Finding her parents who had past away 2 years ago because of a curse,but she doesn't know anything about that curse and she doesn't know how her mom and dad died and how she came to the hostel , suddenly she realized a strange voice coming from outside . It was 2 am at night everyone was in there dreams. She decided not to go outside and she begin to look at the star, after sometime she notice that there is a card lying on her bed with a beam of light .when she pick that card , she found a word written on it' maktub ' which means 'it is written '. The girl was roaming around and reach and abandon place, abruptly she saw a handful of teenager boys beating a boy, by seeing the boys face she realized that the boy was scared to the death. The girl was thinking what she can do as she too scared of those boys and she get an idea she unlocked her shinny, long hair and divide her hair in two sections and pulls it in front of her face and started laughing like a witch and said " haha ,I got so many peoples to eat yummy I can do a party, haha " and by listening it the boys get scared all boys ran away except the one who got left and right from those boys. They both got settled down near the bench . Thank you the boy said and started laughing . The girl with a demented look started staring the boy and by looking at the boy she couldn't control herself and started laughing too..... Later the boy ask" what's your name? " the girl replied" Dada " the boy said "Macin my name ,where do you live? " the girl replied "in a hostel , why didn't you ran away by seeing at me like other boys? " the boy replied " because, witch doesn't bleed ".the boy removed a bandage from his bag and apply it to her leg. The girl said "your pretty must smart, but coward more " . and there chit -chat goes on, like this way they started meeting each other. One day they decided to meet near the seashore the girl was waiting for the boy and the girl was walking inside the beach suddenl a huge wave came and the girl drifted inside the water the Dada doesn't know how to swim,macin saw Dada he ran and get inside the water and tried his fullest to help her, when they came outside the water Macin started shivering Dada asked him why are you shivering as , it's summer season? Macin narrated her the story of his life that when he was 8 years old he and his parents where going for picnic and suddenly his dad got distract from the road and they break the bridge and directly get into the river and from then Macin was scared from swimming inside the water . Dada asked "then why did you drive inside the water ?" Macin said "I'm scared you loosing more than swimming in water ",and they get attracted with each other and the day come when the boy proposed the girl with a beautiful diamond ring at night in front of the shooting star . They fixed the day for there marriage. Everything was going according to the plan. The day of their marriage the girl was wearing a beautiful white gown with a trail . The boy with light blue coat, they were looking like they got there soul mate. The second they declared married the boy faint there was a death silence suddenly everything get it freeze except Dada a dark glow appear and a lady with a black candle in her hand said 'Dada, I'm taking ur husband with me ' . Dada with a flutter of confusion and anger said 'No, who are u ' . The lady hold Dada's hand. Dada saw a place looking like a kingdom the king was sitting on his seat to people where on there knees and crying they were lovers ,suddenly the king said 'take the boy and hang him ' the soldiers followed the order and the lovers got sperated the girl with tears in her eyes turned into anger and she said ' the king who had sperated my love will also get sperated with her love and not only him but everyone one belonging to his family will get sperate .' and it get over. Dada asked th lady "what's the relationship between the king and me? " . The lady said ' you too belong to that family, I have taken the life of your mom and dad and I'm going to take the life of your husband because it is written "Maktub " ' .Dada said ' what's my mistake? ". The lady said ' the same question I asked to the king he said he had some personal grudges with my family and the mistake is that you to belongs to that family. Dada asked the lady that 'us there any way to save my husband's life? "lady replied "there would not at all waybut you not the one who killed my love so I give you one chance to save ur husbands life ,do a sacrifice give me your life ". The girl with a delima has to make a tough decision between her and his love. After a long time in newyork to old age man and woman sitting on their balcony and seeing the stars. They were Dada and macin Dada choose to sacrifice , she kissed macin and said ' take my life I can't life without himand never wanted to die without him , by crying till death she continue " we have decided that we will live together it doesn't matter how much we live it matters that we are together, but I can't let him die in front of my eyes, so take my life instead of him " and by seeing her sacrifice the lady give them the wedding gift - their life. "love never die "


“We should never have come back here” I thought to myself. Although I wanted to voice my concerns to the rest of the group, I could tell they were already unsettled and didn’t need me planting more seeds of doubt. We continued trudging along on the dusty surface. Each step kicked up a cloud of grey dust that nearly eclipsed the way forward when it met the light of our headlamps. We were surrounded by total darkness, barely able to make out the silhouettes of the rest of our group who had hurried on ahead of us. “We better tell them to slow down” I yelled to Dr. Reed beside me. He nodded in agreement and started messing with his equipment. After a moment he sighed, took a deep breath, and replied “I think their radios might be down”. “So, then we will have to pick up the pace and catch up” I said as I hurried my cadence, as did Dr. Reed. Ahead, the rest of our group had widened the gap. The only sign of them was the blurred and dim light projected by their headlamps bobbing along in the distance. We carried on in silence for what seemed like hours, hurrying to try and catch our companions. “It looks like they are already ascending the wall of the crater” Dr. Reed said, gesturing at the trail of footprints in front of us leading up the mountainous hill. “I don’t know why they’re in such a hurry” I said, disgruntled at their impatience. “I think they’re just excited to bring back what we found” suggested Dr. Reed as he got down on all fours and began to crawl up the steep incline. “What did we find?” I asked, prodding the scientist for more information. I was just a pilot after all. Sometimes it felt more like a taxi driver for these scientists than anything. “We won’t know until we’ve gotten a chance to analyze it, but this could be the biggest scientific discovery of all time”, came Dr. Reed’s reply over the radio, nearly drowned out by a crackling we had been hearing from the rest of our group for quite some time. I kept my eyes on the ground in front of me, using the limited light of my headlamp to find reliable holds so I didn’t get sent tumbling down into the bottom of the crater like the rocks giving way beneath my feet. Reaching the top of the enormous hill, I rolled onto the flat terrain and gasped desperately for air. For the first time in the entire journey, I was thankful for the metallic and unnatural smelling oxygen in my helmet. Upon catching my breath, I sat up and glanced around trying to locate how far the group had gotten. Through the crackling on the radio the brief sound of labored breathing cut through the background noise before it was muffled again. “That’s not your breathing is it?” I asked turning to Dr. Reed. “I haven’t had to breathe that hard since the last time I ran a marathon in Boston” he replied. “Well at least it sounds like the radios may be working again” I suggested. “Maybe” he said while deep in thought. “It sounds like they’re rushing” “Just excited to run some tests?” I inquired. “I don’t think so” Dr. Reed answered. “We had better get moving”. Both of us rose to our feet and again quickened our pace, following the footsteps of the others. Either the air in the helmet or the pace we were moving at had begun to give me a headache, but we continued, desperate not to let the lights ahead of us vanish into total darkness. Despite our best efforts one of the lights marking the location of one of our companions faded from view. The two other lights began to oscillate even quicker. “It looks like they’re really moving now” Dr. Reed said in a worried tone. As if to accentuate his point, the labored breathing cut through the crackling of the radio. It no longer sounded like exhaustion. It sounded like panic. A second light cut out in the darkness, leaving one lone light to guide us. The light paused briefly. “They must be waiting for us!” I exclaimed before the final light vanished. “Keep moving” Dr. Reed ordered. With nothing to guide us now but our headlamps we carried on forward to where we had last seen the lights of the rest of our group. Each step we followed the trail left by the others, although we could only see 3 or so stride lengths before the trail was obscured by darkness. Dr. Reed had taken the lead. His superior physical fitness meant he could have easily outpaced me if he chose to. I was thankful that he was kind enough to stick with me. He stopped for a moment to consider the ground in front of him. A moment later he recoiled in shock and blindly threw his hand behind him to stop me moving forward. His hand landed in the middle of my chest and brought me to a rapid halt. I followed his gaze to a dark red fluid pooling in the dirt in front of us. The blood flowed calmly into the footprints left behind by our group. The ground surrounding us had changed from the undisturbed dust of the last several miles into a pockmarked terrain bearing long, straight, triplets of three-inch-wide grooves gouged deep into the dirt. Sitting partially submerged in the largest pool of blood was a shattered head lamp. Both Dr. Reed and I stood in shock until he snapped out of it and in a low, serious tone his voice came over the radio. “Move”. Both of us broke into a run following the two sets of footprints still ahead of us. The gouges in the dust encompassed both edges of the trail of footprints and dug deeper into the ground, creating even longer stretches of disturbed dust. Whatever had been creating the marks appeared to be moving faster, and in the same direction as at least two members of our party. It wasn’t long before we stumbled upon a corpse laying face up. Their helmet had been smashed and the face underneath smeared with blood but the nametag on the breast of their suit was still legible. “Watson” said Dr. Reed. “The engineer”. This was far from the first time I had stumbled upon the body of a close friend. In Vietnam I had seen the horrifying things that modern weaponry can do to a human body. This body, however, turned my stomach. It had not been shot or burned. It bore no obvious signs of trauma at all until I rolled it over with my foot. From the base of the skull down to the lower back, Watson’s body bore a wound matching the marks on the ground around us. It took all my fortitude not to vomit inside of my helmet but thankfully Dr. Reed grabbed my arm and pulled me forward in the direction of a lone set of footprints. After another minute or two we found the last member of our team. This body was mutilated more than Watson’s had been and was unidentifiable yet bore the same wounds. Still clutched in their arms was the briefcase that contained the strange sample we had found in the bottom of the crater. The reason we came on this mission in the first place. To find evidence of life. Dr. Reed pulled the briefcase from the arms of our fallen team member and their limbs came to rest gently on the ground. Small clouds of dust kicked up and then settled on their sleeves and gloves. “It should just be up this hill in front of us” I said to Dr. Reed. The terrain illuminated by our headlamps arced unmistakably upwards into the darkness. “Almost there” he replied. Again, we set off running towards our destination. Dr. Reed let the briefcase swing by his side as we ran. In my peripheral vision a dark silhouette rushed by on my left just outside of the arc of light projecting from my head lamp. Then another to the right of Dr. Reed. Then another directly ahead. The only sound was the blood pounding inside my own head. I could not directly see or hear anything, but both Dr. Reed and I knew that we were being watched. Suddenly Dr. Reed came to an abrupt stop and I heard his voice come over the radio. “Keep going” he said confidently. “I think they just want the sample”. “Let’s get out of here then!” I shouted back, faltering in my pace, and stumbling forward up the hill. “No” he replied. “They don’t want you they just want the sample. They don’t have to take us both. You can still make it. Tell people what we found here. Life”. With a caricature of a proper salute, a decent attempt by an academic, Dr. Reed turned and rushed back downhill again. Before I could protest, I heard a click on the radio and realized that he had shut his off. Now everything was truly silent, and I was truly alone. The silhouetted figures at the edges of my light source swiftly retreated and appeared to be heading back downhill, undoubtedly following Dr. Reed. I forced myself to turn and continue climbing uphill, tormented by the idea that Dr. Reed had sacrificed his life for mine, but not wanting his sacrifice to go to waste. I carried on through the darkness although my legs were screaming for me to stop. Even the pure oxygen in my lungs seemingly wasn’t enough air to match the effort of the climb. I ignored my body’s protests and dropped to all fours and continued upward. I had no idea how much time I had or if Dr. Reed’s theory that they were after the sample was correct. At last, ahead of me I could see the hill ending in a sharp grey peak. I reached out to grab the top edge and the rocks gave way under my hands, tumbling harmlessly down the hill into the darkness below. I adjust my grip and heaved myself over the edge onto a small plateau. Below me I could see the barren, grey, and featureless landscape with our lunar lander sitting peacefully where we had left it. Nearly 250,000 miles away I saw the Earth. Our little blue dot. Our home. A planet swarming with life. Its pale glow was a comforting contrast to the darkness behind me. The sun was beginning to emerge from behind the planet and cast light across the empty plain below me. Its warm glow reflected into my eyes off the metallic panels of the lunar lander. Apollo 18, the final mission to the moon, was nearly complete. We had been sent back in secret one last time to search for signs of life on the dark side of the moon. Even without the sample, life was undeniable. I caught my breath and stepped forward to descend into the empty plain below as the warmth of the sun washed over me. Then I felt it. That feeling as if I was being watched. As if something was right behind me. I glanced up once more at the Earth. Home seemed so close but was so far away. As the stalkers from the darkness raised their claws to strike, I closed my eyes, enjoyed one last moment of sunshine and thought “we should never have come back here”.


JOYS OF TRAVEL It sounds daft, but I had been planning this trip for a long time. Lagos to London, I had done by plane countless times; just once, I thought, let me try it by land. On the map, it does not look that difficult. What I was fixated on was to drive from Lagos across the River Niger to Sokoto and then into Niger Republic and Mali and then through Timbuktu to Tangiers. This would be the most difficult part of the trip. I reckoned the whole trip back to London would not take more than a month. This was in the days when border crossings were more leisurely guarded. The vicissitudes of my job then distracted me for some months until eventually I had all but given up on the idea. I had always wanted to check out Timbuktu. Sounded like a romantic kind of place. And it is almost in Nigeria, if, that is, you count the presence of the River Niger as being Nigeria. Timbuktu must also be a pretty safe place to visit. Someone had told me that about 300 saints are buried there. Admittedly, he said they were Muslim saints. But a saint is a saint, isn’t he, in any religion? So, one evening, on a whim, I decided to go for a walk on Bar Beach, It used to be called Victoria Beach in the days of yore. This beach is miles long and heavily attacked by the Atlantic Ocean. You need to be a good swimmer to get your feet wet here. What interested me this evening was the report that a ship loaded with cement had beached itself, its crew having tired, apparently, after more than 100 days at sea, 80 of which bobbing up and down outside the Port of Lagos. waiting, with 400 other cement-laden ships, to be unloaded. Sure enough there it was, a vessel of some antiquity beached firmly at the back of the Eko Hotel, almost as if it were an extension of it. Normally, at this time of the day, the beach is lightly utilized, but this evening quite a crowd had gathered to relieve their curiosity. I had never heard of such an event happening before or heard speak of it. “Well, look at that, Fancy coming all this way to see a ship on the beach,” I heard a young man say to his wife. It was his accent that caught me. It was English. They did not look like anyone I knew, and she had a Union Jack hat on. None of us goes around Lagos wearing a Union Jack. After all, those days are over. Overcome, therefore, with a simple desire to know who they were, I initiated a conversation. “Hello, I just heard you talking to your wife; you’re from England, aren’t you? I asked inanely. “Yes, that’s right. My name is Andrew and this is my wife, Jane. We’re on our way from England to South Africa,” he told me. “You just stopped off in Lagos to visit someone?” I asked. “Oh. No! Nothing, like that,” he assured me. “We are going overland. We just stopped here in Lagos, but we don’t know anyone here. We are about halfway through our trip from London to Capetown.” I swallowed hard. What did I just hear? Of course, this conversation could not be left on Bar Beach. I invited them to the house we were staying in so that I could understand the full gist of this fabulous journey from England across to Lagos. As it turned out, they had come by a completely different route from the one I had been working on. Their route had taken them from Morocco, through Mauretania, Senegal, and along the West Coast via Ghana to Lagos. For such a journey, they had bought a Landrover and suitable equipment, in case they got stuck in route somewhere. “When did you set out and how long had you been planning this trip?” I asked. “Well, how long is it Jane we’ve been putting this together?” “About 18 months. And we have been traveling now for nearly  10 weeks,”  she told me. “Ten weeks! And I was thinking a month, max.” “No, ten weeks is probably the quickest it can be done. And if you were planning to go via Timbucktu, it would take you longer than that,” Andrew said. “So how are you going to get to Capetown.?” I asked. “We are going to Enugu and then into Cameroon, Gabon, Congo, Angola, Namibia, and then into Capetown. This will be the longest part of the whole trip.” They told me that the most difficult part of the trip from London was going through the Western Sahara Desert. They had got stuck a few times.” We sat talking until after midnight and then I excused myself as I had to get up early. I told them they could stay as long as they wanted to do.” The next day when I came home from work, I found a note they left for me thanking me for my hospitality and letting me know that they will send me another note when finally they reached the end of their long trip. I did get a note from them. It had taken them another four months to reach Capetown. But they had arrived safe and sound. During the next few years, all thoughts of my contemplating such a journey never entered my mind. Having met with Andrew and Jane and hearing their story, I came to realize that such an undertaking was not for beginners. I managed to get through the rest of my time in Nigeria without it ever nagging my mind again. I ended up being offered a job in Geneva, Switzerland. A great place; my kids even went to School there. It was winter when we arrived. None of us had ever skied before but we soon learned. My wife and I bought the long thin skis and started off cross-country skiing. But, man, I tell you that is work. Plowing through the snow and dragging those skis is no joke. After a season of that, we decided we would have a go at the real thing; so we bought real skis, like those the kids had, and they were enjoying whizzing about on the steepest slopes. It was the difference between sitting in a golf cart and driving a Ferrari. So the next ski season we were out on our real skis. My wife took it easy, but I went straight down one of the slopes like I was on fire. My problem was getting back up again. I could not master the ski lifts for anything. Every time I stood ready to take off, I would fall flat on my face. “Let’s take the ski lift,” says my wife. So one Sunday we find ourselves waiting for a ski lift to arrive. There were the four of us and another couple. It was early, so not many skiers were around yet. The ski lift arrives and we all piled in. On a beautiful morning, like we had that day, it was wonderful looking out over the mountains covered in snow. The lift was shaking about a bit prompting my wife and me to sit for the rest of the trip up the mountain. I heard the other couple speaking about having skied the day before. “Excuse me, but have we not met before somewhere?” I asked them. I could not contain myself because they looked quite familiar to me. “Well, to tell the truth,” the man said,” when you were getting into the lift, and the way you said something to your wife I would say we have met. Your face looks like I’ve seen you before. What do you say, Jane?” “That’s it!” I exclaimed. “You are Andrew and Jane. You were on your way to South Africa in your jeep, and stayed with us overnight.” So, there we were, halfway up a mountain in Switzerland, four people talking about that chance overnight meeting in Lagos Nigeria, four years ago.  We arrived at the top of the mountain and immediately made for the restaurant there, where we sat down while they sold us all about their trip to South Africa. The kids were soon bored and took off to do what they had come for, skiing. We spent the whole afternoon hearing about their journey through Nigeria and all the other countries they had to pass through. It had taken them nearly three months to get to Capetown. It was a wonderfully exciting trip, they said. “I bet you did not do the return journey overland,” I asked them. “No. You are right,” Andrew told us. “We flew back but not before selling the jeep to a couple who were planning on doing just that sort of a trip. “It is amazing that there are people around who are so adventurous,” said my wife. “As a matter of fact, on our trip, we met six other couples going on the same journey as ourselves. We did not all of us join up together, but it was so interesting hearing other stories about places we had passed through.” At the end of the day, we had spent the entire time on that mountain talking about their trip. When our kids came, we all descended together on the ski lift. It was only then, after all this talk of adventurous trips, that I asked Andrew and Jane, would they ever do something like that again, Andrew told us, “As a matter of fact when we get back to England from this holiday, we are going to make arrangements with another couple to travel to Russia on horseback!”


Oh no, oh no, oh no. it’s 5:59 in the morning and I have just woken up. Waking up has never felt like such an issue before this time. Oh no, thirty seconds before the first buffoonery may take place. This day is dreaded, not just for me, for a lot of other people too. It is finally 6:00 and I am frantically looking around me for clues to the first act of tomfoolery, but there was no sign. Weird… I got into the bathroom and then looked around continuously for any clues as to who and where the hoax could be. All of the possibilities could come true; someone filling the toothpaste with coloured glue and me not knowing till the liquid touches my teeth, someone backwashing the mouthwash and waiting for me to come into the bathroom, someone replacing the body wash with thickened fruit juice - ok i’ll just skip the bath then. I went to go take my breakfast from the kitchen. There were endless opportunities to ruin my day, replacing my milk with white coloured water, even my cereal being fake. “Mum!” I called frantically as she ran towards me with a resounding “what is it Aiden?!” from the kitchen sink behind me, spraying soap everywhere. “Is everything ok with my cereal?!” I cried. “Aiden is everything ok with you today? You’ve been acting strange.” she wondered as she left the plates, dried her hands and came to check my temperature on my forehead. I slowly backed her hand away and told her that I was fine. “Mum, I'm fine, and it has nothing to do with my temperature!” i said as i got up and put my bowl back into the sink with all the cereal left inside and left for school. I was walking to school, but the fear did not stop there; I was even more scared than I was when I was at home. “AHH!” I screamed in fear and ran a few steps; and I just realised that it was just a tap on the shoulder asking if I could walk to school with them. “What happened, did i scare you?!” he asked me in disbelief; nobody had ever seen me run that fast. Not even myself. “No it’s fine...” “Are you sure?” “Yes absolutely fine...” I stated, while I waited for him to catch up to me. We looked up and he noticed something. “Aiden?” “Yes….?” “It is about to rain, have you got an umbrella?” he asked me, as I tried to rustle my umbrella out of my bag as I suddenly realised…. “Oh no…” I entered into self realisation… “My mum packed my bag….” “Why is that a problem?” he asked innocently, as if he didn’t know what day it was. He grabbed the umbrella from me and proceeded to open it. Then everything went into slow motion… “I don’t think you should do this….” “Why not?” asked Adam “your mother is not cursed…. It's fine.” It opened and then nothing came out of it. No roses, no poem, no letter, no dodgy liquids…. It seemed to be too good to be true…. He handed me back my umbrella and we made our way to school. We got to school and we got into the first class. Me and Adam walked together. I got into class, and I looked above the door if there was the ‘bucket of green or red paint’ they ALWAYS have in american movies. So then I let Adam go first. There wasn’t anything to worry about, but when I walked through the door, I still checked. I took my seat and I listened to the lesson. Almost every word that came out of her mouth, I felt like she was about to call me a very bad name. And every second the video was projected on the screen, I felt like I was going to get rickrolled. But then… after about half an hour of hyperactive fright, the bell rang. I was in disbelief. “Does nobody know what day it is?” I asked Adam, but he didn't answer. Nobody did. “Oh my God, am I invisible too?” This happened in every lesson. I looked around for any tricks, but there were none. And nobody spoke about the dreadful 24 hours that they were going through. I went home and I plopped myself on the couch and my mum came to sit with me. “How was school today honey?” asked my mum. ‘’It was good I guess.” I replied with a sigh. “What happened?” she wondered. “Oh nothing” I said with a fake smile. “Do you want dinner?” she asked politely. “Yeah sure, I just need to change first.” I told her, and then I ran upstairs. I ate dinner, and even though nothing had happened previously that day, I still had the fearful tendencies, as I stared at my food until it became cold; and then I regretted it. “Do you know what, it’s absolutely fine, my mum can never poison me. She gave birth to me.” I thought to myself. Due to the fact that there could actually be a completely mysterious and out of the blue, SUDDEN change of events, I regretted that sentence too. I put my food in the microwave and went to go and sit down at the kitchen table and waited for the ding; I knew it was coming, and I also knew it was going to terrorize me. I waited for the ding, but everywhere was completely silent in the meantime. I looked around and eventually got up. I gazed around the place, looked through the windows, up at the ceiling, down at the floor: and all of a sudden; DING! Goes the microwave. I DROPPED to the floor and my mum ran into the kitchen. “AIDEN WHAT HAPPENED, ARE YOU OK?!” screamed my mum frantically, as she raced to get me up from the kitchen floor. “Yes mum, I'm fine.” “Aiden, no you are not. Come here and talk to me.” demanded my mum, as I clamoured off of the floor, dusting myself off. “No, no, i’m fine!” I replied to my mother as I marched to get my food from the microwave and eat it in my room. When I was done with my food, I couldn't bring myself to go downstairs so I just went to sleep. 10 hours passed and my alarm rang for 6:00 am. “Yes!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I don’t know what i was thinking, but i had to go to school that day, so i brushed my teeth, ended up eventually taking a bath, scrambling to put on my uniform, ate my breakfast, and headed out the door, until…. “Wait!” shouted my mum “What happened?” “You need to get Adam a present!” “What do you mean? Today is April the 2nd. His birthday is on the third.” “Yes and today IS the third.” I can just tell she was very confused with me. She brought her watch to my face and turned my direction towards it and I came to a shocking realization. It was ACTUALLY April 3rd. Doesn’t that mean that yesterday was … April 2nd?


'I’ve got a plan.' she started typing, using only her index fingers, slowly pressing them on the keyboard. Joyce darted her eyes up and down as she composed her message, ensuring she didn’t mistype a letter. She had been waiting for weeks to bring up her brilliant plan to Ernst but had been uneasy about doing it till now. She thought it improper to initiate such a thing and rather have the man suggest it. So, finally, after weeks, he had mentioned doing what she desired. Escaping the old people’s home.

The main hall was filled with wide chairs, old books, channel ten replaying the events of the Bachelor, attentive staff and old folk filling their limited time. Joyce hated it. What a way to spend your final years she often thought. Cooped up in here like a bunch of clueless chickens. There was one computer available to them, for those who knew how to use it, to email their families and whatnot. After forcefully being moved into elderly care, she had no idea how to spend her time and didn’t enjoy the leisure activities they provided. How pointless she found physical recreation, moving her thumb to each finger, twiddling her toes and lifting her arms up and down as though that would keep her alive. “Come on Joyce, how about some enthusiasm today?” preached the trainer, continuing to wave her arms up and down, leading the rest. Joyce just rolled her eyes and gave her a dirty look.

Her two sons moved her in after she accidentally reversed her car into a lamppost, and she was yet to forgive them for that. “I’ve been an excellent mother to you both”, she retorted, “Is this was I deserve, it was dark anyway, the lamppost should have turned on!” But there was nothing she could do; it was all her children needed to put her in the old people's home. They never told her much about where she was going or what the facility would be like, only that it was one of the nicest and had the best reviews. Upon her arrival, being wheeled up the ramp against her will, it was much larger than she expected. A two-story complex, with large open windows, an inner courtyard with a heated shallow pool and many benches to sit in the sun.

How insulting she found it all, they would all struggle to get upstairs, why were there such large windows, so they could stare into the continuing world that didn’t include them, why wasn’t the pool freezing so it could numb their old jiggly parts and she wished the garden wasn’t so scenic, as it reminded her of how she met her late husband. She loathed the place from day one and wasn’t willing to give it a chance. But she needed something productive to fill her time or she’d appear dementia ridden if she sat around all day.

Intrigued one day, she asked a staff member to assist her with the computer. They suggested she add herself to the facilities website, “You know Joyce, you might find it really helpful having an account on here, you might be surprised by how many emails you get.”, he declared. Joyce didn’t really know what he meant, but she knew emailing meant communicating with a person and that interested her. Anyone in the outside world would be better than in here, as she just got talked down to like a toddler.

She began a correspondence with her granddaughter who lived overseas, studying abroad. Any other emails she got, she just ignored, until she got one from a man who claimed to be at the same facility as her. At first, Joyce couldn’t believe it, she would have seen another man using the computer, but his excuse was that he emailed from a personal laptop. He explained it was for face-calling his family, so he didn’t have to do it in the main hall. She could understand that, it seemed reasonable to her, so she continued emailing this estranged man. Their conversations continued for weeks, and they agreed not to speak in person for it might cause suspicion among the staff. A scandalous romance between two elderly folks.

Joyce grew quite fond of Ernst; he had a lovely sense of humour, and they agreed deeply on the matters of the old people's home. The whole system seemed against them, they both knew full well that they were capable of caring for themselves and that it was only silly mistakes that locked them up in here. She asked about his story, and he replied that he was in there because he had purposely avoided some doctor appointments, his children took that as a sign he was in denial of his older age, which led to him being at the facility.

The two emailed back and forth for weeks, like a couple of teenagers texting frantically, the only difference was they did not write with abbreviated words, spelling mistakes and little grammar. They both seemed to pour more fuel onto each other’s fire of fury against the old people's homes. Often making an amusing pun about the average food or how held back they were, and they just wished to live their lives without interference. Without a nurse coming with a satchel of medication each morning and without being in an environment where they were regularly seeing acquaintances being wheeled out in a body bag. It felt like a revolving door. And it was a Tuesday morning when their most important conversation took place.

ERNST: Dearest Joyce, I hope you slept well. I found myself lying in bed this morning thinking, and excuse my language, but just bugger this. How about we leave? I know we both share a deep hatred for this place, and I know this might come as quite a proposal to you but if you were to consider this, let me know of your thoughts, otherwise, I will never speak of the matter again. Warm Regards, Ernst.

JOYCE: I’ve got a plan, darling Ernst, I have been waiting for weeks for you to ask this. It is a fabulous idea and in my dull time here I’ve become quite familiar with one of the nurses’ routines. I believe if we are quiet and precise with our actions in a coming morning, we shall be able to leave undetected. From Joyce.

ERNST: Dearest Joyce, that sounds brilliant. What are the specifics I should know about this plan? Warm Regards, Ernst

JOYCE: Darling Ernst, if you wake up an hour before you normally do and meet me by the manager's office, we will be able to make a swift escape, as the head nurse comes early to open the manager's office, I know there are many key cards in a drawer. From there we just must be avoided being seen. And once we are outside, we make haste to the closest bus stop. From Joyce.

ERNST: Dearest Joyce, it seems perfectly planned out. Shall we do this tomorrow morning? This has all got me quite excited and now I’m most enthusiastic to leave. Warm Regards, Ernst.

JOYCE: Darling Ernst, I would love nothing more than to leave with you tomorrow. Though it does seem strange we haven’t met in person yet, I may have even seen your face and wouldn’t know it was you. Whoever you may be, please know I have become very fond of you these past weeks. And once we have successfully left, shall we go on an adventure together? From Joyce.

ERNST: Dearest Joyce, it fills my heart with delight to hear you ask that, as I have developed similar feelings and would be most happy to accompany you on an adventure. Warm Regards, Ernst.

Their fiery flame had grown into a cosy hearth. Ernst set his old alarm clock that night, an hour before the sun was to rise, as did Joyce. She lay in bed, snuggling into the blankets, dreaming of tomorrow, when she would escape and lay her eyes upon her mystery man. She managed to sleep, dreaming of a handsome man with as much clever wit in the emails, while he struggled to shut his eyes, overexcited by the aspects of Wednesday morning.

The streets outside were silent, yet to become a beehive. In the twilight of the morning, leaving through a side door was Joyce and Ernst. He’d taken her hand and she’d blushed, as they danced away together down the sidewalk not daring to look back at the old people’s home that had been their prison for the past few months. If they didn’t have frail skin, white hair, and clothes that smelled peculiar, you would have they were a young couple in love running away together. They reached a bus stop and had just figured they’d play the senior card when they got on. “Where shall we go?”, asked Joyce, who couldn’t hold back her smile.

“I don’t know my dear, wherever it takes us I guess,” he replied, comforting her in his arms. A bus came around the corner and pulled to the stop, “After you, my lady,” smiled Ernst, letting Joyce go first. “Thank you, good sir,” chuckled Joyce.

Sitting near the front, enjoying the ride, as the sun slowly rose, they held hands, and you would think they’d been married for years. Alas no, they both knew death had his grasp on them, but they weren’t ready to be taken by him yet and certainly not in an old person’s home.


I feel the sun burning my face. I can even see it with my closed eyes. I cannot say that it woke me up, I am not even sure when I am dreaming and when I am sleeping any more. The hunger has crushed my body and the thirst started to obscure reality. I am so tired I cannot open my eyes, I cannot even close them tighter to block the sun - I just stay there, unable to move, I suffer. Hopeless, I try to keep a log of the events in my memory to keep my mind busy - maybe even keep it sane. But it always comes up as flashes of horror. The first image is my brother and my dad fishing on the stern of the boat. Then is the explosion of the gas tank. We jump into the kitchen to see it in flames and my mom is screaming on the floor. She is covered in blood and all kinds of debris from the kitchen. We drag her and we realise in terror that her body is completely destroyed from the waist down. Her legs are hanging like pieces of meat. We drag her as fast as we can all the way up the stairs and on the deck. Behind us a river of blood that leads to a flaming hole. My brother, a doctor, stands petrified above her. I look at him and he looks at me hopeless. Our mom in our hands is still screaming. I look at her. Her face is an amorphous screaming pulp. I turn my head away. She stops. I realize that my dad all this time is taking things out of the kitchen and putting them to the dinghy. He grabs us from our shirts. His hands are bleeding, his grey hair is almost all burned and half of his face is full of blisters. He is shouting but I can barely understand what he says. “What the fuck are you doing? She is dead. There is no time for crying. Take any provision that you can and put it in the dinghy.” He leaves and goes back into the flaming hole. Me and my brother just stand there. Looking at the fire mesmerised and hopeless. He gets out again with tanks of water. His whole body is smoking. “There is no time! To the dinghy!” We stay shocked and speechless in the dinghy, looking at our burning boat drifting away. Our mom's body is still on it. Like a viking funeral - she would hate it. After two days I wake up and my dad is not in the boat any more. We are not sure why, maybe he was too proud to deprive his sons from their food and water - we’ll never know. And the rest of the days are the same. Only the food and water is getting lesser and lesser. Until there is no more. And that’s where we are now. Hopeless. I said this word so many times in my mind that it lost its meaning. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. Now I feel the sun burning my whole body. I hear the eternal silence of the wind and the sea, and the waves flapping on the sides of our little boat, and a soft moaning - what is it? I open my eyes and the sun is blinding me, my vision is blurry from the exhaustion. It’s my brother. I can barely see his face, something is wrong. He is covered in blood. “You are bleeding!” I shout and the last bit of adrenaline I have left pushes me to roll over but I can’t. He jumps back and starts whining “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!!”. I try to move, but I can’t, I am tied to the boat “What is happening?”. “Oh Fred I’m so sorry…” he cries. I look at my legs, and I am also bleeding. I look at my brother again, he is looking at me terrified and covered in blood. It takes me some time to realize what is happening. “What? Are you, are you eating my leg?” the words come out of my mouth in a sentence that I would never think I would say - I feel my stomach trying to force itself out of my mouth. “I’m really sorry, but you, you are not going to die you know, it tied it very tight. You shouldn’t even feel anything”. “Are you out of your mind Patrik?” I want to start screaming but I also want to reason the whole situation. I cry. “Why didn’t you just kill me in my sleep Patrik?”. “I cannot kill you Fred, if I kill you...” he hesitates. “If I kill you the meat won’t last as long…” I want to say something but I can’t. I open my mouth and I scream, he crawls on the corner and covers his ears shouting “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry...” And I scream even harder so I cannot hear him. And then he stops and stands up and looks around. “Did you hear that?” he says. I am coughing from all the screaming, but I hear it. It’s a ship. “We are saved!” I try to say between my coughs, “We are saved!”, “Yes!” he says, and he turns to me and he looks happy, but immediately gets serious, “But no...” he says. “What no?”. “They cannot find you like this, they will think I am a monster.” his eyes are big and glowing, his mouth covered in blood is firm and serious. “Are you serious now? You don’t mean this.” I shout with a trembling voice. “I’m sorry Fred” He gets closer to me and grabs me from the shoulders. “You are not thinking straight, Patrik, please no! Please!” my words are muffled by the water. I fight as much as I can but I am all tied up. I go deeper and deeper, screaming, looking at the bottom of the boat getting smaller and smaller. Hopeless.


She had known for a very long time that sooner or later, it will come to this. It had to. She takes a deep breath, and looks up. Everything is slightly hazy, as if a giant smoke machine is at work somewhere. In front of her are two doors. On the left is a beautiful ornately carved wooden door, with a huge brass knocker. On it is a brass plate with the word “STAY” on it. On the right is another wooden door, but it is sleeker in design, and the wood is a bit lighter – could be oak. The handle is made of brushed aluminium, and she can see that it is one of those pivot doors. On it is a silver plated sign that says “GO”. Her heart starts beating faster. She is not sure how she knows, but she does, that once she has chosen a door and enters it, there is no turning back. She groans. This is probably the hardest decision of her life. How should she know what the right decision will be for her now, but even more important, for the rest of her life? Another fact is that she has been mulling everything over in her mind for a long time, so she should actually know what to choose. And yet she doesn't. She sighs. That's a lie. She knows which decision is the right one for her heart, but it is not the same one she would choose if she chose with her mind. Damn it to hell!! ------------------- Mandy is a qualified graphic artist. She has been working in her trade for around six years, and she has already started making a name for herself. Four years ago, she met Steve at a training workshop for artists, and they just clicked. They have the same interests, mostly, and the same off-kilter sense of humour. They started seeing each other, and their relationship moved quickly from seeing each other to moving in together. About two years into the relationship, Mandy started realizing that although they mostly see eye to eye, there are one or two areas of serious differences. It would be easy to say that a few differences can be overlooked or sorted out if everything else works, but it seems not if both partners feel very strongly about their views and neither are willing to compromise. The main areas of contention are marriage, and children. Mandy comes from a loving family that spends a lot of time together, and Steve comes from a broken family with hardly any connection between it's members. He says that's the way he likes it, and he does not want to get married or have children. He loves Mandy, they have fun together and there is no need to go and change something that works. Mandy, on the other hand, wants to get married and have children. It doesn't have to happen right now, she still has a lot of things she wants to do and her career is flourishing at the moment, but she would like to know that the future has that possibility in store for her. There was a time that they argued about it continuously, and they nearly broke up about a year ago, but Steve begged her to reconsider, and at that time it was easy to capitulate, because she just loves him so dang much! She realized however, that she had just swept the differences under the rug, so to speak, and it was still a problem for her, nagging away at the back of her mind. It was a weird way to live, being half happy, and half very unhappy – being with the man she loved, but knowing that if she stayed with him, she will always be yearning for more. Was it too much to ask to have everything? ----------- And then, two months ago, she received an amazing job offer from a company in Japan. They had given her a month to accept the offer. At first she was scared to bring it up with Steve, but after a few days she realized that she'll have to talk to him about it. He might change his mind about things and that would colour everything differently. When she finally broached the subject, after a good dinner and a bottle of wine, he was quiet for a very long time. But then he took the wind out of her sails when he slowly smiled and said that it sounds absolutely amazing, and he will start looking for a job there as well. How perfect is that! Mandy was speechless at first, and then managed a weak smile, and agreed with him. As the month neared its end, Steve had not found a job yet, and she wasn't sure what she wanted to do, so she wrote the company in Japan a letter, asking them if they could please give her another month to let them know. She knew that it was not very professional, but she didn't know what else to do. To her surprise, they agreed almost immediately. The two of them talked about the situation endlessly, Steve all excited and making plans, she a lot more restrained. If he noticed, he didn't let on. She decided that she had to make the final decision now, or it is never going to happen – does she stay with Steve and move to Japan with him and hope that he will change his mind, or does she make a clean break now, and hope that her life will work out as she had dreamt since she was a little girl? How does she know that it will? She might break up with Steve, and never find love again... She had slept very little in this past month, and she had lost weight. She is listless and gets headaches all the time. And now the time has come, she has to make a decision and let them know. There is no more time to procrastinate... --------------- Mandy squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath again, and she starts walking towards the two wooden doors. The mist is still slowly swirling around her. She stops a few steps away, right in the centre between the two. Her heart goes crazy in her chest – it feels as if it might beat itself right out of her body. She feels as if she might pass out, so she quickly steps to her right and opens the door with the “GO” sign. She enters and closes the door. There. Done. No turning back now. She releases the breath she has been holding, and turns around slowly. It is a weird scene that awaits her. It makes sense, but at the same time it doesn't. How can she see so much at the same time? There is the plane that she has to take to get to Japan, there is what she assumes is her new office complete with desk and computer, there are a lot of smiling strangers surrounding her – all of that at the same time, yet she understands what she is seeing. The strangest of all, is the feeling in her chest and body. There is a warmth radiating from her heart and spreading to the rest of her body, and she can feel a the strain in her shoulders starting to abate, as if it is slowly seeping out of her. Within a few minutes she feels light, as if she can float away into the air. Not only that, she also feels happy. Singing-dancing-jumping-for-joy happy! She starts walking towards the plane, not even thinking twice about it. ----------- The next moment an awful, jarring sound shrieks through the silence. Mandy jumps from fright, and lies still for s few moments. The alarm clock. Oh bloody hell, that was only a dream! Shit. She lies completely still for another few minutes, analysing her dream. Although she has been putting it off for weeks, she knows what she has to do. It wasn't that the dream showed her what to do, it only confirmed what she already knew in her heart. The decision is the right one for her, now, at this point in her life. She glances over at Steve, still softly snoring on his side of the bed. This is not going to be easy, but it has to be done – she's got a life she has to live, her way. With firm resolve she sits up, and throws the duvet off her. Let's get to it then, she says to herself with a smile on her face.


*Author's note: Wholesome short about being at Pride for the first time. There's not much of an actual plot. Just a little something fun to get ready for June.* The sun beats down on us, arms already slick with sweat as we arrive at the vast park downtown. It is almost the end of June in Florida which means Alex is passing around the bottle of sunscreen they always carry in their oversized bag. Out of solidarity with Alex, I slather some all over my exposed arms and legs even though it would take hours in the sun for me to burn the way Alex does in ten minutes. Alex readjusts their They/Them pronoun pin from last year’s Pride on their rainbow tank top and pushes back their short red curls back with a bandana. Stephanie refuses the bottle, shaking her head. She doesn’t even try to humble Alex. She makes a point in telling us she was made for the sun. I hand back the bottle and we stand there taking each other in. I already feeling sticky and disgusting before we have even done anything.

“Are you ready to experience your first Pride, Mira?” Alex asks. I shift nervously, thumbing the straps of my backpack. Alex and Stephanie have been going to Pride since they were in high school. I felt like I didn’t belong, so I never asked anyone to go with me. I felt too straight to go as someone part of the community and too gay to go as just an ally. I still haven’t figured out if the imposter syndrome is a natural part of being bisexual or if it stems from constantly being questioned about my history like I’m supposed to always carry a pass with me that would offer an acceptable answer.

“I’m nervous. There’s already too much to look at but we just got here,” I answer. There are booths of art, food, and activities everywhere in the grassy area of the park. By the fountain there are groups of people trying to seek refuge on the park benches barely shaded under the trees. There is cornhole and an embarrassing group of people holding signs saying we are all living in sin being shouted at by a bigger group of people here to enjoy Pride.

“Don’t look over there,” Alex says grabbing me by the shoulders and swiveling my body so I’m looking at Stephanie instead of the protesters. Alex is now trying to block them out of my view with their body. “This is a safe space.” “Wait until the parade starts,” Stephanie says laughing. “That’s when the real fun starts.” Her hair is tied into two knots on her head. She’s dressed in the colors of the lesbian flag, incorporating the colors with her eyeshadow and lipstick. Most of her torso is showing and the spray on body glitter glistens on her skin. She looks so beautiful and ready to take on the day. Alex, cool and comfortable. Then there’s me feeling like the outsider. My clothes don’t scream look at me with the muted shades of magenta, purple, and blue that look more like a coincidence than a statement of an identity I am still figuring out.

We start walking around, grabbing everything that is handed to us as we follow the sound of music blaring from a stage somewhere on the other side of the park. I feel mesmerized by all the different people, outfits, and colors. So many people are walking around holding hands and almost everyone is smiling. I don’t think I have ever been somewhere with so many people where almost all of them looked so happy to be with those around them. I feel less self-conscious as I see more people wearing outfits that make me feel less like I missed the mark for the occasion. But a part of me still feels like someone will ask me what I’m doing here if I stray too far away from Alex and Stephanie. “Ooh this looks fun,” I say, pulling away from our little line, expecting them to follow me. I bee line toward a pit full of soap bubbles that are bubbling out from all sides of the sectioned off area. There are people laughing and singing as they build shapes out of the bubbles. This is like living out a childhood dream of filling the bathtub with too much soap, turning the bathroom into a castle of bubbles. It’s silly but makes my heart warm up and distracts me from my worries. I turn my attention away from Alex and Stephanie as I wade through the bubbles. Someone smiles at me and puts a crown of bubbles gently on my hair. I return the gesture with a sad little handful of bubbles I grab from a pile next to me. We share a laugh as they continue handing bubbles to everyone they walk by.

I forget where I am for a while taking in the happiness radiating around me. I can hear the music and smell the food, the outdoors, and the beauty products. I get lost in the moment smiling at everyone who smiles at me. We don’t have to talk or ask questions. We are just all here in this moment together. We made it. We are here.

I realize Alex and Stephanie are nowhere in sight. There are people all around me but none of them look familiar. I twirl, trying to remember which way I came from, but I feel disoriented. I’m covered in bubbles that now tickle my skin. The mixture of soap, sunscreen, and sweat begin to make my skin crawl. I panic realizing I have never been here before and most likely won’t get a text back from Alex or Stephanie if I send either of them a message. Neither of them checks their phones every five minutes like I do. I have to find them.

Suddenly someone grabs my hand gently as if to say

It’s okay, I’m here, pulling me out of the bubble pit as I try to get out.

“Raven pronouns she/her,” she says smiling immediately. She has two long braids running down her back and glitter make up dusted across her face. She lets go of my hand and readjusts the trans flag draped across her back. “You looked like you were starting to have a panic attack so I thought you could use some help.” “Thanks, I’m Mira. Also, she/her. This is my first time at Pride, and I lost my friends after getting distracted by the soap bubbles. I couldn’t help myself,” I say starting to laugh as I calm down. She doesn’t look like she came out of the bubble pit so she must have seen me as they walked by. “I’m carrying this for my brother Clay while he eats. He’s not the best at multitasking.” Clay is trailing behind her and waves a hand at me with a paper plate in the other and mouth full of fried dough. His glasses slightly fogged up from the heat rising off the funnel cake.

“I’m here as an ally and supporter,” Raven continues. “And because it’s a lot of fun.” Clay wipes one of his hands off and pulls a few beaded necklaces off from around his neck. “To match your outfit and make it a little festive,” he says putting a pink, purple, and blue necklace around my neck.

“We were going to watch them set up the parade cars. Do you want to sit with us before we look for your friends?” Raven asks. I nod and follow them. Happy to be on the quieter side of the park for a few minutes. I already feel better with the breeze coming off the water. The parade vehicles are lined up on a long road that runs through an empty section of the park along the water. A few people are sitting on the stones that look out into the ocean.

“Look!” Raven shouts as she grabs my hand again to pull me closer to the edge. I tear my eyes away from the parade in progress and see dolphins swimming back and forth. Everyone sitting down exclaims with excitement and brings out their phones to capture the moment. I send a quick blurry picture to Alex and Stephanie hoping they will see it and find me before it’s too late. We sit down in the grass and watch them talking about anything and everything but not once questioning why we are here. The dolphins a wholesome addition to the beauty of everything else around me.

* “We finally find you!” I hear Alex exclaim behind me. I turn around to wave Alex and Stephanie over.

“I made some new friends,” I say smiling at Raven and Clay.

“I’m so proud of you!” Alex claps as they greet Clay and Raven before sitting down in the grass with us. “Maybe we should lose you more often on our outings. Me and Stephanie clearly aren’t meeting anyone else.” Stephanie sits down too, her hands full of more stickers, buttons, and bracelets. They both look a little red and a little tired. Alex’s bag stuffed to capacity and powdered sugar is lightly dusted on the front of their shirt, matching Clay. While I was busy being lost from them it looks like they had their own adventure.

“We befriended Mira. Three of us is plenty but we can make an exception for today,” Stephanie says. All five of us watch the water, the dolphins having returned into the depths of the ocean. We enjoy the shade of the tree and the quiet until the parade starts. The worries I had when I first arrive might come back, but for now, I can just enjoy the moment being a little lost and a little found.


“I can’t believe you drug me out here.” “Stop complaining, it’ll be fun,” she says before grinning broadly at me. She’s enthusiastic today. “I should be coding right now.” I sound petulant, but it can’t be helped. I really don’t want to be here. “It’s a snow day.” “You don’t really have those when you work from home.” “You work all the time, it’s okay to take a day off once in a while, you know.” “Says the part-time librarian,” my words come out snider than I intended. I immediately regret the snarky comment as I glance over at Anna and see her raise an eyebrow in surprise while staring back at me. “Don’t be shitty. I love my job and spending time with my family. It works for me.” Her tone is definitely cooler than it was before, but she doesn’t sound particularly angry at least. “I’m sorry. I know, I’m just stressed.” I unconsciously run a hand through my hair and she flashes a sympathetic smile at me as we continue trekking up the hill. I have no interest in picking a fight today of all days but naturally, I couldn’t resist taking a jab at her for no apparent reason. We haven’t lived together in eight years but she’ll always be my annoying little sister, even if she’s really not that annoying. Not that I would ever admit that to her, of course. I actually am surprised she talked me into coming out here today. It’s been ten years since I set foot in this park and I’d be happier if I never saw this place again. There are far too many memories here. I shake my head in a futile attempt to keep them at bay. Glancing at Anna, she looks as cheerfully undaunted as ever. Wearing a fluffy cream-colored sweater that she probably knit herself over tight blue jeans with long blonde hair flowing in the breeze and her sled tucked under her arm she looks like the poster child of mid-western snow days. She looks too young to have a husband and two kids at home; there is no way anyone would ever guess she was a librarian either. I’m only a year older but sometimes I feel like there are decades between us. Finally, we reach the top of the hill and Anna turns to me expectantly as she lowers her sled to the ground. I follow her lead and set mine down before gazing out at the sparkling snow coating everything in sight. It really is beautiful; a silent vista spread out before us, the tall slope we’re standing on promising a thrilling plunge to the wide-open field at its base. Further across the field below, an army of snow-laden evergreen trees frames the edge of the park. A few other visitors are milling around in the parking lot to the far side of the field but the park itself is surprisingly empty and eerily quiet today. “So… ten years,” she says softly with a wistful look on her face. Maybe she’s not as immune to the memories as I thought. “Yep,” I respond coolly. A memory of the sickening crunch of metal and fiberglass colliding with wood before crumpling like a tin can pops unbidden into my mind. I frantically try to suppress it before anything else forces its way to the forefront. “Look, I know this is hard. It is for me too, but I just thought coming here today might be good for both of us.” She sounds hopeful but she’s watching me closely for my response. Any other day I’d plaster on my fake smile and tell her that I’m fine and this was a great idea but I just can’t force myself to do it today. Not here. “It’s different for you,” I whisper while avoiding her eye contact. She lets out an exasperated sigh before responding. “For fuck’s sake Claire, it was an accident! No one blames you but you.” Part of me really wants to believe her, but the rest of me is absolutely positive she’s just trying to be nice. The fact is, ten years ago I killed my brother. It was an accident; it was dark and I never saw the ice, but that doesn’t change the end result. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish Dad had ignored me when I asked to drive us home from the park. I had just gotten my license and I was so fucking adamant about proving I knew what I was doing. To this day I’m still not sure what happened. We practiced ice and snow driving excessively before I got my license. I remember spending hours sliding around empty snow-covered parking lots with Dad because he insisted I know how to handle myself in inclement weather before he would agree to me driving by myself. Anna and Ben tagged along on some of those practice sessions too, though they considered it an amusement ride instead of serious training. We used to have much fun before-- “Hey, you still with me?” Anna’s words jerk me back out of the memory abyss. “I’m fine… just thinking.” “Don’t,” she says sternly. I glance up at her and ponder the suddenly serious expression on her face. “You’ve spent a decade in your own head making yourself miserable. Today we’re not thinking about the date or work or anything else. We’re going to have some fun for old times' sake because it’s what Ben would have wanted.” She is surprisingly convincing when she wants to be. I pity her husband attempting to win an argument against her. “Well, he did love sledding.” I offer her a small contrite smile. “He really did,” she responds before grinning in return. “Fine, you win. Let’s go sledding,” I say with the first sincere smile I’ve had in months. Her cheerfulness is infectious. This is, without question, the most depressing day of the year but she managed to get a real smile out of me anyway. I feel a sudden stab of guilt. I haven’t completely avoided my family over the past few years, but I have definitely skipped pretty much all birthdays and most major holidays. I justify it by working through whatever event I was invited to, but I could just as easily take a break or follow Anna’s advice and actually take a whole day off for a change. I really have no set schedule, just deadlines that are usually pretty reasonable. I’m not even entirely sure why I constantly use my work for bullshit excuses to get out of anything resembling a social event, but I've been doing it for years. Seeing her here, standing next to her sled and looking so much like she did on the last day our family was whole, I realize how unbelievably stupid I’ve been. “Anna…” I start, unsure of how to continue. She looks at me quizzically, waiting for me to resume. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” She sounds genuinely surprised. “For being shitty, I guess. I’m sorry I’ve missed pretty much all of your kid’s birthdays, and yours and Dad’s too for that matter. I really don’t mean to it’s just when we’re together it’s…” I trail off, trying to find the words I simply can’t grasp. “Difficult?” she suggests while staring at me intently. I nod in response. “Exactly.” She closes the distance between us in an instant and throws her arms around me. She says nothing, just holds me tightly. We haven’t hugged since we were children. We’re not really a hugging family. After my initial shock wears off, I wrap my arms around her and return the embrace pulling her close to me. I’m not sure how much time passes like this or exactly when I started crying. When we finally separate, she has tears in her eyes too so I don’t feel quite so bad about getting emotional. I wipe my tears away and watch as she does the same. We are also not a crying-together family. “Thank you,” she says softly as she finishes wiping her face. My turn to be surprised. “For what?” “For finally having an actual conversation with me.” She smirks triumphantly at me before continuing. “You know, dragging you out here was actually Dad’s idea. He misses you too.” I chuckle at the news. Of course, Mr. family-togetherness was in on this supposedly impromptu outing. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.” She shrugs good-naturedly. “Glad it’s not a shock because we’re having a family dinner at his house tonight.” “Well, I get the feeling since you drove I don’t have much of a choice either way, but I’ll be there,” I say dryly. “Good.” She flashes another victorious smile before returning to her sled and grabbing the rope from the ground. “So, are we going sledding or not?” “We’re sledding,” I say as I bend over my own sled and grab its rope, unable to keep the smile off of my lips. I awkwardly lower myself onto the sled, noting just how out of practice I am. Anna, as always, gracefully gets into position on hers and watches me in amusement as I settle in. Before I can get in a self-deprecating joke she reaches out and gently squeezes my arm. She doesn’t say anything but she doesn’t need to. I love her too, even if we’re not a saying-it-out-loud type of family. I smile back and squeeze her hand in response. She releases me and glances down the slope. “Race ya?” she asks playfully. Before I can respond she starts pushing off. “Cheater!” I yell out before pushing off after her with a laugh. As the sled glides across the snow and starts picking up speed on the slope I feel as if a massive weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying has been lifted off my shoulders. The brisk wind whips through my hair as we speed towards the field below, Anna is still slightly ahead of me but I’m gaining on her. A mild euphoria creeps over me as I flatten myself against the sled to move even faster. I can’t seem to stop smiling as I think about the evening ahead. For the first time in a very long time, I can actually remember the person I was before the accident. Someday, I’m going to get that part of myself back.


SENSELESS It was dark. Not just an ordinary dark, but a total absence of light. It was an inky blackness that seeped from the walls - if walls there were - and made those walls cease to exist. It was a blackness that was all encompassing, smothering in it's totality. It muffled sounds - it muted other senses that struggled to compensate for the lack of light, striving to facilitate some sense of...something. This dark was a black blanket that spread over everything - absorbing everything and giving nothing in return. Something. Then, within the all encompassing blackness, there was a stirring. A movement that tickled the air from somewhere within the dark depths. It was so slight, but it elicited soft sounds, almost muffled by the black darkness. Soft sounds that whispered sibilantly like small breaths. Breathing. The soft breaths became stronger and more defined. Something was definitely breathing, and nearby. Slow, steady breaths now whispered in the dark, and the stirring within the blackness became stronger, more noticeable, more insistent. Now there were the soft sounds of rustling. Movement. A hand reached out, slowly, feeling, questing. More rustling. Was that straw rustling? Was there straw on the floor? Fingers explored: touching, feeling, tracing the lengths of the strands they discovered. Each of the touches translating into sensory images within the mind behind the questing fingers. Yes straw. A single confirmation of sense in an otherwise chaotic swirl of nothing. Questing. The mind behind the questing fingers began to quicken - it's responses still yet slow to comprehend. Even thought here seemed to be muffed by the stifling blackness all around.  It was like something trying to stir, yet smothered in black treacle. It was a molasses, softly giving and yet seeping back as soon as a space was cleared. Within the mind, a consciousness began to gather. Thoughts began to coalesce, slowly, one by one in the deep blackness within and without. Consciousness. The hands reached up and felt the body they belonged to - arms, shoulders, neck then face...and hair. Long tangled hair it seemed. Then down the torso, feeling a curvy shape and on down to legs... and feet. At the joint of leg and foot the fingers encountered a hard cold surface encircling that space and the mind reacted in shocked surprise with a single tangible thought...."prisoner". Questions. Where? What? Why? Who? When? Where was she? And yes... suddenly she was assuredly aware of herself as a "she", but other details still remained elusive and barely recognised as being absent from her cognisance. Befuddled and bemuse, she struggled to make sense of the limited clues she had as to her whereabouts. What was she doing here? Now there was a question that stirred deep feelings inside her...feelings of apprehension and fear. She knew from the manacle on her ankle (there!! words were coming back to her to describe and identify things) she knew she was a prisoner. Why was she a captive? A swirl of flashing images swept across her muddled consciousness, too fast to register properly, but enough to give her a fuzzy memory of a succession of events that had lead up to this predicament. They immediately left her with a sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach. Who had captured her? And even more important...who was SHE? Two words popped into her mind as she thought of these two questions. Two words that were...names. Areassa. Maleku. She savoured the names as she silently rolled them around her tongue, trying them out for taste and size. Areassa, she found, gave her a warm feeling of belonging. This is me, she thought to herself, and smiled in the darkness. Then her mind turned to the thought of the second name, Maleku, and this name made her shiver with a feeling of cold dread. Her smile at once transformed into the grimace of a snarl as her heart began to instantly thump hard and loud like a drum within the cage of her chest. This name was bad. Finally, the last question - when? When did she arrive here? When would something happen...and would that something be the arrival of someone? She was alone in the darkness, she was certain of that, because there were no other sounds but those she herself made. Time stood still in the utter emptiness of the blackness in which she found herself. The air smelt old and musty, the sweet scent of the straw the only thing that seemed fresh in that dead seeming place. Her nostrils flared as she scented the air for more clues, but deeper breaths just lead to a bout of coughing and sneezing that left her panting breathlessly. Eventually calm again, she licked her lips. Her tongue discovered that they were dry and cracked and painful as she licked. Swallowing the scant saliva that her tongue's activity had triggered, she tasted the dust coating them. It was the dust she had raised with her own movements, and it's taste was unpleasant. She needed water. Water! The mere thought of it caused her to realise she was thirsty, a deep thirst that furred her tongue and left her throat feeling raw after all the coughing. Swallowing now seemed suddenly far more difficult. Blinking her eyes as she struggled to come to terms with her situation, they stung and brimmed with moisture that her mouth craved. Tears trickled down her cheeks in warm, wet trails that she brushed away with the back of a hand. Were they tears caused by the dust? Or were they due to an upsurge of emotion? She shook her head disdainfully, chiding herself that this was no time for tears of any kind. A rumbling gurgle from her stomach gave a sharp reminder that she was also hungry. When had she last eaten? She didn't know, but the immediate vision of hot venison stew filled her imagination with such a temptingly insubstantial remembrance of the flavoursome feast that her stomach cramped on it's emptiness. Thoughts of her stomach lead her to the next realisation of her other bodily needs. She squirmed where she was, half sitting, half lying in the skimpy bed of straw she had first woken up on. Whether there was an amenity within her reach she did not know, and as yet she desisted the urge to discover. Her mind drifted in on itself....drifted inwards to the growing maelstrom of images and emotions created by her recent recollections. Her mind observed the spinning chaos and she felt herself being pulled ever deeper into the well.