“Give up... what !?” Prince Reginald turns red, then white, then greenish grey. “You’re serious !?” Seated in Marlin’s den, towering high above the land and palace, Reginald takes time to simmer down. He looks dejected. “What Sacrifice it’ll be!” he says, eventually. “Indeed! Think carefully. Things have a way to turn around and bite... I’m only a wizard, not clairvoyant ; I can’t predict the ending of this tale.” Their fateful chat has started, that morning earlier. “What are you willing to give up for some degree of freedom?” asks the mage. “Am I to pay you for your service?” the surly prince retorts. “No, no fee for me ; I live to serve. Freedom is dear , however, it claims a price.” “Well... you know my plight. I’m the third -born son of a most hardy king. My eldest brother’s marriage - and its resulting heir - shifted me back to fourth in line. The second one is now engaged and, if I know him well, will soon produce a string of princes of his own. “That of course, is not what bothers me. Let them come and claim the throne; all I desire is peace and privacy . There is no sense in me, unlikely and reluctant to be king, still hanging on, playing my minor role in court, compelled to sit through dinners, feasts and celebrations, partake in ceremonial rituals without end. For what ? They have no need for me or me for them . You see, I need to break free...” “Your position in the lineage, counts in your favour, I agree, but there is an obstacle of greater weight we have to face – and overcome .” “ What’s that?” “You’re too good-looking . People call you ‘Pretty Prince’ and ‘Handsome Reginald’ “ “ Well, what about it?” “Your brothers have more clout, but they are dull . Genuinely ugly would have worked, but dull is… well, dull . That’s why you’re not invisible enough to blend into the walls. You’re too intriguing . The nation’s eager to see you wed a beauty worthy of your graceful elegance. You are, alas, dear sir, prime entertainment in our realm.” “Your point?” “The price for freedom is…. your looks !” The prince is calmer now. “If we should choose to go this way, what should I do ?” he asks morosely. The wizard grins with broken teeth behind his white and matted beard. If anybody knows the magic craft of looking odd and wild , old Marlin is our man. “Step One: put on some weight ; fatten up your winsome face and hide your perfect body in extra layers of flesh . Eat more fat ; exercise less . But do it gradually . Any sudden moves will draw attention and thwart our plan. Get ordinary ! “Step Two: neglect your grooming . Be less fastidious about your clothes . Slouch . Sit hunched up in your chair. Look bored and dull; you have plenty of prime models to imitate. Glide gradually away from voguishness.” “I’m horrified. The price is high, but... I must know. Proceed” “Step Three: entwine your name romantically with someone plain . Not too ugly, mind, and definitely not cute ! No sharpish wit or excess charm. A girl that melts into a crowd, homely and obscure. But once again, tread slowly . Avoid a scandal. Slide slowly backwards into inconspicuousness . “In a year or two, no-one will really ‘see’ you anymore. Your father is often away at war. The queen has eyes for the new-born baby prince alone. Your brothers won’t miss you, and even if they do, won’t care .” The virile, handsome prince is in two minds. “Give up my charm ? That’s all I have. But, still, it brings me little joy. Weighed up against a life of freedom, I must consider it!” He does . He acts . He fades away… Say what you will about old Marlin (“knows no magic”, “ugly as sin” and more), this was a master plan. It worked – and how ! Two years later, our pretty prince , having sacrificed his grace on freedom’s pedestal, is less engaging than his sibs – that is to say a lot ! Maid Mary, his unassuming, casual choice for ‘ love’, becomes her role with perfect mediocrity. She is a little plump, compact and plain of face. She has no notions of her own, appears as inoffensive as a lamb. He visits her from time to time. They talk about the weather, news from court, their pets, their kin, just boring stuff. He does not love her with consuming heat, but likes her all the same; she feels the same. They fit each other well, like worn-out slippers on a bedroom floor. The king, a warrior to his core, is seldom home. The queen dotes on, not one, but four small princelings now. ‘The brothers Dim’ ignore him too. Prince Three is free (for now at least) and savours every bit. He’s clever though. He chooses just the right events; he’s seen to be seen, makes sure all those who count , acknowledge him. When he speaks, he’s vague and supercilious; he bores the pants off any one whose fate it is to cross his path… then fades into the background scene and slips away … “Wizard, you’d been exactly right! I’m able now to roam about, put in appearances, then go my way. The people just ignore me, or if one doesn’t , makes no great fuss . I visit Mary enough to show the gossips: nothing more ‘juicy’ is afoot. I miss my dapper image in the glass. One has some pride. But all in all , it’s worth it for the cure . My deepest gratitude is yours!” Marlin gives a small bow and smile his crooked smile. And all lived happily… (or not?) Historic footnote: But for a fateful choice he made as youth, our prince might have gone down in history as Reginald the Fair. After his father died in war, his family and heirs were wiped out by a plague (which he escaped because he was so seldom there). He had to take the crown . He married Mary. History remembers her as Modest Mary , and him? King Redge the Slob.


Steel against steel, my blade swam through the air, as swiftly as the eels in the depths of the famous river. The sounds of metal clashing and the smell of sweat around me stimulated the pumping blood in my veins. I stepped left and then right, dodging the sharp edges of my opponent, counting my movements in preparation for a strike. I feinted one last time – sliding neatly to the left, as my adversary attacked right, and spun around just in time to place the cool, sharp edge of my blade against the back of his hairy neck. He gasped in disappointment as he fell to his knees, long blades dropping from both his hands. He raised them up, empty in surrender. I smirked. And then neatly removed my sword from his flesh. “You’ve come a long way,” my partner said over the grunts and shouts of the other fighters, busy with their own brawls. He rubbed the back of his neck and stood up slowly. Glancing at his hand, he chuckled when he found blood. “If this is how you practice with your own army, I would hate to meet you as an enemy in battle, Princess,” he said bending to collect his swords. He turned around and bowed his head at me at the mention of my title. I breathed rapidly to catch air, feeling the heat of the exercise. Unlike the bare arms and muscled torsos around me, I was covered from head to foot in a tight black suit. The material was glued to me with sweat, running from the top of my head and trickling down my face, which was hidden. Only my eyes were visible through a rectangle slit, and I turned them now on the military man expectantly. “Isn’t that what I’ve been training for?” I asked, raising my eyebrows and running my exposed fingers along the sharp edge of my sword, to remove the fine specks of the First Lieutenant’s blood. He coughed self-consciously, averting his gaze. “Your training has progressed it’s true-” he began. “So, I am ready for battle, you agree?” I asked, taking a step closer to him. I held my sword at my waist, blade pointed in his direction. “Your Highness must know that this is really not up to me,” he replied, eyes flicking to the blade and then back up to my face. “This decision is one for your superiors,” the First Lieutenant said, suddenly stern. He looked and sounded his age now, I thought. Scolding me like I was one of his lambs at home. “My ‘superiors’,” I said stepping back and lowering the sword. “Will listen to you if you persuade them of my skill.” “I will do all in my power to help the Princess,” the First Lieutenant said, bowing his head again. “But I am not convinced of my authority in this regard. I believe that your brother, the Prince, and your father, the King, may yet be convinced by yourself.” I scoffed loudly, my brows knitting in irritation. “Your Lords require much more than the appeal of a sister and a daughter. I need the recommendation of my teacher, sir,” I said firmly. I turned the sword at the hilt, offering it up to him. “Please,” I said, bowing. He paused. Then he sighed, reaching for the hilt warily. “As you command, your Highness,” he spoke formally, bowing back deeply. He stood upright and walked backwards from me, then turned and disappeared into the depths of the cave. I stood still in the middle of the sparring arena, surrounded by the dirty, sweaty army. Then I turned and walked out of the cavern, into the blazing sunlight of the desert, feeling deflated despite the day's victory. I undid the covering over my head, allowing the slight breeze to cool me down, and took a sip of water from my skin. Suddenly, I spotted a small cloud of dust in the distance. I squinted. Two horses I counted, pulling a closed chariot, flying the flag of my family’s emblem. I sighed and mounted my horse. No doubt this caravan was here for me. I rode fast towards the messengers, who stopped upon seeing my approach. I paused in front of them, palace guards. They bowed their heads and began speaking. “Your Royal Highness, King’s Daughter, Princess-” “Oho! Oho! Is she out there?” a high-pitched squeal interrupted. “Oho Princess! Princess!” My lady’s maid pushed her head out of the window of the chariot and wagged her finger at me earnestly. My mouth curved to smile automatically. “Princess! Princess!” she called beckoning me urgently now. “You are not supposed to be here, no!” I laughed and dismounted. Walking to one of the palace guards, I handed him the reins to my horse. “And yet you are here, Merit!” I exclaimed running to her and grabbing her fingers. I kissed them and she pulled them away in disgust, clicking her tongue. “Inside! Inside at once!” she squeaked crossly. I laughed, obeying her, pulling open the door and sliding into the cramped space. Merit hit the roof of the chariot with her palms to signal to the guards, and the horses began moving. “Don’t be angry my favourite one,” I said, pouting. “It was only a little training.” “A little – oho!” Merit huffed. “You should not be training at all Princess! No no, you should be practising for the banquet.” I scoffed. “The banquet is nothing to me.” “For shame, for shame!” Merit cried, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping sweat from her face. “This is a very important night for the royal family – for your father, the King!” she squeaked pointing at me sharply. I rolled my eyes, setting her off on a string of rebukes. The chariot slowed as we neared the gates of the city, and slowly wheeled through the arches. I looked outside the window as we passed through the bazaar – full of shining wares, delicious spice, and crowds of my beloved people. We passed by a cook and the smell of smokey meat entered the chariot. “Mmm, I’m famished,” I said flopping back against the velvet seat. “What – where you even listening to me?” Merit demanded huffing. “Yes, my sweet Merit of course I was,” I said leaning forward to take her hand. She drew them to her bosom tightly. “No, no touching,” she said shaking her head firmly. “You stink of man sweat!” “Man sweat?” I asked, bursting into laughter. “It’s not funny Princess, it’s unbecoming!” she squeaked sternly. “You shall bathe in milk and lavender as soon as we get to the palace. Pray to the Gods that we do not encounter your brother or father.” I stared at Merit in amusement but said nothing. She was right about me, I needed to get cleaned. She was also right to be cautious: I had yet to tell either my father or brother that I had been training at the cavern all these months. But it was time, I thought. War was coming and I was ready to fight. *** “The King’s Daughter smells as fresh as the perfume of a flower and looks as clean as the linens in the King’s court,” Khaem said handing me a grape. I grabbed it from him and popped it into my mouth hungrily. “You’re welcome,” I said swallowing. He offered me the whole bunch and I took it readily, pulling at the green fruit and shoving the sweet globules into my mouth. “Hard to believe then, that just a few hours ago, the Princess was seen in the training caverns sparring with the First Lieutenant.” I stopped chewing and swallowed hard, choking and spluttering. Khaem sighed irritably and handed me a skin of water. I took a sip and swallowed. “You- you know?” I said, wiping tears from my eyes and taking another sip. He sighed again. “Did you think that this would go unnoticed, Kiya?” he asked seriously. “I knew about it after your first visit all those months ago.” “But – But you didn’t say anything to me!” I said searching his face hopefully. “Did you tell father?” “Of course not!” he said, eyes widening. “He would be furious, you know that.” I stared back at my brother defiantly. “Maybe he wouldn’t be angry if he knew how well I fight now, Khaem.” My brother scoffed at me and grabbed the skin of water from my hands. “I’m serious!” I said loudly. Some heads around court turned their gazes at us, whispering. Khaem looked back at them smiling politely. “Keep your voice down,” he said, his expression fixed. “Khaem if you knew about me training, then you must know of my skill,” I said, attempting to speak quietly. “I’ve been training everyday for almost a year. Even the First Lieutenant thinks I’ve improved-” “I know. He told me so,” Khaem interrupted, passing his hand over his eyes wearily. I grabbed his fingers and held them in my hands. “So – so you think I could fight? I could join you and father on the frontlines?” I said, my eyes lighting with excitement. Khaem turned to me and smiled sadly. I knew that look. My face fell and I dropped his hands. He caressed my cheek. “Kiya, sister,” he said kindly. “ I believe you could fight. The First Lieutenant would have never dared approach me in such a way if he didn’t have faith in your abilities.” I looked up at my brother, anger and sadness mixing behind my eyes, forming involuntary tears. “But you know that father will never agree to it-” “Even if you ask him, brother? Even If it comes from you?” I begged, tears falling now. I wiped them away impatiently. “I fear that I am not as brave as the man who trained you. Even I do not dare make such a request of the King,” Khaem said quietly. He pulled my head to his chest and held me, allowing me time to collect myself. I wiped my face on his shirt and pulled away, picking up the bunch of grapes and attacking them. “I’ve – I’ve worked so hard Khaem,” I said looking down at the green pulp, speaking through gritted teeth. “All I want is to protect the kingdom, to fight in my family’s name, for my family’s people.” “There are other ways for you to do that,” Khaem replied gently. I laughed derisively. “By hiding under the city? With the woman and children?” “They look to you for courage and guidance Kiya,” Khaem said patiently. “Riding into battle, wielding weapons, spilling blood. Those things are easy. But protecting the innocent and vulnerable, being a symbol for the people and leading by example, that is strength.” “Don’t patronise me!” I said quietly, swallowing tears. “I wouldn’t dare. I heard you drew blood today.” I looked up at Khaem, he was grinning. I laughed in spite of myself. He leaned over and hugged me. “I suppose I should go back to practising for the banquet then,” I sighed gloomily. Khaem pushed me away from him and smirked. “Oho! What’s this hasty change of heart?” “I don’t know what you mean,” I said untangling from his arms and looking away. He laughed and shook his head. “I expect you will be back at the cavern tomorrow?” “I will be practising for the banquet, as I am required to,” I replied in monotone. Khaem laughed and pushed my arm playfully. “Save your theatre for Merit. She’s more willing to play the fool for you than I am.” I laughed. I rode to training as usual the next day, and for weeks afterwards. Nobody came to collect me, not even Merit. I had a suspicion that Khaem had a hand in that. I didn’t complain, it gave me hope. My swordsmanship was improving and fighting had made me stronger. It had given me purpose, an occupation that made me feel worthy and useful. I spent the mornings in training and the afternoons practising the arts: dancing, singing and playing the harp. The people deserved a well-rounded princess. We opened the city gates for the banquet, unlocked the palace doors. My father thought a celebration would lift the spirits of the people, and it did. Until night fell. Thousands of enemy soldiers exposed themselves amongst the crowd of revellers. Fine clothes were torn off to reveal battle armour beneath, concealed weapons were unsheathed and utilised swiftly. Blades flew threw the air, spilling blood and turning the celebration into hysteria. I stood on the balcony looking down at the chaos, suddenly shocked into paralysis. I looked behind me and saw fighting in the King’s Court, my father shouting a war cry, his swords held high. “Princess!” My limbs felt cold, as women screamed and ran in every direction, taking the nearest means of escape. I saw Merit’s face, white with terror, rushing towards me in the throng. “Princess!” she cried slamming into me with the weight of her full body, waking me from my daze. “Princess! Oh! We have to get beneath the city! We must go now!” she cried grabbing my arms and turning to run. “What- wait,” I said trying to stop her. “Khaem and father-” “They will take care of our enemies!” Merit screamed as the body of a soldier fell in her path, bloodied and dead. I stared at the face of the man, eyes open to the sky. Merit was pulling me away, dragging me back inside the palace. “Kiya!” I spun around, Khaem was running towards us. “Oho my Prince!” Merit cried in fear. Khaem ignored her and grabbed me by the shoulders. “You have to follow the women and children to the caves beneath the city,” he said urgently, pushing me towards the staircase. His blade had a crimson sheen, his face was sweaty and bruised already. “Khaem, I- I’m afraid,” I cried, the words escaping my lips unexpectedly. “You’d be a fool if you weren’t!” Khaem replied strongly, he glanced back anxiously, looking at our father. “Listen to me Kiya, you have to do what I said.” From his back he unsheathed his long blade and handed me the hilt. I hesitated. Then took it from him and looked into his eyes and nodded. “For your Kingdom, for your people,” he nodded back, and shoved Merit and I down the stairs. I ran then, dragging a hysterical Merit behind me. Outside, a few enemy soldiers came running towards us. I pushed Merit from me and raised the Prince’s sword, stepping and slashing as I had that very morning in the training cavern. Two soldiers fell at my feet bleeding, but one dodged and slid his blade across my arm. I cried out in pain and anger, shouting a war cry and turning my sword to attack. He pulled back in surprise and I struck him before he could recover. “Your Highness!” I put my blade through all three soldiers to finish my work and ran to Merit who was screaming – in terror of the soldiers or of me I could not tell. “Your Highness!” the First Lieutenant came running towards me breathlessly. He glanced at the dead soldiers, then back at me and bowed. “We have begun moving the women and children into the caverns,” he said quickly. “Some of the other lieutenants and I sealed off the entrances, only one remains open. We need you and the rest of the subjects to make their way down.” “Understood,” I said nodding firmly. “Lead us, Lieutenant.” He bowed and we began running towards the last entrance of the underground caverns. Soldiers came for us left and right, and we fought them off. When we reached the entrance to the tunnel, a small stream of women and children were trickling through. I turned to Merit. “Inside, now!” I commanded. She whimpered and nodded, running to obey. “These are the last of them, or the last we could round up,” a palace guard said bowing. I nodded and turned to the First Lieutenant. “I suppose there’s no chance of me staying above ground to help you fight?” He smiled sadly and shook his head. Then he took my hand, lowered his head and kissed it. “It has been an honour training you, Princess,” he said. I clasped his hand in mine for a minute. And then he straightened, nodded to the palace guard and both set off running towards the fray. My eyes glistened as I turned and ran towards the tunnel, I nodded absently to a guard as I flew in and heard the stone door shut behind me. I ran down the stairs and walked through the cavern, sand raining down intermittently as war thundered above me. When I reached the open plateau, a hundred or more faces turned towards me. “Oh King’s Daughter!” an old woman cried bowing. “What is to become of us?” I looked over at their faces: children and women looking up at me, pained yet hopeful. I remembered what Khaem said to me. “Whatever happens,” I cried back gripping my blade tightly. “I will protect you, my people!” I raised my sword into the air. “For my Kingdom, for my people!” I shouted. “For our Kingdom, for our people!” The crowd chanted back in unison. The chant echoed through the cavern, the strength of our voices soaring high over the battle above.


It was dead silent and the chilling breeze added to my discomfort. Mark seemed completely relaxed as we walked among the tombstones and was even whistling lightly. It was late fall and winter seemed to have come early this year. The ice-cold rain made it all the more miserable. Even so, we pushed on. "Why did I ever agree to this?" I thought "Was proving myself in this stupid bet worth it? Ah who am I kidding, I'd look like a total bitch if I backed out now wouldn't I?" Mark seemed to read my discomfort and grins. "You wussing out already Eli, you know the nights just began right?" I look at him with slight annoyance

"Not for a second mate and can't wait to see you bail. Everyone knows you just act tough but on the inside, you're just as soft as you are chubby." Mark just laughs at my response. "Oh, you know me better than that! Cus It'll take more than a little insult like that to get me mad." Mark now points to a big oak tree in the center of the cemetery "Alright! This is where we will set up camp...and you know the rules!" I roll my eyes. "Ya ya ya, no falling asleep I get it." I now take out a small blanket and put it over the ground next to the tree. As we both sit down and rest against the tree trunk I look at my surroundings more intently.

The rain seemed to have dyed down now and there was a certain calm despite the current setting. As I put an earbud in one ear I began listening to my favorite Billy Joel songs. A bit old school I admit but just what I needed to relax.

Mark is now in the process of rolling a joint. I watch him with mild amusement and shake my head. I’d smoked a couple of times myself but Mark was on a different level altogether to the point where he’d made it his daily ritual. He now takes a long puff and offers it to me. I politely refuse and continue with my music.

The time begins to crawl by and boredom quickly becomes the biggest obstacle. Mark soon fixes this however as he begins a feverish rant involving a wild range of conspiracy theories. Like always it ended with the phrase “Fuckin lizard people…” and Mark laughing non-stop.

And as I had suspected, Mark soon showed signs of nodding off. I now simply bid my time and continued with my music. About fifteen minutes in, he lay fast asleep and my victory was now certain. I smiled at this and now got up to stretch while feeling elated and somewhat proud of myself. Just to make sure, I quickly took several photos of him so he couldn’t dispute it later. I then sat back down. Was about to continue with my music when suddenly there was a noise nearby. It didn’t alarm me at first but as it got louder I realized that we were no longer alone. It was a low rasping sound and as I looked in its direction I saw a glimpse of flashlights.

As I rushed to wake up Mark I also noticed there were three figures. In the moonlight. I can now see their outlines as one seemed to be digging into one of the graves.

In my shock, I mouth “Grave robbers” and persist in waking up Mark. He finally gets out of his trance and I cover his mouth while motioning him to stay quiet. His expression slowly goes from confusion to fear as he registers the three figures nearby. We now stay very still and can hear some of the grave robber’s conversation. “Faster Eric! Before anybody hears us...and you sure this is the right spot?” “Don’t you fuckin rush me and of course this is right! When has Don Eladio ever been wrong about this.” “I don’t trust that Latino prick, always acting as if he owns us!” “I agree John but the money is just too good to refuse his...employment.” “Well, the thing is that we won't need him once we…” The man referred to as Eric stops as they hear the sound of metal hitting metal.

"Here it is boys!" They then take out what looks to be a large metal suitcase. My curiosity now out ways my fears and so Mark and I slowly creep up to them through the trees. I want to see more.   One of the other men now takes the shovel from Eric and continues digging. He quickly takes out another metal suitcase and then a third. The three men seem very excited as one is opened after the other to reveal a mound of cash in each one. The suitcases were filled to the brim and so some even fell out onto the grass. I look in absolute wonder at what must be millions of dollars. I turn to Mark who has his eyes wide in awe but completely silent. "Jesus! I've never seen so much money in my life!" "I get your surprise rookie but this is a normal shipment so get used to it. Now close them so we can carry it all to the truck."

He then motions to the third man and says "We need to cover the whole back up first or someone might wonder, got it?" Without another word, he begins covering up the hole. At that moment the one in charge does a sudden scan of the area with his flashlight. We were both not expecting this and we're caught off guard. I rush to hide Mark away from the light but it's too late and part of his head remains exposed for a moment. This is enough to get the man's attention and he directs his flashlight on us. We’ve been spotted. Without hesitation, I grab Mark by the arm to push him forward and we are both now running away. “God damn it, Mark! Let’s get the hell out of here!” As I urge him to run faster I hear them close behind us. "Hey, these fuckers were watching us! Don't let them get away!"

Very soon all three men are chasing them through the wooded cemetery. My heart is racing a mile a minute and I have never felt more terrified. I am a good runner but Mark struggles to keep up and quickly lags behind. As I get to the edge of the cemetery I look back and am filled with dread as I see Mark trip on a tree branch and fall. I freeze and watch hopelessly as the men reach him and start beating him senseless. My urge to help him is outweighed by the fear as I see that they all carry guns. The leader looks at me but then turns back to Mark and pistol whips him till he’s unconscious. Knowing I can very well be next I sprint away and don’t look back. As I continue to run for several blocks without stopping my mind is a scrambled mess. A line of thought fills my mind again “What the fuck, what the fuck just happened!?”

And then the obvious hit me. “I need to call the cops! It’s the only way to save Mark!”  The shock had finally dyed down and I try to compose myself as I dial 911. For the next several hours I get interrogated by several policemen and detectives and I bring them to the site. The hole was hastily covered and they spotted it easily. My description of the money-filled suitcases seemed to get them all excited. I desperately begin to search for Mark alongside several other cops. But as the sun begins to rise he is nowhere to be seen.

I now sit at a park bench feeling anxious and defeated. The cops had continued the search but the odds didn’t seem promising. They had already asked all their questions and I was free to go but couldn’t get myself to go home.

After a few grueling minutes I jump off the bench in realization and startle an old lady that had been walking by. The Bandana I thought. I hadn’t mentioned it to the police since I didn’t think it was relevant. But no, it would be the deciding puzzle piece. I now remembered that one of the men had a black bandana covering most of his face since he’d been digging. It had a distinct flame and chains insignia on it that belonged to a local biker gang called “The Maniacs of Fire”.

They had to be part of that gang. Another idea suddenly dawned on me and so I quickly made a phone call.

Hours later I am now accompanied by another close friend of mine named Julian. He’s a large fellow and certainly tough. What’s most important is that he’s a bike enthusiast and happens to know where the “Maniacs of Fire” tend to hang out. He also carries with him his dad’s revolver which makes me feel confident in my plan. As we silently sneak into the junkyard through a broken link in the fence I brandish my metal bat evermore tightly. I also carry two pocket knives and am ready to use them. Where coming for you buddy. As we crouch behind some truck tires I can now take a glimpse at the bikers. There are five of them and I quickly recognize the bandana. The fear slowly tries to creep in but I push it down. Julian now points out something that’s on the ground. It’s Marks backpack and it’s propped against some of the wreckage. Its contents are spilled all over the pavement. This makes me uneasy but at the very least reassures me that Mark is here. In the center of the clearing, there’s a small trailer and the bikers seem to be waiting on someone. The trailer door opens suddenly and a bloodied figure is pushed out. He barely staggers along and drops to the ground when he’s pushed a second time.

“Mark,” I whisper and nudge Julian who nods back and gestures to his gun. I quickly mouth “Not yet.” and we continue to watch and wait for the right moment. Mark is now on his knees and the leader of the bunch seems to be telling Mark something. Mark just shakes his head sobbing. This is quickly received by a sharp jab to the face. It’s heart wrenching to watch and I am about to give Julian the signal when the beating suddenly stops. All the bikers seem to change their attitude and begin brandishing their weapons.

A luxurious white Mercedes drives into the complex, seeming very out of place in this rough landscape. As it rolls to a stop in front of the bikers three well-dressed men get out. One of the three wears a distinct black suit accompanied by pointy leather shoes. He is clearly the one in charge. He looks at Mark’s poor state and makes a look of bitter distaste.

“Why I didn’t know The Maniacs had a taste for brutalizing children, that’s low even for you.” The leader of the gang now walks over to him and says “He was trying to steal your money Don Eladio, you should thank us.” He towers over Don Eladio and his men. “Why I just might, but first I’d like to see the cash in my possession understood?” The gang leader gives a whistle and one of the bikers goes into the trailer and soon arrives with two suitcases. “Here it is boss.” the biker says and hands it to Don Eladio’s men who quickly open them to confirm its contents. His men nod to him as he looks right at the gang leader. “Is that all?” “Of course it is, that’s what my men recovered. Nothing more nothing less.” Don Eladio seems convinced and nods.

“Well, this was a nice visit...next week will be the same as usual, understood?” The biker nods. I now realize that when Don Eladio leaves we will be at mercy of these bikers. I become desperate and an idea morphs in my head. So before Julian can stop me I yell out "There was a third suitcase! A third one! Those bikers are stealing from you!" At my voice, all their guns are drawn in my direction and I know there’s no turning back. Julian is completely shocked and before I can do anything he runs away carrying his gun. “You fucker.” I hiss. But of course, who can blame him.

I am alone and so reluctantly walk out from behind the truck tires. Don Eladio looks bemused but then looks at the bikers with steely gaze. He motions for me to come forward. I am losing it on the inside but manage to walk over to him. I take a quick look at Mark who sees me at that moment and mumbles "Eli...yyou came for me...you are a good friend…I thought…" He falls back unconscious. I now realize that the next few moments will determine both of our fates and now try looking as brave as I can.

Don Eladio stares at me calmly and says "I will give you a minute to explain yourself as that is a bold accusation." I look back and nod. "My friend Mark and I were in the graveyard and saw when they dug up the suitcases filled with money. We both saw three suitcases be opened. They spotted us and we tried to run. I got away but my friend wasn’t so lucky...Please sir can you just let us go? We won’t tell anybody about what we saw I swear to you.” He now seems deep in thought for a while and then looks at the lead biker. “So you’re both thieves and arrogant fools. Seems like “The Maniacs of Fire” have forgotten who they work for…”

His men now point their heavy guns at the bikers. “Better yet who lets them draw breath on this earth.” The five bikers all do the same and it’s a standoff between his two men and the six bikers. “Seems like your the fool old man, don’t you know how to count? Besides those rifles will only get you so far.” Don Eladio seems undeterred and while he appears unarmed himself he slowly walks closer to the biker who is uneasy with this action. “Seems you’ve all made your choice then?” “Seems like it, you Latino bastard. We’ve had enough of your fuckin bullshit, acting as if you own us. Ain’t that right boys?” They all cheered in agreement. In response, Don Eladio takes out a cigarette and pretends he has no lighter. Then gestures to the biker as if he was a close friend. “Would you mind lighting my cigarette I seem to have forgotten my lighter?”

He says this while brandishing a charming smile that belongs somewhere else entirely. I am astonished by this action like everyone else and it infuriates the biker so much that he now puts the gun directly to Don Eladio’s forehead.

“Look! I don’t care who you are or how powerful you might have been down south. Nothing is stopping me from blowing your fucking brains out here and now, you got that!?” Don Eladio merely looks back with a devil’s grin. “Well if your gun was loaded...of course, but how can you be so sure?” In response, the biker pulls the trigger again and again. It clicks empty every time. Before the shock and realization can reach the biker, Don Eladio pulls out a blade from inside his suit and cuts the man’s throat. He's dead before he hits the ground and his blood spills onto my shoes. I don’t dare move of course.  The shock that instills the other bikers seemed to last an eternity as they couldn’t believe what they’d witnessed. Now a green laser appears to zero in on one of the men’s forehead and he is soon dead by a silent bullet. His brains are now all over the asphalt. The remaining four bikers quickly drop their weapons in surrender. One of them is sweating feverishly and two seemed to have soiled themselves. Only one appears composed and now walks over to one the wrecked cars and takes out the third suitcase from its trunk. He hands it to Don Eladio.

“Here is your money and forgive me, as I couldn’t stop there abuse of the kid, or else I’d look weak.” “I understand, you can relax mi amigo. Just tell your remaining men to help the guy up and give him some water.” He motions to the three terrified men who now act without question. He now looks to me with his steely gaze. “How old are you?” “I...I’m 17 sir.” “And what’s your name?” I manage to reply. “Eli...my name is Eli.”  “Well, Eli...I got to say that took a lot of balls to do what you did.” “Thank...thank you.” “You know I can use young men like you, and I guess you already know too much for me to just let you go.” Don Eladio gives a light chuckle. I give a nervous laugh in return. “Listen, how would you like to work for me, hmm?... Not with the maniacs of course but have your own gang. You can name it whatever you want...all that matters is that you answer only to me...understood?” I am once again freaking out but even so manage a small nod and say "Ok." With that response, Don Eladio now smiles his devils grin once more, seeming content with how things played out. He now extends his hand to seal the agreement. I look at him cautiously and reluctantly shake his hand. From then on I knew my life would never be the same.


Those days, the ones I called the summer of reckoning, seeing things have become something of a chore. It was not a top priority, and there was not much to look at, to be honest. It’s not like our town is a hotbed of scantily-clad women by the poolside. We have beaches, alright, but you’ll be hardpressed to find them with women in various stages of undress. Nobody dared to skinny-dip even if the water was warm and inviting. Heck, nobody even dared to dress differently. We are a town of certain traditions and mores and whoever disobeyed will either be picketed by boisterous kids, or parroted by mothers who had an inkling for homebound gossips. It was a record-breaking summer that I can recall with certainty. Heat indexes spiked up so high that you wish you were born a cactus, so you can’t be bothered by water. Because I was always dead-tired by the usual endless periwinkle blue, I covered my eyes with darkly-tinted glasses and salvaged my weather-beaten Discman and listened to all my CDs: Mazzy Star, Wilson Philips, Tori Amos, Shawn Colvin. My musical taste is as eclectic as I wanted it to be. I listened to them as if I’m seeing them, and everything depended on it. How I’ve gone about my day, how I tried to soothe implacable wounds, and how I rearranged my mental furniture so it can sit a feeling. *** We were approaching midsummer when I saw her for the very first time. It was the first time that I ever cared about taking away my headphones to focus visually on someone. We wondered aloud every time we passed by her house, how dilapidated it looked from the outside, and the gardens about to turn into itself, degenerating, rotten, sick. I mean dude, those rickety stairs have the word ancient written all over them , my friend observed.

I bet you that house is haunted. I just had the creeps looking at it , I surmised. I have known full well that the house was not haunted because I saw someone drew the curtains from inside, probably to ward off nosy neighbors.

Oh, did you see that? 100% sure those were ghosts!

I tried telling them that no spectral things were happening, but my friends would not want any of it. I stayed a little longer, hidden between trees as she descended from their stairs. It squawked and moaned and maybe even tried to give up, but it held on. Her weight must have been so familiar that it can only sigh in resignation. I had to bite my tongue to silent a hilarious scream. If the house, in all its ramshackle glory, could pass for Atlas Obscura, she, in hindsight, could sweep a pin-up girls popularity contest. Today, despite the heat that settled on air like heat bombs, she decided to do full-on 60’s: big, OA bows on her head, polka-dotted skirt -like New Year came late or early depends on how obsessed you are at resolutions-, and the dirtiest looking shoes with socks- white, dirty white- an exact reflection of her skin. And to complete the ensemble, she was holding a gondola basket and started picking the pathetic flowers that outlined their garden. She walked towards the woods, whistling Julie Andrews. The hills seemed alive and starving as it swallowed her whole. I could not believe what I just saw. She was unconventional and in this town where everyone should stick to the routines no matter how aboriginal they could be, everything about her screamed different and diffident. And as someone who saw her first, she should be under my initiation. I decided to go home and came up with a plan. I basked in the sun one morning in my usual spot near their turf when she, laughable, ludicrous her, appeared muttering to herself. Was she on crack? It was so hot. My brain was melting, and I was sweating like some pig about to be skewered, but I needed to proceed with the plan. Still hidden from view, I sat cross-legged on the grass, fanning vigorously, spilled Coke soaked my Philip Morris stash which I hid from the deepest recess of my Jansport and waited for her next move. She was a creature of habit. She looked around, probably afraid that her little ritual will be disrupted. When she made sure that nobody could be observing her, she repeated what she did the other day. But this time, she did it methodically: cutting the stems, arranging them neatly, placing the brightest blooms on top, deep in the basket. Her gondola boasted jasmines, gumamela, some Vietnam roses, and some varieties that I could not identify. If she would be planting flowers, why can she start in her front yard? There was something about her that teased, ‘ Come, pick me. Make fun of me. You are doing me a ginormous favor’. So I did, of course. I mean, she left me with no options, right? I was still in the carelessness of youth. I was half bad. Not that evil as some of my friends could be. But a little on the blindside. After all, I was doing her a huge favor. ***

It was Monday, the heat in full swing, and the perfect time to carry out my plan. If this plan backfired, then I inexorably failed. But I left my friends out of this. So there was no way that they will know that I planned on doing this alone. I saw her again, as I intended to, this time jumper overalls that reeked of mothballs I could swear of sniffing the mile over, in pig-tailed hair, and looked seriously stupid. I was not hiding this time. She had a genuine shock when she saw me. She came into my direction where I intentionally stood up next to a garden where wildflowers sprouted blossoms, and tall grasses swayed with the zephyr. Today, honey, there will be no flowers for you. Before she could pick the bunch, I had uprooted all of those with a sweep, and all the petals- crushed, shredded petals- fell from my grip. The stalks were limply and unrecognized. I saw her knelt on the grass, inspecting the shrubbery. From all the strewn leaves and discarded blooms, she found a solitary flower in the plants left standing, a starkly sad display. She noticed me holding the best of the lots; I let it drop, all of the flowers that had suddenly lost their charm. She picked it with renewed enthusiasm as she tended the battered petals with caring hands. There is an underlying reason why ‘Don’t pick flowers’ sign existed. When you take away flowers from the place that nurtured them, they somehow lost their luster. And this strange girl can pick them to satisfy her whims and caprices! So I beat her out of it. In this town, these flowers belong to the rightful people. Those who don’t dress outlandishly. Those who abide by the rules. Those who do not forget the lore. She strutted away. She, on a mission to get away as soon as possible. I followed her. I, on a mission to carry out my plans. Along the route, together with the denied flowers, she would cut some grass and made a little, awful bouquet. Five minutes worth of walking, her journey ended. What looked about the place was an anthill of sorts- only low-lying and seeming a little out of place. There she laid the flowers gently. She stayed for at least fifty seconds. Then as fast as she came, she was gone. She took a different route this time. In my hideout, I witnessed it all. All of her intricate ceremonies, all of her lonely, careless surrender. Curious, I edged closer stealthily to the focal point and saw to my surprise, and still with this feeling I cannot place, a hastily made out epitaph written in spidery whorls and whirls: In here, in this bed of earth, lies the body of my mother. What lore, I forgot about them.


“So was grandpa a soldier?” My 10-year old son asked, looking at me inquisitively.

“No! Why do you ask?” I said. “He has this big scar near his eye,” he said, as he flipped the photo album. “Oh yes, the scar!” I said, suddenly remembering. “How did he get it?” he asked. “Oh it is a very funny yet sad story!” I said, sitting next to him now on the couch and looking at the picture that made him curious. In the picture, I was happily sitting in the laps of my grandma with my grandpa sitting next to her. The photo quality was not great but the scar on my grandpa's face was strikingly visible. Pity grandpa didn’t live for long. He had just touched his fifties. Grandma lived to tell the tale about her husband’s scar to me.

My son broke my thoughts as I stared at the picture.

“So how did he get it?” he repeated the question. I knew my son was looking for some kind of a heroic response. Very typical of boys in that age wanting to become soldiers, fire fighters, pilots or even pirates! As long as there was some action! Should I break his heart and tell him the true story or play with his emotions and tell him an adventurous tale? I wondered.

He was now staring at me, waiting for me to start telling him his grandpa’s heroic tale. “Long time ago, when your grandpa was a little boy..” “How little?” my son excitedly interjected.

“Ummm...not as little as you, a little older,” “11? 12? 13?...” he asked. "Stop stop stop! You don’t have to start counting your numbers, he was 14!” “I was close,” he said. “Yes, I should have made you stop when you said 14! Sorry!” “Ok, what happened then?” “Well, he was a very fidgety boy,” I replied. “What is a fidge-et-tee?” “Who just can’t sit still,” I answered. “Aah! I can!” he said proudly, as he suddenly sat erect. “Oh yes, you sure can and daddy is so proud of you!” I said with a smile. “So, I am not fidge-et-tee,” he said. “No, you are not!” “Grandpa always kept moving his hands or his legs if he had nothing to do,” I continued. “That’s strange!” he said, making a little frown. “Very!”

“Did his mum and dad not take him to a doctor?” “Unfortunately, no. As they thought he was just bored and had nothing to do,” I said. “Ok, what happened then?” “So, one day on his 14th birthday, his dad gifted him a pen.” “A pen? Who gifts a pen? It is a boring gift!” my son said.

“Well, it was not an ordinary pen!” “You mean it was magical,” he said, suddenly getting all excited.

“No, not magical but it had pictures of his favourite cartoon characters and a small light at the top that lit up when you wrote with it,” I said. “That’s magical,” my son said with an awe. “Anyway, so my grandpa played with his pen all day long. My great grandparents did not know whether to be upset or happy about it. It was always in his hand. He took it with him everywhere!” “How could he play with a pen?” he asked.

“He kept fidgeting with it!” I said, stressing on the word fidgeting. “Fidge-et-ting? Couldn’t keep still,” he said. I smiled. “Yes, he put it between his two fingers and kept moving it,” I said, trying to show him the action using my fingers.

"In fact, even while he was studying or reading, he would have it in his one hand and shake it continuously,” I continued. “He never got tired?” “Nah! In fact it kept him active,” he said, sounding surprised. “But one day, he returned home from school, all sulking and teary-eyed.” “Because he lost his pen?” “No, because it got confiscated by his class teacher. He was taking it to school every day and twisting it between his fingers while he was in the class. The teacher got very annoyed one day and confiscated it.” “Con-si-fi-cated?” “Con-fis-ca-ted,” I said slowly, focusing on every syllable. “Con-fis-ca-ted,” he repeated. “Yes, when your teacher takes away something that you should not be bringing to school!” I explained. “Grandpa must be very sad!” “Extremely. He stopped talking much with everybody at home or in his school,” I replied. “That’s sad!” “Very! So, one day, his mum went up to him and made him promise that as long as he didn’t take the pen to school again and play all the time with it, she would go to his school and request his class teacher to return it.”

The son was now hearing the story very intently. “So what happened next?” He asked. “Well, on hearing this, my grandpa jumped with joy and promised his mum that he would not take his precious pen to school ever or play with it. He would just keep it in his pen-stand and only use it for writing.” I continued. Getting closer to climax, no, not climax but an anti-climax is always disappointing. I was still weighing in my head if I should turn the story around and turn it in to some adventure. Was it necessary to tell him the truth?

“So did his mum go to his school the next day?” “She sure did! She went to his class teacher and requested her to return the pen to grandpa. She even told the class teacher that her little boy would not bring the pen to the school again.” “And then?” “The class teacher returned the pen,” I said. “And then?” “Your grandpa was thrilled. As soon as they reached home, he took the pen and put it in his pen-stand.” My boy was happy as well.

“Grandpa made sure he didn't take the pen to school again.” “Yes, else it would be con-si-fic…” my son said.

I smiled and said, “yes, con-fis-ca-ted. But he didn’t keep a part of his promise.” I was finally reaching the end of the story. I decided to go with the truth. There were enough magical and brave stories around. “He played with his pen?” my son said. “Uh-huh!” “What did he do?” “One evening, he moved it so fast that the pen flipped from his fingers and hit the ceiling of his room!” I said. “Wow! and then?” “The pen came back hurling down, with its light turned on, and hit my grandpa’s face. Luckily it didn't hit his eyes,” I said softly. “Yes, but it was close,” my son said, looking at the picture again. We were quiet. Suddenly he laughed and said, “grandpa was a very naughty boy!” “Very!” I said, and laughed along with him.


The moving truck pulled up at twilight. I watched the movers unload the belongings inside and bring them into the house. I didn't see anyone else go in. I'd heard someone had bought the old Murphy house, but I thought they'd be tearing down the building, not living in it. The new owners must have heard the rumors about the house being haunted. It was featured in the news and at least one paranormal group had investigated there, capturing voices on tapes and shadowy figures darting from room to room. I hoped the new owners knew what they were getting into. Shaking my head, I moved away from the window and finished getting dinner ready. The next couple of weeks were strange. I didn't see anyone leave the house next door during the day. It was only at night that I saw someone leave. A man's figure would exit the door, lock it, then go to the car in the driveway. I didn't see him come back, so I figured he worked midnights. Due to him keeping the lights off, I didn't get a good look at him, so I wasn't sure what he really looked like. I'd also started to have nightmares every night. You'd think living next door to a haunted house would have done that, but it didn't. Every night, I'd dream something was scratching at my window. A feeling of dread would wash over me, and I'd pull the covers up over my head, so I wouldn't see whatever it was at the window. I'd feel a pull though to look, and just when I couldn't take it anymore and look, I'd wake up with the memory of a pair of red eyes staring at me. My heart would be pounding, and I'd glance at my bedroom window, but nothing was there. It always took me a long time to get back to sleep. One night, I'd decided to sleep on the couch to see if that would stop the nightmares. I wasn't sure if a change in scenery would do that, but I was desperate enough to try. I dozed off while watching the television, hoping watching something before I fell asleep would make me dream of something else. A sound in the backyard woke me in the middle of the night. The television was still going, so at first, I thought that was what had woken me, but then I heard it again. I muted the television. It sounded like someone was running through the yard. I sat up on the couch and grabbed my phone, in case I needed to call for help. Slowly standing up, I kept my attention on the backyard as I crept through the living room and into the kitchen, which overlooked the yard. I made my way to the window over the sink and peered out. The yard was still. I leaned closer. A pale face with red eyes lunged at me, causing me to fall backward as I let out a scream. I landed on my rear end and covered my head with my hands. I thought that thing was going to burst through the window and kill me, but all was still. I lowered my hands, which were shaking, and made myself look up at the window. Nothing was there. Looking around the room, I got to my hands and knees. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Reaching up, I grabbed the edge of the sink to help me get to my feet. My legs were shaking so hard, I thought I'd fall over if I didn't have that support. I made myself look out of the window once more, but nothing was out in the yard. I leaned closer to get a better look, but the backyard was as it always was. Shaking my head, I closed the curtains and went back to the couch. I unmuted the television and got back under the covers. As I was dozing off, I realized the face in the window was the same one as I'd seen in my nightmares. My eyes shot open, and I sat up, my heart pounding. Wrapping myself in the blanket, I sat up, watching mindless television for the rest of the night. The next day, as I was getting into my car to get groceries, my neighbor on the other side of me, Betty, called out. "Yoohoo, neighbor!" she said in her usual greeting. "Hey, Betty," I ground out, grumpy from lack of sleep. "Did you hear the excitement last night?" she asked, walking over. My eyes got wide at that. I shook my head and asked, "What happened?" "You remember that string of break-ins that have been going on for the past couple of weeks, right?" she asked, reaching me and leaning against the car. I thought for a moment, then nodded. I hadn't paid them much attention since I was so disturbed by my nightmares. "Anyway, they caught the guy who did it," she said, her eyes wide with excitement. "What? Where?" I asked. "Right in your backyard!" she said, leaning toward me. "What?" I asked, my mouth dropping open. "How did I not know about this?" "You might have been deep asleep," Betty said, patting my arm. "Are you a heavy sleeper?" I shook my head and said, "Not usually." Her face scrunched up, then she shook her head and said, "Anyway, the guy was in a panic and screaming that something was chasing him, trying to eat him or something." "What?" I asked for the third time. "What did he mean, something was trying to eat him?" Betty shook her head and said, "They weren't real sure. He was babbling and practically climbed into the back of the squad car to get away from whatever he thought was chasing him." We were both silent for a moment, then she added, "Oh, and the police officer said the guy was bleeding from his neck, so he must have scratched himself or something while he was trying to get away from whatever he thought he saw." After that news, she said her good-byes, and I got into my car. I didn't start it right away, but sat there, lost in my thoughts. I turned my head to look at the house next to mine. Staring at it, I had a sinking feeling I knew what type of person could live in a haunted house. Live being the operative word. I still had groceries to buy, so I started the car and went to the store. I made sure to stock up on garlic. I'm sure the cashier thought I was making a lot of Italian food, and I didn't have the heart to correct her. That night, I made sure to have a head of garlic on every windowsill and hanging off of every door. For the first time in months, I didn't have any nightmares. In the morning, when I opened the door, I found an envelope on my doormat. I looked around to see if I could tell who had written it, but no one was in sight, not even Betty. Closing the door again, I opened the envelope and pulled out the folded piece of paper. On it was written, "You have nothing more to fear from me. You are under my protection now." No signature was on the note, but I knew who it was from. The vampire next door.


You told me that we would be together forever, but you lied. You said that you’d never lie to me and that you’d always be there for me, and now you’re gone. You’re in the ground, and I’ll never be able to speak to you, cry to you, or tell you how much I love you. I’m so mad at you Summer, but I forgive you. I just can’t forgive myself because I lied, I didn’t stay with you, and now you’re gone. There were so many things that I wanted to tell you .

Our last conversation was so normal: Hey babes how are you? I’m doing fine, just swamped with homework and working on my capstone, and you? Oh…Uh just going with the flow, you know me living every day as if it’s my last. Summer, you always say that, just remember to take care of yourself okay? Yeah, yeah I know. I’m going swimming so gotta go babes. Okay, talk to you later. …………..Click I’ve gone over that conversation a thousand times since your passing and I just don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could sound so…normal and you knew…you knew you weren’t okay. Why…why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask me for help? Why didn’t you say “summer I need you here with me” God do you know how I feel! How upset I am at you, at myself! Do you know how badly I wish I could go back in time and save you, from everything but especially from yourself? I still remember it, you know? The day I got the call from your mom. The day started perfectly, I was so excited to have finally finished my capstone project on the effects of childhood trauma on the adult body. I had been working on it for months, interviewing people, and addressing my trauma and I finished it one week before our birthday. I wore my best dress, took myself to my favorite diner, and got a large order of fries with “zap seasoning” and a medium chocolate cake milkshake. I felt so peaceful and found myself wishing that the day would never end. I went to the library and stayed there for a few hours before heading back home. I was only home for five minutes before I got the worst call of my life. Riiiinnnngg……Riiiiinnnnngg……Riiiinnnngg. That’s weird I think to myself because hardly anyone calls my house phone. I take off the purple coat that you got me for my birthday before putting down my bags and walking down the hall to my house phone. The phone starts ringing again and I look at the caller's I.D to see who it is. I didn’t immediately answer because I didn’t recognize the phone number, so it went to voicemail. Not even a minute later the phone rings again and it’s the same number. Who the heck is this?!? I say out loud before deciding to answer the phone Summer: Hello, may I— Mrs.Matthews: Oh god Summer, she’s gone, she’s gone Summer: Mrs.Matthews are you okay?!?! What’s wrong? Who is gone? Mrs.Matthews: Summer is gone….. Summer: Gone where? Mrs.Matthews: Sweetie Summer killed herself they found her body in the lake. I don’t remember anything after she said “Summer killed herself”. Everything went black, and I couldn’t believe what I heard. How…how could you be dead, you were only 23 and filled with so much life. How could you have killed yourself, when you sounded so happy when we spoke to each other?

Your mom called my mom after I stopped speaking, she knew how close we were and she was worried that I would hurt myself. It took my mom thirty minutes speeding on the highway to get to my apartment, she used the spare key that I gave her to get in and when she found me I was inconsolable and wouldn’t stop screaming “it’s a lie” The next few days are a blur to me, one minute I was at my apartment in Denver, and the next minute I was on a plane back to Georgia then I blinked and there I was standing in front of your casket surrounded by your family. You looked beautiful, but then again you always looked beautiful to me. Seeing you laying there looking so peaceful, almost as if you were sleeping pulled me out of my dream like state. Your mom made sure that you were buried in your favorite dress. I still remember buying that dress for you last year, I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to find a gift for you in time for our birthday. I had searched for weeks and racked my mind on what to get you and then one day when I was walking around downtown I saw it. A small dress shop called “Jane’s Boutique” I had never been there before but I was so desperate to find something for you that I took a chance and went in.

After looking around the store for thirty minutes I was starting to feel like I had wasted time because nothing that I saw “fit” you, and right when I was about to leave I saw it. Tucked away in the very back of the store were two dresses; One sky blue tulle dress with a ruffled skirt and flutter sleeves and a lilac version of the same dress. I was instantly drawn to the dresses because they sort of looked like homecoming dresses, and I knew that you didn’t get to go to homecoming so I thought it would be great for us to have a homecoming; just the two of us. I was so wrapped up in my memories that I didn’t notice the tears that were streaming down my face until I felt your mom’s arms wrap around me. Can you guess what she whispered in my ear?

She whispered “Summer loved you more than anything”

I couldn’t help but question that, because if that were true then why did you leave me, even though I was standing there at your funeral looking at you I still couldn’t understand how this happened. After your funeral, we all went back to the hotel, and your mom came up to me and told me that she wanted to talk with me. We went to the park, you know the one that we would always go “monster hunting” at. Mrs.Matthews hesitated a lot before speaking and I could see the pain that settled deep on her face. Mrs.Matthews: Sweetie did Summer tell you about her diagnosis? Summer: Diagnosis? What diagnosis? Mrs.Matthews breathed in sharply before answering: Summer had depression Summer: Depression? But she never mentioned it or even seemed sad on the phone Mrs.Matthews: I think in her own way she wanted to protect you from it. Summer: Protect me how?! I was her best friend, I should’ve been there for her, I let her down I said while choking back sobs

Mrs.Matthews: Honey you didn’t let her down. People with depression think that they are being a burden to the people in their life and that can cause them to hide it. Summer: I thought that she knew that she could never be a burden to me, I would’ve done anything for her. I would’ve run to her if I had to. Mrs.Matthews: I know baby, I know and she knew too. You both had such a special relationship, and I’m sure she knew that you were always on her side. Summer: I just don’t get it, why couldn’t she have told me how she was feeling? Heck, the last time we talked she was so excited to go swimming…..wait….Mrs.Matthews when did she die? Mrs.Matthews hesitated before speaking: The autopsy estimates that she died at 4:30 pm on Thursday. I dropped to my knees and just sobbed in your mom's arms. The realization came crashing down on me that you took your life twenty minutes after we talked.

Over the next two weeks, your mom visited me every day to check on me and make sure I was alright, and each time she came we would sit and talk; about you, your life, everything.

I’m not going to lie and say that I wasn’t hurt by all of the things I learned about you. I thought I knew everything about you but the more we talked, the more I became aware of how little I knew about you. Out of all of our conversations, one resides in the dark space in my mind. The same space where I lock all of my pain and hurt.

Summer: Why did she have depression and for how long? Mrs.Matthews sighed: My relationship with Summer's father was very turbulent, and plagued with abuse. I left him and thought that it would fix everything, but I was naive. I knew how abusive he was to me but I never imagined that he would abuse Summer, especially in the ways that he did. I didn’t find out about what had been done to her until she was seventeen and by that point, he had already died so she never got justice for what happened to her. Summer: Don’t tell me he….. Mrs.Matthews: Yes he hurt her in the worst way possible, he made her feel unsafe in her own body and caused her to feel disgusting and dirty. Summer: Why would she feel disgusting!? It was that sick bastard that was disgusting, she was perfect she couldn’t have been dirty even if she tried. She was everything good in this world.

Mrs.Matthews: It doesn’t make sense to people like us, but for her and people that have survived assault it’s sometimes hard for them to feel like they are worthy after being taken advantage of.

Summer: I just can’t understand how anyone could do that to their child.

Mrs.Matthews: I can’t understand it either but do you wanna know something? You saved her. Summer: How? Mrs.Matthews: I still remember the day that she came back from summer camp raving about her new best friend and how she had saved you from a bully. I had never seen her so happy about anything as I did that day. I think that a part of her just wanted someone to be there for her and you were there and became everything to her.

I couldn’t speak after that, so we sat in silence and comforted each other. I just wish that you would’ve shared your pain with me, I wish that you knew that nothing that happened to you was your fault, I wish you would’ve known that to me you were perfect and that no one could’ve told me otherwise.

I was so hurt when your mom came to my room carrying three books on grief because it made it clear that you had already decided that you were tired of fighting but I wish you knew that I would’ve gladly fought with you. After that, I decided to stay at your house, and your mom let me stay in your room and a part of me felt like you were still there. I knew that it wasn’t healthy for me to put all of my emotions on her because she was dealing with her grief so I started journaling and it helped to momentarily ease my pain.

You always loved my poems and always asked to be my muse so I wrote a poem for you but can’t seem to finish it. Summer love, summer blues, summer seasons filled with you, with all my love I held so dear, my summer joy no longer there, our days so long but also short… That’s as far as I got…I just can’t find the words. It’s ironic, isn’t it? I practically spent my entire life with you, enmeshed in your very being sharing a bond that was stronger than steel itself, and yet now…It’s like I can’t find the words. I can’t put all of my love into words without them spilling out and forming an incoherent mess. I’ve read all of the books that you left for me. “Surviving grief” “Thriving through grief” and “Healing a grieving heart,” They all say the same things. It’s always about thriving, healing, surviving, and releasing but what about living? What am I going to do now that you're gone? How am I going to live without you? Without my summer? It was always us. The two summers; Summer Joy and Summer Love. It’s like we fit…you completed me and I completed you. You existed in every aspect of my life, and without you, it feels like I can’t breathe. As if I’m drowning in a pit of grief and no matter how hard I try to fight it I just sink deeper into it. I feel shackled by those three words.

I remember the first day that we met and the rich smell of dirt and moss. On June 3rd, 2008 at the “ Blackcreek Summer camp for special kids ” I was so upset that my parents made me go to summer camp. I had never been an athletic or sociable child and I knew that my parents hated it, they hated that I wasn’t as outgoing as my sister Autumn, they hated that I was the “ sensitive and quiet ” one, and they hated that I didn’t have any friends. I hated that I was being forced to stay there so I cried—in front of everyone which paired with being much smaller than the kids my age quickly made me a target for bullying. Sadly I was used to that; Used to the harsh words, cruel comparisons, and deafeningly loud silence. After the first day, I was shunned, bullied by all of the kids, and given the nickname “ cry baby summer ” by an older kid named Marshall and no one helped me not even the counselors. On the fifth day of camp, Marshall tried to force me to eat a bug while everyone else laughed around us and I just cried because I knew that I wasn’t strong enough to fight back so I shut my eyes tight and prayed for someone to help me and then you suddenly came like a hero to save me. Do you remember what you said because I do, you said “ Don’t touch her you pig-faced ass”. I was so shocked by that because I had never heard anyone use language like that especially not another kid and then I heard something being thrown followed by the sound of people running.

“ Are you alright, kid ?” you asked me and after a while, I was finally able to stop crying and answer you “Yeah I’m okay, but my name isn’t kid!” I shouted surprising myself and I was certain that you would be upset but you weren’t.

“ Okay, what’s your name ? you asked with a small smile and inquisitive look on your face “ My name is Summer, what’s your name ? I answered and saw your face instantly light up “ My name is Summer too! What’s your middle name ? You asked while practically jumping in excitement

“ Love. My middle name is Love ” I answered bracing myself for a negative reaction because that’s what happened every time I told people my middle name usually followed by “wow that’s such a cheesy name” “ Really? That’s a nice name, my middle name is Joy ” and the rest was history, we became best friends from that day onwards and you helped me learn to love my name in its entirety.

Reminiscing on that day now brings a tear to my eye because I didn’t know that I had found my soulmate after almost being forced to eat a bug.

After staying with your mom for a while I finally went back to my apartment. I didn’t want to leave her but she told me that she was okay and that she would call if she needed anything from me. It sounds cheesy but I genuinely feel like a part of me was buried with you, but I also feel a strange sense of peace knowing that now you forever have a piece of me.

Grief is such a mysterious thing because it sneaks up on you, one minute you’re fine and another you’re sobbing on the ground. It causes a blurring effect because days turn into weeks faster than you can even comprehend. They say that time heals all wounds but I just think that time allows you to process those wounds but they don’t heal in the way that people say they do. They form scars that reside with you for the rest of your days, and a cage in your heart. I’ll carry your memory with me, stored in the cage and I’ll fill it with all of your favorite things because now you permanently reside in my heart. I’ll keep you safe there until the day we meet again and I can tell you about all of the things that you missed out on, give you all of the love that I collected along the way, and we’ll laugh like we used to.

Guess what ? I was able to finish the poem I wrote for you and found the courage to say it out loud. I wanted to visit your grave and read it to you but I don’t think that I’m ready for that, at least not right now. I’ll just read it to you here.

Summer love, summer blues, summer seasons filled with you, with all my love I held so dear, my summer joy no longer here. Now with days cut short, I’ll carry you in the end, because you were my one and only best friend, but I have to tell you my beautiful Summer born in a world filled with blue, I wish I could’ve told you that I was in love with you.


This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives. I had grown used to this comment, spoken as it was by everyone; often accompanied by a sad shake of the head and the glimmer of tears. Though absent they were the center of conversation, Asai and Idui. But all I could think, curled up on the couch hugging a mug of tea in my hands musing in the quiet peacefulness of my abode; was that they probably were the happiest they’d ever been. A touch of sadness tinged my thoughts though it was much overwhelmed by happiness. My mind wandered back to that fateful day almost a week ago. How ordinary the day had started, and extraordinary it had ended. Summer, time unknown: Flakes of white clay fell to the ground joining the chunks already littering the wooden boards that made up my secret studio as I carefully carved feathers into the wings of my masterpiece. The bird didn’t exist in the physical world, but it did on Asai’s canvas and Idui’s paper. It was to be their birthday gift. My studio truly did look a mess - pieces of unfinished work all over the small room, placed on ‘pedestals’ like an upside down paint bucket, the box that contained marbles I often placed on my sculptures, the second stool where Asai often sat when she visited. A shattered mirror. A beaded pillow. Surrounding me were open jars of paint, some of said paint dripping down the sides. They were the most expensive paint on the market imported straight from the spice lands far off to the northeast. But they weren’t the main ones I was looking forward to using. I paused my work to look at the small can next to the big ones. It was a bright iridescent blue paint. I had made it myself. No one had the right color I needed so I had taken matters into my own hands mixing blue paint with white and crushing my precious marbles to make a sparkling dust. After a quick glance at the statue, I put my carving tools down and reached for the roller lying beside the paints its worn handle giving away its age. I poured a dollop of paint on the bird’s narrow chest and began to run my roller over it until the bird was coated in every crook and nanny, up and around its elegant neck, over the 2 pulled back prongs on the top of its head tipped with several tiny sparkling marbles of red, green and blue swirls. Its swimming dark brown eyes stared deeply into my own as I stood back to survey my handiwork. The bird, carved in mid-flight spanned 12 feet wide and 8 feet tall, all long neck and knobby legs. It sparkled, it shimmered, it glowed. It also looked exactly like it did on Asai’s Canvas. I couldn’t wait to show it to them. I walked to the room’s door and pulled it open yelling down the attic steps. “Didi!” I called. A moment of pans clinking against a counter and then my older sister’s mischievous face appeared as she craned her neck around the corner like a swan. “Finished?” She asked. I grinned back and nodded. She bobbed lightly around the corner and up the steps. I poke her button nose and she batted my hand away only slightly annoyed. We both knew today was an important day. She stared at the bird statue with her critical eyes. “I think this is your best one yet.” She said eventually. I bobbed my head shyly. “How long before it dries?” She asked. “An hour,” I replied. “It should be more than enough time to finish the other preparations.” She nodded. “I could use your help moving the foods and the furniture to the beach.” She said turning to look at me, an ever-burning excited glow lighting her eyes as if lit by an internal furnace. Together we left the room and bounced down the creaky old attic steps, down the second floor steps through to our humble living room and into to the kitchen which was full of supplies, pots, plates, cups, and utensils. I went to the full sink and turned the tap washing my hands of clay, paint, and marble bits before I threw myself into motion. I picked up a heavy stack of ceramic plates and carrying them placing my chin down like a buffer; walked out into the early afternoon sun, I blinked wincing as my eyes tried to adjust. I walked across the cobblestone path on the side of our small abode headed to the back of the house. The farther I got the louder the sound of crashing waves became. I couldn’t see the ocean yet blocked as it was by the big leafy trees planted in our meager backyard. Bracing my elbow on the fence and pressing my chin down I freed on hand to lift the latch and push open the gate door. I walked along the path outlined in Cowrie and painted Crab Shells.  My bare feet sank into the sun-warmed sand of pure red, bringing with it the familiar soothing feeling that I had always cherished. I walked over the huge sand dune that blocked the view of the seashore taking in the beautiful beach that never ceased to have something new and interesting.  This place often gave me much inspiration for my statues, however today – the beach was covered in tables and chairs. The big wooden tables newly made just for this occasion were already covered in mats and at least half of the food we had cooked over two days. I placed the plates down on the edge of the first table and jogged back up clothes flapping in the sea breeze which deposited salt on my lips. My sister was waiting at the door and she passed me another set of dishware, and that’s how it went for the next hour. Then we cleaned up the house, made our way down the stairs carefully balancing my heavy statue. We pulled one of my sister’s silken sheets out from her cabinet of fabrics and flung it over the gleaming masterpiece which stood beside the final table which was still empty. Then we stood back to admire our handiwork. Everything was in its proper place. Steam: carrying with it delectable scents wisped serenely from the still hot pots, the elaborate tablecloths blew in the breeze, the fruit was fresh and glistening with water. We smiled at each other. “It’s great!” I said pleased. Didi nodded. “All that’s left now is the guests of honor and the attendees.” We looked to the Sundial in our yard made of white stone and aquamarines. “It’s almost time.” Didi said then swatted me toward the house. “Go change, you shan’t be looking shabby when they get here.” I hustled off toward the house up to the second floor and into my small bedroom. Across from me out my window was the best view of the sea in the house. The blue expanse seemed to sparkle as if marble dust permeated the entire huge body of water. Briefly I drew the blinds so  I could change into a blue patterned dress secured by a gold linked collar that rested at my color bone and the gold strap around my waist which I swiftly tied into a bow. I held my long, twisted coils up into a ponytail at the top of my head tying them up with a red piece of fabric. I put my big hoops and ankle bracelet. After checking my green tinted reflection in my sea glass mirror, I jogged down the steps and back outside. I arrived at the beach right as the first guests arrived. Greetings were exchanged and seating arranged. Just as we finished another group of party attendees arrived, then another and another. Soon most of the chairs were filled and the usual serene silence of the beach was filled with chattering voices, rustling clothes, and playful yells of young children. Even a violin had come and was now playing a merry tune. The one empty table we had remaining was piled with presents of all shapes and sizes fit together like a complicated 3d puzzle. Then the guest of honor arrived. Walking over the high sand dune, the twins came side by side dressed in similar outfits of white. Asai - eyes sparkling with excitement smiled at me from a distance. Idui nodded in her quiet and powerful fashion. Opposites both of them though they looked like two peas in a pod. We all rose and clapped as they came over and they bowed in the formal fashion though Asai wobbled like a baby duck learning to walk. I choked back a laugh. Chairs were pulled out for them and food presented. I sidled up to the two. “Idui greetings, Asai as clumsy as ever I see.” I said in an overdone solemn voice. Asai gave a cheeky smile in return. Idui nodded toward my covered statue. “A big surprise that.” She observed, I smiled mysteriously. “I don’t know.” I said tone demure. Asai pouted. Idui tilted her head in her classic thinking pose. I was glad to see that she didn’t seem able to figure it out. “Open all the other presents then I’ll show you that one.” I told them both before retreating into the crowd of people and joining into the song which sounded like strong wind, rippling waves and shifting sands, accompanied by the Earth’s heartbeat made y our clapping hands and stomping feet. The twins gained new clothes, carved arrowheads, carving knives, new canvas for painting, a journal for the ever-writing Idui, yams from the recent harvest then all that was left was my statue. My heart started to race in nervous anticipation like it usually did when I presented my work to the public. The singing, clapping and stomping continued becoming background sound as my heart became the forefront. Regardless of my feelings I seized the corner of the fabric and whisked it away with a soft shkkkk from the statue revealing it in all its glorious beauty. There was a collective intake of breath and the singing and movement stopped. Asai and Idui’s shock lasted for several moments before a light seemed to come from within them lighting up their face with a peculiar kind of joy which seemed to me deeper than any I had ever seen before. Asai let out a choked cry which sound like a wordless emotion I could not name. Idui stepped forward followed by her sister. A cry of shock rose from the crowd switching my attention to them. Their eyes I realized were not on the twin or me but rather behind me. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the shadow of the statues move. Shocked, I turned around and stared dumbstruck. Before me standing regally on its knobby legs was the bird. Its wings were tucked, and its glittering blue feathers blew in the wind. Its eyes once marble were now absolutely real and focused upon the twins who I could dimly hear coming up behind me.  The marbles on the pulled back prongs at the top of its head were now glowing membranes. The bird was alive. My statue was alive. I knew without knowing how I knew that I wasn’t hallucinating. A long-fingered hand landed on my shoulder startling me and I twirled around. Idui smiled at me, “You have outdone yourself this time, Andi.” She said. I opened my mouth to ask but nothing came out. Idui seemed to understand anyway as she walked past me to touch the birds plumage. “This is Ramaru. A spirit bird of Egungun. Spirits, Ancestors long dead.” She said softly. “He’s was ours, our pet who died at the same time as we did.” Asai continued coming over to the bird and sinking her fingers into its plumage as well. “But when we died, we feared what was beyond, so we ran away back to earth.” Idui continued an age-old regret in her soft voice. All small part of my mind screamed at me that this was all impossible, but everything else seemed to sense the truth in her voice and swiftly drowned the voice. “We, after several millennia. After watching our friends and family die. After the world we knew changed. After civilizations rose and fell, as we watched languages learned and lost within short spans of time; grew to wish to leave. We were ready to face the beyond. Longed for it even. We began to dream of this blue bird. A breed of a bird called Heron which existed back when huge buildings and transportation called cars and bus and trains existed. We lived near a river when we were alive which has now long since become part of the ocean. We found an injured baby heron, nursed it back to health. Ramaru. We died in a fire when he was an adult. He had journeyed to the beyond and now he came back for us. But we could not figure out how to reach him.” A tear formed in Asai’s eyes. One falling unheeded disappearing into the sand. “Until now. You have given us our way home.” Asai turned to me and grabbed my hands. “Thank You. You have been the best of friends both you and your sister.” Behind her Idui hoisted herself up onto the big bird’s back. She held out a hand to her sister as Asai turned round and grabbed it. She also hoisted herself up and in my dazed mind I realized what was about to happen. “Wait.” I began as the bird unfurled and began to beat is huge wings stirring up mini sand tornadoes. Holding a hand up to protect my eyes I called out again. “Wait!” I had so many questions I still wanted to ask… Present …But I never would get the chance I thought sadly. No one else, I found out afterward had heard much of the conversation after the beginning and believed that death had come to steal them away on their birthday and that their tear were ones of grief and sorrow rather than joy. I had never bothered to correct anyone. I though did hold one regret. That I never did get the answers I now yearned for because by then it was too late. THE END


Part I~The Pacific “Ok, Aquila , you should be approaching the site about. . . now,” the intercom murmured. A little submarine was inching across the sea floor, about six hundred miles off the coast of what was once California. “No, I’m not seeing it, and we could’ve passed it already. Doesn’t help that the ocean floor’s so. . . rocky here,” Eualia said, lacking any confidence. Eualia was the curator of the Mars Galactic Archives, established in the year 04037. She had named the submarine Aquila , after her favorite greek myth, and Eualia was quite sure she was the only person living on Mars that knew anything significant about ancient Greece, even though Mars was a Greek myth too. She found that rather ironic. “Wait. Stop! Back up a little,”Sulo blurted out. “I thought I saw it,” Sulo Aiken was Eualia’s research assistant, and often was the first to see something. “Okay, where? All I’ve seen is rocks for the last two hours,” Eualia said exasperatedly. “That way.” He adjusted the viewing lights, revealing a glinting metallic object, just barely poking out of the muddy bottom. Both researchers’ heartbeats quickened. “Sorry, you did see. . . is that really the capsule?” She extended a long, slithering robotic arm, and grabbed hold of the thing. With a sharp jolt of the thrusters, the object came free of the sand with a whoomp.

Eualia brought it past the glass, and surely enough, they were both staring at an easily four meter long torpedo shaped capsule. One could just make out the depressions of letters milled into the capsule:

Do not disturb this vault until 03500 C.E.

Left in the year of 02029 C.E.  	“So the map was right. Huh,” Sulo remarked. In his hand he held a perfect copy of the etched globe they had discovered two years before. Disguised among the land forms, barely readable, was a string of coordinates. And those Coordinates led them here. “Sea Hub, we’re coming up. We believe to have found it at last,” Eualia informed the intercom. “Roger, Aquila . We’ll have the platform ready.” With that, Aquila began the lengthy climb up to the surface. Part II~Location Unknown Deep in a subterranean laboratory, Oddmund De Vroom was pacing furiously. “Damn, they found it ay? Who let this happen ! I thought we sent a crew to intercept their craft!” he thundered in a strong British accent that nobody really had anymore. “I do not know, sir. We shall see shortly,” his young assistant replied with foolish sarcasm. “ What? Ugh, why did I hire you? Security, take him away.” Security did just that, as the assistant half squealed in protest. There was a thud as he was hurled out the door, and the door clanged shut. 	“He won’t last long in the cold,”De Vroom remarked. “Oh, I have a message?” He checked his computer terminal. Away crew #1 Here. We failed to intercept the submersible craft, they have already docked to the floating research hub. As you know, the research hub is armed to a degree that prevents us from safely making a raid. Obliteration would be likely. END OF TRANSMISSION De Vroom muttered something rude, and furiously punched in the following reply: De Vroom Speaking, the one who happens to be paying you. I don’t care how dangerous it is, get it finished. You understand how valuable that capsule is? END OF TRANSMISSION Part III~The Pacific Eualia and Sulo emerged from the Submarine to a small, but jubilant crowd of engineers and colleagues on the well deck. The capsule was lifted from the Aquila ’s cargo rack, and placed upon a folding table that had been set up. A hush fell over the crowd, aside from an occasional murmur. A friend of Eualia’s produced the original globe, that they had discovered in the Himalayas two years prior. Eualia began to announce the significance of the event: “We discovered this globe due to a stray radio signal that our transmitters were picking up, which turned out to be intentional. On the globe was a number of symbols, which my partner Sulo deciphered as co-ordinates. After multiple attempts to find the location, today we finally pinpointed it, and on that exact site was this capsule. Now, if I remember correctly, by twisting the two halves of the globe apart, a key should be revealed.” She slowly pulled the globe apart, and within, was a short metal rod, with several indentations. Please work, I’m relying on you, key, Eualia thought. With extreme caution, Eualia inserted the key into a small opening on the top of the cylinder.

Clik! The top smoothly hinged open, revealing a thick envelope, and many things that looked to be ancient.

The crowd began to cheer with great enthusiasm, as she removed the envelope, and passed it around.

Booom! The station violently shook, and everybody but Eualia and Sulo were thrown off their feet. Booom! Another shock hit, and this time Eualia tumbled over. “Station under attack!” bellowed the security officer, “Man the laser repulsers!” “The station’s never been attacked before, and of all times, ” Sulo said wearily. “Shut the capsule. Now!” Eualia hollered at Sulo over the roar of artillery. He tossed the envelope back in, and shut the lid. “We can’t move it out of here, it’s too heavy.” Suddenly, the station began to lean sharply, and the cylindrical capsule began to roll rapidly towards the opening in the well deck. “Noooooo!” It was too late. The capsule clanged into the submarine parked in the well deck, and Plunk. Down the capsule fell, into the abyss once more. Part IV~Location Unknown De Vroom slouched on an expensive reclining chair, and giggled. Well, almost giggled. Before him was the time capsule that just a day before had been in the hands of Mars Galactic Archives’s researchers. He looked about it playfully, and upon seeing the keyhole, his face broke into a nasty grimace. He cursed, and said: “ They, have, the key! Ooooh,” he groaned.

“Tell the away crew that their job is nowhere near done,” De Vroom informed his new assistant. “But” the assistant stammered. “Of course I know we only have one vessel left! Get out of here.” Part V~Mars Eualia paced about her cliffside apartment, which happened to have a great view of Olympus Mons, as well as the expansive city below. Another Greek name that no one cares about, she thought. Now talking to herself, she said: “There’s no way that space pirates would attack exactly on the hour that we discover something so important out of coincidence. And then that capsule rolled perfectly out of the well deck! They must have targeted the pontoon on that side of the base. All that fuss over a time capsule? They lost all but one ship, which happened to be the one carrying the capsule. Hmm.” At least they don’t have the key , she remembered. “Ah!” Eualia walked over to her micro book rack, home to many thousands of volumes, all printed microscopically to save space. She looked under P, and found a book called: “The most infamous space pirates - A traveler’s guide.”

“Maybe this could give me an idea of who did it?” She turned on a micro book reader, and began to cycle through the pages. The security officer aboard the research base had managed to snap a photo of the ship’s flag, and Eualia began to compare the flag in the photo to the ones in the book. “Rabues, no, The Plasmised Gang, no, Alectra Piracy treaty, nope. Ah, is that it? De. . .Vroom. . . Incorporated. What a strange name. Lore: The De Vroom family has long been involved in the piracy community, looking for a so called ‘Cylinder of Ultimate Power’, fabled to hold the secret to creating perfect artificial intelligence. . . So that’s what they are after.”

Part VI~ “Hello?” Eualia called out groggily. Her holo-clock read 2:07. Eualia had been startled awake by muffled thumping and something that sounded like. . .glass being shattered? This thought jolted Eualia awake. She sprang out of bed, picked up her stun rifle, and slowly opened her door. The moment she did, the sound stopped.

“Who. .Who’s there,” she said uncertainly, inching forward. When she poked her head around the corner, to her horror she saw a figure standing there, just an outline. Eualia reeled back, surprised.

She pointed her weapon around the corner and barked “Stop, um Hands Up!” “Don’t mind me missy,”he replied quite rudely. And then, it was lights out for Eualia. Part VII~ When she came to, a worried Sulo was hovering over her. “Let me guess, I have a big bruise on my forehead or something.” Eualia said. “I am afraid so. Here,” Sulo helped her up, and Eualia was shocked to see her apartment an utter mess. The glass coffee table had shattered disastrously, and several shelves had been upturned. “What the. . .” “I am wondering the same thing,” Sulo said. “I can actually guess who did this.” “Who, but why?” “Remember the attack on the research station? I think whoever ransacked my apartment was also responsible for this. Have you heard of De Vroom Incorporated?” “Yes, actually. Once on the news.” “I was thinking yesterday, and realized that they might be responsible for the theft of the time capsule. I looked them up in a book, and according to that, they’ve been searching for the capsule, like, forever and now they’ve stolen the key! Ugh, the second I thought of that , I should’ve got to safety. It’s my fault.” “I didn’t know you had taken the globe when we abandoned the research base. I’m sorry Eualia,” Sulo said glumly.

“Hopefully the Police can fix this, cause otherwise the entire galaxy’s done for.” “What? Whaddaya mean done for?” “Apparently the capsule contains the instructions to build the world’s first true AI. Somebody like that surely isn’t going to use it for anything good , right?” “I’ll call the police right now,”Sulo said, rapidly punching in the number into his comms device. Part VIII~Location Unknown De Vroom was growing more and more impatient by the second. The key was supposed to be delivered over an hour ago. “Have those Buffoons lost it?”he muttered. Almost in answer to his question, De Vroom heard a distant tapping of feet along the stone floor. This was followed by a security door opening a hallway down. The footsteps were getting closer. This is it! he thought.

When the final security door into his rooms opened, he was greeted by his assistant, with the key on a silken platter. What he wasn’t expecting was the twenty or so armed policemen escorting him. “Hello, sir! You may see I brought some friends. They are here because that poor nice lady you stole the key from tipped them off. And they offered me a pre-tty nice reward if I helped with your capture! Good by, sir,”his assistant said in gleeful mockery. “The De Vroom reign of piracy is over,” the Chief of police remarked. Behind him stood the woman his men had robbed. “I’ll be taking this,”she said triumphantly. She wheeled a cart up to the capsule, and lowered it down.

Oddmund De Vroom was taken into custody, and immediately led to the Police Cruiser. On Eualia’s way out, she slipped a small note into De Vroom’s hand. It read simply: The capsule will be waiting for you when you are released. I’ve been looking for you, Father. -E D V